#featuring a suspicious looking cube…

[sideswipesjetpack]

Quick warmups🙂‍↕️💕

And these guys the non gif version </3

[leviathanleva]

Caffè Crema

[Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!FemReader]

It was all fine and dandy between you two. You fed him and he helped you move heavy furniture. Then he comes to you with a question because you'd been unknowingly avoiding his advances.

"Is it the scars?"

And you're not really sure how to answer.

[5.2k words]

[Smut, MDNI]

Chapter 2 "Tea and Sugar Cubes"

By ‘come over for lunch sometime’ apparently, Simon understood showing up at your door exactly at twelve the next day. Of course, he hadn’t brought anything with him and you knew it wasn’t because he was stingy, but because he didn’t get invited randomly to nice events such as a lunch enough to know what to bring. He’d shown up in another ratty hoodie and worn-out jeans, his infamous skull facemask obscuring the lower part of his face, his disheveled blond locks tucked under a beany.

Despite the unexpected visit, you welcomed him with a warm smile and even warmer intentions.

He looked very much out of place once he set foot in your small apartment because it was a girl space, adorned with fuzzy couch cushions and color-coded Tupperware. Everything was in its place, everything was somehow delicate. Even your toilet had smelled nice when he’d entered it to take a piss. And of course, when he’d come to the kitchen to wash his hands, your soap was pink.

Simon felt transported into a whole other dimension as soon as he’d entered your humble home, he felt bad for leaving his muddy boots in your corridor as if they’d spread a disease through your sanctuary. He’d offered to leave them outside your door, but after much insisting on your part, he’d left them as they are – a stark contrast to the pretty little sneakers you most likely slipped on in haste to go to the store.

And sure, it was a bit unnerving to have a stranger lingering in your home as you prepared lunch for both of you, but your heart wouldn’t budge when you thought of gently escorting him out. He looked so tired, the discolored crescent moons under his eyes were prominent, the lines on his features looked deeper than they had been yesterday. He looked like he needed a good meal and a good nap after, a hot shower too.

You’d glance at him every so often, picking up the décor from the coffee table in the living room and inspecting it, tilting his head ever so lightly to the side, like a confused pup, before setting it back down and picking another. You’d left the kitchen door wide open to monitor him, but the more you looked, the sadder the picture of him became. You’d throw a comment his way, asking him about how his night had been, if he’d had any breakfast before coming, if he’d like to have a coffee, only to receive one-word responses.

Unfortunately, once you were slaving over the stove you couldn’t peek at him without looking suspicious so you just let him be. Surely, he hadn’t come to rob the place. He didn’t look like the type, seemed too polite in his rough and tough way.

Soon enough your mundane questions received no answers and despite knowing you might look like an anxious rat turning around, you did so anyway.

Only to find him asleep on your sofa.

He was curled up like a fetus, one arm tucked under his head with his face smushed in one of your pretty cushions. He was too big for the couch, that much was evident, he looked almost comical for napping on your girly sofa if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d been so tired he’d fallen asleep in a stranger’s apartment. You took pity on him, of course, you did, and brought over a blanket from your bedroom to lay over him.

He didn’t even budge when you tucked him in, only murmuring a sleepy curse before his light snoring began again.

It broke your heart when his meal was finally ready and you woke him up with a gentle shake to his shoulder. The poor thing looked so disoriented that you had to bite into your cheek just to keep from giggling. He scarfed down the plate of food you’d prepared for him so fast that you worried he might choke. He didn’t though, he literally licked the plate clean, stood up, thanked you for the food, and headed for the corridor to put on his boots and leave.

Despite the weirdness, you didn’t want to seem desperate, chalking up his sudden departure as him being busy. You let him leave with a soft chirp for him to stop by any time because he looked like he needed it. You’d curled up on the couch after, your lunch forgotten, and breathed in his faint scent of cigarettes and musk as you tried to make sense of what had just happened.

Ghost just kept coming after that day, unannounced, like a stray who’d finally found a home. After the third or fourth time he’d showed up for you to basically feed, bathe and let him nap, you started to find him work around the apartment.

“Simon, can you move the fridge so I clean behind it?” you ask in a sugary voice, timidly standing at the entrance to the living room because you liked looking helpless in front of him. Something about male pride and all that.

He got up without a word and stalked to your kitchen before moving the fridge with ease.

“Good ‘nough?” He glanced up at you, still crouched with his hands gripping the underside of the fridge.

And maybe you were a bit of an ass for shaking your head, but you liked watching him doing everyday tasks and flexing his strength for you.

“Little more to the left, please.”

He did as he was told and much to his surprise, you were beaming.

“Thank you, Darling.” You coo and pat the rumpled tuft of hair on his crown before he stands up to his full height.

A shudder runs up his spine at your gentle gesture and soon enough he’s moving furniture and reaching the top shelves in your kitchen before you can even ask. Anything to get another dose of praise and a mellow, appreciative squeeze to his arm or pat on the head. And Simon wasn’t one to easily open up and speak of what he likes and doesn’t, and he’d be caught dead before he admitted to your soothing gestures causing his entire body to tingle, but the fact was that they did and he was addicted from day one.

He liked your cooking, loved your praise and smile, and that was enough to keep him coming. As his visits continued, he started bringing offerings – from a steaming mug of coffee from the café you’d first met at, to flowers.

“My mate said you might like these.” Were his words as he thrust the bouquet in your arms and headed towards your living room without another word.

You’d pressed those flowers in an old book lying around, memorializing them while he’d been curiously peeking over your shoulder, with one large hand resting absentmindedly on your hip.

Then there was that one night when you’d offered him a slice of cake for dessert after a filling dinner. Typical him had accepted the offer and wolfed down the treat within two bites. Meanwhile, you’d been doting silently on him from the other end of the table, snorting when he looked up at you with icing stuck to his upper lip. You’d reached over to wipe him clean only to have him lean into your touch, thinking you were trying to cup his cheek. He’d avoided your gaze like the plague when he’d realized what you were doing while you tried to keep your little heart from shattering at his touch-starved demeanor.

Touches became not only a show of praise, but a frequent display of affection after that incident. Whether you were watching a movie on your couch or you were cooking something up in the kitchen, you made sure there was always some sort of physical connection between you two and since Ghost hadn’t protested, you’d taken that as a sign to keep at it.

Soon enough, quiet dinners extended to watching movies together afterward, which would, in itself, end up with the old soldier snoozing on your lap, his nose buried in the plushness of your thighs as his large arms encircled your waist, locking you in place until he woke up. You didn’t have the guts to stir him awake considering you didn’t know if the last time he managed to get shuteye was two days ago on that very same sofa or the night before at his base. You’d just card your fingers through his hair and rake your nails over his scalp while he purred at you in his sleep.

He told you little about himself and his work, but from what you’d gathered, he came from a troubled home, dragged an awfully dark past with him, and had very few people he considered friends. Soap was one of them. You’d actually laughed when he’d first mentioned Johnny’s callsign, refusing to believe him until he’d pulled out his phone and called the bloke to confirm.

In a way, you pitied him. Whatever he’d gone through was unimaginable to you, you could see it resurface in his eyes sometimes when you left him by himself to tend to chores or to return to work on your laptop. You tried to help, anchor him back as soon as his mind started drifting, and for the most part, you succeeded. But some days were tougher than others and besides being a silent, warm, physical manifestation of comfort for him, with arms draped over his neck and cheek pressed into his crown as he had his face buried in your sternum, there was nothing more to do.

He had to ride out the nightmares alone in his mind.

Despite PTSD constantly nipping at his heels, Simon looked better. The dark bags under his eyes began to subside the more he stopped by, the defeated slope of his shoulders evolved into a relaxed slump. The best part was that he’d put on weight under your constant pestering to eat more. You could tell, especially when he was clad in nothing but an old tanktop while helping you around the apartment, there was a thin layer of fat splayed over the hard plates on his stomach. His chest had grown, the biceps on his arms weren’t just two balls of muscle stuffed under his battle-scarred skin, there was more meat there now.

And maybe it was because he’d figured out that you didn’t expect anything in return for your kindness, or maybe your cooking tasted that good on his tongue, or maybe he really liked the feeling of your soft curves pressed into him whenever you were curled up on the sofa. But he’d shown up sporting a duffle bag in one hand one day. He’d set it down by his feet while you’d eyed him curiously, returned your gaze with one of evenness and calm, as if his actions made so much sense, and then he’d walked past you to go wash his hands.

He just…didn’t leave after that.

Still, ever the gentleman of few words, he’d taken it upon himself to sleep on the couch. As generous as you were, the bed was something you weren’t willing to give up, and thankfully he’d understood that fact without you having to voice it.

You’d not heard a single complaint from him for anything – not when you’d burned the lasagna that one time, or when you’d asked him to practically rearrange your whole kitchen because you didn’t have the strength to do so by yourself. It was a blessing.

What wasn’t a blessing was how blind you were to Ghost’s attempts at seducing you. When he’d practically picked you up and laid you on his lap during movie night, you’d chalked it up to him needing physical contact because he was having a bad episode. When he’d passed you in the kitchen with the intent to get to the fridge, he’d made sure your bum got the full package of his dick glide past it. He probably hadn’t had enough space to pass, so you’d moved closer to the counter, completely missing his intention. When he’d come out fresh from the shower, covered in droplets of water that just accentuated his mouthwatering physique and with skin steaming and glinting with cleanliness, he’d stood before you in nothing but a towel around his hips. His excuse was that he needed a towel for his hair as well and despite that he was puffed up and showing off like a peacock, you’d missed it. You’d gotten up in a hurry, worrying that he’d get chilly and catch a cold if he stood as such any longer. You’d rushed to find him something for his hair, unintentionally stomping over his plan of mesmerizing you with his provocative state.

He wasn’t sure what he was doing wrong. Everything he’d tried on you had worked on other birds in the past. So why were you not falling for it? Were you just not interested? Was he mixing up the signals?

Ghost was at a loss.

So much so that he’d finally had enough of your ignorant nature and simply brought it up.

“Think I’m ugly, Bird?”

You pause halfway into scrolling on your phone, thumb hovering over the screen, frozen. Your eyes lift and roll to the left and you look at Simon with the most dumbfounded expression you could muster.

You’d just finished lunch, now both lounging in your living room as you tapped away on your phone while he silently watched a random documentary on the telly, sprawled over the sofa with you, curled up at his feet, knees to your chest and squishing a pillow under your chin.

“What?” You blurt out and shift in your spot, being mindful not to crush his toes even though he’d tucked them under your bum to keep warm. You shake your head, blink at him a few times as if he’d just thrown the most inappropriate comment your way, and repeat: “I’m sorry, what?”

Still as a rock, while propped up one elbow, he doesn’t say anything more, patiently waiting for a proper reply. You ogle him, left partly speechless by his sudden inquiry, and silently set down your phone on the coffee table before puffing out an awkward breath and crossing your fingers in your lap.

“No, of course, not. What?” You let out an uneasy snort, thumbs dancing over each other to ease the embarrassment forming in your gut. “Why would you ask me that?”

There’s a moment of nothingness that passes, with only the TV buzzing in your ear as you stare at each other. As always he’s as relaxed as can be when under your roof, slack against the cushions while you’re coiled like a violin string, waiting for him to clarify.

He picks up the remote to lower the volume, maybe buying himself time before continuing the tense conversation.

“Don’ wanna sleep with me is all.”

“I – Excuse – ” You lean closer as if you’d not heard the words that had tumbled out of his mouth so casually.

“ – Is it the scars?”

You nearly pounce at his assumption, ready to smother him in tender kisses and gentle caresses until he forgets what he was even talking about. But you don’t because you worry how he’ll react to sudden movements, you don’t want to trigger him into military mode. So instead, you slowly scoot over and reach for his hand, curling yours in his calloused palm and locking your fingers together before giving them a squeeze.

“Simon…no.” A mournful smile speckles onto your lips as you speak, a certain melancholy to your usually warm eyes. Your answer gives no room for protests or objections, as simple as it is, it carries enough weight to snuff out the demons of uncertainty that have been plaguing him. “Not gonna lie, it’s insulting you’d even think that.”

“What’s the problem then?” He asks, voice hoarse and rough, the usual combo that sends pleasant chills down your spine and butterflies fluttering through your stomach. He sits up, hand still locked with yours as he comes to loom over you.

“There isn’t any!” You all but whine in barely sustained aggravation and grip his shoulder, shaking it gently, emphasizing your words with each weak tug and push. “I just…didn’t think. I mean… I’m happy to just have you here, Simon. I didn’t think you wanted to…” The words get caught in your throat as your pulse picks up pace. You rip your eyes away from his chocolate browns and sigh something defeated.

How was this even a problem at the moment? How hadn’t you picked up on his hints?

Thinking back, you saw the signs, the not-so-subtle gestures he displayed to show his attraction for you, that he wanted more. You’d been too worked up in trying to get him to have enough rest and feed him, offer a pleasant home for him. In your mind, he’d registered more as a beaten stray dog than a human with feelings and desires.

He was literally a grown man with a dick and you’d been treating him like a child.

It was embarrassing, hard to swallow the more your memories pile up your head.

“You think a bloke’s just gonna move in with a pre’y bird like you and not wanna shag?”

He pushes you back with his mass then, eases you back into the cushions with one arm gripping onto the armrest of the sofa to steady himself, making sure he doesn’t crush you under his weight.

“I just didn’t give it much thought.” You force out a murmur, yielding to him until you’re stuffed into the sofa, fidgeting beneath his bulk with your knees protectively lifted over your chest and ankles crossed over your sex. “I didn’t want to push in case you just wanted comfort.”

Your attention turns to the TV screen and you focus on the fleeting pictures there, still refusing to face him properly as both your bashfulness and embarrassment flare inside your chest. It’s too much, there’s just not enough space for your pounding heart, hyperventilating lungs, and emotions under your ribcage, you feel like bursting any moment now. But it doesn’t happen, instead, you're trapped beneath a man you barely know who’s made your home his as well.

It all comes flooding the more you’re left to explore the logical side of your brain.

You knew barely anything about him, hadn’t seen his face fully bared once, hadn’t known him for more than a month or two. He was just a random bloke you’d bumped into at the coffee shop and now, fast forward, he was living with you. Yet your heart lurches with excitement and heat begins to gather between your trembling thighs at his actions.

“Piss off with that shite.” He grumbles bitterly before sliding one hand under your calf and pulling your legs apart only to settle comfortably between them, trapping you beneath him. “Wanted to bend ya ove’ the counter moment I saw you fussin’ ‘round in the kitchen cuz of me.”

One large palm comes to knead at the supple flesh of your breast. He hisses in delight at your lack of a bra and dips his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling your familiar scent with delight. Of course, you weren’t wearing a bra, you were home. He was the intruder here, or was.

Intruder no more with his toothbrush in your bathroom and his clothes in your closet. A toothy smirk tugged on his thin lips at the realization.

Should have never been nice to him in the first place. Shouldn’t have let him inside your home.

Now you were stuck with him.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You mewl beneath him, words muffled into his shoulder as you tentatively wrap your legs around his waist, hands coming to rest on his back and toying with the idea of pulling off his sweater.

He picks up on your tugs all too quickly and is more than willing, pulling away from you enough to discard the article before squishing you under his bare chest. It takes him to run his clothed mouth over the column of your neck once before you’re purring against him, clutching at the vast expanse of his marred flesh, nails catching ever so gently on the swells of his scars and making him bite back grunts of approval.

“Thought I’d be a gentleman and wait till you came t’ me.” He’s rasping softly in the shell of your ear as his rough, needy paw travels down to your waist, fingers slipping under the hem of your loose top and greedily mapping out the skin beneath. The fabric bunches up under his exploration and soon enough he’s pulling it over your head and you’re too lost in the heat of him to protest. “Didn’t expect you to be this bloody daft though.”

He presses the growing tent in his sweats against your pulsing heat, earns a choked-out moan in return that ripples through his body and awakens his skin with goosebumps. You jolt in his arms at the sudden feeling, only to be stilled in place by muscular arms.

He’s scarfing down your scent like a man nearly drowned and, having pulled his mask up, lapping at your neck with fervor, crooked nose pressing into your pulse point.

“Pre’y bird…too busy takin’ care o’ me to take care o’ yerself.”

Your back arches up, breasts squishing against his chest, skin on skin, the contact making his mouth water as he continues to slowly grind against you.

And you’re so drunk on him that you’re a hair’s breadth away from tugging your shorts down and pushing his head between your thighs. But a part of you refuses to relent, the same part that keeps screaming in the back of your head that you know nothing about him except his name and occupation, which is your God damned home.

You’ve had flings before, one-night stands, but none of the men you’d been with were anything like him. He was intimidating, a giant of a man that could overpower you so easily it was laughable. He was fucking dangerous, he was lethal, and he was currently grinding against you like he’d not seen a woman before in his life.

“You alright?” Simon halts his hungry nipping on your skin and leans back enough to look you in the eye. A hand goes up to steady your trembling arm that you’d no idea was trembling in the first place. “You’re shaking…”

You offer him a wry smile, spitting a soft half-truth between chattering teeth. Technically you are cold, but it wasn’t the reason for your trembling. He was. His presence.

“Just cold…”

He snorts at your lie, but still tugs the discarded blanket on the backrest of the couch over his shoulders, cocooning you completely as he settles back above you, pressing you down into the cushions.

“Don’ worry, pre’y girl.” His nose brushes against yours as he slowly lowers himself, mouth and stubbly chin brushing over your sensitive skin. “I’ll keep you warm.”

While one arm stays glued to his back you let the other one wander, settling on his cheek, fingers dipping under his mask and making him swallow back a grunt as he shudders.

Despite your mind hollering and red light blaring in your mind, you’re the one that seals your mouths together, pressing your lips against his and flicking your tongue over the scar running down to his jaw. He snarls in your mouth, tongue darting out to fetch yours when his fingers dip beyond the hem of your shorts only to find you already dripping for him.

When he starts rubbing gentle circles into your swollen clit, you see stars in the back of your eyelids. Instinctively, you try to close your thighs around his hand, ending up only squeezing him closer by the waist. A heady moan makes you break the kiss, lips swollen and glistening with saliva, heavy-lidded eyes looking up at him in a haze of need and something Ghost refuses to acknowledge as trust. But your pouty expression and quacking thighs are enough to push him past the little patience he’d been clinging to.

He hooks his sopping fingers on the waistband of your bottoms before tugging them down your legs, a satisfied grumble vibrating deep in his chest as you wiggle along to hasten the process. Dark orbs peek from under blond lashes as he takes the sight of you, with only a thin slip covering your leaking sex. His canines slip from under his upper lip as he watches you cover your chest and mumble out that you’re cold again, face turned away from him as your cheeks heat up.

“ ‘S okay, luv.” He coos and dives back in, surging with satisfaction when you cling to him the moment he was in reach. “ ‘M here. Got you.”

He doesn’t even bother to take off your panties, just moves the soaked strip aside before shrugging his sweatpants down enough for his pulsing hardness to spring free. And you’re a curious creature, your eyes slip down to look at him ready and waiting, hovering over your pretty cunt, tip swollen and leaking already.

“I’m not safe.” I stammer out while swallowing back a copious amount of saliva at the sight of him. “You gotta – ”

“ – I’ll pull out.” He reassures you hurriedly before he’s already sheathing himself into your welcoming heat.

Ghost’s jaw clenches with forced-back moans as he sinks into your fluttering pussy. Remnants of you slick dampen the thick dark hairs at his base when he finally manages to bottom out inside you, forced to bully his cock through your tight walls until the tip kisses your cervix and makes your toes curl.

His hands found their way under your ass, cupping both firm globes of flesh and pulling you flush against him. You come face to face with his chest, the difference in size making your coupling a bit awkward in this position, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In all honestly, the ghost of a smile on his lips told you that he likes hovering over you like this while you took whatever it was he gave you.

And you want to scold yourself for taking him so willingly, for your body betraying you so quickly when he’d technically not given you anything besides a few tiny gifts that hadn’t even been his idea. But you can’t help but whine up at him instead, greedy little sounds of protest because he’s waiting for you to adjust to being split open on his cock instead of just fucking into you and giving you what you need.

You’re wrapped around him like a snake, muscles contorting and fingers clutching at the slope of his spine as he starts to gently rock his hips, balls slapping against your flesh and making you pant in anticipation of how full they were.

“Si – ”

He kisses you with a desperation that knocks the air out of you, curling in on himself and propping you up enough to silence you before his name slips past your lips. He readily swallows your moans, letting you sob on his tongue as he works you open with thrusts far too tender for your liking.

It’s a death sentence, hearing his name honeyed by your sweet voice, especially now. He wouldn’t be able to take it, would crumble in your arms and slip past your fingers like sand.

Despite his rush earlier, his restrain told you more than you wanted to know. That he’s not just fucking you dumb into your cute little sofa, that there’s more there, an intimacy you’d been too kind to bring up to him in exchange for the efforts you’d poured into him because that’s what you’d wanted from the start. The knowledge turns your legs to pudding and you find yourself struggling to keep hold of him as he rocks into you.

With a teary-eyed expression and a cry from a particularly angled thrust, you free his back from the onslaught of your nails and reach between your bodies to press down on your neglected clit, seeking relief from the tension building up painfully in your belly.

He smacks your hand away with a grunt, dips his fingers between your folds instead and glares down at you as if you’d just made a grave mistake.

It was his job to make you come. He was to have your toes curling, you shouldn’t have to do anything, and the fact that you’d tried to get yourself off while he was right there was insulting. The rough pads on his fingers circle your sensitive flesh and you’re clawing at him in pleasure, blubbering out loving incoherences that make his ears tingle.

He’s not fast enough to lock his mouth over yours and swallow the broken calls of his name when your climax washes over you. You’re too slippery beneath him, skin shining with a thin sheen of sweat as your cunt locks around him like a vice and refuses to let him pull out the whole way. Writhing as you are, he barely manages to lock you securely beneath him as he speeds up, spurred on to near madness by your breathless, throaty call, his name on your tongue turned on loop and the precious words of encouragements dusted in between.

It’s too intimate, his real name being moaned in such a way, hits too close to home, does something deep in his gut and makes his legs weak. His tempo becomes uneven, hips sputtering, slapping against yours as he drives himself in until his tip is pressing against your core. It feels surreal, everything around him does – your touches, ever gentle even when you claw at him, your heat, willing and slick just for him, your voice ringing so potently in his ears it makes his teeth chatter.

It’s all too much, your existence overwhelms him, all of his sense and soon enough he’s forgotten that he has to keep you safe, has to pull out of your addictive heat. Instead, he’s rutting against you viciously, fangs bared and eyes closed as he drowns in your pleas for more and the weak fists that are thumping against his chest.

You’re in no better state, urging him on and coiling around him with a promise that you’ll take a pill first thing in the morning. Your high-pitched howling shatters into gaspy sobs when he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of your shoulder and snarls as he jerks his hips. His spent floods your welcoming womb, his balls sucked dry by your convulsing cunt. He’d nearly fucked you off the couch with how selfishly brutal he’d gotten in the end.

Spurts of cum seeped out of you when he begrudgingly pulled out, a whine clawing its way up your throat when you feel his shaky fingers gathering up the leaking fluid before pushing it back inside you. He clambers down next to you, rolls on his side and crushes you against his chest and you know better than to protest even though you’d love to take a nice hot shower right about now.

He eyes you with something akin to tenderness before tucking you under his chin and pressing his nose into your dampened hair.

It’s fine.

You’d take a pill tomorrow.

<<< Chapter 1

Chapter 3 >>>

Masterlist

[fr33time]

Ghouls favourite desserts pt. 3

Featuring the boys in Hotarubi, Obscuary, and Mortkranken ♡

A/N: I love talking about sweets, some of the sweets I’ve written about are ones that I want to try in the future. This one took a while to come out because I’ve been focusing on important things in my personal life ^^ I currently have a Jin focused fic in the making, it was an old request of mine, but I accidentally deleted it and I’m hoping the person who requested it will find it when it comes out. Have a lovely day!

divider credits: @konatasoup Genre: Headcanons

See: Pt. 1, Pt. 2

Requesting rules here! (View them before asking)

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☆Subaru

Fried ice cream - Subaru likes many desserts, especially desserts from his childhood, but ever since he discovered fried ice cream it changed everything for him. Not only did he find the technique behind fried ice cream interesting, but he loves the combined textures of the crispy batter and the soft ice cream. He feels like it’s heaven hitting his tongue, sometimes Sho makes him some as a gift.

☆Haku

Dango - Haku is another person that has a preference for desserts from his childhood. He likes going to traditional stands to support local and it reminds him of when he was younger in his family home. It’s not too sweet of a dessert and even though there’s many different flavours and styles to try, he sticks with his regular which is hanami dango when it’s available in the spring time.

☆Zenji

Fruit tarts - Zenji is pretty much as sweet as a fruit tart. He loves how they come in small bites, and have a variety of fresh fruits on top of a white custard. He loves eating sweets, and fruit tarts are apart of his many joys in life. It’s also one of the greatest experiences that he misses and how the tart would crumble when he bit into it. He tries to find a way to replicate the same sweetness that he loves.

☆Edward

Chocolate -Edward is a bit of a plain jane, he says that it’s the “ultimate dessert” and arguably the most romantic out of all sweets. He prefers a mix of chocolate flavours, mainly a mix of dark chocolate and milk chocolate where he can get a taste of bitterness and sweetness in one go. He doesn’t particularly like many sweets, but chocolate has been around the longest for him and he finds it comforting when he lays in bed all day.

☆Rui

Swedish delight - Rui finds it adorable how Swedish delight comes in little cubes, and he loves the soft jelly texture when he bites into it. He can’t Swedish delight in most places, so he also needs to order it. He works a lot around Obscuary, so this is his tiny sweet treat as a reward. He can’t resist the soft sweetness in it. When he receives the package, he makes sure to hide it because it’s the one thing he gets to enjoy.

☆Lyca

Crepes - The first time Lyca tried a crepe, he looked like he was about to explode. Since he’s out of his jail cell, he wants to try as many flavours as he possibly can. A crepe was one of the first desserts he ever tried and he fell in love with a simple strawberry crepe with whipped cream in it. He was confused on how to hold a crepe at first and eat it, so it got really messy real fast.

☆Yuri

Macarons - Yuri is extra and only eats food that he deems good enough for him. For him, a lot of macarons at the store are too sweet for him so he needs to specially get them. He mainly has them with his tea, and he appreciates the soft crunch of the macaron. If he could pick his favourite flavour, he would always get lime or a flavour that mimics green tea. He eats them in his spare time and gets embarrassed when someone walks in, he hides them with the utmost speed and makes himself seem suspicious.

☆Jiro

Jello - Jiro can’t process solid foods so Jello is his best bet. He’s not one that eats sweets, he’ll only order something if someone insists that they need to feed him. He eats jello that is sugarless, this isn’t just because he can’t handle the sheer amount of stuff they put in the jello, but also because Yuri stresses to him that he can’t eat too much sugar or else there’s complications. If anything, he just loves the texture and how easy it is to eat.

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[bombshellsandbluebells]

sometimes I just write a scene I really like and want to share it right away before the rest of the chapter is ready to post, so have a sneak peak of the next chapter of Baby Steps, featuring good ol' Stan Twins bantering:

Stanley, for his part, suggests convincing the town that he's a fortune teller and charging for readings no less than three times. Apparently, he'd done it more than once during the loop. 

"And now most of the town knows you," Stanford argues. "Ignoring the fact that you would have had a limited amount of "predictions" before you ran out of what you'd learned during the loop, you've definitely missed your window now." 

"Eh," Stan says, twisting Fiddleford's abandoned Cubix Cube in his hands. Stanford doesn't think he's ever seen him actually solving it; he thinks he just likes having something to do with his hands. "I could get people to buy it. Ma did it all the time without a time loop, and that was Jersey schmucks! Gravity Falls schmucks are even more gullible. I'd fleece 'em dry, Six!"

"Until they figure out the con and run you out of town. Like every other con you've told me about." Stanley winces. He appears to focus harder on the Cubix Cube to avoid looking him in the eye. "This is why all your cons fail. You never think far enough ahead."

"You never think far enough ahead," Stanley mumbles to the Cube, twisting it roughly. Then he blinks down at it and lifts it triumphantly with a shout. By chance, he's managed to line up the entire green side; Stanford will hold his awe until he manages to do the same with the other sides.

He rolls his eyes. "You've already been banned from most of the country, Stanley. I'd prefer not to get run out of my own house because you add Oregon to the list. By trying to fake a supernatural ability in perhaps the most supernatural town in America."

"Have more faith in me, geez," Stanley argues, turning the Cubix Cube again. He frowns down at it when the move breaks up the green again. "Wait" — he glances up at Stanford — "why would you have to leave your house?"

"Because obviously I'd be going with you."

He watches the grin build on his brother's face and runs the sentence back in his head, recognizes how utterly saccharine it sounds, and hurriedly cuts off the mocking before it can begin. 

"Not like that! Because you'd drag me into it somehow, I know you would. You always dragged me into your schemes."

Stanley snorts. He gives up on the Cube, tossing it on the table. "My schemes, huh? Wasn't me who came up with the homework ring in fifth grade."

Stanford flushes. He shoves a forkful of roast in his mouth to give himself time to think of a retort. Stanley waits patiently—the way he only does when he knows Stanford's walked himself into a corner. 

"I might have come up with the initial idea—" 

"Might?"

"But you were the mastermind!" Stanford insists, pointing the fork at him. "You're the one who got us our clients!"

His brother just grins, looking far too satisfied with himself. "Yeah, I was, wasn't I?"

Stanford had forgotten all about the homework ring, in the same way he'd erased most of his own willing participation in their antics from his memory—the same way he'd adopted, for a while there, his father's way of thinking and pretended Stanley had been the troublemaker and Stanford himself above such things, as if it hadn't been him who'd suggested dropping one of the dissection frogs in Crampelter's locker on a Friday so it had the full weekend to marinate.

As if he hadn't always been right there beside his brother even when it wasn't his own idea.

Still, he doesn't want their reputation in town to get any worse, what with most of the town thinking Stanford's a drunk menace at worst and a paranoid recluse at best and Corduroy Lumber already warning other businesses off hiring Stanley. His brother has even complained that most the stores are cracking down on his shoplifting, suspicious enough now to keep a closer eye on him.

They're certainly a pair. Made for each other, he supposes. Trouble whether they're with each other or not.

The thought is weirdly reassuring. 

"I could call Ma and ask for tips," Stanley considers.

"Please don't."

[ask-the-praetors]

Heyyyyyy, Urabrask, can you please hold on for this box for me for a bit

*gestures to a giant metal cube that has no features pointing towards it being a box*

I can pay you in whatever currency or material you want, I just ask to Limit it's contact with oil to a minimum. We do not want to learn what a phyrexian greywash looks like.

(Under his breath) It's always me, isn't it? Naturally I must be the fated keeper of the suspicious artifact.

Fine.

As payment I ask for knowledge of this material and its properties. If anything may help me against Norn, I must acquire it.

-U

(Time passes. A loud clatter is heard, followed by a sound like a rising buzz.)

Ah- the SCAMPS!

-U

[the-starlight-papers]

Tumblr Wrapped 2024:

But specifically just the things that I remember seeing a lot of on my dash and remembered to note down

December 2023:

galve goat destroyed by being eaten by birds

frozen bug man asking to borrow an outlet is a potentially fraudulent misogynist

January 2024:

Chicago rat hole

King Charles gets cancer

hellsitegenetics

February 2024:

1 day blinding stew

Car covered with hammers that explodes repeatedly (pregesterone gets her blog nuked and the tumblr CEO looses it)

Fairy vs. Walrus debate.

Terrible AI Willy Wonka experience in Glasgow featuring the Unknown.

Tumblr officially announces that they have a deal to train AI off of tumblr.

March 2024

Princess Kate weird photoshopped picture makes people speculate that she’s dead

Challenge to beat every single level in Super Mario Maker 1 reaches a crunch point due to Nintendo shutting the servers down in April

April 2024

Whatever the heck is going on with Boeing’s planes all falling apart and also their whistleblower dying under somewhat suspicious circumstances

Boop (April fools)

Francis Scott Key bridge in Baltimore got hit by a boat)

Visitpilled friendmaxxer

Pro Palestine divestment encampments and protests at universities across the US. Notably violent at Columbia university.

Bee guy saves the baseball game!

May 2024

- white people rap discourse

June 2024

general trump getting elected fear and posts telling everyone to fuckung vote for Biden because trump is only going to be worse, combined with GB election fears

Toyota Hilux

the presidential debate 🙃

July 2024

the French 👏go👏to👏the👏polls👏

Trump gets shot at a rally (only in the ear sadly)

CrowdStrike lives up to their name and strikes out a large crowd of Windows computers.

Biden drops out of the presidential race, citing old age.

JD Vance Couchfucking saga

I’m not calling you “good boy” ____, you ____!

Special section: Olympics!

Conservative Christians in the USA boycotting watching it because the opening ceremony had a recreation of the last supper/some dyanasious painting with drag

The USA men’s gymnast who only does one event and spends the rest of his time chilling and doing rubix cubes before stepping up, taking off his glasses, and absolutely destroying in the pommel horse

The Norwegian swimmer hoarding all the choccy muffins.

The shooting finals including the person who stands like a Jojo character, the woman who’s stanced and was giving people bi panic, and the 52 year old divorced dad in a t-shirt that won second.

The bus taking the skateboarders to their competition broke down so they all just skateboarded there instead

Imane Khelif, a cis woman boxer, is accused of being trans by JK Rowling because she looks too masculine

Breakdance will not return as an Olympic event because Australia was really bad at it.

August 2024

Colorado puppy adoption event rabies risk

Animation union yaoi

The triangle maker meme

Gravity falls trends due to book of bill release. Mostly with old man and triangle yaoi and jokes about how Ford doesn’t know about 9/11

World hatsune mikus

September 2024

Twitter gets banned in Brazil

First presidential debate: They’re doing transgender surgeries on illegal aliens who are in prison

Another trump assassination attempt but no one really cares than much about it

Moo Deng the baby hippo

Nefarious anglerfish meme evolves into the humble ____ meme

October 2024

people flipping the Wednesday doll’s hair back so they look bald

Why is this ____ serving Saddam Hussein hiding spot

Hawk tuah

Boop round 2 spooky edition

November 2024

US elections.

Dread immedietly following the us elections, including lots of people posting suicide hotlines.

The what is the most fuckable Tetris piece poll

The Onion buys InfoWars.

[unhinged-summer-fun]

common grounds (oshamir) - chapter 20

Pairing: Osha Aniseya x Qimir "The Stranger"

A/N: if yall could see the dead look in my eyes rn lmfao

series masterlist

chapter 20: where there's smoke...

The place Idise chose was outside the city: one of those small, never-closed dives that lined the northern highway at the halfway points between cities. When Osha arrived a little before sunset, she couldn’t quite recognize anybody in the booths because of the late afternoon glare through the windows.

“Over here,” Idise’s voice said, guiding her in the opposite of the direction she was looking.

Idise’s shiner had faded to almost nothing, just the shadowy lines of damaged blood vessels spidering around her orbital socket. Osha was no stranger to bruised faces; they often looked worse the closer they were to healing completely. Her body language was neutral—tense, but open. She kept her hands where Osha could see them, despite this not being that dire in the first place. She could only muster a sliver of guilt for sizing up Idise how she would another fighter in the ring. 

Osha slid into the booth across from her, but they didn’t speak for two entire minutes until a waitress came by. They broke the staring contest by awkwardly ordering coffees, ice waters, and—

“A big plate of fries, too. Thanks.”

It was hard to imagine Idise eating junk food. Let alone ‘babbling,’ how Qimir described her doing. She noticed Osha’s mild incredulity and shrugged.

“Typically, the full moon is my cheat day, but 92% waxing gibbous will do.”

At the ridiculousness, Osha cut to the chase. “Did Vernestra want you following… me?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Idise said, but didn’t seem to hold it against her. “I’m not gonna take the job, but I know there are definitely people that would, if that tells you anything.”

That could have meant any number of things: a knock on her peers, implications to the contract’s payout, or just a hard view of how good Vernestra was at convincing others.

Osha sighed. “So I’m going to be followed.”

“You are,” Idise hummed. She sipped her coffee, but quickly withdrew and hissed at the scorching temperature. Osha watched in captive astonishment as Idise scoped a few ice cubes from her water cup into the mug with her fingers. She continued on as if she hadn’t just done something a little insane. “Do you know why you’re going to be followed?” She asked it with the confidence of someone who already knew the answer to their question.

Osha looked down at the milky brown (ice-free) surface of her coffee. “I’m guessing it’s because I’m in about the same position that Qimir was in—a potential loose end that leads to dynamite.”

“Nothing potential about it, Osha. Whether you’ve realized it or not, Vernestra has only let you untether yourself to the Temple this far because she allowed and encouraged it.”

“What do you mean?”

Idise’s jaw flexed a little, a displeased pinch to her features. “It’s been her M.O. for a long time. She burns someone, then lets them run—lets the leash go slack long enough for them to want to come back under her thumb. All her bishops and pawns and knights at the Temple have been reeled in just the same way, believing their nooses to be lifelines.”

“I’ve—heard some people say the Temple is all they have.” Osha had to play her cards right. Following her conversation with Qimir that morning, her opinion on Idise hadn’t been so much changed as it had become open to change. This meeting would determine lots of things, which was one of the reasons for the clandestine sneaking-around-and-going-through-his-phone.

Idise nodded, impervious to Osha’s suspicious nature. “That sounds right. I didn’t get the chance to talk to many people in the Temple before I flipped ‘em the bird. They were all tight-lipped regardless. That’s the noose, I suppose.”

She really likes metaphors, huh.

Osha sat in her discomfort, teetering between showing her hand and seeking more assurances before doing so. “If Vernestra is so certain I’m going to allow myself to get reeled back in, why bother hiring you to follow me?”

“Because she’s not certain.” Idise added more ice to her coffee before explaining. “I think, in some fucked-up way, that after everything she did to Q, she actually thought he’d come back begging. From how he tells it, he very briefly did—and that made things complicated for several legal reasons. Regardless, he snapped back outside her periphery and hired me to widen her net. She didn’t want him completely gone, that would be an unacceptable concession of control, but she didn’t want him near, either. Q is a fucking natural disaster. She can’t ignore him, but she also can’t invite him to her door. In the beginning, she was paranoid that he’d do something, so I consulted with her about hidden cameras, recording equipment, spy devices.

“But that’s not what you asked. You asked why she was concerned about you. I guarantee she knows you know something, but she doesn’t know exactly what that is, and if she strikes at you she runs the risk of admitting to the whole damn scheme just to see if you know. How much do you know about the cover-up?”

Osha startled at the sudden shift in attention. Idise was intense, that much was true. But she also seemed to know what she was talking about. “Well, I—it feels like I should know a lot, considering how close to it I am—” How close to Qimir I am. “—but it just keeps… I don’t know.”

“Growing bigger and bigger?” Idise suggested.

“I guess, yeah.”

“Well, you’d be right. For as many dead ends we hit trying to chase down leads, we hit just about as many doors that opened into more mazes of mystery.” Idise, c’mon, the metaphors.

“That’s more how I feel,” Osha sighed. “A lot’s happened recently, I don’t know how to keep track of it all.”

“Write it down,” Idise said simply. She reached into her leather jacket and started dumping an absurd amount of things onto the vinyl table. Keys. Wallet. Phone. Switchblade. Taser. Pen. Another switchblade. “Here we go.” She pushed a pocket notebook over to her. “There might be a shopping list in there, but it should be mostly blank for you. Write what you see, what you hear, when you learn things. Eventually, things start to make sense. It’s why people do the red-yarn corkboard thing.”

It was surprisingly genuine advice, and not what Osha expected to hear. She thanked Idise for the notebook and considered her misconceptions. Going into this meeting, she had been prepared for Idise to grill her on what she knew, regardless of her rejection of Vernestra’s contract. There was something in the way she didn’t ask those things that implied this meeting was Osha’s to run, not hers. It felt very… respectful.

Speaking of respect. Speaking of misconceptions.

“I’m sorry for how I spoke to you in the gym. You’re right; I was running on false assumptions and limited information. It wasn’t fair to speak to you like that.”

This wasn’t what Idise was expecting to hear. She tilted her head to the side, so similar to how Qimir would do it that it made Osha’s heart ache. Fate brought us together, and now fate won’t let us part.

Inexorable. That was Idise and himself. Osha often felt that way about Mae, growing up—that they were one person beneath the skin. She didn’t imagine many people had the chance to know another person like that. But Idise and Qimir were similar enough that Osha felt comfortable calling them twins in the privacy of her thoughts.

Idise brought her back to the conversation with a light laugh. “You are polite. I thought they were all just fucking with me.”

“Huh?” Osha wasn’t sure if she should have been offended or not.

“Medora and Kana—I wanted to get the lowdown on you—” She quickly hastened to qualify, “For my own personal interests.”

Sure.

“They told me you were well-mannered, as polite as you are impolite when you spar.”

“Well, I don’t know about all that…” Osha grumbled, bashful all of a sudden.

“You’re a talented fighter. Skill recognizes skill,” she said, gesturing first to herself, and then Osha.

“Thank you,” she said haltingly. “That’s kind of you to say.” At the smirk peeking over Idise’s coffee cup, she rolled her eyes—she was proving Idise’s point about her manners.

I have got to get ruder.

The fries came, a welcome interlude to their conversation. They shared the plate, talking aimlessly about their favorite cheat-day meals until Idise steered them back on course.

“I’m guessing you didn’t want to meet just to ask if I was following you.”

Osha shook her head. “I wanted to ask you about the case you were building against Vernestra, against the Temple. How far did you get before he called it off?”

It was striking how quickly Idise’s eyes sharpened, and her demeanor shifted from semi-relaxed to professional private investigator mode. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific about what you want to know,” she said, not outright suspicious but wary.

“I want to know if it could work. If you had what you need.”

“What I need,” she repeated, half scoffing the words. “What I need is a strong prosecutor who won’t be bullied by Rick Lakshay in trial court, what I need is tangible evidence to prove the wrongdoing was actually wrongdone, what I need are witnesses who also won’t cave to the threats Lakshay would make against them.”

Osha hadn’t met the man more than once, but had seen Rick Lakshay at the Temple before. Outside of being a member, he was constantly in and out of Vernestra’s office, which always befuddled her. Why would Vernestra want her lawyer over all the time? Sol had simply instructed her to be polite to him, but the cold look Lakshay gave Osha at eleven years old withered her bravery. She had avoided him whenever he came in since.

Osha was about to speak, but Idise held up a hand. “Hypothetically. I’m not committing to anything, or saying anything, only alleging it to you. Heading back down that road has risks, so whatever you’re going to tell me has a high bar to meet.”

I never told Idise the real reason why.

Then Osha didn’t have to tell her, either.

“Hypothetically,” Osha started, “if we had those things—the lawyer, the evidence, the testimonies… what’s the scope we stop at? Vernestra? The Temple? More?”

Idise frowned. “That was always a subject we argued about til we were blue in the face. When does vengeance become justice?”

Osha considered that.

It’s... not healthy to let myself think about returning to that mindset again.

It was eating me up—scraping me raw.

One half seeking to do no harm, one half only seeking harm.

“It’s difficult to look at it objectively, when you’re in the shit,” Idise said, when Osha’s consternation showed. “Objective fact is the only thing that matters to the court. You asked what we had. We had nothing. We had my testimony about the stalking, Qimir’s testimony about the abuse but not the assault, Paul’s testimony about the malicious neglect and otherwise, a lead on a handful of sealed juvenile records we’d only access through discovery, and a scrap of paper that said one of the trainers signed in Qimir at the clinic.”

“That’s not nothing.”

“It’s essentially nothing. And none of those things, no matter how you looked at it, could support a civil suit, let alone a criminal case. We’re pretty much past the statute of limitations for felony child abuse and neglect—which most of this hinges on. Next summer, we’ll never have a case even with all the evidence in the world. We don’t have the benefit of time, here. The longer we wait, the riskier it is to squeeze any kind of justice out of this.”

That was news to Osha. She wasn’t even aware something like that existed—perhaps it was lucky that she wasn’t.

“But Qimir’s testimony is watery at best. He doesn’t talk about the assault, not to anybody. He doesn’t even talk to me about it, never had, not in fourteen years.”

That struck Osha as odd, considering all that Qimir had shared with her about it. She didn’t have the full story, not yet, but she had quite a lot more of it than it seemed Idise had.

“It sounds like he won’t testify about the actual assault the case hinges on.” She’d heard of cases where little more than testimony was able to convict someone.

“He didn’t want to retraumatize himself, I think,” Idise said, her demeanor taking on a sad shine.

That was the last thing he wanted, and then Mae had to go and—

I asked him if he remembered what it was like at the Temple.

Osha could only nod, commiserating. “That’s not to mention the NDA shit-show. Oh, shit. Wait.” Osha pulled out the (still unsigned) employee evaluation from her pocket, adding it to the table of fries and Idise’s pocket goodies. “Thanks for the advice that day,” she said.

Idise fell upon the document with trenchant focus. Her lips moved a little as she peered at the fine text beneath the rest of the employee evaluation, then she looked back up at Osha. “This can’t be all you have.”

Osha hid her excitement as she opened her phone to the picture she’d taken of the two articles about Qimir in the Temple: the Junior Championships clipping and the Padawan Program article. Idise cradled the phone in her hands like it was a precious gem, withholding her remarks until she’d finished reading, finished processing what she’d seen.

When she had, she looked up with an expression of disbelief. How did you find all this?

“I came upon the articles completely by accident. Luck, I guess. As for the document, I had some advice telling me not to sign anything.”

Idise was very clearly trying to contain her excitement over what the documents could mean. “This is… a start.”

Okay, cards on the table.

“I also have two statements from people in the Temple who were coerced into signing the NDAs.”

Idise met her gaze. And? her dark eyes asked.

“One was coerced into signing an NDA, but the other was witness to the—assault.” It felt clunky and awful to regard the injury as such, but she had to face the facts: whoever had injured him was a child abuser, and had assaulted him to the point of permanent injury.

Idise covered her mouth with her fingers, setting down Osha’s phone and gingerly pushing it back across the table. For a moment, Osha interpreted it as a rejection, a quiet refusal of the call. Osha held her breath while Idise considered the page again.

“We…” She abruptly shook her head. “I need to make a few calls. Don’t go anywhere.”

She stood from the booth in a breeze of sandalwood perfume, snatching up her phone before she left. Osha could only watch as she stepped into the parking lot and disappeared around the corner.

“More coffee, hun? She coming back?”

I hope so. “Yeah, thanks.”

Twenty minutes (and half a milkshake) later, Idise returned. Snow dusted her hair, but she shook it off as she slid into the booth as casually as if she’d only gone to the restroom. She looked a lot more relaxed than when she’d left, but her energy felt… wired.

“You want the rest of thi—okay.” Osha watched Idise empty the rest of the malt cup that came with her milkshake without preamble. “You’re welcome,” she grumbled.

Idise smiled at her. “So.”

“So…?” Osha was confused.

“Looks like we’re getting the gang back together. Are you in?”

“Yes.”

The bingo hall was startlingly normal compared to the tempest of her thoughts. She had just enough time after meeting with Idise to shower and get ready before Qimir picked her up. Between the buzzing excitement from the new developments in her life and the serious need to keep them secret, she felt like a live wire.

Qimir shut it down the first time, though. Shouldn’t we bring him back in? Idise asked her.

He told me that being in that retributory headspace wasn’t healthy for him. There’s a chance this still might not be enough, and I don’t want to ask him to open up that part of him unless absolutely necessary.

The matter wasn’t settled, but it was a solid enough reason to keep this from Qimir—for now. She had every intention of telling him once she knew they could focus on objective, undisputed evidence and a clear path to justice.

Well. Clear-er.

“Bazil!” Qimir called, his left hand waving to him and his right locked with Osha’s.

Bazil stood among a group of other old, similarly mustached men. He turned when Qimir called his name and exclaimed in delight. Osha recognized a few words of Tynnan here and there, good and you.

Osha recognized Yord’s uncle Odu, who ran the grocery store a few blocks from the Temple. Her blood went cold as ice as the man alighted on Qimir, face going slack while Qimir’s hand tensed against hers.

The man said something—a name?—in Tynnan that made Qimir almost sway on the spot upon hearing it. He nodded, swallowing roughly a few times. Then he quickly bowed his head—a Tynnan sign of respect. Osha felt trapped in her skin, unable to move. Did they know each other? Do we have to go?

Osha had met Odu a few times when he visited the cafe to see his nephew, smiling widely as he spoke to Yord in Tynnan over the counter. Where Yord was willowy, towering strength, reserved and blunt, Odu was short and squat, cheerful and—oh, hugging? They’re hugging?—affectionate.

He’d let go of her hand when Odu yanked Qimir into an embrace. It left Osha feeling unmoored and confused (a common feeling these days). Bazil sidled up beside her, patting her arm and pointing to a table where she could buy the bingo cards. He handed her a five-dollar bill and pointed again.

“Oh, I can get my own—” she said, eyes flicking back and forth from Qimir—still hugging—to Bazil.

He gave a disapproving grunt, shaking his head and refusing to let Osha give back the money. She laughed and nodded her acceptance. “Okay,” she laughed. Haltingly, she tried to say thank you in his language, like Qimir had taught her. Bazil lit up like a hundred stage lights. 

“Osha,” Qimir finally said, drawing her attention back. His hand found the small of her back, warm and affectionate. She hadn’t expected him to be like this, so… well, touchy.

“Yeah?” she said.

“This is Odu. Do you remember when I told you I learned Tynnan from somebody who worked at the FDO? This is him.”

Osha was startled at the new information. Odu was such a sweet, caring man—she instantly believed he could teach a young orphan conversational Tynnan. “That’s—it’s so nice to—well, I didn’t know that,” Osha fumbled.

Odu spoke slowly and clearly. “Yord is my nephew.”

“Ah,” Qimir nodded. “Your coworker.” His eyes were full of mischief. The one who breaks the espresso machine, he didn’t add.

“Yeah. Odu has come by for years. The cafe couldn’t run without him; emergency supply runs and all.”

Qimir nodded sagely. “I made a few grocery runs to his store quite a few times as well,” he commented. She couldn’t even gawp at that information before he was speaking in rapid-fire Tynnan again, now to Odu and the rest of the group, and when she caught her own name, she realized he was introducing her. How did he present me? His girlfriend? His neighbor? His gym buddy?

Bazil answered that question when he exclaimed, “Girlfriend!” with delight.

It was difficult to keep up with everything. The whirlwind of chittering syllables and drawn-out vowel sounds felt like a deep river with a strong current she could hardly float in, let alone swim across. Qimir murmured translations to her as fast as he could, but Tynnan expressed even complex concepts and long expressions in a fraction of the time than she would have been able to. They got their cards and sat with the group.

Odu sat across from Osha at the table, his dauber capped but nearby. While the others talked about—well, while they talked, Odu peered curiously at her. “Sol?” he asked.

She could feel Qimir paying attention to her, even as he was engaged in other conversation, so she spoke carefully. “Yes, Sol’s my dad.”

“Hm.” Odu nodded to himself, not sharing whatever conclusion he’d come to from her answer. She didn’t want to read too much into it, but she was fairly certain he looked troubled.

“Yeah, just don’t tell Sol I’m dating, he’ll flip his lid,” Osha said to Bazil, only half-joking.

“I tell him nothing,” he harrumphed, put out at the very suggestion.

“Oh, c’mon, haven’t you told him whenever we had friends over?” How else would Sol have been able to come down so quickly and interrogate them?

“Nothing!” Bazil declared, holding his bingo dauber aloft. She tried to laugh it off, but for some reason the exchange made her a bit uneasy.

The old men were intent on teaching her Tynnan between bingo rounds. It made her laugh, whenever they tried to flirt with her—and despite his reaction to Kana’s cigarettes the other day, Qimir took the teasing with grace, rolling his eyes and putting an arm around her shoulders. Mine, the move said.

Osha was only paying half attention to the game itself, enjoying her new friends and her boyfriend’s hand idly drawing shapes into her shoulder. Things were kind of slow-going due to the frequent interruptions from the power going out and returning several times through the evening. Qimir always snuck a kiss when the lights were out, a game unfolding between them.

“Osha,” Qimir said, breaking her happy, zoned-out dream state.

“Yeah?” she asked, turning to face him. Their faces were so close, inches away. Even in these fluorescent lights, he was handsome. Unfair. It was just not fucking fair that he was so pretty.

I’ve found the one thing he’s not fair about, Osha thought with amusement.

Her breath caught in her throat as he leaned in, and she thought for a moment that he was going to—

“You’ve had double-bingo for a few minutes.”

Oh.

Hold on, she had what?

His smile curled up like a love letter in a roaring hearth, destructive, warm, and just for her.

“BINGO!” Osha shouted, right in Qimir’s face. “DOUBLE-BINGO!”

He threw his head back to laugh as she waved her card in the air, underscored by the cheers of the old Tynnan men at the table around them.

Winning in the ring always felt like an expectation. Winning spars, winning mock matches, even winning at workouts. Much of that ethos echoed in other things, like school and friendships. Osha could tell when a conversation was tilting towards defeat on her end and would often leave before she could be left. The familiar devastation of losing was always a point of shame for her. It reflected personal failure, like she couldn’t detach herself from the pass-fail binary that dictated her worth as a person.

Osha had felt like a winner from the moment she sat down in that bingo hall. The $200 was just a bonus. She fanned herself with the bills the entire way out to the parking lot. As Qimir said goodbyes, a tug on her sleeve brought her attention away from the group. Odu’s demeanor was no longer jocular and smiling; his deep green eyes glinted with something too sober for the merriment just a few feet away. “Sol.”

Osha’s stomach dropped. “What about Sol?”

“Bad man. I’m sorry.”

He patted her shoulder and hobbled away, leaving her frozen in place until Qimir’s touch pulled her from it.

“Everything alright?”

Bad man. I’m sorry.

“Y-yeah,” Osha said. “I was just saying goodbye to Odu.”

He smiled, temporarily oblivious to her stricken state. “It was really nice to see him again.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her temple. They started walking to his car. “I don’t know why I stayed away so long. He was always so kind to me—first at the FDO and then when I would come by the grocery store.”

She smiled and leaned into him—for warmth or support, she didn’t know.

“I’ve been looking forward to kicking your ass all week!”

It was the night of the full moon—a few hours to Dance Night. The fight list had come out again—and Osha’s name was not on it. Armed with the assurance that this wasn’t taboo (or, colloquially, a Lance Situation), they were free to spar at Unknown Planet.

They hadn’t worked out together since he’d returned from Khofar; they were too busy with her birthday—and other fun things. But now they were back in the gym, pulling a double-header with the mantra of work hard, play hard, strengthening their enthusiasm.

Perhaps too much enthusiasm.

The jab (though true) had Qimir going stock-still before turning his head over his shoulder. “Is that right?” he said, voice deceptively light and playful. It made her heart drop, but her insides started to burn at all the possible applications of that exact voice, in much different contexts.

But first.

“Mhm. Gonna kick your ass.” Osha bounced on the balls of her feet, though she knew better—she wanted him to underestimate her, see her like a bright-eyed rookie destined to become a black-eyed loser.

He pointed one long, slender finger down at the spot before him. “Why don’t you come over here and say that?” he taunted.

Oh fuck. Osha swallowed, bouncing a half-step backward instead. What was it he’d told her long ago? You’re rattling a bit close to the sun?

“No.” Osha almost froze at the ice in his voice, the ice that came from deep glaciers frozen for thousands and thousands of years without ever even knowing about the sun. “C’mere, I wanna hear you talk that talk right here.”

She was lucky there was pretty much nobody in the gym. Anybody sane would have been downstairs, waiting for the bar to open, not wasting their time upstairs like they were. They’d been at it for about an hour, working through calisthenics and kick combinations and, of course, spars.

Is this hot? Is this legally foreplay? Osha thought to herself. 

But Qimir still wasn’t crossing the distance. If she wanted to spar, she would have to bring the fight to him—and all her bravado with it.

Damn him. It is hot.

She crossed the mat in two great strides, setting herself up for a leaping kick—

Oof.

Stars danced in her eyes. Hello, ground. When did you get here?

“I’m waiting,” Qimir said, walking around so his feet were just a foot from her head on the mat. He’d barely fucking moved. “What was that again?”

She gritted her teeth. Fucking bastard. With a roar, she bridged back on her shoulders and pivoted with greater momentum to swing her legs around, hoping to swipe at him. He retreated, swift as a fencer, out of range from her kick. She snarled and sprung up, all that make-believe rookie confidence shucked aside for the scrappy fighter beneath.

He had his that’s my girl face on.

She wanted to smack it off of him.

All thoughts turned to fast-twitch muscles and reflexes that knew her better than she knew herself. He went in for a jab—blocked. A kick—dodged, returned to sender. (He wheezed.) More and more hits and attempts to grapple her to the ground, and she deftly avoided them, for the most part. 

Fire danced in his eyes whenever she looked away from his body’s bluffs and tells. His breath whistled through his teeth, some high note that made her think, alarm, before she fell back into the fight.

Right hook—duck, jab jab. He shouted, laughing? Yes, that was laughter. Alarm. And then he moved back on the foolish offensive, coming in close to grab at her shirt—disengaged. Another attempt—batted away. A smirk—

Punched.

He wheeled back, going to one knee with a dazed expression that quickly fled his eyes. ALARM. He stood on swaying legs, laughing and coming closer. She almost grabbed him for a takedown throw to the mat, but then her punch-drunk boyfriend kissed her, all sweaty and slick and hot to the touch.

He pulled back again—swaying—ALARM!

“Whoa, whoa, what’s wrong?” she said, helping him stand.

“Just got my bell rung. I’m—” he tried to inhale and wheezed again. Her stomach dropped.

“You’re hurt.” I hurt you.

His mask slammed on, hiding the hurt from his face while his arm still covered the place where she caught him in the ribs. Her despair must have shown enough for him to soften.

“I’m alright, Osha,” he said, strained.

“Quit fucking lying to me,” she hissed. The intensity of it startled the stars from his eyes and left him gaping up at her. “We’re done for the day. C’mon, we gotta get ready anyway.”

Osha felt his eyes on her as she snatched up his towel and his water bottle—any gym rat would follow as if on a leash. She led the way to the Smiley dressing room with utter confidence that he would follow, and he did. She waited for him at the top of the stairs, worried for him as he took each stair carefully, slowly. But she did not reach out a hand to him for help, knowing he wouldn’t just refuse it; he’d resent it.

But they made it to the dressing room, and she pointed to the chair. He went without a word of protest, a complete turnaround from how she’d reacted to his similar gesture downstairs. The authority she seemed to have over him was a heady feeling—a heady high, so he’d described ‘the power of two.’

She immediately realized that she didn’t know what she was doing. She had no medical background and barely had first aid training—mostly for cafe-related injuries. She pulled up the side of his shirt and sort of just… stared at his chest. She looked up to find Qimir staring blankly at a spot on the ground. “Hey,” she said. His jaw flexed. “Hey,” she said again. “Look at me.”

She was certain her hands trembled, but she tipped his chin up so he would look at her. Shock replaced that absent look in his eyes, welcome surprise. The gesture seemed to shake him from his fugue, though. His eyes looked much clearer.

“Where does it hurt?” she asked slowly. His teeth found his lower lip, protesting against giving her the answer. She tamped down her frustration and raised an eyebrow at her. Alright, you wanna play that way. “How’s your back?” she asked. “One to ten.”

He exhaled a huff of amusement. “It’s a five.”

“And what is it normally?”

“A three on the good days.”

A small sorrow slipped through her bloodstream, an ache she felt in every inch of her. “Okay. Does anything feel wrong in your back?”

She dropped her hand so he could move around freely, sitting up straighter and twisting this way and that. He only winced when it pulled at his ribs.

“What was that?” she said, catching the flinch.

“I regret teaching you how to do this,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes.

“Why’s that?” she said.

“Because I like it,” he bit out—like it pissed him off both to feel it and admit it.

He likes it when I play doctor with him.

Osha’s body flushed with heat in a great wave that began and ended in her core. Damn him for talking like that. “Answer my other question.”

“I think… okay, come closer.”

She did.

“Lift up my shirt.”

She did, with enthusiasm.

He propped his elbow up on the back of the chair, bracing himself. “Find the bottom of my ribs, and walk up each one, pressing down on them—like this.” He gently prodded her forearm to show her how, and she nodded.

But she hesitated.

I’m going to hurt you again.

“Osha. I need you to help me,” he said. The words sounded clunky and foreign on his tongue, but honest. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, and you don’t want to hurt me again. I feel the same way about you when we’re up against each other. I need you to do this.”

She really fucking loved him. It was becoming a problem.

He breathed in deeply, slowly, forcing the pain to run its course as she assessed each rib—for bruising or breaks. “Bearable but distracting pain, anywhere from fives to eights, could mean bruised ribs. Extreme pain—your sharp eights, nines, and tens—typically indicates a break. True agony, that.”

“You know from experience?” she asked softly, committed to her task.

“More than most,” he admitted. “The cage is unkind, brawl or otherwise.”

She nodded, thinking about his name on the email he showed her earlier that day. Unkind was certainly a word for it.

They spoke softly, both concentrating on assessing him. He took a deep breath in, coughing once and groaning, but it didn’t sound serious.

“Well, what’s the diagnosis, doctor?” she asked him, smiling softly.

“I think you just kicked my ass—” he said, grinning. “Just like you’ve been wanting to all week.”

“Go get them,” Osha urged. They were at a high-top table in the back of the bar, Osha perched on a stool and Qimir practically caging her into it. “It’s like a fifteen-minute round trip; just go get your shoes.”

He was being stubborn. He’d forgotten to pack shoes for dance night, and stood there in his silly bright-blue gym shoes—that he’d not realized glowed in the dark until now. “I’m fine.”

“If Kana sees you wearing these, he will roast you alive. Go. Get. Your damn. Shoes.”

“No, he’s n—”

“What are thoooooose!” Kana’s voice boomed like a fucking cannon in the bar—practically deafening from a few feet away. The dance music prevented most people from witnessing the spectacle, but upon Kana’s proclamation, about fifteen pairs of eyes now alighted on Qimir’s shoes. His words were echoed by all who saw the shoes, complete with pointed fingers.

“Told you,” Osha laughed. Qimir groaned and pressed his face against her shoulder for a second, before pulling away with a kiss.

“Stick with Kana. Please.” He high-tailed it through the back exit, keys in hand.

Kana gestured for her to follow him, and he led her to an open seat at the bar. This month’s dance night wasn’t as crowded as last month, but then again, the nights were colder, and the roads were treacherous even in the warmest parts of the day.

“What that was all about? Why wouldn’t he just go get the shoes?” Osha laughed, shaking her head.

Kana had the answer. “This crowd is mostly morning-daytime members. He doesn’t know them as well as the evening-nighttime folks.” She wondered, briefly, if Sour Patch was among those assembled.

“So what?”

“He doesn’t want to leave you alone with people he doesn’t know—people he doesn’t trust.”

Such a casual delivery, so nonchalant—like it wasn’t melting her fucking heart like springtime. “Oh.”

Kana slid a cocktail in front of her. “Yeah. Oh.”

As she’d insisted, it only took Qimir fifteen minutes to leave and return (wearing reasonable dancing shoes). He found her quickly, coming up behind her to trap her between his arms against the bar. He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Miss me?”

“Oh, terribly.” She gave him an actual kiss before settling back against his chest. She swore she could feel him purring against her shoulders.

“You two are disgusting. I love it.” Kana set a beer down in front of Qimir. “Thanks for wearing those fuckin’ glowsticks. Made my night. You use those to look for scorpions or something?”

“Fuck you too, Kana,” he said, toasting his brother before taking a drink.

…don’t go ‘round tonight, well it’s bound to take your life: there’s a bad moon on the rise…

“I had no idea this was a dance song.”

“Anything’s a dance song if you dance to it,” Kana pointed out. Qimir shrugged, accepting his logic. The red lights flared around them, and Osha was glad for the mirror behind the bar, giving her a view of Qimir as he continued hugging her from behind.

Osha was happy this intimacy was growing more familiar every day. She never dreamed she’d be a PDA person, but she wanted every single fucking touch he gave her—in public or private. On a tamer note, she also loved knowing they could easily and comfortably drift onto the dancefloor without stopping their conversation. “How’s your ribs?” she asked, setting down her empty glass on the bar.

“Better already.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. She knew he didn’t keep anything more than aspirin in his medicine cabinet.

“Not healed better, just better,” he clarified. Their muscles were still warm from the gym upstairs, so she was sure he’d feel a little sore in the morning.

“What happened to your ribs?” Kana asked, concern in his eyes.

“I—”

“I kicked his ass,” Osha said proudly. Kana groaned.

“Again? This is the second time I haven’t seen it in person.”

“You weren’t missing much,” Qimir grumbled, taking Osha’s hand and dragging her to the floor.

“You’re so grouchy,” she laughed, bringing her arms up and around his neck as they swayed to the jaunty beat.

…looks like we’re in for nasty weather, one eye is taken for an eye…

“We should probably take it a little easy tonight,” Osha suggested. “Since we already pushed it up there.”

He smirked. “When did you get so responsible?”

She remembered the last time he said those words, tucked this close upstairs in the dressing room when all he wanted to do was ravish her against the nearest surface.

The thought stayed with her through the next several songs they danced to. When the lights went purple and blue over the sea of bodies and a new song began to play, Osha found herself falling into the beat like she was made to do it.

Her top tonight was a little dangerous, admittedly. Another loose crop top and jeans, but this time she decided against wearing her bra. The spar had gotten them both so sweaty that she really didn’t want to deal with more sweat and an underwire on the dancefloor. To keep from accidentally flashing anybody in the bar, she moved in smooth, sensual motions, keeping her body (and chest) pressed as close to his as possible.

Her hand pressed flat to his chest, not pushing him away, but keeping him right there with all his attention on her. This was one of the very few songs she knew all the words to, and sang along as they danced together.

…make me feel like I’m the only girl in the world, like I’m the only one that you’ll ever love, like I’m the only one who knows your heart…

If he understood the lyrics, his face didn’t tell her—all she could glean from his expression was a deep hunger for something that shouldn’t be eaten right in the middle of a crowd of people.

His hand crept up behind her, trailing from her belt loops to the small of her back and up, up—

He fell off-beat when he realized there was nothing else under her shirt. She knew his eyes were a very pretty shade of brown, warm and welcoming, belying a strength that hid just below the surface. But they were black, all-pupil as he pulled her closer, squishing her chest against his as he leaned down—

“You are a very naughty girl,” he said in her ear, loud enough for only her to hear. His lips brushed the soft, delicate skin there before they drifted down to her neck.

What a perfect reaction, she said, trying not to swoon right there with him kissing on her neck like a man possessed. She moved in for the kill, her fingers threading into his hair to pull him off. He groaned, bereft. “Don’t be pouty,” she teased. “We hardly did our cooldown, and you wanna get all hot again?”

“We didn’t do our cooldown,” he said, half-lidded eyes still glittering with what he didn’t try to keep concealed.

The dances continued, Qimir’s hand remaining stuck beneath her shirt, sometimes grabbing hold of it like he, too, needed to make sure she wouldn’t expose herself to the rest of Unknown Planet.

“Kana said you didn’t want to leave me alone with people you didn’t trust,” she said later.

He rolled his eyes, grumbling something she couldn’t hear—only feel with her hand pressed against his chest. The slow dance they’d drifted into allowed them some rest among the crowd.

“What are you trying to ask me?” he settled on.

“Well, did you?”

“…yes.”

“Why don’t you trust the people here?”

“I trust them as much as I have to,” he said, pulling her in so he could speak into her ear. It always gave her shivers when he did so, the feeling of his words being meant just for her. “It’s not personal—most of the time.”

Her mind went to Idise.

Qimir doesn’t fucking talk about the assault. He doesn’t even talk to me about it. Never had, not in fourteen years.

He didn’t trust her with that.

Her mind went to Medora.

Q was with him a few months by then, recovering from that horrible car accident.

He didn’t trust her with that.

Her mind went to Kana.

Qimir is an enigma. I wasn’t lying to you when I said he’s lonely and prefers it like that.

He didn’t even trust Kana to talk about his life.

Did he trust anybody? Could he, after all that Vernestra and the Temple had done to him? She couldn’t blame him for that, but she didn’t have to be alright with it. It only made her wonder what else he could have been keeping from her.

The lights went red again, a thick drumbeat and guitar riff tearing through the air at the end of the slow dance. She wasn’t satisfied by slow-drip answers and war-rationed information, but Qimir didn’t know any other way.

You could ask.

And damn it, she knew she could ask. She hated knowing that he would answer her if she was direct about what she wanted to know. The issue was that the pool of knowledge she had about him was becoming unbalanced, oversaturated by what everyone else told her instead of what she found out from him directly. Asking him too specific a question would raise suspicions, and then she’d have to be the one giving him answers and hoping to get some in return.

If he wasn’t too upset with her, that is.

But shit, she had to start somewhere, or else she’d never know. She opened her mouth to ask—

As the lights in the bar powered down to near-darkness. “Fuck, another power surge?” Osha muttered, with about two dozen other people echoing the sentiment.

“Hey,” he said, lacing their fingers together. “Where’d you go? You looked lost in thought before.”

She shook her head with a little laugh, then realized he couldn’t see her. “Think I’m just tired. Might need another drink to get me dancing again.”

She cursed her cowardice. 

They waited until the lights returned and the party continued before refueling. In that time spent waiting, she didn’t ask him a single question.

One drink later, he twirled her back onto the dance floor, ending with her pressed up against him, her back to his front. His hands wrapped around her torso, and she almost jumped when he started to grind their bodies together, lewd and just for them in the dark mass of dancers. Nobody was paying attention to them; perhaps that’s what emboldened him.

…and I am imagining a dark-lit place, or your place or my place—

She leaned back against him, letting him lead though they were going nowhere fast, stuck in place and writhing together. One of his hands came up her front, tracing the toned muscles of her abdomen before—

A soft press of fingertips to her lowest rib—floating ribs, he’d told her once. She muddled through the reason for such a gesture before her mind connected now with a moment shared, hours ago, two floors up. Testing for a bruise or break.

“Playing doctor?” she asked, resenting the breathy, heart-skipped note in her voice. He just pressed his face into her neck, mouthing at her skin as he walked his fingers higher and higher. Eventually, his hand came to rest almost neighborly against the side of her breast. It wasn’t a grope, it wasn’t copping a feel in public, and from the way they were standing, nobody could tell what he was doing.

Still, it turned the heat up in the friction-place between them—not an inch of air separating their bodies. He was hard, a white-hot brand against her ass—Look what you do to me, his body said. Look what I do to you, his smirk teased. Look what you let me do, his free-roving hand whispered against her skin.

A gasp stuttered through her lungs, tripping oxygen into her veins. His thumb continued its trail in, teasing, teasing—

And then the room went black again, frustrated chatter covering up the quiet whimper she gave as he fully cupped her breast beneath the shirt. He seized the moment, rolling her nipple between his finger and thumb and kissing down the side of her neck. Someone jostled them as they moved, and still, he did not let go of her.

His other hand came to join, came to match the first. It took everything for Osha not to fully moan for everyone to hear.

The familiar click-click-click-thrummmm of the power returning signaled the departure of his hands from her chest, and she sagged back against him—both in relief and mild disappointment.

He just chuckled in her ear, and the music returned.

Osha could hardly hear the loud, thumping bassline over the pound of her heartbeat. His other hand bypassed the teasing tug at her belt loop in favor of wrapping and dipping his fingers into the waistband itself—not delving or diving, just holding. Gripping. Controlling. You’re not going anywhere until I’m done with you.

Lips against her neck, Qimir definitely felt the feral whimper claw its way out of her throat, desperate and needy—for him alone. In the dark, nobody could see her, but in the light, nobody could hear her. 

Regardless, something snapped in his composure, and he was tired of playing with her like this. He spun her around, capturing her in his grip and kissing her filthily.

They didn’t even bother trying to dance, though their bodies moved against each other in some facsimile of what everyone else was doing. Qimir’s mouth was hot as it claimed her, and how hot did he have to be hotter than the air around them, hotter than the blood in her veins, which felt like fucking fire—

He groaned against her, stoking the flames higher and higher. He tasted only vaguely like his drink from earlier, her tongue instead recognizing the sweet burn of the cinnamon gum he kept in his car.

Said gum seemed to want to join the kiss as well. At the (objectively mortifying) realization, he started to move back. Osha didn’t know what compelled her to do it, but she stole it right from his fucking mouth with a deft flick of her tongue. She pulled back, chewing and snapping it between her teeth to show off her victory.

Qimir looked close to snapping what was left of his composure.

You’re rattling a bit close to the sun, Osha.

“Trouble,” he called her.

“Can you blame me?” she said around a grin, snapping his gum.

Osha’s giggles harmonized with the scuffle of her shoes as she stumbled up the stairs. Qimir herded her like a sheepdog, helping her to wander in just one direction instead of the multiple directions she’d been going. It must have been like walking an overeager puppy for the first time. Once inside, she halted suddenly, making him run into her back with a soft oof.

“Can I wear your gray shirt again?” she asked quite seriously, eyes focusing and unfocusing on his face. As such, she only half-witnessed the fond smile he cast down at her.

“Of course,” he chuckled. “You should sit down.”

“Okay!”

He returned holding a similar set of clothes to the ones he’d given her the last time she slept over—yes, including the gray shirt she’d worn last time. She started undressing automatically, and he quickly stepped into the kitchen, abruptly searching for something in his cabinets. One by one, Osha’s boots thunked to the floor, followed by her jeans, one sock, her coat, her knit cap, the other sock, and then her shirt. She’d foregone a bra in the bar, something she knew Qimir knew if the reddened skin at the back of his neck was anything to go on.

She giggled again as she shimmied into his shirt, the soft material feeling super cozy, even if it was loose on her smaller frame. The shorts were a little more difficult to get on, seeing as her sense of balance was all fucked up.

That means she found the floor.

“Oof,” she muttered, shorts halfway up her legs.

A few hurried steps preceded Qimir’s return; he muttered something under his breath as he helped tug the basketball shorts over her ass and then tugged his girlfriend off of the ground. “You’re wiggly tonight.”

“Myep.” She leaned against him, swaying like she was still slow dancing back at Unplan.

He kissed the top of her head. “Let’s go, drunkie.”

He sat her down on the edge of his bed (her side, her mind so helpfully suggested) and pulled a water bottle out of nowhere, cracking it open and immediately placing it in her hands.

Drink, the gesture said. That was an order.

Osha did her best to lock eyes with him as she gulped the water down, hardly tasting it as she did as she was told. He’d told her once that she did a good job of that—or at least better than the swimming and dive team did. She wondered if the sudden darkening of his eyes meant he was thinking the same thing as her.

She gasped for air when she pulled the bottle away, a single errant drop trailing from the corner of her lips. His thumb reached out, viper-fast, to brush it away before it fell any further. Like he’d done with all her tears.

She loved him.

Oh no, she had to be careful. Her lips were definitely a little looser after all she drank, but she still had the wherewithal to keep that little secret firmly behind her teeth.

He lay her down in the bed and pulled the covers up before going around.

Something itched at her mind. There was something wrong with this. Her body didn’t feel ready for bed. “No stretching?” she asked when the room went dark.

“I’ll do it in the morning,” he sighed, snuggling closer to her side until they were comfortable.

She wanted to protest more, but then she was asleep.

Qimir was still asleep, passed out on his back and half-sprawled on top of her. Osha’s head hurt, but not too badly. She was mostly just thirsty.

She knew her way around his kitchen from their many dinners together here.

I never got to cook him breakfast the other day when he slept over, she realized. Time to change that.

Osha was a pretty alright cook. While her dinner skills lacked finesse, breakfast was where she shined. Pancakes. We can have pancakes. We can have pancakes that are so good we can have morning sex for dessert.

She leaned against the counter, drinking water and searching through his iPod to find the right song for optimal breakfast-making vibes. She kept the volume low, letting him rest while setting things up.

…give me a long kiss goodnight and everything’ll be alright, tell me that I won’t feel a thing… so give me—

A noise came from the bed. The sharp sound would haunt her for a very long time after this day. She dropped what she was holding to turn toward whatever fatally wounded animal had made that noise, full of gasping agony and endless despair. She ran to Qimir’s bedside, where he stared at the ceiling and breathed through his nose like it was the only thing he could do. His jaw was clenched far too tightly for him to try to breathe in or out with his mouth—save for that wretched, awful noise.

“Qimir? What’s going on? What happened?” she asked, her voice suddenly panicked.

Panic. She needed to breathe; panic was the enemy of focus, and she’d need a lot of focus because he obviously—

“Can’t move.”

CHAPTER 21

[munsoninggg]

A MAN WITHOUT LOVE . STEVEN GRANT

Pairing: Steven Grant x Gender neutral!Reader

Summary: Your path crosses Steven Grant's an unexpectedly amount of times.

Word count: 2.6k

Notes: This is a repost, since I deleted my old blog! So, I tried something different when it comes to the first interaction between the characters. I feel that everytime I write something that involves a first interaction between the characters, it follows the same script, so I tried to make it rather awkward and confusing for both of them. Keep in mind that English isn’t my first language. Sorry in advance for any mistakes. Enjoy!

If you prefer to read on AO3, here it is!

If you want to take a look at my other writings, here they are!

The first time you became aware of Steven Grant’s existence was on the morning bus to work. Reminiscences of the stormy night rested scattered throughout London. During the walk to the bus station, the damp sidewalks bore leaves, twigs, and puddles, and during the ride, the bus vast windows were slightly foggy. A breath of fresh air invaded the bus when its double door opened, and, along with it, three people hopped on. Steven Grant, hurriedly crossing the street, was the last one. Nearly missing the bus, he breathlessly climbed the steps and awkwardly thanked the driver before maneuvering himself inside the crowded bus. He firmly grasped a blue vacuum bottle in his right hand, and a Rubik’s cube in his left one. An intrigued expression rose to your features. A Rubik’s cube. When was the last time you had seen one?

Accompanying his movements amongst the standing people, your eyes wandered from the colorful object to his shabby grey jacket, to his left shoulder, to his brown bag, to his neck, to his jawline, to his rather disheveled jet-black hair, and to his features. Steven Grant looked exhausted. In fact, he looked distinctly careworn. And, of course, late to wherever he was heading. Well, he was particularly late on that dull, blustery, and cloudy morning. Donna Kraft would not be happy. But… When was she? The same callous speech tumbled from her lips ever since Steven set foot in the National Art Gallery.

Routine.

And, at the end of the day, Steven would run Staying Awake on his smartphone – “Hello, and welcome to Staying Awake!” –, dive in books, solve the Rubik’s cube, teach himself Hieroglyphs, enjoy French poems, and, when his organism collapsed in tiredness, he would tie his ankle to the bed, and close his eyes only to open them on the following morning feeling like he had been hit by a bus. Everyday. Dazzled by daylight and dogged by confusion, he would suspiciously scrutinize his surroundings for, yet again, his sleep had been disturbed by far-fetched experiences. Then, it would dawn on him that he hadn’t been woken up by any alarm, and he would desperately search for the digital clock, which registered that he was, well, late, and that the alarm had gone off earlier. On that dull, blustery, and cloudy morning, Steven Grant was later than ever, and out of luck.

His organism refused to function, and he kept drowsing on people’s shoulders, receiving nonplussed glares and obnoxious shoves. He was much too prim to get his own back on people, so he muttered “good morning” and, although useless, sipped the coffee inside the blue vacuum bottle in a desperate attempt to force his organism to function properly. The dewy-eyed innocence Steven Grant bore stirred a sensation of embarrassment towards him.

The second time you became aware of Steven Grant’s existence was on the walk home from The London Library. Three books were clutched against your right hipbone, and you fumbled with them as you hurriedly piled them up descending the stony steps to the sidewalk. The wind blew silently, digging its way through leaves, branches, and trunks. A crack of sky was visible between the thin leaves above. It was the navy-blue of the ocean, and the din of the traffic annoyingly ringed inside your skull. Nonetheless, the walk home was reinvigorating.

Turning into a relatively silent street, the soft buzz of conversation replaced the din of the traffic. The sidewalk ahead was tinted in the usual pink lightning coming from the pink lit restaurant that marked three quarters of the walk home. As usual, the tables placed outside the restaurant were occupied by couples, except for one of them. It was occupied by a hunched lone man. His features slid in and out of sight as the branches of overhanging trees broke the moonlight. The other tables were laden with food and wine bottles, but his was nearly empty. As you approached the restaurant, your eyesight registered missed details.

A pink heart-shaped box and a bouquet of flowers rested on the white tablecloth. Uh, cheesy. Your eyes wandered from the box to his black jacket, to his fidgety hands, to his pursed lips, to his frowned features, to his combed jet-black hair, to – Wait. Steven Grant sat alone, listlessly staring at a steak in his plate. A leaden sensation was settling in the pit of his stomach. He looked a forlorn figure sitting at a table originally destined for a couple. Wait. How… Hm, well, what were the odds?

He nervously gulped and unwillingly grasped the silver fork resting on the tablecloth. The table in front of him was occupied by two women who were deeply chatting while two boys played nearby, laughing mirthfully. They ran towards his table and the women calling after them pulled Steven out of his misery. He abashedly blinked, exchanging an apologetic look with them, which prompted him to hurriedly pull the heart-shaped box to his lap, underneath the tablecloth. He seemed not to register the bouquet of flowers, since he didn’t try to hide it.

Your feet were rooted to the sidewalk and your features bore a rapt expression observing the events unfolding before your eyes. The pink lightning created a pathetic aura around him. A sudden, almost desperate compassion for Steven Grant burnt inside your vessels. Your fingers dig into the books, painfully pressing them against your hipbone.

The third time you became aware of Steven Grant’s existence was on a visit to the National Art Gallery. The Egyptian exhibition had been inaugurated weeks prior, and, even though everything you knew about its culture had been absorbed from Rick Riordan’s The Kane Chronicles when you were, hm, 14 years old, the propaganda bearing Egyptian deities convinced you to pay a visit. The vast museum rooms were way too packed for a Saturday evening, but you managed to find your way amongst the crowd. The exhibition was impressive. Its details completely enthralled you, to the point where the robotic voice announcing the museum closure in an hour revealed that you spent way too much time appreciating the exhibition pieces for someone who had been educated solely by The Kane Chronicles.

“And this is the last room of the day. We’ll be done in a minute, I promise! I know my voice is quite annoying.” An excited voice echoed in the room, catching people’s attention, including yours. Oh…

There was Steven Grant. He wore a crumpled blue jacket, to which a silver tag had been attached. From where you stood, it was impossible to read it, but you presumed it identified him as a museum employee. So, he was a tour guide. That was, in fact, lovely. He accompanied five visitors, to whom he gesticulated expansively. His eyes gleamed in genuine joyousness, his hands carefully yet firmly pointed to artifacts, and his feet glided throughout the room in an adorable choreography.

He seemed completely fulfilled spilling his excitement regarding Ancient Egypt to those visitors. Other people’s ears prickled at Steven’s explanations, and so did yours. Well, you read the tags attached to each exhibition piece, but, honestly, it was endearing to observe him, to listen to him, to become aware of his existence. It was odd to observe him in such contrasting situations. You could hardly believe the man before your eyes was the same man that kept drowsing on people’s shoulders on the morning bus to work or the same man that sat alone with a pink heart-shaped box and a bouquet of flowers at a pink lit restaurant.

Steps echoed at the room entrance. A blonde woman in a blue suit appeared and glared at Steven. A pink chewing gum rolled inside her mouth.

“Oh, Donna, hello!” Steven waved at her, but she expressed no intention to answer him. “Meet Donna Kraft, my boss! Excuse me for a second, yeah? I hope none of the exhibition pieces has come to life!” He turned to the visitors gathered around him, who laughed at the Night at the Museum reference, and, with a polite gesture, excused himself.

Beaming with delight at his, uh, joke, your eyes followed his figure, which shamefacedly gesticulated with the blonde woman. She seemed determined to sustain her argument, and, for a millisecond, Steven was the same man that kept drowsing on people’s shoulders on the morning bus to work or the same man that sat alone with a pink heart-shaped box and a bouquet of flowers at a pink lit restaurant. His genuine joyousness seemed to have been nonchalantly crumpled and carelessly thrown into the nearest bin. Donna Kraft simpered and traipsed from the room.

“Right, where were we?” Steven muttered more to himself than to the people still gathered around ancient, tarnished garden tools.

Something seemed to tauten in his face, and it became stony, but he managed to give a wan smile towards the crowd. He had resumed speaking, and you registered his mouth moving, but not the words leaving it. For a brief second, his voice got mixed with the robotic voice announcing the museum closure in thirty minutes. There the almost desperate compassion for Steven Grant was. Again. It was too much mistreatment to witness. What was the Universe’s intention forcing your path to cross his not one, but three times? An urge to leave the room – and, well, to ignore Steven Grant’s existence – burnt inside your vessels, but your feet remained rooted to the marble floor.

“Steven”. The silver tag attached to the crumpled jacket read “Steven”. It shone under the spotlights strategically lightning the exhibition pieces. “Steven”. The name almost involuntarily rolled from your lips. Well, the man that kept drowsing on people’s shoulders on the morning bus to work, sat alone with a pink heart-shaped box and a bouquet of flowers at a pink lit restaurant and spilled his excitement regarding the Egyptian culture was not a stranger anymore.

He waved at the people gathered around them, and the movement caught your attention. “Uh, thank you so much for sticking around. It’s been wonderful to accompany you through the exhibition. I hope it was entertaining!” A timid smile accompanied the mirthful words. The robotic voice announced the museum closure in fifteen minutes. “Well, the museum closes shortly, but feel free to explore this room or other rooms for a bit longer. And if you have any questions, find me in the gift shop in the entrance hall.” Then, he left the room. The gift shop. In the entrance hall. Well, you had a question. Not about the exhibition. And, for the first time, you knew where to find Steven Grant to ask it.

You made a beeline for the museum entrance hall. Visitors, parents mostly, waited in line to buy stuffed animals for their children. When you approached the gift shop, two employees hurriedly talked to visitors in an attempt to extinguish the line, but Steven peaceably paced around. He leaned over the showcase counter with a stuffed hippopotamus in hand and talked to a girl through the toy in a goofy manner. She laughed, reached for it, and ran away. Then, Steven turned to, apparently, the girl’s mother, laughed at something she uttered and pushed a card machine towards her. The delightful sound accompanied by crinkles around his eyes brought a grin to your lips, and you could not help but stare at his adorable being. Oh, heaven.

Absentmindedly circling the model of the Great Pyramid of Giza and other exhibition pieces, you patiently waited for the people to leave, but, as the movement in the entrance hall diminished, you considered remaining anonymous. Why the urge to ask him how he was? And… How awkward would it be to approach a stranger and suddenly ask how he was? Where did the question come from? Well, you were certainly not revealing that you had kept an eye on him on the morning bus to work, on the walk home from the library, on a visit to the National Art Gallery. It would be even more awkward, right? You stared at your faint reflection in the protective glass surrounding a sarcophagus. Yeah, how awkward would it be? Your eyes wandered from the top of your head to the tip of your shoes. And it dawned on you.

Suddenly.

Unexpectedly.

Shamefully.

Oh…

You wanted him to know that you were aware of his existence. You wanted him to know that you felt sorry for him. You wanted him to know that you cared for him. Breathe. You stared at your own eyes. Because you were infatuated with him. With a stranger.

No, wait.

Not a stranger. With a man who was particularly late to wherever he was heading on that dull, blustery, and cloudy morning. With a man who was unexpectedly alone at a pink lit restaurant. With a man who was completely fulfilled spilling his excitement regarding Ancient Egypt. Not a stranger.

“Uh, excuse me.”

There was Steven Grant. Your eyes focused on the sarcophagus. Then, on his reflection. Beside yours.

“Steven,” Startled by the sudden appearance, the name slipped from your lips. An unknown warmth burnt inside his vessels. His name. What a luxury inside a place in which Steven Grant was invisible except to receive the same callous speech tumbling from Donna Kraft’s lips. “I read the silver tag during the tour. Sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thank you,” Steven earnestly mumbled in an attempt to indirectly argue you were needlessly apologizing. “And I’m deeply sorry to interrupt, but we’re closing.”

You nodded. “By the way, thank you for the tour.”

“Yeah,” He awkwardly laughed. A puzzled expression rose to your features. “I, uh… I actually work on the gift shop.”

“Oh–”

“Yeah, Donna, my boss, the blonde woman, was not supposed to discover–”

“Scotty.”

Your attention was captured by the voice echoing around the nearly empty room. So was Steven’s. A security guard paced towards your direction, and you noticed he was, well, actually talking to the man beside you. The puzzled expression returned to your features, and your eyes wandered from the security guard to Steven.

“Steven, J.B., with a ‘V’.”

“Yeah,” He brazenly dismissed the correction to tap the digital clock attached to his wrist with the end of a black lantern.

“I believe that will be on me. I had a question about this piece.” You politely smiled to the security guard. “Sorry for the disturbance.”

J.B. suspiciously nodded, scrutinizing your figure from the top of your head to the tip of your shoes, and returned to the chair behind the large televisions playing innumerous live footages of diverse museum locations.

“Thank you,” Steven, again, awkwardly laughed. “I’m staying the night for escaping the gift shop. I certainly did not want to stay another one. I hope none of the exhibition pieces comes to life!”

“Yeah, no problem.” You faintly smiled at the repeated joke. Not because it wasn’t funny, but because it masked utter sadness. You were right. Steven seemed completely fulfilled spilling his excitement regarding Ancient Egypt to visitors, because he definitely wasn’t. Stay the night? For touring with visitors? He was strangely treated as a child who needed severe punishment for, uh, accidentally knocking crayons when drawing. Your eyes overflowed pity. “I’m sorry, Steven.”

And you were. You were sorry for him. You were sorry for the unfairness. You were sorry for the mistreatment. You were sorry for the sadness. You were sorry for the loneliness. You were sorry.

“Don’t, yeah? I don’t need your pity.”

And he was right. He was right. You looked at him in rueful regret and gave him a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

“I-I-I did not mean to be rude, I–”

“I know, Steven.” You reassured him. He was not rude at all. He was right. He didn’t need your pity. Or anyone else’s. He needed a hand. He needed a friend. “I should leave, or else J.B. is arresting me for trespassing. Goodbye.”

For now.

PLEASE, CONSIDER REBLOGGING THIS AND/OR GIVING ME FEEDBACK, I WOULD APPRECIATE IT A LOT!

[andrusi]

rating lego firetrucks: 2010s

#7208 Fire Station (2010)

another perfectly fine truck with the misfortune to be in #7239′s shadow, though I can’t say I’m a fan of the windshield setup. I can see what they were going for but it just looks like the cab is a big glass cube. 🚒🚒🚒

#7213 Off-Road Fire Truck & Fireboat (2010)

okay, it says fire truck, but as far as I can tell this is just a truck for transporting the boat. 🚤🚤

#9314 Rescue Services Set (2010)

/squints

#5682 Fire Truck (2011)

duplo gets a new fire truck. 👶

#6053 My First LEGO Town (2011)

that does NOT count. I have to draw the line somewhere and it’s here.

#6138 My First Fire Station (2011)

correction, duplo gets two new fire trucks. 👶👶

#4208 Fire Truck (2012)

around this time lego started doing sub-subthemes for their subthemes from time to time. so the fire sets for 2012 for instance are supposed to be dealing with a forest fire, which is probably why this weirdly stubby fire truck has kind of a rugged look to it. there is a second chair inside with a computer. I think it’s charming. 🚒🚒🚒1/2

#4430 Fire Transporter (2012)

yes, transport the fire. 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

#6132 Red and #9484 Red’s Water Rescue (2012)

pixar’s cars. I will not elaborate. 🚗🚗🚗

#6911 Mini Fire Truck (2012)

adorable 🚒🚒🚒🚒🚒

#4428 City Advent Calendar (2012)

it’s a toy!

I mean

you know what I mean

🧸🧸🧸🧸

#10661 My First LEGO Fire Station (2013)

unusually strong entry into the “my first” line. 🚒🚒🚒

#60002 Fire Truck (2013)

with #7239 finally off the shelves LEGO needed a replacement and here is your suspiciously similar substitute. lateral move overall imo but that’s not bad when the original was so good. 🚒🚒🚒🚒🚒

#60003 Fire Emergency (2013)

a less full-featured truck and overall not as great, but it does have a little more of its own identity compared to #60002 wearing its inspiration on its sleeve, so there is that. 🚒🚒🚒🚒

#60004 Fire Station (2013)

this on the other hand definitely needed another pass. the giant panel on the front is not attractive, bleh. could be worse, could be a lot better. 🚒🚒

#60023 LEGO City Starter Set (2013)

a van with a ladder on the roof. 🚒🚒

#850842 Fire Truck Holiday Bauble

even more adorable 🚒🚒🚒🚒🚒

there will be a delay before we move on to 2014. we apologize for any convenience resulting from this interruption to the onslaught of long posts you don’t care about.

[sylvienerevarine]

as you may recall, I have a very good headcanon that the dwemer invented cameras. this is simply a fact. now, for some reason, i have written a fic about it, featuring Master Neloth, my dragonborn Sophrine, and some other fabulous friends.

(shoutout to @libertineangel who inspired me with a few headcanon additions)

---

Many years earlier–too many to count, really–Master Neloth had been a teacher of magic. His students had been gifted young mages from high-ranking Morrowind families, all of whom had passed a series of excruciatingly hard exams, and every one of them had driven Neloth out of his mind. Talented they might have been, but they were utterly impossible to deal with, particularly on any educational expeditions. 

On the island of Solstheim, trekking through the vast Dwemer ruin of Nchardak, Neloth was feeling a distressing sense of deja vu. This time, however, his companions were not gifted (if irritating) Telvanni youths. 

They were much, much worse.

“What do you think the Dwemer ate?” came a shrill female voice from behind him. This one was Sophrine Aulette, the Breton chef who called herself the Dragonborn. More like the dragging born, the way she dragged everyone along behind her, Neloth thought, allowing himself a quiet chuckle at his own joke. If she hadn’t been a descendant of the Nerevarine, he’d probably have turned her to stone by now.

“I mean, they lived in these underground cities, right?” Sophrine went on. “Not so easy to grow vegetables this far down. There’s always mushrooms, which are delicious, but that’s hardly a balanced diet. Unless they had very good greenhouses.”

“I still don’t like these types of ruins.” That was one of the Nord women–Neloth couldn’t remember which was which, and frankly, he didn’t much care. “Have I ever told you how I almost died in a place just like…”

“Yes,” chorused several voices.

As the little crew began bickering about how many times, exactly, they’d heard that same story, Neloth sighed and began subtly inching toward the nearest door. Perhaps he could find the book and make his way back to Tel Mithryn without participating in any more inane conversations.

“Master Neloth?” called Sophrine from across the room, before he could make his escape. “Could you come here, please? We’ve found something interesting.”

Neloth rolled his eyes and made his way over to the group, who were gathered around some sort of cube on legs. “What is it?”

“That’s what we were hoping you would tell us,” said Serana. She was an interesting one, now. A vampire, and older than the hills, yet she traveled around with a group of nosy vagrants. “We think it might be some sort of light fixture, but none of us have seen anything like it before.”

“Let me see that.” Neloth bent down to inspect the artifact, frowning. It consisted of a box on a three-legged stand, with a latch on the back and a small cylinder projecting out of the front. At the cylinder’s end was a highly polished glass lens, still without a crack after all these years.

“By Azura,” he said in awe. “It’s a camera.”

“A camera!” exclaimed Sophrine. “Of course! Wait, what’s a camera?”

“A singularly ingenious device. I’d thought they were all lost long ago. Look here, children.” Neloth unlatched the back of the cube, all annoyance forgotten. “You may not believe it, but with this machine, the Dwemer were able to capture a person’s likeness in a fraction of the time it would take a painter.”

“So it makes pictures?” The dark-haired Nord woman–Lydia, her name was–eyed the camera suspiciously. “What sort of magic could do that?”

“No magic at all. Simply a bit of clever engineering. They would take a small plate of brass–like this one! My goodness, one’s survived! They’d take this plate and treat it with a liquid that made it sensitive to light, and place it here in the camera. The subject would sit in front of this lens for a minute or two, and once the plate was removed and treated with a cinnabar solution, you’d have a fine picture more true-to-life than anything from a paintbrush.”

“I say, that’s clever,” remarked the Dunmer fellow named Teldryn. “A fellow could make a fine living selling these metal portraits. I don’t suppose you could get it working again, old man?”

“My name is not ‘old man,’ and no. Not unless those particular chemicals are still available somewhere in here.”

Serana nudged him gently and pointed to a nearby shelf stocked with an assortment of small, dusty bottles. “I think, Master Neloth, we may be in luck.”

---

“Hold still, you lot,” Neloth called. “Or this ‘commemorative portrait’ will come out an utter mess.”

“It’s been about twenty minutes,” complained Mjoll. “My feet are beginning to fall asleep.”

“It’s been thirty seconds. This should be complete in about five…four…”

“Wait!” Sophrine interrupted. “Everyone, say cheese.”

“Why?”

“It automatically makes you smile! Go on, try it!”

And, for no reason Neloth could discern, all five grinned widely and called out: “Cheese!”

A few minutes later, the group gathered round eagerly to inspect their completed picture, which was not entirely flattering. Mjoll was blinking, Serana had for some reason stuck up two fingers behind Teldryn’s head, and Sophrine looked about to sneeze. It was, as Neloth had predicted, remarkably true to life.

“A handsome bunch, we are,” Teldryn said approvingly.

“A thoroughly frivolous bunch,” Neloth grumbled. “Now, may we return to finding that book?”

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

Bakugou reacting to his S/O or crush going up to him and saying “Hey, can your hold this for a moment?” Their hand clenched so he can’t see what they are holding. He like “okay?” And they just, hold his hand.

omg this is so cute for bakugou with an s/o ahaha,, ooo n i literally couldn’t help myself so here’s a lil fic !!! hope u enjoy @annepamgkrth !! :))))

-//-

Bakugou was prickly.

He was prickly and difficult, a coiled mess of nerves wound up tighter than anyone you’d ever met. Trying to get him to relent was like playing mind games, and, if he wanted to play, then you’d play.

That day he had been even more petulant than usual- brushing you off at every turn and then huffing and puffing until you'd try again. You knew he missed you, could see it in his eyes, but you also knew full well that he’d never let himself admit that. He was stubborn to a fault. A very large fault.

“C’mon, aren’t you tired of being grumpy yet?” You huff in frustration, once more trying to grab his hand. He brushes you off- again. “Really, I already said I’m sorry! So can’t you just forgive me already?”

“No. Fuck no. Deal with the consequences, nerd.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

He stares back at you blankly, flexing his arm where it's stretched across the back of the couch. He'd been taunting you for the better part of ten minutes now, teasing you with a warm spot next to him that looked so incredibly inviting. Then, because he was apparently hell bent on being a dick, Bakugou would quickly trap his arm to his side. He'd clamp up and shut down when you so much as even moved to get closer. He was being difficult. Unnecessarily difficult- and he knew it too. You could see that clear as day from the self-satisfied smirk across his face.

"Bakugou, it's a show!"

"A fuckin' good show. Our show." He grumbles right back at you. "Don't get all pissy at me- you're the one who decided to be a bitch about this."

"What was I supposed to do? Turn it off just because you fell asleep?"

"Yes."

"No! No, I actually wasn't gonna do that! We said we'd watch one episode a night, and I kept up my end! It's not my fault that you fall asleep at 8:30 PM like a grandpa!" You huff, mild exasperation coloring your voice. "Chill out, it's only 45 minutes, grumpy. It won't take long to catch up. C'mon, I'll even sit with you right now while you watch it."

"No thanks."

"You're impossible."

"You're a traitor."

He spits the insult with too much satisfaction. It's suspicious and suddenly you know exactly what this is. He, historically, spent all his time looking for any and all reasons to go ahead and be an asshole. Apparently this is one of those times, and he's not really upset, he's just bored and acting on a convenient excuse.

"Fine. Guess I'll leave then-" You say, standing up and backing away from the couch. "Since you're obviously so incredibly cut up about it."

You see the same fight you always do then- that weird expression flicker when he just barely stops himself from asking you to come back. You can see it in the twitching of his fingers, the way the muscles in his arm flex. He's so close to folding- to bending to your will. He just needs a little push. Luckily, you've been saving a certain card up your sleeve for a while.

You fall back into the kitchen, scheming while you make a glass of water. Stalling for a few minutes, you bide your time, twiddling your thumbs until you hear Bakugou loudly huff in the living room. Peaking around the corner, you watch him grab for the remote, switching on the TV with a glare in your direction. You give it another few minutes more, and then you make your way out, glass of water in hand.

Upon entering, you find Bakugou finally watching the episode he was so upset about- albeit, with a very childish scowl across his face. He hardly even acknowledges you as you walk in, doesn't even glance away from the TV when you stand next to him.

"Hold this for me?" You ask, intentionally clinking the ice cubes in your glass. "Please? I gotta look for my phone."

He looks over at you, suspicion clouding his features. "Set it on the table, dumbass. 'm not your servant."

"No- but you are my very capable boyfriend who is an expert at holding things for me."

"Laying it on thick isn't gonna make it any fuckin' better." He grumbles, eyes still trained on the TV. But he rolls his eyes anyway, that same blind trust overtaking him, as he opens his palm. "Whatever. I'll hold it. Find it quick."

You nod, something sly and conniving crossing your face. You switch the glass into your other hand quickly, snatching his palm up with your cold one before he can recoil back. You're lacing your fingers into his, and Bakugou nearly breaks his neck with the speed he turns to look at you.

"What the fuck- the hell are you doing?" His shoulders go ridgid in mock disgust, lips curled up into a sneer. "Knock it off with the cute shit. It's not gonna fuckin' work."

"Really? But I'm not doing anything."

"You know exactly what you're doing, evil fuckin' witch."

"I'm not doing anything you didn't explicitly consent to. You did say you'd hold it for me."

"I thought you meant your goddamn drink! Not your shitty hand."

"Mhm. That misunderstanding was part of the plan. Pretty smart, right?"

You smile brightly at him, all bright whites and crinkling eyes. He folds then, just like he always does, and can't help himself as he tugs on your hand. You crash against his chest, stumbling, but Bakugou rights you with another scoff and that funny little sneer still firmly in place.

"I hate you." He says.

"No you don't."

"I fuckin' do. You're annoying as hell."

"Fine- guess I should leave then, huh?"

Bakugou just drops his other hand to your waist, gripping slightly in warning. That fire in his eyes is back, bright red flickers just daring you to defy him. That moment once again proves that petulance has always been an especially good look for him.

"No." He says, sly smile just barely curling his lip. "What you should fuckin' do is hand me the goddamn remote. Gotta fuckin' rewind now since you wanted to make such a scene."

"Nah, don't bother. You didn't miss anything important just now- trust me."

That elicits a playful growl from him, and he tugs on the end of your hair lightly in warning. "Don't fuckin' remind me. Now hand me the remote, maybe try making yourself useful for once."

"Mean!"

"Shut up, 'm just kidding, idiot." He mumbles, shyly dropping a kiss to your hair. It's stuttered, a little stiff, much like all the affection he ever showed you, but you begin to think that maybe he missed you more than you even realized. "Say you're sorry again."

"Why?"

"Because I fuckin' said so."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Fine." You roll your eyes, taking his face softly into your hands. "I am so incredibly sorry I stabbed you in the back. I will never do it again, you absolute baby."

Bakugou curls his lip at that, but you just smile something fond, leaning in for a kiss. He finally lets you, meeting in the middle with the same kind of bruising pressure you'd come to enjoy. You pull back before he's satisfied, and he nearly yanks you back into him. Bracing a hand on his chest for space, fingers splaying over the muscle beneath, you speak.

"You know- if you weren't so difficult earlier, maybe I would've let this continue."

He groans. Loudly. Slumps back into the couch with dramatic flair and practically throws you off his lap into the spot next to him.

"Fuck you. Fuck you." He seethes.

"Hey, don't get upset at me." You say simply. "Just trying to make sure we have enough time to watch that episode you missed."

Then you press the remote into his hand with a smile, and he snatches it from you with an unrivaled flair for the dramatics. Casting his arm over the back of the couch once more, he huffs, tucking you solidly against his side as he rewinds the episode.

You'd won this round- and from the blush on his face, Bakugou knows it too.

[halstudandruz]

Research Purposes ~ Part 2

*Not my gif*

Pairing: Jay x Reader

Requested: Yes

Prompt: What happens when the only person in the world you didn’t want finding out does?

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: Part one found here (NSFW, 18+)

A/N 2: Also thank you to @enchantedblackrose for the idea 😊

If you are not 18+ and are unable to read part 1 and want to back story just hit me up (:

“We’re so freaking late. There’s no way we’ll have time to stop for my car.” You rushed around Jay’s apartment, pouring coffee for both of you.

“And whose fault is that.” Jay looked at you accusingly.

“I was just trying to help the environment.” You shrugged, handing him his cup after checking the lid.

“You and I both know we wasted more water in there together than we would’ve showering on our own.” He retorted grabbing his badge and gun off the coffee table to secure them to his belt.

“Yeah okay so I wanted shower sex sue me.” You rolled your eyes shrugging your jacket on.

“I wasn’t the one complaining.” He smiled, taking a drink.

“We would’ve had more than enough time if you didn’t insist on cuddling this morning.” You pointed out, remembering how he pulled you back into his chest every time you tried to move out of bed a couple hours prior.

“You like shower sex. I like cuddling.” He teased handing you your purse.

“Maybe we can draft up an alternate schedule.” You joked.

“I do hear compromise is the key to a healthy relationship.” He replied.

“We gotta go if you don’t want to get pulled over for speeding.” You changed the subject reaching for the door knob, before being tugged back by your arm, turning in time for Jay’s lips to meet yours in a sweet, passionate kiss.

“To get us both through the day.” Jay winked reaching around you to open the door and usher you out.

This was the second time that week you and Jay would be showing up to work together. Nobody noticed it the first time, but your anxiety climbed at the thought of someone recognizing and approaching you about it. What would you say? You and Jay were only in it purely for the sex. Right? Regardless of that fact that you had stayed at his house almost every night the past couple weeks even without the promise of sex, or how your stuff was starting to accumulate at his house from the past few months. A few t-shirts mixed in with his, hair straightener resting on his bathroom organizer, makeup scattered about on the dresser. Friends with benefits, that’s all it was. Nothing more and you certainly were not gaining feelings for him. Absolutely not that was against the rules and you were not about to be some stereotypical fuck buddy turned feelings trope, but you were getting sloppy apparently. You agreed to enter through the front while Jay entered through the back. Skipping up the steps you threw a smile at Trudy offering her a good morning, but in return she stared you down, eyebrow raised as she rested against the desk.

“What?” You stopped in your tracks in front of her. But she stayed silent giving you a look, and you just knew she knew. She was Trudy Platt. She knew everything.

“You should tell him.” She whispered to you, and it’s not the first time she had said something of the sort recently.

“Tell who, what?” You continued to fake innocence as you had the times before.

“It’s going to end badly.” She pushed again.

“It already did end badly.” You reminded her before trudging upstairs feeling the heat of her stare still on your back. Everyone except Kim was already there, including Jay who had his feet kicked up on his desk looking through a file. You greeted everyone draping your coat over the back of your chair and falling into it.

The first hour ticked by slowly, and you found your eyes moving across the room to focus on Jay. Opened documents lay across your desk. He looked so relaxed, shoulders loose, breaths slow and even, head resting against his palm as he fought not to fall asleep. You knew he would rather be out chasing suspects, but deep down you were starting to register you were okay with paperwork days. It meant he was safe, and that thought scared you a little. The last time you had those same thoughts you were staring at a different man in the room. A man who sat not too far behind Jay, clicking his pen absentmindedly as he often did when he was bored.

“Ruz, I’ll break the damn pen.” Kevin grumbled, as he had many times before in response to the habit.

“Sorry.” Adam mumbled, setting the utensil onto his desk away from his fidgety hands.

You chuckled at the small exchange, experiencing the exact same one many times in the years you had been detailed in intelligence with the best people you could’ve ever asked to work with. That certainly didn’t mean it wasn’t complicated though, and you were the very obvious example of that. You watched Jay’s head bob catching himself before adjusting in order to keep himself awake. His eyes accidentally met yours, heart rate immediately increasing. He sent you a small smile as his eyes started to roam over your body. Looking for a distraction from the tedious work. You couldn’t scold him. It wasn’t like you hadn’t been doing the same thing the past 10 minutes. Looking at his arms that were tight against his sleeves you wondered if the scratch marks you left on his biceps this morning would still be prevalent, or if the fading hickey from nights prior was still noticeable on his hip bone.

“I need coffee. Anyone else?” You asked trying to divert the obvious eye fucking your were giving each other. Everyone in the room raising their hands. You laughed taking notice of all the tired eyes who so obviously wanted to bash their heads off the desk already bored out of their minds, just waiting for a case to jump off.

“I’ll help.” Jay offered, voice gruff from barely speaking all morning. Together you poured and distributed everyone cups. Sitting back down into your chair when Jay was handing Kev his.

“You gonna shave that thing anytime soon? You usually can’t stand it past a week.” Kevin asked Jay, referring to his beard. They had always teased him whenever he claimed it grew in patchy compared to Adam and Kevin’s and it usually resulted in him having a clean shaven face the next shift. But it had grown in quite nicely this time, and he made sure to keep it presentable by trimming it as needed.

“No, it’s starting to grow on me. I’m keeping it for research anyway. Seems it can enhance far more than just my facial features.” Jay shrugged casually sitting back down atin his chair, and at his words you choked on your coffee spitting it all over your desk. Uncontrollable coughs tickling your throat.

“You good [Y/L/N]?” Hailey asked standing up to help you.

“Yeah..sorry. Just.. went down the wrong pipe. Didn’t expect it to be so.. hot.” You explained between coughs looking across the room to glare at Jay who wore a cocky smirk on his face, flipping through papers not daring to look up at you.

“You forget your ice?” Adam asked, knowing you had put a couple cubes of ice in your coffee every morning cooling it down so you could drink it faster.

“I must’ve. Kinda out of it today.” You shook your head taking napkins out of your drawer to try to clean up the mess you had made on your desk as well as your white shirt.

“I’ll get you some.” He started to walk towards the break room.

“It’s really okay I spit most of it out anyway.” You laughed.

“I’ll just get you a new cup.” He reasoned and you just thanked him not feeling like bickering with him about it. He had been going out of his way to do nice things for you recently. You assumed either so you wouldn’t spill the beans about him and Upton or because he felt bad.

“There’s no way this is coming out..” You grumbled dabbing at the tan stain forming on your shirt, “Do you happen to have a spare?” You asked, turning towards Hailey.

“I’m sorry I don’t. I used my spare the other day after that shooting and haven’t brought another extra.” Hailey apologized. You waved her off thanking her anyway.

“There’s one in my locker.” Jay offered, “You’ll probably just have to tuck it in.” You thought for a moment, it probably wouldn’t look like a big deal. Just a friend helping out a friend.

“Okay. Thanks.” You nodded getting up to head to the locker room where Jay followed. “I know where your locker is.” You rolled your eyes.

“Yes, but you don’t know my combination nor are you very good at opening dial locks. Hence why you have a keypad one on yours.” Jay pointed out, spinning his combination. He was right. You could never open dial locks.

“Do you analyze everything I do?” You crossed your arms annoyed at how well he always seemed to know you.

“You’re an interesting person babe.” He smiled handing you the shirt as he kissed your forehead.

“Watch yourself. You don’t know who’s hiding in here.” You lectured, “this is your fault by the way.”

“I know. Total win-win situation.” Jay laughed, smiling brightly.

“You’re gonna be the death of me Jay Halstead.” You groaned, a small smile on your lips.

“What a way to go though, huh?” He quipped, giving you a quick kiss.

“Get out.” You pushed his chest.

“What? No free peep show? I offered you my shirt and everything.” He acted offended.

“They’re gonna start getting suspicious if we are in here any longer go.” He huffed at your reply giving in and leaving as you turned around to switch shirts. Jay’s scent immediately overwhelmed you as you slipped his shirt on. Causing your body to relax in turn at the familiar fragrance. Jay was right, you had to tuck the shirt into your jeans, otherwise it could’ve been a dress thanks to your large height difference. Turning to walk out of the locker room, you were met with Adam holding a new cup of coffee out to you making you jump at the unexpected body in your path. “Thank you.” You giggled taking it from his hand to take a drink.

“Did you change?” He asked, eyeing the shirt you now wore.

“Oh yeah. I had white on and it was gonna stain so Jay offered me his shirt.” You explained, shifting on your feet at the uncomfortable conversation.

“Well I have one. It might fit you better.” He offered moving to walk towards his locker, but you put a hand to his chest stopping him.

“I’m good this one is perfectly fine.” You reassured him, Adam stared at you, breaking the tense silence with a long sigh, leaning against the side of the lockers.

“Listen we never got to talk about that night you came to my apartment. I just wanted to say I’m really sorry you-“ He began to apologize when Kevin peeked his head in the door.

“Hey, I’m sorry to interrupt..” he looked between the two of you awkwardly, “but we just got a case.” Adam cleared his throat as you nodded,

“We can..finish this later.” You chewed on your lip pushing past him to grab your coat out of Kevin’s hand.

It was nearing 8 o’clock by the time Voight had given you guys permission to go home and get some sleep. Knowing you’d be returning bright and early in the morning to continue to case.

“What do you think about pizza tonight? I’ve been craving some Bartolis.” Jay asked walking down the stairs behind you.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” You stopped turning to face him when you rounded the corner out of sight.

“Well I can just get pizza and I’ll stop for whatever else you want too.” He offered.

“I’m not talking about food, Jay.” You laughed, looking at the ground. Your mind had been racing since showing up with Jay this morning.

“Then..what are you talking about?” He asked, stepping closer towards you.

“I mean I don’t know I’ve been at your place almost every night the last couple weeks.” You whispered, hoping your voice wouldn’t carry to anyone nearby.

“Well we can go to your place. That’s fine.” He reasoned.

“No that’s not..” You sighed not able to find the words.

“Hey, just talk to me. What’s up.” He encouraged hands falling to your hips holding you gently.

“I’m just worried we’re starting to get careless. Showing up to work twice in one week together. One of these days we’re bound to get caught either coming in together or showing up on scene together. We don’t even know what this is. I don’t want to have to talk to Voight about it in the meantime.” You explained.

“We can be more careful. I promise. I just don’t want you to freak out about this.” He assured you tucking your hair behind your ear. “Can we just address how good you look in my shirt. I’m so glad you’re such a klutz..” Jay’s eyes roamed up and down your body.

“I am not a klutz! How did you expect me to react?” You crossed your arms, glaring at him as you did a few hours prior.

“Well is it not the truth? This thing is still on my face purely for your satisfaction.” He reminded you by trailing his lips down your neck, immediately summoning goosebumps from the raggedness tickling in the wake of his lips. He winked knowing his point was proven, moving up to place a soft kiss on your lips. “Sooo pizza?” He asked, pulling back, hopeful look on his face.

“Fine, but I’m not going in to get it.” You rolled your eyes, a bright smile on your face when he wrapped an arm around your shoulders pulling you towards his truck but when you rounded the corner your eyes connected with Adam’s who stood near the door, eyes wide between you two as Jay let his arm fall to his side, your feet rooted to the floor.

“I forgot my wallet in my locker.” Adam explained stammering over his words.

“Well don’t let us keep you. See you tomorrow brother.” Jay remained calm grabbing your arm to pull you out. Patting Adam on the shoulder when you passed.

“Shit!” You cursed when you reached Jay’s truck.

“What?” He questioned and you looked at him dumbfounded.

“You’re fucking kidding me right?” You scoffed.

“He’s not gonna tell Voight. For starters it’s Adam. Plus we know about him and Hailey. He can’t.” He shrugged.

“That’s not what I’m worried about!” You yelled.

“You just said that’s what you were worried about.” Jay reminded you, trying to catch up. “Babe.” He urged when you didn’t answer him.

“You don’t get it Jay!” You shook your head, lump forming in your throat at the anxiety the situation presented.

“No, you’re right I don’t. I’m sorry. Help me understand.” He grabbed a hold of your hand trying to get you to face him.

“Not right now.” You chewed your lip feeling a few tears fall down your cheeks, quickly swiping them away before they were seen, but you knew Jay would know regardless. You were tired, hungry, and now slightly panicking at the thought of having to address the entire situation. His hand squeezed yours tighter before starting his truck putting it in drive.

All Tag List:

@corebore123 @scarletsoldierrr @hehurst23 @beautiful-bunny89 @ingie @halsteadsway @malrunaway @grettiwrites @inlovewith3

Jay Taglist:

@jayxhalsteadx @life-treatments @weepingfestivalmentality @toomuchtv95 @queen-of-arda

[mrtrumpetwrites]

Geritaweek Day 4: World Meeting

@geritaweek

Day 4 (Aug 31): World meeting | “I have the worst headache right now.”

Rating: E (after the cut)

Word Count: 4658

The air was interspersed with the lively chatter of countries, clustered around the table. France was speaking excitedly to the UK, telling some story which he animated with grand hand gestures. The Italian brothers were conversing in rapid-fire Italian, which no one but them could understand. China, Russia, and Japan were sitting quietly next to each other, with Russia doodling some sunflowers on his notepad. Occasionally they would exchange a calm word with each other, or point at some of the louder countries’ antics and chuckle. America was talking with, or rather at, Germany, who looked somewhat exasperated, and like he’d rather not be the unwitting partner trapped in this conversation. The latter glanced surreptitiously at his watch, then his features creased in relief. 

“It is time to start the meeting, everyone!” Germany called, raising his voice above the din. One by one, they fell silent, except for France, who simply lowered his voice and continued to feverishly tell his story. Germany cleared his throat, raising an eyebrow at France. UK looked back, giving an abashed smile that seemed to apologize for his brazen conversation partner. He elbowed France, giving him a shushed ‘the meeting is starting’. 

France, to his credit, turned around to look at Germany, who had by now crossed his arms and was tapping his foot, the picture of impatience. “Désolé, mon ami, I was simply too caught up in my story!” He grinned as if to apologize. 

“You can finish your story after the meeting. If we start on time, then we won’t have to end too late,” Germany explained, the paragon of reason as always. 

France waved a hand dismissively, to which Germany frowned. “Of course, of course. I am ready now, let us start.”

“Thank you for your permission,” Germany said, raising his eyebrow. “Now, let us begin. The first order of business for today’s meeting is…”

Italy tried his best to pay attention, he really did, but Germany’s words began to blur together in the background of his hearing. Sitting still at these meetings for an hour (or, God forbid, even longer) always bored him. He knew it was important to Germany that everybody pay attention, so he at least tried to look like he was listening. Under the table, he was playing with his fidget cube, which Germany had bought for him after he’d seen it at a store and begged to have one. 

“It just looks so fun!” he’d wheedled. Germany, despite his harsh exterior, could not help but acquiesce to Italy, like he often did. Italy gazed fondly at Germany, gesturing as he was at the head of the table. The man was dressed in a crisp blue suit with a yellow tie that seemed to match his hair. The deep blue really looked good on him, and brought out his eyes. Italy remembered when he’d brought Germany to his own tailor…

“Are you sure?” Germany had said, eyeing the prices suspiciously.

“Si, this is the best tailor in all of Italy!” he’d exclaimed. The tailor bowed his head shyly in recognition. “I always come here for my suits. You won’t regret it.”

“If you say so, then I believe you.”

He’d beamed at that, glad that Germany was more outspoken about his feelings now. It’d taken a little while, but finally Italy had managed to convince Germany that yes, he wanted to be together, and no, it was not him taking pity on the other man. They’d only been dating a short time now, but already Italy felt like he was the happiest guy on earth. He only hoped that Germany felt the same way. He knew the other was more hesitant about affection and intimacy, as evidenced by the fact that he hadn’t wanted to make their relationship public yet.

“It’s not that I’m ashamed of you, or us, or anything,” Germany had quickly explained, holding up his hands placatingly. “It’s just… well, remember whenever any of the other countries get together? Everyone else always asks them so many questions, and pries into their lives. I don’t want that for us… I’d rather we be left alone to see each other in peace.”

“That makes sense,” Italy had said, tapping a finger on his chin in remembrance. Everybody knew of France and UK’s tumultuous on-again, off-again relationship, and whenever they were on-again, they had to field many probing questions, and even teasing, from the other nations. Germany already shied away from intimacy, and such nosiness would only put him off even more. 

“Italy? What do you think?”

“Eh?” Italy sat up straight, noticing the other nations around the table looking at him. Oh no… he’d gotten lost in thought again, and hadn’t been following the meeting. 

Germany glared at him. “What do you think about holding a vote next meeting to decide where the next Olympics will be held?”

“Oh!” He grinned remorsefully, trying to signal to Germany that he was sorry, and also thankful, that the other man threw in a little reminder of what they were talking about. “That sounds great!”

Germany marked down something on his notepad. “That’s everybody, then. Well, that concludes this meeting. Thank you all for coming. Please don’t be late to the next meeting.”

The sound of rustling and moving chairs could be heard, along with the chatter of conversations starting back up. Italy was a little surprised that he’d managed to daydream through the whole meeting. It must’ve gone pretty quickly. He hoped Germany hadn’t noticed that he wasn’t paying attention at all…

Speaking of, the man approached Italy where he was still sitting at the table. The latter glanced quickly at his notepad in front of him, wincing when he saw it was completely blank. Oh well, he didn’t usually take notes anyway, so hopefully Germany wouldn’t notice anything. In fact, usually he doodled a bit, so it was probably better that his notepad was completely empty. 

Italy sat up even straighter, trying to appear as if he’d been paying attention the whole time. Germany was scowling a bit as he walked over, which made him nervous. Mentally, he crossed his fingers that Germany wouldn’t scold him this time. 

“Hey Germany, great meeting!” Italy said, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice.

“Ja, ja…”

Tentatively, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.”

“I’m sorry…”

At this, Germany glanced at him inquisitively, and a little bit suspiciously. “About what?”

Oops, he’d better not give himself away. “Um, clearly something is on your mind! I’m sorry about whatever is bothering you!”

“It’s not a big deal, it’s just…” Germany pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger. “I have the worst headache right now.”

“Aw, I’m sorry, caro,” Italy said softly, looking up at Germany sympathetically. No one would hear the pet name, busy as they were getting ready to file out of the room, or chatting to each other. “Is there anything I can do?”

“I don’t suppose you have any painkillers, do you?”

“No, but I think there’s a pharmacy not far from here.”

“Alright. Let me just put away my notes, and we’ll go.” Germany walked back to the head of the table and shuffled a few papers, putting them neatly in his briefcase. Then he stepped back over to Italy, who had stood up by now and put his own notepad into his bag. “Let’s go.”

The streets outside were relatively busy, as it was a nice day. Italy glanced to the side to see Germany massaging his temples. True to his word, they reached the pharmacy shortly, and Germany groaned at seeing how long the line was.

“Seems like everyone has a headache today,” Italy said, trying to commiserate.

“Hm,” was all Germany responded. His eyebrows were drawn, and Italy could tell by the downturn of his mouth that he must be in a lot of pain.

“After this, let’s go home and you can rest some, amore.”

Italy busied himself by looking at all of the products on the shelves, reading their labels. He figured his usual chatter would probably be grating on Germany’s aching head. Gradually they shuffled forward as the line took them closer and closer to the counter. Finally, they reached the front. 

“Some painkillers, please,” Germany said. 

The pharmacist nodded once, then typed some things into his computer. He turned around to pick up a small white box, showing it to Germany. The latter inclined his head in agreement, and the pharmacist scanned the box.

“Five euro forty, sir.” 

Germany fished his wallet out of his pocket, then counted out the exact change and handed it over. 

“Thank you, sirs. Enjoy your day.”

Germany grumbled something in concurrence, and they walked out of the store.  “I don’t suppose you have any water, do you? I’d like to take these now, then they can start taking effect.”

“No, sorry.” Italy pointed across the street at a small grocery store. “We can get a bottle of water there, though.”

They waited at the crosswalk, watching cars pass by, until the light changed. The group of pedestrians they found themselves in milled across the road, weaving through each other. They walked into the store, greeted by the welcoming ding of its opening doors. The cold beverages were along one side, and Germany perused them, grabbing the cheapest bottle of water.

“Do you want anything?” he asked. 

“I’m alright, thank you.”

“Let’s go through the self-checkout.” Germany pointed to the area to the side of the cashiers. Luckily, there was no line, so they quickly scanned the water bottle and walked out of the store. Germany fidgeted open the box of painkillers, popping two out of the foil, and uncapped the bottle to throw the pills back with a gulp of water.

“Good thing the parking lot is not far from here!” Italy said, trying to cheer up Germany.

“Ja.” 

They ambled slowly to the lot, where Germany dug around in his pocket for his keys. Together they got into Germany’s car, which was much more modest and less flashy than Italy’s own.

“Do you want me to drive, caro?”

“No,” Germany gave a brief, small smile. “I think my headache might get worse if you drive.”

“Ha, you are probably right.”

They pulled out of the lot, not speaking much as they drove home. Content as they were to sit in amicable silence, Italy watched the other cars and scenery flash by. 

The crunch of driveway gravel under the tires signaled that they were home.

“Do you feel any better, tesoro?” 

“A little, ja.”

“That’s good.”

They walked into the house, Germany visibly relieved at the cool darkness soothing the throb in his temples. “I think I will lie down some in the dark,” he said.

“I will lie with you!”

“You don’t have to.” 

“I want to,” Italy said. “If that’s alright with you.”

“Of course.”

They stepped into the bedroom, where Italy drew the curtains to throw the room in comforting shade. Germany busied himself with grabbing a tank top and some shorts from the drawers, then opened the closet to neatly put his suit away. Italy also took off his suit, but threw it over a nearby chair. He’d hang it up later, he didn’t feel like it right now. He crawled into bed, naked as usual except for his underwear. 

“Join me, caro!” he called. 

“Ja ja, schatzi, I’ll be right there.” Germany appeared from putting his suit in the closet, then folded himself, sighing, into the bed. “Ah, that’s nice.”

“Do the world meetings stress you out that much?” Italy said, turning over to cuddle up to Germany.

“I mean, a little… I don’t usually get headaches from them, though.”

“You didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, maybe that’s why.”

Germany flushed a bit at the memory. “That’s true.” He wiggled his arm out from between them to wrap it around Italy’s shoulders. “I’m going to rest a bit now.”

Italy nodded, taking this as his cue to fall silent. He snuggled happily into Germany’s chest, not needing any conversation to entertain himself. Slowly, he felt the clutches of sleep making his body heavier, and he allowed his eyelids to drift closed. 

----

The first thing he heard was the chirping of insects outside, getting ready for their evening symphony. He yawned, stretched, feeling his joints pop. 

“Guten abend, schatz,” he heard from his side. He rolled over to see Germany looking at him softly through half-closed eyes.

“I’d thought you’d be up by now.”

The other man lazily brushed a hand through his bangs. “I thought about it, but I decided to keep lying here with you. It’s nice.”

Italy leaned in to kiss his nose. “I agree. How’s your headache?”

“It still hurts a little bit, but it’s feeling much better now.”

Italy smiled mischievously. “I know something that may make you feel better.”

Suspiciously, Germany eyed him. “I think I know what that something may be.” 

Walking his fingers slowly up Germany’s chest, Italy said, “Oh, really? Why don’t you tell me.”

Suddenly, Germany flipped them over, pinning Italy’s wrists to the bed while he hovered above him. “Well, you did promise me all sorts of things last night.”

Italy grinned. “Did I? I don’t quite remember. You’ll have to remind me.”

Tapping his chin as if to think, Germany said, “Let’s see… for one, you said you’d make me feel as good as I made you feel.”

“I think I do remember that, now.”

Germany raised an eyebrow at him. “Why don’t you make good on your promises, then?” His naughty grin was infectious, and Italy couldn’t help but teasingly smile back. Germany leaned in to kiss Italy’s smile, and Italy opened his mouth to let the kiss become deeper. Slowly, they licked into each other’s mouths, Germany now lying fully on top of Italy and letting him feel the hard planes of his body, and something else hard.  

“Why don’t you let me take care of that for you,” Italy whispered. “Lay back against the bed, caro.”

Germany clambered off of him, and they rearranged themselves. Italy pulled down Germany’s shorts and underwear, licking his lips lustfully at Germany’s hard cock springing out from under the clothes. He shuffled down, kneeling between Germany’s legs, and gave his cock an experimental lick. Relishing in the way it twitched against his mouth, he took the head between his lips, sinking down slowly. He couldn’t take it all the way in, though he’d tried, many a time, but it wouldn’t stop him from doing his best. 

“Mmmhh,” Germany groaned. “That feels good.”

Italy hummed, knowing the vibrations would send shivers down the base of Germany’s spine. He managed to get two-thirds of Germany’s cock in his mouth, and wrapped his hand around the rest. Hollowing his cheeks, he bobbed up and down, letting his tongue trace along the veins. He followed with his hand, applying just the right amount of pressure that Germany liked. He drank in the soft moans from above him. 

Spurred by the other man’s enjoyment, he started moving faster, the lewd noises of his wet mouth around Germany’s cock filling the air.

“Mein Gott… you’re so good at this…” Germany murmured, tangling a hand in Italy’s hair. “Can I—” he began, then stopped.

Italy let go of Germany’s cock with a frankly obscene-sounding pop. “What is it?” He looked up, through his lashes, smiling sweetly at Germany’s red face. “Tell me, caro,” he sing-songed, still idly palming Germany with his hand. 

“Well,” Germany said, his eyes flitting from side to side. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, but…”

At the heavy silence, Italy raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He spoke quickly, as if in a rush to get the words out that he’d been holding in. “I’ve always wanted to—wanted to fuck your face.” 

Italy grinned with a filthy look. “Oh, angelo, you’re a dirty boy.”

Germany flushed even redder, if that was possible. “It’s okay if you’re not comfortable with it, I understand—”

Cutting him off, Italy said, “No no, go ahead. I think it’s sexy.”

“Oh,” was all Germany said. Then, blinking a few times, “But you’ll tell me if I go too far?”

“Of course, amore mio.”

“Then,” Germany took a deep breath. “Keep going.” Italy dove back in, feeling Germany’s cock hit the back of his throat, as the other’s hand tensed in his hair. “Are… are you ready?” Germany asked.

He hummed in agreement. Germany’s other hand fisted in his hair, holding him tight, and began moving his head up and down. Italy slacked his mouth, trying to relax as much as possible. 

“Can I… go faster?” Germany said, voice raspy. 

“Mmhmm,” Italy tried to say, around the cock in his mouth. 

At this, he began forcing Italy’s head back down, thrusting his hips up slightly to meet him halfway. Italy gagged at the feeling of Germany’s cock so deep in his throat, and tears pricked at his eyes. 

“Okay, schatzi?”

“Mmm.” Italy gave a thumbs up, at which Germany huffed a breathy laugh. He rose up once more, Germany letting him. “I thought you said you wanted to fuck my mouth.” He raised one eyebrow, gaze challenging. 

“Scheisse,” Germany breathed. “Okay then. But be careful what you wish for.” His hands in Italy’s hair guided him back to his cock, forcing him down, down, farther than Italy had ever taken his cock before. Italy spluttered, throat working around it. 

Germany began fucking his mouth, then, in earnest, hips rising up from the bed to drive his cock deep into Italy’s wet, willing mouth. “Oh, fuck,” Germany groaned. A tear slipped from the corner of Italy’s eye, running down his cheek. He grasped Germany’s thighs, hands barely encircling half of them, fingers digging in hard. Trying to match Germany’s pace, but soon giving up, Italy let Germany thrust up into him, his lips spit-slick and red. 

The bed creaked, his throat would be sore tomorrow, but he didn’t care. His tongue lolled, sliding around Germany’s cock sloppily. One of his hands wandered down from Germany’s thighs to roll his balls between his fingers, massaging them gently. 

“Mmngh, Italy,” Germany groaned. “You feel so good. I—I want to fuck you, for real.”

Italy popped off Germany’s cock with a wet sound. He coughed a few times, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Gladly,” he grinned, voice hoarse.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Germany asked worriedly.

“No, caro, I’m okay.”

“Do you want some water?”

“That would actually be nice. Thank you.” Germany stood on shaky legs. “Can you grab the lube? I’ll start prepping myself,” Italy asked.

“Oh,” Germany said.

“I know you like to do it, but I’m rather impatient.”

“Ha, that’s alright.” Germany bent down to get the lube from the nightstand drawer, Italy admiring the flex of his ass. “Here.” 

He threw it to Italy, who missed it and watched it land on the bed. “Oops. Hehe.” 

Italy began slicking up his fingers, and Germany shuffled to the bathroom, throwing one last glance back. He heard the sounds of a glass clinking, then the tap running, as he reached behind himself and quickly pushed a finger in. “Mmmh,” he groaned, louder than necessary. He wanted Germany to hear him. 

Sure enough, Germany hurried back, almost spilling the water in the glass that was clenched tightly between his fingers. “Here you go.” 

He handed over the glass, which Italy gratefully took, and gulped water from. “Aahh,” he said, giving the glass back to Germany to put on the nightstand. “Why don’t you lay back, bello? Enjoy the show,” he said, mischievously.

Germany nodded, his bottom lip between his teeth, and sat back down on the bed, laying against the pillows along the headboard. By this time, Italy had lubed up another finger, and had pushed it inside, scissoring them. “Ohh, Germany,” he moaned.

He could practically see Germany’s pupils dilate in real time, the other’s gaze fixed on him. “You know,” Italy began, letting soft ‘ah’s and ‘oh’s spill from his lips. “Sometimes, when I finger myself, I like to pretend it’s you.” He grinned wickedly. “Even before we got together.”

“Fuck,” Germany breathed out. “That’s hot.”

Italy slipped another finger in, kneeling, splayed, back on the bed to let Germany enjoy the show. “Mmm, yes. Just like that.” He let his eyes slip closed, losing himself in the feeling. A shock of heat ran up his spine when he nudged his prostate again. “Ohh, si, Germany. You feel so good.”

He felt Germany’s hands settle on his thighs, gripping tightly. “Bitte,” the other said. “I want to fuck you so bad.”

Opening his eyes, Italy wagged a finger teasingly. “Patience, my tesoro.” He pumped his fingers in and out again, exaggeratedly, eyelids fluttering. He tilted his head back, exposing his smooth, bare throat. “Ah,” he moaned. “I do wish these were your fingers, but this is pretty good, isn’t it?”

“Ja,” Germany breathed out. Italy looked back down at him again, Germany’s icy blue eyes staring at him, drinking in every detail. 

He made sure to look Germany straight in the eye as he thrust his fingers back in, letting out a loud moan. The other’s mouth parted slightly. Italy bit his lip. He wanted to put on a good show, sure, but he had already been impatient, and was growing ever more so. For good effect, he drew his fingers in and out a few more times, then took them out, wiping them on his thigh. 

He clambered back up to where Germany lay, hovering over the other man. Leisurely, he leaned down to kiss Germany passionately, Germany’s tongue sliding between his lips. With some difficulty he broke away, and squatted over Germany’s thighs, guiding his cock to his hole. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he sunk down, gasping as Germany’s hard length filled him. Germany’s hands grasped at his thighs, trembling. Finally, he was fully seated, groaning slightly at the feeling. He looked down at Germany, whose intense gaze seemed to burn through him. Grinning slightly, he wiggled a bit, feeling Germany’s cock grind against his insides.

“Mmmhh,” Germany moaned. He was so hard, filling Italy up so fully and perfectly. It felt amazing, and Italy felt like he could just sit there forever, having Germany’s cock plugging up the emptiness inside of him. But that would be cruel to Germany, so after a few moments to adjust, he slowly rose back up again, thighs quivering. Then plunged down, groaning at the stretch, its slight painfulness adding just that more edge to the pleasure. “Ohh, Gott,” Germany said, his eyes wide.

Gradually, Italy set up a languid pace, rising up and sinking back down onto the hard length. He twisted his hips ever so slightly, the blunt cockhead striking all the good parts inside of him. Germany thrust his hips up, meeting Italy’s, as their harsh breaths mingled with the creaking of the bed, and their soft sighs of enjoyment. 

“Ohh, Italy,” Germany groaned. “You feel so good.”

“Mmm, so do you.” Italy put his hands on Germany’s chest for balance, pushing his hips down, feeling Germany’s cock grind so deep into him. He sped up the pace a little, feeling the burn in his legs. The loud slapping of skin against skin filled the room. Germany shifted slightly, striking right at Italy’s sweet spot. “Oh!” he moaned. “Si, Germany! Just like that!” He lifted himself up, almost all the way off, just the tip still inside, then heavily sat back down. Germany’s hands flew to his waist. 

“You feel amazing,” Germany whispered. “So gut.” The muscles under the skin of his arms flexed, Italy admiring them in the dim light, as he grasped Italy’s waist firmly, then lifted him up to slam him back down on Germany’s cock, roughly. 

“Aah!” Italy moaned loudly. He loved it when Germany man-handled him like this. “Again!” he begged.

Germany could only comply, using Italy like a fucktoy as he pounded him up and down, hips thrusting up to match his harsh pace. Italy could barely even voice his pleasure, as out of breath as he was, only letting out the groans and whimpers that were ripped, unbidden, from his throat.

Suddenly, Germany hooked an arm around his waist, and in the blink of an eye, flipped them over. Italy’s breath whooshed out of him as he was flung down onto the mattress. He barely got any respite before Germany slid into him again. 

This time, he couldn’t help his moans increase in volume. Germany used the change in position to drive into him, hitting his prostate again and again. 

“Ah—oh—Germany—si! Cazzo! Oh, fuck!”

“Mmm,” Germany said, voice rough. He wrapped his large hands around Italy’s hips, hold bruising, using the leverage to pound into him. “I love it when you ride me, but I can fuck you better like this.”

Italy could only whimper in reply. His cries became louder, more desperate, as Germany thrust into him, the bedframe banging against the wall. “Please!” he moaned. 

“You want to come?” Germany panted. “You want to come on my cock?”

“Si, si!” Italy pleaded. “Please let me come on your cock sir, your big hard cock, oh it feels so good, I love it deep inside of me—”

Germany groaned. “Call me that again.”

“S-sir?”

“Ja,” he said, gaze intense as he looked down at Italy like he wanted to eat him. 

“Please let me come, sir, I want to come so bad, want to come on your cock,” Italy babbled, his eyes rolling back in his head as Germany mercilessly pounded his sweet spot. 

“Come for me,” Germany growled. 

“Ohhh!” he moaned, back arching off the bed as the heat coiling deep within his belly curled tighter. “Si, I’m so close, sir! Please, you fuck me so good!”

Germany pushed Italy’s legs forward, practically folding him in half, as he thrust into Italy’s tight, slick hole. The heat wound up to a fever pitch before it snapped, Italy’s cock pulsing as he came, wailing, untouched, all over his stomach. 

“So good for me, so perfect, all mine, all mine,” Germany gasped, hips stuttering, once, twice, as his own cock throbbed and he spilled, deep inside Italy. 

Almost as if on instinct, Germany thrust in a few more times, weakly, as he lowered his forehead to Italy’s, muttering sweet nothings in German. Italy held his shoulders tightly, sure he had left scratches on the other man’s back. Germany collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily, sweat coating his body. They lay there, unthinking, heavy-limbed, coming down from their high. After a few moments, Germany pulled out with a wet, lewd sound. He rolled off of Italy, laying next to him on the bed, continuing to catch his breath. He turned his head to the side, to gaze at Italy, who turned also, so they could look into each other’s eyes. Half-lidded, Germany’s piercing stare had softened, and he raised a hand to tuck some hair behind Italy’s ear. 

“…So,” Italy began. “You like it when I call you sir, huh?”

Germany probably would have blushed, if his face wasn’t already red from the exertion. “Uh… ja. It’s hot.”

Tapping a finger against his chin in thought, Italy said, “What if I called you commander?”

Germany seemed to choke on air, hand freezing where it had been caressing Italy’s face. “Um, uh…”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Italy grinned.

Swallowing heavily, Germany said, “M-maybe.”

Italy knew him well enough by now to know that this was a yes. He’d have to try that out, next time. 

Suddenly, he remembered something. “How’s your headache?”

Germany grinned at him, a beautifully rare show, lips curled up over his teeth. “All gone.”

[theladybarnes]

AVENGERS, ASSEMBLE - CH3: TIME FOR WORK

Shoot to thrill, play to kill got my gun at the ready, going to fire at will ‘Cause I shoot to thrill and I’m ready to kill And I can’t get enough and I can’t get my fill 'Cause I shoot to thrill, play to kill

FEATURING: Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Loki Laufeyson, & Tony Stark WORD COUNT: 3,086 SERIES MASTERLIST: ★

The trip to the helicarrier ended up being a lot more fun when you and Steve got past any leftover awkwardness. Even when Coulson joined back in the conversation. You helped edge down some of the fanboy that seeped through the older gentleman.

Natasha was the first one to walk up to you three by the time you landed. Her red hair was shorter than when you last saw her but had a nice sort of curl to it. Her smile was warm as she walked over to you first. Coulson dealt with the introduction before he was called off, leaving you and Steve to follow Nat.

“It was quite the buzz around here, finding you in the ice. I thought Coulson was gonna swoon.”

She looked over at Steve amusingly. “He practically did.” you said looking ahead onto the deck. Natasha chuckled a bit at that. “Did he ask you to sign his Captain America trading cards yet?” It was your turn to chuckle now. You were even more curious to know just how big of a fan the Agent was now.

“Dr. Banner.”

Your head snapped in the direction that Steve called to. A man with mousy brown curls and a very lost expression turned to face you three. You recalled hearing about Bruce long before you had even joined SHIELD. It wasn’t hard for anyone to have heard about the man who turned into a giant green beast. The man that had shaken Steve’s hand was definitely the last person you thought could turn into anything with such anger. Let alone that.

“Word is you could find the Cube.”

“Is that the only word on me?”

Any thought you had previously suddenly made you feel guilty. Steve on the other hand didn’t look at the Doctor any differently than he would anyone else. “Only word I care about.” A small but proud smile pulled at your lips. Natasha pulled you in beside her, a step away from the boys. “So, they finally got you on a case? How does it feel?”

“Like I’m way in over my head.” you said honestly. “Fury, Hill, and even Coulson at one point have all expressed their interest in moving me forward. But another part is too..cautious about it. Almost..” You want to say suspicious. But if you did you’d have to explain why and not only could you not pinpoint as to why you felt that way but you weren’t sure how Natasha would react.

“I hate to join in on the list of people giving you caution right now, but I have to agree and say that I think you’re ready. At least for some as easy as what? Liaison?”

You nodded your head and stole a glance at Steve. He was still talking to Bruce but caught your eyes. A smile on his face. “Yeah, I know I can do it. But I’m beginning to think this is going to turn into something bigger.” Natasha patted your back affectionately and led you closer to the two men again. “That little suspicion of yours might be right.” she muttered before she cleared her throat.

“Gentlemen, you might want to step inside in a minute. It’s going to get a little hard to breathe.”

The two of you stood back and watched as Steve and Bruce wandered over towards the edge. Both in awe of what was about to happen. “Come on Agent, fun’s about to start.”

Being inside the main control room brought a sense of comfort. For so many months now being behind a screen was where you felt comfortable. A part of you felt jealous looking at the people all around the floor as they tapped away at their monitors. Your fingertips ached in pain as you trailed your hand against the railing, the rows of tinted screens taunting you with their warm light. Even Fury got to play with a couple of screens at his station. Cracking them momentarily distracted you from the want that flooded your senses. You still couldn’t help but feel like a kid who wasn’t allowed inside the candy store.

There was a moment when one of the agents abandoned their seat that you were about to go and check things out when you remembered what you were here for in the first place. This was your first assignment and you couldn’t let your mind go right into the data gutter just yet. With a sigh to yourself, you walked over to Steve’s side, just as he reached into his pocket to give Fury a ten dollar bill. As he kept walking forward, Fury caught your attention with a small sly smile as he pushed the paper into his pocket.

With a small snort, you walked over to Maria Hill, her blue eyes looked alert but happy to see you. “Glad you were able to join us, Scout. I’m looking forward to seeing how well you do.” A beam of pride filled within you. Maria Hill was one of the few agents you really admired in the line of work you did. She did a lot of the same kind of work you wanted to do but better. And on top of that had a great leadership presence that you could only hope to work towards.

“Had it not been for your seal of approval, I don’t think I would be. I’ll be sure to make you proud.”

She smiled at you and patted your back with the same affection Natasha had done. “Don’t worry about me, the only one you should want to impress is yourself.” She was called away after that, leaving you to slowly inch your way back into the group’s discussion. Natasha looking over at an agent’s screen struck your curiosity. “Barton’s been compromised.”

A pang of worry filled your stomach. Clint was someone you respected as well. He’s helped you out in training a couple of times when he had time to spare at the academy. Not to mention he was easy to trick into buying first round drinks. You stared at Natasha as she swiped across the screen. He was one of her closest friends and you could tell just how worried she was. “We’ll find him.” you promised, unsure how you could help.

“Agent Romanoff, could you show Dr. Banner to his laboratory, please?”

The two of you stood up and made your way over towards Bruce. “You’re gonna love it, Doc. We got all the toys.”

It was a couple of hours later that you guys were still in the main control room, working on finding out where Loki, Clint, and Dr. Selvig were. Along with the few other agents that Loki managed to control. Fury finally had given in and gave you a spot on deck to catch up more on the files that you hadn’t received in your debriefing packet.

Last scene photos of Clint along with Erik and Loki appeared across your screen. You studied Loki’s photo for a moment longer. This man was supposed to be a God, someone that people apparently worshipped at one point. To you he merely looked like an adult man who had overgrown his high school emo phase.

When your eyes begin to sting from the glare of the screen, you decide then that it’s time to take a break. The low chatting between Steve and Phil picked up on your ears as you approached the two.

“It took me a couple of years to collect them all..near mint.”

You did your best to not smile as Steve glanced at you. It was a little endearing to you but you could imagine what Steve must be thinking about having such a fan working with him right now. Especially since his whole career that Coulson idolized so much, wasn’t too long ago for him. The idea of someone knowing so much about you must be a little bit overwhelming. When Phil continued on, you took the chance and poked his shoe again with your boot like you did earlier that day. When he glanced over at you, you made sure to give a sincere smile with a wink. A light hue of pink flushed over his ears.

“We got a hit. A sixty-seven percent match. Wait. Cross match, seventy-nine percent.”

Coulson’s professionalism returned instantly. He walked over to the computer screen beside Agent Sitwell. “Location?”

“Stuttgart, Germany. 28 Konigstrasse. He’s not exactly hiding.”

Steve and you approached closer to look at the monitors. Loki was now dressed up for whatever event the gala was hosting. He looked almost better than the photos from last time showed you.

“Captain. You’re up.”

Steve nodded at Fury’s request and turned back to face you. “You better suit up, Scout.” Your brows rose up and you shook your head. “I’m not exactly cleared for anything-” Steve cut you off and placed a hand on your shoulder. It felt a little closer to cupping your neck honestly. “I need to be with a team I trust and so far that’s just you.” He pulled you with him not waiting for a clear answer. You craned your neck to look at Fury. All he gave you was a shrug as Steve continued to drag you with him.

“Looks like it’s the Captain’s orders.”

It’s only a few minutes that Natasha has you ‘suited up’. That no more comfy clothes and hello to the official SHIELD uniform. It was fortunately not a bodysuit like Natasha’s but considering you weren’t too used to wearing holsters and cargo pants with way too many pockets. When you finally loaded up onto the quinjet with Natasha and Steve, the knot in your stomach began to grow bigger. Not because you were scared, but because the hunch you’ve had for the whole day seemed to be catching up with you.

Natasha sat up in the front with Agent Jacobs piloting as you and Steve stood in the hanger and prepped everything you’d need for when Loki was captured. “I gotta tell you, Steve. I’m hoping you really won’t need me for back up. I’m not too sure Loki will be intimidated by me much.” You try to joke but you know you probably sound pretty weak at the moment.

“You’re exactly what I need to get him tonight.” he fixed the strap on his shield. Something that you really wish you could look at more. The whole suit and shield had stunned you earlier when Steve stepped out. Not because he happened to look incredibly handsome in it, but your father, Howard, had been the person to help create it. A piece of him was right in front of you.

Hesitantly, you reached out and gave the smallest touch to his shield. The metal felt cool against your hand and you smiled up at Steve. Already he had been staring at you with the same smile he gave you earlier this day. “Besides, I’ve knocked out a few Hitlers before. I’m pretty sure I can take on Loki.” You gave him a bewildered look before the two of you began to laugh. That was something you’d definitely have to ask him about when things calmed down.

“Alright, so you got things covered. I guess you’ll need me for just moral support?”

“That and more.”

“Well now I’m curious to know what you mean by more.” Steve looked like he was about to say something when a loud beep came from the front of the jet. Natasha glanced back at you both. “We’re gonna drop you a few blocks from the museum, Captain. Scout and I will be up in the skies ready for when you need us.”

After you passed the four of you a set of comms, you helped release the latch to open up the ramp for Steve when the plane got close enough to the ground. He gave you a quick salute and jumped off to the ground. Sprinting as soon as he saw he was in the clear.

“You two seem to be working well together.”

The doors were just sealed when Natasha appeared beside you. “Now is not the time, Romanoff.” She didn’t reply back to you as she reached into the compartment head for a large metal box. Two thick cuffs were pulled from the case. You took them from her when Agent Jacobs called her back to the front.

In the comms you could hear Steve’s voice talking to Loki. “I’m not the one who’s out of time.” His strong and commanding ‘Captain’ voice was definitely interesting. You walked over to stand behind Natasha as she reached to release the jet’s gun. The God himself rose up from the ground with an amused look on his face. How he knew so much about Steve had you curious.

You reached over and pressed the PA system, handing her the headset as she adjusted the controls. “Loki, drop the weapon and stand down.” A blue energy beam shot at the jet and you guys managed to dodge it in time. Not without almost making you fall, of course.

Once balanced, the three of you watched as Steve and Loki began to fight. “This guy definitely knows how to fight.” you muttered. An itch grew in the palms of your hands as you checked over your person. Making sure that your weapons were ready to be used if needed. The two almost seemed to dance as they battled each other. Steve was direct and strong with his hits, but Loki’s fighting was just too natural. Even with being older than seventy years, that could not change the fact that Loki most likely had centuries worth of practice.

“The guy’s all over the place.”

Steve was thrown onto the ground now. The outcome of the battle for a second doesn’t look likely to be getting easier. Even if you were nervous about what you and Natasha would need to do for back up, there was no doubt you wouldn’t help Steve. Quickly, you rushed over to the latch again, ready for the go on when to jump. Suddenly, an interrupting static shot through the intercoms.

“Agent Romanoff. You miss me?”

“Shit.”

Shoot to Thrill played inside and outside of the jet. The world’s biggest headache came to you suddenly. Natasha shot you a glance and winced at your sick expression. Definitely should have stayed at the academy.

A red blur flies past the jet and you watch quickly as the battle between Steve and Loki finishes. The greased God is quick to submit and the two men you really didn’t want to meet greet each other over the comms.

The jet landed quickly soon after Loki’s surrender. Steve pushed Loki to step inside first and you’re suddenly taken back by the man before you. He was a couple more inches taller than Steve but his smaller weight and sharp features made his overall appearance giant. Pale blue eyes stared at you as you quickly adjusted the cuffs onto his wrists. “Well,” he purred. You did your best not to shiver at all to his cool tone. “Aren’t you a little young for this capture, little dove?”

Steve cleared his throat behind the two of you and you pushed Loki towards the row of seats. Not meeting his eyes as you strapped him in. You tugged on the strap a little harder than you meant to which caused him to grunt a bit. “Do you always do things so rough and tight?” His face had gotten close to yours now and you pulled back instantly. You hated the gleeful look that stayed on his face.

“Gotta be extra careful when handling children.”

For a second you could see his eyes flicker before he looked away. A fire in his blues now. The loud thuds of Tony’s suit echoed in the jet as he stepped in. Your back was still to him as you walked away from Loki to stand behind Natasha’s seat.

“Well everyone, let’s get the show going and head out!” Tony clapped as the ramp closed. You winced for a moment sending a silent prayer to any God out there (that wasn’t behind you on the jet) to hopefully save you for the conversation that is bound to happen any second.

“Alright, Loki. It’s time you talk.” Steve said behind you, the God stayed silent to any of the following questions that were thrown at him. You wanted so badly to see it for yourself but that would give your face away and you knew it would be a good amount of minutes before you made it back to the helicarrier.

“Are we really going to play this game of silent treatment, Sprout? At least tell a guy what he did.”

Before anyone could ask what Tony meant, you gripped onto his metal arm and dragged him over to a more tight and private corner of the jet. There wasn’t much room for anyone but it was the only thing you could think to do. “Don’t call me that!” you whispered fiercely.

Tony already looked exasperated. The thing that worried you most amongst all this was the fact that he didn’t look the least bit surprised to see you there. “Oh? Pray tell what exactly I’m supposed to call you-” He was about to say your name when you clamped your hand over his lips. “Scout is what everyone calls me. And, if you don’t mind, I’d rather we save this conversation when we’re not dealing with an adolescent God.” The two of you looked over to notice that almost everyone in the jet was looking at the pair of you.

Natasha again looked at you with the same pained expression as before. Obviously knowing what is most likely to come next. Your hand lands back at your side as Tony pushed away to make his way to Steve. Along with a low grumble. The blonde could only look at you with a look that was a mix of confusion and discomfort. He clearly showed that he wanted to ask what that was about, but all you could do was shake your head and look away. Taking a seat down across from the men in the jet, you put your face into your hands. Contemplating if this was worth the headache you had. You sent out another prayer to the skies that things wouldn’t get more complicated.

In the distance the sounds of thunder began to form.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

I can imagine stinger: In Knowhere the Collector's Museum completely trashed, Loki holding the reality stone. "Sigyn, never doubt my love for you."

Oh guys, don't do this to me. It'll turn into a plot bunny and then I'll be down a whole new rabbit hole.

But, I think I've got something better. This takes place during Thor: The Dark World to replace the reveal of Loki taking Odin's place.

We follow the guard who informed Odin of his son's death as he walks through the halls of Asgard.

He walks with purpose, barely giving notice to the lord and ladies of the palace or even a passing servant girl who smiles his way. His trajectory is downward, taking a series of winding staircases down until he's finally at the doors of Odin's weapon room.

Two guards stand at the doors.

"I'm here to relieve you," the new guard says.

The two look at each other suspiciously.

"Where is the other?" one asks.

The new guard shrugs. "Shouldn't be far behind. Had to see a man about a dog."

Neither look convinced. "We'll wait until he gets here," the other says.

The new guard appears undisturbed. "Suit yourself."

Neither have time to react. In a flash two knives are embedded in each of their chest and the two men collapse to the ground.

In a flicker of green light, the two bodies seem to disappear from the floor and the image of two standing guards take their place.

The murderer steps through the doors.

He walks past a golden glove, the casket of winter, swords and helmets and every number of dangerous weapon until finally he stops at the Tesseract.

Two hands reach out. Green light flickers the armored gloves are replaced by familiar pale fingers

Loki holds up the cube, the blue light illuminating his determined features.

He presses his hands hard against the Tesseract. Cracks begin to form until all at once the cube shatters like glass revealing a glowing blue stone.

It floats an inch above Loki's palm, never quite meeting skin.

"One down," he whispers, "Five to go."

His hand reaches to a small chain around his neck. Dangling on the end, a simple golden band. Sigyn's.

With a twist of his hand, the stone spins and a portal opens.

Loki walks through, his hand still clasped around Sigyn's ring before he disappears without a trace.

For context

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 1-5: 命运的拐点 Destiny’s Turning Point Translation

“Destiny is like a gust of wind… Red leaves flutter, flying away in the face of it.  And it is when the winds pick up ― That you meet once more…”

"Oh? Come on then, I’m waiting.”

*Light and Night Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *Main story tag will be #For Light and Night

MC: Uh oh, now I can’t run.

I stood rooted to my spot, brain blanking out.

??: Why aren’t you saying anything? Am I that terrifying?

I resisted the urge to nod in the heat of the moment, knowing that it wouldn’t do me any good to provoke him now. I lightly shook my head in response.

MC: …I didn’t see anything earlier.

??: Then why are you trying to escape?

His voice was calm and composed, much unlike my shaky one.

However, that soon changed. His voice took on a commanding tone, frigid and icy.

??: Turn around. Let’s have a talk.

I recalled that in movies, no good ever came out of having seen the villain’s face. I shook my head once more.

??: Must I make you?

Following a chuckle, the hand removed itself from the door and hovered close to my face. His hand was so close that I could feel the chill radiating off his fingers.

There was a faintly discernible scent of black cedarwood handing in the air. My instincts screamed danger.

My heart jumped, for fear that he’d take things a step further. I abruptly whipped around to face him.

❖☆———————————★❖

A man was standing in front of me within arm’s reach, looking down at me with a playful expression on his face. His eyes were sharp, with something wild and dangerous flickering within its depths.

??: Now that’s more like it.

He backed away a little, using his other hand to dangle the earring before my eyes.

❖☆———————————★❖

??: Did you lose this?

I frantically shook my head like how one would shake a rattle. Suddenly, I realized that something wasn’t quite right here. Why did he ask me if I’d lost it?

Is he testing me?

I tried my hardest to remain calm, holding tightly onto the phone I’d hidden behind my back as I felt around for the emergency call button.

??: ……

Who would have thought that he’d actually lean down, clasping onto my hand with a start. He slightly raised his eyes, fixing me with a calm look.

??: And what do you think you’re doing?

MC: Nothing.

??: You suspect that I’m the one who stole it, yes?

MC: ……

??: Then how about you take a guess? What do you think will happen if you get in the way of my business?

I could tell that he was evidently trying to egg me on. I was already a nervous wreck from being completely seen through by him, and since he’d already caught me red-handed in the act, there wasn’t much sense in trying to hide it anymore.

MC: This earring was something an acquaintance of mine lost. My brooch has also gone missing.

MC: And I saw you in the corridor right before things started going missing!

The man raises his chin after a few seconds of silence, releasing his hold on me.

??: Give me your hand.

I didn’t know what he intended to do with it, but neither did I have the courage to ask, so all I could do was to stick a hand out just like he asked.

He placed the earrings onto my awaiting palm and jabbed his finger behind him.

??: Take that and follow me.

I held onto the ruby earrings, stunned. The thought of running away and making my escape flashed to the forefront of my mind when I saw that he’d already proceeded a couple of steps forward.

The man turned back to look at me coldly, as if he was issuing a silent order to follow.

With no other choice, all I could do was to hold tightly onto the earrings and follow him to the corner of the roof.

❖☆———————————★❖

There was a wooden box there, not the jewellery box or the apple box kind that were frequently used in the competition, but an old cube that had been hollowed out in the middle with a couple of scratches at the sides.

He pointed to the box, gesturing for me to look within.

Cautiously peeking into it, I saw a layer of hay spread out on the bottom of the box. It appears to be what looked like a bird’s nest, with two bluish-purple feathers nestled within.

And the centre of this “nest” was filled with earrings, hairpins, rings… Heck, these were all the accessories we lost!

❖☆———————————★❖

MC: What are they all doing here!?

I whipped around to look at him in shock, forgetting my fear.

??: The thief hid it here. I found it.

??: Weren’t you missing a brooch? Have fun looking.

Is he for real? Is he not making this up on the fly…? Does this mean that he's… really not the thief?

Almost as if he’d read my thoughts, the man shrugged his shoulders and stepped a couple of steps away, turning his gaze up towards the night sky. I remained wary as I bent down and sifted through the pile until I found my missing brooch. I gave it a thorough check.

❖☆———————————★❖

MC: Thank god. It’s still in one piece…

??: Found it?

MC: Yeah.

The man moved away from the wall he had been leaning on, straightening up as he headed towards me. The heavy clouds finally moved away, revealing the moonlight that filtered down, illuminating his features.

He wore a look of indifference, his lips pressed into a thin line. He even had a great well-defined jawline.

❖☆———————————★❖

Suddenly, a memory flashed across my mind— The contestant that stood atop the highest point of the podium took off his helmet, looking towards the crowd below the stage.

Something clicked as the figure in front of me started associating itself with the image that An'an had once showed me. I widened my eyes incredulously.

❖☆———————————★❖

MC: No way! You're… Osborn!?

He stiffened for a while before his expression returned to his usual aloof one.

Osborn: You know of me? Looks like word of my name really travels.

…It’s really him!?

I only found myself puzzled even more despite having gotten undeniable affirmation from him. I just couldn’t connect the idea that the well-known racer was actually the same guy suspiciously sneaking about on the rooftop at night with our lost items.

A multitude of questions filled my mind.

MC: How did you find them here? Even the police couldn’t.

Osborn: Well, those two feathers there.

MC: This is…

Osborn: Feathers of a Purplite Bird. They like to gather shiny things and bring them back to their nest.

I suddenly recalled that I’d seen these exact same feathers inside my jewelry box. So… I was actually the one who’d misunderstood his intentions?

The realization hit me hard, followed by a bout of embarrassment. I wanted to say something to explain myself out of this awkward situation, but Osborn only smiled lightly at me.

The wind blew leisurely past the roof, bringing refreshing coolness along with it.

☆Light Choice: Trust him 

I decided to give him the benefit of doubt, trusting him since I'd already managed to ascertain his identity.

Besides, it was more important to focus on the contest given the current situation.

MC: Alright then. I'll believe you. Although... What are you doing here this late?

★Night Choice: Still feel a little skeptical

MC: But it’s so late now. What are you doing here? Besides, how did you know that we lost stuff?

Osborn: For someone so cowardly, you sure do have a load of questions.

Osborn: I’m no different from you. I’m still here because I’m looking for something I lost during rehearsals.

Osborn inclined his head, taking out a bracelet from his pocket.

It was a silver nameplate bracelet. Osborn held it up, lightly shaking it.

The nameplate had a two-headed snake motif on the front, with some English words and numbers engraved at the back.

❖☆———————————★❖

I couldn’t help but to feel as if something was off about it, but there was no real need for me to be delving deeper into it. It was more important to focus on the upcoming competition.

MC: So, what do we do about the rest of the stuff?

Osborn: I’ve already informed the police, so the rest of the missing items should be returned in due time after they’re done wrapping things up.

MC: Great. Then, seeing as how the issue has already been settled… I guess I’ll better be going now.

I nodded to him before making a speedy escape towards the exit. However, the weight nestled in my palm reminded me of something that I’d overlooked. After giving it some thought, I halted and turned back around.

Osborn: What now? Can’t bear to leave?

MC: I should put this brooch back. Else, the numbers won’t quite tally when the police do a count.

I placed the brooch back into the box and was just about to leave when my fingers accidentally brushed against the blueish-purple feathers. Suddenly, I was hit by an inexplicable wave of grief that filled my chest.

It was as if all my senses had suddenly dulled. All I heard was an odd, yet clear birdsong that made itself known to my ears, sad, forlorn, and speaking of immeasurable grief.

I hurriedly retracted my hand, suddenly feeling my senses revert to normal as I returned back to my body. Everything returned to normal, making what I’d just experienced seem naught but a brief trance of sorts.

MC: Do you hear something?

Osborn: Hear what?

He looked at me questioningly, seemingly not having heard the same thing I had.

MC: …Nothing. It must just be my imagination then.

I hesitantly made my way towards the door, mulling over the peculiar experience I just had while I opened the door. However, the door didn’t budge.

A chuckle sounded in my ears, carried along by the wind.

Osborn gave it a hard tug. It swung open with a loud clang.

It looks like the bolt had just gotten stuck.

Osborn: Looks like you’re not only lacking in the courage department, but strength as well.

Osborn: You’re welcome.

He looked me straight in the eye, a hint of a mirth flickering across his eyes.

MC: I’ve yet to even thank you…

Osborn: Oh? Come on then, I’m waiting.

MC: Thank. You. Very. Much.

I’d long since lost the fear I’d felt earlier. I met his gaze, biting out every word of thanks.

His attention had been starting to wander, his eyes moving elsewhere. However, he whipped back around upon hearing that, raising an eyebrow in question. I ignored him, dashing right downstairs.

It was only until the girl’s figure had disappeared down the stairs that Osborn shut the door to the roof.

A purple-coloured bird appeared under the covers of the night sky, letting out a shrill cry as it hovered mid-air.

It fluttered its wings, it’s entire body exuding inky black mist that seemed to devour everything in sight.

Osborn: Great to see you here. Now that spares me the trouble of having to go looking for you.

He raised a hand, deep blue flames erupting from his fingertips.

❖☆————— ⊹ For Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

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