#shits been so goddamn busy again what with work and packing and moving and getting shit from storage

[frnkiebby]

franks of today :DD

god he has such a pretty fucking smile and im screaming jesus fucking christ~🎃

[multi-verseimagines]

Three, Two, One. | S.R.

Summary: You and Spencer have worked in the BAU together for years, since the beginning but now, he's your boss and something quite big is happening in your life & soon to be Spencer's life after needing each others help to unwind.

Pairing: UnitChief!Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

WC: 3.3k

Warnings: Pregnancy, Angst, Cheating??

A/N: LOW & BEHOLD- here lays my first beauty. - my apologies is this is complete shit, I have not written in a while & I may have to get my special touch back. - anyways, i hope you guys like it ! 🔪🤍

three, two, one-

pregnant.

You were pregnant. You were pregnant with your bosses baby.

Spencer has not always been your boss, you actually started working for the BAU a month before he had even started working there.

He took over Emily's position once she moved up to FBI Director a few months back, at that congratulations party is when something sparked between you and Spencer- just, neither of you acted on it

You remember exactly how and when it happened too, it was the party after his promotion to Unit Chief. Goddamn promotion parties. You didn’t think you drank that much, until you woke up naked beside your new boss.

The temptation to pack a bag and hop on a flight across the world sounded so appetizing right now in your mind, too bad that it isn't realistic & you were going to have to face the facts and that was including, him.

There was never any “no speaking of this” - only us meeting up at my apartment, his apartment, our hotel rooms when we were on a case and needed to ‘unwind’ - the last time you and Spence had even slept together was 2-3 weeks ago anyway, of course when y'all needed to unwind after a case. Who could've guessed that one?

You were snatched from your thoughts when you heard your phone ringing from your bedroom- running for it, you were hoping that it wasn't Spencer.

‘Penelope Garcia 🖥️💖🍩’ 'thank the heavens' you silently think to yourself

“What’s up, Penny”

“Spencer is busy, he put me on duty to call you to find out if you plan to show your face at work today, ya know- since it is a work day and no show, no calls are frowned upon here" Your neck snaps to look at your alarm clock.

"Also, he wants to see you in his office once you get here"

7:32 A.M - have I seriously been staring at a positive pregnancy test for an entire hour?

“Fuck. See you soon. I'm leaving right now"

The short drive to work felt longer than it should have, probably because you took back roads to avoid having to see him again so soon. If you were already running late, what is a few extra minutes?

So many thoughts flying through your mind. How are you going to tell him? Oh hey, by the way, ya knocked me up so what’s the plan bud?!

“I'm doomed" You mutter to yourself getting out of your vehicle to go face reality, to go face the man of your now growing child. This has to be a nightmare.

Getting off of the elevator, the first person you saw was Alvez- boy, you were thankful that it wasn't Spencer, even though you'd be seeing him in just a few minutes.

"Looks like you saw a ghost"

"Yeah, Luke, something like that"

"You want to talk about it?"

"Not right now, I just want to forget about it- I need to see Pen" yeah, Y/N, like you'll actually be able to forget about it.

You make a beeline directly for Penelope's office, you have to tell someone about this before you actually lose your mind.

"Pen, I have news and it has to stay between you and I only"

"Your secret is safe with me, my love"

"I'm pregnant.. with Spencer's baby" you hesitated even saying the last part but wow, that felt good to get off of your chest, too bad it won't feel this easy with Spencer. Just thinking of having to tell him has you feeling like someone is choking you out.

"Oh."

"Oh? Pen, I am in a state of panic, a state of shock and you say 'Oh'- I don't know what to even begin to do here or how to even tell Reid that I am carrying his.. spawn"

"Spencer has a girlfriend or did, as far as I kn- okay, when did you find out” She cuts herself after seeing the look of horror on your face after hearing the beginning of her sentence, understandably so!

You were NOT the type of person to sleep with a taken man.

You were confident that you were about to face plant the ground right here and now in Penelope’s office. Did Spencer have a girlfriend or not? And were you about to go physically fight him for doing this to her, if so? You would be considering yourself jobless at that point.

“I found out this morning, literal minutes before you called me to get my ass here�� you were in a pure state of panic and you had many good reasons as to why.

“How long has he had a girlfriend, Pen?” you continued- you were sure your skin was blistering with how hot it was at this point. Was it hot out of anger or the panic attack that was charging at you? Who knows anymore because you didn’t care enough in this single second to sit and determine that.

"I don't know, he just mentioned a date a few weeks ago then didn't mention anything again but I know he's still in communication with her and by the contact name in his phone, I don't think they are just friends" Penelope lets you in on all of this, nervously- like she isn't supposed to be saying anything at all.

"Thanks, Pen" You murmur to her her as you leave, you have to leave her office, the longer you are in there, the more it feels like the walls are literally closing in on you.

Walking into the hallway, you don't know which direction to go- You should probably go see Spencer and give him some bullshit excuse as to why you were late.

It was barely 8 A.M, maybe it was past 8 A.M now- your mind is going too fast to try and keep up with time. Regardless, it's too early in the morning to drop a pregnancy announcement on someone.

Finally, you muster up the courage to walk into the bullpen to go on the hunt for Spencer, as much as your mind and body are telling you to just bolt to your car and never look back.

"Tara, do you know where Spencer is?" You ask quietly, so that you don't disturb the others around you

"No, I saw him walk out of his office a few minutes ago but I haven't seen him go back in. If you find him before me, let me know because I need to go over some things with him"

"I'll go knock and see if he's back, thanks Tara"

You can visibly see his blinds are closed but majority of the time they are closed anyways, so that doesn't even matter to you. Walking up the flight of stairs to get to his office is exhausting, it feels like your legs weigh 1000 pounds each.

Standing in front of his office, you hear talking inside- You can very clearly hear a females voice inside talking to him but you honestly couldn't tell if she was over the phone or actually in his office by how muffled it is, it's safe to assume that it is a phone call.

"No going back now since you're already here" You mumble to yourself

Knock, knock, knock

"Come in" You hear a muffled Spencer behind the door

As your opening the door, you quickly hear him state to the woman on the phone 'I have to go, I'll see you tonight' - God, as if you haven't already wanted to run away all morning, it keeps getting worse.

"Pen said you wanted to see me?"

"Yes, please sit" He says, gesturing to the chair

"Are you okay, Y/N? - You were late this morning, we've worked together for many years now and you've never once ran late, it's not like you not to communicate" You can see on his face that he cares, he didn't bring you in here to give you a lecture over something small, especially since this is your first time ever running late.

"Y-yes, I just woke up late and then getting to my car, I realized I had a flat, so I had to ask my neighbor to use his pump to fill it" You lied straight through your pearly white teeth and you were confident that he knew it to, just by the look he was giving you

He stares at you for a moment, trying to read you for anything. You were thankful for the fact that sometimes you were an impossible person to read

"Please, just communicate next time- It's not a big deal you were late, we just didn't know what was going on until I had Garcia get a hold of you"

"I will, you have my word- Am I good to go now?" You ask while standing up, yes, the talk went better than expected but you still wanted out of this office as fast as possible.

"Yes, thank you for coming to talk to me. Oh, also before I forget to mention it, at some point today whenever we both have free time, I would like to have a conversation. If it's just at the end of the day that's fine. It just needs to happen"

All you can bring yourself to do is nod your head and walk out of the room, based on the ass end of the phone call you walked in on- You have a pretty good hunch what he will be saying to you, especially after what Garcia also let you in on

It makes your heart ache- knowing that he could have a girlfriend, knowing this thing that the two of you had will be coming to an end, by no means were you and Spencer in a committed relationship but you would be lying to yourself, if you said you hadn't gained feelings for him and actually wanted more than just a 'fuck buddy' outcome

"So, is he up in the office? I really need to see him" Tara asks while already walking up there and away from you before you can even give her an answer.

You know for a fact that you are not going to be able to focus on work at all today even if you try your hardest, your anxiety is skyrocketing through the roof waiting for this conversation with Spencer and still, wondering when and how you are going to spill the beans about carrying his growing child.

"Alright, what is your issue? Are you pregnant?" Alvez is like a brother to you, nothing has been off limits in the talking department but this just sent you for a whole loop with how bluntly he asked.

You were confident that if it were possible, your eyes would've popped right out of their sockets and into your lap.

"Alvez, I am not discussing this with you right now" you whisper yelled to him, you didn't mean to come off like a bitch at all but god only knows who could've heard him.

"Well, Y/N, If I am being entirely honest. Penelope lets some things slip from time to time" He states like it's the most obvious thing ever.

All you can seem to do is look at him like a dear in the headlights, you feel your skin getting hot and prickly, it feels like there are someones hands around your throat squeezing harder and harder by the second.

"I have to go, I need to go home, I need air" It all comes out in a panic, you get up from your desk and bolt out of the bullpen and down the stairs, you don't even care to take the elevator. You cannot be stuck in a tight spot right now, a tight spot like an elevator.

"Please, just communicate" - "I will, you have my word" the conversation in Spencer's office goes through your mind and you know that you have to communicate with him that you just left work for the day and you don't plan to come back today, atleast- you couldn't and thankfully, it was Friday.

to: Spencer 'The Genius' Reid

'I have to excuse myself for the day, I'm sorry that I am having to send you a text message about this rather than coming to your office- this is me communicating with you. I will return back to my work duties on Monday, unless of course, a case pops up over the weekend then I will be here'

'also, I know we need to have a conversation, I also have something I need to tell you- let me know when you would like this conversation to take place' -

After sending your texts to Spencer, you set your phone on DND because at this point, you don't want to deal with anything or anyone else today, emergency or not.

Driving home was an entire blur, I mean you made it home alive, so that's what matters, I guess.

Walking inside, you plop onto the couch and turn on your favorite comfort show.. Modern Family.

A few hours later, you wake up in the exact place you laid down at- you thought your couch was so comfy until now when your entire body is in pain.. well, maybe it was your horrible sleeping position.

5:13 P.M -

"sweet baby jesus on a motorbike" You mutter to yourself after looking at the clock

"what are you doing to me?" You ask while poking your non-existent baby bump, granted it was a great sleep so you weren't trying to complain- you had heard from JJ in the past that early pregnancy is exhausting and you will sleep.. ALOT.

**BACK AT THE BAU**

"I just practically asked her if it was true but maybe in a more blunt way, it wasn't meant to come out so.. blunt" Alvez explains to Penelope who apparently watched you sprint out of work.

"I specifically told you not to say anything to her about it, I didn't even mean to let it slip to you of all people, Luke. I don't even think that they were in a relationship which makes this so much more difficult for her, as I could imagine" Pen snaps back at Luke.

"It's not going past me, I'm not opening my mouth to anyone about it" Luke says while walking to the Elevator with Pen, finally the work day was over

"Yeah, you let it slip to someone or who knows, I accidentally do again and Spencer is going to find out which right now, that doesn't need to happen" Pen states while being wildly unaware of who just came up behind them

"What doesn't Spencer need to find out right now and why can't he find out right now?" He asks from directly behind Alvez and Garcia, looking between the two of them for a answer.

Luke and Penelope both seem to jump straight out of their skin, not expecting to be crept up on- in reality, it was not Spencer's plan to creep up on them, he just happened to be leaving at the exact time as them and they didn't hear him coming up in the middle of their 'supposed to be' private conversation that was happening out in the open.

"I- uh it's nothing, well, sir, it's nothing in regards to me, i'm fine- it's not my place to tell you, it wasn't my place to tell, Luke- it just slipped and I am blabbering and I just realized that I need to get home" Before Spencer or Luke could say anything to her or anything more to Spencer, she's in the elevator with the doors closing.

'Nice Penelope, real nice' Luke thinks to himself, feeling a bit annoyed and slightly scared

Turning to look behind him, he sees Spencer's eyes boring right into him like he's staring right into Luke's soul, just waiting and searching for answers.

"Is there anything that you know, Alvez?" Spencer finally breaks the silence, otherwise who knows how long the two of them would've stayed standing there in the awkward paralyzing silence.

"I just know Y/N had to leave early today because, well I don't know why but I just know she left- you're her boss too, she should've communicated with you, right?"

"Right, Luke and she did, I have been trying to text and call her since I received her messages and nothing is going through" Reid is quick to bite back, getting quite annoyed himself being left in the dark and now that he is adding the pieces together, he's assuming these secretive things that "he isn't allowed to know about currently" are about you.

"I don't have any other information, what I told you is all I know- but I do need to get home to Roxy" Luke matter-of-factly states even though Luke knows that Luke is lying, well- not about Roxy but about the first part.

"Mhm, alright. Have a good night, Luke" Spencer gave up on trying to get any information out of the turnips that don't bleed but he is confident when he says this is about you and he will get to the bottom of it.

Back at your apartment, you've finally relaxed after a nice hot shower and ordering from your favorite chinese food joint and yes, still watching your comfort show but this time from the comfort of your own bed.

You still haven't even taken your phone off of DND mode, in your mind all you thought was 'if it is important enough, you know where I live and if you don't, contact Penelope Garcia' and the most important part, you were at peace.

You weren't worried about this pregnancy, you had accepted your fate, you weren't worried about Spencer or his new situ-relationship, you weren't even worried about what had happened with Alvez or Garcia. Peace.

"jesus Spencer, what the fuck" You yell out after walking out of the room and coming face to face with him, to say that you were startled was to say the absolute least

"Well, you would've known I was coming if someone didn't have their phone on airplane mode" He bit back with a darkness in his eyes and maybe a bit of worrisome, you couldn't tell everything with how dark it was.

"I know that I gave people a key to my house for emergencies but our conversation or how I was protecting my peace on a Friday night is not an emergency and frankly, if anyone was that worried, you would've sent someone sooner" You were once again fed up and wanted to continue to be alone with your favorite person, Phil Dunphy.

"I was going to drop our conversation until this weekend or even Monday, when we see each other in person again but funny enough, I was walking out to leave for the day when I walked into Luke's and Penelope's conversation and it was about you and something that I shouldn't be finding out about right now- would you happen to know anything about that?" Spencer replied, getting more and more fed up by the second.

If Spencer didn't know any better, he would say that you looked like you just saw a ghost- he was dead on the money about the conversation and some secret rooting back to you- now to just get it out of you.

Calming down after seeing the state you were rushing into, he comes to you with a softer approach - "Y/N, I want to help you. We've known each other for years, since I started working for the BAU, please let me know. Let me know what is going on. I'm not going anywhere"

You felt like you were about to up-chuck your chinese food all over this poor man, you know you need to tell him.

'Y/N you will never know the outcome of this unless you open your mouth and spill those words to him, be brave, be bold' You think silently to yourself.

"Spencer, I'm pregnant - You are the last person I slept with. I am pregnant with your baby"

if this is horrible, sue me - i haven't written in forever and honestly, this is a little bit longer than i thought it would be - whoops!

FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED

[officialaemondtargaryen]

Never Gonna Be Alone - Part Four

Summary: When a friend from college contacts you about renting out your spare bedroom to her brother, you aren't really sure what to expect.

Pairing: Modern!Aegon Targaryen x Reader

Word Count: ~ 4.0k

Author's Note: Sorry I kind of forgot about this one. I'll try and get updates out more quickly. This one is for the anon who asked for an update. Probably would have continued forgetting about this if it weren't for you! Here's to hoping the next update takes less than six months!

Warnings for the entire series: language, drug & alcohol use, sex, possible angst, pining & yearning, miscommunication, bit of a slow burn, and a lot of fluff, plus me attempting to be a comedian.

Masterlist | Playlist

Aegon was right, the wall was empty. 

It had been since the day you first moved in. Blank. Beige. Unbothered. Not unlike your love life. It was something that you had become so accustomed to that you didn’t notice just how empty it really was, having passed by it a thousand times without a second glance. You were blind to the void that it represented until suddenly– there it was. Filled, but not just with color, or thread and gold beads, but with him. 

Two weeks had passed since you both stumbled home from Helaena’s art show; laughing, drunk, and starving with bags of Jade Garden and snacks from the Freedom Mart up the street.

And he couldn’t wait to hang it for you. He’d insisted on doing it that night, despite your protests, and said that it absolutely could not wait. He had pushed up his sleeves and dug out your dad’s old hand-me-down toolbox that the old man had sworn you would need someday. You watched from the couch, barefoot and grinning with a box of Lo Mein, as he “eyeballed it”. 

“There,” he said, stepping back to survey his work. “That wall’s been starin’ at me for weeks.”

Now it stares at you.

It should have meant nothing– but to you, it meant everything. 

It meant that somewhere between splitting joints and the last crab rangoon, between the inside jokes and the butterflies, you had begun living in a future that didn’t belong to you. You’d begun daydreaming about forever, when in reality, you were living inside of a bubble– stretching thinner everyday, its walls shimmering and fragile. Deep down, you knew that at any moment, the needle would drop and this whole thing would burst. 

And then what?

You’d spiral, obviously. Pack your shit into the same busted suitcases you moved in with, toss your books and your yarn into recycled boxes, and move across the country– never to be seen or heard from again. Leave him the apartment filled with your embarrassment and that goddamned painting.

Was it dramatic? Definitely. Were you still picturing him running after you in the airport and begging you to stay? Absolutely. But none of that mattered– not yet anyway. Because for now, the bubble was still intact. And despite your inner turmoil, you were going to be totally, perfectly, 100% fine. 

Probably.

You were sitting on the kitchen counter, cereal bowl in hand, staring at the singular green coffee mug in the sink when someone knocked on the door. You didn’t move at first, too busy staring down that mug as if it were about to grow arms and legs and jump out at you. The knock came again, louder this time, followed by a muffled voice: “Knock, knock!”

You blinked out of your daze, setting your bowl aside with a soft clink against the countertop, and dragged yourself towards the door in the pajamas you hadn’t bothered to change out of yet. When you peeked through the peephole, you instantly recognized the silvery space buns and oversized sunglasses. 

“Wasn’t expecting you!” You smiled as you opened the door. 

“Hi,” she chirped, as bright as the midday sun itself, holding up your worn copy of Conversations With Friends. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop this off. You were right, it wasn’t as good as Normal People, but I still couldn’t put it down.” 

“Told you,” You smiled, taking the book from her hands and stepped aside to let her in. She waltzed into your apartment like she owned the place, but that was how Helaena walked into every room; effortless and cool with her Doc Martens and cute dresses. “Aegon went out for a run.” 

“S’okay,” she hummed and crossed the room to where her artwork hung on the wall. “This looks really great here. Catches the light from the window perfectly.”

You glanced at it too, the golden threads gleaming in the morning sun. “Yeah,” a small smile pulled at your lips. “He was adamant we needed something for that wall.”

There was a pause.

“We?” Helaena echoed, one perfectly arched brow lifting as she tilted her head towards you. Her voice wasn’t accusatory, but amused. Amused and curious in a way that made your stomach flutter with dread, like you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t have.

“I– uh, by ‘we’ I mean ‘the apartment,’ obviously,” you said quickly, already regretting how fast the explanation left your mouth. You tried to backpedal, make it sound casual, redirect. “Like, as a whole. Collectively. The apartment needed something. You know, Feng Shui or whatever.”

“Feng Shui? You sound just like him.” She said with a smirk. 

You could feel her watching you from the side as you tried very hard not to squirm. When you turned to her in protest, it was almost as if you could see the lightbulb clicking on over her head– like she’d just put two and two together and didn’t even need to check the math. 

“You like him.” Her tone, as always, was sincere. 

She wasn’t being judgmental or catty. Hell, she didn’t even seem all that surprised. She said it in a way that someone would say something obvious like, “the sky is blue”. And that, of course, made it all the more worse for you, because if Helaena had noticed within five minutes of being in your apartment, then you were being way more obvious than intended.

And if she could tell, chances were that Aegon could, too. 

Great. Just great. 

Your stomach flipped– annoyingly, involuntarily– and you laughed, too quickly. “What? No.”

Helaena didn’t press. She just tilted her head slightly, a knowing curve at the corner of her mouth as she turned her attention back to the painting with her arms folded over her chest. 

You sighed in immediate defeat, “It’s that obvious?”

She smiled, but didn’t look at you, “It’s not not obvious.” 

And just like that, the floor threatened to swallow you whole. 

If Helaena, someone you’d only just begun to know outside the shared orbit of her brother, could figure it out so quickly, what were the chances he hadn’t? What were the odds that ‘Mr-I-Notice-Everything’ was somehow completely oblivious to this one thing? The lingering looks? Your feet brushing against his under the coffee table? You could already feel your cheeks heating, your mind spiraling through every interaction you’d had in the past two weeks, combing for any moment that might’ve cracked the facade. 

She must’ve sensed you slipping too far into your own head, because her tone shifted. “Just… be careful,” she said as she pulled her sunglasses back down over her eyes and grabbed her bag. “When I said he was messy, what did you think I meant?”

You shrug, “I don’t know, that he doesn’t pick up after himself?”

She snorted a laugh and crossed the living room towards the front door. “No, I meant that he’s a slut.”

You exhale, shoulders dropping in disappointment.

“I’m just being honest,” she said softly as she pulled the door open. “He crashed on my couch for a month before he moved in here and brought home a different girl every weekend.”

“That hasn’t happened here, thank God,” you mumbled more to yourself than to her.

Helaena leaned her shoulder against the doorframe, her expression unreadable behind her sunglasses, but you could still feel the weight of her gaze. “I’m not trying to scare you off,” she added, adjusting the strap on her shoulder. “I just think you should know what you’re walking into.”

“And what is that, exactly?” You ask as she steps out onto the front stoop.

She turned to you and shrugged, the corner of her mouth twisting into something between a smile and a wince and took a deep breath, “I don’t know. Best case? It’s great. Worst case?” She hesitated, weighing her words. “You sleep together, it gets weird, and then… you never talk again.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “That’s optimistic.”

“Hey, fifty-fifty odds aren’t the worst,” she said, stepping down onto the sidewalk, sunlight catching in the silver strands of her hair. “And for what it’s worth, I do hope you’re the exception.”

You nodded, chewing the inside of your cheek. “Thanks, I think.”

“Good luck, girly!” she called over her shoulder as she started down the block, then turned back, walking backwards a few steps. “Tell him to call me, yeah?”

The door clicked shut behind you and the apartment was quiet, leaving you alone with your thoughts, once again. You pressed your head against the door and sighed, telling yourself over and over again that you were okay. That everything was fine. It was just the proximity and hormones and the slow death of your better judgement, that’s all.

You peeled yourself away from the door slowly and turned to face the living room; your shoes next to his in the foyer, his XBox controller sitting on top of your most recent read on the coffee table, his hoodie hanging next to your raincoat– the arms seemingly entangled. Everything about this place had started to feel like him and the air was suddenly too thin.

Truth be told, you should just go ahead and start packing now. Move to Portland. Change your name. Dye your hair some vibrant shade of magenta. Open a bookstore. Thrift a whole new wardrobe. Become mysterious. 

Maybe get a cat. 

You’d never have to hear the name Aegon ever again. 

Instead, you sank back into your bed with the weight of all your delusions, curled up so tightly in your duvet that it may have just been the only thing holding you together. You opened your laptop and queued up Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, wishing that you could do some erasing of your own. But, you didn’t even make it to Charles River before you fell asleep. 

By the time you woke up, your laptop was dead and the sky outside your window was tinged with the dusky colors of an early sunset. You blinked the sleep from your eyes and fumble for your phone only to see that you had been out for over five hours. Shit. Apparently your body needed a rest after quietly crumbling beneath the emotional weight of your one-sided situationship. 

You stretched beneath the covers, your limbs stiff and brain foggy. and the ache in your chest blooming fresh all over again now that you were conscious. 

Aegon was in the living room. You could hear the faint sound of the evening news on the TV. 

For a moment, you contemplated staying in the warmth of your bed. The thought of stepping out into that shared space made your stomach twist. Or maybe it was because you hadn’t eaten anything all day. Hard to tell. The line between physical and emotional hunger had started to blur a while ago.

What if she told him? 

Of course she told him– she's his sister. She probably didn’t even make it to the end of the block before she had texted him. Regardless, it didn’t really matter, you’d have to face him eventually. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t hide in your room forever. Besides, you’d already stress-napped through most of the day. The least you could do was pull up your big girl panties and face your problems head on. 

The living room was washed in the bluish light of the TV, flickering softly against the walls. The voice of a news anchor droned in the background, dry and detached, “…no official comment from Otto Hightower or other members of the TargCo executive board…”

“Hey,” Aegon says softly as you step into view. He reaches forward for the remote and flips the channel. “You’re alive.” 

“Barely,” you croak, voice still thick with residual exhaustion. “Sorry I missed movie night.”

“You didn’t,” he smiles softly. “The night is still young, it’s only half past seven.”

“Feels like midnight,” you told him as you shuffled towards the kitchen to find something to eat. 

“You were out cold,” he calls after you and there’s a smirk in his tone. “I checked to make sure you were still breathin’ at one point after you didn’t answer when I said I was orderin’ pizza. Guess you’ll just have to make do with pineapple.” 

You padded into the kitchen, still blinking sleep from your eyes, bare feet cold on the tile floor. On the counter, there’s a half-eaten box of Hawaiian-style pizza. It’s still warm– the top propped open like an invitation. He even left the garlic sauce for you. You reached for a slice, folding it lazily as you leaned back against the counter, chewing slowly as your body tries to catch up with the time. 

“Thank you,” you told him quietly as you finally join him on the couch.

“Don’t take this personally, but I could not stand for another nigh’ of leftovers,” he laughs softly while clicking through different movie titles. 

“What?” You stretch into the cushions, trying to get comfortable. “You’re telling me four straight nights of spaghetti was too much?” 

He smirked in response and suddenly the room had gone quiet again. It was the type of quiet that wasn’t uncomfortable but said too much– like you both could hear what wasn’t being said and it made you that much more aware of the three inches of cushion between you. He finally lands on a title and tilts the remote towards the screen, quirking an eyebrow at you like a silent question mark. You shrug and nod and it’s settled. You shifted your weight, folding your legs underneath you, then unfurling them just as quickly. Still not comfortable, but not wanting to draw any attention to yourself. You reached behind you for one of the throw pillows and placed it against the arm of the couch, leaning slightly into it. That didn’t feel right either. Too stiff. Too far away. You adjust again, cursing yourself for being all elbows and uncertainty. 

His eyes tear away from the TV to check on you, but you’re too busy reaching for another pillow to notice, until you turn and meet his eyes. You were immediately embarrassed, but without a word, you prop the pillow against his side and let yourself ease into him, like it was the only soft place left in the room. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t stiffen. Didn’t try to reclaim the space. 

“Better?” he asked, barely looking away from the screen, but you caught the flicker of a smile tugging at his lips. You settle into place and nod your head, not trusting your voice to be steady enough to say it outloud. “Good,” he replies casually. 

But your heart was anything but casual. 

You try to force your attention back to the movie, but the heat from his side is seeping into your skin, spreading like a wildfire beneath your ribs. You were closer than you should be, every breath feels like borrowing air from him. You wonder if he’s thinking about it too, but you don’t have the courage to look up at him, as if  you’d even be able to tell. He was always so nonchalant, like nothing in the world bothered him. 

Maybe he was just being polite, or maybe he was just comfortable. Maybe this meant nothing. 

It didn’t feel like nothing. 

Your fingers curl tighter around the edge of the pillow, knuckles whitening. Can he feel that same tug? The gravity of something unspoken pulling at the corners of the room. The weight of all the words you’re holding back; thick and heavy like the late summer air outside of the window. His arm rests loosely against the back of the sofa, and you can’t help but think about what it would feel like draped along your frame. 

No, bad idea. Get up. Go back to bed. 

But you don’t move. You can’t. 

The sounds of the movie have become white noise as you spiral– quietly, inwardly– in the space between his silence and your imagination, convincing yourself that it meant something just because he didn’t pull away. Because he’s still here, close and solid. Now all that you can do is focus on his breathing, counting each breath as if you're memorizing the way that he works. 

Your eyes flutter shut, just for a second. Just to rest them. You’ll open them again in a minute. You will. 

But the moment stretches as exhaustion creeps in. 

At some point– maybe two heartbeats later, maybe twenty– you feel it. The faintest shift. The gentle weight of his arm lowering, slow and careful, like he’s afraid he’ll scare you. It rests across your side; warm and tentative. Not demanding. Not possessive. Just there. 

Like it was always supposed to be. 

When you wake up, the room is dark. “Are you still watching?” on the television screen. It’s early. The sun hasn’t quite peeked over the horizon. Everything is quiet in a sacred kind of way that only exists right before the world remembers it’s supposed to be awake. 

You stretch, groaning slightly as you shift your weight, and that’s when you feel it. 

Aegon. 

Pressed against your back, one arm slung lazily around your waist like it belongs there. His hand twitches against your stomach and everything in your body tenses at once; freezing as you feel him stir beside you. You try your hardest to steady your breathing, but your pulse is betraying you, and you’re sure he can hear it. It’s pounding loud enough to wake the whole city block. 

You’re not ready for this moment to end, for when it has to become something else. 

He shifts again, just barely, and his nose brushes the back of your shoulder. Then, in the softest murmur he says, “hey.”

“Hey,” your voice catches on the exhale. 

You don’t turn to look at him. You can’t. Your face will give you away instantly, if it hasn’t already– that blushing, wide-eyed, heart-pounding you that’s currently screaming into her pillow somewhere in the back of your brain. 

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he admits. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper, afraid that you’ll choke on the tension. “Neither did I.” 

He hums in response, settling back into the comfort that was this moment. His arm is still draped over you and you take a moment to remind yourself of that.

Somehow, it felt like a confession.

Taglist

@thhriller, @watercolorskyy, @mrs-starkgaryen, @elllielewiss, @primroseluna, @justmymindandstuff, @louieluvly, @queen-of-elves, @mxauthor, @notsuremarie, @notafairyteen, @hardyshoe, @belovedbastardremus, @bey0nd-1he-stars, @trashbe, @dixie-elocin, @lem0ns77

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo.

Fool Me Twice, I'll Bring You Down

12 Days of Christmas Prompt: Snow | Word Count: 2398 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Mentions of Upside Down Trauma | POV: Eddie | Tags: Future Fic, Post Break-Up, Self-Sabotaging Eddie Munson, Good Uncle Wayne Munson, Reconnecting, Olive Branches, Second Chances, Always the Right Guy, Finally the Right Time, Hopeful Ending

Eddie toes at the dirty snow under the sole of his boot. Nudging out a shallow hole in the mostly frozen dirt, and then filling it back in with his heel. Stamping it down, and starting the process all over again. Once he's done dragging his foot through the slush, he swings the axe one more time, splitting another log for firewood.

His arms, his shoulders, his back, are all aching. But he needs to get this done before the winter storm rolls in. They're looking at more snow, and a lot of it.

It's busy work. He doesn't have anywhere to be, or anyone to be with, and that's been a hard truth to accept. He's chilled to the bone, and this has been a long, never-ending winter of his own making.

Steve left without a sound, didn't linger, and there was nothing Eddie could do that would have made him stay. What once worked, now didn't, and Eddie's been left alone pining for what once was. It's his own fault, and he knows that. He could have tried harder, could have been easier to live with.

But he wasn't, so he hasn't heard from Steve since the day he packed up and drove away. He gave up first, and Steve gave up last, after they both fought so hard to make it work. To pull Eddie out of the hole he was hellbent on digging for himself, until the moment it wasn't worth it any longer.

Hopeless.

Eddie doesn't blame him for going, for throwing in the towel on a lost cause. It had a been a valiant effort. Steve Harrington always tried so fucking hard to save everyone, and Eddie just didn't want to be saved.

Until he did. And then it was too late.

Steve was already gone.

That realization was unbearable, and Eddie closed himself off from everyone else, besides Wayne, who packed up his shit from Hawkins and moved to the woods with Eddie.

Their home here would be peaceful, if peace was even remotely on the menu for him. It's not, not without Steve, but he's learned to accept that long ago. It is what it is, and all that. He has Wayne, and he has his solitude, which he's greatly come to appreciate. 

It's enough. It has to be.

It's snowing and blowing, as advertised, and Eddie stands at the window and watches it accumulate. Through the falling snow, Eddie catches sight of headlights, weaving down the road in the distance. Some poor asshole definitely took a wrong turn, and is now fighting the shitty roads out this way for no reason. If Eddie was an axe murderer, and believe him, he's considered that as a viable option at times, this would be the opening act of the horror film that awaits. Alas, he's just Eddie. A recluse. A hermit, living down a road with his uncle that nobody else should be on, especially not in this weather, venturing further and further off the beaten path.

Two confirmed bachelors, except. Well.

Eddie turns the silver band on his finger. He said he would until the end. And he's still here, so it is, too. Even if Steve isn't.

He keeps expecting the lights to turn around, to realize they've made a mistake, and backtrack.

They don't. Somebody's not only lost, they're apparently dumb, too, and they better not get stuck because he's not in the mood to go dig anyone out in this weather.

The lights turn up the last stretch of road to the dead end, shining towards the house, and Eddie heaves a sigh.

"Who the hell is that?" Wayne asks from his chair, as the headlights glide across the living room wall.

"Some lost idiot," Eddie says, and reaches for his coat. He'll get them turned around, so they can be left the fuck alone. They live out in the middle of nowhere for a goddamn reason.

The car slowly crunches up the driveway, and Eddie opens the front door and stands on the step. Shielding his eyes from the blinding lights.

Eddie waits until the car door finally opens, and a figure he can't make out due to the fucking headlights, stands up in the open door.

Asshole.

"Seven miles back to the highway!" Eddie yells, only taking his hand away from shielding his eyes for long enough to point back towards the dirt road. He's hoping they take the fucking hint. There's room enough to pop a u-ey in the driveway, and then be back on their merry way.

But there's silence, and for a fraction of a moment, Eddie worries that maybe he's the one at the beginning of a horror film, not the lost sheep in the car.

"It's me." 

Fuck.

Maybe a serial killer would be easier to face.

His voice is tentative, but it's Steve. There's no way it isn't. 

"You're blinding me," Eddie says, and then feels stupid about it. Like, that's what he really needs to tell Steve after all this time and distance? 

"Shit, sorry," Steve says, and leans back in the car, killing the lights.

Eddie still can't see him well, but he can at least make out his silhouette, and it's definitely Steve. He's not imagining things. Steve's here, standing in the snow.

"Can we talk?" Steve asks, as if there'd be any answer other than please.

"Yeah, c'mon in," Eddie says, and nods towards the house. Wayne's gonna give him shit for this, but what the fuck is he supposed to do? Run Steve off a second time?

He at least owes Steve the courtesy to hear him out, no matter what Steve might have to say.

Eddie kind of expects divorce papers. 

Steve's probably moved on, found someone else, and wants to legally sever their ties. Eddie wouldn't blame him. It's been a handful of years now. They can't stay in this limbo forever.

Eddie holds open the door, and Steve stamps his boots, shaking the snow loose, before he steps inside. Wayne's looking at them, face schooled totally neutral.

At least, that's what Eddie interpreted it as.

He was wrong, as per usual.

"Hey, kid. Long time no see," Wayne says, and Steve makes a noise that sounds wounded. Eddie thinks Steve hadn't expected Wayne, and Steve doesn't even take off his coat before he's leaning down to Wayne, pressing against his chest, hugging him tight as Wayne stays seated in his recliner. 

Eddie shifts his weight back and forth from foot to foot. What's he supposed to do now? Steve's here. And Eddie's been set adrift once again.

He's not mad at Steve, he's longed for him since the day he left, but Eddie can't blame him. Eddie knows he got harder and harder to live with over the years. Damaged, and fucking haunted. Steve tried. Steve tried so hard, and in the end, Eddie wouldn't let him try any longer.

He pushed, and pushed, until Steve left.

And Eddie stayed. 

Missing him, missing them, missing the full fucking life that he threw away. A storm cloud that took too long to lift, that only lessened once Wayne turned up to knock some sense into him.

He got better, got himself right, but by then, it was too late.

Steve was already gone.

When Steve rights himself, pulling away from Wayne, he follows Eddie through the house to the bedroom, and Eddie's not sure that's the place to do this, but it's pretty much the only option for any sort of privacy at all. 

Eddie closes the door behind them, and then just stands there. Looking at Steve, eyes raking over him, taking him in. If this is the last time, he wants a real good look. He's missed him.

It's like they've struck a deal, neither of them willing to speak, neither willing to break the silence that has engulfed them, finally snuffing out the yelling, the fighting like dogs in the summer sun. 

Steve reaches into his back pocket, and there is a folded over manilla envelope. He tries to smooth it out, then hands it over. It's paperwork, definitely. And Eddie doesn't want to open it, doesn't want this to be over. Steve was his chosen family, and he's not ready for that to be over for good. He's fucking self-saboteur, and the only one to blame here.

So, he pulls up the fastener, opening the brad holding it closed, and pulls out the stack of paper. 

It's not divorce papers. It's the deed to the house. 

Steve's signed in all the flagged places.

"You should have it," Steve finally says.

"But it's ours," Eddie blurts out.

And it is. They built it into the home that it is, together. It was their dream, not Eddie's dream. He can't just take it, not for good. He's kept care of it, though, hoping someday Steve would want to come back and see it. 

See him. 

Even if Eddie doesn't think he actually deserves Steve being here again.

The hint of a frown crosses Steve's mouth, "Is it, though?"

It is. 

"I've always thought so," Eddie says quietly, head bowed as if he's confessing something. Maybe he is, even if he assumed Steve would already know that. He feels pretty shitty that Steve doesn't, even after everything that's happened between them, but that doesn't change the facts, "It's our home."

Steve sits on the edge of the bed with a flop, the old box springs creaking under him.

"Well, what are we gonna do now, then?" Steve asks.

And isn't that just the million dollar question?

Eddie doesn't have an answer, so Steve fills the silence.

"I'm glad Wayne's here with you. I've been worried."

"About me, or him?" Eddie asks.

"Both, but him. His number was disconnected the last time I called and I got scared that something happened and you didn't tell me."

Eddie wants to say he would have, but he doesn't know if that's true. There's a good chance he wouldn't have been brave enough to reach out, even in a time he would have needed him the most. Maybe, especially not then. Steve's handled with care enough of his sadness and trauma to last a lifetime.

"He's fine. We're fine. Two old Boo Radleys."

Steve furrows his brow. He doesn't get the reference, so Eddie clarifies, "Two shut-ins."

There was a time he'd have poked at him, demanded to know how he hadn't read To Kill a Mockingbird, or at least seen the movie, but those days have long passed. He's grown up since then, learned the hard truths of the world, much like Scout did. He got to see the not-so-secret courts of men's hearts up close and personal in Hawkins.

Steve nods at that, and just looks so fucking sad that this is where Eddie ended up. Eddie's a little fucking sad about it, too.

But it is what it is, life is just that way sometimes.

Eddie sits on the bed next to him. 

"I've missed you," Eddie says, "I fucked it all up. And it wasn't fair to you. But I am sorry. For everything. If I could take it back, I would."

It's like time slows down, and then speeds back up, as Steve's hands rake through Eddie's hair, his fingers scratching against Eddie's scalp as he pulls him closer, kissing him like they haven't in a long fucking time. With passion, and fire, and a love that never died despite everything Eddie did to try and snuff it out to punish himself for things that were always out of his control.

When they finally pull away, Steve laughs, delighted as he flops back onto his back. He picks up Eddie's hand in his own, his thumb brushing against Eddie's wedding band, with soft little strokes.

"It's like you're you again. Almost. Sadder, though. But I never thought I'd see you again, if I did, you know, see you," Steve says, slinging his arm over his eyes. 

Eddie knows what he means.

He is a little more subdued now, whether with age, or just experience that the world isn't always something to waste energy being loud about. Not if you can't change it. And Eddie Munson's never been able to change anything.

But, maybe. Just maybe, he can change this. 

Eddie lays back beside him, just enjoying the warmth his body is putting off, just like he always did, in their best days.

"I've worked through some of my shit," Eddie admits, "Wayne helped."

Steve uncovers his eyes, and they are shiny, but happy, "He always helps."

Eddie nods, grinning, "That he does."

And then they just lay in the silence. There'll be a lot to discuss, a lot of decisions to be made. But Eddie is just going to enjoy this for what it is, at this exact moment. A chance. 

He has a chance. 

A chance to try to make it right, to show he'll be in it, if Steve will just let him. 

A chance to prove he loves him, still. Always.

But all that can wait. They've got nowhere to go, and might not for days. Because Steve's gonna get snowed in, but Eddie suspects Steve knew that when he headed out all this way. 

It was gonna end between them, in either a showdown where they were fit to be tied, or with this, perhaps. A quiet hopefulness that neither of them can dare trust. Not yet.

There is one order of business they better attend to first, though.

"Does Robin know you're here?" Eddie asks, because if she doesn't, Steve had better check in.

"Of course she does," Steve chuckles, "you think I do anything without her express written permission?"

Eddie laughs. He's missed her, too.

"We're gonna get a lot of snow," Eddie comments, "you might have to stay a while."

Steve turns his head, and catches Eddie's eyes, "That's the plan."

"Good," Eddie says, "that's good."

"But, fool me twice and I'll bring you down."

Eddie leans close, so close, "Deal. I'll provide the shovel."

"Shovel?" Steve teases, "I saw a perfectly good axe out there."

Eddie laughs, chin against Steve's broad shoulder, breathing in the smell of him, pressing the tip of his nose to Steve's warm neck.

He has a chance, and he's not about to fuck that up. 

Not again.

If you want to sign up for a future bingo event or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun! ❄️

Notes: This was heavily influenced by the song Thistle by Breech. Haven't heard of it? You probably didn't watch Dawson's Creek as it originally aired. 🤣 (Like basically everything else, it was replaced with another song for DVD/streaming. Boo. Hiss.)

[fordlee]

Soostan Month Prompt 10: Firsts

If it weren't for the considerable amount of money that came from having The Shack open during holidays, Stan would never, ever put himself through it.

He'd been prepping for Valentine’s Day for months. He'd stocked up on various themed knickknacks and ordered plenty of Valentine's themed candy and snacks. Question mark stickers and pins and postcards dotted with hearts, heart-shaped lollipops and gummies, a buy-one-get-one-same-price “deal” on statuettes of a two-headed cupid. Might as well call these rubes sheep the way they were getting fleeced.

And it looked like all his hard work was paying off. There were the usual suspects, of course. One half of a couple who'd forgotten to buy something ‘til last minute and needed something quick, couples on vacation either celebrating a recent engagement or were attempting to salvage something unsalvageable. There were families from all the way in the Northeast spending their February vacation who, for some reason, decided to spend their precious time in some tourist trap in some hick town off the map. 

All that was manageable and expected, but what really grinded Stan's gears was the parents from town who dropped off their little shits to shop for last minute Valentine’s gifts for their entire class in the morning or just gawk at his merchandise (or, God forbid, break them), after school let out without even the allowance money to pay for it. Now he had to spend entire tours worrying about the little hellions potentially razing his shop to the ground, and then he had to manage the customers in the gift shop because his latest cashier was barely trained and wasn't interested in moving his ass from the register or tearing his eyes off his magazine for the five seconds it took to tell little Timmy to spit out the novelty bobbleheads. 

The store was packed, both a blessing and a curse. Stan was getting pulled in too many different directions to count. He was up to his knees in rugrats while keeping an eye on the shiftier patrons in case they tried to swipe something. Idiots kept coming up to him to ask for price checks on items that had their prices listed in big, bold print right in front of them. And a gaggle of sticky-handed gremlins apparently found pulling on his coattails to be the funniest goddamn thing in the world, and kept yanking on them every couple a minutes then ran off laughing their asses off before he could spot them in the crowd.

It was driving Stan's to his wit’s end. So when he felt someone tugging at his coattails again for his attention, he nearly lost it. He was gonna catch the little shits this time!

Stan whipped his head around so fast it nearly gave him whiplash. “Listen here ya little–... Soos?”

Soos blinked up at him (Not owlishy, maybe more like a pigeon?), before he broke into a buck-toothed smile and he leaned up on his tippy-toes. “Hi, Mr. Pines! Happy Valentine’s day, dude.”

“Happy… Valentine’s Day,” Stan replied, confused. “Soos, whaddaya doin’ here? You're not in today.”

It was Soos’ first Valentine’s Day since he'd started working there. Stan always made sure his littlest handyman got holidays off. You were only young once, Stan knew that well, and Soos was only twelve. He didn't need to be spending time in the Mystery Shack when he could be with family or friends. And it wasn't like school was canceled or anything. He remembered hating how he'd have to spend all day in school only to have to help Pa at work when he came home in the afternoons. Plus, Soos worked harder and with more enthusiasm than any Tom, Dick, or Harry from town who signed up to work here. Soos deserved the day off.

“I wanted to visit you,” Soos smiled, rocking in place from heel to toe. He held his hands behind his back. “I wanted to show you something I made. Well, my Abuelita helped me with it.”

Stan looked around his shop. “Soos, I'm a little busy here.”

“Please, Mr. Pines? It'll be real quick, I promise.”

Soos looked up at Stan with his big squishy cheeks and a protruding, pouty bottom lip, and this pleading look in his big, brown puppy dog eyes and Stan already knew he'd been bested. How on Earth could he say no to that face?

Stan knelt down on his good knee to get closer to the kid. “Alright, real quick, lemme see.”

In a flash of pink and white, Soos whipped out his hands from behind his back. A pink paper heart (likely cut from construction paper) stared Stan dead in the face. It was decorated with a frilly white border. The inside of the heart was littered with dozens of tinier hearts drawn in blacks and reds and purples. And in the middle was a childish sprawling in black.

WILL YOU BE MY VALENTINE?

A smile slowly raised to Stan's lips, eyes crinkling in delight as he held the card in his hands. “Oh, Soos…” He leaned over to playfully nudge the kid, who was smiling bashfully and looking away. “Ya little Casanova, you!” 

Stan could tell that under the kid's embarrassment, he was practically preening under Stan's praise. Good. Little guy deserved to feel confident, especially about this.

“So, who's it for?” He asked. “Some girl from your class?”

“Oh, um,” Soos’ face fell and he rubbed at his arm. “No…”

“Someone else, then?” Stan swiveled his head, trying to pick a girl out from the crowd. “Wait, is she here? Lemme see if I can–”

“No!” Soos flushed at his own sudden shout before clasping his hands together nervously. “It's um… It's for you.”

Stan blinked, raising a brow. “What?”

The boy before him was read as a tomato.

“Mr. Pines, will you be my Valentine?”

If they weren't attached to his face, Stan was sure his eyebrows would have rocketed off his face and hit the stratosphere. His first attempt at speaking was a shocked splutter of unintelligible questions. His eyes darted about nervously, ensuring that no customers had heard over the buzz of their own chatter. He leaned forward a bit, keeping his voice low.

“Soos, I– no. I can't.”

“What?” Soos’ bottom lip wobbled. “Why not?”

He could practically see Soos’ heart snap in half right in front of him. He felt like he just kicked a puppy. And those big, brown eyes of his looked so sad, it nearly broke his heart.

“Look, I– we can't–” Stan cut himself off with a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. How the hell was he going to go about explaining this? 

“Is the card not good enough?”

“Ugh, no, the card's great. You did a great job on… Wait,” A chill ran down Stan's spine. “Did you tell your grandma who you were giving it to?”

Thankfully, the kid shook his head. “I wanted it to be a secret.”

A secret. God, he felt grimy. He could only imagine how Soos’ grandma would feel if she found out. He'd prefer being locked up with the key thrown away if it meant she didn't get her hands on him first.

Hw tried to hand the card back only for Soos to cross his arms over his chest, blocking it.

Sighing, Stan chose his next words carefully. “Look, I'm really flattered, but I can't be your Valentine.”

“But why not?”

Stan glanced back once just to check no one was listening in. “I'm too old for you. I'm sure one of your classmates would want to be Valentines with you.”

Soos shook his head again, expression forlorn. “Nobody else really likes me. I'm too weird. I didn't even get any cards or candy or anything at school.”

Something in Stan's chest twinged at that. He could remember being his age, being the outcast in and outside of class. He never really got anything for Valentine’s Day, either. Not until Carla, at least. And, Hell, at least he had a brother to commiserate with. Soos had hardly anyone. He had family, true. But most of the kid's cousins were from out of town. There was only so much a grandmother could do.

Still, he had to put his foot down.

“Soos, no, I can't.”

He'd been trying to keep his voice down so others couldn't listen in, but Soos clearly hadn't gotten the memo.

“Please!” Soos stood on his tippy-toes again, palms pressed together as he begged. “Please, please, please, Mr. Pines!”

“Soos, no–”

“Pretty please! Pretty please be my Valentine!”

“Kid, keep it down–”

“I won't ask for anything ever again! I promise, dude! Just, please, let's be Valentines! Pleeeeeaaaaaaaaa–”

“Okay, fine!” God, the kid drew a hard bargain. If it made the kid shut his yap, so be it. “I'll be your Valentine.”

“Yuss,” Soos pumped his fist in the air, victorious. He beamed up at Stan. “Thank you, Mr. Pines!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Stan kept glancing around, thankful that his patrons and cashier were too self-absorbed in the mild chaos of the giftshop to focus on them. “Don't expect us to do anythin’. We're Valentines in name only.”

“That's okay, dude. That's all I really wanted,” a blush lit up the kid's chubby cheeks. “Thank you for being my first Valentine, Mr. Pines.”

Stan rolled his eyes. With a grunt, he rose to stand. “Alright, well, I got customers to deal with, so scram.”

The words were harsh, but Stan's tone was anything but. Soos turned to leave.

“Hey, wait,” Stan stopped him. He turned to the nearest shelf, spotting heart-shaped lollipops wrapped in pink foil and dotted question marks. He grabbed one and dropped it into Soos’ hands. “Here. Happy Valentine’s, kid.”

Somehow, Soos smiled even brighter, eyes crinkling with joy. “Thanks, Mr. Pines!”

And with that, Stan watched as the kid practically skipped out of the joint. 

“I'm takin’ it outta your paycheck!” Stan called out after him. He made a mental note to forget to remember to dock the cost of the lollipop later.

Looking down, Stan realized he'd been holding the card in his hand the entire time. Warmth filled his chest and a soft smile rose to his lips once more.

Soos was a good kid. A little sweetheart. Terrible taste in men, though. Ah, but he'd get over his little crush soon enough, surely.

Giving it one last glance before returning to bsuiness, Stan folded up the card and stuck it into the inside pocket of his coat.

Close to his heart.

[comicbookhyperfixationtime]

Uncanny X-men #196- What Was That?!!

CW: racial slurs

Last Issue Recap: The Power Pack made a cameo and Wolverine did not disembowel a child. Callisto in the Morlocks did show up and they are as skrungly and terrible as ever. And then there was Secret Wars 2 which I have mentally blocked out of my brain because it's too pointless and annoying to take up important Nightcrawler Obsessing Space.

Anyway, HOLY HELL, how did this cover make it to print?! Its literally a woman in a gimp suit! Have I talked about Rachel's Mutant Hunter gimpsuit before? I feel like I have, but I would once again like to say, what the actual fuck.

It's Chris Claremont so I expect to be using this a lot in the near future. Also, in this cover there are spikes around her crotch that form a thong/triangle shape (super umcomfy 😬) which (spoilers) are not there when she wears the suit in-issue. Which just makes this worse.

Gimpsuit aside I don't like this cover. The composition is meh, and its the same sort of misdirection we saw in the last issue. Is Rachel going to beat the shit out of the X-men and get stabbed by Wolverine? Of course she's not. The splash panel on the first page is pretty striking though.

The title is uncreative, but I do adore when writers try to work their issue title into the first page's dialogue or onomatopoeia or something (Thor #366 is my absolute favorite example of this). This is a fantastic first page, not only does it immediately set up tension, mystery and stakes while quickly delivering exposition, but it cleverly uses the in-universe curtain behind Professor X as a tool for adding motion and energy, whilst directing the reader's eye around the page.

I half forgot that Professor X is actually a professor and that he didn't just make that title up to sound cool. Hell, since he has a PhD it should actually be Dr X but that sounds a little too much like a porn knockoff of Dr Strange for my and Marvel's liking. Jesus Christ I bet he's the sort of proff who never ever grades essays in time because he's too busy fucking off fighting Godlike entities in space. I'd give him a 2 on Rate My Professor so fast.

Several students in this packed classroom are smoking. Oh 1985, how the times have changed!

As his students leave, Professor X laments that he cannot simply read their minds and figure out who's thought this was. Not because this would be highly unethical, but because his mind and body has been weakened ever since he got the shit kicked out of him by anti-mutant muggers a few issues back.

Meanwhile, Storm is home in Africa on her self discovery tour, where she is- shot in the head and left for dead by the racist poachers she'd fought before?!

I know logically this is just a fakeout but I'll be damned if it isn't some good tension! Also; the racist poachers are a brother-sister pair named Andreas and Andrea. Their parents must have hated them even more than I do.

We immediately cut to Kitty talking about Ororo's letters at a team meeting just to hammer the stake further into my goddamn heart. The Gang has gathered in a deli to discuss Professor X's mystery, including Magneto (whose presence goes undiscussed, probably because it was explained in Secret Wars 2) and some blonde lady named Aleytys who I have no idea who she is. (Edit: I know who she is- Lee Forrester, Scott Summers ex-girlfriend who apparently hooked up with Magneto in New Mutants. What an absolute power move.) Something I haven't mentioned yet because it hasn't come up is that Chuck has been hiding his growing frailty and power loss from his friends and teammates for some reason I've forgotten but which is probably stupid. Also he can walk at this point in continuity but that's not important.

Rachel sees the Beyonder shows up for his editor mandated plot interruption for a few pages and I'm not going to discuss it because I Don't Care.

My thoughts exactly Kitty.

Speaking of the best boy, he is off at his parish, talking to the priest about his crisis of faith.

I cannot imagine what it must be like to go into confessional with a superhero he has heard some shit someone redraw this man in that one stock photo of the priest.

The monster Kurt is talking about his the Beyonder because goddamnit I guess I can't just ignore that motherfucker. TLDR, he was the ultra-powerful being who started the excuse plot for the original Secret Wars. In Secret Wars 2 he comes to Earth to learn the meaning of life or some bullshit and wanders around causing problems before turning himself into a baby (probably, idk I never finished it, Jim Shooter did that before so he'd probably do it again.) Kurt's faith has been completely destroyed by the Beyonder's sheer power which is like no being he's ever seen before- oh please.

This whole scene sort of pisses me off. First off, its more wanking off about the Beyonder and I really don't want to hear about this guy. Second, its another reason to leave Kurt out of this weeks plot and that pisses me off, give my boy more screentime! Third, this really doesn't feel justified by the Beyonder. Nightcrawler saw Dr Doom hand him his ass in Secret Wars, he knows he's not omnipotent. Nightcrawler having a breakdown is fine but there's way more interesting stuff for him to break down over.

Back on the main plot, a group of shadowy figures sneak into Professor X's office and plant a bomb under his desk! I see someone has been reading Hitchcock's quotes on suspense.

Rogue and Rachel are flying over Columbia U having a dramatic irony-laden conversation about how much less nasty this current timeline is than Rachel's home time whilst she mind-scans for the culprits. They don't find them, but they do find a mugging in progress and stop it.

I'll tell you what else is a crime, that hairdo! Yeesh.

It turns out the civilian they saved is a anti-mutant jackass who was grafitti-ing the words "Muties die!" when he got jumped, because Marvel civilians are assholes. Kitty and Wolvie take a quick break from crimefighting and have an conversation that's too cute for me not to share.

Kitty phases into a building because she sees a light on in a lab after hours. She finds some of her student acquaintances skulking about and, despite having doubts that any of them could be murderers, is immediately suspicious. I personally think the fact they ordered pizza with anchovies on it would be enough to peg them as supervillains on the spot, but Kitty is more of an optimist than me. The terrorists realize Kitty is a mutant and confront her about it.

Kitty Pryde just said the N-word. This isn't ok. I don't know how the editors at Marvel ever thought it was ok, and it speaks volumes that they did. "Mutie" isn't a real swear. "N-----" is. That word is hateful and terrible and affects real people and it is not ok at all to equate it to a made-up slur. The X-men are supposed to be an allegory for suffering that empowers minority groups. This just hurts them more. Hell no to all of this.

I took a hot minute to absorb what I just fucking read and then moved on with the issue. The terrorist kids get the jump on Kitty and chloroform her before she can phase out, with intent to kill her. Meanwhile, Magneto, Professor X and Rachel Summers are in the Prof's office, discussing the case and the Beyonder's continued presence because he's been stalking them like a weirdo. Rachel tries to psychically link the three so they can sense the Beyonder like she can, but using her psi-powers sets off the bomb, which is actually not a bomb but a "psi-scream," a device that amplifies and reflects psychic energy back to its source. This is a massive plot-hole; how did they know Xavier was psychic?! As far as I'm aware its not common knowledge Professor X is a mutant at all, let alone what his powers are! And these are just normal Columbia U college students with no connection to any supervillains or secret organizations whatsoever, there's no way they'd have access to this info!

The bomb overloads Rachel and she accidentally destroys the office, sending out a shockwave of energy that sends Professor X and Maggie flying. Rogue has to catch them both which I find sort of curious because its always so inconsistent whether Magneto can fly or not (my personal headcanon is that his costume has metal soles and he levitates them). Rachel senses Kitty's distress through their psychic link and freaks out so bad she manifests her BDSM Mutant Hunter costume. She flies over to the lab, explodes the anti-mutant students and rescues Kitty in a very hetero way.

Cannot imagine what goes on in Kitty Pryde's head. Must a beautiful and terrifying place to visit.

The guy in the pink jacket from before regains consciousness and tries to shoot Rachel, but its a bit like trying to stab a rhinoceros with a butter knife. She's about to kill him, when Magneto shows up to stop her from making the same mistakes he has.

I don't know bout you but if Magneto in a suit told me to do anything I'd drop whatever I was doing immediately. I love reformed Magneto, such a richer and more interesting character than racist whiny asshole villain Magneto. I sure hope Marvel lets him continue to grow as a person and don't constantly regress his character for the stake of a stupid status quo! Haha. I hate the Endless Wheel of Comic Book Samsara.

The conversation between Magneto and Rachel is honestly really beautiful. Two people who've never interacted before, but understand each other's pain better than anyone else can. Its a fantastic scene only slightly marred by the final panels being of the Beyonder observing the scene and giving some pointless, longwinded commentary. Its too long for me to screenshot and post here so I super recommend you check this out for yourself!

On the plus side, next issue is Dr Doom!

Final Thoughts: This issue had some really high highs and some really low lows. I'm honestly super shocked the panel of Kitty Pryde saying the N-word isn't more infamous than it is, because holy fuck that was awful.

[spiel-mit-mir-ein-spiel]

Feeling B ~ Punk im Osten. part 15

It's been a while, i was totally invested in my Bad Romance story lol

Paul, why do you have to be so goddamn handsome?

Time flew by since the tour at the east coast.

You had found a new bassplayer for your band. Her name was Lily and she was the coolest! Paul, Flake and Aljoscha had a new drummer named Christoph Schneider. He was really cool as well. You became good friends. Aljoscha and Laura were still together, Nathalie and Flake hooked up occasionally but nothing serious. You and Paul were still going strong and were about to move in together. You had met Yvonne ( Emil's mother). She was skeptic about your relationship at first because of how quick it went but after seeing eachother a couple of times, she loosened up. You actually liked eachother. You had seen Emil before. After a couple of times he started to recognize you and loved to play with you. Yvonne let you babysit him a few times when Paul was recording or playing shows.

You were busy finishing the album you were working on. It was a little different than the music you made before but you were really excited about it. When you came out of the recording booth , you saw the girls standing by the door. ''What's going on?'' You tried to look between them until Paul stepped forward with Emil in his arms. '' Omg'' A big smile appeared on your face when they stood before you. '' Hi babe, i have Emil for a couple of days'' he beamed brightly looking at his son. ''Hi Emil, it's so nice to see you again!' Emil smiled while reaching out his arms to you. You took him over from Paul and he cheered happily. '' Omg, you're so cute, your mother and father did a really good job'' you laughed while Paul rolled his eyes before kissing your lips briefly. Laura and Lily basically kidnapped Emil to play with them on the floor with his toys. Emil was laughing and clapping his little hands while Laura and Lily sang for him. It was so fucking adorable to see. '' My ovaries are going to burst'' the smile on your face couldn't get any bigger and Paul wrapped his arm around you. '' Well, we can try for a sibling for Emil'' he whispered in your ear and your mouth fell open. '' Are you for real?'' You eyes grew big when you saw the big smile plastered on Paul's face. ''Yeah, i'm still waiting for you to grab your stuff and move in with me'' He grabbed a set of keys out of his pocket and gave it to you. ''Come live with me babe'' he softly whispered in you ear and placed a soft kiss underneath your ear which made you shiver. '' I will pack my things tomorrow'' Paul smiled before hugging you. ''Did you hear that Emil? Y'n is going to live with us!'' Emil put his hands above his head letting out a little cheer. ''Omg, is it finally going to happen?'' Nathalie hugged your and Paul while you laughed. '' Yeah, I let poor Paul wait to long because i was to invested in making this album'' Paul pouted and Emil started to laugh at him. '' Silly daddy'' you replied and Emil snorted. That kid was the most precious thing you had seen.

''Ajoscha, be quiet! Emil is sleeping!'' you shushed him when he was laughing to hard. Paul had invited both bands to hang out at his place that night. ''Oh shit, sorry!'' he apologized and Paul shook his head laughing. '"Schneider, if you won't stop teasing me, i'm going to kiss you'' Lily stated when Schneider was squeezing her ass once again. Nathalie and Laura looked at her surprised and Lily smirked ''What?'' Schneider smirked while poking her side. '' Kiss that son of a bitch'' You laughed while Paul grabbed your waist and sat you down on his lap. Soon after that Lily and Schneider kissed. ''Okay guys, i have a really good idea'' Aljoscha said and Flake started to snort. '' Yeah, we've heard that before..'' He lit a cigarette and Aljoscha looked surprised at Flake. '' Well, i wanted to go to Amerika and plan us some concert dates there. You can come later with the instruments and stuff'' he said with a big grin on his face. ''We could do that right?'' Paul said while looking at Flake and Schneider. Christoph nodded '' If you think you can fix that'' He said while playing with Lily's hair. '' Ofcourse i can, I'm Aljoscha'' he laughed and Flake shook his head. '' Okay, sure'' Paul looked at you and you shrugged. You didn't believe Aljoscha could fix that but you kept your thoughts to yourself. ''Laura, will you go with me"?' Aljoscha asked and Laura looked at Lily, Nathalie and me. '' You can go, the album is finished and we deserve a break'' You smiled at her and Nathalie agreed. ''I guess i will come with you then'' She kissed Aljoscha. ''I guess, we need to fix the truck so we can come after you'' Paul said while Flake nodded. That evening the boys planned their whole trip to America. You were happy you could move in with Paul and have a break from playing so you could make his home , yours too.

[babblydrabbly]

Distracted (Peacemaker x Reader) Smut

Pairing(s): Peacemaker x F!Reader; Brief Javelin x Reader

Characters: Peacemaker/Christopher Smith, Amanda Waller, Javelin

Rating: M

Word Count: 3.5k+

Warning(s): Smut, language, mentions of blood/violence. Choking, cream pie, semi-rough sex.

Summary: Out on a Task Force X mission, Peacemaker notices you're acting... different. He generously offers to help with what's distracting you. Asshole.

A/N: What's this? Baby's first Peacemaker fic? Takes place before The Suicide Squad (2021). Metahuman!Reader has super strength/speed abilities. Also, what kind of vanilla name is Chris Smith.

---

"Again?"

Amanda Waller arched a brow at your perturbed expression.

"My apologies." She droned. "Am I not stimulating you with enough variety, [L/n]?"

You scoffed, folding your arms in deference. It wasn't about that— It was about the deliberately repeated pairings with Christopher Smith. The dynamic that was becoming a pattern. You never would have worked with someone like Peacemaker on the outside. As much as you appreciated the job always getting done with him, you still bumped heads with him too much on the way to the finish line. He was frustratingly serious and flippant at the same time.

You decided to shut your trap before Waller decided she didn't need you anymore.

"You've got one skillset useful to me, [L/n]. I suggest you get used to the prospect of being paired up with Smith on a regular basis— While you're still around."

You nodded when she dismissed you. You had gotten used to it. You were seeing so much of Peacekeeper you were practically partners.

So, you pointedly sat to next the one called Javelin on the helicopter out of Belle Reve, as far away from Smith as possible. You were about to spend over twelve hours with him— It didn't have to start right away. While Colonel Flag gave you all the spiel on the mission, you glanced over and saw Javelin toss you a nod.

"You're Team B," The thrower noted over the whir of the helicopter. "[L/n], yes?"

"Yeah," you said. Your eyes flitted over the muscular squad member. He looked more like a superhero in his light blue and yellow get-up than the rest of you. You personally kept the lower half of your face covered with a black hard shell mask— Your armor from before you were incarcerated (Yes, you've heard the 'Baby Bane' jokes from the others). Even if you had to get used to working with a bunch of weirdos, you could at least conceal your face from them while you did it.

"You move very swiftly." He complimented, and you didn’t know how you were supposed to take that.

"Thanks," You tried, "I like your... weapon of choice?"

Javelin held his namesake in his arms, his legs spread wide to accommodate it as he rested it against his inner thigh. The innuendo normally would have had you rolling your eyes, but today they lingered, and you wondered if he still looked as broad and muscular without the suit on.

You frowned. Without the suit on?

Were you still staring down at his thighs?

You supposed he was a goddamn Olympic athlete at one point. And prison didn't seem to stop him from his regimen. —There it was again. You blinked and looked away, thankful nobody seemed to notice. Javelin seemed content with the brief introduction, so you left it at that.

Okay, so maybe it had been awhile since you...

You reprimanded yourself. These were not recreational outings. As much as you liked feeling free every once in awhile, you were never in a position to consider doing something so stupid. The last few missions were some of the closest calls you had while on the task force, but now that your job today was more about recon, you could at least let your mind wander to the less... imperative things. You crossed your legs at the ankles in front of you and let mind drift for the rest of the trip.

But christ had prison been rough. And a little boring. You didn’t have to think about Javelin moving closer to you for long— Pressing up flush against you— Before you were imagining yourself against a wall— Hell, right here on this bench— hooking your legs around his waist as he thrusted into you. You pictured him going for two, three rounds, that stupid suit lying on the floor with your back on top of it. You pictured him going down on you too, a handful of his wavy blonde hair in your grasp as you pressed your thighs around his ears. You swallowed behind the mask, glad it was there to hide your face.

You get dropped off an isolated point a few klicks outside the target area, the rest of the team traveling further in to handle the bulk of the mission. You lug some extra equipment in a canvas bag— Guns, surveillance tech— already annoyed by the heat.

The heat of the jungle. Definitely not the heat you'd been feeling in the helicopter. You walked a half mile in total silence just trying to focus on the mission again.

"What's got your tactical suit in a twist?" Smith finally uttered as you got to your destination. You almost forgot he had dropped down the rope onto the ground after you. He stood out against the green around you in his obnoxious red shirt and white pants.

"Nothing." You lied, and you could tell from under his helmet that Peacemaker thought you were full of shit today. Great.

You set up inside a small building— An outpost long abandoned. Whatever organization you were taking down for Waller, they clearly had to downsize over the years. You kicked open the metal door, sending it flying off its hinges. Smith entered first, clearing all the rooms before you joined him. Upstairs, you begin setting up the equipment together. Peacemaker started with standing up a rifle by the window, aiming it at the road below.

You fiddled with a tablet; You went downstairs to put a sensor on the door frame and on the rusted gate blocking the road outside. They were supposed to warn you when any vehicles were approaching, but when you came back up, it lost signal. You did this twice; You batted at the little screen, vexed. There were probably signal jammers over at the main compound that could still reach all the way out here. You thought about how Team A was doing— So inevitably, your thoughts drifted back to the damn Javelin guy.

"Jesus!" You snapped. You were grateful when you didn't break the small screen in half with your strength.

"Okay. What the fuck is wrong." Came Peacemaker's voice from across the room. You stood there without turning around. You took a breath, tossed the tablet onto the bag at your feet.

"Nothing is wrong, Smith. Fuck off." You said. You reached up and unclipped your vest. Beneath it, you felt the cool air of the shelter hit your jumpsuit. You tossed the vest on the floor, then turned around. "When are they supposed to get here?"

He quirked a brow, as if proving his point. Since when didn't you remember the mission details? Rather than give him the satisfaction of thinking you were slipping you waved your own question away.

"God, never mind."

He scoffed. You watched him remove his helmet and gloves, setting them down carefully next to his own pack. He'd made his own area across the room from yours, another tablet showing him a view of the road propped up against the wall. Smith took a seat on the floor; The two of you were going to have to play the waiting game now.

In silence. The thought made you pinch the bridge of your nose right above where your mask stopped.

"You know, I've been at Belle Reve for four years now." You finally relented. You leaned back against your wall, folding your arms over your chest.

"Yeah? So?" Smith retorted. You rolled your eyes.

"So," God— You were really confiding in Christopher Smith. That's what it was coming down to. "I haven't had sex in four years. It's... not a big deal— Nothing's wrong. That's just what I was annoyed about earlier, you know? Consider me over it."

"That why you were ogling the Javelin in the copter today?"

Shit. Shit!

You dropped your arms. "You piece of garbage. You saw that?"

"I'm garbage? You're the one sexually harassing our fellow teammates with your eyes."

"I was not sexually— Nope. I'm done. You're ridiculous." You said. You reached down and went back to your tablet, busying yourself with it idly.

Peacemaker did the same. From the corner of your eye, you just knew he was doing it smugly.

"You know," He said after a few minutes, "If that's all you're bitching about, we can just get it over with."

"Excuse me?"

"You and me. Target's not coming in for another six hours, by the way. You don't need that much time do you, 'four-years-dry'?"

You stared at him from across the room. When you didn't reply, Peacemaker set his screen down so damn casually you consider just shooting yourself in the head.

"You're off your game. I'm not going to let you compromise our objective."

You threw your hands up. "There it is. You're like a broken record."

"What? Am I fucking wrong?"

"No, you're fucking crazy."

"Get over here." Smith instructed in a low voice.

The words shot up your spine, sending a very mixed signal to your brain. Directly across from you, Peacemaker was pinning you with an expectant look— One that was clearly a challenge. It pissed you off.

It was the look he used when he said you couldn't rip a guy's spine right out of his back— It dared you. And when you did succeed, you would shoot him an equally smug look in return. Your back and forths were always crass, always a test of who would back down.

You weren't normally so brutal when you worked alone, but something about Peacemaker brought it out of you. Whenever you were paired together, it was like your powers weren't something you had to hold back. They were something he was always prodding you to embrace. The jabs, the snark— It made you want to punch him in the face.

Standing up, you crossed the room. Smith didn't move as you stepped over his legs, as you leaned down to straddle his waiting lap. He simply watched you shift around until you're comfortably seated, your hands resting on his shoulders. He moved to place his own on your thighs but didn't do anything more.

"Well?" You said.

He shrugged, "Your call."

"What am I gonna do? Dry hump you?"

"Hey, if that's what it takes."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Fuck."

Finally, you reached up, unclipping the back of your mask.

"Whoa, wait—" He started, finally reacting to this ridiculous situation, but you already had it off, in your hand.

"I—" He stared at you. You shifted, feeling nervous as you stared back. It occurred to you that you'd never seen him shocked before.

He blinked. "I've never seen your whole face before."

That wasn't true— was it? You tried to think. "What about in Cuba? We camped out for like three days. I had to take it off to eat at least."

"I didn't look."

"You didn't look."

"I don't fucking know! You wear that fucking thing everywhere. When you took it off to eat I assumed you didn't want me looking."

"Wow. How courteous."

"Fuck you."

"Well, isn't that what we're doing here?" You said, putting your hands on your hips stubbornly. Smith's were still resting on your splayed thighs.

"I can't wear this when we— How am I supposed to...?"

He snorted softly, "Don't tell me you're a romantic, [L/n]."

Nothing about this seemed romantic. Least of all with him. Still, if you were going to take the opportunity, you were going to do it your way. You looked him over.

He had a few tufts sticking out from wearing his damn helmet earlier. You reached up and brushed some of it back into place at his temple first. Smith blinked up at you, his brows pinching together.

"This okay?" You heard yourself asking him. He eventually nodded once, watching you as you placed your palm on the side of his face. Finally, you leaned down and caught his lips with yours in a long kiss. You squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to know his reaction.

But you felt him return it. Slowly at first— Then he was kissing you back. You moaned somewhere in the back of your throat as he ran his large hands up and down your legs, his fingers folding to grip your ass tightly. You were already reacting, already so touched starved. His lips parted, and you felt him swipe his tongue across your bottom lip, over the front of your teeth. You opened for him, your tongue darting out to meet his hungrily.

You tugged at the front of his uniform. Without a word he reached down to pull it up over his head, the fabric dropping off somewhere beside you. You glanced down at his bare chest. You ran your hands over it, dragged your nails down his pecs experimentally. When you looked back up he was still watching you.

Your mouths crashed to meet again, this time with a fervor that threatened to split your bottom lip with every bruising kiss. You felt his hands on you again, pressing into your sides, your waist. He didn't move to take off your clothes, so you drew your hands to your own chest, pulled the zipper of your suit all the way down to your stomach.

He took the invitation, and you gasped when he roughly reaches in and cups a hand around your breast; He kneaded it, brushing his thumb over your nipple. His other hand worked at your shoulder, yanking the rest of your suit off of you. You reached back and tugged the sleeves off, finally exposing your upper body.

You felt the clasp at your back come undone, and Smith was tearing your bra off next. A muscular arm came around to scoop you up by the waist, bringing your chest closer to him. He leaned down, took one of your nipples into his mouth.

"Smith—" He bit you roughly, and it sent a shock of electricity up you. He palmed your other breast again, tweaked at your nipple until your back was arching into his touch. You squeezed your thighs around him.

Then he was back in your face again, bruising a kiss against your lips as you took a breath. Your eyes flew open when you felt the press of his fingers to your mouth. You shot a look at him, but didn't object when he pushed his index and middle fingers past your lips. You sucked them hungrily, your eyes fluttering shut again.

"Fuck," Peacemaker murmured, feeling your tongue swirl around the digits. You slurped sloppily until they were soaked, until he was pulling them back out with a light pop. He brought his hand down to the base of your suit, where the zipper stopped just above your pelvis. A pair of black panties peaked out from the V shape there, the same shade and material as your bra. You gasped when Smith finally pushed down past the layer of cotton, gripped his bare shoulders when you felt his wet fingers dip right into your cunt.

"Fuck," He said again, because you didn't need any help down there. "You're so fucking wet."

You expected to feel humiliation— To hear a joke about how it really had been while. But all you felt were his warm, thick fingers; He ran them up and down your slit, pressed them in small circles around the peak of you a few times. You cursed, your head falling back. Smith leaned up to kiss your throat, teeth dragging across the base of your collarbone. He bit you some more, daring to take your meta-human skin between his teeth. You cried out, your arm reaching to wrap around his head in pleasure.

Smith slid his fingers up into your pussy. He crooked them, scissoring them inside you. Your hips bucked, unable to resist meeting his short thrusts. You felt him grin against your neck. "Damn, baby."

"Shut up." You whispered, letting your hips rolling down to fuck yourself on his fingers some more. When he slipped in a third you moan loudly.

"Fuck! Fuck me." You demanded, yanking the short hair at the back of his head. A groan left Smith's lips, his head jerking back. Quickly, he removed his hand from your suit, pulling the rest of your clothes further down your waist. You lifted yourself off him, but Smith didn't wait. He picked you up and lifted you both off the floor. You grabbed at him as he laid you down on your back, his body between your legs. Then he was ripping off the last of your suit, tearing your boots off.

"Watch it," You snapped— If he fucking ripped anything you—

"Oh please." He huffed, and your thoughts stopped in their tracks as you watched him lean back on his knees above you, undoing his white pants. His cock sprang free from a pair of just as white underwear, his arousal already thick and ready. You stopped yourself from expressing how the sight of him made you even wetter.

He took a moment to drink in your face, a hint of that smug smirk forming. You growled, pulling him down by the neck again before he ruined the moment with speaking. Smith caught your lips again, his hand running down your naked body. He gripped one of your legs and nudges them apart, planting his knees between you.

Despite his earlier preparation, it was nothing compared to the feeling of his cock pushing inside you. You groaned as he entered you, your walls stretching around his length. Your back arched as you took him in, eyes rolling a little into the back of your head.

"Fuck— Chris—" You shuttered. His hands squeezed your thighs at the sound of his name leaving you. You heard his breath shake, his hips remaining utterly still as you got used to the size of him. Opening your eyes, you looked up to see him waiting for you; You nodded once, another moaning already escaping in anticipation.

It was like a brick wall knocking into you. Smith didn't hold back as he began fucking you— Knew you could take it— what with your powers and all. The idea seemed to drive him, and he began hammering into you, his hands moving to bracket your hips so he could fuck you better. Faster. Your legs wrapped around his waist.

Fuck— You couldn't think. You arched up off of the floor as you rolled your hips to meet Smith's. It felt like he could keep up this pace forever the way he wasn't stopping. Your breathing turned to panting, a high whine escaping you when he shifts just right— he picked you up again. You arched up into his arms, holding yourself up from around his neck as he fucked up into your soaking cunt. You bounced on his cock, a sheen of sweat blooming across your skin.

When you opened your eyes, Smith was still watching you intently— witnessing every little expression on your face while he fucked you. You could hardly discern what he was thinking. All you could focus on was him ramming you, the feeling of his cock hitting and stretching you out.

“Choke me.” He said, and you have just enough wherewithal to oblige. You wrapped your hand around his throat, pressing firmly on either side. You felt the tightness of his skin shifting under your touch. His pulse beat a fast rhythm in time with his rough thrusts. The strength of your grip was a little vice tipping Smith over the edge.

The look on his face, his eyes closed as he tried to control his breathing sends a jolt up you. You used your other hand to slip two fingers down between your folds. They found your clit, making quick work of bringing you to close to climaxing. You shuttered as you felt the tight coil of it building. Finally, with a cry you were coming, squeezing your legs around him as your hips rolling through every wave of it. Smith groaned, picking up the pace, fucking you through your orgasm until your walls were fluttering from the unrelenting stimulation.

“Going to—“ He warned, and you squeezed the hand around his throat harder, making his eyes roll up. You whimpered as you feel the hot spurt of him fill you, his hips finally locking as he pumped you with his cum.

You both took a moment to catch your breath, your hand releasing from Smith’s neck so he could take in a long gasp. His skin was reddened along his throat and chest. You saw the beginnings of your handprint bruising around his Adam's apple, your fingers a mark on his skin. You hung onto him like that, your arms back around his shoulders for balance.

“Fuck.” You finally said. Out of habit, you checked your watch to assess where you were on the mission. He took your chin in his hand, drawing your eyes back up to him. You saw that his hair had fallen back into his eyes, his face glistening with sweat.

“I’m not done with you.” He said. It sent a shiver through you. You felt your walls flutter again, some of his cum leaking out with his half-hard cock still firm inside you. You gasped as he pulled you off of him, guiding you down until you were turning around on all fours on the floor. You glanced over your shoulder, already craving the feeling of him filling you up with his cock again.

And fuck it, you two do take the whole six hours.

[turtle-steverogers]

i was thinking but do you know the unsent project? it is this website where you can write a message to your first love that you never sent to them. now imagine steve writing one (or multiple) to bucky after he came out of the ice after nat told him about it... yeah

hello hi anon this broke me and it was too perfect not to turn into a ficlet klafjldskjfalskf thank you

-

Unsent Letters

To:

Steve’s fingers freeze over the keyboard, the cursor blinking at him. It feels like it’s taunting him-- teasing him with the burden of choking out a name. What should he even say? The sender is anonymous, but how many people are named Bucky out there? Would anyone even care?

To: Bu

Steve huffs and backspaces, his hands trembling as he curls them into fists. He isn’t sure what provoked Natasha to tell him about this website. It’s a cruel tease to everything he wishes he could say-- wished he could say before Bucky slipped through his fingers. And now his only option is yelling into an abyss. The text box is black and daunting. He turns it yellow. No, too happy. Green. Yes, that’s fine. Bucky’s favorite color was always green.

His gaze wanders away from the screen of his hefty Dell laptop and out the window of his apartment. DC’s low rising buildings span out in front of him. His gut aches; he misses New York already. But he knows being there would only mangle his soul further, seeing his already alien home torn to shreds by literal space whales. He huffs, thinking of Bucky’s comics. His stories came to life after all. Bucky would have probably vibrated out of his skin if he knew there was other life out there.

To: My astronaut

How’s space treating you? It’s treating me pretty badly, if I’m being honest. If only you could see what it’s done to Brooklyn. I think you’d be pretty mad at it if you knew…

Steve hesitates, reading back over what he’s typed. It’s stupid as hell, and he cringes, but he doesn’t backspace. His fingers find the keys again.

I miss you something awful. I don’t think that even encompasses how much I’m hurting without you. I feel so lost right now-- space is much bigger and scarier than you’d think. I know you’d love it. I wish you could see bits of it, but god, I just want to go home. I want you to come home.

Steve freezes again and finds the screen blurry where tears have welled in his eyes. His jaw clenches as he pictures the way Bucky would laugh at him-- teasing him for his dramatics and ruffling his hair. He wishes he could be there now, rolling his eyes and nudging Steve’s shoulder.

“What’re you upsetting yourself for?” He’d say, gently closing the laptop and coaxing Steve into his arms. “I’m right here, pal.”

And if Steve closes his eyes, he can almost feel Bucky’s warmth enveloping him. But he’s not there. He’s dead, and Steve’s a goddamn ghost, drifting through a future that doesn’t know him.

He opens his eyes and stares at the text box, then clicks submit.

The screen loads, and his message is gone, his pain forever documented in the abyss.

-

For someone who fought aliens two weeks after waking up from his impromptu seventy year sleep, Steve’s life is pretty monotonous. He contemplates this unfortunate fact as he stands in front of his toaster, hair sticking up on the back of his head as he nurses a mug of coffee and waits for his toast to pop.

It’s 5:45 in the morning and he tries to remember a time when he didn’t rise this early. Before the war, perhaps. Though, he’s always been a bit of an early bird. His home life was sporadic to put it lightly and he’d learned from an early age that the sooner he was awake, the better it was for everyone. Vigilance is not a new concept for Steve.

He hasn’t always stayed up late, though. That’s certainly new, and he feels this fact viscerally as he catches sight of his reflection in the microwave. There are bags under his eyes that will be gone by mid-morning thanks to the serum. Dermatologists hate him, Natasha says. Steve thinks he’s pretty lucky that the serum more or less equipped him with a built-in anti-aging agent. His father had started balding by thirty.

His toast pops and he starts a little, blinking blearily at the slightly burnt bread as he pulls it out of the toaster with his thumb and forefinger. He spreads on the same raspberry jam and butter that he uses every morning and tries not to think of how bland it tastes in his mouth as he eats it standing at the counter. Another routine.

He tries not to look at last night’s dishes in the sink as he stacks his plate and silverware on top and doesn’t bother sorting out his hair before pulling on his sneakers and slipping out of his apartment. The sun hasn’t quite risen yet, only the beginning tendrils of light sneaking over the low tops of the DC buildings, and Steve vaguely regrets not grabbing a sweatshirt before he left. It’s not quite Summer yet and the mornings could still get pretty cool.

He’s about to take off down the street when he freezes. Natasha is sitting on the steps of his complex, wearing a pair of pink tinted sunglasses and tossing up and down the keys to her car. Steve blinks, rubs his eyes, then blinks again. Nope. She’s still there.

“Nat?”

Natasha looks up at him and smiles. “Hello.”

Steve shifts, uncomfortable. “Hi. You need something? Is there a mission?”

“No,” Natasha says lightly, standing. “You’re not running this morning, though. Come on, I’m taking you to Starbucks.”

“What?”

“Starbucks. You’re going to try it.”

“I don’t want--”

“Steve, you do the same thing every day. Step out of your comfort zone a little.”

Steve frowns, but Natasha’s right-- he really doesn’t ever stray from his routine.

“Fine,” he says, and twenty minutes later, they’re strolling into the nearest Starbucks.

He’s only been in one before, and that was to use the restroom while on a run. He’d bought a water bottle in an attempt to not be rude and use their facilities without giving them any business, but he hadn’t even considered the expansive menu. All the fancy names were too daunting.

They’re just as daunting now as he stares up at the board, heart hammering out of his chest as he’s faced with indecision. Natasha takes one look at his face, and reaches out to squeeze his arm.

“I’ll order something for you,” she says. “What kind of coffee do you like?”

Steve gives her a pained look. “Um… just coffee?”

Natasha quirks a smile and orders him something called a caramel macchiato. He’ll take it, he guesses.

The drink is too damn sweet and sugary and he almost gags. Still, he was always told to finish what he was given, so he drinks the whole thing.

-

To: Mr. Sweet Tooth

You’d fucking love it here. Everything is packed with sugar and sweetness-- enough to make even my teeth rot. I had something called a caramel macchiato today and it tasted like someone took your ma’s caramels and condensed them into a cup. I couldn’t stand it, but I know if you were here, you’d want at least twelve. I hope you’re enjoying all the sweets you can up in space.

Love, Mr. Boring

-

Steve’s fingers are stiff and frozen as he works at the straps of his stealth suit. The tangy taste of saltwater still sits heavy on his tongue, and he clenches his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering too harshly as he finally peels off his suit. It’s not much better, being naked, but at least the wet fabric isn’t clinging to him anymore.

The mission had been pretty straightforward until some alien tech managed to blast the quinjet to kingdom come, and they all free-fell straight into the freezing Atlantic.

Steve had managed to keep it together as they took down the goddamn mad scientist that fucked them over, but now that he’s home and alone, he can feel the adrenaline crashing.

He’s shaking from more than just the cold as he draws himself a warm bath, and he pulls his knees up to his chest, trying to breathe through the panic that wants to engulf his entire being.

He loses time for a bit, and comes back to himself lying in his bed, burrowed under several thick layers. He feels so cold, down to his very soul-- a chill that he can never seem to truly shake, even when he’s warm.

Not for the first time, he wishes Bucky were there to hold him. He slips off to sleep thinking old, comforting thoughts of Bucky rubbing his hands between his own, coaxing his head under his chin to engulf him in that natural warmth of his. He always was a fucking furnace.

But when Steve wakes an hour later, shaking hard enough to move the bed with the force of the nightmare he’d dropped into, Bucky is not there to soothe away the ice.

-

To: JB

im so cold and i cant breathe ever and nothing feels right. I dont know what to do, u were always the problem solver between us and i cant think straight right now and i just want you here please. I cant do this anymore, im so tired please come back. I need you please

-

The Winter Soldier file sits in front of Steve-- a horrifying nightmare wrapped up in a neat brown folder. Residual nausea swirls around in his gut as he comes down from the horrible high of reading through the contents. His hands shake where they grasp the thick paper. His heart clenches hard in his chest.

Bucky is alive. Bucky is alive, and he’s been unmade.

Steve doesn’t know where he is-- if he’s escaped, or if Hydra found him again. It’s been three weeks now since the helicarriers, and he’s only just gotten the courage to sit down and wade through the shit that is Bucky’s reality.

He just hopes he’s safe. God, he hopes.

Sam says he’ll help him look, and Steve needs to know he’s at least out of danger, but he barely knows where to start.

And he’s sorry. He’s so fucking sorry.

Blinking out of his reverie, Steve looks at his laptop. He feels strange and detached as he reaches for it and logs in.

To: Bucky

And yes, that feels right. He should use his name, since he suspects no one has for a long, long time.

I’m so sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry that you’ve been hurting so quietly for so long. I understand if you’re not ready to come home-- I understand if you never are. I just hope that you know that there will always be a place with me that is safe. I love you so much and I’m here, forever and always.

Love, Steve.

He’s not naive. He knows it would be dangerous to submit that particular message, so he doesn’t. But that’s okay. That one’s just for him-- for them.

-

“Steve? What is the… Unsent Project?”

Steve frowns and pokes his head out of the kitchen. Bucky is sitting on the couch in the living room, using his laptop, because his own is having storage issues.

Bucky looks at him. “It’s one of your saved tabs. What is it?”

And oh, fuck. Steve had forgotten to remove that from his homepage-- it really wasn’t needed anymore. He blushes all the way to his ears.

“Oh, it’s-- nothing. Not anything important--”

But Bucky has already clicked on the tab.

“The Unsent Project,” he reads aloud. “A collection of unsent text messages to… first… loves…”

He trails off as he processes what he’s looking at, and Steve can’t quite read his expression when he looks at him again. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s looking at Steve like he’s some sort of kicked puppy. Steve shifts, uncomfortable.

“Were you sending me… messages? While I was dead?”

Steve swallows. “Um…” and now that Bucky says it out loud, it really does sound quite sad. He shrugs. “It’s Natasha’s fault?”

Bucky shakes his head, clicking on the search bar. He starts to type his name, but Steve shakes his head.

“I didn’t use your name.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, then frowns at him again. “What did you use?”

Steve blushes harder, sitting next to Bucky and taking the laptop from him.

“Um…” he hesitates, then types what he was sure he used as his first alias.

My astronaut

The screen buffers and loads, then fifty or so messages pop up. Steve scrolls down-- it doesn’t take long to find his.

They’re both quiet as they read, and Steve cringes. Jeez, he really had been pretty dramatic. Next to him, Bucky makes a hurt noise.

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, taking the laptop back from Steve. He reads the message again, then once more, and reaches out for Steve. “Aw, I’m here now.”

Steve huffs, embarrassed. “I know,” he says. “That was way back, like, three weeks after I woke up.”

Bucky stills. “You fought aliens three weeks after you woke up?”

“... More like two.”

Bucky hums. “Are there others?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, reaching out to type on Bucky’s lap, because Bucky is holding him now and he’s quite reluctant to move. He thinks for a moment, then types in the next one he remembers.

Mr. Sweet Tooth

Bucky laughs, and Steve finds himself smiling.

“I find this funny,” Bucky says. “Because caramel macchiatos are definitely one of my favorites now.”

Steve laughs, too, and butts his head against Bucky’s shoulder.

“If only I could tell that to myself back then-- he’d be thrilled.”

“I’m sure,” Bucky says. “Any more?”

Steve hesitates, thinking of the one he’d sent after that nightmare-- when he was low and hurting. Incoherent. He isn’t sure he wants Bucky to see that particular side of his soul, but Bucky has been more than generous in letting him in on his pains nowaday, and it’s not like Bucky hasn’t witnessed Steve’s own current nightmares.

He bites his lip and types in JB. That seems to yield a lot more results, and it takes a while for Steve to find the message.

He hides his face in Bucky’s neck as he reads. Bucky’s arms gradually tighten around him, and a moment later, he feels him kiss the top of his head.

“Honey, I hate that you were hurting so bad,” Bucky mutters against his hair.

Steve shrugs. “We both were,” he says, and it’s true. There’s something to be said about the guilt they both feel for not being able to save the other person at their lowest, but life hasn’t been kind to them. The vitriol, Steve thinks, should be directed at the goddamn universe for keeping them apart, not themselves for fucking dying. They’re working on it.

Bucky’s quiet for a long time. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says. “Is that it?”

Steve shakes his head. “But I never sent the last one.”

“Why not?”

“I wrote it after DC.”

He feels Bucky squeeze him again, and he squeezes back.

“Oh.”

“I just-- I wanted you to know that you didn’t have to come home. That I just wanted you to be safe; needed to know you were safe, but it was up to you. I just needed you to know I was here, if you needed me.”

Bucky pulls back then and cups his face, kissing him soundly. Steve’s surprised for only a moment before he’s kissing back.

“I did know that,” Bucky says against his lips. “I needed time-- I was lost-- but the first thing I knew when I remembered who you were was that you were a safe person, because you’d never force me anywhere.”

Steve kisses him again, then pulls him into a hug. “I’m glad you knew that.” It’s warm, where their chests meet, and Bucky is solid beneath him. Real. He isn’t speaking into an abyss anymore.

-

There’s a sticky note on Bucky’s pillow next to his head when he wakes up the next morning. Steve’s side of the bed is already vacant, and he can’t hear him downstairs. He must have already left for a run.

Propping himself on an elbow, Bucky plucks up the sticky note.

To: My Bucky

Thank you for choosing me to be your home, and thank you forever, for being mine.

I love you with everything I have.

Love, your Steve

Bucky smiles, heart light as he folds the notes. He’ll keep that one with him, he thinks. A little bit of home to bring wherever he goes.

-

anyway yeah fslkjflaskjfls i-- ouch. anything to do with letters w these two hurts me immensely

[waitineedaname]

"Accidently ending a phone call with your roommate with a casual ‘I love you’ seems like a very good reason to move out"

For benrey @ gordon?

“And can you pick up some oat milk while you’re there? I just realized I’m out.”

“Man, oat milk freaks me out,” Benrey said, pushing their shopping cart towards the dairy section anyway. “Like, do oats even have, uh. Others?”

“Others?” There was a beat of silence as Gordon attempted to figure out exactly what the hell Benrey was talking about. “You mean udders?”

“Yeah. Cow things.”

“Dude, that’s not how oat milk works.” Gordon’s laugh made Benrey’s cheap phone speakers crackle.

“Then how does it work? Huh? Mister scientician?” Benrey propped the phone between their ear and shoulder as they opened the fridge door to grab the brand of oat milk he knew Gordon liked.

“I don’t fucking know! I’m not a goddamn milk scientist.” Even through a phone call, Benrey could hear the smile on Gordon’s face. “They squeeze juice out of the oats or smush them into a paste or something. I don’t know. Stop making me think about how oat milk works, it’s going to make me not want to drink it anymore.”

“Cool, so I’ll buy milk with extra lactose then.”

“You will not, unless you wanna deal with me laying on the couch complaining all afternoon because my stomach hurts.”

“You do that anyway.”

“Fuck off, man.” Gordon’s tone of voice didn’t carry any bite to it. “Alright, I gotta go, I’m almost at the end of the queue to pick Joshie up. I’ll see you back at home, okay?”

“Mhm. Love you, bye.” Benrey hung up and shoved their phone back in their jacket pocket. They unfolded the shopping list and attempted to decipher the mix of their own chicken scratch, Gordon’s doctor handwriting, and the occasional misspelled request for snacks in Joshua’s six year old handwriting. Okay, they had to get those frozen chicken nuggets Joshua liked, another pack of seltzer, a can of black beans since Gordon was planning to cook dinner tonight-

Thinking about Gordon made them suddenly freeze in place as they realized what they’d just done. Did… Did they just say “love you” on the phone with Gordon?

Aw, fuck.

They’d been living with Gordon for a while now. It hadn’t always been an easy thing for either of them. When they’d been freshly respawned, both of them had been jumpy around each other at best, and at worst, they were at each other’s throats trying to kill each other. It took a long time and a lot of uncomfortable conversations for them to get to the point where they could interact without an unbearable amount of tension. From there, they were able to start rebuilding an actual friendship. Turns out, they got along a lot better when they weren’t in mortal danger. Who knew!

Living with Gordon involved a lot of rules, both spoken and unspoken. They involved stuff like “don’t ask weird questions about Gordon’s feet,” “if one of them gets too angry, walk it off instead of actually fighting,” and “no gross body horror in front of Gordon’s son.” It also involved shit like “please for the love of god don’t put empty juice cartons back in the fridge” and “don’t stain the carpets with Sweet Voice, this is a rental and that security deposit is worth getting back.” So far, Benrey hadn’t had too much trouble following the rules. They had been a security guard, after all; following rules was supposed to be their thing. Besides, they were a low price to pay to get to spend time with Gordon.

One of those early unspoken rules, however, had been “keep the flirting to a minimum.” That one had been a little tricky at first, but it had been necessary, especially back when they still weren’t on the best of terms. Benrey learned that when Gordon was already worked up, blowing a kiss did the opposite of diffusing the situation. This was news to Benrey. Who didn’t love a little kiss from their buddies? Lame.

That had been an early rule, though, and one that had kind of faded into the background over time. The longer they lived together, the more physically affectionate they both got, and a little domesticity is only to be expected when you share a household. It was nice. Comfortable.

And then Benrey had to go and say “I love you” on the phone. What the fuck.

That had to be crossing a line, right? Gordon was fine with some handholding and some cuddling and they’d make dinner together once a week, but this had to be pushing it.

Benrey went through the rote motions of buying the rest of their groceries without really paying attention, too busy panicking. There was only one option. They had to move out. This was fine. This was totally fine. They could just crash on Tommy’s couch until they find a place of their own because there was no way this wasn’t going to make Gordon freak the fuck out. As much as they loved fucking with Gordon, they’d learned there was the fun kind of freaking him out and the bad kind of freaking him out. They were fairly certain this fell into the bad category.

By the time that they were walking up to their apartment door, they were already mentally packing up all their things, resigned to their fate. They were so stuck in their own head that Joshua barreling into their legs when they opened the door actually startled them.

“Benny!” Joshua cheered, clinging to their jeans.

“Hey, li’l dude.” Benrey carefully tried to push past the kid without tripping over him on the way to the kitchen. Tragically, that’s where Gordon also happened to be.

“Hey, what took you so long?” Gordon asked, taking some of the grocery bags from them. “I thought you’d gotten lost in Costco again.”

Benrey grunted noncommittally and started putting away groceries instead of answering Gordon. Maybe if they didn’t look at him, they could avoid confronting whatever Gordon’s reaction was. Yeah, definitely, this seemed like a sustainable, reasonable decision to make. Yep.

“Dude.” Gordon’s hand suddenly appeared on their forearm. Benrey stared at it, then looked up at Gordon’s concerned face. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?”

“You’re putting carrots in the utensil drawer.”

Benrey looked down at their hands again. Oh. So they were.

“You’ve been acting weird ever since you got back from the store,” Gordon said, gently taking the carrots away from them. “Did something happen? You wanna talk about it?”

Benrey screwed their mouth up. No, they didn’t want to talk about it, but learning how to talk through things like adults was something they both had agreed to do. That had been a rule introduced by an exasperated Tommy, sick of mediating their bullshit. So, they sighed and looked away while Gordon put the carrots in the vegetable drawer of the fridge. “I was thinking about how I’ve gotta move out.”

“What?” Gordon stood up too fast and smacked his head on the freezer door. He swore loudly, and Benrey reached over to hand him a bag of frozen peas to put on the back of his head. “Thanks. But also, what? Since when are you moving out?”

“Uh, since now?” Benrey said, confused. Shouldn’t it be obvious?

“Why?”

“‘Cause I said I love you on the phone? Dummy? You, uh, a fucking old man got bad brain disease, not remembering things?” They said, defaulting to picking on Gordon to avoid focusing on anything else. Gordon stared blankly at them for a moment, then, against all odds, a grin spread across his face.

“Benrey,” He said, and Benrey decided he didn't like that tone one bit, “Are you embarrassed?”

“Whuh? No.” There was no way they could be embarrassed. That definitely wasn't what was going on here. Nope. Not a bit, “...Maybe.”

“Dude, you don't have to be embarrassed about that.” Gordon laughed. “Do you know how often I've said stupid Freudian slips? I called my sixth grade teacher mom once and wanted to change my name and move to Canada. I've been there.”

“It wasn't, uh… It wasn't too much? Not crossing a line or anything?”

“Nah, man. It was kinda sweet.” Gordon flashed him a smile and finished putting away the last of the groceries.

“Cool.” Benrey relaxed, letting go of the tension that had been building in their shoulders. “That's good ‘cause I was gonna fight you for custody of your Xbox.” Gordon snorted.

“Good fucking luck, you’re too much of a Playstation guy to win that case.”

The evening passed relatively uneventfully from there. Gordon enlisted Benrey’s help in cooking dinner, and Joshua eagerly told them all about the cool dinosaur facts he’d learned in class that day. They went through the easy routine of watching just one episode (which of course always turned into several episodes) of Joshua’s choice of TV, then Benrey helped wash up in the kitchen while Gordon put Josh to bed. Gordon joined them as they finished washing dishes and squeezed Benrey’s shoulder affectionately when they were done.

“Alright, man, I think I’m gonna head to bed early tonight.”

Benrey nodded. “Cool. I’ll be quiet.”

“Don’t worry about it. G’night, dude.”

“Night, Gordon.”

“Oh, and Benrey?” Gordon paused in the doorway of his bedroom and waited until Benrey glanced up at him. Gordon smiled. “Love you too.”

He shut the door before Benrey could respond, leaving Benrey to stare blankly at the door. They let out a groan, careful not to wake Joshua. Oh, Gordon was going to be the death of them.

[wumblr]

still think it was remarkably and unusually shitty for y'all to brigade me because i saw a bomb test. i have, again, said it all before but there's functionally no difference between these dumbasses and a far-right conservative. they're lucky i have bigger problems than arguing with the cartoon obsessed braindead about nuclear policy, i know i'm not getting an apology when i'm proven right yet again, because i have, again, been talking about this since longer ago than when some of y'all were first learning shapes and colors. ain't my first goddamn rodeo, i can tell it is some of y'all's though because you were asking for photos as if there's anything to be proven by that. think for one fucking second. sorry for not talking down and explaining it in easy to digest little animated stories, maybe that would have worked since they're all hopelessly conditioned to expect nothing else.

you think i took a dslr out to visit a decommissioned proving ground in between visits with my dying mom? do you know i stopped out there because i was driving 1200 miles further to pack up the last of a storage unit to move across country for an engagement to marry that fell apart? even aside from the fact i didn't go expecting to see anything, it's fucking personal. i wanted to walk the leviathan ground like some belly of the beast shit and my mom was getting sick of me trying to hold her to account on her deathbed anyway. no, it's not radiation poisoning or cancer, it's octopus-pot heart and i'm pretty sure it's my fault. it's my aunt that's fighting cancer, currently, this year, as opposed to every other person i've known who's fought it. not that it's any of your fucking business but if any one of you took the time to walk a mile in my shoes you'd be dead from sheer stress on the first step. stress is what killed the engagement. little else i can do but laugh at how stupid this is because of course, what else would happen? you can't make me unsee it, so none of your objections matter one half of a shit. i didn't want your attention and i don't care what you think.

the fact that still gets me is like... so we both agree you shouldn't believe me sight unseen -- that was stated outright in the one post you couldn't read -- so... what were you actually disagreeing with? abject lack of context? the precious idea of me you have in your head? it'd be hilarious if it wasn't such pathetic, wilfully malinformed bullshit over such a gravely serious subject. we were disagreeing over whether authorized testing is detectable by unauthorized test detection methods or over whether another country would call our bullshit in the middle of declaring six different wars? i'm sorry, i mean humanitarian proxy conflict interventions. so, we were disagreeing about reactors, huh? as a proxy conflict? i've already said that the braindead model the behavior of the empire interpersonally. we were arguing over whether you knew more about detection than the wing of government designed to evade precisely that? appealing to the authority of a crumbling infrastructure? which part, precisely? we were arguing because i said maybe two kilotons and you pictured castle bravo? stupid.

so hellbent on believing you wouldn't hear about a bomb test on the internet while you fawn over the possibility of covert celebrity migration from twitter. yet more trifling ass bullshit. put it together, dumbass. you didn't hear me any of the other times i talked about it, maybe that's why i have a notebook here while i'm trying to figure out how to detect what's designed to evade detection so i and the other three people in the world who care about this can figure out the appropriate means to make you hear about it in a way you can afford to believe without having to crush yourself under the weight of your own culpability in it while the IAEA is busy debuting drones at COP27. i wish they'd all just die on god but that'd be a mercy they don't deserve.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

It’s Your Fucking Birthday!

One-Shot. 

Daddy misses you. He wants that pretty pussy after you teased him on Zoom and FaceTime 😛💦 you coming to give him some of that pussy? 😏

You blew into the gold party horn in the webcam of your zoom call with your boyfriend, Erik, who is away for business in NYC. Erik covered his ears with a big, dimpled smile on his face. It was 12 AM where he was and 9 PM where you were. To get as close to your boyfriend as possible, you changed the background of your zoom call into a picture collage that you created. It’s all of your favorite pictures of Erik with a cute chocolate chip cookie frame. On your head is a gold party hat and you are wearing one of his favorite black hoodies. 

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY!!! I love youuuuuuuu.” 

You make a heart shape with your hand before blowing him a few kisses.

“Thank you, beautiful, I love you too. This really means a lot right now. You called me at a good time too because I just got finished looking over this info for work. You are so fucking adorable look at that smile. And the background?! Damn, baby!!”

“Yessss I had to do it up for my baby!!” 

“This is the best happy birthday I received so far. It really sucks that I’m all the way here in NYC when I could be there with you.”

Erik’s kimono beads started vibrating and the patterns along the beads ignited an electric blue color. 

“It’s my auntie calling, baby girl. Let me take this.” 

“Take your time, I have to go do something real quick. I'll be back.” 

“Don’t be gone too long now!” Erik yelled into the zoom call before a holographic image of his Aunt Ramonda popped up. 

“Happy Birthday my handsome nephew!” 

“Thanks, auntie. I miss you.” 

“I miss you too, Daka. How is it in New York.” 

“Cold. T’Challa should be here later on today.”

“Are you going to rest and put off work for later? I hope so. This is your special day today.”

“Birthdays are just like any other day except I’m older.”

“Still, I want you to enjoy yourself. I’ll let you go, love you.” 

“Love you too, auntie.” 

When you came back Erik could hear you moving in the background but he couldn’t see you. You turned your camera off. 

“Babe? Why is your camera off?” He asked. 

“One second!!” 

“What are you up to now woman?!!” 

Erik stands from the couch in his hotel suite. He picks up his Macbook and the care package you sent him, taking it all with him into his room. Sitting everything on the bed, Erik takes off his hoodie, bare chest exposed now. His body is really filling out with all the training he’s been doing. It felt good for him to get back in the gym. 

“Baby...come on now, I’m tryna see that beautiful face.”  Erik said while staring at a black screen. 

“I told you I have another surprise for you.” 

Erik smirks before taking a seat on his bed. He has to angle his laptop up so she can see him better. He ruffles his locs as he waits patiently for you to appear again. 

“Baby—oh, damn.” 

You went all out for Erik. You’re wearing a piece from the new Savage Fenty collection. It’s a yellow amber, long-sleeve lace slip featuring a sexy keyhole cut out in the front. It came with a matching thong. It’s very revealing so Erik can see your breasts. You pose for him and twirl around with your ass poked out. He had this mesmerized look in his eyes with a smirk that showed a single deep dimple. 

“Mmm, spin around again...oh my God, baby.” 

“You love it? I know how much you love yellow on my skin.”

“I love it and I want to undress you with my hands not my eyes,” He looked you up and down with those beautiful brown eyes of his, “bend that ass over really quick—fuck.” 

You giggle at his words of appreciation for your body. He always hyped you up but each time felt like the first. You are his baby after all. 

“Somebody getting thick on me hold the fuck  up,” Erik laughs, “I don’t remember that ass sitting up and poking out like that! How did you get that ass like that, baby? Tell me.” 

“You already know why, Erik, stop,” you blush. 

“Nah, I want you to tell me why. It’s my birthday after all.”

“Quarantine fifteen!!” You said. 

“Nope. It’s the different positions, especially the back shots. Hitting that ass hard from the back got your cheeks looking like a big ass chocolate cake.”

“You really think that sex made me get thick? I have been getting back in the gym too.” 

“I mean...all of that plays a factor,” Erik licked his lips, “But all we’ve been doing for the past year is fucking. Nothing but sex. So I don’t know why I’m just noticing this now. That ass is fat mama.” 

“Mmm...I wish you could feel how soft it is too.” You said with a sultry voice. 

“Shit, me too. Bend over again….mmm...so sexy. Starting my day off with a bang.” 

“Open your package baby!”

You take a seat and watch Erik open his package that you sent him. When he finally got the box open, he smiled at you with a shake of his head. 

“The apple juice, baby? Really? my favorite.”

Erik shows you the two Martinelli’s Apple juices. 

“What else...ha, no you didn’t, let’s hope Boomer doesn't get to these.” 

It's a pair of men’s Ugg slippers. Boomer, Erik’s dog, chewed up his last pair. 

“Chocolate chip cookies!!! From Gooey On The Inside!!!” He instantly opened the pack up, “Baby. I was craving these cookies too. You’re a mind reader.” 

“I contacted her personally and I had them added to your package. You have one last thing in there, babe.” 

Erik pulls out a bottle of Hennessy. 

“I figured we can turn up together on zoom and you know...do other things.” 

“Other things? What’s that, baby?” 

You stand up and take off your panties. 

“Since I can’t be there to give you birthday sex in person...I figured we could do it together on zoom.”

The WIFI started acting up and your video froze. 

“Shit—babe?” 

“Yeah—can you see me clear now.” 

You came back into focus. 

“Yeah, I can see you,” Erik smiles. 

You started having a giggle fit and Erik looked at you with a confused expression on his face.

“Wait...did you start drinking without me? How turnt up are you right now?”

“I just had a few sips that’s all!”

“Nah, that’s a fucking yes. You’re turnt I don’t wanna hear that.” 

“Stop,” you whimper.

“Fuck, I miss you so much.” Erik said. 

“Me too.” 

You both stared at each other before you broke eye contact. 

“I would have you in my lap right now like I always do...my hand between your legs...fingers in your pussy.” 

“Mm,” you bite your lip, “I wish you could do that right now.” 

Erik pulled on the crotch of his grey sweatpants. He could feel himself growing thick and the sound of your voice coming out of the speakers had him imagining you there whispering and moaning in his ear. 

“What I wouldn’t give to fuck you right now.” He said. 

“Have you been stroking your dick since you’ve been away from me?” 

“Honestly...yes. I mean...you’re not here to take care of me so I gotta do it myself...have you been fingering your pussy since daddy isn’t there to do it?”

“Uh-huh...I wanna fuck you so good right now.”

“Woah,” Erik chuckles, “I know you would, baby. I’d fuck you good too.” 

“Baby...I wanna make you cum right now,” You moan.

“You gotta show me that pussy first.” 

You slowly lay back against the bed, spreading your thighs. Erik stares between your legs at your pussy barely covered in that yellow amber thong, your pussy lips begging to be free. Daddy’s favorite honey pot. It’s been days since he had that pussy in his mouth and resting on his tongue. 

“What I wouldn’t give to rip that thong with my teeth and put my face in your pussy.” 

“It’s crazy wet for you.” 

“Let me see,” He whispered. 

You tease him and show him just a little. 

“Nah, I wanna see that whole pussy. You’re not being very fair for my birthday, mama.”

Closing your thighs. You take your time and perform a little strip tease for him. You bring your legs up, your panties following the same trail before you kick them off. Your hand covers your pussy before you use your fingers to spread your lips for him to see.

“Oh, my God—

“I told you I was wet.”

“Stick a finger inside I wanna hear it.” 

Erik turns up his volume. You stick your middle finger inside and start wiggling it back and forth. Erik grabs his erection through his sweatpants and squeezes it. He was pulsating. 

“Fuck. It’s so creamy, baby. I wish I had that sweet pussy instead of these cookies.”

“Daddy...why aren’t you touching yourself?” 

“Ha, I’m sorry, baby…I got you...”

Erik lifts his hips from the bed and pushes his sweatpants down to his ankles. He wasn’t wearing any briefs. If he could be naked all day he would. He exhaled and threw his head back as soon as his hand wrapped around his thickness. 

“I haven’t sucked that dick in so long...I forgot how it feels to stretch my mouth around that fat dick.” 

“Would you be able to handle the way I fuck your mouth?” Erik asked. 

“I’m so hungry for your dick I’ll let you use my throat however you like.” 

Erok looked at his dick, “My shit is hard as fuck.” 

“I wish I could sit on it, mmm, it’s just missing my pussy for me to sit on.” 

“Why are you so far away?” 

Erik couldn’t take it. Both of you breathed heavily in the camera, caressing your own bodies, watching each other. 

“I want you to rub your clit.”

Your fingers started circling over your clit. With your other hand you pull your breasts out of your lace teddy for him to see. 

“You gotta get closer to the camera so I can see your pussy better...that’s it...no spread your legs down more...goddamn, ma. If I could lick this screen and taste that pussy I would.”

His dick was massive in the camera. He had to push it back to get the entire shaft in view. His dick was standing straight up and you wished you were there to really give him the best birthday treat ever. Your mouth and pussy. 

“You wouldn’t even have to do anything, daddy, I’ll ride that dick for your birthday.” 

“Nah...you know I can’t let you have all the fun. They have the best view with big windows. I was beating my dick last night to the thought of you pressed against the window…me fucking you from behind...pulling your hair.” 

“I want you to do that to me so bad,” You moaned, “Let me get my vibrator, I’ll be right back.” 

Still stroking his dick, Erik watches as you walk out of frame. He smacked his dick against his open palm before dragging his thumb over his wet tip. You finally came back with a vibrator Erik hadn’t seen before. It’s a clitoral pump vibrator with a fake tongue attachment and a g spot vibrator on the other end. It’s purple and pink with a suction attachment. Erik and yourself have used clitoral suckers plenty of times so you detach it from the vibrator so you can see how the oral sex stimulating tongue works. 

“When did you get that?” He asked 

“It came a few days ago...I waited until now to open it so I can use it while you watch.” 

“Hmm, all for me?”

“Always,” you get back into position and turn on the vibrator. The tongue starts wiggling up and down slowly but when you went through more levels it started flicking so fast it created a blur. 

“Dayummm, I can’t wait to see you put that thing on your clit. I already know you’re about to cum fast.” 

You dragged the vibrator up your leg and then you gently pressed the vibrating tongue against your pussy. Instantly your toes curl and you start to tremble. 

“FUCK!” You shout, hips twisting from side to side. 

“You’re making my dick drool baby omg...mmm...mmm...mmm...looks so tasty...pretty pussycat baby...keep that vibrator on your clit don’t you fucking stop...how do you want it baby? You want me to fuck you with that vibrator on your clit?”

“Yes, daddy!” 

Your hips lift from the bed. It was too much. As soon as you fell back against the bed your pussy started leaking. Thank god you put a towel down because your squirt came out like a fountain. 

“I told you that pussy was gonna cum fast,” Erik groped his balls, “I’ll lick all that mess up off your thighs and then eat that beautiful pussy.” 

“I can’t take it anymore—

“Nah, I want you to fuck that pussy with the other end.” 

“Daddy—

“Nope. Do what the fuck I tell you. I may not be there in person but that doesn’t mean you do what you want. Fuck your pussy now.” 

“Unh,” you turn around with your ass in the camera and push the vibrator inside of you. 

“Oooo—

“Fuck that toy. Say my name and fuck that toy.” 

You go to town on your pussy, thrusting it inside of you. 

“That shit feels good, don’t it?” 

“Yesssssss, it’s so so so GOOD!”

“That fine ass getting pounded when I see you.” 

“Please, daddy, I wish you were here to fuck me.” 

“Ughhh,” Erik went back to pumping his dick, “I’m a stroke you real good and hit that spot over and over again.”

“Unh—

“Work that fucking pussy baby, damn you’re making a mess all over that toy...cream is just dripping all over it...fuckkkkkk…I want your pussy so bad.”

“Baby—“

“You warming that pussy up for me? Are you practicing for when I get home? You know what I would do? I would get in that ass while you fuck your pussy.”

“I’m gonna cum—oh my god, daddy—I’m gonna—

Your entire body trembled and that ass started bouncing and moving like a tidal wave. 

“That big ass girl—SHIT!”

Erik’s cum landed on his laptop screen. His balls must have been fully loaded because the more he jerked himself, the more cum spurted out. He let go of his dick and small droplets of cum stained his sheets. He didn’t know if he had another nut in him. 

“Babe, I’ll be right back. I gotta clean off this screen.” 

Erik stood up with his dick swinging between his legs. He walked over to his hotel dresser and grabbed some tissue. When he came back you were on your back with your legs stretched open. 

“That’s so purrrrrdy,” He said before laughing. 

“Thank you. Wanna go for round two?” 

“One second, babe. I am drained.” 

“Oh? That 34 year old body can’t hang anymore, huh?”

“Jokes.” 

“It’s okay...we have all day.” 

“Yes, we do.” 

Erik throws away the dirty tissue. 

“I miss you.” 

Erik gives you an air kiss, “I miss you too, baby.”

“Grab some water and we can—

The video ended. 

“Seriously?” Erik tried calling back on zoom but it kept on ringing, “What the fuck not right now.” 

Erik could hear his phone ringing. He funded it on the bed and it’s you face timing him. As soon as he answered it your pussy was in his face. 

“Damn girl,” Erik flicked his tongue at his phone, “that peach fuzz is sexy too keep it just like that when I get there...all that beautiful pussy gotdayummmmm.” 

“Let’s finish what we started?” Your face came into view and you winked at him. 

“Shit, my dick is still hard, I'm ready.” 

You slide three fingers inside your pussy with your phone angled as if Erik is laying down looking up at you.

“You did that on purpose...that’s how you want me? On my back and you sit on my face? Let that cum drip in my mouth?” 

“Mhm, I wanna cum all in your mouth, daddy.” 

Erik stood up from his bed while his phone rested on the bed. All you could see was his balls hanging in your face and his long, fat dick swinging. 

“I’m not pulling out that pussy when I see you.” 

You were driving him crazy and he was getting pissed off that you weren’t by his side right now taking his dick. Instead, he has to settle for a video call. It’s nothing like having pussy up close and in your face. Nothing like tasting, touching, and fucking the real thing. He wanted to pack his shit and catch a late flight out of NYC just so he can bury himself inside of you. He would drop his bags off at the door, grab your hips, bend you over, get down on his knees, and suck on your pussy from the back. Then, he would bend you over the couch and long stroke your pussy from behind with a handful of titties. 

“Fuck,” Erik’s hand went faster on his dick, his balls feeling the impact of his hand as he stroked downward, “Ima bust all in your pussy when I see you...wash my face with that pretty pussy baby...that’s all I want for my birthday...fucking you...all night long...FUCKKKK.” 

Erik jerked his dick right on his phone screen and all that cum landed on your pussy. 

“Daddy!” 

You rub your clit back and forth, that pussy contracting. You fell back against the bed and lifted your fingers from your pussy. 

“Fuck, that was so good,” You suck your fingers.

Erik grabs his phone and walks to the bathroom. Flicking the light switch, Erik turned on the sink and grabbed a folded washcloth to clean off his phone screen.

“You had me cumming on my laptop, and you had me cumming on my phone.” 

“But did you enjoy it?” 

“Of course. I need a rewind option that shit was everything.”

Erik propped his phone up against the wall and started looking at himself in the mirror. He shook his head, his tapered locs falling against his forehead. 

“You look so good. I can’t wait to see you.” You said with your eyes traveling over the length of his body. 

“Soon, baby...real soon…” 

____________

Taking his aunties advice, Erik pushed back a meeting for the opening of an Outreach Center in Manhattan for the next day. Erik woke up to multiple texts and missed calls from friends and family wishing him happy birthday. Even on social media he was tagged in plenty of pictures and videos. Of course, you made a long post about him with all the embarrassing photos of him caught off guard or sleeping. The last picture was his favorite. It’s a picture of you and him on vacation in Hawaii on a yacht. You both shared a kiss showing lots of tongue. 

Danielle_93: Happy birthday Erik! 🎉

BrysonWilliams: Happy Birthday Bro! 💪🏾

Monibaby: Awww y’all are so cute!!! ❤️

There were many more comments and mentions. Erik shared a few posts to his IG story and left it at that for the time being. T’Challa sent him a text letting him know that he landed and he would see him later. Erik was on his way back from the hotel gym when he noticed food, and a few gift bags outside of his door. He figured it was from some friends that live in NYC. Erik opened his hotel room door and picked up all his gifts, carrying them inside. He placed them on the coffee table in the living room area and peeked inside the food bag. Birria tacos and a burrito. He was hungry too. Grabbing the bag, Erik walks through the dark hotel room towards the kitchen. A faint glow came from the kitchen and Erik paused his footsteps. Confused, Erik crept up and peeked his head inside. 

There, on the kitchen counter is a triple chocolate layer cake with a 3 and a 4 candle on top. Maybe room service brought it in for him. Erik placed the bag of Mexican food on the counter and sauntered towards the cake. He could see cursive letters in yellow frosting on top. Erik read the words and a smile slowly crept up his face. This day just keeps getting better and better. 

Happy Birthday Baby. Love, Y/N.

“It’s your favorite.” 

Erik looked over his shoulder and there you were, wearing the Facet lingerie he gifted you. It’s see-through mesh in brown, with a plunging neckline and a high crotch. The gleam of the candles made your gorgeous brown skin stand out. Your hair is stilled in a natural fro and you’re wearing that brown matte lipstick Erik loves. 

“Happy birthday, baby.” 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and press the front of your body against his. 

“This was your plan all along, huh?” 

“It was hard to keep it from you. I flew in with T’Challa. He dropped me off here as soon as you left your room for the gym. I got a room key, let myself in, and waited for you to come back.”

“Mmm, baby,” Erik placed your hands in his and stepped back to get a good look at you, “You look so sexy.”

Erik held your hand up and spun you around so he could see every angle. As soon as your back faced him, Erik took his hand and popped you right on the cuff of your left ass cheek so he could watch it wobble. 

“Soft and phat.” Erik whispered in your ear from behind. 

“Do you like your cake? It’s your favorite.” 

Erik brought his attention back to his cake, took his finger and scooped up some frosting. He sucked the frosting off of his finger and licked his lips. 

“I love both of my cakes.”

You bend over the counter and start whining your hips. Erik focused on the way your beautiful ass swayed and how the yellow hue of the candle light made your moisturized cheeks shine. 

“Stay just like that and bend over some more.”

“Yes Sir.” You press the front of your body against the counter top, “like this?”

“Just like that.” 

Erik grabs his cake and sits it on the counter where you are. 

“I’m gonna make a wish and blow out these candles.” 

Erik closed his eyes. His lips are slightly parted and you can see his gold canines. Sweat still coated his skin from his workout. He’s wearing a pair of black and red ball shorts with a black beater. His locks are pushed back with a black Nike athletic sweatband. How could he make going to the gym look so stylish? Erik opened his eyes and gave you a small smile. 

“What did you wish for?”

“It’s a secret,” He winked at you, “You’ve been walking around LA with that ass for these last few days haven’t you?”

Erik squinted his eyes at you playfully. 

“I have, but you know it belongs to you,” You twerk your ass, “Now, you can have it all you want.” 

“And I can eat it how I want too.” 

Erik dragged his fingers in the chocolate frosting and smeared it on your ass. He sucked his fingers off in your face before disappearing behind you. He gets down on his knees with your ass in his face and wasting no time. He starts sucking and licking the frosting off of your right butt cheek while his sticky fingers spanked your left butt cheek. 

“Unh, yes—yes, baby, that feels so good, I miss your mouth on me.” 

“You know what I want next, bring your leg up.” 

“Anything for you, daddy.”

As soon as your leg went up Erik’s fingers were hooked on the lace fabric of your lingerie and he pulled it to the side exposing your pussy. His tongue was already sweet but as soon as he poked it all the way out and licked from your pussy to your ass he got an even sweeter taste. Erik spanked you, twisting his head to suck your pussy. He was a wild man eating you. He gets so focused when he’s face deep in your pussy. Erik spread your pussy open, used the flat part of his tongue and pressed it firmly against your pussy and started moving it in a circle. Erik was disrespectfully eating your pussy and all you could do was moan and hold onto the counter. He ain’t had that pussy in his mouth for days. The way you were dripping on his tongue he couldn’t stop. This is the cake he’s trying to eat for his birthday. Smear his tongue and lips all over your pussy. 

“Erik!!!” 

You couldn’t control him. You couldn’t wait to see daddy again and he couldn’t wait to see you. 

“Fuck, Erik!!!!”

He didn’t listen. You erupted in his mouth with loud moans. 

“Daddy I can’t—I can’t—shit—I’m coming again!”

You dropped your leg and almost locked Erik’s head but he moved out of the way before you could. His beard and lips were soaked. 

“Pussy is yummy. Come taste your pussy.” 

“Mmm, I taste so sweet—daddy—“

You look down and see Erik’s shorts down and around his ankles. His dick was hanging out the bottom of his briefs. You grab him in your hand and use your thumb to rub his tip. 

“You have a lot of dick.” 

It’s long and ridiculously thick. 

“That bulge...that dick...so hot.” 

You swipe your tongue over his lips. 

“My throat is ready for you, Sir.” 

“Let’s take this shit to the bedroom, baby.” 

Erik picks you up and your legs straddle him. He walks down the hallway with his lips on yours and his hands grasping each ass cheek. There, you can see the windows he was talking about. It’s almost nightfall. Erik puts you down and you drop to your knees before him, opened your mouth wide, and stuck your tongue out. Erik smacked the weight of his dick on your tongue. That nice, big, fat, long dick. 

“I want some.” 

“It’s right here for you...have as much you want—damn, aint waste no fucking time that’s what I’m talking about get that dick.” 

You had Erik’s dick halfway down your throat with no hesitation. One hand gripping him and your mouth slurping and sucking him up and down. Erik used both of his hands to hold your head still so he can fuck your throat. You relaxed your jaws and looked up at him. Unblinking, he commanded you with his dark orbs. 

“Oh, my god, baby, you feel so fucking good, baby….oooh, just like that baby, keep sucking this big ass dick...eat that dick, baby, suck this dick off...shit feels so fucking good.” 

His words had you dripping. 

“Suck that big dick baby—Unh, shit—spit on my dick—make a big ass mess,” Erik moaned, “You wanna make me cum? If you wanna make me cum you better suck this dick—daddy can’t hold it baby—I’m a shoot it down your throat, baby, you got my dick rock hard—suck it, baby—don’t fucking stop—oh, shit.”

With one heavy fist, Erik has a handful of your hair in a vice grip. His dick convulsed in your mouth and then after a few more sucks he was busting a nut down your throat. Your hands caressed his abs to calm his body down. You knew what effect your throat skills had on him. 

“Come put that pussy in this dick, I’ve been thinking about you since last night, baby.”

You stood before Erik and he placed a hand around your throat and started kissing you. 

“Take this off...I want you naked and riding my dick…”

As you completely take off your lingerie Erik is fully naked and now he’s laying back against his bed in the middle with his dick pointing towards the ceiling. You climb up to the bed and squat down on your feet, your hands on his chest to keep your balance as you descend your pussy on his dick. 

“Damn, baby, that pussy...keep riding this dick…”

You start dropping your full weight down on Erik. It sounded like a splash park between your legs. Fuck going slow you ain’t have that dick in days. Erik’s hands were molded into your hips as you bounced up and down on him. 

“This what you wanted? To sit on this dick?”

“Ah, shit, Unh! Fuck!” 

“Answer me.” 

“Yes!”

You reach behind to feel your cheeks. They were swaying and jiggling all over the place. Erik pushed your hand away and you gripped the sheets. 

“You better keep fucking this dick or I’ll take over and fuck you.” 

He only gave you one warning. Leaning over his body you start riding him again. His dick was hitting so deep in your pussy. You moved your hips in a circle on the tip of his dick and before you could even take all of him again Erik pushed you down himself. 

“You’re tryna work me, Daddy?” You ask between deep breaths. 

“I want that puss and you keep stopping.” 

Erik lifted you off of him and stood up from the bed. 

“Bend over in front of this window...yes...put your hands against the glass and spread your legs…”

Erik smacked his dick against your ass before resting it on your back. He reached beneath you to rub your clit. 

“Think I’m playing?” Erik sucked his fingers, “Toot that ass up, Y/N...I said toot that ass up!!!” He barked out. 

“Okay!!” You try your best, “Like that—FUCK!! Dadyyyyy. You’re in my pussy, daddy.” 

“Fuck is wrong with you.”

He thrust in all at one and your cheek smashed against the glass. 

“That’s it baby...tight ass puss...I’m about to bust your shit open you better hold on fucking with me.” 

“You talk a lot of shit, birthday boy—OH MY GOD.” 

“And so do you, Hmph,” Erik pulled your hair, “This dick got you shutting the fuck up though. You kept playing on my dick, baby,” he was fucking you rough, “When I want my pussy, you don’t play games with me. For real. Fuckkkkk.” 

“My pussy—oooo—

“FUCK YES. Cum on this dick.” 

“Unh—

“Nah, get up, that’s it, arch your back.”

“Don’t stop, baby.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Yes!” 

As soon as he let that dick out you were squirting. Erik didn’t give you time to come down from your orgasmic high when he picked you up, put you on the bed, and spread your legs. 

“Let me back in there...ahhh, yes.” 

You felt hot tears roll down your face. He looked so calm and cool but his dick was hitting you hard and it was overwhelmingly good. He studied your expression and kissed you from time to time. 

“You had that pussy in face on video last night...I wanted to fuck you so bad...you knew what time it was when you came here...I was getting up in that pussy, right?”

You tried to speak but your bottom lip was trembling so much and he was making your pussy cum again. 

“You ain’t gotta say nothing just lay there and let me fuck you.” 

He started sucking on your neck while his hips stroked all that fat dick in and out of you. 

“I’m about to nut in my pussy...stay just like that...don’t you fucking move...this my pussy...I’m a be in my pussy all fucking night for my birthday...take this dick—“

Erik sat up on his hands and worked his hips faster. You couldn’t see his eyes with his locs in his face. He was too busy watching the way he fucked you. You couldn’t keep your eyes away either. So much cream. So wet and gushy. 

“Daddy, Unh, oh my god, daddy, I love you!!”

Erik pushed your thighs back and held his dick deep inside you. 

“Daddy, I love you!!!”

He chuckled and bit his lip. 

“I love you too, baby girl. Thank you for this tight pussy on my birthday.” 

The way he said that it had you squeezing his dick with your walls. 

“Let my dick go...you want some more?”

You nod your head with a pout of your lip.

“Nasty, freaky, bitch. I’ll give you some more dick.”

You couldn’t wait. 

[mustardyellowsunshine]

When the End Comes

Chapter 1: Cold is the Night

Kagome Higurashi was in deep shit.

“You didn’t really think you could get away, did you?” his voice slithered through the phone. His tone was almost chiding, laced with mock concern as though for a misbehaving child. She could almost see his raised eyebrows, the sneer curling his lips.

Kagome’s entire body went rigid. Despite herself, her pulse quickened, heart pounding a painful stuttering rhythm in her chest. She inhaled a hissing breath through clenched teeth. “Funny,” she spat into the receiver, “I think I already have.”

She was moving even as she spoke, leaping off the motel bed and shoving her arms into the sleeves of her green hoodie. She grabbed the sandy yellow duffel bag she always kept within reach and slung it over her back, the strap a thick diagonal across her chest.

“Tsk, tsk, Kagome,” he crooned, still with that goddamn paternal censure. “You won’t get far. You never do.” He paused, and his voice deepened, as though he relished every word. “I’m only telling you this for your own good. You know that when you’re caught you’ll have to be punished.”

Her heart gave a particularly painful thump as she threw open the door of her motel room, her car keys gripped tight in her fist. The neon-lit night air punched into her lungs. She could feel her breath growing shallow as her chest constricted. Her temples were beginning to throb in tandem with the rapid beat of her pulse.

But she wouldn’t give that bastard the satisfaction of knowing she was scared.

“If you just come back,” he was saying, voice smooth and dark as an oil slick, “it’ll be easier on you in the end. You won’t—”

“Shut up,” she said, ragged and guttural, the words ripped from her very core. “The only way I’m ever going back there is in a body bag.”

She snapped the flip-phone closed and tossed it into the bushes lining the motel’s exterior—it was a burner cell phone, she’d have to get another now—but she didn’t do it quickly enough to miss his whispered promise.

“That can be arranged.”

_________________________________________________________

As she peeled out of the motel parking lot—the engine of her decade-old Honda Fit chugging to keep up with the sudden acceleration—she tried to figure out how he’d gotten the number of her burner cell. She wasn’t stupid, she knew burner cells didn’t guarantee anonymity. But it was a new burner. She’d only had it for a week, and hadn’t used it for much of anything yet. Not for fake credit card applications, not for hotel reservations or car rental paperwork. This number she’d kept to herself. She didn’t even have the phone turned on most of the time. And he’d still found it.

Her breathing was still too rapid and shallow, her heart still beating an abnormal jerky rhythm. She needed to calm down. She needed to plan her next steps. If she didn’t, she risked making a stupid mistake that might get her caught.

As she turned a sharp left onto the Shuto Expressway—going much too fast if the squeal of her tires was any indication—Kagome forced herself to take deep breaths and relax her shoulders. She tried to focus her mind on the measures she’d taken in the last month to avoid his detection.

She’d learned from painful experience that if she wanted to disappear, it wasn’t enough to just cover her trail. She had to keep her hunters busy, too. Keep them preoccupied with looking for her in the wrong places.

Disinformation was a powerful tool. Kagome had learned that if she left enough bogus trails behind her, she could give herself the precious advantage of time. A head start. All it took was the right paperwork trail: an application to rent an apartment, resulting in a credit check from the landlord, creating an inquiry on her credit report. Any tracker running a credit report on her would see the inquiry and follow it back to the apartment’s location. And by the time they’d traced her there, she’d have already developed a whole mess of fake information to keep them tangled in dead-ends for awhile: applications for utilities and phone service at the apartment she would mysteriously never move into; a fake employment address at a large local company that would require investigation to verify; small bank accounts opened in her name all over the area.

It was all about wasting their time, so she could give herself more time to get further away.

And it had been working. For the last month she’d kept two steps ahead of him.

So she just had to do it again, that was all. She had to start another fake trail. Maybe this time it would be another bank account, another credit card application.

It didn’t matter that he’d somehow gotten her burner number. She’d just get another. And another. Maybe a burner SIM card this time, so she could actually use smartphones again.

Exhaling long and slow, Kagome finally felt her heartbeat return to normal. The throbbing in her temples eased, and she could think more clearly.

She just had to keep doing what she’d been doing. Fake trails, constant moving, never staying in one place—or even one region—for too long. She’d been doing fine, and she could keep doing fine if she just played it smart.

She’d never allow Naraku to catch her again.

_________________________________________________________

Kagome Higurashi only allowed herself enough possessions to fit into her yellow duffel bag. Three pairs of jeans, four shirts (two white t-shirts, one knit sweater, and one nice floral blouse for the right occasions), one hoodie, one pair of sneakers, one pair of thick rubber-soled boots, five pairs of underwear and three bras. She kept a thick winter coat in her car, in addition to a pack of water bottles and emergency food supplies in the trunk.

She didn’t carry a purse. She had one leather trifold wallet—with RFID blocking, of course—in which she kept no more than ¥30,000 in cash; three state-issued ID cards, one real, two fake; six credit cards, four under fake names, two under her real name for the sake of bogus trails.

She had a passport. She had basic hygiene supplies—toothpaste, face cleanser, shampoo, tampons. She had two screwdrivers and one wrench. She had exactly one picture of her family, tucked away into an inner pocket of her duffel. She had one novel, dog-eared and spine-creased. She had a 9mm pistol and four boxes of ammunition.

Whenever she stayed in a hotel, she kept her duffel within easy reach. Always ready for a quick exit. She never unpacked it. Never. If she was feeling especially anxious, she would use it as a pillow, or sleep with her legs draped over it.

The duffel was one of the last things she'd grabbed before she was taken. Somehow having it with her felt like having a tiny piece of home.

__________________________________________________________

Over the next few days, she made her way steadily north, towards the Miyagi Prefecture. She’d taken a detour and left some fake trails to the south around Yokohama. Now she wanted to head in an entirely different direction. She didn’t know how long it would take Naraku’s hunters to find the Yokohama trail, but she wanted to be far, far away when they did. Hopefully they would think she’d kept heading south.

She’d found a car junkyard on the outskirts of Tokyo, where she’d snuck in after hours and lifted the license plates off a few junkers. As a precaution, she’d swapped her car’s license plates that night, and she planned to do it again after her next stint on the expressway.

The next day she stopped in a little suburb an hour outside Fukushima. She hoped to get her hands on a burner SIM card—surely this place had a decent electronics store?—but first she had another problem to fix. She was starving.

She walked around until she found a decent-looking ramen shop. It was small and cramped—a stretch of bar long enough to accommodate eight stools, behind it a kitchen partially hidden by curtains—and it smelled heavenly. She sat at the bar and ordered a bowl of chuka soba.

Sōta’s favorite.

But, delicious though the ramen turned out to be, Kagome began to feel more and more uneasy the longer she sat there. She glanced around her. The shop was nearly empty. Two old men sat on the farther side of the bar, noisily slurping their noodles. The man in the kitchen, half obscured by the curtains, had his back turned to her as he stirred something in a huge stock pot on the stove. And anyway, nobody had hardly looked at her the entire time she’d been here.

She turned her head enough to look behind her, through the sliding glass doors of the shop. The street beyond was quiet. A handful of pedestrians passed by on the sidewalk as she watched. An occasional car swept by.

But the unease turned to a persistent hum of anxiety, prickling along her skin. She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her.

She tried to ignore it—it wasn’t as though paranoia was new to her—but it kept getting worse. Soon the ramen started to taste like cardboard in her mouth; a cold leaden weight settled in the pit of her stomach.

Scrubbing her hands down her face, Kagome sighed. She stubbornly willed away the prickle of tears she felt collecting in the corners of her eyes.

Crying was a distraction she couldn’t afford.

Pulling her wallet out of her back pocket, she dropped the Yen she owed onto the counter of the bar and left the shop.

Kagome retraced her steps to where she’d parked her car. Out on the street, she watched the people milling around her without looking like she was watching them. Her ears were hyper-sensitive to the street sounds: every pedestrian’s footstep sounded like it was right on her tail, every voice felt raised and aggressive, every vehicle on the road seemed to break right when it passed her. Her shoulders were hunched up to her neck. She tried to relax them.

She rounded the corner of the street where she’d parked. Her eyes sought the familiar shape of her little Honda—and suddenly she came to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk

A man was leaning against the passenger door of her car. And he was looking right at her.

He was tall, maybe six feet. Lean athletic build. His muscular arms were crossed over his chest, legs crossed at the ankle as he casually lounged against her car. Shoulder-length silver hair. Yōkai ears—dog? cat?—sat atop his head, angled towards her. Claws tipped the fingers that rested against his arms. And his eyes—still staring directly at her—were gold.

Kagome sucked in a breath. She felt the muscles in her shoulders bunch up again.

Her thoughts started whirring as panic squeezed her lungs. She shouldn’t have stopped. Shouldn’t have acknowledged his stare. She should’ve kept walking as though she hadn’t seen him, as though that wasn’t her car at all. She might have blended in with the crowd if she hadn’t just made herself so obvious. She hardly could’ve given herself away any faster, except maybe if she’d shouted “Hey, look at me!” How could she salvage this now?

He’d already noticed her, and unless he was a complete idiot, he knew she was suspicious—probably knew she was afraid. She couldn’t take that back by trying to blend in.

Her only hope here was speed, and maybe the relative safety of being in public.

Kagome abruptly whipped around and ran.

She’d barely made it ten feet before she felt a large hand clamp down on her shoulder. It spun her around with a strength that nearly sent her toppling over on the sidewalk.

On impulse she opened her mouth to scream—but his other hand smothered her lips, stifling her cry.

Golden eyes narrowed down at her. “You Kagome Higurashi?”

She jerked fiercely against the hand on her shoulder. It didn’t budge.

A small smirk lifted one corner of his mouth. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, his voice a deep rumble.

“You’re coming with me.”

[dashielldeveron]

and i’ve gotta crow | takami keigo

hawks x pro-hero! reader. quirk unspecified.

summary: “You’re suffering from amnesia,” says Hawks to you, in your hospital bed.

No, you are not.

“We’re engaged to be married.”

No, you are not.

After an accident that was that bastard Hawks’s fault, you decide to play along with your diagnosis of amnesia, among other things, because how far can you make your former bully bend over backwards for you?

fluff/trickery??? completely avoidable angst, bc reader is a little shit. hawks is a scumbag bully at first. reader is honestly kind of violent. dealing with acne in a scene.

When the first things you saw after groggily blinking your eyes open were multiple IVs in the back of your hand, you flipped over and snuggled farther into your hospital bed to deal with it later, but against your will you were forced to lie flat on your back to stare into the hospital fluorescents.

When the nurse fiddling with your IVs came into focus, he said, “You need to lie on your back. You have deep gashes on your lower abdomen, and tossing about too much could open the stitches.”

That sounded like bullshit, but you were too out of it to care. “Yeah, okay,” you said through a croak, “Oh, fuck.” You wrestled a hand to your throat, massaging it. “Am I waking up from a coma? Don’t let anyone see me until I’ve done my eyebrows.”

The nurse laughed through his nose. “No, don’t worry. You’ve barely been—” He cut himself off and frowned. “The news should probably be broken to you when you have emotional support. I’ll be back soon.”

He left.

Emotional support? Wouldn’t that fucking gash on your stomach be—ooh, ouch, don’t move.

Where’s your phone? Where’s your goddamn phone; where’s any of your personal belongings? If they got crushed, you’re killing Hawks on sight.

Hawks, oh, my God. Where is he? He’s dead. If he still has the audacity to bully you professionally—fuck.

He’d cornered you on patrol earlier—whenever that was—and cut into you in that casually, negging-type way that wasn’t enough to report but enough to make you stay up late and freak out about being good enough. It hurt your chest whenever you thought about it.

But this was the first time he’d gotten seriously physical.

He’d alit on the top of the warehouse next to you, landing what would have been haphazardly for anyone else (the arch of his feet against the edge, his toes barely touching roof) and had crouched next to you, his scarlet wings completely blowing your cover as they stretched and shuddered.

“What’s a little girl like you doing in this part of town?” Hawks had propped his chin on both his fists. “Thought shoplifters were more your calibre.”

“Hawks, this is actually really important to me, so please, please leave,” you’d said, keeping your eyes on the group you could barely make out through the skylight. They’d already been partially concealed by crates, so they were hard to see.

“Someone else give you a tip for their location?” He’d tapped your opposite shoulder with the end of his wing, but you hadn’t even flinched.

“Bruh, you know I’ve been on this for weeks,” you’d said, shifting away from him, “I even shared intel at your last briefing.”

“Is that what you were talking about?” Hawks had scratched his chin. “I zoned out. Usually the little cases female heroes present aren’t in my circle, and I like to unwind when brain power isn’t needed.”

You’d planned to rip his wings out feather by feather while you’d gritted your teeth. “You can’t talk to me like that, Hawks.”

He’d laughed, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “C’mon, babygirl, have a slice of chill, won’t you? I thought you were one of the cool girls. Relax. I don’t mean anything by it.”

“Leave me alone, Hawks. You’re not gonna bully me into joining your agency. You’re not gonna bully me into quitting being a hero,” you’d said, inwardly screaming, “I’d tell you to go talk to someone who’d fall for your shit, but then, she’d have to suffer, too. So, fuck off into a sewer, jackass.”

“Oof,” Hawks had said, placing a hand over his heart and shaking his head, “You don’t have to be such a bitch, sweetheart. I’m only looking for my better half. Didn’t think it could be you, but I’d thought I’d give you a chance to prove me wrong. Don’t take yourself too seriously; just be along for the ride like the rest of us.”

“Huh,” you had said, and you’d stood and strode to the edge of the warehouse to your harness and rope, and you rappelled down the side of it as stealthily as you came up.

“I’ve been watching you all these years, sweetness, and I know you by now; I know how you really feel,” Hawks had said a bit too loudly while he flew downwards at your speed (braggart). “Strip away all of your busy work, your so-called hero trappings, and we’d mesh together just fine. We may be rough around the edges, but we clean up really nicely, don’t we?”

You’d unclipped your carabiner and stepped out of your harness, stashing it in your pack. “Fuck off.”

You’d moved towards the back entrance, but Hawks had slammed a hand against the concrete wall in front of you. You’d ducked under it and carried on, and he’d grabbed the back of your shirt.

“C’mon, if we didn’t know each other, and our eyes met from across the room at some hero gala, you’d be all over me, wouldn’t you?”

You had swiped his hand away. “I’d be putting a lid on my drink.”

His arms behind his back, Hawks had followed you through the door and behind the exposed pipes and closer to your targets. “Saw you coming onto Todoroki at the last one. You looked fine in his colours, but you would’ve looked better in mine.”

Don’t grace him with an answer; don’t grace him with an ans— “I wasn’t coming onto Shoto,” you’d said, pulling yourself up a couple of pipes for a better view—and you’d hit him when he flapped his wings to hover the few feet you’d ascended, because the noise might alert them.

“Yeah, you just simp for him, right? Then you didn’t step outside your comfortable ice queen act?” Hawks had gripped onto a pipe just underneath your ass. “You’re too much of a natural tease for that.”

How can you report him when he’s the head of his own agency? You guess the commission might listen, but what can they do besides slap his wrist? There’s really no one who can stop him, is there?

You hadn’t replied but instead crawled onto the iron catwalk. If you could position yourself about three-quarters of the way across, you’d be able to effectively activate your quirk and get this over with—wait, why would you think like that? You’d been waiting for this for ages.

A hand spreading across the small of your back had reminded you.

You’d flipped over with fire in your eyes and kicked him away as quietly as you could, but all he’d done was sit back on his knees to grin down at you, army-crawling your way through a dirty warehouse.

Would he take credit for your work again?

You’d shaken yourself. Eat my entire ass, Hawks. And with that, you’d continued inching towards your targets. When you’d gotten into position to watch them, Hawks had merely watched you.

You had scowled. “I’m gonna tear you a—”

“You had a hard childhood, didn’t you?”

A chill had unfurled up your spine, simple as that. Hawks now not only had the annoying air of an arrogant pick-up artist but also gave you an intense sense of danger. You’d moved away from him, regrettably away from your target, but Hawks had followed you, getting closer until his body heat had seeped into yours, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across his dumb face.

“I could take suuuuch good care of you, little girl,” he’d said under his breath, “if only you’d let me. No one else is crazy enough to call me out or want more than the bare minimum.” His wings had folded in on his back, making themselves as small as possible to get closer to you. “If you give in, tell me yes, say please, you wouldn’t have to let any worries cross your pretty little mind. All you have to do is let me in.”

“Yikes,” you had said, sucking in through your teeth, “God, you’re a creep.”

Hawks had slammed you down onto the catwalk, iron reverberating through the warehouse as it struck your head, and your targets had looked up by the time the catwalk hinges had loosened and had come crashing down in the midst of their meeting.

You’re really not supposed to shoot guns inside. Don’t they know that’ll ruin their ears? No matter, really. You had fought them anyway, amidst crates splintering open from whatever they were shooting at you—fuck, that was a big hole. What’s oozing out of that? Gross, don’t step in it.

One with a normal revolver—his arm had given a woody crack when you’d bent it backwards—God, that was nice. Good sounds. If you could sample them into a rap track, you would.

You’d been planning a collab with a popular rapper while you’d hurled yourself at another villain, sawdust flying—just to keep your mind busy, really, but fucking—fucking Hawks had bested whoever he’d half-assed to the ground and had shouted your way.

“C’mere, you little shit—”

He’d scooped you up while you’d been taking care of it by yourself, and he had pinned you down behind a stack of crates that reached the remains of the catwalk, straddling you but keeping most of his weight off, his wings outstretched yet still hidden from the cloud of sawdust rising with deep gurgling on the far side.

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” he’d said over the chaos, spit flying, “You can’t handle this; you’re gonna get fucking killed. I can’t babysit you all the time.”

“Get fucked; I’m the number fourteen hero,” you’d said, deadly still, but twitching in fury, “I can handle anyth—”

“Aww, fourteen. And one day babygirl might reach the single digits.” Hawks had sneered in your face. “If she manages to fuck her way through them.”

Your jaw had dropped, and you pretended to cough on sawdust and kicked him off in the confusion. Hawks had grabbed a hold of your calf, grappling for your thigh, while you’d scrambled to climb over crates to the gurgling mess on the other side; you could handle it, and you would.

You’d slapped his hands away, wrestled out of his grasp again and again, and you’d launched yourself into the dust—

Yeah.

While the fluorescent lights flickered overhead, you picked at a hangnail. You hadn’t braced yourself for the explosion, so, you guessed you deserved whatever was wrong with you now. Big-ass gashes on your stomach. Probably broken ribs. Something felt off in your left leg, besides—oh, ho, what had the doctors thought when they’d seen Hawks’s scratches?

What an idiot.

When the door creaked open, the nurse returned with a mug of water for you, but—what? Who’s that bitch following him?

You blinked, twice. With his hands in his pockets and his nasty little wings tucked in behind him, Hawks meandered to your bedside, his gaze on your throat as you swallowed down water.

God, you’re too tired to deal with him. Let’s get this over with.

The nurse glanced over his clipboard. “I’ve already told your partner this, but I thought you would want him here.”

Maybe if you ignore Hawks, he’ll leave.

“You were very brave today,” said the nurse, “Your work as a hero is greatly appreciated. You’re on temporary leave to heal, though. Like I said, you’ve got three, major gashes on your stomach, and your leg’s broken—the fibula split, if you want to know. You’ll be on crutches for a while. You have four broken ribs, and—” The nurse bit his lip and softened his voice. “You hit your head pretty hard. Nothing’s broken, but you should have amnesia, with the trauma you’ve endured.”

Should have? They don’t know? You sure as hell don’t fucking have amnesia. It barely happens in real life, and it definitely hasn’t happened to you. You remembered every fucking infuriating thing Hawks did to ruin your mission, and if he doesn’t square up—

“I’m so sorry, baby,” said Hawks, grabbing your hand. He stroked the back of it with his thumb, and then he took his glove off to hold you skin-to-skin. “You remember who I am?”

You just stared at him.

“Your fiancé’s been a real presence in the waiting room,” said the nurse, “He hardly stopped pacing the entire time you were in surgery. He wouldn’t even talk to fans.”

Oh, my God.

Holy fucking shit.

“Oops, sorry,” said the nurse, covering his mouth, “I know you were keeping it a secret. Don’t blame him, please; he only told me to be able to see you immediately.”

Shutting your eyes, you took a deep, deep breath. You have been handed a golden opportunity on a fucking Hawks-shaped platter, holy fuck, and by God are you going to take advantage of it. Imagine how much you can fucking humiliate him, how far you can take it. How much you can make him pay for how he treated you, and now, if he says he’s your fiancé, then he’s gonna fucking worship you. You’re going to mould him into your little bitch, and he’s going to thank you for it. And you’ll get endless dirt on him just by seeing his place.

Don’t fuck this up.

Exhaling, you opened your eyes, blinking a bit. You curled your lips into your mouth, biting the lower one. “I remember you’re Hawks,” you said in a nervous voice, “and I remember, uh.”

“Don’t hurt yourself, sweetheart.” Hawks squeezed your hand, his tone kind. “It’ll come back in time.”

You clutched Hawks’s hand while the nurse rattled off instructions and gave you your crutches, and Hawks squeezed your hand back, softly smiling at you.

When the nurse left, you turned to Hawks and said, “I’m so, so sorry, but I—I feel like there’s something big missing that I can’t remember.” You scratched your forehead with your free hand, dragging the IVs with you.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Hawks tilted his head, still gazing decidedly down at you.

“Oh, God,” you said, “Oh, fuck. I don’t know. Um.” Take it back. Take it way back. That way he’ll dig himself into a deeper hole. The more lies he has to create, the funnier it’ll be. “Let’s see, I, hm.” You already weren’t speaking like yourself, but you looked upward as you faked combing through memories. “I don’t know how things work chronologically, but the most recent memory I have of you is—it’s after a press conference, and I’ve never been in the building before,” you said slowly, “And I can’t find the bathroom, but some press keeps following me, and I—I faceplant in between your shoulder blades, right between your wings. You—” You lowered your voice, shrinking a little in the hospital bed, “You got rid of them so easily, with just a gesture, and you put your arm around me. You were—” You shook your head, staring at both of your hands. “—so warm.”

Was that too thick? That was too thick, wasn’t it?

His free hand shot to his mouth, and he bit his knuckle. “But sweetheart, that’s,” said Hawks, his eyes watering, “That’s only around the third time we met.”

You know.

“Shit,” you said, widening your eyes, “How long ago was that?”

“Three years.” Hawks squeezed your hand and kept the pressure longer than was necessary. “Three fucking years. You don’t remember anything past that?”

You pretended to be scared to look at him. “I’m sorry; I’m so sorry—”

“No, no, you don’t have to be,” said Hawks, and he leant towards you to lift your chin, rubbing his thumb against it, “It’s not your fault.”

You had to hand it to him: Hawks was a good actor.

But so were you.

***

Hawks disappeared for a while after that, but he manifested the day you were loosed from the hospital, more than giddy to carry all of your shit all the way to your flat. He was probably getting some sick pleasure from watching you hobble on your crutches.

“I can help you, if you lean on me,” said Hawks, giving you an easy grin, “I don’t want you to be in any more pain than you have to.”

“This is something I should do myself,” you said in what was hopefully a tough-it-out voice, “I’d like to be able to walk without depending on anyone.”

“I honestly think you ought to be in a wheelchair.” His wings bristled. “But what do I know? I could fly us to your place, if you like.”

“I don’t like. I’ve gotta concentrate on limping. Stop talking, Hawks.”

You got to your flat, and Hawks had guessed which key opened the door on the first try. Drat! He was already doing a good job of acting like he’d been here before, like he’s not surprised that the number fourteen hero lives in a pretty shitty apartment (you started living here as a student and got too damn comfortable for your own good—plus, you didn’t want your cat to endure the trauma of moving).

Hawks plopped your keys in the bowl by the door with a clatter, and he shut the front door behind you, flipping one of the locks.

He set your stuff neatly on the kitchen table—your purse, your tactical pack, your ropes—and lay your dry-cleaned hero suit over the back of a kitchen chair, and his hands were on you the next moment to guide you to your tacky, sunflower couch. Removing one crutch, he put your arm over his shoulder instead, one hand planted on your lower back above your bandages, and he eased you down onto the cushions.

Hawks then stepped over your legs to sit on your opposite side, and he brought your legs to rest in his lap, his hand gripping your non-casted leg. “Gotta keep it elevated, chickadee.”

You let yourself giggle. Time to get this shitshow started. “Thank you so much for helping me, Hawks; I know I’ve been a real hassle these past few days, and you shouldn’t have to deal with that sort of stress. You’re already under so much. I don’t understand how the commission would let you date anyone, let alone propose.”

“Oh, I know,” said Hawks, spreading himself out on the couch. He shifted himself to face you in addition to accommodate his wings—he was now positioned so that they’d drape over the arm of the couch instead of being squished against the back cushions. That bitch, he probably wasn’t used to couches that weren’t custom made to his special body requirements. Spoiled fuck.

“The commission was really pissed when they found out. Do you remember how, sweetness? Right, I’ll tell you,” said Hawks, running an ungloved hand through his hair before shaking it loose. “You remember up to the press conference with the faceplant. Short version is that you hated me for a good year before something clicked. You started acting awkward whenever I was around, avoiding me, and stuff. Sometimes getting red. I thought it was cute.”

You ducked your head. Flustered. He probably likes easily flustered women.

Wait. That’s not who you are. And he’d like you for who you are, if you’re engaged.

But at the same time, if you’re (gag) in love with him, wouldn’t you be flustered by some of the things he says?

Easy, baby. Take it as it comes. Pick your battles. Go with your gut.

And gut says make Hawks eat shit.

“You think I’m cute?”

“I know you’re cute.”

You’re going to stuff his own feathers down his throat.

“We got together at that dinner Endeavor’s agency sponsored. Do you remember that at all? That place with the purple lights. You’d gotten nervous from the crowd and had gone to take some of your anxiety meds. I caught you in the hall back from the bathroom and talked you down before going back out there.” He grinned sheepishly. “I’d like to say I’m the one who kissed you, but you took initiative before I had the guts.”

Funny. Hilarious, in fact. That was the night Hawks had solidified himself as the Biggest Dick in the World, because yeah, he’d caught you in the purple-lit hallway, but he’d caught you on the way to take your meds, not on the way back. You were talking yourself down from a panic attack and couldn’t argue him away, so he’d followed you into the bathroom, running his mouth and acting like it was an accident when the tip of his wing had knocked your two capsules down the sink.

He’d told you that if you’re a big girl, you’d be able to handle the rest of the night. Or you could leave at any time with him, and he’d make excuses that everyone would have to accept.

Honestly, you’d love to let his fake memory be true, because then, you’d be able to wear purple again without feeling queasy.

Cocking your head, you smiled. “That doesn’t sound like something I would do.”

Hawks let out a light laugh, craning his neck to rest his head on the back of the sofa. “That’s what you said that night, too. About how it felt out of character.”

“Was I good?”

Lifting his head, he raised an eyebrow at you: probably the first genuine emotion he’s shown you the whole time he’s been here. “Hm?”

“When I kissed you. Was it good,” you asked flatly.

“Oh,” Hawks said, his wings puffing out just barely, “Oh, sweetheart, you were amazing. Groundbreaking. Show-stopping.” His tongue flicked over his lower lip, and he shifted underneath your legs, leaning slightly towards you but holding eye contact before carrying on.

You shook your head. “I don’t have the energy to give you the makeout session you deserve,” you said, envisioning drowning him in the bathtub, “I’m exhausted. Forgive me.”

“Always,” said Hawks, “Want me to keep going?”

“You can hardly eat me out when we haven’t kissed yet.”

“I meant,” said Hawks, pausing to visibly swallow (was it real?), “about our relationship, but if you wanna eat—”

“Nah, keep going. So, I started the relationship? I must be crazy. Neither of us have fucking time to sleep, let alone be in a relationship.”

Hawks never shut up about how he was taking time out of his endlessly packed days to spend time with you, how time was precious to him, and if he’s spending time with you, why, then, you’d better pay up, bitch (always accompanied with his hands on his belt, subtly pointing his thumbs towards his cock).

Hawks shrugged with his wings instead of his shoulders. Interesting. Has he ever done that before? “The commission said that, but after I insisted we’d make time, they relented. Eventually,” said Hawks, jerking his head to the side, “Our quirks don’t exactly fit well, so we haven’t worked with each other professionally too often, and, of course, we’ve had to hide our relationship so that we can’t be a public weak spot to each other. Plus, we’re more marketable as eligible, young heroes.”

“Fuck the market,” you said, slumping into the pillows.

“There’s my girl,” said Hawks, grinning with his tongue caught between his teeth, “There’s her spark. I know, baby. I feel the same way, but being made into libidinous body pillows pays the bills, y’know?”

Nodding, you brought one of the couch pillows around for you to hug, and you smushed your chin into it. “Hawks,” you said, so quietly you almost couldn’t be heard over the A/C kicking on, “How long have we been engaged?”

“Four months,” he said, his grin unconsciously fading until he was essentially baring his teeth, “Since the twentieth.”

Taking a moment, you said, “I can’t remember anything at all.”

“That’s okay. It’ll come back.”

“No, I can’t—” You slid your hands through your hair, pulling at it, and you heaved a sigh. “Goddammit, Hawks. I wish I could—fuck. I’m missing something huge. I know I am.” Make him nervous. Make him lie awake at night. “I’m sorry, Hawks. It’s probably something really important, and I—”

“Shh, shh, shh, shh, it’s all right,” said Hawks, and he stood to lean over you, his hands rising to cup your face, and holy shit, his hands cover so much of your skin; is that legal? He’s got hands. “Don’t worry, baby. You’ve had a big day. Turn your brain off. I’ll take care of you.”

Red flag! Big, red flag! Creep! He’s a creep!

Your gaze fell to his jacket pockets. Does he carry date rape drugs on his person?

“Hawks, I don’t wanna inconvenience you any more than I have.”

“I’m your fiancé,” said Hawks, actually looking you straight in the eyes and not breaking, “I want to take care of you.”

“Sure, in the way the mob takes care of people.”

Hawks’s mouth opened slightly, and his eyes narrowed.

Cover it up. “I’m not sorry. I don’t trust your cooking. You’ll poison my spaghetti!” You made a dumb gesture, pinching your fingers together. “Have you seen The Godfather? There’s actually a pretty legit spaghetti recipe in it; it’s not too bad, but it’s kind of watery—”

Hawks brought your hand to his mouth to kiss your knuckles and let his lips linger. “Watch it with me?”

You shook your head. “I’m too tired. I’m going to bed.”

“I’ll join you.”

“No,” you said, “My bed’s not made with your wings in mind.” Fuck off to your own little sex next, Hawks. Get out of here. “If they got hurt, it’d be my fault. Go sleep in your own bed, all right?” Go home. Get mugged on the way.

Hawks sighed, blowing his hair out of his eyes. “If you insist. But you’ve gotta reach out to me for anything you have trouble with, yeah? Memories, opening jars, orgasms, you know.”

“I’m leaving,” you said, reaching for your crutches, “Ten minutes ago.”

***

“You didn’t tell me how you proposed.”

Hawks froze mid-bite of his ramen, but after a quick beat, he slurped the rest of the noodle up. “I was hoping you’d recall that on your own, baby. Get your own feelings about it, instead of me telling you how to feel.”

If you weren’t faking amnesia, you’d fucking break his nose for that. Bastard.

“I imagine once you tell me, the feelings will rush in,” you said, clicking your chopsticks twice for emphasis, “I want to remember everything, and if I don’t, well, I want to fall in love with you again.”

Hawks’s gaze glazed over for an infinitesimal moment. Score.

“It’ll sound goofy once I describe it.” With his wings cramped against the back of the booth, Hawks scratched the back of his neck—a classic move for pretending to be embarrassed. “I’m not exactly known for being romantic.”

Yeah, he’s known for fooling around with anyone who’s glittery, like a goddamn crow. If you’re paying attention.

“Aw, but Hawks, you’ve been nothing but so effortlessly romantic to me since I’ve been convalescing,” you said, rolling up the paper wrapper of your straw and soaking it in the ring your cup left on the table.

“Right, well. I flew us out to the countryside, to this overlook halfway up a mountain. You liked going rappelling there a lot. To practise for missions.” Hawks had some of your habits down, at least. Bet he gets the location wrong, though. “We watched the sunrise. We shared a thermos of tea. I asked you once the sun had risen, but you didn’t say yes right away,” said Hawks, “You jumped off the overlook without your gear, and I caught you. You were furious about it—you didn’t want me to see you overwhelmed. But you said yes.”

Ugh. That sounded about right. That sounded pretty realistic. Hawks was a fucking stalker.

“Fuck,” you said, burying your face in your hands, “That’s cute.” You stretched the skin of your cheeks before releasing, and you returned to your ramen. “Question: did we put the ring into storage, or something? I don’t have the little indent on my ring finger from wearing a ring too long, and I haven’t found anything at home.” Make him sweat. Make him stumble. Where’s the ring, Hawks?

With a flash of his eyebrows, Hawks maneuvered his straw to his mouth using only his lips, looking quite stupid, in your opinion. “Figured you’d ask that at some point. I’m so overjoyed to see you every time that I forget to bring it up. The ring’s been sent off to a high-level, government-backed, support company. I’ve pulled in a favour from the higher-ups. I wanted to turn your ring into something a little more personal and incorporate one of my feathers into it,” said Hawks, taking a moment to slurp his drink noisily, “Depending on how well it goes, I’d be able to help you if we’re separated and know where you are. At the very least—” Hawks ducked his head to give the illusion of staring up at you with wide eyes, his blond eyelashes light against his skin. “—I’d be able to feel your heartbeat. It would bring me great comfort.”

Great, so he’d have a GPS on you at all times, knowing whether or not you went somewhere he didn’t want you to. He’d be able to tell if you went somewhere your non-amnesia self would know about. Great. Phenomenal.

“Hawks, that’s very sweet,” you said, fiddling with the remnants of your straw wrapper, now fizzled out of its snake shape, “Wouldn’t the process hurt you, though? Since you can feel it.”

“Nothing more than a twinge, sweetheart,” said Hawks, holding up his hands, “And I’d bear any amount of pain for your sake.”

You fantasised about beating his head in with the back end of a rifle.

***

When you were told Hawks was waiting for you outside of the recording booth, you told the messenger that Hawks could wait until you were finished with five more takes. You could picture Hawks’s little pout at the news, his feathers bristling despite the closed space, and resigning himself to sit in one of those clangy, metal chairs out front, having to hunch forward so that he didn’t crush his wings.

The idol group adored the ingenuity of bone-crunching as percussion in a song, and along with that and some other combat foley, you were singing the bridge with the rapper of the group (the dance captain would sing your part for live shows). It’d be a good promo for the girl group and for you, and the song, “Spine,” was going to be released as a single as soon as it was polished.

Hawks perked up the moment you stepped through the secondary door to the booth, his eyes brightening and wings spreading to take up more space. “I didn’t think I’d catch you,” said Hawks, standing to take your hands (the cold leather gloves sucked the heat out of your hands), “I’ve got to fly, soon, but I wanted to tell you personally.”

“You’re not pregnant,” you said, fighting the urge to break his goggles/visor/hat thing.

His lopsided grin widened. “Not yet, baby. There’s gonna be a heroes’ gala held at the end of the month, and I wanted to let you know that I’m doing everything in my power to make it a positive experience for you. Here, I’ve got this woman’s phone number,” he said, fishing a slip of paper out of his jacket, “She’ll help accommodate the venue for your leg.”

Stupid fucking bastard man. He probably wanted to pick out your clothes himself, infantilise you and dress you up like a goddamn doll. Deny you your personhood. “I’ll be out of the cast by then.” You slid the paper into your back pocket.

“I know,” Hawks said in a way that was a fucking lie, “I just don’t want there to be any accidents. I can’t have my babygirl any more hurt than she is.” Hawks placed his cold, gloved hand against your cheek, and you, shutting your eyes, made yourself lean into it. “But contact her. She’ll make it the safest place it can be for you, even when I have to leave your side.”

God, galas were great. Big events for villains to ruin. You licked your lips thinking about using a new move you’ve learnt to take a villain down (involving clamping your legs around the villain’s neck to choke him as he crumpled to the floor—your combat coach had banned you from the move after you made her pass out). “Are we announcing our engagement, then? If we’re going together?”

“I’d love to,” said Hawks, “but only if you want to. The ring could be ready by then, if I ask them to rush it—”

“Let’s do it.” If you plunged the ring into icy water, would he start to shiver? Ooh, your ring’s going to act as a fucking bay leaf in your soups for a while.

“Oh,” said Hawks, sighing lightly with his eyes fluttering shut. He pressed his forehead to yours and rubbed his thumb over your cheek. “You have no idea how much that means to me, sweetheart. You are so dear to me, and I want everyone to know it. The best damn thing in my life. Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, placing your hand on his face to push him away, “Don’t you have work to do, screw boy?”

***

“Did we have a date?” you asked from the edge of the bathtub.

Hawks dipped the razor in the water, washing off the hair and shaving cream. “We’ve gone on so many, darling; you’ll have to specify.”

“No, I meant for the wedding.” Let’s once again play: Can Hawks Cover His Own Ass?

Hawks dragged the razor down your freshly exfoliated, freshly-un-casted, freshly not-broken leg, starting at your knee. “Nope!”

“No explanation?”

“You wanna get married tomorrow? A six-month engagement is rather short, don’t you think?” His nose twitched. He’d said the scent of your shaving cream irritated his nose. Good.

“I don’t. Why didn’t we have a date for the wedding?” You eyed the actual and literal pile of your dead skin on the towel. Maybe you should make Hawks snort it.

“We were too busy working; you’d said you didn’t mind having a long engagement, so long as I was yours. Then, uh, you know. The accident,” Hawks said with a shrug—with his shoulders this time, because if he moved his wings while he was crouched in your bathtub, he’d soak them, and they were a bitch to dry, apparently. Suffer, you rat bastard.

“The commission isn’t involved in that decision?”

“I thought that was implied,” said Hawks, gripping your ankle to turn your calf to the side, “They don’t want it to be a huge spectacle, so even I don’t know how much of a wedding wedding they’d let us have.”

He’s too damn good at this. If he weren’t a pro-hero, he’d fit right along in a theatre troupe.

You’re going to wring his neck.

You caught him staring at the crotch of your underwear (bone-dry, you might add) while he shaved your thighs, and he spent more time rubbing lotion into your inner thighs than anywhere else. He tossed your dead skin before you could make him eat it, and he scooped you up against your protestations about your weight and capability, humming while he carried you to your bed.

The fucker tucked you in and rounded up your cat to place in your arms (your cat disagreed with him and promptly leapt off the bed).

“Let me stay with you,” said Hawks, kissing each of your fingertips. It’s an order.

Yet you shook your head.

***

“The doctors said you shouldn’t drink,” Hawks said under his breath, taking the champagne flute gently from your grasp.

“But I want to,” you said, sticking out your lower lip, “I’m wearing goddamn heels and a fucking dress. I’ve got on makeup, for Christ’s sake. I’ve done my time; let me drink.”

“Baby, you’ve got to stay safe,” he said, and he set the glass next to some 40s-level hero’s place at the long, white tablecloth. “There’s already press paying more attention to us than usual. You wanna make a fool of yourself?”

“Yes,” you said, lifting another champagne flute from a passing gala waiter, “Who gives a shit about the press.”

Hawks laughed too loudly to be natural before lowering his voice. “Baby, you are gonna be the death of me.”

“Promise?”

***

When “Spine” was released on a cool, spring morning to an excitable audience, you were lurking in alleyways by the docks, searching for a fight. When the music video dropped, you were smashing some guy’s face into a concrete wall. While more and more citizens recognised you and your talent, your work for the community, your connections, your popularity—with your rank steadily rising—you were rappelling down a port sewer to pummel a slime villain into dust.

You wiped his blood off on your pants, hands devoid of anything that could taint. You’d left the ring at home.

***

“You tricked me,” you said, scowling as Hawks pushed you forward, “This isn’t the rock climbing park.”

Once you deliberately smashed your face into the glass door and crossed your arms, Hawks held the door open for you. “Would you have dressed up so nicely for rock climbing?”

“A meta-game challenge,” you said, “to rock-climb in a long skirt.”

You glowered about the restaurant while you and Hawks stood in the lobby, his hand low on your back, suspiciously respectfully. You made no effort to hide your distaste: it was the place with the purple lights.

Over there at the absurdly long bar, Endeavor had drunk flat whisky without so much of a growl at anyone, despite it being his event. Hexagonal tables with lilac tablecloths dotted the floor—you’d hidden in one of the few booths, up against the exposed brick wall—but your hiding place had been ruined once a violet disco ball had emerged from the ceiling. Shiny, wooden floor that had reflected your post-panic attack face right back at you and let every shoe strike it with a clatter. No silence allowed.

The whole restaurant had lavender LED lights running around the walls, swathing the place in a distorted sort of purple haze, and any candles lit on the centre tables had indigo flames—you’d focused on how those might have been made in the process of coming down from your panic attack.

God. You’re going to throw up.

The hostess escorted you and Hawks to a farther back room, this one with booths separated by small, brick walls that didn’t reach the ceiling yet concealed the booths’ occupants from each other—unless you were passing directly in front of one.

Hawks made you sit in the booth first, trapping you in as he settled. He had to be on the edge, anyway, he told you, because of his wings. You’re going to rip them off and boil them in the soup.

The two of you ordered. You don’t remember what. You can only channel so much of your nerves into jostling your leg. This is not cool. This place is not cool. You need to get out.

“Hey, let me through,” you said, nudging Hawks, “Bathroom.”

Once there, you lightly slapped your cheeks a couple of times, trying to ground yourself through physical sensation. No use. Can’t they fucking use normal lights in this place?

You didn’t have your panic meds, because you’ve never needed them rock climbing. You can do it. You’re fine. You’re fine. Your tongue is too big for your mouth.

You took your time meandering back to the booth, coming to a halt at the end of the narrow hallway and ducking behind the corner.

Endeavor stood by your booth, his arms crossed over a flaming chest. You caught your breath at the sight of his orange fire, a comforting contrast to all the damn purple, but still—Endeavor. Talking to your (gag) fiancé.

Without the courage to interact with Endeavor, you listened at the corner for his departure.

“Nah, she can handle her bladder just fine. It’s her nerves,” Hawks was saying, hidden by the bricks, “She likes hiding. She doesn’t necessarily like being in the spotlight.”

“Yet she hasn’t completely withdrawn as Eraserhead has. You’ve picked a strange one to marry.”

From the angle Endeavor glared at him, Hawks must be slumping in his seat. “But that’s what so great about her. And it’s hard to process, y’know, like, she’s finally mine. You follow?”

“Regrettably,” said Endeavor, “Regardless, I offer my congratulations that your courtship finally worked out in your favour. You should have told me sooner.”

Courtship. That’s a funny way to pronounce bullying.

“Eh, I’ve gotta have some secrets, don’t I? Can’t betray my otherwise cool exterior.” Hawks laughed. “I can’t believe I’ve been allowed such happiness. The woman I’ve loved for years is gonna be waking up to me every day soon, y’know?”

Hawks has got to know you can hear him, otherwise he wouldn’t be saying those things. Endeavor must be in on Hawks’s ruse, since Endeavor is Hawks’s closest—actually, Endeavor isn’t the type to revel in romantic shit. Endeavor straight-up isn’t the type to revel. To the best of your knowledge, Endeavor doesn’t genuinely like Hawks as so much as tolerates him; when did they get so close? It must have taken a long time—

Time.

You could feel your IQ dropping as you actually considered: had you been in a legitimate coma? Had you (fuck) genuinely had amnesia?

No, no. You don’t live in Crazytown. Your eyebrows hadn’t been overgrown when you’d woken up in the hospital. You’d only been there a day.

Of course, Hawks is a vain piece of shit and does his own eyebrows, so he might have considered that yours were a piece of pride/insecurity for you and may have done them while you were—did Hawks do his own eyebrows? That spoiled fuck probably had someone else to do them for him. If they were naturally like that, you were going to throttle his ass.

You didn’t fucking have amnesia. Hawks is and always has been a stupid, clammy birdbrain. He’s always been cruel to you. He didn’t fucking like you.

He sure as hell wasn’t in fucking love with you.

Oh, my fuck, what if your memories of Hawks have been fabricated by a coma-addled mind and that—

“Hey, there,” said—said someone, some pale-ass, sleep-deprived freak who startled you out of your head, “Are you all right? You look—I mean, do you need some water? A chair?”

You blinked, yet he wouldn’t come into focus—you were taking in details about him, ones that didn’t fucking matter (chain on his wallet, three rings all on the left hand, a button-down missing the last button, a cloud of axe body spray), but he didn’t register as a human person. He couldn’t; you hadn’t grounded yourself yet. You yourself still had a frazzled, cartoon scribble buzzing inside of your chest, and until you vomited it up, a panic attack may yet still happen.

You can’t deal with anyone new right now.

A spark of recognition crossed the new guy’s face, and he, through a smirk, asked if you were your hero name.

Oh god oh fuck not now

“Sweetheart,” came Hawks’s melodious drawl (registering first his voice, then bodily warmth, then the wingtip covering your ass), “You were taking so long that I came to check on you.” He pulled you by the waist towards him, blocking the guy from seeing your face by pressing it into his chest. “Who’s this?”

Who cares. All you could focus on (sharp and overwhelming, nothing else but) was how fucking incredible Hawks smelled, and at this point, you’d use anything to bring yourself back down to earth. A small voice in the back of your head told you that freaking out to this degree in this particular situation was leaning towards pathetic, since basically nothing happened, besides being in an uncomfortable environment and being accosted by a fan at the wrong time, but you? You did not control the rate at which your brain panicked.

And really, no rhyme or reason played into why your grabby little hands itched for human contact once safe in the booth again, why Hawks’s scent lay on your tongue more heavily than your soup, why the overwhelming sensation of being so fucking spaced out of it threw its entire weight upon your shoulders—you couldn’t find yourself. You were lost.

And in this horrible, purple place, the only thing that’s familiar was Hawks.

When you scooted as closely as you could to him in the booth, keeping your glare towards your lap while you looped your arm under his to snuggle into it, Hawks cleared his throat to say, “What’s this?”

You scowled into his jacket, both hands gripping his forearm.

He set his chopsticks down. “How can I help, darling?”

Growling, you bonked your forehead against his shoulder, dragging your hands down to his.

“Hey,” said Hawks, and he guided your face towards his and stroked your cheek with his thumb, “Did that guy bother you too much before I got there?”

Turning your mouth towards the hand cupping your cheek, you kissed his palm, bit the leather, and kissed it again before burying yourself in his shoulder again.

He rested his hand on the crown of your head. “What’s the matter? Can you tell me?”

“Not sure I can put it into words,” you said, “I think I wanna go home.” You bit the fabric of his jacket and gnashed it between your teeth.

“I can handle that,” said Hawks, “Gimme a moment to get takeaway boxes, yeah? Then we’ll leave, and you’ll be safe. Don’t worry.”

Unfortunately, you were still clutching onto his arm by the time he unlocked his darkened penthouse (because you’re not gonna hold his hand. God), but you slapped his hand away from the light switches.

“Turning them on would be too much stimulation,” you said, “Please don’t.”

Hawks hummed against the top of your head, placing keys and both of your phones on the kitchen counter. “Bed or couch?”

“Window,” you said.

“Window?”

“I’m assuming you’ve got one.”

“I do,” said Hawks, guiding you through his dark apartment, probably past scarily expensive, posh shit. He led you to what was most likely his living room, with the cool, dim light of the night sky through a vast, single-frame, wall-to-floor window illuminating furniture custom built for his wings, but he eased you down onto the carpet, tugging your shirt upwards so that the window would be touching your bare skin on the small of your back.

Hawks yanked his boots off, late, instead of at the door, and he tossed them over his shoulder. He took yours off, too, and once he’d set them aside, he sat next to you against the window, a hand on your thigh.

“Better?”

“Probably,” you said, staring at the triangle of light beige carpet between your crossed legs.

“Need me to talk? You need to talk?”

“Not right now.”

Hawks was a dumbass. He’s such a fucking dumbass. But he’s a dumbass who’s here right now, and he’s interested (?) in you, interested in helping you. And good golly, you have to be touched. Hawks’s offering warmth, freely, potentially lovingly, and all you had to do was reach out to take it, even if you didn’t reciprocate whatever sentiment was motivating him yourself.

Do you really want to take what you have no feelings for?

Hawks lies a lot to Endeavor. To everyone. He might not have been lying earlier. What reason had he to lie?

Guess it didn’t matter, because you were lying.

But good God, you haven’t been kissed in a long time. Haven’t felt safe or loved. You could…you could indulge for a few hours in order to calm down. You could pretend.

The last ten months had proved that.

“Hey,” you said idly, reaching out to grab the inner fleece lining of his jacket to rub it between your fingers, “Hawks, I’m gonna—I’m gonna put my mouth on your mouth. Okay?”

Hawks’s wings ruffled and constricted themselves so that he could move closer to you, and his hand has migrated from your thigh to grip your hip—how could anyone’s hands encompass that much of you? Your fucking hands couldn’t, not in the way his does.

(Bird man big and safe.)

([No, fuck you, don’t think that.])

(BIRD MAN SAFE—)

Shoved is how you’d describe the first few seconds of the kiss, followed closely by wet and you’d think his teeth would be sharper. Your lips didn’t line up with his completely until he adjusted your chin with two of his fingers, guiding it open just barely, as well, so that his tongue could graze your teeth—it took you a moment of processing before parting them, with a final don’t think! shouted to your neocortex.

Birds have a higher body temperature than other animals, on average having a body temperature of 105 degrees Fahrenheit (40 degrees Celsius). The colour of their feathers, of course, affects how much light and heat they absorb, with the lighter coloured feathers—say, red—reflecting more, rejecting outside heat sources.

Yet Hawks gripped you like he’d fucking freeze if he weren’t clutching you, if he weren’t straddling your legs, one palm flat against the cool of the window by your head. The other snaked around you, his forearm lying almost vertically up your back to press down between your shoulder blades, keeping you as near to his chest (he probably didn’t realise it, but his fingers ran across the curve of your shoulder blades where his wings were on his own body.

For some reason, the thought crossed your mind that you weren’t enough for him, because you were too dissimilar.)

Don’t think!

When he massaged your tongue with his, applying pressure sporadically, you returned the action—have you ever seen a bird tongue up close? They’re fucking nasty little things, looking more like a grub than anything else. Thank God Hawks had a normal, human tongue that performed particularly delightful, normal things, like drag across the roof of your mouth and aid in sucking phenomenal hickeys onto your jawline, licking over where he’s bitten and kissed.

Stop thinking about bird anatomy. Hawks has no discernible bird traits except for his fucking wings. He’s not a fucking bird man. He’s just some dude with wings. And not all birds have functional wings; for example, the ostrich and the penguin do not have wings to be used in flight—

Oh, my fuck. Turn your brain off.

Your stomach lurched. That had been something Hawks had told you too often, back before your accident.

It’s what he wants.

Hawks fucking whimpered when you pulled the shorter hairs at the back of his neck, prying him away from your skin with great difficulty—he kept trying to touch you with his mouth and tongue in the process.

“Let me have more,” he said, panting, his breath heavy and just below your ear, “Please.” He pressed his lips to the spot in front of your ear in a weak kiss, having spent himself for the most part. “I’ve missed you so much, baby. I’ve been waiting for you to come back to me for so long.”

“I don’t—” You fake-stuttered, but it turned out you needed the time to put your thoughts into words. “I don’t think I’m back yet. I’m,” you said, taking as deep a breath as you could with Hawks smushed against your chest, “Something’s missing. Something big.” That’s right. Steer it back in his direction. Make the bird man sweat. “I don’t—something doesn’t feel right.”

It took a moment, but Hawks nodded fervently, shutting his eyes. “Of course. Yeah. Yeah, I get it, sweetheart. Can’t do anything when your heart’s not in it.”

Your heart’s not the problem. “Thank you for being so understanding, Hawks,” you said, untangling yourself from underneath him, “Would you just, uh, hold me for a while?”

His wings wrapped around the both of you on his enormous bed, still fluttering with each slow breath he took. Hawks almost looked genuine while he slept, and probably for the best—at least he was getting rest; at least his guard might be down.

You couldn’t sleep. Your mind was racing.

***

“Rank speculation is out,” you said, scrubbing the pumice stone over a patch of dry skin on Hawks’s back and scrolling through the twitter with your other hand, “Take a look.”

He opened the link you sent once he’d safely removed a dead feather that had been lodged in an odd spot in a wing. “Huh. Think I could truly take on Endeavor?”

“Well, he’s got that abusive-to-his-family thing, while you’re rocking the preparing-for-my-wedding look, and he can’t network non-aggressively to save his life.”

“Nor can you.” Hawks shot you a smirk over his shoulder.

“Zoom in on my speculated nine, baby,” you said, flicking away some dead skin with a satisfied/disgusted sneer, “And I didn’t have to sleep my way there.”

“Ah, ha, ha,” said Hawks, “Knew you could do it. Whoever’s told you that is gonna have to deal with my foot up their ass. You’re more than capable of getting there on your own.”

“Which I did. I have.” Wait. Hawks told you that. No, it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s a commonly said, misogynistic comment towards women heroes. Hawks isn’t special. “But having your foot up someone’s ass wouldn’t be good for PR, unless you wanted to advertise that you’re a kinky son of a bitch who’s cheating on his fiancée.”

“I would never,” said Hawks, and, contorting his arm, he grabbed your hand with the pumice stone to kiss the back of it, “But my PR is solid, regardless.”

“If the public knew how much time you had to spend preening these fucking wings, they’d probably appreciate you more. Or call you conceited.”

Hawks hummed. “It’s a necessary evil,” he said, returning to his wingtip to search for dead feathers. “Thank you for helping.”

“No problem. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t get to see how—Hawks, holy fuck. Do you feel that?” You ran a finger near the base of a wing.

“It’s your finger?”

“No, this,” you said, tapping the spot.

“No?”

“My God. It’s a dilated pore of a winer,” you said, already reaching for the tweezers, “Right at the base of your wing. It’s basically an enormous fucking blackhead. I’m popping it. Oh, my God. I’ve never seen one in real life.”

“You’re popping it?”

“You didn’t have a problem with my getting the ones where your costume sits.”

“No,” said Hawks, rolling back his shoulders, his wings spreading with them, “Gotcha. Get on with it.”

“Can I film it?”

“What? No,” said Hawks, “No one can see me preening, let alone dealing with acne.”

“There’s sure to be another hero out there with a wing quirk, right? I don’t know how you can’t feel it.”

“Yeah,” Hawks said slowly, “Since my feathers can feel—I suppose where the wings merge with my skin is pretty numb. I haven’t ever had to think about it.” He licked his lips. “Funny.”

He continued to scroll through his feed and tend to his feathers while you worked at his back. “Bad news: the tabloids got a hold of our grocery list from the last time we went to the shops. I must have dropped it at some point in the store.”

“Oh, so do they know what kind of ice cream we prefer? The horror.”

“No, but they’ve brought in some hack handwriting analyst. Talking about our annotations for each other on the list. Something about how you’re logical and I’m a romantic. The writer of the article is practically swooning.” Hawks pulled out a clot of feathers with his teeth and spat them aside. “With good reason, though. The trashy pictures they snapped of us are hot.”

“Describe them to me.”

“I can show you—”

“No,” you said, concentrating on your work, “I don’t want the image imprinted on my brain. Describe them in your own words.”

“All right,” said Hawks, crossing his legs and placing his phone on the coffee table in front of him, “To start, the flash is on.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah. We’ve got that distantly surprised look going on. It looks like we’re near the eggs and cheese. You’re not looking at the camera, but I believe it’s in the moment I caught it.” Hawks flicked away a feather and let it fall to the carpet. “My hand’s on your waist. The other’s on the cart. You’ve scrunched your face up in concentration; it’s really cute.”

“Aw, we should get it framed,” you said, wiping away the gunk with a tissue and wadding it up so that no one will ever have to see or touch it ever again.

“Never,” said Hawks, “The first picture of us I wanna get framed should be on our wedding day.”

“It’s coming along quickly,” you said, setting aside the tweezers, “Bit more quickly than I’d thought it would.”

“Yeah, I can’t wait,” said Hawks with a light laugh, and you ducked to rest your head against his shoulder, straining your neck to reach him over his wing.

Hawks clicked his non-nasty, non-bird tongue. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

Sighing, you said, “Turn your head this way.”

He did you one better, since he anticipated your plan. He twisted around, keeping his legs crossed as he pulled you into his lap. His wings initially bristled but wrapped around you when his arms did, and Hawks kissed your cheek, once, twice, until he arrived at your mouth, where he barely grazed your lips, rather letting his hot breath spread over your face—and he grinned up at you with half-lidded eyes (he’d left off his eyeliner today, but the natural marks below his waterline kept his eyes sharp, anyway).

“Kiss me, you fucking idiot,” you said, overriding whatever he was about to do by kissing him yourself, hard and open-mouthed, almost violent in its fervent. Yet Hawks held you lightly, delicately, but still close enough to freeze.

You ran your cold, cold hands over his bare abdomen, pressing your thumb down with considerable force to trace his muscles (he grunted at that, and that’s it; that’s right—make him squirm; make him sweat; make him yours). His finger only toyed with the hem of his shirt that you were wearing, as if waiting for you, which didn’t line up with what you had garnered about Hawks at all, but c’mon, man, come on; didn’t you want this all those months ago? Almost a year, now? Years, if what he said to Endeavor is true? But when he flinched away with a shaky breath once your cold fingers circled his nipple, you knew this was where you were supposed to be: right here, in Hawks’s lap, completely destroying him with hardly anything at all. Nothing but light touches and a strategic flick of your tongue. Idiot man. He must really like you if this is doing it for him.

You slowed and opened your eyes at that thought, frowning, and you pulled away. With the back of his hand, Hawks wiped saliva off of both of your mouths, yours first.

He waited for you.

“If you can’t take all of me, then what’s the point?”

He tilted his head. “I’ll take whatever part of you you’re willing to share.”

“I’m missing something.”

“I know.”

“I want to find it before we get married.” You laid your palm flat on his chest, and he grinned at the cold.

“You can find it,” he said, “I know you can.”

“I don’t know what I’m blocking out,” you said, lying—or maybe you weren’t? Fuck it. “Whatever I’m repressing is really fucking with me.”

“Take your time,” said Hawks, running his tongue over his lower lip. “I’m here for—”

“Hawks,” you said, faking the light of realisation in your eyes, accompanied with a sharp inhale, “I can’t remember your name.”

Hawks’s mouth snapped shut.

“You told me once. I know you did,” you said, moving to cup his cheek after tapping the mark underneath his eye, “but the memory—there’s a blur where you spoke. I—” You cut yourself off, biting your lip. “That, that might be it. I don’t know. Everything else about the scene is in perfect detail. I remember what fucking socks I was wearing, for Christ’s sake. But you. What you said. Maybe it’s something so personal, so intimate, that I’ve repressed it. Maybe it was too much for me to handle.” You cupped his face with both hands now, forcing him to look at you. If you hadn’t been scrutinising him for some evidence of breaking character, you wouldn’t’ve seen the minute quivering of his upper lip. Hardly there, but it was there. “It’s a part of you that I want. Even if I couldn’t handle it before, I want to try now.”

Hawks averted his gaze, even though he couldn’t move his head. And bang, you’ve got him. Hawks’s name was still strictly secret, hidden by the commission, but if he’s genuinely in this dumbass situation for the long haul, if he’s truly in it for you, then he would have told you. Even if he wanted you to continue to call him Hawks, your own fiancé would have told you his damn name.

So, this is it. The way out.

Hawks was going to feel so stupid when he found out you’ve been faking all this time. Good. Let each feather burn.

“Keigo,” he said, staring into your eyes with a newfound determination, “My name is Takami Keigo.”

Oh, shit—you clapped a hand over your heart, your eyes widening. Maybe you could play this off as memory recovery instead of absolute shock? But you hadn’t any memories to recover, probably. Holy fuck.

Where do you go from here?

You tried to say his name but ended up simply mouthing it, and after clearing your throat and coughing a bit, you managed to say it aloud. “Keigo,” you said softly, reaching for his hand, “Keigo, I fucking love you.”

You’d only been kissing him for a few moments before his wings shuddered in a muscle spasm and flung you off to the side.

***

Only a commission higher-up witnessed your wedding. She stood silently to the side the entire ceremony in the courthouse and only shook Hawks’s hand afterwards.

You and your cat essentially moved into his penthouse and adjusted. Your mostly empty apartment stayed leased under your name.

Sometimes, you’d note that you turned your brain off and instantly be hit with a lightning strike of self-loathing—but you didn’t have to consciously decide to be affectionate with Hawks. Being with him came naturally and easily. Probably for the best, since if you had to think about it, you’d screw it up.

You stayed together. Supported each other. Sneaked out to see the other on patrol. Took care, listened to each other. Defended each other. Worked it out.

And now, you stared up at the ceiling fan whirling in your darkened bedroom, Keigo lying on his stomach next to you in the bed as he slept. Your cat catloafed between his wings and nestled into them, rising and falling with each breath he took. Hawks was perfect, always saving the day, working up a routine to mesh with your fighting style and quirk, always charming and easygoing with the people he rescued, indulging you in your ferocity, and Keigo, Keigo whispered sweet and dirty things into your ear when he spotted you in public, made you laugh, worked wonders with his cock, helped you clean up before he even thought of preening himself, held you, and made you feel held. He’s got it bad.

And maybe you do, too.

Hawks was going to feel so stupid when he found out.

[darthwheezely]

grande - g.w.

Summary: George meets a mighty adorable barista in the new cafe on Diagon Alley and the man just can’t help himself... based off the song Coffee Girl by Johnny Socko! Sorry this took me absolute ages (9 days oops) to get out, guys :/

Warnings: DIABETIC FLUFF STUPID AMOUNTS OF CARDIAC ARREST INDUCING FLUFF UWU,mentions of sexism, Fred being Fred, cussing probably, alludes to sex, PG/PG-13

taglist or people that might like this but idk: @theweasleyslut @kitwalker02 @loony-loopy-lupinn @wand3ringr0s3 @gcdric @thehufflepuffwife @monoscandal @lupinsclassroom @whiz-bangs78 @vogueweasley @rogueweasleys @band--psycho @lumosandnoxwriting @oh-for-merlins-sake @amxrtentias @virgohufflepuff @vivianweasley

George Weasley didn’t sleep. This had long been the habit of his ever since he and his parents had discovered that his elder twin Fred had been an avid sleepwalker by age 4, then became a (minor) party animal in his Hogwarts days, and finally when he became the co-owner of one of the Wizard World’s most successful entrepreneurs and business owners.

The man hadn’t slept in about 18 years give or take. And days like this reminded him of it constantly.

It was a Saturday, the first of the month, and to boot, it was about to be Christmas in a little over a week. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was packed with everyone from couples window shopping, children in desperate need of fun now that school was out, parents trying to keep them in line, and even some old lady named Ethel (who swore she was part Veela, and therefore Fred couldn’t “escape her girlish charm.”)

“Ethel, you have an absolutely ravishing day, and don’t even worry about that moisturizer it’d be a waste of product on a natural beauty like you” Fred winked and kissed the old lady’s hand, George watching from the top of the steps rolling his eyes.

“Oh, Freddie, you know how to keep a lady young, don’t you? Oh - goodbye, Georgie! Have a good rest of your day boys!” She waved majestically to the younger twin on the stairs and he bowed royally in response.

“Bye, Ethel!” They both called as she exited the building, the bells flurrying in her wake.

“Georgie, mate, hate to say it but you are being uncharacteristically quiet and it’s making me uncharacteristically uncomfortable.” Fred said bounding up the stairs to meet him, chuckling briefly.

“Freddie, mate, hate to say it but I’ve had absolutely no sleep as of late and it’s getting to me. But I’ll be back up to my usual antics in no time.” He padded down the stairs, winking at a couple young ladies ogling him, sending them into a fit of giggles. Fred sat down on the middle step eyeing his brother carefully. It didn’t take a genius to see George wasn’t holding on much longer, the dark circles littering his eyes and the way he mussed up his already purposely messy hair just...didn’t comfort his older twin at all.

“George.” Fred sighed, George looking back at him, confused. He took his hands away from the merchandise Wonder Witch he’d been rearranging and gave him full attention.

“Take your lunch break early. And longer if possible.”

“Pffft, why would I do that when I have women to woo and boxes to juggle?”

“George.”

“Fred.”

“Stop, I mean it. You look half dead as it is, just go take a nap or get an espresso from the cafe down the aisle or something that reinforces the idea that yes, you are a human being and no, not a zombie.” Fred crossed his arms feeling suddenly a lot like Molly and dropped the cross. George pretended to ponder this tapping his chin, rather finding the mature brother role reversal funny as hell.

“Oh, alright, but can I still be a zombie when I get back?”

Fred hit him with a folder and sent him on his way.

-•-•-

You had just finished the lunch rush, finally being able to calm down and not have to worry about making one more goddamn Butterbeer Latte for at least another 20 or so minutes...until there’d be another rush. You grabbed a lemon scone, took off your apron and sat against the back counter. You inhaled the citrus scent, it was always something that you loved to savor, and took a bite.

The holidays for the Merlin’s Mochas, the cafe, had been absolutely atrocious so far. All you had for customers were angry businessmen, bratty kids and their upper class parents who let them run around the already small place being rude to everyone, your boss Lionel who had an affinity for calling every woman who worked there a “bitch” (...ok lionel) and to top it all off: you’d been pulling 9 hour days every day except sundays. Needless to say: you kind of super hated your job.

You had just finished your scone when you heard the door chime signal a customer, immediately wiping your hands on your jeans and restrapping your apron.

“Hi how can I-“ oh Jesus this is the hottest man I have ever seen. He was easily no older than 23, fiery red hair, a perfectly tailored striped terracotta suit, green tie, and the most gorgeous doe brown eyes you’d ever seen.

“How can you...?”

“Help you, ohmygod, I am so sorry I’m super-“

“Tired? Yeah me too...interesting how similar we are this early in the game hmm?” He winked at you and your knees felt too weak. No he was just a stupid hot customer that also was really hot and also? Was super hot. No worries, Y/N, just don’t die by 22 okay thanks.

“Very funny...wait are you-“ your finger led from him to the statue outside Wizard Wheezes, realizing a simple oh shit

“Yeah, that would be me. Or my twin Fred but we never really decided, that’s why he kind of looks like both of us mixed. Although we’re twins so we basically look the same anyway. I mean because were identical. Twins, yeah.” George, what the fuck is wrong with you, why are you sweating? She’s just a simply beautiful girl in a simply maddeningly purple coffee shop can you please breathe and not make yourself look stupid-

“Oh, wow! I’ve never met a twin before - not like twins are anomalies or anything it’s just so crazy. Science. Science is crazy” You closed your eyes and took a breath

“We should probably start over shouldn’t we?” You wrinkled your nose.

“That sounds much more redeeming than anything we both were about to say” George breathed out laughing softly, rubbing his hand through his hair.

“I’m George. Weasley. Like I said, I work at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, the shop over there, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen this place before...or you for that matter, I never forget a beautiful young woman.” He said smoothly, his heart steadily subsiding - something about you had the power to not only make him scared out of his mind, but also totally at ease.

You returned the smile, warmly, the blood rushing to your cheeks at his compliment and sticking your tongue to your teeth. “Well, George Weasley, of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes I’m Y/N Y/L/N. And yeah, we’re new around here,” you leaned further onto the counter, realizing, albeit a moment too late that your eye level was directly with his abs now, and although he was wearing a suit...you could definitely tell they were there.

“We erm, just opened three months ago. It’s honestly a bit of a time to work here.”

“Oh and why is that?”

“Well, nothing like a blatant sexist to run an entirely female employed establishment and weird stuffy rich people.” Your eyes widened suddenly, and you felt like you had said far too much far too soon. But he gasp-laughed - laugh that ended as soon as it began and burst into a smile...like you had shared a secret with him.

“What the hell is he doing here then? Got a boy’s club to run in a purple coffee shop?”

“I mean you never really know these days, George, imposters are among us at every moment” you purred and pushed off the counter, meaning it as a joke but George’s heart screamed when he heard your name. As you moved to the other edge of the counter, he followed you.

“What a resourceful and cruel young woman, I am starting to like you, Miss Y/L/N.” He clucked. “And do you think of me like you think of Mr. I-Hate-Women-That’s-Why-I-Hire-Them?” He got inches from your face, smelling the coffee beans and vanilla extract that riddled your skin.

“Hmm...Mr. Weasley, I’m not so sure.” You coyly stepped away from him and took long strides to the far end of the coffee bar by the wall. George immediately felt a pit of flirtatious butterflies and (arousal?) something more in his stomach, jaw dropped, he followed you again. He pressed his hands to the counter in front of you.

“Well, how can I convince you?” He asked rather quickly.

“Hmm...” you leaned forward like he did before and his breath hitched in his throat “...let’s get you a cuppa first.”

-•-

“Wait, okay let me get this straight-“

“Yes?”

“You have 6 other siblings.”

“Yes.”

“...because your mom wanted a girl?”

“That-that would in fact be true, yes.”

You thought for a moment.

“So you’re telling me after she made it through you two-“

“-she still wanted to have more of us, believe me, it races through my mind daily.” He nodded vehemently laughing with you. You two had taken to the empty cafe at a table nestled in the corner, him sitting in a chair across from you on a bench. You had both been cracking each other up with stories from your childhoods, like how you both had managed to never know of the other’s existence until now.

He’d discovered that you had transferred from Hogwarts to Beauxbatons early on in your fourth year. You, a Hufflepuff, loved the quiet and soft landscape of the French school. You both had absolutely no idea the other existed. How? The world may never know.

He was brash. You were careful.

He was already flying when you were just feeling comfortable learning how to walk.

But you sat there with him for the better amount of an hour and a half, laughing and interrupting each other with memories of the school years you had, some weird and strange, and especially during fourth year, hard for George to talk about.

Ginny, his baby sister, had almost died. And as he said to you in a candid and highly vulnerable state: he blamed himself for almost letting her go to this day.

“I...I really do believe it was my fault.”

“George, it couldn’t have been your fault. Hogwarts is a big freaking death trap - you and I both know that,” you had said with an exasperated laugh, eager to make him feel better in any facet.

“Yeah, but...I’m her big brother. Yes, she has five other older brothers but...we were supposed to protect her.” He swallowed and blinked back tears. “It was her first year, for Christ’s sake, and I paid about as much attention to her as a doorknob would.” He had rolled his jaw and taken a gulp of his gingerbread latte (you had said it was your favorite, and he was loathe to try anything else) and you had softly draped your hand on top of his.

“If she’s as kind and loving and funny as you, I’d love to meet her.” You quipped, a small smile growing on your face in effort to soothe. He had smiled back at you, turning your hand over in his and drawing his digits lazily over your palm.

“Funny, because I was thinking the same thing.”

-•-

He had told you to close your eyes, that much had been true.

See, his coffee had started to get cold. So, like if you give a mouse a cookie, he’ll have to have some milk-

If you give a George a latte he will have to not only have another one, but also feel the strenuous need to show off for you and take you to his place of work. Naturally. And it was so lucky that by the time he’d proposed you leave, he even helped you clean and lock up afterwards.

Truthfully, it almost scared you how much he had seemed to care.

“Alright, Y/N, darling, I’m going to release my hands on the count of three, yeah?”

“Perfect, Georgie” you giggled. You’d legitimately only knew him for so long, but you just...you trusted him. He grinned widely, his strong hands only applying a slight amount of pressure as not to hurt you.

“Alright, then. 1. 2-“ he took his hands off your eyes and watched you adjust not only to light, but to your surroundings as well.

“3.” He breathed out taking in the way you smiled like a teenager, face alight with pure inundating wonder. You squealed and started to run around the store.

“Look at these! Pygmy Puffs - ugh they’re so adorable look at this one! Oh, oh - ‘Fizzing Whizbees’ - these look absolutely wicked! And Per- ‘Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder’?” You picked up the glittery stone in your hand, and heard a smooth voice perk up behind you.

“A real money spinner, that one.” You turned around and there was a man that looked absolutely identical to George, although entirely different in the same way.

“Handy if you need to make a quick getaway,” you heard George on the other side of you. He smiled warmly down at you, nodding his head up to look at the twin across from him.

“Y/N, this is my-“

“-older, much more attractive and fiscally responsible brother.” He winked and you blushed almost immediately. “Fred. Weasley.”

“Y/N Y/L/N. Georgie has told me a lot about you and the shop - absolutely marvelous this place is, I cant believe you two created so much in such a short span of time. Brilliant it all is, really!” George had started to flush, rubbing his jaw to seemingly take the red away from his striking face. Fred, upon hearing the genuine warmth from your voice and the unmistakable use of “Georgie” had a small, but highly distinct aha moment:

“Well, we couldn’t have done it all on our own, one of our best friends helped us out a good lot. But thank you, really...it means so much when other people see how much we do and-” he looked directly at George.

“-acknowledge the things we love, right George?”

“Absolutely, Frederick.” Fred had given him the look that seemed to imply: “please, God, make a damn move.”

“Well, Y/N, I’m going to be off and woo some ladies, have a biscuit and do some paperwork” he smiled wide when you giggled, already enjoying your company.

“But I hope to see you again, very soon, yeah? Please stop by whenever you can, we’re alwYs just down the street.”

“Freddie, for your company, I’m not so sure, I’m still deciding.” You quipped. Fred laughed heartily at that and looked at George.

“Georgie, I like this one.” George looked at you and winked.

“Me, too Freddie, me too.” You leaned back on your heels as Fred padded back up the stairs to the flat, now completely alone with George. You threw your arms behind you back and forth and took a long stride to George.

“So...what are you those?” You nodded up to the array of pink bubbles in a clam shape in the corner. He hummed and reached to grab your hand.

“Love potions - c-can I show you?” He raised an eyebrow slightly, but he felt his whole body turn to mush when you accepted his hand and nodded slowly. As he walked with you, you memorized the feeling of his callouses and veins, the way your hand curled deliberately in his.

You wanted to make sure if it was the last time you felt something like that, you had that memory with you for a while.

“Essentially, if you give these to a person they will temporarily have feelings of love and attraction for you. Depending of course on the dosage you use and the weight of the person in question.” He explained. You watched the way his suit jacket pulled taut against his back muscles and instinctively wanted to honestly just take the whole thing off-

“Hmm...I don’t know about these, Georgie.” You hummed mischievously. Your heart was pounding in your chest.

He scoffed placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “Am i being questioned in my own establishment, Miss Y/L/N?”

You rolled your eyes and hit his arm, bowing slightly at him. “Well, do forgive my feminine insolence, Mr. Weasley, it’s not often I meet such bewitching mad scientists like you.” You watched his face grow blank for a moment at your compliment and immediately wanted to throw up.

“George, I’m really sorry, I know we just became friends-“

“Do you mean it?” He took a step towards you. You swallowed finding again his perfect milk chocolate eyes. You nodded.

“Hell yeah I did, you’re smart...and wicked hot” you both laughed at that. He took another step, the distance being unbearably harder to live in as his digits found a piece of hair and wound it behind your ear.

“Well, darling, the feeling is quite mutual.” He said quietly, taking in the whole of your face. He wanted to crash his lips onto every possible nook and crevice of your face, collide with you entirely.

“We’re going to have to do something about that, then, aren’t we?” You gently nudged his nose with yours and wrapped your arms around his neck, his strong and powerful arms pulling you to him gently. He wanted you to feel him not to break under his embrace. He leaned down and brushed his lips up to yours, feeling you whine and let out a minuscule sound.

“Got you making noises for me already and haven’t even kissed you yet, hmm?”

Your eyes fluttered close and one of your legs made it’s way in between his, snapping any chance at loose air between you two out of the way.

“Please, Weasley, pants a bit small for you?”

“Keep talking like that and they might, yeah.” You two laughed softly and with a final look to your lips he closed the last gap.

His mouth was perfect. His lips ghosted over yours one last time before wrapping every part of himself onto your frame, your lips entangled in each other like you’d never be able to taste him again.

But it was loving and slow and sweet. He tasted like gingerbread lattes and pastries and cinnamon and licking into his mouth you could feel the spice. He moaned lightly into your mouth, sending your knees buckling. He dipped you slightly, a hand traveling to your lower back to keep you steady, and his other hand coming up to nestle under the nape of your hair. Your hands caressed his face, his chest, needless to say? You wanted them everywhere. You wanted him everywhere.

The kiss broke and you and George were left breathless in each other’s hold, your foreheads pressed together as he kept you slightly dipped.

“Y/N, I’m feeling a bit tired” he quipped hoarsely, pressing a brief kiss to your lips and onto your neck. You hummed satisfactorily.

“Georgie, you’re gonna need another latte aren’t you?” You set multiple chaste kisses to his lips and cheeks, feeling him rumble with a small giggle. He caught your mouth with his and you moaned slightly.

“I’m gonna need a whole pot, to drink you in, love.”

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

For the kissing category, May I get #24 with Will?

Part of Youvebeenlivingfictional’s 2K Follower Celebration   Pairing: Will Miller x Reader Rating: T   Warnings: Cursing, canon-typical danger, Smooches™

You hated recon in heavily populated areas. It put you on-edge; there were too many unknowns. One of the guys tended to handle any tailing; you tended to stay back, eye the monitors, warn them of anything incoming if needed.

“Alright, Ironhead, target’s on your six, comin’ up fast.”

“Copy,” Will’s voice came in through the earpiece, crackling low and thick over the static.

You leaned back from the mic, lifting your hand from the console and leaning back, glancing at Benny where he was stationed in the seat beside you.

“Can we cut back on that interference?” 

“Working on it,” He muttered, fingers moving over the dials. You leaned a little further back, glancing at Santiago in the front seat.

“How’s it looking?”

“Street’s pretty fuckin’ busy… But if you looked through the monitors, you’d know that, cutie,” Came his bored answer. 

“The feeds are lagged, Garcia, don’t give me that shit,” You argued, turning back to the pixelated, lagging camera feeds. The three of you were set up in a recon van, with Will on the ground; Fish and Tom were dealing with their own target elsewhere. You watched the feed of Will going inside and raised your hand to the keyboard to switch feeds to inside the store. 

You could see Will lingering along the shelves, a little ways away from the target. You raised your hand to the mic. 

“Keep your distance, Will,” You warned. 

He gave no answer; his head didn’t turn even a little to acknowledge the message. You frowned, lowering your hand to the channel and fiddling with it, getting only static in turn. “Ironhead, poke something on the shelf in front of you so I know you copy.” You waited, watched– even with the lag, nothing.

“Shit,” You muttered. 

“Is that-- Yorke?” Benny asked, leaning closer to a different monitor. You looked up, brow furrowing. Shit, Benny was right-- you’d been going after the man’s second in command, but the kingpin was strolling down the goddamn street—

“Ironhead, fall back, we got eyes on Yorke,” You ordered through the comm. Nothing-- just a lag of Will following the original target. 

“Fuckssake-- You two follow Yorke, I’ll get Will. Link up at the rendezvous point,” You hissed, pulling your headphones off and opening the back door of the van. “Copy,” Santiago called over his shoulder.

The team had a code that you rarely used in situations like this. If someone needed to call off a hit, change their route in a populated area, you’d fake a call or speak to another teammate— and slip in the word Bordeaux. You slowed your pace as you approached the storefront that Will had gone into. You were going in with limited knowledge— you had an idea of the last place he’d been in the store, the last place Yorke’s second-in-command had been. You took in a deep breath as you walked into the store, peering around. You spotted — just as he was rounding the aisle. “Honey,” You spoke up, your voice bright. Will hesitated before he turned to face you. “...Hey,” He greeted cautiously. “Oh, I’ve just been looking for you all over the place, I thought you were still in the hardware store,” You pushed out a laugh, “I just got off of the phone with Gina— you remember Gina, my cousin’s friend from yoga, she’s the travel agent? Well,” You walked closer to Will, resting your hands on chest, “See, I told her we were thinking of going to Paris, but she suggested that we go to Bordeaux.” Realization washed over Will’s face, and he nodded a little bit. “Bordeaux,” He repeated softly. “Mhm. She said that uh— Well that she knows how much you like to cook, so she thinks we could get a deal renting little place with a kitchen— and we could go on a few wine tours,” You took a few steps back, eyeing the aisles behind Will. “And we could take a day trip to Paris, of course, maybe stay overnight–” “Suppose we could,” Will nodded, following you. You saw the second in command coming around the corner— you knew that the team would be moving on him, on Yorke, in a matter of days if your information panned out. “That is, if you still want to go,” You tacked on. “We can go anywhere you want,” Will answered, a small, almost amused smile growing on his face. Your eyes darted over his shoulder one more time before you grinned. “Oh, great!” You grinned, cupping Will’s face and drawing him in for a kiss. You were careful to spread your fingers across his face, trying to shield as much as you could. Will seemed to cotton on, wrapping his arms around you and turning the two of you. You found yourself pressed back against a store display, and you felt your breath leave you in a huff. It was a logical enough conclusion— most people hated the sight of couples’ public displays of affection. Yorke’s second in command was no different— you heard the man scoff and hurry pass the two of you. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You were more focused on the feeling of Will’s lips smoothing along younts, his hands large and warm, smoothing over your sides. You curled your fingers in what of his hair you could reach, and he hummed softly, his tongue slipping along the seam of your lips. You opened your mouth to him, your tongues slipping along one another. You could taste the mint of the gum that he was constantly chewing— you didn’t even care that there was a command hook display digging into your back. You heard the ringing of the door’s bell opening, and you managed to open your eyes, catching the sight of the target’s retreating back. Will seemed to have heard it, too. His kisses cooled, brushing along your lips softly as the two of you backed off. “Side door,” You murmured, taking hold of WIll’s hand and leading him away from the counter. You did your best to ignore the pounding of your heart, the feeling of warmth under your skin, a tingling in your lips— “Where’d they go?” Will asked as the two of you stepped out into the street. “Caught a sighting of the big man, they’re chasing him down. We tried to warn you off, but the interference was a bitch.” You reached into your pocket with your free hand, glancing down at your phone. “Anything?” “Not a thing,” You huffed, shaking your head, “Let’s just— Let’s just go to the rendezvous point.” “Sounds like a plan.” Will kept hold of your hand as the two of you walked, keeping an eye out for the van, listening for your phones. When you arrived at the square, Will stopped you at the back of a crowd watching a few street performers. “Here,” He said softly, leaning back against a wall and pulling you close as he  kept an eye out. You sighed softly, looking around. “Thanks,” Will said after a few moments. “Hm?” “Thank you.” “For what?” “Bordeaux.” You glanced up at him, “Oh— It’s nothing.” “It was something. Benny would’a busted in and run around the store.” “C’mon,” You laughed a little, “Don’t say that. Benny would’ve had some tact— and he was trying to work out the interference, but then we spotted Yorke. There just wasn’t any time.” Will nodded a little bit, looking out over the crowd again. “...Doesn’t sound so bad,” He added after a moment. “What doesn’t?” “Bordeaux… Couple of days in Paris,” He glanced down at you, his eyes soft before he glanced down at your lips. Butterflies fluttered through your stomach— until you heard the mutter of, “There’s the van. C’mon.” You followed him dutifully— you’d follow Will anywhere. “Everything go alright?” Santiago asked, looking back at the two of you. “Fine,” Will answered. Santiago looked to you for confirmation, and you nodded, leaning back in your seat. Santiago and Benny began telling you about what had happened with Yorke, but you just weren’t hearing it. You’d made the mistake of looking at Will as the van started to move, and you couldn’t help the butterflies that made a reappearance as you saw him tug a pack of gum out of his pocket. He slipped a piece out, unwrapping it. For the life of you, you couldn’t look away, not even as Will placed the fresh piece directly on his tongue. Your eyes lowered to his lips before you hurriedly directed your gaze out the back window. “That was lucky, huh?” Benny asked the two of you. “Mhm,” Will hummed. “Lucky,” You sighed.