#‘as if giving a great big middle finger to the gods’ doesn’t work either which is quite disappointing

[niicevibe]

Hmm hm hm, how to put “as if it’s a big “fuck you” to the gods” in proper fiction lingo………

[buckybarnesdiaries]

wakanda

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Steve gives you Bucky's dog tags for a reason.

word count: 2.4k (lol, sorry)

warnings/tags: none. bucky being a cutie.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

“Welcome to Wakanda, agent (Y/N)”.

A second after you crossed their airspace, you were courteously greeted. The views from your ship were indescribable. Peace invaded you just at the sight of the open fields and the warm colors of autumn. You could get used to that place too. To live in calm, work hand-to-hand with Shuri, and have time to spend it with Bucky. The reason why you were flying there. Removing your right hand from the control and grabbing in a fist the dog tags hanging on your chest, you took a deep breath while closing your eyes before getting ready to land. T’Challa was waiting for you at the entry of his kingdom, accompanied by his excited little sister and some of his guards.

Pressing a sequence of buttons above your head, to pull the control back, the ship went down slowly folding its wings. As you landed and turned off the engineers, you freed yourself from the seatbelt and the huge headphones to step out. Shuri received you with a friendly hug, breaking protocol and being just Shuri. You built a strong relationship since you met a year ago, when you brought Bucky to that beautiful and magical place, to let him recover. To let him rest.

“Your highness”. You uttered to T’Challa crossing your forearms in the traditional salutation of Wakanda.

“Agent (Y/N)”. He corresponded walking closer. “The white wolf asked me to let you know he wouldn’t want to be… bothered with visits today”.

You couldn’t help but frown. The last time you saw him was around three months ago. You usually interchanged letters from week to week, being one of the fewer persons he trusted in. And it wasn’t just a question of trust. Steve told you about his feelings, his shyness, and insecurities, his fears. What Bucky didn’t know, again, it wasn’t a question of trust from you either. That’s why the Captain gave you the dog tags, after more than thirteen years under custody. You wanted to see him, to know if he was happy there as he wrote you in his letters one million times.

“He doesn’t wear his arm here”. Shuri clarified, taking a position close to his brother.

By the look on their faces, you were aware of two things. One, they noticed too that something was growing between Bucky and you, and that it wasn’t a simple friendship. Two, they weren’t going to stop you. Oh, quite the opposite. They’d bring you to him on a golden platter and a big red bow on your head. The king beckoned a hand to urge you to follow him to the inside of the building and use one of their ships to fly above the place to the white wolf’s location.

You were nervous. You didn’t sleep more than a couple of hours last night thinking about him and how he’d react to having back his tags since the forties. Your eyes were focused throughout the window on your left, watching different citizens taking care of animals and plantations, children running from one side to another, playing and having fun. Oblivious to the horror of New York, where you resided. One of the cities in the world with the highest rates of street violence. Serial killers or simply killers, rapists, kidnappers, drug dealers (...). It was a minefield and Wakanda seemed and felt like Heaven.

“Did you think about the offer?” Shuri nudged you to push you back to reality, turning your head towards her.

“Since you dropped it to me”.

“So?”

“I…” You needed to put away your gaze again, focusing on the blue opened sky in front of them. “I want… to consult him first if you don’t mind”.

“Of course, (Y/N)”.

“I don’t want to put his world upside down, now that he’s not the…” You couldn’t finish the sentence. You couldn’t pronounce that detestable nickname and the pain beneath it.

Shuri nodded in silence, not needing your explanations. She knew how you felt. She understood you. The talk didn’t continue, stretching your right hand on your lap to calm your nerves and make you comfortable with the situation. The flight didn’t last longer than five or ten minutes, losing the track of time deep in your thoughts. The pilot indicated to you through the headphones that you were about to land, glancing at a complex of small houses in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and wilderness.

You were the last one jumping outside with your hand grabbing the tags on your chest, trying to find the encouragement there to follow T’Challa’s hand pointing at a man working with goats and collecting hay for them. Licking your lips and assenting with your chin, you guided your steps towards him. Slowly. As if you wanted to turn around at some point. But you knew it was too late when he was the one turning at the sound of your heavy boots cracking the grass under them.

Bucky didn’t look annoyed for your visit, nor the lack of attention to his petition. Although there was something in his pale blue orbs you weren’t able to decipher, until he bowed down his head unconsciously to his left shoulder covered by a dark fabric matching his eyes. You had to do your best to not roll yours, shortening the distance setting you apart. You had been dreaming about that encounter since the last time you were there before Shuri accessed the darkest place of his mind and cleaned it from any trail of HYDRA. Now, he was free. And he looked in good condition as the bags under his eyes had disappeared and his hair was almost tied with a bun. His cheeks seemed a little more chubby and you just wanted to pinch them. But it’d be weird and out of place. For the time being.

Bit by bit, a sweet smile widened in your lips, curving them as Bucky stared at you again when he was conscious that you didn’t care. With or without a metal arm, your feelings were exactly the same. You couldn’t admire him more than you were admiring him at this point. You couldn’t love him more than you loved him already. And God was a witness of how many times you practiced to confess to him and tell him that the only thing you wanted in life was to be by his side. Bring happiness to his days, bring him peace and harmony.

“I'm sorry…” “I brought you…”

You two spoke at the same time, breaking in a soft giggle that jumped your hearts in complete sync.

“You first”. He let you, waving his hand.

“I… brought you something”. You susurrated, loosening the grip around the metal hanging on your chest to take off the necklace.

You noticed the way his eyes widened in surprise and confusion. Why did you have them? Who gave them to you? Why now? Bucky gulped watching you stretching the dog tags between your fingers towards him. He didn’t know what to do, taking a second before he was able to react. He couldn’t remember when was the last time he saw them, and the amount of memories they gave him overwhelmed his whole brain.

In slow motion narrowing his eyes, Bucky held the chain with two fingers to hang the necklace from it. You thought he was about to wear them, but he destabilized you as he directed his hands to above your head, to place them where they were an instant before. You didn’t understand. Didn’t he want them back?

“I want you to keep it”.

“But…”

“I want you to have something mine”. Bucky recognized with a shy smile decorating his lips. “Those tags and my arm are the only things I have from my past. And… I won’t give you my arm…”

“Well, I bet it’d look good hanging from my neck”. You jocked tilting your head.

In his gift, you found the encouragement you needed to talk about T’Challa’s job offer. It wasn’t as if you were proposing to him, in the end, you were just friends even if it felt quite the opposite. You licked your upper lip, kissing your teeth after it, earning more than his attention.

“Shuri said, uh… I could come here, work with her. We’d do great things together, not only for Wakanda but for the world”.

Bucky’s gesture didn’t change a single inch, focused on the nervousness you were trying to hide from him and reading the reasons beneath.

“So T’Challa offered me to stay here”.

“Permanently?”

“Yeah… Permanently”. You assented pressing your lips, breathing through your nostrils.

“Did you accept?”

“Not yet. Not until talking to you about”.

He nodded then a couple of times, turning to the goats behind him coming closer. “Got to finish some stuff… Maybe we can talk later about it unless you have to leave”.

“No, no. I, uh… asked for the day off. Banner didn’t need me at the lab today”.

“Okay, good”.

While the king was showing you the new level for research and investigations, Bucky took the advantage to go and find Shuri without your knowledge. He found her in the surroundings of the main building, working on your ship as you said it made some kind of random noise that put you out of your nerve during the flight.

“I need my arm”.

The princess squatted close to the left wing, turned at him without standing up. Pulling her sunglasses to the top of his head, she raised an eyebrow.

“For what”.

“You know for what”. He clicked his tongue, placing his hand on his left shoulder.

“No, I don’t”. She lied while cleaning the grass and oil in her expert fingers.

“I need to have two arms”.

“You’ve been working the last months with one arm only. Why do you need it now?”

“C’mon… Argh…” Bucky rubbed his face with boredom. “I want to hug her, okay? Can you just… give me back my damn arm?”

“Not enough reasons, you can hug her using your right”.

“I want to have two hands when I kiss her”. He finally confessed in a hiss, provoking a triumphant smile growing on Shuri’s lips.

“If you lie to me, if you don’t kiss her, Sergeant Barnes… I’ll code it to punch your face”.

“Wait…” Bucky wrinkled his nose drawing a horrified gesture on his face, as he turned his blue eyes towards his left shoulder. “Can you… do that?”

“Try me”.

No, of course she couldn’t, but he didn’t know. Which were a good push for him to not go against her and her petition.

“C’mon. I’ll set it up and help you to put it on”.

Your eyes were traveling from one picture to another. He put some of them around his small house and it looked better now. More like a home. A place to stay. And for a second you felt a twinge straight in your heart when you noticed one photograph of the two of you, close to his bed. It was after your first mission together. Steve insisted on taking it, after noticing the sparkles between you. But you didn’t know he brought it to Wakanda with him, as your copy is on your nightstand too. And you used to fall asleep every night looking at it.

The curtain being moved and some steps in pulled you out from your thoughts, turning to find Bucky staring in silence at you. Your orbs landed on the metal arm. It was different too since the last time you saw it, with golden strips forming between the silver ones. You couldn’t help but sigh.

“You didn’t need to…”

“Yes, I did. I did need it”. He interrupted you, breathing through his parted lips and his heart about to fly off from his chest.

“Why?”

“Because, otherwise, I couldn’t do this”.

You were about to ask what he was referring to, watching him breaking the distance between the two of you in three fast strides. You closed your eyes at the moment his hands held your neck and Bucky slammed his lips on yours. The kiss, the contrast of cold and warmth on your skin, the everlasting longing for it to happen… All of this caused you to gasp, tangling the tunic at the height of his chest in your fists, not wanting him to take a step back. Your mouths fit perfectly without looking for it, made for each other, as he secured his fingers on the back of your neck. And you felt your knees weak when he pecked your lips one more time, before caressing your nose with his, not being able to open your eyes. Neither of you.

“I don’t have the right… to ask for anything”. He babbled. His insecurities coming afloat even if you hadn’t pushed him away. “But… I want you to stay here. With me. I… I don’t have much to offer you, but I promise to make you happy”.

At this point, your eyes were filled with tears, strongly closing your eyelids to not let them fall. You swallowed a sob, moving your hands from his chest to his middle back, embracing him tighter as you could.

“You’ve been making me happy since we met, Bucky”.

He chuckled breathless, intuiting he was too at the edge of his crying because of that affirmation.

“Every Tuesday, I wait at the stairs of my apartment for the mail, for your letters. I’ve… read them so many times I can recite them… by heart. Every word you've written to me”.

“I will continue writing them for you, even if you stay with me”.

Your voices were low, barely audible out of his place. Like secrets. Bucky kissed you again, bending enough to raise you by the back of your thighs and urge you to surround his waist with your legs. The dog tags on your chest clicked against the other, as you moved your arms to his shoulders and neck, and you were unable to stop kissing him. You two could die right now and not be bothered because you were finally together, and that was all you deserved in life.

“Tell me you will stay… please”. His beg brushed your lips, still pecking them between syllable and syllable.

“I will…” You replied without hesitating as you could, eager to correspond to every gesture from him. “I will stay with you”.

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[kthynes]

the caller you have reached (chris evans x reader)

pairing: chris evans x fem!reader

summary: chris was trying to drunkenly call the woman he loved and wanted to get back with but instead he reaches you, a shrink.

warning: swearing (sailor level), brief mentions of mental health

**IMPORTANT disclaimer: I won't be dabbling into the hard hitting topics of mental health in this short only because I'm not a certified health professional and so I can't be providing a written, unbiased, often characterized diagnosis towards any sort of mental health disorder because really, those types of sensitivities need proper care and output. With that being said, I do want to emphasize the notions of seeking help and not being afraid to seek help when needed. It's hard, but we all fight a battle and no battle is big or small or better or worse.

If my followers or readers do feel the need to privately chat with me, I'm here and I can you lend you an ear. Otherwise let's be kind and uplift another while we can. No harm in doing good and being better, that's for sure!

-end rant-

This short is dedicated to the following lovelies:

@princess-evans-addict

@mrs-djokovic

@slut-for-chris-evans

@saltyflowermakertaco

@bitchyslut99

@patzammit

@itskikiyooo

@maximeevansblog

Being a working adult is dreadful but the work you do is the most fulfilling kind of anarchy. You are a therapist, you work to heal and you work together with people who willingly reach out to you and your facility of care. There is that balance, the altering nuances in between that allows you to do what you do best. You advocate for good prosperity of mental health and accolade of teachable moments that fosters a safe space for your clients, not patients, but the people who deserve to be heard and not be medically categorized.

Your salubrious passion keeps you grounded. In your lifetime, you've seen the imperial impacts of poor mental health and it has been a detrimental drive in how you retreat and give back to a small found community.

"Okay." You exhale to yourself while leafing through another client chart. You're working off the clock, stuck in the renaissance of your homey office space while the outside world turns pitch black.

In the appropriate fields you jot down important takeaways from your last sit in session with heavy concertation and reasoning, you try to congregate a treatment plan all before you cellphone cries for you in venturous fashion.

"Hello?" You answer without checking the caller ID, tucking the device between your ear and shoulder so that way you could work and talk.

"Jenny!" The man boisterously shouts. "Jenny baby please talk to me! Let me make it up to you, let's just do this right, please. I'm fucked up here."

"I'm sorry but you have the wrong number." You infringe sounding like the posh, automated answering machine lady.

"Oh what the fuck Jenny — oh cah'mon don't do that, don't be like that baby." You re-verify a local number and it doesn't belong to anyone you know of. So you wonder who this man is but choose not to press further instead you tell him what is right from the knowing wrong.

"I'm not Jenny."

"Seriously?" He yells, forcing you to hold the phone away from your ear. "That can't be... This is—" He recites the number that is similar to yours but the last two digits are off.

"You got 42, not 53." It's an easy mistake to recall, a swipe of a drunken thumb could've mixed that up, so this time around, you're forgiving. Not that it happens often.

"Oh no. That's—" The mystery man trails, something about his voice discerns you, it's familiar but in a hindbrain way that you can't put a finger on. "Fuuuuuuuck."

"Wait hold on, hold up, is this Jenny's assistant, Nina?" You exhale sharply sometimes it takes more than one try and a side of convincing to get your point across and your passiveness was certainly to blame.

"No I'm not her assistant either."

"Then who the hell are you?" He exasperates. You make the snide mistake of telling him your name and he buffers for a bit.

"Oh. So you really aren't anyone of my concern then?"

"No." You mildly retort. "I wouldn't want to be anyways."

"Okay well I'm not sorry then because I'm here trying to reach my girlfriend and I can't get to her because I have you on the line being a smartass." With that accent of his you can tell he's a patriotic Bostonian. One of your own kind and that furloughs your need to engage in this mindless drivel, it wouldn't get you or him anywhere. At least that's what you tell yourself before shutting him down.

"Well then maybe you should learn to listen first, how about that?" You snap, dropping your pen before you note down angry nonsense into your actual work.

"Hey nowwww!" He yells as if he's trying to be Hank Kinsley.

"It's clear that you're drunk."

He brushes you off on the other end, enigmatic in what he wants you to know. "This is Chris Evans, you're talking to Chris-motherfucking-Evans, you hear?"

"I do now." You say tersely.

"Good." He huffs. "Good... Cause you know I'm in the middle of bumfuck nowhere and this is what I get. This is what I seemingly deserve, god you women I swear..."

Your face changes. You don't agree to be a lending ear but somehow Chris forces you to hear him out.

"I told her Y/N. I TOLD her that I wasn't ready to take the next step but that doesn't mean that I don't want to be with her. And now she throws it back in my face by getting with some other guy she once dated back in high school. And somehow, I'm supposed to be ok with it and move on, as she tells me. How the hell am I supposed to do that, huh?"

"I, um, I don't know what to tell you." You sigh somberly.

"Of course you don't!" His Boston twang begins to nerve you as there some remitting frequency of it. Hearing him obnoxiously go off, reminds you of all your shrewd New England exes who were his exact counterpart when soused. A ludicrous memory that you relive again with time and perfect harmony.

"Listen lady all I'm saying is that I fucked up. I know I did alright? I mean it doesn't take much denominational math and the plot of Lost in Translation to get that. I get it!"

Jesus. You whisper the lords name in vain as you lean your forehead against the palm of your hand while your elbow rested on top of the desk.

"So, let me get this straight, you think yelling at a random woman will help get further?" You question a little acutely for his liking.

"I don't know but it sure as hell takes off the heat, sweetheart." Something about a man calling you sweetheart grinds your gears and now your molars.

"Okay, alright, let's talk." You begin, sitting up a bit and tearing out a blank page from your memo pad; you were doing a late night consultation, a small hash out.

"Schuwaaaaa." Chris enunciates the word sure and to much of his mayhem, he’s sprawled out on the curbside, somewhere in the nowhere land of L.A. He contented but also upset and you were simply crashing his little pity party.

"What is it that you want from Jenny?" You professionally prod. "How about we start there."

"Wooooah, what is that we're doing here?” Chris gets mildly defensive with you. “I dunno you like that. If we're gonna talk then you'll have to get through my publicist first because right now I plead the fifth.”

You exhale a deep and fulsome breath. No one troubles you like him. It's sanctimoniously unnerving.

"I'm a shrink, my job isn’t meant to incriminate my clients well-being, or anyone else’s for that matter.” You address calmly. “So, if you do require some solicited advice then we can keep this call under strict confidence. You have my word, Mr. Evans and the paperwork that will follow shortly after this call.”

Silence. There is some shocking silence which is brief before you're catapulted with disbelief and more cackles. "Holy mother fucking shit. You're kidding me?"

"I can run you by my credentials if you’d like?” You mention stiffly.

"God I’ve reached a cuckoo hotline!" Wrong. That's a horrible thing to say and you'd think a man like him would've been more sensitive about his choice of words, inebriated or not.

"Far from it."

"Tell me something, alright? How many grown, adult men come crying to you?" Chris is edging with curiosity even though his eyes are betrayingly reddened after crying into a bottle of Dewars 18. He doesn't make that known to you and you never cared to ask.

"Enough to know that they cry." You simply state.

"Huh. So this is just another Tuesday for you then.” Chris scoff, the bottle making it to his lips and then swishing back down again.

"Comes with the territory except I don't tolerate drunkenness." You motely add. "Can you keep the bottle aside for the time being? Just until we're done here."

"That's understandable and oh yeah sure, sure, I won't touch it." You can hear the glass bottle 'clink' when coming into contact with the pavement.

"Now tell me about Jenny." You softly inquire.

"What do you wanna know? How we fuck or how we met?" Chris giggles like a naughty school yard boy.

"How did you two meet?" You slam the words urgently, nearly spelling out the cause.

"Oh! Oh. We met on the job." Chris chuckles punitively.

"Okay and did you guys connect instantly or was there a slow build up?" You involuntarily took notes for any PR rep of his that wanted solid evidence that would preside this call, cover your bases and your poor ass along with it.

"Instantly. Our chemistry read was off the charts." He explains with a slight hiccup. "Sorry."

"Great. So it was more so a work relationship that later grew into something more correct?"

"Pretty much."

"So when did you start developing feelings for her?"

"Um I'd say..." Chris tucks his chin, burps and then excuses himself before continuing. "Just before we wrapped up filming. But then I think somewhere in between all that I realized that she was my kind of girl, my... better half."

"And what made you come to that realization?"

"Well for one she has this infectious laugh that would have you laughing with her, there's that sound of beauty and pureness to it. And then with that, there were all the little things she'd do for me that made me think, like damn she's the one, she's it for me and that for better or for worse, I'd need her more than she'd ever need me."

Chris gets sad and you feel for him. Your pen stops moving when you were about to prescribe him some mind memory exercises. He was human. Humans hurt. Humans make mistakes. Humans stray but they also love. That's all Chris did. He loved with all of his heart to not expect the same love in return.

"You know Chris, we don't always get the love we deserve and sometimes its sucks. Sometimes you wanna kick it back with a bottle of Dewars 18 and shake your fists in the air." Chris quietly perks up at your choice of alcohol that you didn't know he was forcefully downing. He fashions a small half smile that you don't see but hear faintly. "But there's also a time and a place and things happen, people come apart, people get together, people do people and there's that fine line of letting life run its uneven course."

"I mean you sometimes have to not be okay to be okay again and I know that from my many years of helpful healing. It gets okay, never fully better and I think that's just how it is. You acknowledge your pain, your trauma and then you go on while being mindful of that transition."

"Wow."

"Hey, um, look, I actually have to get going. But if you can, just down the rest of that bottle and get yourself home."

"Are you sure?" Chris gawks.

"I mean you were already halfway through and it's not like I can physically stop you, right? And besides this is what I'm prescribing to you. I want you to acknowledge your pain, drink away your sorrows and then smash that bottle so you can be relieved from that trauma and hurt. After that you need to fix up and start new, have a mature conversation with her, if you can and then have your feet hitting the ground again. Don't fall into the routine of heartbreak even if it becomes too hard, you hear me?"

"Loud and clear."

"Good." You sniff and start to put things away. "I know you're a good guy Chris, from how you are on TV and in interviews, I'm amazed by how articulate you are. You have the right mindset so I have no doubts that you'll fall back in any way. But if you do, please don't hesitate to reach out, I might have to hand you off to another cohort but nonetheless it can be worked out even if it does feel like you might be sparring on your own. You'll get the help you need."

"Great, thanks." Chris responds in his conscious state of thought. He feels pathetic with himself and that doesn't have you galling over the fact, instead you let him be.

"Do you need me to order you an Uber? Cab? Call a friend for ya?" You laugh easily and Chris hears it clearly, smiling in return.

"An Uber would be nice. I'll try to share you my location."

"Sure, on me and that'd be great."

"Thanks."

"No problem... And your ride should be here in two minutes, just look out for Raul in black Elantra." You inform him after checking your phone.

"Nice."

"You have a goodnight now Chris."

"You too." The line cuts and you're given a piece of your life back. You gather your belongings, flip off the light switch and make your way home. There's some truth and some brokenness in every situation. You knew Chris was going to be OK even if he didn't consult you afterwards. For you, there was no need. He's a smart man and he proves this over a prolonged period of time when he finally finds himself back on the market and then eventually in a relationship with a faceless and very loving woman from his own hometown.

He was finally happy, making you serendipitously glad that you were the caller he had reached.

[icequeenbae]

Daddy’s Struggles (m) | BBH

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Dad!Baek, domestic au, established relationship (duh), a slice of life, fluff, a lil smutty(!)

Warnings: some friskiness between mom and dad if you know what I mean, mentions of teenagers watching porn (I’m not promoting it, you guys lol), also this gets fluffin’ sweet get a bucket in advance

Word Count: ~2.2k

Summary: Baekhyun overhears your teenage daughter watching porn. You have to handle a small crisis.

Event: the BBH day @supermwritersnet​

© Please do not copy/ post on other platforms without permission.

Author’s Note: This… came out of nowhere:D I blame my dear beta @baekshoney​​ – we'd once discussed the idea of Baek being a teenager’s parent (in relation to a different story). Don’t we all love dilf Baek though? lol Anyways, this is a tiny glimpse into his future as a cute af father and husband <3 Let’s name him puppydad!Baek 😊 I hope this lifts your mood a little on a day like this!

On that note – happy birthday to our genius idol (aka mochi-cheeked hyperactive puppy), I wish that he stays healthy and happy and on the radar throughout the next 2 years (and forever)!! Don’t be too sad, guys, he’s hopefully going to finally lead a somewhat normal life for a bit 💞 Ok, I’ll let you get to it already~

A yawn.

You rubbed your tired eyes and dictated a reminder for tomorrow morning to your AI assistant. It was pretty late and you had your hands full all day with your kids. And while family time was always great, there hadn’t been a spare moment for you to tend to your own business. But two decades of dealing with your hyperactive yet loveable children (and husband) taught you to make the most out of what you got. So you were doing just that, organizing your errands and sorting important emails after everyone had scurried off to their rooms, and your husband — to the shower.

Baekhyun was quite exhausted himself, so you realized he must’ve gotten in the common bathroom by the time you exited the one in your bedroom. He did that sometimes when you locked the door out of habit. Not that he couldn’t come in, it was just… You used to scold him pretty badly for breaking into the bathroom. Picking locks wasn’t something you wanted your juniors to acquire as a habit. They had enough of their daddy’s traits as it was.

The thought made you chuckle. Your eldest son had already outgrown his father by at least five and a half – gotta be precise here! – centimeters (which made daddy very proud, but also a teeny tiny bit jealous). Despite his height, which, you were sure, was going to break the golden 180cm in the next few months, your boy’s build was exactly the same as Baekhyun’s. His shoulders were broad, his hips wide, and his waist was naturally narrow. Legs long and lean, and eyes always mischievous. He was eighteen and already seemed more like Baekhyun’s best friend rather than his child. Being both the hyung and the oppa of the household, he was the most mature out of the bunch, and always a big help to his parents.

Your middle child, your precious daughter, resembled you a lot. Her wavy hair and her big eyes with the longest eyelashes either of you’d ever witnessed. Seriously, that was the first thing Baekhyun’s friends had commented on when they came by to meet your new baby. ‘Is this even normal? Can she see through those? That’s one pretty baby!’ She was even prettier now, at her sweet sixteen, cheeks still a bit chubby, which – just as her button nose – were definitely an homage to her dad. Not to mention her hands that were even more delicate and exquisite than his.

The youngest, your six-year-old son, was a blessing. You weren’t planning to have more children after the first two until you suddenly thought… why not? Cannot say that you weren’t a little bit under the influence at the time. It was one of those rare weekends when your kids had a sleepover at their grandparents’, so you had the whole house to yourself. Deciding to have a domestic date and enjoy shameless daytime drinking, you indulged in a whole glass of wine before both of you were tipsy and giggling, then you added one more to the mix. At that point, all kinds of crazy things were brought up.

‘We should do this more often…’ You informed your partner. ‘This is exciting! We can walk around naked the way we used to before we had teenagers in the house!’

‘I miss our naked Saturdays…’ Baekhyun whined, almost spilling his wine while trying to sip it gracefully. ‘Now I barely even see you naked with your shower locking obsession!’

Pursing your lips, you dismissed his complaint.

‘After that incident… You cannot blame me for my caution.’

The incident was, well, your son needing to use the bathroom while his sister was taking too long and heading to the one in your bedroom. He nearly walked in on… an adult scene.

‘He didn’t even see anything, Y/N-ah,’ your husband grumbled, but you waved him off, downing your drink as if it was a shot of tequila rather than a glass of wine.

‘I don’t see a problem though,’ he blinked at you, not following. ‘We’re alone. Why not… See each other naked again?’

‘Right. We can also- Y/N-ah!’

‘What?’ You eyed his suddenly enthusiastic form with nothing but suspicion.

‘We can create a distraction!’

‘Hm?’

‘A distraction for them. So that they’d be busy with something else while we’re away.’

‘Hmm?’ You still couldn’t locate the source of his excitement.

‘Lemme show you,’ he slurred, tugging on your wrist to get you up and dragging you to the bedroom.

Let’s have another baby – that was his brilliant idea. Had you both not been such poor drinkers, one of you would’ve thought this through.

Nevertheless, you were glad that you didn’t. Because your little angel, who could sometimes be more of a tiny demon, to be frank, was the single sweetest thing to ever exist on planet Earth. He had his entire family wrapped around his little finger, and you – most of all. How could anyone blame you? That troublemaker was the spitting image of his dad and had a personality to match — just as playful and affectionate.

The chill spring breeze from the window licked at the bare skin of your arm, causing you to shiver slightly, coming back from the land of reminiscing. You stretched on the bed, noticing how protruding your nipples became from the cold even while hidden by the gentle fabric of your nightgown. Pulling the covers up, you grunted under your breath, wondering what was taking Baekhyun so long.

Just as you did, the door cracked open, and your husband sauntered into the room.

‘Ah finally, I thought I needed to go rescue you again,’ you chuckled.

That had happened before. He once used the common bathroom to shower before bed and ended up captured by your daughter, who was around six or seven at the time, in the hallway. She then demanded cuddles, knowing that her father was too weak to turn his precious girl down and send her back to bed. You found them both huddled up asleep on the couch, with your husband’s head tilted dangerously to the side. Terrible sleeping postures always had consequences, so you spared him the agony of the next morning, waking him up mercifully and helping to get your little girl to her bed. This was only one of many occasions – Baekhyun was a softie.

This time, however, he was a bit stupefied.

He didn’t react to your remark and seemed like he was going on autopilot when he came closer and sat on the bed.

You lifted the covers, inviting him to join you, and he followed your lead, still staring at the wall across the room.

‘Yeobo,’ you called, getting slightly alarmed. ‘Are you okay?’

He blinked, the stupor breaking, and looked at you with astounded eyes.

‘I- I think,’ he began, making you shift to face him properly. ‘I think I just overheard our daughter watching porn!’

His voice lowered to a whisper by the end of that sentence.

‘Oh my god,’ you whispered back. ‘How do you figure?’

‘I was walking down the hallway, and I thought I heard something from her room. I didn’t fully register what it was, but now that it processed… It was definitely porn!’

The signs of distress on his face almost caused you to break down in a fit of laughter. You held it in with all you got. Fathers and daughters, the eternal struggle.

‘First of all, ew. Aren’t you even a little bit ashamed to be eavesdropping on your kids like that?’ You didn’t let him protest. ‘Also, how do you even know it was porn, you know she sometimes mumbles and whimpers in her sleep. Like someone else we know…’

Giving him a pointed look, you leaned over his chest to turn the lights to the lowest mode, leaving the room dimly lit. It was always effective when you wanted to help him relax.

‘I wasn’t ea- And you think I can’t tell what porn sounds like? There are some generic… sounds. That give it away.’

‘When was the last time you watched it?’ You murmured, eyeing him curiously.

Of all people, you knew best how short his attention span was. Sometimes it could work to your advantage. Like right now, when you needed to de-escalate this before you could reason with him.

‘I- wh- I don’t know, probably when you were pregnant,’ he recalled. ‘The third one was somehow the toughest on me. You looked way too attractive for a heavily pregnant lady, let me tell you.’

‘Heavily pregnant??’ You scoffed, softening right after. ‘Well, you have a point, he was pretty huge. I swear, if he doesn’t grow up to be taller than Chanyeol, I’d be offended. That boy’s giant head prolonged my healing by at least a month.’

Baekhyun sighed and looked up at the ceiling, thinking back to that time.

‘He was the only one who caused you to tear, right?’

‘Yeah. Which is weird, considering that he was my third one. Ah well, I guess I’m not getting any younger…’

‘Aren’t you though? I’m constantly being asked about my pretty young wife,’ Baekhyun smiled at you charmingly. ‘And you only became prettier after the third pregnancy. I say it’s the hormones.’

Your cunning little plan was working. He was incredibly easy to distract.

‘Tell me the truth, was it the boobs? Or my butt? I did gain the most weight with the little daredevil, that’s for sure.’

‘It was all of you. You always looked so sexy when pregnant, I just wanted to have you all to myself,’ he cooed at you. ‘To feed you handpicked strawberries. And smother you with kisses. My beautiful young wife.’

At some point during this conversation, you shuffled closer to each other, now cuddled up snugly on the bed. Your finger slowly traced abstract patterns on his chest, happily exploiting the access to his skin where his pajama shirt was unbuttoned.

‘Ah, you’re just saying that to get under my nightgown,’ you batted your eyelashes at him, and he shook his head.

‘Maybe a little, but that’s true. And it’s not surprising that people are noticing – you are younger than me.’

‘A couple of years is nothing at our age,’ you murmured, bending your knee and moving your leg slightly up his to get cozy.

‘Well, you know what people say… Small kids make parents younger. Wanna have another one?’ He nudged you gently and laughed at the dirty look you gave him.

‘Yeobo- please don’t make jokes like this. I’d rather look for other elixirs of youth than go through that entire ordeal again.’

You knew that he was kidding, but the thought made you shiver.

‘I know, honey, I know. Like I said, you’re not in need of any elixirs.’

At this you relaxed, melting into his shoulder, and guiding his arm to wrap around you, warming your exposed shoulders.

‘Well, Mr Byun, same to you. Still as charming as two decades ago.’

‘Hey, I’d like to think that I’m more charming now. The experience and all.’

‘Who helped you gain all that experience though?’ You poked him lightly, and a low chesty laugh escaped his lips.

‘Of course, it was my one and only, my young, and beautiful, and smart and sexy little wife,’ he punctuated each compliment with a chaste kiss to your cheeks, nose, lips, and neck.

You squirmed in his arms.

‘Ah, you make a woman go mad,’ you purred into his lips mockingly.

He snickered softly, ready to lean in, but then stopped abruptly.

‘Wait a second- What about-’

‘Baekhyun…’ You murmured as he fussed on the bed.

‘I should probably go in there, and-’

‘And what? Embarrass your daughter?’ You held him down. ‘She’s sixteen, honey, it’s just the hormones. We’ve both been there. Let her be.’ You nuzzled his neck, pressing your lips to his sensitive skin lazily.

His mind was growing cloudy again since your hand was now caressing his inner thigh foxily. He’d probably realized what you were doing by now, but you were right, so he allowed you to sway him into giving the idea of an immediate intervention up.

‘Besides, I’m sure you wouldn’t be nearly as appalled if that was our eldest,’ you scoffed and added in an exaggerated tone. ‘Never took you for a sexist.’

‘But- he’s eighteen, and she- she’s my little girl…’ He mumbled in a small voice, hazed further by your not-so-subtle seduction. ‘I can’t let her- watch that-’

‘Don’t worry, yeobo,’ you whispered soothingly in his ear, slipping your hand into his loose pants. ‘I’ll talk to her tomorrow. Without you. No need to traumatize the poor girl, that’s how daddy issues develop.’

‘You should know,’ he bit back meekly, sighing when you finally wrapped your fingers around his semi-hard length.

‘The sass! It’s almost like you still got it, Mr Byun. Care to impress that young wife of yours?’

‘I sure will, you cunning woman,’ he growled playfully, completely giving in to it and attacking your laughing mouth as he lifted the covers over your head.

A/N: Thank you for reading! As usual, feel free to share your thoughts in the comments/ asks, and if you’re new – check out my Masterlist ^^

[sorcererinthestars]

You’ve Got a Fast Car...

I’m back, bitches~~ But seriously, felt great to write again for the @rtwritingcommunity​‘s secret sunshine event! I will tag my recipient if/when I get their a-ok!

Summary: (FAHC) Michael doesn't expect a man to throw himself in front of his car and beg him to stop. This is Los Santos. Picking up hitchhikers is generally frowned upon. But this man has a pretty face and hell - he's got a fast car. What's he got to lose?

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32969470

-

Michael knew something was seriously wrong when a man throws himself out in front of his car.

Now, his car was nothing nice, but he still doesn't want to spend the next few hours getting some fucking asshole's blood off of his front bumper. So naturally he slams on the brakes as the man - a skinny, dirty thing with wild hair - does a legitimate fucking slide across the hood of his shit Honda Civic and nearly collapses on the other side. "Oi!"

"Get out of the damn road, idiot!" Michael yells out the window in a reply, flicking him off to boot. It was late, almost 2am at this point, and he really had anything better to do than scream at some (probably high) dickbag who decided to do calisthenics in the goddamn street. But the man doesn't run away ashamed, as Michael had expected. Instead, he frantically pokes at his phone - still in the middle of the street - and Michael sits there, a bit flabbergasted.

He doesn't move.

He still doesn't move when Michael lays his entire weight on the horn, sending a blast of sound into the Los Santos night. It's not as loud or annoying as he may have wanted - LS is always loud as fuck on a Saturday evening - but it does have the intended effect of nearly making the idiot in front of his car in the middle of the street jump half out of his skin.

"SHHH!" the man gasps, comically putting his finger over his lip like he was in a cartoon and making an over-exaggerated shushing motion. Michael has to blink. He's shushing him? While standing in front of his car? Before he can say anything or shake off the disbelief that this shit had to happen to him tonight - he had to get home and clean off before his next shift at the pizza place he had reluctantly taken a job at - the man (still crazy-eyed and wild-haired) runs up to his window. At this moment, Michael really wishes he had invested in a knife, or a Tazer, or something. People had warned him about LS, but he didn't listen. He should probably learn to do that, someday.

"Listen, man," the guy says (see?) and leans forward, a massive grin on his face. He has some pretty high cheekbones. Michael blinks. "Dude, can you please just move or I'm gonna run you the fuck down."

"No, no, no, listen," the man says again, waving his hands about. "Do me a favor, will ya? If you drive me to this address -" he holds his phone up and shows an address on the outskirts of the city - "I'll give you $1,000. Right here, right now, no questions." Michael blinks and then snorts. Yeah fucking right. "I'm not an Uber."

The man shifts on both his feet, looking agitated, and glances over his shoulder. There sounds like there's some sort of commotion coming down the street and he really has to move. So Michael leans on the horn again, blasting another honk into the LS skyline.

This has the unintended effect of making the man lean further over the hood of his car, as if he could hide. Remember. This was in the middle of the goddamn street.

"Dude!"

"I'm not kidding!" the wild-eyed man says frantically. "$1500. Deposited directly into your account. I'm serious, kill me and my crew if I lie."

That was no turn of phrase Michael had ever heard, but the money does make him pause. He's... short on funds right now. Well, he's always short on funds, but this time moreso than usual. $1,500 extra would be a huge boost to the amount he currently has in the bank. He'd pay rent. He wouldn't have to borrow any more from anyone else and avoid that loan shark fucker he found online.

Before he could really think about what he was saying, he finds himself tapping the passenger seat. "Fine. Get in. I swear to god, I better see that money."

And if he dies... well. Then he still wouldn't have to worry about rent, so win-win in his mind.

With a triumphant holler, the man leaps into the car and yanks up a GPS on his phone, pointing them to drive down the street. "Thanks man! I'm Gavin." -

They're not going more than five minutes when sirens start blaring behind them. The man tenses and looks backwards out the window with a frown. "Oh shit."

Michael immediately - immediately - realizes just how much he fucked up. "What do you mean, oh shit?"

"I - uh..." The unhinged man - Gavin - stutters. "Did... Did I mention that uh... the LSPD may want to arrest me?"

"May want to what?!" Michael's voice climbs so many octaves in that last word that it makes Gavin slump down in his seat, suitably chagrined. "I ... seriously, man, I - I needed a car, a way out, I promise I'll give you the money, just please for the love of god, drive the damn car."

"Pull Over," the cop car unhelpfully calls from behind them, making Michael's bowels turn to water. Gavin's even more frantically slamming keys on his phone as they approach a major intersection. Michael keeps looking behind him, unable to slow down as the cops continue to chase them. "Gavin, seriously..."

"You're with me now, man," he replies a bit frantically. "You're in it. So either we avoid them, or you're going to jail too. Sorry."

The words fall like bricks on Michael's shoulders as he realizes that what Gavin just said was true. No cop in their right mind would believe that he - a man with a few blotches on his permanent record already - would have just accepted to pick up a hitchhiker and drive him across town at 2am for $1,500 without assuming he was a criminal. No. Any sane cop would assume he was in on it.

Because the alternative was that he was a fucking lunatic, but here we are.

Gritting his teeth, a conscious shift happens somewhere in his gut. He's a survivor. He'd get the fuck out of this, one way or the other. So, without Gavin's input and in a split second decision, he takes a sharp left and rips around the corner, sending Gavin flying against the door with a shout of surprise. "HEY!"

"Gotta avoid the cops, don't we?" Michael says with a maniacal burst of laughter, the insanity that can only be best described as hysteria. "You're the navigator, idiot, get us to where we need to be!"

The nervousness - which had appeared on Gavin's face after Michael had blown up at him - evaporated as Gavin bursts into a big smile. "Hell yeah," he hums. "Let's do this."

-

After fifteen minutes, Michael had lost all his nerves. Instead, he felt like an overinflated balloon, filled with a giddy sort of lunacy that he had never felt before as they flew down abandoned Los Santos streets. He shrieked with laughter as they slipped down the runway illuminated by neon lights and flashing red and blues, which whipped around them like a rave of their own design.

The freedom was intoxicating. Michael had taken drugs before back in New Jersey, who hadn't(?), but this was a whole different sort of high. And as soon as Gavin realized that Michael was in it with him, he had turned into an erratic demon of death, urging Michael onward with the same fire that was reflected in Michael's soul.

They flew down the streets like hedonists, shrieking with laughter and happiness as Gavin shoves his head out the sunroof to flick off the cops and shout insults.

When the first gunshot cracks through the night, Michael is sobered only for a moment. In for a penny, in for a pound. He's already here, dodging the cops, so this shit may as well happen. It's like he's in a godforsaken video game but he's not. This is real life, this is his life, and maybe he's ruining it. Maybe. But what had he not ruined in his life already? For a few moments, he could feel like he was disconnected from reality, driving so fast he could swear he could fly, a - undeniably pretty - man urging him to new, foolish lengths from the seat next to them.

And so they flew. As they approached intersections and traffic lights, Michael could see - more like sense - Gavin's own particular talents. He admits he has no abilities behind the wheel, hence begging Michael to help him, but he's able to make every traffic light change from here to the safehouse, giggling like a school kid all the while, knowing he was being naughty but that just sends them into a more frenzied set of hysterics.

It tastes like the best drug, the most collective high, the freedom that comes from knowing you're one step away from death or worse but that dangle is intoxicating. Maybe ten minutes ago he hated what was happening, but all that was gone now.

It's just the car, him, and Gavin's frantic - musical - laugh.

-

Eventually - with Gavin's GPS and eventually warm hand over his - they lose the cops. Michael has no sense of time, no concept of how long they were on the roads causing havoc, fleeing and laughing and shrieking like demons.

All he knows is that he's out in the North now and the beginning shards of sun were peeking over the horizon. He's able to slow to a manageable speed and catch his breath.

Gavin's phone rings and the man answers it. Michael can't hear what he's saying past the ringing in his ears, the result of wind whipping past his face and hours of excitement. His face is red when he meets Gavin's eyes. He closes the phone and the excitement shines bright in his eyes.

For a moment, Michael's breath is taken away. Then Gavin just points. "Top of Chilliad. Get me there." His voice is hoarse from yelling, deeper than it was, and it stirs something that Michael can't explain.

"Yes, sir," he hums teasingly. In for a penny, in for a pound, like he had said before. They start the climb up the dirt road. Once or twice, Michael doesn't think his car can make it, but the tenacious Civic crawls forward as if it knows what it had done too and felt on top of the world.

They make it to the top as the sun finally breaks over the horizon completely, blanketing the world in orange and red. When Michael finally - finally- throws the car in park and looks over at him, Gavin's grinning the biggest grin Michael has ever seen.

Before he can do anything, fuelled by adrenaline and fire and the same pure joy on Gavin's face, Michael leans over and kisses him deeply, half dragging him over the stick shift.

They kiss feverishly for a few moments, the adrenaline fading, before breaking apart and chuckling sheepishly. "I - sorry, I ..."

Gavin just winks. It's knowing. "No problem, luv," he purrs. "Does it to you, doesn't it? The chase? Makes the fire in your blood run hot." He leans forward conspiratorially. "Men weren't made to walk on their knees," he hums. "Think about it." He digs in his pocket and drops a card on the passenger seat before climbing out of the door, even as Michael tries to grab his arm and yank him back. "Gav--"

"Later, beautiful," Gavin grins, seemingly more suave and sophisticated than the man he was when he first climbed into the car. Like he was grifting and Michael was his poor, unsuspecting mark. "I'll call you. You're a great driver. Check your account." He salutes and it's then when Michael can hear the thud-thud of roters. A helicopter?

Before he can say anything, climbing frantically out of the car to watch, Gavin grabs a rope ladder hanging off the bottom of a fucking cargobob and is lifted into the air, disappearing quickly out of sight like something out of a fairy tale.

And Michael is left in the remains of the sun-drenched LS morning, with a car almost empty of gas and mysteriously $1,500 richer.

Whatever had happened to him that night in Los Santos, he knows his life will never, ever be the same.

[atlas-of-the-universe]

Home (Sequel to Vision’s Powers)

Estimated Reading Time: 18 minutes

Word Count: 4,912

---

There was actually a lot that could have gone better in the situation you were in. You could have moved your feet a little quicker or maybe steadied your breathing so help your balance; but to your dismay, it proved useless. While Bucky swung unimaginably hard fists at the punching bag a few feet away from you, Natasha took you by surprise once again, knocking you off of your feet and onto the mat with a hardy slap. Your back hit the floor and sent a wave of discomfort through you. You were sweaty, thirsty, and worst of all, you were getting frustrated with the work that you were doing. Once again, you and Natasha had decided to stay late to practice your training. The consistent thwacks to the poor punching bad to the left of you echoed in the room. Bucky was barely breaking a sweat.

When your head hit the mat again, you let out a hardy groan and turned your head upwards to face Natasha. She had a light gleam of sweat around her face, but she still looked stunning. The black t-shirt she was wearing clung to her skin and her grey shorts dangled from her hips. Had it been any other situation, you may have been able to admire how she looked and how effortlessly she landed her punches and attacks. Alas, your line of sight was blurred from your eyelashes catching your sweat. It may have been a signal to stop, but your determination was a force to be reckoned with. You knew that Nat was able to see that, so you also knew she was just pushing as hard as you were willing to go. Even so, a break wouldn’t have killed you.

“Always keep your eyes on your opponent,” Nat stated. “Never look away.” Nat offered you her hand to get up and you took it. As she pulled you off the ground, you grimaced at a new pain in your lower back and groaned standing up. She dusted you off and gave you a once over before nodding. “You okay?”

You nodded and reached around to hold the lower portion of your back. “Yeah, I think I probably pulled something. I’ll be fine, but do you think we can take a but of a break for now? I should probably put some ice on this so I can be better by tomorrow.”

Natasha’s eyes furrowed and she gestured to your back. “Do you want me to take a look?” She asked. She looked concerned.

“If you could, I’d appreciate it,” You said and turned your back to her.

Nat gingerly took ahold of the back of your shirt and lifted it up. It was a little nerve-wracking, feeling her small movements, especially facing away from her. Even so, you had been through the same situation a week prior to this with Vision. Perhaps you were getting more comfortable being the newest Avenger, and the team was finally beginning to see you as an equal. With that thought in mind, you made a note of the fact that Natasha had offered to do this herself; you didn’t even really have to ask. That must show some amount of trust if she’s checking you for injuries. She placed a palm on the small of your back and pushed lightly. It didn’t hurt, but it didn’t feel comfortable. Your breathing hitched and you controlled a sigh.

“Does that hurt?” She asked.

You shook your head and chuckled. “It doesn’t feel great.”

She hummed a bit and placed her hand on your side. It was a shocking feeling at first, and if you were honest, reminded you a little too much of the Vision situation that unfolded last week. She pushed her hand into your side and her fingers curled a bit. Of course you didn’t mean to, but you jumped and let out a surprised noise.

“Sorry,” Natasha said. “Just had to see for myself.”

She must have been talking about your pain, right? You smiled and pulled down your shirt, turning to face her. She had a small smirk on her lips, but she looked more curious than devious. “See my pain?” You joked, trying to feign some sort of innocence in hope that she hadn’t figured out your little weakness. “That’s a bit sadistic of you, Nat.”

You heard Bucky chuckle to the left of you. He never missed a beat with his punches, so you decided to stay about fifteen feet out of range of the wildly swinging punching bag. Nat glanced over at him but redirected her attention to you. “Tony mentioned yesterday at the monthly debrief that you and Vision had worked on an experiment together,” She said. “Remind me to tell Tony that it’s time to include you in those meetings. It’s only fair.”

Your heart dropped. You had known that of anyone, Tony would have been the one to tell. He was just that petty. To be honest, the fear of them finding out had slipped your mind until now. You knew that Vision knew (obviously) and so did Tony, but when you asked Tony not to tell, it would have been hard enough to keep that a secret for him. Tony loved to have his fun at the tower, especially if there wasn’t some world-wide-threatening catastrophe in place. However, with a “weakness” of the sort, you felt as though you couldn’t afford to have the rest of the Avengers know about something as childish as that. Even so, you noticed that Natasha didn’t say anything. There was still a chance that, maybe, by the grace of the Gods, just maybe he hadn’t told them. You made sure not to keep that hope to close to you. It was unlikely.

You chuckled nervously. “Yeah, they needed help,” You said. It was inconspicuous enough.

Nat chuckled and wiped off dust from the sides of your arms before giving you a look-over. Besides your hunched stance because of the discomfort in your back, you looked fine. Sweaty, but fine. “Don’t worry about it too much. Everyone has something that can knock them back a few pegs,” Natasha teased. She winked at you and folded her arms. You felt your heart sink once again. Guess Tony told them after all. “Besides, it’s cute. Actually, if we wanted to use it during your training to help you build up a tolerance to it, we could.”

Of course, Nat was all business and little play. Her and you had a very close bond and you knew that she wasn’t someone to push past a friend’s comfort-zone. You appreciated it but chuckled nonetheless and shook your head. “So, I guess everyone knows at this point?” You asked.

“Yeah,” She said chuckling. “Pretty much.”

Shit.

---

           After your training with Natasha, you decided to go back to your room to hopefully shower and relax. Your arms and legs were sticky with dried sweat, and you felt completely exhausted. As much as you loved working with Nat, you knew that she tended to push you to your limit. It was necessary, but it still left you feeling drained.

You threw your bag of equipment to the side of your bed and collapsed into your sheets. You planned to stay there for a few minutes before going to shower; if you spent any more time on your feet, you were sure that you’d probably end up falling in the shower. That is certainly the last thing you needed now that your secret was out to the rest of the team. Fucking Tony. You groaned at the thought and rolled over to face the ceiling of your room with your arm draped over your eyes. Okay, so they know your secret. Now what? You stumbled through possible reactions and encounters that could take place because of it. You didn’t think they’d kick you off the team because of it, but it was still embarrassing and, to you, felt a little unbecoming of a superhero. Were you considered a super-hero at this point? Were superheroes ticklish? You chuckled at the thought and tried to imagine the big and mighty Thor rolling on the floor laughing with glee. It was a little ridiculous, but it made you giggle.

About an hour had passed since you had gotten to your room. You finally managed to get up and take a shower and resumed your original position of lying on your bed with your phone in your hand. To be honest, you had started to get hungry and remembered that you hadn’t eaten since lunch. Probably not the best course of action. You glanced at the time and grimaced: 8:27. It wouldn’t be too late to have dinner, but Natasha always advised you against eating after 8. It always made training less bearable. However, since your blood sugar was getting low, you stood up from your bed, your muscles still exhausted. It took just about everything in you to open your door and walk to the kitchen.

The last thing you had expected was to see Vision and Wanda in the kitchen together, Wanda cooking in a large saucepan. From where you stood, it looked like she was making some sort of fried rice, and a ton of it too. You took a step into the room and smiled at Wanda, who in turned smiled at you. The kitchen was brimming with the smell of fresh cooked onions and garlic and plumes of pillowy steam wafted up from the food. “Hey, (Y/N),” Wanda spoke. “Can you do me a quick favor and hand me that bowl of peppers?” You nodded, but before you were able to take it, she made a small noise which sounded surprised. “Actually, never mind,” She said. She had a smile on her face and with her powers, the small bowl of chopped green peppers floated towards her and finally spilled over into the sauce pan. “I forget I can do that sometimes.”

You chuckled. “Anything that I can help with?”

Vision at the opposite end of the island in the middle of the kitchen smiled and waved at you, “Hello (Y/N).”

“Hey, Vis,” You responded and waved.

“Listen, I’m sorry about Mr. Stark. I did my best to dissuade him from telling anyone. I didn’t expect him to say anything at our conference. I hope you can forgive me.”

You appreciated Vision’s apology. To be fair, it wasn’t even Vision’s fault, it was Tony’s. That being said, you weren’t mad at Tony either, nor were you at Vision. “Don’t worry about it,” You said, waving off his apology. “What are you guys doing in here? It’s a bit late to be making dinner.”

“We can ask you the same question!” A voice that you immediately recognized as Steve said from the couches in the corner of the room. You glanced over to see Steve, Natasha, Tony, Sam, Peter, and Thor pressed up against the couches, the light of the television screen lighting up all of their faces with a dim blue light that was ever shifting. “We were waiting on you,” Steve said, resting his arm on the back of the couch.

You smiled but became suddenly aware of your presence in the room compared to all of them. You felt meek and a bit shy suddenly. You opted to take a stool at the kitchen island rather than try to find a seat for yourself in the middle of everyone. “I’m surprised that Bucky isn’t here. Is he okay?” You asked, looking to Natasha for an answer. Just an hour ago or so, he had been with you both in the training room, knocking the hell out of those poor punching bags. “Should I go try to find him?”

“Don’t worry about it,” A voice said from behind you while a hand placed itself on your head, messing your hair around. You spun on the stool to see Bucky’s smiling face. “Glad to know that someone missed me,” He said. You felt good for a bit, knowing that you made him feel good. His black leather jacket stretched around his body and creaked with all of his movements. Maybe he had gone out for a drive or to go to the bar; it had become his main place to be since finding his own apartment. He put his hand down and looked at the rest of the group.

You turned away from Bucky to get a look at everyone else. They were all in casual clothing, a sight you normally would not have ever gotten to see. Under usual circumstances, everyone would be dressed in their “super-hero” attire, consisting of flashy colors, hard metal shields and weapons, and especially form fitted so everything went where it needed to and they wouldn’t have to worry about anything but the fighting. Seeing everyone in pajamas, sweats, and t-shirts certainly was not the first thing you expected to see. Even so, it felt homely and welcoming to see everyone relaxed. There were several bright red (courtesy of Tony, of course) leather couches and a dark wood table set in front of the three seater, and a few recliners in the same color sat in a large “U” shape around the flat screen television. You recalled the first day you arrived at the facility:

           You had arrived hand in hand with Natasha who had been giving you a guide around the tower. Your past was not something that you were ready to discuss with anyone, all they had known is that you were found during a series of raids in Russia. Natasha had been assigned to work undercover for a terrorist organization. You were grateful, but to be honest, you weren’t necessarily ready to deal with your past either. Your raggedy clothes had been stripped away and replaced with a clean and ironed out t-shirt that Steve had offered you. You were in no position to say no, especially considering that your clothes were just about ready to fall off. After the tour and getting your first shower in weeks, Natasha had lead you to the room you were in now: the living room. You both sat there for hours, watching Disney movies and bad rom-coms while eating take-out. Natasha had been the first one there for you, and even helped you begin your training. She was the person you trusted the most, and every ounce of you was grateful.

           Currently, Natasha was sat on the left side of the couch furthest from the television, Steve on the right side. On the other couch furthest to the back wall, Peter sat on the ottoman in front of Tony and Sam, while Thor sat comfortable in his own recliner. There were also three more recliners available, but you made a point in your head to save those for Bucky, Vision, and Wanda. But…where would you sit? I mean, you thought, I don’t mind sitting on the floor. The floor was completely clean, of course. It wouldn’t make for that much of an issue. However, scanning over the room again, you noticed a wide gap between Steve and Natasha. Natasha glanced at you and smiled, patting the open space with her hand. She gestured to come over to her with her head, and you gladly did so, making sure to be quiet and polite about sitting down. Honestly, it didn’t seem like anyone was paying much attention to the movie, whatever it was. Everyone was either chatting or on their phone. Maybe they had done this…for you? You had never seen them gather like this, and Steve did mention that they had been waiting on you. Even with that thought in mind, you pushed it off and stared straight at the television. There was a subtle fear in you over making eye contact with the others, so you kept your gaze away from the others faces.

           Peter was too lost in a one-sided conversation with Thor to notice your presence in the room. You watched how his hands flailed when he was excitedly speaking and how he barely ever broke eye contact except to think. It was admirable, especially for someone his age in comparison to everyone around you. He seemed to be speaking about this new experiment that Vision, Tony and him had been working on, but something about it seemed a little too familiar. Something about his words made your ears perk up, until…

           “Yeah!” Peter exclaimed, nodding eagerly. “I thought it would have been painful, it just tickled.”

           You froze and looked at Tony, who was smirking. He shifted his gaze to you and bumped his eyebrows. In reaction, you immediately cast your gaze down to your knees and felt your face heat. You guessed that it had been possible that Tony did need more “test-subjects” rather than just yourself…but did he need to be so obvious about it?

           “Oh, uh, that reminds me,” Tony said. Peter instantly hushed. “(Y/N), you worked on the experiment with us. Did you enjoy it?”

           The fact that no one paid any attention to Peter’s indirect admission into being ticklish made you a little bit more comfortable, but it was still embarrassing. Your eyes darted to everyone in the room as they looked at you with soft smiles. You nodded and let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah,” you said. “It really wasn’t painful. Ah, pretty much just what Peter said.”

           “Oh?” Tony said, jerking his head up. “Did it feel weird or anything?” Tony shook his head with each word he spoke with pursed lips.

           You knew exactly what he was trying to do. You went through the list of scenarios that were in your head, mostly possible outcomes of different responses, but some were images of you being scorned, excluded, or mocked because of this little weakness of yours. You cleared your throat and nodded with a nervous laugh. “Yeah, same as Peter, really,” you said. Tony looked at your to further elaborate on your answer. “Just tickled.”

           Next to Tony, Sam let out a rather loud groan and threw his head back onto the back of the couch. A pit immediately grew in your stomach; these were the kinds of reactions that you had been hoping to avoid. “Tony, leave the kid alone. She doesn’t need you being a creep on top of everything else.”

           Tony put his hand to his chest in mock surprise. “Me?” He asked overzealously. “Come on, this place could use a little excitement.”

           “She’s had enough excitement to last her a lifetime,” Natasha chimed in from next to you. You smiled at her, but she stared directly at Tony. “Plus, her skills in combat are getting impressive. I imagine she’d be able to take you on.”

           Once again, the pit in your stomach grew and your heart rate spiked. There was no rhyme or reason why you would want to take on any one of these people in a fight. Natasha was the only person you had sparred with in the past few days, and thus, the only person you felt comfortable even beating in a fight. Your mouth spoke before your head was able to catch up, simply because of the panic. “No, no,” You said, your hands up in defense. “I don’t think I-”

           “Sure you can!” Thor chimed in with a grin from his recliner (that he looked way too large for). “We’ve trained and battled warriors even smaller than you across the nine realms. Some of them put up a very good fight.” It was supposed to be a compliment, so you smiled at him in thanks.

           “What do you think, (Y/N)?” Steve asked. You looked over to Bucky and watched his eyes dart between you, Steve, and Natasha. It was normal for Bucky, Steve, Nat and you to have lengthy conversations in the training room but truth be told, you had never participated in a larger group discussion with them. The feeling in the room felt devious, but you kept your cool and did you best to steel your face the way that Natasha had taught you. “Think you’d be able to take us in a fight?”

           You smiled and gathered up the courage to be apart of the conversation, rather than the shy feelings that you displayed. “I think I’d rather fight next to you guys than against you.”

           “Good answer,” Bucky said with a smile and patted your shoulder.

           “Kiss ass,” Tony remarked. You chuckled but decided to ultimately ignore it.

           Once the energy of the room had died down, you returned your gaze to see exactly what movie had been put on for you. Maybe if you had had time in the last few years to sit down and watch television, even just the commercials, you would have had an idea of what it could be. A large gymnasium filled to the brim with teenage girls was on screen, the camera focusing on a particular one who seemed nervous to be there. There wasn’t much point in asking what you were watching; no one was really paying much attention anyways. Peter went back to excitedly explaining his latest science project and how a test that he had coupling the project was coming up in a few days. He was confident, but a little on edge. He mentioned how studying would probably help him---

           Your thoughts were cut off by a quick jab to both of your ribs, and your body flung backwards into the couch to guard yourself. A little giggle escaped your lips and your elbows flew to your sides. You looked behind you to see Bucky with a rather devious smirk as he leaned onto the headrest of the couch. You didn’t even notice him stand up, let alone get behind you.

           “Had to test the waters,” he said, his smile not leaving his face. “Oops.”

           “Lot worse than we thought, huh?” Steve said and smiled at you. You looked up at Bucky who was hovering directly over your face, barely even a foot away. Your stomach fluttered with nerves and you turned away to make sure he wouldn’t be able to see the blush on your cheeks. Before you could utter out a response to this not-so-sudden attack, you felt fingers on your side give a light squeeze. You squeaked, pushed further into the couch, and fell into a short burst of giggling before opening your eyes to see Steve’s hand inches from your torso. “Guess so!” He exclaimed, laughing.

           There wasn’t really much time to be able to compose yourself between Bucky’s little attach and Steve’s. Soft giggles already flowed from your lips and your eyebrows furrowed up into a worried look. Your body smushed itself into the couch as far as you could possibly go and pinned your arms to your sides to prevent anymore attacks. With your hands in front of you, you attempted to steady your giggles, however, your words were interlaced with the subtle shake of mirth. “Wait, wait, wait, this isn’t a great idea—”

           Peter turned to face you from his ottoman and laughed, giving your knee a squeeze which didn’t do anything to help your cause. If anything, it just made you jolt and your giggles get louder. He smiled at you with raised eyebrows. “I’m just glad I’m not on the receiving end of this,” He stated.

           “Don’t get your hopes up, boy genius,” Tony said, standing up from his seat. “Just because we have a new victim doesn’t mean you don’t exist anymore.”

           Peters face flushed but he chuckled. “Trust me,” he said. “I’m grateful.”

           Between your nerves from having three people tickle you, it took you a second to register what Peter had just conversed about. Had something like this happened before? To be fair, it was easier to imagine Peter getting tickle-attacked here than anyone else. After all, he was still a bit childish. Granted, so were you so… that didn’t necessarily leave you in a good spot.

It was interesting though; when you had first heard of the Avengers, you saw them on television when you were younger. Watching them fight side by side against the Chitauri was inspiring, but this was years later. Of course, you never would have guessed that you would have been part of the team yourself. Let alone, you never would have guessed that the Avengers were actually quite playful.

The confusion slipped your mind as Bucky fluttered his fingers on the side of your neck, which automatically renewed your giggles. You scrunched up your shoulders and grabbed at his wrists, which ultimately did nothing. It was also a very strange sort of tickle, considering that one hand, or arm rather, was completely made of metal. He had cold (literally) and calculated movements, and his fingers fluttered up to the back of your ears. You squealed and held your hands up to your ears in a less than desperate attempt to stop the attack. Had it been another situation, a noise coming like that from an Avenger would have been embarrassing, but your mind was too busy focusing on the feeling.

“Bucky!” You shouted, dissolving further into your laughter, and sinking further in the couch.

Not slow enough for your mind to register what was happening, a new squeezing tickle sparked to life on your left side and you hunched over. You let out a small involuntary scream and hunched your body towards the left. You realized that Steve had taken it upon himself to help Bucky out, and really, you shouldn’t be surprised. The zapping sort of feeling in your sides and the light fluttering on your neck were almost too much to bear, and your laughter hitched. You debated on taking your hands away from your ears and neck, but that would only help Bucky. However, if you didn’t, then that would just give Steve more of an opening. Instead, your body took control, and slid down even further until your head was placed a few inches on Steve’s lap. You curled in on yourself as Steve moved his hand to your right side, which was now exposed. Bucky’s fingers switched to what he could get at in your position, which happened to be your ribs. You rolled onto your back in a feeble attempt to stop their fingers, but it only made them switch to your stomach. Once again, your laughter hitched. Deep belly laughs mixed with squeals echoed over the sound of the television. There were few thoughts bouncing around your head as you were tickled to pieces. Don’t kick Nat. Can everyone hear the movie over me? PLEASE don’t kick Nat. How long have they been going? How long are they planning this? Was anyone paying attention anymore? Guard yourself. If this was an enemy, you’d be screwed. Oh god, please don’t let Natasha use this in training. This is embarrassing. Who’s that laughing? Why is this…kind of fun?

“Guys, PLEHEHEASE!” You begged. You could hear a few scattered chuckles over your own laughter, but it was hard to focus on who they were coming from.

“Alright, alright,” Steve said, stopping his movements and resting his palm on your forehead. Bucky stopped as well. “I think she’s had enough for one day.”

You were grateful for the air that flooded its way into your lungs. You were panting, but scattered giggles escaped from your lips. To be honest, you didn’t care much about the fact that your head was resting on one of the founding members of the Avengers. If anything, he was the one who decided to tickle you, so he had to deal with the consequences that came with it. When you opened your eyes, the team around you were in giggle fits themselves. Bucky was still peering over at you from behind the couch, his arms hoisting him up on the back rest. He had a wide smile on his face. Scattered conversations here and there let you know that most of the attention was off of you at this point, which you were kind of grateful for. You pushed yourself off of Steve’s lap and playfully pushed Bucky’s head out of the way so you could sit up. He laughed and ruffled your hair, before finding his own recliner and sitting down. Steve let out a laugh and looked you up and down.

“You look like you just got out of training,” he said.

Grateful for the playfulness of his tone, you laughed at what he said. “I feel like it too.”

Next to you, Natasha poked you in the ribs. Your defenses automatically went up again before she placed her hand on your shoulder. It was her way of telling you that you could relax now. At least, that’s what she did during training. “Welcome to the real Avengers.”

“Real?” Sam said from his seat. “If I remember correctly, we’ve saved the world too many times to count. That’s real.”

“Lighten up, hotshot,” Tony spoke. “We can still be the Avengers without having a stick in our ass. Maybe you need the America dream team over there to teach you how to do that too.”

“You touch me and I’ll kill you,” Sam said with a smile on his face.

Maybe you were wrong. Maybe this place was a lot more familial than you thought. And maybe, just maybe, you could find this place becoming a permanent home for you.

[insufferablelust]

mgg request: snuggling on the couch and getting bored. so u start playing with fingers, and then u just decide to suck them. u feel him slowly start to grow hard, so u suck harder and grind into him. next thing u know u are straddling his thigh. he makes u get off on his thigh a few times before he will let u ride him. once u start riding him he switches the hand from ur mouth to ur clit, thinking youre done sucking his fingers. however u grab his other hand and start sucking. im a WHORE (SORRY)

what do you do when one of your fav person in the whole world send a blurb idea? you give them your all of course, seriously i went into town for this one and i hope you like it love! shsjsk as always thank you for requesting and being my fellow mgg whore! enjoy!

WARNINGS : um.. SMUT! filthy detailed smut, its literally pwp, oral fixations, daddy kink, name callings (degradation), condescension, orgasm control, over stimulation, thigh riding, Dom!Mgg x Sub!Reader, mention of wedding, slight breeding kink, mention of exhibitionism, just whole lotta filth y’all no joke, mgg got me feel some type of ways by that i mean constantly whoreknee.

MASTERLIST OF ALL MY WORK.

It was a particularly sunny day, right from the moment you woke up this morning, you could feel how terribly hot it was but you quickly diverted your thoughts as soon as your eyes landed on the sleeping figure next to you, and you instantly felt the need to grip your pillow tighter, biting your lip at the sight.

Quarantine days is both a blessing and a curse for you and Matthew, the amount of time you get to spend together pleased you both to no end, the endless talk about certain things, the late night food deliveries, cooking together, even making stuffed animals together which is one of your favorite things to do with him because you love them cuties so much. But what’s so great about quarantine is of course the sex, the endless amount of sex all over the house, You’ve done it in the shower, bedroom, kitchen counter, dining table, on your living room, even the car multiple times after grocery runs— time doesn’t really matter either, it could be at night, mornings, afternoons, even god damn 3 am. If Matthew is up for it then i’m up for it, the same goes for Matthew too, if You’re up for it then he’s there in an instant. So lets just say that you’ve been needy all the time.

There he was, laying down on our bed, with only a flimsy boxer that barely covers half of his thighs— the sweat glisten across his chest and you can see the purplish marks you’ve managed to gave them last night are still prominent, the longer you’re looking at him, the more you want to wake him up and just fuck like rabbits all day.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Matthew chuckled as he opened his eyes to meet yours, licking his lips and press his palm on top of your cheeks . “Good morning too creepy stalker, how long have you been awake?” he said as he caressed your skin gently, you can feel his thumb pressing over your soft skin.

Before you were about to answer, your eyes catches a glimpse of his long fingers— now Y/n has always been fascinated with his fingers, there’s just something about it that gets her going, the memories of what it can do always floods her thoughts, like that one time where he fingered her in the middle of his annual family dinner, or that one time he had to make sure you were stayed quiet where he fucks you on a trailer with his cast mates all around, or the random times when he choke you, or stuff his fingers down your throat, or curled them up inside your cunt, everything about that man— your man is perfect down to the last detail.

“Someone’s thinking about something hm? care to share baby?” He keeps his thumb on the edge of your lips knowing damn well that if it inch closer upwards, you’ll surely suckle on the digits— and he won’t have that, not yet.

“definitely not thinking about you old man...” now that, that pushes his buttons like nothing else, your age gap is something very.. peculiar about you two, not far enough that its illegal but far enough for people to raise an eyebrow when they found out— not that you care about stereotypes, neither does he, you both love each other and you’re not breaking any law that’s enough. It even fuels up your relationship, makes everything much hotter, when it feels slightly wrong in the eyes of others.

“ah.. so if i push my fingers down your pretty little cunt, i won’t find you soaked through for me?” she clenched her walls around nothing at that, feeling her wetness dampening the small panties she’s wearing— god she wants him right now but its so good to push his buttons like this. So you rolled your eyes at him, sticking your tongue out before getting up and went to the shower.

You expected him to come chase you, but to your half disappointment half excitement— he went downstairs, sitting on the couch, and enjoying his morning tea. You knew what that meant, he’s mad, mad and turned on. Perfect. After you finished showering, you went downstairs to where he’s at, dressed in one of his oversize thin sheer t-shirt with no panties or bra underneath.

You instantly straddle his hips as you sat down on his lap— directly on the bulge in his boxers before you purr in Matthew’s ear “I’m sorry daddy, i didn’t mean to be such a tease, i just! want you!” you whined, tone bratty as you huff and pout your lips.

God Matthew is a patient man, but when it comes to you looking fuckable and needing to be taught a lesson like this, he has no fucking choice but to give you one.

“You knew better than to push me like that, little girl. Such a mindless baby.” he scoffed, his tone sending warmth down your cunt and you whimpered, before grabbing his wrist to press his thumb on top of your lips and suckle on it— its both calming and exhilarating.

“you and your oral fixations, what an innocent looking baby— but you’re not aren’t you? knowing full well how to get daddy going, so you came down the stairs wearing my shirt and nothing else. Act like a big girl but when i get my hands on you, you’ll just squirm and purr like a dirty little whore.” He can’t blame you- he surely can’t blame you that you begin to grind your bare cunt on his lap as you suck his thumb harder after he said those things.

He lets out a laugh as he sees how desperate you’re for him, grinding your cunt on his thigh practically riding it, as your cute little mouth almost gag on his thumb. Perfect little thing. Your eyes shot up to see his when his fingers goes up to pinch your nipples alternating between the two, pinching and tweaking it knowing how sensitive you are.

“Mmm! daddy!” You moaned through his lips, arching your back and move your hips faster, feeling him bounce his thigh couple of times just to hear you yelp. “Here’s what we’re going to do, you’re going to ride my thigh until i tell you to stop and maybe just maybe i’ll let you ride my cock, we have all day baby, this is what you’ve wanted isnt it?”

You whined out loud as your eyes brimmed with tears in clear desperation, you and Matthew have done this long enough to know that Matthew has a patience that goes on for miles. He could wait even though his cock is practically bursting, he could wait until he sees you all limp and overstimulated— and being a sensitive girl that you are, you know that you’ll be a mess once he’s done with you.

“oh and baby, you can cum whenever you want to..” He said, pressing a kiss on your forehead as he unlocked his phone and scroll down, not paying attention to where you’re literally riding his thigh and sucking on his thumb like a bitch in heat.

The dismissive attitude should offend you, but if it does anything, it riles you up even more— the way he can stay calm when you’re a mess that has come over and over again just by grinding against his thigh turns you on to no end. You continued doing as he commanded and you’ve been doing it for more than 45 minutes (you could swear its actually an hour) when he decided he’s seen enough, pulling out his thumb from your lips before using it to found your clit and give it a slap, rubbing the over sensitive button fastly. “Oh! oh Matthew! mm- ah i’m please need your cock!” Your body shake on his thighs as you let out your 5th orgasms this morning, your toes curl and your head slumped against his shoulder as he praises you “That’s it, my good girl Y/N, i love you.”

As much as you love your daddy, your Fiancé is the one who truly owns your heart and soul, so you droopily gaze your eyes at his underneath your lashes, grabbing his other hand and suckle on his other thumb earning yourself a chuckle from Gube. “Your mouth always needs something to fill it up, doesnt it kitten? greedy little thing” He shakes his head as he use his other hand to pull out his cock, you never knew that cock could be pretty until you met him, His cock always makes you want to cockwarm him all the time— the skin is veiny, its not too long but its big.. stretches you out so good that has you limping the next day, and the tip is ruddy red- pre cum spurting from the top. Fuck, you want him to pound your throat then and there.

“Shh shh, sweet girl, let me do all the work this time yeah? just suck sit pretty and suckle, be my good doll.” He whispered before pushing his cock into your warm wet tight cunt, causing you to jolt at the over sensitivity and moans out loud, “Thats it, take it little girl, being such a good girl for me.” He rasped before laying you down on the couch and pound his cock into you in a fast pace.

“You’re so tight, Y/N” at hearing that your walls clenched around him as you starting to feel the familiar tight knot on your belly, you’re so overstimulated that it doesnt take you long at all to cum all over his cock, letting out choked out whimper and sobs “That’s it, keep coming pretty girl, gonna be good and let me finish inside- fuck right?”

You nodded your head drowsily, holding onto his wrist for dear life as you get fucked with a brutal pace, his thumb falls out your mouth and you begins to whimper, “M-matthew! please”

“I know, i’m close baby, just take it a bit more yeah? cum for me one more time, Y/N c’mon” his voice is strained, signaling that he’s close. you whimpered out that “cant- cant too much!” and Matthew’s thumb instantly went to rub your clit sending you over the edge quickly. “i know you have it in you, pretty girl. come on more— fuck thats it, thats it baby good gi— Ah fuck!” You cum all over his cock, him following not long after, releasing himself inside of you, filling you up as you shake and try to catch your breath.

“I love you— so fucking much Y/N” he whispered as he begins to pull out slowly and watch the cum drip out of her cunt, making him go feral and push his cum back in. “gotta stay full okay? who knows.. maybe i can knock you up before our wedding.”

Oh.. and you thought he won’t be up for round two.

———————

Thank you for reading, please leave a like comment and reblog! Blurb request is open so send some! give me feedback or constructive criticisms by simply leave your trace on my blog. Thanks❤️

[whythinktoomuch]

(pt. i)  (pt. ii) 

She keeps to the darkness, keeps quiet, and keeps her distance, just the way she’s been trained to. She watches Lena, and she does it quite well. The difficult part is settling on the one thing that she should be learning from these endeavors.

Lena does a great many things throughout her day—often up before the sun, and only homeward bound long after it’s set. But after three long days of research, there’s one feature in particular that seems to warrant the most attention: a dark fleck, nestled in the pale expanse of her vulnerable throat.

When she tries to encapsulate the entirety of that observation into words at her disposal, however, all she can manage is, “Lena, not ugly.”

Lex doesn’t reply for a long while, which isn’t typical of him. But his tone isn’t unkind when he finally asks, “Is that it?”

“Yes.” She frowns, because why couldn’t that be it?

But Lex sighs, and that soft sound uproots her peace at its very core. “I wanted you to bring me a fact,” he says. “Not develop an opinion.”

“Different how?” she demands.

“Well, I need evidence.” Lex takes her hand, turning it over to reveal her palm, forever marked and marred from her most recent encounter with Kryptonite. “I need you to show me something. Something real. Otherwise, it doesn’t count. Do you understand?”

And yes, that much is definitely understandable. Even to her.

//

With much repurposed effort, she watches and waits while Lena does her work. Then she watches Lena take her leave, then waits some more.

It’s only when the top floor of the building is emptied of all people that she flies over, slipping into Lena’s office through the balcony door that’s never locked. From there, it doesn’t take long to secure what she’s looking for.

The next time Lex pays her a visit, she drops an armful of her spoils right at his feet.

“Lena likes coffee,” she announces boldly.

Lex is clearly taken aback at first, blinking and still. But then he grabs one of the many empty coffee cups now littered across the floor, and a slow smile dawns on his face. “All right then. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

She grins so wide that it strains the corners of her lips.

--

“Lena is cold,” she says the next time they meet, presenting a delicate black glove for his amusement and perusal.

“Yes, well, most people are when it snows,” Lex says.

“Not me.”

“Well, you’re not exactly most people now, are you?” Lex’s pride in her is absolutely infectious, so she grins. “Of course not. You’re… exquisite.”

“Good thing?” she asks. It’s usually the first question that wells up inside of her upon hearing new words.

“A very good thing,” Lex says with a playful wink.

Over the last two weeks, Lex’s visits have dropped from often to somewhat often enough, his precious attention now divided between her and another project of his. It’s been a near impossible change for her to weather, but moments like this make it a little easier.

That is, until Lex slips the glove on.  

She watches him flex his fingers one by one, forcing the taut leather to crackle loudly in her ears, and retreats somewhere deep inside herself. She fights determinedly against the frown threatening to twist her features into something uglier.

The glove isn’t hers. It isn’t Lex’s either, but his hand fits so perfectly that it could very well be his if he wanted.

“Not actually all that warm,” Lex comments, snorting when he peeks inside the glove. “And yet, pricier than your average first class ticket to Paris… Tsk, a little superficial, if you ask me.”

She nods as appropriate, but most of her concern is still with the glove and how Lex stuffs it into his back pocket like it doesn’t mean a thing.

//

“Yes, her hair is indeed very long,” Lex says, accepting the offering of Lena’s hairbrush, complete with stray strands of dark hair still caught in its teeth as ample proof for this careful observation. “This, Bizarrogirl, is absolutely perfect.”

And it is. Because this isn’t just a handful of coffee cups tossed in the trash or a lone glove left behind in the snow during a hasty commute. No, this is something she actually had to break into Lena’s apartment for, in the middle of a workday, undetected even in broad daylight.

But even all that and more couldn’t outweigh the very simple fact that Lex has the means to kill her now.

Evidently, a big part of his new project has been synthesizing a strain of Kryptonite that would only be lethal to her, and he must have succeeded because today, he’s armed with blue-tipped syringes that can pierce her skin.

It’s for research purposes. It’s the only way that Lex can collect blood samples so as to better study her molecular makeup, which will only help her in the long run. Lex, of course, would never hurt her.

Except it does hurt. Each needle sinks into her arm in an acute twinge, and she can feel the aftereffects of the breach crawling inside her head. It’s worse than the green light. It makes her stomach dry out like a rock, and tugs cool drops of sweat onto the surface of her skin.

But Lex must notice this sudden unrest living inside her because he lets her keep the hairbrush.

“Mine?” she asks, cradling the brush in her hands. It’s been relieved of all traces of Lena, but that doesn’t matter. She’s seen Lena use it enough times that it’s still rightly precious.

“No, it’s still Lena’s,” Lex corrects her with a gentle smile. “But you can keep it,” which is the best possible answer he could have given her.

//

She’s watching Lena unwind at home from her favorite spot in the sky, drawing from her x-ray vision and super-hearing with an ease that is now very practiced.

Everything is pleasantly routine until Kara knocks on Lena’s door, which is still very routine until they start raising their voices at each other. They exchange some words that she doesn’t quite understand with many implications that perhaps she will never understand. Then Supergirl is leaving through the balcony, flying off into the night in a blur of boastful blues and reds, while Lena is left behind to yell at herself and cry in unpredictable bursts.

Eventually, Lena settles in the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of something that makes the air taste bitter. She’s halfway through her third glass when she slumps forward, her head dropped into her folded arms, breath gradually slowing and deepening.

She watches Lena sleep, waiting until the waiting is unbearable. There are all sorts of reasons why she shouldn’t, but she touches down onto the balcony, sidling into the apartment like a fleeting shadow, and finds herself in Lena’s presence for the very first time.  

The bitter taste is stronger in her nose now, but so is everything else to be perceived about Lena. Everything from her soft snores to the slight warmth her body gives off once within reach.

And she risks that everything for a single touch, brushing her fingertips right where Lena’s long hair starts to end. It’s light, yet stirs something pure, frenzied, and fluttering in her chest. Then Lena sniffles and mumbles into her own arm, “… Kara?” and the moment spills into reality.

Teeth bared, she plucks the glass from Lena’s fragile grip with just enough care that it doesn’t shatter and leaves the same way Supergirl had barely an hour before.

//

She sets the glass before Lex with a firm clack! that calls his attention away from his tablet.

“Oh hello…” Lex sits up with a small chuckle. “And what’s this? Are we celebrating?”

“Lena is sad.”

Lex is out of his chair, his stare wild as he promptly demands, “What happened? What did you see?”

“Kara came. They talked… Supergirl left.” She squeezes her right fist, digging her nails into her palm the way she’s supposed to when things overwhelm her. “And… Lena is sad.”

Lex bursts into laughter. He doesn’t stop laughing for the rest of the night.

//

She doesn’t want to learn things about Lena anymore.

Things are so different now. Lena is quieter, often alone. She spends most of her time at work and not nearly enough time maintaining habits that are meant to keep her alive.

But Lex still insists that she keep watch, so she does, and she still does it so well. She works at it even harder, in fact, now that his visits have become even fewer and farther in between as of late. Lex’s other project is supposedly not as important as she is, but it siphons off his time like it must be.

Lena’s new routine is polished, heavily sanitized, and well-established until the night she breaks it in favor of tasting the nighttime air. She steps onto her balcony in clothes made for sleep and with a glass filled with something more sweet than bitter. Her eyes narrow up at the darkened sky. She stares, as if expectant.

“Hello…? Is somebody out there?” Lena rests her elbows precariously against the railing,  sighing between intermittent sips of her drink. Then, in a softened voice, “… Who are you?” And all of a sudden, Lena’s become tangible and more than just another person waiting for Supergirl to save her.  

Bizarrogirl glides from shadow to shadow, trailing the darkness all the way down to the far corner of the balcony, where she settles in, secluded and silent. Lena doesn’t turn around, but her heartbeat is readily transparent enough for the both of them that it doesn’t matter. “Hello, Lena,” she says.

Lena sighs into her glass. “So, are you the one stealing my things then?”

“Yes.”

“You know… I really thought I was just going crazy. That I was just conjuring up senseless conspiracies because god forbid I ever misplace something like a normal person.” Lena pauses to take a small sip of her drink and chuckle. “But then, you went ahead and took my favorite glass right out of my hand, so…”

She smiles, even though she knows no one can see it. “You are smart.”

“Allegedly,” Lena says, shrugging. She looks over her shoulder, blinks blearily right into the darkness. “You’re really not going to show yourself, huh?”

“No. Never.” She holds her breath, but the follow-up question never comes.

Instead, Lena just turns back around with a small nod. “Believe me, I’d be doing the same thing if I could,” she says quietly, and leaves it at that.

“Not… scared?” she finally has to ask.

“Should I be?”

She shakes her head after some hesitation. “No.”

“Well, there we go then,” Lena says, rubbing at her eyes with a resigned sigh. “Listen… I’m just… so tired right now, and frankly, I just don’t have it in me to address whatever it is you’re trying to do. But to be honest—” she tosses back the last of her drink in a single swallow—“I have enough things. So… consider this a freebie.”

“… Freebie?”

Lena pushes off the railing, exhaling half-hearted laughter. “Yes, freebie. I’m leaving this for you right here, okay? No need to resort to petty theft or breaking and entering.” She sets the empty wineglass right outside her door, but pauses before stepping through. “… So, what’s your name anyway?”

The most obvious answer—so carefully practiced, her clumsy mouth sounding out the word over and over again for her own sake—feels wrong in the moment. A lie, somehow, in the face of Lena’s undeserved generosity.

“You do have a name, don’t you?” Lena glances over, head tilted curiously, and their eyes almost meet despite all the darkness cast between them.

“No,” she manages to say, her fingernails biting fiercely into her own palm.

Lena gives a hum, one so thoughtful and reminiscent of her brother. “Well… that’s something you’ll have to steal from someone else, I’m afraid.”

She watches Lena slide the door shut behind her, but waits until all the lights disappear before reaching for the glass.

//

It takes two more days for Lex to pay her another visit, and he walks into her room to find her turning the wineglass over and over in her hands. He frowns when she doesn’t immediately offer it up to him.

“So, did you learn anything?” Lex asks, and she just nods. “… And…?”

She rolls her right hand into a fist so tight that her entire hand feels like a bruise. “Not. Scared.”

“Lena’s… not scared.” Lex studies the wineglass carefully before directing his sharp gaze back at her face. “I see.”

He doesn’t ask for further clarification, or any other question, or anything at all, for that matter. He just leaves, and she feels nothing about it.

[thisnoodlewritesao3]

SELF INDULGENT TIME so like what would happen 👀if you surprised the boys 👀👀 with new hair👀👀👀

I DID IT LOOK!!!! LOOK I DID IT!!!! Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes.

This is for Daichi, Sugawara, Tsukishima, and Bokuto. All with a Gender Neutral Reader! Please let me know if anything is gendered <3

ALSO THANK YOU TO @pies-writes-and-more FOR LITERALLY HELPING ME WITH THE IDEAS FOR THESE GOD KNOWS HOW LONG AGO!!! I WOULD NOT HAVE SURVIVED HAD IT BEEN FOR YOU

--------

Daichi -

(gif is not mine)

“You really think he’s going to like it?” You fiddled with the ends of your hair, biting your lip and looking at Kiyoko in the corner of your eye. 

It was that time of year again where it was getting too hot to be able to deal with your hair, so you cut the majority of it off.

The VBC manager looked over at you, sighing a little with a smile dancing on her lips, “he’ll love it.” She affirms you, though you can’t help the hesitation in your returned smile.

You hadn’t been able to see him all day - the only reason you’d met Daichi was because of Kiyoko, she just accidentally introduced you when you needed to return a pen to her and did it by showing up to her club after school.

After that day, the volleyball club boys showed up to your classroom more often. Somehow Daichi’s eyes always managed to find you. The rest was history (history being Kiyoko telling you to suck it up and ask him out).

It had barely been a month, Summer break was nearing with each passing day. You let out a soft sigh, walking with Kiyoko to where the boys hung out during lunch.

You really didn't know how he was going to react, but you hoped it was good.

When you rounded the corner, you saw him sitting in all his glory, drinking something you couldn’t quite make out from here. Asahi smiled and waved you over.

You watched Daichi turn his head to see what Asahi who Asahi was calling over.

Time seemed to slow down for this moment. You really wished you’d recorded Daichi’s reaction as he spotted you. His eyes shot open to their fullest - he was still mid-drink, but that stopped as he spat most of his drink out while gasping.

Suga - upon realising that Daichi probably choked - proceeded to smack his friend on the back. Hard. “I’ll save you!” He called out, only making things so much worse.

Asahi had the most disgusted look on his face as he yelled at Daichi for spitting  some sort of juice on him. You were stifling laughter, but Daichi wasn’t even throwing any insults at Asahi for being a wuss, his eyes were glued to you (and one arm was focused on shoving Suga away).

“Hey,” you giggled, sitting down next to him.

You’d never seen Daichi speechless before, there’s a first for everything you suppose. When he doesn’t answer right away, you wave a hand in front of his eyes. He blinks quickly, doing a deep intake of breath and smiling so wide you’re worried his face might split in two.

“Hey.” He breathes out, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “This is new.” He hums, running his hands through your hair. You lean into his touch.

In the background, you can hear Suga gagging at your signs of affection, but you didn’t care. Especially since Daichi was here and looking at you like you were everything. “Yep, it’s getting warm so I;m doing some preventative measures.”

“I like it.” Somehow, three simple words managed to set off butterflies in you that were almost too overwhelming. Feeling the warmth spread to your cheeks, you turned away, stifling anxious laughter. He cupped your cheek and turned your head back. “It looks so beautiful.”

You really loved Daichi, especially since you knew he meant it with every part of him.

Sugawara - 

(gif is not mine)

Suga barely caught sight of you when he knew something was different - and he knew it was your hair in a second. That mischievous smirk pulled at his lips when you walked into the gym, greeting Ukai, who complimented your hair and then turned back to yelling at someone for… something?

He sauntered over you, and you couldn’t help but wonder what he was up to. “You’re new around here.” An obvious flirty tone made you quirk your brows up. Catching his drift, you smirked up at him.

“Just thought I’d come see some cute boys play volleyball,” you hummed, leaning against the wall, “L/N Y/N.” You held out a hand to him, which he gladly took and used to pull you closer.

“So, you here to see anyone specific” He let out a low whistle as you brushed your hair out of your face. Internally, you were snorting - this happened every time you tried a new hairstyle - still, it made you feel good.

You took your time glancing around at the boys, making sure to give the best flirty look possible to Daichi (who was now thoroughly used to how your relationship with Suga was). “No one in particular, why? Are you interested?” You teased him.

“Of course,” he chuckled, capturing a few strands of your hair between his fingers and humming happily, “how could I not be when you’re stood here looking so beautiful?”

“Suga,” Ukai called out to him, pinching the bridge of his nose, “this is cute and all, but get back to practise!”

Suga tossed you a wink over his shoulder as he jogged towards the court.

“Why’re you like this?” Ukai asked you, and you only shrugged.

“He started it.” And he didn’t need to respond, because that was the whole truth.

It was one of the things you’d had to get used to when being with Suga, the fact that he liked to mindlessly flirt with you at any second - either that or he’d tease you to no end - but he’d never tease you about your appearance, that was one bridge even he wouldn’t cross. Well, unless it was Asahi.

His eyes constantly floated over to you, making sure you were definitely watching him today. As if it would be any different to say any other day. With each successful set, you were shooting him a thumbs up and a big smile; every receive, spike, dig. It was all so mesmerizing to you.

You’d be sure to thank your friend again for dragging you to a volleyball game in your second year and getting you hooked on it (well, mostly Suga).

If it hadn't been for that, you never would have introduced yourself to him. “L/N Y/N!” You held your hand out to him and smiled. “I loved the way you played, and I think you’re very cute.” That was all it took and you and Suga were wrapped around each other’s fingers.

Whipped. He had you whipped, you had him whipped. But it was perfect. So sweet.

When his practise finished, he pranced over to you and wrapped his arms around you in his disgusting sweaty hugs he insisted on giving you every single practise. You gagged and tried to push him off.

“You really like it?” You asked when he finally let you go. You motioned to your hair (which you’d recently dyed grey to support him in his final year, like the good partner you were). He hummed happily, kissing your cheeks and the tip of your nose quickly.

“I love it,” he hums. You were ready to die from the love, but he had to ruin the moment. “Like a sexy little old person.”

You slapped Suga on the arm and stormed away from him. His laughter made your stomach flip as he chased after you.

Sometimes Suga was an asshole. Sometimes he was the sweetest boy to ever exist. But he was yours all the time, and that made you happy.

That’s what you kept telling yourself when he wouldn’t stop teasing you about how cheesy it was to dye your hair like his.

Tsukishima -

(gif is not mine)

You weren’t sure what you expected. Of course, Tsukishima didn’t care about your hair. Why would he? He probably thought something like this was lame.

Still, that didn’t stop you from trying to get his attention (he was your boyfriend, after all). So, you spent so much time in every interaction with him fiddling with your hair. Running your hand through it? Did it. Twirling the ends in your fingertips? Check. You name it, you’d done it.

Nothing worked. It honestly left you really disappointed. It wasn’t like you’d cut a small amount of your hair off; you’d gotten a decent amount cut, and yet, nothing.

“Maybe he just hasn’t noticed.” Yamaguchi said, trying his best to be helpful. The look you gave him radiated really? and he nodded slowly. “Yeah, you’re right, well… it looks great. So, he’s just lame.” His attempt at making you feel better worked a little.

“Thanks Tadashi.” You hummed.

Still, being with the Tsukishima Kei came with its own wave of insecurities. Maybe you would have faired better today if he had said it looks stupid (at least he would have noticed it then). But…

You sigh, running your hands through your hair, regretting everything now.

Little did you know, Tsukishima had noticed your hair. In fact, he thought it was lovely. That was what he was repeating as Yamaguchi yelled at him down the other end of your phone.

“-their your partner, you really couldn’t say anything?” Yamaguchi was pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing heavily.

“It looks nice, do I really need to tell them that every time they change it?” Tsukishima sighed; he really didn’t understand the rules of being in a relationship. Why did he need to tell you you looked beautiful every day when you knew he thought you were? Did he need to do that?

“Yes!” Yamaguchi - unknowingly - answered both of his questions.

It seemed to click in his head. That was why you spent all day messing with your hair more than usual. He just thought you were extra anxious today (although maybe he’d made you anxious).

“Tsukki, you’re an idiot.” Yamaguchi laughed after the middle block made a noise of realisation.

“Shut up, Tadashi…” Tsukishima grumbled, because God forbid he admit he was wrong.

So, like the good boyfriend he was, he started making his way to your house at 7 o’ clock to make sure you knew he loved your hair. He really did put in so much effort for you - not that he’d ever tell anyone it.

He spends the walk to yours thinking about how he was going to say this, or how you’d react. He does love you, and sure, he doesn’t say it as much as the next guy, but he shows it in so many more ways, right?

Tsukishima tells you he loves you by buying you your favourite drink from the vending machine every day at lunch; he tells you he loves you by trying out your favourite foods even when he insists he doesn’t like them; he tells you he loves you by linking your pinkies together in the school hall; he tells you he loves you by making you a playlist of the songs that make him think of you.

So why did you need him to tell you that you were beautiful no matter what? Day or night; rain or sun; no matter how old, he thought you were beautiful, from the bottom of his heart.

He supposed it was nice to hear - because he did love to hear how handsome you thought he was.

Knocking on the door to your house left him just a little anxious, that feeling only heightened when you opened the door with red-rimmed eyes, looking up at him so sadly. “Kei?” You called out, unsure why he was here so late. He hadn’t even told you he was coming, it wasn’t like him to just… show up, so, why?

“I can’t believe I have to tell you this,” he grumbles and looks away, cheeks tinted red (it would be him blushing, but he’d blame the cold air when you teased him later), “I think your hair is amazing, idiot.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, making sure that he can catch your expression in the corner of his eye.

Your mouth drops open before quickly pouting, trying to fight back tears as you throw yourself at him, squeezing him in a hug.

“Wh-”

“Thank you…” your voice is so weak, shaking ever so lightly. He makes a point to run his fingers through your hair and gently massage your scalp, leaning down to kiss your head.

Tsukishima thought you were beautiful, and right now, that’s all that mattered.

Bokuto -

(gif is not mine)

If you’d have told yourself yesterday that your boyfriend would spend the entire day avoiding you, you’d have laughed in your own face. Because why would he do that?

Well, maybe it’s what you get for surprising him with an entirely new haircut. Or, more so, you’d dyed your hair black and white to match his. Your entire plan to see him get so excited had completely backfired.

To give him credit, at least you knew he would never cheat, because the moment you tackled him in a hug and he didn’t recognise you immediately, he pushed you off exclaiming, “you can’t do that, I have a partner!” Before running off.

At first, it hurt a little. Every time you tried to go near him, he’d run in the opposite direction. You told Akaashi about it - he was in your class, after all - and the two of you started a bet as to when he’d figure out it was you and not some random person. There was that general worry that he wouldn’t figure it out.

The funny thing was that he still texted you throughout the day, telling you about this random person (read: you) and how they wouldn’t leave him alone. You laughed at his texts, rolling your eyes and promising that everything would be okay.

Of course, you had to surprise him at the end of the day. He didn’t react too well, but you and Akaashi shared a knowing smirk, “they’re here, too!” He dove behind Akaashi - the spiker only sighed and stepped towards you.

The gym waited with baited breath for what would happen. “Hey, did you finish studying already?” He spoke casually to you. Bokuto gasped in betrayal - because how dare he talk to you after you’d stalked him all day - and started stepping towards the two of you.

“Yeah, it wasn’t that much anyway.” You shrugged, trying to hide your excitement.

If you looked closely enough, you could see the cogs turning in his head. You just knew he was trying to figure out when Akaashi got a partner (and why his partner looked so much like you). His eyes widened as he tentatively stepped closer to you.

With each passing second, more tension grew. Akaashi was trying his best not to burst out laughing - subsequently making it harder for you to not laugh.

A switch flipped in his head and he gasped. “Wait a minute! That’s my partner!”

That broke you, both you and Akaashi finally letting out your howling laughter. Bokuto threw himself at you, hugging you like his life depended on it.

“Took you long enough.” You rolled your eyes, wrapping your arms around him and humming happily.

He pulled away and pouted at you, “why did you change your pretty hair?” He fumbled the strands in his fingertips. “Not that it isn’t pretty! It’s very pretty, but a different kind of pretty.” You snorted at his phrasing.

“Well,” you smiled sweetly up at him, “I wanted us to match.”

Once again, the wheels in his head turned before he gasped, lifting you up and spinning you around. Such wonder in his eyes.

Sure, you’d spend later comforting because you were prettier than him now, and he’s the ugly one in the relationship (his words, not yours), but it would be worth it to see the way his eyes would light up so much more at every single match you attended. After every win, he’d parade you around and explode with so much joy. He’d brag to Kuroo that his partner’s hair matched his. 

You’d never felt luckier to be Bokuto’s.

--------

General Taglist:

@pies-writes-and-more @satan-ruler-of-hells @dekuspet @samkysnks @tobi-momo @kaleidoscopekai

If you want to be added to the taglist, send a DM or an ask :D

[sunsetcurvecuddles]

(intimacy of "how did you know that?" "because I know you") for lukebobby if you could please?

this is, i believe, the oldest prompt i have from you in my inbox LOL but here we go!

when my brain gets bitter | luke x bobby or luke&bobby, 1.3k | warning for descriptions of gender dysphoria/mentions of unsafe binding | ao3 link in reblogs!

--

“Huh. Nice of you to stop by, Mercer.”

Luke stops and blinks. Bobby’s in the doorway, leaning his shoulder on the doorframe, arms crossed, and grinning at Luke in a way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. For a moment, Luke gets lost trying to analyse his expression.

Bobby seems to take this as Luke missing his joke. “Because of the pacing,” he explains, like this should be obvious.

“Right,” says Luke, too late, “because Alex—yeah, yep. Good one.” Now that he’s stopped walking from one end of the studio to the other, he feels the nervous, horrible energy starting to build inside his body again, finds himself bouncing on the balls of his feet, rubbing his hands over his arms even though they feel all strange under his fingers. “Is he, uh. Is he here, actually? Or Reggie? Or anyone? Obviously you’re here.” Luke laughs. It sounds awkward and stilted even to his own ears.

Unsurprisingly, Bobby doesn’t look reassured. “Uh, nope. Just me.” He pauses. “I mean. It is nine on a Thursday night. They’re probably home.”

Right, with their families. Luke tastes resentment, bitter and coppery like blood, in his mouth. Man, he wishes he could tear his own arms off, his body feels so wrong. And his ribs hurt when he breathes in.

Shit, his ribs hurt.

“Luke,” says Bobby, slightly too quiet, too careful. Luke misses the mocking tone from when Bobby had just arrived. “How long you been wearing it?”

For some reason, Bobby’s concern is always the hardest to bear. Alex is very upfront with his worry, nagging and pushing and insistent; Reggie hides his, manages to pass his worry off as other things. Bobby is the worst of both worlds – involved, and he cares, but he thinks he hides it when he doesn’t at all.

“It’s fine,” he says, in the least convincing voice ever, because he hadn’t grabbed extra clothes when he left his parents in a rush of hot-headed impulsivity, so now he's stuck in this stupid tight tank top and if he takes his binder off it’s going to be so fucking obvious and he’s already so upset with how the rest of him looks and feels that he can’t handle the idea.

Bobby’s looking at Luke now and just like his tone before, his gaze is too thoughtful, gentle, cautious. All the things Luke prefers not to see on Bobby.

“I’ll be right back,” Bobby says, and with that, he pushes himself up off the doorframe and heads back up the path to the house.

There’s a few silent minutes for Luke to work himself up.

This isn’t always how it feels. He knows that. A lot of days, now, he feels fine, even great. He bounces around in his sleeveless shirts with his short, messy hair and feels like he looks every bit as boy as Reggie or Bobby or Alex. Some days he feels like his body has no part of that at all, feels sheer joy just being himself, feels ecstatic lost in music or in dumb movies or in talking about his big dreams for the future. But today he can’t help but feel like his middle school self again, surly and bitter and the wrong shape, before he could properly explain to the boys what it felt like when they yelled his wrong name across the cafeteria, or jokingly called him their girlfriend, before he had the courage to tell them he wasn’t a girl in the first place.

He hates this. He hates how messed up he feels, how there doesn’t seem to be a single stable thing in his life, how he can’t even be happy just sitting in a room by himself in a shirt he wishes he wasn’t wearing, how when he turns and accidentally catches his own reflection in the window it all looks off and his shoulders—

Bobby’s back. Luke didn’t even hear him coming down the drive, but there he is, silhouetted against the door, and he slips inside as soon as Luke gives him a go-ahead nod. He has something bundled in his arms, and it’s only when he gets closer that Luke realises it’s Bobby’s favourite Nirvanahoodie.

“If you’ll take it off,” Bobby says gruffly, not quite looking at him, “then you can wear this. Deal?”

Luke feels his emotions all crawl up his throat at once. Before he’d started testosterone, he probably would’ve started crying.

“Then your arms won’t bother you, either,” Bobby adds, like he’s still trying to sell Luke on it, like Luke’s not having a tiny breakdown over his thoughtfulness already.

“How did you know that?” asks Luke, hushed. He barely voices these thoughts to the boys. Kinda doesn’t want to remind them that they’re not all having the same experience, when he can avoid it.

“Because I know you,” Bobby says, like it just slips out. Then blushes. Clears his throat, stiff and awkward. Like he thinks Luke doesn’t want his help, instead of his help being the best thing ever, the exact right amount of detached and understanding all at once. “Anyway. Deal?”

“Deal,” Luke agrees. Bobby chucks the sweater at his head and Luke has to put an arm up to defend himself, a laugh startled out of him before he realises it’s happening. When he scrambles the sleeves out of his face, he can see Bobby grinning, even as he rolls his eyes and tries to hide it.

Luke changes in the bathroom, pulls his binder over his head with some difficulty and a little pain, but the relief of being able to take a full breath is well worth it. Quickly, he pulls Bobby’s hoodie over his head, so he doesn’t spend too long finding more things wrong with how he looks. It’s way too big on him, which sometimes might bother him but tonight feels just right, the sleeves coming down over his hands. It’s soft and it smells like Bobby’s lola’s laundry detergent, and for one small moment Luke presses his sweater paws to his face and inhales.

It smells more like home than his own house. He tries not to dwell on that fact too much.

When he returns, Bobby is sprawled out on the couch, guitar in his lap. He’s pulling at the strings but not like he has any real idea what he’s playing, more just to make the sounds echo around the room.

“You tired?” Luke asks. He can’t help how his voice sounds a little hopeful.

“Nah,” Bobby replies, even though he always at least looks exhausted. For a moment, he gives Luke a considering look, and Luke worries he’s going to keep pushing, going to ask Luke what’s wrong, or whether he feels better, or anything about his feelings at all. Instead, Bobby just says, “Was wondering if you wanted to try and finish that new song we were playing with on Sunday. Really thought we were getting somewhere with that second verse.”

“Yes,” Luke crows, grabbing his guitar and flopping immediately down onto the couch. “I was thinking maybe if we changed the chord progression up just a little—”

Now that Luke is able to breathe, now that he’s binder-free, and practically drowning in Bobby’s hoodie, the idea of losing himself in his guitar and in the heady rush of song-writing with Bobby sounds like the greatest thing in the world. Bobby, who's looking up from his guitar to grin at Luke across the couch, who always pulls a surprise out of the bag that fixes everything right when Luke least expects it. Watching and listening and paying attention, in all the ways Luke needs it.

God, Luke fucking loves him. He puts his head down, closes his eyes, listens to the way their voices and their fingers on strings braid together into harmonies that make Luke’s heart sing. He kinda forgets to think about his body at all.

[cheeriecherry]

Can I get a cup of uhhhhhhhh dating headcanons? For Todo, Baku, and everyone's favourite sleepy dad?

One cup of headcanons, coming right up!

Warnings: Just fluff

Todoroki Shoto

-Actually getting to the dating stage is kind of a wholeass mission. I wholeheartedly believe that Todoroki is the dumbest smart person ever; he’s clever and strong, but he also strikes me as the kind of guy who thinks 1KG of steel is heavier than 1KG of feathers.

-Lol everyone knows you’ve got a crush on him. Everyone except for him. He just doesn’t think that much about dating or romance or anything like that, unless prompted. His whole life, he’s been forced to focus on hero work, so it’ll take some time for him to get out of that mentality.

-He doesn’t clue in to his feelings for you, not for a while at least. He’d start off pretty indifferent towards you like he was with everyone else, but over time he’d begin to notice that he likes having you around. He feels more relaxed around you, and more inclined to converse and be present and friendly. 

-I think he’d chalk it up to ‘is this what friendship feels like’ meanwhile he’s out here training extra hard in hopes that you’ll see and be impressed.

-Someone will probably have to say something to get him thinking about his feelings for you. Either that, or he accidentally admits to you that he has a crush on you, but he doesn’t know it’s a crush, and you’re just like ‘oh bby’. You’ll have to spell it out for him.

-He finds you after class one day and asks to take a walk around campus to talk, and you’re like ‘okay sounds cool’.

-It’s a little awkward and quiet at first, and eventually you’re like ‘are you okay, did you need to talk about something?’

-And when he turns towards you his cheeks are flushed and he looks uncharacteristically flustered. Then he goes on to tell you how whenever you’re around, his heart beats faster and he gets warm even though his quirk isn’t active, and how he always wants to impress you even though he doesn’t care what other people think.

-He probably admits some really dumb stuff too, like how he still has the pencil you lent him at the beginning of the year, or how he fell on his ass during training because he was too busy staring at you.

-Pls be kind to him when you tell him about feelings. I think it will surprise him for like 0.5 seconds, but then he’ll be like ‘oh that makes sense’ in his usual way.

-Even after all that, you’re gonna have to be the one to ask him on a date. He’ll definitely say yes to you, but would still struggle with asking for himself.

-Anyways, once you guys have gone on a few dates and decide to make it exclusive, it’s a pretty relaxed relationship. He trusts you, so he’s pretty up front about everything, and if he doesn’t know what he’s feeling he’ll let you help him work through it.

-He’s not always clueless though, and he gets a lot better at expressing himself the more time he spends with you and the rest of the class.

-He’s pretty into casual touches, which he figures out after you sit beside him on the couch in the common room and set your head on his shoulder. He’ll ask you in private if you could do things like that more often, and over time he’ll start reciprocating, and it’ll just be a relationship full of head pats and held hands and forehead kisses.

-Also pls cuddle him when it’s just the two of you. Hold him close and run your fingers through his hair. 8/10 times he’ll fall asleep.

-Will want to train with you, and during class exercises he’ll seek you out as a partner/opponent. He wants to learn how to work with you, in case the need ever arises. But he also just wants to spend time with you, and likes watching you be bad ass.

-If you’re upset with him, or not quite feeling so great, please tell him. Don’t give him the cold shoulder, or be like ‘you know what you did’, because he absolutely will not know what he did. Let him know if you have an issue with something he did, from small things like eating the last of your chocolates, to more serious things like accidentally doubting your skill or flirting with other people. Just. Verbalize how you’re feeling.

-This also goes for when he does something good. Tell him when he’s made you happy, or helped improve your mood, or validated your feelings, or smth. It’ll reassure him that he’s being not only a good friend, but a good boyfriend too.

-Also,okay so he has that thing where he looks cool and aloof at first, but is actually soft and big-hearted right? There’s a whole bunch of other things he doesn’t show at first, which you are the first person to experience.

-He’s hella shy about kissing you. He’s pretty chill about PDA like holding your hand and hugging you and stuff like that, but kisses? It’s just such an intimate thing to him.

-Once he figure out he really wants to kiss you, he’s relentless in trying. Probably tries at the most inopportune times though, like at lunchtime and in the middle of class. Don’t be too mad at him, it’s the only thing his brain cell can concentrate on.

-So much so that he takes a hit during training and falls flat on his back. And you’re like ‘oh shit??’ and rush over to him once he doesn’t get up right away. You kneel over him and ask him if he’s alright, gently touching his cheek to try and calm him.

-And he just stares up at you because you look like an angel. Deadass blurts out ‘I want to kiss you so badly’ without a second thought, and smiles his little smile when you get flustered.

-And that’s how your first kiss happens, in the middle of an arena with your whole class watching. Aizawa probably scolds you.

-All in all, I think he’d be a pretty good boyf. He’d need some patience at first, and a lot of verbal affirmation and open communication, but that’s a good thing to practice in any relationship. He loves you a lot and is devoted and caring and always willing to fight for you.

Bakugou Katsuki

-God, okay, definitely the shoutiest boyfriend. He’d probably be pissed af when he realizes he’s catching feelings for you. He’s definitely not verbal about his feelings, but he’s not stunted like Todoroki is. He knows what he’s feeling, he just doesn’t like it.

-He thinks you’re a distraction to him, and probably takes it out on you. After all, if you hate him then it’ll be easier to let go of you and he won’t have to deal with you being around him.

-Sike tho, either he makes you sad and instantly feels guilty about it (which he hates), or he makes you Big Mad and you serve him his ass on a silver platter. Both ways, he’s not able to make you dislike him, and he only ends up liking you more.

-He’ll calm down after a couple weeks though, and come to terms with the fact that this is his life now and that he’s gonna have to deal with the annoying heart palpitations he gets whenever you’re around.

-Though a bonus I guess is his palms also get sweaty when you’re nearby, which means more explosions. Which we all know is a good thing for boom boy.

-Over time, he begins to slip up, and you begin to notice. His gaze lingering on you during training and during class, his lack of insults towards you, just generally being less unpleasant when he knows you’re around. Some of your classmates have also picked up on it, but none of them have really put two and two together.

-You have, though, and you know he won’t be the one to make a move. So you corner him one evening outside the dorms and confront him about it. He vehemently denies it, but all it takes is for you to look at him and he huffily admits it.

-Nothing is really agreed upon right then and there, but as the days and weeks pass, you pretty much just end up dating. You spend more time together, studying or training or goofing off. Well...he doesn’t really goof off, but he sits nearby while you do. You even convince him to come to game night with the bakusquad and -after much poking and prodding- he even plays a couple rounds of mario kart. 

-He either wins or he accuses everyone of cheating. It’s funny to watch.

-He doesn’t really know how relationships work, so be patient with him also while he figures it out. If you’re mad at him, don’t try to act snide about it because it’ll just end up blowing up in your faces. He might grumble if you tell him outright, but overall he’ll try to fix it. He’s a ride or die boyfriend, and however temperamental he is, he hates making you sad.

-Also he’ll never say it out loud, but he loves cuddling you. He’s pretty strict about not showing his softer side in public, so most of your more affectionate gestures are behind closed doors. Sometimes he’ll just show up at your dorm room, slam the door shut, and flop down on your bed. This is his way of saying ‘i feel like shit, come pet my hair’. 

-Most of his needs are conveyed nonverbally, so you’ll have to learn how to speak Bakugou.

-The only time he’s ever told you what he wanted out loud is when you guys had your first kiss. He was noticeably tense throughout the day, so after class you pulled him aside and asked him what was up.

-You hadn’t expected him to turn tomato red and mutter that your lot of friends had been teasing him earlier about kissing, and his lack of experience. You asked him if he wanted you to go kick their asses, and he was like ‘no, i want you to kiss me’.

-Cue both of you being flustered. But it lead to a really sweet kiss, soft and surprisingly gentle and thoughtful. 

-He’s more open about kissing you publicly, if not for the fact that he’s low key addicted, then definitely because it sort of lays his claim on you without being too mushy. But those kisses will be shorter and cooler than the ones you share behind closed doors.

-When it’s just the two of you though? He’s got you held close while your lips meet, fingertips sliding across your jaw and arm held fast around your waist. Those are the kisses that lead to heated makeouts usually.

-All in all, also a good boyfriend. Abrasive and loud, but loyal and smart and willing to explode everyone if it would make you happy. He calms down over time once he gets used to the relationship, while still maintaining an air of pride. Will never hesitate to brag about you, and will affectionately shout compliments at you whenever he feels like it.

Aizawa Shouta sleepiest dad

-Anyone who knows him knows that he’s got a busy life. Between teaching and being a pro hero, he probably doesn’t have a lot of down time. So you have to be okay with him having so much work.

-He doesn’t mind if you miss him during the days, in fact he would be mildly off put if you didn’t miss him (at least a little), but you can’t be someone who would try and make him change his schedule permanently to give you more attention.

-A day or two off here and there? Sure, the occasional lazy day break is nice and also reasonable, but I don’t think it would work out if you were super clingy.

-It probably gets a little difficult when the dorm system is implemented at the school, since he’s there overnight most of the time now. I think that’s one area where he’d be willing to try and implement a better system, whether it be having you on campus with him during the nights, or allowing him to head back home.

-Because as busy as he is, he’s not a neglectful partner. Even if he’s dead tired when he comes home, he’ll always take the time to greet you and sit with you and ask you about your day and tell you about his. He’ll lay back on the couch with you across his chest, and listen to you tell him about all the dumb shit you’d witnessed throughout the day.

-He’s a little rigid about PDA, mostly because his friends tease him and he doesn’t want to risk any of his students seeing (lest the also tease him), but he’s fine with casual affection. Walking with your arm tucked around his, hugs, chaste kisses, that sort of thing. He’s an adult in a relationship, he’s not gonna deny you any of those things just because he’s shy (though he will never admit that).

-Despite his outward uncaring appearance, he’s actually really intense, and feels a lot. He’s an emotional person, he’s just really good at keeping it on the down low. So you’d have to be pretty good at reading him in order to get him to open up, but also not push him too hard. Let him know that you know he’s stressed about something, but give him the room to make the choice in coming to you.

-He’s a pretty low maintenance boyfriend. He doesn’t need all the bells and whistles and fancy dates. He’s fine making dinner together and then hanging out to watch a movie, or maybe occasionally going out for a drink or a walk. What he cares about most is spending time with you, and just getting to be around you.

-But he is still perpetually tired, so he’ll be most happy on his own couch. Dinner and movie nights often lead to cuddles, which often lead to soft kisses, and then more heated kisses, and then hands touching you everywhere.

-It’s very easy to get carried away when he kisses you. Unless you’re in public, even the smallest kiss could snowball into a good romp, granted you have the time. He’s intense and firm, but his lips are warm and pliant, and he kisses you the way he needs oxygen; desperately and absolutely.

-Arguably the best boyfriend, but maybe i’m biased because he’s my type lol. He doesn’t ask for a lot, but requires your respect on the few things he needs, and in return he’ll be there for you when he can. And when he’s there? His attention is solely on you, all his thoughts and energy. He’s quiet and patient and loving, and behind closed doors he’s pretty affectionate. If he’s dating you, then it isn’t just something casual; he’s already seen that you’re someone worth putting his time and energy into. By the time he asks you out, he’s probably already in love with you.

[kingofkingdom-archive]

1979

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Fem!Reader

Part ONE (Read part 2 HERE)

Rating: T (Teen) - part 2 will be E

Summary: The year is 1979. You need a ride to anywhere that’s far away from where you are. When a handsome stranger in a rustbucket pickup gives you that ride, neither of you could predict any of the events that follow.

Warnings: Smoking (and lots of it), mild violence (a punch is thrown), brief harassment of reader, food, mention of a gun (one is encountered but not used), mention of homelessness, brief mention/description of war (Vietnam), child abandonment, mention of abusive/dangerous father figure, passing mention of serial killers, vague description of non-specific events leading up to reader resorting to hitchhiking, very meta mention of a certain beloved space opera

Word count: 5.7k

A/N: Whew! This one has been in the shop for a LONG while. Originally I meant for this to be a single work, but I’ve hit a bit of a slump with the last bit. I decided to post this to see how y’all feel about it! The second part will be much longer :) Also: I know there has been some discourse recently about Din’s characterization in certain fics, so I hope this does him justice for you! I’m always open to comments, and like I said I’m very interested in hearing what you think! As per usual, no use of Y/N and please heed the tags/warnings.

8:47

You lean against the streetlight, glancing down at your watch and then back up to the motel across the street. You told yourself you'd wait until 8:30 and then you'd go back and reserve a room for another night. As you watch the second hand wind its way around the small, plain face of your 2-dollar timepiece, you've convinced yourself that maybe staying out until 9 is the ticket.

Your ticket, out of this shithole town.

The summer air is hot and thick around you. It's especially unbearable both between your legs and at the band of your bra, the elastic stretched around your middle doing its best to make you feel as sweaty and uncomfortable as possible. At least you're wearing your cutoffs, giving your legs the chance to breathe. You've also got a loose tank on, which flutters in the sticky wind as cars pass you by.

8:51

Your thumb has been stuck out for passerby to see for the past three days. No one has picked you up. You suppose you should be more wary of taking lifts from complete strangers with all the murder and kidnapping that's been in the news recently, but you're more than a little headstrong with a dash of stupid to go along. That's what your mother always told you, anyway.

Some Cadillac speeds past you, blaring what you think is a Donna Summer song, and you watch as the music and taillights fade into the night.

You shouldn't be surprised, you figure, as the minutes continue to tick on by. There's a gas shortage, you reason with yourself as you bend down to pick up your bag, thumb still stuck out, elbow resting on your waist. People don't do this anymore. Afraid of getting picked up by a pervert or a killer. Afraid of picking one up, and then a streetlight just like the one you're under is the last thing they see.

8:58

You sigh, ready to head in for the night. Marvin, dude who sits at the motel's front desk, is sure to give you shit about it again.

You're preparing to cross the street when you hear the low growl of a pickup truck approach. Not looking to get creamed by some fuckin' rusted-out GMC, you step back onto the curb where you'd been posted.

Except the truck slows up, and the window rolls down as it crawls to a stop in front of you.

Your heart races. Finally.

You walk up to the passenger side window and look in, expecting some fat old putz looking to get some tail in exchange for a ride.

That's not what you see.

"Need a lift, young lady?"

The truck's driver is older than you, sure, but you were wrong about pretty much everything else. He's got short dark hair and a 'stache, with some stubble across his chin. He's wearing a leather jacket over a plain gray tee, with a pair of sunglasses hung on the collar. One hand is on the wheel while the other is laid across the back of the bench seat, a cigarette perched in between his first two fingers.

You lean forward on your tiptoes as best you can, forearms resting on the door's open window. Pretending to survey the interior, you look around and take the opportunity to check the man out. God, you think. I wouldn't mind giving him whatever he wants in exchange for this ride. Maybe another kinda ride. Ha!

"As it turns out, I do. You offering?"

You rest your chin on your arms and give him the sweetest smile you can muster. The man eyes you up and takes a drag from his cigarette. You watch with rapt attention as he inhales deeply and then exhales the smoke out through his nose.

This guy's got you all hot and bothered and you haven't even gotten in the truck.

He gestures with his hand. "Come on, kid. I gotta make the state line by midnight."

You definitely like the sound of that. Eager and supremely stoked to finally have a way out of this dump, you pull on the handle, jump in, and swing the door closed behind you. Your backpack finds its place between your feet, and the stranger starts driving again as you pull your seatbelt across your shoulders.

"Where're you headed?" the man asks, glancing over to you and then looking back at the road. The asphalt seems to stretch into infinity, flanked by trees and fields and the occasional watering hole.

"Away from here," you chuckle as you fidget with your fingers. Black nail polish decorates your trimmed nails. It's chipped and uneven in some spots; you never were great at painting your nails, especially your right hand.

"I got that," the man drawls, voice deep and smooth like honey. "Any particular destination in mind?"

You shrug. To be honest, you hadn't exactly thought that far ahead. Your first and only priority was a way out, and anything after that was a problem to be handled when it came to it.

"Nope. Just as far as you're willing to take me."

The guy nods and takes a drag. The smell of cigarettes never bothered you like it does some other people; you find it relaxing, calming, especially when it's fresh and all-consuming like it is in this guy's truck. The vehicle itself is old, maybe 10 or 15 years, and a glance into the bed behind you tells you he's traveling with a couple boxes and nothing more.

It's certainly not state-of-the-art, but that's all the better for staying under the radar.

The silence looms over you like a cloud. The stranger seems content to just listen to the engine and the tires on the road, but you're prone to fill silences unprompted.

"What's your name?" you ask, and look over at him. He glances at you and raises a brow.

He clears his throat, eyes moving back to the road. "You can call me Mando."

"Mando?" you retort before you can stop yourself. "What kinda bogus name is that? Like, what... you got a thing for mandolins or some shit?"

The man huffs. "It is what is, kid. Get used to it."

You sigh, crossing your arms. "Alright, alright... Mando."

He doesn't try to continue the conversation, so you don't either. Minutes pass, and then hours, and you find yourself drifting off not too long after the clock reads 10:00. You shake yourself awake, wanting to stave off sleep until he pulls over to rest for the night.

But the engine is like a lullaby, the soft swaying of the truck a gentle rocking motion, and your eyes fall closed despite your best efforts.

When you wake up again, the truck is no longer moving, and the clock reads 12:30. 

You must have been woken up by Mando putting the truck into park. The darkness outside does not give any clues as to where you are, but as your eyes adjust you can just make out some picnic tables, garbage cans, and signs.

A rest area. Makes sense.

Mando is fumbling with something beside you. It's a map, you realize when you look over.

"Where are we?" you ask with a yawn.

"Just over the border. Made it a bit later than I would've liked, but that's not a big deal. You can sleep here in the cab. I'll take the bed, since I sleep there anyway."

You nod, though you find it odd the way he's... not asking you for anything. He hasn't mentioned payment, monetary or otherwise. You watch as he folds the map back up, and catch his gaze as he stashes it in the glove box.

"I gotta repay you somehow, mister," you mutter. "For how nice you're bein' to me. 'Specially since I made fun of your name and all."

At your words, Mando gives you a stern look from under one of his furrowed brows. "No, you don't. Blanket's under the seat. Get some rest."

He turns away, grabs the keys, and is out the door before you can reply.

It's just so unusual for a guy to pick up a girl like you and refuse payment, much less not ask for or take it outright. It's a shame, really. Any other guy, you'd give him what he wanted sure, but with less than enthusiastic participation. The one man to whom you'd gladly deliver anything he asked... and he seems not to want it.

You suppose you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Better a prude than a murderer, that's for sure.

As you reach under the seat for the blanket, your hand brushes against some sort of canvas bag, long and zippered. You lean over to look in at it upside-down, hair brushing against the dusty floor mats.

It's a rifle bag. You reach in to feel at where the barrel would be, and sure enough, there's something distinctly rifle-shaped inside.

Huh. It's not a surprise that a guy like him's traveling armed, but it makes you wonder. A hunter, maybe? Probably. There's a lot of those around.

You spot the blanket and pull it out. It's gray, scratchy wool, but as you pull it over yourself, you find it keeps the nighttime chill away quite well.

-

You wake up to Mando swatting at your feet.

"Time to get up, sunshine. Gotta get going."

His deep voice pierces through the fog of sleep still hanging thick over your mind. You groan and push yourself up onto your elbows, drawing your feet in to give him space to slide into the drivers' seat. 

It's still dark out. You see a hint of light on the horizon, the beginning of the sunrise peeking over hills and fields.

"What time is it?" you ask, rubbing at your eyes. You're a chronic over-sleeper, so seeing the sunrise is a rarity. It seems Mando has no such problem.

"A bit after six. We'll stop at a diner for something to eat in about an hour. You're welcome to go back to sleep until then." He turns the key in the ignition and the truck rumbles to life, a blast of lukewarm air hitting you in the face. 

"No, no. I'm up," you assure him, shrugging the blanket off your shoulders. As you fold it, you look over at the man beside you. He's wearing the same faded jeans and leather jacket as yesterday, but the shirt underneath has changed. The sunglasses are still hung on the collar, but now it's some faded band tee from like 8 years ago. 

You set the folded-up blanket on the seat between you and him, watching as he puts the truck into drive and starts off. Before you know it, you're watching the early-morning world pass by outside your window. You kick off your sandals and tuck your feet up under yourself, sitting crosslegged on the seat.

About 15 minutes later, you've grown tired of watching farmhouses and cornfields fly by in the dark.

"So, uh..." you start, not really knowing where you intend to finish your sentence, "you like music?"

Stupid. That was stupid.

Mando chuckles. "Yeah."

"Yeah?" you reply, hopeful that he might have more to say.

"Yes. I do like music."

You roll your eyes. "What kind of music? Jazz? Opera? Country-western? Who's your favorite artist? Got any favorite records?"

He glances over at you, a hint of a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. "You sure do ask a lot of questions."

"Well, I figure if I'm gonna be traveling with you for a good while, I might as well know a bit about you. And vice versa."

Mando just hums. 

"I'll tell you mine, then," you inform him, grinning widely now. "My favorite record right now is Parallel Lines. By Blondie, you know? I really like them. This time last year I woulda told you my favorite album was something by Wire or the Sex Pistols - I was real into punk, if you know anything about it. Now I'm more into poppy stuff. I just think it's fun, to be honest."

You continue to ramble to Mando well into the drive. The sky grows lighter and the road grows more crowded, but he does not stop you. At the end of a tangent about Bowie, you turn to look at him, and he's sitting there like you haven't just talked his ear off for the past twenty minutes.

"Sorry. I jus-"

"Don't apologize. It's... I don't mind," he interrupts, not taking his eyes off the road.

You stretch your legs out in front of you, looking at the sandal-shaped marks on the tops of your feet. "Don't you have any particular songs you like?"

Mando's quiet for a minute. You wait, looking up out the window. The sky is a pale pink and blue, with a hint of orange off to the east. A field of cows comes up on your left - your eyes track them as they pass by, wondering what it's like to pet one.

You bet they're soft. Soft and cuddly and so dumb they're cute.

"You have to promise not to laugh." 

The words come as a surprise. You look over to Mando, eyes wide and interested.

"Never. Favorite music is sacred."

He sighs. His grip tightens on the wheel, like sharing even a small part of himself causes him distress.

"Tapestry. Carole King," he says, though the words are quiet and guarded.

That wasn't the answer you were expecting. "Really?" you ask, smiling brightly.

He just nods, though he spares a glance towards you, like he's gauging your reaction. You lean back against the seat, turning towards him more fully.

"I wouldn't have guessed. Color me surprised, Mando. You have good taste." It's true. The album's a classic, though more so with girls your age, not guys who pick up hitchhikers and keep rifles in their trucks. "What do you like about it?"

Mando shifts, bringing his left arm up to rest on the door, elbow propped so his head can rest on his hand. "Not sure. She writes a good song, that's all I know."

You're not satisfied with that answer. You'll get to know Mando, even if it's like pulling teeth. "Bull-shit. Pink Floyd writes a good song. Paul Simon writes a good song. Why her? Why that record? It came out like ten years ago, there's gotta be a reason - a real reason - you still like it."

The drone of the engine and the road is like a soundtrack in itself to the silences that loom heavy before every sentence he speaks. You wonder when the last time he really got to talk to someone was - talk like this, not small conversation with the waiter or grocer. 

You're no psychiatrist, but it doesn't take a genius to spot someone who's been alone for a while.

Mando hums. "I guess I relate to her songs... in a way I didn't expect to when I first heard her music."

You smile at that, pleased as punch that he trusts you with that information. It's like cupping cool water in your hands on a hot summer's day, fleeting and precious. "What's your favorite song on the record?"

He turns his gaze to your for a moment, dark brown eyes staring at your dirty feet and day-old shirt and messy hair. You're not sure what exactly he sees as he takes you in, but you sit there and allow it regardless.

Mando looks back to the road, watching the small town approaching slowly on the horizon. "I Feel the Earth Move."

You nod. "A classic."

He just hums in response, and you expect the truck to fill with silence once again.

Except it doesn't.

Mando reaches out and presses the button to turn on the radio. Blondie's Heart of Glass flows out through the speakers - and you laugh.

-

The glowing neon sign advertising Lindy's Diner, with her promise of pancakes and eggs and bacon and coffee, gets you more excited than you care to admit. Mando pulls into a parking spot along the street, and you're out the door before the wheels have stopped turning.

Admittedly, you do also have to pee. 

You rush into the diner to take care of your business, also using the provided sinks to brush your teeth and the mirror to comb through your hair with your fingers. 

It's not much, but you do feel better. Hopefully tonight you can stay in a motel at least, maybe take a shower.

You exit the restroom and look around the diner. Mando's sitting in a booth, smoking a cigarette and looking out the window. You head over, tossing your backpack into your side first and sliding in after it.

"I'll be right back," he says, and leaves. You watch him walk over to the men's restroom, the door swinging shut behind him.

Whatever. Kinda rude. Not like you care, anyway.

You lean back in the booth and take a menu from the stand at the end of the table. The classic breakfast platter is looking particularly tempting, with its hash browns and bacon and eggs-however-you-like. You're contemplating scrambled versus over-easy when you hear a pair of footsteps walk up to your table.

Two strange men stand over you, looking at you like they know exactly how homeless you really are.

"You here alone, baby?" the shorter one asks, putting a grimy hand on the back of your booth, right behind your head. You open your mouth to say no, in fact, I am not, but the other guy speaks for you.

"It looks like you are, honey. Just our luck, a girl like you all on her -"

"Is there a problem?"

Mando's deep voice cuts through whatever it was the creep was planning to say. The low timbre of his voice, normally soft and kind, is uniquely dark - almost menacing - when it hides a threat. 

You slowly cross your legs, hoping no one notices the movement under the table.

The two guys turn, and behind them you see Mando, looking extremely pissed. He puts a hand on the back of the taller man's neck, cig still perched between his fingers, and yanks him away from where he'd been standing in front of Mando's side of the booth.

"Jesus, man! We didn't know you were -"

Mando puts his hands on his hips, eyeing them up like a lion might size up its prey. "What? You didn't know what?"

The guy gulps. "Uh..."

"Come on," Mando taunts, something dark glinting in his eyes. "Don't get nervous on me, now."

"We didn't know you were with her, man. Sorry."

Mando shakes his head. "No. Don't say that to me. Say it to her." He nods hid head towards you, subtly positioning his body in between yours and theirs.

You're frozen in your seat, torn between fear and arousal.

The tall guy glances at you. "Sorry," he mutters. The shorter one's still looking at you funny, though.

Your companion jerks his head towards the door. "It's best you both leave, now." 

You realize the diner's gone quiet, customers and employees alike watching the exchange with bated breath. The taller guy glances around and turns, heading straight for the door. His buddy hesitates, gaze shifting from Mando to you and back again. Eventually he also turns to leave, following the other one out.

Mando slides into his seat, though he won't quite meet your gaze when you look at him. Noise picks up in the diner once again and you let out a shaky breath.

You're about to say something when the two guys pass by the window. The shorter one peers in, works his jaw, and spits on the ground on the other side of the window from you. You see him mouth the word 'bitch!'.

Rolling your eyes, you turn to Mando to try and joke about it, attempting to brush off the uncomfortable encounter. But he's not there, and you realize belatedly that he's now storming outside.

Mouth agape, you watch as Mando stalks up to the short guy. Jesus, you think, if looks could kill... 

The creep whirls around, throwing a fist at Mando before he even gets a good look at him. Mando dodges it easily with a step back, looking simultaneously murderous and annoyed. He winds his arm back and sends his fist flying at the creep's face. The guy stumbles and falls, clutching at what is now a bloody and broken nose, landing on his back on the sidewalk. His friend has long run off.

Mando puts a boot on the guy's sternum, pressing down so he can't get up no matter how much he struggles.

You see him lean down, elbow on his knee, and say something. The guy's eyes widen and he nods frantically. Mando then removes his foot and, without sparing the guy a second glance, re-enters the diner.

He slides into the booth again and takes the menu from you. There's blood on the knuckles of his right hand, but he makes no move to wipe it off. He flips through the pages as if nothing happened. You stare at him.

"You didn't have to do that," you mutter, voice soft and wavering. 

Without looking from the menu, he responds. "Yes, I did."

"But, you coulda just... just let him go..."

"I could have," he replies, and turns a page. "But I didn't."

"But -"

For the first time since you both entered the diner, he looks up at you, and you're taken aback the intensity of his eyes. "He deserved worse, kid. Far worse."

He sounds so sure of it that you can't bring yourself to say otherwise. You sigh and clasp your hands together on the table, unsure of where to go from here. 

Just then, the waitress comes up to your table, notepad and pen in hand.

"You two know what ya want?" she asks as Mando puts the menu back in its place.

He gestures for you to go first.

"Uh, yeah. I'll have the classic platter with scrambled eggs and white toast. And black coffee, please."

The woman nods, writing your order on her pad. "And you, sir?"

"I'll have the blueberry flapjacks, please. And coffee, black, for me as well."

The waitress nods and turns away. As you watch her push through the silver kitchen door, you realize that maybe you should be grateful for the way things went. That they didn't get uglier.

That Mando was there at all.

"Thank you," you say softly, doing your best to convey your sincerity to the man sitting across from you.

He simply nods, observing you with a look you can't quite place.

-

After breakfast, the two of you set off down the highway again. Fleetwood Mac flows out through the speakers and you don't expect to stop until after noon, when Mando will have to refuel (both the truck and your stomachs). Until then you kick off your shoes and put your feet up on the dash, window cracked about an inch so the summer wind can flow through your hair.

Despite the rocky start to the morning, the hours pass by easily, weightlessly. Sometimes you talk with Mando, other times you simply sit and watch the world pass by. You don't think you've ever seen this much land in one go, and it thrills you. The idea that there's so much more. 

The topics vary from your time in school to movies to the truck. You're surprised to find out that Mando's never seen Star Wars, a fact nearly unheard of to you. You promise yourself that you'll make him watch it sometime, somehow.

Lunch passes without incident; you insist on paying for your ham and cheese sandwich, because Mando had covered breakfast before you could protest. It hits the spot, along with your ice-cold Coke from the little market's freezer. There's a line to get gas, as there is everywhere, but luckily it isn't too long, since you're in the middle of nowhere. Mando won't be able to fill the truck up again for a few days, meaning you'll have to stop for the night earlier tonight than you did yesterday.

You do find something interesting at the market and you decide to shell out the money for it because it intrigues you. A new style of Kodamatic camera, complete with a pack of instant film - 12 potential photos.

In your mind you see pictures of mountains, and the truck, and Mando, and you stuff the camera in your bag before your mind can wander any further down that road.

You have to admit - traveling with someone who you know can protect you if the need arises is comforting in a way that almost makes you nervous. You keep telling yourself not to get used to it, that this is just a temporary situation for as long as he sees fit to keep you around. After he decides he's had enough, he'll leave you, and you'll be on your own again. You can't get too dependent on him.

Nighttime arrives much too quickly. The sun has just dipped below the horizon when you drive into another small town, not much more than a stoplight and a few bars. You get lucky, though, because the unmistakable neon of a motel glows just ahead.

"Thank god," you groan as Mando pulls into the parking lot. "I need a shower so goddamned bad."

Mando chuckles. His arm rests with his hand out the window, flicking the ash at the end of his cigarette out onto the pavement. The orange glow at the end of it brightens as he takes a drag, and you tear your eyes away from his lips before he can catch you staring.

That's another problem. He's every inch as attractive to you now as he was before, except now you know he's nice. The mustache and the dark curls and the broad expanse of his chest are all only made hotter by the knowledge that he likes Carole King and Elton John (he knew all the words to Tiny Dancer) and blueberry pancakes.

Plus there was that whole punching a guy to defend your honor business.

The guy at the motel's front desk reminds you of Marvin. Greasy blond hair and acne on a kid not much younger than you. You give him a disgusted look when he eyes you up, but he cuts it out when Mando walks in behind you. It gives you a small sense of satisfaction to see him so meek before your companion.

"We need a double for the night," Mando drawls, counting cash on the counter, cig perched between his lips. The sign advertised a night's stay for $22. You'd tried to pay Mando your share, but he'd refused your money.

The kid shakes his head. "Only got singles available."

Mando raises his brows. "Really."

The kid, whose name is Matt according to his name tag, nods. It takes Mando a moment to think on it, and then he looks to you.

You shrug. "I'm fine with it if you are, Mando."

He nods once and pays for the room. 12. You take the key and head over to get a head start on your shower while Mando parks the truck and gets his stuff.

The hot water feels divine. Even the towel feels great, because as threadbare and shitty as it is, it's clean and warm from sitting under the vent. You finish up in the bathroom and emerge in a pair of old track shorts and a loose-fitting tee.

Mando's sitting on the bed, back against the headboard. His jacket's draped across the table and he's kicked off his boots, so he sits with the remote in hand, barefoot. It's the most casual you've seen him thus far, and it makes your heart race.

"Shower's all yours," you tell him.

Mando looks at you from the corner of his eye. It's hard to tell what he's thinking at any given moment, so you fidget with the hem of your shirt as he looks at you. 

A thought blooms unbidden in your chest. I wish I could kiss him.

You blink, taken aback at the sudden, intense nature of your desire to feel his lips against your own. Not knowing what else to do, you cross your arms and turn to the TV. Bonanza is on.

"Seen this episode before?" you ask. It's an old show, but you still like it.

Mando nods, humming. "Used to watch these every week, right when they came out. Only the first few seasons, though."

"Why'd you stop?"

He turns to sit on the edge of the bed, feet flat on the ground. He gives you a small smile, though his eyes hide something pained.

"I got drafted."

Oh. "Oh. I didn't mean -"

"It's fine," he says and gets up, brushing past you to enter the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind him.

You walk over to sit on the other side of the bed from where he was. Drafted. Jesus. You feel bad for bringing it up, even if it was unintentional. The TV plays though you aren't watching, mind wandering to thoughts of Mando in Vietnam. You picture him in the jungle or in a helicopter, the deafening noise of artillery and gunfire filling the air around him.

Maybe that's where he got the nickname. It certainly explains the rifle.

You reach over for the remote and shut off the TV. The clock on the wall reads about 8:00, still early for you, but you tuck yourself under the sheets and blanket regardless. You face the door, away from where Mando will sleep.

Just as you're drifting off, the lamp on the bedside table clicks off. You feel the weight of Mando crawling in beside you, and he too curls up on his side, back turned.

You fall asleep hoping he's not too upset with you.

The next thing you know, you're awake, though the world is still dark outside. Behind you, Mando snores softly, warm breath fanning out across your neck.

Wait.

You blink a few times and realize the two of you must have shifted in the night. Mando's body is pressed right against yours, chest to your back, arm draped over your middle and hand tucked under your chin. Your legs are intertwined and against the back of your thigh you feel -

You feel him.

Sleep is a powerful drug, however, and the realization is not enough to make you move. Your eyelids flutter shut, and you think maybe this isn't so bad. Your tired brain convinces you to revel in it, to enjoy this position you've found yourself in. Before you can second guess that reasoning, you drift off.

And then you're awake again. 

This time it's thanks to a rush of cold wind in your face. You reach back to feel for Mando, but the warm pillow tells you he's not there. You open your eyes to see him standing in the doorway, looking down at something. It's still dark out, but the lights of the motel parking lot put him in silhouette before you.

"What is it?" You lean up on your elbow to get a better look. The nighttime air is cool on your face, smelling faintly of gasoline and rain.

He bends down and picks up whatever it is that's in front of him. You watch as he turns to look left, then right, seemingly in search of something. He turns around and you see what he's holding.

It's a baby's carrycot.

You immediately sit up, heart racing. "Is it -?" you whisper.

Mando nods, closing the door behind him. You get out of bed and rush over to stand next to him, peering into the carrier.

Sure enough, there's a baby asleep inside. It looks to be a boy, about a year old. You bring a hand up to your mouth.

"Why - who would - what?"

Mando shakes his head, staring at the little guy. "I don't know. I heard a knock at the door and there he was - no sign of anyone else."

"We should - what do we do, Mando?"

He brings the carrier over to rest on the table beside his jacket. The boy is out cold - his little hands grip the blue knitted blanket and his mouth is just barely open. He's got dark hair, wispy and soft atop his head. As you observe the sleeping child, you notice the corner of a small piece of paper tucked in between the blanket and the cradle. You reach out and grasp it between your thumb and forefinger, unfolding it carefully.

"What does it say?" Mando whispers. Your voices are low so as to not disturb the child.

"Grogu. Please take him far from here," you read, and feel your blood run cold as the note goes on. "Not safe in this area. His father is dangerous."

It's scrawled in blue ink on half a sheet of lined notebook paper, the fringe from being torn still attached. Your hands shake as it hits you - there's some mother out there so scared for her son that she left him in the care of strangers. That there's a man out there who legitimately threatens this boy's life.

Tears form at the corners of your eyes, rage and sadness simmering in your chest.

"We have to, Mando." Your words are shaky but certain. The man beside you rests a hand on the carrycot, still looking at the sleeping child within.

You turn your eyes to him. He nods, solemn.

"Let's let him rest. We'll leave in the morning, get as far west as we can. Might even be able to make Texas if we leave early enough. We can figure it out from there."

His other hand brushes against your back, and then he's drawing you into his chest. The embrace is soft, unhurried, and you lean your head against his shoulder, hands tucked against his chest. Letting your eyes slip closed, you think back on the previous day, how you never could have predicted this turn of events. How you've never felt so uncertain of things, even when you'd lost everything.

Together you return to bed, but neither of you gets much sleep.

[tennessoui]

oh my god literally every single prompt on that list is gold and i'd love to see your obikin take for all of them. hmmm... if i had to choose i guess first 13. co-stars au?? thank you lots of love !!!

ah bless!! thank you so much!! i'm slowly working my way through most of the prompts on that list so you might see many many more before I'm done with my ask box. I think after two more, I'll put em on ao3 to keep em more organized too. this has been soooo fun!!

13. Co-Stars AU(/7. Fake Relationship AU)(2.5 k)

“No.”

“Ani, darling, you can’t say no.”

“Don’t call me that. And secondly, I can. I just did. This is my personal life, the company has no control over that.”

“While you’re filming its movie and it’s giving you money, you’ll actually find that it does, Anakin.”

Anakin sits down heavily on the bench outside his trailer, leaning forward until he can put his head in his hands. He wants to run his fingers through the mess on his head, but they’re in between takes right now and the make-up department will definitely kill him if they have to fix him up again.

“Asajj, please. You know how hard it was to get to come out as bisexual. If the first person I date after that is a woman, no one will remember! It’ll just be completely erased, and I’ll be Anakin Skywalker, Playboy Actor again.”

“But you do like women,” Asajj points out. “So either way, you’d be confirming your sexuality.”

Anakin sighs and leans his head back against the metal of the trailer. “And it would be different if I was actually in love with Padme, but she’s just my co-star and--”

“Anakin, she’s your co-star. You’re in a blockbuster movie where you dramatically save her life and then kiss her as the credits roll. This is just business. You like her. You’re friends. Think of it less like dating, and more like going to grab lunch together. And coffee. Maybe a fancy dinner. Several times a week.”

“For how long?” Anakin asks, resigned and despairing and hating the fact that he ever got into acting.

Asajj sounds relieved. “Just until the movie’s out and sales are doing well.”

That could be months. That would be months. “And I have to?” he asks.

“Yes,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

Anakin doesn’t say it’s fine. It doesn’t feel like it is fine.

“They’re not looking for anything to be confirmed. If asked about your relationship with Padme, tell them you think she’s a great woman and you’re enjoying spending time with her. No comment on any sort of serious relationship.”

“Because a break-up afterwards might hurt the chances for a sequel?” Anakin asks drily.

“Exactly! We’ll get you a head for the business yet, Anakin. Okay, I have to go, but I’ll send you the information now, just so you know what you’ll be expected to do. We’re thinking a dinner tomorrow to start things off strong, and then slow afterwards!”

She hangs up before he can say anything else and he slumps back boneless against the metal trailer. God.

It’s not that he doesn’t like Padme. Ventress is right. They were friends before this project and Anakin knows they’ll be friends after as well. They genuinely get along, and it’s probably one of the reasons Anakin was cast in such a big name production: the chemistry between them when they’re acting is undeniable. She’s one of his favorite people in the entire industry.

“Anakin?” One of his other favorite people in the entire industry asks hesitantly from in front of him. “Are you alright?”

“No,” he says.

“May I sit?”

“Yeah,” he says.

Like he’d ever turn Obi-Wan Kenobi away.

“Are you wearing your costume?” he asks, without opening his eyes. Obi-Wan’s playing the villain of the movie, and Anakin has a hard time focusing on anything else when Obi-Wan’s around him wearing that skin-tight white turtleneck and cape combination, with his hair slicked back and fake glasses perched on his nose.

Obi-Wan sounds amused. “No, I’m finished for the day. Heading home now. You don’t have to see how silly I look today.”

Anakin smiles slightly, despite everything. In one of his better acting moments, he’d told Obi-Wan that his costume was distracting because it looked so funny on him. Really, it was just hot.

(Of course, Obi-Wan had taken his criticism seriously and gone to the director and the costume department. They had decided that it would make Obi-Wan’s character more threatening if he pushed up his sleeves in almost every scene to reveal heavily tattooed forearms. Anakin had hated himself and his big stupid mouth for days afterwards.)

“Is...there anything I can do to help, Anakin? I hate to see you like this,” Obi-Wan places a hand gently on Anakin’s knee, and Anakin has to fight a shiver at the touch.

They’d met at the script-reading for the movie, a handful of months ago. Anakin had set two clocks in his head the moment their hands grasped each other and Obi-Wan smiled charmingly up at him. “So you’re the one to kill me?” He’d winked. “Tall order.”

One clock signified the weeks it would take for him to fall in love with the older man. The starting number was pitifully small, but Anakin had been watching Obi-Wan’s movies and interviews for years before meeting him. He’d known something about the man, which of course had paled in comparison to knowing the man himself. They’d spent two weeks choreographing the steps of the final fight scene, just the two of them in a repurposed ballet studio.

Looking back, Anakin isn’t sure how he’d survived. And he had never wanted it to end.

Which is the other clock, still ticking down in his head. The moment filming ends, and they go their separate ways. They’ll probably keep in touch, but Anakin won’t see him constantly, won’t be able to lean into the weight of Obi-Wan’s hand on his shoulder, his knee, sometimes even on his cheek when he leans down in between takes to tell him how good of a job he’s done.

“Anakin?”

“Sorry,” Anakin snaps to the present. “Sorry. I was in my head. I. I don’t think so, no.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says, tensing his hand as if he’s planning to remove it, which Anakin wouldn’t appreciate in the slightest.

“My agent says that the executives want me to date Padme. To drum up hype for the movie. Because I guess people will think it must be good if the co-stars start fucking each other?” He runs a hand across his face. “Um. Sorry, excuse my language.”

“Anakin, I’m forty-one, I think I’ve heard someone say fuck before,” Obi-Wan sounds amused again.

“Yeah, I just. Don’t want to? I guess maybe--I mean you probably didn’t see, but I came out as bisexual a year ago, and I haven’t dated anyone since, and I just know the way the rags will write about me and Padme if we’re seen together. And it’ll be like I just. Never came out.”

Obi-Wan makes a sympathetic noise but doesn’t interrupt. It’s one of the reasons Anakin loves talking to him.

“And my agent just sent me this contract, or I don’t know, list of things I have to do because there’s no way for me to get out of this and it just makes me feel trapped. But they don’t even want me to confirm if we're dating or not dating, they just want to create rumors about it, but it’s my life. I want to do what I want to do with my life, date who I want to date.”

“Do you...have anyone you want to date?” Obi-Wan asks, hand stilling from where he’s been casually rubbing circles on Anakin’s knee.

“No,” Anakin says too quickly and then grimaces. Does he really get paid for acting? He’s always so terrible at lying.

Obi-Wan hums. “I could...take a look at whatever papers your agent sent you?” He suggests. “I’m obviously not really an expert, but I have been in the business a fair bit longer than you.”

“You’re not that old,” Anakin responds by rote, but hesitates, curious despite himself. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“I’ve nothing planned tonight except to have a glass of wine and pet my cat, Anakin. It would be a pleasure to help you any way I could.”

“Okay,” Anakin says, reaching out to lay his hand gently on top of Obi-Wan’s. He’s never done that before, never responded so openly to Obi-Wan’s touches. It’s an amazing thrill.

Obi-Wan flips his hand around until they’re holding hands, basically. In the middle of a public area. God, Anakin’s letting his crush get the best of him when Obi-Wan isn’t even gay. “Thank you,” he says, standing up and pulling away from the older man. It’s the right thing to do. The last thing he wants is for Obi-Wan to think he’s...predatory.

A harried looking crew member spots him as he stands and gestures to him to get back to the set. He smiles ruefully at Obi-Wan who gives him an unreadable expression but also a soft goodbye.

Later, in between takes, he forwards Obi-Wan the emails Asajj sent him, both the papers and the message at the top that says “dress nice for tomorrow at Delfino’s!” followed by a little smiley face he can’t believe she’d ever mean.

He knows nothing’s going to come of it, but. But he has to try.

----

Padme’s dressed to the nines in front of him. He’d compliment her outfit, but he’s already complimented her hair and her make-up, and he thinks she’ll scream if he continues to act as stilted as he’s being now.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs quietly after the waiter leaves with their drink orders. “I know I’m being--awkward. I just.”

They’re seated in the middle of the restaurant, and Anakin knows there’s two paps already outside, taking pictures through the windows. The rest will have arrived by the time they pay the bill and leave. It’s a circus and he’s the main event.

“I understand,” Padme responds, the angel that she is. “I don’t particularly want to be doing this either.”

Anakin presses his hand to his chest, jokingly wounded. “What are you trying to say, Padme, my beloved, my dearest?”

She laughs and he does too, but in the back of his head he can hear the sound of a camera’s shutter clicking. Everything feels fake, and he feels like he’s about to crawl out of his skin.

A hand lands on his shoulder with startling familiarity and for a second he thinks it’s a very brave member of the wait-staff, before Obi-Wan Kenobi is swinging into his field of vision, pulling up a chair from god knows where and sitting right in between Anakin and Padme, never once removing his hand from Anakin’s jacket.

“Sir--” someone says in distress, “This is a two-person table.”

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow and looks down at the table. “Well it certainly can fit three, so I would go as far as to say that tonight it can be a three-person table. Anakin, what did you order to drink?”

“The house white,” Padme supplies when Anakin makes no move to respond, instead choosing to gape at Obi-Wan like a fish out of water.

“Excellent choice, darling,” Obi-Wan says, rubbing at his upper arm absent-mindedly. “I’ve never been here, tell me. Do you serve a good seafood dish?”

The waiter stammers. “We have an acclaimed oyster platter, sir--”

“Oysters?” Obi-Wan smiles at the man, all teeth. “The aphrodisiac? What are you trying to get these kids in the mood for?”

Anakin blushes. “Obi-Wan!” He hisses, aghast. Obi-Wan’s eyes cut to him for a second before he smirks back at the waiter.

“I’ll take the oysters for the main course,” he says dismissively.

Somehow it’s that sentence that tips Anakin off, more than anything else he’s done tonight. Obi-Wan spends hours talking to the people that run the crafts table. He would never be so cold or rude naturally. He’s...playing a character, one that Anakin recognizes as being the villain from their movie (although without all the blood and murder).

Anakin only recedes into personas when he’s nervous about something. Can the same be said for Obi-Wan?

Padme, at least, looks amused. “Hello, Obi-Wan,” she says. “I see you’ve decided to crash our very romantic date.”

“Well that’s interesting, isn’t it?” Obi-Wan replies, turning to face her but keeping his hand on Anakin, although it slides down to rest on the crook of his arm. “I had Anakin send me the paperwork, mild curiosity, you know how it is, and I realized the strangest thing while I was reading over it.”

“Oh?” Padme asks.

“It never states which co-star Anakin should be seen with, just that he must be seen with a leading actor. And I don’t want to focus on the numbers here, of course, but in the rough-cut of the movie, I have thirty-four minutes of screentime. And you, my dear, have thirty-two and fifteen seconds.”

“Tragic,” Padme says, taking a sip of her water. "You may be considered more of a leading actor than I am."

“Certainly,” Obi-Wan gives her a friendly smile. Anakin is still stuck on the fact that Obi-Wan is here, that he read the paperwork, that he’s arguing semantics for the purpose of--of--

“And I suppose you’re here to offer yourself as a replacement?” Padme asks, leaning her head on her hand as she watches the two of them.

“Only if Anakin wouldn’t mind,” Obi-Wan says, turning to face him.

Anakin isn’t sure what he’s thinking right now. “But you’re not interested in men.”

“I am,” Obi-Wan says.

“But...you’re not interested in me.”

“I am,” Obi-Wan says.

“You are?”

“Excuse me,” Padme says. “I’m going to go to the restroom.”

“We’ll wait to order until you come back,” Obi-Wan reassures her, without taking his eyes off of Anakin.

Anakin bites his lip and hesitantly brings his hand up to sit palm up on the table. Obi-Wan doesn’t hesitate to intertwine their fingers again, like they had been just yesterday.

“I’m a very private person, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says quietly, all traces of any sort of persona dropped from his voice. “I’ve never come out, never wanted to. But I was so proud that you had when you did. And I--well. I suppose. You already get to fake-kiss Padme on screen, I thought that perhaps you’d like to try to fake-kiss someone else for a change.”

Anakin ducks his head and gathers his courage. He can’t not ask. A fake relationship with Padme would be awful, but one with Obi-Wan? That would be torture. Cruel and unusual punishment. He’s still reeling from the information that apparently Obi-Wan does like men and apparently he likes Anakin enough to come out for him.

But does he like Anakin enough to touch him and mean it? He has to know. He looks up at Obi-Wan’s earnest face from beneath his eyelashes. “What if I want to real-kiss you?”

Obi-Wan blinks, and a smile breaks out across his face. “Then you don’t even need to have to ask, darling. Kiss me all you want, if you’re okay with a clingy old man in your bed.”

“Not that old,” Anakin argues, smiling so hard he’s afraid his face will crack in two. “But I don’t want to kiss you tonight.”

Obi-Wan turns solemn, although his grip on Anakin remains tight. “We can go as slow as you’re comfortable with.”

“Oh, you can have me later,” Anakin says, waving his free hand in the air. “I just don’t want our first kiss to be for the cameras.”

Obi-Wan catches Anakin’s palm and brings it up to kiss lightly. “You’re right, Anakin. That should just be for you and me.”

The rough brush of his lips over his skin causes Anakin to shiver. He’s never felt so on edge, as if his body is a live-wire. “Good thing you ordered the oysters,” he mumbles, blushing bright red as Obi-Wan laughs loud enough to fill the whole restaurant with its sound.

[consumeconstantly]

The Only Antidote is a Kiss

Summary: Scarecrow always did come up with the most whacky chemical formulas to test on people. Red Hood gets dosed with his latest toxin, and the only way to cure it is with a kiss. The only candidate? Long time rival and almost enemy, Ladybird.

____________________________________________________

“No,” Red Hood said, resolutely. “No way in hell.”

Red Robin’s exasperated voice crackled over the comm. “Hood, if you don’t, you’re going to die.”

“Do you think I care? Death is better.” 

“I would say that’s insulting if I didn’t feel the exact same way.” Ladybird nonchalantly twirled a yoyo at her side. “Besides, ten minutes is plenty of time to get him someone else.”

“You two are in the middle of nowhere. It’s thirty minutes to the nearest city.”

“Yeah, but the suburbs are always an option. You Bats always seem to miss the obvious solution.”

“I’m not kissing her,” Red Hood repeated.

“I know that you two are…” Red Robin tried to find a more delicate way to word their relationship, “Not always on the best of terms, but you are on the same side right now. Ladybird, you don’t want Red Hood to die, do you?”

Plying Ladybird was always easier than trying to convince Red Hood. The woman had a heart of gold. Today? No such luck. 

“He’s not going to die,” Ladybird scoffed. “If he dies over this instead of the many, many, many assassination attempts that I saved him from, I’ll feel insulted. But I’m also not going to help. I’m not going to kiss an unwilling party, and certainly not one with a mug as ugly as Red Hood.”

“You’ve never even seen my face!” Red Hood argued from safely inside his beauteous red bucket.

“Yeah, well you’ve never seen mine either, and yet somehow, you have no issue with calling me disfigured every time our paths cross.”

“You’re wearing a mask. Only people who are horribly scarred wear full face masks.”

“Oh, so you’re admitting you’re ugly then?”

“No, I’m wearing a helmet, not a mask. Big difference.”

Ladybird barely stopped herself from bashing her head against the cement and steel wall. If the action didn’t break her mask, she would have considered going through with it. “God, this is why I’m not going to kiss him, Red Robin. Can’t you use one of those zeta things and drop in a girl for him to make out with?”

“You know they don’t work like that.”

“I wouldn’t know, it’s not like I’m in the Justice League.”

“Not for a lack of trying! We’ve offered you the position at least ten different times.”

“Yeah, on the condition that I get Red Hood to join up too. That certainly doesn’t sound like you guys actually want my help.”

“Nine minutes on the clock,” an automated voice reminded them.

“I say we blow this popsicle stand,” Red Hood pointed a finger up at the cement ceiling.

“Wow, what a stupendously original idea, Red Hood. It’s almost like the next thing out of your mouth might be something vaguely resembling intelligence. Oh wait, that’s right. We can’t get out of this hell hole because there’s three feet of cement on every side of us and we have no weapons that can help.”

“I haven’t had a crack at it, yet.”

“Be my guest. I’ll sit back and laugh at your failed attempts.” Ladybird reclined on a wall. “We both know that between the two of us, I’m the one who’s better at escape and solutions that don't require firearms. You don’t think with either one of your heads, you think with your AK-47.”

“My babies are all I need to get the job done. Your plans are always so unnecessarily convoluted.”

“They’re convoluted so I can cover my tracks instead of leaving evidence, debris, and dead bodies behind.”

“Uh, guys? Can you have your spat after Hood’s life is out of immediate danger?”

“No,” both of them chorused, immediately glaring at each other for speaking in sync.

“I doubt Scarecrow actually came up with a formula that will make you die if you don’t kiss someone of the opposite gender within ten minutes. That seems like the kind of chemical compound that’s featured in all of those really trashy romance novels, except instead of being unable to control your instincts, you die.” Ladybird considered the empty vial on the floor. “I’m confident that Red Hood can ride this out with minimal damage. Even if he does get horny, it’s not like he’s going to go for me-- drug induced state or not, he can’t stand my guts.”

“Can I just say that I don’t want to bank his life on that assumption?”

“It’s not like your life is the one at stake. Just try to get someone out here that can break down this welded door for us sooner, rather than later.” Ladybird gives Red Hood a once over. “Besides, if he does try anything, we all know that I’m more than capable of tying him up.”

#

“Hey, why don’t you use that Lucky Charm of yours?”

“Do you think I didn’t think of that already? That was one of the first things I considered.”

“So why didn’t you use it?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that after I do, I detransform within five minutes? Not a big fan of exposing my identity, plus it’s not like anybody’s in any real danger because we’re locked up here. Scarecrow’s tied up, the goons that welded the door shut on us aren’t capable of using their brains, and a team is going to bust us out in thirty minutes anyways.”

For the millionth time, Red Hood pounded his shoulder against the steel weld, hoping that something would give. Nothing happened.

A beep sounded. 

“Ten minutes have passed.”

“See?” Ladybird crowed triumphantly. “I was right. Nothing’s--”

Red Hood fell to the floor, clawing at his chest.

“... happening. I jinxed it, didn’t I? I guess I’ll use it, then.”

Ladybird called for a lucky charm. No antidote fell into her hand. Just a sheet of paper, saying Kiss him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Tikki, don’t do me dirty like this!”

“Tikki? Who’s Tikki? What did the Lucky Charm give you?”

A wet cough sounded from underneath Red Hood’s helmet. He started to gasp for air.

Ladybird didn’t like Hood, but Red Robin was right. She had grown fond of him after saving his ass so many times. She wasn’t just going to let him die, especially not when she could help him. With a bone weary sigh, she knelt next to Red Hood. 

“I guess we’re doing this, aren’t we? Red Robin, comms off.”

“Off? But Hood sounds like--”

“Off,” she repeated, firmly. “Or I’ll break them.”

The telltale sign of static ceased in her ears.

Ladybird held Red Hood by his shoulders, maneuvering his mask off. 

“I hope you’re ugly,” she whispered.

He was not.

#

Even with blood on his lips, Jason Todd was unfortunately attractive. 

“Gonna--” he coughed again, the spray of blood accompanied by a wheeze. “Bless me with your face before I die?”

“I can’t believe that you’re still snarky while you’re on death’s door.” Ladybird touched the full face mask that she added during her years as a vigilante in Gotham. She still has the usual Ladybug eye cover, so her identity is safe. But the noh mask provides a sense of safety to her. She’s loathe to take it off, but in order for a kiss to work, it needs to be put aside. With a sigh, she places it on the ground and places a hand over Red Hood’s startlingly blue eyes.

“Kinky,” he spat. Ladybird grimaced. Why she ended up on this mission alone with Red Hood was beyond her, but they always ended up in the worst situations together somehow, anyways.

Her lips descended on his. 

Iron and sweat.

“Okay,” she said, wiping her lips with the hand that wasn’t preoccupied with shielding Red Hood’s eyes. “You feeling any better?”

He coughed again.

“Great, so Scarecrow was lying and I didn’t have to kiss you. You were just going to die anyways.” 

She placed her noh mask back on, then pressed a button on her comm. “You’re going to want to speed up the whole backup team. Looks like Scarecrow was lying.”

“You’re kidding me. Scarecrow never lies--”

Red Hood sat up shakily. 

“I’m fine, Replacement. Throat’s a little sore, but I’m fine.” 

“Good to know his MO hasn’t changed,” Ladybird remarked. “I’d suggest that you wipe your face with something. It’s covered in blood.”

“And Ladybird cooties.” Red Hood used his forearm to wipe the blood off. Ladybird had to admit that the man was objectively good looking. The artist in her wanted to take a picture or sketch him. The shock of white hair, symmetrical features, and prominent nose. His eyes had a certain darkness in them, like he had seen the worst of the world, but there was still a clarity to them that said he was fighting against those injustices. “C’mon, you’ve seen my face, don’t you think it’s time to exchange the favor?”

“Backup’s arriving in three,” interjected Red Robin.

“There’s nothing in it for me.” Ladybird tugged the hood of her cloak down lower. 

“Isn’t it weird that we kissed and I don’t know your face?”

“No.”

“You really are into some kinky shit.”

“Also no on that.”

“Then why not show me your face?”

“Stop being such a brat.”

“I know I’m older than you.”

“Bratiness isn’t measured in age, but in mental maturity. Which you have none of.”

“Please?”

“I’m almost tempted to take off my noh mask if only because that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say the word please.”

“If I say it again, will you?”

“I’ll consider it.”

“Pretty please, Ladybird?”

“... Fine.” She’d get a laugh out of this anyways, and the team was minutes away from picking them up.

She took off her noh mask to reveal the red and black domino.

Red Hood cursed.

@jasonette-july-2k20

it’s wild that yall are liking my fics when i basically vomit these things up im honestly scared to look back at some of the ones that have been posted because i do not proof read or edit 

[zaikaglow]

Betrayal

For @mikaberries 4k Celebration Collab

Pairing: Bertholdt Hoover x Reader

Content Warnings: Unprotected sex, dacryphilia, abandonment 

Summary: You feel your relationship has run its course but youre unable to get out and you feel trapped leaving you with only one option, but can you bring yourself to do it?

“You're really sure about this y/n”? Hitch asks, sitting in the driver's seat of her Subaru palms just grazing the wheel as she drums on it with her pink fingernails. Sitting in the passenger's seat you pull your knees to your chest and look out at the Starbucks parking lot. Your face is starting to heat up at the shame of what you just told her. “I just really don’t know how else to do it” you mutter, wishing that maybe you had just kept your little plan to yourself that you didn’t get your best friend Hitch involved. She turns to you this time before she speaks “I just really can’t believe you wanna do that to him, just leave totally ghost the poor guy after what? 4 years? Come on y/n be an adult”. 

You can tell she’s scowling at you now “Hitch what would you do if Marlo asked you to marry him?” she laughs “well I’d tell him no, I’m not ready for that and not just pack up all my shit in the middle of the night and ask my best friend to be my getaway driver”. You were trying to choke back tears of frustration when you weakly mutter “that wouldn't work on Bertholdt”. “Come on y/n you're being ridiculous what do you mean that wouldn't work” her eyebrows knit together as she looks at you with more concern than contempt now. “Remember when I told you I was going to break up with him last year”?

“Yeah but then you two went to dinner and talked it out and you decided to stay together”

“That’s not exactly what happened. I started trying to breakup with him but he started crying and saying how he didn’t even think he could imagine life without me and everyone started staring and I just told him we could work it out”

“Okay so just don’t do it in a public place again” she takes a sip of her iced coffee

“God dammit Hitch! I’m an adult don’t you think I thought of that? Every time I’ve tried to break up with him he just starts either smothering me telling me how much he loves me or starts crying and going on about how he doesn’t know how to go on living.” Getting more exasperated at trying to make her understand you place your head into your palms “I swear that's the whole reason he asked me to marry him”

Hitch sighs “Do you still love him?”

“I don't know anymore Hitch”

“Okay how about you make an actual attempt to end it tonight, I’ll still drive you and you can stay with me until you get stuff figured out but please don’t just disappear on him”

“Fine i'll make a last attempt but if it doesn’t work will you still come get me?”

“Sure what else are friends for y/n” 

It’s later in the evening when you make it back to your shared apartment and your heart is beating in your chest. You're going to do it, you're actually going to be an adult and tell Bertholdt that you're breaking up. You're not getting married and you don’t care about how much he’s crying or the way he wraps his big arms around your body and pulls you close and whispers “stay” over and over. But then you walk in and he’s there and the way his eyes light up when he sees you makes your heart swell and you start to wonder if you can really go through with this “y/n! I’m glad your home I made dinner it’s your favorite” he walks over to you and places his hands on your shoulder “Don’t worry i'm not trying to sway you, I told you that you can take your time to think about my proposal” he smiles “unless you want to say yes right now I’d be okay with that”. Oh god the swelling in your heart is gone and is now replaced with the feeling of being drowned by him, even his touch no longer feels like that of a lover but of a weird stranger. “Uh actually I think” you're interrupted by a kiss, as his hands slide up from your shoulders up the back of your neck into your hair. His lips move to your neck “I’m only joking baby, take your time”. God this is what he did. You could tell he knew what you were trying to do and he was going to try to seduce you into staying with him. His lips lose contact with your neck as he reaches down to pick you up and place you on the counter. He brushes the hair out of your face with one hand, the other resting on your cheek “you know I love you y/n”. You place your hand over his “I love you too” it wasn’t entirely a lie. You truly do think that you still love him in a way which is why what you were going to do was going to hurt. “Let’s go to the bedroom” at which he grins and picks you up again carrying you to the shared bedroom. And you hope to god he doesn’t see the suitcase stored under the bed.

His hips press into the space between your thighs right where he fits perfectly, as you two would joke. His hands go to start toying with the hemline of your shirt, when you look up into his soft blue eyes and push his bangs out of his face “hey, how about we try something” you practically whisper he ruts his cholted cock against you as he kisses that sensitive spot behind your ear reply “yeah what do you want to try” . You grab him by both sides of his jaw bringing him back up to meet your gaze “how about you fuck me like its the last time?” his lustful look is replaced with a mix of concern and a smile trying to hide it “I don’t know if I like that game y/n”. Moving your thumb in small circles against his cheek you smile “I mean just like as passionate as if this were our last time together” you can see his gaze soften at your reassurance. “Okay” ending his reply with a kiss. Large but soft hands run down your neck thumbs tracing your pulse point as he moves towards your breasts giving them a gentle squeeze before moving back to that hemline pushing it up so he can start planting kisses by your belly button making his was up your torso moving the shirt up along with his head until it reaches the bottom of your rib cage where you take the hem in your hand and remove the shirt and bra yourself. Bertholdt pinches your nipple between his top teeth and his bottom lip rolling it into his mouth and soothing the sting of his teeth with his tongue, as his other hand grips your other breast rolling the nipple with his thumb. Legs wrapped around him tightening as the overwhelming stimulation in your tits is causing you to start grinding against his hardened dick in his pants desperate for friction. He pulls away sitting up to pull off his own shirt “hey slow down if this is the last time im fucking you I’d rather make it last” he says with a small chuckle before going to work at your own pants as he slides them down your legs and then lays himself down between your legs. He starts with a wet kiss to the side of your right thigh before making his way down to your core fingers running over your clothed slit before grabbing the waist band and pulling them down. “That's my good girl” he sighs as you spread your legs further apart and grips the sheets at the sensation of his hot breath fanning over your now exposed cunt. A feather light kiss greats your clit before he starts to use the flat of his tongue to lick circles around it as he dips his long delicate fingers into your core and all you can do is grip his locks of dark hair. His fingers dragging against your swollen walls bringing you closer and closer until he switches to suctioning on your swollen bud pushing you over the edge. You squirm under his grip around your thighs as he keeps licking to help you ride out your high. You pull his head off of you, feeling his resistance and attempting to make contact with you again. His jeans already have a wet spot from the way he was rutting his hips into the mattress, so excited at the pleasure he was giving you. He takes off his jeans before sliding back over you, his weeping cock laying on your stomach. You pull his head down into a kiss as he takes his cock and rubs the wet head against your clit before sliding it into you. His hip movements are rhythmic, dragging out slowly and thrusting back in faster and you cant help but to blurt out “I love you, I love you, I love you” over and over at his thrusts; it's almost like a prayer, no, an absolution. The building of guilt at the betrayal to this man's love that you were about to perform, and when he says it back you can't help it and you feel tears start to streak down your face. Bertholdt shifts up and grabs your legs throwing them over his shoulder, head ever so slightly turning to the left to kiss your ankle “it’s okay sweetheart I’ve got you” he says before continuing his thrusting. The tears are still streaming down your face as your head throws back into the pillow at the new deeper angle. Legs still over his shoulder he brings his forehead down to meet yours and he’s so deep you can feel him start to brush against your cervix hurting in the best sort of way. His hips begin to stutter as you feel the warmth of his release into you, and you can feel it start to drip down your thighs as he pulls out of you and wraps you in his arms. “I love you y/n, I really do”

It’s been about 2 hours since you’ve settled down for bed, you're pretty sure he’s sound asleep by the strange way his body is contorted, and you think about how you’ll never wake up hitting the floor because your boyfriend accidentally pushed you out of bed with his crazy sleeping positions again and your chest hurts. “Berty, Berty are you up?” you mutter sweetly but the tall man just continues to slumber. You pull your suitcase out from under the bed, it's packed with all the essentials and you’d probably have to convince Hitch to come and collect the rest of your things for you, no way you could stand to face him after what you were about to do. God you felt like such a bitch you couldn’t have one hard conversation? You had to do it this way? It was so hard because you did love Bertholdt. You weren't lying earlier, you really did love him! But you know this won’t work so you'll continue to feel like something isn't quite right, not exactly whole. So this is the only way you can do it, the only way you can escape from this relationship without the love you feel for him pulling you back in.

You sit in the foyer of the apartment building on your stuffed suitcase and pull out your phone and call her “Hey Hitch” choking back a sob causes a cracking in your voice “can you come get me now”

“Of course, I’m sorry your talk must have been hard”

“We’ll we didn't have the talk per say”

“What do you mean?”

“Well we had sex and I just couldn’t do it Hitch it just has to be this way”

There's a long pause from the other end of the line

“You know y/n, I love you but right now I really don't like you”

You start to sob “I’m sorry I don’t know why I couldn’t, but I left a note”

Hitch sighs before replying “It’s okay we’ll talk more later, i'll be there in 15”

[darter-blue]

(You already know I’m sending more than one)

I wish you would write a kid fic with either Stucky or Evanstan. I feel like you would do such a good job writing them as dads 🥺

HANNAH BANANA MY DARLING

Okay this speaks to me... it's something I think about alot so here is a little Evanstan kid fic idea.

Imagine if you will...

Seb as a single dad of 3 boys. He has his work cut out for him. Life is chaos. Its good chaos, but its chaos.

No he does not win dad of the year. He forgets to sign permission slips until he gets called by the school, he forgets to do laundry until the last minute and ends up drying tshirts with his blow dryer as he gets later and later for work. He messes up the time of his kids friends birthday party's and then arrives just as everyone is leaving. They miss the cake.

He sometimes thinks he would like to disappear off the face of the earth. Or crawl into a hole and never come out.

But the kids always have someone to cry to when they are hurting, when they are nervous, when they feel sad. When they have nightmares, Seb will rock them to sleep. When they're cold he hugs them tighter. If they're still hungry he gives them the food off his plate and goes without.

These are the things that make Seb a good parent. He loves his kids and he shows them that everyday.

Chris is a movie star. He has a big house. A designer wardrobe. He has power and influence in his chosen profession. People look up to him.

But Chris is alone. All his money, all his fame, all his stuff. It doesn't mean anything when he has no one to share it with.

Chris is lonely.

And then one day he's jogging around the park on his usual route and there's a kid running towards him. This kid looks about three years old. This kid is screaming laughing in the most adorable way.

And there is a guy chasing after him. A guy with another kid in his arms, a baby, and another kid running behind him, a bit older, and he's calling out to this kid who is just tearing down the footpath at an unbelievable pace, looking behind at this poor frazzled man and laughing like it"s the best game in the world. Until he runs into Chris's giant, stationary legs and just bounces off, flying backwards into the pavement.

'Oh my god!' Chris cries, leaping after the kid and picking him up off the ground.

The kid is not even crying, he's just stunned.

'Are you okay? Oh my god!'

'Thank you! Oh thank god,' the frazzled guy is saying as he finally comes to a stop where Chris is now crouched on the ground in front of the kid. 'I thought I was never gonna catch him.'

'Sorry, I'm so sorry,' Chris is trying to dust the kid off, but also trying not to touch him, because you should not just manhandle other people's children, and he's looking up at Frazzled guy, who is looking down at Chris and the kid and smiling.

Laughing actually. He's laughing at Chris.

And wow. Okay. Frazzled guy has gorgeous blue-grey eyes and adorable messy long hair and he's rocking his active wear.

Frazzled guy is hot.

'Its okay. No he's an absolute menace, you're not to blame.' Hot frazzled guy is flipping the baby from one arm to the other and bending down to his toddler to run his hand over his head, his shoulders, his arms. 'You okay, bud? That was a big bump!'

'I'm okay!' The kid says, nodding his head, sounding like he's proud as punch. 'Daddy, I runned into Captain America!'

And Chris has to close his eyes against that initial embarrassment, and then snap them open as he realises frazzled guy is apologising.

'I'm so sorry,' he's saying to Chris, 'Buddy, how bout we get back to the play equipment and leave this nice man alone.'

'Oh, no, you don't have to do that,' Chris says, and four sets of blue-grey eyes are staring up at him suddenly.

The older kid is standing behind his dad slightly, trying to hide but also staring at Chris with wide, excited eyes.

The baby on frazzled guy's hip is staring up at him, chewing on his finger and gurgling happily.

The kid who he steamrolled is smiling up at him and pulling on his dad's arm just calling out 'daddy, daddy, daddy,' over and over which frazzled guy seems to be ignoring.

And frazzled guy is staring up at Chris with a sort of horrored fascination.

'I mean, can I help you somehow?' Chris asks, desperate not to let this man and his beautiful children disappear.

'Uhhh...' the guy is just staring at Chris, 'I mean, no, you don't have to do that.'

'You really look like you have your hands full.' He really does.

'I do,' the guy is nodding, blushing, smiling. It's adorable. 'I do, but I'm sure you have better things to do with your time.'

And Chris smiles at that. With a sort of bitter-sweet sadness. Because he doesn't. He really doesn't.

'Actually I'm totally free right now.'

'Can Captain America come push me on the swing? Daddy? Daddy?' The middle kid asks.

And frazzled guy is looking at Chris and mouthing, 'I'm so sorry.'

But Chris won't have it.

'Of course! I'm excellent at swing pushing, as long as it's okay with your dad?'

'Yeah,' the guy says breathlessly, 'Yeah it's fine with me...'

'Is anyone else gonna be joining you...or?' Chris asks.

'No... it's just me and the boys.'

And Chris can't help the grin from taking over his face. 'Well great, that's great. I'm Chris by the way,' he says, offering his hand.

'Oh, Seb... I'm Seb. Sebastian,' frazzled guy says, taking Chris's hand and shaking it.

Chris hanging onto it for a beat too long, brushing the guys fingers as he pulls away, and preening at the blush that spreads even further across Seb's gorgeous cheek bones. The way he's ducking his head, looking up at Chris and biting his lip.

'Its nice to meet you, Seb.'

There you go, Hannah my darling. Evanstan kid fic meet cute.

You wish I'd write a fic where...