#Mark my words I won’t move anywhere else but cities for the rest of my life

[eeoollaa]

Wow I’ve actually beeen so emotionally mentally and physically (in the sense of self actualization, which I guess loops back around to everything) unfulfilled and without purpose

[yostresswritinggirl]

Ik your request is off, but when your request is open can u write dating headcanons with Kazuha ? I like your works so much which is y i send u a request hehe

No rush please take care author-nim :'D

This is a long time coming, but I’m glad to know that you’re still a Kazuha simp even after all this time ahahha thank you for your kind words and I hope you like this!!

Kazuha Dating Headcanons

How it’s like “being with” the fugitive wandering samurai. (masterlist)

Beforehand

The whole dating thing is entirely dependent on when you met or known Kazuha. So for this one, we establish that you and Kazuha are friends even before he became a fugitive.

Your clan and the Kaedahara clan are known to be close, and that’s how you’ve known your childhood friend. You’re always together during the peace time of Inazuma, sometimes getting into trouble due to his wayfaring nature.

Your family tried desperately to help the Kaedahara clan with their financial issues but it wasn’t exactly enough to maintain such a large clan. Soon enough the samurai clan lost its power, and what remains of their abode became foreign as a more powerful clan reclaimed it.

But despite all of that, Kazuha’s happiness is your main priority and you’re relieved that despite the misfortune the young master felt more freer than ever. He leaves the sheltered life behind with the promise to visit you as frequent as he could.

And that he does, even when the vision hunt decree was enacted, even when it’s unsafe to be near the area where many eyes can identify him, Kazuha always kept his promises to visit and spend time with. And thankfully, with the history of your clans, your family are still ever so welcoming to his presence.

You even met his newfound friend (and his adorable cat!) during one of his visits, and Kazuha felt all the heaviness on his shoulders disappear when you two hit it off instantly! And after that visit he received a pat on the back and a thumbs up from his friend, telling him that he got his blessing.

This caused said friend to get smacked over the head by a flustered Anemo boy.

So when the news that he perished after issuing a duel before the throne came to you, the pain was just as bad as Kazuha’s anguish. That night you huddled together in the comforts of your room, weeping over your friend and the danger Kazuha now faces. Somehow all the peaceful times blurred into nothingness, the period of darker times and complications marked that day.

But you despite it all, Kazuha is still the honest man that he is, and he will fulfill his promises to the end: for you, for him, and for his slumbering friend.

Courting

Kazuha is a man of words and custom. Sometimes you think that his passion for poetry and wit were the things that made you fall for him, and he thought it was the best method to confess to someone as honorable as you.

So, yes, it was Kazuha who first confessed through a lengthy, poetic love letter that he left after sleeping over one night, something that he had planned many weeks ago yet kept to himself. Why would you want to be with someone who has nothing to his name? A person that you can’t spend time with freely, who prioritizes his selfish desire to be a vagabond than stay longer with you?

These thoughts stayed with him throughout the week that he avoided coming to your house and still lingered as he begrudgingly trudged up the hill to where your estate is, expecting the rejection at the sight of you waiting for him at the balcony of your room, his usual point of entry.

“YOU!” Kazuha was taken aback by the angry finger pointed at him, he was expecting something else, something sadder or guilty perhaps. Anger isn’t one of them - oh yeah, he did avoid you for a week, didn’t he? “You have the guts to drop this-” the sight of the letter in your hand made him physically recoil, “and then disappear for a week like nothing happened?! Come up here right now or I’m dropkicking your ass!”

Hurriedly, in main concern of your well-being, Kazuha used his elemental skill to jump up to the balcony - where he was met by a tight hug and you reciprocating his feelings. He hugs back in relief, before being smacked over the head for what he did.

Kazuha carries his hobby with him when you started dating, when you told him how nice it was and how you always feel flustered when it’s directed at you. Poetry, haikus, letters complimenting everything he loves about you when he knows it will take a while for him to come back. You have a special box filled with all his notes. And your favorite one:

My love is a butterfly Flies from hither to stay here forever In love and true perfection

On worse days when he’s there, at night he brings comfort by playing with his leaf, a skill of leaf-blowing he picked up from his travels and perfected for your sake. When there are times when you couldn’t sleep properly, he’s always there to pluck a leaf from the trees outside, playing a tune until you find the right comfort to rest. Usually in the company of his arms.

Kazuha absolutely loves cooking for you! When rare days comes that he is able to visit during daytime he likes to demonstrate his cooking skills, always assuring that he gets the freshest ingredients for you to eat. They’re barely a miss, like he knows your taste more than you. He takes a mental note of your favorites, your reactions and of course, your honest feedback.

The next time he comes over, he has enough to feed your family. Sometimes you feel your clan loves him more than you did.

When there are interesting things he’d encountered during his travels, he’s sure to tell you the best of them! These moments are like subtle nudges of him to convince you to join him on his adventures, enticing you with his stories to a life full of meaning and excitement out there.

More often than not at the end of his story sessions, despite knowing that it isn’t safe for you to go out (with or without him) he’ll always have this soft look in his eyes as he looks at you, smile so soft as he looks at you like a daydream, “I can’t wait to be with you out there.”

Kazuha loves it when he gets a reaction from you, whether it be your happiness or relief as he ascends to your home, genuine curiosity over his tales, the embarrassment when he makes a move, or even the worry when he comes back looking a little worse for wear.

Traveling with Kazuha

You’ve always lived a semi-sheltered life in Inazuma due to your protective clan, with your interaction mostly focused with the villagers of your area and the people in your estate. When the decree started, you barely go out now, your people feared that your Vision would be taken away if the Tenryou Commission were to see you.

It was also the main reason why despite Kazuha’s desire to show you a whole new world out there, he couldn’t ever prioritize his own feelings over your safety. It was also one of the main reasons he joined the Resistance: to make a better world for you so that he can be with you in a free world.

However, one day, a clan that’s in the favor of the Vision Hunt Decree snitched on you to the Tenryou Commission. And you were almost captured (as the only Vision holder in your clan) if not for Kazuha arriving at the last minute, fighting them off before escaping with you.

Your family was able to contact him before everything escalated, and decided that it was far more safer for you to be with him than stay at your clan. And so became your current life with Kazuha.

With a favor, Kazuha managed to get you to join the Crux Fleet. And it took a whole month before everyone (including Beidou) to find out about your relationship. This quiet boy? In a relationship with you?! Everyone calmly lost their shit, and there was a drinking party on board (for the rowdy adults).

It was warm, carefree and exciting. Despite your previous worries about the life you left behind, next to Kazuha in the middle of the ocean, somehow things ended up alright. Better even.

You jive with everyone quite well, especially with Beidou - the woman loves you to bits! Teasing you, pulling you around after finding out your backstory, as Kazuha awkwardly follows from behind in silence.

Whenever you’re around, Kazuha’s demure demeanor completely vanishes, from the mysterious kid that the crew didn’t know the name of for weeks turns into a rambunctious teen that’s only purpose is to make you crack a smile or laugh.

He is so down bad, everyone but you notices this, and soon he too became a huge target for teasing.

You’ve realized too that Kazuha smells a lot like the nature around him, sometimes the sea salt from the sea that you spend most of your days on, to the maple leaves of the forest near the docks of the cities you land in, or the musky, earthly scent of the mountains that you both trek.

Kazuha likes to be by your side every second of the day, as long as possible. And oh does he love teaching you things about the outside world, like how to tell the weather, the constellations in the sky, the inner workings of the ship.

He’s like a lovesick puppy trailing behind you. Sometimes he had to be physically removed away from you to help out on the ship, and the unlucky crew member who drags him away during a particularly bad mood gets the worst glare in their life. If they try to tell it to the others, the crew won’t believe him.

Kazuha Kaedahara had always been fascinated by you, and now that you’re here with him, he wouldn’t pass up to spend every second together. Anywhere in the world, with him you’ll be safe.

@zelos-simp @legionqueensav @snackgod @rxsalinee @coka-cala @lilydewi22 @yellowflowre @traveler-lumine @creation-magician @hanniejji @gojos-baby @gojos-baby @volleybloop @tartuu @sassyglassesbunny @moaa @dandelion-dreams @witchsungie @lehra @blissmal​ @upsetpotatoo​

[sugar-petals]

SuperM as Boyfriends Headcanon

↪ caro’s note. extra long version because i miss ‘em. best boys, they’re all bf material to the moon and back ♡

5k words | bullet points

○ warnings ⚠️ 18+, dom/sub play, shibari, female reader, grinding, poly mentions, threesomes, face-sitting, femdom & vanilla, smut and fluff

⌈ ten

— motto: they won’t underestimate me for long.

most of your social environment is gonna be confused by ten at the beginning 

and don’t really get what he’s all about

or think he’s like whatever, some random guy in a tank top

acting peculiar

finding him kind of hard to gauge

some of your family and relatives might even think he’s totally unusual and a sneaky fuckboy making you mad 

they seriously wonder what you see in him

down the line that perception has turned by 180 degrees

as it should

ten becomes more irreplaceable, relatable, beautiful, perfect and impressive the more you know him

he’s not as mysterious and impossibly badass as everyone assumes

his personality is very approachable to you 

and you find him interesting in every aspect, looks to hobbies to background to personal habits

and also opinions because ten is a guy who really thinks stuff through

so you gotta be roughly on the same wavelength 

he likes discussing controversial and complicated stuff a lot for sure

being far wiser than his age suggests 

you are the first to share those things with him until the rest of the world catches up to this gem of a person

spending so much time with you

in the most personal way he can

he takes you to see the floating markets in bangkok, you spend the summer in thailand

wakeboarding and playing badminton

his entire family knows you inside out at some point this shit is serious

it’s very important to him to go back to the roots every now and then

and that you have been around his home city as well

getting to enjoy the area and time together eating the most savory delicacies

renting a boat and paddling you around to the important spots, he can explain any question you have

this kissing is gonna be so romantic 

who needs a vacation in venice when you can go to thailand with none other than ten himself as your ferryman let that sink in

except eating durian there he is, the boyfriend who can do anything!

with seemingly no effort

ten does little kind services of love for you throughout the day

he pours you herbal tea, fixes some furniture (he’s surprisingly good at tinkering), comes home from the bakery with your favorite pastry, does the laundry with your favorite fabric softener

he also goes on a huge shopping spree with you monthly because fashion is key in this household and it’s tremendous fun

you giggle when he puts on oversized shirts deliberately to look funny

everyone in the clothing store will think oh man what an adorable pair

ten will model the living hell out of the entire stock

and buy you the cape you really really want as a birthday present

said item turns out to be your favorite couple accessory

because you can sit next to each other on a bench at the river and wear it

what’s not to love about a portable blanket

of course he will take to instagram and make it such a cool thing, photographies of you wearing really cool coats and jackets

mirror bathroom selfies together as well, with a back hug, the classic

and not just for insta

you snuggle a lot generally

ten is always available for affection

and accepts all PDA

he’s a kitty after all, he loves the warmth of your body more than you know

remember how taemin said ten’s hands are always cold, newsflash not anymore since you stuff them into the pocket of your hoodie whenever you can

and hello sir your paws will be nice and cozy on my waist

or hand in hand when you waltz through your apartment

time for dance is a must

oh my god ten is so good at all of this

although say he’s definitely faster into latin than standard genres

tango argentino, he loves flamenco as well

don’t believe me? ten is a diehard rosalía stan!

vamos

so, no-brainer, expect a lot of dancy stuff 

that escalates into wild, passionate fucking

which probably looks like an aggressive form of couple exercises

you poor sore souls

ten’s lil kitty butt is falling apart from all the “i can handle a bigger one!”-level pegging and you have aching legs all over

favorite position? full nelson

if you ask me ten’s ass is probably so carved out by the end of this you could fit lucas and kai in there from head to toe

this is not for the faint of heart

sex with this guy is extra cardio

and if you’re into that a threesome is gonna go down sooner or later

with our girl lisa

there. i said it

miss manoban in those knee-high boots, grinding her thighs between yours and you finishing off on ten’s face? the fucking hottest thing ever i need a moment wow

i don’t have to tell you how orgasmic this is gonna be

steamy sex life with ten very recommended

⌈ kai

— motto: you’re like a precious rose. i’ll protect you forever.

to be straightforward with you

he is in so heavily in demand it’s madness

to give you an idea of the scale

mark is basically occupied by yuta until the end of time 

but kai has an entire idol fanclub on top of all erigoms

those sharp moves did not go unnoticed

he gets an inkigayo sandwich every other day

jesus christ

if rent-a-sexy-bf.com was a thing kai would be the most requested

his phone would be blowing up with contracts like

and you also have to pass kyungsoo’s vibe check

and taemin’s

the road to being kai’s gf is indeed the way of the samurai

i mean honestly: kim jongin is without a doubt the hardest member to get a date with

this has got to be the most selective man of the entire industry or something

if he likes you he REALLY likes you

and he will be the one showing initiative

because he wants to make it clear he isn’t just spending time out of politeness or something

although it’s pretty logical that if kai was unable to reject someone he would no longer be an idol but a harem husband busy every hour of the day

seoul would be able to found its own village 

kai town

where like 70% of the population is pregnant

but since kai wants to keep on dancing obviously and he wants to lend his heart to only one person 

seoul has to settle with a singular nini family house instead of a kai district

where you and the man himself are a full-fledged household basically since kai’s nieces double as actual kids

if you wanna be a young ass ‘mom but not mom with kids’ and be married to kim kai this is it

does he have a thing for milfs or something

that thought just came to my mind

anyway you’re mommy anyway wink wink

fucking til’ dawn until even his muscles hurt

going raw at the gym together

him cooking the most random food with the infamous waffle maker

cuddling with an army of teddy bears surrounding you

walking the dogs with the sexiest dancer alive 

and the sexiness is only the tip of the iceberg 

we know he’s all-round amazing

kai is the king of figuring out ways to chill out with you anywhere anytime

and yes innocent chilling

...unless you’re in the mood for something else

up to you

anyway

sweet innocent chilling for now... with the stunner... just smooching at best things aren’t going raw or anything

on the couch in the kitchen in the car when it’s parked somewhere in nature

kai takes you very seriously and is a great listener

he’s literally so respectful and open-minded i can’t

he will keep your secrets and stand up for you if it’s ever needed

yes he is extremely caring and invested

kai does not tolerate others being shady towards you

if there’s an instance where you are hurt and unable to assert yourself don’t worry. he knows how to confront others with measure but a firm determination.

kai takes a lot of that responsibility but only to the degree where you are comfortable

i think you get what i mean by that

and he is diplomatic instead of plain patronizing

you have a right to be protected. it means he not only treats you well, but also makes sure your well-being isn’t disturbed in any other way outside of the relationships

outside influences aren’t to be underestimated

and since kai is a godly man you encounter a lot of jealousy from others

a matter he will take into his hands since he knows he’s the reason

standing up for you also means saying no 

to these jealous voices so this is an important boundary he has to draw

that all kinds of hellbent people want to get into his pants and take his stage image too literally is not up to you to fix

kai is there for you to enjoy and love not to defend

that’d be exhausting and beside the point 

kai prevents stress and negativity to come to you

i hope i explained this well he doesn’t do this to be bossed up or make you weak it’s because he wants to make life easier for you

guys being protective will be chalked up as chauvinistic these days. often rightfully so 

but what i mean is that kai support you in all regards so you won’t be at a disadvantage or feel terrible about something

⌈ taeyong

— motto: we’ll take good care. enjoy the pleasure.

he’s the type of boyfriend who will ask you about things he missed out on while he was busy

things um from the internet

while mark literally knows that one by heart already taeyong will ask you things like what the wellerman song is

and you thought it would be something nsfw

i got you fooled

did we forget that the man literally watched nct memes on youtube

taeyong is both even more 18+ than you think but also even more innocent than you think it’s complicated

this man is just hard to describe he’s so different, i mean every person is unique but he’s an original it’s the extra mile you know

anyway

sea shanties

bopping to it all day since he just heard it 

singing it while he prepares dinner based on a youtube recipe video as he often does

he’s the most adorable person ever ever ever

asking you why shanties are back in fashion 

(good question, requires a deeper sociocultural analysis i reckon)

planning to remix one for his soundcloud lmao i kid you not

maybe your favorite shanty 

featuring fast-pace rap and all

creating his own previously unknown phrases and shit like that you know him

palazzo rocco lemon detox flashbacks

he’s hilarious i swear

taeyong will produce his own shanties for you can you imagine

as he says: my happiness is your happiness

watch out he will drop a shanty music video with extra krumping moves

taeyong is a never-ending source of pure crack

prepare to laugh a lot like, a lot lot

how can a man who seemingly has such a serious outlook on life and such a bonkers kinda face be so lighthearted

it’s like he’s peter pan or something

especially since he has to manage like over 20 brats in nct his cutesy behavior towards you as his gf will stand out to you

yeah so to be clear we all know he’s the cute one in the relationship

and guess who wears the pants

that’s always you ma’am don’t deny it

or wait 

not for long actually because they come off um physically

but not metaphorically

because who doesn’t wanna sit on his face tbh

your favorite reserved spot

he loves it

taeyong has such a thing for your body it’s ridiculous

mister lee got a sexy mama

and you have such a thing for the gloriousness that is him

but neither of you will not admit it as openly as other people would think

all there is... is being flustered

baekhyun probably has to play some cupid now and then

and give you some ideas

like gifting taeyong plushies and things like that

baekhyun knows what taeyong is all about so the advice is very welcome

but most things you find out for yourself

by being a little braver with him you know

you walking around naked in the apartment or basically fresh out the shower with nothing but a towel

will shake up taeyong so immensely, he will back himself against a wall without you even pinning him there lmao!

jeez he’s so deep into kinky stuff but easily shook anyway

i quote him again: “born to be cute, i dunno!”

you can imagine the overwhelm when you rub yourself against him like it’s nobody’s business

it’s so much fun to give taeyong a regular horny meltdown not gonna lie

this man was grinding his whole body all over the superm stage and now he’s basically freezing up and drooling

how many denied and ruined orgasms he’s gonna get, so much overstimulation all the way  

you’ll lose count of it

and just how wet you’re gonna be

is a thing for the history books

taeyong isn’t such a big deal in nct for no reason god gave him every talent 

so great sex is obviously in his repertoire

i think you’re gonna break some records for most fucks per week

you know... guys like lucas taemin kai and baekhyun spend more time wooing and teasing and flirting

but taeyong gets down to business

one glance is enough

⌈ lucas

— motto: the hottest couple around.

ah, big boy

you really got this man’s attention

doing nothing much at all really

he probably just saw you walking around talking to friends

carrying an impossibly huge veggie burger munching and enjoying yourself after going on a jog

yeah boy that’s how you catch his eye

they say love begins in the stomach and that is the true meaning

or the nose, your food smells really good, lucas is going crazy, he’s seeing stars and shit

anyway

the towering burger isn’t the only thing he wants

lucas cannot get you out of his mind no matter how much he tries to distract himself 

with more good food, movies, games

fooling around with wayv or the superm maknaes, and working out

he’s admittedly... a little himbo head over himbo heels with you the feels got to him

he’s not gonna say it’s a date he’s just gonna invite you just because

to hang out in the kitchen while taeyong cooks and baekhyun comes up with the idea to play twister

imagine lucas with his long arms and legs bending himself all over the place

fighting with kai who almost crashed his shoulders into taemin who avoided the accident quickly

making you lose a round

obviously lucas will hustle until your team wins

mostly because he’s so tall and baekhyun is so small which is a huge advantage when stacking each other over the map

let’s just face it baekhyun only suggested this game to bite everyone’s butts and to see you have skinship with lucas

which is definitely a successful plan of the leader

yukhei is in paradise 

jumping around his room like an oversized bunny after you went home

don’t lie, you fell hard for him as well he’s just such a presence

emotionally, physically

a gentle but persistent giant

he’ll do anything to make your relationship happen once he knows you’re interested

if there’s someone meant to be a boyfriend it’s gotta be him come on

he will cave in after a while and admit he can’t just forget about you 

not gonna lie

your ex is gonna be shaking in his ratty boots

his poor eyes will literally jop from their unexpecting sockets

when he sees lucas hanging out with you

with his shining blonde hair and tall stature, that perfect shapely body, with great fashion on top of that

looking like your guardian angel

man, xuxi really does

pulling you out of your slump that’s been going on for months

and bringing back smiles and a good time he knows how to do that best

and big big hugs of course

you can imagine how soothing and grounded it feels with such huge arms around you

he will make sure that feeling is always there when you need it

because you deserve that treatment

which means he will come over very very often

yeah get ready for how yukhei is a lot more driven than you think just dial and he will be there

underneath the meme surface is someone very determined who really really wants you

yukhei is chaotic good incarnate but in that area he isn’t messing around

his brain is like: “gotta be with her”

on repeat

he must call you, he literally can’t sleep without tying loose ends together as quickly as possible

no second wasted with this guy, even far down the relationship timeline

i really pity your ex 

i mean someone dating any superm member would drive their former partner completely nuts 

but lucas is a special case

he has that kind of look and aura that makes other guys dig themselves into the ground like wiggling worms or cope by fanboying over him

i don’t wanna make this sound like a competition and yet — congrats on your noodly blondie boyfriend alright

⌈ mark

— motto: two nerds in love.

how to explain this. mark is a perfect balance of a lover, a talker, and a shy bean

with a tendency toward bean

and flicking the bean

you know

cutting right to the chase are we

mark is very invested in pleasing you as good as he can

and defeating his awkwardness

because if we know one thing it’s that he always strives to become better and better like he can’t help it

and isn’t afraid of almost biting off more than he can chew

how many subunits is he part of at this point is it gonna be nct hollywood as well god dangit

back to the point mark doesn’t treat relationships and sex as something static which is a good and rare thing

he does his best and always looks for room to improve

while being very nervous, very bilingual, it takes two languages or more to express what he thinks about you let that sink in

that’s very shaky first date sex while being extremely in love with each other

lucky you

and an afterglow where he plays the guitar for you

that’s so nice 

he can play it while laying down and shit

while singing

not rapping, actual full-fledged serenading

we’ve heard how that sounds in the relay cam

are you dating some kind of teenage heartthrob or something huh

mark will make it very clear he’ll stick around, this bad bitch is here to stay

or actually, he’s a good bitch, don’t misunderstand

mark doesn’t have a lot of edgy in him unless rap is concerned

he’s the kinda guy to get lost in IKEA with 

having a good time 

as often as his schedule permits

you really have to make use of your time together 

this man might as well the busiest idol out there

and you are no different because birds of a feather

you’re both mr. and ms. independent 

out and about very often

so meeting up becomes something special during comeback season

or wait mark always has a comeback going on

which is a double-edged sword but something you both know you signed up for 

which is why you spend a lot of time around NCT dream, 127, and SuperM 

sm’s publicity agents have to work extra hard i’m telling you

a dating rumor is the last thing both of you would need

since you befriend several members you gotta stay on the low as well

but hey the rage of jealous people of the public is nothing compared to the force of nature that is yuta nakamoto

who seriously thinks himself threatened and robbed

in case you are feeling possessive as well...

...you might have to fistfight yuta

to be able to be with mark

who is basically property of osaka at this point

yuta is a scorpio that’s just the way it is

unlike taeyong who wishes his rap buddy the best, yuta kinda wants to be mark’s wingman and see him date, live his best life

but also have mark for himself to fawn over and to adore, to be fascinated by

we get it yuta. bisexual struggles. very understandable

you have to promise in person that mark doesn’t forget about the holy gaming nights with yuta 

which is hilarious since that’s not up to you but mark’s memory

bestie, yuta uses everyone as a scapegoat don’t sweat it too much

regardless you put a weekly reminder on the fridge

so the roaring lion yuta would be pacified

he doesn’t want to lose his sweetheart can you blame him

the ultimate but also most risky solution is obviously inviting yuta for movies 

which will be appreciated but also cause a storm

mark will definitely break a sweat when you start a popcorn war or try to prove who hugs mark the best 

caught in the middle of mayhem is mark lee’s specialty what did you expect

this either ends with murder or a chaotic open relationship down the line

yuta really is attached but who wouldn’t be

it could be worse mark has double the love you know 

⌈ baekhyun

— motto: you wanna know why i’m your candy?

baby tell me are you ridin’?

in fair verona where we lay our scene...

that baekhyun always wants to woo you — his way, which proves to be very interesting to say the least — is never hard to miss

putting in effort is mochi default mode 

no matter what stage of the relationship you’re in

he might as well regularly serenade you under your balcony in the backyard just because

probably singing ‘baby we can stay up’ and wiggling his ass in all directions because he’s a dirty boy gone wild

yeah. nowadays romeo is twerking instead of feuding with tybalt

that’s good for him and everyone involved

you in particular because you get some very racy eye candy

you know how baekhyun is

at least nobody’s around seeing him put on an 18+ show like that

your little guy is one unhinged fella

if it starts pouring he will grind up and down the next lantern and belt out ‘singing in the rain’

you bet he can do some actual pole dance

he’s strong and bendy you know

and loves to gyrate his whole bag of bones like... he wants to hit you with all the body rolls

in the rain

what a freaky man

but hey you wanna stay up for sure 

doesn’t take long until you beckon him to come upstairs

where the only way to alleviate him of his wet clothes—

oh well he has those roger rabbit vibes and you can’t be mad at it

he will play off all his hormonal antics

baekhyun is hilarious

and so perverted, he can keep up with your spicy idea of playing patty-cake don’t worry

how do i know you’re an extra nsfw kinda person?

who else would like baekhyun

he says juicy things all the time

and does juicy things

yes. finally a couple on eye level indeed. 

when baekhyun asks are you ridin’ you ask how hard 

bruh

this is gonna be fun

and remember

beside handing you sacks of money

his priority is always to make you smile

i’m kidding about the bags but

baekhyun is so rich it’ll show in your relationship, but he’s more about the interactions with you rather than the lifestyle

baekhyun didn’t hustle for a bentley he hustled to sing and get out of sm alive alright

financial stability: important

luxury: very nice to have, he can make you the presents you want to have and travel a lot together

but smiles: baekhyun priority

because he so badly wants to know you love him and adore him, he sometimes feels so insecure

of course you do

you always reassure him with your reactions

it’s very important to him don’t underestimate it

baekhyun has always been talking about his ideal type in terms of how he can cheer her up

so even the naughtiest sexy time evenings are gonna be filled with all giggles

anyway other than that your pussy will be dripping

because this guy is as horny as all other members of super m combined

and you have your ways of leaving him tongue-tied and wrists-tied

taemin’s impact

superm isn’t short of bondage supplies we all know that

so yeah. shibari baekhyun is gonna happen

since he does pilates imagine what kinda shapes you can bend this lil guy into

and take some pictures

privé is in trouble 

bondage model baekhyun is bursting onto the scene

you might even run a risque blog that features cropped pictures with him

heh — you think people will recognize him by his body?

nope

first: you only upload HD pictures that aren’t whitewashed

baekhyun is basically never photographed like that

second: who expects baekhyun to be featured on a bdsm blog with his girlfriend

and this is the guy that drives you around in his expensive car with his big black shades on 

well what can i say

nothing is the way it seems

⌈ taemin

— motto: i’ll unfold a whole new world for you.

taemin is cocky, he’s sensual, and: a very smiley person as we know

least boring relationship ever

he will prance toward you whenever he can to involve you in cuddles

touch-starved taemin is a thing

kkoong can tell you about it, he needs kisses and embraces so often

might as well pepper him with it no problem

and put him into your oversized sweaters when he eats ice cream on the sofa, watching movies, and you brush his ever-growing hair

he’s smol he’s gonna fit into them don’t worry

and on the other hand he likes a rough and tough girl who thinks of him like a boy toy

who acts tsundere or like his bodyguard

working out almost daily to the point of sweat all over

a gal probably able to pretzel minho lucas and chanyeol into one giant bundle

taemin truly has the taste of a divo

multi-layered as always

so you couldn’t say the relationship is always the same in sentiment, the vibe of the dynamic could be different every day

we love a complex man

what would be volatile to others is actually an advantage up close

because taemin understands every difficult facet of himself and his partner 

even if those facets might be contradictory

or something that’s felt shameful about

he will accept and listen anyway

the same goes for getting what drives you

taemin is like a walking psychology velvet couch with fancy swirls as arm rests

point is he isn’t fooled by the surface of the world

he knows what has to be known

which also means your looks aren’t the part he prioritizes

and not even outward personality and habit is what he’s drawn to

it’s the mentality and values underneath

that’s true compatibility to him and he can feel it

he’s really really smart

and also finds it important that you get along with shinee and superm, that you think they’re nice to be around and vice versa

especially kai as taemin’s absolute bearly bestie. if kai thinks you’re shady and you don’t like kai either

or if you’re permanently super awkward and taemin’s moodmaking doesn’t help

we have a problem

but fair enough

kai and taemin are basically one soul at this point so if taemin likes you jongin does anyway 

bff telepathy

in fact jongin was probably the one introducing you to taemin lmao!

because he knows you go well together instinctively and he is correct

so not to worry then

and it’s good on taemin to think longterm and not see you as a person outside of social interaction y’know

cough cough he thinks about marriage, you might be ms. lee one day

here he goes again taemin is just very mature seeing you as well-rounded in every aspect of life

without letting his dick make the important decisions at the detriment of making this a relationship of two lives not just two bodies only

but obviously don’t assume taemin is no horny devil. we all know he dreams of the freakiest scenarios and fantasies in this whole group

going kinda crazy about the thought of making you cum which he always wants to try with new methods

which occupies his mind more than a big bowl of super spicy noodles which is taemin’s favorite meal so

at the same time taemin junior is definitely the same clingy attention whore as his sparkly owner

limp wrists from all the handjobs on your side

and very swollen lips from giving all that head on his side

this is gonna be interesting

he puts the 6v6 in 69

equals 69v69 am i right

but i’m serious that’s gonna be a lot of oral action

you definitely ask each other about having sex very often, daily if you have the time and find a nice spot

and how on earth do both of you keep your hands off each other sleeping in one bed

taemin is touchy as hell with no shyness, and you squish squeeze and grope this guy like the mochi he is

ah when things go both ways

© submissive-bangtan 2017-2021. all rights reserved. do not repost or translate. all depictions fictional.

[selfcarecap]

if you’re taking requests I’d love a Peter story where the reader is feeling horrible because of bad stretch marks and he makes her feel better about them by making a big deal of how amazing they are 🥺

Warnings: insecurities, mentions of weight gain/loss, a lil bit suggestive like a few mentions of sex

-this is a repost of an old fic-

You feel Peter‘s hand trailing up the back of your thigh, slowly reaching your butt.

You‘re both on your bed, just hanging out. You were looking at memes together, cuddling, but it seems like Peter got bored of them, and now he‘s lying further down on the bed, just trying to be close to you.

His touch is innocent but it makes you nervous.

Now his fingers brush the side of your thigh- right there.

You turn your hips so you‘re lying on his hand, stopping him from touching you. “That’s too close,” you say.

“Too close to what?” He asks, confused, pulling his hand away from underneath you, lifting your shirt instead to lay his hand on your stomach.

You grab his hand, pushing it away.

Confusion flashes through his eyes once more, and he sits up, “What’s wrong?”

“Just... don’t go too close to my stretch marks,” you say, looking down at your phone to avoid his eyes.

He’s quiet and when you look up at him he’s got his eyebrows furrowed, “What?”

“Please don‘t touch my stretch marks,” you repeat, pulling your shirt down again, and making sure your cotton shorts are covering up your ass as good as possible.

“What, why? There‘s nothing wrong with them. I really like them actually,” he leans down to kiss your stretch marks but you pull away.

“I don‘t like them so could you please leave them alone,” you turn around with a huff, looking at your phone.

You see him take off his shirt from the corner of your eye, “Peter, I’m not in the mood. What are you doing?”

“I know, but look. Come here,” he says.

You turn around again. All you can see are his back muscles and you don’t know what he wants you to do.

“What now?” You ask.

He turns his head to the side, and now you’ve got his back and his jawline to look at.

“They should be here somewhere.” He says, his fingers reaching behind his back.

Soon you see what he’s trying to show you.

Right there on his lower back, Peter has stretch marks. Some more red, some faded, matching the colour of his skin.

“I didn’t know you had these,” you say as you trail them with your fingers.

“You don‘t see me from the back that often, I guess. But loads of guys have stretch marks too and no one cares, so I don‘t get why women are shamed for having them.”

He’s about to turn around again, but you bend down and lightly press a few kisses to them. They’re beautiful.

“Do you have stretch marks anywhere else?”

“I used to have them on my hips but they‘ve faded. Actually, for a while I had them everywhere, because after I was bitten I grew and gained muscle over night so obviously the skin stretched and it left stretch marks. But they’re gone now. I guess my back must have stretched the most, that’s why the stretch marks are still there,” he shrugs.

He turns around again, pulling his shirt back on.

“You heal faster than normal humans, right? Why have the stretch marks on your back not healed then?” You ask.

“The word ‘heal’ implies that they’re unhealthy or bad and need to be fixed. But there‘s nothing wrong with my stretch marks and there‘s nothing wrong with your stretch marks either.”

Now you feel stupid.

You never meant to say anything bad about his stretch marks. You like his. Why don’t you like them on yourself? You hope one day you will.

“There’s nothing wrong with them,” Peter continues, “And in fact I actually think they‘re quite sexy.”

You throw him a look, unimpressed, “Okay. Maybe I can believe that there‘s nothing wrong with them but you can‘t tell me they‘re sexy.”

“Who out of us two listens to that City Girls song?”

“What City Girls so-“

“Stripes on my ass so he call this pussy Tigger,” Peter sings without missing a beat, sassy and in the melody of the song too.

You giggle at how cute he is, and honestly, he has a point.

“You’re my little Tiger,” he says. This time you fully laugh out loud as he attempts a little roar and bites into your ass where your stretch marks are.

A second later he sits back up, “No but I really do love them. I love them a lot. I love seeing them when I take you from behind, can‘t believe I’ve never told you that.”

Your mouth falls open and your face gets hot. “You won’t ever be in that position again then.”

“That’s okay. As long as I still get to see the cute ones on your stomach.”

“Peter, stop,” you say, not fully meaning it, when he starts littering your stomach with kisses.

“What? Stretch marks are a normal part of your body. Isn‘t it so cool how our bodies just change while we change and go through life? I don‘t want you to feel bad about them. I wish you could see them how I see them so you could love them too.”

He lifts your shirt again, waiting for you to stop him. But you nod and he buries his face in your skin, kissing you a thousand times.

Although you love having Peter so close, your thoughts won’t shut up.

You know Peter is being serious. He’s not just saying it to be nice, he really does love your stretch marks just like he loves the rest of your body.

Thinking back to what he just showed you, you thought the stretch marks on his back were kind of cool.

So you wonder again, why can’t you think the same way about your own body?

Maybe it’s because the patriarchy and capitalism constantly create new ridiculous beauty standards that make women feel bad and insecure about their bodies so that they spend money on products that are supposed to fix things that shouldn’t even be an issue in the first place in order to feel worthy and feel better about themselves, further feeding into those standards—... or something like that, maybe.

“Okay maybe they‘re not that bad. But you will not call me or any parts of my body Tiger,” you say.

“Tigers are actually the most powerful and in my opinion most beautiful cat species living today,” Peter says casually.

You smile at him and get up, walking in front of your full length mirror.

Turning to the side, you lift your shorts a little, exposing the stretch marks on your thighs. Through the mirror you see Peter looking at you, licking his lips.

You lift your shorts up even more, looking at the stretch marks on your ass.

You don’t exactly love them. But you’re starting to see that they might not be that bad after all. They’re kind of cute, even.

Peter walks over to you, plopping down to his knees next to you.

He looks up at you for approval, and you smile when his arms wrap around your thighs. “So gorgeous,” he mumbles, kissing his way up your thighs and your stretch marks.

“What about these though?” You ask, pulling your shirt up.

You look at the stretch marks on your belly, and some loose skin that you have from losing and gaining weight.

“These are just as beautiful,” he grins at you, moving in front of you.

His kisses along your belly tickle, and Peter looks up at you in pure adoration when he hears you laugh.

The stretch marks are not your best friends yet, and maybe they’ll never be. But you feel less insecure about them already.

Maybe one day you can love them too.

[giorno-plays-piano]

Vicious

Part VI

Pairing: Steve x reader, Bucky x reader, Thor x reader, Loki x reader, Peter x reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, stalking, possessiveness, theft, mention of blackmail, all characters are adults.

Words: 1567.

Summary: Transferring to Stark Academy that has only allowed to take in female students last semester, you realize you are just one of three young women among hundreds of students. Your things are constantly being stolen, and soon you begin fearing for your safety.

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

________

You spent the rest of your evening like a somnambulist, barely able to concentrate on your projects before you went to bed, barely finishing half of the things you planned for today. Even the change of locks didn't make you as happy as you thought it would. It felt like something between a dream and a nightmare.

Lying in the dark, you stared at the ceiling, thinking of what happened just a couple of hours ago. Why did he do it? Was it just out of habit and didn’t mean anything? Naturally, with his appearance and easy-going attitude, he probably dated many girls and didn’t think much before kissing someone he liked.

Remembering the way he talked to you in the morning, you thought he must have pretended to be shy around you. Thor certainly wasn’t sheepish.

Was it all a sham? Was Loki right about all of them, playing their roles to get close to you? You couldn’t forget the way Thor looked the moment he told you about being smart. It was like something switched inside him, and for a second you saw the real Thor who was far from being your simple, good-natured athlete.

Why did you keep thinking about that stupid kiss even after seeing the man could be dangerous?

Aroused and angry, you tossed and turned until you fell asleep.

____________

Waking up was especially tough, despite the fact you didn't really do much yesterday, meaning you were going to spend your weekend studying. Shoot, and that's when you planned to visit that new chocolate boutique in the city. Maybe you could still make it if you spent more time studying today?

But then again, going to the city alone might be a bad idea. Even if the guys who stole your things were beaten, it didn't mean it had always been the same people following you. The school was full of weirdos, in the end. What if somebody went after you? Steve would definitely say you had to bring one of your guards with you.

Damn. It was better staying in the dorm then.

"Good morning! Are you ready?" Peter's voice broke through the silence, and you flinched, hurriedly applying some lipstick because you didn't have enough time to put your makeup properly.

Well, at least you were fully dressed.

"Just give me a second!" Picking up your bag, you put your shoes on and opened the door, looking at a young guy who's face was lit up like a Christmas tree. "Hi!"

He definitely liked what he saw, and you felt your cheeks growing hot from embarrassment. From the very start of the semester Peter acted very sweet around you, and you thought you could be friends with him. He wouldn't do something as ugly as blackmailing, would he? Thor said it too. Clearly, Steve was exaggerating.

"Did you sleep well? I've heard you changed your lock, so now it'll be better."

"Ugh, I hope so. But I still sleep with my dresser blocking the door." Sighing, started walking, afraid to look in the faces of other students, hurrying off to school.

They must have been disgusted, watching you being friendly with one guy after being all lovey-dovey with the other just yesterday. Although you didn't see anyone in particular, you were sure somebody saw Thor kissing you. And now you were walking the corridors with Peter.

"By the way, what's your Insta?"

What? Your Instagram? Whatever for? Although you had no idea why he needed it, you let him add you, by the time leaving the dorm and walking towards the main building.

Suddenly, Peter got pretty close, his arm on your waist as he lifted up his phone and hummed, "Look here and smile!"

Before you realized what he was doing, the boy kissed your temple, and you heard the sound of a photo being taken by his front-facing camera. What the Hell?!

"Peter!" Pissed at him, you quickly break free and stepped back, but he was already looking at his phone, editing the photo and posting it almost immediately.

You heard your phone buzz when he marked you on the photo.

"That's a good one. You look very cute here."

"What are you doing?!"

"Making a proof we're dating, of course?"

You were taken aback by the sincerity in his voice, and Peter smiled from ear to ear like an excited teenager, showing you the picture: it wasn't that bad, and you looked as if you were slightly embarrassed by Peter's closeness. Oh, of course. He had to convince his friends he was dating you, but he didn't kiss you on the lips that could make other people too suspicious. Instead, friends of Barnes or, say, Thor, would still think it was all for show, and it was their friend who dated you for real.

Shit, Steve's plan was incredibly complicated, and you didn't like it at all.

"Oh, alright." You mumbled, lowering your eyes to the ground, and Peter laughed.

"We'll make a TikTok dance later. If you wanna make people talk, just use your social media." He winked at you and put the phone in the pocket of his pants, resuming walking, and you moved along, your face still hot.

God, what did these guys got you into? You felt like you were lost in the middle of a play, not even having a script to read what was your role in all this.

Before you parted your ways, going to a different classrooms, Peter talked about videogames, the upcoming Resident Evil - apparently, his favorite franchise - and some Dota tournament, but you didn't know much about it, and Peter offered to show you his favorite games "because you can't spend all your time studying!"

He was as careless and sweet as always, but you couldn't get Steve's words out of your mind. Damn, if only you could know for sure that Peter didn't blackmail anyone. Who could you talk to about it? Obviously, not Peter himself, but every time he spoke you had that nagging feeling you needed to talk to him. You barely kept your mouth shut before he went to a different room.

Ugh, why didn't you transfer anywhere else when you still had a chance? Obviously, now you could only drop out of school, and it definitely wasn't something you were going to do.

Luckily, the next couple of hours you were busy with your classes, trying your best to prepare for the upcoming exams. The academy held high standards, and even though you were a good student, it still took lots of efforts to keep up the good work. How Thor even managed to get enrolled, judging by the fact he hated studying and often skipped classes?

Ah yes, he mentioned something about getting a scholarship from the academy for his success in the sport.

By the lunch time you were drained, listening to Peter chatting with an absent-mindedly epxression on your face. Funny enough, Peter's grades were better than yours, even though he spent much less time studying. What, was he some genius like Loki? You felt a little envy.

"I gotta go take my tracksuit, I have PE next," the boy said, and you nodded, throwing away the leftovers of your lunch.

As you stood close while he grabbed his sportclothes, you heard two guys talking behind the lockers to your right.

"Have you seen her today? She's with Parker!"

You tensed immediately. Of course, they were talking about you.

"Yeah, so what?"

"She was with Thor yesterday!"

Watching you froze on the spot, Peter stilled too, listening carefully. Oh shit, you hoped no one cared about who you went with - why should they, in the end - but, apparently, you were drawing too much attention simply because you were a girl among hundreds of male students.

"So what?" The other guy asked impatiently, growing tired of this conversation.

"Are you stupid? She's going out with them! I bet she's looking for a guy." The first student said with excitement, and you cringed. No, you weren't going out with anyone, you wanted to stop the weirdos from following you and steeling your things. Was it too much to ask?

"Yeah, who cares?"

"We have three fucking girls in the whole school, and you don't care if one of them could be going out with you? Besides, this one's pretty. I'd fuck her!"

You felt like you were going to puke any moment. Why on Earth did you decide to transfer to an all-boys school? It was like the whole school were a men’s room filled with stupid-ass guys, and you were locked inside, forced to listen them talk junk.

"You'd fuck a sheep, weirdo. Go get yourself a girlfriend if you can’t stop thinking with your dick.”

Laughing, the guy left, and his friend followed him, shouting something stupid while you breathed out a sigh of relief. Of course, you knew there would be some talk, but you didn’t expect it to be so... gross. Were you really gonna spend the two remaining years here?

Watching you getting frustrated, Peter gently touched you by the arm and said softly, “Don’t worry. They won’t talk rubbish about you.”

“What do you mean?” Suddenly thinking of Steve’s words, you blurted out exactly what you were thinking of the whole day, “Are you going to blackmail them with something?”

“I... what?”

Part VII

__________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin ​@inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherub @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @ximebebx @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @sourpatchspinster @biiskuitx @stupendouslovegardener @iheartsebandchris @lovelydarkdaydream @soleil-dor @illyrianprincess @vampirestrawberries @goodgodimaweirdperson @frontmanash @freya-heya @yandematic @mariatietacapitu @d3monslust @maybesandohnos @ibeatuptwinks @mangobangi

[inkandpen22]

Permanent Chaos (5/?)

Pairing: MGK x Female!Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: none

Part Summary: Colson and Y/N talk over coffee and Colson shows her a hint of what it’s like to be a part of his world. 

Masterlist

The Starbucks in the courtyard has since emptied out with everyone having to return to work after their breaks. Colson and I are two of the only remaining people inside. My hands are wrapped around cup, it’s nice and warm. I had to remove the lid to cool down the substance. We’ve been going back and forth, sharing facts about ourselves. 

"Have you always wanted to be an actress?” 

Studying the dark brown drink in my cup I recall memories from before I moved here.“No, in all honesty. I never saw myself as an actress.” 

He doesn’t try to hide his surprise. His stunned reaction makes me giggle. 

"If you don’t mind me asking, why do you do it then?” 

I sway my head from side to side. “It sorta just worked out. I was out shopping with my mom one day when I was in high school. Nicole approached us. She was in town on business and encouraged me to at least visit Los Angeles so we could set up a meeting. The next thing I knew I was in auditions and I got my part on The Seasons of Life a few months later.” 

“Wow,” his brows remain raised as he glances down at his drink. “If you weren’t acting what would you be doing?”

Sitting up straight, I remember what I once thought was my dream life. “First I would go to college and…” I wave my hand, dismissing the thought. 

Colson presses for me to say it. “you’d what? Come on!” He chuckles, grinning brightly. 

Rolling my eyes, I tell him. “I’d go to art school.” I bite my lip timidly. “Yeah... that would be nice.” I pick at the cardboard wrap on the cup. 

There’s a comfortable silence between us until I change the subject. “Enough about me! What about you? If you weren’t a singer, where would be right now?” 

He looks over in the distance, almost envisioning where his life would be. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” he shrugs but is pleased, “I’ve always loved music. Being in music allows me to do what I love.” 

I nod, almost impervious of him and his contentment. 

“However,” he adds pointing at me. “If it were up to my parents, I would have some office job probably.” 

"Eh, those jobs are so bland. I vote you stick to concerts," I giggle. 

He laughs and it’s contagious. 

My gaze lands on his arm as he reaches for his coffee. His entire arm is covered in ink. I was taught by my parents to despise tattoos. My mom would say, “why would anyone ever be willing to damage their body like that?” Finn jumped on that bandwagon. Whatever Mom says is considered fact to him. For the longest time, I agreed with them. That is until I met Colson. He was made to have tattoos. 

 I’ve seen many people in this city with tattoos but his aren’t just markings for the body, they’re art. 

“Which one are you interested in?” He questions, watching me as I admire them. 

“All of them,” I mumble, examining each one individually in awe. 

Back where I’m from tattoos are frowned upon quite frankly. When you grow up in a place no different than Pleasantville, that’s what you get. Especially, in South Carolina. 

“Do you have any?” He asks with amusement in his voice. 

I shake my head rapidly, “never in a million years!” Comprehending how he could take my response as an insult I’m quick to explain. “I mean, I would never be allowed.” 

His brows scrunch together. "Never been allowed? You’re an adult. Who’s stopping you?” 

I can’t help but snicker a little. If only it was as simple as he makes it sound. “My parents, brother, Nicole, Steph..." 

Colson narrows his eyes at me as he leans forward in his chair. “You’re your own person. You should be able to make your own decisions.” His argument is lacking and quite frankly too optimistic. 

“It’s complicated…” My eyes fall onto my fingers picking at the cardboard rim of my coffee cup. 

“If you say so… except all of them are keeping you from expressing yourself.” 

I roll my eyes as my lips form a smirk. It’s unbelievable, he makes everything sound so black and white. “You’ll never understand,” I conclude. 

“I understand more than you think.” 

Lifting my eyes up, he stares at me with a sincere expression. 

“Prove it,” I challenge him. 

Based on the change of his features, I have given him exactly what he wants.

"If you say so, Princess," he chuckles, rising from his chair. I stare at him in confusion and he offers me his hand. "You coming?" 

I smirk, slipping my hand into his. He grins and bites down on his lower lip. I'm going to regret this. 

_______________________________________________

Driving around with a guy I’m only acquainted to is completely unlike me. Everyone who knows me would be beyond freaked out at the current scene. It's kind of riveting. 

“We’ve been driving for almost an hour," I snicker. 

“It’ll be worth it, trust me!” 

“Where exactly are we going?” 

“The mystery is half the fun!” Colson enjoys the antics. 

I reach forward and change the radio station. Yungblud's "Parents" plays and I leave it. "Love this song," I mumble to myself. 

Colson glances over me, evidently surprised. "You know Dom's music?" 

"What? Just because you view me as a 'goody-two-shoes' doesn't mean I live under a rock." I giggle and hold my finger for him to wait a second. He chuckles. I begin to rap the lyrics from memory. "Yeah, the teacher fucked the preacher. But then he had to leave her. Had to wash away the sins of a male cheerleader. Hi, nice to meet ya, got nothing to believe in. So let me know when my breathing stops!" 

Colson turns up the volume to blasting and we then shout the chores together. I can’t remember the last time I had the chance to drive with the windows down, blasting music, and acting my age. I’ve forgotten what’s it like to just be a young girl, not working all the time. 

Once the song fades out, he turns down the volume. 

"So, she can rap too!" Colson looks at me, rather impressed. 

I dismiss his compliment with a wave of my hand. "Only if I've listened to a song a dozen times." 

"Not gonna lie, that was hot," he chuckles. 

Warmth rushes to my cheeks and I struggle not to smile. My head rests against the window as I watch the ocean become a blur as we drive down the PCH. 

_______________________________________

Colson drives down the road until there’s a dead end. To my surprise and then confusion, he parks the car. 

“We’re here!" He announces before jumping out of the car. 

There’s nothing here. Bushes, sad-looking trees, and dirt. I watch as he walks over to a clearing between some bushes. 

He peers over his shoulder. “You coming?” 

I take a deep breath and swing open the door. Following him to wherever we are, I spot a sign. 

                                   No Trespassing! 

“Hey Colson, that sign said no trespassing. We should go back.” 

He doesn’t even slow down as he walks down a weak path. “I’ve seen it, they never do anything.” 

With every passing moment, this road trip becomes more and more out of my comfort zone. Nicole and my entire team for that matter have guided me to prefer the indoors these past few years. I can’t remember the last time I spent an entire day outside in nature or not following a schedule. 

There’s a light at the end of the tunnel when the brush ends and the path opens up to a clearing. The sound of waves hitting the cliff before us echoes throughout the area. 

I cautiously step closer to the edge and look down to the bottom. “Wow!” I say to myself breathlessly. 

Colson peers down to the shoreline beside me. He then suddenly removes his jacket and moves on to his shirt. 

My jaw drops and I quickly direct my attention to the coastline far from him. I bring my hand to the side of my face shyly, blocking my sight of him undressing. “What the hell are you doing?” 

He chuckles behind me. I’m glad he can find so much amusement in my discomfort. “Cliff diving!” He says a matter of factly. 

“What! No you couldn’t! It’s illegal in these parts! You could get killed!” 

“Or, I’ll jump, have loads of fun and do it again!” He debates. 

I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. “Fine, you live out your death wish. I won’t be participating!” Whipping around and avoiding even sharing a short glance with him, I stomp toward the direction we came. 

He drops his shirt on top of his jacket in the grass and jogs to catch up to me. He squeezes my shoulder, using the other hand to plea with me. I whip my head around to face him. That's when I notice his tattoo-covered chest. 

“Oh let’s do it, Princess!" He encourages. "It’ll be thrilling! An adventure! Reckless! Something different!” 

Did he just call me Princess? No one has ever called me that and he has twice now. 

Colson takes my hand into both of his and I’m thrown off by the action.  “Be spontaneous with me,” he requests softly. 

Currently, I’m debating with myself. The youthful part of me is screaming ‘hell yes! Let’s do this!’ The businesswoman part of me is wiser than to take such a risk. I check over at the edge again. My willingness to do such a rebellious action is new to me. There’s no one here to see us. Paparazzi isn’t around to take pictures. Perhaps the cause of my newfound bravery is because of him. 

I take a deep breath and nod. “Okay, let’s do it.” 

As if he already knew I would eventually accept, his grin only grows. 

“Well then, I suggest you strip unless you prefer to sit around like a wet dog for the hour ride back.” He winks at me, biting his lower lip. 

In a normal case, I would be insulted by such a forward request but considering where we stand I find it humorous. After thoroughly checking the area for any cameras or strangers, I slip my dress over my head then kick off my wedges. An odd feeling stirs in my stomach and my heart is pounding. My comfort zone is shot to hell. 

Tossing my hair up in a ponytail, Colson scans my appearance. 

“Excuse me Mr. Baker, it’s not nice to stare,” I tease, yanking at my finished ponytail to tighten it. 

Unfazed, he snaps out of it and faces the shore. His hair wisps around in the breeze, falling over his face. The perfect strands are just as light as his eyes. His jawline could cut a diamond. His skin, as smooth as porcelain but covered in various tattoos. 

“Excuse me Miss Voss, it’s not nice to stare,” he repeats my words back to me. 

I snap out of my daze. “Wasn’t staring,” I argue, now turning towards the coast. 

“Nothing to be ashamed of, I know I'm hot.” His lips curve into a loose smirk. 

My time with him is often one big eye roll. I slowly approach the edge of the cliff, peering over. 

“Nervous?” He checks, looking down at the water for himself. 

“Nope." I lie. 

“Scared?” 

“No.” 

“Have you jumped from a cliff before?” 

I exhale deeply. “No.” 

He shifts his body to face me and I flicker my eyes to the side to meet his gaze. 

“And you’re not afraid?” He checks. 

“Not at all,” I admit without hesitation. 

He snickers, whether it be because he’s impressed or he doesn’t believe me. “How come?” 

I shrug, a brief hum for an answer escaping me. “The unknown doesn’t scare me, only challenges me… and I love a challenge,” I wink with a sly grin. 

His warm hand interlocks with mine and I nearly yank mine away yet because of the non-threatening look in his eyes, I stay. In fact, a part of me likes the feeling of his large hand in mine. It makes me feel safer than I have in quite some time. 

“On three” he exhales, staring off into the distance. 

I nod. 

“One," he counts. “Two...”

I exhale. I can't believe I'm doing this! 

"Three!" Colson shouts. 

I jump. Out of instinct, I squeeze Colson’s hand tighter. My voice travels in a scream as the two of us fall towards the crystal blue surface. He was right, this is such a rush! We torpedo into the water and the cold temperatures engulf me. Colson and I lose touch at some point then I kick to the surface. Wiping the excess water from my face, Colson pops up from under the water in front of me. Somehow even when wet and disheveled his hair still appears effortlessly pristine. 

“Wasn't that a rush!” His arm snakes around my waist. 

A part of me is begging for me to protest but I suppress that part of me. Instead, I rest my arms over his shoulders. He takes the opportunity to guide my legs around his waist. Shading my eyes from the sun with my hand I measure the height of where we jumped. 

Still struggling to catch my breath, I can’t help but smile widely. “It was a one-time opportunity!” 

“That’s up to you to decide!” he argues wittily. 

I lower my hand and his blue eyes see right through me. My eyes flicker down to his lips and impulsively, I slam my lips to his. I'm not sure what comes over me, but I needed to kiss him. Colson wastes no time, bringing a hand behind my head, deepening the kiss. We break apart only to catch our breath. 

“I believe you’ll prove to be a bad influence,” I say lightheartedly but between the lines with the utmost seriousness. 

“That depends on how you look at it,” he argues, his breathing inconstant.

Hungrily, he brings his lips back to mine and I melt into it. Colson is everything that’s bad for me. He’s an indulgence that’s disguising itself as a need. He’s toxic and I’m ignoring the warnings. The warmth of his palm radiates onto my face as he cups it. 

Against my lips, he grins. “You were spontaneous! Always be spontaneous!” His words, nearly sounding like a beg, settle in me. 

His crystal blues eyes stare into mine and I can’t help but be addicted. I'm falling for a fairytale.

________________________________________

Masterlist

Tags:  @canyoubuymetoast​ @bri-3530 @asil1652 @andstilltryingtofindmyself @nadia2021 @olafsidehoe @mgkobsessed @fairywriting101 @ferrell-cat @naylanae-0308 @tonystarkswife10 @alexsa56 @brocksbabyyy @stormrider505 @magnificenthumancopangel @sarcasticfangirlus @lilramencup95beech @missyviolet123 @skeleton-gxrl @glitterybearllamaflap @margaritaville20 @amoresixx @thysagclub​ @hockeybabe87​

[archangelsquill]

to hell and back || damien darkblood x reader 

pairing: damien darkblood x partner reader (gn, no y/n)

fandom: invincible

word count: 1448

summary: after omni-man flees earth and things begin to settle down, cecil feels he owes you -- the demon detective’s partner in solving crime -- a favor.

warnings: none

a/n: a sequel to this. darkblood deserves better, and by the gods, i’m giving it to him! enjoy, my fellow simps.

———

“If anything happens to them, on your head it will be, Cecil!”

Those were the final words of the demon as the pits of hell called him home, and as Cecil met his gaze, he knew it was no threat. It was a promise, and though he considered himself a bastard, Cecil saw no need to keep you in danger. He knew without Darkblood around, you were a target for Nolan. He’d already had security detail on you, but against Omni-Man, he knew it was useless. If he ever decided he wanted you dead, there’d be nothing stopping him.

Then, if Cecil was lucky (or maybe unlucky) to stay out of the warpath, he’d have Darkblood breathing down his neck, even with such distance between this world and his.

Sending him back to Hell wasn’t something Cecil wanted to do. It was a necessity. He owed him big time for that, and he’d start with keeping you off Nolan’s radar.

The official report was that you’d gone to stay with an imaginary Aunt Sue, somewhere in the Dakotas, but the reality was you were to be kept in the Global Defense Agency Headquarters -- well hidden, out of sight, and away from Nolan Grayson.

No one told you a thing. You’d been in your apartment, waiting for Damien to show up with those coffees he’d promised. Evidence, photos, and papers of theories and notes were scattered around the small space, occupying every inch of surface area, as you paced, a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach growing stronger and stronger the longer your demon detective was away. Something was wrong, and as Cecil Stedman appeared suddenly before you, making you jump out of your skin, you knew for sure. 

“You’re the demon’s partner, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me. I guess you’re Cecil.”

“You guess right. You need to come with us.”

“Why?”

“You’re not safe anymore.”

“What?”

“I can’t answer your questions now. Pack a bag. You won’t be coming back for a while.”

You didn’t argue. You didn’t have a choice.

The Global Defense Agency took care of your monthly expenses while you were gone, as if that made any of this less scary or confusing. All you’d been told was Damien was back in Hell, Cecil put him there, and you were in danger.

No one told you much else. Cecil had acted civil toward you -- kind, even -- but it didn’t help. Damien was gone, it was Cecil’s fault, and life may never be normal again.

All because you two asked questions.

Because you wanted the truth.

And you both had paid the price: freedom.

Meanwhile, Omni-Man roamed free, ready to kill again.

You lost count of how long you’d been at GDA HQ when Nolan finally struck.

Initially, you’d been barred from the control room, but Cecil let you choose to watch the chaos or stay blind to it.

You choose not to watch. No one needed you to be in the room when all of the ruin, disaster, and chaos you and Damien knew would happen happened. Based on what Cecil told you after, you were glad you decided to stay out of it.

All of those innocent people, now dead. All of that destruction. All of that carnage, and for what? Omni-Man had fled.

It was for nothing.

And Debbie…

You’d offered as much comfort as you could. You knew how it felt to lose a loved one (it took all you had not to look pointedly at Cecil when you told her that) and the woman needed someone to lean on. Someone not quite so cold as Cecil.

And he’d watched you. Despite everything, you comforted Debbie and Mark, putting on a brave face as if you haven’t lost everything, too. Cecil knows you’re still hurting -- why wouldn’t you be?

Cecil was many things, and a man who paid his debts was absolutely one of them.

He’d been searching since he put Darkblood back in Hell for it: the spell to undo what he did. To summon him back. His plan was always to bring him back, if such a thing existed. He’d had his people looking for months with no luck, and he’d already given you the all clear to go home, with the promise your rent and utilities were paid for until you could get back on your feet.

Yeah. Right. How the fuck do you do that? Your partner -- not only in profession but your partner -- was gone, your office had been trashed, and your apartment felt so empty it was somehow suffocating.

For weeks after you’d returned, you’d laid on the couch, staring at the ceiling, jumping at any change in the temperature, hoping one day you’d look up and see him, only to find it was the apartment complex’s shitty circulation.

The news talked about things going back to normal, yet normal sounded like a foreign language now. How was the world supposed to be any kind of normal again?

Cecil made a few visits to check on you, but you regarded him with coldness that could rival that of Damien’s. He couldn’t blame you.

You’d lost track of the days when the sigh that escaped your lips was accompanied by a small fog. You froze, sitting up from your temporary home on the couch before exhaling again. Just to be sure.

And there it was again: the small visage of your breath indicating the decrease in temperature you’d been ignoring out of lost hope.

“Damien…?”

“Yes, amare?” the gruff baritone was music to your ears as you turned toward your kitchen. There he was: red, large, and intimidating -- yet that soft look in his gaze remained, as if no time at all had passed.

“Damien!” you leapt over the couch, nearly tumbling to the ground before two strong arms grab you, pulling you into the warmest yet coldest bear hug you’ve ever gotten.

“Sorry for delay. Had to...speak with Cecil...” he rumbles, clawed hand carding through your hair, “Need to be ‘debriefed’ but...had to see you.”

“I can tell you what you missed.” you mumble, burying your face in his arms. He pulls you tighter still, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“Later,” he says.

And for a moment -- how long, you’re not sure -- you both just sit there on the living room floor, holding each other in a silent, loving embrace. Tears stream down your face, stinging from the cold emanating from Damien. His hand moves to brush them away, and the contact makes you cry more. You missed him. It had been so long.

After what felt like forever, you part -- just enough to look at each other. He, of course, looks no different. Demons didn’t age like humans did. You, however, probably look like shit. You hadn’t looked in a mirror in forever, but you knew your hair was much longer. You hadn’t bothered to get it cut in...how long had it been? It wasn’t like you could’ve gotten it cut, anyway. The city had been rebuilding, and getting anywhere was...well, hell.

“Beautiful as the day I lost you,” he says, and your tears well up again.

“I know I look like shit, Damien,” you say, trying to laugh off the sudden absence of your grief. He smiles slightly -- a rare sight.

“To me you look like heaven, amare,” he replies.

Amare. His nickname for you. You think its Latin, but you’ve never looked into what it means. You never asked, either, assuming he’d just tell you one day.

But you almost lost him.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look into it after he was gone, and now that he was here again….you decide to ask.

“You’ve called me that since we became partners. What does it mean?”

“Supposed to be a detective.” he replies. His own attempt at a joke, you muse. You’re in no mood for it.

“Damien, please.”

He looks at you fondly, placing a kiss to your forehead.

“Love. It means love.”

You should’ve figured, yet you find yourself crying again, and his arms wrap tighter around you in a protective, loving embrace.

There was more to be said between you two. You both know it. What happened to Damien in Hell? How did everything with Nolan go down here? Now that Cecil knew how to banish and summon Damien as he pleased, what would become of your demon detective?

All need answers. Resolutions.

But not now.

Now was the time for healing: for the world, for humanity, and for you and your demon in that tiny apartment.

You had him back, and though so much hangs in the air, that was enough.

[lightsovermonaco]

Patience is a Virtue (NSFW Max Verstappen)

Masterlist

HAPPY BIRTHDAY to @acollectionofficsandshit !!! Last minute present, which hasn’t been beta’d, but I hope you enjoy ♥

Max had been so busy the past few weeks, what with preseason testing and gearing up for the first race in less than a week. You had not been able to attend testing this year, Red Bull having only allowed essential personnel to travel to Bahrain. It had been two weeks since you had seen Max’s face in person instead of being separated by phone screens. 

Considering Max’s packed schedule, you had fully expected to celebrate your birthday alone. It had been enough of a surprise that he had shown up at the door of the apartment you shared in Monaco earlier that day, having flown home from London to help you celebrate. You had lounged about watching cheesy movies and trading kisses all day before Max had informed you he had something to show you.

“No peeking,” Max said, one hand on your shoulder and the other on your hip as he guided you along. “Step down.”

Cautiously, you feel with the toe of your shoe for the step. Seagulls crow and you can smelly the briny sea, but that could mean you were anywhere in the city. You didn't have any definitive context clues as to where you were. 

“Where are you taking me?”

“I told you it’s a surprise. Was the whole “close your eyes’ thing not clear?” He squeezed your shoulder. “Besides, we’re here.”

“I can open my eyes?” You asked, wanting to be certain. Max’s whispered affirmation was a wisp of breath against your neck.

Your eyes blinked open, taking a moment to adjust to the brightness of the setting sun. Max’s arms wound around your middle, his chin resting on your shoulder. A small table set for two sat on a sandy private beach, complete with flickering candles and a waiter standing by.

“Daniel came up with this, didn’t he?” You teased, placing your hand on his corded forearm.

“He may have helped with the specifics,” He conceded, and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Charles is the one that let me borrow his villa.” 

You hummed in appreciation of the gesture. “So you are friends.”

“Jury’s still out on that one.”

You laughed and let Max lead you to the table. He pulled out your chair, letting you get settled before leaning in for a kiss. Being apart for so long had made him more affectionate than usual. Not that you were complaining.

Glasses of wine were poured before the waiter retreated back to the house, presumably to give you and Max privacy. Max leaned back, letting the last dregs of sunlight warm his face. It was the most beautiful sight you had ever seen.

Your eyes traced the line of his neck, up the angle of his strong, stubbled jaw. Muscles rippled as he took off his signature flat-brimmed cap, running his fingers through his hair before replacing it backwards on his head. And god, you could’ve jumped on him right there. Noticing your stare, Max grinned, his foot finding yours under the table.

“Keep undressing me with your eyes like that and we won’t get to enjoy the lovely meal Daniel planned out.” You bit your lip to suppress your smile. Your assumption that Max hadn’t come up with this on his own was right, then. It was far too cheesy for it to have been all his idea.

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers together. “Maybe I’d rather undress you and eat at home.”

“Daniel would be upset that his efforts went to waste.” Mischief glinted in Max’s baby blues.

“I wouldn’t call them wasted,” You murmured, running your bare foot up Max’s calf. “After you leave tomorrow, I’ll be all alone for another week. I think Daniel would understand if I had other activities in mind for tonight.”

Max leaned back and stretched his arms over his head, fully aware that he was torturing you. Your mouth watered from more than just the delicious smell of grilled steak. A wicked grin split his face. “We’re having dinner,” He said, tone leaving no room for a challenge.

“But-”

He moved lightning quick, his hand gripping your thigh under the table. “I said we’re having dinner. Understood?”

“Yes,” You breathed, heart pounding. The dominance in his voice melted any protests that had sprang to your lips.

“Good girl,” He murmured, then sat back like nothing had happened when the server brought out your meal. As soon as Max thanked him, you dug in. Golden, perfectly seasoned potatoes and carrots, and a perfectly cooked steak with a delicious, sweet sauce. You shoveled it in, eager to get home.

“Take your time,” Max warned. “Or you’ll just be sitting there while I finish mine.” Indeed, he cut his steak agonizingly slow, deliberately dragging it out. You tried to match his leisurely pace, but couldn’t keep your mind from wandering. Your leg bounced impatiently. Max once more gripped your thigh, giving you a stern look.

“Patience is a virtue.”

Silence dominated the last of the meal, your body lined with tension. You couldn’t wait to get him home, having wanted to do so since the moment he turned that damned hat backwards. The sun had set by the time he tipped the waiter. You practically lept from your seat when he stood, grabbing his hand and racing for the street.

Max was stronger than you, of course, and when he dug his heels into the sand you had no choice but to halt. “I said patience, my schat.” My treasure.

Your stomach flipped. Just when you thought you couldn’t want him more, he pulled out the rarely used Dutch term of endearment that never failed to drive you wild. You had to get him home, or else you’d beg for him to take you right there on the beach in front of Charle’s vacant home.

Reading the plea on your face, Max relented with a sigh. “Alright, we won’t take a walk along the water like I planned.” He waved a hand. “You know the way home.”

You wound through the streets with practiced ease, your feet having traveled the path between Charles’ home and your apartment countless times. At one point you had to stop at a street crossing, bouncing on your toes.

The hand Max placed on your ass made you freeze. “Anxious?” He murmured, breath tickling your neck. You only nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. You could only imagine what he would do to you when you were alone.

After two more agonizing blocks, you were home. You rounded on Max the second the door closed behind you, lips crashed to his and your hands tugging his shirt up. Setting his cap on the kitchen counter, you left a trail of clothing from the front door to the threshold of the bedroom. Stripped down to your underwear, you wound your arms around Max’s neck and jumped, wrapping your legs around him.

He caught you with a grin. “Happy birthday, baby.”

“Uh huh,” You replied automatically, jerking your head towards the bed. Max took the hint, laying you back and stripping off his shorts and boxers, leaving him bare before you. The beauty of his body never ceased to amaze you, no matter how many times you saw it.

Max sank to his knees at the edge of the bed, eyes never leaving yours as he slid his hands behind your calves and pulled. You gasped, legs falling open. The sudden heat of his breath on your core shocked your system, sending a shiver up your spine. “Please,” You whispered. 

Your knee jerked when his lips met your inner thigh, dangerously close to where you needed him. His mouth trailed up to your hip, where he bit down hard enough to leave a mark. You gasped again, hips rising off the mattress.

“T-tease,” You breathed, head spinning like a top.

“Makes it sweeter when I finally feast.”

And feast he did.

Max had your panties off in record time, immediately dragging his tongue through your slick folds. His nose bumped your clit with each swirl of his tongue. A low moan tore from your throat. Reaching down, you tangled your fingers in his chocolate hair and encouraged him further with the grinding of your hips to his face. His hum of approval rocked through you, snipping the thread of sanity you’d been clinging to.

Your thighs tightened around his head when he slipped a finger inside you, his tongue devouring your clit like it was his last meal. He tapped thrice on your knee, his silent signal that he wanted your eyes on him. It took every ounce of your willpower to meet his request, gazing down at him between your legs.

His confident wink sent you over the edge, golden pleasure coursing through you hot as a wildfire. His tongue lapped at your center, letting you ride through the pleasure. Only when you whimpered softly did he remove his finger and mouth, his chest heaving.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” He asked, words coated in desire. You managed a nod. “Turn over.”

You tried to obey, you really did, but your limbs wouldn’t cooperate. With a growl of impatience, Max flipped you on your stomach. Fingers dug into your flesh as he hauled you up by the hips, face to the bed but ass in the air.

You rock your hips back, brushing the length of his cock. “That’s my girl.”

In one swift movement, he seats himself to the hilt inside you. You don’t need any time to adjust, thankfully, because Max doesn’t waste a second. The obscene sounds of skin on skin fills the room as he slams into you. Fingers tangled in your hair yank you to your elbows, and you looked over your shoulder at Max. 

His name was a plea, the only word in your vocabulary as he fucked you senseless. The sting of your scalp was a sharp contrast to the delicious pleasure flooding through you with each thrust of his hips. More than once your limbs turned to jelly, relying on Max to hold you up. He angled his hips to hit that sweet spot inside you with each thrust.

“Max, please-”

“Fuck, I never get tired of how wet you get for me,” Max grunted, increasing his pace until the force of it was enough to make you see stars. “Such a good girl, always ready for me when I want you.”

The praise had your walls tightening on his cock, a whimper escaping your throat. "M-Max-"

"Me too," He grunted, slamming into you twice more before spilling his seed inside you. He gave a few lazy strokes as you followed his lead, your second orgasm of the night draining any energy you had left. Max eased out of you and ran a cloth he had grabbed from the nightstand between your legs. 

"I could use a shower after that," You murmured. Max's rumbling laughter sounded at your ear.

"That can be arranged, birthday girl."

[disgruntledspacedad]

The Rules of Engagement (3/5)

The Better Love Series

pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader/ofc (Ears)

summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do. 

words: 3.4k 

warnings: 18+ for alcohol, language, smut, violence, body horror, general trauma. Please, please heed the warnings on this chapter, guys. It gets pretty intense.

a/n: Unbeta’d. I know I said this was going to be three chapters, but I lied. Sorry, my dudes - this one got away from me. Inspo credit goes to @tiffdawg​, as always.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

Well, fuck. You bite back a massive sigh.

You really, really don’t want to walk through that door.

It’s been a month, and you life has changed profoundly.

For one, you’re not at the office as much anymore - Stechner had made good on his promise to consider you for more flyovers, and boy, has Centra Spike been busy. Some new vigilante group is terrorizing Medellín, and while it’s not Search Bloc’s priority to go after them, they’ve undeniably kept Pablo and his sicarios busy. The radio frequencies are hot right now, and you’ve been doing eight, sometimes ten flights a week. 

You absolutely love it. The hours are less predictable and definitely more shitty, but listening to a radio from the cockpit of a plane is much more fun that listening to a radio in a stuffy basement office, so you consider it a fair trade.

It keeps your brain busy, too.

Your social life has taken a massive kick to the nuts. Ana is back at university, and you miss her more than you thought you would. You’ve reverted to communicating with Emilio with gestures and smiles more than words. It’s nice because he’s nice, but you miss actual conversation, stilted as it was. Ana wasn’t all that bad, either.

And then there’s Javi.

You haven’t spoken to him since That Morning, not even a polite 'how are you?' in the hallway. Granted, you’re not seeing him as often anymore, given your new position and hours, but then again, you haven’t exactly sought him out, either.

The memory claws at you every time you relive it - and you relive it often. That anger, that wounded expression. The slammed door, his retreating footsteps. Each time you’re in that building, the walls seem to close in on you, and you have to stop yourself from looking for him, actively keep your gaze from roaming straight to his desk.

God, as if you could make it more awkward.

You’d had one nasty conversation with Murphy about a week after the incident - you’d told him in no uncertain terms that he could either mind his own business or fuck right off, you didn’t care which. He’d left you be, throwing his hands in the air and muttering something about how “you two deserve each other.”

Asshole.

Still, that aborted conversation haunts you - so many aborted conversations haunt you - and you wonder what would have happened if you’d just taken the bull by the horns and addressed the issue with Javi head on.

I’m sorry you caught me rubbing one off on the morning after you almost died, Peña. I can assure you, it won’t happen again. Your friendship means the world to me.

Yeah, right.

God, though, but you miss him.

You miss him so much it aches, a gaping hole that reaches right down to the core of you, but there’s nothing to be done about it. You’d fucked this one completely and thoroughly - any chance of restoring your friendship had drained away with the shower-water, and the more time you spend fretting over it, the more awkward - and pathetic - it would be to say anything.

So, you’d cut your losses, held your head high, and tried not to waste too much time wishing you’d have just kept your fucking fantasies to yourself.

Now, though, you’ve got no choice.

You’d been on Centra Spike’s early morning flight, just another routine scan over Medellín. The shift wasn’t intended to be more than a training run for you, but as luck would have it, the Medellín cartel’d had a busy night, and you’d been caught in the crossfire.

Your plane had just touched down half an hour ago, and now you’re standing on the front steps of the embassy building, fingering a shoebox cassette player loaded with a freshly taped recording full of juicy intel destined for the desk of DEA Agent Javier Peña - an entire, private conversation featuring none other than Verdugo himself.

You’d know that voice anywhere. You’ve studied it for hours, what few snatches you’d been able to glean from the embassy archives. It’s almost as if Verdugo is smart enough to steer clear of the city, or to just avoid phone conversations all together, the absolute fuckwad.

Until early this morning.

On the plane, you’d intercepted a new signal and tapped in on a whim, intending to practice your Spanish more than anything, but what you’d overheard was a fucking gold mine of information.

Verdugo is in Medellín. The sicarios are getting ready to move Escobar. He didn’t say where - fucking bastard knows not to spill all of the beans in one conversation - but apparently the plan requires a rendezvous in El Centro first. Verdugo is en route, and will be there until the next morning.

You’d worked frantically all night, tracing and retracing the signal, triangulating potential addresses, then back-tracking to account for environmental distortion. Each calculation had led you to the same place - an unassuming little house right smack in the middle of Medellín.

Bingo.

“You take it in, Aarons.” Torres had declined your offer to do the honors. “It’s your intel.”

So here you are, bleary-eyed and running on less than two hours of sleep, cassette player clenched tightly to your chest, summoning up all of your courage just to go speak with your ex... well, ex whatever-the-fuck Peña is.

‘This is your job,’ you remind yourself fiercely. ‘You can do this.’

As pep-talks go, it isn’t very effective.

Fuck it. You toss your head back, wishing you’d had time to at least grab a cup of coffee on the way in, and breeze around the corner.

“Agent Peña.”

He glances up lazily, thoroughly uninterested in whatever you have to say. When he realizes it’s you, he blinks once, dropping his cigarette in the ashtray and sitting up to eyeball you with a wary expression.

"What can I do for you?” he asks cooly.

You remember him saying that once before, but the context was totally different.

You shake it off. “Centra Spike has new intel that you’ll want to see right away.”

He purses his lips, tilting his head to indicate the growing pile of bullshit on his desk. “You can leave it here.”

Oh, so that’s how it is, then?

“I can’t.” You pin him with a stare, and he meets your gaze evenly, raising his eyebrows in silent challenge. You clear your throat and clarify. “I won’t.”

He scoffs as you carefully rest cassette tape on his desk, along with a map of El Centro. “We intercepted a four minute conversation with Verdugo this morning. He’s here.” You point to the safe house on the map, which you’ve already circled in red ink. “Feo and Limón are with him. They’re leaving early tomorrow.”

Peña frowns down at the spot where your finger rests. “And can you corroborate that information?”

Oh, the motherfucker. “I verified his voice personally, Peña,” you say carefully, doing your damndest to keep the annoyance from your tone. It’s well within his right to ask questions, after all. “It’s a direct match for the audio samples we have.” You tap the tape for emphasis. “You’re welcome to listen for yourself.”

He doesn’t make a move for a long time. Something hot and painful burns in your gut as you wait.

God, he knows you, knows you better than anybody else in on this goddamned continent.  He knows that you know your shit, that you want to catch Escobar as desperately as he does. And this evidence that you have spread across his desk, recorded on tape and marked plainly in red ink, is irrefutable, undeniable - it’s a huge break. He knows that, too.

His apathy is palpable, and it’s driving you up the fucking wall.

When he finally glances up at you, it’s with a doubtful little smirk on his face. “Hmm.”

And oh, wow, you’re shocked by just how much that hurts.

All your life, from the moment you were born into a family of brothers, you’ve had to fight tooth and nail to be taken seriously. It was a fact of life as early as you can remember - ‘look after your sister,’ or, ’she’s just a girl,’ or ‘wow, you’re really great at math, for a woman!’ You’d settled on your career as an analyst because you’d wanted it, not because you’d had something to prove, but still, the military is a male-dominated field, and from the start, the odds had been stacked against you.  Landing this CIA gig had been the achievement of a fucking lifetime. Still, the bar is set high in the Colombia, and it’s set that much higher for a woman. You’re well aware of this; you’re reminded every single day.

Point being, you’re used to defending yourself and your abilities; it comes as natural as breathing.  

But until now, you’ve never had to fight this battle with Peña. He’d taken you at face value from the moment he'd laid eyes on you, treating you like just another operative. Sure, he might take a crack at you every now and again, but that's all in good fun, and you’ve never been one to shy away from a laugh.

Christ, you never realized just how much that respect meant to you until suddenly, it’s gone.

“If you have something to say about my skills and qualifications, Agent Peña, then I suggest you say it.” You lean over his desk, speaking quietly, enunciating each syllable with deadly precision. “Otherwise, I think we both know that it’s in the best interest of Search Bloc and the Colombian people that we collaborate quickly, so we can put boots on the ground and land this motherfucker behind bars where he belongs.”

Peña’s eyes narrow, and he cocks his head, studying you. You meet his gaze, biting back a snarl. You won’t back down. You won’t allow him to intimidate you.

When he nods sharply and reaches for his phone, you know you’ve won.

♠

Ten minutes later, you’re situated in a conference room with Peña, Steve Murphy, Martinez, and a couple of the other higher ups of Search Bloc whose names you haven’t memorized. Your maps are spread over the table, your tape displayed for all to see, and every eye is on you.

“Verdugo is here,” you say, leaning over the map to indicate the marked house. “He and his entourage arrived late last night, and they’re planning to leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Plenty of time to get a team together.” Murphy interjects, glancing between you and Peña with open curiosity.

You narrow your gaze at him. Drama-mongering bastard.

Peña’s not moving. He’s standing with his hip cocked toward the desk, frowning down at the map with his fingers curled to his chin like he’s totally oblivious to everything happening around him.

You know he’s not, though. That’s Javi’s thinking face, the one he makes when he wants people to shut the fuck up and forget about him until he can work something out. You’re pretty familiar with that one.

The others are babbling in Spanish, discussing logistics and the likelihood of this being another trap.

It’s not. You know this deep in your bones. You’d heard that conversation in real time, had translated, triangulated it.

This is legit.

You’ve just decided to leave them to it when Javi snaps his eyes open.

“I agree with Aarons,” he announces out of nowhere. You’re startled by the confidence in his tone. Curious, you glance up, but it’s difficult to get a read on him. He’s pinning every person in the room except you with a hard stare. “We need to move out now.”

Several of the others make noises of protest, but Peña shuts them all down, one by one. Finally, his eyes flicker up to meet yours, just for a brief second, but there’s something different in his gaze, something new and heavily guarded.

You think it might be an apology.

“Let’s end this.”

♠

He’s on a plane to Medellín within an hour, wearing that stupid bullet proof vest. For just a split second, you wish that you were going, too. You don’t have enough experience, though - you’re not an agent; you haven’t handled a gun since basic. You’d be useless in a real fight, a liability, even.

Still, you feel some ownership in this operation, today more than ever. You don’t even try to kid yourself about Javi anymore, either. Those fucking feelings haven’t faded in a month, not a bit, not even after the awkward conversation you’d had in his office.

‘But he stood up for you, too, afterward,’ something whispers in the back of your mind. You replay that little glance in the conference room over and over as you watch Search Bloc board the plane.

He’s looking for you this time, standing on the ramp with his eyes shaded like he knows you’ll be waiting. He doesn’t nod and you don’t wave, but you make eye contact for a lingering moment, and again, there’s something in his expression that you don’t recognize.

Then the plane takes off down the runway, and you feel as if your heart is swooping away with it.

♠

You volunteer for the late shift at work, monitoring the radio lines in case something comes up. It’s an unusually quiet night, as if all of Bogotá collectively holds its breath, and you mostly spend it watching the clock, calculating the hours in your head.

One to land in Medellín. Two more to mobilize the men. Another half to get in location.

From there, your speculation gets fuzzy. There’s no way to predict the outcome once Verdugo is engaged. Javi’s told you a million stories, each more unbelievable than the last - car chases and rooftop shootouts, standoffs in the street, a fistfight in a church sanctuary, bodies of children littering dark alleyways… you cut off the recollections. They aren’t doing you any favors.

Verdugo is a dangerous man. Anything could happen.

By seven am, your brain is mush and your eyes are hyper-focused in that bleary way that happens when you’ve gone too long without sleep. Your third cup of coffee has gone cold, and people are starting to trickle in. You wave half-heartedly to Torres as you slip out of your headset, rubbing your fingers over your scalp to ease the tension that comes from wearing heavy earphones all night. A shower sounds nice, you decide, and maybe a quick nap afterward.

Somebody will page you with news.

Getting out of the building does a lot to wake you up. There’s something oppressive about the CNP headquarters that seems to abate when you step into the streets of Bogotá. The city buzzes with life even in the early morning, and air is warm in a way that seems to energize rather than sedate. Optimism is easier to invoke as you walk down the street in broad daylight.

Javi had looked at you, at least. He’d listened. He’ll call in to the office as soon as he can. Your intel was good, and they’ve flushed out the rat, he’d promised you that.

Everything will be okay.

You round the corner of CRA 70 and Circular, waving to Emilio, who is working the register of the pharmacy today.

“Orejas!” He shouts, reaching below the counter to hold aloft another bottle of aguardiente. “¡Mira! Solo para ti!”

You grin back at him, raising your voice to shout a greeting, and then, with absolutely no warning, the store explodes.

A loud boom.

A whoosh of impossible heat.

A massive orange fireball billowing from the windows.

Your body flying, flying through the air.

Bright blue sky, and then darkness.

♠

You find yourself lying flat on your back in the middle of the street. Your ears are ringing. There’s a pat-pattering in the air, soft like falling rain.

You blink hard.

It’s not rain, you realize dizzily.

It’s fucking ash.

The air is dark with it, hot and heavy. It coats your tongue and stings your eyes. It’s hard to catch a breath. Your throat hurts, your chest aches. You cough weakly. The smell is terrible, acrid and bitter like burned metal. You can taste it on your tongue.

Slowly, you tense your muscles. Your chest is still burning, but there’s nothing sharp to suggest a serious injury. Your back is sore, your head fuzzy.

You sit up, wincing a little, relieved to realize that you’ve just had the wind knocked from you. You’ll have some bruises tomorrow, but that’s all.

Sound slowly filters in. The hiss and crackle of flame. A shout in the distance. Further away, a wailing siren.

Reality slams into you all at once.

Emilio!

You stand, wobbling more than you think you should, but you push past it. Reality seems to pitch and roil, as if the ground is hitching its breath beneath you. Rubble coats the street, dust clouds the air.

Oh god.

A gaping, smoking crater is all that’s left of Emilio’s pharmacy. The windows are blown out of the businesses on either side, their outer walls bowing under the pressure. Your apartment on the top floor is demolished, the roof caving in, flames licking at the the collapsed floors.

You gasp one long, shuddering breath, taking it all in, and then you’re running, sort of, picking your way through hunks of concrete and twisted metal.

“Emilio! Emilio!”

Your voice is hoarse, the world hushed. Nothing sounds quite right. Your legs are shaking and you can’t catch your breath. Some of the rubble is hot to the touch, and you feel like you’re moving underwater, slow and awkward and stupid.

You approach what’s left of the store, and the smell hits you first. Like cooked meat - charred, greasy, heavy.

You press your hand to your mouth to stifle a scream.

You found Emilio. He’s pinned beneath part of the collapsed roof. You look away quickly, but not before you catch a glimpse of blackened flesh, of bone, blood, and pink frothy tissue.

Acid rises in your throat, and you stumble to your knees, stomach clenching painfully into your ribs as you vomit onto the street. It goes on and on, over and over for an eternity, tears and snot and bile and ash leaking mingled down your face until there is nothing left in you to expel.

The encroaching wail of a siren draws you to your senses. You glance up, suddenly painfully aware of your situation. The ceiling is arching above you, just to your right, and it’s creaking ominously. The fires are still burning, and your shirt is clinging painfully hot against your back. You stagger to your feet once again, dizzy, almost drunkenly. A small crowd has gathered, pointing and gawking, calling out to you in Spanish that you are far, far too overwhelmed to translate.

Gasping, you raise your hands and side-step away, careful of the debris that litters the street around you.

A firetruck arrives on the scene, squalling to a stop between you and the onlookers, and you leap at the opportunity, ducking down the nearest alleyway before anybody can follow.

♠

You aren’t sure how much time you waste in the alleyways of Bogotá.

Seconds?

Minutes?

The time after the explosion is all a blur, and you run until you literally can’t anymore, until you’re doubled over and wheezing, coughing, hacking, panting.

Some primal survival instinct clicks in your brain then, and suddenly, your mind is clear. You glance around, swiping at your cheeks and brushing the ash from your shirt.

Now what?

You take a shaking breath and think.

Okay, first order of business, you’re absolutely disgusting. You need a shower before you can even think about doing anything productive.

Your bathroom just went up in flames, along with all of your clothes. Your heart clenches as you think of Ana - she’s at university, so that’s out. The embassy has a nice bathroom, but no showers that you’re aware of.

There’s only one place you know to go, and that’s Javi’s apartment.

You glance up at the sky. The sun is still pretty low - it can’t have been more than an hour since you’d left work, and that was around seven am. Javi obviously isn’t home, and you don’t have a key, but if you hurry, there’s still a chance that you could catch Murphy before he leaves his flat.

It’s a long shot, but you decide there’s nothing to lose for trying.

[shoutaaizawas]

For your prompt thing, bakugou, werewolf, "don't look"?

thank you for this what a good combo

↳ bakugou katsuki x reader → ❝puppy❞

event: au prompts summary: your boyfriend bakugou refuses to show you his wolf form and your starting to think it’s because he doesn’t trust you. word count: 2,244 tags/warnings: werewolf!au, arguments, light angst, insecurites, hurt/comfort, fluff a/n: posting in the afternoon and putting my taglist who am i?

Bakugou was stubborn, that was a fact. Bakugou was also a werewolf, the alpha of his pack. You had also been dating him for a few months now and he had refused to show you his wolf form, not for lack of you trying to convince him.

Initially, it had been a shock to find out that your boyfriend was a werewolf, I mean who wouldn’t be surprised. You had been friends with Bakugou before you started dating and you had never suspected anything. A few weeks into your relationship he told you. You felt sympathy for Bakugou, you knew he hated lying and even though hiding a secret wasn’t exactly lying you knew he felt bad about it.

In his defense, you had never asked if he was a werewolf. You had told Bakugou over and over that you understood why he couldn’t tell you right away and weren’t upset at all but he had been upset with himself for a while. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t use it to get some cuddles from him.

Bakugou had been open in explaining things about werewolves and their packs. He had even introduced you to his pack members which he pretended to be annoyed by but it was easy to see he cared about them.

There was one thing that he hadn’t shown you and that you were dying to see. His wolf form. At first, you had assumed he would have shown you when the time arose but it quickly became clear that he was avoiding showing you. Eventually, you asked him outright but he refused and would not give you a reason why he would just tell you to stop asking.

You’d be lying if you said that it didn’t hurt your feelings? Did he not trust you? Was it something you only did with someone you knew you were going to stay with? What if Bakugou wasn’t serious about staying with you?

It seemed inevitable that things would end in a fight. It might shock most people but you never really argued with Bakugou, at least not seriously, you usually agreed on most things, and even when petty subjects came up you both were quick to sort them out.

The two of you had been lounging around your apartment after dinner. Bakugou always cooked such amazing meals for you. You had been curled up in his arms watching TV when you brought it up. In retrospect, you should have brought it up another time or in the least, you should have expressed yourself better rather than just jumping to conclusions but hindsight was twenty-twenty.

“I want to see your wolf form.” You said looking up at him from your spot against his chest.

“I told you no.” He said not looking away from the screen.

“Katsuki.” You whined.

“I said no, how many time do I have to tell you before you get it through your thick skull?” He nearly growled.

“Oh, so I’m stupid?” You said sitting up.

“That’s not what I said.” He said as he sat up from his lounging position.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not what you meant.” You said you could already feel the angry tears welling in your eyes. You didn’t want to cry. “I’m starting to think the reason you won’t show me is because you don’t trust me.”

“Of course I trust you, how can you question that?” He said. “I just don’t want to show you, why can’t you just take ‘no’ for an answer?!”

“I’m starting to think the reason you don’t want to show me is because you don’t plan on keeping me around that long.” You said standing up. You had to get out of here, you wanted to be anywhere but here. Your emotions welled up in you and it felt like you couldn’t breathe. “I mean why would you want to, I’ve never been good enough for you.”

Before he could say anything you left, slamming the front door as you did. You ran as fast as you could down the city streets hoping he wouldn’t follow you. You were so stupid why had you brought it up? You knew you were having a bad day, sometimes it was impossible to push away the insecurities that plagued you. It was just so hard to imagine why someone like Bakugou would be with you. He was way out of your league and it was only a matter of time till he realized that, or maybe he already had.

It was dark and cold. The streets were empty. You had left so quickly you hadn’t grabbed a coat or your phone and now you weren’t even sure where you were.

“Well, well, well.” A voice came from the alley you were walking past. It felt like you had no control, freezing in place. “What are the chances that Bakugou’s mate would end up in our part of town.”

Before you even saw the person you could feel a chill down your spine. The figure stepped out of the alley to reveal a tall, intimidating man. Even with just one sentence of context, you were able to realize this was a bad situation. This must have been the rival pack Bakugou had mentioned. Why hadn’t you just stayed home?

“Why am I not surprised that idiot would let his mate end up on the wrong side of town?” His tone was condescending. Hearing someone call you his mate was odd, you had never heard Bakugou refer to you as that. “Or maybe it’s just you that’s stupid? I can’t blame you for wanting to be away from that mutt. He’s really intolerable.”

“Don’t talk about him like that.” You tried to sound intimidating but your voice was shaky.

“Aww how cute, defending his honor.” He mocked. “But still can’t understand the appeal of a weak human.”

The closer he approached the more scared you were. If you run there was no doubt he would chase you down and you knew there was no way you were faster than him. The man grabbed your chin between his fingers.

“Get your hands off my mate.” You heard a loud growl from behind you. The sound of Bakugou’s voice already making you feel safe.

The man in front of you smirked tightening his grip.

“Ah, just the man I was looking for.” He said.

“Don’t look,” Bakugou said, you knew he was talking to you.

You weren’t sure exactly what was going to happen but you listened to your boyfriend, closing your eyes. Everything happened so quickly, it got loud. Growling surrounded you and you felt fur brush past your hand as the man’s grip was released. It felt like forever and only a moment at the same time. You heard a loud yelp and whine.

You couldn’t stop yourself, your eyes opening scared that Bakugou had been hurt. In front of you stood a large blond wolf with familiar red eyes. There was a line of blood across his jaw as well as red-stained fur at his neck. You knew this was Bakugou. You could see the other wolf running off with his tail between his legs.

“Katsuki?” You said you could tell he was tense. Was it possible for a wolf to look ashamed? You knew he hadn’t wanted you to see him like this. You covered your eyes with your hands, a pointless move considering you had already seen him but you hope he understood it as you trying to respect his wishes. You wanted to see his wolf form but not like this.

You didn’t expect to feel a nudge against your hand. Opening your eyes you saw him pressing his face against your hand. The gentle touch brought you to tears, the events of the night catching up to you. You fell to your knees wrapping your arms around his furry neck, careful of the wound there. Your stomach dropped, if you hadn’t been so dramatic he wouldn’t have gotten hurt.

Bakugou made a noise before pointing his nose in a direction. You realized he probably wanted to go home. You spotted his clothes that had been tossed aside. You grabbed them and followed Bakugou home

Thankfully there were not many people out except for a few that gave you odd looks and one woman who told you to put your dog on a leash which earned a growl from Bakugou as you sheepishly apologized.

Once you returned to your apartment Bakugou took his clothes in his mouth and went into the other room before returning in his human form. The gash was still present on his jaw and now you could make out the bite marks on his neck which only served to bring your tears back.

“I’m sorry.” You sobbed, Bakugou moved towards you unable to resist comforting you. His strong arms wrapped around you pulling you to his chest.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said what I said.” He sighed. “I should have realized how I was making you feel.”

“I should have told you differently.” You said. “I should have just respected your choice. It’s my fault your hurt.”

“It’s not your fault,” Bakugou said firmly.

Bakugou’s hand brushed against your hair, pressing you even closer to him. After a moment his hand rested against your cheek, lifting your gaze to his.

“I thought that you would be scared of me when I’m like that and the thought of you looking at me like that terrified me more than anything else could.” He said. The vulnerability that he was showing you was overwhelming, you knew Bakugou could never do this with anyone else. “I love you so much and I hate that I could ever make you feel like your anything other than perfect for me. Because you are perfect. If anyone isn’t worthy, it’s me.”

“Don’t say that.” You said covering his hand on your cheek with your own. Bakugou leaned down pressing a kiss to your lips. “Let me patch you up?”

Bakugou nodded and you lead him to your bathroom, he took a seat on the counter as you grabbed your first aid kit. You stood between his legs, dabbing a disinfectant cloth against his cheek. You let out a sigh of guilt at how deep the wound on his neck looked.

“Don’t worry, I heal fast. It’ll be gone by tomorrow.” He said, placing a hand on your waist.

“I know but I still feel bad.” You said as you continued your work.

After a few silent moments, you recalled something that had been said tonight.

“You called me your mate.” You stated, not making direct eye contact with Bakugou but glancing at his expression from the corner of your eye.

“I did.” He said as if there was nothing to talk about.

“You’ve never called me that before.”

“Not in front of you.” He admitted.

“What does it mean? I mean I know what the word means but what does it mean from you?” You questioned, you could already feel your stomach flipping in nervousness.

“It’s your other half. Someone you intend on being with until you die.” He said, even though he tried to sound nonchalant you could tell he was nervous. Butterflies filled your stomach and you looked at him directly now.

“Until you die?” You questioned. You couldn’t ignore the bright blush on Bakugou’s cheeks as he tried to avoid looking at you.

“Uh, yeah.” He said. “I know it’s a lot that’s why I haven’t said it in front of you. Humans are different. For werewolves it’s hard for us to trust but once we do it’s unbreakable. Once I trusted you I knew you were the only one I’d ever love.”

For what felt like the millionth time tonight you teared up but now it was in happiness. You couldn’t stop yourself from hugging Bakugou tight as you could.

“I love you, and I don’t ever want to be with anyone else.” You said into his chest.

Bakugou pressed his face into your neck breathing deeply, hands gripping into your shirt.

Finally, after you had showered and changed into bed clothes you laid in bed beside Bakugou, gently tracing the lines and edges of his face taking in everything you loved about him. Bakugou’s hands rested on your waist holding you close to him.

“I was scared tonight, I tracked your scent and when I caught scent of that other wolf I thought-” He said.

“Shh, it’s okay.” You shushed him, cupping his cheek looking deeply into his red eyes. “I’m okay, I’m right here. It’s all over.”

“I know. I don’t ever want to do that again.” He said.

“Me either.” You said brushing your thumb against his face.

There was a peaceful silence as you enjoyed each other’s presence, soft breaths in time with each other.

“So will you show me your wolf form again?” You asked. “Not right now but later. As much as I’d love to snuggle with a wolf I think I prefer to cuddle with someone that can hold me back right now.” You teased.

“Yes.” Bakugou sighed rolling his eyes at your attempt at humor.

“Good, you’re a really cute puppy.” You smiled.

“Normally, I wouldn’t allow that but I’ll let that slide tonight.” He said in a low growl.

“Whatever you say, puppy.” You teased.

Bakugou sighed before pressing your head against his chest.

taglist: @sugarmaplewings-fics @lilkiwisfinest @ewwis @kandy1410 @moonlightaangel @winnies-headcannons @bakugousidehoe @paintedr0ses1 @toobsessedsstuff @spellboundxizi @ourladyofseijoh  @x0doodlebug0x @katsushimaa @mooncademia

[impossible-rat-babies]

morning after (junebug)

fallen hero | 3.6k words | chargestep (nb!step + m!ortega) | cw: brief suicidal ideation mentions + blood/gore mentions + mild suggestive mentions

most below the cut!

--

Pollux grumbles and grunts, hiking his pants up and over slim hips in a smooth motion, adjusting them around his waist once they’re buttoned and zipped up. His hip smarts a touch and he shift his weight from one foot to the other, rolling his ankle. It clicks like always does, his knee bowing and he straightens his foot to correct.

He smooths his hair back and off his neck into a meager bun, poking around at the mess of a bedroom they left the night before. Clothes tossed aside, socks rumpled on the floor next to one of Ortega’s expensive button downs in a rumpled heap. Pollux kicks it towards the overflowing laundry basket.

The sunrise from the open blinds washes the room in oranges and reds made more brilliant and saturated through the layers of industrial grime hanging over the city like a thick fog. It leaves a promise of a hot day to come, what with the heat haze already rippling out on the distant horizon; the sharp shine off the skyscrapers will wobble and wane by the time noon hits. It’s getting hotter with each summer, the AC straining and ceiling fans spinning.

Pollux reaches out and half closes the blinds and shut the curtains, turning the bedroom from orange and red to filtered blues and whites. He grabs his tank top from off the floor, mumbling to himself as he pulls it on. His sweater somehow ended up on the dresser and—

No wait, he remembers that one.

Dresser digging into his lower back, hands scrambling past the nice buttons on Ortega’s fancy shirt to feel his skin under his hands, heart pounding under his palm. Lips bruised from the dozens of kisses they had shared already from the front door to the hallway (oh the things that happened in that hallway). Ortega tasting like a thunderhead of ozone before a storm and sip of expensive whiskey.

He’d tried his best to not knock over any of the photographs--couldn’t say the same of Ortega of course--so he corrects one of them and straightens another. He tries not to look too hard at the seven year old faces staring back at him with wide toothy careless smiles. Ranger blue and sidestep teal as they started calling that particular brand of eye burning blue green.

A watch sits discarded next to his own rings; he slips those back on, flexing his crackling joints. A half empty bottle of cologne sits still knocked over. Pollux fixes that too and his fingers come away with the rich scent that will stay wash after wash—stuck in the splits of his nails and his fingerprints. Pollux rolls his shoulders, unconsciously rubbing the scar that’s there; the joint clicks and he grimaces.

There’s a creak as the bed shifts and Pollux yanks his sweater on over his head and glances back. He still remembers who this house belongs to, who is stirring in the bed.

Ortega’s legs move, fine white sheets sliding with him and his bare leg—ankle to calf to knee to the line of his thigh and oh is that a little hickey on the inside of his thigh?—slips out from under the sheet.

He wipes his wrinkling face, scratching his beard, his chest heaving with a deep breath and an even heavier sigh. Ortega’s hand drops, and his brown eyes blink open, blurry and bleary until the spot him. He turns his head, a sleepy smile turning his lips.

Pollux’s breath catches and stalls in his chest and oh Ortega knows what all those little motions do to him. How the sheets are dipping down his stomach, past his hips and—

It’s downright nasty what the sight is doing to Pollux’s stomach. It’s worse as he stretches, back arching and Pollux swallows hard.

Asshole.

“Morning...” Ortega’s voice is low, thick with gravely warmth.

“Hey lover boy.” Pollux replies smoothly, his voice surprisingly even as he adjusts his sweater.

“You’re leaving?” Ortega asks quietly, blinking more life into his expression.

“Can’t be languid in bed all day like you can.”

Pollux sits down on the bed beside him, sinking in close. Ortega reaches out like he’s an anchor, a weighty hand settling on his hip, thumb testing the hem of his shirt. Can never keep his hands to himself, huh?

“It’s only for a few more hours. It’s not even nine am yet, you know.”

Pollux rolls his eyes, leaning over top of him, trapping him in with a hand pressing into the bed beside his hip. His bare hip and Pollux rests his hand against him instead.

“And…?”

“That’s when reasonable people get up?”

Ortega is fishing, his hand creeping further up under Pollux’s shirt. Does he know the difference between skin, scar and tattoo just by the touch of his fingertips? His middle finger finds a gap between scars, trailing along sensitive skin. He’s kissed him there, that spot where hip meets thigh—left behind a welt and an aching reminder that not all kisses taste sweet.

It’s just like any other temptation. Pollux isn’t opposed to laying in bed for a few more hours (plans can be canceled easily when he’s his own boss), but there’s still the nagging little corner of his mind that tells him no. Don’t give into the temptation.

But, Ortega is so easy to want, especially with the grin he’s giving him, so familiar to the old parts of his brain. Pollux is relearning not to hate that face, to not thinks it’s a good place to punch him. He used to think about that a lot: punching him in that pleasing picture perfect toothy smile Ortega boasts.

Pollux is so used to his hands inflicting pain, knuckles tight (make sure to keep your thumb outside a clenched fist was what they first taught him) fingers taut. But Ortega keeps catching his viciously thrown fists, slipping his fingers into his white knuckle hold to spread his trembling hand apart. To lace their fingers together with hopelessly honest words like he won’t let him leave again—not without a fight.

He’s pulling his teeth, but Pollux handed him the tools to do that long ago. The ‘please tell me it’s okay to stop doing this, please tell me that you’ll stop me and that you’ll forgive me. You’ll be the only one who will forgive me and I can die happy if you’re the only goddamn one who will forgive him.’

He’s giving him a closed hand and Ortega’s taken more than that—tip toe up a scar to his elbow and around to touch his shoulder; he’s given so much more than just his hand and its infectious--terminal just under the skin.

Like the bruises be-speckling just above the barcode, or the naughtier line across the curve of his breast he spotted when he woke up. Or the ache in his thighs and more importantly the memories he’ll keep when the marks fade. Brown eyes in the dark, sharing the same air.

There’s marks on Ortega’s neck too, little dark purple oblong shapes Pollux left behind; he can’t count the number of times he’s kissed that one spot on the side of his neck. The dip next to his Adam’s apple, where he feels his pulse skip beneath his tongue and lips and the breathy exhale that always follows. A pleased hum and his voice asking him to keep going.

“You say that now...” Pollux tells him softly, curtains of red and peppered grey curls falling down the side of his neck, brushing against Ortega’s chest.

“Okay what if I promised that it was only going to be a few hours?” Ortega curls a little ringlet around his pinky finger.

Doubt fills Pollux’s face.

“Oh come on now, Lux...we can get up after a few hours and I’ll make us both some breakfast--whatever you want. And then, if you like, you can leave and I’ll only ask for one kiss.” He offers as a compromise, the look he’s giving far too earnest for it to be anywhere close to the truth.

“Only one kiss?” Pollux raises a brow. He traces Ortega’s cheek and he’s so warm it’s like the sun gathered beneath his skin.

“Well...if it’s just one long kiss, that counts right?”

“That’s called making out.”

“Not like you’ve had issues in the past making out in the front door where all my neighbors could see.”

Pollux groans.

“Last time I agree to something like that--”

“It’s not like that time you agreed to make out with me in the backseat of a taxi cab…”

“That was *one* time. And we were both drunk.”

He remembers how they both almost fell off the roof of the Ranger’s headquarters that night, juggling warm beers and half a bottle of fancy tequila they kept passing back and forth.

Ortega grins and oh no…

“We should try that again—get a cab to nowhere, or something fancier than that, and make out in the back. Or you know we could--”

Words silenced by a sudden kiss and a sharp inhale. Ortega exhales through his nose smooshed against his cheek, mumbling something else and Pollux pulls him in sharper to silence him. He tastes like sunlight, his teeth and tongue tingling. A broad palm against his spine, coaxing him in closer, lips pulling him in deeper.

Pollux’s hand cups his cheek, brushing hair away from his ear and along to the back of his neck. The first port of his magnificent spine against his palm and he grabs a handful of his hair. Ortega isn’t the only one who can pull and push and the little pleased sound he catches between his lips tastes delightful—potent. Honeyed lips and curses breathed against wet lips.

Pollux wants to keep holding him like this, have just a little taste of tender heat, the threat of a hand hovering over a lit stove, or letting a match burn down to the tips of his nicotine stained fingertips. Run his fingers over Ortega—touch, feel, taste, map—until he’s reminded that he can’t have this forever. He can’t keep dangling off the edge of a precipice, not when he craves how the wind feels rushing up to meet him during the blessed free fall.

“I guess I should talk like that more if you’ll kiss me like that again...” Ortega mumbles when Pollux pulls away and he snorts, shaking his head.

“Next time I’ll just tell you go shove it.” Pollux huffs against his lips, closing an eye as Ortega brushes a stray curl from out of his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah--I know.”

Arms easily wrap around him and pull him back down into the bed and Pollux grumbles, letting it happen and he buries his face into the side of Ortega’s neck. His own scratchy stubbly cheek presses against his rough skin. He smells like day old cologne. He’s warm—secure.

“You’ll still kiss me though?” Ortega mumbles against the side of his head and Pollux groans, tilting his head to look him in the eye. Brown eyes so deep he could drown.

“Your beard is scratchy...”

Ortega snorts.

“Your face is the one that’s scratchy--I take good care of my beard. When was the last time you shaved?” He rubs his chin against his forehead to tease and Pollux curses.

“God, fuck--shut up, quit rubbing your face on me and go back to sleep pretty boy.” He insists and Ortega laughs, pulling him back in.

--

They tumble out of bed a few hours later, Pollux righting his sweater and redoing his belt as he meanders down the short hallway and out into the living room. It’s brighter out and he squints, lazily tucking his hands up and underneath of his sweater to hide them.

He follows Ortega, eyes skimming over the leftover plates and a glass mug left on the coffee table. His battered cigarette box and matchbook sits beside a weeks old newspaper and an old Time magazine. He still gets them biweekly?

He pauses at one of the large glass windows, curtains only half closed. He brushes it open. The sun pounds against the glass and Pollux squints his eyes against the shimmering heat rolling off the high rise buildings towards the west. The shoot high into the sky, more following further until the cracked spine of the coast turns to failed developments and old chain link fence guarded ruins.

A few palm trees needing a good grooming, their fronds dipping low with the heat, the tops sun bleached beige. Just about the only plant that grows well here, save for the scrubby evergreen like trees and whatever people are willing to waste water on keeping alive. 

At least it’s a clear-ish day, the sky more blue than sickly yellow or congested grey today. It’ll only last a few more weeks before the winds die down and the city is left to cook alive in its industrial smog.

Further out towards the west, Pollux can almost see the shimmer of the ocean, a line of white hugging the horizon. Beneath that are all new beach homes—folks willing to capitalize on the new growing beaches or what remains of the old. The sand comes back softer each year, the ocean carving away her shoals, eddys and tide pools. She’s had four decades to heal--but people remember forever.

Down below (don’t look too hard now Pollux) cars slip on by, the nosy honking of buses, taxis and surely the occasional motorist weaving through the lunch rush traffic.

“You look like you’re thinking pretty hard.”

Pollux starts, taking a half step back from the window, eyes darting to Ortega. His brow scrunches, shyly holding the coffee cup out to him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you--”

“No, it’s fine...” Pollux waves his hand. So what if he was thinking of how nice it would be to just lay on the hot asphalt road and wait for rush hour traffic to turn him into a wet smear? Which he wasn’t thinking about at all, no not at all.

Ortega looks like he’s biting the inside of his cheek, but gratefully he keeps his mouth shut.

“Coffee?” He offers and Pollux takes it with a quiet word of thanks. Ortega reaches up and pulls the curtains shut, removing the temptation.

“Are you okay?”

Pollux takes a sip and it burns his tongue, but he only shrugs. It’s as much of an answer as he’s willing to say; he isn’t up to the verbal chess match that staring longingly at a window would earn, the what he thinks he saw, or what he thinks he’s thinking about.

Ortega puts a hand on his shoulder before wrapping his arm around his shoulders instead. He places a kiss at the top of his head and mumbles something sweet and soft, guiding him away from the window and towards the kitchen.

“What do you want for breakfast, then?” He changes the subject so easily, giving Pollux the grace to pretend it doesn’t matter. “Or it is closer to lunch at this point. Whoops.” Ortega cringes, looking at the stove clock.

“You wanted to sleep in.” Pollux finds an unused countertop and he pulls himself up onto it. Ortega briefly gives him a look and Pollux responds in kind, Ortega giving up with a shake of the head, but the faintest of smiles. 

“What’s on the menu, lover boy? Lunch or breakfast?”

Ortega grabs a pan, twirling it around. “How about this: I’ll just make something and if you really hate it, we can get something ordered in.”

“A mystery brunch then?”

“More like lunch, but you’ve never complained.”

“At least food wise. You’ve given me plenty of reasons to complain otherwise.”

“Are you admitting you like my food?” Ortega looks over his shoulder at him from the fridge and Pollux rolls his eyes.

“Never said that I dislike your food, Ricky boy.” Pollux teases, hiding a smile behind his coffee. “Unless you count that one monstrosity you made.”

“Hey, that was partially your fault, Lux. I refuse to take the full blame for what happened to that poor casserole dish.”

“Wasn’t my recipe that you got wrong. And you let me play with your knives.”

“Mierda, I thought you were going to lose a finger.”

“Better than practically ruining your stove.”

“How was I supposed to know it was going to explode like that?”

Pollux snickers, tilting his head up to look at the ceiling, his head hitting the upper cabinent.

“Is that a speck of food still stuck up there...?”

He doesn’t quite catch the dish towel that hits up in the side of his head, Ortega swearing at him and Pollux snorts. He chuckles the longer Ortega keeps making that face until he dissolves into laughter.

And he keeps laughing. Lips wide and bright, rarely seen smile lines breathing back to life.

Ortega is looking at him, he knows, but he can’t fit the placid frown back onto his face just yet--letting the smile linger on his cheeks and the crinkles of his crows feet. It feels good and Ortega is smiling at him.

“Hey, Lux...” Ortega’s voice is so tender. “I love you. I love you a lot.” 

He says quietly once Pollux’s laughter has faded, leaving behind the tingle of it in the air. How it used to be so easy for Pollux to start laughing--how it’s only just now that he’s laughed again. He’s been so quiet, so still.

“You know that, right?”

The smile falters and Pollux takes a long drink of his coffee, the cup a disguise for what he hasn’t whispered back--not when he can hear. 

“I know…” He mumbles like it’s a substitution all his own and he swallows down the bitter bite of coffee.

He’s murmured it, barely spoken it in the dark when he’s sure Ortega is asleep. He isn’t ready for that admission, not in the light like this. The sunshine from the kitchen window warms the back of his neck.

Ortega looks like he wants to say more. To keep reminding him of how much he cares, how much it matters that he’s back in his life, how he wants to make up for seven years of not saying ‘i love you’--it’s all just synonyms. 

How many times has Pollux said it without saying it, too? He knows a hundred different ways to say it without anyone but him knowing it.

(Asshole, or I care about you too, or will you let me take care of you for once in your life, or please give me an excuse so I don’t have to keep remembering how much I hate walking down these perpendicular paths, inches away from intersection. Or the simple way his name tastes on his tongue, or a nickname held so dearly between his lips, inches before a kiss.)

“I missed your laugh…” He does say those words and Pollux looks. He doesn’t know that for sure, especially when he looks at him as tender as freshly bruised knuckles.

Did he almost forget the sound of it? Had Ortega almost forgotten the sound of his voice, just like he almost forgot what he sounded like? Would it have been so tragic if he never heard his voice again, stuck with only the preserved opalescent amber of memory of a better time and a better place?

Surrendered to memory where his voice would waver into stilled silence, a cheap copy of the voice in Ortega’s head. Or stuck in old photographs and newspaper clippings, or old news reels and private videos. He thought that stupid handheld clunky camcorder Ortega carried around was the worst thing ever. How many did he break? He can’t remember.

“I know.” Pollux replies just as gently, like trying not to press too hard against the bruises of memory, but he’s heavy handed--clunky and broken. What else can he say?

“Thank you…”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“Someone should. You put up with me.”

Ortega pauses, turning to look at Pollux. Trying his hardest to see him.

“Because I want to Pollux--because I want this to work. Us to work.”

It’s so easy to say he can’t always be here—it’s the truth after all, nothing complicated about it. It won’t end up working out. But all that starts is arguments and he’s tired of them. 

(He’s just so tired all the damn time. tired of everything and maybe he’ll steal a motorcycle and weave through traffic until the inevitable happens.)

Pollux doesn’t dispute the point, he just nods when he feels Ortega looking at him. He doesn’t shy away when Ortega puts a hand on his waist and kisses the side of his head, his eyelid, the bridge of his nose. Mumbles another ‘i love you’ and Pollux hums when he steps away.

He sets the half empty cup aside, absentmindedly reaching under his sweater, thumbing the edge of a tattoo along his waist.

Last night Ortega brushed his thumb along the thick slick tapering edge. Pollux excused the strange face he’d made at the weird texture of it, but he didn’t excuse the kiss he placed when his lips followed his hands. 

Maybe later he’ll hold him like that again; when he comes over again in a few days and crawls into bed beside him and lets him touch him in the darkness. He’s not brave enough for the light yet, not when he’s still angry--still so hurt--over lost time.

Seven years--he doesn’t have seven more in him.

Pollux watches his back instead as he gets to cooking, half smiling as Ortega starts to hum, bobbing from foot to foot as the smell of lunch crowds the kitchen.

He murmurs, mostly to himself and it tastes like a shout at the back of his throat.

“I want it to work too. I really do.”

—

[navegandoaciegas]

Sunshine Girl

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: fluff, soft!Bucky, mentions of injury (no graphic descriptions), 3.6k words

Summary: You are the sun and he’s simply basking in your light. And he’s so selfish, he thinks as he holds the velvet box with the diamond ring inside of it, he’s so damn selfish he wants to keep the light all to himself for the rest of his life.

Two years ago you were supposed to enjoy a solo road trip after years of Avenging, but Bucky invited himself along. Now you’re forced back to New York, and your boyfriend is ready to surprise you once again.

A/N: Bucky’s POV. Sequel to I love my baby to death, but I suppose you could read it on its own. As always forgive any mistakes, English is my third language.

Had to repost this cause it didn’t show up in the tags, hopefully this time it will

“I swear Buck, if I see one more damn corn plant I’m losing it. I am this close” you say pinching your thumb and pointer finger real close “to a mental breakdown. I’m never eating corn again, mark my words. No corn flakes, no corn on the cobble, no nothing. I’m done.”

“We’re in Iowa, in the middle of the corn belt, I don’t know what you were expecting.” he replies, slightly amused by your little outburst and sour mood.

“Well, clearly not ending up on the set of Children of the corn.” you groan, getting back to sulking in the passenger’s seat, seething at the fields that are only a scapegoat to the real problem.

You’d been merrily skiing in Montana when his skis got somehow tangled with yours and he tumbled down on you, dragging you down the slope. Hadn’t you injured yourself, rolling in the snow like it only ever happens in cartoons would have been pretty comical.

“What?” you screech, almost jumping off the stretcher and grimacing in pain when your left foot hits the metal poles at the side. “No. It’s just pain, I’m sure it will go away, right? I mean I was an Avenger, I’ve suffered worse than a fall.”

“I’m sorry, miss, but knee surgery will be necessary, the MRI here shows you’ve torn your ACL and from the looks of it, your left knee was already damaged badly, numerous times at that, probably a result of your time on the field.”

“I can’t, I can’t just get surgery, we’re miles away from home and I-”

You’re almost sobbing and Bucky feels like shit because he’s the reason for all this and all he can do now is pat your back reassuringly.

“Given the extent of the damage, I’m afraid there’s no other option.”

“How long is the recovery time?” he asks, voice unsure.

“Well, it’s my knowledge she’s not an enhanced individual, so like any average human it will take anywhere from 6 to 9 months to recover fully. In the meantime, no more hikes or sports.”

Bucky inhales a sharp breath. Six to nine months. No more hikes. Surely you’ll have to go back to New York.

God, you are so going to break up with him.

Turns out you didn’t dump him in Montana, you didn’t abandon him in one of those auto stops along Interstate 90 in South Dakota, and you don’t seem to want to break up with him amidst the green fields of Iowa, but still, he knows he will drive through Illinois, Indiana, Ohio and Pennsylvania anxiously waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It almost seems like a cruel twist of fate, driving the same route you did as friends two years ago, along Interstate 80 headed East instead of West, only this time he’s not hoping to be more than the annoying old man who invited himself on your trip; he’s your boyfriend now, but maybe not for long.

“You know, you really are dramatic.” you say in a teasing tone, “I’m not going to break up with you, stop thinking about that, it was an accident, ‘s not like you beat me.”

“I know, I’m just sorry because you’re in pain and it’s my fault and now we have to get back home but I know you wanted to stay more and I did too and if I didn’t-” he’s rambling, and your place your hand on his thigh and squeeze reassuringly, offering him one of those sweet smiles he dies for.

“Buck, it’s okay” you interrupt his word vomit “like I said a million times before, it was an accident, it’s going to be fine I promise. I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise with my mood, I swear I’m just pissed at all this damn corn. We’re never going to a maze again, by the way.” That gets a laugh out of him, and he loves you even more because you’re always there to lift his spirits. “I’m dreading these next months, the surgery, physiotherapy and all, but I know you’re there for me, yes?”

He nods, teary eyed, and you continue, “And I can’t lie, it’s been a while, I’m kind of excited to see everyone again, I mean except for Sam of course,” you say, as if he didn’t “live rent free in your head”, like Sam himself put it, “Jesus that man, how many of our trips has he invited himself on? I’ve lost count. ‘Member when we found him waiting for us in Phoenix? Fuckin’ weirdo.”

You both chuckle at the memory of Sam in your motel room, waiting on your bed with crossed arms like a disappointed parent, pissed off because you hadn’t called in a week and he was worried sick that something may have happened to you, a deadly sniper, and him, the Winter fuckin’ Soldier. Truth is, Bucky was so excited about your new relationship that he rarely let you leave the bed when you were in your room, and when you did you were in no condition to Facetime anyone, with your smudged mascara and swollen lips.

“I’ve heard Clint will come visit us with Laura and the kids. Nathaniel must be so big now.” you add, your eyes glazed over as you think of the little boy who was named after your Natasha.

“God, Morgan is probably all grown up.” he muses, a tinge of sadness in his voice. You squeeze his thigh again. “And the spider kid too, he’s a grown man now.”

“That he is.” you chuckle, “But to me he’ll always be the boy in the red spanx who knocked us on our asses in Berlin.”

He smiles and shakes his head at the memory, and you both fall in a comfortable silence. Now that he’s not consumed by fear anymore, Bucky kind of agrees with you that all this green is, in fact, nauseating.

“You know what, no more popcorn either.”

“Deal.”

-

A year and something ago

Arizona

“Can you believe there’s a city in New Mexico called Truth or Consequences? We should totally go and visit just for the hell of it, sounds like the type of place Steve Rogers should have been born into.” you state with all the seriousness in the world, and he snorts because after all this time you still haven’t found it in yourself to stop mocking Steve’s righteousness.

You’re walking ahead of him and he’s so distracted by your tiny denim shorts that he, the master of stealth, almost trips over a boulder. You’re always pretty but tonight, illuminated by the orange sky of Arizona, you look like a dream. And you’re so happy, snapping photos at everything you see, that even if Bucky hates the desert and the heat makes him uncomfortable, he won’t tell you, because the look on your face makes it all worth it.

“Baby, look at this big boy here, he’s like 20 feet tall. Oh my god, he’s so cute and beefy, just like you.” you gush at one of the giant cactuses of Saguaro National Park.

He raises his eyebrows skeptically.

All he sees are green spiky motherfuckers that he’s accidentally hurt himself with more times that he’d like to admit in all those damn ‘hikes’ you like so much, but to you cactuses are the most beautiful sight in the word. He genuinely does not see the appeal, but he understands now how you feel when he talks about all his ‘nerd shit’, as you call it.

“I’m cuter.” he says frowning.

“Of course you are.”

For some reason you don’t sound convincing at all.

-

It’s only spring but here in Tucson the temperature is 85 degrees today and he’s sweating buckets underneath the long sleeved t-shirt he’s wearing to conceal his vibranium arm. He’s long past the time when he was forced to hide from authorities or the general public’s judgement, but still he doesn’t want to be recognized and attract attention. He doesn’t do well with crowds, and he doesn’t understand how you can be so calm and collected when people stare at you and ask for photographs while you’re minding your own business.

As soon as you get back to the motel you’re staying at he takes off his soaked shirt, not caring that the air conditioning is probably going to end his old ass.

“What the hell happened to you?” you ask, scowling as you analyze the skin around his prosthetic.

He shrugs. “It happens sometimes.”

“Why?”

“No idea.”

“Don’t you fuckin’ lie to me James.”

You only call him that when he’s in big trouble. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose: why do you have to be so damn stubborn all the damn time? “It’s nothing sweetheart, just sometimes the skin becomes flared when it’s too hot.”

“Nothing?” you shrill, throwing your hands around animatedly, “Nothing? Bucky your whole shoulder is super red and irritated, don’t act like it’s normal. We’ve been in the sun for hours, for days really, why didn’t you tell me anything? I would have driven us back here immediately. Does it hurt?”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you, I didn’t want to ruin your fun, you liked it so much there. And no, it only itches a little.”

Your eyes soften and you move to cup his face in your hands, looking at him with so much love that he feels himself melt away into a puddle, “Baby you don’t need to do that, you know I care more about you than anything else.”

“Even more than the cactuses?”

“Well, now you’re asking too much of me.”

He snorts and playfully hits your arm, then he falls back on the bed and drags you down with him. You stay cuddled like that for a while before you pull back to look into his eyes.

“I appreciate you doing this for me Buck, but you don’t ever need to sacrifice your own comfort for me, okay?”

“I know, I’m sorry. But you looked so happy.”

“Don’t be, and I’m always happy with you, I promise.”

“I’m always happy too.”

“We’re such saps. Gross. Anyways, guess where we’re going next?” you ask him cheerfully, scratching his scalp the way that makes him purr like a cat.

“The plan was New Mexico, Texas and Louisiana, right?” he frowns. You’d made plans together ages ago and you were so excited about visiting Texas of all places for God knows what reason. He’s predicted already that he won’t stand the suffocating, humid heat of that whole area. At least Arizona was dry as hell.

You on the other hand, everyday he’s become more aware of how much of a lizard you are, seeking the sun and walking around in the scorching heat not even breaking a sweat.

“Guess again baby boy, we’re going straight to Oregon. I mean, it's not Alaska but it’s not as hot as the desert here, right?

“Wait, what? Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to overheat?” you state like it’s obvious, rolling your eyes, “We’ll do New Mexico and the rest next fall, and now Oregon and Washington because it’s a little cooler there. So what do you say?” You ask with a hopeful look in your eyes.

“Princess I appreciate you doing this for me, but I promise I’ll be fine. You don’t have to change plans for me, this is your road trip.”

“No you won’t Buck, you’re not doing good and I don’t ever want to see you suffer, you understand? By the time we get to Texas it will be summer and you won’t stand it, it’s better if we visit when it’s colder.”

He smiles softly. He knows he’d do the same for you. “Then Oregon it is.”

You get up from the bed and head to the bathroom to shower, “Oh, and baby?” you call out,  peeking your head from behind the door, “This is your road trip too, never forget that.”

-

Oregon

“Why does Thor get to have places named after him and we don’t? We were Avengers too.”

“But are we norse gods?”

“I mean, not yet, but I definitely deserve some nature’s wonder, or at least a star, to be named after me.”

“I’ll call WMO and get them to name a hurricane after you, princess. It seems more fitting.”

“Asshole.”

You’d been camping somewhere in Oregon’s wilderness when he came up with the idea of visiting all of the State’s so called seven wonders, starting from Thor’s Well on the Coast and ending in Mount Hood near Portland. You took a thousand photos of each attraction and sent a video of the water seemingly draining inside the famous well to the God himself, who enthusiastically expressed his appreciation.

Bucky’s cherished every minute of it, from the hot springs of Crater Lake to the chillier temperatures at night that force you to snuggle closer to him to warm up.

You’re in Portland now, and you’re thoroughly enjoying it, but what’s new about that? You’re always so full of life, so genuinely excited about everything the world has to offer that he’d be worried if you weren’t having the time of your life as you usually are.

He likes the city too, which is saying a lot.

“Blueberries are the superior berry and that’s the hill I’m willing to die on.”

You’ve been eating your way through Portland for weeks, and you’ve been discussing pies for a solid thirty minutes now. It’s raining outside and you’re cooped up in a small pie shop, eating more than an average human can and receiving weird looks from the waitress as you tell her to ‘keep ‘em coming’.

“I’m sorry but you’re wrong princess,” he states with a stuffed mouth just for the sake of aggravating you to no end, “blackberries are just so much better.”

It works as you grimace in disgust, both at his statement and his manners.

He’s found out you are weirdly opinionated when it comes to pies: pecan pies are an abomination, pumpkin doesn’t belong in dessert, lemon pie and key lime pie are only acceptable if someone’s grandma is kindly offering them to you, rhubarb pie without strawberries is a threat to mankind and cherry and blueberry pies are the absolute best. Apple pie is too bland to even take the time to discuss it, although the taste is likeable enough.

He on the other hand likes anything pie and anything sweet. And anything that gets a rise out of you.

“Please Buck, this isn’t even a blackberry pie, it’s some sort of inbred experiment that turned out kinda right.”

He shushes you, barely holding back a laugh when he sees the waiter side eyeing you as you disrespect one of Oregon’s most famous dishes, “First of all, it’s called marionberry and it’s a type of blackberry. And second, keep it down unless you want us to be kicked out, you’re offending a whole state.”

“Sorry.” you shrug, “But blueberry tartness level is where I draw the line, anything more than that is unacceptable.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re still a child and haven’t developed adult taste buds yet baby.” He does love his senior citizen card a bit too much.

This earns him a kick under the table and a scowl. “Stop it, grandpa.” you groan.

He grins and digs in your slice of marionberry pie. You resume to people watching.

God, he loves Oregon. And he loves you.

He really is a sap.

-

Wyoming

Washington was nice enough. You’ve taken him bar crawling most nights, and all of them have ended with him giving you a piggyback ride, per your request, back to the hotel room you were staying at.

It takes 13 hours to drive from Seattle to Yellowstone and you’ve driven all the way. You refused to disclose the destination of the trip and he’s fallen asleep the last 3 hours in the car. He’d mentioned he wanted to see the geysers somewhere in Pennsylvania two years ago and you remembered and took him.

Bucky couldn’t be happier.

He’s still describing the constellations above you when you fall asleep, and he’s so absorbed by the sky that he doesn’t notice until your head falls on his shoulder and he hears your soft snores.

He picks you up bridal style and takes you back to the fancy tent he bought on a whim in Ohio after you both slept in the SUV and woke up with major back and neck pain. He smiles as he removes your makeup with a wipe and does your skincare just the way you taught him, and admires your relaxed state.

He grazes your pretty face with his vibranium fingers, something so unimaginable to him before he met you, as he never thought his arm could bring anything other than pain.

Back when he was a semi stable 100 year old man thrust in another fight yet again, he hadn’t realized the extent of his feelings for you, believing he was only attracted to your beauty and youth. He hadn’t seen the way your smile lights up a whole room, nor the way you listen, truly listen, to anyone who may have anything to tell you, without ever judging them. He hadn’t witness your kindness and patience, let alone experienced them on his own skin. He hadn’t been lucky enough to watch you feed bird seed to the ducks of every pond of the country, or try to rescue a cat from a rooftop and almost falling off to save it.

Then Sam told him you were leaving and he felt like the word was collapsing on him. He’d found the sunlight and he never wanted to be without it.

Now he’s seen it all, all the little things that make you who you are, including your flaws, and he loves you not regardless of them, nor in spite of them, but because even your worst imperfections make you… you.

Bucky doesn’t know if meeting you was a way for the universe to fix all the wrongs that have been done to him, a sort of payback for all the shit he’s been put through, but in case it is, then he’s got no objections. And maybe he doesn’t deserve someone as good as you, but he’s a selfish man, and now that his sunshine girl is with him he never wants to plunge back into the the darkness ever again.

He tucks you both under the sleeping bag and snuggles next to you.

“Buck?” you mumble in a haze, tugging at his t-shirt, “Love you.”

It’s almost imperceptible, but his supersoldier hearing allows him to pick it up. He kisses the crown of your hair as he caresses your back.

“I love you too sweetheart.”

He wants to spend the rest of his time on Earth proving you how much.

-

New York

6 months later

The doctor wasn’t lying when she warned you that recovery would take 6 to 9 months.

You said the aftermath of the operation hurt like a bitch and that physiotherapy hurt even more. Today’s your last session and Bucky is glad about it for many reasons, like how you’re not in pain anymore for starters, and maybe because of how annoyingly fun, smart and hot your therapist is. Not like he’d ever admit it to you.

“Jesus,” you groan, “he turned me inside out like a sock, I can’t feel my legs anymore.”

“Sounds fun.” he deadpans.

“Someone’s jealous of the doctor?” you ask with a mischievous smirk.

“‘M not. He’s not all that.” he mumbles, blushing like a school boy.

You snort and drawl a ‘sure’. He sends you his best death glare.

“Whatever. I hope you don’t mind if we take a stop before going home.” he announces, helping you into the car. His palms feel clammy and he’s sweating despite the chilly winds of New York’s fall.

“Sure, where are we going?”

“Actually, that’s kind of a surprise, you’ll see.”

You beam at his words; he knows you love surprises and he hopes you’re going to like this one.

----

You look radiant as you lie on the blanket he’s spread on the grass, surrounded by colorful foliage. You’re sipping some of your favorite wine and nibbling on crackers as you admire a flock of birds migrating south in the sky.

You are the sun and he’s simply basking in your light. And he’s so selfish, he thinks as he holds the velvet box with the diamond ring inside of it, he’s so damn selfish we wants to keep the light all to himself for the rest of his life.

He’s prepared a long, passionate speech to tell you how much he loves you, of all the ways you’ve changed his life for the better and of all the reasons why he’d be a good husband.

But when you look at him with those bright eyes and beaming smile, he can barely remember his own name. He drops on one knee and holds the box out with shaky hands.

“Marry me, please.”

----

Thank you for reading! If you liked it, please reblog and comment, don’t be shy, feedback is always appreciated 🥺🤲

[kim-miri]

HALF(have a little fun) pt. v

→ one | two | three | four

→ Sayomi Zoldyck is the eldest child and twin sister to Illumi, of the renowned Zoldyck family of assassins. At the age of ten she’s taken away to Meteor City by her mother, Kikyo Zoldyck, unbeknownst to the rest of the family, as well as newborn Killua, and left to fend for herself. This is the story of the long-lost Zoldyck and those she becomes acquainted with, all while she just wants to have a little fun.

» part five / ?

» pairing: eventually - chrollo x oc x feat. hisoka

» warnings: swearing, blood/violence

» a/n: helloo~ this is my first write ever, and it’ll probably be a pretty long series. I’m also balancing school and a part-time job so forgive me for slow updates! If you’re reading this, thank you so much for showing interest and please leave comments below with your inputs!

» word count: 3,127

☾v.

Name: Sayomi Zoldyck 小夜美 | "小" is small | "夜" is night | "美" is beauty |

Hair color: White

Eye Color: Purple

Nen: Manipulator (same exact abilities as Illumi)

Abilities: Same as Illumi Zoldyck - Body Alteration, Hypnotic Spell, Corpse Control, Needle People, Katana

☾v. part v: the mafia(2/2)

Sayomi made her way to the elevators once again, dispatching the control room through her walkie talkie that she needed to get to her shift.

It was currently a quarter to 1, the last minutes before her shift would start. With a hand resting on her katana, Sayomi now exited the elevator having arrived at the 48th floor.

As she approached the VIP’s room, the two bodyguards on duty sighed in relief. 

“Thank god, it’s finally rotation time”, the woman exhaled lazily.

Sayomi tried her luck at a friendly interaction, casually asking the pair a question. “I’m guessing there wasn’t any action?”

The man laughed a genuine, but tired laugh. “Absolutely nothing. We haven’t moved an inch since the start of our shift.”

Sayomi laughed at the pair’s lack of enthusiasm, her violet eyes crinkling at the edges. Her expression of joy seemed infectious, as the older members in front of her laughed along with her in their despair.

She was starting to feel like a true member of the team already.

This is nice, I didn’t expect the others to be as unmotivated as me. 

Closing in on the time designated for the shift change, Sayomi’s partner arrived as well. Seeing no purpose in waiting around when everyone was present, the pairs switched early, starting Sayomi on her very first stretch as a bodyguard.

☾v.

The first 30 minutes into her shift, Sayomi had learned that her partner was a rather quiet person by nature.

Upon starting their shift, the two had exchanged a brief greeting, nodding to acknowledge the other.

It was only after an hour of standing and staring at the wall that Sayomi decided she couldn’t stand the silence while they waited out their shift.

She initiated a conversation with the older man, coming out bold as to establish her character.

“So, how did such an average man like you get stuck working for the mafia?”

The man was unmoving, replying to her question in a soft voice. “My family’s debt… Why did a young girl like you get caught up with the mafia?”

She wasn’t expecting such an honest response from the man. It threw her off, making her unprepared to answer the question shot her way.

“Um… I guess you could say family circumstances?” She hadn’t lied, given that it was her family’s actions that left her at Meteor City.

The man nodded in understanding at her vague answer. 

Another wave of awkward silence fell over the two, Sayomi’s initial attempt at socializing having failed miserably. 

She decided not to reattempt a conversation with the man, sensing that he didn’t care for idle chatter.

Family circumstances, huh. That’s the best thing I could think of. 

Sayomi had fallen deep in thought, her brows furrowing as she reflected back on her life.

I wonder if… father ever came looking for me? Or Illumi… did Illumi want me gone too? Ah, I shouldn’t be so dramatic about this. Either way I won’t return home, because that would mean mother winning. 

She exhaled audibly, tired from the splurge of thoughts that had taken over her mind once again. 

The man glanced over at the teen stationed next to him. She was obviously just as bored as he was to be stuck with this job.

Moving his eyes back forward to the wall in front of him, he attempted to kickstart a conversation once again. “You seem a bit too young to be on your own, don’t you miss your family?”

Sayomi blinked at the man in surprise, both at the question and the fact that he had initiated a conversation.

She contemplated whether she should tell the truth or cover it up with a lie. Deciding that a lie would take more effort, she settled for the truth. “I’ve been in the assassin business for 6 years now, so I wouldn’t say too young… I do miss my little brother though. Do you miss your family?”

As the man appeared to be deep in thought, Sayomi mulled over her words. My little brother… Killua, are they treating you alright?

“My apologies for assuming. And, yes, I do indeed miss my family. But, why haven’t you escaped yet, then? With no leverage against you, you could easily run away at any time.” The man spoke while looking at her this time. 

She thought about his question. “I guess… well, I don’t really have anywhere else to go. It’s my first time in Yorknew City, and I wouldn’t want to go back home to the people that left me in the first place.”

He let out a hmm at her response, obviously putting the pieces of her situation together. “If I told you of a way you could live here in Yorknew without being trapped under the mafia… would you oblige?” 

His eyes were soft and earnest. He knew what it was like to remain helpless at the hands of the Mafia, and saw no reason she should as well, especially at such a young age.

Sayomi’s expression formed one of shock and surprise, obviously taken aback by the man’s sincerity to help.

“I suppose I would… but if you know of a way out, why haven’t you left yet?” The two were now holding eye contact as if to read the other’s intentions. 

“I’m afraid I’ve already received too much from the Mafia. I owe my life as well as my family’s safety to them.” He responded somberly.

Sayomi nodded silently, understanding the man’s situation. She decided to at least take a listen to the plan he had to offer. “So, you know of a way I can live in Yorknew without the Mafia breathing over my shoulder?”

There was a mischievous glint in her eyes, and the man could sense it as something between the recklessness of a teenager and the confidence of a powerful assassin. She has no fears. I wonder how much she’s experienced to be this strong at such a young age.

“Ah, yes. Sticking with the Mafia will never do you any good. There’s a way of living here in Yorknew City if you’re especially confident in your fighting abilities. It’s called Heaven’s Arena.”

Sayomi raised her eyebrows at the man’s words, curious. Heaven’s Arena? Sounds like some shoddy place where people bet on fights.

“Alright, you’ve got my attention. So, what does one do at Heaven’s Arena?” Sayomi asked.

The man cracked a ghost of a smile at her interest. “You fight. From what I’ve heard, it’s set up in multiple floors, and each time you win they let you advance to higher floors. I’m pretty sure the pay goes up with each floor as well.”

Sayomi was impressed. A place where they pay you to fight? Count me in.

“I wonder what the catch is though… if it’s as easy as you say, wouldn’t everyone be taking their chances at Heaven’s Arena?”

The man hummed in agreement with her words. “You’re right. The most I’ve heard is that once you reach a certain point, the matches become a fight to the death, and through any means possible. I’m guessing that’s where most people falter- it’s either life or death matches that’ll provide you with a stable income, or small fights once in a while that pay very little. Only the strongest find what they’re looking for at Heaven’s Arena.”

Gambling with your life in order to pay the bills… 

“And you think I could make it at Heaven’s Arena?”

The man looked down at Sayomi with a fatherly gaze. “I don’t think you’re the type of person to need someone else’s approval. But to answer your question, yes, I think with the right amount of training you could find a new life with Heaven’s Arena.”

Sayomi smiled at his judgement of her character. “Well, then that does it. I just need to find my way out of the Mafia’s grasp, and then I can get to training.”

☾v.

Sayomi’s shift was over before she knew it. Just as the pair before them had said, their VIP client had no one after him. 

Her partner had told her all he knew about Heaven’s Arena and the Mafia from his many years working in Yorknew City. 

She had learned that there were members of the Mafia hidden within the assassin recruits, keeping anyone from sneaking away. Her escape would have to be well planned out to avoid getting caught along with any consequences.

Tagging out with the next pair of bodyguards, Sayomi head back to her room once again.

2 days later

VIP Adachi Yuto’s stay came to an end, with it marking the end of Sayomi’s first job. The team was dissolved as a result, and Sayomi was dispatched by her section leader to meet with him down at the lobby.

The section leader turned out to be the man who had first brought her to Yorknew City, a familiar face that relaxed Sayomi’s nerves a great amount.

Upon meeting, he was immediately down to business, letting Sayomi know of her next assignment. 

It was an assassin’s job.

She had originally planned to find a way out of the Mafia’s scope soon, but with the mention of her finally getting some action, the plan was postponed. 

Her target was a man in his 30s. No other information was given to her besides a photo and his location. 

Not much to her surprise, an ankle monitor was situated around her right leg, keeping her from straying from the job.

Damn you, bloodlust. No matter how hard I try I can’t seem to ditch the cold blood and murder mother and father drilled into my head.

Sayomi was falling victim to her old habits. She knew it was wrong to stick around any longer, but the consequences of the offer to satisfy her thirst for blood didn’t sink in until the cool metal of her ankle monitor pressed into her skin.

The man seemed to read Sayomi’s thoughts as she realized her mistake. “The ankle monitor is programmed to shock the user upon our command. It’s enough power to deal sufficient damage to even the largest of animals, so I insist you remain focused on the missions we give you. We never enjoy having to resort to using it, but keep in mind that we will not hesitate to, given a reason.”

She looked down at her ankle in defeat. It seemed Heaven’s Arena would have to wait.

☾v.

Later that night

Sayomi paced anxiously about in her hotel room. It was a mix of long-overdue bloodlust and hatred towards herself as a result of her assassin’s instinct to kill.

Deep inside her head, a war of conflicting feelings raged on.

Calm down, Sayomi. Every time you do this it’s only proving that mother succeeded in sculpting you into her little assassin. 

She had completely thrown away a perfect chance to escape just because she couldn’t control her impulses to kill in cold blood. 

But is it that wrong to want to kill? Being an assassin doesn’t mean I’ll be exactly like mother. I can control my own future now, I am my own person.

Setting her katana down against the wall, she opted for her needles instead. It had been a while since she’d used the smaller weapons because they reminded her of the past.

Now putting the past behind her, Sayomi walked with a new air of confidence. It was her greatest skill and job to kill, she’d decided. And this was a decision she had come to on her own, a new mindset for a new beginning.

A static-ridden dispatch over her walkie talkie marked the beginning of her assignment, and Sayomi headed down to the lobby. 

Since she was still underage, a driver was provided to her, stationed in front of the hotel with her designated license plate.

The brisk night air greeted Sayomi as she exited the hotel. It was currently a few minutes past 12, the streets being mostly empty except for the young city goers enjoying the nightlife in Yorknew City.

Exhaling out an envious sigh at the stunning city lights surrounding her, Sayomi watched her breath disappear into the night as she walked briskly to the car.

The drive to her target’s location was silent. Sayomi sat alone in the back seat, watching with empty eyes as friends, lovers, and complete strangers came together in harmony within the lively city.  

She started to wonder what it would be like to live a normal life like them. What would she be doing right now? Staying up and texting friends? Going to bed before midnight? 

As the teen sat in the back of a luxurious car going towards her next target to assassinate, she couldn’t help but wish she had a normal life, with friends who cared about her feelings or guy problems instead of waiting for orders on which guy she would kill next.

These are useless thoughts. There’s no turning back now.

The car came to a stop at an intimidatingly tall company building, around the same height as the hotel.

Stretching her limbs as she exited the car, the driver notified Sayomi he would wait for her return in the same spot. 

Thanking the driver for his services, she took quick steps towards the entrance of the building. With her persistently developed speed and underground techniques, sneaking in and out of the building would be no problem.

Taking notice of the lack of security, she rolled her eyes as she let out a breath in annoyance. This is amateur work. 

Activating her zetsu, Sayomi’s menacing purple aura dissipated into thin air as she dashed past the sorry line of security, making her way to a deserted hallway.

There was a lone guard doing rounds with a bright flashlight in hand, failing to notice the slight breeze that Sayomi had left in her path.

Positioning a needle between her fingers, Sayomi flicked her wrist out at lightning speed, sending the needle flying towards the guard. 

It hit home in the guard’s neck, knocking him out instantly. Taking nimble steps towards the fallen guard, Sayomi made quick work of grabbing his access badge before heading to the elevators. 

Seeing as no one else was around, she tabbed an elevator, rocking back and her toes as she waited.

Just as she had expected, the elevator required an access badge, which she tapped against the scanner while pressing on the button for the 38th floor.

In a bored attempt to keep herself preoccupied on the way up, Sayomi spread her band of needles out in her hands. Closing her eyes, she ran a pale hand over the band. 

Her hand came down on a single needle, the needle she would use to finish off her target. Putting the band back into her pocket, she held the single needle between her knuckles, adrenaline rushing through her veins.

The elevators chime signified Sayomi’s arrival at the 38th floor. The floor was empty, being past working hours and in between shifts for the security guards.

A single desk lamp shone in her target's office, and Sayomi strolled casually to the partially open door.

She could see from where she approached that her target was busy at work, having stayed overtime. 

Knocking twice on the inside of the open door, Sayomi just barely caught the attention of the man before moving her wrist in a single, fluid motion.

The man had no chance to react, slumping face down onto his desk with a muffled thump.

She had hit the jugular clean and precise, leaving no trail behind of her job besides the now motionless man.

Satisfied with her work, Sayomi returned to the elevators with a skip in her step. A few months without my needles and I’ve still got it!

Greeting her driver with a smile this time around, she didn’t blame him for being utterly confused. 

The job had taken her just under 5 minutes, the majority of the time belonging to the elevator rides up and down from the 38th floor.

Dispatching her section leader of the completed job, Sayomi returned back to the hotel, looking as if she had gone out for an evening stroll.

Her section leader greeted her in the lobby, letting her know she had the remainder of the night off. She frowned slightly at the news, her adrenaline still rushing from the short job. 

An easy target like today always left her wanting more, unsatisfied with the lack of fighting that came with it.

I’m getting all caught up in this again.

Shaking away her thoughts of possibly finding more action, Sayomi returned to her room with slumped shoulders. She forced herself to set her needles back down on her nightstand, finding it hard to keep herself from fiddling with them.

It was late. And though the 51st floor around her seemed to be deep in sleep, Sayomi was restless. 

She decided to wash up and take a quick shower to relax her nerves, changing out of the uniform and into one of the other outfits they had provided her with.

Wrapping her silvery-white hair in a towel, she opted to sit on the floor, gazing out of the floor length window in front of her.

Yorknew City was quieting down, the street vendors having cleaned up for the night, stores being long closed, and clubs starting to die down. The last of the neon signs flickered in the darkness, looking like tiny specks of color from where Sayomi sat, high above most of the buildings bordering the one she was in.

The 16 year old girl sat cross-legged in a trance, no longer focused on the city in front of her, but something within her mind.

What am I gonna do now… I ruined my chances of escaping anytime soon. All because I couldn’t control myself, my old habits. Does this mean mother was successful with her plans?

No. I don’t have to give in to defeat. I’ll find a way out, just like how I got out of Meteor City. Maybe if I gain their trust they’ll take this ankle monitor off. 

I just have to become one of their obedient assassins, quiet and reliable. 

Sayomi fell asleep slouched on the rough carpeted floor that night, lost in her own thoughts and emotions.

But despite the uncomfortable position, her face proved differently. She was only ever at peace when she was fast asleep, because that’s when she could see her loved ones within dreams.

Illumi, Killua… Are you two taking good care of each other? Are you doing better than I am? 

Do you guys even miss me? 

I miss you two so much I feel like I could die. 

☾v.

to be continued.

a/n: taglist open!

[wreathedinscales]

shoutout to @grogusdads for their 100% accurate headcanon about Din Djarin being Ultimate Dad as Mand’alor. we’ve never talked, but you share many headcanons with me :D

anyway here’s din realizing, oh wait, he’s actually a??? ruler???? :O

()

1. Guards?

Without Grogu, Din makes it his purpose to help reclaim Mandalore. And attempt to provoke Bo-Katan into challenging him.

This time, he thinks, he's got her.

"Do you know anything about ruling?" Bo-Katan snaps.

Din once again holds out the Darksaber. "You're welcome to do it yourself."

But no. She just rolls her eyes and tries once again to fix his posture. Because apparently just standing straight does not a ruler make.

Mandalorians answer the call. Not all of them, but enough to start rebuilding. Din doesn't know about ruling, but he can organize a few supply runs and a roster. He takes mental notes of names, strengths and weaknesses. Nothing he hasn't done before.

About two weeks into this, Din notices two Mandalorians following him. Both have predominantly red armor with identical wing-shaped markings on their helmets. Kai and Kol, Din's inner records supply, sisters who grew up in a covert not quite as traditional as Din's, but their background is similar enough that Din's found common ground with them. They're some of the best at stealth, great for off-planet supply runs.

Din looks around at the small crowd. It's still somewhat staggering, seeing so many Mandalorians in broad daylight. He still catches himself scanning for Imps.

"Inventory's still scattered, and you're light on your feet," he says, "See what you can find in the palace."

For once, the sisters don't nod and walk off. Instead, they glance at each other, then look back at din with helmets tilted.

"We already have a task," Kai says slowly.

"Then why are you following me?"

They share another glance.

"We are your guard," Kol says, matching her sister's voice.

Din's so surprised he says, "What?" Then he shakes his head and adds, "Did Bo-Katan put you up to this?"

"She approached candidates," Kai says, "We volunteered first."

Din puts his hands on his hips. He's genuinely at a loss. "Why?"

They're attracting a small audience. The sisters' stunned silence doesn't help.

"You are Mand'alor," Kol replies blankly, "Our planet is not without dangers. We must protect you."

...oh.

Hm.

"Your efforts are best suited helping rebuild," Din tries, "I don't see any danger getting past all of us." He gestures to the rubble that was once the capital. "Help our people first."

More silence. For the first time in years, Din actively stops himself from fidgeting.

It becomes quickly apparent that they are not moving. But guards not listening to him is something he's used to.

"Okay, how about one of you stays with me?"

Kol and Kai stare a bit more. Then they bow, and Kai heads to the city.

"Okay," Din says again, "I guess if you're staying close, you might as well help me look over our supplies. We're still short on materials."

He turns on his heel and hopes everyone will stop staring. Fortunately, inventory takes focus. After some hesitation, Kol shoulders her staff and joins him.

Two hours later, Din is satisfied he's done all he can. He passes the datapad to Hrush, who's unofficially record-keeper with how quick they are at it. Their brain's the size of Mandalore, and their fingers fly over the screen.

Next batch.

Din looks over his shoulder. With any luck, Kol will have caught the hint and gone back to work.

He finds another Mandalorian walking beside her. Jaz, fought in the Purge, follows Bo-Katan's version of the Way, Fennec-level shot with her two blasters. Her muscles make her tower over Kol.

Din stops. They stop with him.

He sighs. "Fine. Jaz, you can lift two crates at a time, yes?"

Jaz balks a bit. After a moment, she says, "Yes, Mand'alor."

"Good. Kol, get those open while Jaz and I get the rest. You can. Multitask."

Din would really, really like everyone to stop staring.

2. Palace?

"What?"

Bo-Katan raises an eyebrow. "The Mand'alor needs his throne."

They're standing outside the palace ruin, Bo-Katan's helmet under her arm and Din glad his own hides his no doubt stupid expression. Kai and Kol are, unfortunately, still following him.

"Why the hell would I want a palace?" Din asks. "We're almost done the compound. There's plenty of room."

"Yours isn't ready yet."

"I don't need a suite, Kryze. As long as I can fit, a bunk and a door will be fine."

"You are Mand'alor."

"I am Mandalorian." It's taken a bit for him to come to terms with that, after the light cruiser. But everyone else sure sees him as one, which has helped. "A door and a bunk. No. Palace."

Hrush is quiet when Din approaches them with dimensions for his bunk. He's been sleeping with various clans and families so far, and it's worked out alright. Those who don't follow the Watch's Way respect his helmet. But a bit a privacy would be nice, and if Bo-Katan insists on him having his own room, well.

"I know materials are low," Din says, "Prioritize others first. This can wait."

Hrush is a small spitfire. They are still quiet.

Din waits a beat before nodding. The training yards still need a lot of attention. He heads there next.

That night, he checks the compound's roster. There are still two groups he hasn't imposed on yet. Their community is growing. It makes him smile.

"Mand'alor?" Kai says.

Din turns and waves his hand. "You can, uh, bunk down. I'll see if Clan Gon has floor space."

Even though, for some reason, people keep insisting Din take a cot, he's won through stubbornness so far. His back hates him, but it's not the first time they've been at odds.

A familiar huff joins them. "Mand'alor," Hrush says, "your room is ready. All the way down, to the left."

"...oh."

Well, at least they've finally given up on the suite.

"Thank you," Din says.

Hrush's helmet tilts, like they're about to say something. Din waits, but whatever they had wanted to say turns into, "Good night, Mand'alor."

Din inclines his head. "Same to you."

"What the hell."

This is not a bunk. This is. This is a full on apartment.

"I said no suite."

"It isn't a suite, Mand'alor," Kai says. She actually sounds amused. "It meets your specifications."

Din turns to her and crosses his arms. The room is huge, with a damn kitchenette, table, and private fresher. The cot isn't a cot, but a full on double bed. Din doesn't even know where all this stuff came from.

"You asked for a door," Kol says.

"I asked. For. A. Bunk. This is a waste of supplies we haven't got."

"Mand'alor, we provided the bare necessities." Kai seems seconds away from laughing.

"A double bed is not a necessity. Switch it with," Din thinks a second, "Clan To. The alors need support for those limps, and their Foundlings can use the extra cot."

The sisters look at each other. Din wishes they'd stop doing that.

"As you wish," they say.

"But it's too late now," Kai adds, "Clan To retired before you."

"Tomorrow, then."

"When would you like us to do it?"

Din shakes his head. "I'll do it myself. I can lift this."

"...certainly, Mand'alor."

3. Personal Space?

Since the fresher isn't going anywhere, Din figures, fuck it, he might as well use it. It's been a pain getting up extra early for the communal space anyway. Even if the space is working just fine, Bo-Katan.

When he's freshly dressed, he reenters the main room to find Jaz setting down one of Clan To's cots.

"Your time is better spent elsewhere," Din says firmly.

"Of course, Mand'alor," Jaz replies.

Well, Din's used to a bit of mocking. What's done is done. "Then help me move the rest of this to the communal space. I just need the caf."

"Mand'alor, with respect, I will not remove necessities from your room." Jaz shifts her weight. "This will make it easier for you to follow your Way. We wish to respect your helmet."

It's reasonable. Din would be lying if he said he didn't miss his privacy. But he'd rather sacrifice some personal bubble for a Foundling's future than have this.

"Would you not do the same for another?" Jaz asks quietly.

Din sighs. "Fine. If any who follow my Creed want to use this room, let them know it's open. I'll put a lock on the door."

"A lock will be installed in an hour," Jaz says.

"Okay. We'll spread the word."

"...as you wish, Mand'alor. I'll leave you to your first meal."

Quiet follows Jaz. Complete, utter quiet.

Wow. Din...has really missed this.

He looks around. There are no windows. People won't barge in. He can trust fellow Mandalorians.

Cautiously, Din removes his helmet. The quiet is still there.

He did sleep better last night. Maybe he can let himself have this.

4. Respect?

Din whirls around, spear out, just in time for Kol and Kai to take the attacker down.

Having guards is weird, but convenient.

Din studies the Mandalorian. Armor similar to Fett's, not enough for the resemblance to be startling, as it is painted blue and yellow. Goboz, young, cocky but well-meaning, best at hand-to-hand, needs more gun training.

Caju and Vadde of Clan To are in front of Din in a second, blasters raised. It makes Din warm.

"What business have you, attacking our Mand'alor?" Kai demands coldly.

"The Darksaber," Goboz says.

Din gently pushes Caju and Vadde aside. "You're barely 23, kid. Why do you want to rule?"

Goboz starts. "How do you know how old I am?"

Din cocks his head. "You told me when we met. If you can't remember that, what makes you think you're fit to lead?"

He's not angry. But Goboz did not issue an honorable challenge. He clearly has not studied the Way enough. Din will have to have a word with his buir. No matter how old they get, a child deserves guidance.

(Child. No, not the time. Not the place.)

Din puts his hands on his hips and says calmly, "If you wish to challenge me to the Darksaber, do so honorably. This is the Way."

Voices echo, "This is the Way."

Goboz averts his helmet. "...this is the Way."

Din nods. "Let him up."

Kai and Kol step back. They keep their spears level in warning.

"Now," Din says, "do you want to challenge me?"

Goboz nods.

"As challenger, choose your weapon."

As expected, Goboz replies, "Hand-to-hand."

"Fine. I accept." Din scans the crowd. "Kryze. Since you won't challenge me, you can oversee this."

Bo-Katan's lip quirks. "Certainly, Mand'alor."

"Meet me in the training yard in ten," Din says, "I need to finalize the Foundlings' training rosters."

Goboz looks cowed. Din waits for him to walk off before turning back to Hrush.

They meet without weapons in the center. Goboz bounces lightly on his feet. Din finds himself looking forward to this. It's been too long since he's had a good fight.

Bo-Katan widens her stance. "Begin."

Goboz swings first. Din parries and goes for his blind spot. He's blocked and pushed, but he stands his ground. It soon becomes apparent that Goboz doesn't mind his legs nearly as much as he should. He's good, very good. Just not good enough.

Din trips him, shoving a knee on his chest and pinning his arms. Goboz nearly throws him off. Nearly.

"Do you yield?" Din hisses.

Goboz struggles valiantly. But he sees he's beaten. He goes limp. "I yield."

"The Mand'alor is the winner," Bo-Katan announces. The crowd cheers.

Din helps Goboz up. Goboz says, "I thought you'd be more aggressive. I did you a dishonor."

"You did yourself and your clan a dishonor," Din retorts, "You clearly know better, Goboz."

Goboz's shoulders hunch slightly. "Yes, Mand'alor." He puts a fist to his chest and bows. "I will accept whatever punishment you deem fit."

Din tilts his head. "You learned from your mistake. I hold no grudge against you. Go to your buir for punishment."

Goboz makes himself even smaller, showing his age. The next "Yes, Mand'alor" is more of a grumble.

Din revels in the buzzing of his muscles and gets back to work.

Goboz's buir, Imni, approaches him later that afternoon.

"I apologize for Goboz's behavior," she says, "I thought I taught him better."

Din shrugs. "He's young. Kids don't always listen."

Imni huffs. "You are wise, Mand'alor."

"Just experienced. My." Din swallows. "My own Foundling liked to get his paws into trouble."

Imni inclines her head. "I heard you returned him to his kind."

"I did. Now I have other Foundlings to look after."

"You honor us, Mand'alor."

Din shakes his head. "This is the Way."

"This is the Way." Imni sounds like she's smiling.

5. Children?

"They're a bounty hunter," Din explains for the umpteenth time.

"They tried to assassinate you," Bo-Katan replies for the umpteenth time.

"I've done worse in their shoes."

"But you're not in their shoes anymore. You are Mand'alor."

"I'm still a hunter."

"You are Mand'alor."

Din looks to Senator Organa, who's trying not to laugh. She resembles the Jedi strongly; it had been a shock to know the Huttslayer is Grogu's teacher's twin sister. He now knows the Jedi is called Luke Skywalker. He'd been about to find out more when a sniper got him right between the beskar.

He'll be fine, especially with the fancy tech on Coruscant. It's practically a five star treatment compared to Din's usual experience. Only now Bo-Katan is insisting the hunter be put on trial or something.

Din tries again. "Let's just talk. Find out who hired them."

"They won't leave without their reward," Bo-Katan says.

"They might be Guild. I can get in touch with Karga, get them another job."

Bo-Katan looks at him with the slightly narrowed eyes of a person who's looking at an absolute moron. Din doesn't feel like he deserves that, thank you.

"You want," she says, "to get your would-be assassin another job."

"Might not be as high, but they seem like they can take on more than one. They're capable."

Bo-Katan mouths capable. She looks to Organa as if pleading for patience.

Organa clears her throat. "Mand'alor. Would you feel the same if one of your people was shot?"

The anger is sharp and sudden. Din breathes through it. "I'm supposed to protect them. It's not the same."

Bo-Katan gestures to him. "You see what I have to deal with?"

Din balks. Organa stops fighting her grin.

"I think we should take this to the conference room," Organa says, "If the Mand'alor feels able."

Din stands without wobbling and motions for her to lead the way. He waves to a stiff Kai and Kol, and they settle behind him.

The conference room is full of seething Mandalorians.

"You guaranteed our Mand'alor's safety!" Jaz bellows, hands flat on the table. "You go back on your word so easily?"

Caju is coiled to strike. "It was a mistake to come here. We should have known better."

These are but two voices among the throng. The other senators are various shades of pale and flushed, some trying to calm the situation while others are yelling back.

"Don't suppose you can help?" Organa asks sardonically.

Din sighs. He draws his spear and hits it against his vambrace. The room cuts off mid-shout.

"Have we found out who hired them?" Din asks.

One of the senators, a human male whose hair is mussed from running his fingers through it, says, "Yes."

"And where is the hunter?"

"Captured," Vadde replies tightly, "Alive."

Din nods and heads for the nearest seat. He pauses when the Mandalorians part for him, showing the head of the table. He awkwardly changes course.

"Tell me about the employer."

"You're what."

Din punches the code for the cell. "I got you some new pucks. Together, it should be close to what this job would've paid." The door opens. "I'll go with you to your ship, make sure they let you pass."

The hunter's frog eyes stare widely. Din wonders if their species ever blink.

"You are a world leader," the hunter says, "I tried to kill you."

"So I've been told."

"You realize you should be executing me, right? Or at least sending me to max prison?"

Din huffs. "I've been told that too. I've also been a bounty hunter. You don't seem like you have close ties with your employer, which means you're only in it for the money. You're not a threat to my people."

"I could be."

"Then I'll kill you." Simple, matter-of-fact. "Do you want me to? I can think of at least a dozen ways right now."

The bounty hunter finally blinks. "...no."

"Then let's go. Sooner we get you going, the sooner I can get back to getting coordinates for my kid."

The hunter takes a few hesitant steps. Kai and Kol are pillars of ice, but they don't attack. Din starts walking.

"So, uh. The rumors about your Foundling are true?" the hunter says.

"Yep."

"Huh. You're, uh. I mean, you seem like a good dad, then."

Din's throat goes tight. "He's with his kind now. I am no longer as his father."

"...oh," the hunter croaks.

A beat.

"He is father to his people," Kol snaps.

Din whips around so fast his neck nearly cracks. Kol raises her chin, as if daring him to argue.

"We..." Din slowly starts walking again, "we take care of each other."

"You take care of us, Mand'alor," Kai says firmly.

After a few more paces, the hunter says, "I actually feel a little bad for trying to kill you."

Din huffs a laugh, still reeling. "Thanks."

As he watches the hunter take off, Din murmurs, "You honor me."

Softly, Kai says, "It is what you deserve, Mand'alor."

"And," Kol adds, "it's fun to watch when people realize you're not angry, just disappointed."

Kai shoulders her spear to put her hands on her hips, bending slightly at the waist and cocking her head. Din realizes as Kol laughs that she's imitating him. His cheeks burn when he also realizes he's halfway to putting his hands on his hips too.

When she's calmed down, Kol puts a hand on Din's shoulder. "You are as our father, Mand'alor. Let us care for you in turn."

Din has to take at least half a minute to steady himself. He's still hoarse when he says, "You can't shoot the ship."

The sisters sigh.

[sevenstarsinning]

Sweat

Chapter 2

Goku’s proposition

Warnings: smut, explicit sexual situations/language, choking, nsfw.

Chapter 1 is here

You and Vegeta remained there until the sun started to set. He had to get back to Kyla and you needed to get back to Goku to discuss whatever the fuck happened earlier.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to this." You clung to him as he took off into the air.

"Would you rather me and Kakarot teach you to fly?" Vegeta asked, shooting forward towards the city.

"Seriously doubt I'm capable of flying," you replied, holding him tighter as he picked up speed.

"You'd probably pick it up fairly quickly." He added.

"It's not the skill that worries me, it's the heights." You kept your head tucked against his back.

“You know I won’t drop you, woman, and even if you did fall, I’m fast enough to catch you.”

You knew he probably didn’t mean anything by it, but it was exactly the kind of thing that made you weak.

The rest of the journey was silent and went by far too quickly. It was great to be on solid ground again but you missed feeling his body against yours.

"So tomorrow-" He started as he set you back on your feet.

"I'll go see Kyla and maybe find something we can bond over." You really weren't ecstatic about it, but it was for him. 

"Good, that'll give me some time to train with Kakarot at least." Before you could say anything else, the front door opened and out walked Goku, looking at the two of you curiously.

"You two have fun?" He asked, chipper as usual. "Yeah, got some peace and quiet away from here. How's it going with the new form?" You asked, thinking back to how amazing he looked when he transformed. Then you remembered the way his lips felt on your neck and his hands on your waist. Your cheeks flushed but luckily Vegeta was focused on Goku and didn't notice.

"Training tomorrow, Kakarot."

"You bet." He grinned, always so ready to train.

"And Kyla-"

"Got it covered." You hated to see him go, but part of you was itching to see how things were going to progress with Goku once you were alone. Vegeta took off in an instant leaving you there.

"There's more takeout, if you're hungry," Goku offered, scratching his head and looking as awkward as you felt.

"Wait, you didn't eat it all while I was gone?" You asked, shocked there was even a bite of food left.

"What you brought is all gone but I got more, Bulma had it delivered."

"God, I don't see where you put it all." You looked him up and down, struggling to keep your question at bay about whether or not he was still interested.

He laughed slightly, "I don't eat that much."

“Goku, have you actually looked at all of the dirty dishes and empty containers left when you’re done eating? It would take like 10 of me to eat all of that, possibly more depending on the day.” You couldn’t stop your eyes from roaming down his body. You always found him attractive but something had definitely changed when he showed you his instinct form.

“You’re so much smaller though, of course you can’t eat as much as me.”

"Your stomach is like a bottomless pit." You started towards him slowly.

"I just need it for energy so I can fight." He shrugged but watched your movements.

“And when you’re not fighting? What do you need all of the energy for then?” You stopped about a foot away and looked up at him.

In a split second, air whooshed by nearly knocking you off your feet, the ground shook and you were convinced the house was about to crumble.

“For this,” he said with a half smile. He had somehow perfected the transition into instinct form in the time you were away.

"Fuck..." You were dumbstruck again by his sheer size and form.

"It took me a while, but I can finally sustain this form for a few hours now." He smiled, clearly proud of his feat.

"So, this is why you needed more food," you grinned and ran the tips of your fingers across his abs.

"This and other things." He kept his eyes on yours as you practically drooled over his muscles. He was too perfect to be real.

"What kind of other things?" You couldn't help but let your fingers drift lower.

His intense gaze was centered on you, watching as you touched him lightly.

"I thought we could continue our conversation from earlier." He was clearly more confident and blunt in his new form.

“O-okay, should we go in the house first?” You asked. Your heartbeat picked up when his hand settled on your waist.

“Soon,” he said just above a whisper. He pulled you against him and inhaled your scent just as he had done earlier.

“You need it even more than you did before.”

You leaned against him. "You can tell just from sniffing me?"

"Yes, and it's intoxicating. I'm surprised Vegeta didn't pick up on it." He squeezed your waist.

“Does that mean anything in particular?” You looked up at him, hopeful there wasn’t some deeper meaning behind Vegeta not noticing your scent.

“I don’t think so. He might be pretending it’s not affecting him.”

His breath was hot against your neck and you nearly moaned out loud when his lips pressed against your soft skin.

"Have you considered my offer?" He kissed your neck again. Heat was radiating off of him and your need was only growing the more he touched you.

"Yes. But I'm still worried it'll affect us." You weren't in a rush to jump in bed with him if it was going to cause damage to the friendship.

“It won’t. Your feelings are with Vegeta and this form tells me that I can keep it casual.” He bit down softly on your neck and chipped away at your hesitation.

“But what if… something did change? I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

"It's just a physical release." His tongue laved over the small mark.

"And if I want to stop?" You turned your head, giving him better access.

"It starts and stops with your consent." His hands gripped your hips a little tighter.

“And this stays between us?” You had to make sure he wouldn’t say it to Vegeta during training for some reason.

“It doesn’t matter to me who you tell or don’t tell. I won’t say anything.” His hands moved from your hips to your ass and pulled you harder against him. His cock pressed against your stomach and the last of your worry fell away completely.

"Fuck it. Let's do this." You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a desperate kiss. You needed it and if he was offering, you weren't about to turn him down. His hands squeezed your ass as he pulled you to his chest, letting his cock rub against you through your clothing.

He lifted you into his arms and wrapped your legs around his waist to carry you in the house and away from prying eyes.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” you moaned between heated kisses.

He kicked the front door closed and slammed you into the nearest wall. It seemed Goku was just as desperate for it as you.

His tongue slipped past your lips and swirled with yours, tasting you. You clung to him and ground your hips against him as he held you up. You shuffled your legs to push his pants down, making him grin against your lips.

"That desperate?" He kissed you again.

“Yeah, I need your cock,” you moaned and reached down between you. He grunted when you grabbed his hardened cock. It was even bigger than you expected and there was no way it wasn’t going to hurt going in.

"How the fuck..." You muttered as you stroked him. Goku smirked as he trailed his lips down the side of your neck, teeth grazing your heated skin. He pulled you away from the wall and carried you towards the bedroom.

He lowered you to the bed and remained close, kissing and nipping at your neck. He reached down and unzipped your pants, pushing them down until you took over. You had just enough room to lift up and push them down to your thighs while he kissed the other side of your neck.

You worked quickly to kick them off while his mouth continued it's trail down your throat. His hand slid up your body, pushing your shirt up.

"Goku, fuck me already." You begged, tilting your hips up towards him.

“I will, just not right now.” He grinned when you let out a desperate moan. He pushed your bra up and sucked a nipple into his mouth. The otherworldly look and feel of his new form intensified every sensation.

Goku bit down gently on your nipple and tugged, leaving you whimpering for more.

He released it and lifted up with a toothy grin before ducking down to suck your other nipple into his mouth. You were starting to question whether you'd made a mistake, he was intent on torturing you, made apparent by the way he toyed with each nipple, barely touching you anywhere else.

“Gok-”

As if he knew you were going to say it before the words even started coming out, his hand covered your mouth. He bit down on your nipple a little harder than before and started kissing down your stomach.

“Let’s see if you taste as good as you smell.”

You reached down and grabbed his hair before he could go lower. "Goku, please, I need you to fuck me."

"Let me taste you first, then I'll give you what you need." He pushed your hand away and continued down. Goku spread your legs open and leaned close, inhaling your scent again and glancing up at you with a playful smirk.

His tongue rapidly flicked over your clit and made you squirm.

"Goku, come on," you whined. In a split second, his face was buried between your thighs. His tongue circled your clit and drew the perfect pattern to drive you insane.

"Oh fuck," you moaned and grabbed a handful of his hair.

Goku didn't stop, devouring you as if he was starved for you and nothing else. He had you whimpering and spewing a string of curse words as you came for him. If that was any indication of how well he was going to fuck you, then you might actually die from intense orgasms.

He sat up between your legs, licking his lips, "ready for more?"

"Fuck yes." You watched him climb up your body and settle his hips between your legs.

He eased his cock in, slowly filling you inch by inch.

"God...damn." Your breath hitched in your throat when he stilled. He smiled at you while your body adjusted to him.

"I can feel your pussy twitching."

"You're fucking huge, can you blame me?"

Goku held still for another moment, but the sensation of your cunt clenching around him was just too much for him not to move. He eased out, letting you feel every inch drag against your walls, before slamming back into you.

"Fuck! Harder," you moaned and pressed your hands to his chest, digging your nails into his skin.

He thrust into you hard enough to push you towards the headboard. "How much can you take? Because I want to fuck you that hard."

"As hard as you want, just don't break me." You ground your hips against him, chasing your release that you desperately needed.

"No promises." He smirked and slammed into you. He grabbed your legs and pulled them together, hugging them to his chest while he fucked you relentlessly. His cock drove deeper and harder into you with each thrust, leaving you breathless.

Your moans were loud and even if there were neighbors to worry about, you wouldn't have been able to silence yourself. You had never felt anything like it. Getting fucked by Goku felt so good it was overwhelming.

Your first orgasm hit hard and fast, leaving you trembling beneath him, but he didn't let up. Instead, he fucked you harder.

The obscene sounds of your soaked cunt and the snap of his hips against yours filled the room. Everything he did was intense, making your entire body feel like it was vibrating with energy.

"Goku-" You moaned for him, clenching around his cock. Your soft whimpers only seemed to drive him harder, causing your next orgasm to roll through your body without warning.

"Fuck, Goku," you cried out. The headboard slammed against the wall so hard it sounded like it was going to break at any second. The bed itself creaked and the frame shifted from the loosening bolts.

"You're gonna keep coming for me until you can't take it anymore," he panted.

Goku kept true to his word. Orgasm after orgasm, your entire body falling limp after each one but he continued to fuck you through to the next one.

"Please, I don't think I can-" You trembled, sending tremors though your weakened limbs.

"Just one more for me," he growled against your neck. You held onto him, unsure if you'd survive another, but you were going to try. He seemed to have lost no stamina or energy at all and could keep going all night.

As you neared your final orgasm, he slowed, creating the perfect kind of friction for your sensitive body.

"Where do you want me to come?" He asked. His cock twitched inside of you, making your muscles clench.

"I'm on birth control, just fucking come in me."

Your plea made his cock twitch inside of you. Goku snapped his hips against you harder, holding onto you with his fingers digging into your skin.

"Fuck..." You whimpered as another orgasm hit you. You moaned and clenched around him, finally pulling his release from him. His cock pumped into you as he came.

He stilled within you and lowered his ki to his base form. The only sound between you was panting while you tried to catch your breath.

"Please tell me we're doing that again sometime," you said, smiling up at him. A thin layer of sweat covered your bodies making you stick to each other.

"Definitely. I don't know why we didn't do this sooner." Goku eased out of you, watching his cum drip out of you.

"And you're not gonna get pregnant?" He asked.

"I mean, there's never a 100% guarantee but I've never had it fail me," you replied, paranoia growing by the second. Yes, you never had any issues with birth control, but you also never let an alien come in you and who knew how birth control would react.

"Goku... is there a chance that... have you fucked another Earth woman and came in her?"

"Yeah, lots." He beamed.

"Lots? Like you've fucked lots of women?" You were a little shocked to find out Goku was a slut.

"Oh, no. I mean I've came in a woman lots of times. She likes to use me the same way you do. Her name's ChiChi."

"How have I never met her? What's she like?" You asked, curious if a threesome was a possibility.

"She's a fighter, that's how we met. She's really strong and she likes to take control a lot."

"Sounds like she's perfect for you." You wondered if that meant he wouldn't want to continue the friends with benefits thing.

"She's not interested in me like that, at least I don't think so." He shrugged as he sat back against the headboard next to you.

"Goku, do you have any idea how many women are looking for a guy just like you?" You asked. Your hand drifted down between your thighs to play with his cum as it dripped out.

"What do you mean?" He scratched his head and laughed.

"For one, you're hot as fuck. Second, you're carefree and just kind of go with the flow." You watched as his gaze moved down to where your hand was.

"Women like that?" He really didn't have a clue.

"Of course they do. There are far too many assholes and not enough of you around." You scooped up a generous amount of his cum with your index finger and brought it to your mouth. "What do you look for in a woman?"

"I've never really thought about it. I guess someone strong I could fight when Vegeta isn't around, and a good cook. And sex." He continued to watch you.

"Simple. I like it. What about the sex part do you want?"

"All of it. All the time. She has to want sex like I do."

"God, that's the dream. Someone who wants to fuck every day, eat me out, make me scream. Know anyone like that?" You scooped more of his cum up and stuck your tongue out, letting it drip off the tip of your finger.

Goku watched you licked your fingers clean of his cum. You could see that he was already getting hard again.

"Um, me? I like all of that stuff," he said almost too pitifully and desperate.

"You? I would gladly become one of your fuck buddies," you said slowly beginning to finger yourself. You had his full attention and knew you could probably get away with whatever you wanted.

"Does that mean we'd get to have sex all the time?" He moved a little closer, his hands itching to touch you.

"Anytime you want." You slowly fingered yourself.

"I want that. Let's do that."

You sat up quickly and crawled in his lap, already aching to have his cock again.

"Fuck me, Goku, in every depraved way you can imagine," you whispered, "I can handle it.”

He didn't hesitate for a second, grabbing you and pulling you down onto his cock. You gasped at the sudden fullness as his cock stretched you.

"Fuck," you said breathlessly.

"You're sure you can handle it?" He asked with concern etched across his face.

"I'm sure. Stop worrying and fuck me," you said before leaning in for a hard kiss, biting his bottom lip and tugging before you released. He grabbed your hips and made you move exactly how he wanted.

"Your cock is fucking perfect," you moaned when it pressed against you a little differently because of the angle.

He held your hips and used you as his own personal fucktoy. He lifted you up and slammed you back down onto his cock. There was no worry about hurting you, he just took what he wanted.

He started slamming you down so hard it took your breath away. He hit the perfect spot within you and you squirmed, pulling back enough to drench both of you.

"Do that again," he commanded, pushing you back down on his cock to fuck you relentlessly.

You grabbed onto his shoulders while he continued to use your body, clenching around his cock and making him grunt.

"Harder, Goku," you panted, wanting to see how much more he could give you.

"I don't want to hurt you." He flexed his fingers on your hips.

"I'll be fine," you said through heavy breaths. His hands slowly crept down to your ass, lifting and pulling you closer. You placed your hands on the sides of his neck and kissed him, hoping to convince him to fuck you without restraint.

"Please..." You spoke against his lips.

He sighed, "okay, but tell me if it's too much."

He pushed you back down on the bed and took position on top of you. His onyx eyes searching yours for an indication of hesitancy, but he found none. He eased out of you slowly and paused for a second. His hips snapped against yours and the second you felt his cock hit deep within you, he changed forms. Straight to super saiyan without a hitch, his aura glowing and his hair lighter.

It was easily the most intense thing you had ever felt during sex and he was only one thrust down. You knew your body was going to be completely overwhelmed within seconds, but you welcomed it.

Each snap of his hips took your breath away until you couldn't even moan. All you could do was grip the sheets and let him destroy you.

"You okay?" He stared down at you.

"Yes, more," you whimpered. He eased out of you and paused before thrusting into you. His form changed again, a surge of energy ran through him and into you as he changed.

Long golden locks draped over his shoulders when he went to level three. He let out a deep growl and slammed into you harder. His hand snaked up your body and clamped around your neck. He didn't ease into the choking, you went from breathing one second to your air getting completely cut off the next.

"Goku..." You gasped, struggling to breathe as he choked and fucked the air out of you. His hand loosened as he slammed into you again and again, each time his form changed. His power level rose as his hair flicked blue.

"Still want more?" He asked with a playful arrogance as he neared Ultra Instinct.

"I do but you have to promise me something," you said between heavy breaths, "if I die, bring me back to life with the dragon balls."

He thrust into you again and stilled. "I might be able to do that."

"Good, now fuck me like you mean it." You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down against you. He eased out of you and stilled once more, kissing you softly for a second before thrusting into you hard. His aura burned and his hair turned silver.

[fiction-allows]

Washington Square (Laurel/Hardy, 4800 words, PG-13)

For @theempressar and @stanxollie - a little Valentine from me to you! mostly fluffy L&H fic. thank you for all the fun we’ve had :D

warnings: PG-13 for a paragraph of noncon, period typical language and conceptions of gender, flexes the grittier style of their early works

This was inspired by stanxollie’s great retelling of Why Girls Love Sailors, where the drag queen gets the guy in the end. :p I hope you enjoy. question mark.

It was closing time when he stumbled on the kerb and took a dive off his heels. He laughed it off and quickly flashed the green silk hem of his dress up over his bloomers, to give the drunks a little show - all part of the joke, keep walking. He didn’t want their sweaty hands on his silk. He didn't need help, he needed shoes that fit - he climbed to his feet, righted his ringlet wig that had slouched over his eyes - he needed hat pins, too; a box didn't last long when all the jennies he lived with helped themselves. He straightened himself up and squared his shoulders. Fierce. It was only three in the morning. What was he going to do with himself?

He had a dime in his pocket. Maury hadn't paid his talent up, and wouldn't until next week. 

He wasn’t talent, anyway. He was incidental entertainment, called on when one of the girls was too drunk to perform. The rest of the time he was hanging around the tables, cracking jokes and flouncing. When the molls wanted to use the powder room, he escorted them and kept them laughing. 

It wasn’t exactly a career, was it, Stanny boy?

Maybe he should find something, someone, anything, anywhere else. The city bit shit in the winter. He could go to Union Station and talk his way onto a handsome dame’s ticket, headed for California. He could stow himself in a bunk, bundle up and sleep, and stay there until they crossed the Rockies.

He tripped again, which brought the daydreams to a halt. Stan pulled his fur wrap tighter around his bare shoulders and took serious stock. He had enough for breakfast if he didn't eat tonight. He could get warm if he went to the train station. He couldn't go home, it was Lonnie's night to use the room for sheepshead. She’d be good for dinner tomorrow. His stomach told him that was worth a night in the cold. 

He straggled behind the foot traffic down the sidewalk toward State. He stopped to bum a cigarette from Lady Godiva, who answered to Herbert during the workweek, and they stood under the dark coffee shop’s awning exchanging a few pleasantries about the weather, shoes, who’d been locked up in yesterday night’s raid on the park. 

“Never do it in the bushes,” Lady Godiva said sagely, and Stan nodded with equal sagacity, and his wig slipped down over his eyes again. 

Godiva reached into her velvet purse. “Honey, here.” 

Now he had a dime and a few bobby pins in his pocket. He was about to move on, when Lady Godiva gave him another nod. “Honey - there.” 

Stan turned to look. A big man had come up the street, contra-traffic. The slight weave in his step said he'd been turned out from one of the other night clubs. He had stopped when he heard Stan and the Lady talking, and was examining some graffiti on the side of the brick building with intense interest.

Some background might help: Lady Godiva was the world’s foremost expert on the identification and classification of men and males who wanted something and were willing to pay for it. 

Not that this fellow was easy to miss: Towertown was full of girls in trousers and boys in skirts, big boned frames in dainty dresses and elfin gals with impeccable Windsor knots, and he was planted on the sidewalk in a white sailor's uniform like a bull moose in the headlights. A bull moose trying to make itself look like part of the furniture. He had looked up insouciant in the dictionary, but accidentally read the entry for awkward.

Background, part two: Lady Godiva was good at matching fighters by their weight class. She knew exactly how hopeless Stan was at the game - but this one was a nice soft target. A practice dummy, if you will.

Stan, in a completely inarticulate way, had reached the same conclusion. The guy must weigh eighteen stone if he was an ounce, but he was trying to look smaller than he was in his white uniform. His age was hard to pin down, because he looked travelled, but not even the side profile could hide the baby fullness of his face. 

To Stan, he looked like an absolute lamb.

Someone else would take advantage in a minute. There was Esme, poised outside the walk-up to her john’s apartment, watching the dispersing crowds go by. She was clocking the lamb too. She caught Stan’s eye, gave him a sly smile, and the race was on.

Stan moved to head her off. He stepped into the man’s shadow, and touched the blue-braided sleeve of his jacket.

"You lost, baby?” Stan asked. 

The big boy jumped. He turned away from the public art and glanced Stan up and down. Then again, a double-take that Stan didn’t take personal. An awkward, innocent fluster of hands, fingers, a scrunched nervous grin, followed the mad goggling yo-yo of his eyes. "I seem to have t-taken a wrong turn." 

He stuttered. He had weeping willows and southern charm in his voice. He was a little drunk. Oh, honey.

“Where’re you headed?” Stan laid his hand flat on the man’s arm. Behind them, Esme hissed and faded back into the night.

The man was suddenly mannequin-like with uncertainty. “Not far.”

“Then I’ll walk you,” Stan decided for them both. “What’s your name?”

“Oliver.”

Stan smiled, twined Oliver’s arm with his. “Are you from around here, Oliver?”

“My room’s on Division Street.”

“Originally,” Stan clarified, as he gently pulled Oliver to get him moving up the sidewalk. Stan felt a rush of heat from him as Oliver blushed. 

“Georgia,” Oliver said quietly.

“Georgia. Peaches. Wonderful. Don’t look at them.” A hail of whistles as they turned the corner, some of Esme’s mates. It wasn’t often that Stan hooked such a big one. Stan stuck out his tongue behind Oliver’s back. More jeers. He crushed Oliver’s arm against his ribs and drew him away northeast.

It was only a few blocks, but the crowds thinned out fast as they left Washington Square. The nightlife faded to sniffing junkies and unlucky panhandlers, and the sidewalk was empty by the time they reached the four-story boarding house Oliver was calling home.

“Well… here’s mine,” Oliver said, feebly.

ROOMS FOR RENT - LONG TERM, said the optimistic sign propped on the window ledge of the ground floor. The place looked fleabitten, like it had mange. But Stan looked enviously at the glowing windows. They were nearer the lake and the wind picked up an extra bite off the water, and he was losing feeling in his toes. Then he looked at Oliver, whose arm was still in his.

The moment to clinch or cut loose had arrived. There was an awkward pause, because neither of them knew exactly what happened next, when it was a bloke from Georgia and a bloke in a dress.

“Do you want to come in?” Oliver asked. His tone was smoother, now that the walk had cleared his head.

Stan smiled dumbly. He was feeling shy. He had come this far, hadn’t he? Come on, Stan, say something. But he was frozen, and it wasn’t the temperature. “I...”

“You don’t have to,” Oliver said, with a painfully gallant smile. 

He sounded relieved. And Stan felt hurt, and suddenly piercingly lonely, which broke the impasse just a moment too late. The opportunity had closed in his face while he was tongue-tied.

Oliver extracted his arm, then stuck out his hand for a shake. “Take care, then.”

Stan reached for his hand, feeling all at once like he wanted to cry. The night was dark and… big. He nodded miserably and took Oliver’s hand.

Oliver winced as their bare palms touched. “What are you, cold blooded? Some kind of salamander? Why are you so cold?”

“I don’t -” Stan stammered. 

“Where’s your place?” Oliver demanded.

Another gawping shrug, as Stan tried to make sense of the sudden veer in the conversation. It was like Oliver had dropped him in a bottle and spun it. “Can’t go there,” Stan said helplessly.

“What? Why not? You know what - forget it. Get in here.” Oliver shooed him up the steps and to the door, and pounded on it. 

Stan panicked. “Wait, what do we tell -”

“You tell him you’re my sister from Savannah.” 

Stan had a minute to get into character before the landlord answered. He grunted when Stan fluttered his eyelashes and claimed to be a sister from Savannah, but he let them in, and harrumphed back to bed without comment. 

And that is how they ended up in a room no bigger than a very small room, with a bed, a cupboard, a stand and basin, and Oliver’s work clothes inexpertly washed and hung to dry over the light fixtures and radiator. He was using a pair of his long johns as a sort of makeshift shade over the room’s single drooping window. There was a palpable draft about shin-height due to the sagging window frame, like wading through ankle-biting ghosts.

Oliver sprung into action playing host, scooping his grease-splattered overalls off the radiator to let some warm air into the room, hiding his underpants by kicking them under the bed, and then he offered to take Stan’s wrap, and Stan let him take it and hang it, like the most pathetic garland in the world, on the hook on the back of the door.

“Won’t you sit down?” Oliver asked with exaggerated politeness, indicating the bed. 

Stan sat, crossed his legs, brushed down his silky dress, subtly hiked it up a few inches on the upstroke.

“What about you?” Stan asked, with a put-on high-pitched giggle and wiggle. 

Oliver was undoing his neckerchief. He glanced at Stan in the mirror propped above the wash basin. “I’m fine. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“The floor?” Stan asked, in his babygirl voice.

“You take the bed. Bathroom’s down the hall. Don’t steal my money, will you? If you’re good, I’ll buy you breakfast tomorrow.”

Stan’s legs uncrossed, his heeled foot fell to the floorboards with a shocked little stomp. “You brought me up here to… sleep?” He forgot the pitch of his voice in his surprise.

“It’s miserable out there,” Oliver said. He slid his collar stay out, dropped it on the stand, and started on his top button. “Throw me one of them pillows, will ya?”

Stan hopped off the bed. He grabbed a pillow, and handed it to Oliver. Oliver fluffed it between his big hands, then dropped it unceremoniously onto the floor. 

“I’ll wrinkle my dress if I sleep in it,” Stan said. The femme was back, and she was distressed. He clutched at his neckline in dismay.

Oliver’s eyebrows knit together. He raised one slightly as he appraised Stan. “You do one nice thing,” he groused, though his heart wasn’t in it. “There’s a clean nightshirt in the cupboard. You can borrow it.”

Stan opened the cupboard and grabbed it. He excused himself to the bathroom down the hall. 

When he returned, heels and wig in hand, dress over his arm, clad in an entire circus tent’s worth of nightshirt that billowed around him like topsails, Oliver was prone on the floor, head on the pillow, one of the blankets primly tucked over him. Looked for all the world like he really meant to spend the night right there. His eyes were closed. Could he already be asleep?

Stan crept into the room quiet as a mouse.

“It occurs to me I didn’t catch your name,” Oliver said. He wasn’t asleep at all.

“Stan,” Stan said, flatly. He had shed the girl with the wig and heels. He supposed a man was better suited if this was a set-up to a murder. He placed his shoes on the floor, hung the wig next to his wrap, and stole a hanger to keep his dress looking tidy in the cupboard overnight. 

Oliver was watching him through slitted eyes. Stan knew he must look a sight with his short unkempt hair, the five o’clock shadow on his cheeks, the huge nightshirt with sleeves that slipped down to his fingertips. He smiled apologetically. “Sometimes you take a lady home, and you get something else.”

“Nice to meet you, Stan,” Oliver said. “Go to sleep.” 

Stan crawled into bed. He flailed and paddled in the huge nightgown, and finally found his hands again to pull the covers up. He looked at Oliver again, on the floor in the draft, and he shivered in commiseration. He cleared his throat. “You know, it’s foolish to sleep on the floor. You’ll catch your death.” 

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t be stupid, come up here.”

Was that a chatter of Oliver’s teeth? Oliver grunted, threw an arm over his eyes as if that would shut Stan up. 

“I promise no funny business,” Stan insisted. He was getting worried. He couldn’t possibly go to sleep himself if Oliver slept on the floor. The thought of it made him utterly miserable. Tears pricked his eyes. “Please don’t catch your death.”

The arm came away from Oliver’s eyes, and his expression was that of a man who has ended up in an enclosure at the zoo - not the lion enclosure, or the gorilla enclosure, but perhaps the penguin enclosure, and they’re pecking at his knees. “You’re a weird one, aren’t you.” 

Stan nodded honestly, still fighting tears. 

Oliver sat up. Then he held out his hand, and felt the ice cold draft flowing in from the window. 

He gathered up his pillow and blanket and threw them at Stan on the bed. “Move over.” 

Stan swam through his nightshirt toward the wall, and Oliver heaved himself onto the mattress. They settled, an elbow apart, after a little burrowing and tug of war over the coverlet. Silence ticked by for a few moments, as they both got used to the sensation. The weight pulling at both sides of the mattress, their body heat starting to pool together under the covers.

Stan sniffed away the last of his tears. He folded his hands over the coverlet in satisfaction. “There. Isn’t this better.”

“Who lets you out on your own?” Oliver asked in disbelief. But he already sounded sleepy.

Stan was fading fast, too. He yawned. “It’s Lonnie’s night to use the flat for sheepshead.” 

“Sheepshead.” Oliver snorted. 

“Goodnight, Ollie.” 

He heard a breathy chuckle. Oliver - Ollie - liked it. “Goodnight, Stan.”

* * * 

Stan fell to sleep and commenced a light snore, cocooned in Ollie's nightshirt. Oliver crossed his arms under the bedclothes and tried to ignore the predicament. Stan had still been wearing his - her pantyhose, and her hose-clad toes were scratching at his shin. She hadn't scrubbed all the perfume off. There was a flowers-and-musk scent trapped with their heat in the blankets.

Oliver, my boy, you need to get a hold of yourself. You wouldn't take advantage of a lady. 

Whatever Stan was, exactly. 

Adrift, it seemed to Oliver. 

He kicked Stan’s foot back toward his side of the bed, blew the air from his nose and closed his eyes. 

* * * 

The sun was shining cheerfully through the union suit when they woke up. At breakfast, Ollie watched Stan pack away a pound of home fries, four eggs, two rounds of bacon and a stack of pancakes. He ate like he hadn’t been fed in a month. 

He was a pretty normal fella over the breakfast table, even in the dress. Well - not fully normal, the way he put sugar on his eggs, but Ollie let it slide. He was funny, and he thought Ollie was funny, which tickled Ollie right in the cockles of his pride. 

Stan listened with rapt interest when Ollie talked about the merchant marines and where he had been, and the convoys during the War. He got that doe-eyed look that dames did when Ollie got on the subject (though Ollie neglected to tell him he had, in fact, been a cook), which also tickled Ollie in a way he couldn’t explain. It made him want to flex his arms and look big. 

Three stacks of pancakes between them later, Ollie paid the check and they stepped out onto the sidewalk.

 "I have to report," Ollie said. "You might want to head home and ah -" He swiped his cheeks and chin with his palm.

Stan nodded. His whiskers needed sanding. The waitress had stared at him a little.

Ollie was staring at him, too. His eyes were sparkling. 

“Come to Maury’s some time,” Stan said. “You can see me work. I’ll be there every night this week.”

“I’d like that,” Ollie said, but Stan couldn’t tell if it was a punt or a promise. 

Ollie tipped his hat. “See you around, doll," he said. 

Stan flashed him an angelic smile. 

* * * 

No Ollie on Wednesday. No Ollie on Thursday. Not that Stan was anticipating. His tips were suffering, though; he wasn’t quite as funny when he was distracted. The mobsters didn’t trust a freak who wasn’t also a clown, and their girls didn’t like a downer. It was hard to be charming when every bigger guy who walked in the place sent a little jolt from his scalp down to his knees. But they always were too - something. Too rich, too crude, too repressed or too married. Their greatest crime, of course, is that none of them were Ollie.

Monday came again, and Maury didn’t pay him, even when he filled in for Bernadette a few times over the weekend.  

He needed money to eat, though. And for a ticket out of here, since it looked like he was back on his own.

Best way to make a quick buck? Well, Lady Godiva could tell you.

It started civilly enough on Tuesday night in the alley behind the club. The dumpsters made for convivial surroundings, and the romance was palpable as the rats scurried away from their twirling feet and the single bulb above the back door fizzled in its socket. The man was sweaty with beer and wanted to dance, sort of a swaying grabbing twisting motion - suddenly Stan had his chin elbows and knees up against the brick wall of the alley, and a hairy steel beam of a forearm across the back of his neck. Stan protested, with a giggle that was high with alarm. That big body ground against his and he ground into the dirty bricks. He clawed a little to get some purchase to shove back.

“Hey, wait, wait,” he protested, and that got him dragged around to face the guy, who didn’t look very keen on waiting. 

A few things went through Stan’s mind. One, he didn’t want to be here. Two, he wished he wasn’t. Three, his heels gave him a little extra height but the guy still had half a head on him, and four, this large drunk man was going to be shocked in a minute if his hand kept going - and that is a very specific kind of fear, the fear of being found out by an angry grasping hand in the dark. It vitalizes.

Stan struck back at him and gave a shout. 

And like a miracle, he heard an answering "Hey!" 

It might have been an angel. It was a big voice, if not very deep - but it was alarm enough to get the hand out from under his skirt. 

Stan took the opportunity to use a knee, and the man folded up like an ironing board. 

Stan looked up and there was - 

Ollie's shoulders filled the alley almost wall to wall as he came toward them. He swept the scene, the man crouched on the ground retching, Stan’s disarray and his heaving chest. 

His hand stretched out to Stan. "Come along - he can’t hurt you - well done." 

Stan took the offered hand and stepped over the gasping, sputtering heap. He slipped by between Ollie's double-breasted jacket and the brick wall, and heard Ollie give the guy a kick for good measure. 

On the sidewalk, Ollie brushed off his mink and repositioned it on Stan's shoulders. There was a run in his hose from the scrapes on his knees. His mascara was smudged up like two black batwing eyes. Ollie pressed his handkerchief into Stan's hand so he could clean himself up.

"Did he hurt you?"

Stan shook his head.

"Good. I'd go back and kill him." Ollie removed his coat because it was the gallant thing to do, and draped it around Stan’s shoulders. 

"Where have you been?" Stan asked. He didn’t want the coat - he was still hot from adrenaline, and mad at Ollie for abandoning him - but he grabbed it and pulled it tight around him all the same.

"What? Oh - they sent me to Omaha to pick up a load. Just got back into town tonight." 

Ollie looked so perfectly, sweetly innocent. Completely guileless. Just concerned for his friend, and very handsome in his dark suit. 

"Oh," Stan said.

"I’m sorry I didn’t make your show. I left a note at the boardinghouse."

"Oh," Stan said again.

Ollie's voice was very gentle. "Were you waiting for me?"

Stan nodded.

"I'm here now. Come on, let me walk you home."

Stan folded the kerchief shakily. ' 'I can't. Sheep-"

"Sheepshead, I know." 

They ended up back at the boarding house, together, Stan with his face scrubbed clean, snuggled in the crook of his arm sleeping soundly, as Ollie propped a book on his chest and read in the pink and orange glow of the jewel-papered lamp. 

This was nice, Ollie thought, looking away from the book to the window. Snow was hissing against the glass like an angry cat, but it was warm, Stan was snoring softly. It was nice. 

Stan exhaled, blowing the pages of Ollie’s book, sending him back some pages. Ollie thumbed forward to his place. Stan exhaled again. They fluttered back. And so on. Eventually, Ollie turned out the light and went to sleep. 

* * * 

They had fun. Stan left Maury’s club and found a job at a boutique, giving all of the broad-shouldered ladies and theydies advice and helping them find the right fit. Ollie put in for a couple months of shore leave, and for a while it was easy street. Sometimes they played darts, drank beer, argued, rode the L until they were sober enough to remember their stop. They went to the lake front and laid on the grass and teased the stone lions in front of the art institute. 

Sometimes Stan slipped on his little black dress and his heels and made Ollie prove he deserved him. Those were the days Ollie turned into a gentleman. Doors opened as if by magic, never an inconvenience to be seen. Kisses on his knuckles as if they were perfect, delicate strings of pearls, a hand possessively on his swishless hips as if to say, I got you. 

I get you.

Stan took Ollie to his first drag ball. Ollie was a hit in his best suit. He was easy to like and even easier to love. On the floor he lead with such a light-footed agility that Stan sometimes had trouble keeping up, and every one of the drag queens tried to budge in for their turn. It was a matter of feminine pride, wasn’t it, to try to ride the bull. Stan let them play, because at the end of the night, it was always him and Ollie. Stan belonged here, and Ollie belonged to him. 

And the clock ticked on. The stuttering from the Stock Exchange, so far away, became a rumble, became an avalanche. Towertown - like Greenwich, Times Square, like Camden, like babylon Berlin - was a dream, a fleeting Camelot that couldn't last. The crackdowns on public disease - of the flesh and of the spirit - closed the fairyland clubs and scattered the communes. The dreamer was stirring. The pendulum swung to the right, picking up momentum as the glory of glitz-and-jazz became hunger and want. Markets crashed and the soil turned to dust.

They skipped out of Chicago when Ollie’s shore leave was up. They tramped through the upper midwest on the bus routes, St Paul, Fargo, Duluth, as far as Bismark and back again to Cleveland, and then all the way out west to California. The horizons were dark, the faces in the street were drawn. Shangri-La faded into sopping wet socks, holes in their jackets, and odd jobs. 

History lurched from the sickly sleepwalk of hunger into a waking nightmare of war machines and atomic death, into bodies piled in camps and on the streets of Stalingrad and the tide lines of Normandy, and souls suddenly unmade by a flash in the sky. All this played out in the papers as he and Ollie scraped and saved and wandered the home front. Stan’s youth faded, too, he wilted and widened and wrinkled, and the only grace was his ill-fitting jacket hid some of it even from himself. 

* * * 

1955. They lived. They saw the war end, the men come home, and the prefab suburbs start stamping across the landscape. Eisenhower and his administration drew big bold lines across the nation and decided to pay for them with a gasoline tax. The commies took up residence under American beds, and the homosexuals fell back to the closets for self-preservation. They were good days for the nuclear family and a straightjacket for everyone else. 

Speaking of straightjackets - in the new atmosphere, Stan felt more and more like he needed one. 

The suit had never fit exactly right, but sometimes, it didn't fit at all. Then - in secret - he opened his battered case and pulled out the things he kept under the false bottom, fake gems and wrinkled velvet, and tried to breathe free, if only for a moment, in a strictured world.

He tried to keep it private, so as not to embarrass Ollie, not to shame him in front of his friends. America was bestride the world, the least Stan could do was keep up appearances in their little sphere of the second-hand antique shop (VERY OLD THINGS - Laurel and Hardy --- Proprietors). 

They had dinner tonight with some of Ollie’s new friends from the local Charitable Brothers lodge. He had been strangled for air all day… he didn’t want to go there looking like this, with his suit coat and shirt and the trousers that Ollie had pressed so nicely. It wasn’t… him. The thought of playing that masquerade all night… he was tired, he couldn’t do it. 

He held up the dress.

It was hopelessly out of fashion now. It smelled like he had packed everything from shoe polish to ham sandwiches on top of it. But he smoothed it out, put the stiff wrap around his shoulders, shook the last drops of perfume from the vial and dabbed them behind his ears. He strung the pearls around his neck and smiled at himself in the mirror. 

The pearls had lost their lustre, and his teeth showed another twenty-some years of coffee and cigarettes when he smiled. The smile quickly faded.

"Are you ready yet?" Ollie demanded, barging heavily into the bedroom, hat on his head and impatient.

He stopped short when he saw how Stan was gazing at the mirror, the haunted look in his eyes.

Ollie took off his hat. 

"I'm sorry -" Stan looked at the old bag in the mirror. "I'll change."

Ollie crossed the room and stood behind him, gazing over his shoulder into the glass. "Why? You look wonderful."

Stan snorted.

Ollie reached for his hand, pulled on it to turn Stan toward him. "As beautiful as the day I met you." He kissed Stan's knuckles with a bow and flourish. Returned Stan's hand to his side. Then spun one finger in the air. "Turn around, I'll do you up."

Stan put a hand over his mouth as Ollie's fingers crept down his back, then pulled the edges of the dress together and slipped the buttons into their holes. One by one, up his spine until the clasp at his collar, and Ollie put his hands on Stan's shoulders.

"Don't cry," Ollie said, gently.

Stan dropped his hand. He was grinning. He spun and hugged Ollie to him tight. He reached up to grasp his chin, turned his face, and give him a firm kiss on the cheek. 

Ollie kissed his forehead. "There you are. Come on, we'll be late.

* * * 

Shuffle the cards. Masculine, feminine, man, woman, Mars, Venus, two houses and a trench and barbed wire and the guard towers of convention in between. He lived in no-one's land in between, bombarded from both sides - and then Ollie had stumbled across him, stuck his head over the lip of the trench and called him doll, eyes sparkling. He recognized a fellow outcast, a fellow question without an answer.

They got out of the cab. 

Stan felt warm lips catch the cool metal of his dangling earring against his neck, and he shuddered. Ollie's hand squeezed his. It didn't matter if people stared. Let them.

“Who’s this?”

Ollie’s hand on the small of his back. "This is my wife." No shame and no joke. Daring the world to doubt it.