#again I fucking love this pairing and I will do my damndest to make this a thing cause there ISNT ANYTHING ON AO3 AND MY HANDS ARE FAR TOO-

[stealingyourbones]

Short DPXDC Prompts #296

Tim talks about a boyfriend and it takes The Bats a tad to realize that this guy isn’t Connor. Mentions of powers that Connor doesn’t have and likes & dislikes that Connor doesn’t have. The Bats are concerned that Tim is cheating on Kon when Tim actually was just an idiot and thought he already told his family that he’s dating Danny.

[justagalwhowrites]

Stranger in a Bar - Part One

A DBF!Joel Fic

You meet a stranger in a bar, one who is fun and sexy and makes you wonder if the single life is all it's cracked up to be. But there's one big problem: you probably shouldn't be fucking your dad's best friend.

Pairing: DBF!Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: This is smut, OK? Just a lot of smut. Protected P in V sex. Oral sex (m and f receiving). Age gap of 20 years. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 6.8k

A/N: So this was supposed to be a one shot and then it started getting out of hand. It's going to just be two parts for the moment, this is going to be a very little baby fic, OK? Small. Lil baby story. Also. there's a hefty age gap and it comes up because logistics but no power imbalance. Thanks for always putting up with my shit, y'all are the best ❤️

Bar None, Present day

One of your friends had just put Single Ladies on the jukebox when you saw him across the bar. Bar None, the place you’d picked for the night, had one of those stupid app-powered ones and the three girls you had kept in touch with from high school had been abusing it all night long. But the man across the bar was so distracting that you hardly noticed. His eyes were locked on you, so tight and hot that it would send a chill up your spine if it was from the wrong set of eyes. But they were his eyes. Dark and molten and set into a sculpted face with patchy scruff and shaggy curl streaked with gray. 

No, you thought, he couldn’t spark anything but desire. 

“We should do the dance!” Your friend Emily slurred, tugging your arm. “C’mon! Now that you’re a single lady again, you have to own it.” 

She flashed her empty ring finger as Beyonce sang, a cocky - if half drunk - look on her face as she did. 

You smiled at her. 

“He did put a ring on it,” you twisted the stem of your martini glass. “That’s why there was a problem when he put his dick in someone else. I think I’ll pass on the Beyonce. But thank you.” 

“Come on drunky,” your friend Dana looped her arm around Emily’s waist. “Let’s go dance.” 

“Woooo!” Emily threw her arms in the air and Dana gave you an exasperated but happy smile over her shoulder as she guided her to the dance floor. 

“Jesus, is it that late?” Parker looked at her Apple watch. You half smiled and took a small sip of your drink as she rifled through her clutch for her phone and let out a relieved sigh. “Thank God, Kevin hasn’t been texting with a ton of stupid questions. Why did I think letting a baby get totally attached to me was a good idea? The fact that she only said mama for two weeks was great at first but now that she refuses to do bedtime without me, I’m having regrets…” 

“Do you need to go?” You asked, brows raised. 

She winced.

“Would you hate me if I left you with the party animals?” 

You laughed. 

“No,” you said. “Go home, see your husband and kid. I really do appreciate the warm welcome back, you have no idea.” 

“See?” She reached across the small table and gave your arm a squeeze. “I told you, just like old times.” 

“Did you go back home at 10:30 to make sure a baby was properly put to bed when we were 18?” You teased. “I forgot that part…” 

She rolled her eyes. 

“Almost old times,” she said. “Besides, you love Bella.” 

“I do love Bella,” you said. “And I love you. Go home, I’m good.” 

“You’re sure?” 

“Positive. Text me when you get there?” 

“Of course,” she slipped off the bar stool and came around to give you a hug and kiss your cheek. “I really am glad you’re back. Even if it’s because Reid was a dumbass.” 

You just smiled a little and watched her leave, Parker pausing to wave to Dana on her way out the door. 

“This seat open?” 

The man from across the bar stood beside you, nodding to the seat Parker had just vacated. You smiled a little and nodded once. 

“You have very convenient timing.” 

“Well,” he shrugged. “Leaving a pretty girl all alone at the bar seems like a crime. Trying my damndest to stay on the right side of the law.” 

“And how’s that going for you these days?” 

He smirked a little. His cheek dimpled. 

“Well enough.” 

You looked at him, tracing the creases in his face with your eyes, the streaks of gray catching the low light of the bar. He was probably the oldest man there but damn, did he wear it well. 

“You in town for a visit?” He asked, turning his beer bottle in his fingers and nodding to your friends on the dance floor. “Seeing friends?” 

You cocked a little smile at him. 

“No, actually. Just moved back.” 

He raised his eyebrows, a look you couldn’t quite place passing over his warm features. His eyes drifted to your ring finger before he seemed to catch himself and look back at your face. You saved him the trouble, lifting your bare left hand and turning it so he could see. The indentation from your three carat engagement ring was still on your finger but your hand was empty. 

“I think we should talk, Joel.” 

Bar None, 10 years earlier 

The man across the bar had no damn business being that good looking. 

It was almost pissing you off how good looking he was. Tall, broad, with golden skin and thick, dark hair, he had the kind of face you wanted to explore intimately, in the way you could only do when someone was inside of you. The way men couldn’t control their expressions then was almost addicting. The way their eyes would roll back and their mouths would fall open, the way they stopped fucking around with pretense and just let themselves feel something - even if it was just your cunt - was beautiful and fascinating and almost elemental. It was like you could look into the very core of them for a moment, the way they always seemed to be able to look into you with just a glance. You wanted that with this man, whoever he was, this man who you caught glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. 

“Aww,” Parker pouted happily at her phone. “Kevin misses me!” 

“Misses you?” Emily snatched the phone from her grasp, gaping at the screen. “You’ve been gone like two hours!” 

“Will you just…” Parker snatched the phone back and looked at the text again. “And I think it’s sweet.” 

“You’re ditching us, aren’t you?” Emily sighed. 

“I think so,” Parker winced. “Is that OK?” 

You just smiled a little. 

“Go see the guy who’s got you all crazy,” you said. “But I’ll see you again before I leave town, yeah?” 

“Course!” She came and gave you a hug. “Good luck getting rid of me. Have fun at that thing tomorrow!” 

“Yeah,” you laughed. “I’ll try.” 

Emily rolled her eyes and judged Parker for a bit but it was less than an hour before she was leaving, too, with a man who’d asked her to dance and bought her a beer. 

“You sure you’re alright?” She asked as she went to leave. 

“Babes, I know how to be at a bar on my own. And my hotel is two doors down. I think I can figure it out.” 

She kissed your cheek. 

“Love you,” she said. “Try to have some fun!” 

You watched her go, thinking about just how long you wanted to be sitting by yourself at a bar versus in a Holiday Inn Express standard room when a voice appeared beside you. 

“This seat open?” 

The man from across the bar nodded to the seat Emily had just abandoned. You smiled a little and nodded once. 

“You have very convenient timing.” 

“Well,” he shrugged. “Leaving a pretty girl all alone at the bar seems like a crime. Trying my damndest to stay on the right side of the law.” 

“And how’s that going for you?” 

He smirked a little. His cheek dimpled. 

“Well enough.”

You smiled and introduced yourself before holding out your hand. He took it. 

“Joel,” he said. “Don’t think I’ve seen you here before.” 

“Because I’ve never been here before,” you smiled. “I’m in from out of town, my hotel is a few doors down. This was convenient and hey, the Yelp reviews weren’t the worst.” 

“What brings you to the great city of Austin, Texas?” He asked, settling in on the seat beside you. He was older than you but you kind of liked men that way now that you were in your mid 20s and exhausted by every man you’d dated in college. You liked them a little older, more established, men who knew how to cook their own damn food and give you your own damn orgasm. “Business or pleasure?” 

“Neither,” you smiled a little, taking a sip of your drink. “Family event.” 

“That’s not pleasure?” 

You laughed once.

“Not the way my family does it.” 

“That why you’re in a hotel and not stayin’ with them?” He asked, brows raised. 

“Bingo,” you replied. “I get in, I get drunk, I get out.” 

He nodded slowly. 

“Good system.” 

“Worked well enough for me over the years.” 

The two of you ended up talking about music and books and UT football until last call - far later than you’d intended to stay out. 

“Mind if I walk you back to your hotel?” Joel asked. “Not tryin’ to be a creep but… I’d sleep a lot better tonight knowin’ you got back safe. Promise it’s not a ploy.” 

“Damn, it’s not?” You asked, tucking your purse on your arm and heading for the door. “Because I was going to ask you to come up to my room if it was.” 

“Well shit,” he said, catching up with you. “Maybe it is a ploy then.” 

You found yourselves drawing out the walk back all the same, pace more of an amble than a brisk walk, but the hotel was so close that it really only added a few minutes to your walk all the same. 

“Well,” you smiled at the door to the lobby. “This is me.” 

“Yeah,” he nodded once, looking inside for a moment before looking back at you. “Look… you don’t owe me anything, alright? I’m not the kind of guy who wants to force something. I can just head on back to my truck, no hard feelings…” 

“Well maybe none for you,” you teased a little. “But I might have some. Unless you really don’t want to fuck me.” 

“Oh, I want to,” he said. “Trust me on that…” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he laughed. “Been at the top of my list since you first walked in that place, baby, lemme tell you.” 

“Well then,” you jerked your head toward the door. “Why don’t we cross it off the list?” 

You took his hand in the elevator, his palm so broad, his fingers thick and long and callused in yours. You pressed your back against the wall and pulled him onto you so his hips were on yours and his nose brushed your own. His eyes ranged over your face, hungry and soft and open. 

“You sure about this?” He asked, looking down at the rest of your body for a moment before going back to your face. “Sure you don’t have something better to do than some old man?” 

“I’m sure,” you smiled at him, draping your arms over his shoulders. “Besides, I like old men. How old are you, anyway?” 

“Forty-five,” he said. “How old are you?” 

You snorted. 

“I’m not sure I should say,” you said, holding him a little closer all the same. “Since you’re all hung up on age…” 

“Not hung up on it,” he rolled his eyes. “Just… don’t need to be some youthful mistake is all. Wait, Jesus, please tell me you’re at least out of college, tell me you’re not a teenager…” 

You laughed. 

“No,” you shook your head. “Not a teenager. And I’ve been out of college a few years, I’m 25.” 

“God,” he closed his eyes and shook his head once, like he was trying to shake the idea of you loose. “Still, that’s… you’re…” 

You pressed your lips ever so slightly against his, more a quick brush than anything else, giving him every opportunity to pull back. 

He didn’t take it. 

Instead, he pressed his lips to yours, his hands going to your waist and tugging you tightly to his body while he pushed you back against the wall. Your arms got tighter to him and you opened your mouth, his tongue licking into you almost immediately. Joel didn’t need an engraved invitation, all he needed was a sign that you wanted him and fuck, you wanted him. More and more, each passing second, you wanted him. There was heat in you that was starting to flare so molten and hot that you pulled at his clothes, forgetting that you weren’t alone, not really. 

The elevator dinged and he all but sprang back from you, both of you panting for breath. 

“Fuck,” he breathed, looking you up and down, pupils blown. 

“C’mon,” you took his hand. “I’m down the hall.” 

You pulled him along behind you and fumbled to get your room key out of your bag. Joel’s wide, thick hands slipped around your waist as you did, tugging your ass back against his growing bulge and fuck, but he was huge. Thick and long and you knew his zipper had to be fucking killing him, cock that big and hard restrained by mere fabric and a slip of metal. His lips found the hinge of your jaw, your neck, down to your shoulder and you groaned a little as you clumsily forced the keycard in the door, the little beep the mechanism gave one of the best damn sounds you’d heard all night. 

The two of you practically fell into your hotel room. You dropped your purse on the first table inside the door and started stepping out of your heels as Joel turned you around to face him, manipulating your body to put you right where he wanted you and the fire in you sparked higher, brighter as he manhandled you. Every touch he gave was loaded with need, the air thick and heavy with it as he pawed at your clothes and skin, licking into your mouth at every opportunity, taking your chin firmly in his heady grip to tug you open further for him, all but forcing you to give him everything. 

You were as rough with his clothes as he was with your body, pulling so hard and fast at the buttons of his shirt that two popped free, pinging off the glass of the mass produced art that hung on the wall. 

“Shit,” you panted, looking around the dark of your room for the buttons. 

“Don’t give a fuck,” Joel replied, breathless, clutching you close and tight before you could pull away. “Didn’t really like this shirt, anyway.” 

You shoved it down and off as he tugged your dress down your body, leaving it in a pile on the floor before turning you so the backs of your legs were against the bed. He deftly unhooked your bra with one hand then, ripping the straps down your arms but almost reverently lowering the cups, panting for breath as he exposed your breasts to his gaze. Joel tossed your bra to the side before taking the soft weight of your tits in his hands, cupping them, brushing his thumbs over your hardening nipples as he looked down at you with a look of near awe on his face. You half expected him to shove you back down onto the bed after his race to get you undressed but instead, his arm went around your waist, his hand splaying wide over the smooth skin of your back and he pulled you tight against him, making you gasp. 

He moaned, deep and low, and dropped his head to your bared shoulder before trailing his nose over you to your neck, the wet heat of his breath on your skin. 

“Fuck, you’re so goddamn soft,” he groaned, almost pained, and pressed his lips to your throat, making your breath catch. You clung to the broad expanse of his back, fingertips pressing into him, trying to get at every inch of his skin that you could find. 

His mouth found yours and he gently, delicately, lowered you back onto the bed. He cradled your body against his own, keeping the firm line of him taut to you as he kissed you. Joel rested you on the mattress and you let your legs fall open so he could settle between your thighs, the heady weight of him pressing against your clit and making you moan. 

“You got a problem if I explore this pretty body of yours?” He asked, his lips still brushing yours when he spoke. “Because fuck, baby, seems like a sin to not touch every goddamn inch of you.” 

He rocked his thick, hard, still clothed cock against your core, as if to make his point, and took your responding moan as the yes it was. He trailed his lips slowly over your body, down your throat, your breast bone, your stomach, your navel. His nose brushed against you, his breath covering you in warm and needy pants. When he reached your underwear - the last thing still on your body - his fingers looped through the band before he paused, looking up at you over your stomach and between your breasts. 

“You still with me, pretty girl?” He asked, mouth so close to your skin that the wetness of his lower lip had caught on your stomach. “Still good with this?”

“Yes, Joel, please,” you were practically squirming. He was so close to precisely where you needed him it seemed like you might melt with the want of him. “Fuck, please…” 

“Fuck, you’re even prettier when you beg,” he said and started to pull your panties down over your hips. You lifted yourself up off the bed to help and it wasn’t long before you were naked below him. He knelt in front of you and took your knees in his hands, parting your thighs for him and groaning when he did. 

“Goddamn,” he breathed, so quiet you weren’t sure you were meant to hear it or if he’d meant to say it out loud at all. “Just… fuck.” 

He opened your legs enough to lay between them, settling with your thighs over his shoulders. His thumb traced a slow, tender path over your slit, brushing your clit and making you gasp when he did. 

“Swear you’ve got the prettiest fucking pussy I’ve ever seen,” he said before he pressed his lips to your leaking hole. He moaned as he did and you couldn’t help but thrust against him once. He pulled back from you just a little, his nose barely touching your clit as he did. “Needy little pussy, too, huh?” 

Your fingers knotted in the bedspread and Joel’s mouth found your clit, softly sucking the sensitive nub between his teeth to tease with his tongue. You fought the urge to rock your hips against his face, trying to remember that this man was practically a stranger, not a lover whose tastes you knew intimately. But that was hard to remember as he worked his way lower, his tongue slipping inside of you with a deep groan. 

Joel ate you like you were a delicacy he longed to savor. He started slow, tasting and teasing you open, before delving deep like he couldn’t resist it, his thick tongue exploring and finding the soft and tender places inside you. His thumbs spread you open wide to him, his nose against your clit and you couldn’t stop yourself, you rolled your hips against him. He moaned into you and you forced your hips down on the bed, trying to clear your head enough to be still. 

“Sorry,” you panted. “I didn’t mean to do that, you’re just… really fucking good at that.” 

He stopped and pulled back from you enough to look up your body again, a frown on his face, your slick glistening on his beard in the light from the parking lot outside. 

“You think I don’t want you fucking my face?” He asked. “Fuck, baby, I want nothing more than for you to take exactly what you need. Want you to make yourself come on my face, you understand?” 

You swallowed and nodded. 

“What are you going to do?” He asked, voice almost stern. 

“Make myself come on your face?” You more asked than answered. 

“Better sound more sure than that,” he said, fingers moving to your clit. You gasped and moaned at the contact. “Come on baby, what are you going to do? Say it. Own it.” 

“Come on your face,” you panted. “Fuck, Joel… I’m going to come on your face, I’m going to make myself come on your face, please…” 

“Good,” he said, going back to eating your pussy. 

It was like he’d been holding back before but had nothing stopping him now. His tongue pressed deep, his nose nestled in your slit to nudge your clit, his arms looped over the thickness of your thighs to keep you open for him while also pressing the softness of you to the sides of his head. Your orgasm built quickly, the heat in you sinking to your core, everything inside you there going taut and tense. You were just on the edge of it, whimpering below his tongue and his touch when one hand left the warmth of your thigh and moved to your slit, his finger sliding inside you alongside his tongue. He pressed into the soft, tender place inside you that seemed to elude other men, finding it with an almost practiced ease and moaning when he did, sending the sparks of your climax shooting through you. 

He groaned, needy, as he ate you through it, not letting up, not even for a second until your orgasm had subsided and your head was swimming. 

“Fuck you feel amazing,” he pulled himself from you, sucking the finger that was inside you clean before wiping your slick from his beard while his other hand traced over the smooth softness of your inner thigh. “Should’ve asked this sooner but… please tell me you’ve got a damn condom. I wasn’t exactly lookin’ for this tonight, not until I saw you, so I’m not exactly prepared.” 

“I do,” you propped yourself up on your elbows, trying to remember where the hell you left your suitcase in the dark. You spotted it on the dresser, thankfully still mostly organized since you’d arrived that afternoon. You nodded to it. “Suitcase, top zipper pouch inside the lid.”

He got one, the crinkle of foil strangely loud in the silence of the room. 

“Here,” you sat up and reached for him as he came to stand between your legs at the edge of the bed. “Let me do it…” 

He gave you the packet and you opened it before palming the condom, holding it tight in one hand while slipping the other into the open zipper of his jeans and into his underwear to find his thick, heavy cock. 

You moaned as you wrapped your fingers around his length, hard as steel wrapped in silken skin, and you stroked him, just half way up his cock at first before going from root to tip. He was dripping there, his arousal making his head slick and wet. You brushed your thumb over his leaking tip, the smooth skin making your mouth water. You looked up at him through your eyelashes as you leaned forward to lick him before taking just the very end of his cock between your lips. You suckled at him gently, lapping up his precome, Joel’s breaths getting heavier and faster as you did, before you took him into your mouth. He moaned as you sucked him, his hand going to the back of your head and holding you against him, your nose brushing against the base of his stomach. You took his head into your throat and moaned around him as you sucked him, making him hiss in pleasure, his grip on your skull tightening. 

“Fuck, woman,” he managed as you kept sucking him. “Gonna make me come if you keep doin’ that…” 

You pulled back from him slowly, his hold on you easing as you did, until he slipped from your mouth, still slick with your spit. 

“Should probably stop then,” you said, a little breathless. You took the condom - warm now from the heat of your hand - and put it over his head before rolling it over his thick shaft. You stroked him once, twice and leaned forward again, sucking his tip for a moment when it was in place and his head tipped back, staring at the ceiling as he groaned. 

“Jesus,” he panted. “Fuck, you gonna let me inside that soft little pussy of yours or make me come in your mouth?” 

You laughed once, needy and low, before pulling yourself backwards on the bed, Joel’s eyes hungry on your body as you went. He shucked his jeans and underwear off before crawling, finally naked, between your thighs. His head brushed against your sex and he took the base of his cock in his hand, trailing his tip up and down your dripping slit before spreading you open for him, your pussy swollen and tender as he did. He put his tip against your dripping entrance, pressed just the very end of him inside, barely opening you to him. His hands moved to your thighs, brushing over them to your knees before trailing back toward your center, his fingers splayed wide over you soft flesh. 

“You ready, baby?” He asked, needy. 

“Yes,” you breathed. You’d passed ready a long time ago. You were desperate now, aching and all but begging for him to take up every empty space inside your body. 

“Good,” he pressed forward until his head was fully inside your tight channel and you both moaned with it, one of your hands finding the smooth skin of your breast and squeezing it. He groaned at the sight as he started fucking just the tip of him into you, rocking in and out of you in short, sharp bursts. “Fuck, there you go baby. Just like that.” 

He started feeding you more of his cock then, driving further into you with each stroke until he fucked all the way into you, his hips flush to yours, his thick length stretching you open, the burn of him meshing with the heady pleasure of being so utterly full. 

“Goddamn,” he breathed, his cock buried inside you totally. “This pussy… fuck me.” 

One of his hands went from your thigh to over your hip coming to rest and the soft swell of the base of your stomach. He spread wide over your skin, his palm swallowing the space over where he was inside of you and pressing down, making you moan as the tight fullness inside you got more intense. His thumb stretched down toward your clit and he started working you there as he just held himself within you, making your cunt throb once around him. He groaned at the feeling. 

“That’s right,” he said. “So full of this cock ain’t you baby? Taking me so damn well…” 

He kept working your clit for a minute, not moving inside you, just pressing into your skin until you were practically writhing below his touch. He was so big, you were so full, the pleasure in your body so tight. It made your head spin. 

“Joel,” your fingers scratched at the blankets. “I need you to move, please, please, please…” 

“Please what, pretty girl?” His voice was dark, low. 

“Please fuck me,” you begged. “Please, please fuck me, please…” 

He drew back then, achingly slow at first, watching where his cock was pressing into you with a hungry look on his face, before thrusting back in, deep and firm. 

This, you thought, was why you liked fucking older men. Joel knew what he was doing. He worked your body with expert skill, grinding his cock deep inside so his head pressed against the most sensitive parts of you, the thick drag of him making your back arch and toes curl. He kept rubbing your clit with his thumb, the pressure and pace keeping your pleasure building and building but never quite cascading over the edge. 

He kept fucking into you that way until you were desperate, your whole being drawn tight and achy around his cock. He’d stopped watching where your bodies were joined and had moved to your face, his gaze drinking in your desperate little moans and the way your eyes would scrunch closed as you got so close to coming but didn’t quite make it, whimpering as your climax fell just out of reach yet again. 

“Got you so tight and needy, hm?” He said, breathless. You just nodded, trying to rock your hips up against him but held in place by his hand on your stomach. “Why don’t you tell me what you need? Tell me exactly what it is you need.” 

“To come,” you whimpered. “Fuck, I need to come, you need to let me come, please let me come…” 

“Think I’ve been keepin’ you on the edge too long?” He asked. “Think I should let this little pussy come? Let her just milk me dry?” 

“Fuck, please,” you begged, not caring if you sounded pathetic. It’s not like you’d see this man again after tonight, anyway. 

He took his thumb off your clit but before you had a chance to whimper in protest, he adjusted your legs to drive somehow deeper and leaned over you, pressing his bare skin to yours before kissing your neck, sucking and licking at the tender skin there as he fucked into you, making you whimper, your nails scrabbling over his back. His lips moved from your neck to your ear, his large hand coming to cup the crown of your head, his pace never relenting. 

“Come for me,” he whispered, low and needy. “You can come, want you to come, want to feel you come. Just let go for me, just give in to me.” 

His hips rocked against your clit, his cock buried so deep and you saw stars for a moment before you cried out, your orgasm hitting you hard after being on the edge of it for so long. It broke your whole body down, muscle clenching desperately, blood rushing, fingers clinging. You felt it everywhere, starting at your core and radiating out in hot, aching waves. 

“Goddamn, that’s it,” he fucked you through it as your core fluttered over him. “Just keep comin’ for me, just like that, feeling so damn good baby just…” 

He pressed deep as your orgasm started to fade and moaned, the sound going straight to your raw, fucked out cunt. The pulsing of his cock, in you to the root, rolled you into another orgasm, this one less intense but still making your pussy grip him close and tight as he spilled into the condom. 

He collapsed on you for a moment as both of your climaxes eased, his chest heaving. Before his weight became too much, he adjusted, rising up enough to kiss you as he slid his softening cock from your body and falling flat on his back on the bed beside you. 

“Damn,” you panted after a moment, staring up at the ceiling. 

He laughed lightly beside you. 

“Know the feelin’.” 

You lay there next to each other, listening to each other as your breaths came back into a normal, steady cadence. Goosebumps started to pebble over your skin, the air cold as you were naked without his body on yours, the air conditioner below the window humming along. 

You turned your head to look at him and he did the same. 

“Should probably go…” his voice trailed off but he sounded reluctant. Or maybe you just hoped he did.  

“You don’t have to,” you said, probably a little too quickly for a man you’d just met. Even in the dim light of the moon and the parking lot lights out your window, you could tell he raised his eyebrows. “I’m just… you can stay, if you want. It’s a big bed. Think we can manage it.” 

“Wouldn’t want to impose…” 

“You’re not,” you said. “You can leave, too, if you’d rather but… don’t feel like you have to rush out.” 

He smiled a little. 

“Then I’ll stay. I’d like to stay.” 

You smiled back, that blissed out and relaxed feeling you had after you came settling over you.

“Good.” 

The two of you settled far across the bed from each other at first but drifted quickly, until your head was on his chest and you were curved around his side as his arm wrapped around your shoulders, his fingers trailing up and down your arm until you fell asleep. 

He was somehow even more beautiful in the light of day. 

You realized it as the two of you went about the strange intimacy of getting ready for the day side by side with someone you didn’t know. He blinked sleep from his eyes when first woke up and stretched his back before getting out of bed, his curls haphazard and messy and his body soft and warm. He got dressed and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to tame it. You offered him your travel toothbrush as you got dressed and he watched you pull on your jeans as he leaned against the bathroom doorframe. 

“Been a while since I’ve done this,” he said, a little hesitant. 

“Just how long?” You asked, teasing as you pulled on your shirt. 

“Longer than I want to admit,” he said, small smile making his cheek dimple. “Long enough that I don’t remember exactly how this is supposed to work but… I’d like to take you to breakfast. If you want.” 

You smiled. 

“Sure,” you said. “I’d like that.” 

Joel walked back to the bar and picked up his truck before taking you to a diner not too far from your hotel. You laughed with him about menu typos and the questionable song choices coming from the speakers over greasy eggs and toast soaked in butter. 

“Know we just met,” he said as you were on your fourth cup of coffee and you were both avoiding the fact that you’d have to leave this table and go your separate ways soon. The remains of your hashbrowns had long gone cold, ketchup smeared across the plate and you weren’t ready to say goodbye to him yet. “And that you’re in town for some family thing but… if you’re not busy tonight, would you want to come with me to this party? Buddy of mine is throwin’ in, supposed to be nice. Think he gave me a plus one in hopes I’d actually use it.” 

“Damn,” you winced a bit. “I really wish I could but the thing I’m in town for is tonight.” 

“Damn’s right,” he smiled a little. “Think you’d be my best shot for a good time at that thing.” 

“Yeah, back at you for my thing,” you laughed.

“Here,” he pulled his phone from his pocket and unlocked it before handing it over. “Put your number in. Maybe we could still get together later…” 

You took it but hesitated, thumb tapping on the side of his phone case. 

He frowned.

“What?” 

“I live hours away,” you said. “Is this really smart?” 

He shrugged. 

“Don’t really care if it’s smart or not. Just want to see you again. If you’ll let me.” 

You smiled a little and shook your head before putting your number in his phone. 

“There,” you said, handing it back over. “Let me know when you’re done with your thing. I can think of a few more ways to get some good use out of my hotel room.” 

Two more cups of coffee later, Joel dropped you off at your hotel. You kissed him goodbye in the cabin of his truck, moaning against his mouth before pulling away. 

“Alright, go before I come back in with you,” he said playfully, reaching across you to open your door.

You laughed. 

“Don’t tempt me,” you got out and paused before closing your door, taking one last chance to look him over. “If we don’t see each other again… It was good meeting you.” 

“Good meeting you, too,” he said. “But don’t worry. I’ll see you again.” 

You went inside, looking back over your shoulder once you were in the lobby, Joel’s truck still sitting near the doors as he waited to make sure you were safely inside. 

There was an odd sense of loss in you as you got ready for your parents’ big anniversary party. You hadn’t expected to meet anyone when on your trip back to your hometown, let alone someone you liked so much. You’d been single for a while, doing things alone didn’t really bother you. But now, you felt this tug of desire to have him getting ready beside you where you could help him with his tie and he could zip you into your dress. 

But that was stupid. You knew it was stupid. Your job had taken you to Memphis and you liked it there. You weren’t in a rush to move back to your hometown. And Joel had a business here. It wasn’t going to happen. It’d be a lot easier in the long run if you just accepted that now. 

You showed up early to the party, your older sister wanting help to get things set up in the tents outside. 

“Who all is coming to this shindig anyway?” You asked as you put pictures of your parents out around a guest book near the entrance of the tent. 

“Oh, you know,” your sister waved you off. 

“Not really,” you said. She gave you a look. “What! I haven’t been home for a family party in… well, it’s been a minute.” 

“Yeah, and I’ve been the one doing all the work to help with those for a while,” she said. 

“And you’re definitely not bitter about that…” 

“Not one bit,” she teased. “But the usual people. The closest neighbors, the aunts and uncles, Mom’s book club, church people, Dad’s friends…” 

“Dad has friends?” You gaped at her. “Since when?” 

“He’s had friends for years!” 

“OK, he’s never had friends,” you said. “Where is he finding friends? Shit’s unnatural…” 

“Don’t let them catch you saying shit,” she said. “And there are a few from work, one from this basketball league he joined…” 

“Ew,” you crinkled your nose. Your sister laughed. 

“Definitely not ew,” she said. “At least not the basketball friend one, he’s weirdly hot, it’s disturbing…” 

“Well, there’s no accounting for taste, is there?” You teased. 

“You’ll eat those words when you meet the guy,” she said. “Just wait.” 

“Whatever you say,” you rolled your eyes, skeptical. You and your sister had never had the same taste in men, you didn’t see any reason for that to have changed. 

But still, you were keeping an eye out for this mysterious hot friend of your father’s as people started to arrive for the party. Or trying to, anyway. You kept getting pulled away by distant relatives you hadn’t seen since your cousin’s wedding or to do a favor for your mom as she frantically rushed around trying to take care of everyone while also trying to have fun at the party that was being thrown in her honor. 

Everything was in full swing when you heard your father call your name from across the large, increasingly full tent. He waved you over, leaning around a man he was talking to, and you worked your way around the dance floor, trying not to think about how much you’d like to have a date at this damn thing - how much you’d like to have Joel as your date at this damn thing - when you froze beside your dad. The man standing next to him was devastatingly familiar, even from behind. Tallest man in the room, broad shoulders, thick curls. Your heart beat faster. 

“Hey honey,” your dad said, tugging you closer. “Want you to meet my friend. Joel, this is my youngest that I’ve told you so much about.” 

He turned around, a beer bottle in his hand a smile on his face that fell the moment he saw you. Your dad was saying something else but you didn’t hear it, too busy staring at the man who had been inside you less than 24 hours earlier. 

The man who had you thinking about what life alongside another person would be like. 

The man who was apparently your father’s friend. 

“Hi,” he said after your dad had stopped talking. You hadn’t noticed. 

“Hi,” you said, still staring at him. 

Fuck, you were in trouble. 

A/N: Here's whatever this is. He's unhinged, I don't know what's happening to the Joels who live in my head lately but they're just going crazy up there. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! Love you!

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Common Grounds / Chapter 11

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Derrick the Asshole Ex (needs his own warning), case stuff (any inaccuracies about how the FBI works is my own lack of research), two GODDAMN ADORABLE IDIOTS in love, unprotected PIV sex, feelings feelings FEELINGS FEELINGS FEELIGNSGS

Summary: Derrick does his damndest to ruin your night, but it turns out that one asshole can't stand in the way of....... love.

A/N: IDK it's 10:30 and I'm sleepy thanks everyone for encouraging me to finish this goofball of a fic but especially @littlebirdsbookshelf who is the loveliest of humans and beta read *most* of this chapter before I yeeted it out LOL. There will be an epilogue to follow!!! Thank you everyone for reading!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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“This is quite the change for you,” your ex says condescendingly, looking around the gallery with an expression of disdain. “How the hell did you go from shilling your crap online to booking the nicest event space in the area?”

“Derrick, stop—”

“Oh, wait—I think I’ve figured it out,” the man sneers. “I like to do my research on who my ex-fiancée thinks she should fuck. Special Agent Pike, was it? Art Crimes, right? What a coincidence!”

Your heart seems to stop beating. Marcus’s head snaps toward the two of you, his eyes dark and full of warning.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tell Derrick icily.

“She’s using you, you know,” Derrick continues, looking at your boyfriend with a glint in his eye. “It’s what she does. She can’t make it on her own, so she picks men who will bankroll her little hobby and then leaves them in the dust after she bleeds you dry.”

“That’s not true,” you say through clenched teeth. “You don’t know anything about me. Or him. Or us.”

“Don’t I?” he retorts. “What if I were to, say, make a scene right now? Start yelling that this entire place is swarming with cops? Would that be a problem?”

You panic, eyes shooting to Marcus in horror. It looks as though he’s about to say something, but he pauses, blinking rapidly a few times—listening intently. Shit.

Derrick laughs. “Oh, isn’t that rich? You’re perfect for each other. You’re using him to get a leg up, and he’s using you for his little sting operation.”

Your ex’s volume is getting louder and louder. Heads are starting to turn. You scan the gallery frantically—a large number of waitstaff is starting to converge on the same area off to your right. Marcus looks conflicted. Desperately, his eyes flick between you and Derrick, even as he takes a few halting steps away from you. Maybe Derrick was right—but maybe it’s you who needs to cause a scene. Time seems to slow down; suddenly, everything seems crystal clear. You give Marcus a small, reassuring smile before turning your back on him and starting down your ex.

“You can’t just come here and try to ruin the life I’ve built!” you exclaim, speaking loud enough for the surrounding patrons to hear. As predicted, most people’s attention is now turned to the unfolding drama rather than the quick footsteps of Marcus, surrounded by several waiters, heading toward the back of the gallery.

“It’s over, Derrick! You can try to goad me all you want, but the truth is, I’ve found all I need without you. And you’re wrong—I’m not using him at all. I love him!”

The last words are damn-near shouted. They seem to echo in the crowded gallery.

Marcus stops in his tracks, whirling around on the spot to stare at you, open-mouthed.

“I love him!” you call out, looking right at Marcus as you say it again. “I love him.”

Even from across the room, you can see his lower lip tremble. But then—he turns away, looking as though doing so causes him unimaginable pain.

Attention starts to turn to Marcus, rather than the apparent row between two ex-lovers. Shit. You need to escalate this, and fast.

“Anyway, you couldn’t please a woman if you tried!” you hurl the out-of-the-blue accusation at Derrick, who looks murderous. “Like, even if your dick wasn’t that small, the real problem is that you don’t seem to have any idea how to use it!”

The crowd titters, and you keep going, feeling emboldened.

“Yeah, turns out orgasms are the one thing you can’t buy,” you quip. “Or at least, you can’t. I can buy them just fine—got myself a vibrator the day I walked out and left that awful engagement ring on the counter.”

A large, meaty hand lands on your shoulder, and you startle slightly. Agent Bear, as you’ve begun calling him in your head, who looks rather comical in his waiter’s tuxedo, leans down the foot and a half it takes for him to murmur in your ear.

“That’s enough. C’mon.”

“I—I was trying to—”

“I know exactly what you were trying to do. You did good, kid. Boss wants you out of the building for this next part.”

You let the behemoth of a man escort you through the kitchen and out through the dock entrance, leaving Derrick, sputtering and red-faced, behind you.

“I can’t believe I just yelled about my ex’s dick size at my first art exhibition,” you murmur to yourself as you follow the man toward the surveillance van around the corner.

“As distractions go, it was certainly creative,” the agent offers placatingly.

“What’s going on?” you ask when you reach the SUV. “Is Marcus okay? Is the guy in custody?”

“Everything is going as expected,” the agent tells you, which isn’t the most detailed explanation, and you sigh in frustration.

“So why am I being escorted out of the building?”

“This was always the plan,” he explains. “Marcus didn’t want you anywhere near the op until the building was cleared again, safe or not.”

“Why?”

The large man gives you a funny look. “I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

He purses his lips thoughtfully, as though trying to find a way to choose his next words carefully. “I haven’t known the boss for that long, mind you, but I know this—he’s stubborn, loyal, and goddamn fucking protective about the people he cares about. And he spared no expense once you agreed to come on board—bought a bunch’a new equipment because he couldn’t run the risk of any blip in communication. Hell, he’s been putting the whole fucking team through dry runs at the venue for the past month and keeping us late at the shooting range to make sure we were all sharp. This whole damn thing has been planned out to the letter, and he made it pretty fucking clear what would happen if a single hair on your head even came close to being harmed. I dunno what your feelings are for the man, but I thought you had to know already—he’s head over heels crazy for you.”

“…Oh.”

“You yelling you loved him across the damn room—that wasn’t part of your little scene-stealing strategy?”

You shake your head solemnly. “Of course not.”

“Good.” The agent nods, his jaw set. “Good. That’s good.”

“What happens to the show?” you ask quietly. “Is it just… over now? Everyone goes home?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, you can go back in once the team clears out. Pike didn’t want this to cause too much disruption. Said this was your first exhibition, that right?”

You nod. “Yup.”

“He didn’t want to sell you short. Made sure that the event would be able to continue after all the Feds leave,” the agent says with a wry grin.

“Is it safe?” you ask warily.

“Oh yeah,” he nods. “But I’m your assigned security detail for the rest of the night anyway.”

You huff out a quiet laugh. “Sorry you have to play babysitter to the boss’s girlfriend.”

“Nah, my pleasure. It’s because of you we were able to put this whole thing on in the first place.” He pauses, looking off to the side and nodding imperceptibly. When he speaks again, it’s clear he’s not addressing you anymore. “Copy. I’ll take her back in.” Standing, he holds out one giant palm to help you up. “Your time to shine, kid.”

“Is Marcus okay?” you ask again.

The agent snorts. “‘Course he’s fine. Suspect is under arrest and the team is headed back to HQ to finish up and get the perp booked. Said he’d come back as soon as he could.”

You nod, walking back through the now-empty kitchen. Guess you had to get here early if you wanted snacks, you think with a wry smile. There are fewer patrons milling around now, but that only means you can have longer, more meaningful conversations about your pieces with people who are genuinely interested. Checking your phone for any messages from Marcus, you realize you have hundreds of new notifications on your Instagram page, and a handful of online sales. It really was a success. Staged or not, maybe this exhibition is going to be the break you need.

The gallery finally starts to empty as the hour draws late. Pretty soon, the lights are being turned off and the doors locked—and Marcus still isn’t here.

“I can drive you home,” your security detail suggests. “Pike can meet you there, instead.”

“He said he’d be here,” you say in a small voice.

The man holds up his hands. “Up to you.”

You wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Finally, you hear quick footsteps echoing in the large hall, and you look up from the not-so-rousing game of Solitaire on your phone—which you insisted on playing, even with your battery at 20%.

Marcus.

You jump to your feet, heart in your throat. Agent Bear mumbles a goodbye and exits out one of the side doors, but you hardly notice. You can only stare at the man at the other side of the room.

He stares back.

Both of you seem to move at the same time. Marcus crosses the gallery in several long strides and you rush forward to meet him. You collide in the middle, lips bruising and hands gripping hard. He crushes your body against his, one hand around your back to press you closer and the other holding your jaw firm as he kisses you—deep and passionate and so full of emotion you feel as though you might burst.

When the heat subsides and the movement of your lips naturally begins to change–slowing, gentling–Marcus’s breath is shaky on your face as he carefully brings both hands up to cradle your cheeks. His eyes bright and shining full of moisture, his thumbs gently trace the curve of your cheekbones.

“I love you, too,” he whispers ardently. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I love you,” you repeat back. A tear slips down your cheek; Marcus catches it with his thumb.

“I love you,” he says again. “Baby, that might have been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do—turn my back on you like that.” “I’m sorry. I just—I couldn’t hold it in anymore, not when Derrick was saying all those awful things. I just needed you to know that none of it was true.”

“Couldn’t hold it in anymore?” Marcus repeats, searching your face with a growing smile.

“ I—I’ve never felt this was about anyone. I can’t help but think it whenever I look at you.”

Marcus brings his mouth to yours in another passionate, electrifying kiss. Your cheeks are damp, and you can’t tell whether the cause is you or him. You’re hardly able to take notice anyway, the way his kiss consumes you. It’s everything; he’s everything, and you love each other, and everything is finally going to be okay.

“I love you,” he whispers again. “You were amazing tonight; I was so proud of you.”

“It went really well,” you say, smiling. “I got more sales than I expected, plus a ton of hits online. And I got to say some really cathartic shit to Derrick as a bonus.”

Marcus chuckles. “Wish I could have seen that.”

“I told basically the entire gallery that he couldn’t please a woman.”

“That’s my girl.” He smiles, fondly, and presses one last kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry I’m so late coming back. Are you ready to go?”

You thread your hands together and nod. “Yeah, let’s go home.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Doesn’t matter, just want to be in private as soon as possible.”

Marcus’s eyes darken; his smile turns mischievous. “In that case, my place is closer.”

“That settles it.”

Despite the proximity of Marcus’s apartment, he might have broken at least five traffic laws on the way in his haste to get you alone. You nearly run down the hall to get to his door, and when it bangs open, you’re both reaching for each other with similar fervor.

Your back hits the wall with a soft thunk as Marcus pushes you backward, not so much kissing you as devouring you. Your hands thread into his hair in an attempt to ground yourself, nails scraping against his scalp until he groans brokenly. 

“Fuck, I love you,” he rasps. His hands are hasty in their actions–getting access to as much of your skin as possible in as little time–and you both moan together as he roughly pulls your blouse from being tucked neatly into your slacks and his warm palms slide up the bare skin of your sides.

You frantically join him, fingers fumbling at the buckle of his belt and trying to pull his pants down without actually undoing them.

Marcus laughs giddily without breaking the kiss, trying to unbutton them at the same time you’re already shoving them down his hips. He finally manages to kick them off, along with his underwear, with his lips still stubbornly fused to yours. Your pants receive the same treatment, both of you too lost in the moment to be methodical in your actions as fabric is shoved haphazardly out of the way. 

When your legs are likewise bare, one leg automatically hooks around Marcus’s hip in an attempt to get him closer, closer, closer, and he obliges enthusiastically–pressing into your core with a soft grunt. 

It’s not enough, not nearly enough, you need him in you, and he must feel the same, because with a little growl of frustration, he reaches around to pull your other leg around him as he lifts you off of the floor and presses you up against the wall to finally be able to sheathe himself within you in one fluid motion.

Your head thunks against the wall as you draw a ragged gasp of breath into your lungs. Marcus’s lips automatically attach to your bared neck, his teeth scraping gently against your skin as he starts to frantically pound you into the wall. The sound is obscene–the slap of your bodies, the frantic, blissed-out noises of pleasure you’re both making, and the loud, rhythmic thunk of your bodies as they hit the wall over and over and over…

…You hope, for Marcus’s neighbors’ sake, that this is an outside wall.

He drills into you–deep, impossibly deep and your back arches to meet his thrusts, but each movement causes your spine to rub painfully into the wall, your core is already burning as you try to stay in place, and despite how fucking good he’s fucking you right now, your orgasm remains elusive.

Marcus suddenly lets out a rather undignified noise, his face contorting into discomfort rather than pleasure, and before you know it, the mood has changed and the two of you are laughing yourselves breathless at the awkwardness of the position.

“F-Fuck, my back,” he manages to gasp out in between giggles. You tip your head back as your chest heaves with peals of laughter, and you feel yourself sliding slowly down the wall as Marcus’s strength gives out and the two of you collapse into a still-laughing, undignified heap on his entryway floor.

“Always looks so hot in videos,” you say, voice still wavering with mirth.

“Bit harder in real life,” Marcus chuckles, finding your lips again and giving you several soft, smiling kisses.

“Got a better idea,” you murmur against his lips. 

“Bed?”

“Too far,” you argue. “Sit up. I’m gonna–”

Marcus scrambles into a seated position against the wall, and you follow him immediately–climbing onto his lap and sinking down onto his cock with a soft whimper at the stretch of him.

“Baby,” he whispers, soothing the little wrinkle of discomfort on your forehead with his thumb as his eyes flick over your face, cataloging your reactions. 

“‘S’okay,” you reassure him breathlessly. “I’m okay.”

When you start to rock your hips, grinding yourself on Marcus’s cock, your mouth falls open with overwhelming pleasure.

“Fucking love you,” you murmur, and he responds by trying to pull you closer even though there hardly seems to be any space between you already.

“Never gonna get tired of hearing you say that,” Marcus says, voice rough with pleasure or emotion–you aren’t sure which.

“I love you,” you tell him again, and his eyes slip closed with what could either be agony or euphoria. And perhaps it’s both, really. You’d understand. The emotion burns so strongly within you that the reality of it almost hurts. Your heart aches with it. 

Your movements increase in intensity as you chase the feeling building deep inside you. It’s not simply arousal, and really, it never has been with Marcus. It’s a deep sense of joy, satisfaction, and safety. Maybe you’ve always known it–Marcus is it for you. The realization almost makes you lose track of the moment–you’re not with your body, you’re elsewhere, looking down on the two of you, desperately entwined on the floor not two feet from the front door.

“Wanna feel you come for me,” Marcus murmurs, one hand leaving your hip to rub little circles on your clit. “Baby, please.”

The action causes arousal to surge within you; you feel yourself getting even wetter, and Marcus can feel it too, because he makes a low noise in his throat as he watches you ride him.

“Never gonna get tired of this either,” he rasps. “The way you look when you’re about to come undone–fucking divine. That look you get, like you can’t believe you can feel this good… fuck, the fact that it’s me that makes you look like that–” He cuts off with a broken sound, his grip on your hip bruising as he loses himself in the moment.

“It’s you,” you say shakily, nodding frantically as you chase your release. “Only you. You’re the only one who could ever make me feel like this.”

You don’t just mean the waves of pleasure building within you, and Marcus seems to understand, because his eyebrows turn upward in awe, his lips parting as he gazes up at you with nothing short of reverence. 

“Show me,” he says quietly, his lips barely moving. “Let go. Come for me.”

A few more halting, violent rocks of your hips is all it takes before you slump onto Marcus’s chest, unable to hold yourself upright as the feeling sweeps throughout your entire body. He holds you close, taking over the motions and fucking up into you as you convulse with aftershocks. You’re hardly aware of how loud you’re being, crying out and whimpering and sobbing into his shoulder as he fucks you through it, but as you come down, you can hear his soft, lilting voice in your ear.

“So good for me, honey–fuck, you feel so good. Look so beautiful when you come, my pretty girl. So fucking beautiful all the time, I can hardly believe you’re mine.”

You whimper softly and tighten your hold around him as you nod into his shoulder. “I need–” you start, not entirely sure where the sentence was going, but Marcus nods anyway.

“I know, baby, I know.”

He surges forward, gently depositing you on your back on the floor before covering your body with his and fucking into you with abandon.

“F-fuck, mine,” he rasps. “Mine.”

“Yes,” you gasp–each thrust punching the air out of your lungs as Marcus chases his release. “Yes, yes, yes, yes–”

It doesn’t take long before he stills, burying himself deep inside you with a low groan of your name. For a few moments, the only sound is your labored breathing as you both come back to yourselves. Marcus gently touches his forehead to yours, his soft exhales shaky and wavering against your cheeks.

The air is thick with something–emotion, tension, or maybe the opposite: relief. The moment itself feels like an exhale, like your shoulder muscles can start to ease downward. Like if you needed support–or anything–you know there's someone you can depend on. 

And he, you. 

“...Are you?” Marcus asks–quietly and hesitantly, as though he’s ashamed to say the words out loud. “Are you mine?”

You bring your palm to his cheek and watch his eyelashes flutter at the soft touch. 

"Depends… are you mine as well?"

He pulls back, pure sincerity in his gaze as he looks in your eyes. 

"I think I was waiting for you this whole time," he intones quietly. "I'm yours. Of course I’m yours. Completely, and unequivocally."

You smile and bring his face back down towards yours for a kiss.

“How’s the back?”

“Hurts.”

“Wanna get off the floor?”

Marcus looks sheepish. “I didn’t want to say anything, but… yeah, oh my God, I need to lie down.” 

You giggle–breath hitching in the middle as his softening cock slips from you. With twin smiles, the two of you gingerly get up, grabbing your discarded layers of clothing and heading toward Marcus’s bedroom. He collapses on the bed with a loud sigh and scrubs his hands over his face.

“I think I aged five years during this op,” he grumbles as you plop down beside him.

“I thought everything went according to plan,” you offer, frowning in confusion.

“Oh, it did. I haven’t had any single mission in my career go better, but… Fuck, there’s a reason for that. I’ve been running the whole damn team ragged for a month, doing drills and–”

“–keeping them late at the shooting range?” 

Marcus frowns. “How did you know that?”

“My security detail told me about the pains you took to keep me safe. Or rather, how you ‘made it pretty fucking clear what would happen if a single hair on my head even came close to being harmed.’”

“I–I can explain–”

“He said you were ‘head over heels crazy’ for me,” you say, raising one eyebrow coyly.

“Well,” Marcus drops his gaze and grins widely, showing his teeth. “That’s certainly accurate.”

“Why did you ask for my help, if you spent the last month stressed out of your mind?”

He bites his lip as he seemingly gathers his thoughts. “To be completely honest, I said what I said that first time in the moment, without really thinking about it,” he explains. “But once Pandora’s box was opened, so to speak, it was hard to just… put it all away. The more I thought about it, the more it was perfect. Not only does the team get an ideal setup to catch a long-time art thief, but you get an opportunity that precious few artists are ever awarded. I couldn’t… it couldn’t not be you.”

You frown slightly as disparate, confused thoughts swirl around your brain. “I never asked to be a charity case–”

“No,” Marcus interrupts. “Oh, God, no–it was just—Well, we had to ask someone to put on a fake art show, and all things being equal, I wanted it to be you.”

“Why?”

Marcus’s gaze softens. “Because I love you, silly. Head over heels, remember? You’ve given me so much, and I just wanted to give you this.”

Your breath hitches at the devotion in his words. His eyes are so full of love, you don’t even know what to say. In the past, you’ve been so used to “gifts” being double-sided and deceitful. You don’t know what to do with Marcus, who simply… gives you things. Because he wants to. 

“Thank you,” you finally whisper. 

He smiles slowly, eyes brimming with emotion. “I was so proud of you. You know that, right? Every time I would turn and look at you, I just–” he cuts off, shaking his head and looking down. “Baby, I was in awe of you. I just need you to know that.”

“I know that.”

You risk a glance at the clock, and wince. 

“Oh, my God. It’s two am.”

Marcus grimaces. “Guess we get to sleep in tomorrow.”

“I’ve got an opening shift.”

“Fuck. Fuck. Of course you do,” he groans.

“I’ll be quiet,” you promise.

“Don’t you dare. I’ll get up and make you coffee.”

“You… you don’t have to do that,” you tell him hesitantly.

“I want to,” Marcus corrects. “I’m here with you. We’re doing this–everything–together, right?”

You reach over to turn off the bedside lamp, and then settle back against his warm side.

“Right.”

[mirabai0821]

WIP: Blood and Honey CH...3?

Pairings: F!Tav / Halsin Tags: N/A unless you count a bear popping a boner Word Count: 422 Summary: Scratch is missing. Halsin uses his bear to find him. Utter fucking shenanigans ensue. A/N: BAAHAHAAHAAHAHAAAHA Here's more of Blood and Honey from somewhere around chapter three. With Tav upon his back, the pair wandered away from the party and deeper into the forest. 

“Scratch! Here boy!”

Halsin growled, the rumble of it vibrating her bones. “Best to not,” He cautioned. “We do not know what hunts tonight. I will sniff him out.”

“Don’t you need a lock of his hair or a favorite toy or something?”

“Normally yes,” He answered. “But I don’t think I need to. This creature must be special to you for you to be so saturated with his scent. Did you raise him from a pup?” 

“I…no. I just met him a week or so ago.”

Halsin the Bear still had most of the faculties of Halsin the Elf. He could think and reason and plot and scheme. But the bear parsed the elf’s complex mortal emotions through a bear’s simpler lens. Therefore the admiration he felt at Tav’s devotion to her companion didn’t translate fully and came through as only the bear could make sense of it.

Hunger. 

And not the belly-filling kind.

On his back, Tav shifted and Halsin was made keenly aware she was sitting astride him.

Oak Father preserve me…

Halsin sniffed the air and did his damndest to filter Tav out. The bear noted, rather nonchalantly, that her scent told him she was young, healthy, and very fertile. 

Halsin snorted, hoping the action would expel that particular smell from his nose.

“Everything okay? I must smell terrible covered in all this mud, huh?”

“It’s not great,” he lied, realizing belatedly he just told a beautiful woman that she stank if only to avoid admitting to said beautiful woman that he could smell her ovulating and that it was driving him to distraction.

Halsin, if you don’t locate this dog right now!

“Sorry,” Tav muttered sheepishly. “I feel foolish even asking for your help. You’re an archdruid, it’s kinda beneath you to go looking for lost dogs.”

“It is precisely because I am an archdruid that I am duty-bound to assist. Finding lost dogs, especially ones so loved, are well within my charge.”

“Thank you,” Absent-mindedly, Tav reached forward and scratched behind his ears like did for Scratch and Kanid before him. The pleasurable sensation nearly dropped Halsin to his knees.

“Please, do not do that again!” He growled.

Tav snatched away. “I’m sorry!”

Tav wiggled, trying to get down from his back, rubbing her crotch against him, stirring up more of her pheromones as she blubbered apologies. “I’m so sorry! I totally forgot someone was in there!”

“Don’t move, do not…stop…Tav please…”

Suddenly, the bear scented blood replacing the hunger that made his loins ache with a new emotion.

Rage.

__

A/N: Now that I've better fleshed out a thornier section later in the fic, I have a feeling more snippets from earlier parts of the story will come at a decent clip. Will I ever be done with this story? Perhaps. Good lord willing and the creek don't rise, I hope to have it posting worthy before the end of the year. More Blood and Honey snippets:

Chapter 1 The Old Bear's Still Got It Confession? Go See A Priest Halsin x Tav x Astarion Headcanons: Part 1 Part 2 Tav x Halsin standalone drabbles: Gray Hair Movement

Hmm...Guess I need to balance it out with some Tav x Astarion drabbles. Keep on the lookout.

[peachiseas]

genuinely thank you so much for making that post on Baxter's whole Thing. i was genuinely kind of worried i was the only one who thought that it was kind of fucked up that baxter's whole upbringing and its consequences isn't really ever explored and just kind of brushed aside as "oh they're silly little bigots don't think too hard about it".

honestly i have a lot of issues with Baxter's DLC and some of his character to an extent, it all just feels like... undercooked i guess is the best way to describe it, like Kab didn't think too hard about the implications of having an LI be brought up by white supremacists and the kind of things he'd be likely to internalize from that. genuinely i can only hope that Kab's learned from this and is going to try her damndest to do better because i genuinely love the OL series and its characters despite them having some pretty troubling flaws and issues that go unexamined, the games have been a source of comfort for me recently and it's kind of worrying for many of these issues to just kind of go unadressed in a pair of otherwise pretty good games

You don't gotta thank me for that 😭😭I like talking bout things OL does well and what it doesn't, i love dissecting the media I enjoy Also i thought the same thing when i was playing, that i was the only one freaked out. And it sucks because personally I really liked what we got from the wedding dlc of baxter and I made a lot of mcs of color to romance and befriend him but when I read that I was like "I cannot in good faith put my mcs around him" because it was so explicit bout the bigotry but so vague in the implications of what he'd internalize and it never got brought up if he unlearned all that. Which took me out of his character so hard

Like OL helped me cope with losing all my belongings in a house fire and i love the game but people act like critiquing the game is horrible when criticism is used to help devs like Kab to get better and take that criticism so it doesnt happen again in the future

[aliypop]

It’s Always You

Word Count:  5,853

Writers Notes:  I wanted to do a Drabble with my peaky Oc Claudette and Finn with expanding on a few scenes from the fic Series I made Back To Black, so I hope you all enjoy it!

Warning: Fluffy, angsty usual show stuff

Pairing: OC ( Claudette Hilda Williams ) / Finn Shelby  

Tag List : @shelbydelrey

Christmas Eve 1943- Small Heath

 Claudette sat around the fireplace, watching her daughter Serena sat by the tree, opening her presents, "Look what Uncle Tommy and aunt Ellie got me from America!" holding up a dress. The fourteen was ecstatic. Claudette had begun to remember when she was her age, happier that she didn't have to go through everything that she and her father went through, 

"It's beautiful," 

"I wish papa could see me in it," she sighed, "Me too, angel," patting a spot next to her, kissing her forehead. Every time Claudette looked at Serena, she saw traces of Finn, from her freckles to her clear blue eyes,

"Do you miss him..." 

"Every day," she smiled, the radio on as they only talked about the war,

 "Every day?"

"Of course, " she smiled, "You see, your father's my best friend," she smiled, looking at her daughter, 

"I thought it was uncle Isaiah?"

"Second," she laughed, "He and I were inseparable..." Serena was in awe of her mother as she then looked up at her, "When did you two meet?"

"1919, we were young, a bit foolish, but even then, we were in love."

1919 - The Garrison

"You could've gotten yourself killed!" 

"But I didn't, Mr. Shelby!" the young girl said, holding her Birmingham finds her coat pocket, one of the treasures being Ada's pearls. To say that John Shelby was worried about this kid was an understatement. After all, before the war, Claudette Hilda Williams had lived as an orphan amongst the streets, pickpocketing, picking locks, and getting herself into a business she had no doubt getting into.

"You should know me by now." she giggled, her messy curls gathered together in a red ribbon that Eleanor tried her damndest to tie, 

"I wish we didn't." John laughed, watching as Finn sat beside her. John noticed something between the pair. Finn was soon to be eleven in a couple days, and Claudette in a couple months, yet John only let Finn keep her around so he wouldn't always poke his nose in the peaky business as well as Aunt Polly wouldn't nearly shoot his head off again. 

 Finn and Claudette had both waited for John to turn his back so they could make their way toward the bar, which was where the new barmaid Grace had been giving out Whiskey as if it were money,

 "And what can I get'cha two."

"I'll have a Gin!" Claudette exclaimed, her hazel eyes large and round as Finn only looked over, trying to muster how to impress her, 

"Whiskey."

"Are ye sure about that,"

Finn nodded as Grace gave them a curt nod until the most drunkenly loud voice boomed from behind them. 

"This one, ill have a beer. The girl will be going fucking home." Arthur growled, 

"You can't make me go home..." Claudette stuck her tongue out at him. It wasn't that Arthur didn't like Claudette. He didn't trust her, especially with her being part of the third largest crime family that could become a threat at any moment to the Shelby name. 

"Maybe I can't, but he can, Oye Tom." she gulped as the devil's piercing blue eyes looked through her. He had a glare that was harsher than anyone, let alone any scolding mother she ever grew up around to know, 

"Does she have to go..." Finn asked as his brother glanced over at him, lighting his cigarette as if to say yes,

"It's okay, Finn. I'll see you around, right?" tapping him on the shoulder as his face flushed red,

"Y...Yeah,"  watching her leave, Tommy took notice of the article of clothing missing from Finn's head.

 "Forgetting something," Tommy asked as she shook her head, her vision clouded by the hat  on top of her head, "You sure about that..."

 A deep groan left her lips as she handed Tommy Finn's hat. He had a feeling this wouldn't be the last he'd see of this young girl, "One day, I'll be a Peaky you just watch."  she left out the pub. Thomas shook his head. She was still the same old little pain in the ass that Finn would never let him get rid of

"Hello, Julian come to take me home?" she asked. Julian Shelby was a friend of the Williams girls. He couldn't let either family know for certainty that he knew the other. Here he was with his second favorite, Claudette. Saving her hide as usual.

"Actually, Ettie, I just got home..." Julian sighed, looking at the child before him. As much as he didn't want to drive back past London and then to Kensington, he also didn't want Eleanor or Virginia to come looking for her, which would stir trouble, and Tommy would have him on fight Arthur if he were lucky of such punishment, 

1922

"And where the hell have you been," Polly asked, watching Julian. He was dressed in a tuxedo which wasn't a bad look, but it wasn't his usual overcoat and hat either, "London. it's been fuckin nuts down there." he laughed, the lack of sleep showing just from how exhausted his voice had sounded, "And Tommy's business with the horses and some other club-"

" You mean The Black Pearl Company and their deal?" she questioned, her cigarette in hand, "Be careful with the company you keep," she smirked, gesturing towards the kitchen table as Julian stood there in complete shock. 

 Eating sandwiches were Finn and Claudette, dressed in her cousin's old clothes, with a hole in one of her stockings. 

"How'd she even get here..."

"Says you brought her."

"That little rat." he groaned. 

"We're going to the Epsom Derby, I'm told," Finn said, watching her eyes as Michael walked by, 

"Mhmm, the derby." she bit into her sandwich, "I was wondering if you wanted to be my date and maybe see the horse and-" Michael flashed a smirk knowing, After all, he had his fair share of playing shy, himself when he was their age,

"Michael, are ya going to the derby?" she asked, ignoring Finn's presence.

 "If Tommy can convince my mother to let me go," he said, leaning against the counter and looking at his pocket watch. He was sophisticated, Conrad Veidt, the example of class and grace. If she'd ever seen it, which she did living in Kensington. 

"Well, do you need a plus one? My sister is going with my brother, and I'll be bored and alone." holding her head in her hand. Finn rolled his eyes, watching as his cousin took her hand and kissed the back of it, making sure that his "dreamy" gaze was only on her and no one else, smoldering his way into her first heartbreak,  

"Maybe If you were a little older, sweetheart." he winked, " I'll be 14, which isn't far from 16!. " She said with a frown that had been present on her face.

"Don't go frowning on me. Maybe one day when you've grown up to be a woman." he kissed her cheek as he walked out of the kitchen, her heart nearly fluttering.

"You can still go with me..." Finn turned to look at her, his blue eyes reflecting the sunlight,

London

Sitting by Tommy's car next to Finn was Claudette wearing her nightgown and robe, the two keeping watch as they had been instructed to do so. 

"So, hows Isaiah doing," she asked, making small talk, something she was never good at, 

"Well, he and Michael got arrested," Finn began to laugh, 

"For what?"

"Settin a pub on fire. It was for a good cause," 

"And he got caught," she scoffed,

"Yeah, he did..." 

 "How fucking pathetic. Everyone knows if you're gonna burn something to the ground, you should at least wait when everyone's asleep or get someone else to do it for you," Claudette rolled her eyes, "It's common knowledge," she grumbled as Finn laughed, at that moment he could see all the attraction to Michael leave her eyes,  and he could hopefully slip into her heart if she'd let him,  

"So what else is new?"

"Well, you know there's this girl I've been seein and-"

"What's she like?"

"She's something..." Finn started as Claudette sat closer to him, "She's fiery, short-tempered, got curly hair like Fairy floss, cept it's brown." he began to swoon, his freckles more apparent by his blushing, 

"Does she know what you do?"

"Sure she does, and she's a big fan of it, sometimes even a big help," he smirked, sliding closer towards her,

"Did you tell her you like her?" she asked, feeling a drop of rain hit her skin. Finn placed his overcoat and  hat on her head so she wouldn't catch a cold, 

"No,"

"Then you should tell her!"

"I like you."

"Yeah, just like that." she nudged him, "Same tone and everythin. She'll love it, I assure you."

"Finn !!." Tommy shouted, looking as he saw the two by his car, 

"You should go..." 

"Will I see you at The Garrison," he asked, leaning in as if he would kiss her,

"Will Isaiah and Michael be there so I can laugh em?"

"Yes."

1924 Small Heath

 Claudette and Finn were sixteen years old now. And much like Finn, Claudette was starting to feel alienated from her family. They started keeping things from her, becoming too busy to talk to her when they did. They'd only talk about how she should be shadowing Eleanor or helping Virginia with the brothel or Andre with the numbers. It was never about her day or how she felt, 

 But nothing was closer than her bond with The Peaky Blinders, "Oh, Lorcan says he'll be late, by the way. He went to go steal a horse or somethin." Claudette smiled, 

"Who's he stealin it from?" John asked, keeping the peace of his brothers,

"My brother Andre." she laughed, "He's shit at picking horses, unlike me, Ellie, or Ginny," she mumbled, taking a sip from Finn's beer. Isiah laughing, 

"Oh, and Mr. Shelby," Tommy turned around to look at the now short-haired pain in his ass call his name, 

"What is it now, Claudette."

"Eleanor has news for you."

"How soon can it wait."

"You should call her and see." stealing a glance at Finn, then back at Tommy, "And another thin." chewing on a toothpick,

 "What's that."

"When are you going to make me a Peaky?"

"Fucking never, kid," Arthur said, taking Finn's hat off her head,

1924 - London The Pearl

"Mr. Williams..." Claudette laughed, sitting in the chair backward. Andre looked at his adopted sister, sickened by her appearance. She was wearing black breeches, a button-up shirt with pearls, a vest, a black overcoat with dressy oxford heels, and suspenders keeping her pants up, 

"Claudette, it's been a while since you've shown your face..." he laughed, "I've done some thinkin, reinvented meself," removing her gloves as she turned to Isaiah, "Butt me, will ya," handing her a cigarette, 

"Anything for you, Etta, " he smirked, 

"Thank you, Saiah. Now Tommy Shelby sent us here because it appears your fuckin with his shares on his Gin..." looking into her cousins' eyes as he laughed,

 " A group of children policing me, oh this is fresh." Andre laughed harder, mocking them. 

Finn and Isaiah stood up as Claudette motioned for them to sit, 

"Have you or have you not been keepin the money to yourself?" Finn asked, his trigger-happy hand on his gun, 

"I broke his deal off," a smug look on his face as he lit his cigar, "Passed it to a woman who really cares about this shithole of a place." motioning his index finger in a circle, "Who'd that be," Isaiah questioned as Claudette leaned forward, 

"Your mother dette," he smirked as her brown face went pale, " I partnered with her to start getting kids your age something to do; I think, what you slum rats call snow?" he smirked, 

" You snake!" pulling out her razor blade from her overcoat pocket as it was under his neck. The two boys and their guns were drawn, ready to blow a hole in his head if need be, 

"Look at this. This isn't you. You were the cute pearl to be, Eleanor 2.0. and-" feeling blood drip from down his neck. 

"I'm not from Manchester and be careful who you call a slum rat. Last time I checked, You were born freed slaves who could barely afford the scraps on ya table. But we fuckin worked for what we 'ad. So yeah, this is me," she laughed, "Workin' with everythin I fuckin 'ave!" Andre's eyes grew wide to see the girl who called him her brother betray him in such a way,  almost as if it were first nature to her, 

"I hope Will was good to you, Lorcan," Virginia said, pocketing her money and giving half of it to Julian and John, 

"He was an angel with a throat that wouldn't let go." Lorcan laughed, the five coming down the stairs as Andre rolled his eyes, 

"I train my girls and guys to do only the best." she grinned, Lorcan taking the keys to his car out of his pocket as he fixed his hat, 

"You know, back home, we have Lizzie Stark, " Lorcan said as John's skin nearly began to heat up, she's great, but every man in towns had Lizzie," commented as John plucked him in the ear,

"I remember my first time with Lizzie," Julian and Virginia said in unison. Virginia looked over the railing, and she then noticed Claudette. She had to admit that the Peaky look was looking good on her, as was the grasp of power surrounding herself. This was the Claudette that had always been inside her, 

"Look at you, Ms. Williams." Virginia smiled, motioning for them to disarm themselves, 

"It's Hilda, Claudette Hilda," taking a long drag of her cigarette, 

"Forgive me, Ms. Hilda. turn so I can look at ya." Claudette turned as Andre was still stunned from the cut, Finn handing him a napkin to dab his wound with, "You carry power well. I'm sure Nora would be proud if she'd seen you." hugging her cousin tight as Claudette hugged her back, 

"Aye, Ms.Hilda, you ready?" Finn asked as her face flushed, turning a deep red by the cheeks,

 "Coming, Mr. Shelby." she winked at him as Finn got flustered, 

" What's that about," Virginia asked,

"Never you mind. Oh, and Andre, clean your hands. You're dripping blood on Eleanors' floors." Stomping out her cigarette and walking out the door, both siblings looked at each other,

 "That was a ballsy move, Etta," Isaiah said,

"He better be lucky I haven't got a hat yet." taking Finns as she ruffled up his hair, placing it on her head, "Claudette Hilda Shelby," she grinned, "Could you imagine that?"

"Gotta nice ring to it." Lorcan looked back at the three as Julian and John snickered, 

"Could have a ring to it..." Finn mumbled enough for Isaiah to hear it.

Small Heath

"Good mornin, Aunt Polly," Claudette smiled, walking through the halls of the gambling den, 

"Mornin dear," Polly responded from her office, cup of tea on her desk and a fresh cigarette in hand. As Claudette kept walking, she passed Finn, who was flirting with another girl, her face green with envy, which caused  Tommy to look up from the paperwork on his desk, but with a slight smirk on his face, not that he was interested in seeing what would happen between the two.

"Finn, can I talk to you..." Claudette asked as he ignored her,

"You probably make everyone jealous," the girl's eyes looking directly at Claudette, 

"I wouldn't say that." checking over the numbers. "Besides, you ain't bad looking yourself." he winked at her, tipping his hat, "Oh Finn," she sat down on the table, leaning over so that her breast was in his face, the age-old trick of girls their age, playing hard to get but fast to catch,

"Finn!" Claudette shouted again as he shrugged her off, 

"Would you be free tonight?" he asked, the girl's ginger hair draping over her shoulder,

"Fine, if that's the game he wants to play..." walking off, she took his keys and a pack of his cigarettes, putting them in her own pockets, 

"Try impressin her now, flyboy."

"Ay, I saw that..." 

"Mr. Gray, how's the accountin going." sitting on Michaels's desk as he laughed, "It's shit. I don't get to be out on the field there like you, which is odd considering you're a girl in breeches." he looked at her, her face frowning up, "Don't give me that look Dette," his index finger under her chin, pulling her closer towards him,

"You know I hate it when you frown," he whispered. 

Finn walked by, clenching his fist as she gave him a quick peck, 

"And I hate it when you tell me not to." Getting off his desk, she gave him a wink, straightening out her pants as she turned to face him,

 "Oh, and more one thing, check the total  shares of The Pearl club and trading company," Michael was stunned at her actions, "And why should I take your orders..."

"Let's say Tommy's a little pissed at ya for not catching the added surplus charges we 'ave to pay." she walked out of his office, "Hope you don't die from a big fuck up, or maybe you will." she shrugged off her threat against him as Arthur laughed, 

"How's me, favorite little lady?" Arthur asked. 

Arthur had now embraced her presence rather than seen it as a threat. And maybe it was because he understood her, 

"Still wantin her hat," she joked, sitting next to him, watching him drink Whiskey,

1925

"No....No....No...NO!" Claudette screamed, jolting out of her bed. She was sweaty and sticky, her hair felt stuck to her head, and her body felt like dead weight, "No, don- don't touch me!" Claudette screamed, backing away from Finn as she flinched. Finn's eyes had gone wide until her breathing was faster and shallow, her body trembling in fear, and she was known to never fear anything.

 "I'm not gonna hurt you. Just tell me what's wrong..."

"I-I C...Can't," her teeth chattering as hot tears pricked her cheeks. Her body shaking like a leaf, 

"Darlin, tell me, please." 

BLOOM!

"NO!"

A crack of thunder across the sky only caused her to panic more, "They're coming for me..." she whispered, laughing out of anxiety, "He's coming for me, and he's going to kill me..." Finn tried to touch her again, as another sound of thunder happened, 

"TOMMY!" she shouted, "Where's Tommy..." she asked. Claudette was 4 again, cowering in fear, screaming, kicking, and crying like she was that night. 

"In his office," extending his arm out to her, Claudette took it. Trying not to focus on the shadows surrounding her or the many tricks her nightmare-stricken mind played on her, "Could you take me to him?" Claudette asked, counting his freckles, trying to calm herself down, "Yeah, uh, Claudette..." Finn locked eyes with her. Something about the moonlight and the vulnerability of how close the two were was taking over his senses, 

"Yes, Finn..." the two walking towards the gambling house offices, "I wanna tell you somethin if that's okay..." he asked, as she was snuggled up into his warmth, 

"Tell me,"

"I'm here for you." he kissed her forehead. Tommy looked up from reading Michaels's reports as he smirked to himself. Finn was growing upright, and he was proud. As Finn wiped away a loose tear, 

"If you need me, I'll be in John's old room," Tommy cleared his throat startling the two, 

"Finn bed... now," Tommy grumbled as Claudette straightened up, 

"Tommy, sorry... I." Claudette took a deep breath,

 "Why are you up. It's 3 in the morning," Tommy pointed out,

 "You're up too," she glared at him, "To answer your question, I had a nightmare..." she sighed, "But you wouldn't care 'cause you're busy workin," Tommy had finally looked up at her, puffy red eyes and drenched clothes, "I'm all ears now, tell me what was it that made you scream like a fucking banshee."

"You heard me, and you didn't think to help!"

"Can't depend on me all your life." he shrugged, "Gotta learn to do things on your own sometimes," Tommy was right, but it wasn't what she wanted to hear, 

 "That's why I got shot in my dream..." she mumbled, "Because you weren't there, You know Andre... he haunts me in my sleep every night, and Eleanor isn't here to tell me it's okay, and Virginia's drinking her sorrows out with Ada as we speak, so forgive me if I wanted sympathy from THOMAS FUCKING SHELBY!" she broke down and cried screaming as Tommy scooped her up and held her, something he wished his own father would've done for him when he was little,  

"Hey, hey, hey," he cooed, brushing out her hair with his hands. He may not have been as paternal to Charlie, but he was learning through Claudette,

 "Talk to me..." 

"Promise you won't leave..." she asked, looking at him, trying not to cry himself, remembering how it felt when he asked his father the same thing, 

"Claudette..." 

"Promise me, even if you don't mean it!" she sobbed into his waistcoat, " I'd get it. No one wants me, not my father, Eleanor, or mother. They all left me," 

"Claudette Hilda Shelby!" Tommy took her chin to look up at him,

 "Don't you ever fucking say that, yeah they left you, but Elle, she's coming back, and the rest of us, we never left you, and fuckin won't," his hands on her shoulders as he bent to her height, "I'm not fucking leaving you," he smiled at her wiping her tears away, Claudette looked up at him still teary-eyed, 

"I'd even do the shittiest Charleston for you," he began to dance as she shook her head, 

"Eleanor does it better," she mumbled,

 "You bet she fuckin does, but just know we'd throw ourselves in front of every damn bullet with your name on it to keep you safe."Hugging her back made Tommy feel like, just for one time in his life, he deserved to do something good, to have something good, 

"You really think of me as a Shelby?" Claudette asked, her tired puffy eyes nearly closing, 

"I don't know..."

"You called me Claudette Hilda Shelby..."

"You're delirious go to bed," he said, sitting back down about to type on his typewriter, 

"But I'm not tired..." yawning as he peered over his glasses, 

"Okay, I'm going, but you better go to sleep too,"

Walking down the halls, Claudette heard a whispered noise. Looking for a weapon, she grabbed the nearest bottle and swung it like a bat. The creaking of the floorboards as the nose got closer to her, she felt a halting motion towards it.

 "Put the Whiskey down..." Finn glanced at her, 

"Finn..." she sighed, "You scared me..." taking the bottle from her hands as they brushed against each other, "Just tryin to keep you safe," he winked,

 "Finn!" she gasped, " What are you tryin to do?"

"We could drink a little Whiskey, maybe..." he smirked, "Calm down those nerves of yours..." Claudette rolled her eyes as if he didn't have her with the mention of Whiskey.

 "Whadya say?"

"Cups or the bottle?"

"We drink like Peaky's out the fuckin bottle," he smirked, taking the first swig and passing it over to Claudette, who nearly drank the entire bottle, "I see why Arthur told us not to touch the Whiskey," she laughed, "Kinda burns." Finn chuckled as she got a bit giggly, the two laying in  bed as he held her closer, their lips inches away from each other,

 "Finn..."

"Yeah... Claudette,"

"Can we always be this close?" she whispered as the wheels in his mind began to turn. 

Seven years he'd been trying to get the girl, it seemed the seventh time would be the charm, 

"Why do you like me or somethin." he asked, "I wouldn't say I like you. But... lately, I've wanted to kiss the freckles on your face and punch that girl you've been talkin to," she grumbled as Finn laughed, to think Tommy's advice was working, "Are you sure it's me you think of and not Michael or Isaiah," Finn asked, a dorky grin on his face,

"I'm as sure as a rainy day that I only think about you." she snuggled into his side, and Finn took in her features. They were soft, like her brown skin. And her curls. She looked at him like he was her world, kissing her nose as she giggled, "Finn, kiss me?" she murmured, 

"In the morning." 

The sun rose only halfway as it did in the winters of England. A cold, pale landscape, but it was home and somehow comforting to both Finn and Claudette. The taste of Whiskey was still fresh on their lips. And her hands were everywhere, not knowing where to go at first, 

"Claudette, have you ever actually been kissed," Finn asked as she looked away from him in embarrassment.

"You haven't..." he laughed a little. 

"I haven't done a lot of thins but don't go fucking laughin at me!" she pushed him playfully, 

"It's cute." he smiled, "But let me show ya how to really kiss," he winked at her as she rolled her eyes, 

"Then fucking do it, Fi-" her eyes closed as her arms around his neck. 

She was breathless but fully breathing. Claudette felt like her body was on fire, but also felt like she was flying, "How was that,"

"It... it was good but uncomfortable," she said,

"Uncomfortable ?"

"Yeah, layin like this on my side, no," she grumbled,

 "Fine then, what's more, comfortable." Claudette sat in his lap, looking at his lips, " That's uh comfortable very..." his brain short-circuiting. Claudette ran her thumb over his lips as she smirked,

 "Soft. I like that in a man." 

"Claudette, will ya please just kiss me alread-" Claudette leaned in, kissing him as the lingering taste of Whiskey smoke and sleep took over. His hands were around her waist, pulling her closer to him, goosebumps peppering Claudette's skin.

 Biting his bottom lip, Finn flipped her over. So he was on top of her with his hands on either side of her head, 

"I can stop if you'd want." 

"By all means, please continue, Mr. Shelby..." hoarse from the kiss, Finn kissed her neck, then her cheek as he loomed right over her lips. Claudette had pulled him down to finish what she had started, 

"The French invented this one..."

"Invented what?"

"Finn, have you ever been French kissed," she smirked, taking his face in her hands and licking his lips as she snuck in her tongue. Finn was flustered for once. And by the one woman he found peace in. His fingers were in her thick curly hair, lost in everything that was,

"Claudette..."

"Where the bloody hell is Claudette..."

BLAM! 

Claudette and Finn both pulled apart from each other as their hazy gazes cleared on the sight of Arthur, 

"What the fuck were you two doin?" both Claudette and Finn were lost for words, 

"Fuckin snoggin, wait till Tommy 'ears about this." Arthur laughed, "Family meetin, by the way," he left as Claudette giggled,

 "Get dressed..." Polly said, walking by, her cigarette in hand,

 "And before you two get any more ideas, separate rooms!"

1926-The Garrison 

"This is a big fucking day for Claudette, so everything has to be perfect," Finn commanded, Tommy and Arthur, looked at him as if he were a new person,

 "It's a big day for you, Shelby's. Winning another race, getting rid of that prick Luca, And Tommy, the soon MP of South Birmingham." Virginia said, looking over at Ada, 

"The MP of South Birmingham... impressive, Mr. Shelby," Bernadette nodded, a man who could change the world, yet her daughter was with a man who'd change whatever his parents wanted, 

"The Black Pearl textile factory would be happy to advocate for you. I'm sure Eleanor would be pleased to see your efforts." Tommy only gave her a nod. Eleanor was just as much of a touchy subject for Tommy as Grace was, 

"Alright, Claudette will be walking in any minute, so everyone just act fucking normal."

"I'm fine. Really I am," Claudette said as both John and Julian helped her walk down the street, 

"What if you fall..." Julian remarked,

"What if someone targets ya and blows your damn brains out, Claudi..." Julian suggested, 

"They won't..." she rolled her eyes,

"So is this like a family meeting or a departure or... " Lorcan opened the door, Finn rushing to her side, hugging her as Isaiah walked over, 

"You look good," 

"Thanks, Is, " she smiled, hugging Finn back, 

"Missed me that much huh..." her head on his shoulder, 

"You two lovebirds make me fuckin sick." Arthur walked by them as Johnny Dogs. And Virginia laughed,

 "They're in love." Ada smiled, 

"We're just friends!" Claudette's cheeks were dark pink, and Finn's freckles had a red glow to him, 

"What she said." 

"Anyways... we got a surprise for ya, Right Tommy?" John said, smoking his cigarette, 

"Is it Whiskey..." she asked, "Or another mission or money or-"

"Claudette, shut up and let Tommy speak." Virginia rolled her eyes as Bernadette sighed, 

"Thomas, continue." 

"Ms. Dupont, the watch.." he then looked at his brother, Arthur, "Arthur, you go get the other thing..." Bernadette stood by Tommy as Claudette looked surprised and nervous, hoping she didn't do anything wrong,

 "I can't fuckin find it, Tommy!" 

"Behind the bar..." he shook his head. Finn, Isaiah, Julian, John, and Lorcan had all been by Tommy's side, making Claudette feel smaller, than she looked, 

"Found it."

"Probably fuckin placed it back there..." Julian mumbled,

"I heard that. You fucking idiot..." he grumbled, 

"Alright, Tommy, I got it." Arthur walked over, 

"What's going on..." Claudette questioned,

"Ms. Dupont, Virginia, would you two do the honours." clipping the pocketwatch to her waistcoat, Virginia was teary-eyed, 

"You've grown up to be an amazing young woman. I wish I could be as courageous as you," Virginia smiled, putting the watch in her hand as Bernadette finished clipping it to her, 

" I ain't really good at speeches, but," Arthur smiled, "This little lady has been a pain in our asses since she ripped the streets of Birmingham off and had her first taste of Gin at 11 years old." he sniffled, "She's been nothing but the right kind of trouble, always askin about gettin a fuckin hat, being the one kid who's ever loved the Peaky name, and saw it as anything but a curse, and for that... Claudette Hilda, Welcome to The Peaky Fuckin Blinders. You finally got that damn hat you wanted." 

Tommy took the hat putting it on her head, as her eyes watered a little, "I won't let you down, Tommy..." she then looked at Bernadette and Virginia with a big grin on her face, wishing Eleanor could have seen her, a shadow the front of The Garrison, 

"Claudette, since you're a Peaky, I think it's time you see where we keep the good stuff," Finn said. Claudette took his hand, 

"What if they notice we're gone?" she glanced, "Everyone except maybe Tommy is drunk," Finn laughed, "Never really seen him drunk, actually," he mumbled, pulling Claudette into the room, cases of every illegally made type of alcohol were in that room, it was heaven for the cops and hell for any gangster if ever caught with it, she was in heaven, "The Pearl has... had a bigger supply..." she winked as Finn laughed, "Yeah well all this is ours," spinning her around as she laughed, he loved her laughter, it always brought a kind of joy to him when he heard it, the bubbling sensation in his stomach as his heart beat faster, that was the feeling Finn craved on nights that were spent with prostitutes or empty lovers, yet Claudette was always there, "Hi..." she said pent up against the wall between Tommy's Gin, 

"The moon looks beautiful on your skin," Finn smiled,

"You'd look beautiful on my skin," she gasped, 

"I'm so sorry ... did I just-" 

"Mhmm," tilting her chin, his eyes on her lips as she became flustered, "Kiss me..." Claudette's knees nearly gave out from under her as he kissed her, the taste of tobacco and Gin on his breath. He smelled like Tommy's cologne, but that didn't matter. Biting her lip. Finn was pleased with the squeak that left her mouth. Pulling her closer to him, he grabbed her by the waist as she grabbed him by his suit jacket, 

"We're not just friends, and you know it..." Finn said, pulling away from Claudette as she was panting, wanting more from him, 

"Finn..." 

"If you don't love me, say it..." he kissed her neck as she laughed, Finn!" Claudette laughed. Finn then bit her neck as she closed her eyes, "Damn you, you Shelby..." she bit her lip, 

"Say you don't love me, angel,"

CLICK!

The bright bulb nearly blinded the two as Tommy sighed. He wasn't surprised. After all, this hadn't been the first he'd walked in on these types of things, 

"We were just, uh..." 

"Claudette, sweetheart. Friends don't go off to an abandoned room alone to snog,"

"What about you and your women friends..." Tommy laughed, "They fuck," Finn said, as Claudette smirked, "Out fucking now!" Tommy pointed to Finn as Claudette mouthed sorry to Tommy, "You're a French trotter, and he's like Stallion, so be careful." he looked at Claudette as she nodded.

Christmas Eve 1943- Small Heath

"And then what happened after Uncle Tommy found you two?" Claudette then chuckled, the fire simmering as Serena began to yawn, "Well, a few years later, we got married and had you," she kissed her nose. Serena then let out another yawn. A loud knock was heard on her door, signaling her daughter to go upstairs. Claudette grabbed her revolver, pointing it toward the door,

"Who's outside" she growled, ready to shoot as if her life depended on it. Serena took a peak from the curtains as her eyes lit up from the view from outside, 

"Rena, who's at the-" as the door knob turned, Serena grew more excited. It was her Christmas wish coming true before her eyes, 

"Well, if it isn't my favorite girl waitin for me," Finn smiled. Claudette stood in shock as she looked at the man in front of her. She couldn't believe he was home in time for Christmas, "Finn, you're home," tears in her eyes as she peppered kisses all over his freckles. She could see the terror of war leave his face, all while he had her in his arms, 

"And we're standing under the mistletoe..." dipping her as he gave her a passionate kiss, giggles coming from the stairs, another pair of arms wrapped around him, 

"It was always you."

[musclesandhammering]

Every Single Issue I Have With S*lki (It’s Not Just The Selfcest)

Here goes. I threatened to post this a few days ago and never did, but I just saw a s*lki stan Twitter account claim that Loki caring about Sylvie more than the whole multiverse was a Good And Romantic thing and it pushed me over the fucking edge, so now you all have to read this. I’ve divided it into categories cause there’s just THAT much.

OOC Bullshit

• First and foremost, no amount of mental gymnastics you do will ever make me believe that this specific Loki- the one that just invaded New York, that just came off a year of Thanos Torture, that just got done being influenced by the sceptre, that was literally in the middle of a crisis already, and then on top of that went through all the trauma of Ep 1- would even be worried about a romantic relationship. That would be the furthest thing from his mind. Go back and watch how he acted in Avengers- you think that guy would abandon his previous mission to become a snivelling simp for a girl he’d just met 3 days prior? Yeah, there’s no universe in which that makes sense.

• “It’s very in character for Loki to fall in love with himself lololol-“ NO, it’s literally not. Out of all the characters in the mcu, I don’t think I can think of anyone that genuinely hates themselves more than Loki. He even referred to all his other male variants as “monsters” and said meeting them was “a nightmare” in this series. He’s got so much self-loathing, plus the fact that he genuinely thinks himself to be an evil backstabbing scourge- so there’s no evidence at all suggesting that he would ever develop a fondness for, or even be inclined to trust, another version of himself, after only knowing them for 3 days.

• Building on that, the whole concept of Loki falling in love with a version of himself just feeds into the annoying ass misconception that he’s a narcissist. No matter which way you stack it, he’s not. If you’re referring to NPD, he doesn’t fit the criteria, and if you’re saying “narcissist” just as a slang term meaning “selfish and arrogant”, that still doesn’t accurately describe him. But when creators like Waldron and Herron do things like having him fall in love with himself, it makes it so much easier for casual viewers to think that he is.

Shitty LGBT Rep

• It’s kinda sus that Loki’s are allegedly genderfluid and yet the only female-presenting variant we see (and apparently the only female-presenting variant there is, cause the male Loki’s all seemed unfamiliar with the concept) is treated as some kind of mind-bogglingly special paradox. Also very sus that, out of all the Loki variants, the one our Loki falls in love with just so happens to be the only female one. What a coincidence.

• The fact that the creators of the show went around bragging about Loki’s bisexuality and Marvel purposefully (lbr) allowed stories about Loki possibly having a male love interest to circulate, specifically enticing queer viewers to watch the show (you know, the definition of queerbaiting), and then instead of having a male love interest (Loki was the first queer main character, so it was the perfect opportunity) they gave us *gestures to this dumpster fire* this… it’s just a middle finger to LGBT fans. The fact that they would rather have this relationship with all its myriad of problems than have a gay relationship is just……. Very telling.

• While him being with a woman obviously doesn’t refute his bisexuality, the fact that they showed/talked about him being interested in 3 different women (flight attendant, Sylvie, Sif) and never even hinted at him being attracted to a man, definitely makes it seem like they were trying to cover up his bisexuality to smooth things over with the more homophobic viewers. You know? It’s like “I know you’re pissed that we sorta confirmed Loki as bi, so we promise we’ll never mention it again! Or even hint at it! As a matter of fact, we’ll give him lots of female lovies and make him seem as straight as possible! That’ll take your mind off of that horrible crumb of queer rep, right? Please please please keep giving us your money!!!”

• Aside from all the other issues, at its core, the biggest reason why I think I’m so irritated with s*lki is that it took one of the most interesting, complex, and diverse characters in cinema atm and squished him into a tired ass unnecessary heteronormative subplot…. Like literally every. single. other. protagonist. ever. Loki is such a unique character, and it’s so so so incredibly disappointing that they stuck him into that same boring cookie cutter romance that happens to every other character in every other movie I’ve ever seen. It’s a disservice, and it’s honestly just not compelling or entertaining at all.

Thematic Issues Galore

• His arc didn’t need a romance. With anyone. It was unnecessary and it didn’t make sense plot-wise. In fact, one of the reasons he was my fav prior to this was because he was the only big-name mcu character whose story wasn’t muddied-up by a romance that didn’t need to be there. So much for that.

• He wasn’t emotionally ready for a romantic relationship with anyone. Hell, just a genuine friendship would’ve been pushing it for him at this point. He was in such a bad state that any relationship he got into would’ve been toxic and unhealthy for both him and the other person, and it doesn’t make sense why the writers would want to put him in one when there were so many cons and essentially no pros (other than “Uwu aren’t they cute together”).

• Sylvie’s character in general was unnecessary and Loki’s character was robbed just by her being there. The whole show became about her post-Ep 2. They spent most of the time giving her backstory, building her up, telling us how awesome she is, trying to convince us to like her, etc when what they really needed to be doing was building Loki up- cause I gotta say, if I had to describe TVA!Loki in a few words, they would be Flat, Boring, and Weak.

• The romance overtakes the plot. They spend time portraying their supposed connection that could’ve been spent adding depth and complexity to literally any of the characters. They make the big Nexus Event them giving each other googly eyes on Lamentis when it could’ve been so many other way more profound things that speak to the fundamental nature of Loki’s. They have the climax of the finale be “oh no she betrayed him to kill He Who Remains” when it could’ve been something way more compelling (Loki having a moral crisis over whether or not to kill HWR, Loki contemplating the state of the multiverse and weighing the pros and cons of freedom vs order, Loki looking into some What If situations and getting emotional about what could’ve been regarding his family, Loki realising the gravity of HWR’s offer and finally coming to terms with how important he is to the universal cycle, etc etc). The entire plot suffered in favour of a romance that half of us didn’t even want.

• It essentially reduced all of Loki’s potential character growth down to “He did it for his crush.” He seemed to at least have some motivations of his own in Ep 1-2 (feeble as they were) but after Sylvie showed up in Ep 3, literally every action he took was just him being a simp for her. Why did he lie in the interrogation? To try to protect Sylvie. Why did he fight the minutemen and Timekeepers? To survive kinda, but mostly cause it was important to Sylvie. Why did he get pruned? Cause he got distracted trying to confess his crush to Sylvie. Why did he try to get out of The Void? Cause he thought Sylvie needed him. Why did he stay in The Void? Cause Sylvie was staying. Why did he try to enchant Alioth? Cause Sylvie told him to. Why did the multiverse get cracked open, leading to an infinite number of Kangs waging war on all of existence? Cause Loki didn’t wanna hurt Sylvie in their fight at the Citadel and then get distracted by her kissing him. It’s uninteresting and honestly pretty embarrassing.

• Throughout their “relationship arc” the writers do their absolute damndest to convince us that we should like Sylvie more than Loki. And you know what? It’s the most hypocritical shit I’ve ever seen. They preach and preach about how Sylvie’s life has been so difficult/we should feel bad for her/she had it so bad/poor poor sylvie/she had it SO much worse than pampered prince Loki…. But then they never even touch on any of Loki’s trauma of hardships (the ones that have been ignored for literally 3 movies now). They frame Sylvie as a good person and a Freedom Fighter after she spent literal decades/centuries mass-murdering brainwashed TVA agents and showing exactly zero remorse for it….. but then they make it their mission to constantly remind us that Loki is a terrible person and constantly put him in situations where he’s forced to acknowledge his wrongdoings/show remorse/admit to how “evil” he is for being a mass murderer for like 2 years. They show him on-screen having a wider range of powers than her, and perpetuate his whole shtick of being a “master manipulator” or whatever….. But then they make Sylvie “the brawn” more competent, intelligent, and physically capable than him. Tell me how it’s a good thing for a ship to be so narratively biased toward one character.

Missed Opportunities

• If they absolutely had to have a romance subplot, then they could’ve paired Loki with one of the characters that have already been established OR one of the characters that were a big part of the whole TVA storyline anyway. It would’ve been so interesting if they’d revealed that Loki had a history with some of the players from previous films (Sif and Fandral both come to mind). It also would’ve been really interesting if they’d given Loki a love interest that actually had some allegiance to the TVA as a whole (Mobius maybe, but not necessarily. It also could’ve been Renslayer or B-15). Hell, imo it would’ve been cool if they’d followed through with that “See you again someday” line that he said to the flight attendant in Ep 1. ALL of these characters have way more chemistry with him than Sylvie, and they were also already relevant to the plot without wasting half the show to give background info on them.

• If they absolutely had to have a hetero-presenting love story involving an enchantress-type figure, then there’s a whole Enchantress (Amora) that was actually Loki’s love interest in the comics. Plus, fans have been screaming for Amora to appear in the mcu for years. Plus, Tom literally pitched an Amora/Loki storyline way back in 2012-13. Also, Lorelei (another enchantress) is also one of Loki’s love interests in the comics, and she already exists in the mcu (she was on Agents of SHIELD). There were several different established characters for them to choose from. Creating a whole knew amalgamation of a character and going with the “she’s a Loki variant” storyline was just completely unnecessary and made no sense.

• They completely robbed us of a Chaos Twins dynamic. Had they handled Sylvie better and not forced her and Loki to smooch, the two of them could’ve had a really really complex and interesting sibling relationship. Loki could’ve stepped into Thor’s shoes and sort of used that new role to gain some self importance, and Sylvie could’ve finally had somebody to look out for her/teach her magic/be there for her. It would’ve been very aesthetically pleasing, the vibes would’ve been out of this world, it would’ve been way more profound than this bs, and frankly it would’ve been much more entertaining to watch.

• Loki’s relationship (read: obsession) with Sylvie completely overshadows all Loki’s other relationships in the show. Loki and Mobius were literally the focal point of the series in Ep 1-2, but after Sylvie showed up in Ep 3, they barely had any interactions with each other, and Mobius pretty much faded to the background entirely. Loki had the beginnings of a pretty interesting antagonistic relationship with Renslayer (with her wanting him pruned, then arguing with Mobius that he couldn’t be trusted), but after Sylvie showed up the dynamic shifted to focus on the history between her and Ravonna. Loki and B-15 started off very badly and openly disliked each other throughout Ep 1-2, and then in the end of Ep 2, Loki showed a little bit of concern for her when she was possessed, hinting that they might be inching toward a reconciliation- especially considering how obvious it was that Loki was gonna uncover the TVA’s sins eventually. There was so much potential for him to be the one to give her her memories back and convince her to change sides, but no, of course that honor went to Sylvie. In fact, after Sylvie showed up, Loki and B-15 never even spoke to each other again.

Various S*lki Fails

• If they were trying to convince us that this affection was mutual, they completely failed. There’s nothing I’ve seen that even hints at Sylvie feeling the same way about Loki that he does about her. At most, I’d say she has a slight endearment to him. She finds him likeable and she’s grudgingly fond of him, but she definitely isn’t in love with the guy. Maybe she thinks he’s cute and hopes that he gets out of this mess alright, but her mission obviously comes before him- whereas, it’s been confirmed multiple times that Loki cares about her above anything else. She doesn’t trust him, she looks at him like he’s an incompetent fool half the time, she shows little to no reaction during most of his confession moments, and she kissed him as a means to distract him so that she could get him out of her way. Look, all I’m saying is, when you get into a relationship where one of you is way more invested than the other, it never ends well.

• This goes without saying for a lot of us, but the selfcest is just straight up odd and cringey. If you’re cool with that sort of thing, fine! People can ship what they want! But don’t pretend it’s not at least a little bit uncomfortable. Yes, I know they’re not technically siblings so it’s not technically incest, and they’re also not technically the exact same person, but they’re similar enough that it makes things weird. And yes I know selfcest can’t happen in real life, so there’s no way to judge it morally, but neither can most of the other stuff that happens in these shows/movies (the Snap, Loki destroying jotunheim, superhero with powers being held accountable, mind control) and yet we still find ways to judge their morality, because they all mirror real-world events. (The snap= genocide; Loki destroying Jotunheim= bombing other countries; superhero accountability= weapons accountability; mind control= grooming and coercion). And lbr the closest real-world mirror to two versions of the same person (who may or may not share DNA, family, backgrounds, physical and emotion characteristics) being romantically involved with one another is incest. And you can be ok with that if you want- that’s your prerogative- but don’t get pissy just cause a lot of us are squicked out by it.

• The whole mirror metaphor (learning self love via each other) thing just fell completely flat. First of all, having Loki learn to love himself by looking at someone who mirrors him did not, in any way shape or form, require them to be romantically involved. But they were. Of course. Secondly, the creators have contradicted themselves so many times on whether Loki and Sylvie are the same or not, that it doesn’t even really register to the viewer that the mirroring thing was what they were going for. Finally, Loki and Sylvie are shown to have so little in common- and to have only the most bare minimum of similarities personality-wise- that it doesn’t even make sense that Loki would “learn to love himself through loving her”. Like? They’re nothing alike. So how would he make the connection that he himself is actually pretty cool, based on her alone? There’s virtually nothing in her that reflects him.

• I know the objective of the entire show was to convince us of how awesome and unique Sylvie is, but honestly her relationship with Loki just did the opposite. A hallmark of a Mary Sue is having her constantly upstage the male lead, and then having him instantly fall madly in love with her anyway. And that’s.. exactly what happened here. Everything they’re doing to try to force her character to be more stan-able is really just forcing her to look more like their self-insert OC. Which is exactly what she is. It would’ve been so much more satisfying if she didn’t have to try so hard to look cool, if they didn’t have to try so hard to make her backstory tear-inducing, if they didn’t have to turn our protagonist into a snivelling simp just to prove how incredible she supposedly is. Very much #GirlBoss energy and we all know how performative and cheap that is.

• The entire thing was too rushed, there was too little build-up, and it was nowhere near believable. As stated above, it’s ridiculously unlikely that Loki would canonically even be interested in Sylvie, and this show did nothing to explain why he was. He just suddenly was. There was nothing they showed us as viewers that would justify a guy as closed-off and preoccupied as Loki falling head-over-heels for a girl he just met. Their was no explanation, no big revelation, no reasoning, it just… kinda happened. And I’m also severely skeptical of any love story that has the characters go in this deep after only 3 45-minute episodes of exposition.

I’m sure there’s other stuff, so if anyone thinks of anything, let me know and I’ll be more than happy to add it. Tagging @janetsnakehole02 @raifenlf @natures-marvel and @brightredsunset800 for expressing interest. This is all your faults.

[saintshigaraki]

the sun has not yet fallen

pairing: bakugou katsuki x gn!reader

word count: 2.2k 

excerpt: You look back towards the setting sun just once. You don’t really know why. Perhaps to find some bravery in the beauty of it, to steal yourself a few extra seconds of this limbo you’ve found yourself in. Where everything is hazy and beautiful and hurts so bad you can hardly breathe.

a/n: me: i hate angst

       also me: writes this fic

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, sometimes love requires work 

in case you want to read it on ao3!

Katsuki is in a bad mood. He was uncharacteristically quiet when he walked through the door which is more often than not a sign he was trying his damndest to hold back saying something just a bit too cruel. And you appreciate the effort, truly you do. 

On any other day, you would’ve let him be to work through his shit alone. He usually does that by cooking up something far too elaborate for a weekday night, and then after decompressing for a bit, he tends to slink back into whichever room you’re in and lay his head on your lap so you can work your fingers through his hair. 

You’ve found over the last two years that that is what tends to work best. Giving him space and letting him come to you.  

But today you’re feeling just as raw as he does. You can’t remember the last time you spent quality time together. You can’t remember the last time he didn’t go to bed so exhausted he was out before his head hit the pillow. You can’t remember the last time you didn’t feel this heavy cloud hanging over your head. You can’t remember a moment where there wasn't a timer counting down and down and down while you do nothing but wait for it to hit zero. You’re not quite sure what will happen when your time is up.

It’s selfish, probably, to want to be with him right now when you know he’s so weary, but you won’t even bother him, is what you tell yourself. You just want to be around him for an hour (or two) you want to stand so close to him you can smell the ever clinging scent of caramel and help him with dinner and think of brighter days. Better days. 

(You want things to go back to the way they were before. You want to cling to him, just for a short while, stuff your face into the crook of his neck while he tells you everything’s okay. That you guys are okay.

But that’s for another day. It has to be.

How many times have you told yourself that?)

You follow him as he stomps towards the kitchen. 

He aggressively grabs the ingredients for whatever he’s making and slams them on the counter, grumbling under his breath the whole time. You stand in the doorway worrying your hands, feeling awkward, and hating that you feel awkward in your own kitchen with your own boyfriend. 

It makes that awful nagging voice in your head grow just a bit louder. 

You approach him slowly while he sets up a pot filled with water and turns on the stove. He’s still grumbling to himself by the time you place your hand softly on his forearm. 

He jerks away immediately and narrows his eyes. You viciously stamp down exactly how awful that makes you feel. How small and unloved. 

“What do you want?” he says bluntly (and a little cruelly but a part of you says just ignore it, maybe if you close your eyes and cover your ears you can pretend that everything is fine, that you guys are fine) . 

That was part of his charm when you two first started dating. You loved that he was blunt, that he got to the point, there was really no guessing what Katsuki was thinking because he’d simply tell you and if it were any other day perhaps his words wouldn’t have bothered you as much as they did now. 

And it’s partly your fault, or maybe even mostly. Because you let it get this bad. You could have told him something was bothering you, that lately, you’ve been feeling a little insecure in this relationship. Katsuki was blunt but very rarely if ever cruel with you or your feelings. He would’ve understood, probably. 

But anytime you thought about broaching the subject with him, he always looked so, so tired. Bone tired. And you thought maybe it was selfish, to want him to comfort you over something this dumb. Over something as frivolous as this. He just needs time. 

(How much time, you wonder. How much more can you take? you ask yourself.)

“Are you fucking braindead or something,” he snaps, dragging you out of your spiraling. 

“I was just wondering if I could help. It’d be nice to cook dinner together.” We use to do it all the time, you almost say. Now you can’t even remember the last time you did. 

“You’re a shit cook,” he says. 

It’s true, and on another day, a brighter day maybe, you would’ve laughed. Or at least smiled. Because it was true. You are an awful cook, a shit one, as he so eloquently put it, especially compared to him. But that never mattered to Katsuki before. 

He always let you cook with him, always wanted you to cook with him, even if the majority of the time you ended up sitting on the counter swinging your legs and watching him do all the work. 

To be fair, afterward, you always cleaned the dishes. It was a lovely, simplistic give and take, one you wish you had again so, so dearly. 

“Yeah, I am,” you agree. You try to smile, but it feels forced. You’re tired, you realize, bone tired. 

You don’t say anything else and he turns away. You know that’s technically a dismissal but you elect to ignore and start unwrapping the vegetables. 

Just as you reach for a knife he grabs your wrist. 

“What the fuck is up with you right now?” he grounds out. 

“I just want to spend some time with you.” 

Your voice sounds frail, even to your own ears. 

And before he even opens his mouth you know what he’s about to say is going to bring all this to a head. And from the look on his face and the awful, gnawing in your gut, you know you’re not going to like it. You know that more likely than not, it’s going to break your heart. 

(A part of you can’t help but wonder if maybe your heart has already been broken. That it’s made up of haphazardly glued together pieces. Perhaps that’s why you feel so fragile. Perhaps the damage is done and you’ve just been waiting for Katsu to bring down the axe. To scatter the pieces. To finish the fucking job.)

“God,” he spits out. And it’s like a dam has been broken and every hateful thing he’s ever thought about you can’t help but come pouring out.  

“You’re so fucking needy, you can’t do a fucking thing by yourself. It’s like all you ever do is breathe down my fucking neck and tell me everything I’m not doing for you.” Distantly, you wonder if that’s true. It might be. Maybe it’s that ugly selfishness you’ve never really been able to hide. You thought you’d done a better job of tucking it away. You were wrong, it seems. 

“So I can’t spend every single fucking second of every single day with you, sue me. I’ve got my own shit to deal with, my own problems, or have you forgotten that I have a life outside of you?”

No, you think. I haven’t. Or maybe you have. You’re not really focusing so hard on his words. You tune them out as much as you can. You’re staring at his face, taking in all the details. The deep red of his eyes, the pale blond of his hair, the sharpness of his cheekbones, the slope of his neck, the little scars peppering his face. You used to sit on his lap and kiss each and every one, no matter how faint. 

You’re so weird, he’d say as you did it, but the tightness of his arms around you always spoke a different story. 

You’re going to miss that, you think. Holding him. Loving him. 

It takes you a while to realize he’s still yelling. It’s all hateful and cruel and so sharp. Like he’s taken a knife to your skin to flay you open, exposing every crack, every vein, every shattered piece of heart that makes you. You let it wash over you, like a particularly violent ocean wave.  

“Sometimes,” he says, his voice finally quieting to a bearable level, “I wonder why I’m still with you.” 

The breath you let out is shaky. No matter how ready you thought you were, there’s simply no amount of time that prepares you to hear those words from him. From the person you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with. From the person you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. 

The silence between you two is deafening. And heavy. So heavy it feels as though your chest will cave in from the pressure. 

“Yeah,” you say at last, though you have to force the words around the burning iron poker in your throat. And then you laugh, you can’t help it. It’s all so fucked. You hate that it’s come to this bitter monstrous ugliness. 

When had this all started to fester, to rot? you wonder. Is this really all that’s left?

“I can’t help but wonder the same thing.” It comes out more bitter than you'd like. A small jab to try to even out the gaping wound he’s torn open in you. 

But it’s also true. 

You can’t see his reaction through the tears clouding your vision. You don’t really want to anyway. What’s done is done. What’s said is said. 

You grab your phone and keys and walk through the front door, closing it softly behind you. 

He doesn’t say a word.

You think if there was any part of your heart left unbroken, his silence has shattered it to oblivion. 

+

You walk for an hour or two. Until the sun has dipped almost completely below the horizon and it’s surrounded by hazy blood-red waves. 

It’s a good place to think. To set your jumbled thoughts in order. 

It takes a special kind of selflessness to love a hero, you realize. A type you don’t possess, not even nearly. You’ve always been just a little selfish when it came to love. But there’s no room for that when with people like Bakugou Katsuki. 

And that’s okay, you tell yourself. 

It’s a lie. It’s not okay. And the hollow aching in your chest that beats in time with your heart agrees. 

You look down at your phone. 

33 missed calls from Katsu 

You look back towards the setting sun just once. You don’t really know why. Perhaps to find some bravery in the beauty of it, to steal yourself a few extra seconds of this limbo you’ve found yourself in. Where everything is hazy and beautiful and hurts so bad you can hardly breathe. 

It’s not long before you’re biting the inside of your cheek, turning on your heels, and heading home. 

+

You don’t even have your keys fully out of your pocket before the door swings open, with Katuski on the other side looking a bit worse for wear, though you doubt you’re one to talk. 

His eyes are bloodshot and his nose is a bit pink. He’s been crying. You can’t remember the last time you saw him cry. 

(That’s a lie, you realize. You had gotten in the crosshairs of a particularly brutal villain versus hero showdown. The resulting injuries you suffered were severe. You’d apparently been a bit touch and go for a while. When you opened your eyes for the first time after everything, Katsu was right there, looking like hadn’t slept, showered, or eaten for days. Later you found out it’s because he hadn’t left your bedside since you returned from surgery. 

Katsu, you’d croaked out weakly, stretching out a shaking hand toward his face. 

He broke down into sobs so violent they wracked his whole body. It took him over an hour to calm down.)

You got about half a foot through the door before he threw himself at you. Wrapping his arms around you so tight it bordered on painful. He sinks down to the floor. You sink with him. 

He’s sobbing into your shoulder repeating a mantra of, I’m so sorry and I didn’t mean it. Please, please. I didn’t mean it. 

You think about that old saying. What a person says in anger is how they really feel. You don’t necessarily believe that. You yourself have said things out of anger that you in no way meant, that were purely thrown to hurt the person on the other end. 

You want to believe he didn’t mean it, more than anything you do. Because you love him. Because you really do think that Katsu is it for you. That he’s always been it for you. 

You pull away about as far as he’ll let you. 

“Do you love me, Katsuki?” 

The words hang in the air. You feel raw. Like you’re the one who has taken a knife to your own skin and flayed it all open for him. 

You don’t quite know vulnerability until you ask someone if they love you. It’s a different sort of weakness. 

“Yes,” he responds. His voice rough from his tears. “More than anything.”

You watch one last tear fall from his eye.

You hold his face in your hands and wipe it away. Softly. Gently. Lovingly. 

+

You guys are not okay and now that you’ve accepted that you think there’s a chance that one day, you will be. 

[britishassistant]

What happens if a new villain comes to town and starts tearing shit up? Like a new rival shows up, falls in love with yuu, and kidnaps them before enacting a huge take over the city scheme, will the NRC and RSA finally come together for the same goal? Or would it lead to chaotic in-fighting in their individual attempts to rescue the reporter and save the city/stop this jerk face from showing them up only for yuu to break out just so they can knock them all upside the head?

Thank you for the ask, dear anon!

“It’s so simple, love.” The villain coos, one hand cupping Yuu’s chin gently to tilt their face up, “Just accept my proposal, and we won’t need to have any nasty accidents where you and the tarmac down there have a...terminal disagreement.”

Yuu glances down at the drop from where they’ve been “tied” to the top of the skyscraper by the metal beams that the supervillain bent around their body like they were rubber. They think they can see a flock of pigeons flapping by below them. “That’s your idea of a threat? Really? Because I’ve heard worse over breakfast. Sorry, but I really don’t think we have the right chemistry to accept marriage to the likes of you.”

The villain pouts, leaning against the tip of the building as if they were a pair of people chatting on the streets far below, and not one hapless captive tied to an antenna and their captor floating with nary a second thought in midair. “Oh c’mon now love. Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be—you know that I could do far better with your Daddy’s little league than any of those second-rate bozos crowding around you.”

The reporter’s gaze sharpens, the corner of their mouth curling up in a snarl. “Don’t. Refer to them. Like that. They’re each seven times the supervillain you are, at least. Besides, I’d rather be turned into pancake mix on the pavement than do anything that could advance that man’s little projects.”

The villain tuts, coiffed hair ruffled by the breeze as he leans in far closer than Yuu is comfortable with. “Don’t play hard to get, love. So you’ve got Daddy issues, who doesn’t? It’s no reason to get in the way of progress. Maybe you’ll change your mind if I show you exactly what I can offer...”

Yuu recoils as the villain’s tongue forces its way into their mouth when their lips collide with all the force of a car crash, an invasive writhing thing that makes them gag at how far it pushes in as the villain hums greedily at their taste.

And one that the reporter swiftly brings their teeth down on.

Hard.

“FUCK! Ugh—you foul little bitch!!”

The backhand jars the reporter’s skull even as they brace for it, cutting the inside of their mouth and leaving them worried that if they try spitting out the blood gathering there, they’ll lose a tooth along with it.

The villain huffs, one hand carding through his ruffled hair. His tongue is already whole and unblemished, the last indents of their teeth healing as the reporter watches. “I didn’t want to do this, you know. I would’ve gladly taken you to the altar, and had you screaming in our wedding bed. I could’ve made you happy, if you’d just do what you’re told.”

Yuu sneers. “Frankly, I can’t imagine anything more boring.”

They take cold comfort in the fury that burns in the supervillain’s eyes at that.

“Fine. Fine.” The villain floats away, his eyes glowing that same bright red that melted through the wall to Yuu’s bedroom when they were first taken. “I was prepared to do this the nice way. I wanted to do this the nice way. But if you’re going to be such a little bitch about it, then I can always rely on the old fashioned method of succession.”

The laser beams swipe through the block of abandoned offices four stories below where the reporter is tied up.

The top of the building wavers, then begins to crumble forwards.

The villain says something else, probably something mocking and challenging them to get out of this mess because that’s the kind of cliche line that’s always used here, but Yuu can’t hear him over the whistle of the wind in their ears and the scream torn from their throat as they plummet.

They try frantically tug their arms free as their legs are pulled upwards by gravity, try their damndest to squirm free, but it’s no use, they’re not The Prefect right now, don’t even have the fedora on them, they’re Yuu, just Yuu, just helpless reporter Yuu, who can’t break steel beams with their pathetic powerless normal person strength, they’re going to die, they’re going to die, they’re going to die, they’re going to die, they’re going to die, they’re going to die, they’re going to die, they’re going to die, they’re going to die, oh Great Seven, they’re going to die—!

“KING'S ROAR!!!”

There’s a discombobulating moment of freefall as the metal and concrete around them disintegrates into sand.

Then a strong, wiry arm loops around their waist and they’re pinned to a carpet as their rapid descent gradually slows to a stop in midair.

“Need a lift?” They can’t see Snake Charmer’s eyebrows through the mask, but they get the feeling one of them is raised in a wry fashion as he smirks at them.

The reporter lets out a hysterical, shaky laugh that only narrowly escapes becoming a sob, trembling hands seizing onto the two supervillains like they’re lifelines. “Wh-what took y-you so long? Did you ge-get held up in traffic?”

King grumbles, flicking their temple gently as Water Boy laughs gleefully from where he’s steering the carpet. “You could show a little more gratitude, herbivore. Do you know how hard it was to evade all the goody-two-shoes on the way here to save your ass?”

Yuu’s about to reply, when they catch a movement above them out of the corner of their eye.

“INCOMING!!”

Water Boy jerks the flying carpet to the side just in time for the villain to plunge past them fist-first, close enough to see his teeth bared in a furious snarl.

“DRIVE!!” Snake Charmer screams at his lieutenant above the rushing wind as the villain rises back up to try his luck again. Water Boy presses the corners of the carpet forwards and they go into a rollercoaster dive that makes the reporter’s stomach roil in protest.

King unleashes his powers on the two buildings behind them, disintegrating the foundations in hopes that the tonnes of concrete and rebar would be enough to slow the flying brick chasing them. The villain just bursts through the obstacles with nary a broken sweat, and speeds up to the point where Water Boy has to turn the carpet upside down so they don’t get knocked out of the sky.

“Where the fuck is that computer junkie?!?” King yells at Snake Charmer as they draw dangerously close to the road below. “He was supposed to be here hours ago!!”

“How am I supposed to know?!” They can hear Snake Charmer’s heartbeat hammer in his chest from where he’s pinning them to the vehicle in the absence of a seatbelt. “It was the conman who was meant to give him the si—”

Yuu can barely scream a warning in time as the villain looms behind Leona’s head, eyes glowing red and ready.

A rush of flying metal harpies collide with the bastard’s face, effectively pinning him in midair as he struggles to destroy the thousands-strong swarm that obstructs his path to them.

“OPEN FIRE!!” Comes Hermes’ high-pitched cry as a blue beam shoots past them at the center of the robotic maelstrom.

A pair of red lasers rocket out to meet it, almost seeming as though it could push Ortho’s assault back—!

A white-hot streak of lightening descends from the formerly clear sky to where the villain was pinned, disrupting the red eye lasers and allowing Hermes’ beam to make contact.

There’s a hideous scream and the stench of burnt meat.

“We’re coming in too fast!!” Water Boy yells, tugging on the carpet’s tassels until they’re almost vertical. “Ja—I, I don’t know if we’ll slow down in time!!”

Yuu barely hears the curses the other two occupants spit, lunging to try and cover as much of them as they can with their body. Even if they crash, if Yuu can just absorb most of the shock of the landing—!

Small pinpricks of pain latch onto their scalp, their pajamas, the carpet and supervillains beneath them, hundreds of small beating appendages smacking them all in the face as the carpet’s rapid descent slows incrementally.

“Oh boys~?”

Four sets of strong hands seize the front of the carpet, their owners grunting as they attempt to force the carpet’s stop through sheer force. Of course, the continued existence of Newton’s Third Law combined with the reporter’s precarious shielding position means that though the carpet experiences sudden stop, Yuu keeps going at the same high speed that will ensure serious injury once they hit the tarmac.

Or it would do, if they didn’t collide with a solid chest and waiting pair of arms first.

The reporter finds themselves cradled in a nearly crushing grip, their catcher muttering “child of man, child of man,” into the top of their head and a warm thumb swipes over the rapidly darkening bruise on their cheek. The wind picks up around them alarmingly, whipping into a gale.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I’m okay.” Yuu reaches up to pat Tsunotaro’s head soothingly. “See? Just a few scrapes and a little scare. Give me an ice pack and a shower and I’ll be right as rain.”

Tsunotaro doesn’t look very convinced, but at least the wind drops to more of a strong breeze.

“Oi, let ‘em down, you dumb lizard.” King growls behind the reporter, the rings on his tail clattering as it swishes irritably. “We did all the work of saving them, you don’t get to take the rewards.”

Tsunotaro clutches them closer, getting that stubborn look in his eyes that makes Yuu want to groan in exasperation. “No.”

“Why you—!”

“Now, now children, the world works in mysterious ways.” Batman beams. “I’ve always found destiny draws those it finds most suitable together.”

The reporter rolls their eyes as King snarls in response to that remark and Snake Charmer mutters, “I didn’t know ‘destiny’ was what you called interfering old fools.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Snake Charmer climbs off the carpet and straightens his headscarf. “What’s next?”

There’s a crash as the mass of robots pinning the singed villain about three blocks down the street begins to shift, however unwillingly.

“‘Kay, the ‘save the princess’ team barely cleared the parameters for their part of the mission.” Charon’s floating tablet drifts forward, the sounds of frantic tapping on a keyboard almost drowning out his voice. “Now it’s time for the ‘aggro’ and ‘debuff’ teams to move in, Tsuntaro-sshi, Royal-sshi.”

“Understood. I’ll leave the coordinating of the others to you, Charon.” Royal Flush looks up and raises an unimpressed eyebrow at the tall fae. “Well? Are you coming?”

Yuu could almost swear they hear a small grumble as Tsunotaro finally lets them down out of his grasp. He runs his thumb over their injured cheek one last time. “Sebek, Silver. Defend the reporter as you would me.”

“Yes, Tsunotaro-sama!” The two of them chorus.

Royal Flush shakes his head, then reaches out and squeezes Yuu’s hand once. “If anything happens, Three of Clovers and Howl-san will get you somewhere safe. But this shouldn’t take long.”

“Oi, don’t presume to give orders to my minion, Flush.” King growls, inserting himself bodily between the two of them. His mouth curls up in a smirk as he places a proprietary hand on top of their head. “Besides, I’ll be here, won’t I?”

Royal Flush and Tsunotaro narrow their eyes at him, but their attention is claimed by the sound of metal crashing down the street as the villain shrugs off the rubble, the burns on his arms and face healing rapidly as they watch. His eyes flicker over their motley group, before settling on Yuu with laser-precision.

It’s only the arrow that flies into his shoulder, combined with a second lightening bolt striking him from the blue that keeps that metaphor from becoming literal.

Yuu chokes a little at the pressure on their pajama shirt collar as they’re dragged out of the line of fire. From where they’re crouched behind a car, they can see Tsunotaro and Hermes throwing almost everything he’s got as the bastard, while Royal tries to close the distance without ending up attacked himself. They also catch a glimpse of who they think is Leviathan silently gliding closer through the alleys on the far side of the street.

But the villain just won’t stop getting back up. Despite the fact that anyone sane would’ve given up the moment the green flames were broken out, he keeps coming, no matter how many times he gets thrown back.

And he’s clearly getting closer to the reporter he so desperately wants to kill.

“Now what?” Yuu asks, barely able to hear themselves think over the worried growl rumbling from Jack’s chest.

Charon’s muttering to himself as more of his robots fly by overhead. “Need to pin down the rate of regen, if we can get that and surpass it so the ‘debuff’ team can do their thing before the second wave gets here, but what is it?”

The reporter blinks. Well, taking into account the insult, and the backhand...

“He was able to heal his tongue about...four, maybe five seconds after I’d bitten through it? That’s only a rough estimate though, it may’ve been shorter.” They murmur.

The area around them goes very quiet.

“B-bitten through...?” Water Boy asks, hand coming up to his own mouth with a wince.

Yuu scowls. “That creep put it in my mouth when I did not ask him to. Ugh, I would’ve gone for his balls too, but the metal didn’t let me lift my legs that far.”

They huff for a moment at the unfairness of it. Then, “King, stop grinning at me like that.”

“Like what herbivore?” His tone is the picture of innocence, even if the way he’s eying them is most decidedly not.

Snake Charmer ‘accidentally’ kicks him in the shin as the sound of frantic typing erupts from the tablet again. “Setting the Erinyes to follow up on Ortho’s and Tsunotaro-sshi’s attacks within a three point five second time frame...fwe he he he, let’s see how that mob likes this!”

With the clack of what sounds like an enter key, the robots above them begin divebombing the villain in sequence, deliberately targeting the parts of him injured by Tsunotaro and Hermes’ blows.

One of them sacrifices itself in a kamikaze dive that leaves a bleeding scratch on his arm.

The villain roars, the force of his fury almost knocking them over even with how far away their little group is crouched, turning the lasers on every robot within his line of sight.

Of course, this means he stops paying attention to the three supervillains who have been steadily making their way towards him.

“FAIREST ONE OF ALL!”

“IT’S A DEAL!”

“OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!”

The powers hit the villain one after another, his lasers sputtering out with a pained scream. The scratch on his arm doesn’t start healing. Neither does the gash he gets across his face when Poison Queen roundhouse kicks him away with those stilettos of his.

“Was that it?” Leviathan says, his careless facade somewhat ruined by the fact that he wobbles as he begins to levitate. “I must confess I don’t understand what all the tr-trouble was.”

A low whistle by their ear makes Yuu jump. “The bosses can be scary when they wanna be. Remind me never to piss off those three at once.”

The reporter look up to see Ace and Floyd standing behind them. “Ace, wha—where have you been?!”

Floyd giggles and Ace shoots them an evil grin as they chorus, “Sending out party invites~”

Yuu blinks and tries to puzzle out this cryptic phrase, but their attention is swiftly drawn back to the scene of the battle at the sound of manic, unhinged laughter.

“You think you’ve won? You think something like this will stop me?!” The villain cackles, eyes wild and beginning to grow red again despite the way his body tenses and the collar around his neck starts to buckle. “You think that second-rate half-hearted hacks like you can stop someone like me?!? I am your superior!! You all will bend the knee once I snap that ungrateful little bitch’s neck and take my rightful place as head of the League!!! I’ll decimate every last one of those pathetic, moronic heroes who pollute this city like a fungus!! And then, oh , and then I’ll make every last one of you who thought they could get away with this pitiable attempt to stop me—”

“Us? Here to stop you?” Poison Queen tilts his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re supervillains.”

“Stopping the likes of you.” Leviathan proclaims triumphantly, “Is their job.”

The villain stops.

The villain turns.

Over half the top heroes of the Royal Sword Association lead here by the minions meet his gaze.

“Hello.” Niko Niko Neko says with a wide grin.

Yuu isn’t close enough to hear if the villain whimpers, but they almost wish they were.

Almost.

[duckymcdoorknob]

Okay Y’all know I’ve been kinda dead, but I NEED to write this scenario, because it’s parading around my head like a fucking carousel.

This takes place during S1 in the waiting room!

So we all know how Leorio and Gon have a really strong relationship?? Yeah brain go brrrr

Yes it’s hurt/comfort in the form of nightmare comfort, oops. It’s almost like I’m a sucker for that trope or something.

@myreygn idk if you go here, but I know you love that good hurt/comfort shit as much as I do.

𝕆𝕜𝕒𝕪 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕖...

Gon waking up and shooting upward on the couch, gasping in short and harsh breaths. Him barely being aware of his surroundings, only feeling four pairs of eyes on him. panicked cries instantly bubbling up out of him as he stares at his trembling hands.

“Gon…?” a young and gentle voice asking in confusion.

“STAY AWAY!” the green haired boy replying.

Killua being taken aback, not knowing what had caused the sudden panic in his best friend.

“I DON’T WANNA HURT YOU!” aforementioned best friend crying out as sobs ripple from his lungs.

“I’ll help him guys, don’t worry.“

The medical student immediately rushing to the boy’s side, sitting on the floor, then pulling him into his arms, cradling his head and shushing him repeatedly.

Gon trying his absolute damndest to push Leorio away, so fearful that his bad dream would come true. Him whining in protest, his attempts only further driving him into a panicked state.

“Gon, it’s okay. You won’t hurt us, you’re safe, we’re safe.” the tall brunette replying softly, engulfing the boy’s tiny body into his large arms, “I’m right here, you’re alright.”

The green haired boy turning to hide his face in Leorio’s chest, lamenting loudly. Him only being able to babble incoherently, apologies pouring like a never ending deluge.

“You’re safe, Gon… we’re all safe.” The medical student whispering the mantra like a prayer. 

Residual hiccups and gasps emitting from the little guy, him beginning to relax under the soothing touch of one of his most trusted friends.

“There he is… take your time.”

The usual sunshine boy only being able to nod and cuddle up closer to the brunette.

Leorio, as if out of instinct, holding the boy as if he would break, and beginning to sing a song.

“Baby mine, don't you cry… baby mine, dry your eyes.”

Tonpa opening his mouth to make a snarky comment, only stopping when he sees the distraught look on Kurapika’s face.

“Have you no soul? Don’t take this away from Gon, he’s clearly terrified.” The blonde demanding in a low voice.

The green-haired boy slowly starting to calm as he gasps in little breaths.

“Rest your head close to my heart… never to part, baby of mine.”

“If they knew sweet little you, they'd end up loving you too.”

Leorio laying the boy down in his lap, running his hand through Gon’s hair.

“All those same people who scold you”

“What they'd give just for the right to hold you.”

Bright, but teary, amber eyes staring up at Leorio’s own worried ones. Frantic breaths at last turning into gentle ones.

The same amber eyes beginning to slowly flutter open and closed, fighting to stay awake. Gon fearing his dream would return if he slept, pushing himself to stay awake.

“From your head to your toes, you’re not much, goodness knows.”

“But you're so precious to me… sweet as can be, baby of mine.”

The brunette noticing, picking up his friend, and cradling him near his chest once again.

Tiny breaths being heard merely seconds after he finishes his song.

Leorio continuing to hold his friend close to his body, and rocking him gently, as the boy finally sleeps peacefully.

Looking up in surprise as he feels Killua lay against his thigh, and Kurapika settle in between his opened legs.

All four knowing that one thing is for certain: no matter what happens, they’re family.

—————♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎—————

[norcumii]

for the ask meme: Rex/Obi or pairing/characters of choice - Werewolf/vampire AU / Sick/injured / Stranded Due to Inclement Weather / Huddling for warmth

For this trope mashup meme.

This was CLEARLY influenced by seananmcguire's Newsflesh series, which was the last zombie related media I interacted with, and I regret NOTHING.

(Meanwhile, much worldbuilding was done by Dogmatix, who I was foolish enough to let near the plunnies again ^_^)

*****

The problem with zombies, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but muse, was that they stopped thinking. Oh, there was some low-level intelligence left in there, but it was mostly focused on consuming the living. Not tactics, for the most part, not unless the bastards were very fresh or in large enough groups, but that also meant that when some brilliant asshole declared “oh, the zombies wouldn’t/couldn’t ever do that,” no one consulted the zombies.

Thus, an early morning patrol in an area that “never saw more than one or two zombies” turned into a clusterfuck retreat. Though ‘patrol’ was rather a gross overstatement for just the two of them taking an idle walk because some days, Rex was too jittery for sleep and too damn self-sacrificing to admit that he missed early morning runs.

There was always enough fog coming in from the river that they should have been fine.

There also shouldn’t have been an entire pack of at least a dozen, dozen and a half zombies in the area. Where the fuckers had even come from was an unpleasant mystery.

“Rex?” Obi-Wan murmured into the man’s ear. “Are you with me?” he asked as if he couldn’t make out the glacially slow beat of his heart.

Rex groaned, head lolling to nestle further in the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck. He mumbled something that was probably a curse, which left Obi-Wan in the unenviable position of having to close his eyes and take his own steadying breath. Yes, on the one hand he did have an unfairly attractive boyfriend draped across his lap, straddling his hips and feeling like he was several seconds away from some serious necking.

On the other, they were also treed a good thirty feet above a pack of damned zombies, which had already tried seriously munching on Rex, and ‘necking’ could have serious consequences when one of them was an actual vampire.

Speaking of. Obi-Wan shifted in the cautious little jig in an attempt to nudge Rex more to the left. If he could just free up his arm enough, then he could move around while not tossing them off the tree stand or dislodging the thick emergency poncho that was the only thing keeping Rex from turning into a charred crisp. It was not sized for two, but there hadn’t been time to be more careful and drape it over just Rex instead of just plonking it down over the two of them.

“If you refuse to leave base again without your entire damned armor because of this, I’m going to be very put out,” Obi-Wan informed him, getting another incoherent unhappy noise. The armor was good at keeping the soldiers bite free – not that they needed to worry about the zombification business, but it still hurt them and fed the damn undead. It was also effective at keeping the soldiers touch starved and isolated in ways Obi-Wan had difficulty standing.

Another careful shift, and he could just barely dig out one of the small, squishy packs he kept in his jacket for emergencies.

Since his luck was shit, as soon as he pulled it free, the bastard caught on a loose thread, and with his claws he didn’t dare grab too hard for it, and down it tumbled. One of the zombies lunged, snapping at it, and blood exploded all across the remains of the bastard’s face.

Not being too intelligent, the rest of the pack turned on it immediately. Obi-Wan tried to tune out the disgusting carnage, being much more careful on his second attempt. He didn’t have many packets to spare. This one, he managed to juggle up in front of Rex’s face, jostling it a little. “Here. Drink,” he ordered, hoping that would be sufficient. He hated trying to insert the little sippy straws – Anakin had loved juice pouches back as a child, and they’d had similar fiendish straws. Anakin had learned how to insert the little bastards without a problem, but he always asked Obi-Wan to do it for him – because Obi-Wan had never quite managed to master the process, and Anakin was a damned brat.

Bad enough when it was juice.

One way or another, Rex was conscious enough to shift and bite down on the plastic packet. It was always a wonder to watch the soldiers’ regenerative powers at work. As the level of mostly artificial plasma lowered, color drained back into Rex’s face, the nasty burns along truly unfair cheekbones fading as muscle and skin reknit. He could smell the distressing blood-and-raw-meat stench fading, and only then did he start to relax.

When things had started to go to hell around the globe, the powers that be had huddled together around their failing infrastructure and went looking for fantastical solutions to unnatural problems. Obi-Wan could only imagine the levels of exhaustion and terror that had led someone to the conclusion that vampires might be immune to the infections that spread the zombie virus. The sheer potential of that going horribly wrong was at least one movie franchise long, if not several, yet somehow they’d dedicated enough science to make artificial vampires. Oh, technically it wasn’t vampirism, but ‘drank blood, super fast and strong, sunburn to death within minutes, resting vitals dropping down far enough to pass as dead’ was close enough for everyone but petty bureaucrats and pedantic assholes.

Even at the time, Obi-Wan had cynically noted how that meant both a short leash, and a strong vested interest in keeping as many people from going zombie as possible. He’d also noted the infuriating demographics of those who were selected for and survived the process of becoming vampires.

He tried not to think on that much nowadays, because the heightened blood pressure and carnage bothered Rex.

The packet slurped dry in a way that always raised Obi-Wan’s hackles, then Rex blinked up at him a few times in confusion. “You’re fuzzy,” Rex accused.

“That’s called a beard, dear,” Obi-Wan drawled in his most obnoxious tone, pretending he didn’t also have fur sprouting most places, nor the partial muzzle of a transformation enough to give him speed and jumping ability enough to get to one of the safe perches they’d set up weeks ago.

The Powers That Be might have created vampires, but they had also somehow missed the small but stubborn population of entirely naturally occurring werewolves (and affiliated were-creatures) around the world. Some, like Obi-Wan and his pack, were doing their damndest to both keep a low profile and help the poor bastards trying to protect the last of humanity.

Some, like Obi-Wan, might have become unwisely open to certain non-lycanthropes due to unfortunate feelings – not that Obi-Wan was ever about to complain about that.

Either his sarcastic tone or the guttural noises of thwarted zombies sank in, because Rex stiffened and glared down. “Fuck!” he hissed, thighs clenching in a way that Obi-Wan both very much did and very much did not appreciate. His eyes damn well crossed at the wiggle that followed – he could only guess that Rex was going for a weapon that he didn’t have.

“Stop that!” he snarled, letting the wolf out a little more. He needed the muscle and mass to keep Rex in place, longer paws digging into the tree trunk for a slightly more secure hold that was notgroping his idiot boyfriend.

His idiot boyfriend leveled a flat, unimpressed look at him. “Really?” Rex grumped. His eyes flicked down, then back up. “Right now?”

“So sorry, but some of us don’t need to ingest extra blood to get it up, and under less fraught circumstances this might be my idea of a good time.” He tried for a drawl, but it was much more strained than he meant. Oh well, it wasn’t like Rex didn’t know he could be ridiculous. And it really wasn’t intentional.

“Less fraught meaning less zombies?”

“And less daylight.” Obi-Wan didn’t mean for his tone to turn sharp, either, but it did even as he very carefully wrapped his arms tighter around Rex. He made certain not to disturb the poncho, but he, at least, wanted the reassurance. He still wasn’t over the terror of having to go mostly wolf to grab Rex from the pack he was trying to slow down, nor the horror of slinging him over a shoulder to go pelting through the trees. Madcap desperation to find a tree stand before a foggy dawn was not his idea of fun. “Your life is worth a hell of a lot more than an inconvenient hard on.”

Rex huffed a laugh, leaning in to rest his cheek against Obi-Wan’s. “Stop being charming.”

“I’m afraid that’s going to happen approximately never. So sorry.”

For a moment, it was just them – two idiots cuddled together, healthy and alive on a genuinely beautiful, bright Spring morning.

Then a terrible gurgling noise broke the moment, and Rex glanced down at the pack still mingling around the tree, groaning their displeasure at not remembering how to climb. “Was that a zombie?” he asked, as if he damn well didn’t know the truth.

“Shapeshifting burns calories,” Obi-Wan reminded him primly. “As does marathon sprints lugging around idiots like potato sacks.”

“That explains the bruises on my stomach,” he muttered, shifting about to rummage in one of Obi-Wan’s pockets. “Jerky?”

“Please.” All in all, now that matters were calmer, Obi-Wan almost hoped that a rescue would take its sweet time. This was almost nice – all things considered.

~end

[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.

[sombreboy]

Biorhythm (7)

⇢𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

⇢Explicit (18+) ⇢Pairing: JJK & PJM ⇢Genre: Smut, BL, romance, angst, drama, android AU ⇢Word count: 3.4k ⇢Ch.warnings: profanity, dirty talk, cute shower scene, fingering, cum play, so much sexual tension, jk gets more comfortable to dominate his twinkie but also showers him in praise xo

"Like I said, I don't kiss my customers. Anything else, any hot and twisted kink you dream to fulfill...and I'm all yours."

"There's nothing I desire more than this."

"You came so much." The petite blonde arches his back to lift up his butt, joining their sticky bodies once again, sliding pert nipples along one another to break free. "Oh, f-fuck..." he moans as the cock, softened yet still impressively large, slips out of his spent hole. "So much, just spilling out of me." 

Jimin drapes to the side until he falls off the man's lap. He scoots backwards with eyes lusting to go the extra mile, then crawls on all fours until he's bent between his client's thighs. With a flattened tongue, he draws it up the length of the younger man to clean off his cum. Slow, low laps, holding eye contact and humming as the slick fluid disappears between his lips. 

He's going to hell, so why not sate all his desires? 

"Yum," he coos, popping the achy tip into his mouth.

"Ha--gah... shit.." Jungkook can't help but twitch, cock still sensitive and raw between Jimin's plush lips. Now this-- it's a foreign sensation. Once he's finished, that was it, so experiencing the pleasures of hypersensitive nerves... It drove him mad. Initially, he was going to whine for the whore to slow down, or stop even, because his cock felt too sensitive to go on. But he says nothing when this tender ache slowly morphs into a newfound pleasure, stiffening in the smaller man's mouth. 

"Fuck, keep going.." he huffs, tangling his long fingers through Jimin's blonde curls, letting him clean up the mess with his skillful tongue.

Jimin hums around the length and uses the slick of cum and spit to do it with ease. He draws twinges from his client's cock and makes fine work of its thickening length. Always a talented little twink, he works every square inch and swipes away drop by drop of their combined arousal. His tongue slides across the sensitive skin, like a freeform dance, gliding wherever feels right. Up and over the fine slit at the man's tip, laving under the swollen head until it twitches in his mouth. He lifts to take a much needed breath and exposes his tiny tongue to his buyer. 

"All gone," he beams with pride, licking his lips to clean away the last of it. Every client loves to see their whore happily clean their mess, bent over on hands and knees. Jimin tries his damndest to always act before being asked. He's also found, more often than not, that customers are more inclined to give a handsome tip if they don't have to lift a finger or provide aftercare. One of the beautiful perks of paying to fuck--you get what you want, when you want it, and don't have to do a damn thing for the other person. 

"I'll take care of this," Jimin motions to his sullied ass and slips a leg off the bed. If he's going to be used again, he'll need to make room--squeaky clean for the man in charge, providing himself in only the most presentable state. "Then you can play with me some more, baby. How does that sound?"

Jungkook nods in response, sitting back on the sticky sheets. He raises a curious eyebrow, then looks down at himself-- a mess of saliva, with the slight residue of both his own and Jimin's body fluids. 

"Uh, I should clean up a little too." Even if he'd just end up filthy again, the buyer does feel like.. if Jimin cleans up for round two, why wouldn't he as well? "I'll join you." He finally decides, heaving himself off the bed to follow the blonde, placing a guiding palm against the curve of his slender back, leading them towards the luxurious bathroom. 

"There's a bath, or a shower. Which do you prefer?" Jungkook points towards the large Jacuzzi in the room, or towards the shower with frosted glass walls--too extravagant for the common eye, but merely a common thing in the rich man's life.

"Hm," the blonde ponders out loud while hesitantly stepping into the room. The heat of his bare footsteps leave humid little prints on the tile floor as they stand to survey their options. His hands fiddle at his sides, trying to focus on anything but the thrumming in his chest, trying to make a decision. To choose the lesser of evils, since either route will leave him vulnerable to this stranger he's already becoming weak and malleable for. 

"The shower," Jimin decides, and strides away from his client's touch. The warmth of the palm on his spine lingers like a protective shield against the cold. Only when it's gone does he miss the comfort it brought. 

"Holy fu--" The sheer size of the shower catches Jimin off-guard. He's never seen something so grand and luxurious, built just to wash the cum, sweat, and other various substances off of a human body. 

He places a hand on the inside of the frosted glass pane and watches as the moisture of his palm shines through the other side in a clear silhouette. "This thing is for showering? You sure it isn't the latest installment in the museum of modern art or some shit?"

"What?" Jungkook chuckles at the endearing reaction from the man, figuring he's not as desensitized to the luxuries that he encounters on the daily at this point. He's right, though, the size of this shower is way too big for one person--even two. 

"I- yeah, I guess you're right, haha.." The rich man follows, stepping inside to turn it on with the click of a button on the wall--a waterproof screen that seems to control all kinds of things. He chuckles again at the ridiculousness of it. He does like it, though, always a bit of a nerd for the newest tech.. Even if this bathroom has nothing on his personal gadgets at home. 

The water heats up quickly, comfortably and softly falling down from the ceiling like a warm blanket of rain. He quickly washes off the sweat from his body, dark hair clinging to his face. He swoops his bangs away from his eyes and tilts his head back to let the water cleanse his skin, smoothing his palms down his face and to his neck. 

"It's nice though, isn't it?"

"Yeah..." Jimin tries not to gawk openly at the rich man's body as water cascades down his rippling muscles. The man acts as if the simple motion of rinsing his bare skin isn't something to make a fuss over, but to Jimin, it's unsettlingly tempting. 

Jungkook's in fine form, which didn't go amiss for the pretty whore as he was balanced effortlessly and fucked into with force. However, his entire body is on display now, naked and tall. It takes more than a tight swallow for Jimin to step under the sheet of water and join in, but he does it with grace and confidence. 

Not too hot and not too cold--the temperature is just right. The whore keeps his distance as this act isn't a common part of his nightly ritual. He's never stuck around long enough to figure it out. Does he clean first and then present himself for more? Does he offer to wash Jungkook as a form of paid servitude? Or does he take the damn shower and let nature take its course? This is uncommon territory, but he's always up for a challenge. 

"Would you like to watch?" Jimin's lithe hand slides down his cum-streaked torso to rub away the mess and lets the warm water do most of the work. "That's why you came in here, isn't it? Can't take your eyes off me for a second." His lips quirk to a half smile as he swivels his back towards the soaked man. He repeats Jungkook's action by swooping his wet blonde curls from his face, smoothing the water down the back of his head and letting it run down his back in rivulets.

“Mmm.. is it that obvious?” Jungkook’s smile is apparent even in his voice, peeking through his wet eyelashes to get a good look at Jimin’s wet body. He drinks in the view like a parched man, gaze lingering as it travels down to the blondes plump ass, skin rosy from the impact of their bodies smacking together earlier. Anything that gives the rich man proof that he’s only human only grows his infatuation even further. 

“I wouldn’t want to waste a single second where I could be looking at you... so pretty.” He sighs admiringly, smoothing his hands down his own torso to wash the whores cum off, itching to grab at the smaller man instead. But he does like to watch, so he does while cleaning himself up, letting his hand travel further down to stroke himself, already stiffening in his grasp. He cleans it, comfortable in the warmth of the shower, quickly finding that his hand shifts from the purpose of cleaning himself up to pleasing himself to the visuals in front of him instead. “Show me while you clean yourself up... Wanna see how much of my cum is still left inside you..”

Be it the heat of the shower or the heat of the moment, Jimin feels painfully hot behind the ears. Flushed from neck to chest, and yet, very much in his element. At least he doesn't have the man's powerful hands on him--the touch that makes his skin tingle and his cock ache. He'd hate to be caught off-guard again. It seems to get easier and easier to give into this man despite his wallet, and that in itself is a major red flag for the sex worker. Be professional. The thought doesn't mean much, given his occupation, but Jimin thinks it anyhow. Tonight, he needs to remember this job is out of necessity, not indulgence. Although he really can't resist when his client makes such lewd demands. 

Jimin steals a glance from over his shoulder. "Mm, so much. I can feel it inside me." He roams a hand down to his ass and squeezes the plump flesh, tempting to his captivated audience. Bracing the other hand on the glass shower wall, he bends forward and grants a full view of his tight entrance. He uses the residual lubrication of cum to tease in two fingers, which he takes with ease. "Ah--mmf..." Small pitchy moans bounce off the tall glass barrier. "Look, baby. It's all over my fingers, dripping down my legs."

A low moan mixes with the soothing sound of the shower. Jungkook is absolutely lost once again, enchanted by Jimin's alluring and lewd display of himself--showing off the result of the rich man's orgasm that had filled him to the brim. 

"I'm looking, fuck... Is there more?" Jungkook's heavy breaths strains his voice as the wet smacking of his hand grows more prominent, fisting his cock harder to stroke it with intent. He can't take his eyes off of Jimin's hole, watching his own cum dribble down his delicate, toned legs before it's washed down the drain. "Keep going until it's all clean, Jimin." He huffs, wet eyelashes fluttering when his hips twitch from the pleasure he's providing himself, aided with Jimin's visuals. The urge to take a few simple steps forward and bury his needy cock grows stronger by the millisecond, and now all he's patiently, yet tortuously waiting for, is for the blonde to clean up and offer his body once more.

In a contemporary silver dispenser along the wall is a variety of liquid soaps and body washes. Pulsing steadily past his clenching rim, Jimin uses his other hand to pump and lather a creamy berry-scented wash over his skin. He's at the outskirts of the shower spray, just out of reach of the hot water, giving himself a moment to coat every inch of his body in the sweet scent. It builds into a veil of temptation, skewing the view of his strong muscles but still leaving a bold and open view of his fingers as they slip between his cheeks. 

"I-I ahh. It's all gone," he announces through lustful moans, withdrawing his fingers in a splayed scissoring motion to show there’s nothing left. When he slips out entirely, he feels the loss, clenching to hug around something thick and vascular. 

Jimin turns to face his buyer, and he can hear the slick sounds of Jungkook fucking into his own hand. In a pivot, he steps back under the warm sheet of water and saunters towards him slowly, roaming his hands over his chest and down his tummy to wash away the soapy mixture. He purposely avoids touching his own rigid length, although it’s grown rock hard all over again--harder the closer he gets.

Jungkook's gaze is comparable to that of a hungry predator staring down its prey, licking his lips in anticipation. He slows down the motion of his wrist but continues stroking himself to attempt to ease the need for something tighter and warmer to embrace him. 

“Good boy." He praises with a lopsided smile, not able to fully express his joy when pleasure takes over his expressions instead. Lips part in another breathy moan when he squeezes his reddened tip. 

When Jimin gets too close, the rich man gets a proper whiff of the sweet, fruity scent that oozes off of him. Small, canary moans echo from the whore, and it's the last straw for Jungkook. He can't hold himself back from his actions, and reaches out to snake his free hand behind the curve of Jimin's lower back, pulling them close. His thick length presses against Jimin's stomach, still enough space to be able to stroke himself teasingly, the friction of the back of his hand rubbing against the blonde's pretty cock as well. His face inches closer, steamy clouds of desire puffing out of his mouth with every breathy word he speaks. 

"Fuck, I really want to kiss you right now." He groans, looking down Jimin's rosy cheeks, the soft shape of his nose, and lastly, his plush lips. "I know you won't let me, but... Shit, it drives me mad."

"Tsk, poor baby." Jimin's siren eyes reflect his own desire, and he can't help but lean way too close for comfort. He lets his sweet breath intermingle with Jungkook's, lips so close to touching that it's unfathomable it hasn't happened yet. In any normal circumstances, it would have happened in a blink, but he feeds off the man's desperation. Anyone's desperation. It's like a drug to the small siren, feeling once again like he's in control of the moment. 

Jimin turns his head at the last millisecond and kisses down his client's collarbone, groaning gently as the friction between their bodies builds. "If you're aching, Jeon, why don't you show me?" He dares to ask, but anything other than the growing tension is better. His own sexual desire, so thick, you can cut it with a knife. "Like I said, I don't kiss my customers. Anything else, any hot and twisted kink you dream to fulfill...and I'm all yours."

"There's nothing I desire more than this." Jungkook closes his eyes momentarily, focusing on the sensation of Jimin's lips against his neck, collarbones, anywhere the man's soft lips touch is heaven. "Your lips must be the most twisted desire of them all, then... But I can't have it? I'll go crazy." The rich man smooths his large palm down the whore's back, lower and lower over the curve of the plump, fleshy ass, groping it greedily in a tight hold, keeping him in place while grinding into his hand, tip rubbing against Jimin's stomach to sully it with his precum, that's quickly washed down by the shower. "But I suppose there's something else I want as well.." 

Jungkook lets go of his cock and places both his hands on each of Jimin's cheeks, rolling the flesh between his fingers to feel just how soft yet firm it is. He spreads them gently, wishing he could see it.. And he will, soon enough. He allows one hand to get a feel, using his long digit to tease the worked and stretched hole, able to slip it inside without much resistance whatsoever. Still so soft, warm and inviting...

Jimin's eyes fall shut and he places a hand for balance on the man's firm bicep. The steam of the shower engulfs him in a berry-scented cloud of heaven, and for a moment he forgets he's working. That's the beauty of finding an agreeable client--often times work doesn’t feel like work at all. Right now it feels like more of a trip to the spa. 

"This, you can have," the small whore replies. "You've paid plenty for it." He arches his back and presses his squeaky clean chest against the buyer's. Already, he trusts in his intent, surely entranced and relaxed by the luxuries provided. Not only that, the man is persistent on kissing him--a fairly intimate request for a one-night stand. It makes Jimin wonder if he requests the same from all his whores, even if they are robotic, or if perhaps he is something special. 

It's only been one night, if even. The blonde corrects his thought process as he's somehow gotten lost in his own head. Not many clients make him think at all, so this truly is a notable experience. Milk it for what it's worth. He reminds himself to indulge in the moment and take it for what it is. 

"Your f-fingers fill me so well," he compliments, easing his rim back over the man's digits. A groan of satisfaction, and he's rolling his hips to chase after the skilled hand, using it to prepare himself for round two. "I'm still a little sensitive from before, but this feels...a-ahh...it's good."

With eyebrows slowly furrowing with every little whine and gasp rolling off of Jimin’s lips, the buyer is a lost cause yet again. His heart is racing, mind dizzy with the mixture of various desires and emotions. Currently, the one and biggest desire is to make sure the whore soothes the burning ache in his body, and to make him feel so good that any other cock will be inadequate in comparison. He needs Jimin to only want him, even if it is simply their first time meeting... Jungkook didn’t believe in love at first sight, but he figured he was truly proven wrong tonight. 

“What feels better?” He asks, digging a second digit inside with the first, already feeling the slickness of his insides coat him to the knuckle. His other hand greedily gropes at the taut fat of Jimin’s ass, “my fingers?” He pauses, making a point by grinding his heavy cock against Jimin’s, the skin hot and slick. “Or my cock?” Jungkook prods deeper, deliberately trying to find the sweet spot inside with the pad of his fingers, trying to draw more of those soft whimpers from the blonde. His breath trembles, hoping to hear exactly what he wants so he could fuck him again—to make him feel so good his legs grow weak.

Those low seductive words send a shiver down Jimin's spine despite the fact he's bathed under a waterfall of hot water. He rocks his length to match the other, allowing the new lubrication of his dripping swollen tip to speak for itself. 

"Cock," he exhales in a dreamy sigh. "Fingers are amazing, but nothing compares to--Mm...this huge cock." Jimin reaches down to stroke the tempting shaft, feeling the weight of it in his hand and biting his lip tight when it twitches in response. "I miss feeling it inside me. I want it." The little siren does everything but stomp his feet and throw a tantrum for not getting what he desires instantly. He can tell his tenacity excites the rich man too, as he continues to twitch in his palm. 

Jimin dampens his full lips with a swipe of his pink tongue. "Does it miss me too?" It's been only minutes, but the rigidity of the young buyer gives him away too easily.

"Terribly..." Jungkook confesses, although he wouldn't necessarily need to. He guesses the blonde likes to hear it, and who is he to deny him of anything at this point? He'd give Jimin anything he wishes for, he's sure of it. 

"I can't wait, so I'll have to just..." He mimics Jimin's swipe of his tongue over his lips, wishing he could taste them instead of his own. With a swift movement, he withdraws his fingers from Jimin's small gape to spin him around, pressing his chest flush against his back. His cock grows hard and greedy as it sandwiches between plump cheeks. He nuzzles his nose into Jimin's neck, right below his ear. A soft kiss, followed by another, and another, as his heavy breaths grow needier, rutting his hips forward. 

"Say it again, Jimin... That you want me."

© ꜱᴏᴍʙʀᴇʙᴏʏ 2021. Do not repost, edit or translate.

[divine-mistake]

Characters: Bucky Barnes/Reader

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of sex), strong language, pet names, a little angst, talk of past hydra

Word Count: 1162

A/N: happy birthday meg! this is a collaboration with the perfect @loving-bucky-is-easier in celebration of @fragile-heartt's birthday. after you read these letters, go check out the drabbles that follow! please wish meg the happiest of birthdays, because she deserves it for all the love and light she projects into the world!

main masterlist | part two

Bucky,

It’s been cold here. Or maybe it’s just cold without you, because you’re like a goddamn space heater. My fingers are cold and you aren’t here to grab them and squeeze them and warm them up. And my feet are cold, too. I can’t just tuck them under you or tangle my legs with yours until you’re throwing a hissy fit about me not touching you under the blankets with the ice blocks I call feet. You think you’re funny, don’t you? Love to drive me up the wall. Always teasing me, but always wrapping me up in a blanket and carrying me off to bed when I get too tired and can’t stay up watching movies or reading a book while I sit next to you.

I think you got a crush on me, Bucky Barnes.

(Not to be dramatic but I’ve got a crush on you, too.)

Anyway, it’s been cold here, and I know you must think I’m crazy because it’s the middle of summer, but even summer is cold when you aren’t here. I bet wherever you are it’s hot though. Whenever you go on missions in the summer I just always think it must be hot, because you’re hot—like a furnace, you smug asshole—and you’re probably sweaty and miserable too. It’s just proof that it’s better when we’re together, y’know? You keep me warm, I’ll keep you cool. You should come home, Bucky. We can take a walk out in the sunshine to heat up and come home and take a shower to cool down. Or, hell, just take me to bed. My favorite place is always gonna be pressed against you, stealing the warmth right from your skin. Just come home. I think you should come home.

I’ll bring you home myself if I have to.

Wish you would call just so I can hear your voice again. I know you can’t. I know that’s why we write these letters. But I think I’m starting to forget what you sound like and that worries me because if there are only a few things in life that I would pray to a god to keep it would be the image of your face and the sound of your voice and fuck, if I forget about you, I’m scared it means I don’t love you enough. And I do, I really do. Love you, I mean. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be waiting here for you. So I need you to come back, need you to come home, because I can’t forget what my name sounds like from between your teeth.

I’m sleepy now, so I’m gonna go to bed. But I’m gonna stick to my side so I can pretend there’s room for you to slip into the sheets. Gonna leave space so that in case you get home you can crawl into bed with me like you always do. You know what I want for my birthday?

All I really ever want is you.

Love you.

To My Best Girl,

Darlin’, I’m sorry you’re feelin’ so cold. I know what that’s like. So much of my life was cold before you got here. Y’know I don’t remember it well, but back in the 40s, shit was cold then too. We ain’t had these fancy space heaters back then. Too expensive. We’d seal up the windows ‘n the doors ‘n hope the radiators were warm enough to let us sleep. Stevie was always a flight risk, too. In the way that I never knew if his soul was gonna take off from his damn body. I spent a lotta cold nights wide awake, watchin’ him, makin’ sure he wasn’t gonna keel over.

Guess I’ve always had a thing about bein’ awake. You know I struggle at night, ‘specially without you. And it ain’t cold here at night, although I really shouldn’t be tellin’ you that, but I still wish I had your body here to warm me up doll. ‘Cause everything feels cold now—thinkin’ that’s ‘cause the Nazi’s kept me in their freezer for too long.

God, it’s selfish, but bein’ with you always takes the chill off those memories.

You remember the last time we walked around Central Park? It was the fuckin’ middle of goddamn winter in New York and you wore that coat, the one that looks real good on you—I mean, fuck, everything looks good on you, sweetheart—but you refused to wear gloves. Said you didn’t like the feel of the ones you got, and I told you I’d buy you a new pair right then and there, but you just shook your head ‘n shivered ‘n tried to hold my hand like a real trooper. God, I love you even though you’re ‘bout as stubborn as me. Maybe that’s why we go so well together, darlin’.

But here’s the thing—I took your hands and you didn’t even flinch when my vibranium wrist brushed yours. I don’t know if that’s ‘cause you were already freezin’, or if it’s just ‘cause you’re used to it, but it nearly brought me to my knees, baby. So I took my gloves off, in the middle of the street, and I made you put them on, ‘n the whole time you were just gigglin’ and gigglin’ and it’s my favorite sound in the world, y’know. The prettiest sound I’ve ever heard. So pretty that I didn’t think much ‘bout how everyone could see my left hand, I just wanted you to be warm again. Wanted to keep hearing those laughs of yours.

You took my hands both and stuffed ‘em in the pocket of your coat, and we walked around the park and back home just like that. It’s my favorite memory of you, ‘cause I didn’t feel the chill at all that day. Those little giggles of yours kept me warm the whole night, doll.

And fuck—I want ‘em. I wanna hear ‘em again. It’s been so long and I’m so impatient when you’re not mine. When I’m gone ‘n you aren’t in my arms. When I don’t get to wake up ‘n hear you laughin’. I wanna come home, sit at the kitchen table while you pour me coffee and I wanna look at you, look at the way you move. I just wanna catch up on all our lost time.

But shit sweetheart, more than anything, I wanna come home and watch you blow out the candles and make a birthday wish. Don’t think I forgot. I got that date marked down in my heart, y’know. I’m gonna try ‘n get home, baby, I swear it. I’m gonna try my damndest. You don’t gotta bring me home, doll. Not when I’m on my way.

It’s late here too, so I’ll sleep now. ‘Cause when I sleep, I’m dreaming of you, of kissin’ your frame. And it’s the closest I can get to you right now, so I’ll sleep.

I love you.

Bucky