#and the “whatever made daisy burn made me burn” part in the show

[septembersghost]

the silence that only comes when two people understand each other

[ohnoanalien]

Garden

Hi hello! So @lunar-wandering's hiccup hijinks trope is hilarious and @princen-monkie had such a great idea to add to it. I mean, growing flowers when he hiccups? Adorable. It wasn't really asked for, more for lunar to write if anything, but I thought you guys might enjoy it! Soooo...leggo!

---

A silent, warm part of Macaque still wanted Wukong's sunlight. To spend cold nights bundled up between his arms, feeling the soft rock of purring against his un-glamored ears. But those memories and feelings were long gone by now-- or at least, they were supposed to be. It followed him like a curse. It followed him when he woke up. It followed him when MK and Mei showed up at his dojo. And it followed him all the way up Flower Fruit Mountain, tugged along by a favor he owed far, far too long ago to even care at this point.

MK knocked on the door until his fist was a blur. "Sleepoveeer!" 

"Psst! Mac." Mei nudged her elbow to his,  "Pour me the tea! Did you lose a bet? Save the Monkey King from a crazy immortality-killing demon? What gives?"

"...Crushed a peach." Was her old rival’s only reply.

"Crushed a what-now?" Her brow rose, confusion cut off when the door finally opened.

The Monkey King’s energy was a never-ending ball of light. Despite everything, the golden flame inside him never seemed to snuff out. Which made the nervous grin and ruffled fur a strange change of pace. He glanced at the kids beside him. Seems like the flame did shine a little too dimly today, even for the Monkey King's liking.

A large part of him relished at the view. A tiny, insignificant twinge of pain somehow rose above it. "Soooo…what Wukong-brand chaos do we have to deal with today?"

Wukong startled, "Wh-what? Where'd that come from?"

"I dunno," Mei piped up. "You look kinda jumpy.”

"Jumpy? Me? Psshhh!" Wukong waved a dismissive paw, "C'mooon, I'm immortal remember? I'm fi--" He quickly clamped his jaw shut, body jerking silently.

MK narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms tightly to his chest. He circled his mentor for injuries, not missing the way the stone monkey seemed to sweat under the spotlight. "Monkey King."

Sun Wukong winced, chided with all the energy of a disappointed parent. "L-let's just uh. Head inside, alright? I've got snacks."

MK stood silent, holding his ground as his pacing stopped.

"L-look, I'll explain everything. I'm just...I'm still getting used to…" A blush dusted peach-furred cheeks, "Give me a minute. I promise I'll tell--" Another jolt. A paw hovered over his mouth, and glowing pupils darted around the entrance.

Nothing to see here. Yet.

The cub’s concern was lifted with a small smile. "Alright Monkey King. I trust you." The grin immediately widened when a dirty sneaker passed the threshold, bolting inside with a loud whoop. Mei followed suit, energy intertwining in a chorus of cheering. Macaque stepped halfway through the door before slapping the stone monkey's back.

"...Thanks. For inviting me, or whatever." The shadow demon grumbled. Disappearing into the kitchen Wukong stood there, feeling the outline of his old friend's touch burn against his skin. A small hiccup broke the stunned silence and he quickly closed the door behind him, unaware of the patch of daisies that coated the handle.

"Dibs on the Monkey Mech!" Mei cackled, her shadow casting ominously against the light of the old TV. She pressed a button faster than MK could blink.

"Hey, no fair!"

"Excuse me?? You ALWAYS get to play Monkey Mech! You play him in real life!"

"Well! That's! True! But!" MK opened his mouth. Paused. Then heaved a defeated sigh, aiming his sights on Sha Wujing. The Monkey King stayed quiet, but between the jolt of the couch cushions and the claw that nervously tapped his thigh, Macaque felt something familiar brew in his chest.

"Hey." He muttered, "This is kinda against my better judgment but. You feeling alright?"

Wukong flashed nervous fangs, the beat on his thigh tapping ever-faster. "I said I'd tell you guys later and I meant it."

Macaque narrowed his eyes. A sweet, nostalgic scent brushed his nose. It was just on the tip of his tongue, he just needed to--

Oh.

Ohhhhhhh.

A newfound spark lit in Macaque's eyes, and the Monkey King froze on the spot. The idiot was absolutely not going to tell MK. He knew this. He knew Wukong knew this.

So, with all the grace and care of a long-dead advisor, he leaned forward, tails intertwining. "Look. I get it. It's embarrassing."

Aaand three.

Wukong's cheeks flared again, pouting. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Two.

"Oh c'mon, don't be like that." Despite his smirk, an ink black tail gave its ginger counterpart a small squeeze. "You gotta admit at some point  that you have friends now– no one’s gonna judge you. Diyu knows they’ll actually like you more if you let down your guard for like, what, five seconds?"

It was easy to spill his own guts like this. After all, your performance can be pretty believable when your script comes from the heart.

An old friend’s face practically blended with his face markings. "Nope, no way! I’m the Monkey King, I don’t have flaws!"

"Don’t have flaws? Or can’t have flaws? Oh my, is the great king worried the kids might not like it when you don't act like a god 24/7?"

One--

Wukong's eye twitched. "Stop trying to psychoanalyze me! I'm fi--hic!"

The Monkey King slapped a paw over his mouth just as MK paused the game, gasping at the flower crown that blossomed around his headband.

"Whoa!"

"Oooh." Mei felt a silky petal between her fingers, "Pretty!"

"Busted." Macaque sang, wheezing at a sharp smack to the ribs.

Worth it.

"Monkey King!" MK flapped his hands excitedly, "You can make flowers?!"

"'Course he can." Macaque cooed teasingly, pinching a still-burning cheek. He relished  the heat between his claws. "He's a perfect, all-powerful deity. Isn't that right, Wukong?"

"Oh, be qui-- hic!-- quiet." He squeaked mid-lecture, freezing up as a small daisy popped on Mei's jacket collar.

"Awww!" She gushed, "You make flowers when you hiccup? That's so cute!"

"I do n-- hic! not!" The flush spread to the stone monkey’s ears as a small arrangement peppered his coat.

"Yyyep." Macaque snickered, plucking a flower from Wukong's tail, earning a yelp. "Flustered or embarrassed and you get a whole garden. Especially for the people he cares abou-- mmph!" A tail wraps around his mouth, smugly meeting an angry glare. Bite completely defanged as he hiccuped again, flowers spreading across the carpet.

"Will you shut up-- ow! You bit me!" Wukong hissed, pulling away to rub at the offending bite mark.

"I dunno what you're so freaked out over. It looks like your little fanboy doesn't seem to mind." The raven-furred monkey hummed thoughtfully, gaze flicking to their audience.

MK stuck out his tongue in concentration as he braided a few into Mei's bushy pigtails. In return she started weaving a flower crown on her lap. "Two headbands are better than one, right?"

Wukong spluttered, eyes wide. He quickly stood up. "I-I. I'll be right back!" Footsteps padded into the kitchen. Macaque's ear twitched as a hiccup traveled through the thin walls, and Mei giggled as a bouquet filled her pockets.

Hearing the squeak of a faucet, Macaque rolled his eyes, hauling himself upwards. He strolled lazily into the kitchen, leaning against the frame. “Water won't help, dumbass. The only cure is telling MK and Mei why you've got ‘em."

Wukong simply stared his warped mirror down, chugging the drink like it was the last drop of water in a desert.

"It's your funeral." Macaque shrugged, earning a pained wince in return. "...Still too soon?"

All at once, the golden flame seemed to flicker and shrink again, and Sun Wukong stared tiredly into the half-empty cup.

Liu’er Mihou didn't like it when he was silent. He HATED when he was silent. The room suddenly felt a little colder, and a shiver ran up his spine. He pried the cup from a shaky grip, replacing it with a gentle paw. He wondered if it would break into pieces if he made any sudden moves.

"Peaches." Mihou took a breath. "I used to blame you for my death. Now I'm questioning...a lot. You don't have to forgive yourself right away. Buddha knows I would. But give me some credit. The wound's still healing, but if you're willing to be patient for once, let me sort my own shit out." He moved his free claws to his partner's fur, scratching gently at the scalp. "And while you wait, you can do me a favor too and stop putting so much pressure on yourself. Deal?"

Sun Wukong swallowed. He opened his mouth to reply-- interrupted by a squeaky hiccup. A flower crown wrapped around Macaque's head, looping over his ears. Hanging around four more that were invisibly fanned out, flicking at the warm sensation.

"Sorry! Sorry, I-I. I couldn't control-- hic! couldn't control it and-- hey! Stop-- hic! stop laughing!"

[rathologic]

I think I've seen you mention that the original, poorly translated version of patho classic had some lines that where better for being stranger or something like that. Can you give an example or two? Genuinely curious because I don't think I've seen anyone play the original english translation before and only know about it from word of mouth.

there's a Ton... in general I find that 2005 has stronger assertions and more interesting imagery, while Classic HD renders character speech more uniquely at the cost of making the concepts discussed a bit generic and ambiguous. here's four comparisons from scraping my screenshots folder:

from the Grave-digger npc: illustrates the character voice part

2005: The keeper's been feeding worms for five years now. Got grass all over him. The sun makes him happy now. I have yet more sorrow to suffer here.

2015: The caretaker's been pushing up the daisies for, lemmethink, five years now. Turned to grass already, all excited to bask in the sun. Me, I'll have to endure them hardships for a long time still.

katerina's explanation of the pain mechanic: conversely, this is a good show of the stronger language in 2005: "tearing away", "can even" versus "may even help"

2005: It isn't worth tearing away from the living to give to the dead, however, you can tear something away from yourself and will be rendered for that. Whoever helps a dying man leave this world will save it a lot of suffering. Such things are valued especially here. Such care can even atone for murder.

2015: It's not a good idea to try to take away from the living for the sake of the dead—but perhaps you should share a part of yourself with them. It will pay back in spades. He who helps the dying pass on painlessly is sparing the world unnecessary suffering. We respect that here. Being considerate may even help you atone for murder.

the Bachelor's letter: I love the sense of hopelessness in the original... he's already lost and accepted that he's lost and there's only a small chance to salvage anything...

2005: Tomorrow the militarians will be here. They arrive to burn down and destroy. No way to stay aside - it depends on us, whether it would be possible to save here at least something. I have made my choice.

I rise under the banners of dream which has lost the battle with the history. Henceforth all my forces will be devoted to the rescue of the doomed and their affairs - which are also sentenced to death by the logic of evolution. I speak about so-called "Utopians". Four Kains, brothers-architects, my good Eve and, as I hope, Younger Vlad.

If these people survive, probably, I shall manage to rescue one of the most surprising monuments of this world. I do not hope that you will help me - but just do not interfere! Woe are you if even one of my "Utopians" is lost by your fault. I shall fight up to the end for my doomed banner.

2015: The military will be here tomorrow. They come to raze and demolish. Due to this, we can't avoid making the important choice, for it depends on us whether anything here may be saved. My choice has already been made.

I am going to champion the dream that is doomed to lose its battle with history. From now on, I will use whatever agency I have left to save the condemned creators and their creation, whose sentence was spelled out by evolution itself. I am speaking of the so-styled "Utopians." The four Kains, the architect twins, my good Eva, and, hopefully, Vlad the Younger.

If these people survive, I may be able to preserve one of the most fascinating miracles of this world. I don't have much hope for your assistance, but I urge you not to obstruct me! Beware my wrath if any one of my utopians dies! I am going to fight fiercely for my doomed sovereign.

capella to the haruspex: just more fun imagery in the first one!

2005: But you need your victory. Or don't you? Or don't you feel this cage of obligations, this trap that inevitability caught you in? [...] Let us be honourable and kind.

2015: But you need to win. Or don't you? Don't you feel obligated, clenched, trapped by fate? [...] Let us be noble and generous.

the parts where 2005 is Really Bad are also great, such as the little boy npc talking about "the scientist who blasted the world", capella asking "are you bamming me?", and the 11 times that people exclaim "Wao!".

also, I stream playthroughs of the 2005 translation fairly often (including right now: bachelor route at 1pm EST on saturdays), so my twitch channel may have clips illustrating the effect it all has when read out loud :-)

[odinsblog]

So I took an unexpected trip down memory lane today. Something I haven’t thought about for almost two decades…

After work, I decided to avail myself of the nearest happy hour with some acquaintances, and me being me, ofc the conversation eventually turned to politics (generally a no no for me, but what can I say - blame it on the alcohol, right?)

Someone I’ve known for some years now, a white person, abruptly asked me if I had ever seen an actual burning cross before. If I’m being honest here, my initial instinct was to be angry at them because we don’t know each other like that. We were in a large group, and while I know he didn’t intend to, it’s “innocent” questions like that that put Black people on the spot. Kinda like asking the only Black student in a classroom full of white people what their thoughts are on slavery. Don’t get me wrong, some exceptionally gifted Black people would knock that question outta the ballpark. But many of us, caught unawares, might struggle to find all the right words. Even though I’ve taken many such public speaking classes to prepare me for just such an eventuality (extemporaneous public speaking is part of my job, currently), not everyone is prepared to be an on-demand public speaker. And definitely not on such personal subjects.

Anyway, I was actually kinda vibing with the mood in the bar and I didn’t really feel like making a scene, so decided to pull my “friend” aside to answer him.

And here’s where I got dragged down memory lane.

I was in high school. I don’t remember the exact year, but it was before I graduated, so that puts it somewhere (maybe a year or two) before 2002.

I went to the great (racist) state of Alabama, and the city of Shorter, for a week long visit with my then-girlfriend and her folks. Absolutely NOTHING could have prepared me for the abject poverty I had read about but only then witnessed firsthand.

I was born in Florida. I literally have memories of walking blocks and blocks barefoot on hot asphalt to go to the nearest corner store. BUT … Imma city boy at heart. Because of my father’s job, we were constantly moving all up and down the West coast of the country. I’ve lived and gone to schools for at least a year in major metropolitan hubs like NYC, Boston, Raleigh, DC, Hartford, Philly, Atlanta, and Nawlins*, etc. When I arrived in Shorter, it was the first time I had ever seen dirt roads that were the major routes between (Black) inner cities. The very first night when I got there, THE FUCKING SHERIFF (literally the only white person I saw in my week long visit) made it a point to stop by my gf’s moms house because, “I heard we were getting a fancy out of towner here today,” and even though I wasn’t a full grown man yet, I can still remember the feeling of incredulity and utter disbelief I had in those few minutes of being interrogated by the mf sheriff, who btw, arrived at my gf’s moms house with his lights on and sirens blaring. If you’re wondering, yes, he was white, and if I had to do a sketch of him today, it would look EXACTLY like the sheriff from that old tv show with Bo, Luke and Daisy Duke. “Dukes of Hazard,” I think.

And later that evening, the first time I had to go to relieve myself, I asked my hosts where the bathroom was, half asleep , the youngest brother, a kid of about 9 or 10, took me by the hand, led me to the back door, and pointed into the darkness at some weird looking treehouse a few yards from the house’s back door—except there was no tree and whatever it was that I was looking at was on the ground. I said, “No, where is your BATHROOM?,” and still half asleep, again he pointed at the weird looking tree house and said, “That’s it.”

I walked out, still not knowing exactly what to expect when I got closer to whatever it was in their backyard, and when I got close enough to recognize the smell, I stopped dead in my tracks … was this … waitaminute … is this an OUTHOUSE??!! I held my nose and cautiously opened the door, and sure enough, yes: it really was an outhouse. Like for real. In real life. I didn’t want to be rude, but there was no fucking way in hell I was going to take a dump in an outhouse. I went back to the house and awkwardly asked if there was another bathroom, and I was a little bit amused when he said, “Yeah, if you want, I can walk you over to the neighbor’s house and you can use their outhouse.” It turned out that everyone in the hood had outhouses.

I’m not sharing this to dunk on Alabama, it’s just what happened and it was all incredibly jarring for me. Shorter, Alabama was incredibly poor at the time, and there was no possible way for me to be prepared for all of the abject poverty I witnessed firsthand. And, lol, it’s not like I grew up wealthy or anything. But this was the norm for where I was visiting. I would later learn that my gf’s mom sent her daughter to Florida literally for a better life that she couldn’t provide her. My gf lived in Florida with her (comparatively) “very wealthy” aunt and uncle, who lived in what was essentially one step up from the projects. Truly some heartbreaking shit. I was humbled, but this experience gave me perspective like no history book could ever do.

AND YET …… I was a young teenaged boy, who was far away from home with his girlfriend, who I believed I would one day marry, so I somehow managed to brush almost all of that aside, because while my gf’s mom had to work double shifts at the dog track, we were assigned a chaperone—and he was literally thee coolest older cuz’n everrrr. He went out of his way to make sure my gf and I had enough time alone to make out pretty much whenever the mood struck us! Things were a little rougher than I had anticipated, but the time I had alone with my gf made it worth everything.

And then one night, Cuz’n Feaster (yes, that was his real name) took us to a hole in the wall bar. Don’t worry, he didn’t take us inside or give us liquor or anything, he just went inside for about an hour and left two teenaged virgins COMPLETELY alone in the backseat of his Chevy. FOR AN HOUR!!!

And when I tell you that we went all the way, I mean we went ALL the way—to third base!! Hands everywhere exploring everything, heavy kissing and making out! WITHOUT ANY SEX. (We were both two good little Pentecostal kids who had taken a stupid “purity” pledge, what did you expect?)

HA! But I will never forget that night though. I can still hear “Do Me Baby,” by Prince playing on the radio. Good times, man.

But I was telling you about the first time I saw a burning KKK cross, right??

So when cuz’n Feaster finally came out of the “club,” it was super late and dark outside. I remember him and my gf laughing at me because my neck was craned up looking out the window like a dog with the window rolled down. There were absolutely no lights outside on the road. No streetlights, no road lights, no house lights, no nothing except for the headlights and the stars above. I couldn’t believe all the stars I could see. I even recognized part of the Milky Way. It was an amazing sight. An amazing ride home. And an amazing way to top off an amazing night.

I was young, I was in love, I was happy and holding my girl’s hand, the stars were out, and just… Everything was perfect. Perfect.

And that’s when we started getting closer and closer to …. something?? Burning in the middle of an open field? As we got closer and closer, for the second time on my trip, my eyes and my brain recognized what I must be seeing, but my mind couldn’t comprehend or accept what it was: an enormous burning cross in a field, with men in white pointy hoods. It was the Klan!! I couldn’t fucking believe it. This was something that I knew and understood existed, but that was supposed to be history book stuff, right? I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

“Feaster, is that…”

-The Klan? Yup, that’s them. Leave them alone, and they’ll leave you alone.

Pfft! I scoffed. Messing with Black people who aren’t fucking with them is pretty much their job description.

And he and my gf were sO fucking calm about it. They acted like they saw that shit every day and twice on the weekend. BUT MY BLACK ASS WAS FREAKING THE FUCK OUT.

“Feaster, we’re all Black! What if-”

-Calm down. They do that all the time. And even if they wanted to, nobody can catch me in this car.

And my only thought was, we’re all gonna get lynched and die because this fool thinks his car is faster than bullets. We had to drive RIGHT BY that cross. I know it was probably my imagination working triple time, but it looked like it was 100 feet tall. It was less than a football field away, and that cross was burning so bright that it turned nighttime into daylight, disappeared all the stars, and I could very clearly see men in white robes holding guns. I was fucking terrified. Talk about sights you won’t ever forget. And Idk why, but the fact that Feaster and my gf were so damn calm about it just really added that extra something to my freaking out. It was unnerving af.

Me and my gf caught the bus back home to Florida the next day, but yeah, that was the first (but not the last) time I had ever seen a KKK cross before. Such a mix of emotions, that night was.

[roseguided]

@rebourn ASKED , [ 𝑷𝑼𝑩𝑳𝑰𝑪 ]:  𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓  𝒂𝒏𝒅  𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓  𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆  𝒔𝒆𝒙  𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆  𝒑𝒖𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒄. ( 𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒚 > 𝒅𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒚 )

𝐍𝐄𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐗𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 getting into situations like this. both of them know they can’t be good for each other , that billy’s married & has a family yet she still allows him to kiss her , still allows him to peel away the layers of clothing until she’s got nothing else to bare but her skin. they were messy , they were selfish for giving into their carnal & agitating desires knowing full well the kind of devastation it’d wrought if anyone found out. what else could daisy say in justification that would never satisfy anyone ? ( to her he was someone she wanted to hate , but could never bring herself to do it. they were too alike , they created to much tension. he grew on her & god , she wished he hadn’t. she wished she didn’t see so much in him. )

fire in her veins , an electricity exploding out of her chest. their chemistry , how well they worked together , had shined especially tonight. the crowd roared , they changed their names & sang along to every song—that kind of energy seems to ball itself inside of you until it needed to be released. the entire night daisy sang while looking at billy , while touching billy in some way or another. she kept thinking of how she missed the press of his lips , the touch of his hands , the way he sounded when he was needy & nearing the peak they both reached toward. ( flashes of memory like searing hot irons when eye contact was made. memories that felt simultaneously dirty & just for them. no one knew , no one needed to know. what happens backstage stays there , right ? ) the show ends , the band gives a bow , & daisy shoots billy a quick glance & a sneaky nod of her head in the direction of off stage. feet quicken on her way to her dressing room that , thankfully , was farthest away from anyone else’s. waiting for him , daisy taps her foot impatiently on the ground just as door opens & closes quickly: ❛ took you long enough , dunne. ❜

daisy wasted no time in attaching her lips against his , no time is trying to push whatever jacket he’d decided to wear off shoulders & onto the ground. they claw at one another like starved animals , desperately & with this ever burning desire that they got from no one else ! feet kick off the she’d been wearing along with an over jacket made with sparkly fabric & dangling bits on the sleeves. all the while , billy has his hands against her hips pushing her backward until he can wrap his hands under her thighs & seat her , rather roughly , against the makeup vanity. ❛ i couldn’t stop thinking about you the entire night. like this. ❜ is breathed against his mouth , thighs parting when billy’s calloused hands shove the fabric of her dress up over her hips. hands run across billy’s shoulders & into his hair , fingers tangling into curly locks to give a gentle , but firm , tug to expose his throat. painted lips , a dark berry color that night , attach themselves there for a long moment—lips sucking a very obvious hickey against spot they’d just be covered by the shirt he wears. ❛ i want you to fuck me like you always do. i wanna hear it . . how much you like it. ❜ comes her encouragement, head lifting to glance into his eyes , ❛ be a good boy , billy. ❜ a smirk presses against lips & all the while hand is undoing his belt. & when he presses in , a nudge of hips against hers , daisy grips against his hair again as her own head tilts backward. a breathy sigh , satisfaction , exhales from her chest. woman can’t explain it . . it never felt so good when he wasn’t with him. another thrust into her & daisy moans , lips ghosting against his as if she’s going to kiss him. ❛ there you go. just like that . .❜ mouth presses back against his.

[hoe-doroki]

On the Job pt. 2

minors do not interact

warnings: 18+, fuck or die sex pollen (which means there are noncon/dubcon elements), reader is a sex worker, masturbation, face fucking, temperature play, (light) pain play, biting

pairing: todoroki x fem!reader

wc: 3.4k

summary: Super human society has a secret. Aphrodisiac quirks aren’t just the things of porn and fantasy–they’re actually quite common and too often fall into the wrong hands. Heroes, of course, do the best that they can, but when they get hit, they must be taken off the line of duty and someone needs to be able to activate the quirk’s release condition. If they’re single, who might that someone be? Obviously, you.

a/n: Half of me didn’t actually think that I would follow up part one, but I feel a heavy obligation towards my fanfic promises so...this is a weight off my shoulders, lol.

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

You’d gotten the call early today.

Not early in the day—truth be told, you’d hardly known what time it was before picking up the phone. No, you got the call early. As in not last minute. The call saying that your client would have to be transported to the agency from on site and they could tell you the details in the meantime.

The call saying you’d better drive to the agency, because you had to service a hero in an hour.

Now, patience wasn’t usually your virtue of choice—actually you didn’t often tend towards virtues in general. Save perhaps for kindness, which you preferred to deal out on your knees or your back, augmented by praise and the generosity of offering all three of your holes for your clients’ needs. But you were happy to cultivate it today, because an early call meant one thing.

You knew who was coming today.

Your pants were already off and you shirt was pushed up over your breasts as you leisurely played with yourself. You’d licked the tips of your fingers and gotten them started with slow passes over your clit, the other hand pinching your nipple, just a little too hard in prep for a hero who’d probably give it to you rough.

Maybe your reaction wasn’t right. Maybe it wasn’t kind of you to be so relaxed—relaxed and eager, actually—over the news that it was possible that Pro Hero Shouto would die. That he’d been hit with the particularly high stakes brand of aphrodisiac quirk and that if you didn’t trigger the release condition—that was: hot and heavy sex—his heart may very well stop or whatever happened on the other side of these troublesome quirks.

You wouldn’t know. After all, you hadn’t lost a single client yet.

So perhaps that was cold of you. Perhaps it would be more virtuous for you to be worried about him, fretting on the other side of the door with the guards over his ETA.

Then again, as stated: you’d never been one for virtue. Sin was much more fun. And surely it was better to make sure that whenever Shouto did show up, you had a wet pussy that he could waste none of his precious time sinking his cock into.

You groaned at the thought, dipping two fingers from your clit into your cunt and scissoring them. Your head lolled back against the pillows, eyes fluttering closed as you pressed against that front wall the flats of your fingertips, feeling that soppy wetness covering you and beginning to drip down your knuckles.

Yeah, you were ready for him.

In fact, you’d been waiting for Shouto longer than just today. After nabbing the number two pro hero, Dynamight, a few months back, you’d gone ahead and debased yourself  further—how much further was there to go, though, really?—by creating a list of your dream clients. You’d written Dynamight just to check him off, the memory of him cumming in you raw and licking you clean still hot between your thighs.

Your near encyclopedic knowledge of heroes—naturally, you took a healthy interest in your job—had then led you to daydream about Dynamight’s whole hero cohort. You added Red Riot to the list, dreaming of his abs, imagining riding them, teasing sweet whines out of him before backing up and dropping yourself on his cock. You thought of Deku, what it would mean for your ego to nab the number one hero, the flash of jealousy that would rise on his face when you let it slip that you’d already fucked his biggest rival, fucked his goddamn brains out and yours to boot.

Of course, you couldn’t do that. NDAs, after all. You’d already signed away your rights to mentioning anything about what happened to or with Shouto today. Still, you could dream.

Then, of course, your thinking had truly devolved, and you’d thought about the boys being paired up, fighting a villain with an unknown quirk only to be hit by the ever common, ever unknown—thanks to you and your prudence; oops, there was another virtue—aphrodisiac quirk and having to take care of both of them. Spit-roassting, Eiffel Tower, a goddamn daisy chain—anything. Long story short, you’d ended up cumming twice more on your hands before the evening was done.

But also on that list, was Shouto Todoroki.

Who, if you weren’t mistaken, was now on the other side of the door.

After all, these walls weren’t soundproof. It provided quite the show for the lucky guards on the other side, but hey, if you needed to scream for help, they had to be there. By the same coin, you could hear the shuffling on the other side, the footsteps approaching, and the telltale sound of the lock on the door being activated. You pressed your legs together, resting them to the side, hiding your glistening pussy artfully with your legs for the sake of modesty. Everyone knew what was happening here, but you didn’t need to send Shouto’s poor handler back blushing to their colleagues.

Shouto was ushered into the room and, without eye contact, someone yelled to you, “Ready, ma’am?”

“Ready!” you called back, and the door was closed, leaving you alone with the number three hero.

Without modesty, your legs fell open, revealing the mess you’d already made of yourself to Shouto. You dipped the fingers you’d been using into your mouth, and cleaned them dutifully. After all Shouto was still wearing his costume, and you did so hate the agency having to send those to the cleaners with your fluids all over them.

“Hey, bud,” you purred, running a hand slowly up one thigh. “I heard you have a problem.”

Pro Hero Shouto was known for his stoic personality. News conferences and interviews he participated in always consisted of a slow, even tone, and little beyond cold facts. There was something pleasantly mysterious about that, sure, but it didn’t exactly hint that he’d be quick to jump into bed. Sexy voice, though.

But whatever quirk he’d been hit with must have been strong, because the next thing you knew, the index finger from his left hand was tracing down the front of his uniform, cleanly burning a line straight to his already tented crotch. His accessories had already been taken off—his belt, gloves, shoes, even the clasp at his neck had been undone earlier. So there was nothing in his way as he pulled either side of his scorched uniform to the side and off his arms as he approached the bed.

“All business, huh?” you asked, pushing yourself up off your pillows by your forearms, watching as Shouto climbed onto the bed on his knees, finally pulling his jumpsuit down past his crotch.

You’d taken a bet with yourself on the color of his pubes—it’s not like you’d be losing either way if you got to see them. They turned out to be dual-colored, but not the stark red and white of his hair. No, they were more neutral in tone, like yours. Unlike yours, they were nested above a heavy cock, already shining with precum—or actual cum, you didn’t know—at the head.

Shouto didn’t reply to your comment, and you weren’t surprised. Some people went totally nonverbal when hit by sex pollen quirks, and that was fine. You’d rather someone button their lip than ruin the mood by saying something off, after all. All business was fine by you—this was your job, after all. And no matter the size of his mouth, his cock was just fucking right.

You naturally lowered your legs as Shouto began kneeing over you, cock in hand. Your brain only just managed to catch up to what was going on when his legs stopped on either side of your ribs, his leaking cockhead crossing your eyes before you. Automatically, your jaw dropped open, and Shouto’s cock smeared pre against your cheek and the corner of your mouth before sinking deep into your mouth, drawing a first obscene moan out of him.

A humming moan fell out of you too, barely able to take in the taste of Shouto’s cock before it was pressing against the back of your throat, springing tears to your eyes automatically. Something about aphrodisiac quirks so often seemed to play with the taste of these heroes’ cum. No longer was it bitter, but just heady, salty, and more pleasant than it should have been as it coated your tongue and throat. You adored it, and purposefully relaxed your muscles so that you could take more of him in.

Shouto didn’t hold back. With barely half a breath in your lungs, Shouto was thrusting deep in the back of your throat so that your spit dripped from your mouth and smacked wetly between his balls and your chin. You blinked tears out of your eyes and looked up at him to find blown pupils staring back at you, gaze hot and pointed.

There was light behind those eyes. Whatever Shouto was right now, it wasn’t unthinking, not pure instinct. No, the way he was fucking your throat, the way his eyes had you pinned—it was intentional.

Abruptly, Shouto pulled out, a think strand of spit snapping from his dick, cold on your tongue as you panted from the rough treatment. You held your mouth open, expecting him to shove back in once you’d caught your breath, but Shouto seemed to have other plans. He moved down your body, soaked cock again in his palm, and his eyes now set on your pussy. You reached for one of the condoms you’d set out next to you, and held it in front of him.

“Hate to sound like an after-school special, but no glove…”

Shouto paused, eyeing you for just a moment before taking the square and making quick work of it, rolling it over himself.

Then, abruptly, he put a hand on your cheek, drawing your eyes back up to his. “Thank you for your hard work. It does not go unappreciated.”

“What the—”

You were left agog at his statement, wholly unprepared as he swiftly took each of your thighs in one hand, spread them, and plunged in you to the hilt. You gasped high in your chest, your throat still tender from being rawed by Shouto’s dick. He leaned over you, sighing with a relief that doubled then halved the size of his chest. His forehead touched yours in a strange moment of intimacy, and, for a moment, you wondered if that was it. Was that all the release condition took? Penetration? Or had he cum and you just hadn’t noticed?

Were you going to be left to tend to yourself with the bullet vibrator in your glove compartment yet again?

Then Shouto leaned back, looked at you again with those sharp eyes, and began smacking into you with abandon.

“Fuck,” you let out as Shouto’s balls, still wet with your spit, left their mark on your ass with every deep thrust he gave you.

Shouto manhandled your thighs, grabbing them firmly in each hand as he reared back fully on his knees again, taking the lower half of your body with him. You reflexively braced with your arms, and soon they were the only part of you still in contact with the bed, along with your upper back and head still resting on the comfortable stack of pillows.

As was often the case, you’d lost control of the situation. You could barely match Shouto’s thrusts on your own as he repeatedly used his upper body strength to bring you to him, and his lower body strength to send his hips right back in return. If you tried to reach him, your fingertips would barely brush his thighs, much less any other part of him. You were totally at his mercy.

You couldn’t help but eyeball his broad biceps, flexed by holding up the weight of most of your body. And aside from the sweat dripping from his forehead—probably quirk-induced—he was showing little to no strain.

He hadn’t always had muscles like this, you were sure. You couldn’t help but remember pundits sounding off on Shouto’s overreliance on his quirk over physical strength, or the difference between his body and the massive tank that was his father, Endeavor. They’d shown clips of his body—handsome, always handsome—but either Shouto had done a lot of bulking in the last few years or those newscasters had been particularly unkind. Likely both. Because now, drops of sweat were trickling from his body in rivulets; there were no straight paths to go down. A bulging muscle here to dip around, the crease from a flexed ab there to pool in. You were hypnotized by his form, even the thighs straining under the part of his uniform that he hadn’t bothered to burn off.

Your mind was so enraptured by thoughts of Shouto’s body that the sensations happening to yours crept up on you. All at once, you realized that your thighs were burning. Actually, one was burning, and the other was freezing cold, both just under his palms and branching up the fingers currently painting five bruises into each muscle.

A gasp flew out of your mouth and your eyes rolled back as your thighs suddenly began quaking unbidden. Shouto looked down at you, his expression easy save for those passionate eyes, little huffs escaping his slack jaw. “Too much?” he asked.

Your head shook side to side, a vehement no as Shouto dug his fingers even deeper into your flesh, bringing dull throbs of pain so close to where every thrust brought about sharp flashes of pleasure. It felt like a betrayal when he just then loosened his grip to slide his hands up to your knees and hook them over his shoulder. Then those hands, right at the brink of freezing and searing pressed into the meat of your ass as he brought your hips to his with redoubled force.

That first new thrust sent Shouto’s head turning to the side, digging a painful bite into the fleshy part of your calf, making you cry out. A moment later, he let go, his tongue passing over the teeth marks like a salve over a wound.

All the dueling sensations had you close. You’d been teasing yourself for so long before Shouto had even shown up and now he was fucking into you like…well, like his life depended on it.

God, was it wrong to love fuck or die quirks?

You were quick to take a hand and put it back on your aching clit, despite the strain it put on your neck and upper back to lose one arm of support. Part of a good fucking was being folded like a pretzel, and you’d just book a massage appointment tomorrow to deal with it. Surely saving the life of the number three hero was worth a reward.

Shouto’s eyes honed in on your fingers moving rapidly over your clit, and you bet he could feel the twitches of your cunt approaching climax. A hand left your ass and went behind his head to pat your ankles. “Cross them,” he instructed.

Obediently, you crossed your ankles, making your position a bit sturdier as Shouto continued to drive you back onto him with one hand. Then that second hand went to yours, brushing it away with the backs of his knuckles. A surprisingly gentle gesture for the man who was kneading bruises into your ass and biting your leg. Then, with his thumb, he painted one slow, hard, blazing stripe up your clit, and you came instantly.

“Fuck!” you shouted as your back arched in midair, the crown of your head digging into the pillows as your neatly crossed ankles came undone, your thighs shaking and falling from Shouto’s grip. His cock slid out of you as your lower half bounced once on the bed. Before the springs could vault you back, Shouto was on top of you, pressing himself back in your still convulsing cunt.

His thrusts were long, desperate as he breathed into your neck. He mouthed the base of your neck with light bites and suckles—never quite kissing. Your thighs came back up around his hips and his left hand went back to squeezing your thigh. Meanwhile, the right came between your thighs, surprising you as two fingers began prodding at your entrance.

Almost immediately, you could feel the heat of the stretch. Or rather, you would have felt the heat of the stretch, had his fingers not been ice cold against you. You cried out as he curled his fingers forward while his cock kept thrusting straight through you, the hot and cold contrast nearly too much. You wondered how much more intense it would feel if Shouto were unbound by the condom, and you able to bear its full heat.

“Please,” you whimpered as your orgasm began to rise again, too quickly, nearly as sudden as the first one had been, but without all the build up. This one felt like it was going to tear out of you.

Just then, the nips that Shouto had been teasing over your neck went away, and he planted one more good bite on your shoulder as his thrusts became insistent, the fingers petting inside you matched with a cold thumb over your clit. And neither of you could hold on a moment longer.

Shouto groaned low and bone deep in your ear while your voice, still raspy from early, keened in his. Your thighs went tight around his waist and his hand was trapped between you as you both rode out your highs. It took a full minute for your muscles to unwind, and your feet to fall flat to the bed. At that point, Shouto pulled out and rolled over next to you, both of you panting as the sweat dried on your skin.

Shouto pulled the condom off of himself and found a trashcan to toss it into before falling flat on his back again. After a few moments of nothing but heavy breathing, he opened his mouth. “Thank you for your professionalism.”

You snorted. “You’re welcome,” you managed, keeping your laughter at bay. “That’s not what people usually thank me for.”

“Thank you for saving my life?” Shouto tried again, his gaze shifting over to you.

His eyes were still bright, but his gaze less sharp, obscured by dual-colored bangs falling over it. Suddenly, Shouto looked a great deal more innocent than the man who’d been fucking the life out of you just minutes ago. Perhaps an effect of the quirk wearing off, perhaps the effect of unfettered pleasure meeting relief.

“More common, yes,” you replied, unable to keep the smile off your face.

“You’re very good at what you do,” Shouto said, his eyes going to the spot where he’d bitten your shoulder. He circled it with one finger, brows furrowing. “You’re like a hero.”

“Hah,” you returned, looking up at the ceiling. You weren’t going to let this be the moment in your career that made you blush. “Vixen, the orgasm hero. I don’t think it would meet the commission’s guidelines.”

“Perhaps not,” Shouto said, sitting up and pulling up what remained of his costume, frowning at the spot where he’d torn it. You supposed you needn’t have worried about this costume going to the cleaners; the support team would likely toss it and make a replacement.

“There are clothes you can change into in the closet,” you said, pointing to the near invisible door in the back wall.

Shouto waved you away as he stood up. “This will be fine to make it to the locker room with.”

“Suit yourself,” you said as you pushed yourself up, trying to remember where you’d thrown your leggings before you’d started jerking of, grunting as your spine cracked.

Shouto plucked the leggings from near the foot of the bed and tossed them to you before heading towards the door. With his hand on the knob, he turned back and made eye contact with you one last time, the ghost of a smile you’d never seen before on his lips. “Thanks again…Vixen.”

As he closed the door, you could only blame your own impropriety, that utter lack of virtue that you first thought was:

Number two pro hero, Shouto: check.

[sinswithpleasure]

The Playgirl (ft. LOONA's Yves) [Part 2] [Female Reader]

---------------

Hello! I'm back with part 2!

Futa!Yves x Fem Reader, just in case ya forgot.

If you prefer, this is also on AO3 and AFF!

---------------

Yves shows up on time for tutoring, to your surprise.

"Hey baby."

"Don't 'baby' me."

"Sure. Let's start."

"Alright. Open up the textbook. We're starting from the basics. I've printed out some of the prerequisites for this topic, since what you did last time wasn't up to standard due to lack of practice of the basics. Now…"

Yves listens attentively. In fact, things go a bit too smoothly for the both of you. Yves doesn't make any cheeky quip, pull out any pet names, or flirt with anyone that passes by. The womanizing playgirl you knew disappears, and in its place is a focused, dedicated young woman. Sometimes, you even find yourself staring at her work on the problems in front of her. The change is… welcome, to say the least.

Your eyes roam Yves's styled hair, swiped back to expose her forehead, down to her beautiful large eyes, button nose, and full lips.

God, you're gay. Sure, you're literally admiring the beauty of the most insufferable bane of the universe, but you're just so fucking gay and hot people are hot, no matter how irritating they are, so...

When your eyes shift back up, you're met with Yves's smirk.

"See something you like, babe?"

Fuck.

"N-no."

"Liar."

"Fuck off." You rush to change the subject. "How're you doing?"

"I've been done for a while. You would know if you weren't spending the time looking at me."

You refuse to dignify her with a response, checking through the solved problems. With your coaching, Yves manages to get two more questions correct as compared to last time, but she still makes some simple mistakes.

"Okay, here's the issue. In question two…"

---------------

Yves continues to show up for every tutoring session. Somehow, a week passes by, and it is now Friday.

"Good afternoon, babygirl."

"Don't 'babygirl' me. How many times do I have to say it?"

"Mm, whatever. How're you doing?"

"Why do you care?"

Yves pulls out the chair next to you, leaning back on it, resting her legs on the table. She turns to you, grinning.

"Of course I'd care! You're my tutor, and if you don't feel good, you won't be able to teach me properly. If I don't get taught, I won't learn, then I'll fail, and I don't get to win. You know that I always win."

"I'm not sleeping with you."

"That's what you say, but not what you mean."

"Fuck you."

"That's what you'll be doing in five months' time."

"No I won't. Bring out the Calc textbook. We're going through Chapter 4 today."

"Alright, babygirl."

----------------

The change in Yves becomes apparent when she somehow is present earlier than you on Monday morning.

"Yves?"

"Oh, hey babe."

You sigh at the pet name, but having heard her call you that for quite some time now, it doesn't grind your gears as much anymore.

"Don't 'babe' me."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

Yves returns her attention to the papers she is working on, and the familiar math problems catch your eye.

"Calc?"

"Yeah. I promised I'll be the best student. Here I am."

"We'll see about that."

"You're looking at it right now." Yves rises from her chair, and in a flash, she has her arm around your waist, her face inches from yours. "I'm going to win, babygirl."

"G-Get off me!" Your face reddens instantly at the close proximity of your lips to hers. Memories of the chaste kiss Yves planted take front and center stage, and you can't help but look away from Yves.

"You're so pretty."

Yves has her gaze locked on your lips, then to your eyes. She is so close, too close, even. Heat flashes all over your body—every touch Yves leaves on you seems to burn.

"I mean it. You're gorgeous."

"T-Thank you."

The smug smirk never leaves Yves's face. She releases you from her smoldering gaze and grip, but she leaves you with a rapidly beating heart and a large distraction for the day to come.

When class begins, Yves tries to take the time to listen to the professor. However, she is soon back to her old ways, flicking paper balls at classmates and being on her phone more than she listens.

"Yves."

"Yeah, baby?" She meets your gaze, her tongue darting out to moisten her dry lips. Her hands carry on working on moulding another tiny paper ball.

"You're not listening."

"I am!"

"What was the last thing the prof said?"

"Um…"

You roll your eyes.

"Best student, my ass."

"I made that promise to you, not to him."

"You won't learn if you don't listen to him either. How're you going to be the best if you can't even do that?"

"Oh, so that's how it is?"

"That's right." You think hard about the words you want to say next, but maybe… maybe it is worth the risk. After all, Yves is still the bane of your existence, but she could be less of that if she keeps up her effort in trying to learn.

"You don't get to fuck me if you're not the best."

You watch as Yves freezes. She stares at you, her jaw hanging, before she steels her gaze to your eyes, staring deep into your soul.

"So this is how you wanna play, babygirl?"

"Yeah." You can feel your bravado slowly disappearing.

"Fine. I'll listen. I'll play by your rules."

Yves leans to your ear, her breath sending shivers down your spine. Her deep whisper makes you shudder.

"You will be mine at the end of the year, baby. I promise you: I'll ace my exams, and you'll love me for it."

Perhaps provoking your seatmate wasn't the best idea. Now you have to deal with the deep flush on your face and neck, as well as the heat between your legs.

---------------

A month passes.

Every week, the same things go by—tutoring, classes, more tutoring, more classes. However, what changes is how close you and Yves get with each other. By no means were the both of you friends, but she isn't as much of a thorn in your side anymore.

[yves💘 sent a message:]

Baby

I need a bit more help with the math from the last chapter.

Can I see you this weekend?

Saturday, 10am, Seoul U entrance?

[You sent a message:]

Sure.

I'll see you.

[yves💘 sent a message:]

Good.

Dress nicely, baby. It's a date.

[You sent a message:]

Fuck off.

You groan when Yves manages to charm you through text. Outfit ideas are already flowing through your head, and you sink your face into the comfort of your palms. Why do you even care about looking pretty for Yves?⁶

Well… that genuine grin she flashed after a muffled gasp of surprise when you wore a dress once in the past month was gorgeous on her. That was why.

You remember Yves actually having the slightest hint of a blush when looking at you, and she seemed to be a little less flirty that day, opting to take short glances at you when she thought you weren't watching. This newfound attention was… welcome. You couldn't deny feeling shy having Yves check you out. After all, you were just the nerd girl in class, and having this attention from a hot girl you could consider a crush not as much of a pain in your ass felt so good.

-----

Saturday arrives, and here you are, waiting outside Seoul University.

You choose to keep things simple: just a simple button-down dress with daisies printed on the fabric. Your hair is tied up in a cute bun. The pink backpack you carry completes the look, with a nice pair of flats.

The sun isn't too bright, and a cool breeze keeps you comfortable while waiting. You can't help but get nervous, though you know it is irrational to feel so. After all, this is just another study session. However, Yves's text to you earlier in the week keeps flashing across your eyes.

'Dress nicely, baby. It's a date.'

You know this is just a study session. However, a part of you dimly wishes that it isn't, before you hurriedly bash those thoughts with a hammer and then set them on fire.

The revving of a motorbike catches your attention before it zooms down the road. You can see the bike move across the lanes, then slowing to a stop in front of you. The rider, clad in all black leather, complete with jacket and boots, seems to freeze in front of you, before slowly drawing the helmet off their head.

"Hey, babygirl."

Yves grins at you, her eyes sweeping over your body. Her gaze lands on your legs, moving up to your torso, your chest, and then to your eyes and hair.

The next words she mutters are meant to be kept to herself, but you hear her anyway.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous."

Your heart takes off, pounding against your chest. You try to hide the flush on your face by staring at the ground, but you field a gaze to Yves, who looks a bit like a deer caught in headlights. She looks so handsome, so cool, and downright fucking hot at the same time.

Hmm… What would it feel like being pinned under her again?

The intrusive thought you have gets stamped out instantly, but the effect lingers—you can't help but check Yves out, feeling a rush of heat deep within your loins.

Her agreement with you was starting to look more and more appealing. Maybe you do have to teach her well.

"Get on."

"What?"

"Let's go. I gotta park the bike, and the cafe isn't close by. Get on."

Yves hands you a spare black helmet, and you hesitantly take it.

"Don't kill me."

"I won't." She grins. "I like you too much to think about doing that."

Your breath catches in your throat. It's not uncharacteristic of her to say things like that so easily, but maybe… just maybe… you want her to mean it.

You get onto the bike as Yves holds it steady. You don't know where to put your hands, but Yves grabs your arms, pulling them to wrap around her waist.

"Hold on tight, babygirl."

"Okay." You can't believe what's happening right now.

"I'm gonna go."

The engine revs.

-----

Yves trails behind you as both of you make your way to the cafe. Yves is quiet along the way, unlike her usual flirting if she caught you staring at her. When you glance back to her, you see her eyes dart away from you, staring at the floor as she swipes her hair back.

Weird.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah. Never been better, baby." Her reply is unconvincing, especially with a forced grin, but you don't want to really push her for a reply.

"Er… Okay. Sure."

Both of you make your way into the cafe, stopping by the counter to grab the menu. When you sit down at a table, Yves sits across you, her eyes locked onto you as you peruse your options.

"You're staring a lot today, Yves."

"Oh, um, er…" She looks away, her voice soft. This is very unlike her.

"Are you really okay?"

"Yeah, baby. I'm feelin' great, ready to learn, and get good." She leans back, resting her hands on the armrests of her chair.

Oh.

She has a crop top on.

Oh my fucking God, she has abs.

You short circuit.

Two columns of defined muscle greet your eyes, as if to mock you. It wasn't like she was someone you didn't find hot. Now, you have to find out that she also has abs?!

Your mouth dries instantly, and you grab your bottle, taking a swig. The cool liquid quenches your physical thirst, but your mental thirst…

"Don't look too much, babygirl. You might get hypnotized."

Yves tilts your chin up with a finger, moving to lean close to your face.

"My eyes are up here."

Holy fucking shit, she's so fucking hot.

You wonder how you didn't notice them when she had that fishnet and crop top combo. Maybe her pants covered them, maybe you were blinded in your dislike for her. Whatever, you've seen them now. No reason to stop… respectfully staring, especially when you can.

"Look at me."

You meet Yves's smoldering gaze.

"Keep your eyes up here, babygirl." Her warm breath against your lips makes you yearn to lean in and close the gap. "I don't want them anywhere else when they're so beautiful."

You whimper involuntarily, and Yves chuckles.

"You're so fucking pretty, you know that?"

The shame that burns when you squeak and break your gaze to hide in the pretense of reading the menu is something you don't want to admit that you feel coursing through your veins, but it's there. When you lower the menu, Yves has her chin in her palm, her head tilted to the left, a satisfied grin on her features.

"I mean it, baby. You look really pretty today."

"T-Thank you."

"You're welcome. Let's order, I'm starving."

"Okay."

"Oh." Yves leans towards you, lowering the menu to stare into your eyes once more. "You'll get to see what you want to see when I ace the exams. Be patient, babe."

You groan.

-----

That night, you toss and turn on the bed incessantly. Every time you close your eyes, you can feel hot breath across your lips, smell the scent emanating off Yves, and sense her burning gaze on you. Yves's handsome features are burnt deep into your head, and just the thought of her sends your heart pounding and temperature rising.

You think of her abs under her clothes, the defined muscle jumping out to your eyes. She already looks so good, so delicious, and yet, things only go up from here.

The rush of heat between your legs doesn't help things.

You turn again, ignoring your basest desires. Bedtime it is.

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Good Girl, Bad Boy (Pt. 07 of 15)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X Reader

Word count: 1.6 K

Summary: You're the extreme opposite of Billy Hargrove. The good girl, with perfect grades, the child every mother wants to have. And you don't want to have nothing to do with his kind. Ignoring Billy – and his constant, lingering stare – became an habit. But after you're put together for a special school program, you'll have no choice but to get along with him. And soon enough you'll find out that Billy is so much more than just Hawkins' bad boy.

<-Previous part (06)

Next part (08) ->

{Stranger Things Masterlist}

{Dacre Montgomery Masterlist}

×

Don't Go

Billy did threw the keychain away when he got home. It was on the trash can he has in his bedroom, beside the desk. It remained there, among a few school papers for half an hour before he took it again.

It went right back to it's previous place at the nightstand.

Billy is deliberately skipping class. It's the fourth day now, and he doesn't feel like he'll be returning tomorrow.

He leaves everyday at the same time he would for school, and returns after. But he drives to lonely places where he thinks he can run away from his own mind. But it is everywhere he goes.

She is everywhere he goes.

Billy Hargrove did considered going back to his old ways. He even managed to make his way to the phone, ready to call Stacy again. But when he picked up the phone, he caught himself halfway through her number. The number that belongs to the girl he can't stop thinking about. To the girl he can't ruin. Whose life he can't destroy.

She's too good for him, and he knows that. An angel, as stupid as it may sound coming from a asshole like him. Because that's what Billy thinks he is. He'd live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve (Y/N). Her smile, her laughter, her blushing cheeks. Her amazing, sweet scent, that shine in her eyes when she looks at him.

What does that even mean?

Billy is looking at Hawkins, parked on this cliff. (Y/N) would like it, and he wonders if she ever came here. Probably not, since the only people who know this place are those who come here for a hook up. There are a lot of places Billy would like to show her, some of them would take an hour drive through the woods, but it's worth it. He found them soon after getting into town, because he couldn't handle to stay still, so he drove. Pretty much as he's doing now, constantly running away from something that's inside of him.

Sighing, he pushes the car door close. At this time, he should be leaving school, going to her place as always. Today they'd go over the Biology class, if he's not mistaken. (Y/N) loves it, mostly when it's about animals. She loves birds. She didn't had to tell him that, he got it from the way she smiled as the teacher spoke.

These little things, the small details, as silly as they may be, are making him fall harder.

But he can't.

Well, he can.

But not her. Billy knows who he was. Or who he still is. So he knows what people will say about her. They'll call (Y/N) mean names, say she's just another of his sluts. And that's something he can't do, not to her.

But despite knowing this is the right thing to do, it hurts. It hurts that he has to step away from her, for good this time. Billy doesn't know how he'll live from now on without their daily meetings. Without her soft voice, her sweet scent inebriating him every damn time.

He has it bad.

It's only worse because he remembers it clearly, that day at that stupid parlor, how she said they could try. They could wait and see what happens.

That was a chance. A small one, that probably would lead to nothing, but still, a chance. Something he never thought he'd get. Not with (Y/N). But now, he won't even try anymore.

This might be love, he thinks. Putting someone else's well being before his own.

It's a hard thing to acknowledge, but when it's real, there's no way to run from it.

Sighing, Billy starts the car, putting the daisy keychain on the passenger seat. For a moment he sees her image, looking at him and smiling. On the next second, it's gone.

With a weight on his chest, he maneuvers the car, heading back to the hell on Earth he calls home.

“I don't know, Nan. He just... He disappeared. Like smoke in the air and I don't know why.” Sitting shotgun in Nancy's car, you let your heart out. Billy didn't show up at school last week, and not today either. It's been five days already, and he doesn't even answer your calls.

“You know Billy Hargrove, (Y/N). I'm not impressed with this sudden change and neither should you.”

“No, Nan...” Running a hand through your hair, you sigh. “Trust me, Billy... He's not like that. Not with me at least and I know what you'll say. That he lies to get girls but... I've seen how he treats them and so have you. He... He never yelled at me, or called me bad names, he...” You're defending him. The idiot fled with no explanation and still, you're defending him.

“(Y/N), I trust your judgment.” She stops by your place, turning her body towards you. “If what you're saying it true, go after him.”

“I–”

“Look, I get that you don't want to talk about it because you're scared of having feelings for the bad boy, and I'll wait until you're ready, but honestly, I think you know what you feel.”

Looking down at your hands, you blush. “I really like to be around him, Nancy.” Your voice is low and weak, as you admit it to her and to yourself at the same time. “And I miss him.”

“Don't call him, then. Go after him.” She touches your shoulder, smiling. “...Just don't let Steve know Billy is making you sad because you know he'll freak out.”

“God, no!” Giggling, you reach for your bag on the backseat. Steve looks out for you, even now, and it's good to know he has your back. But you definitely don't need the two guys having a fight over some misunderstanding. “Tell him I'm fine. Because I am. I'll... I'll fix things. And if Billy does want to stay away from me for whatever reason... I'll be alright.”

“Good luck and call me if you need anything.”

“I will. Thank you, Nan.” Giving her a hug, you step out of the car, heading inside. “Mom! I'm home!”

“Hi, darling!” She shouts from upstairs. Taking the chance, you run to the phone, quickly dialing Billy's number. It's not the first time you call, and whenever he picks up, you say ‘hello’ and the call is cut. It breaks your heart every time.

“Who's this?” A female voice answers, slightly pissed.

Relieved, you breathe out. “Hi, Max. It's (Y/N).”

“AKA the reason why the shitface has been locked in his bedroom like a jerk.” She speaks fast, and you furrow your eyebrows and giggle. “I think Billy is in love with you or something.”

“What?” Max says as if it's no big deal, as if she didn't made your heart start beating insanely fast, neck and cheeks heating up. “I-I don't think–”

“Billy never gets upset over a girl so...” Her voice fades, and you hear something in the back, wondering if it's Billy. “He has your keychain, by the way. A daisy flower.”

“Keychain?” You don't remember any keychains, so you just sigh, pacing around. “Max, can you do me a favor? I'm going there so don't let Billy go anywhere. And when I ring the door bell, let him answer it, please.”

“Alright. But don't take too long. Neil will be back around eight.”

“I'm going now. Thanks.” And you hang up, heading to the front door. “Mom, I'm going to get Billy!”

“Alright!” Good thing she doens't ask much questions, God bless her for that.

You try not to drive too fast, and you try to tell yourself this is no big deal. But you don't know what will happen. Preparing yourself for a heartbreak sounds good, so you decide to expect the worse.

So when you're parking on the sidewalk in front of Bill'y house, you know what you'll do. You'll put a finger on his face and ask what the hell he's thinking skipping class like that.

When you reach the front door, you realize you've never been here. Well, Billy did dropped his sister a few times before driving back to your place. And then, you're whole act drops. “Damn it.” Pressing the door bell, you wonder if you'd have enough time to just run back to the car and leave. There's a discussion inside the house, with Billy telling Max to get the door, and she refusing. You would have time to run, but you decide to be brave. So you stand your ground, pressing the bell again.

“Damn you, Maxine.” Billy groans, and on the next second the door is violently pulled open.

You freeze, watching as Billy's face drops. “Hi.” You mutter, looking down at your hands, blushing. You shouldn't be here. This is stupid. Whatever Billy said at Scoops Ahoy, it's over. But still, you want to try. To break through him, even if it means you'll be pushed further away. “C-can we talk?”

There's silence, several seconds of silence. And you curse yourself. Billy would never like you. He's the bad boy Nancy warns you about, that girls like you should avoid. Biting your lip, you feel your throat burning, tears wanting to make their way to your eyes.

“Nevermind, I shouldn't have come.” Pushing the words out, you turn on your heels to leave. But Billy grabs your arm, forcing you to stop. “Let go.” You beg, looking back at him. Your heart is breaking and you don't even know why. You just need to be away from Billy right now, and from all these feelings boiling inside you.

“No, please, just... Don't go.” His grip gets loose, and his hand slides from your forearm to your hand, and he holds it, pulling you inside. “Come in.”

Taking a deep breath, you weakly nod, letting him pull you into the house.

×

@multific @clockworkballerina @tina1938 @graciehams @moatsnow @all-the-stars-on-your-skin @captain039 @rebelemilu @vivian-likes-frogs @prettyinpunk85

[daisybeewrites]

July — d.j.

for @dreamcxtcherr ‘s 3k writing challenge. congrats lena!!

word count: 1.8k

warnings: mention of car crash/death, mention of alcohol consumption, daisy cries, i think thats it lmk if not!!

ship: R x daisy johnson

okay y’all… first ever anggstttttt!!! i’m way too excited about it. if you want a fully immersive experience, i recommend listening to july by noah cyrus slowed + reverb

(gif uncredited on pinterest (ugh, i hate that. credit a gif if you use it!! im trying to find the owner)) update — found owner

It was another mission. Another nightmarish fire-fight where you almost lost a limb, almost lost a friend, almost lost your life. Twenty-four hours later and you’re back home, safe.

Well, as safe as you can be when your engagement is on the verge of breaking off.

You stare at the simple ring on your left hand. White gold band, a tiny amethyst set to the left of a diamond. There was a nearly identical one lying next to the sink, the only difference being the switched places of the glittering gems.

You know she didn’t do it purposefully. You had both been exhausted after what was supposed to be an in-and-out mission turned into a hostage situation. Daisy did what she always did as soon as you were home — take off her gauntlets, wash her hands in the sink, grab a snack, and hop into a steaming shower.

But you still can’t stop yourself from staring at it, eyes fixed, hands shaking, breath held and mind racing.

You used to join her. You would wash each other’s hair, ease each other’s sore muscles with delicate touches on tender purple-black bruises. She would lean into you, letting you braid her hair and falling asleep in your arms, drifting into a deep slumber. It was intimate, lovely; it was normal and perfect.

Taking a sip of your room-temperature beer, you slide off the cool granite of the kitchen island. You had a new routine after missions now, you just had to get used to it.

You hear the shower shut off, bare feet pad into your cosy bedroom, and the door shut with a loud creak. The minute squeak of the mattress tells you that Daisy flopped into bed.

A ghost of a smile lights your face. It looks more like a grimace, you think, as you check your distorted reflection in the green glass of your beer bottle. Chucking the empty bottle in the recycling, you run a hand through your dirty, salty hair. The comfy sweats you changed into an hour ago would need to be washed, the dirt still adorning your skin rubbing off on the black material. You exhale before heading down the hall towards the bathroom.

The tiled room is filled with steam, the mirror fogged up so that only a blurry outline of your silhouette could be seen. You are unrecognizable.

How fitting.

The quick, cold shower you take does nothing to ease your mind or body. You wipe the mirror in a circle, taking out a first aid kit.

With all your cuts bandaged and the proper creams Jemma had snuck to you and Daisy applied to your fresh bruises, you headed into the hallway in your towel.

Daisy is standing in the kitchen, lilac lounge shorts you bought her last Christmas showing off her tanned and scarred legs. She looks warm and soft, a very different Daisy than the superhero who had broken a mob boss’ legs just hours before. Her hair is wet and in braids. You frown. You always braid her hair.

If she hears you, she doesn’t turn around, so you take a moment to admire her. Ten seconds, that’s all you give yourself. It was a stressful mission, if you stare too long she might snap. From the back, you can’t see the dark circles you know are there, but you can see the tension in her shoulders and the slight tilt of her head as she ponders what to eat.

You say nothing as you go to the bedroom to change. You find a black pair of SHIELD sweats and an old, holey t-shirt you vaguely remember stealing from Fitz. A presence at the doorway catches your attention.

“Hi,” Daisy says tentatively. Your breath caught in your throat, your lungs holding the air captive until Daisy spoke again.

“I missed you.”

Your eyes widened. Maybe tonight wouldn’t end with one of you on the couch, clutching a six pack while the other cried as quietly as possible, tucked into cold, lonely sheets.

“Braiding my hair, I mean,” She clarified. Her fingers twisted together, rigid posture giving away her nerves.

The air felt humid, as if the open window had suddenly sucked all the AC out and let the mid-summer heat in. Your memory flashes to the last time you and Daisy had a normal, happy conversation.

The edges are fuzzy, but the pure joy in Daisy’s chocolate eyes is clear. Fairy lights strung haphazardly around the living room, a movie playing in the background, your lips on hers. Blankets make a ceiling over your head that shut out the rest of the world, this moment was only for you two. You played with the thin metal band on her ring finger, she ran her hands through her hair. Her matching ring scratched your scalp lightly. You both smile as you pull away. You whisper childhood stories, laugh at the funny parts and offer melancholic smiles at the not-so-lighthearted parts. You were happy.

That night you got the call — Lincoln Campbell, yours and Daisy’s best friend, had wrapped his car around a telephone pole coming off of a long shift at the hospital. His blood alcohol was almost .40.

Eggshells littered the house from the time you got back from the funeral. One wrong word, Daisy would snap and spend hours punching a bag until her fingers bled. You would fill those hours with whatever was closer — wine or your car keys. You pulled yourself out of your head, realizing you should answer her.

“I missed it, too,” You breathed.

Daisy made a small, unintelligible noise before collapsing against the door frame. You froze for only a second, your mind racing through possibilities. Was she bleeding internally? Was it her back again? Did she get shot and not notice until now?

You leap over to her, catching her as she crumbles to the hardwood floor.

A quiet sob wracks her chest. Your hands hover over her slouched back, unsure how to comfort her. At this moment, Daisy feels foreign. Her sudden vulnerability alerts you to how she’s been holding her emotions in for god knows how long.

“Daisy…” You start, hesitantly.

Daisy hiccups loudly, another wave of tears washing over her.

“Tell me to leave, I’ll pack my bags,” Daisy cried, “But I don’t, I-I don’t want to lose you!”

Burning tears gather on your lash line, threatening to fall at her words. You never could stand to see Daisy cry.

Your brows furrow slightly in confusion before you realize what Daisy is talking about. After Lincoln’s death, you two had fought increasingly more often until Daisy locked herself away or spent the night at May’s, and you went for drives until your car ran on empty. On those nights, bottles of wine disappeared from the cabinet without a trace.

Daisy sits up, stamping down her sobs, seemingly resigning herself to the fact that you aren’t going to say anything. Her trembling lip and red eyes pierce your heart. The astronomical distance between you two seems atomic now. You reach out quicker than lightning, shushing her cries and rubbing her back.

“Do you want to go?” You asked after a while. Your knees dig uncomfortably into the floor, your shoulder hurts from the ridges in the doorframe.

Daisy sniffles, her hair falling into her face as she looks away. You crane your neck down, carefully tucking her hair behind her ear.

“You know I’m afraid of change, I guess that’s why we’ve stayed the same,” You sigh, your chest constricting and squeezing the broken glass pieces of your heart.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself to continue, “But if you want to find a new life, someone who loves you better than I do, darling, I understand.”

Daisy is still frozen, stare burning holes in the floor. You’re glad that the two of you are at home, the poly-tectic adaptive materials hidden between the walls keeping the house from collapsing. By the slight groan of the foundation, you can imagine Daisy could bring down a mountain with the amount of pain she’s in.

Which can only mean one thing.

“I’m not enough,” You stated. It wasn’t a question. You glance down, a glint in the low light cast from the lamp on the bedside table catching your eye. She has her ring on…

Daisy finally, finally shakes her head ‘no’. You let go of a breath, guilt building every second that passes. She isn’t happy. You shouldn’t be happy that she’s staying.

“Feels like a lifetime, we’ve been trying to get by while we’re dying inside,” You say, gently.

Daisy snaps her eyes to yours, a desperation in them you recognize as grief.

“So much of the past year has been consumed by grief. We never took time off, we never talked about it. I’ve done a lot of things wrong, loving you being one,” She whispers.

You nod, there is no denying that you each had a part in getting to where you are now. Delicately, you grab her hand. She squeezes it, a rush of small vibrations traveling up your arm. Your chest flutters at the familiar affection.

“So have I,” You assure her. She gradually falls towards you, exhausted. You let her rest her head on your shoulder, her breath evening out as her arms wrap around you. You feel hot tears flow down your face, fall onto her hair. Slowly, you pull Daisy closer to you.

Hours later, the sun peeks over the top of the mountain range in the distance. You had adjusted the two of you sometime around two a.m., no longer able to feel your legs from how the floor cut off your circulation.

Sometime around three, you had gathered the courage to move Daisy to the bed, trying hard not to wake her. She had only turned over and not let go of your hand.

You haven’t slept at all tonight, thoughts spinning until you force yourself to pause and count to ten, only to repeat the pattern.

You know what you have to do. You know what’s best for the both of you. You’ll leave, pack your bags and find a place to stay until you can scrape up enough money to rent an apartment. You’ll go to therapy, learn to live without Lincoln, without Daisy. Eventually, Daisy will heal, too. You both have the team at your backs, no matter what happens. She would be okay.

But you know you won’t. The fear of losing Daisy, of losing your life, your home, yourself stops you. You can’t move on. You can’t move forward.

You know that the big changes it takes to heal could cost you Daisy. So, you stay the same. You give into fear. You’ll never be enough, never love Daisy right, never quite heal fully — and neither will Daisy. But you still stay.

You’ll always stay the same.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ahhhh how was it? did you love it? any feedback? want more? put any thoughts/feelings/questions/concerns in the comments or my ask box!! i really enjoyed writing this and i hope you enjoyed reading it even more!!

<<3

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Out Of Time ~ 126

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,525ish

Summary: Y/N sees her men after saying goodbye to Coulson and the team. Infinity War starts.

Tony’s apartment was dark and quiet, which was extremely unusual for any of Tony’s places of living. 

“Tony?” Y/N called, her body was exhausted. She was trying to hold herself together from also saying goodbye to part of her family. “Tony?”

“The Boss is currently away on a business trip, Agent Rogers,” FRIDAY responded. “I will inform him that you are here.”

“Thanks… Uh, FRIDAY?”

“Yes?”

“I’m… I…”

“If I could step in, it seems like your body is exhausted, running on its last amounts of fuel. May I suggest that you rest? I will order food and work with Mr. Stark to get him here as fast as possible.”

“Okay… I’ll be in Tony’s room.”

~~~

“Y/N?” Tony called. 

When FRIDAY had told him that Y/N was back, Tony quickly ended the meeting he was in and flew home. He had been kept up to date on the SHIELD issues, since they were being broadcast everywhere. The man hunt was on Y/N like nothing it had before. He was concerned and so very worried, Tony was barely making it through the meeting.

“Y/N? Are you there?” He tried again, exiting his suit and searching his apartment.

“Boss,” FRIDAY responded. “She is resting in your room. She came back with extreme exhaustion. I’ve sent her to be and ordered food.”

“Thanks, FRI,” Tony sighed, relieved. 

He quickly, but quietly, made his way up to his room. Opening the door, the light from the hallway illuminated a very asleep Y/N, buried in the covers. He walked over, tucking her into the covers more before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Tony?” She rasped, eyes half opening.

“Go back to sleep,” he urged, brushing his fingers over her cheek. “I’ll let you know when the food’s here.”

She nodded, quickly falling back to sleep. Tony watched her lovingly before changing into something comfier. He was in the living room, waiting for the food, when the elevator dinged. Quickly on guard, Tony stood up defensively. He relaxed slightly when he noticed Peter waltzing in, bags of food.

“Hey, Mr. Stark!” Peter greeted excitedly.

“Hey, kid,” Tony responded. “What ya got there?”

“Oh, FRIDAY told me that you needed me to run and get some food. Even told me where to go and what to go.”

“FRIDAY, huh?” He looked up at the ceiling with a little shake of his head. “We’re going to have a conversation later.”

“Am I intruding on something?”

“No, kid,” Tony sighed. “It’s about time I let you in on a little secret.”

“A secret? What secret?”

“How about you go and get everything set up for three in the kitchen and I’ll be right back?”

“For three? Okay, Mr. Stark!” 

The kid rushed away to the kitchen. Tony headed back to the bed room. He had the urge to leave Y/N sleeping, as she very well needed it, obviously. But she needed to eat as well. He walked over and gently sat next to her.

“Y/N,” he called softly. “Time to wake up.”

“Hmm?” She hummed, stirring from her slumber. 

“Food’s here. And, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Meet?” Y/N was more awake now. “Tony, you know I can’t—“

“They won’t say anything to anyone. I promise.” He grabbed one of her hands and brought it up to his lips for a kiss. “Please?”

“Okay, Tony,” she nodded. Her stomach growled as she threw the covers off of her.

Tony chuckled. “You hungry?”

“A little.” She put her hands out. “A little help.”

Tony smiled and nodded before grabbing her hands. He carefully guided Y/N so that she was standing. Keeping hold of one of Y/N’s hands, Tony began to lead them out of the bedroom. Suddenly, Y/N tripped over her own tired feet.

“Woah, there, honey,” Tony said, steadying her. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Uh… honestly, I don’t remember,” Y/N responded. “It was… I thought happened.”

“And you better plan on telling me all about it after dinner.”

“Yes, Tones.”

Tony wrapped an arm around Y/N’s waist to keep her more steady as they made their way to the kitchen. When they arrived, Y/N saw a teenager, one from the pictures on the wall. He was setting up dinner.

“Mr. Parker,” Tony called, the boy’s head snapped to look at his mentor. The boy was clearly surprised to see who was standing beside Tony. “I’d like you to meet Y/N. Y/N, this is Peter Parker. Or, Spider-Man.”

“Hello, Mr. Parker,” Y/N greeted holding her hand out for the young hero to shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Peter nervously shook Y/N’s hand. “You’re…” He swallowed. “Y-you’re Lady America. I… I fought your brother in Germany.”

“You did, huh?” Y/N gave Tony a look. Tony looked away, not willing to meet her eye. 

“Yeah! I even stole his shield from him.”

“Well, that sounds like an interesting story. I’d love to hear it sometime.”

“Okay!” / “Let’s not.”

“Miss Rogers, I promise I won’t tell anyone about seeing you,” Peter continued as they sat at the table. 

“Thank you, Peter,” Y/N replied. “It means a lot.”

“How was school today, kid?” Tony asked, taking Y/N’s plate and dishing food onto it. “And patrol? Save any cats?”

“School was school. I spent most of science reworking my webbing. And I didn’t save any cats today, Mr. Stark. Just some old ladies crossing the street.”

Y/N honestly enjoyed the dinner with Tony and Peter. It was a sense of normalcy that had disappeared from her life what seemed like ages ago. After dinner was done, Peter needed to go home to get Aunt May. He awkwardly said goodbye before disappearing into the elevator. Y/N leaned back into Tony once Peter was gone. Tony pressed a kiss to the side of her head.

“Coulson’s dying,” Y/N whispered.

“What?” Tony quickly moved so that he was facing Y/N. “How?”

“I don’t know. But, I said goodbye to him and the team. Only final time.”

Tony pulled her in for a hug. “I’m sorry you had to do that,” he said softly. “I know how much they meant to you.”

“He was there when I woke up… he was my first friend.”

“Do the others know? Does Daisy know?”

“No. And I wasn’t meant to find out.”

Tony looked down at Y/N. “What do you need me to do?”

“Hold me.”

So that’s what he did, all night long.

~~~

To say Bucky was anxious would be an understatement. Y/N had been gone for about a week, without a word from her. Shuri had tried to cheer him up, but it was only met with grumpiness. He was beginning to worry that something had happened to her. After that worry crept it, Bucky noticed that T’Challa and the others were keeping something from him.

“What do you know?” Bucky asked, marching into the throne room where T’Challa and his counselors were.

“Leave us,” T’Challa requested, and the others quickly left. “This is about Y/N.”

“What do you know?”

“I will show you.”

T’Challa showed Bucky the news footage of Talbot’s press conference and him getting shot in the head by Daisy, only for Y/N to appear moments later.

“The government will stop at nothing to throw her in Raft,” T’Challa stated. “I have—“

“They won’t waste their time with Raft,” Y/N’s voice came from behind. The men spun around to see her standing there. “They’ve already made it clear that they will kill me on sight.”

After spending time with Tony, Y/N knew she needed to go back to Wakanda to see Bucky. She willingly let Tony make her breakfast before fighting him to let her leave. Luckily, she won.

“But I’m fine,” Y/N continued. “Healed it myself.” Bucky began marching towards her, clearly angry. “What? I’m okay, I pro—“

She was quickly cut off by his lips smashing onto hers. With his only arm, he pulled her into him, keeping her tightly against his chest. Y/N could feel all the worry and frustration that was being poured into the kiss.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Bucky growled against her lips. 

“I’m sorry,” she replied softly. “I really had no choice.”

T’Challa cleared his throat, reminding the two that they were not alone. “I’m glad that you are alright, Y/N,” T’Challa said with a slight smile. “I’m afraid Barnes here was about to burn the whole country down to search for you.”

“The whole country, huh?” She looked at Bucky, teasingly. “Wow.”

“The whole country, no,” Bucky defended. “The whole world, that’s probably about right.”

“Cause that would solve the problem.”

“Anything to get me to you, doll.” He gave you a softer kiss. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. And I’m safe.”

~~~

The next year went by in this weird, fast-slow sort of way. Both Tony and Bucky were as understanding as they could be with the situation Y/N was putting them in. But as time went on, the more frustrated and jealous both men became. Valentine’s Day was honestly the least problematic of any of the holidays. And that was saying something.

Alone, Y/N worked to gain more control and confidence with her abilities. She needed to be ready for whatever was coming. At the start of 2018, the Stones slowly began haunting her dreams, concerning both men greatly. Sleeping was becoming a luxury. The Stones showed to her their powers and the vision Wanda showed her three years previous. They kept telling her to prepare, but not exactly what to prepare for. 

The mounting stress of choosing between the men she loved and the oncoming battle that laid ahead, was enough to make anyone go crazy. But Y/N tried her best to keep an even killed head on her shoulders. Both her men could see that this was all weighing on her, but they did their best (somedays) to take a weight off of her.

Y/N also began to grow more angry at Steve. Though she missed him greatly. She was so mad at him. Mad at him for not reaching out or appearing to not care. She was mad at him for not telling her about Howard’s death and for not being willing to see outside his stubborn ass. For that being there when she lost AJ. But Y/N also missed him terribly. Steve was her twin after all. She would always love him.

It was now currently April and Y/N was up late after having visions of the Reality and Power Stones. And a purple giant. She was alone in her Wakandan bedroom, staring at her hands nervously. She had woken up deciding that she couldn’t wait any longer to choose. A choice needed to be made before what ever was haunting her came. In all honesty, Y/N had known for months, who’d she choose. She was just lying to herself.

With a deep breath, Y/N looked over at her side table. There were two clocks on the table, one with New York’s time and one with Bucky’s. It was almost time for her morning run with Tony. 

“I guess it’s time to make the choice official,” she whispered to herself. “Someone help me.”

~~~

Tony was already waiting at the Compound for Y/N. He had bought the property on the other side of the lake months back so that their dates could be outside more. He put in a dirt path so that they could run in the mornings too. Tony was leaning against a tree, waiting for Y/N, with his fingers running over his knew (detachable) arc reactor. Ever since Y/N began to struggle to sleep at night, he knew he needed to do something to protect them. To protect her. The new arc reactor didn’t get placed without a fight. But Y/N eventually gave in.

“You ready to lose again, tin man?” Y/N teased, appearing through a portal beside him.

“I never mind losing,” Tony smirked. “The view’s great.”

“Perv!” 

Y/N playfully swatted him. Tony grabbed her hands and pulled her into him for a kiss. Something was off about it.

“You okay?” He asked, pulling away.

“Yeah,” she responded, unconvincing. “Just ready for a run.”

She pecked his lips once more before sprinting off. He quickly followed. They ran in silence for a while before Tony started talking, but it wasn’t all making sense to Y/N.

“Slow down, slow down,” Tony requested. “I’m totally not kidding.”

“You’re totally rambling,” Y/N laughed, slowing down to a walking speed.

“No, I’m not.”

“Lost me.”

“Look, you know how you're having a dream, and in the dream you gotta pee?”

“Yeah,” Y/N nodded.

“Okay, and then you're like, 'Oh my god, there's no bathroom, what am I gonna do?', 'Oh! Someone's watching,' ''m gonna go in my pants.’”

“Right. And then you wake up, and in real life you actually have to pee.”

“Yes.”

“Yeah. Everybody has that.”

“Right! That's the point I'm trying to make. Apropos of that, last night, I dreamt, we had a kid.” Y/N stopped turning to face Tony. “So real. We named him after an eccentric uncle. Uh, what was his name?”

“Right… Tony, I think—“

“Morgan! Morgan.” He snapped his fingers.

“So you woke up, and thought that we were…”

“Expecting.”

“Really?”

“Yes?”

“No,” Y/N shook her head. “We haven’t even had sex in a year. How could that me possible?”

“I had a dream about it. It was so real.”

“I’m sure it was, Tony. But I haven’t even—“

“I know, I know. You haven’t chosen yet. But just think about it, will ya? My dream can’t be far off.”

Y/N sighed and untied the jacket sleeves around Tony’s neck. “Also, if you wanted to have a kid, you wouldn’t have done that.” She tapped the new reactor.

“I'm glad you brought this up, 'cause it's nothing. It's just a housing unit for nano particles.”

“It's not helping your case, OK?”

“No, no, it's an attachment, it's not a—“

“You don’t need that.”

“I know. I had the surgery. I'm just trying to protect us. The future uses, and that's it. Just in case there's a monster in the closet, instead of, you know…”

“Shirts?"

“You know me so well. You finish all my sentences.”

“You should have shirts in your closet.”

“I should have more of your shirts in my closet.”

“Tony—“

“I know, getting ahead of myself again. You know what there should be no more surprises. Let’s have a nice dinner tonight and we should have no more surprises. I should promise you.”

“Actually, Tony, I really need to talk to you about something. I made—“

“Tony Stark,” a man with a red cloak appeared a few feet away. There was an orange portal behind him. “Y/N Rogers, I’m Doctor Stephen Strange. And I need you both to come with me.”

next chapter >

I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS AND SUCH!!! FEEL FREE TO SEND IN AN ASK OR DM, OR YOU CAN REBLOG OR COMMENT. THANKS FOR READING!

NOTES: from now on the taglist when be added by a reblog. I will reblog it using my second account, @just-dreaming-marvel-2​​. Just so that my main page doesn’t get too cluttered.

If you want to be added to the tag list, please dm me or send in an ask.

[dabisburntsack]

Pay attention to me

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Pairing(s): Shigarki Tomura x GN!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Synopsis: Restless from your lack of attention to him in quarantine, Shigaraki takes matters into his own hands.

Wordcount: 2162

This is apart of a quarantine fluff collab done with the crackhead sanctuary discord server! Can’t wait to see how everyone’s fics turned out! This was fun to do I hope you all enjoy ٩( ᐛ )و

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Shigaraki was secretly enthusiastic after a mass pandemic had broken out in Japan, usually the two of you would not be able to see much of each other due to the danger of being caught with your profession as a pro hero and his as an extremely wanted villain. Now you had no choice other than to be wrapped in each other's embrace as chaos roamed outside the solid walls of your modern apartment. No one was there to judge you guys being together and the usual paparazzi outside of your residence had been resolved as people were not stepping foot outside.

However, what he didn’t expect was for the hero commision to still call you forward as an essential worker. Villains it seemed were still up to no good, even though Shigaraki had told the rest of the league to stay put and inside; lesser known villains had decided to make their own names known in the country's vulnerable state. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the times you were home you had steadily grown yourself attached to the retro nintendo switch gaming console. What the fuck was so good about animal crossing anyway? Did you enjoy spending time with that rat Tom Nook instead of him?!

Shigaraki was used to him being the gamer between the two of you, he enjoyed it as you pleaded for him to get off whatever device he was on at the time by smothering him with kisses till he gave into you. Sometimes he would even do so on purpose to get affection from you. Being on the other end of it though, was something he quickly learned he did not enjoy. Not being one to initiate intimate gestures in the relationship, he just watched you hoping you would notice him sulking and give in to him.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Sunday morning. No hero duties, just you and him, sleeping in till noon; but as his hand caught the coldness coming from your side of the bed, Shigaraki buried his head into his pillow and groaned. He could hear your padded footsteps going downstairs. Rolling over he yawned into his hand before checking the time, 8:45am. Why were you awake at 8:45am. Why was he awake at 8:45am on a Sunday morning.

Throwing off the sheets he winced as his feet hit the cold wooden floor of your shared bedroom, he was going to have to drag you back to your cocoon pile himself. Muttering, he walked his way downstairs before peaking into the living room to see you huddled on the

couch, switch in hand. Of course you were up so early just to go on that damn game.  

“Player two, what the fuck are you doing awake right now”

Your head snapped up like a deer caught in headlights as you saw your boyfriend's tired face leaning beside the door frame. Sheepishly rubbing at your neck you pouted up at him, “But Daisy Mae is selling turnips”

“Daisy who is doing what???”

“Daisy mae” You repeated bringing your switch up so he could look at what you were referring to “look at her she's so adorable, I have to buy from her I can’t make her sad by not buying”

Shigaraki looked down to your screen and blanked. There on screen was an orange little pig with a hat full of turnips, and standing by its side smiling brightly was your avatar. You got out of bed for a pig??? A pig selling turnips from its head...and was that a snot drop hanging from its snout?!!

He looked back up at you and if emojis existed in real life, he swore you would be the pleading eyes one with the face you were pulling at him. Ok, but who gave you the right to be so fucking adorable, he was meant to be mad at you for having woken him up so early!! Over a PIG!!!

“And why do you have to ‘buy turnips from daisy mae’ so early in the morning, you can do it later on”

“You can only buy before noon” You pleaded at him “Come on who could resist look how cute she is”

“I can be cute” Shigaraki huffed under his breath “Come back to bed, I’m tired and cold”

“Ok ok after this I will, you go warm it back up for me” You had already started slotting your switch in the port that hooked it up to the TV.

Shigaraki puffed out a breath but obliged and made his way back upstairs, waiting upon your arrival. Sliding back between the covers he peered at the doorway to your bedroom patiently to see when you would come back, however something about the warmth of the sheets and the way the mattress moulded perfectly into his back pulled him back into slumber in an instant however much he tried to fight it.

When he awoke again it was 11:15 and he was content to see you rolled up on his chest. He breathed out slowly, tucking a hair strand behind your ear, before kissing the top of your head.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Waking and sleeping at ridiculous times had seemed to turn into the norm for you after that however, as he once again caught you out of bed at 3am this time, when he awoke from feeling the coldness of your body not pressed up against his. He blearily rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and thumb before seeing a brief light flickering from downstairs through the cracks of your bedroom door. He threw his head back and protested, muttering under his breath on how much of a hassle you were, before pulling off the covers and making his way downstairs. Blinking at going into the light he found you once again curled up on the sofa, controller in hand and staring avidly at the TV screen.

“Y/N.”

“Yes?” You replied not taking your eyes off the screen.

“What are you doing awake?”

Well at least you had the dignity of alighting a blush that made its way up your neck and across your cheeks. You meekly turned your gaze to him ready to spring up your puppy eyes but he looked back at you with a deadpan expression. Still, you tried your luck by pouting at him and blinking your eyes in mock innocence.

“But shiggy there’s a meteor shower today and I had to watch it”

“It's a game, can't you do it in the morning?” Shigaraki sighed, being once more brought to weakness by your gaze. He couldn’t resist you, not when you were looking at him like that paired in an oversized t-shirt with a blanket draped over your head. HIS oversized t-shirt might he add.

“I have to do it nowww, the stars only come between 7pm and 4am”

Honestly he didn’t know how to respond, you really stayed up to watch a pixelated star fall from the sky. Is this how bad he was? He shook his head but couldn’t help at the slight smile that tugged at his lips. Making his way over to you he took off your blanket before wrapping it round the both of you.

“Lets see this damn star that has you awake all night then”

You beamed at him. He melted.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

With the days going by of you ignoring him for your switch, Shigaraki thought doing the same to you would be a good idea. But as it went on he couldn’t bring himself to carry on, he wanted your attention, and he had just thought of a way to achieve his goals.

Basing his plan on the night a few weeks ago when you had stayed up for that meteor shower, he dragged out an assortment of blankets to the old trampoline you had in your garden. Since that night he had decided if you so badly wanted to stay up for a stupid capatilist racoon, you could do so with him too and experience the real thing. He had gone ahead and checked the weather for when clear skies would take place for you guys to stargaze in your back garden, along with a nice dinner beforehand. He had already started cooking back when quarantine had begun trying to ease the load off you as you worked on your hero duties, and although not the best, his food was the least bit savagable now. (Although this did include multiple temper tantrums on his behalf and having to call Kurogiri to calm himself down.)

Coming back inside he checked on the curry he had left to simmer only to find it was burning. FUCK. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, ten minutes away he looked up in exasperation at the mess in front of him, this wasn’t going well. The curry was burnt, the salad was old and the flowers he got you had disintegrated when he tried to move them into a vase as he wasn’t wearing his gloves earlier on. Maybe it wasn’t too late for Kurogiri to teleport some decent food his way…

As the door chimed from your arrival he hurriedly put down the plates and scratched at his neck, he didn’t usually do huge gestures in the relationship between you guys, that was more your thing. He showed his love in small ways, he liked touching you, having at least one body part pressed against you eased his nerves. Whether it be your thighs brushing against each other as you sat next to each other or feeling the warmth of your hand against his leathered one it never failed to put his mind at ease. This was long overdue, he wanted to show you how much he cared, if things would just go his fucking way the once.

“I’m home!” You called out, he knew your routine by now, you would go hop in the shower as to decontaminate yourself from any germs and then come eat with him before going off to spend hours on your switch. Well not tonight, you were his for tonight.

“Welcome home, brat”

His attention turned back to the utter chaos in front of him and he brought his forefinger and thumb up to massage the bridge of his nose. Picking up his phone with all fingers but his pinky he dialled Kurogiri’s number but stopped in his tracks as he heard a gasp in the room.

“Shiggy?”

His ears felt hot as he turned to face you, you were looking at the small dining table set up in the kitchen and looked up at him with tears in your eyes.

Shit.

His cooking really was so bad he had made you cry fuck this wasn-

“Shiggy you did this for me?”

...

“Well who else would I do it for”

The air was knocked out of his lungs as you flung yourself into his arms, he was still fearful whenever you made sudden movements on him as of his quirk but he relaxed as he noticed the leather adoring his hands was there.

“I had a bad day at work today, I missed you so much all day”

Shigarakis arms wrapped back around you as he buried his face into your hair. “I missed my player two aswell”

Staying in each other's embrace, Shigaraki hummed in content. “I burnt the curry by the way”

“It's the thought that counts, I’m sure it isn’t so bad”

It was bad. Shigaraki seemed to have missed out a lot of steps and he ended up calling Kurogiri after all, after eating and showering together (you had jumped straight into Shigarakis arms and needed to be clean from your day of work) Shigaraki grabbed your hand and tugged you outside.

“I thought we could stargaze together…” Shigaraki muttered out his ears turning red yet again. “Like you do with bob rook”

…

“Tom nook?” You laughed

“Yes the dumb racoon boy”

“Are you jealous of said dumb racoon boy?” You asked, amused.

“No” He replied too quickly, and was silent for a while before speaking up “You’ve been playing on that game a lot recently though”

“Finally got a taste of your own Medicine, have you?”

“I’m not as bad as you”

“I beg to differ”

He flicked the top of your forehead as you giggled and laid back in the nest he had built on your trampoline, before staring up at the sky. It really was a beautiful night to stargaze, the weather was pleasant too, with the warm summer air and no breeze. Shigaraki laid down next to you, laced his fingers with yours and brought them up to his lips, placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles.

“I love you”

“More than Tom Nook?”

Pretending to think about it you hummed. “Mmmm yes I think so”

“You think so?”

“Of course I love you more than Tom Nook dummy”

Shigaraki was quiet for a while before softly muttering out “I love you too”

[capitainelevi]

For @pufferssss, happy late birthday!! ❤️

Waiting for sunrise

Words: 2968

The first and last time Levi visits Petra`s grave.

Levi arranged his cravat again, self-conscious at the thought of visiting her for the first time. He stood frozen in place, with a bouquet of orange lilies in his hand. Her favorite flowers. Just a mere coincidence, not an effort on his part, of course. He never imagined he would visit her here so early on. Staring at the newly carved headstone, he tried to set aside the nagging thought that the earth underneath it only held an empty coffin.

What should he say to her?

“Your dad came to see me after the mission, and I had to tell him that I don`t even have a body to bring back home to him”?

“I failed in getting justice for you and the guys”?

“I miss your tea”?

The only words he could spurt out were “Hi, Ral.”

He groaned at his awkwardness and settled on presenting her with the flowers he chose for her. He could feel his hands getting sweaty from anxiousness, much to his confusion. He had nothing to be nervous about. It was just Petra in front of him. His subordinate. Petra, who fought by his side for years. Who swore to devote her life to him. Just his Petra.

Levi sat on the ground next to the gravestone, unconcerned about the dirt he would have to clean out of his clothes at the end of the day. “I hope you can hear me, wherever you are. I like to think you`re listening.” He never spent much time concerning himself with death and the life that supposedly followed it, but ever since losing them as well, he found himself wishing they were happy. He knew that those brats would be wasting the rest they earned to look over him, no matter how much he objected.

“I hope you like the spot I chose for you. It`s sunny, but you also get some shade from the tree. I thought you`d like listening to birds singing." On their free days, he could always spot Petra with a book on her lap, under the shade of the oak tree in their yard. He never dared to bother her, worried he would disturb the angelic aura of the image, content with being fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of it. He never dared get so close to the sun.

"I`m going to bring some flowers we can plant next time I visit. I know you had a green thumb.” Levi omitted in letting her know it only took a month for the plant in his office that she cared for years to wither away in his care. Or maybe it just knew Petra would never be back.

Levi closed his eyes, lulled to sleep by the quietness around him and the feeling of the afternoon sky on his skin, considering if someone would bother him if he moved to the tree trunk to nap. He craved some peace.

“I`m sorry I didn`t get to come earlier. You missed a real shit show in Sina.” He took a glance at his wounded leg and sighed. “It`s not as bad as it looks, no need to mother me.”

Without raising his eyes from the ground in front of him, Levi admitted to her in a hoarse voice- “I kept calling out orders for you, and Erwin had to remind me that you`re not here anymore. Like I could ever fucking forget.”

Despite the emptiness in his chest, he went on- “Eren misses you. I really wish you could help me manage that brat. You always knew what to say to him. Hange misses you. I… everyone misses you.” They left a hole behind that he doubted he would ever patch.

Levi cleaned off some dust from her headstone before promising her he would be back as soon as he could.

As promised, the second time Levi visited her, he got her some daisies to plant next to her resting place. After wiping his hands clean on a rag, Levi sat down against the tree trunk to admire his work. He was sure Petra would be proud of the progress he made regarding gardening. He had even gotten a new plant to replace the one on his desk.

“Tch, not talkative today, are we? That`s alright, you know I always talk a lot.”

Visiting her calmed his restless spirit. His anxiety over the plan, his worry over Erwin`s wellbeing, his longing to have his old squad by his side again, they were all pilling up for the last few days. Levi found himself losing even more sleep lately. But he would never tell her that since it would most likely end in another one of her scoldings.

“You`re missing it, the final push. The brat`s finally going to do it, he`s going to seal the Wall.” Levi hoped that they would be able to carry out the mission. That his squad`s sacrifice to keep Eren alive would not have been in vain.

“You`re not being fair, are you? You already know what we will find in the basement, and yet you keep it all to yourself. Tch, be like that.” Would it all be worth it? The pain, the countless sacrifices, and the lives lost along the way? He wished Petra could answer that for him.

He never wanted to upset her, but Petra always encouraged him to let others help him carry the burden. Levi took a deep breath before speaking again- “I think Eren misses you. He`s been going on about how he wants to visit you again. Bring you flowers. To help me maintain this place clean." Levi rolled his eyes again and the memory. "Like I would ever need his help with that.”

Levi took the ribbon out of his pocket and started fiddling with it, ignoring the slight pang of guilt at how he came into its possession.

“I hope you won`t mind I took that.” The first night he spent without them, Levi found himself roaming the empty corridors of the castle. When his steps took him in front of Petra`s door, the urge to hold on to something physical to remember her overtook his sense of shame. He was aware that her belongings would go back to her parents in the next few days, but he hoped the red ribbon Petra used to tie her hair with would not be missed.

“I took your patch at first. I was going to keep it in my breast pocket. To have a reminder of your sacrifice. But when I saw that kid eaten up by guilt, I knew what I had to do. I knew what you would have wanted me to do with it.” He had no regrets about that. It was the perfect way to honor the kindest soldier the Survey Corps ever had.

When the light began to fade, Levi got up from his spot and left without saying another word to Petra. He did not want to say goodbye to her. Levi felt no need for it since death could be in his cards the next day. And he could get to see her again sooner than he thought.

The third time Levi visited her, it was not with a flower bouquet in his hand but with a bottle of cheap alcohol he found on Moblit`s desk. That night, Levi allowed grief to consume him.

"Erwin died. But I have a feeling you know that already, don`t you?" Levi wiped his nose with the back on his hand, too absorbed in his anger to even care about the disgusting habit.

"Are you mad at him? Are you mad that he chose to sacrifice your life?"

But only silence greeted him.

"Are you mad that I didn`t even question it?"

No answer again. The rage burning inside him overtook him, and Levi smashed the bottle against the headstone.

"Shit. I`m sorry, I shouldn`t have done that." Levi crouched down and collected the pieces of the bottle into his handkerchief. The grief, the anger, and now the shame for denigrating her place of rest were eating him alive.

"We found out the truth, you know? It`s a shitty world out there, Ral. But I have a feeling not even that would have cut off your wings."

Levi found himself craving touch. Her touch. And for the first time in his life, he felt the need to be comforted. He smiled to himself bitterly. How cruel must the deity who created him be for making him desire the impossible?

The fourth time Levi visited her, he brought a special gift for her. A small, odd thing that Armin called seashell.

“We saw the sea today. Just a big old pile of saltwater. But you would have loved it.”

Seeing the brats play in the water with carefree smiles on their face made him yearn for a glimpse of amber hair in the picture. He missed them all dearly.

“I would have to pull you out of it by the collar of your shirt, I bet.” For as devoted and strict as she was, Petra always seemed to cause him distress. Not that he minded it, of course. Levi found himself wishing to hear her timid knocks on his door again, even in the middle of the night. He longed for those times, where she shyly approached him after needing his help in whatever problem she found herself stuck in again.

While that was not his intention when he first came to her, his heart was heavy with words he never said to her. "The world hates us, Ral." He could never imagine how someone would ever detest someone as kind as Petra just for the blood running in her veins. But if he had to be true to himself, a part of him hated Petra as well.

"Maybe I hate you too."

Petra broke his promises to him, after all. Two years ago, when death was imminent on an expedition, and Petra put down her swords in acceptance, Levi fought with her. He made her promise she would make it to the end. That she would be by his side the day they kill the last titan.

"Do you remember your promises to me? Such bullshit. Never thought you were a liar, Petra."

But Levi knew she would have never left him had she had a choice. That she would have fought for even just a second more by his side. But it never dulled the pain of losing her.

With a heavy heart, Levi said his goodbye for the evening, guilty for blaming her for things out of her control.

The fifth time Levi visited her, it was snowing outside.

It was always a wonder how someone radiating light and warmth could be a winter child. But Levi was sure he memorized the date right. It was an important one for him, after all. Levi fought to make sure he had enough time to get ready for celebrating her birthday. She deserved nothing more than a perfect day. Hange had been more than understanding, the wound left by losing Moblit still fresh in their heart.

Levi put the bouquet of twenty-two golden roses on the frozen ground. “Happy birthday. Twenty-two, huh? You`re turning into an old woman, Ral.” The irony of his words made a slight pang of guilt rise in his chest. The passing of time would never touch her again.

“I have your favorite”- he said, lightly shaking the box containing a small vanilla cake. Sugar was a rarity, but getting a cake was an unspoken rule in his squad. Their lives were too short to worry about the money. The first thing Levi noticed about Petra was the faint flower smell emanating from her. The first thing after setting his eyes on her clean nails, of course. On her first birthday that they celebrated as a squad, Levi gifted Petra a bottle of scented body lotion. And some high-quality cleaning rags, of course. But she did not pay attention to that. She and the rest of the Survey Corps never knew how to appreciate the finer things in life. But Levi did not miss the way her face lit up when he noticed something she enjoyed.

“I could never understand your sweet tooth, but today, I`m going to have a slice of cake.” Levi always refrained from indulging in this vice. Having grown unaccustomed to sugar, the idea of sweetness was unappealing to him. He always felt bad for disappointing her each year when she sat in front of him, with a small piece of cake she had cut for him. “Or two slices. Two is more appropriate anyway. If I get cavities, it`s on your ass.”

The ground was too cold for him to sit down on, and Levi made a mental note to build a small bench close to her headstone. He opened the box and eyed the cake wearily, considering if he should change his mind. He took a small bite of the cake, and he almost choked on it. “Oi, this is so damn sweet. How the fuck could you eat so much of it?” But it did not stop him from finishing his slice.

Levi expected to find some flowers lying in the snow or at least some tracks leading up to her grave.

“Does your old man still come around? I`ve never crossed paths with him since the expedition.” Sometimes, when he closed his eyes at night, he could still recall Mr. Ral`s pained expression when he realized there was no one left for him to wait for.

“Maybe it`s for the best. I bet he doesn`t want to see me again.” To see the face of the man who was supposed to protect his daughter. The face of the man his daughter wanted to devote her life to. The man who could not even bring him a body home to bury.

“I`m a shit. Ruining your birthday with talk like this.” Levi was never good at this. In his spot, Eld would have teased Petra about her first expedition. Tell her how now that she was a big girl, she ought to refrain from soiling herself again. Petra would turn red from embarrassment and elbow Eld in the ribs. Gunther would point out that despite their age, they are still children. And proceed with teasing Petra himself. Oluo would try to defend Petra`s honor to gain her attention, which would make him the target instead. Levi gave a small smile at the thoughts. He missed them dearly, more than he would ever care to admit.

Levi crouched down and cleared the layer of snow covering her headstone. He ran his finger alongside the letters of her name, wishing he would have had more opportunities to write it down.

“Happy birthday again, brat.”

The last time he visited her, Levi had company. Gabi and Falco did not give it another thought before offering to help him see her again before they would all leave for a new life. A better life, he hoped. But without her by his side, it was never going to be perfect. Gabi set down the flowers before they gave him privacy. While they never asked him about who she was, they knew Levi must have cared for her a great deal.

"Hi, brat. It`s been a while."

He had so much to say to her, and yet, he did not know where to start. A part of him expected to join her during the last battle, but fate always had something new in store for him. Levi was uncertain if it was luck by his side or a curse to watch everyone he ever cared about die. But life was looking brighter, and Levi promised himself he would never lose anyone again.

"Are Hange and Erwin with you now? How about the guys?" He wished for nothing more than to be there by their side. But Levi knew they would never forgive him if he did not try to live the remainder of his life to the fullest. And for them, he would try.

"Does Oluo still bite his tongue? Did he try to flirt with you again? Is Eld still teasing you? Does Gunther still treat you as a little sister?" Levi chuckled at the memory of their antics. He learned the hard way that he never appreciated them enough before he lost them.

"I hope there is an afterlife. I hope it`s peaceful. You all deserve it. Such a shitty end..." He closed his eyes and sighed at the words coming out of his mouth. "I`m sorry, I didn`t mean it. But you already knew that. I was always an open book to you."

Levi felt guilty for leaving the home they bled for behind, but if he were truthful, it had not felt like home to him for years. With no one left by his side, nothing was keeping him in Paradise anymore. While neither of them voiced it out, he had dreamed of a future with Petra by his side. And for her, he would try to live a long and happy life. Before he got to be with her.

"I`m sorry... for the future I never got to offer you. The one you deserved. I`m sorry for the house I never got to build for us, for the vows we never got to take, for the brats that will never play in my backyard." Levi knew Petra would encourage him to find love, but he never would again. He could never imagine a future by someone else`s side.

Levi glanced back at her grave for one last time before he set out for the remainder of his life- "I`ll see you soon. Wait for me."

ao3

[ad1thi]

underrated stevetony fics rec list (P1)

i feel like a lot of really good stevetony fics get swept under the rug because this is such a big fandom and sometimes people miss out on quality content?? so this is a rec list of some of the stevetony fics i feel like everybody should have read/ be reading

Edit (31.12.2020): this got very long (i had almost 50 fics on my list, so ive decided to split this list into two parts. part 2 will be out soon!!)

Edit (20.02.2021): part 2 is out now!!

//

picture me in the trees: @ifmywishescametrue

Tony and Steve were childhood friends that almost became more, but Tony moved and they lost their chance. Thirteen years later, a chance meeting brings Tony back into Steve's life.

Free: @iwanttopizzamanyou

"Steve reads, and the words dance in front of his eyes, because while this used to be his dream, what he wanted, all he can think about is how this Hell will soon become his full time life."

Steve discovers fame, with fans waiting for him in the lobby and girls passing him their numbers after the shows. It used to be what he wanted, he supposes. Except his future managers keep asking more and more from him, and he's not sure his old life will survive. Tony is ready to help, and compromise, but Steve maybe isn't anymore.

making it work: @/ironarm 

“Just tell him you don’t want to see him anymore,” Clint replies, finishing the end of his burger and starting to crumple up the wrapper, “It’s not like you love him or anything.”

“Clint, if I thought I could get rid of him about a week ago, I would have. But for some fucked up reason, I can’t lie to him. It’s like, I see those baby blue eyes, and bam. Whatever barrier that I built up from childhood trauma is gone.”

Clint chokes on the last piece of his burger, almost resisting the urge to smack Tony on the side of his head.

Tony was a fucking idiot.

Boys Like Us: @naferty

The video had been a mistake. One of the biggest mistakes he had ever done in his life, and considering Tony Stark had done a bunch of shit in his younger years, and even older years, that was saying something.

It was just that none of those things were as embarrassing as that video.

He blamed Clint for everything

Stained Fingertips: @thesoundofnat

“I don’t really believe in magic,” he said, clearing his throat. “But I’m almost certain you’re a goddamn wizard, Steve Rogers.”

Steve would remember those words for the rest of his life.

(Or, Steve is maybe slightly obsessed with drawing Tony. Not that Tony minds.)

Inhale, Ex-Sail: @summerpipedream

"Rich pirates decked out in top-of-the-line black market gear,” grumbled Tony, ”why don’t I have the budget to make those again?’

Rhodey inched back so that he and Tony were back-to-back. “We’re apparently law abiding citizens now, which means having to pay taxes.”

Tony scowled. “Urg, right. Remind me why I wanted to do that again?”

Rhodey rolled his eyes. “What was it you called him last time? Your sweet tart? Your apple pie in the sky? The wind beneath your wings? Hopefully he’ll fly here fast enough so we don’t get killed. Or worse, mugged.”

Tony Stark Bingo K1 - AU: Steampunk

As Constant As A Star: @atsadi

The Swan Princess AU

As young children, Prince Anthony and Princess Natasha of neighboring Midgardian kingdoms are betrothed, and spend their summers together every year until they are wed. Tony adores his headstrong friend Nat: it’s her scowly little companion Steve he’s not thrilled about at first. But soon Steve goes from being a thorn in Tony’s side to being his dearest friend – and much, much more than that. Despite Steve feeling the same way about Tony, the pair still dance around each other for years as Steve struggles to accept his feelings for another man: especially one already betrothed to another. Not to mention that Tony is a prince, and Steve is nothing but a squire.

But before they can make peace, Tony is kidnapped and dragged into the beginnings of another conflict in the nearby magical kingdom of Asgard – he really hates magic. With his potential usefulness diminishing by the day, Tony races to escape even as Steve, Natasha, and their friends race to find him and bring him home.

And—just to make matters worse—Tony has been trapped by a powerful spell and turned into a swan, of all creatures. He really, really hates magic.

Always Yours: @hollyjollyhope

Getting kidnapped is normal for them, at this point. But there's nothing normal about this.

And suddenly, Tony has a choice to make.

Oxeye Daisy (patience): @s-horne

“You make me want things I can’t have.”

Steve startled at the voice from behind him and turned around to see Tony standing in the kitchen doorway. He stared straight at Tony for a long moment. The room was quiet, time stretching out in a thick and uncomfortable silence as neither man dare to move nor opened his mouth to speak first.

White Clover (a promise): @s-horne

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Tony lifted his head as he tried to focus on Steve’s voice. When he managed to open his eyes and blink a bit of the blurriness away, he was rewarded with a gentle smile being shone down at him.

“There you are,” Steve said. “Was worried I was going to have to talk to myself.”

Though his tone was light, Tony knew what he meant. It was no secret that Tony was physically weaker and a hell of a lot more human than Steve was and was therefore struggling more with the lack of regular nourishment that came with being held hostage.

“Course not,” Tony said back, voice hoarse but plastering a smile on his face all the same. His head was pounding and his eyes couldn't stay open. “Would I ever do that to you? You’d never get a sensible answer.”

Acta non verba: @firebrands

unapologetic fluff about two idiots who can barely keep it together with how hard they're crushing on each other

or:

tony has to help steve with math + a halloween party = a good time for everyone, eventually

you take me higher than the rest (everybody else is second best): @firebrands

tumblr fill for adi & anthonydarling, who asked for "'Prank' war, but the kind to see who can make the other blush the most in public" from this prompt list

Adjacent, Against, Upon: @firebrands

A political AU!

Steve Rogers is running as the Mayor of somewhere, America. Tony Stark, his campaign manager, deals with a candidate who isn’t interested in lying, and just wants to do good by these citizens, god damn it.

song of unrest: @omg-just-peachy

How was Steve supposed to reconcile all of this? The way he looked so different but still felt so much the same? It made Steve’s head spin. He knows he shouldn’t care so much, that he is what he is, but he just wants to know.

Paint The Town Blue: @omg-just-peachy

Ten years since he’d seen or spoken to Tony Stark, ten years since they’d broken up to go away to school. And now this email. It could be his only chance to see Tony again.

Camelot: @weethreequarter

For one shining moment, there was Camelot.

In 2019, Karen Page meets Captain Steve Rogers to conduct an exclusive interview on his late husband, President Tony Stark.

In 2007, Steve meets Senator Tony Stark and falls in love.

he thinks he’s lancelot (but he’s more of a sir lamorak): @theotherwasdeath

Tony knows firsthand that violence isn’t funny. So why oh why does he think that the scene playing out in front of him, Steve and Victor Von Doom in a knock-out, drag-down fist fight, is absolutely hilarious?

wildflowers: @tinytonysnark

“So,” Steve begins, clapping his hands together, “the city of SHIELD is in debt. The big ups have sent for financial advisors, all the way from DC! They’re gonna take a look at the city’s spending and make some cuts.”

He squints at the camera against the morning sun shining through the courtyard, “I’m not that worried. Everyone here in the parks department is an important member of the team and absolutely needed.”

The camera swings towards the office where from the large glass window, Natasha can be seen picking up the ringing phone before immediately slamming it back down onto the receiver.

[A Parks and Rec AU]

trinkets of your affection: @starklysteve

Kissed him once for every year I loved him, Steve had written.

By that count, Steve owes him five more kisses now.

Tony traces the words, hands trembling, and tips back a shot of Howard's ancient whiskey. None of it burns anymore.

One day, he'll have lived more days without Steve than there are words in the diary.

For the first time since he'd woken with shrapnel in his chest, Tony fears the future.

----------

Or, five things Tony keeps to remember Steve by, and one thing Steve gives him to remember.

[prof-peach]

Hello professor, I have a pretty heavy question I’m afraid, but I’m running out of people to ask, so I’ll try my best to keep it PG13.

It’s my Mienshao, Daisy. Up until recently, she and I were members of a police task force tasked with rooting out illegal Pokemon smuggling rings and underground high stakes tournaments. We’ve been partners for a long time, me and Daisy, we grew up together, and I dare say we made a great team. But then things went wrong.

For the sake of security I can’t go into too much detail, but we were participating in a raid when we got ambushed. Someone must have tipped the smugglers off, because they were waiting for us when we got there. During the firefight, there was an explosion, a gas tank got set on fire by a charizard, I believe, and Daisy and I happened to be close. She got out with a few minor burns and scrapes, I... Did not.

I’ll spare you the gory details, but I have been confined to a wheel chair ever since, and I am due to be fitted for a prosthetic leg next week.

I won’t lie, the transition has been hard for everybody, me, my friends, my family. My other Pokémon have been hovering around me like over protective nannies for weeks. But I think out of all of us, Daisy has been taking it the hardest. Half of the day she spends locked to my side like a bodyguard, threatening to punch anyone that gets too close into oblivion. And the other half, well...

She’s started putting herself through some kind of hellish self training routine. Doing katas until she all but collapses from exhaustion, running laps for hours, fighting every Pokemon she can convince to fight, wild or trained. Daisy’s always been tough, and she’s always loved training, but this... This isn’t training, it’s a death march. I’m getting extremely worried, and that’s not even everything!

She’s stopped eating her favorite foods, deliberately choosing ones I know she hates, she won’t let me pet her anymore, she just steps out of reach, trying not to look at me. But most worryingly, she’s started cutting off her whiskers. She’s always been so proud of her whiskers, she groomed them every day, always got grumpy when I teased her for having a big ol’ mustache. Now anytime they get longer than an inch, she slices them off with her claws and throws them in fireplace, like some kind ceromony.

I’m almost certain Daisy feels guilty for coming out mostly unscathed, when I didn’t. She’s always been a bit protective, even before we joined the police, and she’s saved my life multiple times out in the field, but now she feels like she’s failed me, I think. I’ve tried to convince her that it wasn’t her fault, but that only seems to redouble her efforts. I’m terrified she’s going to burn herself out if she keeps going like this, and I don’t know what to do.

I know this is a pretty heavy question, but I I’m not sure who else to ask. Is there anything I can do to convince her that she doesn’t need to hurt herself like this? Or, something? Just anything to help! Losing my leg was jarring, but losing Daisy would be unbearable!... I just... I just want my best friend to be okay.

I am sorry for what you’ve been through, I cannot begin to understand what it’s like to be in your shoes, but like all recovery, physical or mental, this will take a fair bit of time to get past, you both may never fully return to how things were, but it can get better and you can both return to a full life together with work and dedication.

I’ve certainly seen Pokemon go to extreme lengths after dangerous incidents to protect their loved ones or themselves, in this case it would be wise to assume your pokemons suffering with a hefty bill of PTSD, and needs some actual therapy to handle the feelings and thoughts they’re having. We have facilities to accommodate that if you’re local to Johto, but most Pokemon centres will be able to put you in contact with reliable and certified practices to begin unravelling the issues that now plague Daisy.

That she considers herself to have come away reasonably unscathed is not true, yes your life has physically changed, but she needs to step back and take a look at her life too. Everything’s different now, and more specifically how she’s treating herself and handling her feelings. If that’s not trauma and injury, I don’t know what else it could be. You both came away with damage that day, physical or not. The first step is to help her see that, and to begin to understand that despite this all, you can both continue to move forward together if you can overcome the injury together, it is an event you shared, and you two can aid each others recovery with time and care.

There’s some seriously gifted therapists out there, those who study for years and can help far more than me, they’ll take time to break down the events, and start to really get into the feelings that your partner is going through. The cycle for Daisy right now comes around to self-punishment, and seems to be stuck on a loop. She needs time and space to process her feelings of guilt, grief, fear and loss, facing them instead of burying herself in her rigorous training. While it is difficult to discuss, you two have a strong bond that means you could talk with her. Try to remind her who’s truly responsible, she may be blaming herself, which is pretty common in these situations, but at the root of it, you were doing your routine job, and the bad guys, the Pokemon smugglers and goons are to blame. THEY caused the issue, not her, and while it may not sink in right away it’s worth saying, and sticking to. You said you told her that it wasn’t her fault, which is the gut reaction, perhaps giving her a logical target instead of herself will work better for now. Reiterating the true issue, and taking the heat off of her may help with other tasks such as self care, later down the recovery road.

Her guilt will feel terrible, but it kind of works as a protector, keeping her distanced from the worse, more overwhelming feelings of helplessness and powerlessness. In fact the guilt that masks this all will slowly make things worse over time. That underlying intense emotion below the guilt is what you both need to work through, but more than anything, she needs to face it, in her own time, come to terms with it, and eventually (hopefully) come to an understanding that life is an endless cycle of events, things will happen, but you have to pick yourself up and turn the lemons into lemonade. She could have lost you that day, that you came away with your life is a miracle, and now you two get more time together because of that. Luck isn’t something that runs out, it’s not like there’s only so much of it to go around, it is like wining the lottery. Sometimes 20 people win, other times no one does. It’s hard to accept, but there’s no greater order to stuff that happens, but when we can come to this conclusion, it’s oddly freeing. I’ve seen a fair few Pokemon in a symilar state who can move on when they realise there’s an odd randomness to the world and everything that goes on.

This is a job for someone with far greater skills than I, but you must help her by also looking after yourself, laugh when you can, show her that your life is still very full, and that you have loved ones, and joy to share with others. You mentioned that you’re due a prosthetic, and though the transition will be long and no doubt a little difficult at first, getting yourself back on two feet (kind of) will show her, and your other Pokemon that you’re willing to move forward. I think there’s a lot to be said about talking during this all. She wants to fight, to be strong, if this is how she’s going to cope, fine. If she’s out training, sit with her, spend whatever time you can by her side, as she’s taking this the hardest. You don’t have to say a thing, just try to do your best, without putting yourself in too much discomfort or pain. Reminding her who would be devastated if it had been her who got hurt, if she was not around, may help ground her back in reality a bit. You both got granted a gift that day, you came away alive, if she works so hard she burns out, that gift was wasted. She can use her kindness, and strength to help you, she can pass her knowledge and skill forward, but it’s hard to help others, and do your best if you’re exhausted beyond reason. Kind of like trying to give people bread from a basket but the damn basket is empty yknow? You got to take time to refill so you can help those around you again, so you have some bread to give. I know, probably sounds a little dumb but it’s always been the way I remember it.

Another very useful thing I’ve found with trauma survivors would be meeting others who have been in the same position. There’s plenty of support groups for both people and Pokemon who have been through events that left them in a difficult situation, emotionally and physically. Even here at the lab we have many species who have been left without limbs, with life changing damage, and a lot of them also have the emotional trauma too. She would probably do well to spend time with them, you can send her to a resort to retreat and recoup erase, mix with others who were just as angry as she is now, or you can take time to go with her to groups to interact with others. It’s one thing to have humans help, but it’s a whole other level of connection when Pokemon can help their own. They bond quicker, trust faster, and generally are more open to listening when it’s coming from a place of mutual experience. If she had time to talk to pokemon who actually lost their trainers, or parts of themselves, she may find some peace, even if only temporarily.

Don’t mention the whiskers, and where possible don’t offer her foods she actively likes, but also not ones she actively dislikes. Just for now. Start the ball rolling with just plain simple things that are neither good or bad. Indifferent is better than bad right now, the punishment she’s inflicting on herself will need addressing further, so contact a therapist, they use Rotom or porygon to translate from poke-speech to human language, and the repair can begin with a registered professional. My advice is not sound proof, I certainly feel like I have missed something important, it’s a big response, but it’s a start in the right direction, and should you come up to any further issues, message back and update us with what’s going on. With work you two will be on track to recover. Remember, patience is the biggest thing here, you two have history, and a therapist will no doubt take the sessions as a pair, and work with you to help Daisy feel less guilty over time. I hope you both find peace, and that both of you repair in due time. Good luck with the new leg, a step towards recovery for sure.

[softkuna]

Sukuna || Interview || Fic

Part 1

Content   ║  Punk!Sukuna x reader. There is an oc version here.

Beauty wasn’t in the eye of the beholder, no, it is in the mind. Sukuna was enraptured. Addressed again, he shifted his posture, leaning into the arm of the couch as she did with her chair. The two were close in their cohort. An air of comfortable conversation lingered between them, much to his dismay. Her question wasn’t unusual. He’d been asked it in the beginning of his career and one where he had a planned answer.

Count      ║ 2,626 K

Consider ║ Swearing. Female Pronouns (she/her).

Creator   ║ This is the reader version. I took the name of the oc out. Hopefully the double post isn’t too weird? I did research on punk fashion, culture, and all which was really interesting. I knew some stuff about it before, but it’s really rich! I hope it’s not too information dense for you guys. Either way, Punk!Sukuna is now my comfort au and writing him is an absolute delight!! Also, Sorry for changing from ‘you’ to she/her ;v; it’s a lot easier for me to write/edit this way.

Sukuna had a lazy grin as he lounged back into a modern cream sofa. His arm stretched across the back of it, ankle crossed over his knee. Eyes staggered from the two cameras set up to the woman talking with some other chick. One held a small stack of papers, the other was grandly gesturing. He breathed out a short-stop breath, wishing they wouldn’t waste his time with bickering. Annoying as it was, it left a thick self-satisfactory lather over his ego.

  “-didn’t you say the band?”

  “Yeah, but this is better.”

  “Sure… but what happens if-“

  Quite frankly, he hated most press and avoided it, so to just have him in the hot seat was a double-edged blade. They didn’t get the whole band, but they did have The King himself. Whatever publicity he thrived off of were live shows, signings, fancams, tangible and real-time events. Interviews were a complete and utter waste of his time. He did a couple in the beginning, but found them pointless, callous even. They all asked the same shit. So, him coming alone was absolutely a note to pin to the fridge, even if it were a passive-aggressive post-it note.

  His head turned to the two going back and forth. It wasn’t until the third minute ticked by that Sukuna felt the flashpoint of his blood plummet, “Yo! We doing this or what? You’re wasting my time here, Eros.”

  The blogger whipped her head to the man with an indignant, “Excuse me?”

  “Eros. Known for being reckless and unreliable? Like your scheduling.” He leaned forward, elbow on knee and chin in palm. The aura of shit-eatery exponentially growing, “You’re not excused, sorry, not sorry Princess.”

  “I think you have the wrong God,” She quipped as she dusted off the front of her outfit. It was a smart look and an intentional one for an interview with a punk rocker. What would strike the best complement than a khaki academic outfit? It consisted of a white high collared button up, sleeves billowing before cinching at her wrists. The blouse was stuffed into high-waisted, cuffed khaki chinos, pleated at the center of each pant leg. Over top, a gray woolen sweater vest. Accessories included various silver rings, a black ribbon to tie under the folded collar, and small silver studs as earrings. Makeup remained that done-up natural with brow, liner, and mascara. Hair had been swept into something similar to a faux 1920’s bob, pulled loosely back. The overall silhouette made the perfect contrast.

    Sukuna wanted to peg her as your average superficial fashion bitch, he really did. Even at the concert, she dressed smartly despite the pathetic look on she wore on face. It wasn’t until afterwards when he saw the burn in her eyes, that he craved for her to prove him wrong.

  Black flats clacked as she approached her own seat, a matching armchair to the couch. She held a certain command once she walked in, instructing him on where to be, which camera to look at, and what the introduction would be. He listened, admiring how her small frame moved to and fro, fixing up last minute edits on a paper, chattering with who he assumed to be a videographer. It was a whole production. One that was hers. The set itself was practically out of a home décor magazine. It was a general space used across the publisher, but she was born to be there. Deserved to be there. Her calculated glee and deliberate positioning of each member made him feel as though he were looking through a mirror.

  The interview process began.

  She sat professionally, legs crossed and leaning on the arm of her chair closest to Sukuna. He was unmoving, that slit to his lip curling upwards as the cameras began. She introduced the blog, the channel, her social media handles. With a smile, she introduced herself, “With me in this special is lead singer of Two Face, the King of Curses – Sukuna.”

  The camera panned to his lazy wave, “Yo.” He looked to her, she looked to him and for a moment she thought she saw a flicker of interest. Maybe the man was meant for cameras after all.

  “After looking more into the punk scene, there’s a pretty interesting history behind it. Revolution, social discourse, poverty, violence, and unity. As someone in the scene, can you talk a little bit about what you know of the background?”

  Sukuna drank in her voice, smooth and warm like the steady strum of a bass guitar. For a moment, he wondered if she sang. He quirked a brow, “Sounds like you didn’t research enough to summarize it yourself,” Eyes flickered to her features, watching as slight annoyance crinkled onto her nose then smoothed, “Let me learn you, Daisy. Starting back from rock in the 50’s, take that, strip it, build it with shit you find in the backyard…” His wrist rolled as his harmonious voice sang on, lacking even a single stutter as he summarized the movement top to bottom, inside and out, “…So, people would make their own records, sell them in plastic bags, they’d scan and reprint photos to make their own ‘zines. Shit was hard to distribute without tech…”

  Much of his dissertation, she hadn’t even found on her own deep dive into the culture. Sure, the anarchist and nihilistic ideologies were well known to pretty much anyone who would listen, but the deep history and connection between communities was far beyond the surface scratched into.

  “There’s a crowd of sub-genres now. Fuck ‘punk is dead’ what even is that bull shit?” Sukuna scoffed, jerking his chiseled chin to the side, “Only thing that’s dead here is – ironically – peoples drive to change.”

  His interviewer sat in silence for a moment, mind spinning. He spoke in the way a well-educated University professor gave a dissertation to his peers, dripping in confidence from his storm of information. He was articulate despite the fowl language, even including a tie in to modern perception. Excitement curled into the recess of her mind. In a delightful turn of events, expectation and reality didn’t match up.

  She leaned forward slightly folding her hands over the arm of the chair, “That was comprehensive. Thanks!” She chuckled, causing the man before her to freeze and thaw with a nod. She continued, “With all of this mention of D.I.Y. culture in punk, let’s talk about Vivienne Westwood.”

  Sukuna kept his attention to her profile as she spoke to the camera, catching himself in the glow of her enthusiasm, “On Kings Road in England, she kickstarted the fashion movement into gear. Now, many would think that with a style such as this, it would’ve been hand-me-downs, pins, self-stitching, but contrary to this belief, many of the clothes in her store were expensive. Knock offs circulated, and seeing as much of it did have that hand-done finishing touch, many decided to take tailoring to their own hands…” Not that this was a competition, but she found herself trying to prove his ‘research’ comment wrong. Her ability to scour and exhaust her resources of fashion history is the furnace that kept her going and she would make it well known that she was not to be challenged.

  The approaching lurch of a stalemate stuck to the walls of the vocalist’s stomach. Something he didn’t think he’d feel for a while. Small stuff over here may not’ve known all there was about the cultural history, but he could feel the crashing wave of fascination washing over him as she spoke. Sure, some of it he knew. Some of it he naturally garnered from stylistic preference and others he learned for marketing, however there was just a certain target she aimed for with such precision that he bled a newfound admiration.

  Beauty wasn’t in the eye of the beholder, no, it is in the mind. Sukuna was enraptured. Addressed again, he shifted his posture, leaning into the arm of the couch as she did with her chair. The two were close in their cohort. An air of comfortable conversation lingered between them, much to his dismay. Her question wasn’t unusual. He’d been asked it in the beginning of his career and one where he had a planned answer. As practiced, “I ans-“

  “You’ve answered it already, yeah, I know. I saw the interview,” Her head tilted to the side, pleasant smile hinting at her trick, “but enlighten me for a second about how your natural style transitioned to what it is on stage. We’ll put up some of the photos taken from last night here,” her hand gestured to some empty space, “You basically turned chiaroscuro and made it a performance. It’s obvious in how each member contrasted with themselves and the stage.”

  The chick didn’t even know who he was a week ago, yet somehow watched every interview since the start? An answer tumbled from the tongue readily, “Punk is like a renaissance of music. Like I said before, it tore down the foundations of what was before and built something new out of it.” The words were succinct, but as her pretty lashes bat, he was goaded into continuing, “Contrast is important. I like art. I like plays. Just ‘cause it’s punk doesn’t mean I can’t have it look aesthetic? Or is that a word only snobby fashion journalists can use now?”

  “Hm. Change ‘journalist’ to ‘vocalist’ and you’re a word away from meeting the requirement,” It was a sour candy treat traded for his lemon warhead.  

  “Ouch. Miss Blog-Spot here has some sass,” His large frame leaned further into the armrest, cheek resting on that fist.

  “Mister Eight-Track here is some a–“

  The videographer clapped his hands, “We have sponsors, you know. We can at least censor him.”

  It was Sukuna’s time to laugh a loud, hyena-like cackle. A large hand smacked his leather-clad knee. She scrunched her nose again, biting back her tongue from childishly jutting out at him.

  As soon as the videographer clapped his hands again, she recollected herself, shuffled her papers, and continued on, “From what it looks like, you took a mixture of old and new high-trend brands and added a touch to them to keep with theme. Even now, you’re wearing a Real McCoy with cone spikes embedded. Is that custom made? McCoy isn’t cheap.”

  Part of him hated her keen eye, but reveled in her raw talent all the same. “I’m not going to bull shit you and say I dumpster dive for my clothes. I like high quality things. What’s the point in making money if I can’t spend it? What’s a bigger ‘fuck you’ than having your version of a top-brand item being worth more than the original?” With a proud glint in his eye, he rolled the jacket off, sure to make a grand display of strong, bare arms as he did so. The muscle tank he wore was similar to the concert before, white with a pocket, neckline was stretched and worn. It hung over the dense muscle of his shoulders and chest. Sukuna could feel the trail of her eyes on him. His chest puffed from her approval. He threw the jacket over his knee, flipping the leather inside out to show where the studs had been placed, “See this? Did it myself.”

  Manicured fingers touched the inside of the jacket, thumbing the connecting points that the studs were pressed in by and sealed. The work was immaculate. Sukuna leaned back, canines gleaming as he saw her mouth move in a silent ‘wow’. He picked the front of his tank top, snapping it up and allowing it to billow back to his body, “Embroidered this, too.”

  He waited for her comment, her praise. Why? Like he needed some two-bit Vanderbilt bitch’s validation. He chalked it up to being praised by a master of the craft. He hadn’t been prepared for her to take the fabric between her fingers and rub it, concentrated brows cinched like a corset. Well-toned abs flinched in response to her delicacy, but she didn’t notice.

  The embroidery was messy and chaotic, but it was obviously intentionally. The way the needlework was so clean, barely leaving a hole from the pull of the exceptionally soft fabric. It wasn’t floral like in the concert, but abstract stitching created crosses and streaks here and there, using the composition of the fabric as like it were a canvas. Experimentalist. It was like touching the work of Westwood herself.

  God, she hated how perfect it was. It squeezed her heart to know that he was so effortlessly multi-talented. She rubbed the fabric between her fingers once more, attention being stolen by his baritone voice. She could practically hear the treble in it, “Ey Princess, you think it’s okay to just touch me?” His breath caught under the arrogant teasing of his words. Not from the words themselves. Couldn’t care less about that. What choked him up was whatever resplendent emotion flared from them when she peered up to him.

  “Let me check the tag.”

  “What?”

  The blogger leaned back, cheekily snapping the shirt as she did so. “Your shirt, can I check the tag? I want to see what its made out of. Also, sorry.”

  Sukuna blinked twice, mouth stupidly hanging open before he leaned forward, “I’ll allow it.”

  He may have tinnitus, but he wasn’t deaf enough yet to miss the mocking ‘I’ll allow it,’ muttered under her breath. He wanted to laugh, but for the second time, the graze of chilled fingertips along his skin shut him up. Along the back of his neck, she fiddled to flip the collar and tug it. Her eyes squinted and a hum escaped her throat. Sometimes she wished she could read upside down. That’s when she sat on the back on the sofa and leaned closer, pulling the shirt to better read the small print. If Sukuna were a cat, he’d lean his head into her. The thought physically bothered him.

  “I knew it. It’s American Pima. Thanks for letting me check.”

  He missed the shiver her touch gave him as she sat back into her chair.

  “While I have more questions for you, this video’s gotten pretty long already, so we’ll have to cut it a bit short here,” She gave a closing statement, motioning for her guest to do the same. With a thanks, the cameras were cut.

 While the editor and videographer chatted together, She leaned heavily into the back of her chair, poised posture slipping into something more comfortable. Long lashes slid closed and a heavy drag of breath lifted her chest. Sukuna’s eyes trailed along her form, contemplating Eros once more.

  She exhaled sharply, “I do appreciate you coming on stage. It’s disgusting how talented you are.” She laughed, cracking an eye open to meet his, “I prepped a lot of questions thinking you’d be short with me. It’s a shame I only got to ask a few.”

  He was surprised himself. It was more than just her talent to make him talk - she may have been the first to see him as an opportunity rather than a commodity. ‘She would be the first and last reporter to see me as a meal’ was the thought he had going into this interview. He had every single intention to shut down her buffet, make it apparent that he was not to be dined on by a single soul. Yet, if his dish were ‘opportunity’, hers would be ‘intrigue’. He wanted to devour it, to know its palette and identify its spices. It was a compulsory urge to order, just to see why he craved it in the first place.

  “Film the next few concerts. Backstage.”

Tags:  @lovesakusa​

[sbtlns]

Tiny Dancer

Warnings: smut (!) kind of a crack fic 

A/N: so uh we all agree that the finale was trash right? aight just checkin. anyways i reality shifted when i had a high fever and lived a version of this so i figured i would make yall live it too. part two?

Castiel’s cheeks flushed as you moved to straddle the naked angel. His hand moved instinctively to your waist, holding you close as you leaned down to nip at his ear. He groaned at your action, sending a new wave of heat to your core. You continued your ministrations, nipping and sucking at the tender parts of his neck while the debauched angel squirmed beneath you. “y/n,” he said in a strained voice. You stopped your actions to look down at him, meeting his desperate look. You cocked an eyebrow, prompting him to spit it out. “Please,” he strained, raising his hips to meet yours. Deciding you had tortured him enough, you raised your hips slightly and reached beneath you to align him with your entrance. Before you sunk down on him, you gave him one more ‘are-you-sure?’ type of look. He nodded vehemently and you smiled to yourself, returning your focus to his hardened member slightly probing your entrance. You lowered yourself onto him slowly, savoring the way he stretched you out. He moaned a string of your name, each seeming more urgent. “Cas,” you gasped.  “y/n.....Y/N.....Y/N!”

You shot up in bed, the sound of Dean yelling your name and pounding on your door startling you to say the least. “Yeah?” you croaked, trying to regain your composure. Dean sighed from the other side of the door, finally, he thought, only took five minutes. “We’ve got a case. Map Room in 5,” he said gruffly. Sensing your annoyance, he added, “Sam made coffee.” 

With the promise of coffee, you begrudgingly got out of your bed, shoving the remnants of your dream to the back corner of your mind. You had known Cas for quite some time now, long enough to know that he doesn’t understand human feelings well, let alone romantic feelings. That’s why you decided to try and bury the small crush you had developed for him, which was becoming increasingly harder with the dreams you had been having recently.

Sighing, you got dressed and made your way to the Map Room where you were met with a grumpy looking Dean and a smiling Sam. “Coffee,” Sam said, reaching from his seat to hand you a fresh mug. You were about to thank him when Dean cut you off, “I said 5, not 7.” You threw him a bitch face before turning back to Sam and mouthing thank you, and he smiled in response. You sat down across from Sam as Cas walked in, looking a bit flustered. 

“Sorry I’m late, I was caught up in another matter,” he rushed, making his way through the room to join you at the table. “ ‘S alright, Cas, no sweat,” Dean replied, sitting down with a grunt, across from you and Castiel. “Hold up, I got here before Cas why does he get a ‘no worries Cas,’” you mocked in a high pitched voice, “while I get a ‘how dare you be two minutes late,’” you said in you best gruff Dean voice. Sam almost spit out his coffee, earning a huff of annoyance from Dean. “Maybe because Cas didn’t make me bang on his door for five minutes while he was off in dreamland” he countered. Your face blushed at the mention of dreaming, trying not to think of the hot sex scene you had just dreamt about the angel next to you. “Whatever” you huffed, “let’s just get on to the case, yeah?” 

Sam nodded, pulling up his laptop. “So get this, reports of cattle mutilations, power outages, and now three missing persons reports all in y/h/t. I’m thinking demons. What about you guys?” Dean nodded, sipping at his coffee. “Sounds like our kinda thing” he replied. Castiel nodded silently in agreement. Sam turned to face you, “y/n, thoughts?” Your heart was beating fast and you were sure your cheeks were red. Sam looked at you with furrowed brows. “Hey, you good?” he asked concerned. You forced a smile and nodded, realizing now that the three men were all staring at you. You cleared your throat before saying, “Yeah, it’s just...that’s my hometown is all.” You sighed, “You’re right, sounds like demons though,” you added quickly before taking another sip of coffee. The three men shared a quick glance.

“Um,” Sam started uneasily, “You gonna be okay taking this case?” he asked genuinely. You hadn’t shared much about your past with the boys, nodding and laughing at the stories about their past they told you and quickly changing the subject before anyone could ask about yours. You nodded curtly, raising the mug to your lips again. Memories of your past filled your mind, not totally unpleasant, but enough to make you uneasy about returning to your hometown. You were silently hoping that you could get in kill whatever douchebag demons were causing havoc, and get out without having to deal with anything dealing with your old job. 

Sam didn’t seem convinced. “You sure? I mean we could always call Garth and see-” “I’m sure,” you cut him off. You stood from your chair abruptly, causing the legs to squeak unpleasantly. “I’ll get packed and meet you guys in the garage,” you said before turning on your heel and making your way to your room. You grabbed a bag and filled it with the essentials, glancing at the pair of cowboy boots sitting long ignored in your closet. You sighed to yourself, remembering happier moments from your old job, before management became a shit show. Feeling nostalgic, you decided to throw the boots in your bag before zipping it and heading to the garage.

The boys were already chatting by the car when you made your way to the garage. You threw your bag in the trunk, closed it, and climbed in the back of Baby, the boys following suit. On the drive to your hometown, Dean sheepishly handed you a stack of cassettes, his way of apologizing for earlier. You beamed back at him and picked out your favorites, handing them to Sam to queue up. Not before long, your eyelids grew heavy and you drifted off to sleep in the backseat. 

Dean must’ve hit a bump, because you woke up with a start, disoriented for a moment. It took a second for you to realize that in your sleep, you had laid your head on Castiel’s shoulder, close enough to him so that you were practically draped along his side. You quickly scrambled back to your side of the car, not missing the soft smile and forlorn look Cas had given you. “Oh look, sleeping beauty’s awake,” Dean joked. You stuck your tongue out at him, settling back into your seat. “So y/n, we found out that all three vics have something in common, they’re all regulars at some place called The Saloon” Sam filled you in, placing a Southern drawl on the name of your past employer. 

Your blood ran ice cold and you stared back at him with wide eyes. He was still smiling, pleased with himself for his accent, when he realized you were panicking. The smile dropped from his face. “What’s wrong?” he asked, drawing Dean and Castiel’s attention. Dean shot you a confused glance from the rearview. “What’s wrong princess? Don’t like linedancing?” he joked. You gulped. “Um,” you started. “I uh...” you cleared your throat. “I used to work there,” you mumbled. Sam raised his eyebrows in amusement and Dean fought back a laugh. “Wha-you,” he wheezed, struggling not to burst out laughing. “Our very own tiny dancer, huh?” he mused. You huffed and crossed your arms across your chest, cheeks burning red. Sam turned back around in his seat, holding his laughter in with a smile. Castiel broke the silence, “I don’t understand, is it shameful to dance in a line?” With that, the boys couldn’t hold it in any longer and burst out into fits of laughter.

The rest of the drive wasn’t too bad, besides Dean’s off-tune humming of Elton John’s Tiny Dancer. You pulled into town and checked into the nearest motel, silently thanking the universe that Dean had booked two separate rooms. You might have offed yourself then and there if you had to spend another night listening to Sam’s snores. After settling in, you got dressed in your FBI best and met back by the car. The four of you drove to The Saloon, you becoming more and more anxious the closer you got. Dean pulled up to the gravel lot and took in the building with an amazed look. He kept his eyes on the building as he got out of the car, “Oh ho ho, get look at this,” he said incredulously. Before you stood a massive red barn with a huge blinking neon sign of a half naked woman riding a bull with a lasso spinning in her hand. 

“Yeah yeah, let’s just get this over with,” you huffed, pushing past him and walking into the bar. The familiar scent of beer and cigarettes hit you the second you walked in, taking in the sight of the huge stage in front of you along. A few girls were dancing on stage, with a handful of customers sitting and watching. You heard the door open behind you as the boys stepped in and sighed before turning to face them. Dean looked like a kid on Christmas smiling widely and looking around the bar, while Sam scanned the room looking for the owners. Cas stood in place, staring perplexed at the women dancing. You followed his gaze to the stage where one of the girls was swinging her hips slowly and deliberately to the beat of the song. You turned back to him, his head cocked to the side as he mumbled, “Well that’s inappropriate.”

Trying to hide the blush creeping to your cheeks, you quickly turned back around, just in time to see your old manager strutting towards you. You took a deep breath, ready for the coming bullshit. “Well well well,” he said with a smug smirk on his face. “If it isn’t Miss Daisy Duke herself.” You felt your cheeks get hot and heard Dean snort. “I’m sorry,” Dean said, looking at you like this was too good to be true. “Daisy Duke?” he repeated. Your cheeks were burning by this point, praying that the floor would open up and swallow you whole. 

“That’s right,” your old manager said in his chill inducing Southern drawl. “You know how it goes, ‘nice legs...daisy dukes...makes a man go-’” he whistled, finishing the line and turning your cheeks an even deeper red. “Miss Daisy here was our pride and joy,” he said, turning to Dean. “Best dance this bar has ever seen,” he finished, turning back to you. He smiled devilishly at you, humming in contentment. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Daisy?” he asked sickeningly sweetly. Fighting to hold on to whatever shred of dignity you had left, you pulled out your fake badge and held it up. “It’s Agent Jett now, thanks,” you spat, flashing it in his face before putting it back in your jacket pocket. He squinted back at you. Sam cleared his throat in attempt to break the tension before telling him about the missing persons reports. Your old boss soaked in the information Sam was giving him, but stayed silent, still squinting at you. 

Sam looked uncomfortably between the two of you before clearing his throat again and asking, “Do you have any security cameras that might have caught anything? Any possible witnesses?” Your old boss shifted his glance to Sam and replied, “Maybe.” Sam stared back, waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, Dean cut in. “Maybe?” he asked gruffly with an eyebrow cocked. Your old boss nodded, pursing his lips together. “Depends,” he stated simply, crossing his arms. You could tell Dean was losing his patience quickly because he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “On what?” he asked, voice tight. Your old boss simply shrugged. “On if Miss Daisy will give us another show tonight.”

Your jaw dropped open. Did he say what you thought he said? Sam, Dean, and Cas all turned to stare at you, trying to gauge your reaction. Dean looking more amused than anything, and Sam trying to see whether or not he had to step in between you. “I’m sorry, what?” you croaked. Your old boss gave you the same devilish smile that sent chills down your spine. “I said,” he took another step closer to you, “I’ll talk...if you would grace The Saloon with one last dance. For old time’s sake.” The three boys looked at you expectingly. You looked incredulously among them. “You can’t be serious,” you protested.

He was. You found yourself back in your motel room, changing out of your FBI clothes and into your shortest denim shorts and your most revealing tanktop. You silently cursed yourself for packing your boots, as it seemingly jinxed you into your current situation. After you were changed, you fell back into your old routine of hair and makeup, becoming almost unrecognizable in the mirror. As you were applying the last bit of hairspray, you heard a knock at your door. “Y/n, we gotta go!” you heard Dean yell. Sighing, you slipped into your boots, took one last look in the mirror, and summoned the courage to open the door. 

When you opened the door, it took them a second to react, all three reacting differently. Sam looked at you with raised brows and an amused smile, Dean whistled, and Castiel’s eyes widened before slowly trailing down your body. You felt yourself blush under his scrutiny, until it became unbearable and you snapped your fingers in his face. “My eyes are up here buddy,” you feigned anger, startling him from his trance. “I-uh m-my apologies, y/n” he stumbled over his words, looking down at his feet. Dean laughed and clapped his shoulder before walking towards Baby.

The drive over was silent, with the occasional ‘heh’ from Dean, as he thought about the ridiculousness of this day. You dreaded every mile he drove closer to the bar, wondering why Castiel couldn’t have just used his angel powers to make your old boss cough up whatever info he had. You sighed as Dean pulled up to the bar once again and begrudgingly opened your car door. “Did you guys really have to come?” you whined, trying to stall. “Of course we did princess. What if the demons are here tonight?” Dean said with a smirk. You rolled your eyes at the excuse. Sam turned to you with a look of pity. “Seriously though, y/n, if you’re uncomfortable at any point just say the word. We’ll leave and we can find another way to get the information,” he said and smiled softly. You nodded and sighed before making your way into the barn.

You opened the door and to your dismay, the place was packed. You groaned as you stepped further in before you made eye contact with one of your old coworkers. “Y/n?” she said shocked, a huge smile forming on her face. “Jimmy said you were coming but I didn’t believe him, no one did,” she said before pulling you into a huge hug. You relaxed into the hug, her being one of the very few people in town that you still kept in contact with. “Yeah well,” you said pulling back. “One night only kinda thing,” you finished, choosing to ignore the way her and Dean were eye-fucking next to you. She turned her attention back to you and took your hand. “Well, we better get you stage ready, Jimmy’s queuing up your signature!” she said excitedly, pulling you away. You threw a quick glance behind you at the boys before realization dawned on you. “Hey!” you yelled back to them, getting their attention. “Do NOT sit in this section!” you tried to point to the front left, but your friend was pulling you too fast and they just gave you confused looks. 

Before you knew it, you were back stage, pacing with anxiety. You heard the current song stop and you dreaded what was coming. “Ladies and gentlemen,” you heard Jimmy’s chilling voice draw out. “Please give a big Saloon welcome...returning back to the stage... Miss Daisy Duke!” You shoved your nerves down and forced a smile before strutting out on stage. You quickly fell back into your old routine, strutting around the stage and swaying your hips to your opening music. One dance and that’s all you said to yourself. You knew that from the song Jimmy had chosen, your signature, that in the middle of the routine you would have to go down to the audience and dance for whoever the spotlight shown on. You continued your dance, praying that the boys had listened to you and had chosen anywhere else to sit. As the part of the song drew closer, you scanned the audience to gauge about who you would be giving a lapdance to. Dean raised his hand to catch your scanning eyes, with the biggest smile you’d ever seen on him. You rolled your eyes before realizing that they hadn’t taken your warning and had sat in that section. 

You shot him a death glare before turning back to your dance, hoping that the spotlight would shine on anyone but them. The drunken cheers and whistles from the crowd were just about the only thing keeping you from running off stage and straight to the motel. You heard the cue in the music, prompting you to saunter down the main steps and into the audience. Sighing to yourself, you grabbed the mic and made your way to the steps. The music stopped, prompting your lines. “Gentlemen,” you said with your best honeyed Southern accent. “It’s one of your lucky nights” you finished, and the music started back up. You felt all eyes on you and tried to keep yourself from freaking out as you continued your routine. You heard the third cue in the music as the spotlight came down. You held your breath, praying that it would land anywhere but where it did. To your horror, it landed on Castiel.

Fuck you thought. The angel looked utterly confused, looking up and around him, completely thrown off by the sudden wash of light encompassing him. If it was possible, Dean’s smile grew even wider as he excitedly looked to Cas and clapped him on the shoulder. Castiel looked at him through furrowed brows, before following his gaze to you. You locked eyes with the bewildered angel, walking over to him as sexy as you could. A surge of confidence filled you when you saw his Adam’s apple bob and his jaw clench. In accordance with your routine, you walked right up to Castiel and kneeled in front of him, gently nudging his knees apart so you could settle between them. Castiel looked down at you with wide eyes, throat bobbing once more.

“And what might your name be, handsome?” you said into the mic, part of the routine. You held the mic out to Cas, which made him even more confused as he stared into your eyes, searching for any clue as to why you were asking for his name. The music was stopped again, waiting for his reply. Dean elbowed him, prompting him to answer. “Uh... Cas-Castiel,” he finally spat out. You mouthed a quick I’m so sorry and gave him an apologetic look before standing up and saying “Well, Castiel, I’ve got a special treat for you.” The music came back on and you handed the mic off to a stagehand, before turning back to Cas. 

With the spotlight still on him, you sauntered over to Castiel, swaying your hips to the music along the way. He sat unnaturally still, legs still apart from when you spread them, just barely exposing the small bulge beginning to form in his pants. You felt heat pool in your core at the sight, struggling to keep your focus on the routine. You made your way back in front of him, before turning away from him to swing your hips to the music. Turning back around, you saw him watching your movements closely, his once bright blue eyes now dark, pupils blown out from lust. You swallowed before placing your hands on his shoulders and climbing onto his lap. This surprised him, as his breath caught in his throat and his hands flew instinctively to your hips. You leaned in to whisper “don’t touch, the bodyguards won’t allow it.” He ripped hands off of you as if your skin burned him and he looked up at you with wide eyes.

You began grinding against him, moving your hips to the music and gaining more drunken cheers, one distinctively from Dean, earning him a smack on the back of his head from his younger brother. Castiel couldn’t care less about the audience, you had his undivided attention. He couldn’t help the noises coming from the back of his throat, nor could he seem to keep his vessel under control. His hands twitched at his sides, desperate to touch you. You felt him becoming harder and harder, making it more difficult for you to stay focused on your routine. You climbed off his lap, danced in front of him some more, and then sat back down, this time facing away from him. You ground you ass against his hardened member, earning a low moan from the angel. You felt your panties dampening, enjoying this just as much as he was. You continued grinding against him to the music, the crowd continuing to cheer, and Castiel continuing to squirm beneath you. 

Once more, you stood up from him, danced more of your routine, and straddled the utterly debauched angel. You worked hard to avoid eye contact, but slipped up and locked eyes with Castiel. To your delight, he donned the same desperate look from the dream you had earlier that morning. You shifted your hips to grind against him, causing his head to fall back to his shoulders and his mouth to part slightly. More heat pooled in your core the more you ground against him, a coil starting to form in your belly. Fuck you thought to yourself. Luckily, the fourth and final cue came in the music, signaling your return to the stage. You breathed a sigh of relief, climbed off of him, and pecked his cheek before sauntering back to the stage to finish the song. From the stage, you watched Castiel shift uncomfortably in his seat, trying and failing to conceal his tented slacks. 

Finally, the song ended and you blew a kiss to the crowd before skipping off stage, thankful to be done. While you were chatting with some of the girls, Dean came to get you, trying to hide his amusement as he told you Sam had gotten the tapes from Jimmy. You breathed a sigh of relief, glad that this night was over. Dean walked you back out to the car, where Sam and Cas were waiting. Cas looked up hearing footsteps, and his eyes widened when they met yours. He quickly looked down and avoided your stare until you got back to the car. The four of you got in silently and sat for a moment before you heard Dean breathe in as if he was about to say something. 

“Don’t,” you said quickly. “I don’t want to hear anything about tonight ever again. Capiche?” Dean muttered something under his breath and Sam gave you a tight nod, eager to also forget the events of the night. You took a deep breath and turned to Cas. “Castiel,” you began, and you could’ve sworn you saw him flinch at your words. “I really am sorry. I wasn’t expecting it to land on you, I told you three not to sit there..” you trailed off. He couldn’t meet your gaze. Instead he nodded and replied, “Our apologies for not realizing your meaning.” His eyes momentarily flicked up to yours before landing back down into his lap. You followed his gaze, and he seemingly noticed, as he once again shifted in his seat, trying to conceal the still obvious bulge.

This was going to be a fun ride back.