#congrats for forcing an 18 out of the closet

[hellaephemeral]

people need to fucking learn what queerbating is and that real people cannot do it. even celebrities. people just existing and being themselves is not queerbating.

[comphy-and-cozy]

congrats on 1k, my love!! 💜

🦋 could we get something for 14. "Get on your knees" with andrei please?

cooked up somethin real nice for you tiff 🫶🏼

celebrate 1k with me

Prompt: #14 “Get on your knees.”

Pairing: Andrei Svechnikov x Reader (f)

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: smut (18+ ONLY), blowjob/face fucking, restraints, spitting, very brief cumplay

The sound of PNC Arena erupting is deafening, a sea of red and black surrounding you as the ever-familiar goal horn buzzes. Andrei’s arms raise in celebration, a fierce cheer leaving his mouth as his teammates pile into his arms for a famed Hockey Hug. ‘Raise Up’ blares through the speakers, instantly triggering a warmth in your heart.

As you watch your Russian skate toward the bench for celebratory fistbumps from his teammates, a different type of warmth fills your body as you think back to your conversation from just a few hours prior.

You were seated on the edge of your bed, watching Andrei select a tie from his collection in the closet. The navy blue suit clinging to his body is your favorite, and you were appreciating yet again how nice it looked on his figure.

“Which one, dorogoy?”

His question startled you, pulling you out of your daydream of stripping the suit off of him, briefly wondering if you’d have time to entice him for a pre-game tryst. You tried to act innocent, glancing at the two ties he held out in his hands, positioning them against his front to show the color match; the smirk on his face told you he’d caught you, though.

“Um…” you trailed off, forcing your mind to focus on the two colors: a pale, yellowish-gold or a rosy pink. “That one.”

Andrei’s expression was smug, his large fingers running along the yellow tie you’d pointed to. You watched him stroke the smooth fabric, seducing you with just the simple act of putting on a tie.

“There’s no time left,” he said, returning the pink tie to the hanger, “but I’ll make it up to you when I get home.”

Your cheeks heated, caught red-handed, and you glanced up at him sheepishly. “Is that a promise?”

“When have I ever not kept my word to you, prinsessa?”

Sure enough, when you hear the key turning in the lock on the front door, your heart thuds in your chest at the promise he’ll soon bring to a reality.

Andrei’s hair is still damp from his post-game shower, his suit back on his body like he hadn’t ever taken it off. He sets his keys on the counter and shrugs off his coat without a glance at you, not even acknowledging you sitting on the couch, still sporting your Canes t-shirt underneath your leather jacket. It makes you shiver, anticipation building before he even gets his eyes on you.

And then he does, catching your gaze with a confident smile, so wide his missing tooth is visible. His arms open then, and you jump off the sofa to hurl yourself into his arms for a celebratory hug.

“That was such a nice goal, Drei,” you murmur into his thick neck, squealing when his arms give you a tight squeeze.

He hums a ‘thank you,’ though the glint in his eye is nothing like the playful smile you expected; instead, he’s smirking at you, gaze predatory.

“Remember what I promised you?”

You nod meekly, eyes drawn to where his hands have raised to loosen the tie around his neck. He slides the silk fabric out of his collar, then raises an eyebrow at you. A silent command.

With a gulp, you present your wrists to him and allow him to tie the soft material around them both. Not too tight—loose enough that you could probably slip out if you tried—but just enough to restrict the use of your hands. Enough to send a message.

“Get on your knees, malyshka.”

Helpless to obey, you do as he asks, sinking to your knees with your bound hands in your lap. You look up at him, and resist the urge to groan when he shrugs off his suit jacket and unbuckles his belt.

Your insides melt when he fishes out his already erect length, pink at the tip and a small bead of precum perched on top. Tucking your lip between your teeth, you resist the urge to moan, instead listening obediently when he tells you to stick your tongue out.

“Good girl.”

Praise warms your insides, followed quickly by warmth between your legs when he taps his shaft on your outstretched tongue. The weight of it is delectably heavy, solid and firm and waiting to be lodged in your throat.

Andrei repeats the action, tapping until he slips just the tip past your teeth, brushing the roof of your mouth with a groan. Your tongue flattens against the bottom of his shaft, pressing against him as he experiments moving into your mouth.

The way he eases in is almost polite, gentle enough to make sure you’re good, at first. But once he knows you’re ready for more, his hips are moving faster, rougher, letting him lose himself in the wet cavern of your mouth.

“Fuck, dorogoy,” he curses, hand fisted into your hair while his eyes squeeze shut. “Your mouth is so good— so fucking good for me, babe.”

The crescendo of his pretty groans alert you to his impending climax, and soon your mouth is flooded with his cum, shooting against the back of your throat.

With another grunt, Andrei eases himself out of your mouth, tongue instantly missing him. But then his large hand is on your jaw, tilting it so you can show him the pool of his cum resting on your tongue.

He hums in approval, admiring the sight paired with the dampness of your eyes. “Krasivy.” Beautiful.

With another nod, he tells you to swallow it. You do, letting the liquid slide down your throat, keeping your eyes on him the entire time.

“One more, dorogoy,” he says, and you open your mouth again.

Andrei purses his lips, letting a string of saliva pour from his mouth, dripping onto your tongue. You feel it slipping back, the same sensation as feeling his cum slip back.

He hums again, appreciative of your obedience. Another nod, and you swallow.

Your Russian tucks himself into his pants before quickly leaning down to press a kiss against your lips. He helps you up, and when you think he’s going to unto your wrists, he gives you a grin.

“Oh, I’m not done with you, kisa.”

[daisiesonafield-blog]

Adam Lambert would like everyone to tone down the hostility about a hundred notches, please.

The current Queen frontman addressed the “queerbaiting” accusations leveled against Harry Styles and other musicians, saying he doesn’t think they hold much water, in an interview with British outlet iNews this week. 

“I get the concern,” Lambert allowed. “But OK, so if you’re a gay man and you like Harry Styles, do you like him because he has a rainbow flag on stage or because you like his songs? Is the rainbow flag not just icing on the cake?”

Automatically labeling looks and performances that aren’t cisheteronormative as queerbait is “almost underestimating the intelligence of gay people,” Lambert went on.

“We’re not that gullible, are we?” Lambert asked rhetorically. “I think people just like to find things to bitch about.”

“Queerbaiting” is a term that usually describes films and shows that tease LGBTQ+ storylines, but back off at the last second — like, say, the Marvel Cinematic Universe has done several times, see: Loki. It’s also been used to refer to acts like the infamous Russian pop duo t.A.T.u., where industry executives fabricated a lesbian couple out of two straight women to pander to straight men. But in recent years, some have also used the term to accuse celebrities who are not publicly LGBTQ+ of manipulating their fans and using queer aesthetics to boost sales.

That kind of argument is more cynical and can often turn into friendly fire for anyone who’s still closeted. After being relentlessly hounded on social media last year for being seen holding hands with a girl on set, Heartstopper’s Kit Connor announced he was bisexual and swiftly deleted his account. “congrats for forcing an 18 year old to out himself,” Connor wrote. “i think some of you missed the point of the show.” 

Styles himself remains unbothered, calling the discourse around him “outdated” in interviews last year. “I’ve been really open with it with my friends, but that’s my personal experience; it’s mine,” the “As It Was” singer explained. Everyone is, after all, allowed to tell everybody or nobody about who or how they love — and to make schlock like My Policeman.

-Full article. Link here.

[thinkingaboutyoungroyals]

Congrats.

Y’all forced an 18-year-old out of the closet, completely disregarding all the lessons of the show we all love to praise for the way it approaches coming out and letting people do it at their own time.

Ughhh

[hellomynameisbisexual]

In the coming-of-age series with a refreshing, queer-forward plot, Connor plays a British high school rugby Nick Nelson, alongside classmate Charlie Spring, played by Joe Locke, who falls in love with him. Over the course of the eight-episode series, adapted from the graphic novel of the same name by Alice Oseman, Nick starts to question his own sexuality amid his growing feelings for Charlie.

The show was so well received when it launched this year that it’s already been renewed for two more seasons. It is one of the first to center LGBTQ characters — both Nick and Charlie, as well as others in the main cast — geared towards a teen and young adult audience. Unlike shows like “Sex Education” and “Euphoria,” which, while also wonderfully sexually and gender diverse, are more explicit.

Calls for Connor to address his own orientation started this spring with taunting on Twitter, which he addressed in a tweet, saying, “twitter is so funny man. apparently some people on here know my sexuality better than I do…” Still though, that pressure did not abate, and Connor became a target of what social media mobs dubbed “queerbaiting,” with claims the show was attempting to reel people in with broader LGBTQ-inclusive themes without being deliberate in revealing his character’s identity — and perhaps that Connor was doing the same.

The truth about Nelson’s character, as well as Connor’s real-life identity, may be much more nuanced. Nonetheless, Connor, who clearly felt backed into a corner, tweeted on Halloween to his 1 million followers that he was bisexual: “back for a minute. i’m bi,” he wrote. “congrats for forcing an 18 year old to out himself. i think some of you missed the point of the show. bye.”

There is a lot to unpack in this story, not least of which is that a young adult has been forced to share very publicly parts of his own identity that are very private — and may still be in flux.

Connor felt the pressure of a moralistic social media mob, a force quick to attack and slow to forgive, that demands you answer its questions immediately and with no room for nuance or context. It is not the way we ought to be operating as a culture.

Sometimes the Twitter mob forces real issues into the light and brings them to favorable outcomes more quickly. Other times, it just blows everything up and walks away, not caring what casualties it leaves in its wake.

Connor’s outing is the latest in a string of celebrities recently forced to out themselves, lest tabloid media exposes or “leaks” do so for them, and stands in contrast to the long history of Hollywood celebrities forced to remain in the closet or else risk their careers.

From closeted actor Rock Hudson in the 20th century to the openly trans actor Elliot Page today, performers have long had to live double lives and hide their true identities to remain on the A list – even to remain safe and alive. It took Ellen DeGeneres decades to rebuild her career after she came out on the cover of TIME magazine in 1997, at the same time as her character in the eponymous ABC sitcom.

It’s true that many LGBTQ characters in contemporary media have evolved — from murderers, murder victims, sex workers and one-dimensional characters who provide a punchline — into actual human beings, including those who aren’t just the sidekick but the leading roles.

They include Michaela Jay Rodriguez, Billy Porter, Dominique Jackson and Indya Moore on FX’s “Pose”; Sara Ramirez as Callie Torres on “Grey’s Anatomy” (and, yes, as Che Diaz on “Sex and the City” spinoff “And Just Like That”); the casts of this year’s movies “Fire Island” and “BROS”’ and Zendaya as Rue Bennett from HBO’s “Euphoria,” to name just a few. We’ve come a long way in a short time in terms of representation in media.

(HBO and HBO Max are both owned by CNN’s parent company, Warner Bros. Discovery.)

Now LGBTQ audiences are rightfully asking the hard questions about who gets to play LGBTQ characters. Does a cisgender person playing a transgender character amount to a White actor in blackface, or playing a role of a BIPOC person, or is there a different litmus test? Does acting mean playing a character distinct from the actor’s personal identity, or are there rules we have yet to adequately draw and maintain?

Cisgender actors like Eddie Redmayne, who was nominated for an Oscar for his role playing a transgender woman in “The Danish Girl,” later said he regrets stepping into the role and that it should have been reserved for a transgender woman. But other casting choices, like Cate Blanchett or Mara Rooney playing lesbians in the stunning 2015 movie, “Carol,” feel more forgivable. Perhaps casting someone to play a character they do not identify as in their personal life is more palatable if they were cast by a director, producer or writer who does inhabit that identity authentically.

Who gets to create queer art and media — and what qualifies as accurate representation? Would a television series or movie get attention if a star-studded cishet cast was replaced for the sake of aligning representation? What if the show’s writers or directors are queer, but the actors aren’t?

While it’s progress that openly queer actors are being cast in leading roles, weaponizing criticisms of queerbaiting and appropriation as an excuse to force a teen or any actor out of the closet is not the answer. Those conversations have reached a fever pitch, and the result is hurting people who should be allowed to make their own decisions when and how to come out, if at all.

For thousands of years, humans have felt the need to categorize things in the world in order to make sense of them. Younger people are disrupting that rigid framework with more fluid gender identities and romantic expressions. That makes some people uncomfortable (read: the current culture wars targeting trans kids, LGBTQ rights, literature and school policies, among other things). But many of those disrupters are also demanding people like Connor now put themselves a box with a label slapped on the front — and share it with the world in short order.

Coming out is not a one-time act, or something that remains fixed, and why should it be? Identities are malleable, and many young people are still on the journey to find themselves. What we shouldn’t do is publicly shame someone into disclosing a part of themselves they may not be ready to or want to share.

With LGBTQ rights under heightened threat across the US and around the world, coming out involves a whole different assessment of risk and repercussions. There is only person who should drive that decision, and no, it’s not a Twitter troll.

Note: There are plenty of resources available for those who want to learn more about how to best support those who are coming out as LGBTQ, and for people who are exploring the queer corners of their own sense of self.

[zot3-flopped]

For the love of God, stop talking about Harry Styles’ sexuality

Is the pop star's private life really any of our business?

By Patrick Sproull

God, I envy Luca Guadagnino. The concept of queerbaiting was put to the Bones & All director last year and his response was to ask, “what is that?” The idea of floating above the 2020s’ most tedious discourse sounds roughly on parallel with Lionel Hutz imagining a world without lawyers. I’m exhausted by it. We’ve read so much about it, heard so much about it, yet somehow people like Billy Porter pop out of the woodwork every 6 months to accuse Harry Styles of exploiting queer people. Aside from being so utterly boring, these bad faith criticisms have lately taken on a malicious edge.

Over the weekend Porter aired his criticisms of Harry Styles, not for the first time, in an interview with The Telegraph. He said that Styles becoming the first man to feature on the cover of American Vogue “doesn’t feel good to me” and accused Styles, whom he identified as straight despite Styles never having confirmed this, of exploiting “my community.”

It’s hard not to consider the historical precedent for the obsession over who Styles sleeps with. At the height of his career, David Bowie was regularly quizzed about his sexuality. In 1972 he said he was gay. Then, in 1976, he said he was bisexual. Finally, in 1983, he claimed he was actually a “closet heterosexual.” Clearly, attempting to fit his sexuality into a precise box and be defined by it did not serve Bowie well. He later called his coming out “the biggest mistake I ever made” and that by being reduced to his sexuality, “it stood in the way of so much I wanted to do.” To me, it’s clear that Harry Styles, who is often discussed in the same breath as Bowie, is simply treading more carefully. He says he doesn’t label himself, he loves who he loves at his own discretion, and his fashion is extraneous to this. For some people Styles’ firm refuting of labels isn’t enough, which takes this discourse onto the slipperiest of slopes.

Putting pressure on a celebrity to address their sexuality in terms more suited to their fan base and the industry is depressingly familiar. Kit Connor of Heartstopper fame came out last Halloween, tweeting, “back for a minute. i’m bi. congrats for forcing an 18-year-old to out himself. i think some of you missed the point of the show. bye.”

It was a full-throated indictment of the toxic side of the Heartstopper fandom, who interpreted the show’s warm message of inclusivity as the green light to go on a merry witch hunt for any potentially straight cast members. The entire affair hurt Connor, as would any induced coming out, and it’s an example of what happens when the Internet insists upon knowing who’s shagging who.

Porter’s recent comments are not the first time he’s criticised Styles and they espouse exclusivity in the name of inclusivity. He refers to Styles “using my community”, as if queerness or gender nonconformity is a members’ club Styles is gatecrashing.

His point about Styles’ whiteness and beauty playing a prime part in his position as the first man to cover American Vogue is obviously correct, but it is not for Porter to proclaim who is in the ‘community’.

There is no hierarchy within queerness or gender nonconformity and Porter is wrong to claim there are “leaders of this de-gendering of fashion movement” because the de-gendering of fashion is something that has existed since fashion began. It has no leaders because it’s literally just clothes.

Accusing Harry Styles of queerbaiting in 2023 is like taking part in the ALS ice bucket challenge. It feels like the product of another time and doesn’t exactly hold water in such sexually fluid times. Most of us have moved on from viewing others’ sexuality with such suspicion and the idea that there currently exists a large portion of celebrities in Hollywood who desire to be seen as gay whilst secretly being heterosexual is pure tinfoil hat territory.

We are so culturally beyond queerbaiting as a concept. Styles, the tallest, shiniest lightning rod for this alleged crime, has never marshalled a Pride march or appeared in a Pride magazine shoot. He isn’t directly profiting from queerness, he simply wears the clothes he wears.

This desire to demarcate queerness serves absolutely no one because at this point ostracising a potentially queer person for their perceived straightness would do more harm than welcoming in a straight person in gay clothing. We saw what happened to Kit Connor and the harm it caused. It’s time to move on.

[queridopascal]

ANNIE CONGRATS ON THE MILESTONE! You deserve it so much🥺

From the prompts what about "ten? I only need five" with Frankie (maybe when you have to be in a rush to go somewhere and perhaps with a curvy reader?)

again CONGRATS - I love reading your work and excited to read more!! ✨

Thank you so much sweetheart! I hope you enjoy this 💜

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Curvy F!Reader

Warning: 18+, explicit content, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex (p in v), fluff because it’s me

4. “ten? i only need five.”

With one last look in the mirror, you smile at yourself, pleased from the way in which your make-up has turned out. You had decided to use just a few products and keep it as natural as possible, and the outcome turned out to be just what you were expecting.

“You ready ba— oh...” Frankie stops dead in his tracks when he sees you, mouth dropping open in a perfect circle as his eyes scan every inch of your figure.

“Frankie, come on...” you tell him with mock shyness, loving the way his gaze is practically glued to your body.

“Baby,” he exhales as he strides towards you, “you look breathtaking. I — just... I’m — WOW.”

“You like it?” you ask, even though you already know the answer.

He wolf whistles as he takes your hand and makes you spin, admiring how the dress hugs you and enhances all the right places. His gaze settles on your soft thighs and hips, before traveling up to your breasts and exposed shoulders.

“Jesus Christ, baby.” he swallows, eyes still fixed on your curves. “We better get going or else...”

You look into his eyes and bite your bottom lip at his hidden insinuation, the temperature in your bedroom suddenly rising.

“They can wait for us for ten more minutes.” you murmur as you take a step closer to him and place one hand on his chest, playing with the buttons of his shirt.

Ducking his head, Frankie lets out a low chuckle. “Ten? I only need five.”

Moments later, Frankie has you sitting on your vanity, with your dress hiked up around your waist as he buries his face in between your thighs, lapping at your folds. He grunts against you, hands digging into the plush warmth of your outer thighs as the hook of his aquiline nose teases your clit.

“Fra—Frankie...” you whimper, one hand braced on the vanity, the other buried in his hair.

He lifts his head a little, just what is needed to make eye contact with you.

“I wanna die between these thighs.” he murmurs before diving back in, sucking on that bundle of nerves until your mind goes blank and your legs start shaking, closing in spasms around Frankie’s face.

He pulls away and forces them open, marveling at the way your pussy glistens and gapes on nothing, silently begging to be filled.

“Frankie — I...” you babble out as you try to catch your breath, but he steals it away from you yet again when he kisses you, hungrily, almost forcing his tongue into your hot mouth.

Unbuttoning his pants and lowering his boxer briefs, he lets them pool around his ankles as he presses up against you; his cock rests heavily on your slit, and he breaks the kiss for a moment to take his length into his hand and swipe it up and down your folds for a few times.

“Frankie...”

“Ye—yeah, baby?”

“Fuck me.”

Your words turn him feral, and in one swift motion, he pushes in to the hilt as you both gasp in unison. One of his hands finds purchase on your right hip, the other grabs the back of your knee, throwing your left leg over his shoulder, allowing him to get deeper.

His pace is brutal, every thrust makes the vanity shake and bang against the wall; all the products you had so neatly arranged on its surface are now scattered across the floor, some of them have probably rolled under the bed, others have stopped their run against the closet doors.

“Fuck, I’m close.” Frankie hisses as he closes his eyes, head falling forward and curls bouncing on his damp foreahed. He looks so sexy like this, completely unhinged and drunk off of you.

“You a—always fuck me so good, Francisco.” you say, sliding your right hand up and down his chest as your head lulls back against the mirror.

“Oh shit, baby. Shitshitshit.” he grits his teeth and increases his pace, his cock grazing against that soft spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.

He drives in and out of you until his thrusts turn erratic and his breath comes out in staccato puffs and grunts; he feels you clench around him, your pussy clamping down on his cock, and he tries to thrust a few more times, but he ends up just barely moving.

His grip on your hip and on the back of your knee tightens when he finally comes, painting your walls with thick ropes of his cum as you cup the back of his head and draw his face towards your own.

You’re both panting, breathing in each other’s essence as he rests his forehead against yours while he pulls out with a small grunt.

“What time is it?” he asks, voice hoarse.

You take a glance at the digital alarm clock on your nightstand.

“8.15.” you tell him, combing back the sweaty curls from his forehead.

“Damn it! That’s seven minutes, not five!”

You laugh in his face. “So what? Those were the best seven minutes of my life.”

Frankie chuckles and cups your face, placing a chaste kiss on your lips. “You okay?”

“More than okay.” you nod with a smile. “Give me five more minutes to... you know, make myself presentable again... and then we can go and have dinner with Pope and his new girlfriend.”

“Okay.” another kiss on your lips. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom and then I’ll go wait for you in the living room.”

You sigh and watch him as he walks over to the door, waiting until he’s just a couple of steps away before you call after him, using his full name.

“I love you.” you murmur, tilting your head to the side as you regard him dreamily.

A beautiful smile spreads across his face, brown eyes shining as they meet your gaze from the other side of the room. “I love you, too.”

[onyxiana-is-obsessed]

Doubt | Tamaki Amajiki x Reader | Soulmate AU

AN: Hiya! This was a server prompt for the server I’m in! I got Tamaki, so here we go! Here is the main master list for the other characters!

Part 2!! Part 3!!

Pronouns used: They/them Length: 4.9k words

Summary: Everyone in the world has a soulmate and Tamaki Amajiki is no different. The thing is, he’s terrified to meet or talk to his soulmate because he’s scared they could a villain. That is... until he’s finally able to talk to you.

Full Name: (y/f/n) Quirk: (y/q) Age: 18

Every single person in the world has a soulmate. A predetermined pair, courtesy of the universe. Soulmates had a link, a way to communicate with each other. At the age of 18, anything someone wrote on their body would appear on their soulmate’s body, in the exact same spot.

Tamaki Amajiki knew he had a soulmate, someone bound to him for life. He just couldn’t believe that could be the case. Fated pairs were a scary thing due to the limited amount of knowledge surrounding the concept. No one knew why this weird ability existed, no one knew how these pairs were determined, and whether or not there was a person doing this.

Tamaki always feared who his soulmate would be. One of the main fears was if they’d be a villain. What would he do? Every single fated pair fell in love the second they saw each other. What if Tamaki’s other half was a villain? How could he, a hero, fall in love with the enemy?

As his 18th birthday drew closer, Tamaki felt panic and anxiety rather than excitement. Both Mirio and Nejire did their best to convince him his other half wouldn’t be a villain, but how could they be so sure?

“Come on, Tamaki, it’ll be ok!” Mirio smiled. “I highly doubt your soulmate could be a villain! I bet they’re someone awesome with an amazing quirk!”

“Mirio… you’re too loud.” Tamaki muttered, stuffing his face into his arms that laid on his desk. His 18th birthday was just a few days away and then he’d have to face his soulmate.

“Oh hey, you could be worrying for no reason,” Nejire suggested, her legs swinging back and forth on the desk. “Maybe they’re only 16 or 17. You wouldn’t be able to talk to them then.”

“Huh,” Mirio said, “I didn’t even think about that. She’s got a good point.”

“What if they are over 18?” Tamaki argued, turning his head up toward them. “What if they’re like 20?”

“Well…” Nejire giggled sheepishly. “Then you’ll be talking to them! Imagine, Amajiki! What if they’re some awesome celebrity!”

“Or a super cool hero? Maybe from another country?” Mirio added. Tamaki tried his best to let them ease his worries, but no one could drown out that little voice in the back of his head. This was all speculation. They could be wrong.

***

Tamaki sighed as he looked at the clock on his nightstand. 11:43 pm on March 3rd. 17 minutes until he turned 18. He already had his pen ready and he’d decided where he’d write his little message. His mind was in a flurry of emotions, he wasn’t sure if he was excited or not. Well, he was, to an extent, but he was also scared- no, terrified.

What if they didn’t like him? What if his shyness and anxiety was too much for them? What about him? What if they were loud and mean like that Bakugou fellow? What if they were blunt and less understanding of his anxiety? He couldn’t handle that! There’s no way.

11:53 pm.

Mirio and Nejire had offered to stay with him but he declined, wanting to be alone. Both of them reminded him multiple times that they would be completely ok with him coming to their rooms for any reason. 

11:54 pm.

Tamaki’s hands rubbed his cheeks as he tried his best to calm down. His eyes kept returning to his little clock and it almost felt as if time was moving slower. His desperate need to talk to his love equally matched his need to run and hide from them, which didn’t even make sense!

“Coward…” He mumbled to himself as he fell back on his bed. His indigo eyes stared up at the ceiling and for once, he attempted to think positive thoughts about his fated lover, or at least, force himself to.

They could be like Mirio, a bright ball of sun who would be there to support him, always encouraging him no matter what the situation. Someone who would wrap their arms around him and whisper comforting words in his ears during his panic attacks or just when the world got too much to handle. Someone who could love someone like him unconditionally.

Tamaki jumped slightly when his phone rang, indicating he’d gotten a text. He picked it up and stared at it. He’d gotten 2 texts, one from Mirio and another from Nejire. Both of them said “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” with a million emojis. Right as Tamaki was about to respond, he felt his blood run cold, numbing him as the realization of what would occur now filled him. 

18. He was 18 now. Shakily, Tamaki grabbed his pen and gingerly pulled back his sleeve, finding the perfect spot to write his greeting.

Hello

Tamaki waited patiently for a reply. He thanked both Mirio and Nejire, who wanted to know if his soulmate responded, to which he said no.

Five minutes went by, then ten, then 20. But he received no response. Tamaki frowned, falling on the bed again. Shouldn’t he be happy? He didn’t want to talk to his soulmate. He was too scared to face them. That wasn’t true, deep down, Tamaki was desperate to talk to his soulmate. He needed to talk to them, to know exactly who they were. Guess that wasn’t happening tonight. 

Without saying much to his friends, Tamaki turned off his lights and tried to sleep. He stared into the darkness, that dreadful feeling building up in the pit of his stomach. The feeling was overwhelming, especially when he came to the realization that he’d need to wait longer for the identity of his lifelong partner. It made him feel trapped and none of these overpowering emotions helped the tears that slid down his cheeks that night. What a great way to start his birthday.

***

Tamaki’s indigo eyes fluttered open, slowly adjusting to the brightness in his room. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, looking at the clock next to him. 6:32 am. He quickly got up and went to the bathroom to get ready for school. 

Tamaki quickly took a shower and brushed his teeth. As he walked out to his room, he took off his shirt, walking to his closet to grab his uniform. He froze when he saw his wrist.

Happy birthday, love

They… responded!? Tamaki scrambled to find his pen, cursing when he failed to. He grabbed his backpack, quickly fishing out a pen and wrote his message underneath.

Good morning

Tamaki impatiently waited, hoping he’d be able to talk to his soulmate right now. He felt an odd tingling sensation on his wrist as he watched the letters slowly appear.

Good morning! How did you sleep?

Tamaki sat on his bed, shakily writing out his response.

Good, you? And thank you

I slept well! Sorry I responded late; I was a little busy! I’m so happy I finally get to talk you <3

How old are you? Did you wait long?

I turned 18 on (birthday)! Gosh, I was so nervous! What’s your name?

Tamaki debated whether he wanted to reveal his identity. What if they were a villain? It… didn’t matter. Tamaki felt something weird in his chest. He felt comfortable and happy now that he’d been able to talk to them. That anxious feeling he had was no longer there, almost as if it never was.

Tamaki Amajiki. Yours?

(Y/f/n)! That’s a super cute name

Tamaki’s face turned red at the compliment as their name swirled around in his head. (F/n). It was cute. He really liked it.

“(F/n)... it’s nice to meet you.”

**

“No way! Let me see!” Nejire said, yanking Tamaki’s arm.

“H-Hado! W-wait!” She pouted as he held his arm close to his chest. He unbuttoned his jacket and slid it off, letting his arm sit on the desk. Both Nejire and Mirio leaned in to read what they’d said.

“Wow! I’m so happy for you Tamaki!” Mirio smiled. “When do you plan to meet (f/n)?” Tamaki looked away. Wait… meeting already? Hold on! No one said anything about meeting anybody!

You’re still in school, right? What school do you go to?

Nejire read the message aloud before handing Tamaki a purple pen, which he thanked her for and wrote out his response.

I go to UA

No way! That’s awesome! Congrats on getting in! What course?

Hero

Omg! Omg! Omg! My soulmate’s a hero!!!!!

Both Nejire and Mirio chuckled at their response while Tamaki’s face turned a bright red. He immediately stood in front of a wall, holding his wrist against his chest.

“Guess they’re not a villain after all.” Nejire giggled. Sure, (f/n) could be lying to them and pretending to be an innocent civilian… but it felt different. Before, when Tamaki thought about his soulmate, he was so hesitant, confused, and uneasy. But now, a simple thought of his soulmate… and all those thoughts of uncertainty were put to rest. He wasn’t scared, he wasn’t uncomfortable, he wasn’t uneasy. He was content and relieved.

Tamaki felt his wrist tingle again, making his eyes move to the writing. He noticed how… adorable their writing was. The way the E’s curved, the way they wrote their T’s, the way some letters were connected and others weren’t.

You’re not in hero school? Tamaki wrote down, his head still against the cold wall.

‘Not really. My quirk’s (y/q), it’s not the worst with fighting villains, but I just don’t think I have it in me to be a hero’ After the words appeared on his skin, he watched as the others started to disappear. They must’ve been washing their arm to make more room for more writing.

“D-Do you g-guys have a wi-wipe?” Tamaki asked, turning to them. Nejire smiled, grabbing her back.

“Need to clean off the writing?” She asked, reaching into her bag. As she handed him a small wipe, Tamaki quietly thanked her, applying it to his arm. He cleared off most of the writing, while some remained as illegible smudges. “Here, keep it.” Nejire smiled, holding out the entire pack.

“Thanks.” 

‘That’s an interesting quirk, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.’

‘Wow, I surprised a hero! That’s a point for me.’ They quickly responded. ‘HEY! We should meet! I work at (workplace). You should totally come by! ‘ Tamaki’s anxiety spiked at the thought of meeting his soulmate. That calm, serene feeling fled almost immediately and he clenched his fists. No way. That was too much!

‘Maybe’ he responded, pulling his sleeve down, not bothering to see his soulmate’s reply. He felt the tingling, but ignored it, returning to his seat when the teacher came in. Tamaki felt awful, but there was no way he could meet his soulmate, just the thought of it was too much to handle.

Throughout the class period, Tamaki felt his arm tingle a couple of times, but he didn’t look to see what his soulmate wrote. He couldn’t.

**

“I’ll look for you, if you want!” Nejire chirped, while munching on her apple. All morning, Tamaki had ignored his soulmate in fear of seeing their response, however, at the same time he was desperate to see what they said.

“O-ok.” He said, holding his arm out. Nejire gently rolled his sleeve up and smiled at the response.

“Look, Amajiki!” He looked down at his arm, his indigo eyes widening a bit at the letters sprawled on his wrist.

‘Oh! I understand, it’s too much! We can wait!’

‘Why aren’t you responding?’

‘Are you upset?’

‘Oh! Duh! You have class! Have a good day, love’ Tamaki immediately searched for a pen, which was halted when Mirio held one out of him.

“Here.” He smiled.

“Thanks.” Tamaki took the cap off and began to write out his reply.

‘Yes, I’m sorry. I had class. Thanks for understanding.’

‘No problem, love!’

“I think it’s adorable how (l/n) keeps calling you love!�� Nejire said, dreamily. She placed her hands on her cheeks and looked away. “How romantic!” Tamaki’s ears turned red and he covered his face.

“C-c-calm d-down!” However, he couldn’t help the smile that took over his lips at the thought of his soulmate. They were already understanding and caring. He wondered why he was so worried in the first place.

~**~

It had been a little over a month since (f/n) had started talking with their soulmate. They were a bit upset that he still didn’t want to meet up. Of course, they were willing to give him as much time as he needed, but it still hurt. Was there something wrong with them? Was Tamaki unhappy with his soulmate not being a hero? Probably, he was training to be one, so he’d need someone of his caliber standing at his side.

(f/n) frowned, sitting on the dinner table with their family. They were quiet throughout the entire dinner, staring at their clean arm. Tamaki was busy today, so they hadn’t been able to talk at all. (f/n) missed him. A lot more than they thought was possible.

“So, how are you and your soulmate getting along?” (m/n) asked, making (f/n) look up and smile.

“Good, we’re doing good.”

“Do you planning on meeting?” (d/n). (f/n) looked down at the plate of food in front of them at the question. Were they? So far, (f/n) was sure they weren’t.

“I… no.” (f/n) answered, taking a bite of their food.

“Why not?” (m/n) inquired, taking a sip of their drink. (f/n) shrugged, unsure of how to explain their situation.

“He’s got anxiety, so I think it’s just too difficult for him to meet me. I… I’m ok with it. I’ll wait until he’s comfortable.”

“Do you guys know what each other look like? Do you still talk through your skin? Are you friends on social media?” (d/n) asked, looking over at the clearly upset (f/n).

“No, yes, no.” (f/n) answered rather bluntly. “He just needs time. Besides, he’s really busy. He’s a hero in training, you know.” (f/n) informed.

“Oh? That’s awesome! What’s his hero name?” (f/n) frowned at the question again.

“H-he was too shy to tell me.”

“He’s not lying is he?” (m/n) asked, genuinely concerned. “I don’t mean for that to sound rude or anything, but… I worry about you, love.”

“I trust him,” (f/n) said. “I… trust him.” Dinner didn’t last long. (f/n) wasn’t able to eat anything, so instead, they chose to eat at another time. They went upstairs to their room, where they grabbed their pen and wrote out a short message.

‘Hope your patrol is going well! Stay safe, love! ‘ Sighing, (f/n) sat at their desk and started working on their homework for (college course). It was a good distraction because about two and a half hours had passed and (f/n) was exhausted enough to go to bed. They quickly changed into their pjs and got into bed, taking another look at their arm. Nothing. Not a damn thing. (f/n) desperately tried to keep their emotions under control, not wanting to cry for no reason. Stupid emotions.

**

Tamaki abruptly stopped, placing a hand on his chest. He felt an inconsolable sorrow deep in his heart. He looked around, thinking it could be a villain’s quirk.

“What’s wrong, Suneater?” Fat Gum asked, looking back at him. Unable to really respond, he just looked up at his mentor, a frown on his face. “Suneater?”

~**~

(f/n) smiled at their coworkers as they walked into their workplace. Walking to the elevator, they took it to the third highest floor, which was the 23rd floor. They were greeted by their coworker as they stepped out of the elevator and went to their office to start the day. 

For the first hour, everything was rather uneventful, (f/n) found themselves getting lost in their work, when they suddenly felt the building shake with such force, followed by a thunderous explosion. (f/n) frantically looked around, the atmosphere becoming tense as everyone looked at each other. Panic surged through the room, catching everyone off guard with a second explosion, another following right after, making the building shake once more.

“IT’S A VILLAIN ATTACK!” Someone yelled, causing fear to surge through them all. Everyone started to run towards the stairs in an attempt to get downstairs to get out of the building and far away from the scene.

(f/n) screamed as they were shoved down to the floor by the swarming crowd. There was another explosion, much closer to the room everyone was in. They pushed themselves to stand and try to escape, but as everyone ran across the large floor, it started to collapse. Slowly crumbling and falling apart, the group was separated, (f/n) being one of the few still stuck far away from the door. The remainder ran back towards the walls in an attempt to find some stable flooring.

The floor beneath (f/n) started to give in and break apart, they attempted to leap towards one of the more stable spots on the floor. But before they could even attempt to jump, they fell through.

“(L/N)!” Their friends screamed, trying to reach out and catch them, but they were too late. (f/n) shrieked as they fell through the floor. Unfortunately, the next two floors had also broken apart, which meant (f/n) was going to plummet at least twenty feet more! As a last ditch effort to save themselves, they quickly activated their quirk in an attempt to break their fall somehow.

(f/n) landed on a broken column but wasn’t able to grab onto anything, causing them to slip and fall onto a block of concrete, then roll and slam into the ground on their side. A loud groan escaped their lips as they pushed themselves to stand.

An intense pain shot through their spine, making them fall to their knees, with a yelp escaping their lips. Their head was spinning, they felt nauseous, and when looking down, they could see bruises already starting to form and splotches of blood leaking through their now dirty clothing.

“RUN! (F/N) YOU HAVE TO RUN!” (f/n) looked around, but the doors were blocked off with rubble.

“I-I c-can’t!” They yelled back. “I-I can’t…” (f/n) fell to the floor, leaning against a piece of concrete as pain shot throughout their battered body.

***

“Suneater! Let’s go!” Fat Gum yelled, interrupting Tamaki, whose mind was on his food. “There’s an attack nearby at (workplace)!” Tamaki’s heart sank as fear filled his being. His… soulmate was there. His (f/n) worked there! Without another word, Tamaki quickly followed Fat Gum and the others to the scene of the crime, determined to save his other half.

Fat Gum was right, (f/n)’s workplace was ten minutes away from where they were. When they got there, their eyes widened in horror. Multiple parts of the building were blown apart, smoke emitting from the destroyed sections. People had gathered outside, a distance away, making it difficult for the heroes to get through.

“There’s still people in there!” Someone yelled when they noted the multiple heroes behind the large group.

“Get out of here! Get away!” Fat Gum yelled, then looked down at Tamaki who grabbed his arm.

“M-My soulmate’s in there! I-I have to get them!”

“Where?”

“I don’t know.” Fat Gum could see the fear and panic swirling in Tamaki’s eyes and took him by the shoulders.

“It’s ok. Come on, let’s save them.”

***

“Uh… wh-what the hell…” (f/n) stuttered as loud cracking echoed through the room. “N-no way!” They looked around and saw more cracks appearing on the floor. Their eyes scanned the room in an attempt to find anything to grab onto or use to not fall through, but there was nothing. Everything was just rubble, the previous two ceilings had broken through, destroying everything in the room.

Still, unwilling to give up, (f/n) crawled to the corner of the room, hoping the floor would be a bit more stable there. The cracks got louder and louder, making tears spring to their eyes.

“I-I don’t kn-know what to do… Tamaki…” they whispered, “Help me. I’m scared.” Finally the floor collapsed, making everything around (f/n) start to fall apart, including the wall they leaned against. They stood up, pain shooting through their body as the floor broke once again. (f/n) quickly grabbed onto a large piece of concrete and held on tightly as it plummeted through the next floor. A scream escaped their lips as the concrete broke apart on impact. (f/n)’s body slammed onto the ground causing them to scream out even louder. After a few moments of not moving, they pushed themselves to sit up and looked around.

Movement had become impossible at this point, making them fall onto their back. Their glossy eyes stared up at the ceiling, tears sliding down the sides of their face as a sob escaped their lips.

“Dammit…” (f/n) mumbled and coughed due to all the dust around the room. The exits were still blocked, but this time there was a large window to the left. It didn’t matter much, (f/n) couldn’t move, no matter how much they willed their body. They weren’t made like heroes were, (f/n) couldn’t shrug off the hits their body had taken. “T-Tamaki… p-please fi-find me…”

(f/n) tilted their head to the side, in an attempt to find something, anything. How would they look with a hero as a soulmate, but they died without fighting. By pure, utter luck, they spotted a pen not too far away. Their eyes widened and they tried to stand, but the pain that shot through their body stopped them.

“N-No…” They mumbled as they rolled over onto their stomach, a scream erupting from their lips at the sheer, intense pain. (f/n) knew something was horribly wrong, but they didn’t even want to think about the injuries right now. Forcing themselves to crawl, they slowly- at the pace of a snail- inched towards the pen.

After a few minutes, they reached out and snatched the pen off the ground, tearing off the cap and immediately writing on their palm.

HELP

Tamaki felt the tingling sensation and his eyes shot down to his palm. He saw the message and grabbed Fat Gum’s arm.

“P-Pen! I-I need a pen!” He exclaimed, looking up at his mentor, who looked at him confused.

“I don’t have a pen, Suneater,” He looked at the other heroes. “Do you have a pen?!” They looked at him with a confused expression.

“No?!” One of them yelled back.

“I-I have a pen!” A civilian yelled, reaching into her purse. Tamaki ran to her, giving her a moment to find it. He took it from her, writing underneath it.

Where are you?

Not sure. Hurt. Help.

I can’t find you like that.

Near 20th floor, by large window

Tamaki’s heart clenched as (f/n) slowly wrote out their answer. Their writing was messy and short, a clear indication of their current situation. His indigo eyes shot to the top of the building, as he desperately tried to find their room. But before anyone could do anything, the building started creaking and leaning backwards.

“W-what?”

“THE BUILDING’S GONNA FALL! HAWKS!” Fat Gum screamed out as the said hero rapidly used his feathers to gather as many people as he could in the area he was currently. (f/n)’s eyes widened as they felt the building tilt, their body slid against the dirty floor, hitting the slab of concrete they had fallen with.

“He won’t get there in time…” Tamaki muttered, almost feeling wrong saying that of the fastest hero. “B-But I-I don’t know where they are.”

“Go!” Fat Gum commanded as he tried to help more civilians escape. “GO!” Large, feathery, white wings sprouted from Tamaki’s back and he quickly flew up to the 20th floor. His eyes quickly looked through all the windows and he was shocked at the debris he saw inside. Where was (f/n)?

The building started to fall and (f/n) closed their eyes, ready to accept their fate. They tried, they tried to contact Tamaki and no doubt he tried to find them. It just… wasn’t meant to be.

Tamaki darted in between all the window’s stopping when he saw a figure leaning against concrete, their back to him. The building was already falling and he had no way to get to (f/n). He used his tentacles, which immediately shattered the thick window between him and (f/n).

(f/n)’s eyes shot open and they turned their head, seeing large, purple objects shooting towards them. Their arms came up to protect their heads, but the large tentacles wrapped around their torso as their body slipped in between the gap of the shattered window.

Wide, terrified (e/c) eyes watched as the building fell and collapsed onto the ground below, tearing apart the road and the other buildings it landed on. The back of (f/n)’s hand landed on their mouth as tears spilled from their eyes. The damage was awful and frightening, but they felt relief wash over their body as arms wrapped around their torso.

“I got you.” They heard a deep male voice behind them. Tamaki quickly turned (f/n) so that he was able to hold them up in bridal style, wanting to make sure he wasn’t going to drop them. “You’re ok,” he soothed as he slowly moved towards the ground. “Everything’s ok. You’ll be just fine.” (f/n) was silent, their eyes landing on the hero saving them.

Suneater. That was Suneater, a student hero they’d seen plenty of times on the news. He was the shy type, he got easily embarrassed and scared when it came to cameras or big crowds.

“Suneater…” (f/n) whispered, making his eyes widen. He felt an odd sensation flow through him as his indigo eyes met their glossy (e/c) ones. He caught sight of something on their wrist... words?

No way.

“... (f-f/n)?”

“Tamaki?” His feet touched the ground and he immediately hugged (f/n) tightly, holding them close to him as his own nerves started to calm.

“I was so scared,” he said, his hands raking through their hair to calm them down. “I’m so glad you’re ok.” Their arms wrapped around his torso and they buried their face in his chest. They were silent for a moment, before (f/n) broke it.

“Y-You really smell like food.” His cheeks flushed red and he looked away, pointing to the pouches on his chest.

“Th-there’s f-food in here. For m-my quirk.”

“Right, manifest. It’s amazing… you’re amazing. Thank you for saving me, Suneater.” His cheeks were now a darker shade of red but he smiled regardless.

~**~

“Tama! Here!” (f/n) happily waved from the small booth they sat in. It had been a few days since the incident and they’d been meeting up pretty much every single day, whenever they had gotten the chance to. The day of the rescue, (f/n) spent at the hospital before Recovery Girl was brought in for healing most of the injured, including themselves. That day, Tamaki had visited them and had continued to meet up with them since.

Tamaki walked over to (f/n)’s booth and slid into the seat in front of them. (f/n) immediately reached out and took his hand, holding it tightly.

“How are you?” He asked.

“I’m good, feeling much better.” They responded, taking a sip of their favorite drink. “I missed you.”

“I m-missed you t-too.” He answered, getting shy again. Though the two hadn’t spent too much time together physically, they felt the natural attraction between them, thanks to that soulmate connection, but also the entire month they’d been communicating with each other. Their personalities melded well together and they felt an overwhelming amount of comfort by just being with each other.

Moments like that truly made Tamaki wonder why he was so scared to begin with. Sure, his fears of his partner being a villain were valid, plenty of heroes had to deal with that. However, he did feel a bit bad for judging (f/n) the way he had. He’d apologized a couple days back and they’d confirmed feeling the same way, which is one of the reasons why they were so happy to find out Tamaki was in the hero course.

“Wanna go on a date today? Like not here, but somewhere else.” He nodded, his large hand gently squeezing (f/n)’s.

“Sure. Wh-where?”

“Wherever you want. I just want to spend time with you.” Tamaki blushed at (f/n)’s statement, but he couldn’t help the smile that graced his soft features. Lifting their hand up, he pressed a gentle kiss on it.

“Anything for you, my love.” Now it was (f/n)’s turn to blush, he’d finally used the term of endearment they’d been using for him this whole time. Unable to handle it anymore, (f/n) moved to sit next to him, then pressed their lips against his warm and soft ones. Tamaki’s eyes widened and a violent blush spread to his cheeks, but he closed his eyes, melting against (f/n)’s touch. Their lips gently and slowly moved against each other and they were a perfect match, like two puzzle pieces.

Every single person in the world was bound to another through some magical, unknown force. A predetermined pair all thanks to the universe. No matter what anyone thought, no matter how much someone thinks they and their soulmate are incompatible, that just wasn’t the case. Their soulmate was theirs until the end of their time. Much like Tamaki and (f/n).

[the-enamorando-deity]

words: 17 locations: 15 & 2 situations: 5 sentences: 5, 6 & 25 with sara lance* - sorry if this is too many, these prompts are just way fun haha congrats on 200! :)

too many???? oh i do love a challenge.

thanks for the prompt (and for the asterix :):):) )

sara lance x fem!reader, 18+ ONLY!!!!!!!!!!!!! smut lies ahead, hope this is ~something~ like what you wanted, anon (let me know if you liked it!!)

prompts: camera, bedroom, flower patch, family function, “babe no”, “babe yes”, “you’re so pretty, what the fuck”

Pretty Girl

When you first brought Sara home, you couldn’t hold in the smile. It wasn’t your normal smile, Sara could see that the moment it appeared on your face. You were petrified, nervous, and she realised a little too late, closeted. It was one of those awkward insecure smiles that you couldn’t help, your face making the judgement call for you.

The door opened, and a flash went off in your unsuspecting faces. The camera dropped to reveal the woman you owed your life, smiling as widely as ever. Your mother embraced you swiftly before looking over your outfit, making her usual judgements and suggestions. She then turned to Sara, a half-puzzled look on her face that was quickly hidden by the realisation of Sara’s identity.

‘Oh, isn’t she lovely!’ she cooed. ‘Hello, I’m Y/N’s mother, you must be the wonderful captain she’s always talking about.’

‘Sara,’ Sara replied, extending her hand. Your mother laughed and batted her hand away, pulling your girlfriend in for a hug. ‘It’s lovely to meet you, you have a beautiful home.’

Delighted with who she thought was her daughter’s boss and best friend, your mother welcomed you both inside and took the food you’d spent two hours preparing the night before. Your childhood home was loud with the sounds of family and friends gathering, and you somehow managed to be even more uncomfortable. 

Grateful for Sara’s presence, you squeezed her hand tight before slipping away and moving to greet the rest of your family. She gave you enough strength to get through the first hour without anything crazy, your family loving the tales she spun and tricks she performed.

Before the big meal, you pulled her aside in the kitchen, just to have a moment to gather yourself back up.

‘What’s going on? Are you okay?’ she asked softly, checking you over and studying your eyes.

You nodded weakly, a shuddering breath leaving your body. ‘Being back here is weird. It’s like nothing has changed, but… things have changed.’

‘You mean you?’

Clenching your teeth, you glanced towards the kitchen door. Quick footsteps sounded nearby, your grandmother was heading your way. Stepping back from Sara, you turned the the stove and quickly stirred the sauce. 

‘Ah, Y/N, always my sweetest,’ she started, pinching your cheeks as she took over and resumed her annual kitchen duties, ‘thank you for stirring my special sauce. I’d hate to have to start all over again.’

She ushered the two of you out into the hall, suggesting a tour of your childhood home before dinner. Sara was more than happy to oblige, grinning at you a little too happily. She took your hand and tugged you towards the stairs, and you could tell exactly what she was up to.

Just as you took the first few stairs, a voice called out from behind you, stopping you both in your tracks.

‘Y/N, giving a tour without me, are you?’ your mother tutted, joining you on the stairs and only just missing the sight of you releasing Sara’s hand, ‘have I taught you no manners?’

The most gruelling and painstakingly slow tour of the house you’d ever lived through seemed to only drag more every time you thought about how slow it was going. And yet, every time you looked at Sara, her eyes were wide in bewilderment at the stories your mother regaled her with. 

When the tour was finally over, you realised it had only been a few minutes, and your meal was still hours away. Quickly covering your mouth to hide a yawn, it caught your mother’s eye immediately.

‘Oh, child, go have a nap before dinner, you look positively exhausted,’ she cooed, pushing hair back from your face. ‘Take Sara with you, a nap is always best before and after a big meal.’

‘After a meal too? Oh, Mrs Y/L/N, you’re spoiling us,’ Sara grinned, revelling as your mother laughed, entertained in every way.

Before she headed back downstairs to leave the pair of you to rest, your mother leaned over to whisper to you. ‘I like your friend, she is very respectful.’

‘You have… no idea.’

Clenching your teeth in a smile as your mother left, you turned to face your angelic looking girlfriend, whose hand had been on your ass since the moment your mother moved to lead your tour at the front. And it wasn’t a simple over the jeans or in the pocket type of “on your ass”, it was a full hand down the back of your pants show off.

Barely making it to your room, the door shut and you pressed Sara quickly against it, lips moving fast to meet hers. The door clicked locked, and all you wanted was to strip her down right then and there. Fighting your urges and softening the kiss between you, you finally brought yourself enough strength to pull away.

‘Babe, no,’ you frowned, sitting on your bed to put any distance between you. 

She tilted her head to the side and slowly strutted forwards, leaning toward you as she placed her hands on your knees, sticking her bottom lip out in a pout as she whispered into your ear.

‘Babe, yes.’

Who were you to argue? She sucked on your neck and laid you back on the bed, fingers tracing the hem of your shirt as she placed her knees on either side of your legs. You weren’t powerless to her charms, but sometimes it felt like you were. She could have you any which way, and it was goddamn delightful.

A shiver ran up your spine as the sound of your zipper rumbled in your ears. Breath catching in your throat, your shirt lifting up little by little as her hand crept up, your legs started twitching as you struggled to drag Sara closer.

She moved to straddle you, grinning down at you as she shook her hair loose from the bun on her head. Sara leaned down slowly and kissed the nape of your neck, moving down to your collarbone and sucking her way across it.

‘You’re so pretty,’ you mumbled into the air, ‘what the fuck. How are you so pretty?’

Her hips started grinding against yours as one hand toyed with your breast, the other at your panty line. She wasn’t listening to your incoherent mumbles, having far too much fun driving you to contained insanity.

A soft knock at the door made you bolt upright, finding your girlfriend vanished and your jeans re-zipped as your bedroom door opened. Your mother held up a hand in apology, creeping over to offer you a blanket.

‘That girl is a fast sleeper, no wonder you two get along so well,’ she smiled, placing it in your arms. ‘Don’t forget, after dinner, we have our family trip to the flower patch on Guilders Road.’

‘I remember.’

Still hesitant to leave, trying to spy on the pair of you and get any information about your true whereabouts since leaving home. ‘You might be used to your very cold room, but I thought in case our guest was not…’

‘Thanks,’ you forced a smile, ‘really. I’ll keep it here in case she wakes up and says anything.’

Your mother quickly nodded before slipping back out of your room, leaving you wondering if your lock had always been broken. You turned to the fake-sleeping Sara, astounded at how fast she was able to compose both of you.

‘You obviously have some experience in the secrecy business,’ you chided, throwing the blanket at her.

She rolled over to grin at you, reaching up and placing a kiss on your swollen lips. ‘You try being in love with the daughter of the Demon. Sneaking around in a palace full of ninjas? Not easy.’

With a huff, you twisted yourself around and took what had been Sara’s earlier position, running a finger down the centre of her stomach. ‘My door doesn’t lock.’

‘So?’

Smiling into her lips, you tugged her shirt over her head and threw it across the room. Yours soon followed, hands feeling every inch of skin you could on each other. She was like perfection beneath you, hands clenching into the bedsheets when she couldn’t get a grip on you.

Fingers teasing her to the height of climax, you backed off fast to revel in the shock, only then did she realise where your mouth was. Distracting Sara was always marvellously easy, waiting for her head to tilt back and her eyes to close, the suppressed moans making her walls clench around your fingers.

When your tongue moved from her thighs, her hands shook as she struggled to find purchase on your body. Gentle sucks and a pop of your tongue made her fall apart beneath you, grabbing your shoulders and twisting herself to help you reach deeper, to push you faster.

How the hell she managed to stay silent was a fantastic mystery, one you were grateful for but didn’t care about. Whispered cries of your name only aided in your quickening pace, feeling her build up all over again.

Your free hand worked her nipple softly, tweaking it with every second thrust of your fingers, every third swish of your tongue over her sensitive clit. Her hips inched towards your face, needing you more and more with every passing second. She was getting closer, but she needed one last push, a last bit of encouragement to make her fall apart.

‘You’re so pretty,’ you purred against her, the rumbling of your voice driving her over the edge. 

Finally you brought her the sweet blissful release she’d been craving since you left the ship, the smile on her face one you wouldn’t soon forget. She cupped your face as you kissed your way back up her body, glancing over to the unlocked door.

‘You up for another round?'

taglist: @marvelfansince08love @mymarvelwomen @imnotasuperhero @natasha-danvers @veteranwerewolf95 @liziehaswritersblock @dynnealberto @xxxtwilightaxelxxx

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[xyliane]

the many lies of kanzaki hitomi to her long-suffering best friend uchida yukari

summary: when hitomi is on time to their weekend coffee time, yukari knows something is up.

notes: because I utterly adore escaflowne in ways that I don’t know if I can truly describe, and the wonderful @wuzzyletoastermac​ recently finished the show, I couldn’t not attempt a post-series write-up about...the best friend who’s only in four episodes. (I just love van and hitomi so much). G, hitomi and yukari friendship, van/hitomi mention. 1450 words.

---

Yukari knows it’s something big when Hitomi makes time to meet for coffee on a Saturday. Normally, Hitomi—best friend since forever, national track star at the age of 18, certified social worker, truly wonderful person, etc. etc.—is off with her long-distance boyfriend, or coaching track, or coaching track with her long-distance boyfriend looking pleasantly befuddled at the whole proceedings. On a rare occasion, she’ll ask Yukari for help getting Van into what can politely be termed “normal people clothes,” and Yukari can spend most of the afternoon puzzling over Van’s absolutely bizarre accent and failing to get either of them to tell her where exactly in Greece she can find someone as hot as Van Fanel.

Hitomi swears up and down that they started dating while she was doing a study abroad in Australia her second year of uni, but that doesn’t explain why the poor man 1: doesn’t speak English at least on par with an average high schooler’s cram school classes, and 2: doesn’t own a single pair of jeans not currently in residence in Hitomi’s closet. The Greeks aren’t that weird. Besides, half of Yukari’s architecture clients are based in America. She knows weird. And even by those standards, Van is weird.

Not to mention there’s some nagging part of Yukari’s brain that seems to recognize Van. It’s bothered her since they first met, and the last three years have done nothing to assuage that feeling. How silly to believe that they met in a dream or a vision. That is certainly more Hitomi’s realm.

But he loves Hitomi. It’s impossible to unsee that deep unending well of affection in his dark eyes, the soft smile that makes him look ages younger whenever she’s around, how patient he is even when she’s determined to find the perfect sweater for a job interview or the exact right cafe she claims was there the last time she was in this part of Asakusa. Occasionally, he’ll even catch her before she wanders too far afield, hand tight on her wrist in a way that speaks both to his own nerves wandering around in a crowded city (again, Hitomi went to uni in Sydney, why is Tokyo that much different) and to the way Hitomi turns back to him like a flower blooming in sunshine, all blushing cheeks and bright smile and alive in ways Yukari only wishes she could feel.

So Yukari’s a little jealous. It’s hard not to be. If it weren’t for the occasional argument blowing Hitomi’s temper sky high and Van’s own anger coming out in blistering tension, or the way that Hitomi will sometimes spend more time complaining about the weekend she’d had with him than bothering to answer any of Yukari’s questions about where exactly they’d met up, she’d worry that Van actually was perfect.

Okay well, no one she has to force into jeans against their will is perfect. Especially someone who looks like that.

So Yukari has kindly deigned to meet with her best friend at their favorite cafe on a beautiful Saturday morning, despite everything (Hitomi’s boyfriend and Yukari’s desire to sleep until 3pm respectively). Something’s off.

And when she rounds the corner at 10am on the dot, Kanzaki Hitomi is already there sipping a latte with Yukari’s favorite sitting there, still steaming. Hitomi is never on time. For anything. Ever. If she is, it’s because of her long legs and bizarre luck.

Something is definitely off.

“Yukari! I got you coffee,” she says, bright guileless grin on her face.

Yukari sits and sips. Sweet, caffeinated bliss. She almost forgives Hitomi the hour.

Not enough to loosen her suspicions, though. “Hitomi, what are you up to?” she says once her brain is active.

“Ah, well.” Hitomi casually brushes non-existent lint off her jacket sleeves. “I wanted to tell you something.”

“Is it about Van?” When her best friend’s face turns a bright pink, Yukari’s eyebrows rise. “Is he moving here?”

Head shake no. Hm.

“Did he finally take his jeans home?”

Deeper flush.

“Are you pregnant?”

“Yukari!” Hitomi screeches, face luminescent and voice far too loud for the little cafe. A few of the other patrons, including some who clearly have had as much sleep as Yukari, turn and glare at them, and Hitomi clasps hands over her own face. Yukari tries to not laugh, really. “I’m—no. And if you’re gonna be a jerk, I won’t invite you to my wedding.”

Any and all feelings of malicious annoyance vanish in an instant. “You’re—Hitomi! Congrats! That’s amazing, when are you getting married? Where are you getting married? If Van’s not moving here, does that mean you’re—where is he these days, is it going to be big or small? What should my dress look like? Do you have the colors picked out?”

Hitomi giggles through her fingers, a little on edge and clearly overwhelmed. “That’s too many questions!”

“I can write them out in a list and email them if you’d rather.”

A high-pitched whine more like a tea kettle than a woman in her mid-20s erupts out of Hitomi, and she drops her face to the table in her best impression of a puddle of melted ice cream. “I wanted to tell you properly, you know,” she mutters.

“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t let it slip on accident,” Yukari says. As much fun as it is to mercilessly toy with her best friend who completely deserves it, there are more pressing matters, particularly Yukari’s own calendar that she is going to completely shuffle around. “But before I spend the next three hours getting you to spill every detail, at least tell me when and where.”

Without moving her face off the table, Hitomi rustles in her purse, pushing a pair of envelopes at Yukari. The first is a classic wedding invitation, cream colored envelope brushed with elegant black kanji. It’s exactly what Yukari would have expected from Hitomi’s mom, who has handled the years after her husband’s death with astonishing grace. But the second…

The parchment—it’s too thick to be paper, fibrous and off-white and flecked with gold—is about as wide as Yukari’s hands spread apart, and covered in a mix of runes and curling symbols that spread across the top of the invitation like wings. In the center of the whole thing is burnt a diamond-shaped emblem with a winged dragon. It doesn’t look like any Greek Yukari has ever seen.

“Would you be the host for my reception? It’s in a month and a half,” Hitomi is asking, which under any other circumstance would send Yukari into delighted peals of laughter. She’s a planner by nature, and organizing something as momentous as Hitomi’s small wedding will be worth every moment of her best friend and her boyfriend making sappy eyes at each other.

“Of course I will,” Yukari says, distracted. Social work doesn’t pay enough for an invitation this fancy, and Van can’t even afford his own clothes. And it’s not in Japanese, or English, and is that real gold? “What is this?”

Hitomi rubs nervous circles around her latte mug. “Since Van’s not from here, and the only person who can travel is his sister, we thought, you know. One wedding here for me, one there for him.”

“Sounds great,” Yukari says, turning the parchment upside down and over onto its back, hoping that the meaning will magically appear. “Hitomi, I can’t read this.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, Yukari.” Hitomi passes a hand over the parchment, the ring on her hand glimmering bright pink in the sun, and the runes curl and shift before Yukari’s eyes like…like magic. Yukari resists the urge to rub her eyes. Magic isn’t real. Just like dragons aren’t, or friends vanishing into pillars of light.

Your presence is requested at The marriage of Van of Fanelia and Hitomi Kanzaki White, 12th Moon Present invitation upon arrival

“It’s almost like a destination wedding!” Hitomi says. “Will you come? Please? Only Mom and my brother can come, and you know Sota hates this sort of thing.”

The things Yukari does for Hitomi. “Of course I will,” she says. But before Hitomi can relax too much, she reaches across the table and grabs her best friend’s hands, digging in just a little too hard. “But Hitomi, for once, don’t lie to me about this: where on earth is Van even from?”

Hitomi gives a little hiccup of a laugh and refuses to meet Yukari’s eyes. “So, funny story…”

——

“You owe me so much cake, Kanzaki Hitomi.”

“I promise, at least one at the wedding!”

“Each wedding.”

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh S4 Ep 14 Pt1: Rex and Weevils Ultimate Betrayal No One Gave a Damn About

Just finished watching the Superbowl, which I never ever do, and it was VERY confusing and I thought I remembered this sport but I did not. I don’t know what’s happening. I do not understand how Kansas City got that field goal on San Fransisco when their feet never touched the goal line. So, I’m just gonna...change gears completely and wrap up this long post about a VERY complicated anime that came out before some of y’all were born, instead. Today I just really wanted to feel lost.

Last episode, Yugi (the main character of the show, the one this show is named after) hella died, and Rex and Weevil decided to leave the party very, very quickly.

You’d think that the one event (Yugi’s dead) would have to do with the other event (getting the hellllll away), considering how rude and judgy Yami is, but they actually left for cards. They accidentally did a very wise decision in order to do something incredibly stupid and cancel out any wisdom they showed in pedaling as fast as they could possibly pedal away from the reincarnated ghost who just very suddenly achieved full control of a human body.

They accidentally pedaled away from every Mummy movie super villain and somehow ended up with a much more worse villain.

Like I say that this whole season is about Yugi’s crazy commute, but Rex and Weevil’s commute has just been so much more. They are just clinging to whatever vehicle is near them in order to find these legendary cards sitting somewhere in American Soil. They are so ambivalent to all the very real world terrible problems around them because they’re PRETTY SURE they’re gonna get rich. It’s like the Gold Rush but with helicopters.

Also the 49ers never rode tandem bikes, but you know they would’ve if they could’ve.

And for some, weird reason, Rafeal decides not to pick them up under his arms and toss them directly onto an unsuspecting Joey Wheeler like he just did with Yugi. Rafael and Alister decided...nah...I’ll keep these strange small manchildren.

It seems really off brand for Rafael and Alister but maybe they just got too tired to deal with it right now.

Speaking of tired--this horse.

I mean I’ll do the math eventually--not this post but maybe the next one I just did a lot of math trying to remember why the hell it’s 6 points for a goal in football--but this horse that we estimated would take over 20 days to ride to Death Valley just rode all the way back in the same day. Congratulations horse, the strongest force in all of Yugioh, (second to Yugi’s neck, holding that 70 lb necklace at all hours of the day.)

The girls seem to think that everything is OK initially, mostly because Yugi doesn’t really lose games that often, since the list of ways to beat Yugi in a card game up until now didn’t include “trick Yami into murdering the hell out of Yugi Muto.” Crazy that that actually worked, but Yami isn’t that bright.

PS please admire how chubby this horse appears in this scene.

OK I’m glad we all acknowledged the elephant in the room that was a horse last shot.

Also...maybe he didn’t hug her back because she just shoved a very sharp pyramid necklace straight into his small intestines?

(more under the cut)

I’ll spare you Transatlantacism this time.

Tea is concerned but more surprised than straight up angry. An anger which is more honed by Rebecca because Yami just killed her only friend (other than this horse) and possibly her only future husband that would ever put up with her (other than this horse.)

Like it seems kind of rude in the show out of context that everyone took a moment to lay a big dump on Yami Muto, but can you imagine if you straight up killed your twin (by accident but only by like 75% accident, lets be real) and this was your only punishment?

Like getting punched out is just how Yami treats himself every single day, so I don’t think Joey made too much of a difference in the situation. But you know, it’s Yugioh, so getting punched does is somehow the correct answer.

It was very lucky for Yami that Tea was too busy trying to console Rebecca to punch Yami before Joey got to him first because hot damn that would have sent him straight back to Death Valley.

And then I think this next exchange between Duke and Tristan was somewhat lost in translation. Please admire the censorship here. Safe for kids now.

I say this like a joke but have you seen Equinox? I live in the Bay, so trust me. Equinox is absolutely reviving the Great Leviathan. No doubt in my mind.

Anyway, Rafael and Alister hear Rex and Weevil’s plea to join the evil task force and they’re like...

...yeah, I guess you can apply, why not? No need to interview your or anything before we harass Darts with you.

Like Rafael and Alister were completely bonkers children that were driven to insanity by very extreme circumstances, and then there’s Rex and Weevil. They’re just...kind of middling at cards and that’s it.

But sure, yeah, I’m sure they’ll fit right into the completely maniacal card corporate atmosphere here at DartsCorp. I’m sure Rex and Weevil will jump out of a plane on a motorcycle and then do stunts all the way towards Atlantis Island.

Sure.

(course, now that I think of it, they did introduce themselves to Alister and Rafael by accidentally doing a stunt over a canyon onto a helicopter so...maybe they accidentally think Rex and Weevil are cool?)

Which, in hindsight, makes Mai make a hell of a lot more sense because y’all, they should be SO distracted right now, and shouldn’t let anyone in here who isn’t insane or insanely good at cards. But instead they’re like...I guess you have a duel disk, you’ll work. It’s not like there’s a line of people at the door.

Anyway, because the show has to acknowledge that there might be new viewers, they do their best to try and explain this very lengthy Yugi mechanic as if we’ve never heard it before and honestly, it just sounded like everyone was very frustrated.

Like for reals what is he wearing?

Why are there so few normal ass suits in Yugioh? Why is KAIBA the only person who knows what colors belong on a fitted suit? (And he just wears white, which isn’t a color and is always very safe but youknow it still boggles my mind that the power suit people are so into very friendly soft pastels from Gozaburo, to Pegasus, to Noah, to Darts.)

I would wear this suit to Easter Sunday. Darts just wears it every day.

And so then we get a little insight into what it takes to become an Orichalcos card champion.

While before, Darts just kinda poked Mai in the forehead and she was instantly imbued with Aqua Green Evilness, he decided to do a weird test on Rex and Weevil. Just to make sure they realllllly wanted to be here.

As if they didn’t stow away in a 18 hour flight stuffed into a handbag, hold in their piss for said 18 hours, then get shipped by accident to the Tenderloin, where they were mugged twice, and then get shoved into the trunk of Duke’s car, and then took a broken tandem bike to the hottest desert in America, where they then rode said bike off of a cliff in order to hang onto a flying helicopter.

Like I think this test was unnecessary, I think they want to be here.

But youknow, I think Darts just wanted to torture em for kicks.

And then Rex and Weevil have to grab two of these Oricalchos stones that were farting special effects and were very, very opposed to being owned by Rex and Weevil. But they managed to do it.

And uh congrats--their betrayal has begun!

And I don’t think anyone else on this show even recognized that they freakin left. Like they just kinda disappeared in Death Valley and then Duke was like “eh. They’ll find their way home.”

Kind of incredible that Joey and friends left these two stranded in Death Valley, That alone should have killed Rex and Weevil and like...Wow. Wow is Joey and co such a freakin asshole.

So don’t leave people stranded in Death Valley, they will join a card cult and freakin kill you. If the insane heat doesn’t kill them first.

And then because...I don’t know...I don’t know why, after sending his best and brightest fighters, Darts decided to downgrade and do this:

(based on a true story where a friend of mine worked as an intern in the city, and because they couldn’t pay him a living wage, he lived in a closet at said startup for nearly 2 years. Start-up culture is pretty real, folks, it’s PRETTY REAL. But, on the bright side, at least they had a shower in-house.)

So, I’m gonna go remove my contacts and try to forget how much queso I ate at that Superbowl party.

It was a lot of queso.

and if you just got here, this is a handy link to read these from the start.

PS anyone else pull the Yugioh fest in PAD? Because I have played this game...a lot over the course of 5 years and saved up over 300 free stones for several months in anticipation for this collab and then I pulled Kuriboh about 15 times. Most of you have no idea what that means, but for some of you out there, your heart just broke for me 15 times. (I did get 2 Yugis so I’m fine, but damn it) Then, bro saved up his stones and pulled Seto Kaiba, Marik, and Bakura all in a row. Freakin gotcha games, man. Freakin gotcha games.

[moonstruckbucky]

Made to Suffer [one-shot]

Summary: In a world where you’re surrounded by death, you just want to feel something.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, graphic violence, death, SMUT EXPLICIT 18+, please don’t read if under 18!, major character death

Notes: Probably one of my favorite crossovers to ever write. The Walking Dead is my favorite show besides Game of Thrones and when Fatima (@revengingbarnes ) came up with a Marvel/TV crossover challenge, I had to enter! Congrats on the milestone and thanks for hosting such an awesome challenge!

Forewarning you all, this will be graphically violent. I’m a sick bitch who loves writing gorey scenes and, come on, it’s the zombie apocalypse. There’s nothing tame about it. It’s also long as hell. Enjoy and let me know what you think! x

P.S. - For those who don’t watch TWD, “walkers” are the zombies; they don’t use the term zombies in the show.

When Bucky, Steve, and Nat were sent into a Hydra base with the intent of extracting biological weapons, they hadn’t been counting on that weapon being rigged to the entire facility, set to be released into the air upon the decimation of the building itself.

The changes weren’t immediately known. When the bomb Bucky rigged had gone off, there were no strange colored clouds dissipating into the air, no inclinations that something sinister had occurred. So how could they have known?

Patient zero was a thirty-three-year old woman from Queens, who displayed symptoms of the flu, intensified by chronic vomiting and a fever that never dropped below a hundred and five degrees. Her temperature had continued to rise until her body merely burned out and succumbed. No one, least of all the doctors assigned to her case, expected her to reanimate and escape the morgue.

Even less expected was her attacking the morgue attendant and sinking her teeth into his jugular. It only snowballed from there; hospitals and care centers rapidly filled with the sick. The military was dispatched to contain them. Sanctuaries and refugee centers were erected in all major cities.

The Avengers were outnumbered. Bruce and Helen Cho worked tirelessly on a potential cure, experimenting and testing and recalibrating until both of them were overtaken by the sick—the dead—and Steve and Natasha were forced to put them down.

It had been discovered by accident, the way to kill them for good. Destroy the brain, destroy the monster.

Bucky couldn’t believe his eyes, couldn’t believe what he was seeing on the news as images and videos of burning houses and buildings flooded the screen. The news anchors couldn’t keep the terror out of their voices as they narrated what was happening behind them. He sat in the common room, eyes red-rimmed, glassy, and focused as his leg bounced anxiously. Bruce and Helen’s deaths hit everyone hard, especially Nat and Tony, and the two of them fell into a deep depression while at the same time working furiously to recreate some kind of serum that would reverse the effects of the illness.

It was a dead end.

Eventually, Steve, Nat, Bucky, Tony, and the others were forced to leave Avengers Tower. Not even Tony had enough resources to keep them fed through this. With everything they could carry on their backs—changes of clothes in Nat and Clint’s packs, the entire Avengers pantry in Bucky and Steve’s, and the notes on a serum in Tony’s—they left the city.

It was tough, those first months out on the road. Tony insisted heading south towards Georgia, where the CDC may have held answers. They never made it. The freeways and main roads were so congested with cars and the dead that they were forced to head west instead. They ran into trouble: other, less friendly groups, hordes of the dead, packs of dogs who’d forgotten how to be the family pet.

Tony was the first of their group to die. Tetanus, if you could believe it, after scaling a building in an attempt to get their bearings. His footing slipped as he climbed, and a sharp edge of the rusted ladder sliced the inside of his forearm wide open. Sam had stopped the bleeding, but none could have predicted the symptoms that followed.

They buried him in the trees somewhere in Illinois. Nat and Steve weren’t the same. The two of them became harder, colder, more ruthless. A dangerous duo that began taking unnecessary risks in order to keep them all safe.

It cost Sam his life. It gravely injured Clint, which only caused Nat to spiral further. With the loss of Sam, Steve was inconsolable and hard as steel, so far gone that Bucky saw no trace of his best friend anymore. He and Steve butted heads; Bucky questioned every choice Steve made as the unofficially appointed leader of their group. Nat took Steve’s side every time, often resorting to physical blows when Bucky stepped out of line. He’d forgotten how lethal she could be.

It’s what inevitably led him to leaving the group. He waited until nightfall, knowing neither Steve nor Nat would willingly let him leave. Steve wouldn’t be able to handle losing his oldest friend, but Bucky could hardly be pressed to care. Steve was no longer the boy he grew up with or the patriotic, self-righteous hero who fought for Bucky’s innocence all those years ago. 

He had a feeling Nat’s super spy instincts knew when he snuck out of camp, one pack slung over his shoulder full of pilfered goods from their stores, but she either saw it coming or didn’t rightly care. He’d bet on the latter.

Survival took a toll on his body. He did his best to keep himself in peak physical form, using fallen trees as weights to bench press and jogging here and there, but he knew he was far smaller than he was. Still well-muscled and still gazelle-graceful, but thinner, paler, face sunken in with the lack of nutrition. He had trouble sleeping, nightmares flashing in his head. Only this time, they were images of his dead friends—Tony, succumbing to tetanus, unable to move a muscle; Sam, overcome and taken apart by the dead when one of Steve’s suicide runs went awry; Bruce and Helen, pale, milky-eyed, with snapping jaws and dead fingers reaching out.

He didn’t sleep much after those started, took to moving from place to place at night. He stayed in abandoned houses, raided cabinets and closets and garages for any food or weapons, slept in a storage unit once after picking the lock. His super-soldier senses aided him in avoided the dead; he could hear, smell, and see them before they saw him, giving him ample time to hide either in a building or up in a tree if he was in the wilderness.

It became routine, hide, eat, move. The loneliness didn’t bother him so much as the silence did. He didn’t have Sam’s stupid jokes or nicknames to annoy him, didn’t have Steve’s chastising voice in his ear, did have Nat giving him advice on how to combat the nightmares. Hell, he’d take Tony’s cold indifference to him over the silence. It gave him too much room to dwell, to think about anything other than survival.

Somewhere near the border of Missouri, he stopped in a gated neighborhood. His body was running on empty despite the racing of his mind. His stores were depleting, and he desperately needed to sleep. He’d risk the nightmares, just this once.

He chose a house with its door wide open. A knife in each hand, he crept through the doorway, icy eyes searching each room thoroughly for danger. Furniture, covered in layers of dust, lay tipped over in the living room. The kitchen was in a similar state of disarray, but his sharp eyes didn’t miss the disturbance of dust on the counter. The marble was stark white where something had brushed the dust away. Immediately Bucky was on high alert, ears straining for any noise.

There it was. The creak of a floorboard upstairs. Fingers tightening on his knives, he crept up the stairs on silent feet. He steadied his breathing, jaw clenched as he ascended. He rounded the corner of the stairs, gaze flitting between the three doors of the second floor. The first door bore a bedroom, a kid’s if the posters and toys was any indication (Bucky had to swallow down his unease). The second was a bathroom, revealing further evidence that someone was staying here.

He stalked to the final bedroom, poised like a predator hunting his prey. Bucky allowed just a sliver of the Soldier in, just enough to keep his focus. His body went rigid as the Soldier crept to the forefront of his mind, attention firmly on the task at hand. Shoulders straight, Bucky inched forwards, gently pushing open the door and hovering just inside the frame. His eyes swept the room, settling first on the unmade bed that looked recently slept in and continuing on to the closed closet door.

Eyes narrowing to slits, Bucky stepped forward until his nose nearly touched the door. He could pick up a heartbeat behind it, surprised to find it steady and strong. Not a dead one, then. Bucky inhaled, ready to throw the doors open, but he startled backwards as they flew open of their seemingly own accord. Before he could blink he took a boot to the chest, sending him backwards into the bed, where he collapsed and bounced upon the soft mattress.

As he sat up, he grunted as a body landed atop his chest, knees pinning his arms and a gun held to his forehead. Eyes wide with surprise, he took in the figure straddling him.

Your breathing was steady as you glared down at the man trapped beneath you. Your grip on the gun was firm, index finger hovering just over the trigger. The man’s icy eyes were wide but without any trace of fear. Instead, he looked mildly annoyed at having been bested.

“What do you want?” you growled, voice hoarse from disuse.

The man’s eyes flickered yours before they took in your gun. Jaw muscle twitching, he moved like lightning, knocking you off balance enough to wedge his hand between his head and the gun. His gloved palm pressed, disengaging the slide and rendering the gun useless. With a growl the man twisted his body, pinning you to the bed and knocking the gun out of your hands. It clattered to the floor, forgotten as you lay helpless beneath him.

Bucky held your wrists in his hands, barely having broken a sweat, and as he looked down at you, he caught a brief flash of fear behind your eyes. Coming back to himself, he loosened his grip on you just a little.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I’ll let you up, but please promise me you won’t go for that gun and shoot me.”

You stayed silent, watching him closely as he released your wrists and straightened up off the bed. A small part of your brain felt saddened by the sudden loss of his weight on top of you, but you shut that down quickly. Now’s not the time.

You sat up as the man backed away, hands raised in front of him. Now that there was some distance between you, you took time to appraise him. Tall, muscular form, long-sleeved shirt that only just hid his physique. Glove on one hand, the left, long legs supported by thick thighs. Your eyes traveled up. Sharp jawline, high cheekbones that were slightly sunken in, a sharp, straight nose, deep circles under wintry blue eyes. Long, greasy dark hair hung limply in his face. 

Well, he was certainly the most attractive visitor you’d entertained recently. Another glance at his face revealed his smirk, as if he could hear your thoughts, see where your mind had gone. It hadn’t helped that you’d subconsciously tugged your bottom lip invitingly between your teeth.

Bucky was no stranger to desire, though he had to admit it hadn’t been the first thing on his mind as of late. But now, as he stood before you under your scrutinizing gaze, he couldn’t deny the rush of heat as his blood warmed beneath his skin and his heartrate increased just slightly. His own eyes roved over your form, took in the shape of your body, the curves of your waist, hips, and legs clad in tight dark pants. You wore unlaced boots.

“Who are you? And what do you want?” Your voice pulled him from the recesses of his mind, where images of you underneath him had him shifting his position as his pants grew tighter.

“Name’s Bucky. I was looking for somewhere to lay low for a bit, recharge.”

His voice was smooth like honey with a smokiness that made you shiver. The sound curled over you, warming and filling your body with want. His mouth quivered with a smile, detecting the rise in your heartbeat. 

“I can find somewhere else, if you’re uncomfortable,” he offered, eyebrow raising a little. With the way your eyes were devouring him, the hitch in your breathing, he knew it wasn’t what you wanted, but he put it out there.

“N-No,” you stammered, clearing your throat as your voice was a raspy croak. “You can stay. I have some spare supplies.”

“What’s your name?” His voice made you pause in turning around to head downstairs. You told him quietly and he nodded, stepping forward to follow you.

You shared a few canned goods with him after warming them in the fireplace, the two of you dining on opposite sides of the room. Bucky’s eyes found you in the fire light, dancing across your form as you scraped the last of your Spaghettios out of the bottom of the can and set it aside.

“How long have you been alone?” he asked, almost hesitantly. Your eyes lifted to the flames, glossing over just a bit as you thought.

“Not long,” you eventually replied. Your sister was the last to die, only about three weeks ago now. He didn’t press further. “You?”

“Few months, I think. Gets hard to keep track of time.”

You hummed in agreement but froze as footsteps on your porch pulled your attention. Bucky was on high alert, back straight and shoulders rigid, eyes flying to the door. A muffled gurgle made you relax.

“Just a walker. It’ll go away,” you muttered, shoulders sagging against the chair. Bucky took a little longer to relax, wanting to make sure one wouldn’t turn into fifty.

When the walker wandered off, its interest pulled somewhere else, Bucky sat back with a sigh. Crossing his arms over his chest, he tipped his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. It allowed you a moment to look him over again. He was a specimen, that’s for sure, even with his slightly-sunken face. Your body warmed again, flushing deliciously. You shifted on the floor, attempting to quell the sudden ache between your legs.

When he shifted and straightened again, you averted your eyes to the fire, trying and failing to hold back a yawn.

“Get some sleep,” Bucky’s voice cut through the silence. “I’ll keep watch.”

You thought about arguing, took in the darkness under his eyes, but his strong, insistent gaze tied up your tongue. You nodded, sighing as you stood and stretched. You bid him a quiet goodnight before heading upstairs to your bedroom.

You hadn’t been asleep long when the nightmares began. They were always the same: your family, falling victim to the dead one by one. Your father, taken by surprise on a supply run; your brother, shot by accident when your sister tried to save the two of you; your niece and nephew, far too young to experience something as agonizing as starvation; your mother, so overcome with grief that she walked herself into a group of walkers; and finally, your sister, killed by another group, hostile and barbaric.

Downstairs, Bucky dozed lightly, brain still very much awake. A quiet whimper jostled him awake before a louder shriek spurred him into action. He took the stairs two at a time, just as you let out another scream. He slammed into the bedroom door, nearly taking it off its hinges, and his eyes found your body on the bed, sheets twisted around your bared legs, sweating shining in the moonlight streaming through the window.

He said your name, winced when all he received was another painful whimper.

“Mom,” your voice cried out. “Please, no!”

No stranger to nightmares, Bucky walked to the bed and grasped your shoulders in his large hands, shaking you gently. He repeated your name.

“Hey, wake up, doll, wake up! It’s a dream!” he implored, jumping back when you awoke with a gasp. Your hands came up to grasp his wrists, your brow furrowing when the gloved one didn’t give under your grip.

“Bucky?” you asked breathlessly, and, damn it, if that wasn’t the sexiest sound he’d ever heard. His body reacted, stomach clenching, cock twitching in his pants. He swallowed down the desire welling up within him and licked his dry lips.

“I’m here. Are you all right?” he whispered, gloved hand reaching up towards your face before he rethought it and pulled it back.

Your eyelashes fluttered against your cheeks, damp with sweat and tears. Wordlessly, you reached out for him, fingers curling around his forearms to pull him down closer. Noses brushing, he could feel your breaths on his lips, his muscles straining with restraint. 

“I need you,” you pleaded, the words hovering between you before you could rethink it. You could see the slight hesitation in his eyes even as his pupils dilated, nearly swallowing the icy blueness of his irises. “Please, just let me feel something.”

Your lips swallowed his gasp as you surged upwards off the bed and you gave him no time to pull away. Your mouth opened under his, tongue gliding along the seam of his mouth. His brows furrowed in momentary confusion until your tongue licked into his mouth, tasting him. His moan was muffled by you and he let himself fall forward onto the bed, propped on his elbows.

His mouth was pliant against yours, filling you with a warmth you haven’t felt in....years. Curling your fingers into his shirt, you tugged him down, causing him to nearly lose his balance as his feet slipped along the floor. He adjusted, lifting a knee onto the plush mattress, and settled above you.

His hands lit a fire under your skin wherever he touched, your waist, your hips, your breasts. When he gently squeezed the soft mounds, you mewled into his mouth, back bowing to arch into his touch. He squeezed his eyes shut when your hands splayed against his chest before diving low to the hem of his shirt. Stomach clenching as your nails tickled him, his mouth dropped open and he sighed.

His head felt fuzzy yet awakened as you pressed yourself against him, lifted the shirt from his torso and bodily rolled him over. Your lips carved a path down his scruffy jaw, to his neck, where your teeth nipped at his pulse point and his cock twitched inside his jeans. He felt your smirk against his skin as you continued to map out his body, hands and lips and tongue combining to nearly make him combust. 

It had been so long since he’d been touched, and with the way your hands and mouth were working him over, he was momentarily worried this would be over far sooner than he wanted it to be. Your deft fingers tugged his belt buckle free, slid the zipper on his jeans down. He lifted his hips, blushed crimson at your smirk to find him bare beneath the denim.

You nipped at his inner thighs, sending pleasant shivers right up his spine. He was harder than marble, his cockhead purple and leaking and begging for your touch. Yet you continued to dance around it, pressing kisses to his hip bones, dipping your tongue along his Adonis belt, driving him mad with want. He gasped, head thrown back against your pillow when you suckled at one of his balls, the wet warmth of your mouth nearly his undoing. 

“D-Doll,” he whimpered, his flesh hand drifting down to tangle in your hair. “Please. Please touch me.”

Your eyes flickered up to him, pupils wide and wanting and full of mischief. Minx. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Bucky would swear he died and went to heaven when you finally, finally put your mouth on him. Eased down his length inch by slow, agonizing inch, and it took all of his super-soldier strength not to thrust upwards and bury himself down your throat. His mouth dropped open, a deep groan wrenching from his throat when he hit the back of your throat and you swallowed around him.

Sweat beaded across his forehead, bottom lip pinched painfully in his teeth as he rocked his hips to the rhythm of your mouth. Fire gathered in his belly, electricity zipping up his spine, and he strangled out a protest, fingers tightening in your hair.

You pulled off him with a wet pop that had the muscles in his thighs clenching. Climbed up his body to settle yourself on his lap. Fire radiated from your core, and he could feel your wetness, itched to bury himself to the hilt. But he took his time stripping you of the sleeping clothes you wore, admired each reveal of bare skin.

Finally, naked on top of him, your wetness allowing him to glide along your folds. Nails carving crescents into his chest as he arched his hips and slid seamlessly inside you. Head thrown back as your body found a rhythm. Bucky danced his hands along your sides, watching as goose flesh rose in the wake of his metal one. When a silver fingertip circled a nipple, you whimpered and pressed your breasts closer.

With your velvet warmth engulfing him, he released embarrassingly fast. But you continued to rock even as his warmth gushed inside you and reached for his metal hand. Brought it to the apex of your thighs where he wound tight little circles to send you careening over the edge with a sharp cry.

Jesus fuck, he nearly came again with the sensation of you tightening around him, fluttering around him as your body went lax above him. You leaned forward over his chest, eyes glassy and completely blissed out. Brushed a wayward lock of his hair behind his ear and kissed him once. Head tucked under his chin,  him softening inside you, it was peaceful, quiet, the sounds of your breaths the only sound in the room.

He swept a hand over your back. The metal one, and you shivered, nudging closer with a hum. You fell asleep like that, and after a few moments of your soft breaths, Bucky followed.

The next morning, he was woken by a buzzing. A steady, but rising hum that had his eyelids fluttering. He was on his side, curled around you as you slumbered away. He lifted his head from the pillow, blearily looking around the room. Nothing.

Rising from the bed, padding to the window, a moment of silent shock before he was thrown into action.

He shook you awake at the same time he tugged on his pants, a sense of urgency pulling you out of your deep sleep. Took in his panicked eyes, mouth moving, telling you you need to move. A herd outside, bigger than any he’s ever seen.

Must’ve been walking for days, gathered numbers beyond countable, made its way here.

You insisted you could wait it out, stay silent and let it pass. But Bucky wasn’t hearing it, countering that the herd would take down the whole house and end  up inside anyways. He tossed you your belongings, nearly knocked you out with a boot, and you hurried to dress and gather your weapons.

You led him out the back, quick and silent and through the trees surrounding the yard. There were stragglers out here, not enough to be cumbersome but enough to keep your alertness on high. Bucky’s assassin training went into overdrive, ears and eyes straining for any sign of the massive herd. A deafening crack as it no doubt nearly leveled a house with its strength. He wouldn’t say it, but he was scared, especially since you weren’t as silent as he was, and more and more walkers appeared out from behind trees like some kind of Halloween walk.

Sweat poured into his eyes, hair plastered to his forehead, he went cold when he heard your shriek. Three of the dead around you, dead fingers had your arms in a vice. Bucky saw red. Disposed of them with a brutality he hadn’t seen since his Winter Soldier days while you looked on in a weird combination of pride and horror. Arm gripped tightly in his metal fist, he pulled you along. It wasn’t a mission this time driving him, it was fear. For you.

In a day he’d found you wormed inside him, inside his heart, and instead of a mission to kill, he was on a mission to save. The thought would have been amusing had he not turned into a tightly-clustered copse of trees and barreled straight into five of them.

He went down, two of the dead following him while the others went right for you. With the strength of ten men he bashed their dead heads together, grimacing at the explosion of decayed, viscous, black brain matter that probably would stain his clothes. He pressed his mouth in a tight line as it dripped onto his face, and your shout of agony filled him with both ice and fire. 

He turned, body stilling completely as he took in the jagged shape of teeth in the junction of your shoulder and neck. Blood seeped into your clothing, leaked from the wound in angry red torrents, and you pressed a hand uselessly to it. It oozed between your fingers, dripped down your arm like something out of a horror movie. Your complexion was paling quickly. The snarling of more walkers made you turn, resigned. You turned glassy, shining eyes to him when he approached, hands hovering over the wound.

He didn’t think he’d ever felt so helpless. Not when he was strapped to that machine in Siberia. But this was a new sense of helplessness, watching you bleed out in front of him. The new walkers stumbled closer, driven by the scent of blood, and you pulled a gun from the waistband of your jeans, usually a last resort, and he knew.

“You need to go,” you said, voice quiet and hoarse and barely restrained with the fear that was so obvious in your eyes. Your fingers racked the slide, thumb flicking the safety. Rolled up on your toes to press a deep, salty kiss to his mouth before you wrenched away and began yelling, leading the walkers in the opposite direction of Bucky.

Bucky, who still hadn’t moved an inch. Only watched as the small group stumbled after you. One at the back strayed off, was put down by Bucky’s metal fist, and then he ran.

He could hear you yelling, urging the dead after you. Then the shots started, your yelling punctuated by a gunshot then.

Silence.

No more shouting, no more gunshots, and Bucky wanted to go back for you, though he knew it would be for nothing. He let himself cry as he ran, weaving in and out of trees until a lone hunting cabin loomed in the distance.

It was free of the dead. Cleared of anything living, dead, or otherwise, and he laid low. Mourned for you, threw a few of the cabin’s belongings in a sorrowful rage.

He spent a few days there, gathered a couple of squirrels and a fish from a nearby creek, and then he moved on. It was all he could do.

Move on.

[demaury]

boys online. prologue. (social media influencers au)

7916. 124. 10. These are the numbers that define Eliott and Lucas’ relationship, either they want it or not. 7916 kilometers between them, from Paris to Vancouver. 124 days since they first said ‘I love you’ last spring. And nearly 10 hours, until… well, until they meet for the first time. (ao3)

  srodulv and 3,294 others liked your post. 1h

18.10.12

srodulv started following you. 15m

srodulv liked your post. 7m

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18.10.22

18.10.30

lucallemant liked your post. 18m

lucallemant liked your post. 11m

18.11.02

lucallemant liked your post. 1s

18.11.05

18.11.21

hey, you okay??

                                               i was doing just fine

                    then my appendix gave up on me 😬

ow shit that sucks :/

how u doing now?

                  better than this morning that's for sure

                                                    i'm a bit dizzy tho

get some rest

i promise you’ll feel better tomorrow

                                                      u better be right

18.11.21

                                    are congrats in order? 😉

what? why?

                                          your girlfriend’s story

so now you’re stalking my gf too 👀

                  she popped up in my suggestions 😂

                 i didn’t even know she was your gf tbh

             so? bringing a lil monster into this world?

jeez no, thank god 💀 

tho technically i'm supposed to be

an uncle?

                                                           your side?

nah, lucille’s

i live in the constant fear that someone

ask me to hold any kind of relevance 

in their life the horror 

                                      they aren’t even born yet

                                don’t be so full of yourself 😂

kids like me for some reason

dogs too

                                                   and you don’t?

never had either so, not really 

                                   your gf seems excited tho

she is yeah. A bit much if you

ask me but that’s just how she

is in general i guess

18.12.06

Eliott Demaury would like to facetime.

18.12.14

19.01.18

Lucas Lallemant would like to facetime.

19.01.21

19.01.30

                                                        u there?

yup

                           so you’re an uncle now? 😉

                                        i saw lucille’s post

i guess so

maybe?

idk

                                                       u okay?

we’re like, in a break or something

it’s complicated and tbh i'm fed up with 

complicated

               you’re not sure whether your want

           your relationship to work out or to go 

                                           down in flames?

something like that yeah

i mean i still have feelings for her but

i'm not sure how much is genuine and 

how much is, like, the force of habits

we’re going round in circles

                         how long have you guys been

                                                    dating btw?

almost six years

                                                                 oof

               my longest relationship so far lasted

                 for two months and i was 14 and in 

                                            the closet rip me

jake seems nice tho

                                     yeah he’s adorable 💕

19.02.06

Lucas Lallemant

Missed Facetime Call (2)

19.02.27

19.03.11

hey

                                                           hi!!

                                     how are you? 😊

fine, you?

                                                    fine too

                i’m shooting and rehearsing at

              the same time, i'm exhauuusted

oh, yeah, i'm sorry i didn’t give 

you any feedback for your last

cover things got complicated 

here for a while

                                don’t worry it’s okay!

                     nothing too serious though?

no it’s fine now

i got back with lucille btw

we talked about stuff and it’s 

better now

           that’s cool (: i'm glad for you guys

what about u?

                          nothing groundbreaking

and your anniversary?

last time we talked you were going

on a weekend with jake

            jake and i aren’t together anymore

shit what happened?

              he just wasn’t it you know but it’s

                  fine it’s been like a month now

sorry i wasn’t there

                                                       dooon’t

                     i’m the one who broke up tbh

yeah but still

19.03.13

Eliott Demaury

Missed Facetime Call (1)

19.03.24

LUCAS

LUCAS WAKE UP

i've got good news

                u know it’s not 6 in the morning

                                                  here right

that’s why i said ‘wake up’

let’s facetime

                  i literally just woke up you don’t

                             wanna see my ugly face

shut up and pick up, ur always cute

19.04.04

19.04.05

                idk when you’ll wake up or when you’ll 

              see this but i just wanted to tell you that

                                    it was amazing to see you 

                       and like, i hope we will get another 

                                   occasion to meet in person

                                                     emo hours smh

                                         anyway, good night 💗

19.05.18

                   pls don’t ever end up on the wrong

                                                 side of the tracks

?

                         i’m fucking dead after last night

😂😂

you liked that movie

and you loved hearing me complain

                                                                   i did

                             my sleep schedule didn’t tho

                      i’ll die from sleep deprivation just

                     bc i want to spend some time with

                                               a Parisian weirdo

yeah but you love your Parisian weirdo

                                                                     i do

                           but you’ve got that stupid face

                                and i can never tell you ‘no’

               hence why i’m begging you to stay on

                                     the good side of the law

               bc you’d convince me to rob a bank in

                 two minutes and i can’t afford to end

                                                              up in jail

you’re too cute for jail

                                                                exactly

it’s okay i can’t afford either 😉

next time i’ll be pulling an all-nighter

               it means i get to choose the movie? 😏

i’m scared

you’ve got terrible taste

                    it will give you something to criticize

                                            while we’re watching

19.05.24

corey_lulakk lucas looks like he wanna die lol

missmanon he’s fed up with third-wheeling 😂

19.05.28

can i call you

                                                          everything okay?

yes

no

i broke up with lucille

i really need to talk to you

                                                                            sure

                              wait i’m searching for a quiet spot

                                                             alright let’s go

Eliott Demaury would like to facetime

19.06.02

[pug-bitch]

That’s not why I’m going (38)

Keep it together

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Drake Walker x Amara Suarez

Rating: some foul language, some extremely suggestive. This is absolutely NOT appropriate for people under 18.

Word count: around 5,000 (oops) (I am on the app right now on my iPad and I can’t for the life of me figure out how to add a ‘keep reading’! If anyone knows, that would be super helpful, if not, I’ll add it when I’m on my desktop :))

Notes: This picks up pretty much where we left off, the day of the Decision Ball, starting with Drake’s POV.

*****

Drake watches Amara as she frantically tries different pairs of shoes to go with her red gown. She looks so beautiful in this color, her dark hair down on her shoulders, curls everywhere. He can’t help but smile.

‘What?’ she asks, grinning too.

Drake shrugs. ‘You’re beautiful. Can’t help it.’

She smiles a little wider. ‘You’re beautiful too. I can’t believe you got ready so fast. I’m already a record breaker, but you have me beat!’

He runs his hand through his hair, his smile stuck on his face. He wishes he could stop time, right now. Just be with her now, and for always.

But she’s right. They have to face the world. She has to show them that she won’t be broken. How could she be, she’s Amara Suarez! Detective Badass.

A knock on the door pulls Drake away from his thoughts. As Amara applies her lipstick, he walks towards the door and unlocks it.

‘Hey guys,’ Maxwell says with exaggerated caution, his hand on top of his eyes and a smiley Michael behind him. ‘Just checking in to see if you’re doing alright. Are you decent?’

Drake rolls his eyes and gives Michael a shrug as if to say Sorry man, he’s always like that, gotta get used to it. Michael laughs. Drake says, ‘Max, uncover your eyes, I wouldn’t open the door if we weren’t decent.’

Max obliges and comes into the room. Upon seeing Amara in her red gown, he gasps. ‘OMG babe. You’re gorgeous! And that hair… As Bertrand would say, Yass Kween!’

Michael chuckles. Maxwell looks at him in all seriousness. Michael’s eyes widen. ‘Wait, you’re serious? Bertrand says Yass Kween? Your brother Bertrand, with the long swimming shorts?’

Amara lets out a throaty laugh that makes Drake’s heart flutter. She says, ‘He saw the light when he discovered Queer Eye, but his closet didn’t get the memo.’ She turns to Michael. ‘You look amazing, Michael. Max’s tux suits you!’

Maxwell beams. ‘Right? I told him he can keep this one. He pulls it off better than I ever did. He gives out some James Bond vibes.’

Michael blushes. ‘Oh please. You all look great, by the way. I feel so intimidated right now, you’re all so comfortable with all this fancy stuff…’

Drake leaps in right away, ‘Oh, don’t be fooled, Mike. I’ve been at court basically my whole life and I’m still super uncomfortable in any fancy setting. It’s just a lot better when you have loved ones around you, to help you through it.’ He glances at Amara. ‘Hey guys, maybe I could take a picture of you to send Amara’s dad? He’d probably love seeing his daughter look so regal and happy, and of course, seeing you two together.’

Maxwell’s face lights up. ‘OMG how have we not thought about it?? Let’s show Jorge how hot his daughter is.’

Amara grimaces uncomfortably. ‘Not sure it’s the point, Max. Plus, it’s a little gross, when you say it like that. But it’s a great idea, Drake. Michael, what do you say?’

Michael’s grin can’t lie. ‘Let’s do it.’ He places himself right next to Amara while Drake takes out his phone. ‘Let’s do the prom pose,’ Michael says. ‘Plus, it’s a nice callback to your actual prom date, who was also a gay man.’

Amara gasps in mock shock and nudges Michael’s elbow. ‘How dare you talk about Adrian?’ She says in an exaggerated manner. They both laugh. ‘Well,’ Amara adds, ‘at least I look less like a cream puff than I did on my quinceañera…’

Drake glances at Maxwell and they share a knowing look, both happy and relieved to see Amara and Michael reunited, and acting like siblings. ‘Alright guys,’ Drake says, ‘smile!’

*****

Jorge is busy painting with his granddaughter, and he barely hears the ping of his phone. Callie is growing up so fast, and she looks so much like her father, that Jorge wants to soak up every second with her. The little girl is not one for staying inside the lines, but Jorge is a patient grandpa. He shows her how to follow the curve of the puppy drawing with her crayon, again and again, until she’s happy with what she’s colored.

‘Jorge!’ Nancy cries out. ‘Your phone is beeping!’

He rolls his eyes in an exaggerated manner, making Callie laugh. ‘Grampie, your eyes are crazy,’ she says through giggles.

He sighs and gets up, his back bothering him slightly. ‘Alright, let me go see what’s going on, sweetheart!’

He meets Nancy halfway and she hands him his phone. ‘I think it’s Amara,’ she says with a wide grin.

Jorge puts on his reading glasses, forced to admit that they do help him see better. He opens his texts.

Papi, Michael surprised me in Cordonia! All is well, we talked, we love and miss you. Give our love to Callie and Nancy. Attached is a picture of us, getting ready for a ball! Xo Amara and Michael.

Before he knows it, a light sob escapes his body. He didn’t mean for it to come out, he really didn’t. Now Nancy is looking at him worriedly. Fat tears are forming in his eyes as he stares at the picture of his kids who have forgiven each other. Unable to say anything yet, he gestures for Nancy to come look at the picture too. She gasps.

‘Honey, they look adorable. This is so great!’ she says, tears in her eyes.

Jorge takes a deep breath and kisses his wife on the cheek. How blessed is he? His Sergio must be so happy, watching over them. ‘Callie, sweetie,’ Jorge finally says. ‘Wanna see a picture of Daddy and Auntie?’

*****

Amara is sitting in the back of Bertrand’s car, with Drake next to her, and Hana in the front. Olivia is riding with Maxwell and Michael.

‘Is everyone doing ok?’ Bertrand asks, probably perturbed by the silence.

Hana responds first. ‘I’m fine, thank you Bertrand. Just anxious to see the end of tonight!’

Amara is too. She nods and turns to Drake, who offers her a smile. They agreed to stick around Ramsford and possibly the cabin in Portavira once the evening is over, for a few more days, while Michael is still in Cordonia. Then, they’ll keep a low profile and travel around Europe, away from the spotlight, the time for everyone to forget all about her and any impact she ever had on Liam. They will try to find Savannah. Then, when things have calmed down, they will resurface and tell Liam about their relationship. Drake told her earlier that he’s not sure there’s anything to salvage in terms of his friendship with Liam, but Amara doesn’t want to jeopardize it. After all, they have been friends for a long time, there’s always something to salvage.

After all, she didn’t think there was anything to salvage between Michael and herself. Look at them today.

Amara silently hopes Hana will stick around, too, although she’s pretty sure her friend will be headed to London to see a certain someone again.

As much as Amara is happy that the competition is almost over, a bittersweet feeling invades her. What if it’s the last time they’re all together, here, bitching about the court and its politics?

She shakes her head. No, this isn’t helpful. Her eyes meet Drake’s again, and he gives her a reassuring smile, as if he’d been in her head, reading her thoughts. She takes his hand, briefly, and squeezes it.

‘Here we are!’ Bertrand proudly announces.

Amara takes a deep breath and gets out of the car, after one last longing look shared with Drake.

*****

‘Holy shit,’ Michael whispers. ‘It’s even more opulent than yesterday.’

Maxwell smiles. ‘Yeah, they really went all out for the Decision Ball. Hey, have some champagne!’ He hands a flute to Michael, and one to Amara, before swiping one for himself.

Amara drinks hers nervously. She should mingle, but her heart’s not in it.

‘Hello, Maxwell,’ she hears an unknown voice behind her. ‘Long time no see, you old bitch!’

Maxwell’s eyes widen. ‘Leo! Hi! I had no idea you were here!’ The two men hug. Amara has heard so much about Leo, Liam’s older brother, that she feels like she should have recognized him solely from the way he greeted Max. Also from his looks - Leo seems to be chiseled from bronze, from head to toe. Wavy golden hair, sort of like a young Hercules, and a smile that has probably made a lot of panties drop.

Leo pats Maxwell on the back. ‘I heard about your coming out. It was really badass, man, congrats!’

Maxwell smiles. ‘Thanks, Leo. I appreciate it. Hey, let me introduce you--’

‘Amara Suarez, right?’ Leo interrupts, offering her his hand to shake. She complies.

‘Um, yes, nice to meet you.’

He brings her hand to his lips and kisses it. Amara has to stop herself from grimacing. ‘VERY nice to meet you,’ he says in a voice that is supposed to be sexy. ‘My brother did not lie about your beauty. You’re stunning.’

‘Hi, I’m Michael,’ Michael says, holding out his hand. Leo takes it.

Amara grins. Michael is obviously nervous and overwhelmed by the Palace and the whole thing, but he’s in big brother mode right now, sensing that Amara needed rescuing from a creep. The three men exchange pleasantries that Amara does not pay attention to, until Leo changes the subject. ‘Where’s Walker?’ he asks.

Maxwell stops in his tracks for a split second, and responds, ‘He’s over there with Rashad. Why do you ask?’

Leo smiles broadly. ‘I haven’t seen the son of a bitch in a while, so I want to say hi. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.’ He turns to Amara and winks at her. ‘And lovely lady. I hope to see more of you later.’

He walks away. Amara frowns. ‘More of me? What does he mean, more of me?’

Maxwell grimaces. ‘Ew. He has become even sleazier, and I didn’t think it was possible. Little Blossom, I have some Purell for your hand if you want. He almost licked it.’

Michael snorts, ‘So I’m not crazy, right? For a second, I thought it was a local custom and I wondered, should I have kissed that woman’s hand when you introduced me? Then I thought, no, he’s just a creep.’

Amara shakes her head. ‘I guess Liam doesn’t seem so bad now...Why do you think he wants to see Drake?’

Maxwell puts a reassuring hand on Amara’s arm. ‘Honey, it’s fine. He just wants to say hi. Besides, Drake can hold his own.’

*****

‘Father, can we talk?’ Liam whispers to Constantine, who is helping himself to a seltzer water.

Constantine sighs. ‘Sure, son. What is it?’

Liam smiles nervously. ‘I’ve thought long and hard about it. I’ve made my decision. I’d like to run something by you, now. Can we go outside?’

Constantine reluctantly agrees. He tries to limit his amount of walking in public, to avoid being perceived as sickly. He can’t control his movements as well as he could, just a few weeks ago. He can feel himself become weaker physically, and he can’t stand it. He certainly doesn’t want his subjects to see him as weak. But his son insisted, so now he’s wobbling around, trying to keep it together until they’re out of the ballroom.

‘So?’ he asks Liam impatiently.

Liam clears his throat. Constantine has always hated when he does that. ‘Father, you’ll be pleased to know that I’m going with your suggestion.’

Constantine can feel his whole body relax. Finally, his son has heard the voice of reason. Maybe he can even cancel what he had planned for later. Maybe it’s no longer necessary. ‘Good,’ he says, remaining completely calm and trying not to appear too excited. ‘I’m happy you changed your mind, Liam. This is the right decision.’

Liam gives him a weak smile. ‘That’s not all, Father. I have a non-negotiable condition to this.’

The King has to make a superhuman effort not to roll his eyes. What, now? And to think he was this close to being proud of his son’s decision. Now he’s about to ask for something. As if it wasn’t enough to have to watch his other son running around the ballroom, winking his way through all the ladies present. King Constantine loves his sons, but he wishes he could punch them sometimes. He sighs. ‘What is your condition, Liam?’

Liam adjusts his ascot. ‘Father, I am making this decision for Cordonia, because I am aware that I can’t follow my heart on this one. But I don’t want to give up on true love.’

True love. Constantine can’t believe his ears. But he has to keep listening, after all, Liam is meeting him halfway by making the right decision. ‘What do you propose we do, Liam?’

He continues. ‘I want to give Valtoria to Amara.’

Constantine’s face falls. Valtoria? To a Mexican whore? Over his dead body. Which, for the record, might happen sooner rather than later. ‘That’s preposterous,’ he whispers, outraged.

Liam stands his ground. ‘Well, whatever you may call it, it’s non-negotiable. I have feelings for her, Father, and I know she doesn’t...yet. But if she can’t stay close, she’ll leave without having given us a chance. At least, if she stays in Valtoria, she’ll be able to get to know me. It will be a lot less scandalous if I have a Cordonian arrangement with a noblewoman. Plus, she has made a great impression on the press, she has made a lot of effort to learn about Cordonia and our history, and let’s not forget that a lot of the nobles have already taken a liking to her, even Olivia—‘

‘Oh, you mean the woman who fornicates with her servants? What a great endorsement.’ Constantine spits out.

‘Father,’ Liam says calmly, ‘I’m not asking for the moon. I’m asking for your approval. The duchy is unclaimed, it would just mean that I have to make her a Duchess. It’s been done before.’

Constantine remains silent. It’s worse than he thought. And to think he was about to call off what he’d planned for after the ceremony… No way he’s doing that now. Not a chance in hell. His son needs to see for himself what he really wants to bring to court. He shakes his head vigorously. ‘Liam, this is ridiculous. Everyone will see through this, everyone will see it’s a whim.’

‘Valtoria needs a Duke or Duchess, and I found you one,’ Liam says firmly. ‘I don’t think it’s that much to ask for you to just say yes. Once you pass over the crown to me, once I choose a spouse, we can work through the details. Like I said, it’s non-negotiable.’

Constantine snorts. If he says no, Liam might not honor his end of the deal. So, for now, he has to make it seem like he’s open to it. ‘If you say it’s non-negotiable, then let’s leave it on the table. We’ll talk about it again after the ceremony.’

Liam beams. ‘Thank you, Father. I can give you more compelling arguments later, too.’

Oh, so can he. He smiles and walks away from his son, slowly but surely. Bastien is standing near the door, waiting for Constantine to make his way back to the ballroom. As he passes his bodyguard, the King whispers to him, ‘Please make sure that what we planned happens after Liam has chosen his spouse. I want it out there for everyone to see.’

Bastien nods curtly. ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

Constantine gets back to his original spot, silently seething. Yes, he will show his son how terrible his judgment is.

*****

Drake sips his whiskey slowly, next to Leo. Sure, it’s nice to see him again, but he can’t help but think that Leo’s excitement over spending alone time with him rings a bit false. Like he’s trying to milk him for information on behalf of Liam.

Leo’s known for a lot of things, and subtlety is not one of them.

‘So,’ Drake risks, ‘How was your trip?’

Leo gives him a dashing smile. ‘It was awesome! I went all around Europe on a cruise, and since it’s ended, I’ve been in Morocco, and then Brazil… Just having a lot of fun.’

Drake nods and takes another sip. ‘That’s awesome. It’s nice of you to come back for your brother’s ball.’

Leo’s smile falters. ‘Yeah, I gotta say, I’m a bit worried about this little bastard.’

Here it is, Drake thinks. This is a lecture on friendship. Oh well, he’s not all innocent in this whole thing, so the least he can do is stick around and listen. ‘Oh, really?’ Drake asks in a falsely nonchalant tone.

Leo nods. ‘Yeah. You know he’s completely fooled by Madeleine’s newly found niceness, and he feels very isolated from everyone. The pressure of being King is getting to him, and believe me when I say I understand why.’

Drake bites his lip, trying not to say what he wants to say, along the lines of Leo, you are the very reason why Liam has to go through this pressure. But this wouldn’t help anybody right now, so he just nods. ‘I get it. But you gotta know that he’s been hard to support, these days. The Liam we both knew is difficult to see, through the mask of Courtly Liam.’

‘Drake, can you blame him? He has new responsibilities, and for God’s sake, our father is sick! Liam needs friends and support right now, not the cold shoulder.’

Drake takes a deep breath. ‘So, I take it you’ve heard that Liam and I have had tough times, huh?’

Leo shrugs. ‘Yeah. He told me that you didn’t like the way he acted with this woman, Amara.’

Drake has to try really hard to remain expressionless. ‘Yes, well, Amara is a friend, and I don’t like to see women being preyed on by entitled men. That’s all. If you had seen the whole thing, you’d understand.’ Maybe, he thinks. He would probably not understand, but it was worth saying it.

Leo raises an eyebrow. ‘You’re telling me you’re picking sides, and you’re choosing a chick you barely know, over your best friend?’

Drake sighs. Of course he didn’t get it. ‘No, Leo, that’s not what I’m telling you. It was just the starting point of our differences, but there’s more to it than that.’ He stares into his glass. ‘Plus, I don’t think you understand the whole ‘picking a side’ thing. If I see someone doing something wrong, I’m gonna call them out on it, whether they’re my best friend or a complete stranger.’

Leo nods. ‘I guess. But Liam needs you. Now more than ever. Think of all he’s done for you.’

Drake’s heart sinks. Of course he thinks about it, all the time. Of course it kills him. Of course he owes Liam so much… But is it a reason to close his eyes on the different person he’s become? Is it a reason to let go of the best thing that’s ever happened to him? Once again, he can’t count on Leo to understand. ‘I know,’ he says sadly. ‘I owe him everything.’

Leo’s stare hardens. ‘Yes, you do. He took you in, Drake. He includes you in everything. Hell, he considers you as more of a brother than me. Don’t forget that.’ He pauses. ‘He needs a brother.’

Drake frowns. ‘Got it. Good talk, Leo.’ He walks away, a knot in his throat.

*****

‘Hey guys,’ Drake says as he approaches Max and Michael.

They both smile, and Maxwell greets him warmly. ‘Hey Drake, where did you disappear to? We’ve been looking for you! Come have some of these amuse bouches, you’re gonna love them.’ He hands Drake a tray of little canapés.

Drake smiles. ‘Did you swipe that from a staff member?’

Maxwell nods enthusiastically, his mouth full of puff pastry.

Drake and Michael chuckle. ‘I just had a chat with Leo,’ Drake says. ‘He came on really strong. Told me I need to be there for Liam. It messed with my head.’

Maxwell sighs and smiles. ‘Don’t let him get to you. He basically licked Amara’s hand like a cartoon wolf, earlier, right, Michael? You can’t trust a guy like that. Don’t humor him.’

Drake nods. He’s still painfully uncomfortable, but he did the right thing coming to Max. The guy’s crazy, but he has a way of supporting his friend like Drake has never seen before. Even the way he immediately took Michael under his wing is remarkable. ‘Thanks, Max,’ he says as he pats his friend on the back.

‘Oh shit,’ Maxwell says, ‘speak of the devil, here comes Liam, everyone smile!’

Drake turns around, and sure enough, Liam is coming towards them, his fake smile plastered on his face.

Michael whispers, ‘Should I bow? What should I do?’

Maxwell whispers back, ‘Relax. Follow our lead, I’ll introduce you.’

‘Hello, gentlemen,’ Liam says enthusiastically. ‘How is everyone doing on this fine afternoon?’

Drake has to force himself not to roll his eyes. ‘Good to see you, Liam,’ he manages.

Maxwell chimes in, ‘You probably remember Michael Hansen-Suarez. Michael, this is Prince Liam of Cordonia!’

Michael awkwardly curtsies, which he probably has seen on The Crown or some other show. ‘Pleasure, Your Highness,’ he says, his head bowed down.

Liam holds out his hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Michael. I’m happy to see you back here again, I feel terribly about the way that you were introduced last night! Please accept my most sincere apologies.’ He does not even wait for Michael to respond, and turns to Drake. ‘Drake, do you have a second? I want to talk to you about something.’

Drake nods, looks at Max and Michael and excuses himself.

Once the two men are out of earshot, Liam’s smile drops. ‘Jeez, this is stressful,’ he says.

Drake nods understandingly. ‘I can imagine. How are you holding up?’

Liam nods. ‘I’m ok. Not completely happy about my decision, but it’s the best I can do, with what I’m given at the moment.’

Drake raises an eyebrow. ‘Don’t tell me—‘

Liam shrugs. ‘What am I supposed to do, Drake? Father is dying. It’s his wish.’

Drake remembers Leo’s words. He needs to be supportive right now, especially since he may disappear after the ceremony and not be there when Constantine actually dies. ‘I understand, Liam. I just hope you can find happiness in any way you can. Honestly.’

Liam gives him a sad smile. ‘Leo talked to you, huh?’

Drake chuckles. ‘Yeah. He made me feel like shit, which I probably deserve. I—I didn’t mean to abandon you. At all. I was just really put off by some things. You know me, I don’t change my mind easily. I should have supported you more.’

Liam sighs. ‘It means a lot, Drake. Thank you. For the record, I didn’t ask Leo to come to you. He told me he might, and I told him not to.’ He snorts. ‘Ironic, huh? My notoriously flaky brother, giving you shit for not being there? It’s fucked up.’

Drake chuckles earnestly. ‘I guess. But you know you can count on me, right? Even if we’ve had our differences…’

Liam smiles. ‘I know. Plus, I’ve come to realize that you were truly right about how I behaved with Amara. And this whole thing with her brother-in-law...how is she doing, by the way?’

Drake nods, stunned that Liam is asking him that when he hasn’t checked on her once since last night. ‘She and Michael talked, she’s doing ok.’

Liam smiles. ‘Good. Let me tell you, something wasn’t right with that speech I was given. I need to look into it. Between this and the way I’ve behaved with her...I owe her, now.’ He clears his throat. ‘Which is why I negotiated with Father, and I’m going to offer her Valtoria.’

Drake tries to speak, but the words are stuck in his throat. ‘Wh—what?’

Liam gestures to stay quiet. ‘Shh, no one knows yet, and no one will until after this is all over. But she’s been a great person through and through, she has made a lot of connections here, and I just thought as a symbolic gesture—‘

‘You are giving her a duchy?’ Drake’s head spins. What’s Liam’s angle? Does he simply want to keep her close? Is that his way of apologizing for trying to fucking grab her?

Liam nods excitedly. ‘Yes. Well, if she accepts. But, from what I gather, she doesn’t have much to tie her to her life in New York. So… Fingers crossed.’

*****

Amara has been hanging out with Hana and Liv, safely away from all the drama around. The three women are enjoying light chit chat and beverages, all three of them choosing to remain blissfully ignorant about the rest of the world, and the rest of the evening.

‘What do you mean you’ve never been skinny dipping?’ Olivia says, a frown on her face.

Hana shrugs. ‘No I haven’t. I’m not saying I’m opposed to ever trying, but I have to say, I don’t see the point.’

Liv snorts. ‘True. Unless there’s someone in the crowd you’re trying to see naked, there’s no point at all.’

Amara is looking at her two friends, a goofy grin on her face.

‘What?’ Liv spits out.

Amara laughs. ‘Nothing. I’m just enjoying the banter. You guys are the best.’

Hana squeals. ‘Aww, you’re the best, honey!’

Liv chugs her drink. ‘You girls are gross.’ She turns her head towards Drake, who is walking towards them. ‘Walker, long time no see! Where did you put Domvallier? Wasn’t he with you?’

Drake gives her a faint smile. ‘He had to take a phone call, but he’ll be back. He said he wants you to save him a dance.’

Amara smiles broadly at the thought, and is about to tease Olivia about her budding romance, when she notices Drake’s pale face. ‘Drake, are you okay?’ She says worriedly.

He nods. ‘I’m fine. I’m just—thrown for a loop. Can I tell you guys something and we all remain calm? I don’t want to attract attention by going outside—‘

Hana puts a reassuring hand on his arm. ‘Of course. Tell us, Drake, don’t worry.’

*****

Drake feels slightly better after telling the ladies about what Liam just announced. He had asked him to keep it to himself, but it’s impossible. The thought of Amara being stuck at court because Liam wants her close… he doesn’t know what to think, how to react, but his gut instinct is sadness. Court always had made him feel inferior. It’s full of sharks. Of people like Madeleine, like the new version of Liam, like the Duke of Karlington, and so many more people who thought commoners were lesser than. Of course, on the flip side, there’s good people like Maxwell. Bertrand. Even Liv. Rashad. But would that life make Amara happy? He’s too afraid of studying her face to see the answer. He stares at his feet instead.

Olivia is the first to speak. ‘Okay,’ she says softly, but firmly. ‘It’s obvious that Liam is doing that to keep her at hand, huh? So the intention is already...not fucking great. But…’ she trails off. ‘I mean… that would give you an opportunity to stick around, and it could be your out,’ she says to Amara. ‘You manage the duchy for a while, you’ll be near Drake and near...us.’

Hana chimes in, ‘You don’t have to accept, though. If you want your freedom over the title and the rest, you can absolutely say no, and I’m sure Maxwell and Bertrand will find a way to have you stay in Cordonia, if that’s what you want. Amara?’ She asks her friend, who is still silent.

Drake finally raises his eyes to her level. God, she’s so beautiful. Her face looks just as lost as his own, which somehow reassures him. They’re on the same page. He wants to take her hand so badly, and out of habit he almost does, but stops himself.

‘This is nuts,’ she says, a nervous smile on her lips. ‘I do love being here, I love you all, but doing it this way…’ she chuckles. ‘It’s fucking crazy. I’m not a noble, I’m a cop, and I’m a bartender.’

Olivia laughs. ‘There’s a first for everything.’

Amara shakes her head. ‘No, if he really does offer it to me, I’ll have to turn it down. Let’s stick to the plan.’

Drake can breathe again.

*****

‘Shit, look at these flowers,’ Michael whispers. ‘And these picture frames. And do you think the sword over there is real?’ He asks Maxwell.

Max laughs and nods. ‘Yeah, it is. I opened a bottle of champagne with it once. I can vouch for its sharpness.’

Michael smiles. He has to make a true effort in order to keep his shit together and not squeal. He wonders how Amara does it. He’s been observing her all day, and she is right in her element, she looks like she was made to mingle with nobles.

He smiles wistfully as he thinks back of the young woman Amara was when he met her, ten years ago, when she was just graduating high school, ready to go to college and take on the world.

Nope, not the best way to keep it together.

‘You okay?’ Maxwell asks, concerned.

Michael takes a deep breath and tries to will the tears to go back to where they came from. ‘Yeah, just overwhelmed.’

Maxwell smiles. ‘I get it. You have your sister back, and you’re in a foreign court, it’s a lot to process.’ He pats his back. ‘Take your time.’

He’s about to open his mouth and thank Maxwell yet again for understanding him so well, but he’s interrupted by a change in the music. There is, all of a sudden, a violin solo coming from the orchestra, which silences everyone, until the King is the center of the attention.

‘People of Cordonia,’ he says, ‘The time has come for my son, Prince Liam of Cordonia, to make his decision.’

*****

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[make-it-mavis]

got any nsfw headcanons for the shit goblins? :)

OooooOOOoooh sugar, what a can of worms you just opened.

I actually did make a post about the development of their physical relationship here, and how it helps them learn to communicate with each other.

But as for general HCs? Yeah I got a few lmao. Listen, sexuality has been one of my special interests for years, I love using it for character building. It’s so fun.

Beneath the cut will be lots of naughty HCs. 18+ for some explicit/graphic language. You’ve been warned.

Mavis has a huge punishment kink. Her favorite is being caught in the middle of a naughty deed and being forcibly punished for it, being scolded all the while. But scolded in a way that’s still sort of complimenting her on what a slick prankster she is. Things like, “Finally, I got my hands on you. Wait ‘til everyone hears how I finally put the arcade’s biggest problem in her place.” Just as an example. But she never submits immediately – she’s a really bratty sub that likes egging her partner on so she’ll get punished even more.

Along with that, she’s a real big masochist. Mavis loves almost anything that makes her feel a rush, and pain’s a big one. She loves Turbo’s sharp teeth and how bitey he is. She loves being choked, slapped, scratched, having her hair pulled, being tied up too tight, etc. It’s very rare that she comes out of an encounter without at least a few marks.

Turbo, for the most part, loves being in control. He loves having his ego stroked even more than his dick. Winning a struggle for dominance is a big one, so it’s good that Mavis isn’t a pillow princess and fights back. He loves being worshiped in any way – really let it show how much you love touching him. Begging and praise are huge turn-ons, and there’s nothing he loves more than reducing Mavis to the point where she’s mad with desire.

Turbo loves dominant sorta roleplay shit but not the usual "daddy" or "master" kink. He likes being treated like royalty, being called things like "your majesty/grace/highness/flattering word" or "my king/lord", and showered with so much praise, affection, and adoration that it borders on worship. Mav's role in that scenario is the unruly court jester, a snarky playful little shit that's still ultimately there to entertain the king. (Hilarious if you think of Pyrite later) 

That being said, though, very occasionally, Turbo’s been known to enjoy being dominated. People constantly in control or with a lot of power tend to like playing into the fantasy of a power shift in the bedroom. It’s a safe, rewarding way to experience losing, which is otherwise so taboo for him. That’s not to say he’s 100% submissive either, he’s less of a bratty sub and more of a straight up spiteful sub. Glares, insults, growling, nipping at fingers. He hates how much he loves it.

With that, the things he tends to “enjoy” the most are being tied up, being degraded, being leashed and commanded. He’s not as much of a masochist as Mavis but he still enjoys some biting, hair-pulling, and a bit of choking. As a sub he often takes on the role of a wild, ill-tempered animal that needs to be broken into an obedient pet. That involves a nice mix of teasing, praise, punishment, and humiliation while still encouraging him to push back and refuse to fully submit. Quite often, those scenarios end with him either being freed or breaking out of his restraints and going wild on Mavis, overpowering her and paying her back for all the rough treatment. Resistance and scolding on her end is all part of the scene, but before long, she’s always pulling hard on the leash and urging him on, praising him for being such a good demon boy. He earned his reward.  

I’d like to think that they own a strap on (it’s Mavis’ dildo), but straight-up pegging is not something Turbo’s down with. That level of submission is just a smidge too far for him. Which is fine. But Mavis still likes to make him suck her strap-on dick, especially if he’s tied up and she can knot a fist in his hair and force his head down onto it or fuck his mouth. Turbo’s straight, but he’s pretty secure in that fact (and homophobia kind of isn’t a thing in my arcade ‘verse). He’s sucking a dick, but it’s a girl’s dick, so he’s still into it. (Transphobia isn’t a thing either. Gender’s super vague and unimportant.)

I’ve been asked enough times to remark upon it what Turbo’s dick is like. I hadn’t thought of it too much bc for me, dicks aren’t all that exciting appearance-wise lmao. But it’s inevitable if I’m going to talk nsfw about him. So my answer is…. length-wise, it’s pretty average, but it’s a little bit on the thicker side. I believed I described it as, it’s just nice enough that you might see it and be like, “Goddamn it, such a fuckin’ douche canoe doesn’t deserve a dick that nice.” It’s not all that vascular, it’s grey, and it gets darker towards the head. (I know I’m gonna have to draw it eventually. I draw nice dicks so be ready)

This isn’t relevant to the shitgoblins really but I think that the Twins have similar dicks to Turbo’s since they’re all brothers, but theirs are on the longer side rather than the thicker side. Mavis has seen them, and she just laughed, to the Twins’ displeasure.

No one’s asked me what Mav’s vulva looks like (and thank god actually thats a weird question but at the same time why not???? vulvas are nice) but I guess all I can say about it is… it’s cute? To match her “cute Disney-faced young woman” aesthetic. I have to imagine that if Disney studios ever did porn animations they would draw really idealized labia. ALL VULVAS WOULD LOOK THE SAME. That’s a concept I’ve tried to battle with my own nsfw art where I can, but for Mav I can only picture her with simplified cutesy bits. Soft, supple, pink, blushy, etc. Does not at all mirror how she likes said bits to be treated lmao. But I will gift her with a nice, decent sized clit because you can’t stop me

SHE TASTES tangy and sweet like cherry pie filling

Here’s a fun one. I mentioned that Mav is a masochist. I think she takes that to an extreme in her game. For someone not programmed with in-game death or defeat, dying’s probably almost as painful as DYING dying before respawn. And respawn’s gotta be a dizzying rush of relief from that pain. So… I think she occasionally get off on respawning LOL. She only does this alone, though, as she asked for Turbo’s help with it once and he did not end up having a good time. As it turns out, he’s not into killing his partner in bed, lmao.

Mavis’ brush and paint can are loaded with some of her most dense code, so much that she can feel touch through them, and they’re, shall we say, erogenous zones. Turbo knows this and likes to swipe her brush in public and fiddle around with it just to tease her. She also frequently uses the handle of it to fuck herself. 

The shitgoblins are REALLY into PDA. Turbo likes to show off the action he’s getting and Mav just loves the taboo of it. They make out in open public spots all the time, will casually get a little handsy while talking to people, and will straight-up fuck where they can. Tapper’s supply closet is a fave, as well as Niceland’s penthouse, as well as a dark corner of the Qix nightclub. Hidden rooms and alleys in other games work, too. But the best of all is Gene’s closet, with his expensive cashmere cardigans used as cum rags.

Mav is really good at deepthroating. It’s nothing to her.

Turbo has been known to come pretty fast, but he has the peculiar ability to be ready to go again in record time. He’s like the Energizer bunny. He just keeps fuckin’ going.

That’s all well and good, because once they’re fully used to fucking, Mavis develops a taste for overstimulation and likes being fucked past her limit. That’s where communication and a safe word comes in handy.

Since he’s a Speed Demon, Turbo has unusually high body heat. This means… yes, this means his jizz is really hot. Excuse me.

Turbo rarely admits it but he’s obsessed with Mavis’ ass. He loves grabbin onto it while they fuck, and loves casually feeling her up (with her consent of course). A particularly nice view of Dat Ass can throw him completely off what he was doing. Same goes for her legs.

Mavis has a thing for Turbo’s hands. She otherwise never wants hands to touch her so they’re a real special thing to her. He often doesn’t even have to touch her anywhere particularly erotic to get her going – just the fact that she’s being touched is exciting enough. That being said, she loves being fingered, and she loves having his fingers in and around her mouth, to satisfy her oral fixation.

Mavis is of the “try everything once” attitude. Turbo’s a bit more of a princess than her, but probably more adventurous than the average person.

As much as Turbo likes to finish inside her, he’s also got quite a taste for spilling all over her, as a sort of possessive way to mark/claim her. She’s all his, after all.

They looooooove fucking while high.

I think thats enough for now lmao congrats on consuming so much dirt!!