#fucking pissed I can’t even talk about this shit without apparently getting my shit rocked ‘in the gc’

[crimsun-n-clover]

last night my guitarist and i went to waffle house after our miserable practice. we put a five in the jukebox and basically held it hostage for more than an hour. i guess heart of glass by blondie is our song now. the employees have gotten attached to us and our server straight up asked me for a ride home. i love waffle house so goddamn much.

we had our gigs today. the punk band sounded kinda shitty but that’s alright. it’s all on the new guitarist, but he’s a decent kid. i met his dad today and suddenly i’m feeling protective over the bastard now that i know what his parent is like. he wrote a riffs for an original song that we played, and i put lyrics about identity to it.

apparently our drummer lied to us and is actually on vacation. man i fucking trusted her. she said she had a family emergency and we did everything to cover for her, and i even had to play fucking drums on one of the songs because our fill in drummer didn’t know how to play it and i did. i sang while playing drums and let me just say, never again. jesus. christ. it definitely sounded like shit and i have blisters.

at least the band has a bunch of followers on insta purely because of the outrageous name.

OH AND the hot bassist from the prog rock band we share the stage with is interested in joining our metal band. fucking SCORE. she’s so insanely talented and i actually met her on tumblr before i met her in person and she started talking and i was like waiiit a minute. are you?? that one person i know on tumblr???? and she was so shocked but she WAS. fucking wild. now i can sing without playing bass for that band, because i can’t stand still in front of a mic while singing metal shit. it’s fucking impossible. “stevie you gotta eat the mic” FUCK OFF im jamming around and don’t have a hand free to keep the mic directly by my mouth.

i guess we gotta initiate her. which means watching rocky horror together, going to waffle house, and putting a dollar in the jukebox to play heart of glass.

my favorite kiddo showed up at the show. she isn’t even in the band anymore and she still wanted to see it. she’s welcome to come back whenever, she’s the randy to my ozzy. scrawny little blonde guitar god who writes solos that don’t make much musical sense but sound AMAZING and i’m very attached to her. you know that shit ozzy said about “either he’s the best fucking thing i’ve ever heard in my life or these drugs are really good”?? yeah.

i found out that she got a LEAD ROLE in a musical, talented little brat. she also gave me a birthday gift which i TOLD HER not to, but it’s candy, little squishy toy dinosaurs (which are getting their own shelf in the trailer but i’m not telling her. her ego is big enough), and a note that she wouldn’t let me read. i did the same shit with her gift so i don’t blame her. after the gig, i read it in the parking lot and fucking cried. i love her so goddamn much. she wrote about how she’s so glad i stayed with her even though she left the band, how we have been through some crazy shit but she didn’t mind because we were together, and how we have a bunch of adventures and mini cupcakes in our future. when i picked her up last time, we bought a dozen cupcakes from target and fucking devoured them in the parking lot. she ended it with “i love you man. from your little brat, ____” and when i tell you i had to turn off my dio cd?? to catch my fucking breath?????

god.

my catholic grandparents came to see it which i wasn’t very happy about. i intended to pull a bunch of stunts to piss off the guy who manages the school / studio we practice in, but my nervous ass completely skipped over it all trying to rush to get the set done. i only got in like two jabs when i’ve composed original music about how much of a dick he is. disappointing. i had SO MUCH blackmail AND mocking material.

i’m gonna put our shit on instagram. goodnight tumblr.

[ghostofaboy]

Rock Bottom - A Small Light

Summary: Frankie is spiraling after Tom’s death. Drugs lead to some unhealthy friendships, and too ashamed to reach out to his former teammates for help, Frankie is drawn into a world he’s afraid he can’t get out of.

Tyler takes Frankie home and tries to figure out why he's letting Gavin use him.

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morale/Original Male Characters Rating: Explicit. Serious over 18s only Word count: 683 Chapter: 5/?

Warnings: implied/referenced drug use, drug addiction, Self-esteem issues, angst, Frankie not coping, dubious consent

Note: This has not been beta read, so apologies for any mistakes. This is a fic with gay and bi characters. Please make sure you read the tags/warnings. Header by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Part 4 / Part 1 / Masterpost

The car ride home was one filled with awkward silence. To begin with, Tyler had attempted small talk, but after getting little back from Frankie, he had given up. Now they drove through town towards Frankie’s apartment building with only the occasional huff from Tyler when another driver pissed him off.

After watching the video, Frankie had finished dressing and sat in the sitting room in a daze. Tyler had paced. Josh had babbled on about edits and how he could blur out Frankie’s face. Finally, Josh had promised that nothing would be uploaded without Frankie’s final say. He would get to make that decision and only him. Frankie had just nodded. Then Tyler had offered to drive him home since he’d arrived with Gavin, and Frankie had just nodded.

Pulling up into the parking lot of Frankie’s building, Tyler hesitated for a couple of seconds before shutting off the engine.

“I’m sorry.” He said, almost in a whisper, turning to Frankie. “I thought… fuck! I don’t know. I’m just, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Frankie lied. He really didn’t want to get into this. He wanted to go to his apartment and shower. He wanted to not smell like sweat and sex. Then he wanted to take some of the shit he got from Gavin and sleep. Or at least not think.

“It’s not fine.” Tyler was not giving up. “Something you said earlier stuck with me, and I can’t get it out of my head. We were talking about how much you remember. And you said it depends.”

“Yeah.” Frankie turned his head just enough to look at Tyler. His handsome face was filled with worry and something else. Something Frankie recognized all too well. Anger. Anger mixed with guilt. “I said it depends-”

“You said it depends what Gavin has given me.” Tyler almost growled out. “On what he has given you. Do you even know what he gives you each time? Or do you just have to trust him? That’s he’s not going to fucking kill you.”

“I stopped asking after I realized I didn’t care.” Frankie sighed, watching the shock of his truthful answer hit Tyler like a slap. “He gets me high and…”

Tyler waited for Frankie to finish his sentence before speaking. “And he gets to do what he wants to you? Is that the deal?”

“Yeah.” Frankie nodded slowly. Hearing another person say it out loud made it sound worse than he thought. Seedier. He had thought he couldn’t feel any dirtier, but apparently, he was wrong. The look on Tyler’s face said it all. He was disgusted by Frankie.

“Shit.” Tyler shook his head and looked away out the driver's window. He didn't say anything as Frankie opened his door and got out of the car.

Frankie's knees ached as he climbed the stairs to the second floor and made his way along the walkway with its railing covered in flaking paint to his door. Digging through his pockets for his keys, he could hear footsteps to his left, where he’s just come from, and turning his head Frankie was surprised to see Tyler.

“I’m sorry.” The younger man repeated. “I know you don’t want to talk about this, but I can’t let this go.”

Sliding his key into the lock, Frankie frowned. “Why?”

“Cos I give a shit.”

Frankie laughed harshly and coldly. “About me?”

“Yeah, about you.”

The rest of the day had been so weird and so nice Frankie didn’t know how to process it. Tyler came in with him, but hadn’t pressed the matter any further. Instead, he’d tidied the apartment while Frankie showered. He’d ordered take-out and paid when he realized Frankie had no food in. Then he’d sat with Frankie and watched tv until Frankie was too tired to keep his eyes open. The last thing Frankie remembered of that Sunday was Tyler helping him to bed.

It had felt so nice, so domestic, having someone look after him. And for the first time in a long while, Frankie went to sleep sober and didn’t dream of Tom.

[chil2de]

hi yes the benimaru fic i mentioned earlier— fire force fandom will you let me in please??🥺🥺 i don’t know what i’m dealing with fanbase wise mmfldjfj sometimes it feels like i’m head over heels for bens by myself so... i’ll drop this here for now.. see how it goes and i’ll continue w/ a second part if ff isn’t dead

nsfw themes throughout, so please read my disclaimer if you’re new. enjoy :)

w.c: 1.7k, characters: 9.6k (incl spaces)

-

there’s a certain sluggish quality that plagues your movements. it’s not fatigue or incompetence. or so benimaru would hope.

his mix matched gaze glosses over your unnecessary movements. that extra exhale you hiss, the additional bat of your eyelashes and the excessive perspiration that drips onto the earth below.

“stop.” he commands, tone low and stern as it pierces through the open air.

“huh? captain shinmon, i’m fine. we can keep going.” you huff through laboured breaths, pausing to gasp and drink in the plentiful oxygen around you.

“it’s one thing if you’re overworking your muscles. it’s another if you’re running a fever. go inside.”

“b-but captain-“

benimaru shoots you a dead stare, keeping his statement rooted deep where he stands.

judging by the bruises that adorn your knees, you know better than to disobey the captain.

“waka! have you seen (l/n)?” konro lingers in the doorframe of the main communal area, gaze scanning for one of his colleagues.

“she’s in her room. why?”

“her room? she has a few errands to run. is she feeling okay?”

“she’s running a fever.” benimaru exhales, shifting to get up from the table. he lightly scratches the back of his neck, adorning that usual aloof facial expression.

“in the middle of summer? how’d that happen?” konro chuckles through a small glimpse of bewilderment. of course he’d be concerned for one of his best recruits.

“hell if i know. what do we need? i’ll head out.”

if anything, benimaru is probably the sole reason why you’re running a fever. why he subjected to railing you underneath water that felt like it was nearing sub-zero was beyond you. it’s not like he’s about to admit he enjoys fucking his special little fire soldier. how he relishes and engrains the sight of your fucked out facial expression deep into his head, burning the image into his retinas. shit, you wouldn’t be surprised if the reason why he sometimes spaces out is because of you.

it’s always been blatantly obvious that you’re the captain’s favourite, no matter how much he denies it and how many glares he shoots at the people from other companies. you’re always left apologising for his behaviour, attempting to keep a straight face.

for the one time you dragged him out to patrol with you, and the amount of incessant whining, complaints and bribes you offered your captain, after a full month of lovely slow burn he decided to come along with you. he just up and left, had the audacity to turn around and ask you why you’re still standing there. benimaru always kept his distance to yours close, in fact the separation was almost minimal. you could feel his shoulders ghost over you.

every time he noticed someone staring at your figure for a little bit too long to be deemed appropriate, he hissed a scoff of distaste. at around the third or fourth person, you were already forced to deal with his short temper.

“what the hell are you gawking at? mind your damn business.”

but sure. apparently you’re not his favourite.

he can scoff and complain all he wants, but that won’t stop him even now from lazily snaking his hand around to his favourite baby girl’s waist. to him, this seems like the most normal thing.

“how else is she going to stand upright? she’s all stick and bones, the wind will knock her right over.”

okay, benimaru. you keep telling yourself that. even when his fingers feel an itch every time they’re not touching a part of your skin. he tends to get a whole lot more mouthy and irritable every time you’re not around, too.

hell, even his own townsfolk pick up on the fact that he’s out and about more. rounds that he always left to the lesser important underlings became more commonplace, especially with you by his side.

but the things that go on behind closed doors?

his peppermint red eyes that haunt your mind, infiltrating your very thoughts. you could be minding your business, going on about your day until you get an abrupt flicker of his mundane tic-tac-toe gaze staring up at you from in between your thighs.

you could be taking care of hinata and hikage, entertaining their antics when you feel the weight of benimaru’s stare burn holes into your uniform.

you could be doing your daily sparring with the captain. in the zone, breath held and blood stream steady until you remember the feel of his hot tongue trailing along the side of your neck. for someone who seems to be stuck in a perpetual state of sadness, you always catch the arrogant smirk that pulls at his lips.

“thinking of something?” he’ll cock his eyebrows, using the distraction to take a jab to your gut.

you groan, stirring around in your bed. you hate him, hate that stupid half lidded gaze of his. you hate how soft his wavy jet black locks are. the way the strands tug and bend whenever you try to yank his face away from your cunt. you run your fingers through your hair in a valiant yet futile attempt to free your thoughts from your captain. it’s only three o’clock in the afternoon, and you haven’t done anything but reminisce about your lover for the past hour and a half.

a meek and uneven sigh hisses from your lips. your eyes screw open and you flinch at the hard sunlight that pours in from the window. as you use the inner portion of your elbow to shield your gaze, you catch glimpse of a very familiar figure in the doorway.

“captain shinmon?” you inquire, propping yourself up onto your elbows. he closes the door behind him. you’re certain that you looked like a loyal dog sat panting and wagging its tail upon discovering the return of their owner.

“excited to see me?” he remarks in a flat tone, opening the grocery bag he’s carrying before setting a few things down onto your nightstand. it’s mostly medicine, though he snags a few of your favourite snacks and drinks. there’s also one of those fascinating green tea bottles that you buy at the vending machines, except they’re served piping hot.

“how’re you feeling?”

“i told you i was going to get sick if we had the water that cold.” you huff, averting your gaze in a fit.

“not my problem you can’t take a little temperature difference”

“a little? that shit was freezing! how the hell can you take water that cold?”

“how can you not?”

you chuckle a little, shifting to stare up at the ceiling.

“don’t you have paperwork to do?”

“you know i don’t do paperwork. sure as hell not gonna start doing it now.” benimaru huffs, kicking his boots off by the door. you can hear his clothes rustling and your head snaps to face him. he shoots you a glare, as though to scold you. it’s dripping on his face. ‘really? you’re so eager.’

“move up.” he cocks his head to the side, motioning for you to move over. you shift up, room spinning a little too much for your tastes. the mattress dips with his weight and his right arm (our left) reflexively hangs in the air for you to dip your head into the crook of where his shoulder and collarbone meet. he discards his navy kimono, the article of clothing hangs on one of the hooks at the back of your door. it’s probably not much comfort for him to be relaxing in a bed with half of his uniform still on.

you squish your face against his hard chest, head rising and falling in time with his breathing. the said arm relaxes and his hand rests against your shoulder. subsequently, you realise this is the first time you’ve seen him fully without his kimono on. at the very least, he’d still have the other sleeve on.

benimaru notices your blatant staring at his other arm. he can’t comprehend why you’d gawk at it now, since he’s used it plenty of times to choke you.

he hums a small ‘hm’ in question, asking you what you’re so fascinated about. you can feel his voice thrum and rock against his chest, it sends small shivers licking your body that he doesn’t miss.

“you look so funny without your kimono on. why don’t you wear it like this more often?” you drag your nails softly against his biceps. there’s a small groan that hisses from him. as you await his response, you outline a large vein that runs from his upper arm and trails down all the way to his wrist.

“i get cold easily.”

“then why did you take a shower with me?”

“are you hearing yourself?”

surely a little bit of his body temperature was enough to sacrifice. even if it meant he was sneezing a little bit and shivering afterwards.

“seriously? you can take a tranquiliser but you can’t stand a little cold?”

“you’ll make a shitty wife if you can’t even keep me warm.”

“beni!” you hiss at benimaru in appaul, craning your face up to guffaw at him. the manners on him sometimes are despicable.

you pout, shifting your upper weight to flick benimaru in between his eyebrows. he screws his face in mutiny, lips curled into a scowl.

you and him both know that if it were anyone else flicking him like that, they’d be sent crashing through six different blocks of houses down the street.

“oi.” he warns you, tutting.

“konro come by and work some voodoo magic bullshit on you? ‘cause you’re testing your luck by pissing me off. you’re such a menace when you’re sick, it’s unbelievable.”

you hum in awe, inching your face closer towards his. there’s a wave of mockery that paints your face green and you can only laugh at the unrest that swirls in benimaru’s eyes.

he won’t have his pet talking down to him like that. no, no. that just won’t do.

“oh? really? you want me to do it again?” you flash him a cocky smirk, digits curled into a flicking position. you rest the bridge of your middle finger against benimaru’s forehead, slicking some of his charcoal stained locks out the way.

his left hand flies to catch your hand in an instant. with just two of his fingers, he can wrap himself around your wrist. his touch is assertive, firm. he can drag you the fuck away from him as he pleases, but there’s no real malice or force behind him just yet.

“yeah? try me.” he barks, peering down at you through his lashes.

you just might.

[heli0s-writes]

lights up*

A/N: Stucky (primarily Steve)/Reader. 2k words of idkwhatthisisi’msorry. There was a prompt from six months ago that I wrote this for but I lost the message and I can’t remember! All mistakes are my own, please stop reading if you are not 18+

brooklyn after dark masterlist

You wake up in scattered shock.

Knee-jerk reaction to fast hands sliding between your thighs, fingers carelessly ticking sensitive skin.

You wake up to a groggy voice, slurred with sleep and raspy-raw.

“Baby,” it croaks from between your legs, “Honey, sweetheart, sugar. Please, please, please let me eat your pussy.”

Wha—

A few disbelieving blinks as you scrabble for your bearings—can’t see shit—still dark—head throbbing.

“Oh god, I wanna sosososo bad,” and then hands are between your knees, spreading your legs apart. “So… damn... tasty. Uh-huh… Come to daddy.”

Who the fuck is—damn it, Bucky.

In the dead hour of four-something when nothing should be moving so intentionally, an unsteady moan tumbles out of him when he starts groping for your ass.

“Buck!” You whisper, kicking your leg to shake him off. Grabbing the covers with one hand, you reach under with the other, swatting his head and trying to get a firm hold on him. Slippery fucking man.

He pauses for a second before his body goes limp, half hanging off the foot of the bed and you groan at his weight. Idiot boy. Two hundred pounds of horny somnambulist dropping like an anchor on your poor legs.

Fiddling now with how to get him back up to his regular spot, you try to do it quietly, the warmth radiating next to your left shoulder a compelling incentive. Even with your wits barely about you, you know better than to wake—

“Whassit? Whas goin’ on?”

Steve. Ah.

“Nothing,” you sigh, reaching over and stroking his arm absently, one foot tapping against Bucky’s waist to urge him upward. “He’s just sleep-talking again.”

Steve makes a groggy noise of comprehension. “Sleep-talking or sleep-fucking?”

“Just sleeping now. Ugh… didn’t mean to wake you.”

He’d come in late again—meetings and paperwork keeping him well after hours. Not even able to do it from home, which would have been nice. At least here you could make sure he was eating, or drinking enough water, or at least be in the presence of good company.

Instead, you and Buck watched a movie, took a few rounds of shots (because he likes the taste and how you look dancing all over the coffee table), fooled around in the kitchen, and turned in around two—Steve nowhere in sight. Some jobs were Captain-Only, which meant you’d have to make peace with being useless.

That’s generally not a task that goes over well. The amount of untamed energy Bucky exudes without Steve’s guidance is… close to being categorized as a natural disaster and trying to stay up with him is always a double-edged sword. Lots of fun, sure, but he requires less sleep than you do and can finagle you into getting piss drunk with a single smirk.  

“Wish you’d been more responsible.” Bone-tired and Steve’s still bossy. His arm is heavy as it snakes over your tummy. “You know he needs direction.”

“Hey, I tried.”

“Issat right? That why your panties’re on the counter? Shirt in the sink, too. Come home close to four and still gotta clean up after the two of you.”

His raspy breath tickles, plump lips crushed just below your ear—enough to start a chain reaction of shudders.

“Go back to sleep,” you huff, embarrassed. It was only a few hours ago so your head’s still a bit fuzzy—vague memory of playful touches before hearing, hop up, baby, from Bucky. And you, tittering and zealous the whole way, kissing him like he’d never been kissed before.

YouTube blinking on the T.V., stuck on some ad because the streaming’s a snail’s pace from when Steve set up the internet and tried to pinch pennies at the same time. Bucky’s specially crafted “Wine, Dine, and Sixty-Nine” playlist refusing to load even half a song afterwards so neither of you could spare your neighbors from hearing all the noises.

Hopefully the laughter was loudest, and not the primal fucking, or the crashing when you slipped off the counter and knocked Bucky on his ass.  

You giggle at that. Years and years together and some nights still feel brand new.

“Have fun without me?”

There’s no real jealousy in Steve’s voice, but there is greed behind the question. A single night away and he acts like he’s never been kissed either.

Your eyes start fluttering when his fingers curl around your hipbone. Je-sus. Hell. It’s too late—early—for this.

You grumble his name, asking him to save it for a couple more hours when your brain doesn’t feel pried free, but, Captain-Only mode activated and he’s not deterred. A bloodhound on a fresh trail.

The hand on your hip turns inward and you’re suddenly aware of him pressed against your body, that hot line of him, pulsing on your upper thigh. He tilts forward, one knee rubbing up your leg. Bucky stirs a little and makes another declaration about how he’s fit for the CEO position of Eating Your Ass, but nothing more after that.

“He do you good?” Steve wonders, apparently not giving a fuck about whether Bucky’s dead or alive down there and instead only worried about repositioning you, rolling you on your side, “That why you’re so happy to get me out of the house? So you two can fool around unchecked as much as you want?”

“Steve, you know damn well—"

His hand slips around the side of your neck, four thick fingers drumming over the ridges of your throat. “Watch your mouth,” he whispers, “before you get yourself into any more trouble.”

He gets mean without enough sleep. And no one would ever guess, but other than working over some poor punching bag that’ll never see the light of day after he gets his hands on it, Captain America likes to fuck it out. You and Buck have properly come out of a few sessions barely alive, feeling like two ends of a slinky that’s taken one too many tumbles down a flight of stairs.

You squirm as he palms your bottom with his free hand, kneading the bare flesh a flimsy pair of sleeping shorts can’t cover.

“Gotta be quiet,” he tells you gently, “Can’t wake him, can we.” Christ help you. What a time to play a game. You mumble under your breath, “Do I have a choice?”

A prod at your already sore entrance, and Steve says, annoyingly convinced, “I think you’ve already made your choice.”

He stills for a second when Bucky flops around on the mattress and then he starts pressing his mouth to your back, your shoulder, other hand holding you steady with expertise. It’s Steve’s favorite position when he wants to be in charge—you, writhing and turned away, usually leaned about 50 degrees and pawing at Bucky’s chest—this morning, feebly snatching sheets instead.

It doesn’t take any buildup. He’s achingly ready; you’re willingly wet. Clothes moved just enough out of the way and his two fingers slide upward, pushing barely to spread you before he quickly replaces it with something much thicker. It’s only been a few seconds. He’s too fast for you to get a word in edgewise, your brain still muddled, body cooperative.

“Huh,” Steve mumbles, slowly feeling his way into position, “A bit fucked loose, aren’t you?”

“Steve,” you hiss in reply, clenching up reflexively the same time mortification bursts across your scrunched- up face. “Don’t say that.”

“Hush, baby.”

“I’m trying—”

“Try harder.” And he’s evil incarnate, you swear. Satan himself packaged up in the neat body of a demigod. He rolls his hips slowly until the tops of his thighs are pressed against your ass, fingers holding so tight you think he’s going to spear right into bone. “Stay still or you’re gonna knee Buck in the cheek.”

You twist your head around, instead, shaking your chin free from his hand, hoping that once he sees your pitiful expression, he’ll find it in his heart to maybe not pound you into oblivion with bells on.

Of course, Steve’s not looking anywhere but down the line of your back and further to where he’s opening you up, bottom lip tucked into his teeth.

You constantly rib him about how he’s making up for all the years he spent with the two working eyes of a mole so now he’ll break his neck to watch. Bucky’s confirmed it multiple times to Steve’s chagrin, cackling at the way Steve goes purple defending himself. You love the stories they tell and retell; you try to spend most your time making up for all those years you weren’t there to find out.

Who isn’t in this relationship? Violently horny like teenagers, the three of you, spending every idle hour mishandling for each other like it’s the first time. Excitement primeval like animals in heat, apparently instinctual enough for one of you to do it in his sleep. Years and years and it still feels brand new.

The bed’s rocking surprisingly moderately for Steve’s usual pace, and it’s a bit heartwarming to know that he’s doing it because he really doesn’t want to wake Bucky, but he ramps up his game. He starts whispering again, meaner, hotter, the damn mouth on Steve Rogers continuing to give you hell this early morning.

He pinches your nipple hard, letting you gasp at the brief sting before he goes back up to your chin, your mouth, and then he puts the entire hand over it.

“Quiet. Not another fucking word out of you. Gotta teach you how to behave this morning, don’t I?” He’s working himself up, working you over, even pulling you back on him by the hips and then wiggling you up and down on him like he’s adjusting you on a saddle. Motherfucker.

Your toes curl, knees grinding, legs folding up to get simultaneously closer and away from him and it feels—it feels so excruciatingly good—the effortless glide of his cock, the burn of friction dragging itself out the more you wriggle. Whatever indelicate sounds falling out of your mouth are getting mashed back in, Steve ramming himself into your body, shaking your brain further loose.

He’s probably louder than he intends to be—you know how he gets when he’s close— bombs could be dropping two feet away and Steve Rogers would hear nothing but the roar of his own wanting, chasing it until he crashes into bits. You’re chasing too, both hands clamped around his wrist, arching your back to near breaking.

“Yeah,” he rasps out, “That’s it, that’s good, baby. Ugnn—back up on me, stay—right there.”

More uneven jerking, he releases your face and starts rubbing your clit, saying, you like it like this? Like me givin’ it to you good like this? And you’re shaking in his arms, the both of you tipping over the edge.

-

“I wasn’t serious,” Steve says later after a few moments, lips all soft and gentle on your neck, rather than fierce like before, “Bout you bein’—” you can feel him shrugging, “Y’know… fucked loose.” He whispers the last part like it’s a sin.

You snort, “You turning decent on me? After railing me to death?”

“You sound pretty lively to me.” He pokes your side, “I just… woke up and remembered how much I missed you last night.”

“I’m not going anywhere. You’ve got both of us here—shit!”

“Steeeeeve,” and the sound of it slaps both you back to reality. Sleep-smashed, more tipsy than any alcohol could make him, Bucky’s giggles break the steady pattern of muffled conversation. His vibranium hand pats around for a new destination, undeterred by the disruption of his previous mission.

You can’t believe it. He’s still asleep.

“Steeeevie,” Bucky mewls again, “Lemme— lemme suck your dick, sweetheart.”

What a menace. Your shoulders start quivering as you poorly hold it back, pfffftppblffpt’s kickstarting Steve into a tizzy right alongside you.

Bursting laughter finally wakes him up. Bucky yelps once, twice, flailing like a cat caught unawares and rolls himself right off the goddamn bed.

Two hundred pounds of newly conscious pervert wallops the hardwood floor and you’re sure the entire apartment complex—if they didn’t hear the ruckus last night—certainly heard it this morning.

[dottielovegood]

ASMR - Chapter 6

Elriel fanfiction

About this fic:

Azriel can’t sleep Elain has an ASMR channel Match made in heaven (or you know, on youtube..)

_______________________________________

You can find chapter 1 here, chapter 2 here, chapter 3 here, chapter 4 here and chapter 5 here.

Read this fic on AO3

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When Friday was just around the corner, Azriel was a nervous mess.

He had cleaned his apartment twice, which he understood was a weird thing to do since she wasn’t even coming to his house. He had tried on every item of clothing in his wardrobe. He had googled ‘conversation topics first date’ and written a few down on his phone. He had even gotten a haircut.

He hadn’t been able to sleep at all that week. It felt weird to look at her videos when he had met her and talked to her. It felt like an invasion of privacy, even though it wasn’t. The videos were on the internet for everyone to see, yet Azriel couldn’t bring himself to watch her videos. So he didn’t sleep.

The day before the date, Azriel had decided to get her flowers. But when he stood in a flower shop and the person behind the register asked what kind of flowers he wanted, he just walked out of there. He had no idea what kind of flowers to give to a florist. He knew that certain flowers had certain meanings, and even though he had no idea what any flower meant, a florist probably knew. What if he bought flowers that said ‘I hate you’ or ‘happy funeral’?

Azriel couldn’t risk it, so he bought some chocolate instead. All women like chocolate, right?

But when he came home, his mind did that thing it always did when he was sleep-deprived: it questioned his every decision. What if Elain is lactose intolerant? What if she’s vegan? What if she is the only person on planet earth who hates chocolate? What if the different flavors of chocolate have meaning, just like flowers? Maybe you bought some sort of ‘happy funeral-chocolate’?

In an attempt to get these intrusive thoughts out of his mind, he went to the gym. He worked out for two hours, which was a bit excessive. The gym played shitty gym-music and every single person made weird sounds. It was the perfect distraction. For now.

Azriel hoped that his workout would help with his insomnia, too. He hoped that if he lifted enough weights and ran a few more miles than usual, perhaps he would be able to sleep. It had never worked before, but, as his mother used to say; “hope is the last thing that leaves you.”

However, after tossing and turning for three hours, he could safely say that the workout had done nothing to help him sleep. He couldn’t understand how a person could be so fucking tired, but still unable to sleep. He was almost going a bit crazy at this point. For the past weeks, Azriel had gotten used to falling asleep to Flower Girl ASMR’s videos. He had gotten used to her sweet voice rocking him to sleep. The insomnia was almost worse now that he knew how good it felt to have a decent night’s sleep.

Azriel looked at his phone. It was almost 02.30 in the morning. Fuck, he muttered to himself. He really didn’t want to be a tired mess on the date tomorrow. He had to put his best foot forward, and he knew he couldn’t do that if he hadn’t slept well for almost a week.

Maybe he should just watch one of her videos? She would obviously never know.

After debating with himself for a few minutes, he decided that Elain deserved to meet a well-rested Azriel, so he opened the YouTube app and found her latest video.

Azriel held his breath as her face filled his screen. God, she was lovely. Her smile could light up the darkest of nights, and her sweet voice was like a calming balm for his soul.

He put the phone in his chest and just listened. Slowly and gently, her whispers lulled him to sleep.

Azriel woke up relaxed, but nervous. He only had a half-day at work because Rhys had decided to send everyone home early today to celebrate that Feyre was pregnant. He was taking her on a spa weekend. She was only a few weeks pregnant, but Azriel knew that she would be the most pampered woman in the world during this pregnancy. This weekend was just the beginning. If she suddenly got a craving for pickle smoothies with whipped cream and sprinkles, Rhys would 100% make her one every day. And that is saying something since this man almost threw up every time someone opened a pickle jar in his vicinity.

“Any cool plans tonight, Az?” Cassian asked as he started to pack up his belongings.

Azriel wanted to tell him about the date. He wanted to share the nervousness with someone - anyone. But he couldn’t. Cass knew who she was. Nesta had known her since college. If this didn’t go well, Azriel would never hear the end of it. So he lied.

“No, nothing special. You?”

“I was going to take Nesta out for a date to celebrate that it has been four years since she agreed to go on a date with me…”

Azriel laughed. “After you had panted after her for like two years you mean?”

“Exactly!” He smiled. Cassian sure seemed like a big brute the first time you met him, but he was actually a soft teddy bear. He was never ashamed when people mentioned that he had been trying to win Nesta over for years before she agreed to date him. He just felt like he had won a prize. It was very sweet.

“However,” he continued. “She has to work late. Apparently, one of her authors had plagiarized fanfiction, which Nesta found out about like a week before the book went to print. So obviously, Nesta is livid and I do not want to be close to her until this is resolved.”

Nesta owned a publishing company that focused on publishing romance novels, which didn’t surprise anyone. Nesta had always loved romance books. In her words; the smuttier, the better. Azriel always found them a bit cringy. It was like reading porn. But truth be told, he had read a few books that Nesta had recommended, and they had taught him a thing or two.

“What the hell is fanfiction?” he asked Cassian.

Cassian shrugged. “I’m not completely sure, but apparently this author had just copied something from the internet and changed the names of the characters and sent it in as a manuscript.”

“Weird. I understand that Nesta is pissed.”

“Yeah. So, you wanna do something? Take out and a game?”

“No, I can’t,” Azriel lied.

“You just said that you didn’t have any plans.”

Fuck.

“Yeah, well. I said that I didn’t have any special plans, not that I didn’t have any plans.”

Implying that his date with Elain was “not special” made him feel like shit.

Cassian eyed him suspiciously. “You’re going on a date.”

“What? no.”

Cassian laughed and slapped Azriel’s back. “Yes, you are. You have that date-look all over your face.”

“What the hell is a date-look?” he asked, but Cassian didn’t answer.

“Who are you going out with? Do I know her? Is she hot?”

Azriel held up a hand to stop the onslaught of questions. “You don’t know her,” he lied.

Cassian grinned. “So, you are going on a date?”

“You just said that I had a date-face?”

“Yeah, that was a lucky guess. So, what’s her name?”

“None of your business, Cass.”

“Wow, what a beautiful name,” Cassian teased. “But I get it. You like being secretive. Can you at least tell me how you met?”

“The internet.”

Cassian let out a fake gasp. “Stop the presses and hold your horses. Azriel downloaded a dating app? Can pigs fly now, too?” He made a point of looking out the window.

“Ha-ha, very funny.” Azriel slung his bag over his shoulder and started walking towards the elevator. Cassian was just behind him.

“So, can I see a photo?”

“No.”

“What if you’re getting catfished?”

“I’m not.”

“Well, you can never be sure. One time, this girl, or actually, it was an old man…”

“Cass, please. Just let it go,” Azriel interrupted. “There’s a reason why I never tell you guys when I go on dates.”

“Dates? You’ve been going on multiple dates without telling me? I’m wounded, Azriel.”

Azriel rolled his eyes and stepped into the elevator. When the elevator reached the ground floor, Azriel got out. Cassian had his car in the underground parking garage. Just before the doors closed, Cassian called out for Azriel. “You might need this.” He threw something at Azriel, and Azriel didn’t see what it was until he caught it.

It was a condom.

With a grin, Cassian disappeared behind the big, metal elevator doors.

Azriel shook his head and looked down at the small foil packet in his hand. Cassian really was the worst.

A few hours later, Azriel was almost ready to leave for the date. He was wearing black trousers and a dark grey knitted sweater. And blue socks. Cobalt blue, to be exact. Azriel had a thing about colorful socks. He mostly dressed in black, but he didn’t own a single pair of black socks. These blue socks were his favorites, though. He loved cobalt blue.

Azriel was checking the route to the bar when an incoming phone call made his phone vibrate (he had put his phone on mute and deleted Barbie Girl from his phone, thank god!).

It was Elain calling.

Azriel felt his heart drop. Nobody called just before a date unless they wanted to cancel.

With a sigh, he answered the phone. He tried to sound cheery. “Hello, Elain.”

“Azriel! I’m so happy you picked up.” She sounded out of breath.

“Anything wrong?” Azriel asked.

“Well. Kind of… have you left your apartment yet?”

“No, not yet. Why?”

There was a short pause, and Azriel could have sworn that he heard her swear under her breath.

“Well, I won’t be able to make it. I’m so sorry. And I’m so sorry for calling this late. I was really looking forward to our date, I promise.” She really did sound apologetic.

“Has anything happened?” Azriel asked, suddenly a bit worried.

“No… Or actually, yes. I fell when I got out of the shower earlier. I thought that I just needed to rest, but I can’t walk,” she let out a pained laugh. “I’m such a clutz.”

Azriel hated that she was trying to make light of the situation. He hated that she was hurt. “Elain. If you can’t walk, you should probably go to the ER,” Azriel said.

“Oh, no. I called my neighbor. Madja. She’s a doctor. She said that I had just sprained my ankle.”

“Okay…” Azriel didn’t know what else to say.

“Can we reschedule?” Elain asked. “I really wanted to see you tonight.”

Azriel was used to being rejected. He was used to not trusting new people. But somehow, he trusted Elain when she said that she wanted to see him.

“Of course we can reschedule. I was really looking forward to meeting you too.”

“Really?” He could hear the smile in her voice. It made him smile.

“Yes. I’m av…”

Azriel was interrupted by a hiss from Elain.

“Are you okay?” he asked, ready to steal a car, drive over her to her place, and get her to the hospital. Maybe it was a good thing that he didn’t know her address.

“Mhm, I’m fine. I just.. moved.”

“Elain. Do you have a friend or family member coming over to help you?”

There was a stretch of silence. “No, I’m fine. I don’t need help.” Her tone was too positive and cheery. Azriel didn’t believe her one bit.

“Have you had dinner?”

“I was planning on making some instant ramen.”

Azriel frowned. “And how are you going to do that when you can barely move? Also, that’s not good enough for dinner.”

She didn’t answer for a while. “I’m fine. I promise.” He could hear her voice break on the last syllable. She was not fine.

“Elain. Please, will you let me get you some food? I don’t have to come in if you don’t want me to. Just, let me get you something to eat.”

“You don’t have to…”

“I want to. If you’re willing to give me your address, I’ll be there in just a bit.”

She hesitated. “You probably have something better to do.”

“I don’t. Now please, let me get you some food.”

He didn’t just want to get her some food. He wanted to make sure that she was alright. He didn’t want her to sit all alone in her apartment when she couldn’t walk.

He wanted to take care of her.

After a small eternity, he could hear her whisper “Okay.”

45 minutes later, he was outside her building with sushi (she had said that she liked it) and a bag full of snacks. He didn’t know what she liked, so he had bought a little bit of everything.

A short, old lady walked out the door, and Azriel caught it with one hand. He didn’t want to call her and make her come to the door right now, so he snuck in.

Elain had told him that she lived on the sixth floor, so he quickly made his way up the stairs. He couldn’t risk being caught in an elevator right now.

He found the door with her name on it and raised his hand to knock. And then he froze.

What am I doing? he thought to himself. He had basically asked her for her address and then invited himself to bring her food. He knew that she had a bad history when it came to men. What if she just didn’t want to say no because she thought that it would hurt his feelings?

Azriel contemplated leaving the food outside the door and text her when he was a safe distance away.

“Azriel, is that you?” someone called from the apartment. Elain.

Azriel had to swallow the lump in his throat. “Yes,” he called back. “Do you want me to leave the food outside the door?”

“No, come in. The door is open.”

With a deep breath, Azriel gathered his courage and reached for the doorknob.

He walked into a small hallway that opened up to a quaint kitchen. Elain was nowhere in sight. The kitchen was bright and welcoming. The walls were painted light green and the cabinets were white. Azriel could see a few cookbooks on her windowsill, which made him smile. Most people didn’t own cookbooks nowadays - they just found recipes online.

“In here,” Elain called. Azriel made his way through the kitchen and into the living room. His first thought was that the room really seemed to fit Elain. The dark wooden floor was a nice contrast to the white walls. Not that you saw much of the walls since they were covered by a built-in bookshelf and a gallery wall full of botanical prints. And there were plants in every nook and cranny. There was a dark green velvet couch in the middle of the room, and on it sat Elain. Or actually, she was half-seated, half laying down. Her foot was propped up with a few pillows. There was a coffee mug on the table in front of her, and beside the couch, he could see a worn leather chair.

Elain was smiling at him as he entered the room. When he smiled back, she put the back of her hand against her forehead, which made her look like a damsel in distress from one of those old Hollywood movies. “You came for me,” she exclaimed in an awful fake southern accent. “My hero!”

Azriel couldn’t help but laugh. Elain was wearing black leggings and an oversized shirt. Her hair was gathered into a ponytail. She was beautiful, Azriel thought to himself as he sat down in the leather chair, giving her all the space she needed on the couch.

“How are you feeling?”

“Oh, I’m fine. Madja said that it seems to be a mild ankle sprain, and I should be up and running in like one to two weeks. Honestly, I feel more stupid than anything else.”

“Why?” Azriel asked.

“Well, I didn’t want to cancel our date. And who falls out of the shower? I really am the clumsiest person in Velaris,” she joked. “Yesterday, I dropped a full cup of coffee over my new, white shirt. And the day before that, I poked my friend Nuala in the eye with a flower.”

“You… poked her in the eye with a flower?”

Elain laughed. “Yes. Her eye was red for hours.”

Their eyes met for a brief moment, and Azriel thought that he could drown in those eyes. He wanted her to look at him forever.

But he didn’t want to intrude. “Do you want me to leave? I could just leave the food here with you.”

Elain bit her inner cheek, suddenly looking very nervous. “Would you...Didn’t you buy food for yourself?”

“I did. But I don’t have to eat with you if you want to be alone.”

“I…” she took a deep breath. “I don’t want to be alone.” It was barely a whisper.

“So, you want me to stay?”

Elain nodded, a lovely pink color spreading across her cheeks.

“Okay.” Azriel unpacked the sushi from the bag and offered her a choice of drinks. “We have lemon, elderflower, and regular coke. I didn’t know what you preferred.”

“Elderflower, please.”

She was still blushing. Azriel couldn’t tell if she was uncomfortable or just nervous.

Azriel handed her the drink and opened the coke for himself.

Elain sat up slowly and reached for her chopsticks. Since she had to sit with her leg raised, she couldn’t exactly lean over the coffee table, so Azriel placed the sushi on a pillow in her lap.

“Thank you,” she said and put a few pillows behind her back. From where he sat, he could only see the back of Elain’s head now. He wanted to move the chair so he could look at her, but he didn’t want to come off as creepy.

And he was actually quite happy that they couldn’t see each other when she took a bite of her food and let out a sigh. It was just a sigh, but somehow it was the most erotic sound Azriel had ever heard. He blushed and made a point of looking at his food.

“God, this is so good, Azriel. Thank you. I was really hungry.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

“Lunch,” she said under her breath and took another bite of sushi. Azriel looked at his watch. She hadn’t eaten in more than seven hours. And she was going to make instant ramen if he hadn’t shown up. Suddenly, he felt a bit better about the situation.

When Azriel looked up from his food, Elain was looking at him over her shoulder.

“Is this weird?” she asked. “Is it weird that I asked you to stay? I know it isn’t fun…”

“I kind of remember that I was the one who asked for your address, and then showed up at your doorstep with food. I promise that I wouldn't have done that if I didn’t want to. If anything, I’m weird for showing up like this.”

She laughed, but it was a sad laugh. “No, you’re not weird. You’re kind. I’m just not used to this.”

Azriel frowned. “Not used to what? Kindness?”

Elain looked away, but Azriel didn’t miss the slight nod. “My ex never came over when I was sick. He said that I was boring and that he had better things to do…”

Azriel felt his hands curl into fists. “Is this the same ex that cheated on you and now leaves hate on your videos?” he gritted out.

Another nod. “Yes. But there has been almost no hate since you helped me block those words.” She smiled at him, and he could tell that she wanted to change the subject.

“That’s good to hear.”

Azriel wanted nothing more than to ask where this asshole lived so he could go and kick his ass, but he tried to act civil for Elain’s sake.

“I’m sorry for talking about him,” she said. “You should never talk about exes on dates and…” Her eyes grew wide when she realized what she said. “Not that this is a date or anything,” she corrected herself. “I mean, it would be a pretty shitty date.”

She was flustered, and Azriel couldn’t hide the big grin on his face. She was so cute.

“Elain. Do you want this to be a date?”

“Do you?”

He knew that she needed to hear him say it. “Yes.”

A shy smile played on her face. “Me too.”

“Then it’s settled. This is our first date,” Azriel declared.

Elain’s smile grew. “So there’s a chance for more dates?”

“Don’t be greedy,” Azriel teased. Elain stuck out her tongue and turned around again, facing her food.

I want to taste that tongue, Azriel thought.

Damn those intrusive thoughts.

“I can’t believe that I’m wearing leggings on our first date.”

Azriel didn’t say anything to that. He could complain about anything that tight.

God, what was wrong with his brain tonight?

“You look so good, and I look like this,” she pointed at her hair. “I had even bought a new dress for tonight.”

This piqued Azriel’s interest. “Really? Tell me what it looks like and I can imagine you in it.”

Or out of it.

Stupid fucking brain.

Elain pointed somewhere behind Azriel. “Well, it’s right there.”

On a door that Azriel assumed led to her bedroom, hung a blue dress.

Cobalt blue.

His favorite color.

He grinned and pulled up one pant leg and showed her his sock “We would have matched.”

Elain let out a heartfelt laugh, which made Azriel all warm inside. He loved seeing her happy. He liked knowing that he was the reason for said happiness.

“I didn’t take you for a man that wears colorful socks,” she said, still laughing. “First Barbie Girl, and now colorful socks. I’m starting to think that there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

“Oh, I’m full of surprises.”

There was a stretch of silence again. It wasn’t uncomfortable though. Even though they didn’t know each other well yet, Azriel could already tell that Elain was one of those people that he just instantly could relax around.

“Elain, this might be a weird request. But can I move this chair so I’m not staring at the back of your head?”

Elain turned around, cheeks pink again. “Yes,” she answered quickly, almost as if she had thought about the same thing.

He picked up the chair and quickly moved it to the other side of the couch. When he met Elain’s gaze, she was staring at him, mouth agape.

“What?”

“You’re strong.”

Azriel scratched his neck and laughed nervously, feeling a bit self-conscious. “Yeah, I work out.”

Wow, what a stupid fucking answer.

But Elain didn’t seem to mind. No, she was looking at him more intently now, and her eyes were not focusing on his face anymore. No, they were most definitely looking at his chest. “I can tell,” she said playfully. This felt very much like flirting,

Azriel wondered what she would think of the tattoos covering his skin underneath the shirt.

Azriel tried to remember the conversation topics he had written down on his phone, and after a few minutes, they were talking as if they had known each other for years. Azriel was surprised that she was so easy to talk to. Most of the time, he struggled with social situations. But with Elain, he felt comfortable. At ease.

“You’re very easy to talk to,” he told Elain. She rewarded him with a smile.

“So are you. It feels like we have known each other forever. I never thought that someone that slid into my DM’s would ever be this nice.”

At those words, Nesta’s face popped into Azriel’s mind. He should tell Elain that he knows Nesta. If it wasn’t for her, he would never have known that Elain lived in Velaris. If it wasn’t for Nesta, he wouldn’t have happened to run past her store that morning.

“I have a confession to make,” he said before he could change his mind.

Elain raised her eyebrows. “Oh? Please don’t tell me you’re trying to get me to join a cult.”

“Has that happened before?”

Elain shrugged. “More often than you think.”

“I’m not trying to get you to join a cult. I just… I wanted to tell you that I think that we have some mutual friends.”

She didn’t look surprised, but she didn’t say anything either, so Azriel continued.

“You know Nesta, right? I think you went to college together…”

Elain nodded.

“Well, she’s getting married to my best friend Cassian. I didn’t know that you knew them when I wrote to you, I promise. But it felt weird pretending like we don’t have people in common when we do. I’m sorry for not telling you earlier. I found out last week when Nesta saw one of your videos on my phone and asked me if I was a stalker.”

Azriel was blushing now. He was expecting silence, or maybe questions. But instead, he was met with laughter.

“She thought you were a stalker?”

Azriel shrugged, unable to find any good words.

“Well, I might also have a confession to make,” Elain announced. “I actually knew that you were friends with Nesta. That’s why I even answered your DM in the first place.”

“What?” Azriel couldn’t find better words than that.

“Yeah, when I scrolled through your Instagram I saw a photo from Rhysand’s and Feyre’s wedding, so I kind of figured out who you were then. Nesta had mentioned you once or twice before, so I knew you weren’t a creep. And then I saw that selfie when you were carrying a lasagna, and you looked so good, so I answered your DM.” Her blush had almost turned a deep red.

Azriel couldn’t help but grin. “You answered because I looked hot? You said that the lasagna looked tasty…”

She bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Want to hear another confession?”

Azriel nodded.

“Well, I kind of understood how to block words from the link you sent me, but I really wanted to talk to you more.”

Azriel’s mouth fell open in pretend shock. “Sneaky girl.”

“I’m sorry for not telling you earlier. I just…”

“No, no. It’s okay,” Azriel interrupted. “Do you want to hear another of my confessions?”

“Yes, please.”

Azriel put his elbows in his knees and leaned forward. He could tell that her eyes went to his biceps. Good.

“Well, when I first saw one of your videos, I thought that you might be the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

Elain blushed even more, the color spreading to her chest. Not that Azriel was looking there.

“Really?”

“Yes. And when we talked on the phone, you know, that time when you lied about needing my help,” Azriel winked at her. “I hadn’t laughed that much in ages. I was so bummed because I thought that you lived on the other side of the country or something.”

“But I didn’t.” She smiled.

“You didn’t.” He smiled back.

They spent the entire night in Elain’s living room, just talking. Without even noticing it, a few hours went by. When they finished the sushi, Azriel made a snack buffet on the coffee table, which made Elain laugh.

“We are going to be so sick if we eat all of this.”

“Well, someone told me that she might be bedridden for more than a week, so maybe you could save some for the upcoming days of rest and relaxation.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she said and reached for the popcorn.

They continued flirting for the rest of the evening, but nothing explicit happened. They didn’t touch. Didn’t kiss. They just talked. It was all Azriel could have dreamt of. He had never felt so comfortable so quickly with anyone before. When it was close to midnight, he could tell that Elain was getting tired. After her fifth yawn, Azriel told her that he should probably get going.

She protested and then yawned again.

“Okay, I admit defeat,” she said and stretched. Azriel could see her stomach when her shirt rode up from the motion. It looked so wonderful and soft and…

He didn’t even have time to finish his thought, because Elain was trying to stand up by herself. Trying, and failing miserably.

“Could you help me to the bathroom?” she whispered and nodded to a white door just by the kitchen.

“Of course,” Azriel put his arm around her waist and supported her. She didn’t complain, but he could see the pain on her face. It hurt him to see her like this.

“I’m just gonna brush my teeth. Don’t go just yet.” She closed the door. Azriel leaned against the wall next to the door and dragged his hands through his hair.

He looked around the room, not quite believing that he was here. In Elain’s home.

This date had been even better than he could ever have imagined. He was actually quite happy that they hadn’t gone out, but he obviously didn’t like that the reason for staying home was that she was hurt.

The door opened again, and Elain looked at Azriel with a pale face. She was so obviously in pain. Azriel grabbed her around the waist again and held her up.

“Do you have any painkillers?”

She nodded. “By the bed. Could you help me? Just to the door.”

Azriel started leading the way, but after two steps Elain winced.

Azriel couldn’t take it anymore. “Hold on,” he warned her, and then he picked her up. She gasped and flung her arms around his neck. This was the closest they had ever been. One of his fingers graced the hem of her shirt. He could feel her skin there. He had to take a deep breath. “Is this okay?”

“Mhm,” she breathed, and he walked her to her room. He stopped at the door. It was a cozy bedroom. The walls were painted a dark blue and above her bed hung a giant painting with a floral motif in a gold frame.

“Nice room,” he said. He didn’t put her down. She had said that she only needed help to the door, but he couldn’t see her walking to her bed all by herself,

“Thank you.”

“Do you want me to...” he started, but he was interrupted when Elain said his name.

“Azriel,” she repeated.

He looked at her then, her face just inches from his. He could see every freckle on her skin. He could count every eyelash. His eyes went to her plush lips, and then back to her eyes.

Had she noticed?

She had his attention now.

“Azriel,” she whispered. “Are you going to kiss me?”

Azriel was taken aback. He hadn’t expected that question. He didn’t mind, of course not. he was just surprised. She could probably see that in his eyes, because she quickly tried to smooth over it. “I mean, we don’t have to. I completely understand if you don’t want to, and I..”

Azriel kissed her temple to make her quiet. It worked very well. “You’re hurt.”

“Just my ankle,” Elain pouted. “Also, haven’t you ever heard the saying ‘kiss it better’?”

Azriel rolled his eyes. “I’m pretty sure that it means that you should kiss the place that hurts,” he teased.

“Eh, semantics. I think a kiss on the lips might do wonders.”

Azriel leaned in, almost touching his lips to her. Almost. “Oh, is that what you think?” he teased.

“Mhm,” she breathed.

Azriel stayed like that for a while, his lips just out of reach. He wanted her to beg. He wanted her to go crazy with want. With need.

But that was for another time. Right now, he just needed to kiss her.

Elain was tilting her head to get closer to him. Her mouth was slightly parted and her eyes scanned his before fluttering shut.

Offer and permission.

Azriel leaned in slowly and brushed his lips to hers. It was a feathery light touch. He could feel Elain shiver in his arms, and he held her closer. Tighter. He touched her lips with his again, and he knew he needed more. He tasted her lips once more, his tongue teasing her lower lip. Elain opened up for him, letting him in. She moaned when he deepened the kiss. When he pressed his lips more firmly to hers. When her tongue joined his. They were both panting, unable to stop. Elain’s hands went to Azriel’s hair, gently scraping his scalp while her tongue tangled with his. The sensation made Azriel crazy, and if she hadn’t been injured he would have lowered her to the bed and continued his kisses down her body until she was writhing underneath him, begging for more.

But she was hurt. And it was late.

Unwillingly, Azriel slowed down before breaking the kiss.

“More,” Elain panted and kissed his jaw.

Azriel chuckled. “Don’t be greedy.”

She pouted when he walked over to her bed, and it was the cutest pout Azriel had ever seen. It was so cute in fact, that he had to lean in again and kiss her lower lip. He didn’t know how it happened, but he was suddenly sitting on Elain’s bed with her in his lap. He was still holding her tight, her fingers still in his hair. Their lips were locked in another kiss. This one was even hotter. Even deeper. Azriel thought to himself that he didn’t need air if he could just taste these lips for the rest of his life.

After a small eternity, they did have to break apart though. Turns out the human body needs air. Stupid body.

Elain leaned her forehead against his.

“I should go,” Azriel said, even though every fiber of his being protested that statement.

She nodded. “Okay.” She was still out of breath. So was he.

Elain kissed his forehead, which made him feel oddly safe. “So, can I have a second date?”

Azriel chuckled and nuzzled her neck. She smelled divine. He wanted nothing more than to taste her there; just below her ear.

“You can have as many dates as you want.”

“Good to know.” He could hear the smile in her voice.

After a few minutes of catching their breaths, Azriel helped Elain into bed. He fetched her a glass of water for the painkillers and made sure that all her windows were closed.

He leaned against her doorframe, trying to memorize the sight of her in bed. She looked so cute. So vulnerable.

“Could you lock the door when you leave? My keys are on the kitchen counter. You can just put them in the mailbox.”

“Of course.” Azriel walked into her room again and leaned over her. He kissed the top of her head and caressed her cheek with his thumb. “Sleep well, Elain.”

“You too, Azriel.”

She was already drifting off.

Azriel walked quietly through the apartment and made sure that the door was locked behind him.

Azriel was walking home on clouds that evening.

In his bones, he could feel that this was the start of something wonderful.

When he climbed into bed that night, he saw a new message from Elain. She must have sent it just after he left her place. He opened the message, and there was no text. Just an audio file.

He pressed play and was immediately met with her heavenly voice.

“I thought that this might help you sleep,” Elain whispered, and Azriel could feel tingles up and down his spine. “Thank you for a wonderful date, Azriel.”

And then she repeated his name. For five minutes, she was whispering “Azriel, Azriel, Azriel,” over and over again, and it made Azriel both sleepy and aroused.

It was actually a very pleasant feeling, he thought to himself as he drifted off to sleep.

That night, he dreamt about brown eyes, golden hair, and the sweetest lips he had ever tasted. Azriel had never felt better.

[some-kindofgnome]

Kinktober #9: Elevator Pitch: Hawks

In which you and Hawks spend some quality time together, and you’ve spilled coffee on your shirt.

Characters: Takami Keigo (Hawks) / f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!), vaginal sex, up-against-the-wall-sex, partially-dressed, semi-public, uncaffienated sex, stranded/stalled elevator, hawks is a smarmy piece of shit

Notes: Okay, enough feelings! Only porn. What better way to jump back on the thirsty bandwagon than with everyone’s favourite smug bastard? Today’s prompt was ‘In Public,’ and while this isn’t the most public of public places to have sex, it’s definitely one that I’ve been thinking about... a little too often.

Kinktober Masterlist

“What was that?”

The elevator gives a sickening clash and lurches to a stop. You look up so fast you can feel the strain in your throat, glancing suddenly back to the control panel to see if it can possibly offer you any more information.

The lights die over your head, plunging the elevator into darkness. You give a little scream.

“That’s not good.”

The voice next to you is familiar but grating. Of all the people to be stuck in an elevator with, it has to be Hawks.

He runs the agency two floors above your office. But your companies share many of the same amenities- these elevators, to name one- and you’re unfortunately all too familiar with the self-serving hero.

As if things aren’t bad enough already.

Your manic Monday is already off to an excellent start, proven by the coffee stain on the front of your blouse. Apparently, the morning train was just a little too crowded to be careless with your latte-the half that didn’t get sloshed all over your front ended up on the floor- so here you are, trapped in the dark with the dull edges of a caffeine headache already beginning.

“Hang on-“ It’s Hawks again, and before he finishes his thought the emergency lights flicker to life. He seems entirely too relaxed given the situation. It’s pissing you off. He’s leaning against the opposite corner of the elevator with his wings tucked neatly behind him, arms folded across his chest.

He looks you up and down.

“Damn, you musta put on a few pounds if you’re heavy enough to short out the elevator.”

“Don’t even start,” you hiss. Your headache is getting worse. Spending nine floors with Takami Keigo was supposed to be bad enough already. You don’t have time for this.

“If anyone was going to be too heavy for the elevator, it’s you,” you snap back. You brush past him to the control panel and he starts a little as you push yourself between it and him. His wings give an alarmed little flutter and he steps aside, opening the space between you again.

You’re jamming your thumb against the ‘call’ button, but nothing seems to be happening. You’re not altogether sure how this is supposed to work- you’ve never been stuck in an elevator before. But Hawks looks as though it’s happened to him on a weekly basis. You suppose he sees worse on the daily, given his line of work.

“I don’t think anyone’s comin’ for us, kid.”

You glare over your shoulder at him, hearing the smirk in his voice. He raises a gloved palm to his mouth and yawns. Then he stretches, and his wings follow suit. He can’t extend them fully in here, but you’ve still forgotten how big they really are.

“Might as well get cozy,” he sighs. He slides down the wall, stretching a leg out and hooking his elbow over the other knee, bent.

“No thanks, I’ll stand.” You toy idly with the front of your skirt, brushing an invisible coat of dust from it. It’s when you notice him watching you that you stop and furrow your brow. He’s staring right at your chest. Not even trying to hide it.

You’re just about to say something when his eyes flick up to yours and his smirk, if possible, gets even lazier.

“Rough morning?”

You fold your arms over your chest, hyperaware of the coffee stain that you had conveniently forgotten about seconds before. That doesn’t change the fact that you’re permanently ticked off at him, though.

You decide that he’s not worth answering and avert your gaze. Sullen silence settles over the two of you for a moment. Finally, he chuckles, shaking his head.

“Let me ask you something,” he prompts.

“No thank you,” you answer.

“No, no, that’s exactly it. You don’t like me. I’m not an idiot, kid. But the thing is, I’ve been wrackin’ my brain, and I can’t think of one thing I ever did to deserve it.”

You swallow. Hard. Your cheeks are going hot. The truth is, you’re not entirely sure why you don’t like him.

You’d like to say it’s because he’s self-serving and arrogant. Because he saves people for the clout and not because he cares about their safety. He’s only ever been snarky and sarcastic to you, and you’re sure he treats his staff like garbage. He soaks up the celebrity status like a goddamned sponge.

You’d also like to say that you’ve followed his career so closely for the same reasons. You scour the Internet for stories about him and save newspaper clippings from your coworkers’ subscriptions, looking for evidence that your claims are true. You need to hear somebody else talk about his arrogance because it pisses you off to no end how obsessed with him you’ve become.

“I don’t… I like you,” you scoff. If you could press your back even further into the elevator wall, you could.

He laughs. Throws his head back and laughs and you want to disappear.

“You treat all your friends like that, kid? No wonder you look so sour all the time.”

That does it. You’ve had enough of Hawks, enough of this elevator and this damned headache. You’ve had enough of today.

“Alright, fine. You wanna know why I don’t like you?” Your eyes narrow. Your arms tighten across your chest. Hawks gets to his feet. He’s not all that much taller than you, but he seems to tower over you in the narrow space.

His tawny eyes narrow as he tilts his head, serious but inquisitive.

“Enlighten me.”

“You are the most egotistical, self-centered person I’ve ever known,” you hiss. “You treat women like they’re disposable, you-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he stops you, holding up his palms. “Like they’re disposable? What in the hell gave you that idea?”

“You’ve got a different girl on your arm every week,” you retort. Later you will sink into your desk and expire as you remember saying these things to him, but he asked for it. And you’re starting to get claustrophobic.

“So what?” He shoots back.

“So what? So what? So what makes you think you can go around breaking hearts like that? You’re gonna make some enemies, y’know.”

“Sweetheart, those girls don’t want anything to do with me, either. No false pretenses there. I think you just don’t like seeing me with other women.”

Your stomach lurches, rejecting the idea. But you know that it’s true.

“Don’t be ridicu-“

“No, it’s my turn to speak now,” Hawks growls. He steps closer, caging you against the elevator wall. Your cheeks and ears are burning. One step closer and the coffee on your blouse will start to boil all over again.

“If you’re jealous,” he hints, bending down to whisper in your ear, “I’d be happy to treat you like those other girls, kid. All you gotta do is ask.”

“Hawks-“ you choke. He’s so close now that there’s no way you can pretend you don’t want this. You can feel the heat of his body radiating against yours, the soft, spicy Monday morning scent of him filling your senses.

He grins, and his lips brush the crook of your neck.

“That’s what I thought.”

In the next second his mouth crashes down on yours and you’re kissing him back. You from ten minutes ago would be disgusted at the sight of this, but you can’t even deny wanting this. Not when he’s giving it to you. Not when you didn’t even need to ask for it.

You’re not shy about combing your fingers into his disheveled hair, tugging him closer to you. Already he’s tugging the hem of your blouse out of the top of your skirt. He rips off his gloves and pops open a few of the buttons without even breaking his mouth from yours. It’s only as he digs his fingers into the fabric and pulls the folds open around your chest that he pulls back to have a look.

“Look at you,” he growls. “So fuckin’ gorgeous. I wanted you from the second I met you, y’know that?”

You consider pinching yourself. But you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. Instead, you hook a palm around the back of his neck and pull him harshly down to you again.

“Shut up,” you hiss, dragging his mouth back to yours. Your hands wander, pulling the strap of his belt out of its loop and giving it a harsh tug. It pulls tight and he grunts, then you let go and let the buckle fall open. You reach in further, going for his fly. He lets you. As you dig your hand into the opening of his pants you realize that he’s already hard- already rock hard.

Maybe he really meant what he said.

You shove his pants down around his knees and he grabs you by the backs of yours, hiking your thighs over his hips. His hands crawl up your thighs and under your skirt. He finds the strap of your thong and you nuzzle into his shoulder to keep yourself quiet as he swipes a thumb up your clothed slit.

“Fuck,” he groans in your ear. “Soaked for me already, sweetness. God, lemme have you.”

He shifts his hips forward and presses the head of his cock against your entrance, easing forward until he’s sure he’s lined up correctly. Then he rams into you without warning and you nearly wind yourself on his shoulder as all the air from your body rushes out at once.

“That’s what I thought, baby,” he growls, starting into a brutal rhythm. “You’ve wanted this too, haven’t you? Fuck, why didn’t you say something? I coulda been fucking you this whole time.”

You’re in the clouds at this point. The words he’s growling into your ear are blurring together, clouded by the immense pleasure that he’s sending through your gut with every thrust. He fits you perfectly, it seems, and you’re already drawing embarrassingly close to the edge.

“Hawks,” you practically sob, your head lolling against the wall as he fucks you into it. “Can’t hold on- gonna… g-gonna..”

“You’re gonna cum for me, sweetness? That’s it. That’s it. Cum for me, sweetheart, aw, hell, I’m there, baby.”

His voice is growing shaky now, his thrusts erratic, and as the elastic band draws tight in the pit of your stomach you realize he’s not far off, either.

He gives you one, two, three good thrusts and you’re falling, coming so hard around him that your vision whites out for an honest minute. Currents of tension rush from your head to your toes as you clutch at his back and whine and pant through your climax.

He follows close behind you, driving his hips into your sensitive pussy before drawing abruptly out of you and coming in long spurts against the inside of your thigh.

For a dozen heartbeats, the two of you are still, catching your breath. Settling into what you’ve just done.

The emergency light flickers as the regular lighting returns. The elevator gives a telltale beep and a shudder and starts heading downward. Your brain short-circuits.

“Get off,” you hiss, shoving him off you. You tug your skirt harshly down around your thighs, hiding the mess as he hurries to tuck himself back into his pants and zip up. You’re two floors from the lobby when he turns back to you and starts.

“Your shirt.”

“Oh, shit.” Your fingers race to the buttons on your blouse and you fumble to get them fastened again. He reaches over to help but you bat his hands away as the elevator draws to a stop. You’re just finishing the last button when the doors slide open, revealing the surprised faces of a coverall-sporting technician and your boss.

“There you are,” she gasps, relief flooding her features. “The power went out and they told me people were still stuck in the elevator, I- good morning, Keigo,” she greets, giving a little nod of acknowledgement to Hawks, who’s taking his time strolling out of the elevator with his hands in his pockets.

“Mornin’,” he greets idly. Then he calls your name, and you look past your boss’s shoulder. He’s smirking, his eyes lit with the memory of what you’ve just shared.

“See you around,” he calls. Then he’s gone, and your boss is asking you some sort of question, but it flies straight in one ear and out the other. Your teeth sink into your lower lip. Every time you close your eyes you remember him, groaning in your ear and forcing himself into you.

You are so fucked.

[muchadoaboutbucky]

Make Some Noise | oneshot

PAIRING: Bucky Barnes x Reader

WORD COUNT: 1,800

WARNINGS: cute-goofy-rough smut

NOTE: Written for Amanda A for their $10 membership on my Patreon. The prompt is in bold. Do not save/repost my work without my consent. This work is 18+ only.

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> Babe? [11:26 PM]

> You still up? I can’t sleep. [12:06 AM]

> I’m coming over. [1:28 AM]

***

The steady rap-rap-rap of metal on glass echoes through the small, quiet space of your bedroom. You jerk awake, reaching under your pillow for the knife you keep there. A shaft of moonlight pierces through your curtains, and through bleary eyes, you manage to make out the tall, hulking figure semi-crouched on your fire escape just three feet away.

Bucky?

You set the knife on the nightstand and push the covers back, crawling across the mattress to reach up and pull back the little latch on the back of your window. A chilly breeze washes through the room, and you shiver, peering up through the darkness into the face of a grinning, windswept-looking Bucky Barnes.

“Bucky?” You blink several times as he leans down. “It’s two in the morning, what are you doing here?”

He shifts his weight, hands tucked in his pockets. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d pay my girl a little visit.”

“How did you—?”

“A lot of roof-hopping.” He smirks proudly. “Faster than using the streets and I’m pretty sure the police would be all over a hooded figure doing forty in the middle of the street, jumping over cars…”

You giggle. “You didn’t hurt yourself?”

“Well, not really. Almost took a satellite off the corner of an apartment complex two blocks away.” He rests his elbows on the windowsill. “Are you gonna invite me in or leave me to literally chill out here? It’s cold.”

You shift back, and he heaves himself through the open window, nimbly sliding through to land effortlessly on your bed. “Can’t sleep?” you ask, closing your window and turning the latch.

“Nope.” He sighs heavily and drops his small backpack to the floor. “Couldn’t get you out of my head.”

“And sending a text was off the table, apparently?”

“I sent you three, you didn’t answer.” He gestures to your phone on the nightstand and shrugs his light jacket off. “It’s just been a while since we saw each other.”

You sigh when he pulls you close and presses a kiss to your cheek. “I thought we were taking this slow. We’re not at the move-in-together stage.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t stop me missin’ you.” He buries his face in the crook of your neck and tugs you into his lap. “I really wish you’d come live at the tower.”

“What’s wrong you coming to live here?”

“It’s small.”

“But it’s cute. And we wouldn’t have to put up with sneaking around other people.” You let your knees slide on either side of his hips, and when he starts a line of kisses down the side of your neck and wraps an arm around his waist to pull you even closer, you feel the hard press of his barely-concealed erection.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you come all the way from Park Avenue to have sex at two in the morning?”

He chuckles. “Well, I wanted to see you more than anything. Can’t help what happens after that.”

You smile when his kisses find the corner of your mouth. “It’s been a few weeks, hasn’t it?”

He hums eagerly. “Yeah…”

You giggle when his hands squeeze your sides and squirm away. “I’m gonna use mouthwash, get your clothes off.”

Bucky grins, eagerly wrenching his belt open as you slide off the bed and beeline for the small bathroom down the hall. You quickly rinse with blue spearmint and splash cold water on your face before stripping your nightshirt over your head and tossing your panties into the small hamper by the door. By the time you get back to the bedroom, Bucky’s waiting for you, gripping himself tightly in one hand.

“Hey there.” You giggle when he pulls you onto the bed and rolls to lie on top of you. His cock presses against your inner thigh, and you spread your legs to accommodate him as he presses his lips to yours.

“Hi.” He kisses you deep, moaning against your mouth as he rocks his hips. “So, how’re we doin’ this?”

“You’re really asking that?”

He chuckles and nips under your jaw. “Thought I’d find out if you’re up to getting another noise complaint from the neighbors tomorrow.”

You sigh, letting him kiss down the column of your throat, between your breasts. “I won’t hear them complain if I’m having lunch at Rubirosa’s…”

Bucky grins, nuzzling the soft swell of your breast. “Is this your way of asking for a lunch date?”

“Is crawling up your girlfriend’s fire escape and crawling through her window a way of asking for sex?”

He grumbles and props himself over you. “You talk so much.”

Before you can reply, he reaches down and lines himself up with your entrance. You give to him easily, stretching and opening until he’s seated deep with his hips pressed snugly against your ass. He’s heavy on top of you, and you relish in the hard press of his hipbones on your inner thighs—he always leaves a couple of bruises behind.

“There,” he breathes, gently rocking his hips from side to side. “Now, less talking, more sex, huh?”

You hum, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close. He draws back, the long, thick slide of his cock causing ripples of heat to flow through your belly, and you let out a soft huff when he thrusts back in.

“Fuck,” you whisper, “you’re strong, baby.”

He hums, tonge swiping along your lower lip as he grinds in and holds himself deep. “Too much?”

You moan when he lowers his head to suck a nipple into his mouth. “Not enough, baby, keep going.”

Bucky plants both forearms on either side of your body, cages you in underneath him, and shoves forward with a growl that makes your pussy squeeze receptively around him. When your heels press against the backs of his thighs, he speeds up, panting loudly against the side of your neck.

“You're so tight,” he grunts, “goddamn, baby…”

You whimper when he changes the beat of his thrusts, using the bounce of your mattress to drop his hips against yours. The frame of your bed squeaks, the muffled thuds of your bodies hitting the mattress building a steady rhythm that has you whimpering and moaning in Bucky’s ear.

Suddenly, you burst out laughing, and Bucky stops, lifting his head to stare at you in confusion.

“What?” He gives a small smile, like he doesn’t know whether to be amused or offended at your reaction. “Baby—?”

“You just—” you stop to take a breath and gaze up at him. “The bed, it… it sounds like the Pixar opening.”

Bucky furrows his brow in confusion. “The what opening?”

“I’ll show you later.” You pull him into a deep, warm kiss. “Come on, I promise I’ll shut up.”

Bucky lets out a long, deep sigh and plants his hands firmly on the mattress. Your giggle trails off into a moan as he picks up his pace, roughly shoving his hips into yours over until the bed frame rattles back and forth. He matches the sound with his own, a rough growl that echoes through the room as his hips slap against your ass over and over. 

“Shit—” you gasp when he finds your sweet spot and ruts against it hard enough for you to grow wetter and tighter on his cock, “there, Bucky, harder—”

Bucky doesn’t hesitate. He spreads his knees for balance and closes his eyes, lips parting as he focuses every ounce of his being on getting you as worked up as possible. Your nails scrape down his sides, over his hips, and he lets out a desperate groan when your palms slap down on his ass, nails digging in to urge him on.

When you let out a loud, dry-sounding cry of pleasure, he stops, catching his breath as he looks down at you. 

“Why’d you stop?” you ask, reaching up to push his hair out of his face. 

“You were holding your breath.” He leans down to kiss you. “And I’d love it if you kept breathing instead of getting lightheaded.”

You hum against his lips and run your hands over his chest. “If I breathe will you keep doin’ what you were just doin’?”

He grins and flicks his hair out of his face, clenching metal fingers in the pillow beside your head. “You close?”

“I will be if you just—”

Bucky slams into you with a thrust so deep and intense that you lose your breath again. He waits for you to suck in another lungful of oxygen before continuing, plowing into you over and over again until you’re practically crying. Your hands claw and grip at the sheets, holding on for what feels like dear life as Bucky fucks you both closer and closer to the edge.

You cum together, shuddering and pulsing and writhing as Bucky spills into you so hard and deep that you can feel the heat of it in your belly. He works you through the waves of your own climax with firm, determined grinds that make your toes curl.

“Fuck me,” you sigh when he falls away, slumping over to lie beside you. “My downstairs neighbor’s gonna be pissed.”

“I don’t care.” Bucky watches you turn onto your side, thighs pressed tightly together. 

“You’re not the one who has to deal with an angry conspiracy theorist on a weekly basis.”

He chuckles. “Again, one more reason for you to move into the tower. No conspiracy theorists there.”

“I like my little apartment.” You press a soft kiss to his lips and let him pull your weary, tender body close. “I’d like it more if you could scare the crazy neighbors off too.”

Bucky chuckles. “We’ll talk about movin’ in tomorrow, over pizza. How’s that sound?”

You grin and nuzzle into his cheek. “I think that sounds amazing.”

BOIINNGG!

The sudden sound emanating from the backpack on the floor makes you jump, and you furrow your brow.

“Is that your text tone?”

Bucky grumbles, crawling over you to rummage in the front pocket and pull his phone out—you can’t help but notice the crack in the almost-new screen. “It’s just Steve, he wants to know where I went. Thought I turned it on silent.”

“Well, it could have gone off while we were having sex,” you reply, sitting up and watching him type a quick reply. “I need a shower, and you do too if I’m gonna let you sleep in my bed.”

Bucky grins, eagerly standing to follow you. “Right behind you, doll. Lead the way.”

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[lucyjay]

Silver (b.bh)

||You and Baekhyun have been friends for the past couple years. What happens when you both develop feelings for each other but no one has the courage to admit it?

Genre: smut (a bit of fluff)

Warnings: explicit language, alcohol consumption, teasing, unprotected sex ( balloon your baboons fellahs), dirty talk, oral sex, fingering, cum play, throat fucking, hair pulling, multiple orgasms

Words: 6.5k  

 You throw a final look at your reflection in the mirror and sigh. I look like shit, you think to yourself and make your way to the bathroom to finish straightening your hair. The last thing you are in the mood for is clubbing but guess who won’t take no for an answer?your friend Nat who borderline blackmailed you into either joining her and your friends tonight or finding all your embarrassing high school photos displayed on your insta tomorrow morning. 

 After managing to make your hair not look like you got out of a cat fight, you put on some make up which for you consists of 3 simple steps. Step 1, hiding the black shopping bags that jewel your under eyes, Step 2, some blush so that you don’t resemble a ghost and Step 3, mascara. The final result looks better than you anticipated when you started getting ready over an hour ago. 

A simple black baggie-t’shirt style dress, a pair of black boots, your straight hair naturally hugging your shoulders, falling all the way down to your waist and last your make up which thank god hides the fact that you’ve worked a total of 60 hours this week. It’s a nice, fresh spring night and you reckon you’d be okay without a jacket on. You throw your keys, phone and credit card in a small bag and make your way out of your apartment. Your find your uber already waiting for you outside the main entrance of the building, you jump in and decide to give your friend a call to check if they are already at the club. 

 “Hola”, her high pitched voice makes you chuckle, she still sounds like a 5 year old girl just like when you first met her. 

 “Hola. Sooo, I’m on my way, I should be there in like 20′ max. Who else is coming? Please tell me Sehun and Taeyong will be there? Taeyong promised he would make time if i joined you”, you protest already used to one of your best friends, Taeyong canceling on you lastminute.com because of work. 

 “They are already with me babe and we should reach the club in 10′ or so. Sara and Jaebum are coming as well, Bam is DJ’ing, oh and ahm”, she pauses and your heart starts racing subconsciously knowing what she is about to say. “..Baekhyun is coming”. You swear at her for not letting you know earlier and she mumbles apologies which leave you completely untouched. 

 “Nat, you did it on purpose”, you try to keep your tone calm only because your uber driver is already giving you some “lady keep your voice down” looks through the rear mirror. 

 “I didn’t but even if I did so what? We are all friends and it’s completely childish of both of you to put us in a position where we have to go out with each of you separately. Bam is worried and Sehun is having abandonment issues”, she whines dramatically and you hear Sehun in the background screaming, “I just want my friends back, oh god, please”, a fake cry following his oscar-worthy performance as you hear Taeyong burst into laughter a bit further in the background. 

 “Ok ok! I don’t care. I’m done playing his little games anyway. I wanna drink and have fun. See you in a bit”, you reply and hang up. The uber has reached the city centre and your gaze in boring outside the window looking at the people and the buildings but not really paying attention to anything. All you can think about is him. How things have completely gone to shit when they were so promising. You and Baekhyun met a a couple years ago when he started hanging out with Sehun who he met at work. The latest then brought him into your group and he clicked with all of you straight away. 

Fast forward to a a few months ago, you were at one of BamBam’s house parties chilling and chatting away when he confessed that he likes you and he has been into you since the day he met you catching you completely off guard. You, having been crushing on the boy since the moment you laid your eyes on him, did what no 26 year old, sane woman would do and just bailed. Literally left him there, drink in hand, mouth hanging open in shock and you just left the house, got inside a taxi and went home. You were so embarrassed over your reaction and disappointed in yourself for ruining the perfect chance to be with the biggest crush you’ve had since middle school, that you couldn’t even bring yourself to message an apology to him. A few days later you all met at a cafe and that’s when it started. He was so cold and sulky towards you and who could blame him? But he was overdoing it to the point that it started pissing you off. You couldn’t get him to talk to you alone and eventually managed to get you to not stand being with him in the same room. Every time you met since then, it was just a verbal war between the two of you, full of sneaky insults and hurtful jokes with a drizzle of swear words and some whipped sarcasm on top.

 “It’s just one night out. How bad can it get?”, you whisper only for your own ears to hear you. The uber slows down outside the club, you thank your driver and step out of the vehicle, gently closing the door behind you. The queue for the club isn’t too long and you can spot Nat,Tae and Sehun waiting on the left side where the VIP queue is forming. Sehun waves at you eagerly and you make your way to their direction. 

 “At least she is wearing a dress and not pyjamas”, Sehun teases and lifts you up in a hug that made you almost gasp for air. 

 “I am overworked, not lame. I now how to dress for a night out”, you spit back faking annoyance and the younger boy raises his hands in defence. 

 “Tough week at work?”, Taeyong asks as all four of you walk towards the entrance of the club. 

 “Everybody decided to get married at the end of summer apparently, so considering that I have to organise 9 weddings within the next 4 months, I would say tough year.”, you pause and your eyes follow the direction Taeyong is looking at and...there he is. Locking his car dressed like a bloody model straight out of a Vogue photoshoot. Black jeans, loose blue shirt, a silk navy blue scarf around his neck and a pair of black boots. “...and it’s not about to get better”, you finish your sentence. 

 Him being ridiculously attractive should have been something you were used to by now, but you haven’t seen him in almost a month and in all honesty you almost forgot how easily he makes your entire body go numb just by standing there not even looking at you. Too lost in your own thoughts you haven’t noticed him standing next to you greeting the others, ‘till he turns his attention to you. His hair is silver. Fuck him and his ability to look good in everything. Fuck him and his gorgeous face, you think to yourself. 

 “Your hair is longer”, he says in the most indifferent tone. Is this his idea of a greeting? Asshole, you think.

 “Your hair is bloody silver”, you reply, your eyes not leaving his. He serves you a slight side smile and you can feel the insides of your palms getting sweaty.

 “Looks good doesn’t it?”, he throws a rhetorical question not really waiting for an answer. You tsk and roll your eyes at him while quickly turning to get inside the club. BamBam was near the entrance to greet you and show you which table he reserved for you and your friends. You follow him and he leaves you shortly after to go and prepare his station for his set next to the man currently DJ’ing. 

 “I’m gonna go get drinks, what do you want?”, Baekhyun asks the rest of you.

 “Let’s just get a bottle”, Nat proposes and you nod. “tequila or Vodka?”, she asks. 

 “Tequila”, you and Baekhyun shout in unison and you turn to look at each other. Are the lights in here making him look even more attractive or is it just you being horny for him? You give yourself a mental slap. 

 “Tequila is good”, Sehun adds. Baekhyun makes his way to the bar and Nat moves to your side, leaning next to your ear so that she doesn’t need to scream on top of the music. 

 “Make a move”, she says and you almost choke on your own spit. 

 “Are you insane? Haven’t you been around lately? I guess not. Let me fill you in. In the last episode of Season 2, he hates me. End of story”, you reply and she chuckles. 

 “He doesn’t hate you. He is just still hurt by your reaction back then. And you are clearly into him. Like, it’s clear like the sun. Like, I can see you undressing him with your eyes. I could legit-...” 

 “That’s enough! I got your point”, you cut her off and really wish Baek could get his ass there already cause you swear you would love to down that entire bottle of tequila right now. 

 “Babe, talk to him. It’s a shame. You have had feelings for each other for so long. You can’t just..leave it.”, she says and her tone is soothing and understanding. You turn to look at her and nod causing her to smile widely and clap her hands like a little kid who just got her birthday gift. A minute later Baek shows up with two bottles of tequila inside a bucket and a waitress follows right behind him with a tray full of glasses and ice which she lays on your table. 

A few drinks down and you find yourself relaxed enough to be dancing with Taeyong like there’s no tomorrow, rocking some crazy moves  perfectly nsync with BamBam’s wild beats.  Taeyong’s hands are on your waist and you rest your head on his shoulder, your back against his chest as you sing every single lyric of the song currently blasting.

 “I need another drink”, he screams over the music. You nod and make your way to the table where you find Nat and Sehun talking to Jaebum and Sara, a couple Nat met whilst on holidays in Japan, who happened to be from the same city as the rest of you. You chat with them for a few minutes, sipping on your drink when you realise you haven’t seen Baekhyun since returning to the table. After scanning the area around you, your gaze falls on Nat’s who mouths a silent “outside” to you, as if she has read your thoughts. You excuse yourself and make your way through the intoxicated crowd, eventually reaching the exit of the club. You step on the pavement and look up and down both directions to see if you can spot Baek. On the left side of the doors, a few meters away you can distinguish a frame that looks like him. You slowly make your way towards the man and after a few steps you can see his face clearer under the dull lighting the lamppost covers the corner of the street with. He was staring at the ground, cigarette in between his index and middle finger. You clear your throat and he turns to look at you. 

 “Oh sorry, I didn’t see you”, he says calmly, taking a puff of his cigarette, quickly letting a line of smoke out of his nostrils.

“You smoke”, you say and it’s more like a realisation and less like a question. Your stare drifts off of his face and down to his feet as if his shoes are the most interesting thing to you. 

 “Yes, got a problem with that?’, he turns to look at you and you raise your head to meet his eyes. You can’t read him. You never could. He looks unbothered yet sounds annoyed. It’s so frustrating and you swear at yourself for even thinking of approaching him. You scoff and turn to leave, sure that you’re clearly not wanted there. 

 “That’s the second time”, he says and his voice is low but you can sense a weak scent of irony lingering at the end of his word. You stop in your trucks and turn to face him. 

 “What was that?”, you ask. 

 “It’s the second time you walk away from me. There won’t be a third”, his statement catches you off guard but you’re not planning on letting him see the affect his words have on you. 

 “I suppose you came out here to get some air, I wanted to check if you’re alright but you’re clearly not up for a chat. Am I wrong for thinking that the best thing to do was to excuse myself?”, you regret the slight sarcasm in your words which was completely unintended. His attention lands on your face. There’s at least 2 meters distance between yourself and him but for some reason you feel like you’re suffocating. His presence is so strong that you can’t even think straight. Without taking his eyes off of yours, he throws his cigarette somewhere to the side and with two steps he is standing right in front of you. You can smell the smoke on him but it doesn’t bother you; his cologne in combination with his addictive natural scent are enough to make your head hazy. He shouldn’t be able to affect you like this. 

 “Excuses”, his voice comes out like a loud whisper and you feel embarrassed at how it makes your entire lower body go numb and the sensitive area between your legs pulsate. His stare is so heavy that it almost makes you feel small. He moves a bit closer to you and you can almost feel his body touching yours.

 “Baekhyun, I’m...”, your voice fades out unable to complete the sentence. Your eyes still on his like magnets. You can’t see anything around you but him.

“Finish your sentence Y/N”, he says calmly. You gather all the courage you could before you allow the confessions that you have been battling all these months, come out. It’s so hard but you know you have to. You have to give it a shot.

 “I’m sorry. For that day.”, you say and his features rest in a slight shock which only encourages you to continue. 

“I’m sorry i left you like that and that I didn’t explain myself. I’m sorry that I never called you after what happened. But what I’m not sorry about is what happened afterwards. You were so mean to me and you refused to talk to me. Your behaviour was horrible and I don’t take back anything I’ve said to you every time we fought”. You swear your knees are about to give out and your breathing is so heavy that you can feel your chest rising and falling as if you were running. You heart beating in your head is making you dizzy and you pray that you won’t just faint right there and then. 

 “You don’t regret anything you’ve said to me all the times we fought?”, he asks and you feel a pinch of annoyance that this was the only part of your paragraph long monologue he chose to focus on. 

 “Nothing. You started every single fight”, your statement came out strong and your voice way too stable given your current state. You congratulate yourself in your head. As if that was even possible, Baekhyun steps even closer to you, now trapping you between his body and the wall. You can feel his torso pushing yours backwards only for the back of your waist to land on his right hand, his left one resting on the wall slightly brushing your cheek. 

 “I swear I would take you against this fucking wall just to shut this annoying mouth of yours”, his lips almost touching yours. You can feel his breath on your face and his words wake the butterflies in your stomach. You’re mad at yourself for feeling so weak under his stare. It takes you a few seconds to realise that you have been holding in a breath. You just stand there, frozen, eyes glued on his honey brown ones when the words roll out of your tongue without second thought. 

 “Why don’t you then?”, you speak in a low voice that even gives you goosebumps. Your boldness surprises him and he shakes his head.

 “I shouldn’t. I-..” 

 “Excuses”, you cut him off and you catch him so off guard that if it wasn’t for you being an absolute mess right now, his shocked stare would have had you chuckling. He raises his hand to caress your cheek and the way his knuckles softly touch your skin makes your entire body shiver. He doesn’t allow you to let the sudden skinship action sink in when he tilts his head only to rest his forehead against yours. 

 “I don’t know what to do with you anymore. Please tell me Y/N. Just tell me what you want”, he pleads and the entirety of your body heat is now resting on your face. You have never seen Baekhyun like this, basically asking you to take the upper hand. You rest your arms on his and connect your hands behind his neck. 

 “I want you Baekhyun. I don’t even remember how it was not to want you.”, you inhale and the air entering your nostrils feels too hot “...let’s go back to yours.Or mine, I don’t care”. The moment you finished your sentence Baekhyun’s hand was on yours, already guiding you towards the direction of his car. He open the door for you to get in and a second later he jumps in the driver’s seat. 

 Baekhyun’s eyes are glued on the road and his grip on the wheal is strong. You take a minute to examine his side profile and your eyes linger on each of his beautiful features. His beautiful honey-brown eyes, his straight nose and his soft, pink lips that are currently pressed into a thin line as if he is trying hold back a river of words threatening to fall out. Your hands are resting on your thighs which you’re pressing together in a desperate attempt to ease the buzzing in your lower area. You are already so embarrassingly wet, even though Baek hasn’t even touched you, which makes you realise how wrong all your past partners must have been treating you. Not able to stand the distance between the two of you, you place your hand on top of his right thigh, slowly dancing your fingers up and down the area. He shakes his head, momentarily closing his eyes only to open them a second later. His stare is intense but you can’t read it properly. 

 “Babe...”, he says and your hand movement stops at the sound of the nickname. Feeling more aroused by the second, you bend slightly over so that your lips are brushing against his ear. 

 “What...babe?”, you tease and he grips the wheel with such strength that it looks like he is trying to break it in half. 

“Finish your sentence Baek”, you continue and at this point you know you’re playing with fire. He turns to give you a look for a split second, his eyes filled with something unknown to you and a slight smirk is gracing his beautiful lips.

 “Sit back properly, take off your underwear and open your legs.”, you’re looking at him, eyes wide open in shock. His habit of bossing you around would normally have you ignoring his ass, maximum serving him an eyeroll as a response, but now it’s different. Your brain hasn’t even had the time to comprehend the possible consequences of his request, when you find your hands slowly sliding the sides of your underwear down your legs. Before you manage to even speak a word, his slender fingers are caressing the inside of your thighs and you throw your head back, eyes shut in an attempt to keep yourself under control. His middle finger and index travel all the way to your sensitive area and you let out a low gasp when you feel them on your heat. 

 “Holy fuck...”, he says and inserts one finger inside your throbbing pussy. You moan out his name as his digit is hitting you exactly on the right spot and you can’t see it but there’s a victory smile resting on his lips. 

 “Baek wait...”, you try to complain but it’s in vain. He adds a second finger and while keeping his eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel, driving almost at 150 km/h, he is steadily bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm. You turn your head to the side, your eyes linger on his frame when you start feeling a knot forming on the lower part of your abdomen. You gather all the strength left in your body to lift your arm and tangle your fingers with his silver locks, slightly pulling his head backwards. He hisses and fastens the tempo of his fingers, his palm now coming in contact with your clit. You know you aren’t going to last long. Your walls start pulsating around his skilful digits and the car stops at a red light which finally allows him to focus his attention on you for at least a few seconds. 

 “I can’t wait to feel you clenching around my dick baby”, he says and you can feel yourself getting closer to your orgasm. 

“Does my baby like dirty talk?”, he teases you and you pull his hair a tad stronger than before. 

“I want you to come before the light turns green, you have approximately..”, he pauses to calculate the other traffic lights at the crossing, “...10-15 seconds?”, he adds driving his fingers in and out your pussy at a frenzy rhythm. You can’t handle the tension anymore. 

 “Baek, I can’t-...”, you swear you could cry with all this tension gathered on your lower body. You’re so close you can sense your orgasm. 

 “9..”, he says, his eyes piercing yours. 

 “Fuck, no I can’t”,  you close your eyes, trying to control your body. It’ll be too much, you don’t want to come here in his car. 

 “Open your eyes and look at me. 6″, he counts and you do as you’re told. His palm hitting your sensitive clit is sending vibrations all the way to your head and you swear you wouldn’t be able to spell out your own name at this moment if you had to. 

 “I’m so close, I’m- Baek please...’, you whine and you can feel your walls clenching like crazy, swallowing his fingers. He places his other hand around your neck, squeezing gently and you’re a goner. Your orgasm crushes through you like fireworks and you can’t stop yourself from grinding down against his fingers, greedily trying to ride the explosive feeling out. 

 “That’s my girl”, he flashes you a satisfied smile and removes his fingers from your pussy at once. You grimace at the loss of contact but you’re too occupied trying to gather your thoughts and get yourself together, to pay further attention. The car is already on the move and before you can fathom what’s happening, he is parking in front of a building. Your eyes feel heavy but only at the thought of what’s coming, you feel the knot in your stomach tighten again. Baek steps out of the car and opens the door for you. You take a second to put your underwear back on, and you step outside the vehicle likewise. He locks it and starts walking towards the entrance of the block of flats before you, his hand in yours as your steps shadow his. You walk up the stairs and stop at the first floor. He stands outside a door and takes out his keys to unlock it when he turns to face you for the first time since he had you coming all over his fingers in his car. 

 “Before we get in I need to tell you something”, he warns and his eyes are examining your face. You step closer to him, your arm brushing against his. 

 “What is it Baek?”, your voice sounds so sweet and the way you say his name has him melting. 

 “If we do this, there’s no disappearing in the morning. There’s no going back to how things were. If you don’t want to stay and if you don’t want to be with me, leave now. This can’t be a one-time thing for me. That’s not what I want.”, he takes a deep breath as if he just gave the most important speech of his life. Your mouth hangs open at his sudden confession and you feel a stink of guilt that you’ve made him so uneasy; scared that you would run away from him and disappear. You grab his keys and unlock the door which opens wide in front of you. You step inside his flat and turn your head to face him. 

 “Do you prefer eggs or pancakes for breakfast?”, you ask him while taking off your shoes. He steps in and shuts the door behind him. Walking backwards you start unbuttoning your dress, “...I prefer something sweet in the morning to be honest”, you’re teasing and you reach the last button. You take another step backwards and you can feel his eyes burning on you. He is following each step you take, mirroring your movements now taking off his shirt. You let the dark fabric of your dress fall down your body and pool around your ankles. Baekhyun stops in his tracks, half naked and the lust in his eyes could make you come right there and then. You are about to take another step backwards when he nods you negatively. 

 “Don’t move”, the words come out as a soft command and you listen, standing there only in your lace black underwear, looking at him basically begging him to do something. He hasn’t even kissed you. He is the only man that has given you an orgasm without touching you anywhere else, not even a peck on the lips. He takes his time roaming his gaze along your body, his eyes resting on your breasts a second longer. 

 “I want you to kiss me”, you let out before you realise the words leaving your mouth. He focuses his attention back on your face and your body is about to burst from the need to feel him closer in any way. He is slowly walking towards you while taking off his trousers, leaving his body now covered only by his black boxers. 

 “Your entire face is blushing, you’ve been squeezing your thighs together, your breathing is unsteady and you’re giving me blowjob eyes”, hie finishes his sentence when standing a breath away from you. “...you want me to do more than just kiss you baby”, you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding in  and he smiles. He is so infuriating standing there, laughing at the misery he has put you in. You can’t let him play you like this. 

 “If you think you can..-” 

 “Shut up”, he says and you can’t tell who initiated it  but his lips are on yours, kissing and biting as if your mouth is the last source of air and he needs it to survive. His right hand finds purchase on your ass, squeezing tightly pushing you closer to his body and his other hand grabs the back of your head, deepening the kiss. You can feel your underwear sticking on your dump heat and you squeeze your legs together trying to give yourself some comfort. Baekhyun breaks the kiss, bringing his lips next to your ear. 

“Is my baby wet?Again?”, he cooes and you wanna smack him across the face because he fucking knows you are. 

 “Yes I am, and if you don’t do something about it soon I’m gonna have to get myself off”, you lilt and turn to enter his room. It’s way cosier than you would have imagined, with a queen size bed in the middle. You seat at the edge of it and you open your legs as seductively as you can, covering the fact that they’re shivering in anticipation. He enters the room and his eyes are darker than before, his erection clearly visible through his boxers making your mouth water. You cock an eyebrow at him but he doesn’t move. That’s it, you can’t waste anymore time waiting for him to do something. You get up and get on your knees in front of him, removing his underwear with a single movement before you place your palm around his shaft. 

 “What the fuck Y/N”, he breathes out and his knees turn weak under your touch. 

 “I’m done waiting for you Byun. Took you 2 years to kiss me. I can’t imagine how long it’ll take you to fuck me”, he is about to protest when you lean forward, putting his dick in your mouth, your nose against his lower belly. His complain turns into a moan when he throws his head back, hands now landing in your hair, pulling slightly. Your lips move around his member, followed by your tongue, hand resting on his balls slightly massaging them. You lick a long stripe from the base of his dick, all the way to the end while pressing your lips around it and then release it with a slight ‘pop’.  A string of saliva connecting your mouth with his tip. You open your eyes only to find his intense stare already on your frame, cheeks on fire and mouth agape in an attempt to inhale as much air as he can. 

 “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you look right now? I swear I would do anything, anything you want If I could only see you like this everyday”, his voice cracks at the last words and he is slightly releasing his grip on your hair. Your hand still working its way up and down his dick, you tilt your head onwards to give small kitty licks on his tip. You take his hand and while serving him a cheeky smile you place it so that his fingers are cupping the upper part of your neck, right under your jaw. It takes him a moment to understand what you’re thinking and when it hits him, he lets out a desperate breath. You move your chin in front of his dick, lips almost touching his slit currently dripping with pre-cum. 

 “Apologise for being an asshole these last few months”, you spit. 

 “Fuck you”. The moment the words slip his lips you open your mouth, taking him so deep that you can feel his tip touching the back of your throat. He moans out your name and you feel your pussy pulsating in the sound. It takes all the self control you can manifest in order to not sneak your fingers inside your knickers and relieve some of the tension. 

 “I can feel my dick down your throat baby, agh fuck”, he hisses and pulls your hair as you take him as deep as you can once again only that this time you keep him there, swallowing again and again with his dick buried as deep as your throat can take it. A tear rolls down your face and your gag reflex is threatening to kick in, but you refuse to let go before he begs. 

 “Fuck Y/N, please. please stop, I don’t wanna cum. Fuck please, don’t-”, you release him and you snap him your best victory smile. after whipping your mouth with the back of your palm. You get up and move towards the bed, this time laying on top of it. 

“I think I prefer you begging than apologising”, you tease and an unintentional giggle follows. 

 “You fucking bitch”, he spits jokingly and you burst into laughter but it doesn’t last long. The next moment he is hovering on top of you, lips on yours, hands cupping every curve of your body unable to hold back anymore. He is devouring your neck, jaw and moves lower to leave dark marks on your breasts. In a swing movement he unclips your bra, throwing it behind him next to his long forgotten underwear. Your underwear is next and before you know it, his face is resting between your legs, blowing tiny waves of air on your heat, driving you crazier if that was even possible at this point. He plants small kisses around the area, next to your folds while his hands are massaging the inside of your thighs. Your head falls back to meet his soft pillow and you moan out his name,  incapable of hiding the mess he has made of you. Without any warning his soft tongue crushes on your burning area, devouring you as if you were his last meal. Your head is now a foggy mess, hands tangled between his silver locks unconsciously pushing him against your pussy, desperate for more friction. He rests his tongue on your sensitive bud of nerves, dancing in slow circles when he enters two digits in you causing you to let out the most animalistic moan you’ve ever heard yourself producing. Your reaction was the confirmation he was seeking, as his tongue picks up its pace and so do his fingers, his name rolls off your tongue like a cursed poem, again and again until you can feel yourself falling off the edge. He lands a last kiss on your pubic bone as he slowly climbs up your body, now hovering above you. You open your eyes, realising you had them wide shut all this time, only to find his beautiful brown ones staring at you in the most loving way you’ve ever had anyone looking at you.

“So pretty”, he whispers and his fingers linger on your lips and make their way to your cheek where he leaves a shy kiss. You can feel his dick between your legs, yours thrown around his waist and you just stay there, in silence looking in each others eyes. You bring your hand to the side of his jaw only to pull him closer, planting a kiss on his lips. It’s not deep; it’s soft, and sweet, almost romantic. You break it after a few seconds and you rest your forehead on his. A word is about to escape your lips when he frantically drives his length inside you, hitting your g spot so hard that you almost choke at your own gasp.

“Baek, fuck”, you whine. He doesn’t say anything, he only pulls out a little bit and then thrusts back in, hitting that sweet spot that has you seeing stars. He does it again and again and again and you are a moaning mess, head thrown back, his diving in the crook of your neck, sucking, bitting, leaving purple spots in every area he can get his lips on.

“You want me to stop?”, he says out of breath without slowing down at the slightest. You attack his lips and the kiss is nothing like the one you just shared a few moments ago. It’s hungry and desperate and your tongues are fighting for dominance, both your mouths swallowing each others moans. You can feel your pussy throbbing around his dick and you know you wont last long. Baekhyun breaks the kiss but stays close so that his lips can still touch yours.

“Are you close baby? You want to cum? Want to come all over my dick?”, he breathes out and you moan out his name, paralysed under his touch.

“Baek I’m close-I’m gonna..”, a circular move of his hips almost brings you to the brink and you moan out cusses with no meaning. You clench around him once more and he lets out a loud groan.

“Y/N If you do that one more time I won’t be able to hold back. Please”, he pleads and you can see that he is trying to hold back so that you can finish first. His dick fucking into you at a relentless pace has your arms pulling his body closer to yours, nails digging in his back and you know these scratches will be visible for next few days.

“Baek I can’t hold it, please”, you moan out.

“Let go baby, let go. Cum for me”, he whispers next to your ear and there’s nothing in the world you want more than to feel him painting your insides with his orgasm.

“Cum inside Baek, Please, cum with me, ah-”, your orgasm hits you mid-sentence and you clench again and again as it keeps attacking your body in waves. After a couple thrusts you can feel him releasing into you as he lets his body collapse on top of yours, both of you battling to calm your breathing.

“I blame you for missing on the best sex I’ve ever had for the past two years”, you tease him softly and he chuckles. You raise your hand to place a stray hair behind his ear and you can’t help but notice the slight rosiness on his cheeks. ‘what?’, you ask flushing him your warmest smile.

“Be mine?”, his lets out as he rubs his nose against the tip of yours. Your heart skips a bit and a wave of warmth crushes through you, for you haven’t felt so happy in a long, long time.

“Hm, nope, thanks”, you giggle and you kiss him. He is taken aback by your reply, staring at you with eyes wide open like a frightened deer caught in the headlights.

“I’m joking baby”, you spit and burst into laughter.

“You bitch”, he laughs.

[bookwormsid1015]

Operation: Baby Talk [1/3]

Hizashi pounds his fist against the mahogany door rapidly while Shouta and Oboro stand behind him, Shouta with his standard bored expression and Oboro with shifting, anxious feet. Beside them, a small white cloud floats drowsily with a small grocery bag full of chili bean soup and medicine inside it. 

Unlike the three boys, Nemuri is already living alone in a small apartment complex a few streets away from UA High School, working two jobs to keep up with rent and her own chaotic interests. Although her independence gives them a great place to hang out to play video games on weekends, it also draws most of her attention away from them most of the week. Despite this, Nemuri has always been a punctual, upstanding student who turns in her homework on time and always makes room for friends. Nothing has ever stopped her before, and it still amazes Oboro to see her act like such an… adult. 

Bottom line: Nemuri is a busy bee and it’s not uncommon to not see her for days on end. What is uncommon, however, is discovering she hasn’t been at school or internship for the past three days and apparently called off work for the next two weeks.

This knowledge has been bothering Oboro nonstop. Is she okay? Did she get hurt while on patrol with His Purple Highness? Did she get sick? Is she all alone? Her parents live in Saitama Prefecture, a whole three hours away from Musutafu. If she is sick, knowing Nemuri and her stupid habit of hoarding her burdens to herself, she didn’t tell them or anyone else. Oboro knows for a fact she didn’t tell him, Shouta or Hizashi; the only reason they know of her strange absence was through Iida Tensei, who Oboro shares his math class with. 

“Oh, she called His Purple Highness and told him something came up and that she wouldn’t be coming in for a while,” Iida had told him casually. “Why? She didn’t tell you?”

It pissed Shouta and Hizashi off that Nemuri wouldn’t let them-- her best friends-- know about her getting sick, but it just worried Oboro. It took a lot of convincing, but he managed to drag them with him to the local grocery store, grab Nemuri her favorite soup and some medicine, and come all the way over here. Shouta and Hizashi kept on glancing at Oboro strangely and whispering to each other, but Oboro doesn’t understand why they would act so weird about it. He’s Nemuri’s friend! Friends are supposed to look out for each other, right?

“Nemuriiii!” Hizashi shouts through the door between rapid knocking. “I know you’re in there, I can smell hoe for miles! Open up the mcfuckin’ dooooorrr!”

Shouta lifts an unamused eyebrow at Hizashi. “Dude, what the fuck?” he deadpans, and Hizashi glares at the ravenette from over his shoulder. 

“We’re friends! I’m allowed to call her a hoe.” Hizashi turns back to the door. “Nemuri! Open the DOOR!” He emphasizes “door” with a high pitched shriek, and Oboro shoves his palm into his face to stifle his snorts.

“You guys are both assholes,” Shouta grumbles, though it’s obvious he’s smiling.

The door swings open in a quick arc that slams into Hizashi’s forehead with a comical bonk. Nemuri is standing in the doorway, clad in her pajamas with baggy pink sweatpants and a white tank top with spaghetti straps. Her red glasses sit on the bridge of her nose, her deep indigo hair tied up into a short messy bun atop her head, and her tired blue eyes glare at the boys with exhausted irritation. Seeing Nemuri without her usual playful smile is surprising in and of itself, but Oboro’s sky blue eyes widen at what she’s holding against her chest with one arm. 

A small baby dressed in a cute little sailor suit is leaning into her chest, snoozing quietly with one thumb in his mouth. He looks like the splitting image of Nemuri, with a matching mole under his right eye and pale skin. The only thing that differs from her is the baby’s hairstyle, which is short and curly. 

Nemuri releases the door knob and readjusts her grip on the baby, still glaring at the boys. “What the fuck, guys? You couldn’t even call in advance?” she hisses at them. 

Shouta and Hizashi stare between Nemuri and the baby, speechless, while Oboro’s brain turns like slow moving gears. After a solid three seconds, he suddenly utters a horrified gasp that attracts the eyes of all three friends. “Nemuri! You were pregnant?!” he shrieks.

The accusation breaks the shocked spell in an instant, and suddenly Hizashi is lying flat on his ass, howling with laughter. Even Shouta ducks his face away, trying to stifle his giggles; Nemuri narrows her eyes at Oboro pointedly.

“Oh yeah, I got pregnant and gave birth in three days. Of course I wasn’t pregnant, dipshit.” Nemuri readjusts her grip on the baby again, holding him up a little higher. “This is my older sister’s kid. Say hello to baby Haito, everyone.”

Not knowing what else to do, everyone waves at the little baby, and the baby lifts his head drowsily. When he opens his eyes, Oboro is surprised to find the baby’s eyes are a light blue that matches the hue of the sky above, with faint freckles dusting over his cheeks. Upon seeing the newcomers, the baby fusses anxiously and buries his face in Nemuri’s bust. 

Nemuri’s attitude changes in an instant, from tired and angry to worried and tender. She lifts one hand to gently pat the baby’s back and she rocks him from side to side. “Shh, shh, shh. It’s okay Haito-baby. It’s okay. Auntie Nemi’s here. You’re safe with me,” she coos into his hair, and the baby’s whines quiet down. Her voice is so soft and gentle it warms Oboro’s heart just by hearing it, and he can tell Hizashi and Shouta are just as shocked by her motherly tone.

After the baby quiets down, Nemuri lifts her head to peer at her friends, suddenly tired all over again. “Sorry for being a bitch, guys. My sister and her boyfriend had to go abroad for some job interview in South Korea, and since my parents think her boyfriend is a deadbeat, they want nothing to do with him or the baby. So she gave Haito to me,” Nemuri explains, punctuating her words with a tired sigh. “I’ve had, like, no sleep for the past three days. Damn… and my rent’s due next Thursday…”

Shouta and Hizashi look between themselves, unsure of how to react. Only Oboro is willing to meet Nemuri’s eyes, and worry pangs to life in his chest at the dark bags under her eyes. “When will they be back?” he asks her.

“Hm? In about two weeks, I think,” she says, and Oboro can almost feel her invisible walls rising, guarding her from their worry. “Don’t worry, guys. I’m fine. I’ve pulled all-nighters before, this is nothing.”

“You weren’t taking care of someone’s kid, though,” Oboro gently protests. “Have you been eating anything? Anything at all?”

Nemuri pries her eyes away from his concerned stare. “I had a protein shake yesterday,” she replies stiffly.

Oboro’s brows lower into a frown. “For breakfast or dinner?” he presses.

Nemuri sighs. “Breakfast…” she mutters in response, then quickly shakes her head as a wobbly smile forces its way onto her lips. “It’s nothing. I mean it. You guys don’t have to worry about me.”

Oboro is already shaking his head. “That’s bullshit,” he tells her, and when he sees her shoulders haunching defensively, he quickly adds, “I know you can take care of yourself, but as your friend, I still worry about you. I mean, look at you! You look like you could pass out any second now!”

“I’m fine,” she replies, her tone harder this time.

Oboro stares at her incredulously. Why can’t she just let them help for once? She has it in her mind that she has to be the strong one, the responsible one. Why can’t she see that she’s a kid just like the rest of them? It frustrates him to no end, yet in the depths of his exasperation, an epiphany comes to mind.

“Why don’t I help you take care of him?” he offers, and his friends’ eyes fall on him in surprise. 

“You? Help me? Take care of… a baby?” Nemuri echoes, her words slow and meticulous as if she were taking her time tasting a treat, figuring out whether she liked it or not. She glances down at the baby in her arms, then to the small cloud floating beside the taller boy, eyeing the small grocery bag full of medicine in particular. Oboro has never seen her look so… anxious before.

Assuming she’s just not used to being offered help, Oboro goes on cheerfully, “Yeah! I have a little brother, remember? I’m a pro at babysitting!” Something about his words is bothering him, the reason flapping seamlessly in the back of his mind, though Oboro can’t pin down why. He just smiles joyfully at her, hoping his smile is convincing enough.

Finally, Nemuri sighs. “Come around six tonight,” she tells him, her tone strange. “Haito usually gets fussy around dinner time.”

Oboro flashes her a thumbs up. “Bet!” he cheers.

Nemuri smiles at him, and Oboro’s heart gives an unexpected beat; somehow it feels different from her usual broad, gleaming smiles. He doesn’t have enough time to decipher it before Nemuri quickly bids them goodbye and closes the door, disappearing back into her apartment. 

A long beat of silence passes between them, and Oboro doesn’t dare move his eyes away from the front door. He can feel the hot stares of Shouta and Hizashi on his back, pinning him in place like a butterfly on a bulletin board.

“Holy fucking shit. Did you just…?” Suddenly, Hizashi’s face splits apart into a bright smile, and he latches his arms around Oboro’s to shake rapidly. “Dude, I can’t believe you did that! You’re so smooth!”

Oboro blinks at him owlishly, still not comprehending what just happened. The flapping in the back of his mind is deafening, now. “Eh? What’d I do?” he asks.

Hizashi laughs loudly. “Don’t play coy with me, bro! You totally went, ‘fear not, my love. Even if this child is not mine, I shall support both you and the baby!’ That was so domestic it made me blush!” he squeals.

The puzzle pieces finally fit together in his brain, and a blush hits him with the speed of an oncoming train. Suddenly, he remembers the faint blush on her cheeks, and the tender pull of her smile. Although Nemuri is the type of person to extend a helping hand out to anyone in need, she rarely accepts help from anyone else. In spite of that, she’s letting him help her with taking care of her sister’s baby? 

Oboro has no idea what expression is on his face right now.

“Oboro.” Shouta’s stern voice reaches his ears, grounding him before his brain could float into the sky like a balloon. He slowly turns to face the ravenette, and finds Shouta watching him with dark, serious eyes. “Do you have any idea what you just did?” he asks, his tone flat.

Oboro blinks slowly, his brain slow and muddled yet filled with thoughts moving at the speed of light. “I… said I’d help wit’ da baby…” he murmurs dumbly, the words feeling alien on his tongue. Shouta sighs.

The trio finally gather their wits and begin walking away from Nemuri’s doorstep. Oboro is suddenly thankful her apartment is on the first floor; he doesn’t think he has the motor skills to walk down stairs right now. “I know you said you have a little brother, but it’s been seven years since you had to change a diaper. Do you think you can handle this?” Shouta asks the taller boy, and Oboro wrings his hands together tightly. 

“I mean, yeah, why not?” he replies, more so to convince himself. “Between me and Nemuri, how hard can it be?”

[tonystarktogo]

Could I pretty pretty please get some more on the time travel crack au? Maybe when it gets out that Steve, Bruce, andThor are technically from the future?

As much as I’d love to jump to that part, I think it’s funnier necessary to cover a few other tidbits first. For example:

Tony misses whatever discussion follows Thor’s -- hah, got it right in one, he hasn’t lost his touch completely yet -- arrival before the god carries his brother off towards a containment cell with the sort of cheer that causes Tony to carefully keep at least two people between himself and Thor, lest the asshole tries to hug him again.

Not that it can be that big a loss considering they all -- sans Loki -- end up back in the command center of the helicarrier, where Fury glares balefully at the most recent invader of his precious aircraft that clearly isn’t meant to stand in the way of gods.

A glare Thor aggressively doesn’t notice. Likely because he’s too busy partaking in the on-going discussion on what to do next.

And by ‘what to do next’ Tony doesn’t mean the expected we-were-invaded-by-a-mindcontrolled-alien-nutbag-and-there’s-probably-more-out-there-seems-like-the-kind-of-oh-shit-situation-we-should-plan-for. No. That would be reasonable and expected and Tony’s spent all of three hours in the company of the esteemed Captain America and already he can tell you that Rogers is none of that.

[Which, not cool, Capsicle. Dazzling and befuddling people with crazily brilliant ideas is his job.]

[continues under the cut]

So far, Tony’s been paying attention for ten minutes. In that time, Rogers and Thor have gotten into an argument over how to handle Loki -- which holy shit, that went from a calm, rational discussion to a battle to the death between two superhumans on a sugar high in zero point four seconds -- that Tony is so not gonna touch. [Nope. Let some other fool [i.e. Rogers] throw himself head-first into norse god family drama, Tony’s own feelings concerning his family are complicated enough.] That conversation devolved into a not-openly-fighting-while-totally-fighting stand-off between Rogers and Banner over a way too bitter comment from the latter [something about ‘you’d know all about choosing one brother over the other, wouldn’t you’ which what?], which in turn gets derailed by Banner needling Thor about the merits of beheading over stabbing.

Romanoff had the good sense to disappear -- probably to interrogate Loki while his apparently protective big brother is distracted, now that Tony thinks about it. 

Unfortunately that still leaves Tony stuck here, having to play the role of the mature adult because no one else fucking will. Tony hates being responsible. It’s like being back in high school and being left to do all the work on your own in group project.

[Tony failed that project. Got a straight up zero on purpose because spite is a wonderful motivator. Which, now that Tony thinks about it, doesn’t say anything promising about the current situation.]

Tony leans even further back in his seat, only balancing on the backlegs of the chair, to give Fury a very sharp, very judgemental look.

These are the people you’re betting Earth’s survival on, that look says.

Fury’s already pissed off expression darkens further, which brightens Tony mood substantially. That one of the suit’s sensors flashes green twice in quick succession less than a minute later really just makes for a delicious cherry on the top. Or more precisely a good excuse to ditch this trainwreck of a match-making attempt.

“Whoops,” Tony says, clearly audible but not too loud to draw real attention from the three [still arguing-while-pretending-not-to] stooges on the other end of the room. “Looks like I gotta take this call.”

He jiggles his fingers at Fury. The guy rolls his eyes -- probably jealous that he doesn’t have an excuse himself, that bitch face doesn’t fool Tony -- but no one tries to stop him.

“Alright, J, what do you have for me?”

*

Tony pretends not to notice the shuffling footsteps. Glances at the disturbingly normal clock on the wall that is so not up-to-date with the rest of the technology in the room, it must be an inside joke. Tony would love to meet the SHIELD agent behind it -- it can’t be easy, being the only person with a sense of humor in an entire agency.

30 minutes.

Well. That’s longer than Tony thought he’d get. JARVIS still hasn’t cracked the last layer on SHIELD’s really fucked up dirt -- and given what he’s already found, that says a lot -- but it’s only a matter of time now. Besides, Tony’s got a job to do.

“To- Stark.”

“Rogers.”

Tony doesn’t turn. Neither does he stop typing.

“What are you doing?”

Tony scoffs. He’s not in the mood to pander to inferior minds -- not when they’re so fucking frustrating, don’t make any sense and worst of all make him do all the work. 

“He’s tracking the Tesseract, using the scepter as a point of reference,” Banner says after taking one look at the screen over Tony’s shoulder.

Tony raises his eyebrows, impressed despite himself. Banner’s credentials clearly don’t do him justice -- and they were pretty damn good to begin with.

“Huh,” says Rogers.

Thanks for playing. Now buckle down and make yourself useful or fuck off, Tony wants to snipe but doesn’t get the chance to because the gods -- this god at least -- just aren’t on his side.

“Even without my brother’s help, a weapon of the tesseract’s might should not be underestimated,” Thor speaks up. “Should we not make haste and collect it?”

"Great idea.” Tony’s voice is dryer than the sand dune he crash-landed in back during his fun little trip to Afghanistan. “If only I’d thought of that instead of inventing fifteen new algorithms to try and get a read on SHIELD’s precious magic eight ball while you were busy defending your brother’s honor. Speaking of, I’m pretty sure Romanoff is a greater danger to his virtue than Captain Shockfreeze over there, so why are you still here?”

Okay, maybe poking the hornet nest that is godly family isn’t his smartest move [didn’t he just say he wasn’t gonna touch that?!] but damn if Tony isn’t curious. And also too annoyed to care about unimportant, subjective things like good manners and tact.

He sort of regrets his cavalier attitute a little when Thor sobers. At least there are no tears in sight. Tony is the last person on Earth who should be left unsupervised around crying people. It just never ends well.

“Ah.” Thor sighs heavily, stems his body against an unfortunate table that creaks dangerously. "I’m afraid I can’t afford to see my brother right now.”

It’s the way he says those words, the weight they carry more than anything that tells Tony he needs to drop this issue right now. Talk about one huge trigger button.

Must be inconvenient to have siblings. Tony totally can’t relate.

“Well, in that case, unless you have a magic trick with which you can pull the Tesseract’s position out of your sleeve, how about you sit as far away from these delicate instruments as possible and don’t touch anything while I work my magic, hm?”

Tony doesn’t let his gaze linger on the crushed edge of the table. Thor hasn’t even seemed to notice. He’s too busy lighting up at Tony’s snappish response. Which is surprising. Tony’s aware he’s a bit of an asshole right now. In his defence, he’s an asshole most of the time.

Rogers leaps across the room -- almost crashing into the previously mentioned delicate sensors as he does so -- to slap his palm over Thor’s mouth.

Tony stares. [How quickly can you develop a new habit again? Because this starts to feel like a new habit.]

“That sounds like a great plan!” Rogers beams at him, so wide and fake it must be physically painful for the epitome of all that is good and holy. At least Tony hopes it is. The supersoldier his father worshipped is still clinging to their resident god of thunder’s face.

It’s.

Tony resolutely turns his back on both of them because their madness doesn’t seem to come with a refund-ticket and if Tony doesn’t finish this program, no one will.

Not even Banner -- whom Tony had been kind of hoping for. Speaking of, the man’s been awfully quiet for a while now.

“You alright there, Brucie-Bear?” Tony turns around -- a little because it’s polite to face people when you talk with them and mostly to have an excuse not to watch the ongoing doomed wrestle-match between Blonde 1 and Blonde 2. His awesome nicknaming skill doesn’t get so much as a twitch.

To be fair, Banner is so busy staring straight ahead with the most epic rendition of the World’s Most Thoughtful Expression™ Tony has seen in a while that it doesn’t seem like the man heard him. At all.

Until he suddenly speaks up.

“I think we’ve forgotten something.” Behind Tony the impromptu wrestling comes to a sudden halt.

Probably something negligible like how to focus on a mission, the sarcastic voice in the back of Tony’s mind drawls. Though it should be noted that Tony’s consciousness only comes in sarcastic or not at all. Sorry, everyone, all the other flavors are out.

Banner’s frown deepens. “Something- Something important.”

Right on cue an explosion rocks the aircraft.

*

There’s a bit more tension in this part than the previous ones. On Tony’s side it’s because he’s smart enough to pick up on Something Is Seriously Wrong, both consciously and subconsciously and also because he feels the pressure what with everyone else apparently not taking this whole thing very seriously.

[Excluding Natasha who, believe me, takes Clint’s fate very serious indeed.]

On our time travellers’ side, they experience the frustration of being unable to talk openly, surrounded by people they don’t trust, trying to play along to the script of a movie they watched like 12 years ago and never revisited. Needless to say they’re failing horrenduously.

[theydontknowaboutusimagines]

Still The One - Harry Styles Mini Series (Part 1)

*Kinda a companion to my series Outside the Rain... basically I didn’t like where I took that series, so I’m “starting over” with this one. It’s a bit of a flash forward about a year or so after where that series left off. You don’t necessarily have to read that series first, but you certainly can. 

I chose the title Still the One based on both song by the band Orleans and Shania Twain because I love both of these songs and I think both fit with where I’m going with this... hopefully. And... One Direction had a song by the same name too... so why not. 

**

“Like a cigarette without a light...like a whippoorwill without the night… a broken buzz that’s lost it’s high, oh baby that’s what I feel like,” you sang softly as you strummed the strings of your guitar.

You wrote down the lyrics into your journal. You had been itching to put this song… your feelings down on paper and you finally got around to doing it. Even though it was something you wanted, needed to do, it was also something that made everything you were feeling real.

It had been well over six months since you and Harry had ended your relationship. Technically, it was worded as a break, but it ended up being an actual breakup. Things had been going fine for the most part, but then 2020 happened and it all became too much. So, naturally, you pushed him away to the point neither of you were happy anymore. You even pushed your friends, the girls in the band you just reunited with, away.

Pushing people away, especially those you are closest with has always been your downfall. Whenever you’re feeling down or sometime of way, you rather deal with it alone because you don’t want to risk bringing down someone else. So, you just… push them away until they don’t want to bother with you anymore. Or they give you an ultimatum and you don’t choose them.

Which is exactly what happened with both relationships. Everything had been going great for you at the time. Your band was back together after you all took some time for solo projects and the fans were looking forward to you going on tour. But then, you injured your knee, putting the upcoming tour in jeopardy, which caused a rift between you and the girls. And it only got bigger and worse from there.

When it came to your love life, you were the happiest you’ve been in a long time. You met your ex, Harry Styles, at the Rock N Roll Hall of Fame, when you both performed and introduced Stevie Nicks that night. You and Harry had quickly hit it off and with the help of some nudging from your good old Aunt Stevie, you two got together. And you fell fast and hard.

And that’s exactly when things took a turn. With your knee injury, Harry had agreed to stay with you to help you out, but it was also around the same time that he had his own things he needed to do. You felt as if you were holding him back. Then there was a little mishap over an old photo, which eventually got resolved, but it also brought up some feelings that scared you.

So, with the mix of those two that then carried over into the hot mess of 2020, your abort mission instincts kicked it and well… now you’re in the exact place you had wanted all those months ago.

Suffering alone with a broken heart. Just when one injury fully healed, you brought another one upon yourself and honestly you didn’t know which one was worse.

You wrote half of the song when you finally couldn’t take it anymore. You had to stop and walk away. You put down your guitar, closed your journal, and went out to your balcony. You took deep breaths as you soaked up the remainder of the sunlight as the sun started to set and let the wind caress you.

All it would take is for you to pick up the phone and call him… call the girls… reach out and talk to them. But you couldn’t. Too much has been said and there’s been too much time that has gone by for a simple phone to make it all better. Besides, you don’t even know what you would say to any of them at the moment.

Especially to Harry. The second you hear his voice, you know you’d break down and wouldn’t be able to speak. And plus, did you even have the right to call him and expect him to even give you the time of day? You hurt him. You broke his heart just as much if not more than you broke your own. There’s a big possibility that he was over you, that he moved on, or that he was so pissed off at you, he didn’t want to hear anything you had to say.

And if you were being honest with yourself, the latter might actually hurt worse. The past few months, once the overwhelming feeling started to dissolve, you knew you had fucked up and of course, now you knew you royally fucked up.

Which meant Harry deserved to move on. He deserves someone who would choose him and wouldn’t push him away like you did, so with that being said, maybe…maybe it was time for you to let him go.

**

Punch after punch after punch, Harry strikes the punching bag in front of him. Sweat dripped down his face and chest as his arms burned with each hit. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm before going back to his punching fest. No matter how long he did this, no matter how long he went for a run, there was still this pressure built up inside his chest.

An ache that has been there for a while and no matter what he did, it wouldn’t go away. He even tried writing out his pain, but it only made it worse.

“You can’t keep doing this,” Jeff said from the doorway.

“Doing what?” Harry asked, chugging down some water.

“Sulking, feeling sorry for yourself, trying to beat the shit out of that bag to make yourself feel better,” Jeff mumbled.

“I’m working out,” Harry defends.

“That’s what you’re telling yourself, but it’s obvious,” Jeff said.

“What are you talking about?” Harry said, throwing off his boxing gloves.

“I get it, you’re still in love with Y/N and dealing with all of that shit on top of everything else, but avoiding what’s going on is going to work. You need to either try and reach out to her and get closure to whatever the fuck, or you need to move on, because this- this isn’t it,” he told him.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Harry snapped. “Do you think I enjoy feeling like this? I’m fucking tired of it! I thought… I fucking thought she was it for me, but once again I was too fucking blinded about falling in love, about wanting someone to come home to and look where it fucking got me.”

“You’re angry,” Jeff stated. “Let it out.”

“I can’t!” Harry snapped.

“Why not?” Jeff asked.

“Because I can’t be angry with her,” Harry sighed. “That’s the fucking problem. This… all of this shit would be so much easier if her breaking up with me was because she didn’t love or hell even if she cheated on me, but knowing she broke it off because she’s dealing with shit...I wasn’t enough for her. I wasn’t enough to help her. That’s my job… I’m supposed to be there for her… to help her… to protect her, and I fucking failed.”

“Hey,” Jeff rushed over, taking his best friend into his arms. “You didn’t fail. Y/N had her own issues, and she… I don’t know why she pushed you away, but that isn’t your fault.

Harry put his head into his hands, wiping away the sweat and the tears falling down his cheeks.

“I think...I think enough time has passed that you should reach out to her. It might be the best for the both of you,” Jeff suggested.

“I don’t know,” he sighed.

“The Grammy’s are in a few weeks, both of you are going to be there,” Jeff said. “Don’t you think it would be better for the two of you to hash this out before seeing each other for the first time on national TV?”

Harry sighed, knowing he was right, but he still didn’t know if he could bring himself to reach out to you just yet. He didn’t know if he could hear your voice and not break down. However, he knew he would have to face this eventually, but now wasn’t the time.

**

You were currently in your home studio laying down the track of the song you had recently written. You weren’t the best at mixing or producing, but you knew and were comfortable enough to make it sound half decent. At least until you could get some others to come in and work on it.

It took a few goes until you found one you were satisfied with. You downloaded and sent the demo to your crew.

“Okay, that’s enough for the day,” you mumbled.

You turned everything off before heading into your kitchen where you made yourself some food. Just as you were sitting down to binge watch another show, your phone rang. Your heart instantly sank at the sound of the ringtone, still after all this time, you got a bit anxious wondering who was on the other line.

Seeing Stevie’s name across the top brought both a little ease, but also a bit of disappointment.

“Hey, Stevie,” you answered.

“How’s my favorite goddaughter?” she asked.

“I’m okay,” you sighed.

“You don’t sound okay,” she noted.

“I’m just… going through it,” you mumbled. “I’ll be fine.”

“Aren’t we all,” she said. “But I also know that just because you keep saying you’re fine doesn’t mean you are.”

You sighed.

“Look, I’m back in town, why don’t you come over, spend a few days if you’d like, and we can talk through this because if I know you, you’ve been alone this entire time and that’s not good for anyone,” she said.

“How do you always know everything?” You mumbled.

“I’ve been around a long time and lived an interesting life, I know things,” she smirked.

“Apparently,” you sighed. “Fine, I’ll stop by tomorrow afternoon.”

“I look forward to seeing you,” she smiled.

You sighed, ending the call, and wondered what Stevie had up her sleeve.

**

Harry finished up rehearsals before stopping by to get food. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he sat in the car driving to home, well the place he stayed at while he was in LA. Even though he lived there, he couldn’t bring himself to call it home. It felt too empty, too cold for it to ever be a home.

Just as he pulled into his driveway, got out of his car, and carried his bag of food inside, his phone started to ring. Everytime his phone rang, he silently hoped it was you calling on the other line, but if it was, he didn’t know if he could bring himself to answer.

But it wasn’t you, but it was someone close to you… and to him. Stevie. He thought about not answering it, letting it go to voicemail then maybe following up with a text that he’ll call her soon, but he knew it wasn’t fair to let his relationship with her be affected by what happened with you.

“Hey,” Harry answered.

“Hello there, how’s everything going?” She asked.

“It’s going,” Harry laughed. “I just finished up rehearsals.”

“For the Grammys right?” She asked.

“Yep that would be it,” he said.

“How are you feeling about that?” She asked.

“Nervous… and excited, ready to get back on stage,” he answered.

“It’ll be a great night, I’m sure,” she said. “But I know you’re probably busy, but I wanted to let you know I’m back in town and I would love for you to come over for dinner tomorrow night, as long as you’re not busy.”

“Um… I’ve got another rehearsal earlier in the day, but I could stop around for a quick dinner,” he nodded.

“Great, it’s settled, then. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.

Harry hung up and sat down with his food. It wasn’t exactly unheard of for Stevie to call him up and invite him over for dinner. They’ve both done that plenty of times, but there was something going on with this particular invite Harry just couldn’t put his finger on.

But whatever it was, he would find out tomorrow.

**

And there’s the first part... not sure how often I’ll update since I am still writing the Sunflower AU series, but I’m going to try and post every other week at first. 

Let me know your thoughts! 

[sachigram]

Your jealous Shizuo prompt has me reeling, (mostly because of the posessive Shinra) <3 <3 I am now requesting Shinra purposely fanning the flames of Shizuo and Izaya's rivalry throughout high school because he doesn't want either of his friends to like each other more than they like him. Bonus points if Shizuo and Izaya do start dating after high school and Shinra is not a happy camper!

((Lol another one for the “Shinra is a creep” collection))

Shizuo sees less and less of Izaya at school.

Shinra blabs all the time about Izaya and his illegal activities. Apparently Izaya is building some kind of network with the Yakuza and other groups Shizuo despises. Sounds just like the conniving little bastard, and Shizuo only hopes Izaya gets what he deserves in the end.

Rarely, Shizuo will see Izaya in the halls at school. He still shows up for test days, aces them, and then dips out before anyone can miss him. Shizuo wonders how the hell Izaya gets away with it, but everyone seems to find Izaya charming, and Izaya has a reputation for being a genius as well as being a menace.

“He's won awards for poetry, you know?” Shinra says one afternoon, unprovoked, of course.

“That doesn't seem like the kind of thing Izaya would want us knowing,” Kadota replies, and Shinra just laughs.

“Well then he should be here to stop me!”

Shizuo tries to think of Izaya being the kind of guy to write poems. Does he paint, too? Does he spend hours in his room creating things just to destroy them later? That sounds more like Izaya.

“What's with that fond expression?” Shinra asks, turning so he can face Shizuo. He's walking backwards, and Shizuo scowls at him in return. “Do you miss Izaya-kun?”

“Do you want to die today, Shinra?”

“If you kill me, Celty will avenge me!”

“I don't think she'd mind all that much, actually,” Shizuo huffs. “I hope the flea stays gone. I hope he's dead.”

“Mm, you say that, but I think you're bored without him! You've been even quicker to anger than normal without him around,” Shinra says with a pout.

Shizuo considers this. It's true that he's more on edge when Izaya isn't here, but that's because he's waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for Izaya to come back with some catastrophe up his sleeve. Not to mention without Izaya, Shizuo doesn't have much of an outlet for his anger. He still gets in fights, but no one can really stand up to him, and most people in the school are so afraid of him that they don't even brush against him in passing.

“Shut up,” Shizuo says.

Shinra scrutinizes Shizuo's face, and then he's grinning innocently.

“He's probably plotting something for you,” Shinra says. “He really hates you, you know?”

“Shinra, come on,” Kadota says, lifting a hand. “Izaya isn't even here. Why're you trying to rile Shizuo up?”

“I'm not! I'm only saying! You're right to be on edge, Shizuo-kun, that's all. Just keep your guard up!”

Later, when Shinra breaks off from them to head home, Kadota turns to Shizuo.

“Hey, don't listen to Shinra. I don't think what he said was even true.”

“Huh?” Shizuo asks. He was thinking about what Izaya could be planning, so it takes him a moment to comprehend what Kadota said.

“It's just that he...” Kadota rubs the back of his neck as if he feels awkward. “I don't think Izaya plots every second of his time around you, you know? I'm not saying he's not an asshole to you, and I'm not saying he doesn't like to mess with you, but I really think Shinra is exaggerating. He's like that.”

“Why would he?” Shizuo asks.

“Because he has a thing for Izaya and he's worried you do, too.”

Shizuo makes a face, and Kadota laughs loudly, his hands going up in surrender.

“I'm just saying, don't read into it, okay? Don't think about Izaya so much, man, it's exactly what he wants from you.”

Kadota leaves then, and Shizuo is left frowning on the sidewalk, wondering why the hell anyone would think he has a thing for the flea.

***

The next month drags on. Exams are around the corner, and graduation not long after that. They're all pretty busy, and Shizuo enjoys the peace of not being jumped around every corner of the city. Apparently even Izaya is too busy to scheme anything.

Shizuo is on his way home one day when something hits him in the back of his head. He growls and turns, catching the object before it can hit the ground. It's a candy bar?

“Hi there, Shizu-chan!” Izaya lilts. Shizuo growls at him.

“Why the fuck did you throw this at me?”

“Someone gave it to me and I don't care for that kind of chocolate. You like sweets, don't you?” Izaya asks.

“You poisoned it,” Shizuo says.

“It's in the wrapper, you idiot. Fine, don't eat it then. Don't say I never tried to be nice to you!” Izaya sighs dramatically and hunches over like he might fall in the floor. “To think, I spent my own money on that.”

“You just said someone gave it to you.”

“Did I?” Izaya grins. “Ah, well. Someone spent their money on it.”

“Where the hell have you been? Are you trying to flunk out or something?” Shizuo asks. Izaya looks good, which isn't unusual, but he also looks well-rested for a change.

“Been busy, you know? Besides, there's no risk of me flunking. What's wrong, Shizu-chan, have you missed me?” Izaya bats his eyelashes, and Shizuo throws the chocolate bar back at him.

“Fuck off. I've actually enjoyed you being gone.”

“How cruel! You really do take me for granted!”

Shizuo huffs and starts to tell Izaya to go to Hell, but suddenly Shinra is there, tackling Izaya from behind.

“Izaya-kun! You haven't even been answering your phone!” Shinra says, his arms around Izaya's waist. “Maybe I was worried about you!”

“As if you worry about anyone other than yourself and your girlfriend,” Izaya says.

Shinra looks from Izaya to Shizuo. “Are you guys fighting already?”

“Of course we are! Shizu-chan likes to fight with me, don't you, Shizu-chan?” Izaya asks.

“I hate everything about you,” Shizuo replies, his eyes still on Shinra's arms around Izaya.

“Isn't he charming?” Izaya asks Shinra, and then he's allowing himself to be dragged away. They pass by Shizuo, who lets them go, and Shizuo is in a bad mood for his entire walk home.

Later on, when he's changing from his uniform, he blinks in surprise as he feels something in his pocket. It's that damned candy bar. Izaya must have slipped it into his pants pocket when he passed by. Shizuo looks it over, unwraps it, and takes a bite.

It's actually his favorite kind.

***

The next day, he sees Izaya again.  

Izaya is easy to find, is set up in an empty classroom, a book in his hands. Shizuo stomps towards him, yanks the book away, and throws it out the window.

“Shizu-chan, I know the thought of learning infuriates you, but does the thought of others learning really piss you off so much, too?”

“Shut the hell up. What are you doing in here?”

“Well, I was reading...”

“Cut the shit.” Shizuo leans onto the desk, eyeing Izaya suspiciously. “What are you plotting, huh? It's been too quiet lately, and I don't trust it.”

Izaya blinks and tilts his head to the side.

Cute.

The thought makes Shizuo angry, and he winds up smacking the desk so it tips over.

“When I bother you, you get angry, and when I don't bother you, you get angry,” Izaya says, pouting. “I think anger is just your default. Maybe you shouldn't blame other people for making you feel that way when it's clear you just like being angry.”

Shizuo cracks his knuckles. “You want me to throw you after your book? You could be reunited in no time, you shitty louse.” He swings at Izaya, but Izaya sinks into the chair to dodge it, does some swanky little maneuver that has him sprinting out of the classroom. Shizuo chases after him, a wide smile on his face.

The other students clear the way for them, a few of them cheering. Shizuo and Izaya are infamous for this kind of thing, and the fact it's been so long only makes it more fun. Shizuo can't deny he likes chasing after Izaya, especially because catching him seems impossible. Shizuo doesn't worry about hurting him, doesn't worry about holding back.

He wonders if Izaya finds it fun, too.

They wind up outside the school, Shizuo throwing rocks at Izaya, who keeps dodging them, cackling as he does so. It occurs to Shizuo that they're really only playing around at this point, and that's when a teacher marches outside to yell at them. Izaya waggles his eyebrows at Shizuo over the teacher's shoulder, and Shizuo bites his lip to keep from laughing.

That afternoon, Shizuo finds himself walking alongside Izaya, Shinra, and Kadota. Shinra and Kadota are talking to Izaya about tests and school, and Shinra's hand is curled into Izaya's sleeve.

Shizuo speaks before he can think about it.

“Do you have to always be so goddamn touchy?”

“Ah, this again?” Shinra asks. “Does it really bother you so much?”

“You're in love with Celty. You shouldn't act like you're in love with Izaya, too.”

A silence hangs between them, but Izaya is smirking. Of course he is.

“Love!” Shinra laughs. “As if it's love! I told you already that Izaya is just mine! There's no love to it.”

“You really aren't nice, Shinra,” Izaya says, though he doesn't seem affected at all. “You've got the personality of a goblin.”

“Now that's not nice,” Shinra replies, and he hugs Izaya's arm. “You like my personality!”

“It is kind of weird,” Kadota says, putting a calming hand on Shizuo's shoulder. “What does that even mean, that Izaya is yours?”

“It means he's mine! He doesn't like anyone else, and Celty won't accept my feelings just yet, so why shouldn't I have someone around that I like?” Shinra frowns like he doesn't get it, but then he goes back to nuzzling into Izaya, who tries to push him away to no avail. “Izaya-kun is pretty! And he's cuddly once you get past the sharp edges.”

“I will slit your throat and feed you to the plants.”

“You won't!”

“Whatever, man. It really is weird,” Kadota says with a shrug.

“Well, it doesn't concern either of you anyway,” Shinra says matter-of-factly. He tugs Izaya along, and Shizuo is so blinded by rage that he almost knocks over an unassuming businessman.

That night, Shizuo is pacing around the living room, angry for reasons he doesn't understand. Kasuka is watching with a bored expression.

“It's just fucking weird! How can you claim ownership of someone? Isn't it creepy? It's fucking creepy!” Shizuo grumbles and throws his hands up.

“Why does it bother you so much?” Kasuka asks. “If Izaya-san doesn't mind it, why do you?”

“Because!” Shizuo snaps. He doesn't elaborate, but Kasuka nods anyway.

“I see.”

“See what?”

“You like Izaya-san.”

If it was anyone else, Shizuo would snap their neck, but instead he freezes in place and stares at his little brother.

“What'd you say?” he asks.

“You like Izaya-san. It's kind of obvious, I guess. I just didn't think you liked him this much,” Kasuka says.

“I do not like that fucking—“

“Don't you?” Kasuka asks, and then he takes a sip of the tea he brought with him.

Shizuo opens his mouth, closes it again, and then roars in wordless rage. His mother rushes into the room and chastises him, so he goes into his room and screams into his pillow instead.

***

A few days pass before he sees Izaya again.

Izaya is in that same classroom, and when Shizuo enters, Izaya holds his book to him warily.

“This is a first edition, Shizu-chan, so if you throw this one, I'll be pretty—“

“You shouldn't let Shinra touch you like that. You know I hate it.”

“...Huh?”

“I told you before that I don't like it! He shouldn't claim ownership of you! Why do you let him? Doesn't it bother you?! He does it like you're not even a real person, like you're a doll!”

“Shizu-chan—“

“Does he do it just to piss me off?! Is that what it's about?! I'll kill him! I'll kill him and you!”

Izaya stands, and before Shizuo can say anything else, he feels soft pressure against his mouth. He blinks and pulls back to see Izaya is grinning, his face flushed.

“You're jealous,” Izaya says, and Shizuo growls, pulls Izaya into another kiss before he can think better of it.

“Don't like it,” Shizuo murmurs between their lips meeting. “Don't like it at all...”

“Why's that, Shizu-chan?” Izaya asks, and he nips Shizuo's lip playfully.

“You fucking know why.”

He presses Izaya into the wall and devours his mouth, loves the way Izaya curls around him. It seems so simple now that they're kissing like this. Shizuo doesn't know how he didn't realize sooner that this is what he wanted.

“You don't want to share?” Izaya asks, and he laughs softly. “Selfish, aren't you?”

Shizuo kisses him again in answer, and Izaya shuts up instantly. That's a handy trick. Shizuo will definitely remember it.

When the day ends, and they're leaving the school together, Shizuo's eyes narrow as Shinra takes his usual spot beside Izaya and clings to his arm. With a growl, Shizuo lifts Izaya, pulling him into his own side.

“Touch him again and I'll break your arms,” he says to Shinra, who pouts very openly, wailing something about them not being allowed to like each other until Celty returns his feelings. Shizuo ignores him and focuses instead on the way Izaya feels beside him, exactly where he belongs.

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

bangs pots and pans together loudly FIC UPDATE COME GET YALL SOME JUICE

Apparently the vital, missing component to enjoying school was having a friend there. Go figure.

He and Kevin only have that first period class together, but they make the most of it, passing notes back and forth between the two of them, the teacher too tired that early in the morning to notice, or care. Lunch isn’t depressing anymore. They sit together under the shade tree, and Kevin does seem to also appreciate the view. “Can you even imagine working up a sweat, on purpose?” Betelgeuse pats his gut. “You know I can’t.”

“I can’t believe how little the track shorts are. That’s obscene. You think I’d look good in them?” “You join track and I’ll come to every meet, an’ it won’t be for th’ love of th’ sport.” He doesn’t think normal friends talk to each other like this, but he doesn’t actually know. Does everyone flirt with their friends? Are friends just cool people you wanna fuck but haven’t yet? Is it demon hormone bullshit, making him read into everything? Unclear.

It’s all going so good, until it isn’t, suddenly.

One lunch, two months into being there, Kevin pulls a huge and impressive old book from his backpack. “Look what I goooot,” he sing songs, waving it in Betelgeuse’s face, and he sneezes in response. “Smells old.” Emily and Lydia would love it. “It is. It’s very old,” Kevin confirms, and he moves so he’s sitting next to Betelgeuse, shoulder to shoulder, both their backs to the shade tree. “It’s about demons.”

Betelgeuse loses interest immediately, and focuses on not going pink at their shoulders touching, instead. “Z’at so?” he grunts. Kevin doesn’t seem to pick up on his moodiness, though. “It talks about all these ancient beings,” he explains, flipping pages. “Their summoning circles, their aspects,” he gives Betelgeuse a nudge at that, “all the things they can do for you, and the boons they grant.” He feels uncomfortable. “What’s with this? You obsessed with me, or somethin’?” He tries to play it as a joke, but that glint in Kevin’s eyes is back, and he doesn’t like it. “Of course, who wouldn’t be obsessed if they learned all this shit is actually true? It’s like there’s a whole secret world behind a locked door, and I’ve got the key.” Kevin looks back up at him.

He gets the feeling he’s the key. It’s not a good feeling.

“Where’d you even get this fuckin’ thing?” he lifts a finger, and the book slams closed in Kevin’s lap. His friend huffs. “Internet, of course.” “No, I mean… why were you lookin’ for somethin’ like this?” “I want to learn more. Don’t you?” Kev presses, and reopens the book. “I mean, what if there’s something amazing you can do, and you just don’t know, cause you’re not bothering to try?”

“So I’ll never know, so what?” Betelgeuse feels like this is a losing argument, but he tries anyways. “What’s so great about bein’ weird? You’re lucky you’re human.” “Dude, don’t even start with that. You can fly.” “So can humans,” he points out. “Wh- A plane and fucking levitating for fun are not the same, and you know it, BeetleJerk.” Kevin honestly can’t understand why he’s not excited over this. “I just mean… I’d rather be human, than this.” He blinks at his own words, because he’s never expressed that out loud before, ever. But it doesn’t feel untrue. “You’re out of your mind, more so than usual. Every human alive wants to feel special, and do the stuff you can do. Why are you acting like it’s so miserable all of a sudden? You use your powers all the time, I’ve seen you literally teleport five feet because you’re too lazy to walk.”

“You don’t get it.” He’s feeling sullen now, and he wiggles a little away from Kevin, and crosses his arms. “BJ, come on-” Betelgeuse teleports away to under the bleachers, and he eats his lunch there, until the bell rings.

He’s waiting for Emily after school, not feeling particularly friendly, when Kevin approaches. They stand there awkwardly. It feels tense, and weird, and he waits to see what the breather does. “Don’t be mad,” Kevin says, finally. “M’not mad.” “You sound mad.” “You know what mad on me looks like,” he finally turns to look at his friend, amber eyes burning with irritation. “First hand.”

Kevin looks down, and kicks at a rock that might not actually be there. “I thought you’d be excited. BJ, come on, I don’t wanna.. Not be friends over this.”

Betelgeuse signs, and scratches at the scruff on his chin. “It’s not like that,” he relents after a moment. “I just, I don’t care about that stuff. An’ I don’t wanna sit around, focusin’ on it. I don’t exactly like feelin’ different. Yeah, I do tricks an’ use my magic an’ stuff, but it’s hard to control. I lose my temper once an’ I could seriously destroy somethin’, or hurt my family. It doesn’t exactly feel good, knowin’ that. No one else my age can stand me, cause they can tell I’m weird. Before you, it was fuckin’ lonely, Kev.”

He feels a familiar pressure, because Kevin has taken his hand, and the human gives it a squeeze. He accepts it, melting a little against the other boy. “Still friends?” Kevin asks, and Betelgeuse purrs in response, resting his head on Kevin’s shoulder.

It’s not till later, at home, that he realizes Kevin never actually apologized.

```````````````````````````````````````````````````````

It’s like that, for a while. He knows Kevin still has the book. He knows he’s reading it, and sometimes Kevin will bring up demon stuff, but Betelgeuse has almost exactly a minute and a half of patience for answering questions or hearing about it. Still, Kev doesn’t stop. He might feel angrier if the breather wasn’t so god damn cute.

The air is starting to go cold, and leaves are beginning to fall. October is settling in, getting comfortable, and mom’s starting to break out the Halloween décor. It’s the middle of a kind of gloomy, Autumn day, when things get weird.

Kevin has the book open, much to Betelgeuse’s annoyance, and he’s blabbing away about a demon that supposedly grants wealth- “Do you think you could do that?” -when Betelgeuse looks down at the book, and sees Juno looking back at him. It’s not really her, it’s an illustration, but he’d recognize the bitch anywhere. She’s ink, glaring up from the page, those same age lines etched into her face, confirming his private theory that she’d been an old hag even when she was young. The slit neck is prominent, and as he stares, he sees smoke billow out of it. Oh, fuck no.

He grabs the book and slams it shut, startling Kevin, and then he teleports it directly under them, a mile down in the rock of the earth. Kev blinks for a moment, confused, before looking at his friend. “Wh.. Dude, WHAT?”

“Possessed book,” he croaks out, feeling tense, because he can smell cigarette smoke. “And you’re afraid of it? Why? You are also a literal fucking demon!” “That’s why I’m not messin’ with it!” Betelgeuse stands up, uneasy. The ground around the tree feels weird, now. He doesn’t like it here anymore. “Cause I actually understand why it’s a bad fuckin’ idea! God, you should have instincts that tell you not to mess with this stuff! You’re deficient, Kev, seriously.”

“Me deficient? Seriously?” Kev snaps, which hurts in a new, unexpected way. “Whatever, asshole. Give me my book back.” Kevin stands up, too, but he’s not uneasy, he’s angry.

“It’s better off where it is.”

“Which is where?”

Betelgeuse glances down. The grass around the tree is starting to wither. Kevin follows his gaze, but doesn’t seem to notice the dying vegetation. “You buried it? Come on!”

“Leave it, Kev.”

“This isn’t just your cool secret, anymore, it’s mine too!” Kevin glares at him. “You can’t keep me out of it, BJ. That’s not fair. God, at this point, I know more than you! You should be listening to me!”

He feels his volatile temper flare.

“Ex-fuckin’-scuze me?”

He waits for Kevin to take it back. Instead, his friend doubles down. “Demons have to listen to humans,” Kevin crosses his arms. “If they’re summoned. It’s in the book.” “Nobody summoned me,” Betelgeuse snarls, letting his real snake eyes show, an intimidation tactic that works for about half a second. Kevin’s too used to him, at this point. “I’m up here on a deal.” “Bet I could do it. I bet I could summon you. Then you’d have to listen to me.” “Yeah? Well, good luck without your stupid book!” He storms off, leaving Kevin standing there.

```````````````````````````````````````````````````````

The rest of the day sucks. He’s moody all day, annoyed in the car, grumpy in his room. He cranks metal and wishes he’d learned to play a guitar instead of his rinky, happy sounding ukulele. The instrument isn’t going to produce the noise he wants to express himself, right now. He throws it across the room, into a wall, where it smashes, and reforms a minute later, because… it’s still his favorite, after all. Even if it’s no good for expressing his teenage angst.

He can hear shuffling, and talking, outside his room, though he can’t make out what’s being said over the music. After a moment, though, there’s a knock at his door. “Hey, Bug?” Emily calls. “Can you come give me a hand with something?” He wants to tell her to piss off, go away, to leave him the hell alone, but.. It’s Emily. The CD player lets out a strangled choke and suddenly stops, and the door swings open, all without him moving from his flopped position on the bed. “Sup, ma?” he grunts. Emily peaks her head into the room, and smiles when she sees him, the expression radiating warmth and adoration and.. Oh, God/Satan, bless his sunbeam of a mother. “Just wondering if you’re free to do a little decorating?” She reaches behind her and grabs a fake severed bloody limb from the box he assumes she’s dragged into the hallway from the attic. “Don’t you worry it takes away from the “wow factor” to do Halloween twice a year?” He asks, standing and stretching, before apparating in the hallway behind her, and giving the decor box a nudge with his boot. “What? No way, there’s never enough Halloween!” Emily grins. “Get that, please.” The box floats along behind him as they head downstairs. They pause in the entryway, as Emily thinks out loud. “So, maybe the kitchen should be-” “Functional as a kitchen, please,” Charles calls from the living room. Emily rolls her eyes. “Okay, fine! Spoilsport! We’ll focus on the entryway for now,” she decides. “You wanna put up cobwebs in the rafters?” She gets on tiptoes to reach into the floating box, and he lowers it a bit for her, as she grabs the fake webbing. “I could just instantly decorate the whole room,” He takes to floating next to the box. “Could make sure it’s all normal human stuff, too,” He adds, before she can respond. “I know you can… But I like decorating,” Emily says brightly. “It’s not about getting it done quickly. It’s about, you know, doing it together.” “So why are dad and Lydia slacking?” Her smile doesn’t falter, but becomes softer. “It kinda felt like you needed some mom time, today,” She says simply. God, she can read him easier than Kev can read his stupid book. “We got in a fight,” he admits. She hums at that, because he only has one friend. It’s not hard to guess who he could possibly mean. “I’m sorry, Bug. What over?” He hesitates. So far he’s not let any of his family in on this book business. He’s been sort of hoping it could just go away on it’s own, and not be a thing. Kevin’s made it into a thing, though, and not telling even his mom feels… bad.

“He’s really into demons. Like, really, really into em,” He rasps, floating up and beginning to put up the spiderwebs, as his mother takes down the usual, sort of spooky wall hangings and trades them for her very intentionally spooky Halloween ones. “He’s got this book, an’ it’s all about demons an’ like, how to summon them, an’ their powers, an’ stuff… Sometimes th’ way he talks, it’s like.. Are we friends cause we’re friends, or friends cause you think I’m gonna be... useful?”

Maybe that doesn't make any sense, but that’s how it’s been feeling, like there’s an invisible shoe hanging midair, and it’s about to drop. His mother waits until he’s finished before looking up at him. “And you fought over that?” She prods. “Not exactly.” How the fuck can she even tell that, though? Damn her mom powers. He really, really didn’t want to talk about this, not to her, but… “I saw Juno. In th’ book,'' He lowers back down to the floor, and digs through the box, pulling out fake body parts. Back up he goes, to stick these in the fake webbing. “It was just a drawing of her, but it started like.. Billowing smoke-”

“From the neck,” His mother remembers, suppressing a shudder.

“Yeah. I could smell the smoke. So I got rid of the book, buried it in th’ school yard, but Kev got all pissy about it. He thinks he’s an expert on this shit, an’ he’s gonna mess with somethin’ big if he keeps this up.” “I’m sure you’ve told him that.” “He doesn’t listen. He gets this look in his eye, like it’s a game, or like… I dunno. Feels sometimes like he thinks he’s…” He searches for the words. “Like he thinks he oughta be the boss a’me, or somethin’.”

He rubs absentmindedly at the moss on his nose. It clings, stubborn as ever, same with the patches by his hairline, and he’s found it’s easier to just add another little layer to his glamour than try to do anything about it.

Maybe that’s indicative of a bigger problem. It’s easier to do a bit of magic and make everything look better than to actually fix the underlying problem. Ugh, introspection, how absolutely miserable. He wants to keep thoughts like that locked away tight, but they have a habit of slipping past his mental defenses and making him feel worse. Absolutely no one can make him feel shittier than he himself can. He sinks to the ground, going purple, and he’s instantly wrapped in his mother’s arms. “It’s okay, Beetlejuice,” Emily has both her hands on the back of his head, and he pushes his face into the crook of her neck. “I just.. I’ve only got the one friend,” he groans. “I don’t wanna stop bein’ his friend, but.. Fuck, ma.”

“I know.” Her voice is a soothing balm. She works her hands through the mess of purple hair at the back of his head. “I know, sweetheart. I know it’s lonely at school, but school isn’t forever,” she tries to assure him. “If your friend is treating you this way, well.. He’s not a very good friend. Do you want to be around someone who makes you feel this bad? Does it feel worth it, to you?”

He knows the correct answer is, “No,” but he’s not sure if his self esteem is high enough for that.

“I like him a lot,” He grumbles, and she hums again. “He’s handsome,” She says, and then pulls back far enough to pinch his nose. “But not as handsome as my son, of course,” and it’s silly enough to help knock away his mood, so that’s something, at least. “What should I do?” He doesn’t pull away from her, just soaks up the mom energy for as long as he can. “I think you need to have a talk,” Emily tells him. “Lay out how you’re feeling. Try to get his side of things, and make sure he hears your side, too. Then, at least you both tried, you know?”

It’s such a mom type answer. He groans again.

“I was worried you’d say some shit like that.” She fuzzes his hair, and he feels the tingle in his scalp that means it’s changed colors. Back to green, he assumes. “You know your moss changes color along with your hair? And your creepo-stache?” “Leave the stache alone, it’s tryin’ it’s best,” He pretends to be defensive.

“It makes you look like the founder of a forum for people who marry their cars,” Lydia offers, from the bottom step of the staircase, where she has apparently been just chilling and listening.

“Wh-! Mom, it’s not that bad, right?” Emily tilts her head to the side and gives what can only be described as a condescending smile. “Oh, you’re both in for it now.” He brings the various decor items to life to terrorize them, and then Charles joins his side, sympathizing with his son vis-à-vis bad teenage facial hair, and by the time the whole squabble is over, hardly any decorating has gotten done… But he does feel better. His family’s good like that.

```````````````````````````````````````````````````````

Monday rolls around, same as it always does, but there’s a weird feeling in the air. Halloween is a week away, barely missing getting a weekend date, but there’s some big Halloween bash the school is apparently throwing. There’s fliers for it everywhere, plastered all over lockers and bulletin boards. He’s not much of a participator, though, and his reaction to his locker being plastered over with invites to a party he doesn't care about is to snap his fingers. All the fliers on all the lockers up and down the hall, all instantly fall loose at once, littering the floor. A few students jump back, but no one looks his way, because why would they?

He’s grabbing his history textbook when he feels a tap on the shoulder, and when he turns, it’s a girl he recognizes, but her name is absolutely lost on him.

“You’re BJ, right?” Miffy askes, and he nods. “Yeah, s’right,” and Margo seems to wince at how gruff his voice is, before continuing. “Um, you and that guy Kevin, you’re like…” Milicent trails off, waiting for him to finish her thought, but sorry, baby, he can barely finish his own. “Like…?” He says, with his gravel voice copying her tone and inflection, and she huffs. “Together?” Marge asks, “Like, all of the time?”

He cocks his head, and squints at her, hands t-rexing at his sides, as Lydia likes to say.\

“Usually,” He concedes, and he gets the feeling he’s dragging this out much, much more than Mango clearly wants, because he spies a group of girls a little ways off, waiting for her. One of them is staring intently, more focused on him, but he pushes that thought aside.

“Look, okay, he’s gonna be out for a few days, and I’m just trying to see if you can take him his homework,” McGrubber has grown tired of having to stand here, talking to the chubby goth loser, apparently. “I’m a student aid in the office and they’re trying to make me do it, but I have track practice!” Thaaaat’s where he knows her from. She looks different, not bouncing and sweating and also not half a football field away. “Sure, fine, I’ll make sure Kev gets his work. Wouldn’t want you to miss out on running in a fuckin’ circle, Maria.” Her face sours. “It’s Blair.” So close. “Who fuckin’ cares,” He replies, and turns back to his locker. He can hear her rejoin her friend group, all of them fawning over her harrowing experience of having to speak to him in public. The last thing he hears from Blair is, “He’s just so goddamn weird,” and then the group rounds the corner.

He closes his locker harder than he maybe needs to.

Kevin isn’t in class that day, or the next, or even the one after. The shade tree has withered and died completely, it’s color sapped and gone, and even walking near it makes him feel uneasy. His new lonely lunch spot is under the bleachers, which feels even more voyeuristic of a spot to watch the track team, but even that activity feels tainted, somehow. He’s back to being lonely.

He can’t stand being lonely.

It gets so bad he contemplates sitting, wait for it, on the bleachers, and maybe even trying to strike up a conversation, but he’s too chicken shit. He’s been going to school with these kids for the past three years, and no one’s wanted to talk to him or chat with him in all that time. He can’t imagine that’s about to change.

Still, on Thursday, miserable and lonely, he gives it a try.

Sitting up here sucks. It’s just a hard metal seat on a gloomy day, and when he’d ventured up and sat down, other people had slowly moved away from him, until he was sitting by himself, all the breathers huddled in a different area, away from him. He'd tried talking, but hardly had a "Hey, how ya doin'?" grated out before the migration began.

Figures.

He finishes eating and lies on his back, resting his hands on his chest, eyes closed, and after a while he feels someone standing over him, and something laid over his hands. He opens his eyes. There’s the most beautiful girl staring down at him. She’s got long, bleach blonde hair, darker at the roots, which is hanging down in a halo around her face, and the biggest, clearest blue eyes he’s ever seen. He glances down, to see she’s placed a daisy over his hand. He looks back up at her, amber eyes questioning.

“You looked so still,” She smiles. Her voice is like music. He thinks he can hear harps. “With your hands folded like that. Kind of like an open casket.” He’d been forgetting to breathe, apparently, which happens sometimes. She thought he looked like a corpse, and she placed a flower over him.

“Sorry, if that’s weird. You’re.. BJ?” She asks, and he picks up the daisy, sits up, and nods. “Yeah, you’re…” “Barbara,” she fills him in. “You’re not so good with names.” “Mmm. Buffy tell you that?” He recognizes her now, from that group of girls. Barbara sits next to him, which makes zero sense. “It’s Blair,” she corrects him gently, but not without a giggle in her voice. “Oh, right.” Her name could be fuckin’ Moonpie and it’d make the same amount of difference to him, but he’d agree with anything Barbara said, if it meant she kept sitting there, talking to him. “Are you going to the Halloween party?” She asks. “Supposed to be pretty killer. It kind of seems like your scene.” “I’m not exactly a social butterfly,” which is the understatement of the god damn century, honestly, but she laughs and nudges her shoulder with his. “Well, I think you should come. I bet you’d have the coolest costume. Maybe think about it?”

“I guess, maybe..” He says lamely, because his brain is short circuiting from that small touch.

“Barb, come on!” someone calls to her from a ways away, on the track. Lunch is nearly over. She stands, and smooths down the long skirt she’s wearing, which is modest but flattering. “Later, BJ,” she smiles, and just like that, she’s gone, like an angel going back up to heaven in a beam of light, off to rejoin her friends. He can hear what she says to them, though. “You guys are mean, he’s not so bad. Just shy.”

He keeps the daisy in a little glass of water on his dresser, and strums love songs on his ukulele.

```````````````````````````````````````````````````````

Thinking about Barbara and her smile and the way she nudged him is a fun distraction, at least for a little while, but when it’s Saturday, and he still hasn’t heard from Kevin, he decides it’s time to demon up and see what the fuck is happening with him. He’s been just teleporting Kev’s homework inside his room, and he’s sure it’s falling into a pile on the floor each time and startling him, but no one ever said how he had to deliver it. Today though, emboldened by the pretty girl on the bleachers, he appears at Kevin’s front door instead, holding Friday’s work, and he knocks. It takes a moment, but Mr. Loh answers.

Betelgeuse hasn’t had much chance to interact with Kev’s dad. He looks like a normal, tired dad, wholly unimpressive, and kinda short. Chuck could wrestle this guy to the mat, no problem.

“Oh, BJ,” Mr. Loh says, and then glances at what’s in his hands. “Kevin’s homework? Thank you. He’s holed up in his room… won’t come out.. Maybe,” and he suddenly looks hopeful. “You two are friends. Maybe you can try talking to him?”

Well, that’s what he was there to do anyways, so sure. “I gotcha, Mr. L,” he nods, stepping inside, and heading up the stairs and down the hall to Kevin’s room. The closer he gets to the door, though, the weirder he feels. Something stinks, figuratively and literally. It smells like… It smells like the waiting room. It’s that same, veil is thin type air that he can smell on Halloween night, but how the fuck is he smelling it here? He bangs on Kevin’s door. “Hey, Kev, it’s the B-Man,” he calls, trying to keep his tone playful, but he feels like he’s doing a poor job. What the hell is going on? “Come on, man, open up!” He tries again, when he receives no response. He thinks he can hear a shuffle behind the door. “Dude, I will bust this fuckin’ door down,” He growls, all the play gone from his tone. “You know I will. Better yet-”

He appears inside the bedroom, just in time for Kevin to slam shut the closet door. Kevin turns to look at him, back pressed to the wood. There’s a beat, both teens staring at each other, wide eyed, Betelgeuse in that weird way he does, and Kevin looking frazzled. “What,” the demon grates out, “the fuck, are you getting up to in here? It smells like the netherworld, Kev.” Unfortunately, that makes Kevin’s face light up. “It does? Oh my god, that’s perfect! It must be starting to work!” He crosses the bedroom, going to his desk, where an old book is sitting open. It’s not the same one he took from his friend, it can’t be, that book is still a mile down in presumably solid rock. “Another musty ass tome, great,” he growls, but Kevin ignores him, flipping through the book.

He hates feeling ignored.

A black and white striped arm sprouts from Kevin’s desk, and slams the book shut, which makes the breather turn and glare at him. “Get out of my room, BJ,” is all Kevin says, and Betelgeuse ignores that, instead crossing the floor to get a look at that book. “Where th’ hell do you keep finding these fuckin’ things?”

“This one I bought from a one armed man living out of a 1973 Oldsmobile Delta 88 Royale,” Kevin recites. Betelgeuse squints at him, top teeth over bottom lip. “You’re too gay to know what that means,” he says, plainly, and Kevin shrugs. “He wouldn’t stop talking about his stupid car. I now know more about that antique than I know about geography.” It feels fun, for a second, like this drama isn’t happening, and they’re just having a conversation. It doesn’t last, though. He can’t let Kev off the hook.

“So you bought a second cursed book, this time from some amputee homeless guy, and you’re just, doing the rituals inside of it? And this seems like a super good idea to you?”

“I’m practicing,” Kevin replies.

“So what’s in the closet, Kevin?”

“Get out of my room, Betelgeuse.”

The way Kevin says his name is weird. It doesn’t feel like how it normally feels when a breather says the full thing. He shakes it off, and gives his friend a defiant look, before waving a hand and throwing open the closet door. There’s a cleared spot, in the middle of the closet floor, and a fucking summoning circle in what smells like, “Pig’s blood? Couldn’t get human?” He turns to look at Kevin, who is glaring at him intently. He matches the look.

“Betelgeuse Shoggoth, get out of my room.”

That gets his attention. It feels like an invisible hand is pushing him, and he stumbles back out of the room, confused. “W-what?” Kevin is just standing there, staring at him, and Betelgeuse stares back, eyes wild. “You motherfucker,” he hisses, eyes in snake slits, teeth sharp, claws extended. “You wanna do that “real name” bullshit with me? That the choice you’re makin’ here, Kev?”

Kevin doesn’t even look phased. “I’m working on gaining a bit more control, but looks like that works, for now.”

“You’re cracked!” Betelgeuse growls, absolutely furious. “You’re really tryin’ to summon me? Are you out of your head!?”

“You’re wasting your powers,” Kevin storms forward. “You’re a supernatural being, and you go to school and play your stupid ukulele, and don’t even try to do anything bigger. You could be stepping on everyone under you,” his former friend is going red in the face. “You could be leading, you could be ruling, but you just jerk off in your room and play pretend at being human. But someone might as well profit, here. Why not me?”

“I thought.. I thought we were friends,” is all the demon can say, lamely, and Kevin’s smile is the meanest thing he’s ever seen on a breather. “Once you’re fully listening to me, we can be friends again. Betelgeuse Shoggoth, get out of my house.”

He feels that same invisible pull, and he thinks maybe if he was stronger he could resist it, but a demon’s true name is like a lead on a dog, meant to control them, and unfortunately, Kevin has a tight hand on his leash. He makes it to the front door, and stumbles out, covering his face until he can calm himself enough to reapply his glamour.

Shit, he thinks, straightening up, and staring up at Kevin’s bedroom window. He is so fucked. ``````````````````````````````````````````````` Posted this chapter and another over at Ao3. You can read it right here

[popculturebuffet]

Ducktales: Terror of the Terra-Firmians!  (Lena Retrospective) (Commission by WeirdKev27): Launchpad Looses his Last Brain Cell and I Loose My Patience

Welcome back Weblena Warriors to the second part of my look at everyone’s favorite Emo Teen Shadow Lesbian Duck... and probably the only one but hey, semantics, Shadow Into Light, which was made possible by viewers like you, the ultra humanite and a commission from WeirdKev27. Picking up where we left off, we have our first episode that has a different intended order than airing order. 

As most of you probably remember, but some of you who joined later might not be aware of the broadcast order for the first half of season one is, in the academic sense, pretty fucked. It’s not Darkwing Duck’s entirely fucked by a web of badger spiders and a queen snake on top to make it some sort of train situation, but by just sorta airing whatever episodes they wanted to, Disney messed with the character balance so Huey got less focus, not that he got a ton of focus this season but still, as well as leaning into the episodes focusing more on the kids with less involvement from the adults which gave the wrong impression about the series. While it IS very focused on the triplets and webby, the show isn’t entirely about them, but as Frank has mentioned a few times, Disney Channel apparently has this WEIRD thing where they assume kids won’t like stories starring the adult characters. 

Yeah I’ve been wanting to talk about this for a while. Mostly how it’s so dumb I could swear Pauly Shore was an exec at Disney Channel. And he might be I don’t know what he’s doing these days and i’d like to keep it that way. For starters, the Scooge comics, while barely published in the US these days, are still popular globally and have appealed to kids and adults for generations and are mostly focused on him, with the kids in a supporting role and Ducktales, you know the thing your directly remaking here, was also mostly about him with the triplets supporting, if a bit less than the comics. Most of the Disney Afternoon was about adult characters, with any kids in side roles in the main cast. And it comes off entirely hypocritical of them to say this when the MCU is easily marvel’s biggest cash cow at the moment, and marvel properties have appealed to both kids and adults, like the duck comics, for decades. And if it’s because the marvel cartoons weren’t doing well , I’ll let you in on a little secret: Those didn’t do well because they looked bland and from what I’ve seen of them felt kind of bland, though I haven’t seen enough to fully judge. Kids LIKE adult characters as much as kid characters, and also like teen characters despite not being teens. Focusing on either is valid and while I LIKED Disney’s youth starring shows I also want another X-Men cartoon before I turn 50, and I bet kids would like that too, with the last one only failing because you bailed on it because you were throwing a hissy fit over fox having the movie rights, and do not get me started on that. Point is this argument is horse shit and should stay in the stables. 

So yeah I do think this episode came too soon and it’s placement effected it at the time and as such it dosen’t have the best rep with the fandom aside from the Lena bits and that includes me. The fact it was very early in the series and the characterizations hadn’t yet sunk in really hurt this episode in places but is it really that bad? Join me under the cut to find out

We open at the movies! Which scrooge apparently hasn’t been too since the 1930′s or seen any on video despite Della existing and being really stubborn. 

A rant for another episode. But the kids just got out of a Mole Monster movie, along with Lena, Beakly and Launchpad. Their reactions are as follows: Lena, Webby and Dewey really enjoyed it, Huey found it unrealistic... says the boy whose uncle fought a dragon made of gold a month or two back but we’ll get to that, and Louie was bored and felt it didn’t have enough of the ultra violence, kids these days it’s not about the gore it’s about the tension. And Beakly.. is just pissed Lena tricked them into seeing this and said it was educational. And the more I think about it the more this sounds like BEAKLYS fault than Lena’s. BEAKLY is the one who likely bought the tickets, who saw it was likely an r or pg-13 and who as we’ve seen HAS A PHONE, and ulnike scrooge probably isn’t so stingy she wouldn’t spring for a smart phone, so she could’ve just googled it, or whatever bird related pun is in this version.. gandered it.. yeah let’s go with that, gandered it, and SEEEN it wasn’t appropriate or walked htem out of the theater and ate the cost if she was that bothered by it. Sitting through a Horror Movie you didn’t research, didn’t pull the kids out of and dind’t bother to even check the poster for or use basic common sense is YOUR fault. And this could’ve worked fine, had Lena talk the kids into begging for it or had launchpad take them and have Beakly find out after, having driven to pick them up as she didn’t trust launchpad to take them home. Instead it makes the former super spy look REALLY stupid and feels really out of character for a SPY to not to do research. And it wasn’t like they decided on this later, Bentina being a spy was part of the character’s backstory from day one and its made clear as early as episode 2 in both airing orders. This is just lazy writing to justify the episode and I expect better from this crew. 

But an argument errupts between Huey and Webby over the Terra-Firmians, a hidden race of rock people living in Duckburg’s discontinued sewer system, allegedlys. So Lena suggest simply going down which gets a disapproving look from Beakly, despite you know this being their bread and butter, and the fact that if she had a problem with Scrooge not being involved.. she could just call him. Exploring fabled rock people is something he’d be into. I mean there’s a low profit margin but it also costs him almost nothing to walk to the theater or have launchpad swing around and pick him up. Just gas which given how much he pays for jet fuel isn’t a big ask. But Beakly soon gets distracted by Launchpad whose convinced the film is real and is attacking the poster a grim sign of things to come as while Beakly annoyed me in this one on rewatch, especially after realizing the above... Launchpad annoyed me both times and for VERY good reason we’ll get into. This provides a distraction and allows the trio to escape. Cue titles. 

After the title sequence, our heroes head deeper underground, there’s too much panic in this town... I mean props to Donald for trying something new but he really needs to rethink his cologne choices. Sex Panther is just.. not a good smell on.. anyone. 

So our heroes journey through the depths of the subway system, and we find out part of why Huey’s so skeptical, as he finds anything that isn’t in the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook to not exist, though the cracks in this already show as he’s added anything that does. We’ll get back to this later but as you can tell the basic dynamic for 24 minutes is Webby being a wholehearted True Believer and Huey being a Skeptical Sally. And Lena is just sorta “Eh gives me an excuse for shenanigans” about it. We also get a peak into webby’s mind as we see her notes .. which really just come off as Terra-Firmian fanfiction involving a war of succession between two sides, the terra’s and the firmies, something based on previous media, and also some doodles of a fictional candy called webby-dings and herself as a superhero, both things I want to see. 

But yeah the first third of the episode is pretty simple, just them journeying, the occasional shift in the firmament, and it’s not bad, and there are a few great bits: Huey nerds out about rocks, and finds them way more interesting than a possible rock monster.

Which leads to the best gag of the episode as when Huey tries to pick up a big sample Webby, annoyed at his hyperfixation on the JWG, asks him to ask his book for help.. which he does by reading it and actually manages to pick the large rock up. This is halted though when Lena screams.. though she really just did it to draw them to an abandoned subway car full of glomgold posters for glomgold products because of course a failed subway project has his name plastered over it. You can’t spell glomgold without failure.. the failure is silent. Glomgold is not. 

The fun is interuptted though by a livid Beakly who had realized they were missing in an earlier scene, after telling the Manager that McDuck Industries would pay for the poster.. and then found out Launchpad also destroyed the toilets “They come up thorugh the sewers!”. Launchpad that’s CHUDS, Ninja Turtles and Rats who raised Ninja Turtles like their own sons, mole people dig or use old mineshafts. It’s basic mole science. Also Beakly really shouldn’t sweat it, I just assumed the city has had a runnig bill witht he company for “McDuck Family and Employee Related Accidents, Mayhem and Shenanigans”. I mean he’s had Gyro on his payroll for at least a decade and a half by the series start, Gyro has leveled whole sections of city in an afternoon more than most giant monsters. Of which several have destroyed Duckburg. It got better. 

Point is she’s livid about them sneaking off with Lena pointing out their some sort of adventure family and Beakly.. saying she won’t see them again, or at least implying it hard. I’ll put a pin in this, as the train buckles and a bit of seismic, or rock men, activity means their stuck. So they divide into teams: Beakly will go try and unhook the train car from the busted cars so they can ride out, Launchpad will go try and fix it, and we get this lovely exxchange as a result

Launchpad: Cool never crashed a train before Beakly: Can’t you try driving it without crashing it? Launchpad: Wha? 

His face in that scene is priceless. He takes Dewey along. More on that in a second. Webby, Huey and Louie are told to stay put with Beakly only bringing Lena along because she dosen’t trust her. So since we have three split plots for a second... let’s split up gang, starting with the most aggrivating, middling with what you all came here for and why this is part of the retrsopective, and ending with the plot that directly heads into the final part of the episode. 

Launchpad and Dewey: GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Okay starting with the most infamous plot and easily the worst part of this episode, probably the worst plot in any Ducktales 2017 episode. That’s not hyperbole it’s really that bad and really pissed people off, as fans of the original launchpad felt they made him overly stupid. This is where the airing order’s a problem as putting an episode with a subplot where one of your characters is obnoxiously dumb right up front means they assume this is his charcter and not just one poorly written chapter in a very dumb but very loveable characters life, likely because the writers hadn’t figured out how to properly scale his stupidity with comptience. 

So as a result we get a good 3-4 mintutes if not agonizingly more of Launchpad assuming something he saw in a fucking movie film was real. That.. that’s his actual plot. Need I remind you, he’s in his late 20′s early 30′s. He’s not much older than me. While other episodes have him as dim this one claims he CAN’T TELL FACT FROM FICTION. 

There are lines you have to keep with your characters to keep the audience from hating them. They crossed it about 80 times with this plot and make Launchpad into a gibbering dunderhead who can’t do anything right versus a regular dunderhead whose good at one or two things and loveable enough for us to like him and not care about his numerous safey violations and child endagerment charges. Thankfully this is the ONLY episode that gets this bad and they clearly learned from this, but it dosen’t make it any less of a tough sit. 

Dewey spends most of the subplot with a look on his face that just screams that he’s as done with this bullshit as we are, as Launchpad assumes he’s a mole person and brought along a pipe to presumibly bludgeon him, because wanting to cave his best friends skull in over stupidity is a GREAT look> Thankfuly he does not. And when the lights come back on Launchpad.. assumes he’s a monster because of bright light, GAH, and locks him out before they end up outside and the plto resolves itself by Dewey pointing out by Launchpad’s utterly baffling logic that he could be a mole monster, so Launchpad.. assumes he is. 

The subplot’s later buttoned up as he claims “I love being a mole monster”, again diffrent subteranian creature launchpad, she says he’s not and my suffering is thankfully at an end. This plot just sucks, it’s bad, overly stupid and dosen’t work with an adult character. Someone like say Ed from Ed, Edd N Eddy, or someone who belivies in weird conspiracy stuff like Dale Gribble or Stan Pines. with either of them this plot would’ve been fucking great. I could buy it from Dale and it just comes off as his normal paranoid weirdness. With Launchpad it comes off like he seriously needs help because the episode frames it as if he can’t tell ficton from reality, and his splotlight episode later would directly contridct this and make this episode even more aggrivating, as he’s a fan of Darkwing Duck, and KNOWS it’s acted out by an actor, so why wouldn’t he get this? It’s just....

It sucks, it sucks and I thankfully get to move on to a better subplot

Beakly and Lena: What You Are in the Dark

Beakly tells Lena she’ll never see Webby again after this.. then chastises her when she won’t help despite you know having just said she’s going to force their friendship apart, which Lena points out. She then gets mad at Lena making a sarcastic comment at her. Okay she’s lived with Louie for at least a week in airing order and a month or two in actual order. She has to be used to this by now. She’s insolent.. because you show her no respect, blame her for something that while sure she talked you into, you should’ve known better, and top it off by saying you want to keep her from the kids because they have bright futures and come from good familes and asks who rasied her and her face.. well.

Yeah wheras Launchpad and Huey, more on that in a second, were hurt by this being some of their earliest big roles, Bentina wasn’t.. until later when we found out just HOW bad Magica is to Lena and how much she dosen’t care about her other than as a tool to use. At this point we didn’t know just how much Lena was playing webby, how much she was only manipulating her, and even with her heroic act here we didn’t know if she only saw Webby as her way to break free. The next episode makes it clear she dosen’t and genuinely does care, 100%, so in hindsight it makes Bentina come off as ghoulsih for horribly asssuming about a girl she dosen’t know, and even if she did know about Magica wouldn’t know the full story, just like us, and then BERATING her after already saying she’s going to rip her away from Webby, which itself is PRETTY bad as she’s the only friend the girl has and sh’es doing so on... talking them into a horror movie, which as I outlined was more Bentina’s fault than Lena’s, and leading the kids into a dangerous place whicha gain, Lena pointed out is something she lets Scrooge do. And trust me i know that she actually knows Scrooge, and we later find out, as we’ll cover next month, that she isn’t ware HOW dangerous things are with Scrooge. It dosen’t change the fact she knows they do dangerous stuff to a point and that Lena may just be acting out. It also dosen’t change the fact she drove three children, yes including launchpad, down here with her instead of sending them home with Launchpad.. granted that option isn’t the safest but it’s safer than taking her with them thena cting like it’s ALL lena’s fault when three of the children, again including launchpad, are down there because of HER. Not Lena, HER. I’m harder on her because she’s older, wiser and was “raised properly” apparently. Though given the way she treats a random teen off the street she again knows nothing about and dind’t bother to ask... it begs the question. 

IT’s a good question. I could see the classism coming from being raised in 40′s and 50′s britain, judging by the timeline.. but even then she’s seen the world, and while her nature is supscious, the classit bullshit makes no sense after presumibly working with, and later spymastering for, various agents of various backgrounds. How has she not dropped this in decades. Scrooge very clearly dropped the racisim and homophobia of his time, so it still stands  on her for not dropping this. And Lena’s hurt shows under hte mask for the first time, that beneath the snark and secrecy.. is just an abused teenager with nowhere else to go and no way out being bullied by an older woman whose cutting off the only light at the end of the tunnel nto for good reason but out of classist, overprotective mallice.  My issues, which to be fair probably were intentional in the episode but sitll are a bit overblown, aside we do get an absoluttley tremendous moment later as a car falls on top of Beakly.. and Magica, speaking once more urges Lena to leave her, let her die and let their plans progress. And while that iself is.. dumb, what if someone finds her or her corpse later, especially since Scrooge would likely perosnally want to retrive the body to give her a proper burial as she’s his only friend at this point, or the rest of the family questoin the story?, it fits Magica’s lack of foresight we see throughout the season. But Lena... saves her. While she later gives an explination, and a valid one at that, it’s clear from her expressoin, her actoins and how she does it... that this is her. Part of it is defiance, as she glares at Magica before doing it, her own stubborn nature mixed with her hatred of her “aunt”, meaning Magica just made it all too easy for her to do this. But the real reason is clear: It’s the right thing to do. While pissing off her aunt and getting away with it is the cherry on top.. the real reason is that unlike Magica.. Lena is not a killer, not a monster, and not a heartless vacum ofa person. Even if she doesn’t like Beakly, for good reason.. she can’t, she WON’T leave her to die and leave Webby an orphan again. She loves Webby too much to do that to her and while she may deny it.. she’s too good a person to leave someone to die for something so petty. Even if she never sees webby again and the plans ruined. It’s better than the weight of knowing she let someone who wasn’t trying to harm her and whose actions, while terrible, were out of misguided protection of her granddaughter, die like this. She saves her. And as we’ll see it pays off.. but before that. 

Huey, Webby and Louie: Into the Unknown This plot’s a bit shorter, as Webby and Huey continue their argument, with Louie eventually making it clear, and not even hiding it when directly asked by Huey, that he’s playing both sides with a delighted expression on his face as the movie was boring but this, this is interesting. Which it is. But it’s interupted by dings on the roof and while Huey assumes i’ts just a regular rock, it moves while their not lookiung.. and soon red eyed, horrifying beasts look out at them and the kids flee back to the car. This dosen’t pan out as the car starts to shake and is clearly going to collapse.. and while Webby and Louie are prepared to flee, rock monsters or no, Huey, in an utterly heart shattering image.. stays in place, terrified of moving. 

This is where this plot goes from mildly aggrivating, as Huey’s Skeptic shenanigans can get on the nerves.. to BRILLIANT. See at the time this was more annoying because it was assumed the skepticsim would be a part of Huey’s character and we’d get more episodes of him being annoying only to be proven wrong, as he semeingly dosen’t learn his lesson at this point, looging the terrafrimians in the guide book. But on rewatch.. this plot is amazing.  For starters the plot subtly introduced the defening characteristic of Huey’s personality, one that’s become more prounounced in Season 3: His need for Order. He needs things to make sense: He solves stuff because he likes there to be order in the world and something he can understand, he can put in a box in his head. Like a lot of neurotypical people, myself included, he struggles horribly when the clearly defined boxes of his life and things he undestand have wrinkles or complexities he can’t get. I for instnace easily got it when I was introduced to the concept of trans people or being non binary.. they just make sense in hindsight: given how our brains are messya nd complicated it makes sense some people would be born in the wrong ones, and tht with all the science and medicine we have to correct that, should be allowed to transition if they so choose. It makes equal sense that some people just don’t have a gender or are gender fluid, being both or neither. Despite struggling with non binary prounouns due to force of habit.. I get the concept with no real difficulty. But when it comes to accepting I don’t have to apologize for everything and that everyone is not angry or that anger is natural and people sometimes get mad and you can’t and shouldnt’ fix it.. it’s something I STRUGGLE with even knowing it’s not right, because my brain is just wired that way. 

That’s how Huey’s struggle comes off here.. he reveals he’s willing to stay and die.. because he’s SO scared of the unknown, that the idea of dying from something he at least knows what it is versus something he dosen’t.., so paralizyed by his own brain he can’t figure out the obvious.. it takes Webby reaching out to him figuratively and literally, to show him that sometimes you have to face the unknown. The unknown is fucking terrifying.. but it can be good and it’s better than sitting there, scared and unable to move. You have to try, to grow and take that risk that things may not go well to really LIVE. 

So he does.. and they reunite with the rest of the group.. and soon find the terrafirmains.. who as it turns out once we get some light on them... are actually just goofy looking,  brightly colored, each one matching one of the kids, kids themselves, and Huey reaches out and touches one, which by ET logic means their friends now, and the terrafirmians help them get out. And this lesson sticks. While sure Huey catalogues it and it seems it didn’t.. he’s never this skeptical again. This douchey skepticsim was only for one episode, his fear of the uknown replcaed with boundless curosity and from here on he’s CURIOUS about new stuff as long as it’s not trying to kill him. He loves taking in new experinces, maybe not to webby levels but he does actually try them and study them instead of just fearing them. 

Before we wrap things up, obviously we need to talk about the JWG not having entries on a lot of stuff. This would be corrected next season as it returns to being a big book of everything, but dosen’t completely contridct this as Timephoon! shows there’s stillcgaps.. which i’m fine with. While it knowing EVERYTHING was fine for the original series here, with things being slightly more groudned, it’d just be an obvious plothole if Huey didn’t use it every single time they ran into something and that’d get boring. Instead it’s simply that it dosen’t know everything, and really in the comics at times it didn’t and the triplets found out new things. It knew almost everything mind you, but having some gaps for dramatic tnesion is fine with me and Seasons 2 and 3 decided on that instead of just having it being a scouting manual which wa sfor the best. And even by later in the season hit has guides to getting a small buisness loan, so they already course corrected. 

So everything’s wrapped up and while Magica berates Lena for disobeying her.. Beakly interputps, thankfully not seeing magica and admits she was wrong and invites Lena for pancakes, even taking a crack about if their actually pancakes or english muffins with syrup, which sounds like my own living hell, in stride, having clearly grown. And Lena explains to Magica that this was the better approach: now she’s got the in theyw anted, and is above suspcison for now. Still not so much that an obvious act won’t be detected but enough that she dosen’t ahve to work actively around her anymore. Magica scoffs.. and while part of it is probably rage.. part of it is deep down both of them know she did it out of defiance.. and only Lena knows that she did it for the right reasons... she just dosen’t get why. She probably justifies it as playing the long game.. but deep down she knows something’s changing about her.. and she’s not sure if that’s a godo thing or not. 

Final Thoughts: This episode is as you can tell a mixed bag. It’s 2/3 of a good episode, with the Lena plot, my issues aside, being excellent and the Terra-Firmian plot likewise fun, even if Huey can get grating the payoff is worth it, and the jokes are really high quality. It’s just bogged down by that fucking launchpad plot that just crushed my soul in it’s palms every time it came back. I went on at length why i hated that one but boy oh boy was the hate of that subplot warranted and I stand by calling it the worst plot of the series. It is: it’s not funny, it makes no goddamn sense, and it drags down what’s otherwise a pretty solid epsiode.

Next Time on Lena: Jaws the shark, lurking in the dark, in the depths of the bin one day of a lark decides to get rowdy, get real violent takes a vacay out to Duckburg er.. Island.. also Scrooge faces his greatest Nemesis.. a PR Tour to clean up his image after an unfortunate giant Beanstalk Incident. Be there and be hip to be square. 

Next Time on This Blog: I Tackle a DCOM for the first time for another commissioned review as we take a look at racisim, specifically Apartheid and breaking indoctrination, with The Color of Friendship. See you next Rainbow. 

[wellthatwentbetterthanexpected]

(Wo)man down

Nat has worked herself to the ground recently, but hey what’s one more run with Steve before she calls it quits and goes to bed? Apparently a bloody disaster, that’s what.

Nat knew she shouldn’t have come to training this morning. She’d only returned to the compound from her latest solo mission at 3am that morning having not slept for at least 36 hours, and it was only 6am now. Damn Steve and his early bird tendencies. She prayed that the triple espresso would get her through until could collapse in bed and sleep until spending time with Bruce in the evening.

Upon exiting the compound Nat sees that Steve is already warming up, he stops and waves eagerly at her as she approach’s.

“Good morning Natasha, how was your mission?” He pulls her into a warm embrace. She had grown a lot more comfortable with the touchy-feely ways of some of her fellow avengers, even though it still isn’t her favourite thing.

“Fine.” She replies, returning the embrace. She was not being short with him, but both of them knew she wouldn’t disclose much more than that. Years of working alone still keeps her lips tight.

Nat begins her warm up, jogging on the spot before stretching. As she bends to touch her toes, all of the blood rushes to her head. Never normally an issue, but today it caused the outer ring of her vision to turn black and her ears began to ring loudly. She wobbles and begins falling but saves herself just in time to, less than elegantly, sit down. The ringing eases and the black fades from her vision. Unfortunately though, Steve noticed. He was by her side quickly, squatting down beside her.

“Nat? What’s wrong?” He asks, concern written all over his face. His hand has already found its way to her wrist, measuring her racing pulse. She pushes his hand away lightly, and uses it to stand up.

“I’m fine Steve, just jet lag.” Not technically a lie but definitely not the truth. But before he has the chance to question her further, Nat flashes him a grin and pushes past him cheekily, “loser makes breakfast!” She shouts as she runs off.

Ten minutes in and Nat knows she’s fucked up. Big time. Her breath is ragged and fast, which after ten minutes is appalling for someone in her field. Her vision is swimming in and out of focus, and she stopped being able to hear much over the ringing in her ears over a minute ago. She’s been around long enough to know what’s going to happen next. Nat can just make out Steve’s figure a fair distance ahead of her (thank god for his patriotism and his red white and blue running gear making him hard to miss). She slows down gingerly to an unstable stop. She plans to lower herself to the ground slowly and wait for it to pass, and somehow alert Steve to her distress. But as most of her plans seem to go recently, it did not happen the way she planned. The second she stopped running, her legs turned to jello and she feels herself falling towards the ground, blacking out before making contact with the cement.

“Tasha.... come on wake up.... dammit open your eyes.”

Nat can hear the voice floating somewhere around her head, disjointed from everything. Slowly she began to feel herself returning to her senses. Her ears are no longer ringing and she can feel the weight of her aching, exhausted body. And what the FUCK was the new throbbing pain in her head?! Groaning in pain she tried to open her eyes, just about succeeding in making her eyelids flutter.

“Nat? Can you hear me? It’s Steve. Can you open your eyes for me?”

Nat groans in response, forcing her weighted eyelids open, attempting to focus on his face. The black spots had gone, however she was viewing everything through a red haze. She lifts her hand to rub whatever it was out of her eyes, only for Steve to grab her by the wrist.

“No, don’t touch it Nat. You hit your head pretty hard on the pavement, you’re bleeding.”

She groans again, blinking until the blood clears from her eyes, “What happened?”

“You tell me!” Steve said, “ One minute we were running and the next I look over my shoulder to see you stop and fall to the ground! Were you hurt on your mission? Are you sick?”

“Steve, Jesus, enough with the 20 questions.” She moves to sit up, Steve gently helps guide her up until she���s sat up, but keeps his grip firmly on her upper arm as she sways a little. “I’m exhausted.” Nat states simply.

Steve looked at Nat blankly, waiting for her to go on. Being exhausted is nothing new for either of you and you both know it. She sighs deeply.

“Steve, I’m more than exhausted. I haven’t slept in over 36... nope, make that 37 hours now. I’ve spent the last week running around chasing bad guys whilst living off half rations. Before that I was was off with Sam dealing with the issues in Washington. I haven’t had a decent nights sleep or a decent meal in forever. I have nothing left to give.”

She’s not sure where that rant had come from, but felt a small weight lift off of her shoulders. However this was also met with a new wetness on her face, and she realised she were crying. Dammit. She aggressively wiped the tears away, pissed at herself for getting into this state.

Suddenly she felt herself being encased by strong arms and pulled into a tight hug. And that was the final straw, Nat sobbed, all of her exhaustion and emotions spilling down her cheeks and onto Steve’s top. And that’s where she stay, unmoving other than Steve repositioning the two of them and her sobs which rattles through her chest. Slowly Nat was able to start calming down. Steve was rubbing her back and whispering a reassuring “shhhhh” as he held her up tightly. Had he not been there Nat was sure she would have fallen face first back to the ground face. A few more raggedy breaths later and she began to regain a little control of her emotions, and gain awareness of what was happening. Oh my god, she were in a public park sobbing on Captain America’s chest. Emphasis on Public. She pushes herself away from Steve, instantly in surveillance mode, checking that no one was watching them and they weren’t being filmed.

“Nat you’re fine, no one is paying the slightest bit of attention.” Steve said, reading her mind as usual. He leant back onto his heals into a crouch. “Want to try standing?”

She nodded slightly, allowing him to pull the two of them up to standing. She swayed dangerously, the position change threatening to push her back into the darkness of unconsciousness. Steve held her tightly until she regained use of her legs properly.

“Can you walk? I want to get you back to the compound and have Bruce check you over.”

Nat contemplated her ability to walk, her legs more stable but still unsteady, but nodded. She tactfully chose to ignore his comment about seeing Bruce, knowing she wouldn’t follow through but didn’t want an argument.

Slowly they made their way back to the compound, Steve’s arm tightly wrapped around her shoulders, supporting her without being obvious. She made it most of the way before her legs decided to give out on her again.

“Shoot, Tasha, alright okay I’ve got you.” She felt him guide her to what she assumed was a bench, she couldn’t be sure because once again she couldn’t see through the dizzying blackness. Damn she’s not been this exhausted in a very long time. Or was she concussed from the first faint. The throbbing pain that wasn’t easing probably meant she could confidently add concussion into the mix of shit happening to her right now.

She allowed Steve to guide her head down between her legs, grounding herself with the rhythmic circles he was rubbing her back. She could hear him talking in her ear but the words were making no sense. Everything feels disjointed, Nat feels disconnected from the world, completely out of it. In her haze she’s vaguely aware of Steve moving away a little, his voice getting further away but his hand remaining on her upper back. When he moved back beside her she felt more aware of her surroundings, but remained with her head down.

“Hey Tasha, can you hear me now?”

“Mhm”

“I’ve called Bruce, he’s going to meet us at the entrance. You’re dehydrated, malnourished, exhausted and now concussed. Your body is fighting a losing battle with itself, we need to go and get you sorted.”

Nat raised her head and looked at Steve, that movement alone almost sending her pitching forward off of the bench, however Steve had her held securely by the shoulders.

“Can’t walk.” She said, her voice quiet and weak even to her own ears. All she wanted now was sleep, nothing else mattered. She slumped into Steve’s side and closed her eyes.

“No, come on Nat, I know you’re exhausted but I need you to stay awake. Nat? No come on open those eyes for me. Right dammit okay I’m going to run you back.”

She couldn’t have protested even if she wanted to, she was already bridal style in Steve’s arms by the time her foggy brain managed to work out what was being said. And any further protest she may have had died on her lips as the rocking motion of moving became the catalyst that pulled her fully into unconsciousness.

Nat didn’t remember getting back to the compound, she didn’t see the surprised then concerned look on Bruce’s face as Steve had rounded the corner with an unconscious Natasha in his arms. She didn’t recall the elevator journey where Steve reeled off what had happened, his voice growing ever more anxious. She didn’t hear Tony’s surprised shout when they ran past him to the medbay, nor did she hear him helping Bruce set up the equipment.

The next thing Natasha was aware of was the sound of rhythmic beeping and the quiet chatter of low voices. Opening her eyes she took in the scene before her. Steve was sat directly to the right of her, his posture tense, and his hand held hers tightly. Bruce was stood at the bottom of her bed flicking through a chart. To her left she could make out Tony, leaning back into his chair with his feet propped on the end of her bed as a footrest.

“Feet off my bed Stark.” She managed to croak out hoarsely.

And just like that all eyes were on her.

“Nat, thank God.” Steve said quietly, squeezing her hand and pulling his chair closer. He passed her a glass of water and the liquid felt amazing running down her throat.

“I think you’ll find,” Tony started, swinging his legs to the ground, “ that’s technically this is my bed, in fact, 95% of the stuff in this building is mine.”

Nat flipped him off before looking towards Bruce.

“What’s the verdict Doc, will I live to see another day.” She joked.

“Well, you’re dehydrated for a start. The low blood sugar, low blood pressure, and anaemia are obvious signs of malnutrition. Steve told us how long it had been since you last slept so that’s another box off of our bingo card. Add to that the concussion you’ve managed to give yourself, I’d say you’ve got a full house.”

“Basically Little Red, you’re about as good at looking after yourself as I am,” Tony joked, “except when you hit your breaking point you sure as hell do it with flare don’t you. I thought poor spangles here was going down with ya at one point!”

Nat laughed before turning her attention to Steve, who was not laughing, in fact he looked as wrecked as she felt.

“Steve?” She asked quietly, giving his hand a small squeeze and making eye contact with what she could only describe as sad eyes.

“Alright Brucey, let’s give these two some time to talk this out.”

“We’ll be in the lab if you need us.” Bruce said, smiling calmly at Nat and Steve as they left the medbay.

“Hey, I’m alright. They’re fixing me up and I’ll be good as new by evening. What’s with the sad eyes?”

Steve looked at her, “how did it get so bad? How did I notice how ill you were getting? I should never have let you come on that run. I’m sorry Natasha.”

“Hey no, what are you talking about? This was my fault, I know my limits and I should have known I’d passed them. I should have rested. I’m sorry I put you in that situation.”

Steve gave her another sad smile, another reassuring hand squeeze, and stood up. Nat wondered what he was doing as he went over to the main desk, aka the desk that lives in the medbay and belongs to “I’m not that kind of dr” Banner, and opened the top draw. He smiled and turned around, peanut MnM’s and Gatorade in hand.

“Time to work on your dehydration and malnutrition Agent Romanoff.”

[pototters]

Sleeping on Emotions

A/N: This is something that I’ve been working on as a thread on Twitter and I’m just transferring it here for all of you here to enjoy.

This will be posted in parts. This is part one. Transferring might be a little slow, but I’ll try to get part two up in the next couple of days. The thread itself isn’t complete, yet, so it might be some time before part three is ready.

Summary: After they’ve graduated from UA, Bakugo and Kirishima get an apartment together as roommates. Kirishima sleeps like the rock that he is, but now he’s started to sleepwalk himself into Bakugo’s bed occasionally. Bakugo has been pining since high school and this new development isn’t making things any easier on him, especially not when our favorite redhead starts to talk in his sleep, too.

Warnings: Bakugo swears a lot, no smut, mentions of arousal. More warnings for part two.

Bakugo x Kirishima

Word Count: 1,629

Crimson eyes slowly blinked open to the rising sun as Bakugo gradually woke up. He was vaguely aware of a heavy weight around his waist, and he let out a resigned sigh. How long had this been going on? It had started at least a month after he’d moved in with Kirishima to their apartment as roommates.

Once they’d graduated from U.A. nearly six months ago, Kirishima had come up with the idea to make things easier on themselves while they were starting out as new pros. Bakugo, of course, had a hard time telling his best friend ‘no’, even though he’d pretended to reject the idea. The transition had been smooth, overall, though.

They had their own rooms, and it wasn’t much different from dorm life. They even had their own bathrooms. Bakugo only occasionally had to snap at Kirishima about doing his chores, but their shared lives had been amiable, otherwise. At some point, however, something changed.

Bakugo wasn’t sure exactly what had triggered it, but the first night he had woken up to Kirishima climbing into his bed with him, he’d nearly blown his face off. That night had ended with a lot of confusion, yelling, and Kirishima crying his numerous apologies. They chalked up the whole event to Kirishima being overly exhausted and confusing Bakugo’s room with his own.

Until it happened, again.

And then again.

By the fourth time, they realized what was happening. The dumbass was sleepwalking. As far as Kirishima was aware, he’d never walked in his sleep before. So, Bakugo made him see a doctor about it. The redhead went without complaint, not wishing to cause any more inconvenience to his best friend.

A common trigger for sleepwalking was apparently stress, so Kirishima began to see a therapist and the episodes lessened. Bakugo wasn’t supposed to wake him up while he was sleepwalking, because that was dangerous, so he tried locking his bedroom door. It would have worked, except the meathead broke the damn doorknob off with his quirk, and came in, anyway.

Resigned and annoyed, Bakugo was forced to allow his best friend to sleep in his bed with him. Could he have slept on the floor, instead? Like fucking hell he was gonna have back problems because his idiot friend couldn’t stay in his own bed. Not to mention, the moment Kirishima was settled, strong arms wrapped around Bakugo’s middle and held him tightly in place.

The damn spiky haired idiot was an octopus. Bakugo had stopped complaining a while ago. Besides being useless, he found that he didn’t exactly hate the forced cuddling. No, it was worse than that. Rather than hate it, he fucking loved it.

During their first year at U.A., it had taken Bakugo some time to adjust to Kirishima touching him constantly. It wasn’t long after that Bakugo actually began to look forward to it. The notion surprised him because he couldn’t stand anyone else. He’d grown to tolerate being touched by others, but that was all he could manage. It had taken through nearly all of their second year to figure out why Kirishima was different.

Bakugo had fallen for the idiot.

He had tried his best to avoid and ignore his feelings, but it was difficult to do when he had a constant, redheaded reminder in his personal space. What a fool he had been to ever agree to be roommates.

A heavy sigh tickled the back of Bakugo’s neck, sending a shiver down his spine and awakening his arousal. If Kirishima didn’t sleep like the fucking rock he was, Bakugo would have punched him awake. How he ever woke up to his alarm, Bakugo would never know.

It was too early in the morning for this shit, and the last thing Bakugo needed was for Kirishima to wake up and figure out that he had an erection. Morning wood was bad enough, let alone getting aroused while sharing a bed with his best friend. Bakugo struggled with the covers, but they were too tangled up between the two of them, and Kirishima’s arm only tightened around him.

As he growled with frustration, he was ready to punch him awake when something new happened. “Baku...go.” Kirishima mumbled in his sleep as he groaned lightly, squeezing Bakugo back against his chest even tighter. Bakugo went still as he sucked in a sharp breath. Then the idiot snorted and laughed. “That’s a walrus, not a cookie. Dummy.”

Bakugo nearly choked. The idiot was talking in his sleep! He covered his mouth as he tried not to laugh out loud, but Kirishima kept talking. Every bit of it was nonsense, and Bakugo soon couldn’t hold his laughter back any longer. He was nearly breathless from how much he was laughing, his body shaking with it. 

“Bakugo? What’s so funny?” The laughter died in his throat as Bakugo fought to get it together. Kirishima was waking up, but hadn’t moved, his arm still tight around Bakugo’s waist.

“You were talking in your sleep, dumbass. Now, let go of me. I gotta piss.” It took several seconds before Kirishima’s arm lifted away. The redhead was always especially slow when waking up, so Bakugo tried to be patient. Truthfully, it was their day off and Bakugo would have been content to sink into Kirishima’s warmth for a couple more hours. He could never admit that, though, as he was quite sure his best friend didn’t see him that way.

Once he was free, Bakugo disentangled himself from the blankets and got up. As he stretched, he was vaguely aware of Kirishima sitting up behind him. “Did you say I was talking in my sleep?” Groggy words reached Bakugo’s ears.

“Yeah. You sure were.” Kirishima didn’t respond right away, so Bakugo went ahead and made his way to his personal bathroom to relieve himself and brush his teeth. By the time he came back out, Kirishima had already left and he heard the shower start up from the other bathroom.

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he headed into the kitchen and began making breakfast, starting with the coffee. By the time he started cooking, Kirishima came out into the kitchen as he rubbed his hair dry with a towel and wearing only a pair of running shorts that were slung low on his hips. Bakugo couldn’t stop himself from following the neat, black happy trail that disappeared under the waistband with his gaze.

He quickly refocused himself on the pan when Kirishima dropped the towel around his broad shoulders. “Smells good, man. You making some for me, too? Or should I make my own?” Kirishima grinned that easygoing smile of his and Bakugo felt something flutter in his chest.

He grumbled as he pointed to the kitchen table, trying to smother his own feelings. “Sit down. It’s almost done.” Kirishima’s grin got even bigger with his excitement.

“Awe, thanks, man! You seriously are the best.” The redhead sat down and leaned his chin in his hand as his expression faltered. “Sorry for sleepwalking into your bed, again. I know how much you hate it.” Bakugo let out a soft grunt in reply as he plated their food and came over to the table.

After handing Kirishima his plate, Bakugo sat across from him with his own, digging in with his chopsticks. “Stop beating yourself up over it. You can’t help it. Fucking punch me in your sleep, though, and then we’ll have a problem. Got it?” Bakugo growled over his rice omelet. They were Kirishima’s favorite, and Bakugo couldn’t help himself.

Kirishima gave him a wobbly smile that Bakugo was sure would turn into tears at any second. “Thanks, man. You really are the best. I mean it.” He looked down at the food and sniffled a little. “You even made my favorite, again.” So, the idiot had noticed.

Bakugo feigned an annoyed ‘tch’ and rolled his eyes even as his face warmed. “Whatever, just eat.” He watched the redhead a moment as Kirishima dug in happily, thanking Bakugo again for the food. “So, what the fuck were you even dreaming about this morning? You should have heard the shit coming from your mouth.”

With his mouth stuffed with food, Kirishima looked up from his plate with wide eyes, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing it down. “I dunno. Don’t really remember that much. Why, what was I saying?” He gave Bakugo that shark-toothed grin of his that always made Bakugo wonder what it would be like to be bitten, making a shiver run imperceptibly down his spine.

“You laughed and said a walrus wasn’t a cookie, then something about some damn kittens and losing their mittens, or some shit.” Kirishima scrunched up his nose in concentration as he listened, then shook his head with a laugh.

“Nah, doesn’t ring a bell. Sounds like one crazy dream, though!” Kirishima laughed some more then went back to eating. Bakugo watched him for a moment, contemplative as he wondered what else he might get to hear Kirishima say in his sleep. He actually found himself somewhat excited for it.

It was a long moment before he snapped himself out of his staring spell, his thoughts wandering to things much less appropriate while eating breakfast. “When we’re done eating, we’re going to the store. The fridge is looking bare, so it needs to be restocked.” Bakugo informed him before starting to eat, again. Kirishima only smiled and nodded, mouth too full to respond verbally.

As Bakugo chewed, the thought that his best friend might one day stop sleepwalking occurred to him, making him frown. He really hoped that would never happen, knowing that he could never bring himself to ask his best friend to cuddle him if it ever did.

Part 2