#he's like gotta keep em on their toes

[bellamygate]

I don't FUCKING trust phee I don't believe anything he says im side-eyeing every facial expression he makes I feel like he could literally switch up on me at any moment

[nanaslutt]

omg can u imagine gojo being so obsessed with ur pussy lips and before seggs he makes u spread urself for him like he’s the pussy inspector 😵‍💫😵‍💫 or like makes u touch urself and spread ur legs/lips rly wide so he can watch

i can imagine and i am imagining and i will continue to imagine

nonnie you are BRILLIANT<3

contains: fem reader, pussy inspection, masturbation (gojo & reader), he guides you, you’re in front of a mirror, he’s obsessed with your cunt, you finger yourself together, so much praise like so much, dirty talk, he talks to ur pussy, pretty soft i won’t lie~

MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

“toru, this ‘s so embarrassing.” your mumbling so quiet he can barely hear, face burning under his scrutinizing gaze with his eyes that can literally see everything

“don’t be embarrassed baby, your little pussy is so pretty,” he assures you, he currently has you on your back, thighs resting over his thicker ones as he’s between your thighs, sitting back on his heels, lengthy cock in hand, “you should wanna show her off,” he smiles sincerely at you

your hands are on the underside of your thighs, holding your pussy lips open for him to get a better veiw,

“you sure ur not jus’ pretending to be embarrassed cutie? little hole is squeezing around nothing down here when i talk to you,” his free hand coming to aid you in holding yourself open, pulling back the hood of your clit to get a closer look at your swollen bud,

“oh fuck,” he laughs, watching it twitch under his watchful stare, “want you to rub your clit a little for me pretty girl, can you do that?” he smiles fondly, eyebrows raising when he looks at you,

“o-okay,” you whimper, he moves his hand from the hood of your clit down to your thigh, rubbing comforting patterns into the skin there

you let one of the hands that was holding your cunt open come around your body and slide down your pelvis, tip of your middle finger coming in contact with your clit, legs trying to squeeze shut around him at the stimulation

“gotta keep ‘em open so i can see okay?” he says, emphasizing his point by using his strong grip to keep your leg in place,

“show me how you touch yourself when your alone.” he bites his lip, watching you look anywhere but his eyes that are trying to make contact with your own as you whimper out at his request,

dipping your finger down to your entrance to gather some of the slick there, you drag your finger back up to your clit and start rubbing quick circles into the angry bud,

not an inch of your movements are being overlooked by his crystaline eyes, he slowly starts to rub his own cock while he watches you, using his dripping pre to lubricate his strokes, jaw dropping in a half smile as he watches your eyes roll to the back of your head

a second finger joining the first in rubbing your clit, wetness echoing in the room,

“tell me how it feels,” he’s breathing heavily, focusing on his tip, watching you try to put your pleasure into words for him,

“feels so good, makes my tummy feel all hot,” you pause to gasp, “rubbing it d-directly like t-this is so intense.” you finish, panting in short breaths, finding a good rhythm, one that makes your toes curl,

“oh fuck, i bet it is, looks like it feels so good,” he shakes his head in disbelief, huffing out a half laugh-half moan when he picks up the ministrations on his cock,

reaching his hand back down to your pussy and teasing the tip of his finger in your hole, twisting his palm so it’s facing the ceiling, moaning at the feeling of how warm and wet you feel when he slips it deeper, before pulling out completely

“can you imagine how this feels around my cock?” he asked, watching you scrunch your cute little eyebrows together in pleasure,

“stop for a second.” he says, letting go of his grip on his cock and letting it bob in the air, you look up him confused, barely having time to register the change in position, he picks you up so you’re sitting on the edge of the bed on his lap, facing the mirrored closet, feet perched on the bed by your ass, giving you both a great veiw of your pussy all spread out, his broad chest flexing against your back, feet firmly on the ground,

“gimmie ur hand sweetie,” he speaks, letting him take your hand in his, he places his palm on the back of your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours before guiding your hand between your legs,

unlocking your finger after he presses you palm over your dripping cunt, his chest vibrates against your back when he speaks, “put two fingers inside yourself,” he requests, “slowly, really feel how soft and wet you feel.” he instructs, hand opting to hold your thigh open for now while he watches your every moment through the mirror,

you dip the tips of your fingers inside your hole, rubbing the wetness on the length of your digits before slowly pressing deeper into yourself, just like satoru asked, your head falling back against his shoulder in a moan when your cunt swallows up your fingers to the hilt, palm pressed firmly against your clit,

“good girl” he draws out, groaning as he thrusts his hips shallowly against you, cock pressed snugly between your lower back and his abs, relishing in the friction,

“feel how good that feels?” he asks, hand he had resting on your thigh coming down to your cunt, teasing the space under where your fingers are currently stuffed in your hole, you whimper out an ‘uh-huh’ while nodding, “that’s what my cock feels every time i’m inside of you.”

his thick fingers slowly joining yours inside your cunt, pushing them in with a little resistance as you gasp, eyes shooting open and head tipping forward to watch his ministrations in the mirror, “fuck! s-satoru!” you moan at the stretch

your cunt and his dick alike throb at the veiw of his fingers along with your own stuffed inside you, “this pussy is so fucking good to me you know that? he whispers into your ear, keeping eye contact with you in the mirror,

starting to pump all four of your fingers together in and out of your gushing pussy, forcing your fingers to curl with his each time he fucks them into you, putting the most mind numbing pressure on your gspot

“always squeezes my cock so good, just like she’s doin to our fingers now.” his mouth is still pressed to your ear, hot breath sending goosebumps all over your body,

“touch your clit, pay attention to how tight she gets when you do that,” he instructs

shaky hand coming down to rub your puffy nub, letting out a long moan of his name at the sensation of your clit getting stimulated along with your gspot being pounded into, thanks to him picking up the pace,

basically holding hands with him inside of you as your fingers tangle and curl together, cum sliding down between your ass as you work together to bring you to your rapidly approaching orgasm,

“fuck you felt that right?” he moans breathlessly into the shell of your ear, “felt how much tighter she got?” humming sounds of approval into the side of your face as the coil in your tummy screws impossibly tighter,

“and when you cum it makes my cock feel even better, try to focus on that, really wan’ you to understand how good you make me feel.” he enlightens you, staring between your pretty face twisting in pleasure and your messy cunt crying out for him as your thrown into your orgasm,

hunching over when the first wave hits you, remembering satoru’s words and trying to focus on how your pussy clenches and spasms around your fingers, and how it feels

his hips fucking up into your back, feeling sympathetic pleasure himself watching your intense orgasm wrack your body with tremors,

whimpers of his name and curses filling the air as your cum drips around both of your digits, letting you catch your breath for a second before pulling out his fingers, yours following shortly after, as he leaves sweet kisses on your sensitive neck.

“did such a good job, felt nice when you squeezed all tight on ur fingers when you came, right?” he asked, eyes already on yours when you came to, smiling and nodding at him through the mirror, affirming his words,

“good, now i wanna feel that same thing around my cock, and i want you to squirt for me while we’re at it,” he leaves one final kiss on your cheek, hearts practically in your eyes as he gets you in position for the long and messy night you’re about to experience.

[ghoulphile]

run rabbit run | c.h/the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 869 ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; rough, mildly dubious consent (kinda?), dom!coop, bareback, cum play, degradation kink, biting, pet names (bunny), man-handling, doggystyle, drabble, coop's gotta fuck you full so the ferals can't smell you ➥ summary | "the drabble thing HNNNGH think about coop calling you bunny from the start bc he clocked that you were always a down for it and you not getting it until he after you fuck for the first time" ➥ notes | do not look @ me rn 🫣 i feel like i've exposed myself too much lol masterlist | feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | feedback is always appreciated ❤️

He found the rabbit among endless dunes of rock and rubble; a frightened, jumpy little beast that required a firm hand to tame, and an even steadier one to control.

And while it would’ve been easier to dump ‘em at Super Duper Mart -- get his caps worth, pounds of flesh for vials of chem -- he took a shine. Now, what exactly it is about you that captured his attention so thoroughly, he can’t be sure (though he could hazard a few guesses).

What he does know is this: if it wasn’t for him, you’d have been killed a million times over by raiders, fiends, and ferals alike. Always finding your way into trouble as soon as his back is turned.

Like now.

So if he’s a little rough with you, it’s only because he had to haul ass half-way across the flooded district when he heard you scream.

Nevermind the hard lurch of his heart, the sensation of his stomach droppin’ to his feet. You were supposed to be safe, holed up in the building he cleared yesterday.

Surprise, surprise; you decided to go poking where you shouldn’t, and now he’s gotta rescue your dumb ass. Skidded around a bombed out building only to find you fighting off a small pack of ferals, their rotted hands scratching at your arms and their teeth gnashing at your face.

Goddamn it.

Same shit, different day.

“What did I fuckin’ say?” he snarls, chapped lips pressed tight against your ear as sharp hip bones rut into the softness of your ass. “You’re dumber than shit sometimes.”

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t - hhahh, slow down - didn’t mean to cause trouble.” Your hands scramble for purchase, nail beds aching from how hard you’re digging at the dirt.

Shoved onto the ground, pants sagging around your thighs as a stray rock digs into your cheek, scraping up the tender skin. “Won’t do it again, I promise.”

The Ghoul snorts, delivers a stinging nip to the tip of your ear. Your reedy whine soothes some of the agitation but he’s still bristling, aggression threaded through with tendrils of panic he refuses to acknowledge.

“I highly doubt that.”

You hiccup, knees spreading wide as your back dips - trying to get away, to get closer.

The fat head of his cock keeps hitting your cervix with every stroke, little fissions of pain kissed pleasure racketing up your spine as he stretches you past your limits and fucks you open.

Your gummy walls swollen and raw from the constant friction of his shaft, the rad burns scraping your insides up. Clit aching and so wet you’re dripping, a damp patch of earth beneath you.

“No, promise I’ll be good!” You pant, the scent of sunbaked soil and stagnant water heavy in your nose. “Please, please, please.”

Everything aches, limbs sore from your tussle and pride bruised as sweat dapples your brow, sticks the fine baby hairs to the back of your neck.

A hand clamps down on your hip so hard bones grind, yanking you back into every punishing thrust. Heavy balls smack against your clit on the in-stroke, stoking the embers of your desire. Your toes curl in your boots.

“I’ll believe it when I see it, bunny.” The Ghoul grabs your elbow with his free hand, tugging you up into his chest so his chin hooks over your shoulder, breath puffing along the side of your cheek. “You just don’ know when ta learn. So I’m gonna have’ta teach you. An’ I’ll do it as many times as it takes, you hear?”

You sniffle, nuzzling the back of your head against his face. “I mean it,” you say. “I’m sorry… I didn’t know there’d be any ferals around. Was just trying to find some more food.”

Groaning, his hips kick forward in a softer grind, still so deep you feel him in your stomach - pussy filled to the brim with cock - but not as harsh as before. As close as you’ll get to an apology until he’s done.

“This is your fault - you got ‘em all riled. Now, we gotta make you smell like me so take your punishment like a good bunny 'fore I decide ta eat you instead.”

And you do, letting him rut into you until he’s satisfied, aching and so swollen by the end of it that he has to bully his way in with every thrust, your pussy clamping down and milking him for all he’s worth.

When he finally does pump you full, you’re dumb and dripping. Limp limbed and sagging into the ground - only held up by the cage of his arms. Thighs shaking and clit pulsing in time with your heartbeat as he wrings every last bit of pleasure out of you.

“Sometimes,” he says, sitting back on his heels to watch as his cum oozes out of you in a sticky rush, dripping down your folds, “I think dumb bunnies like you are only good fer one thing.”

You whine when his thumb whispers over your clit, caressing your folds as he gathers up his spend. Gently fucks it back into you with shallow thrusts of his fingers. 

“But that’s all right, I like ‘em a lil dumb.”

[simpforrooster]

nothing but a gentleman.

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x F!Reader

summary: jake is obsessed with you. you eat it up. you’re obsessed with his obsession. but also with him.

t/w: soft!jake, some cursing

"Get out of here, Bagman. You're giving me a headache."

The blonde aviator grabs at his chest. "God, I love it when you're mean to me." Those green eyes sparkle with mischief under the lights of the Hard Deck.

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin has been pining after you for months.

& you have been loving every second of it. Miramar's resident playboy has only had eyes for you. You haven't seen him spare a glance at any of the other ladies in the bar.

Believe me, they've been looking at him.

"Y/n, how long are you going to keep my boy at arm's length?" Coyote asks from the other side of the pool table. Jake saddles up next to him and feeds you the saddest pout he can muster.

"Yeah, y/n, how long?" Jake asks.

Your intention wasn't to drag this hard-to-get play out for so long. Truthfully, it's becoming hard not to give in to those strong arms. To not lean in when he invades your personal space, feeding you a smart ass comment.

Your shoulder comes up to your ear and falls back down. "Hard to say, Bagman."

"Let's play for it," he tells you. Jake saunters over to you, and leans against the pool table. Crossing his arms over his fit chest, he situates his mouth just outside your ear. "If I win, you've gotta give me a kiss, darlin'."

The way his hot breath falls across your ear causes goosebumps to appear down your arms. Jake notices, and a blonde brow raises.

"What are you? Twelve?" you antagonize.

"Oh, honey. I'm willing to try anything at this point."

"Rack 'em. Honey." You lightly shove him back, your hands reacting to the small second they were on his chest.

"If I win, you give it up," you send the man a sad look.

"Give what up?" he asks.

"All this pining'." Your hand gestures wildly around in the air.

For a moment, despair crosses over that handsome face. He recovers quickly. "Oh, I'm not worried."

Jake lets you break. Two stripes fall into the pocket. Jake comes up behind you before your next shot. His hand slides across your waist and he pulls you into his side.

Right as you pull back, Jake leans down. "Don't scratch."

The cueball follows your striped ball into the pocket.

"Damn," he murmurs. It takes a full 45 seconds to get your heart rate under control.

The jig is up once Jake get in control of the pool table. Not only is he the dagger squad's best dart player, he's got the best pool table on lock, too. There is no way he's going to take it easy on you.

Naturally, he doesn't.

"One more and Hangman gets a kiss," he smirks. He doesn't take his eyes off your as he pulls back and send the cue ball sailing.

The eight ball falls into it's intended pocket effortlessly. Followed right by the cue ball.

Shock falls across all your faces. Jake has never lost a game of pool. Ever.

Jake sets the cue stick down, and rounds the table. Standing toe-to-toe with you, he feeds you a delicious smirk.

"Darlin', I ain't gonna make you kiss me if you don't want to. Furthermore, I only want your kiss if its of your own volition." He tucks a strand of stray hair behind your ear.

Your eyes lock with his and the world stops. What a fucking gentleman.

Fisting the front of his shirt, you yank him down to your mouth. Jake relaxes into the kiss immediately and allows his hands to slide around your waist.

Jake takes control, changing the direction and deepening the kiss. Your hands move from his shirt to the nap of his neck, fingers knotting in his hair. His hair that’s gotten just a bit long.

Jake pulls back just a hair, his lips a breath away from yours. “Damn,” he mumbles, again.

“My own volition, huh?”

“I’m nothing if not a gentleman,” he winks. “A gentleman who is dying to kiss you again.”

You guide his lips back to yours.

“Kiss me, Hangman.”

master list.

a/n: been a little while since i wrote for ole jakey. i hope y'all like it!

[ohbother2]

hi i’m helluvapoison!! (also a side blog, so APPARENTLY i can’t send asks with it? rude, tumblr) anyways i wanted to say you’re amazing, phenominal, show stopping. i love your writing so. much.

i humbly request a nsfw lucifer/ reader (however you feel like formatting it) where he tries to cancel date night because reader looks too good, he’s gotta have em then and there. reader takes this and runs, spends the evening riling him up and maybe making him beg for it, if you could? i love sub luci but wanna give you creative freedome as much as possible

ok ok i hope you have a fantastic day buh bye and keep being amazing!

You're making me blush srsly

Also I absolutely loved this idea and couldn't help but immediately start planning a fic around it - I absolutely love how your mind works

This is kinda long, and is part 1 of 2 (sorry), but I personally much prefer the build up and think it needs enough time to really get going (wink wink) to make the pay off worth it

*ahem* not quite smut? It's toeing the line tbh - Minors DNI

Lucifer x f!reader - He Wants to Cancel Date Night

---

It wasn't a particularly significant day that Lucifer had chosen to designate your upcoming date, he had simply picked a random free day in his calendar, asked you if you were free, and then giddily instructed you to doll yourself up nice and be ready for 7pm to go out for dinner. He hadn't told you where you would be heading, but when Lucifer did decide to take you somewhere purposeful for a date, and not just take you for a leisurely stroll and a candle-lit picnic, he always went full-out, so you knew to dress to impress.

It had been a while since your last date night, the two of you often prioritising your time together and trying to organise something at least every two weeks. Due to both of your busy-ness with reconstructing Charlie's new hotel project after the last extermination, and the exhaustion that settled into your bones and muscles after a long day of construction, it had been a month since your last 'official' date.

Yourself and Lucifer had been dating for several years by now, but the early-stage giddiness remained, and you still loved impressing him when you dolled yourself up, and you honestly lived for his reactions when you wore something particularly nice. It had been a while since you had both indulged yourselves as a couple, and tonight, you wholly planned on blowing him away with what you decided to wear, and hopefully a lot more.

You had missed him a lot. Unbeknownst to you, he had missed you much more, and he himself had spent an embarrassing amount of time getting ready for tonight.

You currently sat at your vanity table, makeup and hair products strewn about its entire surface as you fixed up the finishing touches of your makeup in the large illuminated mirror attached to the desk. Your hair had been styled in an elegant updo, with curled strands of hair framing your face and caressing your rosy cheeks, not a strand out of place after the many hours you had spent perfecting the look. Your whole outfit had been coordinated purposefully, with the intention of wearing a ruby and gold jewellery set Lucifer had gifted you on your first anniversary, a favourite of yours, and a set which never failed to grab his attention. The elegant ruby pendant sat snug against your chest nestled amongst a gold chain, with a pair of ruby and gold earrings dangling from your ears to match. You adorned an equally vibrant ruby dress which cinched tightly at your waist and hugged your bust enticingly, clinging to your hips tightly and its hem digging lightly into your upper thigh. You pucker your rouge lips in the mirror, ensuring an even application as your bright eyes focussed intently, framed with smoky eyeliner and shimmering gold.

You stare at yourself contemplatively, scrutinising your appearance and tugging at a strap of your dress. You had no reason to be nervous, you were already dating the King of Hell, and he took every opportunity to show his devotion to you, but butterflies still swarmed in your stomach as you readied for the date, desperately wanting to impress him. In your eyes, Lucifer was a devastatingly handsome man, with the beauty of an angel despite his fallen status, able to sweep you off your feet with a disarming smile and his silky-smooth voice. He was an amazingly attentive and caring partner, and you could never ask for someone as understanding or perceptive, and god he really did still have the same effect on you, the butterflies only swarming more in your stomach as you thought about the blond man.

Speak of the devil: you jump lightly when you hear a gentle knock at your front door, and you give yourself one final glance in the mirror, a hand carding through a lock of loose hair before you respond.

"One second, Luci!" You call, prepared for him arriving a few minutes early, as he always did, standing from your seat and grabbing a small clutch-purse and a pair of gold heels from beside your bed as you hurry out into the hallway.

You place the items in your hands thoughtlessly on the staircase in the hallway, pausing before the door to straighten your dress, tugging the hem further down your thigh minimally and taking a deep breath before your hand lands on the doorknob. You swing the door open with a little too much enthusiasm, but the staggering smile that greets you has your worries subsiding as Lucifer beams at you, both of his hands rested atop his cane as he waits expectantly.

He had dressed himself incredibly well, a white suit with a burgundy shirt and pin-stripe burgundy waistcoat cinching at his unfairly trim waist, accentuating his broad shoulders and lean physique. He had abandoned his hat for the evening, and you feel your breath leave you at the way he had styled his blond locks away from his face, not a strand out of place and curling around his ears as he smiles oh-so-innocently, the apples of his cheeks rosy and pronounced with the way his grin stretched across his face.

Within his own mind, Lucifer was having an internal battle as his thoughts devolved to a jumbled and rather sinful mess at the sight that greeted him, your bright smile and rouge lips having his heart stammering in his chest as his fists enclose around his cane. You looked positively other-worldly, and the many compliments and greetings he had at the tip of his tongue die in his throat as his gaze flits up and down your body, not all that subtly. The dress left little to the imagination, and his gaze follows the long curve of your legs hotly, the shimmering stockings you wore seemingly accentuating your height. His gaze finally lands on the pendant nestled between your breasts, and a primal heat gathers in the hollow of his stomach when he immediately recognises it as the one he had bought you all those years ago. God, he loved when you wore his gifts, and he's even more ecstatic to see the matching earrings as his red gaze finally returns back to your face, a vision of beauty greeting him, looking far too happy to be in his presence as you smile lovingly.

"Angel, you look positively stunning." He immediately compliments you, bending at the waist and taking a hold of one of your hands in his gentle grasp, pressing a long, purposeful kiss against your knuckles, refusing to breaking eye-contact the entire time. You smile down at him, closing the door behind him as you comment.

"I love your new suit, it's unfair how handsome you are." He practically preens at the compliment, grinning at you as he leans against his cane, trying to make himself look as big and enticing as possible.

"I just need to grab some last minute things, if you wait in the living room I won't be long."

Ah yes, the date, he had nearly forgotten about that. You really did reduce him to a useless, thoughtless, mess. He hums as you walk past, eyes shamefully travelling down your torso as you walk away, not leaving your figure as you bend down to grab your heels and clutch from the staircase. Your dress really did leave little to the imagination, not that he had to imagine. He pulls his gaze away before you turn back around towards him, and he purposefully strides into your living room, pretending that he definitely was not just checking you out shamelessly, and that his throat definitely wasn't growing tighter and dryer with every second.

It had been so long since you both had been able to spend some much needed quality time together, usually spending your days around the habitants of the hotel as you worked, and then just returning home and collapsing into respective heaps after the many hours of labouring away to make Charlie's dream come true. He really was looking forward to this date, and he had been beyond ecstatic to be able to spend so many hours with you, and only you, after so long, but now that the time had finally arrived, he truthfully didn't want to leave these four walls.

Truthfully? He wanted to absolutely ruin the makeup and hairdo you had doubtlessly spent hours on, and he wanted to be out of his brand new suit as quickly as his hands would allow. He tries not to stare too openly when you enter the room, breathing in deeply at the strong smell of your newly sprayed perfume, watching with slitted eyes as you fuss around in a drawer, looking for something he didn't think you needed. He already knew it as soon as you had opened the door and knocked him back on his ass with that dazzling smile; he did not want to go on this date, he wanted you, and hopefully, you felt the same.

"I've missed you so much sweetheart." He practically purrs as he steps behind you, cane left leant against the back of the sofa as his hands land on either of your hips, chest pressed against your spine as he watches your reflection in the mirror hung above the side table. Your gaze flits up to meet his in the mirror, but your hands remain searching as you smile gently at him. You can see the way his eyes are heavy-lidded, his lilac-hued eyelids more visible than before as he stares into your own bright eyes intensely, and you immediately know where his mind had headed.

"I've missed you too, I'm so glad we've finally got a night to ourselves." You mutter, enjoying his warmth pressed along your back, tucking the little comb you had been searching for into your clutch. "You're not being subtle, I know that look."

"What look?" He questions coyly, and you can see his mischievous grin over your shoulder as he props his chin against you. "I'm simply in awe of your beauty." He presses a kiss against the column of your throat, and your head tilts to allow him to press another open-mouthed kiss just beneath your ear. "And can you blame me?"

"Luci," You warn, turning in his grasp. His hands follow your movements, now resting against the small of your back as he grins at you, practically nose to nose. "we have a table booked."

"I'll re-book for another night, it's me, they'll fit us in whenever." He comments, prideful as ever. One of his hands comes up between your bodies to play with the ruby pendant nestled between your breasts, a finger running along the jewel and using the chain to pull you minimally closer.

"I've spent hours getting ready." You practically whisper, you can feel his breath fan across your neck as he studied the pendant.

"And you look absolutely ravishing," He purrs, eyes matching yours once again. "so this is all your fault really." He leans in for a proper kiss, but you turn your head so that his lips land against your cheek.

"You'll get my lipstick all over you for the dinner." You were finding it increasingly hard to tell him no, especially with the way his gaze heated across your face, sultry eyes enticing you invitingly.

"I don't mind." He hums, and you feel his grip tighten against your waist. "In fact, I think I'd love to be covered in your lipstick."

"What happened to the gentleman who was at my front door not only five minutes ago?"

"I am a gentleman!" He defends, smile quickly delving into something devilishly cheeky as he comments. "I'd return the favour, put your lipstick on me, darling, and there won't be an inch of you left uncovered."

You laugh to dispel the tension in your chest at the image, and how sinfully enticing that notion was. At the same time, Lucifer begins to laugh, commenting how 'gentlemanly' that action would be.

"You, are terrible." You push him away gently, and he follows your hands with a childish frown he doesn't even bother to conceal.

"If I ask nicely enough can we stay?" He leans back against the back of the sofa, puffing out his chest in the way he knew you loved. "I'm not a Saint, I don't think I can make it through a meal with you looking like this."

"Like what?" You ask deftly, enjoying toying with him as you begin fastening your heels.

"Like I could just eat you up." You immediately know what he's insinuating, and the point is only proven more with the way he cups his chin with his hand as he watches you, fingers placed purposefully either side of his lips. Anyone else wouldn't pick up on the concealed gesture, but you know him better, and you narrow your eyes at how hard he was chipping away at your resolve.

You had half a mind to just say yes, hike your dress up and have some fun right in the middle of your living room. But no, you had been looking forward to this meal for weeks, and you rather enjoyed the idea of toying with him throughout the meal - really, if he didn't want you to tease him all afternoon, he shouldn't have come across so desperate so quickly. You'd get your revenge for all this teasing, you definitely would, and it made it even better that you knew the thought wouldn't even be crossing his mind yet.

He grins to himself as he watches you closely, an idea forming in his head. "Let me help with your heels, at least."

"No." You comment quickly, beginning to tie the second golden heel.

"Wha- why?" He questions, sounding offended.

"Because I know you, and before I know it you'll be under my dress and we won't make it to our dinner."

"I can indulge in a little starter, I bet you're much more delicious-"

"Luci, you are-" Your words cut off at the shit-eating grin he adorned, clearly enjoying riling you up. "making this incredibly difficult."

"Is it working?" He all but sings, wiggling his brows as you step towards him, now a little taller than him with your heels fastened. He was having far too much fun at your expense, and you couldn't allow that. He looks up at you with a ridiculously fond smile, which only grows when your hands smooth the lapels of his blazer.

"Maybe." You hum, and you avoid his lips once again by pressing a single long kiss underneath the crook of his jaw, your left hand cradling the back of his neck to keep him in place. He sighs out a moan, relaxing back into the sofa and hands clenching against the fabric behind him, believing that his persuasions had finally won you over.

"Really?" He asks as you pull away from his throat, still tantalisingly close. Your eyes don't linger too long, but the bright red lipstick stain has you fighting away a grin at the achievement. And to think, he was none the wiser. He sounded so hopeful, and you nearly back out of your plan. But no, you were looking forward to this meal, and you were looking forward to making him suffer for the next few hours even more.

"No, now come on, we're late."

"What?" His voice immediately loses all of its confidence, a shattered whisper as he watched you with despondent eyes. You could see the way he deflated as you pull further away from him, beginning to head towards the door. His hands were still gripping the back of your sofa, but this time to keep him propped up at the devastating news. "Darling, that's evil. We can't leave now!"

"Patience, baby." You reprimand, and he pouts playfully to hide the disappointment in his chest. "Good things come to those who wait."

"Good things could be happening right now." He tries to reason, voice low as he tries to encourage you to change your mind. He was still propped against the sofa, and you hesitated at the doorway to the hallway, looking back at him with a torn look. You had made up your mind, however, and he wouldn't win so easily.

"Are you coming? Or am I attending our date alone?"

"Fine." He groans, picking up his cane and twirling it in his hands to try and distract himself as he follows after you, pausing in front of the mirror to check his appearance. He had spent a long time on himself, after all, and next to you he needed to look every bit the charming devil. He doesn't really intend to pay too much attention to himself, but the pronounced cherry-red lipstick stain pressed under the crook of his jaw in the unmistakeable form of your lips has him nearly snapping his cane in half as soon as he spots it.

"Sweetheart!" He calls immediately, voice an octave higher than it had been a moment before. You grin to yourself as you shrug on your sheer shawl, knowing he had seen your little gift. His head pokes around the doorway, and you can see how his eyes have widened to the size of saucer-plates as he hurries towards you, knuckles of his left hand white against his cane as he reaches for you. "You can't do that and then drag me to dinner." A hand reaches for you, but you're already opening the door with a laugh. "We're staying."

His hand misses you as you step outside, and he pauses at the front entrance, glowering down at you with a tight jaw and furrowed brows. He tries one final pathetic attempt. "I feel ill."

"You're a bad liar." You laugh, holding a hand out, waiting to take his arm expectantly, and you can see how he works his jaw as he realises he really had to go to this meal. "We've got all night to ourselves, you'll survive for a few more hours."

"I don't think I will with such a pretty thing on my arm." He mutters more to himself, but you still feel heat creeping to your cheeks at the compliment. Your resolve wins over, however, and Lucifer locks your door and pockets the key before offering out his arm, beginning to lead you towards an awaiting taxi. Oh, tonight would be fun, and the best part was, Lucifer had no idea how much fun you were about to have.

---

The drive to the restaurant had gone smoothly, and Lucifer had guided you to an incredibly elegant restaurant, far outside what you would attend by yourself, nestled deep within the centre of the Pride Ring where those with wealth and status liked to play and mingle. Lucifer had practically glowed with pride when you had openly gasped in the restaurant's foyer, and had kept his hand on the small of your back the entire journey to your table; a booth directly next to the inside balcony that looked over the lower two floors of the restaurant, with a great crystal chandelier hanging parallel.

Now, you both sat at opposite sides of the table with a menu each, a bottle of some expensive-sounding wine placed in the centre of the table and your glasses filled. Lucifer was happily chatting away, meanwhile you had been storming your mind to begin enacting your revenge.

"-I don't know why he's so stubborn about it! He's literally the embodiment of lust, how embarrassing can confessing feelings be after, after doing that." Lucifer pulls a face as he sets down his menu, wafting his hands about as he continues. "It's ridiculous! And after the way he treated me when I was panicking about asking to court you! That man is the biggest hypocrite in all of Hell, and I should know."

"He's probably just embarrassed, Luci." You hum, still looking over your own menu. "Sure he's the embodiment of lust, but being sexually attracted and emotionally involved are two completely different things."

"They've been sleeping together for years by now, surely someone must have let something slip during all those times. He's told me about everything they've done, despite me not even wanting to know, and they've done some, some absolutely-" He hesitates, searching for the correct word. "'questionable' things. I mean, you can't do all that and remain," A pause. "indifferent."

"Physical attraction is a lot more removed, I think." You comment, resting your menu against the table and looking over at him. "It's a lot easier to just be interested rather than involved, you're putting your heart on the line not just your pride. Like, as an example, we slept together way before we ever said 'I love you'."

"But I-" The blond's face pinches slightly, as if remembering something embarrassing. "I knew I loved you before we even got together, so that doesn't count."

"You didn't tell me though, that's the difference." You smile softly at him, heart swelling at the little confession. His sweetness really was making you rethink your plan for the evening, but then you remembered the way he had prepositioned you to skip starters altogether in the taxi in favour of something else, and your sympathy quickly dies. "If Ozzy actually says the words, Fizz could say no-"

"He won't, that man's even more obsessed than Ozzy." Lucifer slumps a little in his chair, looking at you hopelessly, as if you had all the answers to his dear friends' worries. "I don't know how much more of his pining I can take, I might have to confess for him at this rate."

Throughout the entire conversation, you had been slowly shimmying yourself lower in the booth you sat on, which was incredibly hard with the way the skirt of your dress tugged against the soft velvet fabric beneath you, trying not to accidentally flash yourself as you worked. Now that you were low enough down, but still looked as if you were sitting upright, you slowly reach your right leg out, uncrossing your legs to give yourself some extra reach. You nod along to Lucifer's lamenting, smiling distractedly as you search for his legs underneath the table with your own.

Finally, the tip of your heel brushes against a soft fabric, and your smile brightens for seemingly no reason as your foot hovers near Lucifer's ankle, tapping against it gently, once, twice. If he notices he doesn't indicate it, carrying on with his complaining, now having moved onto Fizz and away from Asmodeus. Your foot rests gently against his calf, pressing minimally into the light white fabric as you respond to him.

"And how long did it take you to confess to me, hm?" Your head tilts as you smily cheekily, and Lucifer pouts when he realises exactly what you were about to say. "If it's longer than whatever they've got going on, I think you deserve to be his confidante. I'm sure you put him through it yourself."

"I-" He sighs, unhappy with the reality. "But it's- it's so painful watching them! I think it pains me more because it's Asmodeus. If anyone in hell has the courage to do something like that, it's him."

Your foot inches higher, slowly, and you're now midway up his calf. He's still too enraptured in his own friends love life to realise.

"He's the embodiment of lust, not love. This is as far out of his comfort zone as anyone else."

Your foot continues to inch higher, and as Lucifer thinks with a slightly downturned lip, you heel presses inward towards his knee.

"I'd argue they go hand in hand! I don't see how-" He suddenly stops talking, eyes honing in on you and lip falling into a firm line. "What are you doing?" You continue to smile mindlessly, watching as he stares at you contemplatively, hands fiddling with his menu as he becomes startlingly aware of exactly how high your foot had managed to inch.

"Whatever do you mean?" You tilt your head innocently, foot inching upward again and resting on the inside of his calf, just below his knee. "Has the wine gotten to you already?"

You jest with a jovial smile, but Lucifer is staring at you as if he had just managed to crack the Rosetta Stone, skin paling under the warm glow of the candlelight, and mouth falling open slightly. Realisation of what this night would be hits him like a tidal wave, and he stares hopelessly as he finally understands your eagerness to come to the meal. His eyes were large and lightly panicked, and that panic only increases when your foot shifts higher, pressing into the side of his knee playfully.

"Y/N, sweetie, you can't be serious-" He sounded like a man who had just figured out he had been sentenced to deaths row, and he certainly looked as if he had just received the news. ''you- you told me later."

"I'm not doing anything!" You grin devilishly with your chin rested atop your interwoven hands, and in that moment Lucifer knew he was in for a world of trouble. He stares at you tensely, silently pleading with you to let him enjoy the meal in somewhat peace. It was hard enough looking at you, nevermind with your foot inching higher and higher and beginning to press pleasantly against the lowest part of his inner thigh. "So, do you think Fizz will confess first?"

"I think coming to this restaurant was a mistake."

"I'm really enjoying my time." You chirp around a laugh, grinning as he shifts in his seat, your foot beginning to rub against his inner thigh slowly, up and down, each caress inching higher and higher. "Relax. I'm sure you'll enjoy yourself once the food arrives."

"I think I should've locked the door behind me when I arrived and kept you in the living room." He laments to himself, and you have to hide the way the comment has heat rushing up your neck. No, you were playing with him tonight, not the other way around. To prove a point, your foot presses harsher into his thigh, and you watch as he glances at his lap before settling his sight back on you.

"It really is a beautiful restaurant, and you booked a wonderful table, so secluded. Very romantic."

"I think you're enjoying this too much."

"Oh, I am."

The smile you send him has him nearly standing from the table, grabbing your hand and dragging you from the restaurant and into the nearest alleyway. It was a look that promised so much more than he had planned for this meal, and the fact that it was aimed at him had him sweating under his collar and regretting his teasing earlier in the night. He really was at your mercy, and he knew that you were aware of that, and that you had no intention of making this meal easy on him. He glowers at you from across the table, more upset with himself than you: he should've begged harder at your doorstep.

The waitress takes that moment to return with a smile and a writing pad, asking about starters and entrees and how you both were finding the wine. Lucifer goes to open his mouth to cancel the afternoon but you are two steps ahead, as always, ordering your meals with a sickeningly sweet smile and then redirecting your attention back to him, who now has to order food he doesn't even want for the sake of saving his image.

"-and I was wondering about the bourguignon, is it possible-" He nearly smashes his knee against the top of the table when you press the toe of your heel to the highest point of his inner thigh, grazing dangerously against his bulge and tugging his trouser material taut. He splutters for a moment, making a show of clearing his throat to hide his absolute shock, and clears his throat as he attempts to smile at the concerned waitress. "Ah, sorry, I'm a little under the weather but we've had this meal planned- anyway, could I please have that w-without-" His voice audibly warbles when you rock your foot slightly, pressing directly into the side of his bulge and continuing to watch the interaction with a grin. He has to clear his throat again. "without mushrooms please."

You continue to toe against his bulge as the waitress recites your orders back to you both, his hands clenching against the edge of the table as he attempts to nod along to whatever the waitress was saying. His hips attempt to shift away from your agonising touch, but you only stretch your leg further, pressing harsher and continuing to rock at that agonisingly slow pace.

"Excellent, thank you." He maintains his unsteady smile until the waitress is long gone, and then he's staring at you and breathing a little harshly as your foot continues to rub against him.

"Darling-"

"You look stressed, baby. Is something wrong?"

"Is this why you wanted to come to this meal? Just to toy with me?" He sounded like a woman scandalised, and something in his jaw twitches when you drag your foot back to the curve of his knee, before caressing as far in as you could reach.

"Depends, is it working?" You parrot back at him from earlier, and he takes a deep breath as he realises this was entirely his own fault.

"Of course it is."

"I thought you wanted to indulge yourself before our starters? Relax, indulge yourself."

"This-" His voice cracks again when you completely leave his thigh and toe directly against the centre of his problem, rocking up and down instead of side to side. His shoulders tense as his legs instinctively part at the contact, knees spreading slightly despite the agonised look he adorned. "isn't what I had in mind."

"Huh, this is exactly what I had in mind."

"Think about this," His breathing had become slightly harsher, and his hips twitched when your heel tugged the material of his trousers a little too tight, a dull pleasure slowly spreading that he was desperately trying to ignore. You laugh loudly at the desperate way he had already begun to plead, and to think, your starters hadn't even arrived yet. His voice drops as he whispers at you. "you want me walking out of here with ruined trousers? Because keep this up and keep looking at me that way and that's what's going to happen."

"I've barely done anything Luci." You shake your head feigning disappointment, foot stopping its ministrations and just resting right against his centre. "But don't worry, it wouldn't be much of a punishment if I did."

"Punishment?" He whispers bewildered, leaning forward in his seat and across the table to emphasise his disbelief.

"You're too pretty to throw yourself at me before our meal and expect me to just get over it." You tut, grin widening as he continues to gawp. The rosy hue of the apple of his cheeks had darkened considerably after the compliment. Oh, this was too easy. "If I have to spend the rest of this night in," You pause, leaning forward and dropping your voice to whisper seductively. "ruined underwear," A pathetic little sound catches in his throat, and you grin wickedly as his hips twitch against you. "I think it's only fair I have some fun."

"We could've stayed, I could've taken care of you." He really did have the sweetest way of wording things. In reality, he was envisioning you pinned beneath him on the sofa as his tongue and fingers set to work, and he was growing increasingly infuriated that he wasn't doing just that right now.

"You've not even let me kiss you yet." He begins, a hand reaching out to caress yours across the table, and you tilt your head playfully when you feel his breath fan across your face. "Isn't that punishment enough?"

"And you won't if you don't start behaving." The way your voice had taken on an authoritative tone has heat climbing up the nape of his neck, and his fist clenches tighter against the fabric draped across the table. "How can you expect me to behave when there's such a handsome man pleading with me? You're the gentleman, you should woo me until a much more acceptable time in the evening. This is a date, after all, where's the gentleman who asked me to come here?"

"You killed him when he saw you wearing that sinful outfit."

"Pity, because he won't see what's underneath until he returns." Lucifer can feel himself twitch within his trousers and it takes a great degree of self control to stop a whine from leaving his dry throat. You really had no idea just how you were effecting him, and he tugs at the collar of his shirt to try and get some air to the nape of his neck, he was surely going to combust soon.

You couldn't leave it there, and your fingers caress his own outstretched hand as you release the killing blow. "Understand?"

"God," He groans around a shuddering breath, pupils dilating as he shifts back in his seat. His trousers were growing increasingly uncomfortable, and the heavy weight of your foot against him made him startlingly aware of how little control he actually had. "yes."

"Good." You grin, completely unfazed by the entire conversation. Lucifer, however, had taken on a rather sickly complexion, with his cheeks and neck startlingly red against his pale pallor. You immediately steer the conversation in another direction when you notice the waitress heading towards your table with your starters, and the blond's despondent look as you begin chattering about something else has your ego inflating and satisfaction brewing in your chest. You were right, this was going to be a fun night.

---

You had let up with your teasing throughout the starters and the wait for the entrees, and Lucifer had returned to a far healthier appearance than before. He hadn't fully recovered, however, with his own imagination running off and assaulting his mind with downright sinful images as he tried to focus on his food and converse with you. Currently, he was rather lost in a fantasy of ducking under the table, pushing your underwear to the side, and actually eating something he craved, and not relenting until you had finished every scrap of food on your plate. He had had to shrug off his blazer, which now lay neatly folded next to him, and his burgundy shirt sleeves had rolled up to expose his forearms and try and get some cool air to his heated skin.

Yes, you had relented with your teasing, but you had given his mind all that he needed to have him thoroughly wrecked for the rest of the evening. He was doing a poor job of controlling his thoughts, and truthfully he didn't want to.

"Mmm." You hum, bringing the first forkful of your meal to your lips and humming as the flavour reached your tongue. "This is amazing, I don't think I've ever tasted anything better."

He watches with heavy eyes as you bring another forkful to your mouth, and his chest raises when you make direct eye contact with him as you moan again, a quiet little sound that no one else in the bustling restaurant would hear, but that he could pick up on like a gunshot through a forrest. He watches as you do the same again, and his forked tongue comes out to lick across his lips as he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, gnawing on it as he thinks about the sounds he could entice from you if you just let him. This time, you hum slightly louder, making a show of playfully rolling your eyes into the back of your head as you close them, savouring the flavour on your tongue. Lucifer has to spread his legs under the table to make room for the half-hard bulge he'd been fostering that was now beginning to grow again. He loved you, but you were a cruel woman.

"Not hungry, Luci?" Your question was innocent enough, but all he could envision was throwing the plates to the side and dragging you on top of the table to have his way with you. Reputation be damned, he would do so if you gave him the nod.

"Positively starving." His voice was uncharacteristically low, not even sparing his food a glance. He hadn't even picked up his cutlery yet.

"Your meal looks great, I'm kind of jealous. If we ever come again I think I'd order that."

He wasn't paying attention to a thing you said, instead watching as your hands wrapped unusually around the top of your wine glass - a fancy looking tall slender intricately designed glass that emphasised the restaurant's heightened status - taking a negligent sip, and then placing it back down onto the table. You didn't place it down normally, however, and you watch Lucifer closely as your hand remains clenched around the glass, stroking all the way down to its base before tapping a polished nail against it. You can see the way his adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly, and you twist your wrist and hand around its base before letting it go.

"Everything okay, baby? If there's something wrong we can send it back."

"You," He takes a deep breath to compose himself, his nails digging into his palms as your foot resumes its gentle caresses against his inner thigh in some semblance of a comforting notion. "are something else, sweetheart."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"And I think you're going to kill me before I can ever ask for the bill."

"I'd hope not, I've been looking forward to dessert all day." You purr, foot once again resting in between his legs. His eyes nearly roll at the contact, and his fists clench tightly around the cutlery he had just picked up as his mind absolutely runs with the possibilities after your meal. "Something sweet, I think. Apple crumble, maybe?" His gaze snaps from the piece of meat he had just skewered with his fork to your dark gaze, the gold framing your eyes glinting enticingly and churning his stomach. "I think I'd rather just have the apple, really."

His hips involuntarily jolt towards the pressure of your heel against him, and the food he had brought halfway to his mouth is thoroughly forgotten as you grin at him from across the table, taking another sip of your wine.

"I-" He stammers, scrambling for the suave flirtatious version of the King of Hell as he tries to muster a response. "that can definitely be arranged, darling."

You smile as he finally begins eating his meal, seemingly intent on finishing it as quickly as possible, but that upturn of your rouge lips turns dangerous when you decide he was rushing this meal far too fast. This was an expensive restaurant with some of the finest foods in hell: he should savour it.

"Ah!" You yelp in surprise, your knife 'falling' from the table and clattering against the floor. "Sorry- you distracted me." You lie not that convincingly, but Lucifer is too distracted in his own mind and too prideful that his stumbling attempt at flirtation has you so flustered to question your behaviour.

You smile at him innocently as you lean down, commenting loudly about how you couldn't see the knife as you lower yourself completely from your seat onto your knees and under the table. You wait a moment, spotting the knife immediately and crawling over it as you reach for Lucifer's legs, your cheeks hurting with the size of the grin that stretched across your face. Both of your hands come to rest on both of his ankles, gripping them firmly as he jolts, pinning them apart as you hear his cutlery clatter from above you.

The darkness under the table is suddenly illuminated as he tugs the table cloth up, a pair of wide bright yellow eyes immediately gazing down at you as your fingers slowly travel up his shins.

"Darling, what are you doing?" He all but hisses, but his voice is high pitched and airy and resembles more of a desperate whine than a genuine question.

"Shh." Your hands rest on either or his knees, and you push them further apart as he gapes down at you. "Continue eating, I won't be long."

"No, no." He stammers, but his legs fall open easily. You can see his eyes jerk back up to survey the little entrance to your secluded booth, terrified of being caught. "Please, don't. I can't do this."

"Yes, you can." You encourage, hands resting heavily on his inner thighs, feeling the heat of his legs from beneath the thin material. "All you have to do is sit pretty and be quiet. I've got the rest."

"I can't." And as if to prove his own point, a choked wet sound catches in his throat when you prop your cheek against his knee.

"You're right," You contemplate, and he breathes a sigh of relief that quickly withers in his throat when he sees that you have no intention of coming out from under the table. "you have to keep talking or someone might get suspicious. Tell me a story."

His mouth falls open in disbelief, but you tug the table cloth from his hands and push it up against his lap to fully hide what you were about to do. He stares doubtfully at the white tablecloth that hid you from view, fists clenching atop the table as he swiftly regrets ever trying to convince you to stay at your home.

"Sweetheart, please-"

"I'm not leaving until you tell me a story, so you better make it a quick one." He doesn't move for a moment, and neither do you, but your nails dig into his thighs when you hear him pick his cutlery back up with a tense sigh.

"I don't- God, I can't think with you-" He mutters quietly, voice hitching when your palms slide up, fingertips caressing his prominent bulge straining against the white cotton of his trousers. You press a kiss to his inner thigh, careful not to leave a lipstick stain behind, and you grin when he moans and spreads his legs, hips pushing closer to your searing touch.

"The hotel? I saw you arguing with Alastor earlier." You offer helpfully, a palm resting flat against the outline of his dick and fingers curling around him horrifyingly lightly. You twist your wrist slowly, featherlight touches caressing through the white fabric as your other hand snakes lower, cupping his balls and squeezing.

Another choking sound, and you can feel the way he sucks a deep breath into his lungs.

"Y-yes. He was being his usually horrid self-" You press a kiss against the tip of his bulge, and this time a whine heaves from his throat that he silences by biting into his fist, face twisting in pain as he breathes deeply. He pushes his hips towards you, and your hands grab either of his hips and pin him in place as your brows furrow disapprovingly.

"That's not very gentlemanly of you." You tut, and you know he hears you when a choked whimper reaches your ears. Above you, he shakes his head to clear his thoughts, blond locks beginning to unravel from their neatly combed style as he steadily loses his composure that he had been clutching to all evening. You rest heavily against his thighs and hips, hands clenched into his belt loops and preventing him from shifting as you gather saliva on your tongue.

"Uh- He was moaning about some- some furnishing-" His voice cracks when you lean forward, licking a defined line straight across his length. He can't feel the wetness, but he knows exactly what you did.

"Honey, please-" He had stopped trying to barter with you altogether, plainly begging in that small voice you loved, breath hitching around every word.

"You've not finished your story."

"Ngh-" He groans to himself, panting and staring at his half eaten plate. It is then he realised your plate was completely empty, you didn't even need the goddamn knife. His shoulders and neck are impossibly tense, and his jaw aches with the way he clenches his teeth to stop any more sounds from spilling past his lips as one of your hands leaves his belt to cup his balls once again. "I-I don't want to talk about him while you're doing that."

You giggle to yourself from under the table. He loved the sound, but it was the furthest thing from innocent he had ever heard. "And who else would you rather talk about?"

"I don't." He practically whines, trying to lower his voice back to some degree of normality. "I want you. Please can we leave."

"Oh, no no." You shake your head with a laugh. "You think you've been good enough? You've been nothing less than a mess all evening, not gentlemanly at all."

Suddenly, his hands are gripping your wrists and yanking you from his beltloops, and you're about to tell him off before you hear another woman's voice chattering above you. You sigh to yourself, collecting the knife and beginning to crawl back into your own seat.

You sit back up with a gentle smile, fluffing your hair as the waitress glances at you, a perplexed smile on her face. "Sorry, I dropped my knife. I'm so clumsy it's terrible, isn't that right dear?"

Your gaze finally lands on Lucifer, and your chest expands in pride at how disheveled he looked. The familiar flaming heat had once again licked up his neck and cheeks, both of which were a startling red as he sucked deep breaths into his lungs. His shirt had become slightly wrinkled from the way that he had gripped at his tie, and some of his blond locks had fallen from their neat style. He was still an utter vision of sophistication and charm, but the frays at the edges were beginning to simmer inwards.

"Oh, honey," You feign surprise, but Lucifer's jaw works when he sees the utter lack of sympathy in your eyes. "maybe you really weren't lying earlier, you don't look well."

"I'm fine." He all but grits out, voice having lost some of that chipper charm it usually carried, a muscle in his jaw tense. "I was just saying how lovely the food has been and how I think we're done."

"Ah, yes. It really has been amazing." You smile at the waitress, who had begun clearing the plates away and piling them into her arms. Your gaze shifts back to Lucifer, and his brows furrow lightly in confusion at the sickly sweet smile you sent his way. "We were actually hoping to try some of your desserts? I think we decided on the apple crumble and the cherry roulade, right dear?"

If he hadn't been such a composed man, Lucifer may have started crying then and there. He felt as though the world had been tugged from under him and that he was falling into a baseless abyss, and the little composure that he had been clawing to his chest nearly tore in two as he realised he couldn't say no without looking like an absolutely terrible date. He stares at you with disbelief for a moment, brows raising as he tries to muster the courage to agree with you.

"Uh, yes. If you wouldn't mind that'd be great." He hands the waitress a side-dish, eyes looking incredibly watery all of a sudden. "Thank you."

With a nod and a comment about the time you'd both have to wait for the dessert, the waitress takes her leave, leaving yourself and Lucifer in deathly silence.

Lucifer was staring at you as if you'd just torn his heart from his chest and stomped on it right in front of him, with large wet eyes watching your hopelessly as you continued to sip from your glass of wine, smiling over at him with your rouge lips. For a moment, it looked as though he had stopped breathing altogether, but then his tongue wets his lips and he opens his mouth, a small sad dejected voice coming out.

"When you were talking about dessert-"

"Yes, the apple crumble, I can't wait to try it!" You chirp happily, and it takes all of your restraint not to laugh openly at the way his eyes fall down to his lap despondently. "What happened to your hand?"

His lips purse as he flexes his right hand atop the table, the unmistakeable mark of teeth red and glinting in the candlelight. You can see two prominent fang marks across his knuckle and thumb as you lean across the table, tiny droplets of blood having crusted along their surface. How you wished you could've seen him do that, you cross your legs tightly at the images conjured in your head. Truth be told, your own teasing was getting to you as well. From the looks of it though, Lucifer was crumbling much faster.

His desperate gaze lands on you. You knew what had happened to his hand.

You laugh, a hand coming up to cover your mouth when he doesn't respond.

"I'm sorry." He leans forward as he talks, and your eyes alight with something indistinguishable as he tries to appeal to your better nature. "You have no idea how sorry I am for earlier. I'll do anything- please can we take our desserts home? Sweetheart, please."

Your head tilts, faux confusion flashing across your gaze. "I appreciate the apology Luci, but I don't know what you're apologising for. I'm just carrying on what you started."

"I can't sit here for another moment." His voice had taken on that whiny pitch you loved, and your tongue wets your lips as both of his hands grasp one of your across the table. "Please can we go home."

"Of course," You hum, and he perks up in his seat before you begin talking again. "as soon as we've finished. I've been looking forward to this dessert all month. You've made it this long, one more course won't hurt."

His throat tightens painfully as he continues to grip your hand in his own grasp. The aching in his trousers was becoming unbearable, and to have you deny him after toying with him so openly gave him a sort of whiplash that had him nearly shoving his own hand down his trousers to just give himself some sort of release. He had been wanting since the moment he first saw you that night, and he was so close and yet so far from actually having you.

"Look, dessert's here now. Won't be long."

You both pull away as the waitress approaches, settling the two desserts in the centre of the table.

You immediately tug the apple crumble towards you with a grin, and Lucifer watches with the little self-restraint he had crumpling into an ashen heap as you immediately spoon a hefty helping of apple into your mouth, humming as you swallow. He doesn't even try to hide his thoughts anymore, eyes watching the column of your throat as you swallow, hands weekly pulling his own dessert unhappily towards himself.

"This really is an amazing restaurant Luci." You comment, leaning across the table and watching as he begins his own dessert, your own spoon dancing from your fingertips. "I'm so glad you brought me. In fact, I think this is my favourite date we're ever been on."

He hums at you, eyes squinting playfully as you continue to tease him.

"And you look so good, I can't lie you nearly won me over before we left my house, but I'm so glad I convinced you to come out. I've loved every minute."

You were being downright cruel, and the compliments went straight to the flaming heat in his boxers as he shifts uncomfortably, trying to give himself that tiny bit of friction he desperately craved. He tries to remain composed, despite his flaming cheeks and the sweat that beaded along his back and chest, resting his head on his left hand, munching slowly on the chocolate and cherry dessert. It really was an amazing restaurant, but he hardly remembered any of the food he had eaten, his thoughts and senses completely enraptured by you the entire evening.

"I would love to try your dessert though, it looks like you've ordered the better thing every course." He glances from his plate to you, confused at what you were insinuating. The last time you had spoken about dessert, he had been sorely mistaken, and so he sits, too apprehensive to really do anything for fear or disappointing himself.

You place your spoon down, leaning across the table and pushing your chest out tantalisingly, pearly white teeth visible as you smirk, a hand reaching forward and fingers curling around his collar. His eyes flicker between your sultry gaze and your heaving chest, and yet he remains rigid in his seat, absolutely terrified of raising his hopes.

"Darling-?" He questions softly as you tug him closer, following your hands with ease as your breath fans across his lips.

"Just a small taste."

And then your lips are on his and he openly groans into your mouth as you finally give him what he wants. His hands leave the table ledge to cradle your jaw, pulling you in closer as his lilac-hued eyelids close, tilting your head to give him better access as his brows furrow. Your tongue darts across his lips, and he invites you in willingly, another moan catching in his throat as you hungrily lick into his mouth, his tongue battling with yours as one of your hands clenches into the hair at the nape of his neck. You pull away all too soon, and he collapses back into his seat a red, panting, mess, lips glossy, gazing at you with disbelieving amber eyes, utterly and completely smitten. He watches you pick your own spoon back up from its place on the table.

"The cherry's nice, but I do think I prefer the apple."

As soon as you finish the last spoonful, Lucifer is calling the waitress over and requesting the bill, practically vibrating in his seat as you watch him leisurely. This had been one of your favourite dates, and you didn't intend on letting this be the end of your fun.

---

Tag List - @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @cyberpr1m3 @just-trash-yeah-thats-it @froggybich

[absul]

LOL i knew karasu was still alive that bitch(said so affectionately)

[ghosts-cyphera]

as someone who knows a little bit about the film industry and what it's like to work on a set, i gotta ask if Simon has purposefully messed up just so he can keep fucking you for a little bit longer. and the fucker knows he's messing up and he's edging you so fucking hard that when you finally cum, it's glorious and gets tons of views to make up for it😉

oh has he? oh has—

yes.

absolutely fucking yes, hahaha. he doesn't do it too much—he doesn't want to inconvenience or seriously frustrate you—but he will totally edge you on purpose, just to hear that desperation in your voice and to see that playful annoyance in your eyes.

he finds you so fucking cute when you're annoyed at him.

pornstar!ghost would accidentally, of course, mess up his lines or crack out a stupid joke just to have you bursting into laugh in the middle of filming. needing to have his cock inside you for the reshoot is a very unfortunate consequence of his actions.

all of the failed scenes will, of course, be included in the behind the scenes material that your fans will lose their minds over because of the chemistry between the two of you: your laughs so warm and genuine, even as your director calls out the god-knows-how-manieth "cut" in the middle of the scene.

pornstar!ghost is a total pleasure dom, but every now and then—if the script allows—he does dip his toes into teasing the absolute shit out of you, because the way you come after being teased and edged for hours by him is just too fucking good to pass up.

in those instances, he is absolutely fueled by seeing you that cock drunk: your eyes begging and pleading for him to finally make you come. it's not enough, though—he needs to hear you beg for it.

"what do you need, darlin'? use 'em pretty words—"

"oh come on, sweetheart. you know that won't do. ask nicely, baby, I know you can. let me hear just how fuckin' desperate my pretty girl is for it, yeah?"

"go on and beg for me, baby. that's it, good girl—"

the prettier your moans and whines and cries for him are, the faster he will help you reach your orgasm: ready to catch you as soon as you come, helping you ride down your wave and pressing deep kisses onto your skin or hair as he praises you, the man downright glowing with the pride that he feels for you.

so uh, yes. the fucker will mess up on purpose just to get to be inside you for a little longer (and just to get to spend a little more time together on set because he's always having a goddamn blast with you, though he of course does not openly admit to it just yet), and he will occasionally edge the absolute shit out of you too, lmao.

-> more pornstar!ghost here <-

[ddejavvu]

MEI i have severe top gun maverick brain rot and all i can think about is reader being the admirals daughter and everyone assumes rooster or hangman is gonna go after her but it turns out she’s been hooking up with bob for AGES and they’re all like ??? how did you do that???? bob gets kinda flustered but readers just like idk he was really nice and he’s really good in bed

"Check it out," Phoenix elbows Bob where the man is engrossed in reading the back of the bar napkins Penny had handed them so that they didn't stain her tables again, "There's Mav's daughter. 'Think she's got that Hawaiian shirt on to seduce Rooster?"

Bob's eyes dart to where you're chatting with Penny, his shoulders stiffening as his friends turn to watch you.

"Nah, Rooster doesn't like orange. But those cowboy boots she's got on are probably for Hangman- didn't he say he'd teach her how to square dance?"

Penny reaches over the bar to tug affectionately at one of your braids and Bob tries to no avail to break the conversation.

"Actually, she's-"

"I'd say she was here to meet Fanboy, but she doesn't date losers," Phoenix's eyes are narrowed dangerously, and she hides a smirk against the rim of her bottle.

"Hey! Hangman's a bigger loser than I am!" He protests, but before the taller man can trap him in a headlock, Penny points towards the dagger squad where they're lounged in a corner of the bar, and your eyes shine as you rush over.

"Bob!" You shriek, throwing your arms around his neck and letting your legs bend when he hoists you off of the ground for a hearty hug. His muscles are well hidden beneath his regulation khakis, but he's built for much heavier loads than you, and he lets you hover a few inches off of the ground while he hugs you.

Your face is buried in his neck but you press a kiss against his cheek, catching the bewildered blinking of the rest of his squadron over his shoulder.

"Oh. I forgot you didn't know." You supply, your feet back on the ground as Bob keeps one arm slung loosely around your waist, "Sorry, we- uh, we've been hooking up for a while, it's just... I haven't seen him since you guys got shipped out."

"You've been hooking up with her?" Coyote stares down his nose at Bob who shifts subtly closer to you, nodding once, stiffly in the face of his teammate's scrutiny.

"Damn. And he was good enough in bed to keep you waiting 'til he got back?"

Bob flushes - you feel his skin warm where it's pressed against your own, and you fill the awkward silence.

"Oh, please. I'm sure you've seen it in the locker room; I'd wait a lifetime."

Bob scoffs over your shoulder, now even more flustered, but Phoenix is happy to save the situation.

"Does your dad know?" She tilts her chin towards you, remembering how viscerally uncomfortable their Captain had been whenever someone had suggested you get together with one of his aviators.

"Of course he knows," You laugh, "He's the one that set us up! 'Said Bob had to get his hands on me before Texas over there tried to Hold 'Em."

Bob wraps an arm protectively over your chest, leaning over your shoulder from behind to return a kiss against your own cheek.

Hangman whistles lowly, shaking his head with a dazed look, "Well, shit. I didn't know the offer to hold 'em was on the table, but-shit!"

Bob's face darkens but Rooster levels the toe of his boot with Hangman's lower thigh, striking him at the back of the knee and subsequently spilling beer over his khakis. Hangman grunts as his knees knock against the beer-sticky floor, but he seems to know he deserved what he'd gotten because he doesn't retaliate.

"We'll wrangle him." Rooster promises, "You two go have fun, Bob you gotta quarter for the jukebox?"

"Yes'sir," Bob nods, tugging you towards a lesser populated area- perfect for slow dancing even if the bar isn't, "Let's make up for lost time, honey."

[josibunn]

anyone up?

no?

kappa and grey sweats. :3

⋆୨୧⋆⋆˚✿˖° 𐙚 ₊ ⊹ ♡

“baby, you seen my wallet? swear I just had it,” he’s whipping past you in the kitchen frantically. “uhhh look in the living room? last place I seen it,” you keep your eyes on the stove as you listen to his movements. “ah,” you hear from him, “my smart girl, thank you. i’ll be back ok?” he says, making you face him.

you get a good look at him, black longsleeve over some grey sweatpants. man’s lingerie. “are going out like that..?” you mewl, feet pitter pattering behind him quietly, forgetting everything you were doing to follow him, watching him stop in his tracks and turn back around, “yeah? what’s wrong?”

you knew your boyfriend, you knew he didn’t understand that he couldn’t leave the house like that, he just wasn’t hip with girl word and girl rules. and you also knew he had an absolute cannon in his pants, watching it press against the fabric with each move—very clear he hadn’t anything under them like usual, definitely just threw them on.

he glanced down at himself, not seeing the problem and giving you a confused look and head shake, the expression in your face throwing him off, “what’s the problem, baby?” “wha-where are you even going??” you cross your arms. “theta wants to go to the range and just hang out in general, i’m comfortable.” he shrugs. you bite your lip, as you give him a final size up, head feeling foggy, eyes blinking rapidly.

he furrows his brows, he recognized that look, your eyes gone soft and wide, brows hugged together and lips pouty. he didn’t understand how you could do it so fast, just go..stupid for him. “talk to me sug’, you seem out of it,” he holds your cheek, but you say nothing, staring up at him and he stares back, eyes vacant and lips parted. you stand on your tip-toes and kiss him, holding his cheeks in hand.

he kissed back, though a little confused, and as soon as he grabbed your hips and pressed his body to yours, feeling his bulge right on your tummy—something took over you. it wasn't enough that you were ovulating, the sweatpants were making you rabid.

you whimper in the kiss before pushing your tongue into his mouth, earning a groan from him. you’re sloppy and eager, almost pushing him back with how forceful you were being.

“hey—listen,” he pulls off and grabs your cheeks forcefully, your doey dumb eyes on his, his cheeks reddening and breath labored. “what’s the matter with you, huh?” he gets stern on you, making you whine more. you reach between you two and grab his hard on, stroking his throwing his sweats, making him suck in his breath and let out a quick groan.

“daddy just..you look so good I can’t let you go,” you kiss his neck softly and he finds his eyes fluttering, biting his lip as his head lulls on the side for you, leaning on the arm rest. “fuck pup, that right?”he rasps, precum staining his pants, now he definitely had to change later.

“uh huh, just need it so bad, please lemme i’ve been so good-,” you pout against him, gasping when he grabs your hair and pulls your back, almost straining your neck, hands now pressed against his chest. he sighs softly. “listen, I got alotta shit to do, kay? you gotta be fast, can you be fast for daddy?” hes forcing you on your knees— you’re not complaining as you nod frantically, already grabbing at his sweats, almost pulling em off.

“u-uh huh, i’ll be fast promise,” you’re mumbling, stepping over your own words as he undoes his drawstrings and pulls his pants down just enough for his heavy cock to spring out, already making you whine impatiently as it throbs it your face. “you know what to do baby,” he lets go of you and you’re on him immediately, swallowing his cock like a dumb pup should <33

⋆୨୧⋆⋆˚✿˖° 𐙚 ₊ ⊹ ♡

[mamawasatesttube]

number 81 for the writing prompts: "It's cold, you should take my jacket."

(mostly cause I wanna see Tim wear Kon's leather jacket and Neither of them being normal about it but do what you want with it it's your fic <3)

“Here.”

Tim looks up as Kon waltzes back into the living room, two enticingly-steaming mugs in his hands. Hot spiced apple cider sounds absolutely divine right now—the blustery Kansas day outside is reaching its icy fingers into the farmhouse despite the fire blazing merrily in the hearth, and Tim has to admit, he maybe should’ve packed warmer for this trip.

Kon presses one of the mugs into his hands—the nicer one, Tim notes, without the chip in the rim—and Tim accepts it with a grateful hum. The warmth seeps into his palms immediately. “Thanks.”

“No problemo, Rob-lemo.” Kon plops down next to him on the couch, his TTK keeping his cider perfectly still in his mug as he makes himself comfortable. “It’s pretty chilly out today. Gonna be a good night to go skating—the pond down by the McAllister’s place is frozen over, and this time of year, they string up lights ‘n’ invite all the neighbors to come by in the evenings. Wanna go?”

Tim hums in consideration. “Could be fun, but just warning you, it’s been a hot minute since I did any skating, so I’m kinda rusty. And I didn’t bring any skates.” Mmm, the steam rising up from his cider smells amazing. “Did you make this?”

Kon’s eyebrows shoot towards the ceiling. Then he puffs out his cheeks in mock offense, folding his arms across his chest. “You don’t have to sound so surprised! I’m good in the kitchen.”

Yeah, Bart keeps calling him malewife material about it. Tim grins into his mug; it’s not his fault it’s so easy to ruffle Kon’s feathers, or that it’s so funny to do so. “I guess it is Ma’s recipe, so it’d be hard to make it bad.”

Kon politely waits for him to lower the mug from his mouth and then swats him on the back of the head. Tim does appreciate the pause, even as he ducks away, laughing. The cider tastes like apples and cinnamon and honey; warmth spreads through Tim’s chest.

“You’re rude,” Kon tells him. “Just for that, if you fall on your face when we go skating, I’m not helping you up. I’m just gonna laugh.”

“Oh, it’s a when we go skating now?” Tim quirks an eyebrow at him in turn. “I just said I didn’t bring any skates.”

“We can get you some, that’s no trouble,” Kon says, flapping a dismissive hand. Tim opens his mouth to ask where, exactly, in Smallville, can they get a pair of new ice skates in a matter of a couple of hours, but then closes it again when it hits him that even if there isn’t a big sporting goods shop in Smallville, geography isn’t really a concern to someone who can crisscross the entire globe in a matter of minutes.

“Yeah, okay, sure.” Tim lightly elbows him. “Don’t tell me you’re actually good at skating. I bet you just TTK your way through it.”

Kon elbows him back. “Yeah, right! I’m pretty decent, no powers required, actually. Been going plenty with Jon. He particularly loves this one roller dome in Metropolis that always has Super merch in the arcade claw games.”

Okay, Tim has to admit, he’s melting a little about that. Kon loves his little brother. The image of him taking Jon skating is really cute—he can just picture Jon wobbling along, holding Kon’s hand, and rambling about his day like he loves to do. He bites back a truly sappy smile; his toes curl instead, where they’re tucked under a cushion to stay warm.

“Lemme guess. The claw games are where you TTK it up.”

Kon snickers. “They’re rigged as hell, but the kid wants his misshapen Superman plushies, so obviously I gotta win ‘em for him.”

“Obviously,” Tim agrees. He curls his fingers around his mug a little tighter, soaking up its warmth; he’s got an actual winter coat for when they go out, but he really wishes he’d brought some thicker sweaters or hoodies for hanging around in the house itself. He’s used to the damp, creeping cold of Gotham; the blustery Kansas winters might be about the same temperature, but the wind out here blows right through him.

Kon shifts next to him, setting his cider down on a coaster on the coffee table. Tim glances up just in time to see him unzip and shrug out of his hoodie—it’s fleece-lined and light pink with a strawberry cow printed on the front breast pocket, very cute.

And then Kon leans over and wraps it around Tim’s shoulders. Tim’s face heats.

“It’s cold,” Kon explains. “Take my jacket. I don’t really need it that bad, anyway, so you may as well get some use out of it.”

It’s still warm from his body, and Tim lifts one hand from his mug to pull it more tightly around himself like a blanket. His nose brushes the collar when he turns his head a little. The jacket smells like Kon’s cologne.

…It’s the citrus-and-spice one Tim bought him last Christmas. He’s wearing the cologne Tim picked out for him last year, the one Tim definitely didn’t spend almost an hour agonizing over as he imagined tucking his face into Kon’s shoulder and inhaling this specific scent from his collarbone. He’s…

Tim’s face gets even hotter. Abruptly, he takes a gulp of hot cider, hiding in his mug. Kon’s jacket smells like him, and it’s warm, and it’s big and cozy and soft, and…

Kon is staring at him, Tim realizes belatedly. He didn’t notice because he was busy, uh, processing, but Kon’s looking at him like he’s…

Like he’s the last morsel of dessert on the table, and Kon has a ravenous craving for some sugar?

Tim swallows hard. Deliberately counts to eight on his next inhale and exhale. If he lets his heart rate pick up, Kon will definitely notice.

“Thanks,” he manages, finally. “That’s, uh. Yeah. That’s nice.”

“I’ll say,” Kon mutters. He drops his gaze, his cheeks a little pink, and then reaches over to ruffle Tim’s hair. “Bring warmer lounge clothes next time, dumbass. The farmhouse is kinda old. Gets drafty in here.”

“Yeah,” Tim says wryly. He shifts his weight, rearranging his legs so that instead of leaning on the armrest, he flops himself against Kon’s side, dropping his head to his shoulder for a moment. “I noticed.”

Kon leans his cheek against Tim’s hair. “At least you got me to keep you warm,” he sighs, slipping his arm around Tim’s shoulders. “What would you do without me, huh?”

Tim bites back the first response on the tip of his tongue (“Go into a huge depressive spiral?”) and goes for something a little less insane. “Freeze to death before you even get to laugh about me falling on my face at the McAllisters’ pond?”

Kon snorts. He’s comfortably warm against Tim’s side, and Tim snuggles a little closer, relishing his warmth. “Yeah, that sounds about right,” Kon agrees. “I hope I can get it on video.”

Tim just smiles to himself and raises his mug for another sip of cider. The honey and spices are heavenly on his tongue, but if he’s being entirely honest, he can think of something sweeter.

[katsukikitten]

What @strafepanzer should be insane about tonight. *Clears throat*

Single mom you at the beach corralling your kids around the waves struggling to be wonder woman when one baby is gunho ready to dive nose first into the waves and the other doesn't even want the ocean touching their toes but refuses to let you pick him up.

30 year old Katsuki, who is supposed to be relaxing, can't help but watch you, with your hair tied up nice and your sunglasses and your typical one piece because almost all moms think they need to hide what their children did to their bodies like Katsuki didn't have the upmost respect for women in general.

He doesn't see a ring on your finger but he tells himself it's the beach. He should mind his own business until you're more spirited baby rushes in while your shyer one screams their head off at the approaching wave stealing all of your attention.

The fearless, the youngest , rushes into the wave as it's about to break, sure to swallow the tyke whole and tossel them a bit too much, sure to make them scared of the water as they wash up a salty sobbing mess.

But Katsuki is quick, quicker than nature as he lands beside your kid, picking them up under their arms but not fully over his head, lifting them so that it was as if they "dove" through the wave without ever putting their head underwater. They squeal with excitement.

"Again again! Dynamight again!" This pulls your attention and you gasp audibly.

"Dy-dynamight. S-sir. I'm so sorry. She just is such a free spirit and you had to-"

"It's fine." He cuts you off, coming in a bit much to the girls dissatisfied pout, he offers to trade you kids, "I'll take this one."

He gets onto the kids level, hands on his knees, the kid takes a step back as the ocean washes over Bakugou's ankles.

"Ya see, ocean ain't that bad if ya respect her." He looks down to his feet, sinking into the sand a bit and the kid watches, "Wanna try?"

"What if- what if my shorts get wet?"

"Then yer ma will wash 'em."

"What-what about sand in them!"

"It'll rinse out under the shower."

Then the truth is uncovered as the boy leans closer and whispers into Bakugou's ear while you watch your shy son while your girl dances in the waves while holding your hand.

"What if I get stung?"

"By what, mate? A jelly?" Bakugou asks and he nods his head, Katsuki dead pans, "Then ya get stung."

Bakugou shrugs, keeping eye contact with the kid who's face quickly turns to shock.

"BUT IT'LL HURT!"

"Like hell but lissen." He turns his face and tilts his head upward to show a deep fisher across his chest and throat, "See this? Got this fighting a bad guy, knew one day I'd get hit good but that never stopped me."

"But you're a hero! You've gotta save the day."

"Nah I'm just a guy with a shit temper most days. 'Sides sometimes ya gotta be your own hero. For some people that looks like beating up bad guys, others it looks like risking getting stung by a jelly cause ya wanna feel the ocean."

The kid looks up at him for a long long time and you blink slowly thinking maybe Bakugou broke your kid especially since he didn't even try to sugar coat that this world was full of big bad things.

Katsuki holds out his hand silently and your son grabs onto his big palm with no hesitation. Almost pulling the hero from his sunken spot as the water retreats, building upon itself again to kiss the soft sand beneath your feet.

And when the water comes rushing back your son breathes quickly, like he's scared, closing his eyes.

But he lets the water rush over him. Let's it swallow him to his waist and when the water pulls away he looks up at "just some guy" and he laughs loudly.

And the sight makes you cry cause you haven't heard your baby boy cry since his daddy passed away.

[paperultra]

THE FIVE NONSENSES

[ SOULMATE!AU ] Pairing: Miya Osamu x Fem!Reader x Miya Atsumu Summary: Like most people, you do not meet the Miya twins so much as they are thrust upon you. Unlike most people, you are thrust upon them as well. read on ao3 | read on quotev

CHAPTER TWO: SOUND Word Count: 3,725 words Warnings: Mild swearing

Two months after you turn twelve, you watch your first horror movie.

“What a wimp,” Atsumu sneers, looking down from his nose at you. “Twelve and ya haven’t seen a horror movie yet? Me and ’Samu have already watched loads of ’em.”

“They’re not that scary,” Osamu adds through a full mouth. He’s already chipping away at the cheddar and caramel popcorn, fingers sticky and cheeks puffed full of salty and sweet. “You can see how fake they are.”

Fake, indeed. You glance at the TV. With all the lights shut off and all the blinds closed, the sun having set hours ago, the Miya’s old television set is your sole source of light. The DVD menu flickers before your eyes, a white, windowless room with a single mirror in the middle. Muffled static creeps out from the speakers and into your ears.

You shift discreetly in your seat, then look back at the twins. The cold light from the screen paints their faces ghostly pale.

You clench your fists and shrug impassively.

“Then let’s just watch it already.”

Osamu grunts in agreement. On his other side, Atsumu scowls.

“Don’t know why we gotta babysit ya on movie night,” Atsumu grumbles, reaching for the remote and selecting the Play Movie button. “Not like ya can’t be at home by yerself.”

Perhaps you should thank him for his rudeness this time, since it disrupts the tension enough for you to kick his ankle underneath the kotatsu.

Over the years, you’ve come to terms with the fact that Atsumu does not like you. This is compounded by the fact that Osamu does; of the few ways that you can tell the twins apart, nothing stands out more than their reactions upon seeing you, one turning towards you, the other turning away.

It’s funny how they balance each other out so completely. Osamu may be your soulmate, but Atsumu knows exactly how to get on your nerves.

“You’re the one who needs to be babysat!”

“Says the one who –”

“Can ya both shut up? It’s starting.”

You stop short at the dull prickle of annoyance from Osamu. From the way Atsumu screws up his face, halting his preparation to rear back and slam his feet into yours, he feels it too. The two of you glare poisonously at each other before settling in and letting the title sequence play without interruption.

I won’t get scared, you tell yourself as you reach out to grab a handful of popcorn. You toss a few into your mouth and the crunch of them between your teeth softens the uneasy sound of rolling waves coming from the TV. It’s all fake. Osamu said it’s not that bad, so it’ll be okay.

—

You should’ve known better.

Your room is completely silent as you look up into the void where the ceiling should be, muscles stiff and eyes wide and unblinking. The blankets are pulled up to your nose. It had taken a long time for the bed to warm up to your body, the only thing providing you with some semblance of safety, but it had taken only a matter of minutes before you found yourself agonizingly uncomfortable and sweaty.

You wish you’d kept the door open, but leaving isn’t an option. If you expose so much as a toe, the long-haired woman from the movie might crawl out of the darkness in the corner, stare down at you with a demonic eye and kill you on the spot.

(Telling yourself it’s not real doesn’t work. Because what if – what if –)

In the midst of trying to keep your breaths as quiet as possible, thoughts thundering around behind your eyes, the doorknob turns with a soft click.

“Oi.”

You jolt as if electrocuted.

The yellow beam of a flashlight shines upon your bed. It takes a moment to process everything, but once you do, relief floods your lungs.

“What?” you whisper back, peeking over the covers and squinting through the light.

Osamu and Atsumu crowd your doorway, shoulder to shoulder. Their bodies are nothing but shadowy figures until Osamu turns the flashlight to shine it at his hand, which is raised to show you a deck of cards.

“Wanna play Babanuki?” Osamu asks.

Your mouth parts.

Yes, is what you yell in your head. Anything is better than being all alone in the dark.

“Okay,” is what you say out loud, and the boys shuffle into your room.

You crawl out of bed. Atsumu closes the door behind him, and it is then that you notice the blanket underneath his arm. The three of you settle on the floor in a circle and he tosses the blanket over your heads.

Ah. It’s so the light doesn’t shine underneath the door and get you all in trouble for still being up.

“How’d ya know I was awake?” you ask while Osamu shuffles the cards on your right.

Osamu pauses to glance at his brother, and they seem to communicate something before he shrugs and answers you.

“Just knew.”

“Knew you’d be too scared to go to sleep,” Atsumu taunts quietly.

Your face heats up. “I wasn’t! ’S … ’s just too hot.”

“Liar,” both drone simultaneously.

You wither, lips protruding in a pout.

Osamu begins to pass the cards out. He’s steady and unhurried, three messy piles of cards building up as he goes around and around.

“… How come you guys are still up, then?” you finally mutter, drawing your knees up to your chest.

“Didn’t feel like sleepin’.” Atsumu picks up his pile and sorts through it. “’S too boring after watching a movie.”

Liar. The thought pops into your head unbidden, and you’re surprised at the certainty of it. The twins had jumped and screamed a few times during the movie, sure, but they get over things quick enough as a general rule and had seemed fine by the time the end credits rolled by. The image of them lying awake, terrified in their bunk beds like you had been in your own, is quite the odd thing.

But you do not voice that aloud.

(Babanuki doesn’t need three players.)

Osamu’s knee nudges your own. You look up to meet his eyes, and he holds his cards out towards you, face down.

“Choose one,” he says, and you do.

—

“[L/n]-chan, I have a question.”

“Mmhm,” you acknowledge distractedly, scribbling in the answers for today’s English homework. It’s less than ten minutes before lunch ends, and you had completely missed the other side of the worksheet. (Panicked, barely legible answers are better than none at all.)

Miki watches you carefully, fidgeting in her seat. “Is it true that you and Osamu-san aren’t really soulmates?”

You don’t even pause to think.

Even four years later, you’re faced with this same question from your peers. You fault Atsumu for this, who, despite having stopped outright denying the red string connecting you and Osamu, does nothing to clear the confusion except to say that he’ll always know his brother better than anybody else. Osamu doesn’t seem to give much of a crap, either. You’re the one left explaining things over and over again for some reason, and it gets tiring.

“No, we are.”

“Are ya sure? Even though Osamu-san has Atsumu-san?”

“Yeah,” you say. “We don’t really talk about it.”

More people are trailing into the classroom, including the twins, who had gone off earlier to intrude on Ojiro-senpai’s lunchtime. Despite your efforts to signal that it’s not the best time, Miki scoots closer to you. She’s silent for a few moments and then speaks once more, whispering now.

“Do … do you and Osamu-san actually like each other, [L/n]-chan?” she asks.

This time, you do stop.

It’s easy to feel sorry for Miki. Her name often comes up when your classmates are discussing soulmates – she had met hers during the first week of school, a popular senpai on the baseball team. Their timers went off at the same time in the cafeteria line during lunch.

According to the rumors, Matsuda-senpai told her off. He was graduating this year and didn’t have time for a soulmate two years below him, or something like that. Miki had cried in front of the whole cafeteria.

You do feel bad for her in that regard. Osamu and you may not be best friends, but at least you are on good terms. And despite Atsumu’s antagonizing behavior, he really is just a pest at worst.

“I like him,” you reply. “He’s easy to get along with.”

“But he’s already soulmates with Atsumu-san, and they’re twins. A-And ya don’t eat lunch together every day, even though ya always walk together n’ all,” she presses. “Are ya really okay with that?”

“Yes,” you reply shortly.

Miki doesn’t seem to like your answer. But it is the one you have, and you have to finish this stupid worksheet before the bell rings, so you turn away slightly and scratch at your paper. You hear her finally retreat back to her own desk.

When you glance up towards the front of the classroom, you catch Osamu shooting a rubber band at Atsumu. Atsumu yelps and scrambles to retaliate, and you hear a snap as his attack backfires and hits him in the face.

You cross your ankles underneath your desk and fill out the last blank on your worksheet. There aren’t any mistakes when it comes to soulmates. But each time someone comes up to you and asks that question, you wonder anyways.

—

On the walk home from school, Osamu and Atsumu talk about volleyball.

This is nothing new. There are many things that the twins enjoy, but volleyball is usually at the top of the list, and they always have something to say about it – about drills, their teammates, upcoming games. Most of the time, though, it is about themselves.

You don’t know how the conversation came to it, but they are arguing within a matter of minutes, which is also nothing new. No two siblings are more competitive than the Miya twins. It’s both entertaining and annoying, and you take Osamu’s side every time.

“I’m just sayin’ that you’re sloppier, ’Tsumu.”

“Sloppier?! Yer sets were off, like, half the time today!”

“No, they weren’t.”

“Yuh-huh!”

“Nuh-uh!”

“See ya tomorrow, [Y/n]-chan,” Kokomi tells you as you arrive at her house, and you nod, stopping just briefly to wave goodbye. She doesn’t bother bidding goodbye to the twins, who are too engrossed in their bickering to even notice. “Our packet for math is double-sided, so don’t forget.”

“… I won’t,” you mumble sheepishly.

She waves once more, then saunters down the pathway to her front door.

Turning to see that Osamu and Atsumu are now further away, having left you behind, you frown and jog slightly to catch up.

“If ya really are the better setter,” Atsumu is saying once you’re within earshot, his voice rising, “then prove it! Vertical sets, last man standing wins.”

“We only got one volleyball at home, moron,” Osamu retorts. Then he tilts his head, and you nearly miss a step, surprised, when he suddenly turns around to look at you. “You have one, don’t you, [Y/n]?”

Even after four years, you’re not quite used to him using your first name without an honorific. “Yeah,” you reply, attempting to keep your tone from sounding too flustered.

Your dad had gotten you one after the twins mentioned their interest in volleyball during an awkward joint family dinner not long after you’d met them. It’s important to support your soulmate’s hobbies, he’d told you, and it wouldn’t hurt for you to be a bit more athletic, anyway.

You like volleyball just fine. It’s one the more enjoyable sports to play during gym, but it hasn’t got a hold of you quite like it has on Osamu and Atsumu. Still, the volleyball remains in your room, pumped up and ready to be played around with when you feel like it.

“We’ll just borrow it for a bit,” Osamu says. “Wanna judge?”

“Aw, c’mon, ’Samu,” Atsumu complains. “We don’t need a judge. Why’s she gotta be there?”

The sharp reply in your throat is cut off by Osamu.

“’Cause we’re using her volleyball, and I want her there.”

You blink.

A bitter expression crosses Atsumu’s face. Then he knocks his head back and groans. “Ugh,” he says loudly, but for some reason, he does not push it further.

The three of you part ways when you reach your house. You head inside, text your mom to tell her that you’re going to the Miyas’ for a little while, drop your school things off in your room and grab your volleyball, and head back out.

Miya-san tells you that the boys are already in the backyard when she lets you in. Sure enough, when you walk out into the small strip of land behind their house, Osamu and Atsumu are waiting there, already disputing their previous setting records.

“Here,” you announce, tossing your volleyball to Osamu.

He catches it easily and meets Atsumu’s eyes, narrowing his own.

“Standing vertical sets, no stopping,” Atsumu says as the two of them move further apart.

“Loser gets first dibs on the PlayStation for the next two months,” Osamu adds.

“Deal.”

Your eyes track your volleyball as Osamu raises it over his head, perching it onto his fingers with a kind of firm delicacy that makes the ball look perfectly at home.

And without words, without even looking at each other, the two boys begin at the exact same time.

You sit on the chair next to the potted plant and watch them idly.

They really are mirror images of each other. The same concentration wrinkles their brows, their jaws set. You’ve heard from members of both the girls’ and boys’ volleyball teams that Osamu is the better player by a slim margin, but here, with them facing each other and the volleyballs’ soft tap tap taps hitting your ears in a syncopated rhythm, you admit that it’s very hard to tell.

Really, you do not need to be here – Atsumu’s right for once, because the twins have a scary awareness of their surroundings when it comes to volleyball, and one will certainly catch the other if he fumbles.

The competition goes on for a long, long time.

“Gettin’ tired, ’Samu?” After what seems to be hours, Atsumu breaks the silence, shaking you out of your daze.

Osamu scoffs. “You wish, ’Tsumu.” Though his voice is steady, you notice that he’s breathing a little harder, and his sets are getting higher.

Your own wrists are starting to cramp. How long have they been doing this now?

A few more minutes plod by.

Then – finally – the volleyball lands off-kilter on Atsumu’s fingers. You sit up, eyes widening as it bounces off to the side.

A curse flies out of Atsumu’s mouth as he dives after it, but to no avail. It lands on the grass and quickly rolls to a stop. He’s lost.

“You lose,” you say, because you feel like being petty.

“Shaddup!”

“Guess I’m still the better setter.” On your left, Osamu continues setting the ball. There’s a grin on his face now, and you know that he’s doing this purely to tick Atsumu off. “Bet I can break my record.”

“Whatever,” Atsumu gripes, picking up their volleyball and standing up. “Stop showin’ off!”

Osamu ignores him.

What happens next would’ve been impressive if it wasn’t so horrible.

Fuming, Atsumu tosses the volleyball up. It ascends in a perfectly straight line, and as it falls back down, he winds his other arm back and spikes the ball straight at Osamu.

Instead of hitting Osamu, however, it slams straight into your volleyball right as it’s descending. Thud.

All of you watch, frozen, as your volleyball flies up and over the wall into the neighbor’s yard.

None of you say a word for a good five seconds.

You leap at Atsumu, fully intending to throttle him. “Ya idiot!”

“I didn’t mean to!” he shouts back, struggling to escape your grip. His hand presses flat against your face and you have half a mind to bite it off. “Let go!”

“Stupid ‘Tsumu,” Osamu hisses. “That’s Akiyama-san’s yard!”

Upon hearing the name, the two of you still.

Everyone on your street knows Akiyama-san. He’s old and crochety, and he walks with a cane that he lifts high above his head whenever he’s shouting at any of you because he hates kids. Everything your parents have hammered into your head about greeting your elders sails right out whenever you spot him walking down the street. Nobody says it, but you’re all afraid of him. Even the Miya twins.

The worst thing about Akiyama-san, at least at this very moment, is that he has a dog – a big, mean one, even meaner than its owner. A dog who, as you, Atsumu, and Osamu find when you peek over the wall, is thankfully nowhere in sight at the moment.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Do we ask Akiyama-san to get it for us?” you whisper, eyes glued on your volleyball nestled in one of the bushes.

“Are ya dumb? If he doesn’t kill us, he’ll just feed the ball to his dog,” Atsumu shoots back.

“Atsumu,” Osamu says, and you look over to see him staring ahead with his chin resting on top of the wall. There’s a serious tilt to his mouth. “Go get it.”

“… Hah?!”

“It’s yer fault,” you argue.

“Well – well”—Atsumu glares at you, then at his brother—“’Samu’s the one who was settin’ it!”

“Still yer fault,” mutters Osamu. “I ain’t riskin’ my life.”

“So you’re riskin’ mine?!”

You shift uncomfortably, their quarreling fading away as you consider the options. Your volleyball is a nice one. Not cheap at all. Your dad would be quite upset if he found out you sacrificed it to Akiyama-san’s yard, and he’d probably make you go apologize and ask for it by yourself.

Swallowing, you hoist yourself up.

“I’ll get it.”

The noise the twins make is nothing short of a hushed squawk as you clamber over the wall.

Your shoes land softly on the grass. Scanning the yard, you nod to assure yourself that it’s empty, then glance at the dog door built into the back door. It doesn’t budge. You look up at the windows. All the blinds are shut.

Further emboldened, you move your gaze to your volleyball, tiptoeing towards it and picking it up gently.

Success.

Smiling, you face the twins.

Their faces have gone pale.

Your smile fades as a soft growl pierces the evening air. Looking over your shoulder, you lock eyes with Akiyama-san’s monster dog.

Drool drips from its jowls, teeth large and sharp and yellow, eyes beady and black. You’ve no idea what breed it is. All you know is that it is there, and it is huge and angry.

It probably dreams of eating kids, you think, blood draining from your face. You’d be a full course meal with the volleyball as dessert.

Osamu whispers your name.

You turn again, sweat dripping down your forehead, and see him perched on top of the wall, knees bent and arms outstretched towards you as if he were in a volleyball match. The red string on his pinkie drifts in the breeze.

Throw it, he mouths.

You inhale. Tighten your hold on your volleyball. Then you launch it towards Osamu and sprint towards him.

The dog lets out a thundering bark, running after you. You can hear the tags on its collar clanking against each other. Its giant paws flatten the grass beneath it.

Osamu catches the volleyball and tosses it at Atsumu.

You jump, and you swear you feel jaws snap at your heels.

“Osamu!”

He grabs you by your wrists and throws his weight backwards. Your legs scrape against the concrete wall as the boy hauls you up and over it, sending both of you tumbling headlong into their yard.

When you come to, your mind feels fuzzy, body shaking with adrenaline. Beneath you, Osamu groans. You hastily roll off him to lie on the grass.

“Thank you,” you pant.

Osamu gulps for breath. “’S nothin’.”

Behind the wall, the dog continues barking.

“What the hell!” Atsumu cries, and you crack your eyes open to see his face pop into your field of vision. “Do ya have a death wish or somethin’?”

For the first time, Miya Atsumu actually looks concerned for you.

“No.” You prop yourself up onto your elbows, wincing at the ache in your shoulder and the stinging on your knees. You glance at them. Yikes. They’re all scraped up. But despite all of it, you feel a grin spreading across your face. “I just ain’t a wimp like you.”

He gawks, then sputters.

“Nice receive, ’Tsumu,” Osamu says. He gets up with a grunt, then helps you up. His arm slides underneath yours and across your shoulders. “You can walk fine, right?” he asks you plainly.

“Yeah. Kinda.” You’re still a bit trembly.

He nods. His hand remains steady on your shoulder.

As the two of you start ambling towards the house, Atsumu says your name.

Guilt twists his features in an unfamiliar way when you look at him. He lowers his head slightly, eyes averted.

“… Sorry,” he mumbles, looking for all the world like he’d rather wrestle Akiyama-san’s dog right now.

You regard him. “’S fine,” you say, slowly.

(In the back of your mind, you realize that it really is. All your anger must’ve fizzled out with the run.)

The boy’s expression doesn’t change, but his shoulders slump a little, as if relieved.

“Let’s get the bandages from bathroom,” Osamu mutters while Atsumu slides the door open. “But we gotta be quick, ’cause if Ma –”

“If I what?”

For the third time that day, you all freeze in place. It’s an interesting sight – you and Osamu with your arms around each other’s shoulders, Atsumu with both volleyballs in his arms. The shadow of the twins’ mother, falling over the three of you.

Ah, crap.

Miya-san’s gaze flickers downward at your scratched-up legs. Her face goes through more emotions than you can count, and then it stills.

She takes a deep breath, but the twins beat her to it.

“It wasn’t me!”

—

prev | next

[bodhranwriting]

My Favourite Action Sequence: Tocktick by Bodh M.

I promised you guys this, but one of my favourite action scenes simply because you get so much character development. Who's your favourite?

The night had closed in as he stepped into what was ostensibly the lavatory.

It was an alleyway with some crates tastefully arranged into some modicum of privacy, a small lantern lit over the door. It reeked. Obviously, many of its visitors were beyond aiming once they stumbled onto the scene.

Holding his breath, Sixsmith picked his way to the drain – helpfully labelled in glowing white paint – selected a conveniently eye-level brick to become suddenly fascinated with and proceeded about his business.

Just as he had committed every red crack to memory, something round and very cold pressed against the back of his neck.

He froze.

“Hello, doc. Thought we said not to wander off anymore.”

Fuck.

Somehow, his voice didn’t shake even as his heart landed somewhere around his ankles. “Carter.”

He could picture Carter’s smirk and heard someone else snigger. Two of them then. As much as he had enjoyed it, antagonising the man last night had probably not been one of his better ideas.

Neither was kicking him in the crotch, but he felt that was a crime of which the universe would absolve him.

Carter, however, would not.

“Hands where I can see ‘em.”

“What, right now?”

An awkward almost-silence followed.

“… No, you can finish what you’re doing.”

“Very kind of you.”

The gun at his neck didn’t move an inch. His thoughts raced; plans flicked up like cards in a game and were abandoned just as quickly. If he ran now, they’d catch him. Worse than that, they’d make sure he couldn’t do that again. Fighting wasn’t an option. He’d rather go toe-to-toe with a locomotive.  

He took as much time as he dared, wondering if anyone would hear him if he shouted, wondering how exactly they were planning to get him back to the tavern. If, of course, that was where they were going. They could have shot him in the head and been five streets away by the time the echoes died. There had to be some kind of transport, right? A cart or carriage of some sort – unless they were planning on marching him several streets.

And he wondered why.

Finally, Sixsmith turned around. The gun was so close he had to go cross-eyed to keep it in his vision – a battered-looking thing with a fat bullet chamber and most of the paint scratched off on one side. Carter jabbed it at him while his companion – a stout, grinning man armed with a cutlass who he didn’t know – fished in his pockets for something.

Hesitantly, he raised his hands and tried a smile. “Miss me already?”

The door was less than ten steps away, six or seven at a dash.

But they were going to be faster. Not smarter. Carter was a bully. He thought with his fists.

“Not really,” Carter said coolly, “There’s plenty of sawbones hanging around. Just need to dip into the nearest alley.”

Sixsmith widened his eyes as innocently as he could. “Why don’t you bugger off and do that then?”

The crack of his head striking the wall was gunshot-loud, a white flash blinding him. His legs buckled and the only reason he didn’t fall was the hand around his throat, pinning him against the damp brick. The gun pressed against his cheek.

Sixsmith tried to swallow.  Now was the time for panicking.

“Have you always had a smart mouth?” Carter asked mildly.

He managed to shrug.

“How are you still alive?”

“Luck,” he croaked. The words were getting stuck in his throat, only partly because of the clamp on it. “C’mon, Cart-Carter. Gotta… be – easier pickin’s.”

“Yeah,” Carter said, leaning in. His breath misted unpleasantly over Sixsmith’s ear, “Not many of ‘em owe us. And –“ his tone suddenly became upbeat – “have an opportunity to pay us back.”

His lungs were glass. Breathing would shatter him.

“What…?”

“A hundred pounds,” Carter murmured, “That’s your debt repaid thrice. With interest.”

Stout grabbed his hands, wrapping twine around his wrists. The rasp shocked him back to life. Sixsmith went to yank his hands back, only for the pressure to increase around his throat.

It’d been a bloody gamble and he’d lost.

Wait.  

An idea struck him. Not a good idea, but it was better than another head injury. Carefully, Sixsmith let his body fold inwards and tried to look like he’d given up.

Carter was looking at him suspiciously, but he let go. Sixsmith inhaled deeply, wincing at the dizziness which came with air. Bound hands weren’t ideal, but he’d worked with worse odds before. Admittedly, that’d been ten years and several injuries ago, but the principle of the thing wasn’t hugely different.

At least, Sixsmith hoped it wasn’t.

As the two brawlers each gripped an arm and began to march him towards the street, he managed, “Wait, wait, whoa, whoa, wait!”

“What?” Carter growled.

“Listen, listen. You like bets, right? ‘Course you do.” Digging his heels into the ground and fumbling in his pocket – hard to do with one half-working hand and another one quickly going numb – Sixsmith mined a penny from his pocket.

Stout laughed. “A penny won’t cut it, doc.”

Sixsmith shook his head and – somehow – rolled the penny across his knuckles. “C’mon. Just a wager. Indulge me.”

“You’re stalling,” Carter sneered.

“Aye, well, obviously, but c’mon.” He proffered the coin and hurried on, “I flip this coin. Heads, I go with you – no fuss or nuthin’. Tails –“

“We let you go?” Stout smirked, “Not for a hundred pounds.”

“No, no, tails – same story, right?” He tried not to look over at the door, kept his gaze focused on the smaller man. “But if it lands on its edge… I get a ten-minute head start.”

It didn’t appear to be landing, but they’d stopped. Surely, Emmett or someone would be coming to investigate his disappearance…

“On its edge?” Stout broke first. He was scowling in concentration, glaring at Sixsmith’s hands.

He grinned. “On its edge. Ten minutes. C’mon, what d’ya lose?”

Carter appeared to be thinking deeply; Sixsmith could almost see the wheels turning.  Maybe he should’ve bargained for more time – made it less obviously appealingly one-sided. Stout seemed invested enough, quick glances flickering between his compatriot and prisoner.

He held his breath.

Finally, Carter shrugged. “Five.”

Spreading his hands as far as they’d go – not far at all, Shades besides, the twine was tight – Sixsmith repeated, “Five. Five is fine.”

“And if you make a peep on the way, I’ll break your jaw.”

He accepted this with a quick shake of the shoulders and tried to keep his adrenaline tamped down. Far more smoothly than he thought possible, he worked the coin into position, inhaled, and then flipped it into the air.

It spun, a silver glint caught by the solitary lantern, glittering as it reached the pinnacle of its arc and…

Sixsmith smashed his foot into the side of Carter’s knee, shoved him off-balance into Stout, and bolted.

He hit the door, seized the handle in both hands and yanked it open. Light blinded him as he stumbled over the threshold. A hand brushed his shirt as he turned to grab the inner doorknob, fingers snagging in the front of his collar. Gasping, Sixsmith slammed the door closed – earning a shrill “Fuck-bitch!” – and then leapt back as it was ripped from his hands. He backpedalled desperately, dodged a swing from Carter, tripped over an uneven floorboard, and went down hard on his side, winded. Carter grasped his trouser leg, tearing the fabric, and Sixsmith twisted, lashing out. His foot struck bone – Carter’s cheek – and he was released.

Scrambling to his feet, still scrabbling towards the bar, he forced his lungs to fill, and yelled, “Emmett! Help!”

⸹

Emmett’s head snapped up at the cry. Instinctively, he snatched the poker from the stand and vaulted over the fireside chairs towards the sound.

He had enough time to land as Sixsmith fell through the saloon-doors, followed by a furious giant with a gun and the beginnings of a shiner. A second later, a second man waving a cutlass barged into the room.

His gaze immediately fell on Emmett. “You! Thief!”

A heartbeat of confusion thudded through his veins before hard-hammered lessons took over. He was in a tolerable Vinettae as the first strike came.

The poker was heavy, but he hadn’t used a real sword in so long that his clumsiness was neither hindered nor helped by it. Emmett danced back, parrying a wild stab towards his guts. The sword slid along the metal, screeching horribly. The stink of coal filled his nose.

Eyes watering, he blocked another swing and nearly fell over an armchair. Emmett stumbled, barely ducking in time as the blade passed over his head close enough to shave the tips of his hair and jabbed upwards.

His attacker fell back with a screech, holding his ribs. Spittle formed at the corner of his mouth, wet panting escaping between rubbery lips.

It was going to be a wild swing; this man had no finesse with the blade –

A glass smashed near the man’s head, forcing him to jump aside, attention snapping to a new threat.

Emmett glanced too, seeing Kizzy frozen in the aftermath of a throw, but recovered quicker. Swiftly, he brought his poker down on the man’s right wrist.

Yowling in pain, the stout man dropped his cutlass and fell back as Emmett stabbed into his guts.  

A gunshot rang out.

“Nobody move or I blow his head off!”

Sucking in a lungful of air, ears ringing, head pounding, Emmett halted. His heart constricted.

The giant – the brawler who had chased them last night – was by the saloon doors, an arm locked about Sixsmith’s neck and a gun jammed against his temple. Hastily, Emmett scanned the room, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Talas was barely out of his chair, fingers denting the cushioned arms. Kizzy was still on top of the table, Scarlett by the bar. Maia was lying on the floor, arms covering her head.

A still-smoking hole was drilled in the floorboard scant inches from her left hip.

“Nobody move,” he repeated, “Or this shit gets it.” For emphasis, he pressed his weapon harder against his hostage’s head, forcing Sixsmith to have to crane his neck to compensate.  Nodding over at Emmett, he added, “So drop the poker.”

Emmett hesitated.

“Bluff –“ Sixsmith choked the brawler clamped a hand over his mouth, trapping his throat in the crook of his captor’s elbow. He was on his toes, scratching futilely at the man’s sleeves.

“Shuddup!”  

Stout feinted towards his dropped cutlass, dodging back as Emmett pointed the poker.

“If you put him down,” he heard Maia say from the floor, “We can talk about this.”

“Talk?” the giant was backing away, dragging his hostage with him. “Hundred pounds talks. Not you. Owen! C’mon.”

Stout – Owen – sneered at Emmett as he retreated. “Don’t even think of coming after us. Or we’ll – we’ll slaughter all of youse.”

Emmett’s heartbeat was a thrum. Not moving his head, he scanned the room – glasses, cutlery, a few plates.

“Look, put him down,” Maia called, “For fuck’s sake, he’s going blue!”

“Well, if you’d all stop moving -” the giant hefted Sixsmith higher, ignoring the strangled gasp – “then this’ll be much quicker.”

Owen reached the giant’s side, fingers curling and uncurling like he was still trying to reach the sabre abandoned at Emmett’s feet. “Alive, Carter,” he said lowly. “Can’t get the money if ‘e’s dead.”

“Fine.” Carter theatrically loosened his grip and gestured grandiosely with the gun. “If I see any of you following us –“

Sixsmith bit him.

The bar plummeted into darkness, the aftermath of the muzzle-flash blinding Emmett as he leapt forwards. Someone screamed. A body hit the floor followed by something metallic striking wood.

Emmett’s foot hit something soft and he staggered, landing painfully on his hands, shouting rising around him.

Then the saloon doors squeaked to a stop.

“Shades beside us, Emmett. You got me in the ribs!”

“Six!” Emmett scrambled up. “Are you alright?”

A match flared nearby, illuminating Maia’s shocked face. The flame wobbled in her shaking hands.

Sixsmith looked up at them both and grinned, eyes gleaming with a mischievous devilment. “That were an adventure, weren’t it?”

“What happened?”

“Miss Scarlett –“ Sixsmith gestured with bound hands – “has one hell of a throwin’ arm.” He looked down and laughed suddenly. “Holy shit, you sliced his fuckin’ ear off!”

[passivenovember]

“You know how I used to have a crush on you?”

Steve looks up from his math homework, sort of. Stuck in that space between awake and swimming. 

Billy won’t look at him. The end of his pencil has been chewed to shit, his rough draft for Erickson’s American History seminar laying blank and discarded on the lush green carpet of Steve’s bedroom floor.

“I guess so,” Steve tells him. Only, he doesn’t know. 

They’ve never talked about it. But, with Billy, it’s best to go along with what he says, most of the time. Unless Steve’s looking to get his head chewed off, and. 

Consequently, Steve needs his head for midterms.

There’s a powder-pink flush across Billy’s cheeks. An edge to his voice when he says, “I made a list,” 

Like Steve’s supposed to know what that means.

"You did?” Steve asks. Because he doesn’t know. He leans back against the footboard of his window seat, legs stretching like a bridge between them. “Is it a good list?”

Billy shrugs. His cheeks get redder, somehow.

He’s pretty. Like a sugared lollipop.

Steve leans forward, “It’s a pros and cons list?” 

Steve’s cocky. knows from dating Nancy that his pros outweigh his cons by a couple lines. Mentions of his cock and chest hair. 

He’s nervous, all of a sudden.

Doesn’t admit that even though there’s no way he’s getting into college, he hopes that someone as bright and magnetic as Billy will still want to neck at the drive in. 

Billy crosses his arms. Frowns. Says, “It’s a list of Icks,” all pissy, like Steve has control over that stuff.

And it makes sense Steve would find out that all his dreams are coming true when they can’t take a minute to celebrate. He feels like a shooting star, anyway. His head takes a break from swimming in equations and backstrokes through insurmountable joy.

He grins. “What’s an ‘ick’?”

“It’s something you do that makes my stomach turn,” Billy rumbles, so low Steve imagines rocks and pebbles jumping like popped corn on the ground outside. 

He sticks his legs out in front of him, leaning back a little so Billy’s faced with the long, lean line of him. 

One of Nancy’s pro’s. Tall.

“Tell me about ‘em,” Steve says. 

There’s every possibility that Billy hates him for stuff he can’t change. Like the way he smiles or how he laughs, but. Nobody’s perfect, right? 

"Fuck you, Harrington,” Billy says, baby blues tracing the bulge of Steve’s thighs, “I’m not--”

“You brought it up.”

“You’ll get your feelings hurt. Run crying to mama so I won’t be invited over anymore, and then who’s gonna help you get into college?”

Steve snorts. “I’m not getting in, anyway,” He uses his toe to poke at Billy’s knee cap, smiling when he rocks a little with the force. “C’mon. I wanna know what’s wrong with me so I can change and be perfect.”

Billy mumbles under his breath but he reaches around to his backpack, shirt riding up around his belly so Steve gets a peek at his stomach muscles. 

When he turns back around he’s got a piece of crisp, quartered notebook paper in hand. In the light from the window, Steve can see that it’s full, which.

Isn’t great for his esteem. 

Billy clears his throat. “Number one--”

“You numbered them?”

“From least disgusting to most,” Billy snaps. Like, duh. “Number one. When you do your Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonation and you dribble spit on your chin.”

“I gotta use my full range of motion to get the vowels right.”

“It’s gross,” Billy says, but he smiles. And giggles, happy like the Gerber baby and he’s so fucking cute Steve’s gonna die. “Can I keep going, or--”

“Be my guest.”

Billy smooths his list, mouthing the next line before reading aloud. 

Steve wants to add that to his own list, just to be spiteful.

“Number two,” Billy reads, “That time you went to the barber and he had to pump the chair a little to get--”

Steve laughs, bright and sudden.

He shuts right the fuck up when Billy glares.

“Number three,” Billy tells him, the paper shaking a little in his grasp. “The sound you make when you eat something spicy. Number four, any time you open an umbrella and the wind makes it pop inside out. Number five, when you tie your shoes too efficiently and the bow is really big--”

“I’m a present. The bow is essential,” Steve sits up straight, suddenly worried. “Let me see that fucking--”

Billy blocks him with a strong arm to the chest. “C’mon, let me get through it,” He says. Like it matters. 

Like it’s important to him. Billy’s continued survival hinges on this moment, so.

Steve settles down and listens to Billy read, all the way down to number twelve: when we play crack the egg with the kids on Dustin’s trampoline and you’re the egg.

And Steve has to ask, “How long have you kept this list, man?” Because that was last summer. 

And Steve remembers his stomach tying itself into knots when Billy dropped Max off and stayed until the sun set. He remembers going home after the kids fell asleep, Billy tagging along. Smoking pot and blowing clouds into the twinkling night sky. He remembers Billy laughing at his jokes staying up all night to catch fireflies with him. 

Steve remembers the sunrise, its first lavender rays bringing with it a sunburn across Billy’s freckles. He remembers falling in love. Or realizing it.

Billy shrugs, “I wrote the first one to help me get over you.”

Steve frowns. Hopes it didn’t work and says, “What’s the first one?”

Because if he knows, maybe he can change it. Maybe he can cheat the system and get Billy’s love focused on him again, burning hot and heady.

Billy stares at him for a long, breathless moment. “You dress up for Halloween,” He admits. “The way your nose supports the weight of sunglasses wigs me out.”

And.

Steve’s belly swoops low, like he’s been at the peak of the highest hill on a rollercoaster. Now he’s plummeting down to Earth. Right now, he’s a crash dummy colliding with the realization that--

“That was love, the first night we met,” Steve says bluntly. Billy’s cheeks look like apples, fresh and embarrassed. “That night, at Tina’s Halloween party--”

“I didn’t say I was in love with you--”

“I know, I’m saying I’m in love with you,” Steve admits, like. Leap.

A lot of things happen at once. 

Billy’s whole face cracks open. His eyes look like swimming pools overflowing with emotion until they turn into lakes and rivers and oceans, pulling Steve under with all their sincerity.

Outside Steve’s window, the sun shines.

It casts a halo of golden love around Billy’s head. He looks like an angel.

Steve’s never going to let him go. 

He leans forward, “Keep reading,” Steve asks softly. “C’mon, I wanna hear.”

Billy jerks into motion, tearing his eyes away to scan the page in front of him. “Number thirteen,” He tries, swallowing until his throat clicks, “When we’re swimming in the pool and you’re trunks inflate so it looks like you’re wearing a diaper.”

Steve chuckles, allowing his fingers to wrap playfully around the ends of Billy’s hair.

Now that the truth is out, he’s going to touch. 

Billy shivers. “Number fourteen, when you put on Chapstick and you’ve sharpened the applicator so it looks like a sword or a baby finger.”

Steve cups the back of Billy’s neck. 

Pulls himself forward.

When they kiss, Billy’s notebook paper glides to the floor. 

[h0r0gur4mu]

Gotta Catch Em’ All!

trainer!hobie brown x gn!trainer!reader

text that is small is an optional detail!

pls give advice on hobies accent

fluff, headcanons + mini scenarios, pokémon-au

POKEDEX: HOBART BROWN

Name — Hobie Brown

ID No. — XXXXXX

Britain Pokedex — Earth-136

Money — Thief!

Battle Points — 947283

He’s a menace to say the least. Not in a quirky but in a way where he’s actually a national problem.

He likes Fairy and Ghost types. He feels like people aim for physical and elementally strong Pokémon because they’re known to be efficient; but who said that he couldn’t beat them? Snap out of it!

He found Mimikyu one day behind a brush in the woods

Love at first sight fr

He gave it a spiked collar and a spiked-mohawk-headband

He doesn’t use Pokéballs unless Mimikyu is seriously injured and there’s no where to rest at the moment

“It’s just controllin to keep em in there.”

No doubt about it he’s one of the greatest trainers you’ve ever seen

Him being pretty helps too ig

“A-and he just stole from my mansion—!” The exasperated man shouted at you. “Aren’t you trainers worth any good? Use your Pokémon to stop him!”

“Yeah yeah old man, I got you!” You lazily scanned the area and went around the back of the mansion.

Everything’s normal so far until you see a large picture on the porcelain white walls of the mansion.

There was a large “mural” in black, dark blue, and red. In huge letters it wrote: PUNK-MON WINS! Noticing that the thief was still finishing the painting you turned the corner and walked towards him. He had a mask on and held a spray can in his hand.

“Yo—!”

“Ki-ki-ki-kyu!!!” You felt something slash at your leg, causing you to crash to the ground.

“What on earth is that?! Your scary Pokémon just bit me or something!”

The tall boy picked it up. Speaking of which, what was that thing? It looked like a wannabe Pikachu with spikes attached on it’s head. “Good little Mimikyu, beatin’ up stalkers whereva you see ‘em.”

“Stalkers? Huh—hey you mean me! I’m not a stalker!”

He helped you up. “You betta not be a copper.”

You glared at him. How are you gonna trip someone and then accuse them of trying to arrest you? Who is this loser?

He removed his mask.

Suddenly you’re not mad anymore.

“Aha, um… I see we got off on the wrong foot.” You batted your eyes. “Emphasis on foot… what is that thing?”

“This TING!!! Is my baby. My punk bunny. Mimikyu say hi!” The little creature garbled and babbled away.

“Was that ‘hi’ or possessed screeches?”

“Ion even know m’self to be honest.” He looked a little disturbed by Mimikyu, but then smiled. “My name’s Obie Brown, and I’m the number one criminal of rich-heads like this around town.”

“Very cool Hobie Brown. Only problem is that rich-head thinks Pokémon are the cause of all this vandalism and he’s trying to take down all the gyms in this area.”

“Oh!”

“Oh.”

“Right then. WE’RE GOIN TA KILL A RICH GUY!”

“Ki-kyu-ki-ki-ki-kyu!” Mimikyu excitedly garbled.

“WE’RE GOING TO WHAT?! HEY WAIT I WANNA JOIN IN!”

You couldn’t believe you were robbing the house of guy you promised to help. At least it’s not like he needs said money anyway—he has a whole nother vault on a separate island. The goal was to strip the old man of everything he owned in this mansion.

You wedged the metal bar Hobie had lended you inti the crack of the safe’s opening. “Darn. [Poke!Name], a little help here?”

Your Pokémon croaked a little noise and threw an attack at the metal door, which surprisingly made a big enough dent to pull at.

The doors hinges dropped and inside revealed a tomb of gold and stacks of money. Including golden Pokéballs.

“Woah…”

Alright! No more marveling. Here was the hard part of the mission—getting all of the things into the cheap school bags you had stolen bought and throwing them out the window.

Needless to say, it was a rather taxing job. You were constantly on your toes watching out for a stray maid or butler to come in.

“Okay! [Poke!Name], we’re finished. And no thanks to you… You’re lucky I love you.” The moment you slightly pushed the vault door open an alarm blasted. You winced as the painful ringing echoed in your ears. “It must’ve not been triggered when we blasted through it, but opening it does.”

You managed to hurl some bags at the window. But your own escape was more difficult—and you could heart the rapid footsteps coming down the hall.

“Darn—!”

“DOWN HEYAH!”

That familiar British voice! You stuck your head at the window and saw Hobie with outstretched arms.

“JUMP DOWN! I’LL CATCH YA!”

“ARE YOU COOCOO FOR COCOPUFFS?”

“TRUST!”

You anxiously rubbed your arms as you heard the servants working on the entrance door. Who would win: your fear of heights or your fear of jail?

“Open up!”

Darn, darn, darn, darn—

Your Pokémon pushed you out the window. WHAT?

You were falling—you were falling—you were going to meet your death—

“Ya not fallin anymore you damsel in distress.”

You blushed out of embarrassment and got out of Hobie’s arms. “Ahem, thank you.”

He suddenly grabbed your hand tightly and started running away from the mansion. “So, what’s the name? I never caught it!”

You sighed. You really got yourself into some sort of mess. “[Name]. Your new partner in crime.”

“That’s the spirit!”

“I WAS BEING SARCASTIC.”

[basilone]

'Heat' and 'threshold' for Buck? Juno xx

Yes hello! 👀 Always game to write more Buck. And, well, I really wanted to take a moment to write him with Lottie, with whom he's got a bit of a complex something going on. I've set this after the events in full of grace, but it can be read as a standalone for sure. Half of this was written as a voice exercise for their relationship ages ago, and finally repurposed here in what feels like its proper place. 😊I don't think this piece needs a warning that isn't covered by the blanket "Lottie's a bi disaster"-tag, so... we're good to go!

heat / threshold

“I ain’t apologizin’ any.”

The shadow cast over her seems to shift slightly at the snap-and-bite she’s laced her words with. Lottie doesn’t bother looking up. Keeps her arms locked around her knees. Presses her face against her legs when the shadow doesn’t go away. Something curdles in her belly – low, aching, sharp like the bile in the back of her throat – that makes her feel all wrong. Makes her want to jump out of her skin in a way that leaves her head spinning and her choices less than fine.

“Jesus, Ace.”

She hates his long pause that makes her nickname a punctuation mark in his mouth. He sounds flat. Tired. She hates that she’s not Lot to him now. He calls her that every other time – even when he’s Major and she’s Captain and they’ve got a job to be doing – but never when he’s mad at her. The fact that she’s Ace to him now stings worse than the scrape on her knuckle that hasn’t stopped bleeding yet.

“You’ve got to stop fighting,” he says, then, and that’s a tune she’s heard from him before. “Hey? You have to.” His boots meet her toes. His flight jacket lands on the sand beside her. His sigh fills the air as much as his lingering aftershave does. “You listenin’ to me?”

“Yeah.” She allows a beat to pass. “Sorta.”

“I mean it.”

“I heard ya just fine, Major. Sir. Gilly Gale Cleven of the three-five-oh.”

He scrapes his throat. “Jesus, you’re really gunning for it now.” He still doesn’t go away. If anything, he moves that much closer. Folds himself into her space as he sinks down onto his jacket. He nudges her shoulder as they come to sit arm-to-arm, foot-to-foot, jacket-to-jacket. “What happened out there, Ace? Tiny said something about you and some of Blakely’s crowd?”

“Something like that.” Lottie shrugs. Keeps her gaze fixed on the small dent in the lone water canister Benny hasn’t picked up yet. “They ain’t learned to keep their mouths shut yet. Carter especially. Shutting them for ’em seemed… prudent.” She affects her mother’s tone on the last word. All debutante-socialite judgment rendered with the precision of a bullet. Is rewarded for it when he snorts out something that, in a better universe than this one, could very well be a laugh. “You give them a talking-to, too? Little lecture? Or am I the lone lucky one to face Major Cleven’s disapproval, sir?”

“Put a lid on the sirs, Ace.”

“Stop callin’ me Ace and I’ll think about it, sir.”

“Lot,” he rasps out, then, and goddamn she doesn’t like how her eyes sting when he nudges her again, “you really need to stop fighting us.” You need to stop fighting me is what she hears, exhaustion lacing his voice, not even an admonishment in place for the tone she’s taken with him. “All right?”

“I hear ya, Gilly. Y’all just get under my damn skin sometimes.” She tries to not make it sound too much like she’s sulking. Ain’t sure she’s succeeding when he chuckles and stretches his legs out beside her. “I don’t know. I don’t got anywhere else to put that feelin’, ya know?”

“Sky ain’t enough, huh.”

“The sky shoots back these days,” she says conversationally. “Gotta leave the pain on the ground. Take anything up with ya, it’s gonna make ya crash.”

“Ain’t that a truth.”

“I ain’t Val, I ain’t good at lyin’ to ya. Unless Bucky asks me to, of course.”

“Of course.”

Lottie exhales a noisy breath. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Gale’s face is serene when she glances at him. His hand finds her bruised knuckles. “Do better, Lot. I know you can.”

“You really believe that horseshit, huh.”

His hand squeezes hers none too gently before he releases her. “Manage a week. I’ll take you flying after. How’s that sound?”

“Like a damn impossibility.” Her voice cracks. She blinks furiously as her lower lip starts to wobble. “I… I don’t think…”

“Gotta start somewhere. This heat’s got all tempers at a high. Perrault has yet to take a breath without insulting John in the process.”

Lottie sniffs. Wipes at her cheeks. “Bucky deserves it.”

“I’m sure he does.” His smile is wry. His cheeks are flushed with heat. The start of a sunburn is already sprawling over his bare chest, beneath the glint of his dog tags. “You wanna talk about it now or later, Squeaky?”

“Not at all?” she hedges. Ignores the way his eyes narrow at that to the best of her ability. “I’m sick of talkin’, Gilly. Sick of people askin’ me shit.” She bites her lip. Wishes she could draw blood with the action. “You might as well be the only one who’s nice to me lately. Even if ya call me Squeaky.”

“Benny was plenty nice to you after we landed.”

And she can’t fault him for it. Can’t even hate him for it. “Yeah. He was.” She swallows thickly. Her head feels like it’s about to start swimming. “Darlene likes him a lot, ya know? Can’t be mean to him when she’s all soft about the guy.” Can’t be mean to him even when he makes Darlene smile in a way she hasn’t smiled at Lottie in a long time now. “I ain’t got a problem with Benny, all right?”

“All right,” agrees Gale, even when his tone suggests it’s anything but. He scrapes his throat. Pointedly doesn’t look at her. “Next time you want to fight a guy, Lot… You try me first.”

Lottie blinks. Stares. He is looking at the same water canister she was, earlier. “You? Gilly,” she laughs, breathless all of a sudden, “I ain’t gonna fight you.” I like you too much for that. “You’re my superior officer and all that shit, remember? You tryin’a get me into trouble here?”

He grunts a little. “Trying to keep you out of it, actually.”

“That don’t make sense.”

“What, me wanting to keep you out of trouble?” He laughs. Glances at her, all crinkled eyes and far too much warmth in his gaze, and her belly swoops the same way it did when she first stood on the threshold of a cockpit. “If you fight me,” he continues, speaking straight through the static that fizzes to life inside her, “I can chalk it up to training. Say it’s friendly. If you fight anybody else, they’ll demote you eventually. Send you home, if you keep going.”

“So, what, you’ll be my punching bag?”

“This bag will still punch back, Squeaky,” he snorts, nudging her. “And hard, too. You’re not the only one with a mean right hook in this squadron.”

“You’d punch a lady like me, Gilly?” She flutters her eyelashes at him. Nudges his shoulder none too gently. Anything to shake that feeling inside her that feels treacherously like butterflies. “No warnings, no takebacks, no apologies? Give it to me good and hard?”

His cheeks flush a deeper crimson than before. “Jesus, Lot…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, you’ve already hit your max on dirty chatter for the day,” she laughs, lifting her sunglasses out of her hair and donning them again. “Can’t fault a girl for jumping on it though. Think of it as me perfectin’ your poker face in case you run into them Nazis. They ain’t gonna crack you during interrogation.”

“Pretty sure them Nazis won’t crack a hundred crude jokes like you do.”

“Pretty sure that makes them more boring than me.”

His answering laugh is soft. Doesn’t carry beyond where they’re seated. “Pretty sure you’re the least boring person in my world, Lot.”

Her cheeks feel warmer than the rest of her does, even though she’s been sunning herself in this mid-day heat for at least an hour now. “Bucky’s gonna cry if you tell him that,” she says, leaning her head on his shoulder long enough for him to tense and then relax under her touch. “But ya sure know how to make a girl feel special, sir. Marge is damn lucky to have ya.”

His shoulder tenses just a fraction beneath her cheek. Just enough.

It’s easier when she draws this line for both of them, or so she’ll tell herself half a million times more.