#hi :) take my self indulgent pasta fic :)

[starpirateee]

oh god. okayyy

so, after a rather lengthy conversation with @scripted-downfall, we came up with this self indulgent ass fic... Because we decided that Wilbur Cross could, in fact, cook, and old habits die hard :)

so.... pasta!

and i swear to god this was supposed to be a bit. a bit! you wouldn't believe that after it turned out to be... 3100 words and 90% of it didn't even involve pasta

Not many people had a second chance at life. PEIP had done enough investigating to be able to at least assume that, if there ever had been… Others. People who had been affected by the entities within the Black and White… Then they were no longer alive. Wilbur- Wiley- was enough of an exception in just that factor alone, but there was something else that set them apart from the potential endless number of others.

They had escaped.

John didn't know how it had happened. Apparently, his agents didn't know about them either. Not their escape or what had happened to them afterwards. He couldn't exactly do much better for himself, but Wiley had appeared on his doorstep in the middle of the night- a mess of blood, erratic breath, and shot nerves -and he had to forge an explanation for himself.

It was close to three am when he opened the door, under the impression that nobody in their right mind would come to him at that time in the morning unless it was an emergency. And an emergency, it was. The moment he opened the door, his eyes darted over the mess that was once his mentor, his friend… Frankly, he couldn't help the grimace that followed.

"Jesus, Wil… What the- What the hell happened to you?"

He had been aware for years that Wilbur Cross was dead. It still took a level of restraint to remember that, especially on days like today, when there was such an obvious reminder that the truth was anything but. Not dead. Not at all. Changed. In appearance, they were almost exactly the same.

Almost being the operative word, of course.

The same tall, thin frame, the same dark hair that grazed their shoulders, just as it always had… But that was about where the similarities stopped. It was still hard to get used to the dead stare, the flicker of green that crackled like lightning, or the way that everything about them was just a little… Off.

Too bright. Too sharp. Too far gone. That was always the problem with them. Always just a little bit too far away from being human… Never quite close enough to pass.

At the moment, they were struggling to keep themself upright. They were shaking, forcing themself to stay in check, or to stay present.

They stumbled forwards, and John held out a hand to catch them. "Woah, shit-"

"Didn't know where else to go…" They muttered in a broken whisper, swiping the back of their hand over their face, and collecting a loose trickle of blood that was running down their cheek.

John frowned, looping his arm around their waist and leading them inside. "No, it's okay. It's okay…" The need to express his reluctance to let them go again felt redundant. Right now, there wasn't much of an option otherwise, he wasn't just going to let them try and find someplace else, no matter what they'd done in the past. "What happened?"

The two of them sat down on the couch. Wiley immediately sank into it, feeling the stiff leather underneath their hands, cool and unfamiliar and… and…

Safe.

They were… Safe here. It was way too quiet, and that was never good- not from their experience- but for once, they had no doubt that this quiet was different. They breathed, felt the way their chest heaved like this was the first time they'd ever done it.

"… Got out."

Why was it that something so simple as getting their mind to coordinate was such a hard task?

They stretched out their fingers, digging them into the fabric of their jeans, acknowledging and desperately appreciating the way their fingernails felt as they dug in just enough to make it noticeable. This- whatever coincidence had landed them on the doorstep of John McNamara of all people- was real. Some insane luck, or a game of chance that they didn't want to think about, had forced them into remembering directions, an address…

Maybe this wasn't chance. Maybe there was something left in the back of their mind that said this was what they had to do.

The thought of that made breathing a little easier. If this wasn't coincidence- if they had meant to find John all along- then maybe they were meant to break the cycle, to escape…

"You got out?" John echoed, making sure to keep his voice soft. Wiley just nodded, and John turned a little to face them. "Out of what? Out of the Black?"

Another nod. "It broke. It- it shattered. Like fuckin' glass, John! And I- I saw a way out, so I started runnin'. Didn't stop. Couldn't stop. I'm clear, John, it's quiet, it's so, so quiet…"

Saying his name felt good. It filled the quiet with something that wasn't that daunting static. Any second now, the voices would come back, carrying with them the painful sparks of colour that set fire to their mind… They'd be dragged back into the unknown, and then all this blood- the injuries they'd sustained from trying to force themself out- would get worse. They knew that much.

For now, though… For this very second in this very location… They were a little safer than they could ever remember being.

John tried to wrap his head around that. What they'd said didn't make a whole lot of sense, sure, but there was something in there that did. Maybe it wouldn't explain why they were so afraid, or what they were running from, but maybe it explained that they'd been nothing but a prisoner for all this time.

He had to forgive himself for not being able to think this through. It was barely three in the morning, he'd never had to be this alert this early before…

"And the blood?" The tesselation of scratches leaving jagged lines in their skin; their face, the back of their hands…

"They weren't gonna make it easy,"

"What d'you mean?"

"I hadta fight." The brown in their eyes that John didn't even notice was there started to shine through. They heaved a sigh, the most sturdy they'd sounded since they'd gotten here. "Doesn't matter. I'll be fine."

"Wil, you're bleeding on my couch, you can't say that…"

"I'm fine." They insisted. And that was true, for the time being. They were fine here. Fine with John. All of that would change when they had to leave, and it was extremely late, so that was going to be sooner than they thought… What then? What happened when they exposed themself again, made it known exactly where they were?

John nodded. He wasn't certain that he believed them, but it was a start, he supposed. If they thought they were going to be fine, then there was no reason why he shouldn't believe them. "You said it was… Quiet. Can I take it that's a good thing?"

"I dunno. Never been this quiet before. I dunno what to make of it."

"Why's it so quiet?"

"I can't hear 'em in my head."

That needed no explanation, of course. John knew exactly what they were referring to, and that they knew more about those entities than he or anyone at PEIP ever would. He found he had nothing to say- perhaps a direct result of that gaping hole in his knowledge. Nobody knew anything about the Black and White for sure, and the one who did refused to elaborate. Not like he could blame them in the slightest for any of that…

Wiley forced a sigh. "That won't last long. They'll be back… Always are."

Whether it was his tiredness talking, or that hopeful part of him that had never believed in Wilbur's death, John didn't know. But he briefly let his impulses take over the cloud of thoughts in his mind, and spoke the first words that settled.

"You can stay, if you want."

"Huh?"

"Look, it's some ungodly hour of the morning, and sure, you might be fine in a couple hours, but you're not now…"

Right.

Now…

The passage of time was so fast here, but that was only because it worked in the first place. They still hadn't so much as comprehended that yet. There was a ‘now’, the present moment. Exactly as things stood in this second, this moment. And in that now, John was making them an offer.

But offers didn't exist. They weren't real. It was always a bargain, something both parties could benefit from, or a deal, where they would have to exchange something. What was he getting from this?

Did that even matter? There must've been a reason why they'd gone to him first, and they doubted it was because he was the only person they knew…

Their eyes met his. They were searching for something, any kind of indication that he was going to say something else- the other half of the deal. Nothing came. John's gaze was soft, almost expectant. He was waiting for them.

"I'd be gone before you can think about it." Was that a promise? If it was, they certainly meant it. Either in that they were going to make sure of it themself, or that they were going to get found out.

John hummed. "I know… I'm not offering for my benefit."

This wasn't a bargain at all. John was seriously just offering his hospitality for as long as it lasted. They faltered, then nodded slowly "… Th- thank you, John."

John seemed rather satisfied that they'd decided to take him up on the offer. That, or… Relieved, maybe? Either way, he only lasted another half hour or so before he bade Wiley goodnight and turned in, leaving them alone with the strange tangibility of the world.

The silence of the night settled in fast. Wiley decided the immediate course of action was to take care of that which John was so concerned about. All things considered, it wasn't so bad. They could definitely remember being in more pain, that was for sure.

They closed one hand over the top of the other, pressing down a little. They were about as real as anything else that belonged in the Black, and the rules of this dimension applied to them just as little. That seemed especially true when they were in it, and that made this particular job a lot easier.

When they lifted their hand again, the scratch was just another jagged white line to add to the others that already littered their skin. It was a little raised, and red around the edges, but such were the messes associated with fresh scars.

Though, getting rid of the feeling of their own freezing cold blood running down their face was always a relief, they had to admit. One by one they sorted he remaining remnants of their escape, until there was nothing left but the old ghosts of what once was, and the memory associated with them.

Suddenly they were so much more bothered about the time. Being here had never done that to them before, but they'd gained a certain vigilance to it out of nowhere. With the time they'd spent getting to John, and with the conversation that followed, they'd already been out of the Black for well over an hour.

Those hours just kept multiplying, adding onto each other until they started to doubt that they would ever be found. John came and went at some point in the early morning, surprised to see them still there, but arguably even more surprised to see that they'd made a full recovery since he'd last seen them.

Seven and a half hours, and nothing. This was by far the best of their luck, which had never been so bountiful before today. They had a sneaking suspicion that they couldn't be this lucky forever.

Nine hours, ten, eleven… They were still startlingly alone. With the need to keep that particular string of thoughts out of their mind, they started to zone out, loosening their grip on the world a little. Frankly, they couldn't remember the last time this was a safe bet, but it had been so long already… Surely if they wanted to chase them down or reappear from the confines of their mind, then they would've done so already.

Unless they were waiting until they thought for certain that they were alone to strike.

Before that could settle, before they started to believe that as a possibility, they faded out. John's space- the four walls they'd been getting used to for the last stretch of time- started to blur off into the vast expanse of nothing.

There was something in the back of their mind that told them they needed to move, to get away from this scene. This was becoming too familiar. They needed to move and they needed to do so quickly.

Feeling the weight of unknowable dread settling in their chest, they rose from their position on the couch and started to wander.

Their footsteps were completely silent against the hardwood floor. That would never do… Something needed to pull them out of this ever changing void, and remind them that they could be so lucky, that they weren't going to have their luck run out on them.

They'd passed into another room. The silence was washed out by the sound of a tiny clock, and several things humming to preserve the life in them. At once, they recalled purposes, a multitude of functions for a multitude of things. Their vision started to clear ever so slightly. This felt blissful. Their singular track mind felt a little more at ease here.

I know what I'm doing here. A purpose. Everything else has one, and so do I. What?

They felt themself reach out. In that moment, clarity was restored. Static faded out, the thoughts subsided, and they had drawn themself back enough to see what was going on.

Their hand was about three inches from John's knife block.

Eyes widened, they flinched violently and forced themself back until they hit the wall. Fuck. Fuck. Falling out of touch with the world was a bad call and always had been a bad call. There was danger in fading out, in becoming what they feared.

Don't let it take over.

Once, they had remembered a name. It used to be theirs, it was the one John remembered. Even if they could never reclaim it, bits of their past were locked in that name, no more than magazine cutouts, worn and faded with age. Those cutouts were often the only thing keeping them from cracking once and for all. The first passage of a song, or the way someone's voice used to sound. With that came instinct. It was never enough, the broken pieces, but they pretty much knew how to keep themself alive.

Boredom and a desperate need to drown out the silence were not… Always included in that instinct, but at the moment they had tools at their disposal, and at least enough in their memory to find something to do.

The knives were an immediate no. It didn't matter what they did, that was going to be readily avoided, if they could help it. Too close to slipping… Way too much of a dangerous call in this situation.

John had ingredients. Funny, there was some passing flicker in the back of their mind that recalled him admitting to not being a particularly strong cook…

They let their conscience take a backseat while those strange instincts took over. Sure, they knew what they were doing- they were fully aware- but there was something telling them they'd only ruin it if they had full control. Everything they touched was destroyed in some way. This was no different.

If they were fully in control right now, the way this instinct was slowly building some old dish they clearly knew would be destroyed too. The worst part of them had a habit of rearing it's head when it wasn't wanted, who knew how far they'd be able to send the ingredients into a state of rot and disrepair?

So, they made themself relax. The constant repetition and apparently ingrained knowledge of these steps made that a little easier. It was almost… Therapeutic. And the longer they stayed at it, the more they found themself capable of neglecting the thought that they'd put a huge target on their back.

There was something about this freedom that was almost blissful, in it's own way.

That's why they were so shaken when that bliss was interrupted from an outside source. The door. Footsteps that stopped all too rapidly. A voice, quiet and confused. A familiar voice.

"… What the hell?"

John.

John had had a weird few hours since Wiley showed up at his doorstep. First, he'd woken up that morning to find they'd made a full recovery from the number of scratches drawing their blood, and then he came home a little early, and had been immediately struck with the unmistakeable smell of cooking.

Domestic bliss wasn't on the cards for him. At a job like that, coming home to someone else- forcing himself into secrecy for the sake of something bigger than himself- didn't seem like his scene at all.

Of course, he hadn't forgotten about Wiley, but he certainly hadn't been expecting… That.

"What the hell?"

Vaguely amused and very confused, he followed the scent down to its source, and found the result to be even more surprising than the idea alone.

"Uh, Wil?"

Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ. A single moment had taken him back some eleven or twelve years. The two of them shared a space, then. For convenience, Wilbur had said, and John agreed. It had been convenient, and had definitely saved them many a midnight phonecall over the ideas they just couldn't shake.

And the only thing that made it even more worthwhile was the fact that Wilbur just casually demonstrated in the early days that he was a fantastic cook. John found the thought of it amusing, but Wilbur had proven as much, and after that, he stopped ever doubting his friend's talents.

Now it was happening again. There were spice pots haphazardly collected on the countertop, and the air was filled with the fresh aroma of tomato sauce. He couldn't believe what he was witnessing.

Wiley glanced at the tiny clock their lost mind had picked up on earlier, and then dared to turn around momentarily. "John… Didn't expect ya…"

Wiley huffed a breath of laughter that curled back their lips and brought about just another reminder that this wasn't the past it once had been. Too white. Too sharp. Too many.

John wanted to follow that with some comment about being early, but he was completely fixated on the fact that the thing closest to being Wilbur was back in his kitchen making fucking pasta of all things. He blinked, trying to ignore how nostalgic that all felt. "I… Wasn't exactly expecting you to be in my kitchen making pasta… What's going on there?"

Not human.

Not Wilbur.

"Got restless. This was… Instinct, I guess."

"Instinct?"

They shrugged. "Somethin' like that."

[sweetmarmalade]

"Hello Kento"

"Hey darling" Nanami pauses for a moment. "Are you okay? Is something bothering you?"

"No it's just..... Can I come over to your place?"

"Of course love.... You can... Where are you right now?"

"I'm about to leave my office... " You answer in a tired whisper.

"Wait there darling, I'm coming in 10 minutes" The call cuts. You smile softly. You are not used to this type of things. Nobody has ever done this much for you... and this much attentive love? You could only imagine what is to be loved this much by someone.

You come out of your office gate and stand there waiting for your love. After some time, you see the black sedan. He has come. Nanami comes out of the car, with a slight worried look on his face. He comes almost running to you, " Love, did I make you wait long?"

"No dear, it was not long" You smile through his hands cupping your cheeks. "Okay, let's go home then" he takes your hands in his and takes you to the passenger seat. He opens the door and makes sure you're seated comfortably. On the way to his home, he doesn't bother you with questions. You knew he wouldn't. He never does. He will wait until you are ready to speak to him.

After reaching his apartment, he opens up the apartment door with the jingle of keys, and makes way for you to go in first. You get that comforting smell. The smell of home. You take a deep breath. "It feels so good here Ken.. " You feel two arms hugging you from behind as you say those words. "I'm glad you're feeling good.. " Nanami puts his chin on your shoulder. "Have you had dinner at the cafeteria?" "No... actually.."

Nanami sighs. "Go freshen up, I'll make us something."

...........................................................................

The pasta he made for you two was so delicious, you almost finished it in 5 minutes. "Whoa whoa slow down love.. You will choke on the food" " Too late, already finished" you grin at him.

After a pause you start, "Ken.... when I called you today... I was really missing you... I was missing home... and also, I was terribly tired." You look at him, he is looking at you intently. " No matter what I do, how much I work hard, I feel like I'll never be enough." You take a deep breath.

"Sometimes it is normal to feel that way love, but hey, you are living your life for the first time, you are figuring out things on your own, you're always trying to do better. Never think you're not enough. Maybe sometimes you will get setbacks, but that doesn't mean you are a loser or something. That's human. You put in effort, you tried, that's enough. You are doing alright love. I see you. I'm always with you."

Tears start to roll down on your cheeks. "Oh love", he comes and hugs you. You needed that warm, much comforting hug. As you calm down gradually, he kisses on the top of your head. " Love , I just now remembered I have some mango flavored ice cream in my fridge, wanna have some? " You nod with a grin on your face. " Then I shall bring some ice cream for our princess red nose-"

"HEY DON'T CALL ME THAT!!"

(a/n : very much self indulgent comfort fic. I really need some comfort right now😞😞 it's not that good, please be gentle with me)

[kushnovice]

Spinning My World

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Stark! Reader

Synopsis: Reader tends to the avengers wounds constantly and when Tony opens an emotional wound in the reader, Bucky is there to help.

wc: 2.4k

Warnings: my first bucky fic, medical, wounds, tending to wounds, sibling rivalry, mention of dead parents, fluffy love, slow-burn

AN: Female reader, fluffy, lots of mistakes, self indulgent (Pictures are not mine nor are any characters part of this)

What makes the earth go round? to most people it's money, to others it's family. To me, it's love.

I grew up with Tony Stark, my older brother. He was never that big on affection which was something he picked up from our parents and because of that, Tony and I aren't as close as we once were before our parents died. I spend most of my time making sure the house is always put together and cooking food for Tony and Pepper. I always feel a little guilty as I haven't achieved as much as my older brother and living with him and all of his fancy things just rubs it in. I also spend a lot of time studying. Since we have the money, I am attending an Ivy League school online. Unlike Tony, I don't like robots and technology, I prefer to help people. I am majoring in Medical Science as well as minoring in Psychology, which the amount of work is unbearable.

I sigh as I close one of my textbooks, my notebook, and my laptop, leaving them on the desk in my room. I make my through the long winding halls and into the kitchen, the tiles on the floor leaving my feet cold as I walk. I flick on the light as I walk in and take a deep breath, finally feeling at peace. The kitchen was always my safe space since Tony never cooked for himself, neither did any of the avengers. It was my own tiny world of peace.

I smile softly to myself as I make my way to the sink, I start to wash my hands while humming a song. "Friday, can you play (song name)?" As the song starts playing, I feel more comfortable as I start pulling what I would need from the fridge and the cabinets. I then fill up a pot of water and put it on the stove to boil and preheat the oven before I start separating and seasoning the chicken. I then start to cut up some veggies before checking on the pasta that I am making. After everything is cooking, I take the time to dance in the kitchen, just enjoying the music and how it flows through my body. That was until I heard the door open. I jerk my head to see who it is, only to be stunned by the sight in front of me. There he was, the most beautiful creature this world had ever created, but he was drenched in blood. Without thinking, I walk right up to him and start to examine him from what I can see. "Oh buck, what happened this time?" I ask as I eye him up and down for injuries, feeling better after not finding any serious ones. Bucky sighed deeply, "The mission was hijacked. I'm not the only Injured one." I sigh deeply as I take the food out of the oven and put the veggies and sauce into the pasta. Then, without a second thought, i make my way to the medical clinic, which I pretty much run.

I put my coat on and wash my hands again before putting on gloves. I make my way into the emergency room that we have to see Tony laying on a gurney. I immediately start to cut his shirt and pants off as I examine his body, the deep wounds showing no mercy as they continue to bleed. I sterilize the wound and start stitching him up and taking my time to make sure it's perfect.

After a few hours, I was done with making sure Tony was alright and had checked out all of the other team members. I look at the clock and sigh deeply when I realize that it is close to 1 in the morning. I make my way through the winding hallways again and I stand outside of Buckys room. "Hey Buck, are you awake?" I ask softly knowing his super human hearing can pick up my voice, and sure enough because the door unlocks and slides open revealing that he had just got out of the shower. I blush slightly as i try not to stare at his bare chest, "oh um...sorry I was just coming to give you a quick check up..." I shuffle awkwardly at his door but he nods softly and lets me in his room.

The smell of Axe Body spray and Midsummers Night circle the room. I sit Bucky down as I start to stitch up a few of his wounds. It stays mostly silent, neither of us knowing what to talk about until Bucky speaks up, "aren't you tired?" I furrow my eyebrows, "why would I be tired?" Bucky sighs deeply, "we go on these missions almost daily and you're the only one who gives us medical help, isn't it tiring?" I look up from his stitches to smile softly at Bucky, "No, it's not tiring. If anything, it gives me a purpose and makes me a hero like you guys." I giggle to myself at how corny that sounded before going back to stich bucky up.

After I am done, I make sure I didn't miss any dry blood before I stand up, "make sure you eat dinner, I don't know if the others did yet but you need to eat." I smile at him to which he gives me a small smile at the end of his lips. "I did eat already, it was delicious." I smile at him as I watch him put his shirt back on, "good good, I tried a new recipe today so I'm glad it is good." I smile to myself thinking about how Bucky enjoyed my food. "Did you eat yet?" Bucky asks with a furrowed eyebrow and I'm left shocked, normally i'm the one asking that question. "I was about too, then all of that happened," I smile at Bucky but his facial expressions don't change this time. "You really should eat." I nod my head and start to make my way into the kitchen to see a huge mess of plates and bowls and forks all over the place and all of the food gone. "at least they liked it" I smile to myself as I shrug off my coat and take off my gloves, "Friday, some music please" I speak as I start to pick up the plates and bowls and utensil's and place them in the sink. I then pick up all the trash and wipe down the counter while dancing around the kitchen. I spend a few hours cleaning, until it is spotless before I turn off the music and realize I wasn't alone. As I go to grab my coat and turn off the light, I hear a voice, "Aren't you going to eat?" I whip my head around, looking for where the voice came from until I can see Bucky, just outside the door. "there was no more left, i'm glad everyone enjoyed it." I smile at him but he doesn't smile back, he makes his way into the kitchen and starts grabbing stuff. "woah woah woah what are you doing?" I ask as I watch him start up the stove. "You need to eat. More than any of us." Buckys voice is stern and emotionless but I can tell that he cares. "I'm alright, I'll be up in a few hours to cook breakfast anyways." I look at the time and then at Bucky who then turns to me with furrowed eyes again his eyes studying me and trying to figure me out as he looks me up and down. "Why do you cook for everyone? Why do you go out of your way for everyone? I don't get how that benefits you." I sigh deeply, "I don't do it for me, I do it for you guys. You guys are heros and are saving the world every day. the least I can do is cook you guys a warm meal and make sure you guys don't get too hurt." "But why?" Bucky asks as he cracks open an egg and starts to cook it. "You guys deserve it, you deserve the best." I smile at him softly, watching his movements while I think. "Why do you save the world?" I ask while watching his movements. He seems relaxed and calm "Because if I can help save the world then there's hope to save myself." He speaks in a quiet whisper, "why do you save us? why are you so interested in medicine?" He asks with seriousness, trying to understand me better. "I was never taught self defense so I save the world in the only way I know, medicine." Bucky turns to look at me, "you don't give yourself enough credit, no one does." I can hear how he sighs softly. I let myself smile, knowing this was his way of showing he cared. Bucky finished cooking the food and he made two plates, setting one in front of me while he sat across the table from me. He immediately downs his food within seconds leaving me to take awhile to finish my food. When I'm finished eating, I grab our plates and put them in the dishwasher. When i make my way back into the dining room, Bucky is watching me as soon as I enter the room. "What? Is there food on my face?" I jokingly ask, with a smirk on my face as I make my way back to sit down. Bucky snorts softly at my comment, "No, I just don't get how someone could look so pretty after working for so many hours." Buckys voice is soft but his eyes are full of emotion as his hands fold on the table. I feel myself melt under his gaze as my cheeks start to burn, "Oh, uhm...thanks..." I giggle lightly, "You aren't too bad looking for someone who just got stitched up." I reply causing bucky to be taken aback.

"Why are you two up at 2 in the morning?" Tony asks as he walks into the dining room in his black robe that is barely covering his bare chest and his blazers. Tony somehow still has his shades on as well as his slippers on as he sets down some coffee and a sandwich at the table and sits down. "I was just making sure your sister ate after giving everyone medical exams." Bucky replied as he stared blankly at tony as he ate. "Interesting." Tony replied quickly as he started to eat. "I'm glad that your mission didn't go to badly, not many people were injured." I smiled at Tony as I recall the injuries that everyone had got. Tony sighed as he swallowed the food in his mouth, "Do I get bonus points if I act like I care?" I roll my eyes at how immature Tony still is after all of these years. "Somebody's cranky." I snort to myself, Tony glares daggers at me. "Somebody needs to shut up." I smile at Tony, now enjoying fucking with him. "I don't have enough middle fingers to let you know how I feel." I smirk at Tony, thinking I got the better up. "Frankly, I don't care. Just like how he never cared about Mom and Dad. You know who killed them right?" Tony asks as he glares between Bucky and I. "If you're insinuating that Bucky killed our parents then fuck you!" I yell in Tony's face, not able to control my anger as I get up and storm off. Bucky looks at Tony as Tony finishes his sandwich, not purposefully glaring but staring deeply at him causing Tony to get uncomfortable and scramble out of the room.

Bucky sighs deeply as he makes his way to my room, thinking of the right words to say as he ends up right outside of my door. "Hey...I know Tony's words really hurt but I'd like to tell you my story, not what you've heard from files but my life the way I lived it, when I had control of my life." Bucky expected no response honestly, who would want to talk to their parents murderer? Surprisingly the door swung open as Bucky looked in at my small trembling figure on the floor, a pang in his heart caused him to lose his breath seeing her in such pain.

I lift my head to meet Buckys soft eyes as he moves to sit on the bed next to me. His voice was kind but also firm as he told me all about his life, from his time in Brooklyn with Steve all the way through Hydra, he spoke about my parents last almost as if to save me the pain. "Your parents...they were a mission I had to carry out while apart of Hydra, or else I would have died as well as them...I wish I never had too..." Bucky sighs deeply as he looks at the ground. "You don't have to be my friend or even be nice to me, but I just wanted you to know that I never wanted to hurt anyone." Bucky softly got up, expecting to be kicked out before he felt my hands wrapped around his human arm. "I want to be your friend. It hurts knowing that you did that to my parents and I don't think that hurt will ever go away, but I do know that it wasn't you, that you didn't do it on your own will. I forgive you, Buck." I speak softly as I wrap my arms around Bucky's human hand, taking his warmth from him as it comforts my shaking body as I am able to relax into my bed and into Bucky, feeling safe and comfortable for once. I don't remember what happened after that other than my eyes forcing themselves closed as Bucky's mechanical arm softly strokes my hair.

I wake up to the sun shining brightly in my eyes causing me to instantly rub my eyes. I stretch with a small groan, wishing to be asleep still as I reach my arms above my head. I hear a rough chuckle beside me and open my eyes to see Bucky smirking down at me, "Morning, Doll." I feel my face go red at the nickname. I roll over to face him in the bed, "I'm sorry that I kept you here all night." I apologize softly as I yawn the sleepy feeling away. He smiled softly down at me, the golden sun reflecting off of his eyes making it look like tigers eye. "You have nothing to apologize for, darling." He used his fingers to swoop the stray strands of hair out of my face. "It was the best sleep I have gotten in awhile." He confessed as he pulled me a little closer, his body heat keeping me warm as he smiled down at me cheekily. "Don't smile at me like that, you know it drives me crazy..." I giggle at him softly as I place my hand on his face before leaning in. Bucky closed the gap as he took my lips in his, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me in closer as he chuckles into the kiss.

"How else would I make your world spin?"

[httpiastri]

more than enough – jmm21

you hate your birthday, but pepe is determined to change your mind.

genre: fluff/a little angsty/comfort

pairing: reader x college!pepe marti, ft christian mansell and sebastian montoya

warnings: uhhh anxiety and such ?? idk

word count: 2.6k

author's note: just like last year, this is merely a very self-indulgent birthday gift to myself (and a bit of a late birthday gift for a friend on here who confided in me about not liking their birthday either), so sorry if you don't relate but i needed to write this for myself despite how painful it was. not happy with how it turned out but, i had to get it out of my system. <3 (also not proofread because i will freak out likely aaaaa)

this is mostly a standalone fic but ig it kinda works as college!pepe so i put that there. i got this idea at my mom's birthday back in march but never actually wrote it until this last week... also loosely based on a tiktok that really spoke to me.

also! this doesn't really work with the headcanon of pepe, seb and chris all sharing an apartment, but i wanted it this way. i also wasn't comfortable including gaby or hermes, so i used the names nora and emma for seb's and chris's respective gfs. :)

"why didn't you tell me your birthday is next week?"

the question is innocent enough, only borderline accusing, but something tightens in your stomach nonetheless. you don't look up from the pot in your hand, however, instead continuing to scrub it with your dishbrush like it's no big deal. "who told you that?"

pepe chuckles as he makes his way over to your side, leaning against the counter as he looks at you. "emma," he tells you, crossing his arms over his chest. "going to answer my question now?"

"i must've forgotten to tell you."

"oh, come on..." your boyfriend shakes his head. "is there a reason i wasn't allowed to know? did i do something? do you not trust me? am i-"

"pepe," you say, his name followed by a sigh as you look over to him in hopes of stopping his rambling. "it's nothing personal."

"what is it, then?" he presses, eyes following your hands as they begin to rinse the pot he'd cooked your pasta in just a couple hours ago. "why don't you want to tell me?"

you take a deep breath, shrugging your shoulders before turning off the tap. "i just... i'm not a big fan of my birthday."

the biggest understatement of the year.

you hate your birthday.

for a number of reasons, really. some to do with your family and childhood; many to do with your own inner thoughts and feelings.

you hate how it reminds you of every bad birthday you had as a kid. you hate how it makes you hopeful that people will remember and congratulate you, because you hate how painful it is when they don't. you hate how you always get reminded of how little people seem to care, and how they always prioritize themselves even on what's supposed to be your day.

it's too much of a mess to explain to him right now – maybe, hopefully, one day you'll have the energy and courage to go through it all.

you hadn't forgotten to tell pepe; you had just been silently hoping he wouldn't address it, and that everyone else would forget, too. but apparently, you have a snitch in your friend group. "what do you mean?" pepe asks.

"i'd much rather not celebrate it." you place the pot on the drying rack, wiping your hands on your towel hanging by the stove before turning to him. "a lot of stuff regarding my birthday just makes me really upset. if i could, i'd just... make it disappear, honestly."

your eyes flicker to the floor, fingers nervously fiddling with the sleeve of your shirt. he can tell you don't want to get into it, and he won't push you. instead, he opens his arms wide, taking a step forward. you accept the offer instantly, arms wrapping around his waist as he pulls you close.

the air in your little dorm room isn't as thick as you had expected it to be when telling him all of this – but at the same time, you aren't surprised. pepe has always had a way of grounding you, making everything seem a bit easier. "i can't make it completely disappear, i think," he says, placing his chin on top of your head. "but i can pretend for you."

you hum contently, letting your eyes close for a few moments. "that would be great."

he remains quiet for a couple of seconds, but then he can't stop himself from talking again. "do you really not want anything? no party? you threw me that party for my birthday, i'd feel guilty not doing anything back."

"i did it because you had a fun time and you like those things, and because i enjoyed planning it. but i was really hoping i could skip all that," you answer, pulling away ever so slightly to look up at him with a sheepish expression. "i would honestly rather have dinner with you, emma, nora, sebas, chris... maybe get some takeout from that new indian place down the road?"

to pepe's ears, you sound more than just a tiny bit crazy – but your being so different from him is one of the things that attracted him in the first place. he nods, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. "whatever you say, love."

"where did your girl go?" emma asks the second pepe slumps into a free seat by the cafeteria table.

your boyfriend shoots a glance over his shoulder back to the serving line before setting his plate down. "they were out of rice so she's just waiting for a new batch," he says with a shrug.

"okay then, let's be quick before she gets here," emma speaks up again. "what are we doing for her birthday? it's just a few days away, but i think we can pull something off."

"me and seb were talking about throwing her a surprise party," nora says, looking over at sebastian who's nodding excitedly.

pepe, however, lets out a dismissive sound and swats the air with his hand. "no, forget about that," he says, stuffing a spoonful of pasta into his mouth. "she doesn't want any of that."

nora snorts. "what? of course she does."

"you know, pepe," emma counters, eyebrows raised at the spaniard. "every girl will tell you that she doesn't want a surprise party. don't bother, i don't care, you don't have to do all that for me! but in reality, we're all secretly craving it."

pepe considers her words for a few moments; maybe there is some truth in them after all. maybe all you did was try to act modest, to put the idea in his head so he would make the right choice.

but you weren't the one to bring up the subject – he was. he remembers clearly how you were doing your very best to avoid talking about your birthday at all, and the memory of how tough of a subject it seemed like to you is still etched into his mind. he thinks you were so brave to confide in him like that, and so he needs to stand up for you. he can't dishonor your trust.

"trust me, guys. she really doesn't want it." he ignores the groans of the people around him, taking a few sips of his water before continuing. "can't we all just grab some dinner on saturday instead? maybe that new indian place?"

"works for me," christian joins in. "how about presents, then?"

"right, are we all buying something together, or separate gifts?" emma fills in.

pepe shakes his head yet again. "i don't think she wants that, either." his words are followed by a long silence, which makes him unable to hold back a chuckle. "just paying for the food should be enough."

nora sighs dramatically, the palms of her hands pressing into the sides of her face. "and i'm supposed to just trust you, huh?" she asks and pepe merely shrugs, focusing back on his food. "hope you're not messing with us here, marti."

"i have no idea what he said, but he usually is," your voice spreads through the group as you finally take a seat at the table. "fill me in and i'll help you decide if he's just being annoying."

"i was just telling them about what mr. peterson said yesterday," pepe says quickly. "about what he'll do to everyone who fails the exam."

you throw your head back laughing, nodding instantly. "oh my god, that was hilarious. so, it started with someone on the front row asking about..."

pepe loves birthdays. his own, too, but mostly he finds himself looking forward to his friends' birthdays and longing to celebrate the important people in his life. he loves picking out gifts, planning celebrations, and making sure everything is perfect. it just comes naturally for him to be caring and detailed in that way.

but while pepe eagerly awaits your birthday, you couldn't even come close to feeling the same way.

most years, you spend the weeks leading up to your birthday dreading it, and the day of your birthday crying, because your birthday reminds you of everything you try to forget year-round.

pepe wants to make the day perfect for you, but he also obviously doesn't want to do too much. it's a hard task, but he's set on making it work – and the first step is getting a cake.

his first thought was to get you something huge, something to properly convey what he thinks you deserve and how much he loves you. though, it didn't take long for him to realize that something like that would be way too much for you. instead, he settled on a more basic yellow cake with some kind of white coating that the lady in the bakery recommended to him, and dropped by the grocery store near campus to buy sprinkles and a bunch of candles.

the end product is a little messy, but created with so much love, and pepe knows you're going to adore it. what he doesn't know is how he managed to keep you away from his refrigerator and the surprise hiding in it all night yesterday, but it doesn't matter – all that matters is that you're currently still sleeping soundlessly in his bed, with no clue of what's going on over in the kitchen.

pepe's hands are trembling slightly as he lights up the candles; he is a little nervous, he will admit, but he's also excited at the same time. he can't wait to see the look of surprise on your face, so he hurries up and places the cake on a tray along with two cups of coffee.

he silently curses at the way his bedroom door creaks when he pushes it open with his foot, but thankfully you don't move a single muscle. he carefully scoots over to the side of the bed, sitting down next to you and balancing the tray in his lap. he reaches over with one hand to your cheek, thumb tracing along your skin, fingers settling under your jaw. "mi amor," he whispers, a soft hum leaving his lips as he watches your eyelids slowly flutter open. "happy birthday."

it takes a few moments for your eyes to adjust to the sunshine lighting up the room, but when they do, they can't help but focus on him. the goofy grin on his lips, the messy hair, the-

the cake on his lap.

you push yourself up to sit in bed, rubbing some sleep out of your eyes. you're mistaken, surely? you're still half-asleep, you must've imagined it...

but no amount of blinking makes the cake disappear. the little flames of the candles swaying in the air, the single drop of stearic rolling down the side of a candle, the rainbow sprinkles sticking to the top and sides of the cake – it's all very real.

pepe was so sure this was the right way to go. but seeing the tears begin to seep out of the corners of his eyes makes him horrified. he messed up.

he knew the sprinkles would be too much. and that amount of candles, what was he thinking? he definitely went overboard.

"oh my god," he says, instantly placing the tray on the bedside table before scooting closer to you. "i'm so so so sorry, i thought you would like it... i don't know what i was thinking. here, let me-"

you shake your head as he begins brushing away your tears with his thumbs, and to his big surprise, you chuckle. "don't be sorry," you say, letting out another laugh when you see the confused expression on his face. "i do like it. a lot." you reach up to take his hands in yours, bringing them down to the bed and intertwining your fingers. "it's just... very emotional, for me. as you can see."

he also chuckles now, and he thinks he understands – even though seeing your happy tears is more painful than he'd expected. "okay," he says with a nod. "so..." his eyes flicker back to the cake.

"yes, please. i mean, what could be better than a sugar rush first thing in the morning?"

pepe would've been so happy to shower you with presents to express how much he loves you; it would've made him so proud to invite all your friends to a big celebration, to show you how much you mean to all of them, to change your idea of a birthday. but this – sitting together in bed, eating straight from the cake (no plates needed), pressing sugary kisses to each other's cheeks – is another form of perfect.

he just hopes you think it's perfect, too.

hearing you tell the stories of how you needed to bake the cake for yourself if you wanted one as a child, how you always made sure to buy yourself a gift because the risk that no one else would get you one was too high, and how you always needed to plan out your own parties breaks his heart – but hearing you open up like that also means the world to him. he understands that it's all buried so deep inside of you, but there's nothing he wants more than to help you heal and to prove that you can have much better and bigger birthdays than that.

but for now, a little cake in bed and a ton of kisses will have to do.

baby steps.

"chris, will you pass me the chicken korma?"

he leans over the crowded couch table and holds out the takeaway box to nora, who takes it into her hands and thanks him. "that one is really good," you tell her through your mouthful of bread, nodding to your friend.

"what's the verdict, then?" sebastian asks from his seat over on the couch. "i need a rating from the birthday girl, one to ten."

"food? ten," you say, taking a sip of your soda. "company? ten."

birthday? eleven.

the whole day has been much better than you'd expected; from your wake-up this morning, to the lunch date you shared with pepe over in town after a cute walk along the river, to having your closest friends all gathered in your living room for you. you don't even mind the way your buttcheeks are already starting to hurt after sitting on the floor for too long – you knew you should've invested in more seating for moments like these – because all of this is worth it.

"agreed," pepe chimes in from next to you. "especially about the food."

"speaking of which," says emma. "was there any bread left?"

you're quick to jump to your feet, already turning towards the kitchen. "garlic or plain?"

"ooh, garlic! thank you!"

pepe hurries off the floor right after you, making up some excuse about getting a new spoon for one of the sauces, but no one even bats an eye. you hear him enter through the door, and you smile instinctively. "how are you feeling?" he asks when he reaches your side, hand finding the small of your back as you rummage through the takeaway bag. "is this all enough?"

"it's more than enough. so much more." after pulling out the garlic naan from the bag, you reach up to the side of his face with your free hand, brushing your thumb over his cheekbone. "best birthday ever."

you seal your words with a feather-light kiss to his lips, and he's still smiling when you pull away. "you promise?" he asks, eyes searching through yours for any slightest hint of insincerity or uncertainty.

"i promise." another kiss, followed by a gentle hum, and he visibly relaxes. "thank you."

"no, thank you." for opening up, for letting him do all this for you. for existing. "only happy birthdays from now on, okay? i will make sure of it."

"it could never be anything other than a happy birthday with you around."

[sanospet]

✩ FAILURES & FERVOUR ✩

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 - 𝘠𝘈𝘒𝘜𝘡𝘈!𝘚𝘏𝘐𝘎𝘈𝘙𝘈𝘒𝘐 𝘛𝘖𝘔𝘜𝘙𝘈 𝘟 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘌𝘙

𝘲𝘶𝘰𝘵𝘦 : tomura viewed you as something of a painting, a timeless, priceless piece, highly sought after, something to be handled with the utmost fragility. the air that surrounded you, an artistic mix of expertly chosen colours, rare, scarce. the first form of portrait art, a being so captivating, alluring, serene that one had the overwhelming urge to capture it in the moment and seal it's divinity for all to indulge in forevermore. touya's rusty, battered, razored claws, his poison tipped words, piercing through the canvas with ease, scarring your skin. tomura's lips, his unyielding fervency, cementing the tares, sewing the canvas that is you, together again with his touch alone.

warnings and notes!

18+ . angst . hurt comfort . quirkless au . the shimura’s are very much alive and well (though tomura doesn’t use the name “tenko” anymore) . mentions of firearms . reader is held at gunpoint . touya being an absolute creep . heavy suggestions of the reader having sexual trauma/fear of men . reader has a breakdown . reader has deeply rooted self worth/esteem issues . heavy suggestions of the reader having SH scars . guilt/self-blaming . tomura, the king of comfort . they have huge crushes on one another, lol . pet names (“kid”, “dear”, “love”) . gender neutral reader . proofread though there still may be some spelling mistakes, enjoy <33

authors note:

another very self indulgent story, except it’s just the beginning because this is the first instalment of my “veiled blossoms” fic, yippeeee! i feel like this chapter is a little too choppy, but im just trying to set a good foundation to spring off of for the next few chapters. im not sure how long of a fic this is going to be, but i do have most of the story figured out and planned, and it’s already looking quite lengthy, lol. anyways, i hope you enjoy this chapter and i hope to show you the next instalment soon, thank you for reading! <33

- linus

tomura shigaraki masterlist | chapter 1

"what do you say ?" hana spoke, sight sweeping over your tense posture, "look, i know it's a lot to ask of you, but it'll just be for a little while," doe-eyed, pleading "just until he finds his footing."

shifting in your seat, the cooling chill wafting through the dining area mutating from a pleasurable breeze into more of an undesirable gust, goosebumps perking up on your skin. mouth drying at the mere thought of an unfamiliar man wandering freely around your safe space, the zone in which you derived comfort and solace, tainted by the presence of another.

clammy hands smoothing over the fabric of your dress, "he can't go back home ?" voice softly wavering, anxiety tingling in your skin, treading carefully as you questioned, earning the gentle shake of hana's head, letting out a sigh, "my father wouldn't step within ten feet of him," she spoke, a tight smile forming, fork pushing at the pasta resting on her plate "and im afraid that feeling is reciprocated," the words muttered as she trailed off.

silence blanketing over you both, your sight hazed, unfocused as you stared at the cooling food on your plate, mind tugging memories of the countless, nefarious tales hana had spoken of about the horrid man. the troublesome upbringing she had faced alongside her brother, due to her father's monstrous nature, your heart clenching at that.

offering a wordless nod of agreement, a soft smile dawning your features, hana's voice upping an octave, through a gasp, "really ?" excitement failing to take bay, lacing her words, "really," you confirmed. hana taking your hands in her's at the affirmation, "he won't be a bother, you won't even notice him" granting a small squeeze, "i'll make sure of it," lips curling to match your own.

                               ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

tomura was unlike anything you'd imagined.

you hadn't really a clue what to expect from the man, the stories you'd heard regarding him only pertaining to their youth. hana failing to update you, nor give a proper briefing on his development in all the years she'd been visiting him in captivity, granted, there had been little reason to.

slumber evading you on the eve of tomura's arrival, your mind wandering...maybe he was someone dry, stoic, harsh, the stereotypes of a convict. perhaps he had grown taller, broader, recalling the humorous comments hana had frequently made regarding his height and stature as you revisited their younger years through words.

the weeks of his presence swam by smoothly and tomura had been settling in comfortably, though despite hana's promise, his residence was striking, as was he. unable to neglect your shameful emotions, losing the tussle with your heart, finally acknowledging that long lost feeling bubbling within you during each recurring encounter. it was something child-like, innocent, a match that ignited reveries, flushed skin and the heightened awareness of your every move before him.

the giddiness, the joy, the anxiety, all knotted in a frothy, lopsided bow in your chest, accompanied haphazardly with the rush of adrenaline and stuttered speech as your eyes met the silky carmine held within his own.

niveous waves cascaded down tomura’s back, sleeping soundly against flourished muscles, hana commenting on how much it had grown since his detainment. crimson pearls centring his face creating an abstract union with the snowy locks framing them. an ocean of jagged rubies, something you could drown yourself in without a second thought, serene, yet a gloom, seemingly governed by scylla herself, swam within them.

you'd lost yourself in the sparkles he used for sight a myriad of times, his glowing locks falling into them as you rambled on, yet tomura remained attentive throughout every syllable. eyes remaining on yours as your lips moved, words often trapping in your throat under his paralysing surveillance.

hana's frequent absence from your shared home was something you'd grown accustomed to, her often leaving for hours, and sometimes even days, at a time. schedule filled with endless to-do's, ranging from school, work, outings with friends and trips.

never had it become a cumbersome arrangement, though, with the recent developments, it was presented with an added layer of anxiety. tomura's presence hailing complications in the methodical act, due to the, now native, sensation that routinely filled your stomach under his watch.

fingers flat against the ingredient, hands moving as you diced the tofu on the cutting board before you, a groggy voice, rasp ever-present, sounding, "cute pyjamas," lazily shifting the dampened towel over the back of his head, taking in the skin flaunting ensemble you'd chosen to lounge in.

muscles tensing at the sudden interruption, letting out a small yelp, the sharpened knife slipping from your grip, nipping your skin in the process, crimson pearls soon seeping out of the new wound.

"hey, are you alright ?" brows furrowing as tomura joined you, unease linking the sentence together, reflexive hands quickly moving to grab hold of your retracting ones, startled by the swiftness of his actions.

face resembling that of a deer in headlights as tomura's softened eyes met your widened ones, gaze gentle as he stilled his movements, arm remaining outstretched, beckoning, lips curling into a sweet smile "let me have a look, yeah ?" tone soothing, almost guiding, as you placed your delicate wrist in his palm, cuffed in a tender grip.

crimson orbs briefly meeting yours, his eyes analysing the injury before linking once more, gaze fixed as your examined digit slowly disappeared between his lips. a meek gasp slipping past your own at the act, face contorting in a wince, cheeks growing warm under his watchful inspection, feeling bare as tomura observed the expressions you made with intrigue.

yet you remained stagnant, the warmth of his tongue collecting your very essence, ears burning to a shade similar to that of his eyes as he pulled out the injured finger with a gentle pop. "you should really put a band-aid on that," breath fanning against your skin, heavy lidded gaze glancing toward the abandoned chopping board, "i'll take over from here."

tomura's heartbeat rattled against his ribcage, prior actions replaying on his mind like a broken record as you disappeared down the hall. cheeks rosing at his intensifying inability to control such sudden desires, the ebbs and flows of your visage under his touch singed into the forefront of his mind like a brand mark.

pressing the remedying item against the wound, feet padding against the wooden floor as you joined tomura in the kitchen once more, his frosted locks almost shimmering under the daylight. the black crewneck he adorned, seemingly a size too small, essentially compressing his muscles, exposing every defined part of the man at an easy glance. grey joggers sitting low on his hips, a sliver of abdominal skin separating the two fabrics.

"sorry about your finger, how's it doing ?" setting two small bowls of miso soup down on the coffee table, "taking it like a champ ?" a slight smile accompanying the words, pulling one from you in return, "o-oh, i-it's alright," with a dismissive wave, "and um...i can still help, you know ?" feet shifting beneath you, his raised hand halting your movements, "with an ailment so arduous ?" nodding at the platter that had been set out, "take a seat, kid."

tomura chewed at a slow pace, opting to savour the blend of tastes on his tongue, lids shut, bliss dusting his features in a rosy smile, "i still haven't gotten used to fresh home-cooked meals again," through a small sigh, "the shit they serve in there felt like a unique kind of torture," sight lifting to you, "you're a good cook, you know that ?"

the unexpected praise almost sending the food in your throat back up with a suppressed cough, you shook your head, swallowing, "w-well i can't take all of the credit," smiling softly, widened eyes trained on the table, cheeks warming at the words, "you made the rolled omelette," taking a bite, meeting his gaze, "seems like you haven't lost your touch."

tomura's heart swelling at the words, smirk growing "oh yeah ? go on," letting out a gentle giggle as you watched tomura's arms fold over one another on the dining table, leaning closer, "and the rice is good too, tomura," eyes raking over your features, cocking his head, "just good ?" inching as you spoke, "perfect," taking a spoonful into your mouth.

tomura's ears adorning a tint as he regressed, back flush against the chair, "well, now you're just stroking my ego, but," shrugging, the corners of his lips tugging upward, "i'll take credit where credit is due."

jagged rubies catching your eyes in an unbreakable link, that familiar ripple quilting your stomach once more, tomura's breathing shallowing under your observation, rouge tinting your skin. stranded in the the entanglement of ambience caging the two of you, aura's intermingling, you found yourself becoming lost in the sunset orbs before you.

harnessing all of your might to forcibly look away, your gaze falling onto the, now lukewarm, soup before you, lips pushing out the first few words that sprang in your mind, "o-oh, uh, where's hana ?" gently clearing your throat from it's wavers, "it's um, her day off, no ?"

tomura's chest rumbling with a gentle hum, "she's off doing me a favour, left quite a while ago to grab my things from back home," spooning soup into his mouth as you nodded along, fingers fiddling with the drawstring of your shorts, "i see," sight raising to him once more, "so um...she'll be back soon, then ?"

the playful swirl in tomura's orbs were overt, setting his utensils down as he spoke, "what, you don't enjoy my company ?" sputtering at the taunting words, scrambling to clarify "w-what ? y-you know that's not what i meant, tomura."

tomura almost felt guilty as he soaked in your flustered stature in amusement, cheeks rosy, eyes wide, glossy lips spilling stutters as you attempted to speak, almost. tomura's eyes squinting in turn at the tumbling words, "so you admit that you do enjoy my company ?" question left out to dry as your mouth opened and closed, failing to search for a response as he continued on,"i mean, i hope you do, at least," shrugging, tone apathetic as he leaned closer once more, "since, you know...it'll be just you and i in this place for a while," whispering secretively.

brows dipping, soft smile shifting to more of a frown at the confession, "w-wait..." confusion blanketing your face, contorting your features, "w-what do you mean ?" tomura's eyes almost sparkling as they widened at the query, "oh, she didn't tell you yet, huh ?" a soft laugh slipping past his lips, despite his attempt to suppress it, tomura's enjoyment in your naïvety of the situation all too apparent, "t-tell me what, tomura !?"

                               ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

"you can't be serious..." the rustling of tomura rummaging through storage boxes sounded throughout the room. hana's hand setting pets onto yours, speaking over the ruckus, "i know, im sorry i couldn't break it to you myself," a gentle pout resting on her lips, "but it's not set in stone," she assured, "i don't know why tomura told you so soon." head snapping toward the man in question, razor-edged glare piercing daggers into his skin, tomura offering an indifferent shrug in return, a small smile twisting his lips as he continued his search, earning a sigh from the other, "i was just voicing my thoughts at the time."

a gentle smile taking over her features as she turned to you, "our three year anniversary is coming up soon, and i wanted to surprise her with a trip," words mellow, hushed, eyes almost glazed over in a dreamy daze, something she couldn't help but fall into whenever she spoke of her lover. "we've been thinking about moving in together for a while now, so i thought it would be the perfect time to test it out, you know ?" eyes meeting yours, "a trial of sorts, to see how well we mesh in a shared space," brows upturned, heart clenching as she gushed, "and if it goes well, you'll take the next step ?" the apples of her cheeks plumping, baring a toothy smile, "exactly."

the corners of your lips tugging upward, twinning her countenance as an ache rippled through your chest, heart falling victim to the tugs of different directions. the memories of the irreplaceable years you'd spent together under the same roof rushing to the forefront of your mind, "im happy for you, truly, it just," sighing, "it just caught me off guard a little."

hana had become somewhat of a little sister to you over the span of your shared tenancy, someone you grew to cherish deeply. someone you confided in just as much as she did in you, someone irreplaceable. albeit the heartache you were currently experiencing, having had front row seats to the unwinding story of her love, cheering her on from the sidelines as she pined and fell for her partner, you couldn't help that sense of pride you felt for her growth.

pulling you in for a hug, your chin resting on hana's shoulder, "i'll miss you so much," offering a gentle squeeze, "i'll miss you too, but i'll still be around," pulling away, "you can't get rid of me that easily," sharing a giggle.

"don't worry," tomura chimed, "you'll still have me," offering a toothy grin, "how comforting, tomura," sarcasm laced between your giggled words. "do you have a destination picked out for your little sojourn ?" setting a small cardboard box down on the coffee table as he settled into the armchair, "jeju island," she spoke warmly, "felicia has always spoken about it." cooing, "how romantic," you teased, playfully pushing her arm, rouge tinting her cheeks, a small laugh leaving her lips.

"it's a quick flight too, no ?" tomura added, hands avidly sifting through the contents before him, "yeah, about five hours," she affirmed, attention diverted by tomura's fiddling fingers, "what have you been looking for ?" brows sewn as tomura pulled out an item, eyes lighting up at the sight, "im surprised mom was able to keep all of my stuff hidden so well," under his breath, a verbalised of thought.

hana rising from her perch on the sofa, taking a peek at the box's contents, a small sigh falling from her chest, "you're not actually thinking of going back into freelance, are you ?" tomura shrugging, "what choice do i truly have ?" ruby eyes locking with the misty orbs his sister held, surveying her looming figure "you think my record would appeal to a retail manager, hana ?" satire soaked words, earning an uneven smile of annoyance from the other, "where are you even planning on setting up shop ?"

tomura's eyes drifted between the both of you, wordless, gifting a look mixed with that of expectance and hope. "here !?" hana's booming voice drenched in astonishment, nose scrunching in disgust, "god, that's so unhygienic, tomura, you need a sterile environment." he couldn't help the growing itch to roll his eyes at his sister's incessant critiques, sighing, "well, my clients aren't exactly the picky type, hana, they'll take what they can get, and this," finger gesturing around the room in a circular motion, "is luxurious enough."

"fine, fine," jaded words through an exhale, exhaustion seeping through her demeanour, "well, you're not the only one that's living here, alright ? im fine with it, but," their locked gaze severing, shifting toward your quiet stance on the couch.

attention alternating between the two, brows dipping slightly, feeling somewhat small under their spectation. engrossed by the gentle aura tomura held with but a glance, his orbs almost luring you into a trance once they linked. you could feel yourself giving into it once more, your silence under his gaze amassing a smile from him, "i think they want me to stay here with them, hana."

eyes remaining secured onto yours, mischief whirling within them, opal tendrils softly shifting as he cocked his head, "somebody's gotta keep them company or they'll grow lonely," smile growing into a knowing smirk, gaze shifting to hana's, "you know, after being abandoned by their roommate and all."

rosy cheeks deepening in shade at the words, inventive mind meticulously crafting countless scenarios at a hectic pace with the prompt. flashes of the intimate morning you'd shared still fresh on your mind, overriding your brain, heart rate quickening.

hana's mouth opening to retaliate, cut off by your awaited response, "y-yeah, sure, i-i don't mind" nodding firmly. "great, because i already have my first two clients booked in," rising from his seat, small box in hand, "you already booked-" hana's irritation wafting off of her in potent waves, slicing her words short with a sigh and an inhale, attempting to regain her composure, "how did you know we would even agree to any of this ?" brow lifted in question.

tomura offered her a smile, "because you're a gracious and kind sister," words woven tightly with mockery, his hand sifting through her locks, ruffling her hair as she swatted him away, "and you're little friend over here is quite fond of me," setting a few gentle pats to your head, "they'd do anything i ask," hooking a finger beneath your chin, raising your gaze, "wouldn't you, dear ?"

unable to suppress the blood rushing to your skin, his minor touch flustering you exponentially. hana's hand moving to shove his before you could react, a tut heavy on her tongue, "teasing isn't a form of gratitude, tomura, quit it."

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knock. knock. knock.

the rhythmic set of belligerent bangs strode in bold waves, your muscles tensing at the unusual aggression set behind them. robust slams violently ripping you from your heart-eyed daze, gaze drifting toward the clock on the wall, brows knitting, the sharp sounds echoing through the hall, piercing your ears as they continued.

eyes shifting toward the flatscreen displaying the paused movie you'd been watching with tomura, his presence lacking as you waited. the indent he had made on the couch still retaining his warmth, jointly with the skin along the back of your neck, goosebumps soon budding in place of his arm. fingers fiddling with restless yearning, gaze fixed on the darkened hall, anticipating his emergence to no avail.

phone screen remaining in it's dimmed form, the virtual contact you'd had with your roommate dating back to daylight hours, anxiety blossoming, the routine messages you'd usually exchange upon arrival, void. palms flattening against one another as you writhed, feet meeting the floor, wary footsteps moving toward the entrance.

"h-hana, i-is that you?" calling out, skepticism thickly dousing the string tying the sentence together, face contorting in confusion, words greeted with only the rustling of jackets beyond the slab of wood. shuddery hand clasping the doorknob, "i-i thought you weren't supposed to be back until-" speech clogging instantaneously, mouth falling shut under the glowering gaze of the two men towering before you, their figures shrouded in shadow, backlit by the glow of the moon.

eyes meeting azure, raven tufts almost being swallowed by the night, shade wrapping around him like a scarf. his smooth ink filled skin peaking out through his sleeves, travelling up his body, crawling up and over his jaw like a muzzle. face jewels offering the sight of glimmering stars beneath his lips, trailing the curl of his ears. cyanic stare bearing the ability to incite serenity and calm, yet they seared your skin with ease, seemingly hostile, a ravenous flame burning deep within them.

his companion almost a complete juxtaposition to his being entirely, a golden aura permeating off of him in rolls, something luring, coercive. yet, the warm smile adorning his face didn't quite reach his eyes, the foiled expression setting a pang of unease to your stomach, your throat burning. artistry coating his flesh, pierced skin stretched with the curl of his lips, sharp teeth bared, the contempt swirling within his eyes curtained by sunny tendrils.

fingers lifting from their frozen stature, unclasping the handle, the door falling shut with a slam, almost tugged by the swallowing atmosphere that circled the men. breath caught in your throat, body fixed in its rigid position, the scrutiny of their gaze locking you into a trace-like state, left ogling at the entrance, mouth agape as you pushed out a shaky exhale.

a jagged shard of ice shooting down your spine like a missile, goosebumps rising on your skin, anxiety almost penetrating your blood as you took note of the unlocked door. fingers flying to remedy it instinctually, jolting as warmth spread across your shoulder, "what's going on ?" tomura spoke, hand retracting as you let in a sharp gasp, swiftly turning to meet his gaze.

brows scrunching as he took in your ashen expression, "woah, woah, are you okay ?" concern laced heavily in the words, your forefinger flying to his lips, "n-not so loud," whispering, hand clasping his own, footsteps light as you guided him to the living area once more.

turning to him, eyes frantic, breathing quickening "s-scary guys...d-door," words muddling as your mind scrambled, "i-i don't know, w-who...", shaking your head, "hey, hey," tomura's hand moving to your arm, "it's okay," he assured, offering soothing strokes, "take your time."

his fingers shifting to your chin, "look at me, kid," a soft smile, eyes linked, "breathe for me, yeah ?" tomura taking an inhale as you mimicked his actions, letting out an exhale before repeating, respiration soon slowing to a normal rate. "now, tell me what's going on," voice failing to blanket the slight waver in his tone, expecting.

"there are two really scary guys at the front door!" whisper shouting, the knot of discomfort tightening in tomura's stomach releasing at the confirmation, tongue tarting with a metallic taste as he nodded. raking a hand through his soft locks with a sigh, "already ?" murmured, more to himself, your voice spiking as the words reached you, "you know them ? who are they !?" frenzied query's unanswered as tomura's hand circled around your wrist, guiding to toward the staircase.

"stay in your room and don't come out," tomura's command cushioned with pleading, "you're not seriously thinking of letting them in, are you !?" spiked clamps piercing either side of tomura's heart as he scanned your face, panic sewing your features together. he couldn't bare to meet your gaze as he spoke, "they're here for me, kid, just..." the confession sitting heavy on his chest, letting out a sharp sigh, "just, stay in your room and don't make a sound, yeah ?"

frustration itching at you, his aversion adding piles to the answers you sought after. your hand moving to his chin, forcing your eyes to link, "tomura, tell me what's-" speech sliced by the rattling of the door on its hinges as the sharp bangs ensued once more, your breath hitching.

tomura's fingers pushing tousled tendrils from your face, "i need you to trust me on this, ___, can you do that ?" tomura's hand clasping yours, rubies scanning your face, searching for an answer, pleading. the mountainous pressure of time itself, spurring on the anxiety bouncing between the both of you. replying with a nod, "use your words for me, kid," he whispered, the gems he used for sight tying with yours, "i trust you, tomura," words firm.

tomura offering a soft nod, grip loosening as he shifted to leave, pausing as you set a gentle squeeze to his hand, "w-wait," eyes linking once more, the wet sheen blanketing your orbs striking, "just be careful...please," tomura's lips curling, a tender smile resting on them at the plead, guilt swimming in the lake of passion in his eyes, "of course, kid."

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the reflection presented obsidian locks, tufts of hair falling into azure, the lifted sleeve of touya's shirt revealing the film stretched flush against his skin, blanketing the new scar.

keigo's relaxed form nestled into the armchair, tomura’s snow tucked behind his ears, glimmering rubies focused on his working hands. "jail wasn't a total waste of time, i see," keigo’s lips curling into a smirk, sight resting on the new design touya adorned on his skin, the freshly dipped inky needles continuing to puncture his own, "bet you had cues of inmates wanting your art on them, huh ?" the words hinting more toward mockery than anything.

tomura paid the double meaning no mind, shrugging as he replied, "only tatted a few," tissue dabbing to collect the excess ink, "i soon realised that cup ramen wasn't necessarily the best form of payment," crimson meeting amber as their gazes linked, "and you know i only tattoo those i know without charge."

keigo's lips stretching into a smile, hand resting on his chest with a sunny sigh, "i feel so special all of a sudden," a light laugh on his lips as he called out, "you hear that, touya ?" azure shifting to ivory as the man rolled his eyes in the reflection, "yeah, yeah, don't let it go to your head, he'll have us compensate him in some other way sooner or later." tomura's movements slowing as he caught the others gaze in the mirror, a smirk loosely twisting tomura's lips at the words, "so, you're crashing here, then ?" keigo continued, earning a hum, "for the meantime, yeah."

touya moving to lounge on the sofa, head shifting as he surveyed the room, "and where's that pretty little thing who slammed the door in our face earlier ?" tone laced thickly with desire, "this is her place, no ?" tomura's chest tightening, lips tugging downward as his throat dried, "you had us waiting for an awfully long time."

touya's mind burned with the image you presented, cotton tank top sitting flush against your skin, cut low on your chest, thin straps reaching up and over your shoulder holding the thin fabric in place. skimpy pyjama shorts, satin, hanging low on your hips, a lick of skin separating the two fabrics. the lengthy stretch of your smooth legs, the dips and curves of your body, the scars littering it, a figure he so deeply craved to explore.

the deer eyed stare he'd been granted upon your meet-cute setting a ravenous fire within him, your seeming naïvety at first glance unleashing the scent of a potent love potion, captivating him completely. touya wanted to analyse everything that was you, run his calloused fingers through your tousled hair, his bloodied hands across your damaged skin, push his lips against yours and taste your very intrinsic nature on his tongue.

the tattoo gun continued to whir in tomura's paused hand, palm turning white, grip crushing, shadowy gaze turning to touya. darkened pearls dusted with ire as they met cyan, a smirk growing on pierced lips at the unspoken challenge, "what, she hiding or some-" words sliced by a sharp tone, "they're no-one, really," tomura's dismissive tone filled with warning, "not worth mentioning," strict words pronounced.

touya hummed, nodding slowly as tomura let out a breath through his nose "not worth mentioning, huh ?" the words spoken into the air, parroted if anything, through a laugh as touya rose to his feet. tomura's frantic tone failing to be suppressed, "where are you going ?" eyes trained on the dark haired man, his lax posture irritating tomura's skin, the need to scratch overbearing. "the restroom," touya's feet shifting toward the entrance, "it's at the end of-" hand rising, cutting tomura's words off with a dismissive wave, "i can figure it out."

mouth filled with cotton, tomura's gaze piercing touya's shrouded figure as he descended into the darkness of the hall, setting his form aflame with a blazing stare as he watched the bold man bypass the restroom entirely. the echos of heavy boots against wooden stairs drifting in through the opened door of the living room, hitting tomura like a harsh gust of wind in a hail storm, inflaming his itchy skin.

"i wouldn't bother," keigo spoke curtly, "the time you spent in that dingy cell was not meant to be squandered on improving your skills, but reflecting on your failures," face contorting into that of disgust as he eyed tomura, venomous whispers slipping straight into tomura's ears, "you handed us your title on a silver platter," free hand moving to tomura's chin, "hey, look at me," ripping tomura's gaze away from the void hall, fiery rubies meeting a clouded sunset, eyes swirling in contempt, "face it, you're nothing now, tomura." through curled lips, tone almost melodic, head nodding toward his unfinished art piece, "get back to work."

jaw locked, clenching, teeth grazing against the inside of his cheek, skin burning with the need for friction, tomura resumed without a word. distaste sewing his features, stomach searing with acid, shredding from the inside, clawing up his throat as he worked, mind fogging. the needles of the tattoo gun narrowly increasing pressure into keigo's skin slightly more than necessary, movements swifter than usual, eyes glazing over as rage festered deep from within, brows tightly knit.

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muffled words were all you could make out over the static hum of a machine, your ear pushed flush against your bedroom door, straining as you noted the nearing presence, the man's heavy gait something foreign by sound alone.

eyes frantically darting around the area, feet scurrying to the safety of the soft area you'd built, kneeling between the plushies packed into the corner. a thin blanket draping over you, eyes peaking over the edge, searching for some sort of solace amidst the raging anxiety whirring in your chest, the creaking of your door revealing a daunting figure.

weighty steps inching closer, your feet pushing against the floor instinctively, shifting backward, attempting to maintain distance, mind tugging forward the deeply buried memories that overlapped with your current reality, throat clogging. touya's teeth almost twinkling beneath the moonlight spilling in through your curtains, your fearful nature only spurring the sinful urges bubbling within him.

fingers roughly tugging the blanket from your grasp, discarding it behind him, hand shifting to grip your chin, harshly raising your downturned gaze, "anyone ever tell you how cute you look on your knees?" query met with your silent glare, eyes slowly drifting to the object tucked snugly into his waistband, its silver handle offering a gleam.

touya's attention following with a chuckle, "ah, there's no need to be afraid," words slow, as if to infantilise. pulling the weapon from its sheath, crouching down to your level, pushing the nozzle against his temple, his finger hooking around the trigger, applying pressure, "bang!" whispered with a smile, cadence lax, mocking, "see, the safety's on."

the nozzle of the weapon a pointer, touya gesturing to the plushies surrounding you, "i like your collection," the click of the safety being flicked off ringing in your ears as the tip trailed down your cheek. eyes fluttering shut, strained as tears collected in them, horror engulfing you in a deep embrace, a ghost of a smile resting on touya's lips as he observed your shuddering being, resting the tip on your lower lip, dragging downward, parting, "they're almost as sweet as you are."

swallowing thickly, ripping your face from his vile grip with a shaky exhale, eyes trained on the swirls engrained in the wooden flooring, "w-where's tomura ?" voice low, endeavouring an authoritative sound, nerves failing you. "he's still busy, sweetheart," azure washing over your features like icy water, shivers trailing your skin in it's wake, "but, it's alright," finger hooking under your chin, sight linking "we can keep each other entertained in the meantime."

nausea fizzing within your stomach, his touch almost singeing your flesh, "so, why don't you tell me your name, hm ?" your lips tucked in a firm line as he spoke, silence wafting through the thick atmosphere, a gust of wind leaving touya's own with a sigh. "alright, then, do you live here alone ?" peace broken by his words, resuming as his query drifted, irritation pricking his skin at your reserved speech, your lips almost sewn, "not a talker, are you ?" exasperation laced thickly between the words, "do you want to tell me anything about yourself ?"

a shadow stretching across your bedroom floor, forcing your eyes to lift, hope blossoming in your chest, a rigid tone sounding, "this isn't the restroom, touya." the budding flames of exhilaration held within the man's orbs offering licks as tomura spoke, eyes raking over your features, savouring the minor details, memorising, "so it isn't," he whispered, amusement evident.

setting a small pat to your head as he joined the man in the doorway, "i see why you keep them locked up," setting a few knocks to tomura's chest with the firearm, smirk curling his lips as he turned. cyan shards piercing through your skin, insides cringing under the observation of the raven haired man, head cocking as he scanned your quivering form, "i'd want to keep them all to myself, too."

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silence floated throughout the halls, rigid body and racing mind lulled by the sweet nothings tomura whispered. your head nestling into his chest in a tight embrace, body rocking with uneven breaths, "shh," he hummed, setting soothing strokes over your back, his familiar scent offering tranquility "it's okay, we're all alone now," words gentle, fingers gently threading through your locks, "just you and me, yeah ?"

hands flattening against his chest, heat slowly seeping into your palms like a campfire as you gently pushed him away with a sniffle. tomura's hand moving to cup your soaked cheek, brows knit, shame fogging his orbs in a thick rouge mist as he thumbed away the tears, "w-who were they, tomura ?" exhales jagged.

rubies smoothing over your face, clumped lashes lining your glassy doe-eyes, rosy cheeks plump, tear stained, glossy lips forming a light pout. the angled rise and fall of your chest, the fuzzy cloud embracing your mind in a iron grip, the tremors in your delicate hands, all resultant due to tomura's feigned ignorance. his jaw clenching as rue dripped into his veins like an iv, the venomous drug coursing through his body, "they're colleagues of mine," he pushed.

vague words erupting a deep frustration within you, "colleagues that carry so casually, tomura ?" your words piercing thorns into his side, "well i can't exactly work a typical nine to five, kid," brows knitting, "i thought you were a freelancing tattoo artist, since when were guns added to the job description ?"

tomura slipping out a cavernous sigh, fingers sinking into niveous tufts as he took a perch on the bed, "it's complicated," the heels of his palms finding solitude in the dips of his eyes.

tomura's discomposed state setting a wave of contrition through you, settling beside him, your hand shifting to rest on his leg, "are they the reason why you...um ?" trailing off into a murmur, unable to string the words, ruing the question entirely, tomura's gaze lifting, replying before you could mend it, "went to jail ?" a sigh hanging heavy on his lips, "partially, yeah."

a beat of silence resting between you for a moment as you nodded, queries tumbling in your mind, "was it...um, scary ?" a soft chuckle leaving his lips at the naïve question, shrugging, "not really," his hand interlocking with yours, eyes linking, "if you know the right people."

fingers moving to your hair, tucking a few loose strands behind your ear, moving to cup your cheek as he turned to you, "im so sorry, kid," tomura's eyes raking over your face, sorrow swimming within them. "for tonight, it wasn't," a dry scoff, shaking his head, sighing, "it wasn't supposed to happen like that, but even then, i know them and i should've known it would've, it's-" speech quickening with each syllable, your hand settling over his own, warmth melding with his, the sincerity that carried his words something you were unaccustomed to, his sentences almost foreign. body lined with discomfort, aware of your burdensome nature as tomura expressed his view, the apology causing the rise of a sense of shame within you. heart clenching at just the thought of him feeling the need to do such a thing for you, "i-it's okay, tomura," cutting his ramble short, a soft smile tugging your features.

"it's not," he sternly refuted, brows furrowing at your swift mercy, "it's my fault, ____, i shouldn't have let them come, knowing who they are to their very core," his lips twisting in contempt for his own failures, keigo's rotten words burning in his mind as he spoke, "and to let them in despite it all," a dry laugh, "it was naïve of me, stupid and you...you didn't deserve to experience the brunt of my errors," his hand offering a squeeze, "im truly sorry, love."

lashes failing to withhold water, your tears resumed, a soft smile resting on your features at the firm argument. the ache engulfing you before his continuation dissipating as you let the words sink in. "i just..." a gentle hiccup of a breath, "i don't know what's going on in it's entirety but, i meant what i said earlier," inching closer, words matching the insistence of his own, "i trust you, tomura."

tomura could feel the gentle glow of warmth growing in his chest at your affirmation, his lips sealing the proclamation as they met yours in a sweet kiss. intertwined hands unlacing, shifting to your waist, guiding you atop his lap, knees bent on either side of his pelvis, your own disappearing into snow, fingers raking through icy strands, the locks just as silky as you presumed.

tomura viewed you as something of a painting, a timeless, priceless piece, highly sought after, something to be handled with the utmost fragility. the air that surrounded you, an artistic mix of expertly chosen colours, rare, scarce. the first form of portrait art, a being so captivating, alluring, serene that one had the overwhelming urge to capture it in the moment and seal it's divinity for all to indulge in forevermore. touya's rusty, battered, razored claws, his poison tipped words, piercing through the canvas with ease, scarring your skin. tomura's lips, his unyielding fervency, cementing the tares, sewing the canvas that is you, together again with his touch alone.

tomura deepening the kiss, earning a soft whimper, his tongue slipping into your mouth at the reaction, bodies heating at the mere touch of one another, suffocating passion encasing your very beings in a cage of fire.

the crimson threads of your individual strings looping, binding into a ropey tether as you indulged. soft moans exchanged like the words of an insightful conversation as your lips moved, hands canvassing each others bodies, memorising, sealing your fate amongst eager caresses and gentle giggles.

[yutahoes]

Asayake

pairing: frat boy! boyfriend! Yuta Nakamoto x girlfriend! Reader word count: 3.3k words genre: fluff, college au, my lame attempt in writing about frat boys summary: The other side of frat boys. Or... When a frat boy falls head over heels in love.  warning: alcohol, cigarette, mention of sex

This is for the Party Time collab by @yuta-senpai

Please enjoy this pretty self-indulgent fic based on a dream that I had a couple of months ago. Thank you for your warm birthday greetings. 🥰 I feel so loved. 

You glanced at your phone when the chimes of the shop doors could be heard. You sighed for the third time tonight and shook your head then returned to reading your book. You need to focus, the coming exam will be your make or break. You can't bear any distractions now. 

A sudden knock on the table made you look up from the text about the rights of people. "Do you want a refill?" You glanced at the empty cup in front of you and nodded at the waiter before returning to your book. You heard the sound of a chair being dragged and looked up to the same male waiter sitting across you. "You've been here for an hour already." That long already? How did time pass so fast? 

"Break up with your boyfriend." You raised an eyebrow in confusion. What does he mean by that? "You know pretty girls shouldn't date jerks who would only make them wait."

A revolt was about to come out of your lips when you felt someone hold your shoulder. "The jerk is here." You saw how the man in front of you looked surprised and scared at the same time. "Thank you for keeping my pretty girlfriend company. You can leave now." 

He just finished pouring the coffee on your cup, eyeing your boyfriend who casually sat in front of you. You shook your head then returned to reading your book, smiling to yourself. "How was the party?"

Yuta smiled, reaching out for your hand and started playing with your fingers. His usual habit. "Typical frat party. Lots of booze." 

"Lots of girls." Yuta smirked. "Did you drink?" He nodded with an apologetic look. "You said it might take hours." 

The guy laughed then leaned on his chair, watching as you changed the page of your book. "I want to see my girl immediately. Besides, I told Johnny that I'll only drink a cup. He tricked me into drinking three cups of beer." You smiled. You always liked how Yuta tells you stories about his friends although you've never met them before. It does make you closer to him. "Have you eaten anything?" 

Come to think of it, you just kept on asking for a coffee refill. "I'll get you something to eat." Yuta took your cup of coffee. "How many cups have you drunk?" 

"Three?" You whispered that made him sigh. "Maybe four?" 

He shook his head before drinking the contents of your cup in one shot. You watched as Yuta stood up and went to the counter, staring at the menu. But you're not hungry and you have to finish reading this chapter. You just let him do what he wanted while you highlight the important key points you needed to remember. 

Your boyfriend came back, sitting beside you, with a plate of spaghetti and a glass of water. "Exams?" You corrected that it was your finals while pouting. Yuta smiled before twirling spaghetti on the fork. "You can do it." Before you could answer, he asked you to open your mouth and he gently fed you the pasta. "You're the smartest in your class." 

You're not. But arguing with him would be useless now. You focused on your book while his gaze kept on you, waiting for you to stop chewing before feeding you again. You're not even halfway through the spaghetti when you told him that you're already full. Although he scolded you a bit, he just told you to drink some water. 

Yuta's fingers were threading on your hair, his other hand playing with his phone. You loved your little dates like this. When you're just next to each other, him making sure that you know he's beside you by holding your hand or brushing your hair. The action is making you sleepy, which shouldn't be the case since you finished cups of coffee. 

By your second yawning, Yuta chuckled. "Do you want to go? It's already 9 pm." Your eyes widened in surprise then double checked your phone. It's that late already? "Fix your things." He kissed your forehead before standing up and heading to the counter. You followed him, keeping your books in your bag and making sure that you kept everything. 

He slings your bag on his shoulder and when you were about to pay, he told you that he had already taken care of it. The night breeze was cold when he opened the door for you. He held your hand tight as you started walking on the familiar street where you always walk home. 

Unlike other days, he remained quiet. Normally Yuta would tell you stories about the party or any embarrassing things that happened to his friends. But he's unnaturally quiet. 

You also regret that the walk to your house is so short. "When are your exams?" he asked, seeing the door to your residence. "This Friday." Yuta smiled. "Then you're free on the weekend?" You nodded. Maybe you can go watch a movie with Yuta this weekend. Hopefully, he isn't that busy.

"Yuta, are you alright?" You asked while sitting on the front steps of your house. He sat beside you, putting your bag beside him. "You were quiet the whole time we're walking. Are you drunk?" 

He shook his head, smiling timidly. He held your hand and played with your fingers. "I'm sorry, Y/N." You stared at him in surprise. Sorry about what? "That guy was right. I'm such a jerk for making you wait for me every time." 

"Are you breaking up with me?" 

His eyes widened in surprise then defensively shook his head. "No. Of course not." If possible, his hold on you got tighter. "I'd rather die than break up with you." You giggled. "It's just that, you deserve better. I don't even know why you agreed to be my girlfriend. I'm just a dumb frat guy."

You hummed, staring at your linked hands. "You're like an otome game that came to life." He laughed wholeheartedly at that. "You always fascinate me, Yuta." Then you breathed heavily. "I don't know why you asked me to be your girlfriend when a lot of girls would die in war for you. I'm just a geeky boring girl." 

Yuta chuckled before poking your waist, tickling your side. "You are my geeky, boring girl." He emphasized the pronouns in his sentence, bumping your foreheads lightly that made you smile. He mirrored the same expression that made you giggle. You love how adorable Yuta is. 

"It's late and it's cold. You have to get inside." You nodded. Although you don't want it to end just yet, it is getting late and Yuta had to return to his dorm. "I'll pick you up tomorrow morning." You nodded, smiling. "Call me if you can't sleep." He kissed your forehead and you hummed in agreement. 

"Goodnight, Yuta." 

You were walking the steps to your house when he called for you suddenly. "This weekend," he started. "There's a party at Jaehyun's villa. Do you want to come with me?" 

-----

Honestly, it did surprise you when Yuta asked you to come with him to a party. A frat party, to be exact. You've never been to one even though your boyfriend is one of the most known frat boys on campus. It's not your vibe. The heavy music. The alcohol. It scares you. 

And maybe that is the reason why Yuta didn't let go of your hand as you made way inside Jaehyun's villa. There are a lot of people that made you dizzy, girls who were wearing little clothing that made you so out of place. The smell of sweat, cigarette smoke, and alcohol filled the air that made you wince. 

Everyone was greeting Yuta and you might have heard their name but it's too much for your brain to comprehend. Girls would hold his chest and seductively stare at him but your boyfriend would just laugh and hold you closer, introducing you to them. The sounds got louder as you exited the hall and entered a large room filled with people. "Golden boy is here!" someone shouted and they hollered at Yuta, making you smile. Golden boy? "Let's play some beer pong!" 

Yuta glanced around, not caring about what the other guy said. "Haechan, stand up." He ordered that made a guy from your left follow his orders. The other guy was looking at him curiously but Yuta just held your hand and asked you to sit down at the place where the guy named Haechan was sitting earlier. He knelt in front of you, putting his jacket on your lap. "Are you alright here?" 

Wait, what? "Are you warm?" He raised his hand to feel the air from the aircon. "Or is it too cold?" You shook your head. "Do you want anything to eat? Is it too loud?"

You saw how all the guys around seemed to focus on the two of you. "I'm fine." You held his cheek, smiling at him. "Don't worry about me." 

"I'll get you something to drink." Before you could tell him anything, he stood up and exited the room. You can feel how everyone looked at you in a curious gaze and you shuffled your feet in nervousness. 

"Hi." You heard the guy beside you say. "I'm Mark." The guy next to him introduced himself as Jungwoo and you smiled, introducing yourself. You knew about them. Yuta had shared stories about how he adores them. "I'm excited to meet you." A confused gaze was all you could give him when Yuta reappeared with a bottle of water at hand. "This is the only non-alcoholic drink here. Do you want me to get you something from the store?" You shook your head. "This is fine."

Yuta casually uncapped the lid and you can hear Mark hitting Jungwoo lightly, giggling. "Are you alright? Is Mark bothering you?" It was your turn to giggle when the guy beside you revolted. Why is he like this? "I'm fine. Don't worry about me." You gestured at his friends who were staring at him as if waiting for his attention. "I think they want to play with you." 

He glanced at them before turning back to you. "Can I play?" You nodded. "I'm going to get drunk." You could hardly believe that and just mouthed 'Go'. "Keep your eyes on me, hmm?" You nodded, hearing Mark lightly squealing beside you when your boyfriend gave you a wink. 

It was Beer Pong, a game that you only heard when they tell you about frat parties. Mark supplied that it's a traditional game in their frat group and Jungwoo supplied that your boyfriend is the best in the game. You didn't know that fact. It feels like you’re discovering new things about your boyfriend everyday. 

But watching him play made the claim evident. Maybe your boyfriend is good at Physics. Whenever he would bounce the ball to the table, it would magically bounce inside the opponent's cup. He can also accurately shoot the ball inside the cup. Yuta is indeed good at this. 

Mark would always giggle whenever Yuta would send finger hearts on your way before shooting or winking when he got a shot. "He's so cool!" Mark would comment and you nodded. Indeed, he is. He won round after round of their beer pong and he drank a lot of cups of beer, yet you cannot see him slow down. He looks so happy. 

"Mark," you lightly called, whispering against his ear. "Do you know where the bathroom is?" He told you that it was by the hall and you nodded, standing up and leaving Yuta's jacket on the chair before your boyfriend held your hand. "Are you bored?" he asked immediately and you shook your head, telling him that you just needed to use the bathroom. "I'll come with you." You glared when he said that out too loud. 

"Where's your phone?" You told him that you left it inside your bag that was on the chair. He took his phone from his pocket, handing it to you. "If something happens, speed dial two. That's Mark's number. I'll go to you." You giggled before nodding. Speed dial two? But his speed dial one is his mom. What about you? "I memorized your number by heart, I don't need a speed dial." He kissed your forehead, in front of his friends, before letting go of your hand. 

Navigating through a house full of people was a lot more difficult than you expect it to be, you have been shoved a couple of times and almost fell twice. When you reached the bathroom though, there were two girls inside where one was vomiting while the other tapped her back. You quietly apologized then closed the door behind you. Where to go now? You only know this bathroom. 

If you thought that there may be fewer people upstairs, you're wrong about that. When you did find the bathroom, across the hall, you immediately closed it, seeing a couple inside. Now, you're more scared of opening the door. God, why is it difficult to find a bathroom? 

The stairs leading to the third floor seemed to be calling to you although it's dark. There's not a single person there that makes you wonder. Using the light from your boyfriend's phone, you navigate upstairs to find a single door. Hopefully, it's a bathroom. 

When you opened the door, you were welcomed by a musky scent. Must be a male's room. You were relieved to see another door that opened to a bathroom. Quietly, you apologized for trespassing but were thankful that you got relieved. Exiting the bathroom, you saw medals and trophies on one side of the room. A large bed in the middle of the room and photo frames above the cabinet. Your gaze fell on that one polaroid picture by the corkboard, Yuta and the guy he's playing beer pong with. Must be Jaehyun, the owner of the villa. 

You saw pictures of the frat group, smiling widely at the camera. Yuta's smile was the brightest of them all. He's happy. Really happy with them. A happiness that made your heart throb. A happiness that you don't want to take away from him. 

The room seems cozy, a complete irony to the loud party happening downstairs. It feels so warm, so quiet. And you didn't mean to lie down on someone's - particularly, a guy's - bed. 

You didn't mean to sleep either. But when you open your eyes, it's already dark. The room seemed colder than when you first came in and from the sounds of it the aircon is open. Did you open it? You were also covered in a warm blanket. Did someone come into the room? You glanced beside you and luckily, no one was there. How long have you been inside the room? And where is Yuta's phone? 

You fixed yourself, trying to calm down. Did someone come inside the room? Did someone take Yuta's phone? You should look for him first. Maybe he's worried.

Upon opening the door, you were startled by Jaehyun sleeping on the floor outside. Funny, it was locked. You don't even remember locking it. The party had died down and bodies were lying unconscious on the floor. If you didn't know that it's a party, you might think that there's a huge massacre.

The smell of alcohol, cigarettes, and sweat fills the house that suffocates you. A pungent scent of sex makes you wince. Where is Yuta? You don't want to think about it but what if he's staying in one room with a super hot girl with a killer body? What if she's giving him the best time of his life? And the thought made you so dizzy. You needed to breathe. 

It was dark outside, the cold breeze making your skin shiver. What time is it? 

A smoke from cigarette made you flinch. Someone is awake. To your surprise, it was the person you have been looking for. "Yuta?" He blew the smoke away from you and threw the remaining cigarette butt on the ground, stepping on it. "I didn't know you're smoking." 

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm trying to quit but it's cold and…" He stopped then removed his jacket. "I'm sorry, please don't be mad." He wore the jacket on you, keeping you warm. "Did you sleep well?" 

Your eyes widened in surprise. He knew? "I was worried so I came looking for you. Is the room warm?" So he is the one who opened the aircon, the one who put the blanket on you, and the one who locked the door. "Sorry." Why does he keep apologizing to you? 

"Why aren't you asleep?" You asked, pulling him closer so you can share the warmth of his jacket. "Aren't you drunk? You should have slept beside me earlier." 

Yuta chuckled. "We're not yet married, babo." He flicked your forehead before kissing the spot he touched. "Your dad is going to kill me." He pulled you close, hugging you by the waist. "I'm sorry for bringing you here. I understand if you don't want me anymore." Wait, what? Where is this coming from? He hugged you tighter. "I can quit everything if you want me to." 

"What?" He stared at you when you let go of the hug. "They are your friends and I saw how happy you are with them. You're smiling widely and you are super cool while playing beer pong." He giggled. "I also felt proud when Mark is squealing about you, knowing that you're my boyfriend." Yuta laughed wholeheartedly then hugged you once again. 

"If there's something you should quit, it should be smoking. Do you know how many chemicals are in a single stick of cigarette? It can cause cancer and lessen your sperm count…" You stopped, realizing what you said. 

Yuta just laughed once again then kissed your nose. "I'll stop, I promise. But please motivate me." You stared in question. How? "A kiss for every stick I won't smoke." 

"That's unfair." you revolted. "How about a kiss for each day you won't smoke?" Yuta groaned that made you chuckle. "A deep kiss." He groaned again, head leaning on your shoulder that made you laugh. "With tongue?" he asked which made you poke his stomach to tickle him. 

Yuta's phone rang, "Come with me." He held your hand tight and you went outside the villa to the sandy beach. You didn't notice that it's a beach villa. The sound of the waves calmed you, the sea breeze making it colder. Yuta wrapped his arms around you as the break of light can be seen, illuminating the wonderful sunrise hue of orange and pink. "We call it asayake in Japanese," he whispered, "The morning glow, the colors of sunrise." 

"Sunrise always meant a new day, a new beginning," he whispered and you hummed, gesturing that you're listening to him. "I've always wanted to see the sunrise with you. I even imagine seeing all the sunrises with you for the rest of my life." You smiled. 

Yes, you have been dating for a long time but you've never talked to Yuta about the future. Maybe a little teasing about having a soccer team in the future or his usual 'I hope our daughter looks like you' comments. Hearing him now, you're sure that this is the future you wanted. With Yuta. 

"I'll try to be better, Y/N. For you. For me. For us." His hug got tighter and somewhat the temperature felt so warm than before. "So please, don't give up on me." 

You held his arms that were wrapped around you, liking the warmth and comfort that he's giving you. "Let's be better together, Yuta." You smiled. "And I won't be leaving you, I just unlocked your romantic type." He laughed. "I can't wait to unlock all your other types, my otome kareshi." 

"Just stay beside me and I'll help you unlock all the other types." 

You smiled. You planned to anyway. 

[jellyluchi]

Hold It In

A/N: That one self indulgent pegging and lactation fic 😔 I'm sorry if new followers didn't expect this content, it is what it is.

commissions [open]❤️‍🔥support my work

Word count: 2.7k Pairings: Prosciutto/Focaccia (OC) Warnings: gentle mommy dom, dirty talk, nicknames, pegging, lactation, adult breastfeeding, anal fingering Genre: NSFW Summary: Prosciutto takes gf home and gets fucked deep up the ass and drinks tiddie milk. 

“Prosciutto will be back shortly. He can take you home, I’m sure,” Risotto says rigidly. Sorting the paperwork he just finished, he stood up and nodded towards Focaccia. A sign of farewell. Nodding back, she realizes how awkward it feels to speak to the capo. Despite the good chunk of time she spent with the assassination team, it still feels stifling to interact with the man. But her desire to be better friends doesn’t dwindle knowing how much Prosciutto respects him.

As it so happens, the information she provided for Risotto would be helpful for a hit on some unknown executive which is the job he’s headed to. But one problem still stands. Focaccia can’t drive herself home. All the times her father demanded she learn still come back as fond memories. 

“You want some dinner?” 

She’s taken out of her thoughts by a question from Formaggio. Characteristically, he wears pajamas, and a loose shirt. While it’s not unusual for the member to spend a night or two in the base, the attire seems somewhat out of place for her. 

“No, thanks. But what are you making?” 

“You’re asking an Italian what he’s making for dinner,” he laughs humorously, “don’t be surprised when I say it’s pasta.” 

She giggles for a bit but notices his lingering figure, quietly inquiring her reason to be wandering around. 

“Oh, Prosciutto is picking me up.” 

A smirk passes through his lips. 

“Is he now… Well let me and Pesci know if you need anything else.” 

Focaccia nods, watching the man leave Risotto’s office. She realizes she can’t wait by his desk and opts to sit on his office couch, intrigued by the records of files she no doubt would be killed for looking through.

Suddenly, Formaggio comes back. 

“Don’t have too much fun you two!” He gives a wink to accompany his accusatory assumption but Focaccia only goes red and shoos him away with a dismissive hand.

It doesn’t take long for Prosciutto to come back, and she knows it’s him when she hears him open the living room door rather aggressively. With quite a few of the members busy or sleeping, she notices just how quiet the base can be. 

He looks as though in a hurry to be home when he enters the capo’s office. Focaccia tries her best not to jump off her seat out of eagerness. 

“Hey…” How embarrassing. Sounding like a crushing high school girl when talking to her own boyfriend. She notices his flushed face and wonders if it’s the cold weather or herself that made it so. 

“Hey, I have something for you,” he informs her and she notices the quiet tone.

“Ooo, cake?” 

Biting back a helpless giggle he responds “it’s a bit more than cake, love.” 

Intrigued, she tries to look into the little paper bag he holds. 

“Wait, where’re the others?” 

“I believe Risotto has gone out for work. Pesci and Formaggio are making dinner in the kitchen and I haven’t seen the others since arriving here at six.”

“Okay, good…The capo’s office is best then.” 

Realizing the nature of his reason for discussion is confidential makes her even more eager. 

Gently, he guides her to the sofa, hands shaking slightly from the tension. And Focaccia understands the subject he is trying to talk about must be incredibly personal. Yet, the determined, harsh eyes of his does not lose its steel. Hard and focused, he looks as though he moves with extreme caution and restraint. A level of self-control his body is both used to but does not want to sustain much longer. 

As he takes the bag into his lap, she watches with wide set eyes, breath barely being kept in.  Prosciutto produces a purple dual pleasure dildo and a sharp, involuntary intake of breath is heard from her. 

“Where did you… And this is for me?” 

His tone seems to change immediately, with no prying eyes to interrupt the lovers’ private interaction. 

“Sì Mammina.” 

His soft tone, the gentle whisper of his voice, and the little splashes of red around his cheeks make her oh so endeared. 

“Oh baby… thank you.” She takes his chin by the hand, her long red nails deliciously scratching the side of his face and he instinctively closes his eyes. His submission, by far, is the most beautiful thing she has seen. Not being able to take it any longer she brings his face closer to gently kiss him on the lips as her other hand comes up to rub his thigh in slow motions. 

“And mommy can use it on my baby whenever she wants?”

“…Sì Mammina.”

“Aw, my good baby prince…” The nickname seems to take effect almost instantly. 

Sensing how quickly he’s becoming excited, Focaccia realizes it’s their cue to leave. 

“Let’s go home, baby.” 

Prosciutto clears his throat, the dazed fog on his eyes washing away tto bring back his steely gaze. 

“Yes…Let’s. I’ll tell you about dinner on the way.” 

Their return is rather casual, neither mentioning the illicit toy that Prosciutto brought to work. The man truly does not know how perfect his timing can be. Focaccia knows he can be quite punctual, but sometimes he makes stars align without knowing what he’s making possible. Her memories revert back to a conversation they had a couple months ago. 

During a trip to the grocery store, she’d spotted some particularly delicious looking cookies. Only to realize they’re for lactating. Without picking up the product, she later brought up her findings to Prosciutto.

“Lactating cookies?” He asked, not entirely paying attention. Considering that he rarely likes to be bothered when he’s cooking, it wasn't good timing. However, she thought about how he would think it’s distasteful to talk about their sex life over dinner and go to bed right after, and realized he’s only calm when he’s chopping some peppers. 

“Yes…” she trailed off, trying to sense whether he could understand the nuances of her implications. 

“Is this some convoluted way of revealing you’re pregnant?” Despite his best effort, the slight shake of his voice gave away nervousness. He did NOT like that. 

Focaccia sighs audibly. 

“No, bunny,” she says, dropping the carrot peeler in lieu of walking behind him. The tone seems to have worked as he stops chopping, keen to her every move. 

“Look at me.” She gave him a gentle look of adoration when turned around with those tiger-like eyes. She knew how he could get sometimes. His embarrassment radiated in the heat he emitted, yet her presence seemed to calm him slowly. 

“It would be for you, silly. And I don’t mean the cookies…” 

The revelation brought enough heat to his face that it would not take Fire Woman much to set him ablaze. 

As his hands rest on her waist she looks up at him with mischief in her eyes.

“You wanted to suckle on mommy right, baby? Why don’t we give it a try?” 

It was always a marvel fast Prosciutto loses his voice when at the command of his Mommy. Truly like a small boy, his enthusiastic nod made her giggle and caress her soft cheek. When he leaned into the touch she knew she wanted to protect him no matter what. And give him the world.

Dinner was a little late that night. As the two of them huddled next to the computer trying to find methods of lactation induction. And finally bought a breast pump the next day. 

Focaccia places her pump back into the closet, satisfied that her breasts are heavy and full. She spotted some spurts of white milk on the interior of the pump before cleaning it and placing it back in place. Prosciutto isn’t aware of lactation status just yet and she thinks it would be a wonderful surprise. 

Unsure of his whereabouts, she finds the dual pleasure dildo to disinfect and clean it properly. Perhaps tonight would be quite fast for him but she’s not one known for waiting. 

It’s not uncommon for her to dress up in lovely lingerie to surprise him from time to time, but she keeps her regular shorts and t-shirt, feeling it to be appropriate for a night she’ll spend mostly naked. In fact, she never makes a habit of wearing a bra at home anyway. 

Placing the dildo on the bedside with the lube, she decides to go find it within his apartment. However, he makes himself known when he walks into the bedroom with his closed book in hand. 

“Come for bed?” She asks rather huskily. He must have noticed her placement of the toys nearby, and avoids looking towards the area directly. He makes a show of taking off his t-shirt and pajamas, seemingly to sleep in his boxers. 

He answers stiffly. “No.” 

“I didn’t think so, either.” 

Looking at his perky ass in the gray boxers makes her think of asking something important. 

“Would you like me to wait for you to take a shower?” 

“I already did.” He does not hesitate to reply and stands turned towards her, rigid and with his hands behind his back. Making out the faint outline of his cock, it dawns on her that he’d already prepared for this very moment. And is waiting for his next command. A genuine smirk makes its way to her lips. A lop sided, mischievous smile that does nothing to help his arousal. 

“Are you laying yourself bare for me, baby?” 

But he doesn’t reply, staring flush cheeked back at her as though opening his mouth would only produce sounds unheard of. 

“Go lie on your back,” she says, thinking of the present that he got not only for her, but also for himself. A find like that ought to be rewarded. And reward him she will…

“Good boy, now arms up,” she instructs and he slowly lifts them to rest above his head. “Perfect.” The look of adoration combined with such open praise makes him bite a lip in anticipation. 

“Wait for mommy, she’ll be right back. No touchy, okay?” The sweetness that oozes from her voice adds to the growing bulge in his boxers and he silently nods. It may have taken him time to submit to this degree but every second was absolutely worth it. She watches him from the corner of her eye taking out black strap to attach the dildo and apply a generous amount of lube. 

In the past, they’d used dildos without a second component, making the sensation of wearing this one much, much different to the rest. She could barely resist moaning when making contact with the interior of the toy.

She feels his gaze on herself, wearing nothing but her strap, waiting for her to take him already. So patient. Yet so desperate. She suddenly wishes to hear him whimper.

Making her towards him, she settles between his legs, the shift of the bed making his bugle move enticingly. It’s not uncommon for him to go mute in the face of submission but she knows there’s too much going on in his mind and that he wants release. 

“Wider, baby, wider for mommy…” His thighs part with gentle caresses of her hands, relishing in the view of him spreading eagle for her. Erotic shocks fly up Prosciutto’s spine at the touch. The tip of her strap makes addictive contact on his skin and he almost bucks up for more, but not wanting punishment, holds back. He tries to be so good, so good for his mommy. Nothing makes him happier than hearing her sing praises for him, and only him. 

She gives him a long overdue kiss, a warm push and pull between them that has his breath hitching and legs shaking with impatience. His neglected cock twitches in its still clothed state when she scratches it through the boxers, long nails making small dents on the skin. 

When she finally pulls away he groans louder than usual. 

“Shh… shh, little prince. Settle down.” 

Tender kisses are peppered over his jaw as she takes lubed fingers to insert into him not before swirling them over his entrance in languid circles. It nearly breaks him as he thrusts into her touch desperately, grunting lowly in frustration. 

“It’s okay love, shh…you want mommy to make the ache go away, don’t you?” 

Even while mindless with pleasure, he has the sense to nod at her question eagerly.  She takes off the boxers to find his wet, twitching cock strawberry red at the tip and laying straight against his abdomen. And when she finally enters him, all thought has left, turned to moans that escape his lips in wafts of breath. 

Deeper, and deeper, she reaches the depths he wants only to pull back before he could be satiated. The dissatisfaction makes him want to act out, and bite. But he knows he will be denied the main course if he acts so foolishly. Even when he was young he knew to act correct with his mother to get exactly what he wanted. And mommy is no different…

“Mammina, please… Mammina!” 

“Begging for mommy already… How pathetic. Please what? Use your mouth, sweetheart.” 

Her condescending tone makes him groan and he has to collect his thoughts for a moment. 

“Inside please… Want mommy inside me, please!” The high pitch of his voice his highly uncharacteristic, yet so fitting, Seeing him broken to his bare bones, begging pathetically to be fucked makes her clench.

Without another word, she slowly pushes the freshly lubed strap inside, inch by burning inch. And as Prosciutto’s moans get louder, she only gets more determined. She eats at his mouth to absorb his sounds into herself, raising his legs to go over her shoulder. The deep, slow thrusts have the inside grinding so deliciously on her clitoris she moans into the kiss involuntarily. His cock brushes against her soft stomach wetting it with pre-cum and providing him more stimulation than he’s ready for. 

Focaccia finally releases his lips when feeling the well known wetness on his face. Wanting to witness the beautiful sight of his tears, she hovers over him with only one goal in mind. The angelic fresh droplets of his beautiful eyes meshed with his flushed ruby red cheeks only make her grind harder against the interior. He looks so gorgeous crying out in need of her. 

“Mammina…mammi…” His words blend together to the point of near incoherency, and she starts pumping his cock to help out. 

“C’mon baby, cum for Mammina, she’ll reward you if you do.”

She hits his deepest with each thrust, making it nigh impossible to think and the sensation of her hands on his cock make him descend to madness. Finally, Prosciutto paints himself white all over his chest, panting breaths in succession, tears staining his cheeks in brush strokes. She makes an artwork out of him.

But she doesn’t stop thrusting, grinding against the strap to chase her own, overstimulating him in the process. 

“Good boy. Good baby boy. Sweet little prince,” she coos. “Mammina promised a reward didn’t she?” 

Focaccia barely has to do anything but push her tits to his face, hanging low as though a sweet fruit on a tree and he eagerly takes a nipple into his mouth with a groan. Wordlessly, as if by practiced ease, he starts a tentative suckle only to feel the trickle of liquid in surprise. Lapping at her nipple, he sucks for more while her shallow thrusts make him clench around her strap. 

“All for you, baby, all for you…” She moans when feeling the warmth of his mouth and his playful, clever tongue trying to extract more of her sweetness. She squeezes her other breast for him to mouth to the fresh, milking nipple with a groan. At last, in white, hot bliss, she gushes over the interior of the strap, pulling out of him entirely. Prosciutto releases the nipple with a pop as Focaccia beds to rest her forehead against his. 

With all his inhibitions set free, he takes his arms down to wrap her within himself, panting for breath and trying to regain his thoughts. 

“Love you,” he manages to say between pants. 

Focaccia smiles into his shoulder, giving him a few more kisses. 

“Love you too.” 

[postwarlevi]

This is just me being me....

Soooo! Levi wants to go shopping at the local farmers market. He wants to pick up some tasty food and maybe stop by a place on the way home to grab some plants for the garden.

Which tasty stalls do you stop by and what plants will you guys grab for your garden?

He's eyeing those deals.

CAT! My darling! I must apologize to you (and others) for letting things sit in my inbox.

Part of me just gets distracted, or forces myself to finish my work (not often lol) before interacting. Another part literally feels like I can't do justice to things people send me.... I'll work on that.

(I have no excuse for being so late in tag games except, distractions lol)

Anyway! Let me promote myself LOL I'll take a little inspiration from the Farmers Market fic I wrote a while ago. (this is also slightly self indulgent)

I think you'd have similar tastes and your favorites of course... Am I about to go overboard?

As far as fruit, I stand by Levi liking apples (I have a fic for that too hehe), and cherries, and fresh navel oranges. He's always got an apple or orange for lunch, or snacks on a bowl of cherries when they're in season. And loving apples as well, you're known to make tasty treats like tarts or muffins or crisps, and Levi always has his share.

You can't pass up the pineapple as well, or the blueberries and strawberries in season. Your freezer is full for smoothie ingredients. (Imma make a HC about everyones favorite fruit sometime)

Moving on to veggies, you stock up for salads and quick snacks. Bell peppers, cucumbers, carrots, zucchini, yes! All of it! How can you pass up a 1.5 pound organic zucchini for $1? You can't!

You like winter squash as well like butternut for soups or acorn for stuffing...or both for muffins or casseroles! (I have recipes!)

Also potatoes for baking or mashing yourself. And they last forever.

Okay but the zucchini? You have to visit the cheese stall and get asiago or mozzarella to shred on the zucchini and pop it in the oven for 15 minutes. SO GOOD. Also feta for salads. Cheese is the bulk of your dairy as it's coconut or almond milk in your fridge.

The tea stall! Loose leaf, baggies, give us the usual black or green tea. Chamomile or sage tea, cinnamon and honey lemon, and fruity flavors once in a while like pomegranate or pear mango. :D

Oh and dried fruit and nuts! Levis a weirdo and likes dried beets and such. He can have those. The hazelnuts too. But you both like raw almonds and the nutty granola blend for days you have oatmeal and want a crunch. Sometimes you just use it as a cereal base and throw in the blueberries! Dried fruit like mango or papaya wind up in your bag too. And those apple slices!

We can't forget the bread! You have to watch it here more than anywhere. Rye or pumpernickel loafs, small rolls of sesame seed or garlic herb. Sometimes they're for breakfast and sometimes for lunch.

How about your honey and fresh jams and peanut/almond butters? Gotta have something to put between those sandwiches! Apricot preserves, orange marmalade, classic strawberry jam. (Jam spreads better then jelly!)

You know I don't know where you're going to put all this stuff LOL

Sometimes you also grab eggs, and look at the non food items like the crafty handmade woodwork or coasters (no more coasters!) or fresh bar soap like lavender!

BTW if anyone is waiting for me to throw meats in there, you're going to have to do it yourself haha sorry

Oh wait but maybe you splurge on pasta? There's so many varieties! Maybe you go for lemon garlic linguini, or sun dried tomato fettuccine. And pasta sauce made with organic tomatoes, garlic, onion, basil and olive oil. YUM!

And if you go early and don't eat breakfast, you'll get it there. Strawberry mango smoothies, waffles, guava or chocolate empanadas?? (You eat healthy all the time, it's okay to not once in a while!)

Maybe you get lunch to go like woodfire pizza, or veggie wraps and rice and beans. Yes, you have lots of food, but after lugging it around and putting it away who wants to cook? You need to take it easy for a minute!

As far as plants, more zucchini, you can never have enough. Tomatoes and whatever lettuce variety is your favorite, and fresh herbs like basil, rosemary and parsley.

Fruits are a little more tricky I think, but a fig plant can go indoors or outdoors, and fresh figs are a nice treat! Lemons and limes are a good option too, and you can use them for some flavored water or to keep cut apples fresh :D Maybe if there's room blueberries too, or plums. (and apples)

So, what do you think? You going to the market with Levi? What are YOU getting??

[hyeque]

(Edit: this turned into a whole ass easy my b bby)

AHHHH RISUUUU okay let me hush about your tags on my kita fic pretty please 🥺 I was smiling so hard reading them !!

First—thank you for your sweet words about my writing and characterization and dialogue I’m always so worried about it and this made me so happy I love u. And for noticing my attempts at dialect difference as I struggled to remember who was talking in what the whole time lol

But YES best friend Suna has my heart-I love him sm and honestly I projected what I needed onto him a bit because yes, you guessed it—my ex ditched me the night before we were meant to turn in paperwork for an apartment and I struggled to pack and clean a 3 bedroom house on my own—I’m still crashing in my friends spare room til Friday

But anyways—besides that—Suna cooking? I imagine it more like pasta out of a box like it’s got all the ingredients in the box 😂—ask him to follow a recipe that he’s gotta buy the ingredients for and he’s like forgotten half the ingredients cause “wasn’t that important was it”—tried but pls bby no

Embarrassing myself like that so many times is totally something I would do—it’s ok kita thinks it’s cute

Okay but the creepy neighbor? Inspired by my irl temp neighbor who literally blocked my dads path as we tried to bring stuff up the stairs by sitting on them, literally said “I’ve been hit before” literally tried to block my car in and almost followed me, and stared at me creepily from his cracked door as I came home from a 1am Taco Bell trip—creepily just watched me

But I digress—KITA walking in on you…..I was so embarrassed writing it-had to keep pausing and hide my face. And him taking care of us after? Aftercare king who? Telling tsumu “his girl” self indulgent but like 😭 ahhhhh I squealed writing it. Suna is a sneaky little shit-saw how kita was looking at us.

I’m so glad you didn’t want it to end—makes me so ☺️☺️💜 but kita has me in a chokehold so maybe there will be more kita and pretty neighbor… 👀

eeep ty for sharing the background for all of these little details, personally agree that suna just makes instant stuff bc that’s all he can do 😭😭 but gosh men are so weird,,, why do they have to make our (non-men) lives difficult at times???

ahh i’m so sorry you had to deal with those stressful experiences 😞 but i hope things are much better now! i always admire when people intwine their real life experiences with their writing,,, and indulging is one of the best things we can do!

i will be so hype if you decide to make more of kita amd pretty neighbor <3

[aellynera]

Man of the House (Bud Cooper x F!Reader)

MAN OF THE HOUSE

a/n: this is an entirely ridiculous, self-indulgent fic, especially for @sergeantkane, with little plot, just some thots. 💜😘 comments, likes, and reblogs always appreciated!

Word Count: 1385(ish)

Summary: It’s been a very long day, and Bud has a surprise for you.

Warnings: Female reader (no y/n or descriptions.) A tiny bit of language. Questionable apparel choices. Strong sexual innuendo/very very light very very brief smut (not at all graphic but it’s there so please be 18+). The usual sketchy proofreading/editing.

You fumble with your key as you aim it toward your front door. It has been a very, very long day, and all you can picture in your mind right now is a long soak in a hot bubble bath and the soothing warmth of your soft bed.

You’d called your husband around 4 p.m., when you realized exactly how much work you had left, and with your boss breathing down your neck that it had to be done today. Bud had been very sweet and understanding, like he always was with you. He told you to try not to stress, to take your time and do what you had to do, and that he couldn’t wait until later tonight to kiss you senseless.

Your husband’s gentle words were the only thing that got you through the rest of the afternoon. Thinking about finally getting home and being wrapped up in his strong, warm arms was the only thing that got you past a screaming boss, endless phone calls, and immature, irresponsible coworkers. The glint he gets in his eyes whenever he looks at you stuck in your mind, you somehow managed to tune out most of the unending cacophony.

But even with the thoughts of your sweet husband, the day was exhausting.

And you know, since you were working late, Bud would also likely be working even later. He isn’t exactly addicted to his job, but he takes it very seriously. And if he knows you aren’t going to be home, he’ll probably put in a few more hours at his own office. He is prone to lose track of time, so you will likely have to call him later and see when he was coming home.

That’s fine. That’s what the bath and the bed are for.

You finally get the key into the doorknob and unlock it, sighing and letting yourself in. Every step, every motion, feels like you;re walking in wet cement. You’re glad you’d left a light on this morning because you aren’t sure you can navigate the dark house right now, and you certainly don’t have the energy to flip a light switch. Wait, you didn’t leave a light on when you left today, did you? Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Dropping your bag unceremoniously by the door, you think maybe you’ll skip the bath after all.

That’s when your addled brain registers the smell. Garlic and onion and something rich and meaty wafts through the house. Exhaustion aside, you’re certain you hadn’t left anything cooking when you went out that morning.

You shuffle your way to the kitchen, narrowly avoiding the couch on the way, until the edge of the kitchen table stops you dead in your tracks. Well, not so much the table itself. You’re so surprised to see Bud standing in the kitchen that you forget you’re in motion and the crash of your body hitting the wood makes him turn around.

“Sweetheart, you’re home, I didn’t hear you come in,” he says with a wide grin. “Let me give this a quick stir, hang on a sec.” He gestures vaguely with the wooden spoon clutched in his hand and turns back to the pot on the stove.

Truly, the sight would have been less shocking to you, if Bud was wearing anything more than just an apron, and you weren’t staring dumbfounded at his ass.

Not that you’d never seen his ass. You’d seen his ass plenty of times; he was your husband, after all. But you were pretty sure you’d never seen his ass peeking out from beneath the yellow ruffles that edged your favorite blue apron. The one you wear all the time when you’re baking or cooking. The one with the little cats-and-flowers pattern splashed across it. His reading glasses were hooked over the pocket in the center of his chest.

You’re not sure what comes out of your mouth, but it isn’t words.

Bud puts a lid on the pot, peeks into the oven, and then walks over to you with a sweet smile on his face.

He wraps his arms around your waist and leans in to press a soft kiss on your mouth, and you vaguely note that your mouth is still hanging open. “How was the rest of your day?” 

“I...it was…” you finally get something other than a strangled yelp out of your face. “Bud...what are you…”

Bud shrugs. “Making you dinner.”

“In my...apron,” you squeak.

Another shrug as Bud turns back to the stove. “I didn’t want to get stains on my shirt.”

Your mouth opens and closes a few more times. Are you dreaming? You could be dreaming. But then Bud moves to wipe his hand on the apron, and the apron shifts so you get a glimpse of what else is under it, and suddenly you desperately need a drink.

Bud turns back to you and hands you a glass of wine, which you didn’t even notice he’d poured. You down half of it in one go, and he clinks his glass to yours before taking his own sip. “Everything should be ready in a few minutes.”

“Bud Cooper,” you start, biting your lip for a moment. “What is going on?”

He puts his glass down and inches towards you again, wrapping his arms back around your waist. The smell of his cologne mixes with the garlic and the scent that is simply him and you sigh into his chest. He kisses the top of your head. “You sounded like you were having a really bad day when you called, so I got out of work a little early. Got stuff to make your favorite pasta, cleaned up a little around the house, started cooking. Thought I’d surprise you.”

“I’m sorry, but how exactly did cooking naked come into play?”

“I’m not naked,” his face is completely straight. “I’m wearing an apron.”

“Bud.”

“So did my surprise work?”

And before you can say another word, you’re being hoisted up onto the kitchen table and Bud is standing between your legs. The skirt of the apron lays across your lap and you can feel him against your thigh.

“Bud, people eat on this table.”

He looks at you for a long moment. The gleam in his eyes is undeniable, familiar, and oh so slightly dangerous. It’s probably a second too late when you realize what you said, and what he’s now doing.

Bud gazes up at you from his knees, leaving hot wet kisses on your own, trailing his lips down your calves and back up to your knees again. “Hmm, you don’t say.”

You’re pretty sure you black out at some point, it’s kind of hard to tell. All you know is Bud’s mouth is hot and wet on your equally hot and wet center, and he’s wearing that ridiculous fucking apron and you’d contemplate why you even bought the thing in the first place, if his mouth wasn’t currently doing what it was doing.

Dinner is forgotten and you have a vague recollection of Bud telling you it’s fine, because pasta is always better the next day anyway.

The sheets are soft against your skin as you roll over in the faint morning light, reaching for the spot next to you. Bud rolls over to face you and pulls you closer. How you got to bed, you have no idea, but Bud seems to sense your question and answers sleepily, his eyes not opening.

“You were pretty out of it last night,” he mumbles, snuggling closer to you. “Carried you back. Cleaned up the mess.”

You hum in a mix of appreciation and contentment, curling up into his side and opening one eye to glance at him. “What did you do with the apron?”

“Burned it in the backyard.”

Bud laughs as you lightly slap his chest. “No, seriously. That’s like...my favorite apron.”

“Washed it and stuck it back in the drawer,” he tells you softly, and you can feel the sly grin more than you can see it. “So next time you put it on…”

The images of what happened in your kitchen last night flash through your mind in an instant and you can feel your body heating at the mere thought.

Definitely your favorite apron.

Taglist: @anetteaneta @autumnleaves1991-blog @be-the-spark-flyboy @damerondjarin @deeandbobbymcgee @huxdameron @itspdameronthings @jitterbugs927  @littlebopper96 @michaelperry @poedjarin @rosemarysbaby13 @sergeantkane @spider-starry @woakiees @writefightandflightclub @veuliee @yourbucky084 @waatermelon-sugaar​

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[ironmansuuucks]

The Brightside

Dewey Finn x Reader

Oh my gosh! She’s done ANOTHER dewey finn x reader fic???? Who would have guessed!! Surprise lol😂 this is just a lil dewey Drabble about being in lockdown!! Let me know what you think!!

Words: 1007

Warnings: mentions of smut, fluff, lockdown, covid-19

Lockdown well and truly sucked. Not being able to see family, no nights out, god you couldn’t even get to a clothes shop for a new pair of socks! Life had flipped upside down and it was nothing to brag about. But there was one save and grace; your sweet Dewey Finn. If there was one good thing to come out of lockdown, it was being able to spend more time with your beloved boyfriend.

The soft cuddles in the morning. That was something to be thankful for. The way the morning sun caught in his hair, and his dreamy brown eyes were enough to melt you. The orange glow making for a warm and welcoming atmosphere. His rough morning voice enough to make you die on the spot. The fact that neither of you had work meant you could spend hours in the morning drinking coffee, talking about nothing and everything at the same time, and indulging in slow, lazy kisses between the sheets. The radio would be playing lowly in the background, until 10:30 when the morning quiz came on and you played together to get the highest score.

The late morning brought with it hot showers and self-care. “care to join me?” you would tease him as he jumped up out of the bed, eyeing you up “you don’t have to ask me twice” he would enthuse, both of you giggling your way into the bathroom. “yeah no just put this lil face mask on while we brush our teeth”, “noo y/n I can’t use that one, it made my skin break out the last time remember” Dewey would whine, pulling and examining his skin in the mirror, towel wrapped around his hair. You would furrow your eyebrows at him, snickering “your such a diva”. He would snort, still examining his skin “it takes a lot of work and some TLC to look as gorgeous as I am y/n” he would sass.

Lunch time came with experimentation. “listen, all I’m saying is that you could definitely put pizza in the waffle iron and make pizzaffles.. or would it be wafizza?” he would suggest while chopping up tomatoes for salad. “Dewey, that’s disgusting”. He would look at you chopping lettuce and laugh, taking a tomato and playfully throwing it at you, while stuffing another one in his mouth.. before he abruptly spat it back out “ew, I forgot I hate tomatoes”. You both had been trying to stay healthy, and clearly failing seeing as the salad got thoroughly tossed in the bin and yous ate the left over pizza from the night before. Thankfully you convinced him not to put it in the waffle iron.

Mid after noon was time for new activities. “I love doing yoga with you babe” “aw that’s sweet dew” you would smile, in a downward dog positioning. “oh yeah, I cant wait to practice this one with you later tonight in bed” he would move so he was lying underneath you, looking up in your eyes, wiggling his eyebrows. “who said anything about waiting until tonight?” you would tease, raising an eyebrow. Dewey’s mouth fell open pretending to be shocked “Y/n, such a tease”. You moved so you were straddling Dewey’s lap, him leaning against the couch. “you know me”. He grabbed your ass, squeezing lightly “I love it when you wear these gym leggings. Gives me the best view. You have no idea what they do to me” he kisses you. “yeah, I do.. its why I wear them all the time” you quipped cheekily between kisses. Dewey groaned “you’ll be the death of me”.

Dinner time brought stress. You wanted to try new things and be healthy, whereas Dewey wanted to be lazy. “no y/n I’m fed up of spaghetti Bolognese” he would whine. “Dewey Finn I am not your mother, either you eat the food or you fend for yourself” you would warn. He would huff and puff, but continue to help you make the dinner, knowing he had no leg to stand on. He would hug you from behind as you stood at the stove, stirring the pasta “I just miss us driving in my van, you feeding me fries while I drive” he would mope, swaying you both side to side. “yeah I know dew, me too but I’d rather be here eating boring spaghetti than trying to pick out a coffin… Yeah make sure it has the ACDC label on it please, I know that was his favourite” you would joke in a serious way. “nah, I would fight the corona virus.. I’m a tank” he would play, showing off his ‘muscles’. You would laugh and kiss his cheek “yeah okay, whatever my lil tough guy”.

Night time was a variable. A lot of the time Dewey would play his guitar for a while, you laying your head on his lap as he sang to you. Or you would watch a film together “hey can we watch tropic thunder?” you would sigh “again dew? That’s the third time this week” you would laugh, but you knew you couldn’t resist those puppy dog brown eyes. Getting cosy on the couch, enjoying one another’s warmth. Other times, when the sky was clear, you would sit at the window, all of the lights turned off to avoid light pollution, and gaze out at the stars. You would sit between Dewey’s legs, laying your back against his chest, as you chatted about everything. Pointing out shooting stars, making patterns, Dewey lightly running his fingers up and down your sides. It was perfect.

As bed time rolled around you were both ready to cuddle up and close your eyes. Fresh sheets and pyjamas were a must to make yourselves feel better. Times were tough, but little things like that made a big difference. “I had a great day with you today” you would yawn, tangled up in his embrace “I had a great day too” he would kiss you sweetly. Soft, sleepy make out sessions before you both fell asleep, getting ready to get up and do the exact same thing again the next day. This won’t last forever. Everything will be okay.

Tags: @large-unit​ @thewolfisapartofmysoul​ @little-miss-shy-goth​ @paxenera​ @heknowshisherbs @missihart23​ ​ @geminiacally @go-commander-kim​ @gegehaddock​ @baby-beej @sadpuppetshows​ @slowly-dying-of-boredom

[peachyteabuck]

eating a heart in a marketplace

summary: "[C]ommunion doesn’t need to be holy. Or even decent." -  THOMAS C. FOSTER 

After one of Tony’s men injures one of yours, he must present a peace offering in order to keep his black market distributor business afloat. 

Good news: you accept the gift. 

Bad news: the gift is Thor.

pairing: Thor Odinson x Reader

words: 5,863

trigger warnings: dubcon ig, humiliation, heavy d/s dynamics, mentions of canon-level violence, use of gags, collars, basically kidnapping, dehumanization (sexual and nonsexual)

notes/other: this fic is entirely self-indulgent and i am anticipating sequels bc i .... love it.  enjoy!

sk box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

The obnoxiously long, dark oak table lays mostly bare, the only places set are the ones at each end of the exquisitely made piece of furniture.

The pink, sheer robe you’re wearing does nothing to hide the matching baby pink lace lingerie, just as the equally feminine heels donned with a strip of pink puff across the base of the toes would do nothing to protect your perfectly manicured feet from the harm of the eerie storm raging outside. Still, the garments and accessories are not meant to be something that cover you up, keep you warm, help you run from danger; they’re tools, tools you’ll hopefully use to get your way as the final meal of the evening approaches.

The entire event is set up just the way you want, with your makeup setting just as expected; the pig roasted to perfection, the pasta firm to the touch, the carrots and broccoli steamed until palatable, the champagne chilled. Most important, though, was the arrival of your guest. At exactly 6:05, your head butler comes in to notify you of the car pulling in front of your expansive home. With the wave of your hand she’s instructed to let the man come in, allow your rival to step into the palace you’d constructed for yourself when you’d risen to the top of your organization.

Well, maybe “rival” is the wrong word. “Rival” implies an active dislike or struggle, when in reality you two operate in separate spheres of influence.

“Companion,” though, seems too friendly.

As the distinct sounds of footsteps filter through the grand hall and into your study, the man you’ve decided to call “fellow leader” steps into sight. His fine pressed suit, dry as the Sahara desert, smiles as you come into his view.

“Ah, my favorite mob woman.” His eyes seems more sinister than you expected. You attribute it more to the dark tones of the evening rather than actual malice.

“Stark,” you say with a curt nod. You go up to exchange a kiss on each cheek, heart racing with the anticipation of what’s to come, excitement increasing with each step. “Come, we have a wonderful meal prepared for you.”

Anthony doesn’t protest, simply accepts a glass of Scotch a maid hands to him and follows you into the dining room. He chuckles a bit at the display you’ve put on, but doesn’t say anything outright. You two have enough respect for the other not deny their counterpart the joy of a dramatic display. He simply sits, the pig placed in the middle of the table large enough to be an obvious sign of wealth but not too big as to deny the two of you eye contact.

Small talk is exchanged as the meal is served, biscuits placed, and pork cut into thick slabs. Vegetables placed delicately on plates and napkins placed on laps. You ask how Pepper is doing, he asks if the dress you had handmade from some extravagant designer turned out how you wanted. Half your plates are clear before either of you truly start to converse.

You’re the first to break the silence as Anthony begins on his mashed potatoes. “I appreciate your understanding of the deal. I’m not a fan of bloodshed, and the demonstration at the club that night are something I wish to forgive and forget as soon as possible.”

Anthony nods, speaking around a bite of the creamy starch. “I agree. Odinson’s actions were inappropriate, wildly and unpredictably so. In truth, I’ve thought he was a liability since he joined, but I never thought he’d lash out like that.”

As you slice through a particularly thick cut of meat, your fork slips and scraps against the china. Both of your winkles your noses at the grating sound.

“Yes,” You pause to chew. “cutting off Barnes’ arm during a bar fight does seem a little…” The bite of biscuit you had gotten was just perfect, the equal amount of butter and brown sugary, apple flavor from the pork together. God, you really do love a good meal. “Rash.”

Your guest hums in agreement. He then clears his throat, preparing to talk. “To symbolize my apologies, I have brought you the gift we spoke of earlier,” he pauses, raising his left hand just above his elbow and bending his first two fingers forward. You sit up, intrigued.

As the large French doors behind him open, from the dark depths of your hallway comes the man who scarred your oldest friend for life, cost you hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical bills, and has put your best hitman out of commission. He’s tall, fills the doorway like a key in a lock. His scruff thick and dark, bags under his eyes from lack of sleep.

Something deep in you stirs, and squeezing your thighs together does nothing to stop it.

Thor Odinson is clad in a suit, as most of Stark’s enforcers are. Though, the handcuffs keeping his hands behind his back are new.

“Interesting addition,” you note, staring at his straining arms in the expensive fabric.

Anthony doesn’t give any indication that he hears, let alone cares, about your sarcastic comment. “I’m assuming this” he gestures to the man. “Will put me back in good spirits with you and the rest of your crew?”

Odinson walks to your side, head hung in shame and hair tied in a tight bun as his former employer speaks. He knows what he’s in for now, has been told in so many words he is now something less of a person – and it’s obvious this has put him to shame.

You consider it – think about letting all that happened go with a simple olive branch. Before you can do that, though, you must make sure that the merchandise lives up to the promises on the box.

“Down,” you command. Immediately, he drops to his knees. You smirk, dragging your baby pink nails down his stubbled jaw.

“Oh, yes. This will do just fine, Stark. Just…fine.” The last two words are long, almost forgetting to finish them as your mind travels to all the things you could do with him.

Anthony smirks. “Perfect. I’m assuming business with resume as usual?”

Your fingers stroke at the sides of Thor’s face and trace around the shell of his ear. “Of course. I’ll call the appropriate people later. Everything should be up and running by midnight.”

Suddenly Anthony tenses, his fingers moving to fidget with his tie. “If I may-”

“You may,” you tell him, not meeting his eyes.

Anthony audibly gulps, fidgeting in his seat and with his tie. “That’s quite late, that’s hundreds of millions of dollars that we’ll miss out on if we-”

You hold up your hand flat while your gaze remains locked on your new toy. “That’s the earliest I can assure you. Whether or not it happens before that is,” you stop to try and feed Thor a small bite of carrot from your hand. He hesitates but accepts after a few moments, plucking the orange vegetable with beautiful teeth and a gentle bite. He doesn’t make eye contact like you originally wanted, but this is a good start.  “Not guaranteed.”

Anthony knows that you’re stubborn, much too stubborn to be moved away from your current stance. He’s done all that he can do to sway you, and now whatever income he hopes to make between now and the end of the day depends on Thor.

In short, Anthony Stark Junior (and his bank account) are royally, utterly fucked.

As he leaves your home he can hear you call to your head servant to tell Customs and Border Patrol to let his packages in (an assured start to him not losing a fortune), but he still wrings his hands as he slides into the backseat of his solid black Escalade. As the partition opens to reveal the man at the wheel, the thought of angry text messages from smugglers trying to get their goods into the States flash in front of Stark’s bloodshot eyes.

His driver, Happy, notices the fellow man’s anxiety as he looks at his boss through the rearview mirror.

“You think Odinson is gonna be okay, boss?” He asks, sort-of worried but mostly focused on filling the deafening silence in the expensive car. Money can buy a lot of things, but it can’t fill the awkward spaces in conversation that always come post-transaction.

Tony just laughs, typing something into his watch. “Of course not. That woman is going to chew him up and spit him out by the end of the fiscal year.”

Happy chews at his bottom lip. That’s two weeks from now. “You really think it’s gonna be that quick?”

“Probably,” Tony shrugs. “She’s never been known for mercy.”

The other man nods, quiet as he makes his way to the Stark residence. The quiet, cold night air strikes the mobster as he steps out of the car; the sharp grass smells fills his sense and bloodstream, calming him as he steps into his home. Pepper’s at the counter, stirring something in a pot. She doesn’t turn around when she hears his footsteps, but knows he’s somber nonetheless.

“Hard day at the office?” She asks, giving him a small taste of the homemade alfredo sauce.

Tony snorts, moving to lick at the wooden spoon. “Oh yeah,” he mumbles, wrapping his arms around her waist. She’s in one of his t-shirts and sleep shorts, the soft material comforting him. “You could say that.”

You only make good decisions when you’re in a good mood, and right now said mood depends on Thor Odinson - a man so insecure he once got himself tortured just because his captors told him he couldn’t take it. The man is a stubborn, uncontrollable mess with an anger issue to rival that of Lyssa, or a lighting on a field of dried grass.

He was feared within the Nest and by the lower Excidium members, but he didn’t make palms sweat and hands shake and hearts beat faster quite like you do.

No one fucks with you because you’ve very appropriately placed yourself on a pedestal based on madness, control, and desire for power. Thor’s just feared because he’s a dumbass with a short fuse. It’s the difference between a forest fire and a crazy, drunken uncle holding a lighter; one you can try and prevent, coax it into submission and run away if necessary. The other? More unstable than Francium.

(At least you know that thing’s only going to last twenty-two minutes, though. At least it’s predictable in its instability.)

Back inside, you’re more than ecstatic to have a new plaything. You were fully prepared to let the kid’s behavior slide, especially since the Nest brings in a hefty amount of revenue. But if Tony wants to give up a weak link, you’ll gratefully treasure the broken piece of steel you picked up from the gravel.

Thor stays like that, on his knees and eating out of your hand, for so long his legs fall asleep. You spend the rest of the night chatting at nobody, talk to him like he’s an old, deaf cat who just remains in your favor because he’s soft to pet and is cute. You sign some deals, check the language of some proposed treaties, write your to-do list for the next day all at the dinner table. Thor only dares to look at you when you’re too busy conversing with maids or chastising someone who works under you or any time your head is turned enough that he can make out the scar that runs from behind your left ear to the back of your neck.  

Your form, the way you speak, he’s obsessed with his chance finally take it all in.

He hasn’t seen you in person before, just heard rumors and conspiracy theories and whatever else people spend their time making up about you. Thor always passed it off as fiction, simply inflating the higher-ups to pass the time. Everything about you, though, seems exceptionally true. Maybe even underestimations. It’s true you walk around your house in matching lingerie sets, possibly a robe if it’s breezy. The East Coast heat can be unexpectedly warm, but as the sun sets on the July day he can see goosebumps rise across your soft skin and the shivers that sometimes shake your spine. Your house fits all the descriptions he’s heard, too. The decor seems almost welcoming, faded oranges and pastel pinks and dull whites and baby blues and mustard yellows. Plush, velvet furniture the same deep magenta, mirrors trimmed in what Thor can assume is real gold.

It’s like a scene from Mean Chicks or whatever those 2000s teen movies are. If one of those movies took place in the home of an incredibly powerful mobster, it’d look like this.

“What do you think, pet?”

Oh shit. Thor was supposed to be listening, wasn’t he? When he looks up, Bucky Barnes (the man who called him a pussy and “Stark’s whore,” prompting him to grab one of the decorative - but still fully functional - swords from the wall of the bar they were in and just...slice away at his tormentor), Steve Rogers (who looks like the human version of a sugar cookie while specializing in torture) , and Sam Wilson (a sarcastic little shit who knows exactly how to get anything past the feds) are all staring down at him. Barnes’ left arm (stub? It’s mostly just stub now) is still bandaged, but he’s at least walking now. Thor was told he might die from blood loss, but no. Thor Odinson would never be that lucky.

“They never listen, do they?” You sigh, rolling your eyes as you shift to face them. None of the men sit, knowing they won’t be there long. Plus, they get a much better angle of Thor’s tortuous position while standing.

“You don’t think that deserves punishment?” Steve asks, a smile curling at the sides of his mouth that speaks volumes.

You shrug, not looking at him. “Later. Now I want you to donate fifty thousand to the Vermont special elections. I need that entry point into Canada or else there’s no way we can get out shipments into that garbage country in a timely manner. Also,” you turn to Sam, whose eyes are caught staring between Thor’s left upper ribs. “Call CBP. Stark held up his end of the deal, I have to hold up mine.”

All three of them huff, both at the large sum of cash you’re about to give to a twenty-something know-nothing frat guy who knows nothing about politics but everything about being open to bribes and about them not being able to watch the man they hate become the most embarrassed version of himself in front of the man he tried to kill and his two best friends.

Whatever. The trio’s time for revenge will come, you promised them that - promised Bucky when he was in the ICU that you would find the man that did this and would make them pay.

Bucky has never known you to break a promise.

When the three leave you and Thor, you raise your left arm high flick your wrist towards the large doors. Understanding the cue, your maids wordlessly close them to seclude you from whatever responsibilities you were intending on dealing with tonight. Whatever it is, was, can wait until tomorrow, can wait until you’ve begun Thor’s assimilation into your home.

There’s a moment of quiet, of stillness in the house before Thor hears the sounds of several pairs of footsteps – maybe four, he counts – that enter the large dining room with haste. He’s quickly escorted down a long hallway and up a winding set of stairs. Thor can’t see much as he’s rushed away, and the little he can make out is a baby blue wallpaper with gold patterns etched into it, and fine paintings that appear sporadically on the walls. Some are black and white with abstract patterns, others depictions of angels, a few featuring intricate designs that resemble the sky and sea.

It feels like a forever before Thor is slammed down onto the floor of your bedroom, his knees hitting the wood with a painful smack. Despite the earsplitting sound, he doesn’t wince, doesn’t even flinch as his hair is pulled back by one of the maids so he’s forced to look at you. As you gaze upon him he bares his teeth; you can see fire behind his eyes. What a cutie, you muse to yourself.

“Wrists,” you instruct. Another maid moves behind him with dusty pink rope, securing his wrists together behind his back. “Legs,” you tell them next. Thor is easily flipped onto his back, arched at an uncomfortable angle because of his arms. Just as quickly as before, his legs are tied so that his calves and the backs of his thighs meet. When he’s flipped back up, all he can see is you smiling devilishly. “I’ll do the rest myself ladies. Go ahead and take the night off, I want him all to myself.”

“Yes ma’am” they respond in unison, Thor unable to see their hurried steps but understanding that when he hears the door closing behind them, he’s completely and utterly alone.

For a moment you two just stare at each in silence, his nostrils flaring and chest rising from anger and adrenaline. He heaves as you calmly gaze upon him, pissing off your captive even more. All Thor can do is react while you stand there, stationary and speechless.

Within a few moments, he’s lashing out to break the painful quiet. “This fucking sucks,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “That Barnes fucking deserved that shit, you know? He’s a whiny bitch that gets into shit he doesn’t belong in. I bet he’s fucking compensating for something, ya know? He’s not even a big enough man to come at me himself, needs his master to do his bidding ‘n shit. Why the fuck am I ever here anyway, do you go through boytoys so fucking often you just steal them so that you don’t have to pa-“

You roll your eyes, shoving three fingers into his mouth. Thor looks more confused than anything else, but he does immediately stop talking. Good, exactly what you wanted.

You two stay like that, your jaw tightened with one eyebrow raised – daring him to defy you - and him looking up at you like a puppy who’s just pissed on the carpet in defiance. “Listen, you little brat. I used to babysit for twenty dollars an hour. I put myself through grad school twice on money from too-rich white-ass parents who couldn’t control their kids so they pawned them off to underpaid college kids. I got here because I worked for it, dealing with men much more powerful than you acting like children. If you think for a fucking second that I will tolerate this behavior in my house, under my roof, then you are wrong. Very wrong. Do you understand me?”

Thor’s eyes narrow, and though he doesn’t bite, he does press his teeth into the skin of your first knuckle. It’s enough to keep your attention entirely on him, eyes locked on his as you throw your phone onto the bed next to you. You know this game, and you know breaking first would mean he has some sort of holding over you. Unblinking, you stay silent as he swallows around your fingers.

The tension in the air is thick; it’s nothing you can’t handle, nothing you aren’t used to. Thor is the first one to surrender, looking down at your baby pink stilettos. “Good boy,” you huff, moving to open a drawer that conveniently sits just within arm’s reach. You withdraw you hand from his mouth but don’t move to wipe his spit from your fingers. Thor can’t see anything you’re doing, but does hear a smaller (and less used, judging by the squeaking noise it makes as you open it) drawer open, the sound of a little bell, and then the loud scraping of both drawers closing on top of each other and hitting the back of the structure that holds it.

“Head up,” you command. “Look at me.” Thor’s hesitant but ultimately obeys. His eyes widen as he sees the items in your hand. The first is a simple, black ball gag and the other a frilly, pink collar with a small bow and equally tiny bell at the front center. In the back, an adjustable metal clip.

The gag is slipped on first, the uncomfortably large sphere blocking any searing remarks from leaving his lips. As spit pools below his tongue and from the corners of his mouth, all he can do is growl low in his throat.

Despite your long, pointed nails you open the clasp of the collar with ease, flashing it close to your captive’s face like an owner showing a dog his new restraint. Thor may be your pet, and you may be his rightful owner, but the move isn’t one that builds trust. It’s one that makes his insides curl, because it’s a demonstration of how much power you have over him. Look at this thing, the gesture conveys. Do you understand now? You’re mine. Everyone will know that. Everyone will know what you did. This is your retribution.

“Are you gonna shut up now?” Thor doesn’t move, but he also doesn’t make any disgruntled noises. “Good. Now, let me make myself clear, since it appears you do not know the terms of Stark’s and my agreement; Stark settled to give me the man who permanently injured one of my best men in exchange for my forgiveness of the entire event. That means two things. First, Stark gets the money he needs from my business in order to remain powerful. Second, I get to do whatever I want to you. Understand?”

Thor’s eyebrows furrow. What do you want to do to him?

“For now, though, I am going to untie you and go to bed, because I am tired, and it has been an exhausting day. Got it?”

Thor nods.

“Good.”

He flinches as you kneel down to his level and begin to untie him from the complicated binds. Your fingers move with purpose, your nails occasionally scraping across his electrified skin. With his body uninhibited, he flexes his fingers as to examine the indents in his flesh.

“Don’t worry,” you tell him. “Those will go away by morning.”

Somehow, he doesn’t believe you.

He spends the night on the cold wooden floor, occasionally making a desperate attempt to fit himself on the tiny plush pink carpet that the dresser rests on. Thor doesn’t get much shut-eye, time either spent shivering or trying to plan for survival. He can’t escape, it’s been made very clear that both Excidium and the Nest will both be hunting him down if he so much as pisses where he’s not supposed to. It seems keeping his mouth shut, following orders, and taking whatever it is you want to put him through with whatever tiny amount of dignity he has left.

(As the night progresses, he realizes the last part will be the hardest).

When the world comes alive again, Thor remains mostly ignored. As the sun comes up and you awaken with your alarm, he barely gets so much as a brush of fabric as you pull off your white nightgown and slip into a pale-yellow sundress with a long, white cardigan. It’s much different than what you were wearing last night, but as you readjust the strap of your lacey white bra from its improper place on your shoulder, he guesses that was more show(wo)manship and a reiteration of hierarchies than an honest exchange between business partners.

As the first full day under your whim progresses, he’s left behind as you move to your office. You feel some time apart may be good for his insolence, even if his fierceness amuses you so.

You like a challenge, especially one you know you can win; a little tussle didn’t hurt anybody, has it?

You instruct one of the new recruits to buy you a dog bed – the largest one they can find – and you have it placed on the floor next to your bed so you can keep an easy eye on him throughout the day. Thor’s kept on a leash attached to the collar on his neck; the piece of leather is flimsy at best, but the man still refuses to break out of it for fear of punishment.  

There, on a large, baby pink pet meant for some Doberman or Pitbull or other bigass dog, he waits, ears perking up whenever someone, anyone steps into the room. But, while he craves human contact, the hushed voices of the maids that clean up the dirty clothes and make your bed make the hairs on the back of Thor’s neck stand in fear.

Natasha, lover, retribution.

Bucky, money, revenge.

Loki, trip, return.

He can’t tell which name fills him more with dread. Barnes is barely healed and full of rage at his injury, desperate for vengeance against the man that hurt him so. Natasha Romanoff is a woman that Thor has never truly met, only seen when Stark and you have business that requires some back up. Even so, the stories of her apathy and brutality need no introduction; once, she cut a dude’s dick off, made a wallet from the foreskin, and sent it to him while he was recovering in the hospital. She carries a switchblade in the inside of her bra. She only has red hair because the blood crusted onto it permanently stains the follicles.

And Loki…

Well, Loki and him have been estranged since they were both late teens. They’ve both had daddy issues since birth, and Loki’s so happened to manifest in a weird mix of picking up mercenary work, becoming a serial sugar baby, and wearing a lot of black. The last thing Thor would expect is for Loki to settle down for someone like you, a woman who requires loyalty of heart, mind, soul.

His thumping heart and terrifying internal monologue are interrupted by a maid, one he hadn’t yet seen, whose face scrunches up when she notices your absence from the room. She then sighs, and beckons two other maids – one pushing a cart filled with a small buffet of food, one carrying a cart with cutlery and dinnerware – through the threshold. The three of them stop at a bone-white desk, fretting about as they set up what Thor can only assume is a late lunch.

As you step into the bedroom – pushed through the doorway by the maid from before – Thor can tell you are less than happy.

You’re annoyed, to say the least. Can’t even tell why, really, can’t find an even barely comprehendible reason for you to be tearing through financial documents as if they were important family heirlooms that were on fire. No reason for you to snap at a recent recruit for misspelling the code name of a spy you had placed in the Nevada Supreme Court three courts back. Some madness bites at your skin as you nibble on small sandwiches and drink a large glass of cold sun tea, and Thor can tell it’s tearing you apart.

Thor can’t see much from the floor, but he can feel the electricity in the air as you scribble in a notebook that he guesses is where you plan all of your mob’s heinous activities. He wonders what your handwriting looks like, how you keep all the people you’re blackmailing straight, what kind of code you use. Stark keeps everything on paper as well, in a locked room inside of a secret room inside of his basement (well, maybe. Thor’s never been there, he’d never gotten high enough in the Nest to warrant being given access to such a space, but he’s heard the rumors).

It's about an hour later when the head butler from before, the one who led him, his (former) boss, and his (former) bosses men through your maze of a home, steps just into view of your tired eyes.

“Miss, you need a break,” she says simply.

You sigh, rubbing at the bridge of your nose and then your temples. Resting your head in one hand, you use the other to grant her permission to grab your paperwork. It’s only when she’s gather your things and left the room that you speak.

“She’s right,” you let out a small chuckle before sauntering over to the white dresser in the far corner of the room. “I do need a stress reliever.”

The man on your floor can’t see what you’re doing, his eyes only widening when you place the thickest, blackest dildo he’s ever seen into his view.

“Wh-“he starts to speak, trying but failing to push himself away from you. “What are you doing to do with that?”

You shrug, eyeing it up and down. “I don’t know. Could fuck myself with it…could fuck you with it…”

Thor’s stubbled face is beet red from embarrassment, even more so than when you made him kneel in the dining room or gagged him with your fingers.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you little slut,” you hiss. When he doesn’t look up at you, you grab his chin and force his head back. He doesn’t want to admit it, but it wouldn’t be fun if he just gave in the second you put the tiniest bit of pressure on his overly-tough facade. “Tell me you love sucking my cock.”

But all Thor does is open his mouth wide as it can go and pushes his flattened tongue as far out of his mouth as it’ll go. He’s got this glimmer in his eyes and a smirk on his lips that tells you Thor knows what he’s doing, he knows he’s pushing every button he can think to push.

You’ve danced this routine before, though this time Thor’s much more confident, willing to push further, push harder.

“You want to be a brat?” You ask, begging him to give you a smartass response. “Then take it like one.”

With swift movements of your right leg he’s pushed flat on the ground, his back hitting the hardwood with a low thud. “Flip over,” you tell him. With an unfortunate lack of protest, he does, toned stomach settling onto the floor barely warmed by his back.

You climb over him, leg on each side and core pressed into him as you gather his hair in your first. “You’re such a fucking tease,” you hiss through grit teeth. Thor makes a similar – but more pained noise – as you wretch his head back. “Such a little tease, begging me to put him in his fucking place. If you wanted me to fuck you like you deserve, you should fucking ask for it next time.”

Smack, the deep sound of your callous hand hitting the soft flesh of his ass almost makes him flinch more than the pain. Smacksmack, two more, quicker this time.

“I’ve met little fucking brats before, but never like you,” you pull the rest of his clothes off with minimal protest. “Gotta get you cock drunk before you’ll figure out how arrangement of ours works, don’t I?”

Thor, with his eyes scrunched shut and mouth lax, says nothing in return.

Your hand reaches under him, hips lifting to provide a small space between him and the floor. He’s already hard, aching, leaking, and he moans brokenly when you wrap your hand around him.      

It’s rough, hurts more than it pleasures, but it still feels so, so good all the same. Thor almost wants to say so, too, but can’t make himself push the words from his throat.

“So easy to get you all fucked out isn’t it?” You whisper low in his ear. “So easy to break brats like you, makes me wanna make you cum and then leave you here for the rest of the night…”

The subsequent whine from Thor makes you laugh and push him harder into the floor. “But I won’t do that, can’t leave little things like you all alone, would be like leaving a baby bunny to a bunch of wolves.”

Thor doesn’t disagree, doesn’t try to build his demolished ego back up.

“Doesn’t that feel good, sweetheart?” you purr, hand keeping a slow, torturous pace. “Doesn’t it feel good to be good?”

All Thor can do is squeak and push his face into the floor, trying to hide the deep redness in his cheeks.

For once, you don’t punish him. You want to, want to stop and make him beg for forgiveness for his nonanswer. Maybe tie him up and fuck him with your fingers until he’s ready for your biggest strap, pounding into him.

Oh, Babyboy, you’re being so good taking this whole cock inside of you, aren’t you? So good for your owner. I bet nobody’s ever fucked you this good.

Maybe you’ll tie him up, edge him until he’s sobbing. Wait until he’s just about to cum and pull a vibrator or your hand away – make him whine and tease him as his whole body twitches.

Are you not enjoying yourself, baby? Because it looks to me like you are. Look at those glassy eyes, do I need to slap you to make you pay attention?

Thor screams as he cums all over your floor, whole body tense then completely lax within the span of seconds. His breathing is loud enough to be heard across nations, each exhale laced with a small moan.

He cries, deep and low, when you climb off of him, tries to arch his spine into the nothingness that once held you.

“Shh,” you tell him. “Mommy’ll be back in a second.”

Thor seems to calm with that, heart still racing but head and body slumped.

When you come back, you hold a bit of salmon - small grains of buttery jasmine rice and cranberry sauce stuck to the pink meat. You’ve grasped it with three fingers – thumb, middle, point – and have it nearly pressed to Thor’s plush, pink lips. It’s still warm, dinner having  been served by the maids despite your absence from the dining room.

“C’mon baby,” you tell him. “You gotta eat sometime.”

Thor glares at you but knows you’re right – his already flat stomach howling in pain from lack of sustenance. Reluctantly, meekly, he pulls your fingers between his lips and swallows the soft food.

“Good boy,” you tell him. “See? Following directions isn’t that bad.”

Thor, for the first time in days, says nothing to the contrary.

 //

[bookwormscififan]

Fool

Buy me a coffee?

A/N: based off the Evanescence song ‘Everybody’s Fool’. Also it’s like 1am and I wanna get a follow-up to the Hero fic yesterday done before I go to sleep. So basically... I don’t know where this fits anywhere. Enjoy?

Perfect by nature Icons of self indulgence Just what we all need

Rising up in his room, Roman sat to the side and pulled out his sword, beginning to sharpen it as he grumbled to himself.

"Practically perfect in every way... how does that work?”

He was supposed to be the creative side. Thomas’ passions, his hopes, his dreams... the centre of his being. 

His hero.

“You are my hero.”

More lies about a world that

Never was and never will be Have you no shame don't you see me You know you've got everybody fooled

And then Deceit walks in - more like rises up - and makes everyone think he’s the one everyone should listen to? 

All he said was that the name was stupid. Suddenly everyone hates him? 

How can he be a hero? 

Bow down and stare in wonder Oh how we love you No flaws when you're pretending

Maybe that’s why Deceit first appeared to Thomas in a disguise. 

Roman moved away from the corner, leaving the sword propped against a chair. He felt... used. How could he have been so blinded not to notice anything?

Was Patton lying when he said they love him?

Never was and never will be You don't know how you've betrayed me And somehow you've got everybody fooled

Without the mask where will you hide Can't find yourself lost in your lie

Deception had won the battle against ego. 

Everyone believed Deceit. Who believed him?

There were no more secrets. Deceit had taken off his glove. The cards were on the table.

Where were the lies now?

I know the truth now I know who you are And I don't love you anymore

Never was and never will be You don't know how you've betrayed me And somehow you have everybody fooled

Roman pulled a book off the shelf, opening to a creased and slightly torn page.

“Janus:  In ancient Roman religion and myth, Janus, pronounced [ˈjaːnʊs]) is the god of beginnings, gates, transitions, time, duality, doorways, passages, and endings. He is usually depicted as having two faces, since he looks to the future and to the past,” he read, then closed the book.

What a name to choose. And maybe he was trying to tell everyone something.

Roman picked his sword back up, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, trying to recreate the ‘Reflection’ scene from Mulan.

It was time to change.

It never was and never will be You're not real and you can't save me Somehow now you're everybody's fool

Roman summoned the doorway into the Imagination, ensuring his sword was by his side before stepping inside. 

Usually he would blow off steam by going into the Imagination and fighting monsters, but today he felt different.

He was a fool to have thought Deceit would be any type of help. Foolish to think choosing a wedding would help Thomas. Foolish to disregard Thomas’ mental health.

There was a lot to think about.

**

When Patton rose up in Roman’s room hours later, the creative side was still missing. 

“Roman?” Patton set the container of pasta aside and crept forward.

A single note sat on the table, along with Roman’s logo, looking as if it had been torn off his costume.

“Roman...” Patton picked up the patch, holding it close to his chest as he read the note. 

‘If anyone needs me, I’m finding someone new for Thomas. Don’t come looking for me.’

Patton looked up, fear in his eyes.

“I need to know if you’re alright, Roman.”

[chimbbles]

yuta as howl

< images don't belong to me, credit to original owners! (from twitter) >

self-indulgent fic, just in case anime boy doesn't dress up as howl for halloween I'll still have this and my imagination to fall back too :')

and happy birthday nayuta ⚘

let’s get some things out of the way first:

yes, his shawl is exactly part of his fashion sense(so he's a stylish wizard, sue him) and he has much more from where that came from, but mostly black outfits

and the dangling jade earrings; an accidental work of art from the corner shop at alley 22 of tokyo street

his shape-shifting into a sparrow might just be his alter ego: emo yuta during the 1910s

goes by different aliases every time he travels, might have forgotten his name more than twice and got in trouble for it

heads around various towns, absolutely raiding their libraries for tucked away, forbidden spell books

has this moving creature of a house, but prefers greatly to flying around to get to places

(don't tell doyoung/calcifer he thinks it's faster, he either loses his spark or burns the house down, your call)

don’t ask about his hair, he will style it however he wants; even if it takes him from blonde haggard homeless crow to fancy cherry red manbun prince in one sitting

(don't touch it either you make it lose it's fizz)

how you met, probably the greatest wizard of thy realm(might’ve been ghost written by yuta)

you and yuta are drastically different

for starters, he’s indirectly the cause of half your problems, before and after you met him

unlike him, you don’t practice sorcery, thus making you a non-wizard(yuta’s words)

your powers though, lie simmering under your entire existence, and it spews when you feel the want to control stuff, not-exactly-living things like water

you and your people live on the borders of big kingdoms, away from scrutinizing eyes of those who go weak at the sight of you swirling the four elements around like pasta in a pot

every child is born with the gift to sway fire, air, water and earth, but by the small age of ten they’re required to pick a specialty, and much like everyone else, you went with your family’s trade of art: water

the sublime art of control is in its discipline, both containing and exerting

sessions after sessions of practice after each school day, learning how to put elements under your command

it never came to be a problem until you discovered your gifts could be developed into something more

that bought onwards some major issues, the smallest ones are the burst pipes of your coach's residence; and the larger ones being this one realm witch recruiting you to join, for a lack of better word, her rebel army

terrorizing your home and family, she left you no choice but to leave, and silly as you were, you gave into the idea, but not before knocking her guards out with your kickass icy powers

fleeing the border all you've seen for days are fields upon fields of plain.....field. just stalks of green grass, swaying side by side in the wind, crows and eagles mocking you from high up in the sky. the first two days you could at least see a trail, and by the end of the week you have had more critter meals than your whole lifetime

yuta's......"castle" was the first moving thing you saw that wasn't green or flying, and judging from the puffs of steam coming up from the chimneys, you reckon someone's home

you couldn't wait to introduce yourself and work in exchange for some real food that didn't have six hairy legs

all was good until the house kinda uprooted itself and started walking on two skinny, wobbly legs, and it definitely wasn't the bug fever you caught

the choice was simple, knock and try your chance; or have another month's worth of insect delight before you reach the next town

you recall how tightly the door was shut, all your muscles from walking couldn't even garner enough strength of yank it open

your powers are wrung dry, having spent all on trying to survive in the wild

with one last jab from a melting icicle, the door clicked and dislodged, almost throwing you off the small platform to stand on

the ice gets slippery in your wet palm as you make your way in, hiking up a small staircase to get into the living area

there wasn’t much that makes it to the eyes, because everything was only partially lit up by the small crack of curtain space by the window, room dark and mellow aside from the perfectly pierced line of sunlight

before you could inspect further, you’re attacked from behind, icicle hardening up at the sound of air whooshing by the side of your ear

you catch a glimpse of their choice of weapon: homey, heavy and comical; a greasy used frying pan

"really? you're gonna hit a stranger to death with a frying pan?"

"not if the stranger was a thief- and a frying pan won't kill you, it'll only knock you out,"

"yeah, for like, forever,"

your own version of defense was raised in a general direction of harm, straight towards their chest, arms ready to plunge if they make the wrong move

“doyoung, shit man, the ice doesn’t even melt in this silly temperature- crank up the heat before I die dude,”

like magic, the room takes a 180 turn to a much hotter setting, fireplace lighting up along the series of events

“great, I’m in a sorcerer’s nest,”

you move forward to initiate some peace, if wizarding humans were the same genre as that witch back from your hometown you didn’t want to upset them, especially in their domain

but the long haired, questionably fashioned guy in front seemingly takes the wrong idea and moves away, and like all comical endings, you slip to your doom on presumably bacon grease, falling flat on your back before having your head caged with a metal pot that stinks of a terrible cooking situation, like chicken soup gone wrong

part 1? no expectations for the other parts lol I rushed this one for yuta’s birthday (and I still didn’t make it)  anyways, yuta as howl headcannon folks, I hope you like this time’s writing style 💝

[rose-of-pollux]

Spice of Life (MFU oneshot)

Title: Spice of Life Rating: G Summary: As Napoleon’s birthday approaches once again, Illya is determined not to fall into the retail trap of just buying a gift for him.  [Dedicated to Robert Vaughn] Notes: This is my usual yearly fic in honor of what would have been Robert Vaughn’s birthday!  Takes place around S4-ish.

Cross-posted to ff.net and AO3 if you prefer reading there.

Illya paced the apartment he shared with Napoleon as Baba Yaga, the cat, watched him from her vantage point on the cat tree.

“Napoleon’s birthday is tomorrow,” he fretted.  “He is giving a report for a completed mission in Europe as we speak and will be here tomorrow evening—and I still have no idea as to what to present to him.”

“Murowr,” Baya Yaga stated.

“Da, I know I could merely go to Macy’s and get him something from there, braving those crowds…  But I am categorically opposed to doing such a thing.  It is not a thing I wish to fall prey to, in spite of how it has become the norm in this society.  I know Napoleon means well when he buys me expensive presents, but I have made it my personal mission to give him things that do not involve those retail dens!”

Sighing, he sat on the couch and began to page through the newspaper, trying to get ideas, but all he saw were more advertisements for department stores boasting about their wares for the holiday season.

Frustrated, he tossed the paper aside, prompting Baba Yaga to leap from the cat tree and onto the paper, playing with it as it crinkled.

“When did things get so complicated?” Illya wondered aloud.  “I remember when I was a child, birthdays consisted of my mother having made me a honey cake, and that was the highlight of the day…”  He trailed off.  “A honey cake…!”

Napoleon was a man who appreciated fine food; he would, undoubtedly, appreciate an authentic indulgent Russian dessert.

“Mrrup…” the cat commented.

“Yes, I know he views my soufflés with disdain, but that’s because he claims I have no idea what I am doing.”  Illya sighed. “The thing is, he isn’t wrong, but it will be a long time before I will ever even consider admitting that to his face.”

“Mrreh…”

“It is a matter of pride,” Illya insisted.  “And yes, I am aware that one does not live on dessert alone.  I will order the rest of Napoleon’s birthday dinner to be delivered here for us to eat in front of the television.  They will be airing Olivier’s Hamlet tomorrow night; the timing is truly impeccable.”  

He didn’t mind spending money on food, as long as it was not exorbitant, like the gold-flecked cheeses that he had seen at some of the expensive parties they’d been assigned to supervise—and, in Napoleon’s case, he sometimes even got invited to some of these. Illya had never been to one of these by invitation—only by assignment, as no member of the Manhattan upper crust would ever see fit to invite him, though Illya certainly would have had no intentions to go, even if invited.  The wasteful spending incensed him—how dare they indulge in such things as consuming gold when, on the streets below, unfortunate souls without a place to stay struggled to find something to eat!?

He shook his head, getting his mind off of it and set about figuring out the menu for the following night, and then started on making the honey cake.

Baba Yaga, who had been watching and commenting on things, now took an active interest as Illya began to put the cake together, repeatedly attempting to stick her face into the bowl of cream that Illya had set aside for the frosting, resulting in Illya repeatedly exiling her from the kitchen—only for the cat to find a way back soon enough.

Somehow, he managed to get the cake done and in the fridge to chill for the night, hiding his amusement as he watched Baba Yaga sit in front of the closed fridge with her tail whipping back and forth in frustration.  She made a couple attempts to move the door with her paw, but quickly realized the futility of the effort and left to pursue other important feline activities for the night.

It was after a night’s sleep that Illya looked at the cake and wondered… was it really enough? Shouldn’t he make an effort to give more for Napoleon’s when Napoleon meant so much to him?

He glanced at the Macy’s ads in the paper again and could feel himself being beckoned further into the trap.

Baba Yaga let out a clearly judgmental meow.

“Surely it won’t hurt to look,” Illya defended.  “I commit to nothing.”

“Mrrrrp…” she dismissed, dragging a cardboard box into a sunbeam and curling up inside of it.

“…Napoleon got you a luxurious cat bed, and you do this…?”  He paused, on his way out the door when he glanced back and took a very good look at the cat.

It wasn’t as though she hated the cat bed; she used it frequently.  But it just happened that she preferred something as simple as a box in the sun.

Napoleon wouldn’t dislike something expensive from Macy’s—he had plenty of those already, after all.  But maybe all Napoleon needed after all was a metaphorical box in the sun, as well.

Nodding to himself, Illya closed the apartment door again, tossing the newspaper to the floor once more. Baba Yaga looked up from inside the box and contemplated going after the paper, but decided against it and curled back up inside her sunny fortress.

He would have to hope that the dinner and movie at home, followed by his Russian honey cake, would be enough.

Illya paused again, going over the menu he had planned the night before.  There had to be more than just ordering food; there had to be a way to make it meaningful…

He crumpled up the menu and tossed it into the trash, pacing the room once again.  Finally, his gaze fell upon the world atlas that Napoleon kept on his bookshelf.

“…That’s it…” he said, as realization sunk in.

                                               *****************************

Napoleon arrived several hours later, that evening, travel-weary but in good spirits, just as Illya had finished setting up dinner.

“You look rather pleased for someone who had to compose a lengthy mission report,” Illya observed, taking his jacket from him.

“Well, it helps that I got complimentary drinks and other amenities on account of it being my special day,” Napoleon grinned.

“Ah, but of course,” Illya said, with a smile.  “Happy Birthday, Napoleon.”

“Spacibo, Tovarisch,” Napoleon said, returning the smile.  “I see you’ve got a bit of a spread set up for me here.”

“Da, I have,” Illya agreed, indicating the covered dishes. “Given that you have dedicated your life to traveling around the world to protect it, I thought it appropriate to have a dinner consisting of global cuisine in celebration of you—and what you have accomplished in your time here thus far, courtesy of the finest eateries in the city.”  He began to lift the lids off of the dishes.  “Dolmas to represent your accomplishments in Greece.  Naan bread for your adventures in India.  Yakisoba to remind you of your many missions in Tokyo. Goulash from Hungary.  Moroccan Zaalouk.  Italian pasta.  Irish salmon. German potato bread.  Spanish gazpacho.  Ful medames from the Nile.  Australian trout.  Brazilian cabeça de galo.  Mexican chorizo.  Louisiana gumbo.  And, of course…”  He lifted the final dish, revealing two glasses of wine.  “Wine from the French vineyards that you helped save.”

He gauged Napoleon’s reaction—and was pleased to see the grin on his face growing with the reveal of each dish.  It wasn’t a gourmet meal by any accounts, but it was still an incredibly thoughtful presentation—and Napoleon wouldn’t have expected anything less from his partner.

“You have accomplished so much in your first three-and-a-half decades than many can ever hope to accomplish in their lifetimes,” Illya continued, handing Napoleon a glass of wine. “Here’s to you, Napoleon.  Happy Birthday.”

“And here’s to the partner who made all of these accomplishments possible,” Napoleon insisted, meeting his glass with Illya’s.

Baba Yaga meowed at that point, eyeing the salmon, and soon, they partook of the filling meal—with Hamlet playing on TV.  There were plenty of leftovers, all of which would keep for the next couple of days.

“That was an excellent birthday present, Illya,” Napoleon said.  “Although…  Something seemed to be missing.”

“You think so?”

“Well, there was nothing from Russia,” he pointed out.  “I would have thought you’d have seen to it.”

“…Da, well, there is a Russian honey cake for dessert—your birthday cake, as it were…”

Suddenly a lot more self-conscious now, Illya retrieved his finished honey cake from the fridge. Napoleon let out a low whistle, clearly intrigued.

“That looks incredible,” he commented.  “Did you get that from a specialty bakery, or a Russian tea house?”

“…I made it,” Illya said, quietly.

He knew he could make a good honey cake—but the question was whether Napoleon would be willing to trust his baking skills after his less-than-stellar soufflés.

Napoleon’s expression didn’t betray any emotion as he took the knife and cut a slice of the cake, placing it on a plate.  Illya took a slice for himself, but he didn’t eat—he watched, nervously, as Napoleon tasted the cake.

“Illya!” he exclaimed.

“…Da…?”

“This is amazing!”

“…You truly think so?” Illya asked, amazed.

“Yes!” Napoleon said, wolfing down the slice of cake even faster.  “I’ll probably regret it the next time I weigh myself, but, you know what? It’s my birthday, and I’m allowed to indulge in seconds!”

He cut himself a second slice of cake, and as they sat back down on the couch and continued to watch the movie.

Illya was obviously pleased that Napoleon had liked his choice of menu and the significance of each dish—but the biggest victory would forever be Napoleon’s approval of Illya’s honey cake.

The world was lucky to have Napoleon Solo.  And Illya knew that applied even more to him.

[fathertaurus]

Car Sex, Kind Of 🍃

ya girl is back at it again writing self-indulgent fic. hopefully someone besides me also enjoys this:

You could hear David’s soft breathing from the passenger seat of his car, as his mouth hung open slightly in his sleep. You were driving him home from Olive Garden after lunch. He’d eaten enough pasta to induce a nap a mere minutes after you guys left the restaurant. This was his routine lately. He stayed up too late, skipped breakfast, ate too much at lunch, and took a midday nap while he digested. You didn’t mind. You were happy taking care of him actually. You knew you coddled him, but you couldn’t help indulging his desires. He was like a petulant child. He wanted everything, no matter the consequence, and he wanted it now. Fuck later. He was a captive of instant gratification. And you gladly played along.

You had been weaving through slow, L.A. traffic for ten minutes when he began to stir. He smacked his lips and looked around in confusion, processing where he was in steady increments. He sighed, closed his eyes again, and tossed his head against the seat. You assumed he was going back to sleep, but out of the corner of your eye you caught his hand moving steadily over his lap. It was subtle, but he was definitely getting hard.

“David, are you good?” you asked, clearing your throat and trying to break the awkward quiet.

“Apparently… I’m feeling really good,” he joked back at you. His hand stopped, resting just over his dick. You could hear the smile in his voice, but you didn’t want to take your eyes off the road. “What would it take for you to pull over and go down on me real quick?”

“Not happening,” you grinned, glad to be on the highway now.

“Ughhhh,” he pouted. “How about you just jerk me off?”

“I’m driving!” your voice piqued. He laughed, but you could tell he was frustrated. His althetic shorts were really straining against his dick now. He was hesitantly squeezing the fabric, unsure of his next move.

“Fine,” he resigned. “Guess I’ll do it.”

You thought about protesting, but you couldn’t bring yourself to fake it. You loved when he was desperate like this. You tried instead to focus on the pavement spinning out underneath you, but he was making it difficult.

He slipped his index finger into his mouth, using his tongue to pull off the two Cartier rings on that finger. Then he did the same with his thumb. He spit the jewelry into his hand and threw it into the cup holder, as if it was worth nothing.

“That’s hundreds of dollars you’re tossing around,” you chastised half-heartedly. You’d never admit it, but you found a strange exhilaration in his apathy toward expensive things.

He just shrugged, slipping the now free hand into his shorts. He groaned in pain the moment he touched himself, eyes closing and teeth clenching. He wasn’t really moving much, just enjoying the feeling of warmth and gentle friction against his cock. He sighed, opened his eyes, and turned to you.

He took out his hand from his shorts, open palm facing upwards, and held it before you.

“Spit,” he told you.

“Eww gross no,” you shook your head.

“Please,” he whined. “I need some kind of moisture.” He really had you wrapped around his finger. Only a second passed before you spit into his hand and he returned it to his pants. He didn’t hesitate now as he began to stroke himself.

He winced, a low moan creeping up his throat. He moved his hand faster and then slowed down in an attempt to pace himself. Fed up with the prison of fabric, he shifted his shorts down so his dick was free. You could hear the sound of skin mixing with spit and momentum, and you gave up driving. You flipped the Tesla into autopilot, since you were on the highway anyway. He heard the familiar ding of the car taking over and smiled.

“You wanna watch me cum for you princess?” he laughed, meeting your eyes with his. The smile faltered as he stroked himself and an involuntary moan took control of him.

“Oh fuck, that feels so good,” he exhaled, moving quickly.

His abdominal muscles tensed, making him double over for a second, but he slowed his hand and recovered. He panted a little, brought his thumb up over the head of his dick and shivered.

He spoke in a deep whisper that you knew he reserved for these intimate moments, “You love sucking my dick, huh? Love the way I taste. Fuck. Fuck, just like that.” You swallowed hard, watching him fuck his hand at the thought of you. You wished you could see exactly what he was picturing.

He was moving faster now, his hips bucking upwards every so often. He looked so pretty when he was turned on. Hair damp with sweat, drowsy eyes, rosy cheeks, pink lips full with arousal, the veins running through his arms tensed against the skin, his slender fingers working for his own release, the bracelet on his wrist clattering up and down. His voice was a low hum.

“You like this big cock? C’mon, take the whole thing baby.” You smiled. Even in his fantasy, he flattered himself. “You’re such a good girl for me. Take this big fucking cock. Fuck, your pussy feels so good, y/n.”

He made sure to look you in the eyes again as his hands moved desperately faster. His lips were parted and wet from his tongue darting between his teeth. He was nodding slightly.

“Right there babygirl,” he stared you down. “Uh huh. Fuck. You’re gonna make me cum. You want me to cum for you?” You closed your mouth, which you didn’t realize you’d left gaping open until now.

“Ye— yeah,” you stuttered out. “Let me see you cum for me.”

With your permission, he closed his eyes and jerked himself off with whatever stamina he had left. He moaned on repeat, the word “fuck” mixing in here and there. He moved his long fingers up and down his shaft, while he thrusted upwards.

Finally he stroked himself through his orgasm, cumming all over his hand and down his shorts. He shuddered as it overtook him, bending over and crying out your name. You watched his chest heave as he came down. His eyes were closed again and his dick was softening in his palm. You breathed out heavily too, trying not to focus on the warmth radiating underneath you. You gave yourself a few minutes before turning off autopilot and refocusing on the highway.

“Fuck, this is a mess. I’m gonna have to get the inside of the Tesla detailed,” he laughed.

You tried to crack a smile in response, but all you could think about was how wet you were. You shifted your hips uncomfortably.

“Aww babygirl, don’t worry. I’ll make sure I take care of you too when we get home,” he promised. You finally relaxed your shoulders, looking forward to indulging a little yourself.