#his puff of hair is silly but I really like how he looked otherwise

[beboppop]

I have only began looking through Ruin, and i... Stubby Monty, with his strange little bitey animations. It has created something in me.

HELPP no I get you . I might be feeling a lil different from u tho 😭 I honestly think he’s just a lil silly guy with his bite animations it’s smth I could literally watch on repeat.

[i-luvsang]

red tulips — kim hongjoong

for : 1.5k milestone event ➖⟢ pairing : florist!hongjoong x gn!reader ➖⟢ genres : fluff ➖⟢ cw : not proofread/edited, kissing ➖⟢ wc : 0.6K ➖⟢ rating : pg-13

moodboard : hongjoong + flower shop + pastel blue/lavendar/pink

kim hongjoong has always felt like quite the enigma to you. his mystery lies in his lavender colored hair, always a pretty contrast with his dark eyes and serious manner. most days, he certainly looks like he belongs in his flower shop, especially when he puts on his soft smile that makes his customers hearts melt, and buy a few extra blooms they didn’t really need. but when he hired you to help him with the business end of things for his shop, he surprised you with his sharp and darker fashion, impeccable and fitting with his intelligent and down-to-earth personality. you guess that you were expecting someone different, someone maybe a bit naive, a grinning dreamer without much sense who needed someone like you; business-like, a slight workaholic who’s secretly craving for something far more lovely than what you had before.

you certainly found lovely, in his eyes and his firm and welcoming handshake. it surprised you that he was just about as business-like as you. he knew exactly what his small business needed—impressive, because most business owners without proper training take forever to realize that all they need is just a bit of focused help; like you. he’s definitely a dreamer, with all the ambition and sense to make things happen. your ideals and talents go together just as well as like lime juice on mangoes; intriguing and successful in making people come back for more. not just customers, but the two of you as well.

without saying a word about it, you both always find yourself lingering, even when your shift is over. at first, you never came in until midday, so you could be around for closing. but as your time in the flowershop goes from weeks to months, you’re coming in early in the morning several days a week. 

there’s something magical about those mornings, when the sun is waking up with you, its bright and clear rays streaming into the wide windows of the shop and filtering through the plastic sheets and petals of new flower bunches ready to be made into masterpieces by hongjoong’s artist’s hands. it’s quiet, always, and you love to hear his shuffling footsteps in the back room or a soft sigh from his lips you’d miss otherwise.

that’s how you realize he’s got you wrapped around his finger and his fingers are clasped around your heart. the very heart you never thought you’d wear on your sleeve like this, much less give away without even knowing it until you’re waking up early just to hear a puff of air escape his lips.

and since you love him, you learn his language, clinging to his every word when he offhandedly explains the meaning behind flowers as he constructs a pretty new bouquet. he, on the other hand, doesn’t expect you to remember a thing about this silly little thing, just talking because you told him you like to listen to him talk. he thinks about that a lot.

it’s just that he doesn’t expect you to kiss him when he hands you a simple bouquet of red tulips. he tells you that the flowers are a token of his appreciation, a thanks for helping his small business become so successful in so short a time. but since you know better than that, you cut of his words with a gentle kiss that leaves him sputtering.

“i like you too,” you grin, holding the flowers pointedly up. for a moment, the flower-nerd part of his brain wonders if he should have started with something far more obscure in the language of flowers. he intended to build up to a verbal confession, but since you outpaced him without a second thought, he flicks aside any thought that isn’t about kissing you again. he presses his lips to yours, reaching his hand up to grab the bouquet and your sweet hand, pulling both you and the flowers closer until he decides to cast aside the blooms all together in favor of getting your body flush against his. he has plenty of spare red tulips.

[readerxlit]

how about a pouty minato because you've been teasing him a bunch? like, he did or said something silly and you tease him for it, or just general teasing?

(gender neutral reader pls!!)

Yesss pouty Minato! Anyway aha thank you for the request

Wasn't 100% sure if you wanted a scenario or headcanons so uh here's both. Lol.

Minato is hard to irritate in a way that's visually obvious. He tends to only really be expressive with positive emotions- if he is at all- and remain neutral otherwise.

He is also difficult to tease, because he tends to get away unnoticed when it comes to his more embarrassing moments, and it's difficult to tell if you're getting to him if you try.

But if you can find something to tease him for, without making him actually upset- which is easy enough, he's difficult to upset unless you do something actually bad- then you can catch the start of a pout on his face

Then all you must do is run with the teasing, and you'll get a pouty Minato.

He'll probably have a small pout on his face as long as you tease him, but if it goes on long enough you get:

The kind of pouty where he puffs out his cheeks and glares with no real upset behind it

Probably a little flush, both from annoyance he hasn't gotten you to stop and embarrassment at being teased.

He's not used to it, so his reaction is probably more noticeable than it usually would be

Will likely start trying to hide his expression if he realizes it's only earning more teasing.

Anyway, scenario.

This was the only thing i could seem to think of as far as something to tease him for:

It was rare for Minato to say or do something you could tease him for. Or, rather, it was rare anyone got to witness it. So when he, a few days ago, said "am I a cat?" With the seriousness reserved for legitimate observations, how could you not run with that for all it's worth?

"Cat boy."

"No, shut up." And his lips twitched down just barely. If he were angry you'd be able to tell, so you determine two things.

1) this is a safe thing to tease him for without hurting your relationship. 2) you can tease him for this, because it got a reaction, anyway.

Thus Minato's every cat-like action for the past three days has been met with, "That's what a cat would do." Or "you are a cat boy, huh." Or, or, ect., ect. Just light poking at his cat-like qualities. Falling asleep midday? Cat. Falling asleep on someone so they can't move? Cat. Responding a little too well to running your hands through his hair? Cat.

So on and so forth.

You may think it's run its course, been used enough to stop working. You may think that the case, but...

Minato yawns, finishing responding to some message on his phone, and lays his head in your lap without warning. It may as well be instinct to raise a hand to his head, running it through his hair. And it's a new instinct to say, "cat," when you do.

Minato turns his head, looking up at you. His expression includes narrowed eyes, slightly puffed out cheeks, and a visible pout.

Oh he was so cute sometimes.

"I'm not a cat."

"You said it." The pout gets bigger. "Fine, just a cat boy."

"Worse." Despite his mounting glare he has not sat up. You poke his puffed up cheek, and he turns his head to try and bite the offending finger.

"Definitely a cat."

Now he sits up. Face to face with you, his pout turns into a proper frown, but he still manages to look more pouty than legitimately upset. There's the ever-slightest hint of a flush on his face. If he did more things you could tease him for, how cute he is would make it impossible to resist.

"Mi-nya-to."

"I hate you." But it must have amused him a little because the frown returns to pouting. He leans forward to hide his expression in your shoulder.

"Come on you don’t have to sulk about it."

"I'm not."

"Minato."

This time when you poke at him he only puffs his cheeks out more purposefully.

"Do you want milk?"

"Milk is bad for cats!" He looks up just enough to see his face again. Still pouting.

"I thought you weren't a cat?"

He deflates, sinking back down to lay his head on your lap.

"You win this time."

Little does he realize you won the second he started pouting about it. Well, you've probably used up all the material there is for this, but he's given you too much motivation to find more.

[king-switch]

Chapter 10! Broke 100k words! Broke my friend's mind over the events! I believe it's well worth the read, but I might be biased lol

As a teaser, and a deleted scene, here's a cute thing to read about our darling genius Yaoyorozu:

“And Merry Christmas to you too, Kyouka! But, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get ready!”

“Oh, yeah, you’re going to Class B’s party too. Who invited you? Was it Kendou? Tokage?”

“Awase!”

“Right… Which one is he again? Headband guy?”

“Yes, Kyouka, he is the headband guy,” Yaoyorozu said with a chuckle. “I’ll be back later, don’t you worry.”

Jirou shrugged and waved goodbye, letting the double party-goer run upstairs to prepare for her second Christmas party of the night. Yaoyorozu quickly reached the top floor, where there were no more sounds of festivity, no more smells of roast turkey, and not enough light with the hall lights turned off. The stars and moon, however, gave her enough light to see in front of her.

Entering her room, Yaoyorozu bubbled in excitement. Another party might be too much for some, but she could not wait! She loved parties, and the fact that she was explicitly invited to this one was exhilarating. Awase had gone out of his way to invite her to it, how could she say no? 

She didn’t need much for preparation, she was just going in the same green Santa outfit! It was cute! All she needed now were some touch-ups on her makeup and perfume… and the gifts she planned to give Awase. A 50$ App Store gift card, and a brand new headband.

Yes, she knew they agreed to not give gifts, but what kind of friend would she be if she didn’t? The boy saved her life—twice now—and truly began placing his trust in her over the past month since he bawled in the very bed she sat down on. He deserved a show of her affection, friendly or otherwise. And though she may secretly be in favour of giving him something more than just a present, this was the safest option.

But as she stared at the ruby-red headband, splayed out in her hands, her mind began to wander. Why did her 1-B friend wear a headband all the time? Was it comfortable? Did he wear it to bed with his pajamas? How many headbands did he own? Were they easy to wash? Was it really a boy band thing?

…Could anyone look good in it?

“Pft- That’s silly, Momo, it’s his gift!” she mumbled to herself. But her mirror was right there, taunting her, daring her to give into her deep, dark desires. She stood up and stared at her reflection with knitted eyebrows. One little try-on wouldn’t hurt, would it?

She removed her emerald Santa hat with a little book on the end and quickly put her hair back up. Then, with her head down, she maneuvered her puff of hair into the gap of the headband and fit it snugly around her skull. And if she was doing this, she needed to go all out.

Yaoyorozu whipped her head up, stared into her reflected face with angled eyebrows and a wide grin, and spoke proudly and deeply.

“Good morning, Yaoyorozu!”

She stared at her face that smiled back like how Awase would smile at her, and she crumpled up into a ball of cringe on her floor.

“Ohmygodwhydididothatthatwastheworstthingi'veeverdoneeverofalltimewhywhywhywhy-”

After a few minutes of lamenting on the floor, the girl composed herself and stood up. The headband gave her too much power! She took it off before she did something that would make her flush redder than its own cloth.

Yaoyorozu quickly gathered her things to leave. She undid the ponytail and set the Santa hat snug on her head. Then, she folded up the gift card within the headband to make a cute little package to give to Awase and stuffed it in a back pocket of hers. Finally, she stepped out of the door with an excited smile.

It was time for Class 1-B’s party. What could possibly go wrong?

[gale-gentlepenguin]

ML Fic: Soulmate Survey Part 37

Shout out to @asongeverlasting for beta reading for me and making sure I actually got this out.

Check her writing out on AO3 as Ramblingwren

(Master post)

(Read the fic in a more condensed on Ao3)

(The latest chapter will be up on there once this reaches over 300 notes on tumblr)

_____________________________________________________________

Simularé looked out over the city from the top of the school.  Using her replicated powers, she took the form of Volpina so they'd be able to alter the illusion quickly should something pop out and accidentally reveal the true form of the school. Thankfully the sentimonster didn’t need to do much in order to maintain the illusion; Paris was a surprisingly quiet city.

As far as they could tell, no one in the city outside of the school had any idea what was going on. And that worked out perfectly for them.

“So, this is where Lila has you stationed,” a voice called out, resulting in the faux fox turning around. The figure behind them was a woman clad in dark blue, with blue skin and a feathery fan. She looked confident and the sentimonster instinctively felt that this individual was very much aware of what it was.

Mayura had quickly deduced it was the sentimonster as it was in Lila’s previous akuma form, Volpina. With Lila now Masquerade, it was unlikely she would choose to take such a form. She would likely want to stay in her new form to show it off.

“Do not be alarmed, Simularé, it is your creator. Mayura,” Mayura spoke again.

The shapeshifter leveled a sharp glare at the woman. What made her so certain of that?

“How do I know that is true?” Simularé questioned.

The villainess took a moment to examine the sentimonster. Mayura had to admit that this sentimonster was her finest work to date. The amount of emotion harnessed from Lila to create it made it far more unique, much less of a mindless creature than her previous creations. Amoks were created much like akuma were, locking on to intense emotions before sending off. But unlike akuma, amok can be shaped and tailored with enough focus. Simularé was a special case, as it was made from the conclave of emotions that Lila was experiencing during her breakdown. It had been quite difficult to focus on one specific feeling but Mayura had pushed through. Simularé was sculpted to be Lila’s ideal ally, but it was also so much more than a simple asset. This Amok embodied Lila’s core personality. Her cleverness, her cunning, her mistrust of others, her playfulness, her pride and so much more. To put it simply, this Sentimonster was Lila’s spirit given a new form.

“Trust me Simularé, you would be best not to ask that,” Mayura warned.

The sentimonster felt as if it was being talked down to and clearly did not approve of anyone talking to them in such a tone, save for its master. It charged at the peacock villainess, ready to make contact, But, before it could get close, Mayura stuck out her hand and pinched her fingers together, causing the sentimonster to feel as if some force was pulling its essence out. The pain it felt was indescribable! It felt as if its very being was being ripped out. Mayura was in range to sense the Amok and could easily remove it without difficulty, much like Hawkmoth could with an akuma. Though Mayura had a feeling that letting the Sentimonster know that keeping her out of range of the item was the key to its survival would not be wise. It was best in this moment to display power.

“Stop! Please!” Simularé begged. “I … I believe you! I will do whatever you ask, just please stop the pain!”

The villainess smiled, it seemed there was even more to this Sentimonster than Mayura had anticipated. It had a powerful sense of self preservation, something controlled sentimonsters didn’t seem to have. She took note of that.

“Good. Now, you are going to explain to me your master’s end goal and where Ladybug and Chat Noir are in the building.”

Simularé felt the grip that Mayura had on its essence and held back its burning resentment towards the blue bird villainess. She would behave. For now.

“Okay… I will tell you everything.”

_____________________________________________________________

“Duck!” Ladyice called out as she had Ice Noir lower their bodies to avoid oncoming ice projectiles.

“Surprising that she's only attacking us with ice. She's Stormy weather. You'd think she would be attacking with more, maybe some rain or like a vol....” Ice Noir commented.

“Don't talk about that! Do not give her any ideas!”

The two had skated out of the room and made their way through the now icy hallway while Stormy Weather gave chase.

“I was just saying it seems weird how...mediocre her attacks are.

“It’s like we saw before, the akuma servants are like robots, they can’t react quickly so changing up her powers is likely just as much of a problem. She's probably not as dangerous as we initially thought.”

“So maybe we should face this problem head on now that we aren’t cornered?”

Ice Noir changed direction and began skating towards the umbrella-wielding akuma.

Stormy Weather noticed the approaching cat and raised her umbrella, creating a mighty gale to blow him back and ending him flying past Ladyice to the end of the hallway.

“She can use her other powers… can confirm,” Ice noir commented as he got off the wall, still dazed.

Ladyice skated up to the dazed cat and helped stabilize him. Despite seeming like a wasted effort, the cat’s brash antics actually inspired Ladyice with a way to take her out.

“I just figured out how we can stop her, think you can give her one last charge for me?”

“Why Bugaboo, asking me to rush headfirst into danger? How heartless.” He feigned hurt.

Ladybug rolled her eyes.

“Silly Kitty. Just be ready to hang in there when she blasts you with wind. Don’t get blown back this time.”

“Got it.”

Ice Noir quickly skated across the ice as he drew his weapon. He was ready for her this time.

“Hey breezy weezy! The weather today was supposed to be sunny with a 20% chance of raining Cats and Dogs!” Ice Noir called out, clearly happy with his lame joke.

Stormy Weather saw the cat approaching once again and prepared to send another wind blast at him.

But the cat was prepared this time around and extended his staff to anchor himself to the walls on either side.

“Nice try!” Ice Noir snarked. “But a small little puff of wind won't blow me back again.”

The storm akuma decided instead of creating just another wind blast, she was going to step it up with a cyclone attack! A powerful tornado tunnel would surely blast the cat down for good.

“We were wrong! She can amp up the power too!” Ice Noir exclaimed as he held onto his staff with all his might while his body was being blown back by the massive winds. “This was not well thought out!”

He focused on digging his claws into his staff and doing his best to remain in the wind tunnel. The powerful winds blew into his face and he could see Stormy Weather slowly approaching.

“I don’t think I can hold on much longer, Ladyice!”

He felt his grip slipping. Any second now, he was going to get blown back.

“Don’t worry, Kitty. I got this.”

Stormy Weather didn’t get a chance to react when she felt something tackle her full force and rush her into the wall on the opposite end of the hallway.

The wind died down and Ice Noir was able to land on his skates. He released his grip on his staff and fixed his windblown hair to resemble its original state before quickly skating down the hall to help his partner.

“Nice job, Ladyice.”

The red-clad heroine stood up from her grapple with the storm akuma.

“Actually…”

Ice Noir looked up to see that his partner had shifted power ups. Her skates and ice skater aesthetic were replaced with a suit that had red spacesuit-like plating, a jetpack with retractable wings with red and light blue colors that matches her helmet.

She had changed into her space form, Cosmobug.

“Space power up! Because you can fly through the wind! Genius!”

Cosmobug smiled.

“Well, Stormy Weather is dazed but probably not for long.”

The two heroes noticed her about to grab her umbrella, but Chat Noir’s cat-like reflexes helped him snatch it first.

“Oh no you don’t!”

Ice Noir broke the umbrella over his knee.

“I don’t think she will be as mobile without her powers.”

Stormy Weather tried to stand but slipped on the icy floor she had created.

“Let’s just make our way to the boss,” Cosmobug said. She used the jet on her back to swoop up Ice Noir and fly slowly down the icy hall.

“Just like you to sweep me off my feet. But don’t think I will be a smitten kitten like usual.”

“Oh? Is that so?” The bug heroine raised an eyebrow. “It’s hard to imagine that you haven’t been dreaming about this scenario.”

“It helps that you aren’t riding a horse with the wind blowing in your hair,” Chat Noir joked back, catching Ladybug’s teasing.

Cosmobug quickly moved them to a part of the hall where there was no ice. Both undid their potion transformations, reverting back to their usual hero forms.

“Not keeping the jetpack?” Chat Noir asked. “It is really cool.”

“The room halls are pretty limited, and there's not much mobility, otherwise I might have,” Ladybug confessed.

The two heroes took a moment to catch their breaths and figure out their surroundings.

“We should thank Stormy Weather.”

The cat looked at his partner skeptically, remembering how a few minutes ago, the wind had nearly sent him flying through a brick wall.

“What makes you say that?”

“Lila probably had Stormy Weather out and about to flush out other people in the school and make sure the area was difficult to traverse. She likely sent out a bunch of other akuma to do the same, which means her forces are scattered and we have a better shot of dealing with her with fewer obstacles.”

Chat Noir nodded. He would not have deduced such a thing from one encounter with a weather akuma.

“Good to know, so the plan is to locate her and save the day.”

“No need to figure out where she is, I already have a good idea where she should be.”

Chat Noir noticed Ladybug had already started moving. He quickly followed behind, though he didn’t need an explanation this time. He already knew where Ladybug was heading — to his homeroom class, but he couldn’t say that without revealing what he knew.

_____________________________________________________________

‘This was a ridiculous decision.’

That was the thought running through Chloé’s mind as she ran for her life from a large group of Reflekta clones.

The two or three she had run into early were easy to avoid, but now it seemed like a horde of those tacky clones. And all of the ice that surrounded certain hallways made it impossible to traverse. She was limited in her running space and she was running out. But what made it all worse was that now those Reflekta copies had adjusted to running.

“HOW CAN YOU RUN IN THOSE HEELS!?” Chloé screamed as she ran down the hall.

She just had to try and be a hero. Why was she even doing this? The assistant probably got turned into one of those gross clones or got masked like those other students. She could have just sat back and just waited for Ladybug and Chat noir to find her or let them handle it.

“You can’t run forever” The crowd of clones sang in Rather impressive and creepy harmony.

Chloé took a turn down the hall and went into the door of the nearest room.

She closed the door and locked it before smelling the musty wet air.

“What the… EWW!” She spat in disgust as she realized she had locked herself in a janitor’s closet.

“Why did it have to be in such a gross smelly room?” she moaned.

Unfortunately, her comments caught the attention of the crowd chasing her.

She heard banging on the door.

“You can’t hide, we will find.”

Chloe put her back to the door to keep them out and felt herself slide down it in despair.

Was this how it was going to end? Getting turned into one of those fashion nightmares after hiding out in such a rank smelling closet? She didn’t even save… wait. She did save someone. She saved that old man. It hadn't been glamorous, but she did manage to save at least one person.

“I guess I did do something good after all. May not have been exceptional… but it was something.” Chloé smiled for a brief moment.

She took a moment to look at the positives, Ladybug and Chat Noir would likely come in and save the day, plus there were those other two heroes. Perhaps that would be enough. But she had to admit, finding solace in that was getting harder to do when the smell of the closet was destroying her nostrils. Just then, she remembered she had some nice perfume in her bag that she could spray to alleviate the smell.

“Well, at least I won’t smell awful when they capture me.”

She put her hand in her bag and felt around for her perfume. As she searched, she felt an unfamiliar object in her designer handbag. She pulled it out.

“What is this?”

She noticed a note on top of it. It was a bit dark to read so she pulled out her phone and turned on her flashlight.

“Return to Ladybug after mission?”

Chloé’s eyes went wide. Could this be what she thought it was? How was it possible? She didn’t have time to question it.

She opened the box and out came a floating bee creature, who Chloé recognized right away. It was real.

“Pollen!” Chloé exclaimed with cheer.

“It has been a while, my queen.” the bee kwami said.

Chloé would have loved to revel in this moment more but she knew that door was going to burst open any minute. She needed to be the bee heroine.

“As much as I would love to talk more, we need to hurry. We have some akuma clones that need bashing.”

“Right away, my queen!”

Chloe put the bee miraculous in her hair.

“Pollen, Buzz on!”

_____________________________________________________________

“It is a good thing there are so many copies,” Ryuuko stated as she leaped over a few Reflekta copies.

Viperion swerved and dodged the replicas of his sister’s akumatized form while avoiding getting caught in the bubbles that froze them and floated them up in the air.

Deadzone had been doing a lot of friendly fire thanks to its single minded obsession.

“After this, I really hope I never have to see my sister take this form again,” Viperion commented.

“Right, Adrien mentioned that you were Juleka’s brother. Older brother, right?”

“Older twin brother. But yes.”

“Really? You seem older.”

“I am a grade ahead of her, but we are the same age,” he explained.

“Could have sworn you were at least a year or two older.”

“A lot of people think the same thing. Even my mom forgets, sometimes. Rose, my sister’s girlfriend, says I radiate ‘big brother energy’ or something.”

“You learn something new.”

“What about you? Any siblings?”

“Sadly no. I was an only child.”

“Too bad, I think you would have made a great older sister,” Viperion encouraged

“A snake charmer, are we?”

“Well I am the snake, and I am not charming myself, so I think the more correct term would be dragon charmer.”

“Change that to fun killer because you killed my fun right there.”

Before Viperion could retort, they had made their way down to the end of the hall and noticed that it was frozen off.

“Dead end,” they say at the same time.

“No, Deadzone.”

The two turn to see the deadly akuma amalgamation pointing its blaster at them.

The two heroes looked at the deadly akuma.

“Any ideas?” Ryuuko questioned.

“Just one.”

Viperion moved his hand to his bracelet.

“Second chance!” Viperion activated his power.

“Now we have some options.” Viperion explained.

The akuma fired a bubble blast at Ryuuko, and she was frozen.

“Second chance!”

Things reset to how they were a few seconds before. Viperion grabbed Ryuuko and pulled her out of the way of the oncoming bubble blast.

“Thanks. For a minute there, I thought that thing had me.”

“It did, but I used my power to stop that. we still have to get out of here.”

“Look out!”

Ryuuko got hit with another bubble as they got up, protecting him from an attack.

“This might take a few attempts…”

_____________________________________________________________

Hawkmoth paced inside his lair.

Mayura was out there, his son was out there… and things were not going the way he planned. Masquerade seems to be building a base for herself and was more concerned with that than getting the miraculous. Adrien is MIA, and Mayura isn’t responding.

“I might need to step in. But there is a lot of risk in this. Far too many variables that I can't account for”

Hawkmoth never liked leaving his lair. It had too many risks to it. After Heroes' Day, he had nearly been exposed. And after that fiasco in Shanghai he didn’t want to risk getting taken out by his own akuma. He had already taken plenty of risks that had blown up in his face. Would this be another one of those times he would need to risk his miraculous?

“But it could also be just what is needed to beat Ladybug and Chat Noir once and for all.”

With an akuma this powerful, the two would likely have to use their special powers multiple times. If he can just locate them and wait for them to do so, he could potentially gain the advantage. Maybe Mayura was on to something with her actions.

Hawkmoth walked to the window.

“There will be a right time. I just need to wait for it.”

He felt an itch in the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure what it was but he could tell one thing, something big was going to go down, and he needed to figure out the right call soon or it could cost him dearly.

_____________________________________________________________

“…And that’s her plan.” Simularé finished. “As for Ladybug and Chat Noir… I am unsure. I lost track of them before I was given a new assignment. But they are in the building and they have not tried to leave.”

Mayura smiled at the information. While it was quite unfortunate that she didn’t have the exact location of the two heroes, it was good to know that they were still in the building, and Lila’s plan was certainly something interesting.

“Indeed, that is quite a clever plan. Ensuring everyone in the school couldn’t escape was pretty smart. You likely had a few escapes anyway, with how clumsy some of the akuma were. You are fortunate that neither one was Ladybug or Chat Noir. Still, though, it isn’t your master’s fault for that. They are basically mindless puppets. But then again, it seems that there might be zero escapes since there seems to be no new reports on the subject of a school takeover.”

Simularé let the peacock villainess muse, analyzing her movements as if trying to figure out any advantage it could handle.

“So, the next step now that all communications are cut is to send out a message that Ladybug and Chat Noir have already been defeated, so as to cause massive despair in order to create even more minions. Sounds a bit derivative, don’t you think?” Mayura mused.

Simularé said nothing. It held its tongue. Deep down, it knew that starting any dispute with this peacock was not wise. Especially given that crazy power she had over their being.

“Still, it is quite a plan. And with all those extra akuma recruited and Ladybug and Chat noir cut off from their guardian, they wouldn’t be able to get any sort of back up. They wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight before all of Paris is under Masquerade’s thumb. I approve of the plan.”

“I am glad you do,” Simularé stated with a forced smile.

Their conversation was cut short when an akuma appeared. Seeing one it did not recognize, the artist akuma prepared to fight. But thankfully the shapeshifting sentimonster stepped in.

“Stand down Evillustrator, this one is not our enemy,” Simularé ordered.

Evillustrator eased and walked over.

“Masquerade has ordered that we start reinforcing the building. She wants this place to be like a fortress,” he parroted.

Mayura looked at the artist.

A fortress? Yes, Simularé mentioned that Masquerade wanted to reinforce the school so that she could ensure Ladybug and ChatNoir would have less chance of escape.

Simularé nodded at the akuma servant.

“Alright, so she wants us to drop the illusion, then?”

“She wants the place to be like a fortress.”

“Go ahead and start,” Simularé motioned. She figured that her master likely didn’t care about the illusion much as she was prepared for stage two. But she would maintain it for a bit.

The akuma moved to the end of the roof and begins working to reinforce the walls

Mayura began moving to the door of the roof to get back down into the school.

“Tell your boss I will be heading to her, and she best be welcoming,” Mayura ordered.

“As you command,” Simularé replied, hiding a large amount of anger and resentment towards the blue bird.

As soon as the blue peacock is out of sight.

Simularé contacts its master.

“Simularé, what is going on? Did Evilustrator reach you?”

“Yes. He is working to make this place a fortress. You want me to maintain the illusion, right?”

“I am about to go public shortly. After I make the announcement. Drop the illusion and make sure this place is a full-on fortress. After that is done, report back to me.

“Yes master. By the way, I had an idea.”

“Oh?”

Simularé smiled sinisterly. She was going to show Peacock why she was sorely mistaken.

“I will report the details to you shortly.”

_____________________________________________________________

“Everything is set up,” Robostus noted.

“Excellent. Let’s do it now.”

The Reflekta camera crew was all set, and Gamer had set it up so the moment they went live, every screen in Paris would show Masquerade.

Masquerade got off her call with Simularé. Something seemed a bit off with her sentimonster but she was intrigued that she had a plan.

“We are live in 5….4…3….2…” the gamer stated before pressing the go live button.

Masquerade smiled.

“Good afternoon, citizens of Paris. You may not know who I am, but don’t worry! You will be very familiar with me very soon. I am Masquerade, and I have decided to make Paris my personal kingdom.”

She paused to let that sink in.

“Now you are likely very alarmed by this declaration and that is normal. It will only be a matter of time before I spread my influence to everyone in Paris.”

She paused to let her words hang in the air before continuing.

“Do not be afraid, I am no monster. I plan on being a fair leader. All I ask is for your undying admiration and absolute loyalty. After that, you are free to live your lives as you normally would. Do not resist and you will have no problems. However, if you do… well, I can’t guarantee your safety.”

Masquerade took a calm breath before finishing.

“This last message goes out to the heroes of Paris, Ladybug and Chat Noir. I know you are here, I know you believe you will stop me, and I know you have allies here. But you will fall to me. Your days of superheroing have come to an end, your miraculous will be taken from you, and I will expose you as the failures you are,” Masquerade finished with venom.

She ended the transmission.

“Now make sure that it is being looped,” she ordered.

“Already is,” Gamer confirmed. “And panic is starting to rise.”

Masquerade smiled. Her plan was already working.

It may have seemed like a simple ego boost, but that speech of hers was a crucial part of her plan. Her charm bracelet could hyper focus on anyone that was akumatized in the past and have their biggest insecurities exposed. But that one by one process took far too long, if the hope of the entire populace of Paris was already demoralized. Then all she needed to do was send out her masks and let them take hold. And all she needed to do was go out there and send the masks.

She could already feel massive amounts of negative emotion from outside of the school. As soon as she headed out of the school, she could easily go and get more akuma soldiers. She could feel her bracelet trembling with all the potential additions.

She was prepared to leave, activating one of the charms to give her black angel wings, but something she remembered caused her to stop.

“Simularé I am moving to phase two of my plan. Get down here.”

It only took a few seconds for the sentimonster to jump from the roof and knock on the window.

One for the Reflekta copies opened the large window to let in what appeared to be Dark Cupid, before it shifted into the phantasm form that was its base.

“Right on cue. So, what is this plan you wanted to suggest?” Masquerade inquired. “And be sure it is not a waste of my time.”

“What if I told you I could get you a Miraculous?”

The sentimonster could feel that Masquerade was very pleased with that idea.

_____________________________________________________________

37 attempts.

It took thirty-seven resets before Viperion figured out what they needed to do.

“Ryuuko, follow my directions exactly,” Viperion instructed. “I know how to win.”

He quickly pulled her towards him to make sure she dodged the first bubble.

The akuma was surprised by the avoidance.

Viperion smiled.

“Your next line is, ‘How did you know I was going to blast at her?'” Viperion stated confidently.

“How did you know I was going to blast at her?” Deadzone parroted in shock before realizing they had said exactly what Viperion had said they would say.

The dragon heroine looked at the determined expression of the snake. She could see experience and certainty in his posture. All her years of fencing taught Kagami the art of reading body language, and the hero in front of her was someone that exuded an aura of confidence. She knew she could trust him.

“Alright, Sassy Snake, I will let you take the reins.” Ryuuko responded.

“Jump to the left in 2 seconds and start running.”

Ryuuko followed the instructions and sure enough avoided yet another bubble attack from Deadzone.

“Head to their left and bounce off the locker at the end.”

Ryuuko dashed past the akuma and jumped as Viperion instructed, perfectly avoiding the barrage of blasts sent her way. Viperion had perfectly mirrored her motion as he explained the next steps.

“Now somersault twice and draw your sword.”

Ryuuko somersaulted as Viperion leaped over her and the dragon turned to draw her sword, now on the other side of the hall.

“Now as soon as it fires a bubble at you, activate your wind! No matter what! I believe in you Ryuuko.”

The last words seemed a bit strange to the fencer. What did he mean by that?

“Will you shut up!?” Deadzone shouted before sending a bubble at Viperion.

“For my final glimpse into the future, you will say, ‘Not so tough now are ya?'”

The bubble contacted Viperion.

“Viperion!” Ryuuko cried out.

The bubble enveloped the snake and floated to the ceiling, taking his frozen form along with it.

“No…” Ryuuko muttered. She looked down in sorrow.

I failed to protect him. He ended up protecting me. He had been backing me up to make sure I wouldn’t do anything reckless.

Ryuuko felt her mind flashback to a few days ago which now seemed almost like it happened a year ago. They had made such a good team back then and now… they get a chance to be heroes again and she couldn’t cover him like he did her.

“Ha, not so tough now are ya?” Deadzone stated with confidence.

Ryuuko’s ears perked up at the statement. That was the line Viperion predicted they would say. That means… Viperion knew this would happen! Which meant his previous statement was to show he planned this. She knew what to do.

Deadzone turned its attention to Ryuuko.

“Don’t worry, you will join him shortly.”

Deadzone fired another bubble right at her, but this time Ryuuko wasn’t moving. She was at the perfect distance to do what she needed to do.

Ryuuko smiled.

“Wind dragon!”

The dragon-themed heroine turned into a cloud and blew the bubble right back at the akuma.

“What!”

The bubble encapsulated the akuma, causing it to freeze in place and then float to the ceiling.

Ryuuko returned to her original form and smiled, seeing how they had finally incapacitated the akuma.

“We did it, Viperion. We took them down. I'm sorry it cost you so much… I won't let you down!”

She raised her blade, upon realizing that her partner was indeed trapped in a bubble.

“Wait a minute…”

Ryuuko walked underneath Viperion’s bubble. She wasn’t entirely sure if this would work, since akuma magic was weird and often unpredictable, but it would make a lot of sense if it did.

“It is a bubble, so this should work right?” Ryuuko questioned as she used the tip of her sword to touch the bubble. She pushed it forward a bit causing the bubble to pop.

Her partner dropped to the floor.

“Ugh… my head.”

“You’re okay!”

Ryuuko hugged her friend, but then realized her sudden action and quickly jumped back up. A bit flustered, she could swear Marinette was rubbing off on her.

“I am glad you are alright, friend. You had me concerned — slightly,” Ryuuko corrected herself.

Viperion was surprised by the quick motions but managed to steady himself.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course. But make it quick, we will need to get a move on.”

“Okay… Who am I?”

Ryuuko froze at the question. She could see the confusion on his face. He was completely serious.

“Oh… that is not good at all.”

_____________________________________________________________

Masquerade is on phase two of her plan and Simularé is starting to make waves.

Who will get to the akuma first, Mayura or our heroes.

What will happen to Viperion now that his memory is gone?

Will Queen bee be the right choice?

Reblog and Comment . Your support is invaluable in keeping this fic alive. And I love hearing your thoughts on it

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Life size mannequin.

Erik’s girl uses him as a mannequin but Erik takes it too far and it back fires.

If you were to ask Y/N how she gets everything done she wouldn’t be able to give you a straight forward answer. Juggling school, a full time job, and a side hussle isn’t for the delicate and inadequate. Staying up until 2 AM with flash cards sprawled out on the living room table and a ratty mannequin head between her legs every night, Y/N fights much needed rest to recharge for the next days events. That’s not the only thing her teeming life has to offer. Y/N’s new boyfriend, Erik would be seen as a distraction to some but she can hold her own without slacking on her studies, missing a days work, or forgetting to do a clients hair. He’s handsome, fun, intriguing, smart, and that dick...it needs its own SSN and certificate. It’s own area code even. If she had to admit it, whenever her mind drifted to their bodies tangled in her sheets, moaning and groaning, she lost focus just a little bit.

Y/N is off on a Friday for once and instead of catching up on rest, Y/N decided to use her entire day making a closure wig for a friend and client. It’s a 24 inch body wave natural black lace frontal. No shedding, very soft, bouncy, with overall great quality. If only her lousy mannequin head would keep still!!! Y/N gave up after the mannequin head slipped from her grip. She usually has a wig stand with a mannequin head attached to the end but all of them are covered with other wigs that didn’t need to be ruined. The old fashioned way brought her back to how frustrating it was to practice. And to make things worse, Erik is strolling back and forth in front of her naked after his shower and completely ignoring her closet stocked with plenty of towels. When he stopped in front of her, his strapping thighs and that lethal weapon dangling she felt her face grow warm and her belly grow butterflies.

“You’re not helping, jerk,” Y/N said as she continued sewing. She was almost finished.

“I haven’t seen you in a few days and the one time I have a chance to spend time with you, this is what you do.”

“This wig is past due, Erik. I was supposed to get this to her two days ago. Thank God she had some shit going on herself otherwise I would be losing a client.”

Erik gave up trying to seduce Y/N and grabbed a pair of briefs from his travel bag.

“Whatever, you owe me some after this,” Erik sat down on the bed, leaning on one elbow, “You really into this.”

“And?” Y/N sassed.

“I’m just saying. Why not be a full time hair stylist?”

“Because I don’t want to do this for a living. Why else would I be in school for something that has nothing to do with hair? It’s just money to make on the side.”

The mannequin slipped again and Erik burst out laughing.

“I wanna see you try it since you find my struggle funny.”

“Oh, you don’t want me to do it I’ll fuck that whole wig up.”

Y/N ignored his smart remark.

“I’ll come over there and mess that shit right up and make you start over.”

“Erik, I’m not in the mood right now leave me alone,” Y/N cut her eyes at him, “Try me if you want I will take the end of this needle and dig it in one of them keloids. Make it pop like bubble wrap, think I’m playing.”

“You forget you’re talking to someone with a pain kink. Why you think my pain receptors fucked up?”

“So, you mean to tell me, if I boil some hot water right now and pour it on your leg...you wouldn’t feel pain?”

Erik frowned his face into a mug at Y/N as he cocked his head back. The widening of his eyes is what made her giggle.

“You don’t know how to love me all you wanna do is hurt a nigga. What is wrong with you?”

“I’m only messing with you—”

“No you’re not. If I say some shit you don’t like I get slapped upside my head. If I want to be in a playing mood you threaten me with that little fist of yours. Just admit it, you enjoy tormenting me.”

“You’re so Goddamn dramatic,” Y/N tilted her mannequin head forward, “Can you do me a huge favor?”

“If it involves getting up off this bed the answer is fuck no,” Erik said while lying on his back now with his legs hanging over the edge of the bed.

“I already know you’re about to say no but...I want you to let me use you as my mannequin.”

“Huh?”

The way his voice rose an octave has Y/N laughing.

“Can you let me put this wig on you so I can finish this?”

Erik’s brows shot up as his eyes landed on her, “Why? So you can sneak and take a picture? I’m not falling for that.”

“Erik c’mon now. I just need your head for a second and that’s it.”

“I can think of other ways you can use my head but instead you wanna put some weave on me.”

Erik sat up and swung his legs around to face Y/N. Erik leans forward on his knees, staring at the wig with a steady blink.

“What size is that shit anyway? You know I have locs so...how the hell is that supposed to fit on my head?”

“I’ll just...fit it over that pineapple on top of your head.”

“Jokes,” Erik reached up and took out the elastic band that held his tapered locs. Shaking his head, his locs fell over his eyes, “I’m not putting that on my head.”

“Not even for me?” Y/N pouts, “Not your favorite girl?”

“I know you, Y/N. You’re gonna put that shit on my head, take a picture, and post it. I’m not falling for the shit. I told you that.”

“Whatever. You got a big ass dome anyway and this wig is average size.”

“Now you’re tryna clown me?” Erik said with a half smirk on his full lips flashing a bit of his gold canines.

“It’s like...mad wide from front to back...no wonder you keep your hair long—”

“I know you ain’t talking shit with that ginormous ass forehead, girl.”

“I thought you said all the fine girls got big foreheads?” Y/N bat her lashes at Erik.

“That’s what’s helping you out. First time I saw you I was thinking damn, this bitch got a big ass forehead. And don’t think I forgot about how you played me when you sent that cropped picture.”

“Boy, fuck you!!” Y/N shouted over Erik’s laughter.

“I was—I was looking at the picture like where the rest of her face go?!”

Y/N glared at Erik as he dissolved into laughter.

“It’s really not that funny. Now are you gonna help me or not?!”

“Aight, I’ll do it this one time.” Erik sat up with one hand resting against his abdomen while the other wiped away tears, “Where do you want me?”

“On the floor between my legs, DUH where the fuck else would you be?”

He began dying laughing again from Y/N’s obvious annoyance. Erik took his place on the floor while Y/N climbed behind him onto the bed with each leg dangling on either side of him. Y/N takes the wig from the mannequin and before she placed it on Erik she tilted his head back more for easier access. Grabbing the half-done wig, Y/N fluffed out the ends before arranging it over Erik’s locs. Even at their short length it was a challenge to fit the wig the way she needed it.

“Can you PLEASE keep still?” Y/N prompted.

“I’m not even moving. This wig just don’t fit.”

Y/N applied force and wiggled it over his locs causing Erik’s head to rock back and forth aggressively. He growled before reaching behind him to grab her hands. The wig looked much shorter on him in the back from how prominent his back and shoulders are. Erik turned to face her with his lips tight and face frowned, the wig making him look ridiculous and silly. Y/N folded her lips into her mouth but the urge to laugh caused her cheeks to puff out.

“If only you knew how tight my fucking head feels right now. I can’t even smile without this shit feeling like my scalp is being pulled. This better come off when we’re done or that’s your ass.”

“Erik, turn around. I only have one section to do and then you’re free. Next time, don’t ask me to help you with shit if you’re gonna act like this.”

Erik sucked his teeth and faced forward so Y/N could continue. He lowered his head so she could work on the back area.

“Can I ask you something, babe?” Y/N said.

“What?” Erik replied.

“Do you mind modeling this for me—”

“See, I knew this shit—”

Erik stood up before Y/N could wrap her arms around him. He walked over to the full body mirror in her room to look at himself and that’s when he couldn’t hold back his own laughter.

“Yo, what the fuck do you have on my head!” Erik played with the strands while turning his head from side to side, “I look like James Brown, AYE!!!!”

Y/N was in stitches when he mimicked James Brown in the mirror. She fell back against her bed hollering from the way he looked.

“Nah, I’m not drunk right now I need to be drunk to enjoy this,” Erik leaned into the mirror, “I look better than half the bitches that come in here to get their hair done. Let me find out.”

“You are so STUPID!!!!” Y/N yelled between giggles.

“I’ll be back,” Erik left the room with the wig swaying from side to side since it wasn’t fully secure.

“Where are you going?!” Y/N shouted from the bed.

Erik didn’t respond to her loud voice. When he returned two minutes later he had a cup in one hand and his bottle of Hennessy in the other. Erik sat both the cup and the bottle on Y/N’s cluttered dresser to make himself a drink.

“This was supposed to be a quick thing now you’re drinking.”

Y/N watched Erik from her relaxed spot on the bed. Erik took two sips of his drink before standing in front of her mirror again.

“What are you doing?!”

Y/N couldn’t even finish her words when Erik started shimmying his shoulders and snapping his fingers to a soundless beat. Hooting with laughter Y/N could feel wetness on her cheeks.

“IM DONE!!!”

“This shit give bad bitches super powers.” Erik said

“Let me find out you wanna wear a weave now.” Y/N jokes.

Erik brought his cup to his lips and drank more Hennessy while moving his hips. This was too good not to get a video. With Erik being his usual silly self, Y/N snatched up her phone from the floor before pulling up her Instagram to record him. On her story, Y/N focused the camera on her boyfriend when he started singing the lyrics to Lady Marmalade.

“Gitchi gitchi, ya ya, da da. Gitchi gitchi, ya ya, here!!”

“Oh my God!!” Y/N cried out with a chuckle before ending the video. She uploaded it to her story before quickly tossing her phone towards the end of the bed.

“Creole Lady Marmalade!!!!!!!!”

“You hardly had anything to drink and you’re acting like this? Lord.”

“Aight, I’m done for now,” Erik made his way back over to Y/N with his cup, “put on a movie or something.”

“Ohhhhhh!!! So you’re asking me to pick this time?! I get to make a decision, Erik?! Wowwwwwwwww!!!”

“Girl, shut up.”

Y/N chose a random movie for background noise while she finished. She was surprised at how content he was and it made her consider asking him to help more in the future. It was fun and it made her laugh. That’s one thing about Erik that she adores. He matches her sense of humor. Y/N heard a vibration and when she glanced over to look at her phone the screen is still black. Between her legs she could see Erik staring at a text message from his Lock Screen

“What the fuck is this nigga talking ‘bout.”

“Erik keep still—”

“Nigga who is Miss Man?!”

Y/N paused to peer over Erik’s shoulder.

“This nigga just called me Miss Man from Scary Movie.”

Erik tapped on the microphone on his keyboard to speak.

“Who the fuck randomly texts somebody that at 11 PM? Fucking weirdo ass nigga. Let me find out you want Miss Man for yourself.”

“Who is Miss Man— OH! The PE teacher that was sniffing the underwear?!!! hahahahahahahahahahaha!!!”

“This nigga...he said all you need is the underwear, skirt, nails, and makeup—wait.”

“And some long ass balls!!” Y/N snickered.

Erik whipped his head around and when Y/N met his fiery eyes she swallowed her laugh and it left an uncomfortable lump in her throat.

“Did you post me online wearing this wig, Y/N?”

“No.”

“I’m gonna ask you again. Did you post me online in this wig?

“Mm—mm. I did no such thing.”

“Then let me see your phone.”

Erik reached out for Y/N’s phone but she snatched it away. Erik moved his head to the side to flip some of the wig hair form his face but it fell forward again disobeying him.

“Did I? Uhhhh—OKAY OKAY!!”

It happened so fast. Erik has Y/N by the waist and up in the air.

“Yes, I did!! I’ll delete it.”

“You don’t listen to shit I tell you to do—”

“It was cute! You looked cute with it on—”

“You know what’s about to happen right?! I told you not to do that shit!”

“Erik, it’s all in fun. I’ll get rid of it—”

“That shit is embarrassing! What if I posted you online at your worse?”

“I don’t have a bad moment I always look good.” Y/N sasses.

“Says the girl that always complains about me taking off guard pics.”

“Erik, you’re not even at your worse. You act like I posted you looking bummy!”

Y/N kept her word and went to Instagram to delete. When she got there, she was met with at least ten DMs replying to her story.

Corythemua_: gurllll who is that? 👀 ooooh he is fione!!! Is he into guys?

Jermaine_87: Wtf is he doing?! 🤣🤣🤣🤣 let me text this nigga

Katriceee: how did you convince him to do this?! LOL

Amethyst1993: when he find out about this you are in trouble girl!!!

“did you delete the video yet?! Don’t let me find out it’s still there!”

“It’s gone! Happy?! What happened to being in a playing mood?!!”

“Now all my friends texting me and clowning me! You play too many games. Hurry up and help me take this shit off!”

Erik brushed some strands from his lips with his fingertips and Y/N squealed. Nothing he could say or do would make her listen. He looked absolutely hilarious with the wavy tresses of the wig moving in tandem with his brawny physique.

“Erik, I can’t take you seriously with that wig on.”

“Then take this off!!”

Erik attempts to pull it off but suddenly stops when he realizes he needs help.

“I want this shit off now, Y/N.”

“FINE! Come here.”

Y/N tapped the floor with her foot for Erik to take a seat. When he does, Y/N does the opposite of what he asks and begins to place his hair into two buns. She silently laughed behind him, praying that he wouldn’t hear her falling apart. When she was finished, Erik assumed she was done because he didn’t feel the hair tickling his skin. When he stood up to look in the mirror, Erik groaned loudly at his appearance before flexing his jaw at her threateningly to make her listen. It didn’t work at all for him. She couldn’t stop laughing.

“You look so crazy!!!!!” Y/N hugged her sides and rolled on the bed with laughter, “And that evil look is making it even funnier!!”

“I’m about to beat your ass if you don’t take this shit off!!! It wouldn’t be funny if this shit stuck now would it?!!! I gotta go to work and all that nah take this off—

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

“Aight, are you finished?!” Erik said impatiently.

“Baby...you don’t understand...oh my God.”

“Y/N, for real, take this dumb ass wig off before I cut it off!”

“Okay okay!! Before I do...you gotta do one last thing for me...pretty please? With caramel sauce and a cherry on top? I’ll do whatever you want if you do this last thing for me.”

“.....”

“PLEASE BABY?!!”

“.....”

“Erik, look, it’ll be funny! I just want you to cat walk for me and then I’m done—”

“Ahhhhh HELL no—”

“Please—”

“For what?! So you can keep laughing?!”

“I’ll suck your dick, lick your balls—”

“Girl, that won’t work on me—”

“You sure about that?”

Y/N poked her tongue out and started doing tricks with it to show off her tongue ring. Erik’s eyes squinted at her but she could tell from his breathing that he wouldn’t be able to fight it much longer. He even said so himself that her head game makes him weak and no woman before her has ever made him weak.

“...from here to the bed and that’s it.”

Y/N smiled victoriously.

Erik placed his hands on his tapered waistline before lowering his head. Y/N could hear him silently laughing to himself before he lifted his head displaying an adorable dimpled smile. He started strutting towards Y/N with stiff hips and two left feet. All this from her flicking her tongue. Y/N stared at him with her mouth hanging open and eyes wide. He had a focused look on his face and the wig with its two buns flopped up and down messily like bunny ears. He struck a pose with his hip jutted out before he started to vogue. At that point, Y/N couldn’t take it any longer. She had to grab onto Erik so she could catch her breath. Soon, Erik’s deep laugh could be heard.

“You get on my nerves,” Erik sat beside Y/N, “now, can you take this off of me?!”

“Turn around,” Y/N took down the buns before carefully sliding the wig off from front to back, “You’re off the hook after that I’m gonna go back to using this mannequin head.”

“Yeah, finish up so I can spank that ass for posting me on social media.”

Y/N did a double take, “I’m still in trouble?!”

“Yeah, you’re not off the hook.”

The remaining time Y/N finished her clients wig, she thought up all possible ways he could punish her this time.

“Can I have a kiss?” Y/N asked with a sweet sounding voice.

“Yes,” Erik poked his thick, moist lips out and Y/N pressed her soft lips against them.

“Mmm...still in trouble, ma,” Erik whispered.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Mummy Quinn - Harley Quinn x reader

Masterlist Link

Summary; whilst coming home from shopping, Harley returns with more than just food...

Warnings; kidnapping, Harley having (severe) baby fever, mention of death and murder, mentions of insanity and mental health, mentions of parental abuse, mentions of alcoholism, swearing, homelessness mention

divider by @firefly-graphics

“It’s okay Bruce, mummy will be home soon, she just went out to get us some jerked. Now this time, you’re not eating the whole bag, okay? I need to eat too, otherwise I will die, and well, I don’t want to end up like the rest of my family, okay? Good, I’m glad we’re on the same page buddy, if we weren’t then we’d have a problem.” You spoke the the giggling hyena, ruffling his ears, as the sound of the door opening made the animal lurch his head forward in hilarity, and you turn.

You expected various bags of junk food, but instead there was one small carrier containing such things, Harley also held a container of diapers and a baby, that was clinging onto her shoulder, as she multitasked with all the cargo that she was delivering to your shared flat. A furrow enclosed on your brow, as you focused on the child that she had brought home, it was practically tethered to her, grasping onto her extravagant clothing as though it never wanted to let your girlfriend go.

“Is that a baby?” You asked her, surprised by her tentativeness to it as she placed all else down, and bounced the oblivious infant in her arms. If it were able to comprehend its situation, it would surely be screaming that it was in a nut job’s arms (though you weren’t that much more sane than her), wailing out to be rescued from the mad woman’s hands.

Half the time, you didn’t think about Harley’s mental health, being around her was normal. But right now, you were worrying for it; you wondered why she had a baby, of all things! It’d make more sense if she returned home with a giraffe than a small human, even a dead body would be more comforting than the fact that she had an actual child in her arms.

“Obviously silly.” Harley replied, shrugging the puffs of her shirt up to the sides of her head as a toothy and stretched smile found port on her face. “I’m gonna call him Bruno, he looks like one, doesn’t he? Such a cute baby, aren’t you Bruno, and since we can’t have one of our own, neither can we go through the method of adopting because our reputations proceed us, we have this little guy.”

“Where’d you find him Harl?” You cooed, walking closer as Bruno, as she had claimed to dub him, reached his hand out towards you, his nimble and small fingers hardly managing to wrap around one of your own. It was true, being a criminal sucked. You weren’t able to adopt because laws and blah blah blah. So that was a great blockade in the way of ever having children with the woman that you loved.

“At the grocery store.” She answered, making you snap your eyes up to her, shocked by the revelation behind her words. “What? Don’t look at me like that, if you’d have seen him, you’d have taken him too. The parents weren’t even paying attention to him, instead they were buying vast bottles of whiskey. I know that life, and I lived it!”

“They’re his parents baby.” You tried to reason with her as she ruggedly shook her messy hair in vain, panicking. “You turned out fine, he’ll do the same, in his own way.” She bellowed a laugh out of you, as tears swamped her icy eyes, her nostrils flaring passively as she tried to keep it and herself all together.

“I’m fine. I’m fine?! Really sweets, we sure as hell know I’m anything but fine! Look at me, really look at me y/n, would you say I’m sane? Would you say that I have my head on straight? Exactly, my childhood bore into half of this, my alcoholic father constantly putting pressure on me to be the image of perfection and intellect, but that didn’t last. I was foolish, until I met J, because every one in my life were constantly trying to protect me, except him.”

“Harley.” You sighed, raking your hand through your hair as you watched how she protectively hugged the child to her chest. “People fuck kids up, yes, they do it all the fucking time, but this one isn’t ours to fuck up. He has parents, they brought him into this world, and it’s their responsibility to raise him.”

“Well, we could kill them.” She offered, as her face crinkled in disregard of what you were trying to say. “He could be ours, our baby. We’d give him a good life, he’d have everything he could ever want.”

“And it’d all be stolen except sandwiches from Sal’s.” You stated, huffing as you hated demeaning her wishes like this, but it was necessary. “You have to give him back Harley, he is not ours to keep.”

“But I bought him diapers and one of those rattly thingies.” She pouted, the red on her lips extenuating her expression. The majority of the time you crumbled when she did that, but you couldn’t, not now. The tone was too serious, and whilst you weren’t one hundred percent alike to those who were ‘sane’, it was clear that this wrong, and you didn’t want her to end up in Arkham again.

“Doesn’t matter, you stole them anyway, same as you did with him. Now suck it up, because we will not be keeping him, and you’re making Brucey feel unloved. He is our child, if you want, we can get another pet.” Bruce grunted in satisfaction of his presence being adjourned and noticed, swiping his tongue up the palm of your hand as an act of affection.

“Really?” She squealed, going to clap her hands together, but realising that she had the child in her arms. “Fine, I suppose you’re right.” Her head dropped as she turned towards the door, grabbing the bag of diapers and going to disappear out the entrance. You spoke her name, causing her to freeze.

“I love you, and I’m proud of you honey.” You told her, causing her to nod in relevance, and once she exited out the door, you heard crying, but it was not coming out from the infant. With a sigh, the background noise of them descending down the building rattling in your brain, you grasped your phone. “Can’t believe I’m doing this.” You grumbled, pressing your hand against your hip as you dialled a number on your phone.

“Hello, who is this?” The voice of a woman spoke through the phone, the caller ID clearly not being a concern of the person who had answered.

“Selena, it’s me y/n.” She greeted you in turn, as you waited for her to finish speaking. “So you’re street smart and all, do you think you can get me a rat off the streets? No, not an actual rat, a kid, sorry for my description, don’t claw my eyes out, of a night I see some pretty interesting things... anyways, I want to adopt and being a criminal and shit, that’s rather difficult...” Harley was going to love you, that was until she heard you change your mind on the pet ordeal.

A while later the door opened again, a snicker rolled around the room, but it was not from behind you in the tub, where Bruce was seated. No, Harley walked in with a white leash, and a hyena, of course. “This is Alfred, you said I could get a pet, so I got one.” Great, a new pet and now a kid, the one bedroom apartment was sure going to be crowded.

[demonicheadcanons]

Can I request undatables headcanons where they lend/borrow notes and the undatables sees silly little doodles in between the class work?

The Undateables React to an MC who Doodles on Their Class Work

AN: I love this so much ;u; I work in a school and sometimes the kids will doodle little things in the margin, and its always so entertaining to see what they draw - multiple times its been little doodles of me, which is so sweet!!

Anyway, sorry that this headcanon isn’t very detailed, I’m still not quite comfortable with how I portray the Undateables and struggled to place them in this scenario ;u;

Diavolo

He borrowed the notes to check over them and see how you were getting on and if you needed help with anything. He’s flicking over the pages, skimming through it all and then sees the drawings start on one page and continue over the next few.

Diavolo sits down at his desk and spreads the pages out, careful not to disturb the order of them but wanting to see all of the drawings at once. It was clear that they were rushed in between taking notes, just casual little drawings, but he finds himself grinning as he looks over them.

When he hands the note back, he grins at you and says “I loved the little drawings you did!” In a teasing tone, he adds, “I’m not sure how they help with the classwork, but they really made my day.” He laughs if you seem flustered at all, but finds himself glancing over at you more often when he’s supervising classes to see if you’re doodling.

Barbatos

Like Diavolo, his intention is more to look over the notes and get an idea of where you’re at in terms of schoolwork than to copy them. When he sees the first drawing, he pauses. Its not detailed and stuck right in the middle of the work, your writing moving to accommodate for the doodle.

It confuses Barbatos, more-so when he turns to the next page and there are even more drawings, but he decides it’s not really any of his business and continues checking over the notes, efficient as ever. He finds it endearing but he has too much work to do to focus on it.

He does watch you when you’re doodling in future, covers a smile with a gloved hand when you scribble notes around the drawing, but he won’t really comment much on it. If he thinks you’re doing it because you’re starting to lose focus after a certain amount of time, he’ll try to find accommodations for it, but otherwise he just lets you be.

The only thing he does out of the ordinary for him is that he doesn’t report it back to Diavolo unless it seems necessary. He keeps the information to himself, like a little treat, something only he knows about (other than you, of course).

Solomon

There was an issue at Purgatory Hall so Solomon, Simeon, and Luke all missed a class and needed to catch up. Since Solomon couldn’t borrow either of their notes, the next best person to ask was you - he didn’t feel up to asking one of the brothers, knowing their notes would either be useless, they’d downright refuse him, or they’d be annoying about it.

He’s working on writing everything down when he turns the page, sees a drawing, and stops. Stars trail down the margin of the paper and he leans his head on his hand, smiling into his palm as he flicks through the pages. The entire notebook is decorated with doodles here and there, throughout all of the notes.

Solomon doesn’t mention the doodles to anyone and just hands your notes back the next day. When he remembers it, he smiles to himself, but generally its not something that ever gets brought up. He’ll pretend he never noticed if you decide to ask him if he saw them.

Simeon

Like Solomon, he missed class because of some issue at Purgatory Hall. He considered asking Lucifer first, but bumped into you in the hallway and decided he might as well just use your notes.

He heads to the library between classes to catch up so that he can return them right away. He notices the doodles halfway through photocopying the notes and snorts before covering his mouth, overly aware of just how loud that was in the silent library. He quickly copies the other pages and tucks the book away in his bag.

“Ah, MC, there you are! I just wanted to return your book,” Simeon calls, holding up your notebook. He pauses, holding it just out of your reach, and flicks it open. “I just have one question, sorry. What does this mean?” Simeon smiles innocently as he holds out the book, pointing directly at scribbled drawings along the margin of one page. “I just couldn’t seem to figure it out by myself.”

Bonus: Simeon keeps the photocopied notes, even though he copied them up into his book himself. He finds the doodles really cute.

Luke

Also missed class and needed to borrow your notes to catch up - there was no way he was going to go without doing so, and he also didn’t want to ask one of the demon brothers because there was no way in the Devildom that he was going to copy notes from some demon.

He’s anxious as he asks if he can borrow your notes, just for a little bit so he can copy them? You agree right away and hand over your book and he promises he’ll return it with a treat later. Luke heads back to Purgatory Hall to catch up, and when he notices the doodles he puffs out his cheeks and keeps writing, all too aware that Simeon is also in the room and will notice if he reacts at all. (Simeon does see him blush, and smirks but doesn’t say anything).

Luke brings over some pastries he made for you to try when he returns your notes that evening, and he flushes as he hands over your notebook. You can’t figure out why until he pulls out his own and shows you the doodles along the pages. You recognise a few - Lucifer glaring, horns and demon tail scribbled out in a red pen. One of Beel eating something or other, and one of Simeon smiling. And one of you, too, smiling with a halo over your head.

You ruffle his hair and Luke pouts and puts his book away, but he seems happy. “I was worried I’d get in trouble, but if you’re doing it too, then those brothers won’t say anything.”

He’s the sweetest little brother in the world.

AN: Hope these are okay! They’re a bit short and messy, I struggled with this ;u;

[mcfreakin-bxtch]

Sleep and Other Things

Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT, Grinding, Fingering (with them metal fingers babbbby), Oral (f), Mentions of Masturbation (f), Sergeant Kink, Praise Kink, Cockwarming, Light spanking, Sub/Dom, Hair pulling, Pining, Sexual tension/frustration, Language, Classic Tropes (I will not apologize), Fluff

Word Count: 11K+ (I really went on on this one I’m sorry)

A/N: It’s been TOO long since I’ve written for my bby I apologize

-

This sucks.

Royally, royally, royally sucks. 

And if you could choose from any supernatural powers at all known to man, you’d choose the power of sleep. 

Because for the past few nights, it just hasn’t struck you. You’ve tried everything you can think of: punching and kicking away at the bag in front of you in the training room until your knuckles started to bruise, drinking a nice, hot cup of tea, hell even meditation. None of it seemed to work in your favor, and you wanted to punch the force that was holding you back from a full night's rest. 

Please God, or you know, whatever is out there listening. All’s I’m asking a normal fucking sleep schedule, is that too much to ask?

The blaring flashes sting your eyes with every white, vicious transition of another rerun on TV. It’s the only light in the otherwise dark room, and it’s dimmed with the volume low so that every stupid little background laughter is dull instead of blaring. And judging by the big red 3:30 on your alarm clock, you’ve been awake for approximately ten hours with no hope of a fulfilled slumber. You believe this is your third night in a row. 

You sigh for what seems the hundredth time, flopping onto your right side and shoving your pillow under your arm. The soft fabric and the fresh smell of your favorite laundry detergent is doing nothing to soothe your mind and your body alike, but maybe keeping up the facade that it does will lull your eyes to remain shut and your brain silent; in the back of your mind, annoyingly, you already know that it will not work. 

“Fuck it.” You mutter to yourself and throw your covers off. The floor is slightly chilly against your bare feet, but not too terribly cold, and the compound is stable and quiet; more alone time for you, more time to watch the clock slowly tick by as yet another night—day you should say given the time—drags by thorough dark circles and irritable mood swings. 

The door is silent as you creek it open, though it doesn’t make one sound and you’re grateful for that. No use dragging everyone down with you. 

You’re not exactly sure on what you’re looking for, but it feels right to be where the food is. It’s a start, at least. The good news, too, about going to the kitchen is that it’s not that far from your room, a blessing to you now. 

The hallway is dark, too dark for you weak eyes you realize as you stub your toe on a corner of a wall. “OW—oH fuckfuck what the fuckity fu—”

“Shoulda paid attention, doll.”

You whirl around mid-tantrum, hopping on the uninjured foot rather ungracefully towards the raspy voice you recognize in a heartbeat. 

The root to your problem is sitting there—short, chopped dark hair, eyes that are sometimes grey and others times blue, like a storm and a ocean living and correlating together to create a beautiful color that you often dream of, and built, toned body hiding behind a black tank top and you’re going to assume matching sweatpants—with a coffee mug in his hands, sitting by the kitchen island and stifling a shit-eating grin as you wallow. 

Normally, you’d be very happy to see Bucky. Over the year that you’ve been on the team, Bucky has been nothing but kind to you, even after a rocky start to the friendship. As quiet and closed off as he is, you had managed to weasel your way into his circle; you leave him alone whenever you sense he needs it, not wanting to overwhelm him. Watch TV with him on the couch when it’s just the two of you; sometimes you’d barely say a word to each other at all, happy with the comfortable silence. He jokes around with you if you manage to burn another pancake or whatever concaussion you could scramble up or he’ll invite you to have drinks with him and the others—others being Steve and, despite the pranks and banters, Sam, and so, so much more. It’s as easy as breathing, just being with him, and the comfort and stability that you find in him never fails to put you at ease. 

But it’s like somewhere down the road something shifted. You don’t know when or how it happened, but when it did it hit you like a freight train. There’s a pull towards him when you catch yourself paying extra attention to the way his body moves, alerting yours with a sudden new and ferocious need; the daydreams that come from it are even better. The soft, barely there brushes as you pass by or the barely fingertip touch when you’re standing next to each other. The longing stares that makes you wonder if there ever could be more. There’s no denying that you can’t stop looking at him differently now, as more than just the friend you cherish deeply, but as someone who could become more than just. 

Sometimes, you even dream of his hand between your legs. 

What makes this even worse is that you’ll occasionally catch Bucky doing the same thing to you; he may be faster than you in oh so many ways thanks to his enhancements, but there are moments where you catch him looking quickly away and towards whatever was in front or next to him, eyes glaring like he’s—he’s scolding himself.   

“Sexual tension.” Wanda told you when you first explained your worries to her. “That’s what’s happening.”

You shook your head, laughing it off. “Nooo it can’t be Wanda. We’re just—”

“Friends?” She smirked. 

“Yes.” You defended. “Just friends. I mean maybe—maybe we’re just going through a phase, and everything will soon go back to normal.”

Wanda rolled her eyes with a smirk. “We’ll see.”    

Deep down, you knew that she was right. And that terrified you. Still does, actually. Why would you want to ruin such a good thing over what may be just a stupid, silly crush?

Now, exhausted, frustrated, and hopping around like a moron in the dark, the smug look on his face heavily annoys you more than ever. 

“Thanks.” You snarl. 

He puts his hands up in mock surrender, easily taking in your disdained mood. “Sorry.”

You finally let your foot drop back to the ground, your toe still stinging. Bucky continues to watch you as you limp towards the cabinets and reach for your favorite mug, setting it too harshly down on the marble counter before opening the fridge. 

“Try drinking tea,” he says. “It’ll be better than…Dr. Pepper.”

You shrug as you uncap the bottle and pour the sweet soda into your mug. “I’ve already tried that.” You mutter. “Nothing’s been working.”

You hear Bucky shift in his chair, hear the clicks of his metal arm as he stretches it out; he rarely does it when there’s too many people around, letting himself be free with the metal prosthetic. You feel special knowing that he’s comfortable enough to be free in your presence. 

“How long has this been going on?” He asks quietly. 

You lean your back against the counter and bring the cup to your lips. “Almost a full week now.”

You see him nod from your peripheral vision, straightening his back and taking a sip from his own up you didn’t realize he had until now; it smells like green tea, with a hint of something sweeter. Honey, most likely. 

You expect him to ask you more questions but he stays silent as you both take small sips of your drinks. Your eyes are heavy and your body is on the verge of completely slumping against the small space behind you, but you’re still too wired to sleep—okay, Bucky was right on the soda, but you’re not going to admit that to him. 

“Why are you awake?” You ask him. 

He just shrugs. “Same reason as you.”

That gets you to snort. Yeah right, buddy. 

“Tried sparring?” Bucky suddenly breaks the silence, causing you to jump from the intrusion. 

“Sorta.” You iffley say. “Still didn’t help me much…I really don’t know what my problem is.” Liar.

He hums softly. “Well,” he puffs as he sits up from the stool. “Let’s go then.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Really?”

For such a heavy man, it still surprises you when he walks silently towards you, so quietly that if you weren’t looking you’d had no idea if he was moving at all. The familiar smell of his soap overwhelms your senses as he leans in, his left arm stretched to put his cup in the sink. You can’t help but inhale the alluring musk, which causes a shiver to run through your body. 

“Sexual tension.” Wanda’s voice rings through your head. 

God he really does smell good and he’s warm...stop it! 

“So?” He scares you again out of your thoughts, and when you look up he’s close. He’s really close—well, closer than you anticipated for only putting away a dish. He’s looking down at you with an expression you can’t quite decipher, but that smirk of his returns and your heart flutters at the close proximity of it. 

You set your now empty mug in the sink next to his with a sigh and nod your head. “Take it easy on me. I’m not exactly coordinated right now.” 

Bucky only chuckles, hearty and gruff, at your warning. “Whatever you say.”

You really like the way he says it. It sounds stupid, but you do. 

He leads the way to the training room, turning every now and then to make sure you’re still following—and that you don’t stub your toe again. 

“Turning the lights on.” Bucky warns you just seconds before the lights blare your vision, making you wince and blink against the onslaught. 

When you can finally make out the shapes moving around, Bucky is already standing in the middle of the mat, watching you with his signature smirk. You can’t help but give him a small closed lip smile of your own as you make your way towards him. 

“I’m totally gonna kick your ass.” You tease with a slight slur.

He grunts, face squished as he rolls his eyes playfully. “Yeah yeah, hurry up.”

“Don’t act like you don’t want to be here, Barnes.” You chide as you start to wrap your knuckles. “You’re the one who suggested this.”

“Doesn’t mean you gotta be a turtle about it.” 

You give him the best glare you can muster as he struggles to hold in his laughter. Your grimace deepens when they finally escape, and his face is really fucking adorable when he laughs like this; without a care in the world. That makes you stare at him longer than necessary as he recovers. 

“Okay I’m sorry!” He gasps, putting his hand up. “I’ll stop, I swear it.”

The scowl doesn’t disappear even as you start to adjust the strings on your sweatpants; tightening them. You know you look like a child right now with the way you’re stomping dramatically heavily towards the ex-assassin, but you’re too tired and slightly agitated to care. 

“Alright,” he huffs. “Just come right at me and don’t hold back. Think you can handle that, doll?”

You smirk despite yourself and prepare a simple stance; attack. “Sure, ice bucket.”

Bucky doesn’t flinch from the playful tease. What he does is pat his chest with a closed knuckle and says, “I’m waiting.”

You watch him, take in his posture and immediately go for the legs. You’re a good agent, not the best, definitely in need of improvement, but you’re good. What you’re sort of forgetting here, a habit with him it seems, is that he is. in fact, a super soldier. 

The air leaves your lungs with an oof as you land flat on your back. His hand, warm flesh that feels like is scorching your skin through your shirt, holds you down by your upper chest. You blink dumbly up at him as you struggle to catch your breath, your body jolted from its heavy, sleepless form. 

“C’mon,” he says your name disappointingly. “You know better than that.”

You roll your eyes and grunt, swatting his hand away and standing yourself up. “I don’t see the point of this.” You complain. “If anything, I feel more awake than tired.”

“Oh you know what the point is.” Bucky scoffs. “Stop complaining and fight me.”

“Fine!” You growl. 

The next charge at him, you honestly thought that you’d get the upper hand. Where he goes to block, you quickly change course and go for a punch. It all happens in a blink of an eye, and suddenly his metal arm is wrapped loosely around your neck in a lock, the other locking your wrists in his wide grip.  

“You’re not even trying.” He breathes in your ear. 

“I am.” You say through gritted teeth. 

He finally lets you go with a small chuckle. It makes you angry. “If you’re just going to keep laughing at me then I’m—”

Bucky lunges at you. Your body reacts on instinct and ducks away from his attack, bouncing on your feet to the other side. The muscles in his back strain as he runs his fingers through his hair, flashing you a grin as he turns around. 

“There ya ‘re.” His brooklyn accent runs thick through his praise. 

That praise—and it’s not like you’ve never heard it from him before, always in playful banter—raises goosebumps and there’s no way he doesn’t notice it. You fight the rush of blood flooding to your cheeks. 

“Here,” you try, bouncing around him and playfully trying to grab him, distracting yourself from your own confusing thoughts. “Just stand still and let me punch and kick at you until I pass out.”

He laughs with you and dodges your weak attempts with liquid ease. “Oh I’m sure you’d love that.”

“I would, actually.” 

“You’re jus’ bein’ a sore loser.”

“So what—” You grunt as he slides to his right and pushes your hit lightly away from him. “—if I am.”

You do this for some time, aimlessly throwing weak kicks at his shins as he teases you—you’re really fucking jealous at how he seemingly floats with each bounce to his dodges. You finally manage to knip him around the ankle, causing him to wince and curse. 

“Ha!” You cheer. “I bet that hur—”  

Bucky takes your short moment of victory to sweep around you and kick your legs out from under you. You land ungracefully yet again on the hard mat, but this time you quickly recover and loop your legs around the arm closest to you and pull him down with all your strength. He flips hard on his back, gasping as soon as he makes contact and now you’re the one laughing at him as you have the upper hand. 

“Well Barnes,” you tsk. “Looks like you’re losing your touch.”

“Don’t get cocky.” He warns as his hand flexes still in your grip. “Or else this happens.”

You blink and feel a harsh tug at the back of your neck. Everything is a blur as you feel yourself being lifted and flipped into the air, like you weigh nothing at all. Your eyes automatically shut and your body awaits for the hard impact. 

It doesn’t come. 

Bucky softens your fall by quickly rolling his body into yours and wrapping his arms around you, practically caging you in. Your hands reach for the first solid thing they can find, which happens to be soft skin and hard muscle. His legs cage yours between his, his hair lightly curled and there’s a strangled noise coming from somewhere and holy fuck he’s—

“You alright?” He asks, panting. 

Your breaths mix together as you stare into each other’s eyes. You hear what he says, the words playing through your ears but your brain doesn’t register the nerves to actually respond to him. It feels like you’ve never been this close to him before, not like this anyway. It feels… suffocating. In such a good, intoxicating way that you don’t want him to move. 

And then you realize that the reason why he must be asking that question is because he thinks you’re hurt; that strangled cry was from you. 

He shifts, just slightly to adjust, that gets his arms to tighten around you for a split second. Your jaw clenches as you struggle to hide the hitch in your breath and the pool of arousal flooding between your legs. 

“Y-yeah.” You finally answer, swallowing thickly. His adam’s apple bobs as he does the same, and that gets your body tingling with a familiar sensation that has your eyes widening. “I think I’m tired now.”

The second those words escape your lips you want to take them back. His eyes fall as he shakes his head and chuckles, looking shyly down as he sighs. He unwraps himself from you and holds his hand out for you to take. It takes you a moment, still reeling from—well from whatever the hell that was. 

Now it feels awkward. You both can’t keep your eyes on each other, looking anywhere’s else like it’s fucking interesting. You gotta stop this. 

“Than—”

“Can I—”

You both say at the same time. Bucky’s soft, harmonic—in your very humble opinion—chuckle joins yours and you shake your head to clear away the fuzziness clouding your brain. 

“Sorry, uh what were you going to say?”

Bucky hesitates, and there’s something in his eyes that tells you that he’s nervous. It worries you, and instinct takes over to walk to him and comfort him. 

“No it’s—,” he inhales sharply. “It’s okay. We can talk about it tomorrow, when you’re more…awake.”

“I’m plenty coherent, Bucky.” You scoff. “Just tell me. I’m your friend.”

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes; it goes without the same brightness that usually greets you and that makes your stomach drop and your heart clench with an uncomfortable grip. 

“I know.” He says softly. Then his eyebrow raises in a mischievous arch. “Need me to walk you to your room?”

This time it’s you who hesitates. On any other circumstance, you would’ve immediately said yes and that would be that; no awkwardness, no tension or—or whatever the fuck is going on between the two of you.  

“Um… yeah. Yeah s-sure.”

You curse yourself mentally and berate yourself to keep it together. The walk back is quicker than the walk to the training room, and a part of you is entirely grateful for it. Bucky stays close as he paddles softly through the hall until your door is in sight, and you’re standing with one hand on the handle while chewing on your bottom lip. Now what?

“Goodnight,” he says your name softly, so softly you can barely hear him. 

“Goodnight Buck.” You whisper back. 

He gives you one last smile and walks away, and as simple and normal as this is, it feels wrong. Like he shouldn’t be walking away, because there’s something obviously going on between the two of you and you have no idea how—well, you know one way—to fix it because you’re a goddamn coward and that smile isn’t the same smile he gives you.

You lean against your bedroom door as it shuts. Your eyes sting with unshed tears and the aching pressure between your legs is long gone, but the evidence of it sticks to your panties. Ignoring it, you hop onto your bed and fling yourself against your lush pillows, and the rest of the morning is spent with you staring at the tv screen overthinking every interaction you ever had with the man responsible for your turmoil, and fall asleep with frustration seeping through your veins.

When you come to, early afternoon you think, the ache in your pussy is too much to ignore and you cum with Bucky’s name a sigh from your ecstasy. It’s the first time you do. 

–

“You look…better.”

“Thank you.”

“So what was the trick?”

I masturbated thinking about my best friend. “Training. With Bucky.”

That gets her eyebrows rising up as she ahhh’s at you. “How are things between the two of you?”

“Good.” You feign. “Really good, actually.”

“Mhmmm.”

“I’m serious.”

“Just fuck already.”

“Wanda—”

“Seriously, I’m getting pretty sick of watching you mope around like this. You’ve got to talk to him.”

You sigh through your nose, throwing your head back against the couch cushion. “I know.” You groan. “It’s just—I don’t know how, you know? I mean, what if this ruins our entire friendship? I can’t…I can’t live with that.”

Wanda purses her lips and rubs your shoulder comfortably. “I know,” she coos. “But don’t think you’ll feel better getting it off your chest? How do you know that he doesn’t feel the same way?”

A pause. “No.” Yes. Another pause. “And no.” One more.  “How did this happen?” 

She understands what you mean when you say it in a whine. She opens her mouth and is about to reply when—

“Did what happen?”

You freeze, eyes going wide as Wanda stares back in equal horror; you also detect the glint in her green eyes that spells nothing but trouble for you. 

“She just agreed to have a movie night with Vis and I. My pick, which she’s still sulking about.” She throws in, so casually that you’re kind of surprised and impressed. “We were just talking about asking you to join us.”

You should’ve seen this coming. Really, you should have. It pisses you off. 

‘Calm down.’ Her voice whispers in your head, a skill she’s been working on. ‘I’m sorry, but this is for your own good.’

“Yeah?” Bucky says, all rich honey. “When?”

You roll your lips and force a smirk as you turn towards him. “Tonight, around nine.” If she was going to force you into this and pick the movie, you wanted to at least have some control over this situation. 

His eyes meet yours and the crinkles around them washes away the annoyance that was starting to build. He nods while shoving his hands into his jeans pockets and grins towards Wanda. 

“Alright. Pick a good movie, would ya?”

Wanda laughs. “I will!”

Your fingers twinkle in a wave as Bucky awkwardly waves back. Once you’re sure he’s gone and out of earshot, you nudge Wanda’s leg with your foot. “What the hell was that?” You hiss. 

“Oh hush,” she clicks her tongue. “I just gave you an opportunity, and who knows maybe something good will happen, and you’ll be thanking me after you fuc—”

“Alright alright I get it!” You stop her, a part of you still scared that anyone will just waltz in and hear. “I’ll stop complaining under one condition.”

“Okay.” She says suspiciously with narrowed eyes. 

“I get to pick the movie.”

—

Your legs hurt. 

Curled up crookedly under your blanket, back at an awkward angle as you stare at the moving faces and listen to the screams as they run through the forest. 

The Blair Witch Project has always been one of your favorites, and you figure there’s no sex, no nudity, nothing that could put you in a weird position with the man you can’t stop thinking about sitting right next to you on the plushy loveseat. Yeah, why not?

But of course, Wanda had to be Wanda, and insisted that the two of you lounge on the small couch while her and Vision take over the other, bigger one. As if they needed the space. 

Bucky, although, doesn’t seem to sense your discomfort, and if he does he’s kept quiet about it. He seems just as stiff as you are, but more relaxed and attentive. 

It’s been almost an hour of this. 

There’s a little giggle from the couple to your left, and when you look over you see Wanda putting her finger to her lips, shushing Vision as she holds in more of her laughter. 

Glad she’s having fun. 

Stop it. You’re doing this to yourself. 

You let out a soft sigh and shuffle to your right, closer to Buck as you gingerly uncurl your legs and sit them criss cross. Much better. You can pay attention to the movie better now that you’re more comfortable, so lost in the panic on the screen that you don’t hear him move but rather feel the brush of his thigh against your knee. 

Once you realize it you decide to ignore the onslaught of the electric shock rushing through your core—it’s embarrassing that a touch of his leg of all things gets you going. 

Bang!

You gasp and jump, gripping onto the first thing your flying hands find. It happens to be Bucky, naturally. 

“Sorry!” Wanda whispers yells. 

You roll your eyes with a loud, annoyed sigh and settle back into the loveseat. Your hands still grip onto his bicep, and it’s his subtle clear of the throat that brings your attention to it.

“Sorry.” You flinch and let go of him. 

“It’s okay.” He sounds off, a little dejected. 

You’re about to over analyze it—because that’s what you do best—when Bucky scooches closer to you and hands his arm up to rest on the back of the couch, the tips of his fingers barely reaching your shoulder. Willing yourself to relax and focus, you don’t notice the side glances he’s throwing you or the hushed whispers of your friend, who is no longer paying attention to the movie at all, but rather at you and Bucky. 

“We’re gonna turn in.” Wanda announces. 

Your mouth opens in a small o as you stare at her in disbelief. “Are you sure?” It’s hard to hide the plea. “It’s almost at the end!”

Vision gives you an apologetic shrug and mouths ‘sorry’ as Wanda drags him away by his hand. “Yeah, we’re sure. Don’t have too much fun without me!” Her accent thrums with pure tease and you can only blubber like an idiot while watching them disappear to their room. 

“Well,” Bucky sighs and shifts lower until he’s more comfortable. “Just us.”

“Hm.”

You don’t mean to sound so annoyed. You can tell it hurts his feelings because his arm moves back to his side, effectively putting more space between you. Your heart clenches at the fact that you’re the one doing this, no one else, and seeing him now, eyebrows furrowed and teeth gnawing at his bottom lip as his leg starts to bounce anxiously, makes you feel even worse. 

“I think I’m going to bed, too.” Bucky says. 

He stands up before you can say something, though you’re not exactly sure what you want to say to him; there’s so much and your brain is in too much of a scramble of self wallowing and fear that it’s hard to put them coherently together. 

“Goodnight.” He doesn’t say your name, or give you your smile. An awkward wave and heavy steps is all you get, and when they become more faint do you curse yourself and fight the stupid tears clogging your throat as you sit there in the dark. 

–

It’s been a week since that night. 

Wanda, much to your relief, has left you alone about Bucky, but you know with every look when he enters the room that she’s still thinking about it; still scolding you for not taking the leap of faith into what could lead to so much more.  To be honest, you don’t blame her; you’d be doing the same if you knew she’d be happy. 

This time it’s so bad that the rest of the team starts to notice yours and Bucky’s sudden thrift. Steve, bless him, has been the most frequent next to Wanda. 

“You know you can tell me anything Buck,” Steve’s voice rang through the empty room. 

This was the night after the movie incident. Restless once again, you decided to punch out your feelings and frustrations at two in the morning with the hope that you would be alone. You almost walked in on them, not paying attention, when you heard him. 

“I know.” Bucky said. “But I’m telling you, it’s not going to happen. There’s nothing there.”

Your heart leapt in your chest and your stomach dropped. Somehow, you knew they were talking about you. 

“What do you mean?” Steve asked; you imagine he did so while crossing his arms.

A bang, followed by a grunt. “Nothing. Just as I said it.”

A stab deep in your heart with a jagged edge made your knees nearly buckle. 

“Buck—“

“Listen punk,” Bucky interrupted. “I know you’re just looking out for me and I appreciate it, but I don’t want to…I want—“

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” FRIDAY interjects robotically. “But I’m afraid Rogers has a call waiting for him and it’s very urgent.”

You heard Steve sigh and something moved or fell, but you hurried away before you could get caught. 

Ever since, you can’t get those words out of your head. They play over and over like a broken record, chasing you to insanity. 

Why oh why did FRIDAY have to say something?

It was like a sign from the universe itself. Whether it was good or bad, you weren’t quite sure yet.

Tonight is a particularly warm night, which you’re not complaining about, especially with Stark’s AC. It looks to be another night of staring blankly into space until you get tired of that; covers thrown haphazardly across the room, cool air breezing against your bare skin, a new set of dark bags under your eyes brewing. A typical night for you. 

This time you debate on whether you should move. It’s getting old, just sitting here but you’re too afraid of running into—well into anyone at this point. You just don’t think you have the energy for it. 

So you decide on sitting by your window and watching the cars drive by, lights flashing through the busy city. Count the stars that barely shine through in the dark sky, too many city lights blocking out the natural brightness. Finally, after several long and agonizing minutes, you throw on a pair of shorts and quietly open the door, peering at the hallways to the best of your ability without any light with ears straining to detect any type of sound no matter big or small, and once you’re satisfied that you’re alone you close the door and blink. 

Where to this time?

You could try the training room again, but the last time makes you hold out on that. The living room maybe? Kitchen? Game room? 

Suddenly it hits you, and you want to wack yourself on the head for not thinking of this sooner. Quickly tiptoeing back to your room, you grab the fluffiest blanket you own and wrap it around yourself. 

You usually prefer taking the elevator up, too lazy for the stairs, but it’s too late for that so, stairs it is. Thankfully, it’s not that many flights and when the first breeze of fresh, cool air hits your skin you immediately sigh and inhale deeply. The night is filled with miscellaneous noises of the common city, but after being here for so long you’re more than used to it. You can see the moon now, hiding behind slivers of a dark cloud, and to your right a gruff, 

“What’re you doing up here?”

It’s not unwelcoming, just a question out of curiosity. You turn to him, shocked to find him up here. 

“Uh.” You drawl, mouth hanging open as you think of something to say. “Well—well I…” Why is this so hard?

“Why are you up here?” You ask instead, wrapping the blanket tighter around you. 

Bucky shifts in the lawn chair—a cheap brand that creaks a little under his weight—and offers you a timid smile. “Don’t you remember?”

You shuffle through your memories, trying to understand the meaning behind his question. He’s patient with you, even shuffling deeper into his stance as you stare quizzically at him. What the fuc––oh. Oh you know what he’s talking about now. 

“Oh Jesus Bucky I’m––” you run a palm over your face in shame. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to say sorry for,” he assures you. 

But you do. You do because he’s your friend, one of your best friends even, and with all of this going on, he deserves to have a good friend. 

So it makes you feel terrible that you forgot the quite frankly huge significance of this roof, and even more specifically the very spot he’s sitting in right now; this is where he goes when he has nightmares. When he wants to be alone. This is where your friendship started. 

You had snuck up to the roof in the middle of one of Tony’s parties, clad in a simple short blue dress and an armful of drinks and snacks for yourself. 

It wasn’t that you weren’t having fun, you were never one to turn down a good party. But that night you had just wanted a little alone time, and the roof was one of your sanctums of escape from the world and its responsibilities. 

Balancing everything awkwardly and praying that you wouldn’t have to bend down and pick any of them up, you finally twisted and pushed the door unceremoniously. 

It should’ve banged against something with the amount of force you excurted—out of pure annoyance—but instead it was stopped by flashy, shiny fingers, curled against the rim of the door with quiet clicks. 

“Fuck!” You gasped. “I’m sorry, didn’t know anyone was up here.”

Bucky stared down at you wearily, eyes full of surprise and wonder as he eyed you up and down, particularly taking in the overflowing variousity of items in your arms.     

“Yeah,” he grunted. “Just needed…to get away for a moment.”

At this point you already knew how Bucky was with large crowds; you didn’t blame him for coming here, especially on warm summer nights such as this. 

“Yeah,” you repeated. “Me too.” You looked down at your feet, shifting your weight. “Do you… would you like to join me?”

He froze. The blood to your cheeks was prominent, you could feel that from the heat of it. You shifted again, lifting a foot to help shove a box back into your arms.

“Okay.”

You smiled then, bright and toothy. “Here,” Bucky said, reaching for the snacks. “Let me get that.”

That night was filled with nothing but small talk and laughter, and it was one of the best nights of your life in a long, long time. From then on, you and Bucky grew closer and closer until you started to dream about riding his cock until he screamed your name and you started to push him away. 

“Buck.” You sigh, shaking the perverted thoughts away. 

“Just come here,” he says, reaching his hand out. “I want you to see something.”

You hesitate, but only for a split second before you find yourself walking towards him. His eyes, grey tonight, bare deep into yours like he’s trying to see into your soul; to figure you out, more likely.

Once you’re within hand’s reach he gently tugs at your blanket and your heart skips a beat at the sheer…domestically of such a minuscule motion. He tugs again, gesturing with a tilt of his head to the armrest. 

“That chair is gonna break as soon as I sit on it.” You argue. 

“It’s not,” he defends gently. 

He still senses your hesitance and clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “Can I—?” He scrunches his eyebrows and carefully wraps his arm around your waist, guiding you to the left side of him. You let him guide your body until you’re half seated on his lap, legs practically curled over his thighs while his arm stays wrapped around you. 

The heat from his body is searing, even through the extra layers of fluff you have on you. His breath ghosts over your cheek, casting a whiff of something sweet and minty on his breath. The hard, metal muscles dig into your back, although not uncomfortably, but enough for you to have to fight the urge to rub your thighs together at the thought of his arm tightening around you as he pounds into you—

“Look up.” He suddenly whispers in your ear, husky and deep. It causes a delectable shiver to run down your body and your pussy clenches around nothingness. 

Keep it together. 

Bucky must mistake it as you being cold because he pulls you tighter against him, which for you only makes it harder to control your thoughts. Your heart pounds and your ankles cross to try and relieve the increasing pressure growing in your pussy; thank goodness you brought your blanket out here. 

You finally muster your eyes to follow his pointed finger and squint. “What am I looking at?”

He shifts a little more to the left. Closer to you. “There.”

You try to ignore the way his words literally hit your lips. A brush of his breath that feels like an imprint on your pink flesh and gets your mouth watering; you start to wonder what he tastes like. 

“That?” You stick your hand out to the pointed stars. 

“You know what that is?”

Your eyebrows furrow as you think. You’re not an expert in astronomy by no means, but you took a few classes back in the day, and somehow this piece of information resonates high and mighty in your memories. 

“No.” You say before you can stop yourself. 

He smiles again, that toothy smile that you love. “Cygnus. The swan, I believe. Mostly comes out during summer months and it forms this triangle,” he traces the stars. “See?”

And that is why you said no. The way he describes it, giddy and excited because he learned something new and he’s telling you…you hate yourself even more for the way you’ve been trying to avoid him. 

“It’s beautiful.” You murmur. 

Bucky hums in agreement. Your eyes scan for any more constellations, but you can feel him staring at you. You want to look down, your neck is even starting to strain from it, but you just… 

He says your name. It comes out a whisper, and he sounds… scared. You slowly, very slowly, look down and find a swirl of gray and blue. Facing him like this makes you realize you’re closer to him than you thought; tilt your head a little down and you’d be kissing him. 

As if he read your mind, he licks his lips and, unconscious or not, you start to lean forward. 

This is it.

Bucky’s leaning up and holy shit you’re about to—

“Hey, lovebirds!”

The both of you jump and turn towards the intrusion, you with shock and Bucky, a murderous glare. Both his arms are around you, as if to shield you from the outsider. 

“Emergency meeting.” Tony smirks. “I don’t like it either but,” he shrugs. “Duty calls. Let’s go.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches out of your peripheral vision, and you find yourself filled with the same agitation because fuck you were so fucking close. 

“We should go.” You tell him, like it’s not obvious that the moment is already ruined. 

“Yeah.” Bucky grits out.

You miss the safety of his arms as soon as you leave them. 

–

This time you find him on purpose. 

You start by going to his room. It’s late, but not too late this time. You knock softly against the door once, then twice and wait. 

“Bucky?” You call out softly. 

A sharp, defined meow answers you back from the otherside. You grin and give the knob a try, twisting it open slowly as you glance around the room. 

“Buck?” You try again. 

Alpine, Bucky’s white feline, greets you with a purr and rubs against your legs. You bend down with a coo and pick him up, scratching his head as he closes his eyes and continues to purr. 

“Where’s your daddy?” You whisper to the cat.

He meows like he understands you, making you chuckle. The cool floor feels nice against your bare feet this time, a nice contrast to the heat flaring through the summer air. Alpine settles himself in your arms as you search for Bucky. Everything is quiet, no signs of anyone up and moving around, and you start to wonder if Bucky is up on that roof again when you walk by the kitchen. There’s a dark figure by the corner of your eye, but you don’t register it until Alpine starts squirming and you do a double take. 

“Hey.” You put Alpine down. 

Bucky nods at you and follows Alpine with his eyes as the cat rubs up against his owner, adding an arch to his spine. 

“I was looking for you.” You explain when Bucky doesn’t say anything. 

“Hmm.” He hums nonchalantly. 

You nod, because you don’t know what you want to say now that you have him and twindle your fingers together. This is… a lot harder than you expected it to be. 

“Soo,” you start out. “How… are you?”

He shrugs. “‘M alright.”

Okay. You got that out of the way. Now let’s—  

“Let’s go to my room.” 

He’s whizzing past you before you can even blink, Alpine in tow. It takes you a moment before your muscles move and you’re following him. Your heart thuds wildly against your ribcage and you take a deep breath when his door comes into view. 

Bucky has always been in a state between organized and messy. Most days you can’t even call it an organized mess, it’s more separate if you can make any sense of it. You’re reminded of this as soon as you walk in, stepping over a t-shirt and combat boots. “Sorry, sorry.” Bucky mumbles as he quickly ducks down to pick them up. The rest of his room is about the same, but it’s not too bad to make a big deal of. 

“Can’t really sleep.” He offers an explanation. 

“Ah.” You nod. “You got my problem now.”

He smirks mischievously and it shamefully sends a wave of blazing arousal through your body, ending at the pulsing ache quivering in need. 

“It seems I do, doll.”

Is this—is this a double entendre? Is Bucky messing with you right now? Enjoying the way you’re trembling with a hold that’ll give everything away? 

If so, he’s doing a fantastic job.

“So,” you clear the lodge in your throat. “S-so do you want to, uh, train? Like last time?” Okay, that might not be such a good idea—you won’t be able to control yourself then, you’re positive of it—but you genuinely do want to help him, so you’re willing to fight your animalistic pulses for the sake of your friend. No that—that doesn’t sound right. Just calling him your friend. Now, it’s leaving a distaste in your mouth.   

He sits down on the edge of his bed—dark covers that match the aesthetics of his personality—and plants his elbows on his knees as he, dramatically you have to add, thinks thoughtfully with a slight pout to his perfect lips. 

“Push ups.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “Alright?”

“But I’m gonna need a little help.”

He leans forward, just a bit more, and—and maybe it’s just your uncontrollable imagination—his eyes are dark and blown wide. 

Okay, your pussy is throbbing now, the pulse achingly worse in your clit. “O-okay.” You lick your dry lips. 

His smirk widens and stretches to put his cup onto his nightstand, making his shirt pull up, showing you a sliver of chiseled abs on his toned stomach. 

Holy fuck. You’re not going to make it. 

Bucky catches your eye before he gets down on the carpet, the muscles in his back straining deliciously and mouth watering as he stretches his legs out and holds himself up by his palms. 

“Sit on my back.”

“Wha—” You sputter with a slight giggle. “What just…just sit on you?”

“On my back, yes.” Bucky teases and glances up at you. “It’ll tire me out faster.”

It makes sense. Logically. And he does have more of an immunity than most. But you just can’t help but feel that this is part of a game of his, thinking of any and every way to torture you and watch you squirm in your helpless state. 

You’re silent as you take short steps towards his crouched form and place a hand steadily on his broad shoulder. You check on his face, still as lucid and beautiful as ever, and carefully settle your weight atop his. 

“Good?” You ask. 

“Yes, so you can relax sweetheart.” He says without a strain. So you do as he says, sitting more comfortably on him and crossing your legs. 

He bends his elbows and leans down, your fingers automatically gripping his shirt to gain more balance, and pushes himself back up at a steady pace, barely a noise coming from him. Each time he moves you feel his muscles stretch and tighten beneath you; you have to bite your lip to stop from digging your nails into his skin.  

Alpine watches as Bucky continues the workout, all the while you’re sitting on him wondering just what you’re supposed to do other than sit here, anything to clear your head and appease the burning ache coursing through you.

“Say something.” He grunts.

“Like what?” You scoff despite yourself. 

“I don’t know, talk about anything.” Up, down. A heavy breath. “Count for me then.”

“I don’t know how much you’ve done already.”

“Ten.” He answers immediately. Up. Down. “Eleven.” Up. Down. “Tw—“

“Twelve.” You interject with a mimicking tone. “Thirteen…fourteen…fifteen…sixteen…”

Up. Down. You highly doubt he’s even breaking a sweat right now as your body hobbles on the muscles of steel. Up. Down. A tick, sounds like from a watch, sounds lowly in the room, but to you it sounds like it’s echoing loudly through your ears. Up. Down. You need to tell him. Up. Down. 

“Alp,” Bucky sighs annoyingly. 

You look over and see the white glob bend its head down by Bucky’s wrist, and when Bucky leans down the cat boops his nose against his and sits. 

“Oh no, c’mon.” Bucky complains. “Move.”

He tries to sweep Alpine away with one arm but you’re moving too, not holding on to him and when he leans most of his weight onto his left side, your body goes with it. 

“Woah!” Your hands fly wildly as you attempt to grab onto something. That something happens to be soft and you mistake it for his shirt and pull. 

“Hey—shitmhm!”

You freeze. He does too. 

Did that…did that just happen? 

The air is thick, so fucking thick, you’re not sure if you can breathe properly under the weight of it. 

Now what the fuck do you say?

“Um are you—” you’re breathless, like you’ve been the one doing the push ups. “Are you okay?”

He still keeps his stance, Alpine long gone by now towards his bed most likely. You don’t care about that right now. All you can think about is how his arms flex as he keeps you up and how you can see his jaw tick; it shouldn’t turn you on, but that groan does nothing to help you as it echoes through the air silently. 

“Buc—”

There’s a tug on your calf and suddenly the room is a blur. You feel yourself being pulled down and flipped onto your back, and again you brace yourself for impact but it’s—it’s just the soft carpet, and he’s leaning over you, legs between his now open ones with a dangerous look in his eyes that you can’t tear away from. A bead of sweat dribbles down the tip of his nose until it drips down onto your cheekbone, but that’s not even enough to break the spell you’re currently in. It breaks Bucky’s, however, because he curses and wipes the small line from your cheek and wipes the front of his face with an open palm. 

You should say something. A word. Just something. He turns back to you and just…looks at you. And you look back. Breaths mix together, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and there’s a battle waging in his mind, you can see that in his eyes; they’re barely recognizable now, no blue or gray. 

“Can I kiss you?”

It takes you a second to register what he said. It’s soft, so fucking quiet and gentle that it pierces straight through your heart. Your stomach erupts in nerves and your legs tighten together on their own accord, pussy fluttering at the question. 

Bucky waits patiently, never once moving a muscle. You lick your lips and that’s when he moves, a flicker of his eyes and a part of his lips. 

You don’t answer him with words. You don’t think you can trust your voice enough to. Don’t think at all, actually. Instead you nod and wait with baited breath as he nods back, leisurely, and starts to lean in. It’s tentative, careful but eager. You never take your eyes off his, only when you feel the soft press of his lips against yours do you indulge yourself. 

The kiss starts off slow. Barely even a kiss, just lips against lips. You crane your neck up and back a little and press harder against him, making him moan softly in the back of his throat and shit that’s one of the most beautiful sounds you ever heard; you need to hear more of it. 

Sensing your eagerness, he presses back and kisses you like you’re sure he did back in the 40’s, slinging every gal and wooing them with just a wink of an eye. His tongue traces the outline of your bottom lip and you open your mouth with a gasp, inviting his curious tongue into your warm crevasse. He sighs at the taste of you, swirling his tongue with yours in a fight you know he’ll win. Your hands lift up and wrap around his shoulders, pushing him down on to you. He presses down on your knee and you spread your legs for him to settle in between.

“Why—” He breaks the kiss, a string of saliva connected to your lips trailing along as you whine from the loss. “Why did we wait so long to do that?”

You giggle, deep and low and he joins in with his own, harmonizing perfectly. “I don’t know,” you say. “That’s sorta my fault, I guess. I just—” you look away shyly. 

Bucky places two fingers underneath your chin, prompting you to look at him. “Didn’t want to risk our friendship.” He finishes for you. 

You nod. Your chest feels lighter now, a new sense of…of an increasing, raw excitement growing inside you. He must feel the same way, too, because he swoops back in for another kiss that’s all teeth and tongue. Your arms flex as you hold him still, running your hand up the nape of his neck and into his locks, gripping a handful of it to stable yourself. Bucky moans again and drops his hips into yours, where you feel the hardening outline of his cock through his sweatpants, grinding purposefully against yours. 

“Bucky,” you gasp, moaning when his lips trail down your jaw and stop at your neck. 

“I’m so sorry we ever waited this long,” he groans into the skin, planting a kiss on your rapid pulse. “You’re so fucking beautiful, малышка.

You don’t understand much Russian, but Bucky has been trying to teach you on and off and this one you understand; babygirl.

“Fuck.” You moan. He sucks a mark on your neck and bites down on it, making you whine and arch your back into him. He pushes back down, and his cock feels impossibly harder and you know he can feel your hot, dripping cunt, too. 

“Please,” you don’t know what you’re begging for. “I-I need…”

“What?” He asks sweetly. When you continue to sputter at him, he gives a hard thrust against your clothed cunt. 

“A-ah fuck.” You keen. 

“Tell me what you want.” He orders. “Tell me and I’ll give it to you. C’mon.”

It feels like you can’t breathe. He hasn’t even been inside you yet and you’re already on the edge, chest heaving and thighs quivering with the anticipation. 

Bucky suddenly drops down to his forearms, leaving a searing kiss that has you whimpering for more. “Want me to taste you?” He whispers huskily. “Like I dreamed?” His hands slide under your shirt, skimming against your sides. Your breath catches, caught in your throat as your skin breaks out in goosebumps. “Kiss that pretty pussy of yours? Fuck you with my fingers? Get you alll—“ He palms your breasts and pinches your nipple; you bite down on your lip hard, indents digging sharply through the tender flesh. “—nice and wet for my thick, fat cock? Would you like that, doll?”

Would you like that? You’d fucking kill for it. 

“Yes!” You moan loudly. “Oh please Bucky, please.” 

Bucky loves to see you beg. His dick twitches in response in his pants and you dig your nails into his back. 

“Okay baby,” he says against your open mouth. “Get on the bed for me, legs spread.”

You don’t hesitate as soon as he lifts off you. You crawl on the bed with shaky limbs and lay on your back on his pillow; it smells distinctly Bucky, filling your senses with fueled desire. 

Bucky looks at you like you’re fucking treasure. Like you’re the sun, the moon, everything to him, and it makes you blush and flutter under the intensity of it. You hold your arms out with a slight pout. 

“Please?”

He huffs a chuckle and reaches behind him to pull his shirt over his head. Your mouth waters at the beautiful specimen before you; you want to kiss the faint scars that littler his body. He pulls down his pants next but keeps his boxers on, the outline of his hard cock prominent and strained through the fabric; if it’s bothering him, he’s doing a pretty good job at hiding it. 

Bucky crawls towards you, slow and with a curve, like a predator capturing its prey. You reach out for him and grab his shoulders, pulling him towards you for a kiss. His lips, slightly chapped but otherwise soft, move against yours in perfect synchrony, as if your bodies are already so in tune with each other. He breaks the kiss, diving back to lick your top lip, and slides the palm of his hands back up under your shirt, this time pulling the fabric with him. You help him slide the shirt off and throw it casually across the room; your nipples perk under his wandering and trumpeting gaze. 

“Fuck, doll,” he whispers. 

Before you can react he leans down and envelopes your nipple in his mouth, tongue swirling around the perky bud. You gasp and hold his head to your chest while his hands grip down on your hips, hard enough to where you know there’s going to be bruises. He bites down on the bud, causing you to roll your hips against his and your toes to curl. 

“Bucky.” You whisper, just because he’s all you can see and feel and smell…

He lets go of your breast with a pop and trails his kisses down the valley between your breasts and to your stomach, stopping at the pant line. 

“Yes.” You say before he can ask. “Please, Bucky. I need you to touch me.”

“I already am, sweetheart.” He replies innocently. 

You don’t want to argue right now. “James.”

He laughs and dips his fingers inside the waistband, the cool metal making you shiver. “You know,” he says as he drags your pants down your legs at an agonizing pace. “I kinda like it when you say my name like that.”

You chuckle, but it comes out weird and without much air. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He bites your hip bone, making your hips jump and your pussy clench. “James.”

Keeping your eyes on him—somehow, you know that he wants you to keep watching him—Bucky licks the very same spot he just bit and catches his teeth on the lining of your panties, pulling back and tugging at the flimsy fabric. The act alone almost makes you cum. 

You moan lowly and lift your hips to help him pull them down your legs, kicking them off once they’re at your ankles. 

“Jesus.” He murmurs, his breath hot against your pussy; if it weren’t for his broad shoulders, you would’ve closed your legs to relieve the pressure. “You’re fucking dripping, baby. Did I do that to you?”

You swallow and open your mouth, but no words come out. It’s like your brain is short circuiting, cut off from oxygen. Bucky grimaces and slaps your thigh with his flesh hand, making you cry out. 

“Answer me.”

“Y-yes.” You stutter. “Fuck, Bucky yes, only you.”

He grins and kisses the top of your pubic mound, gripping your thighs tighter and scooching closer to the bed. “Gonna taste you.” He whispers, almost as if he was talking to himself rather than you. 

You wiggle your hips impatiently, waiting for him. You think he might slap you again if you continue moving, so you will yourself to relax and…and wait. Because he can’t stop fucking staring at you, and kissing everywhere but where you want him the most and it’s so frustrating you’re going to cry. 

“Pl-EASE!”

His hot, wet tongue slides up the strip of your folds and settles around your clit, circling the sensitive bundle. You preen into his mouth and clutch at the bedsheets, already writhing against him. He immediately throws an arm—his right one—over your lower stomach and pins your hips down, preventing you from moving an inch away or towards him; you’re completely under his will. 

Bucky explores the velvety slit of your pussy, humming all the while like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. The groans that are escaping you doesn’t sound like you, doesn’t feel like they’re coming from you, but they are and it finally catches up to you—James Buchannon Barnes, your friend, best friend, your co-worker, is eating your pussy like there’s no tomorrow. 

“Oh fu—” He nips carefully at your clit. You can’t focus. Not on your words, your surroundings, nothing but Bucky and the sensations he’s bring you. Every lick and suck on your pussy has you keening into his unbreakable hold, whining and clutching the sheets until you’re sure you’re going to tear right through them. This is too much, way too fucking much but you’re so close, so desperate for him, that you’ll—

He slurps lewdly and loudly, making you throw your head back and choke on a moan. “Bu-Bucky I—I need…”

He pulls back just slightly enough to say, “I know.” And he shifts, getting ready to switch arms. 

No. Oh no no no no. 

Your hand darts out and stops him. Gulping, you wordlessly place his flesh arm back on your stomach and reach for his metal fingers. Bucky’s eyes widen as soon as he figures it out and stares at you like you’ve just grown a second head. 

“R-really?” He asks indubely. “You want me to—Jesus baby you—fuck.”

“Please.” You whine. “I can take it.”

He—he snarls and buries his face back into your weeping pussy, attaching his lips around your clit. You gurgle out a low curse and feel his cold fingers prod at your gaping entrance. 

“You sure?” He asks cautiously. 

“If you don’t I will literally—OH!” One thick, wide finger breaches through your hole and slides into your cunt with ease, curling as soon as he’s knuckle deep. Your body spasms, like you’ve just been electrocuted, and your fingers curl in his hair. 

“Taste fucking delicious,” he begins to babble. “Sweet like candy. Nevr’ gonna get enough of it, doll, never.” He pumps his finger in and out of you, curling each time he slides back in, brushing up against your sweet spot. After a few pumps, he dips another in, stretching you. 

“Bucky I’m—” The coil in your lower stomach tightens, your pussy fluttering against his fingers painfully, but in a way that’s everything pleasurable. “Oh fuck I’m gonna c-cum.”

His lips are around your clit again, fingers pumping faster now to the point where you can hear the squelches from your cunt, and without any warning he sucks. Hard. 

“Fuckfuckfuck.” It comes out of you without preamble, mindless babbling that doesn’t even make sense at all. Your thighs cage his head, shaking and quivering as your orgasm approaches. “I’m g-go-gonna—” Your pussy clenches harshly around his thick digits and you’re gone. White flashes behind your eyelids, a numbness searing through your entire core as you shake and gush around his fingers, and a strange sound emanates through the room again; you don’t have to question who it is. 

Bucky works you through your release, moaning and lapping at everything you have to give him. Eventually you come down when it becomes too painful to bear and you push his head away from you. Giving your clit one last kiss that makes you whimper, he stands up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking down at you all the matter. 

“You did so good, baby.” He praises you; you shutter, legs jumping slightly as your body flexes. “Gonna let me fuck you? Huh, babygirl?”

You’ll let this man do anything to you. Your limbs feel like jello, but find enough strength to keep your legs open and open your arms invitingly to him. He makes a show of pulling his boxers down, your eyes following the patch of dark hair and bulges at the long, thick cock that slaps against the hard plains of his stomach, precum smearing from the red angry tip. Next time—and you really fucking hope there will be a next time—you’re going to put him in your mouth. 

“Like what you see?” There’s more of that cocky, playboy Bucky Barnes you’ve heard so much about. 

“Yes.” You answer honestly. “Kiss me.”

The bed shifts slightly and creaks under his weight as he crawls towards you and locks his lips with yours; you can still taste yourself on his lips, sweet and tangly. The tip of his head brushes against your clit as he lays down on top of you, hot and smearing more of his precum across your stomach. 

“Fuck me,” you moan into him. 

Bucky groans lowly and you reach down to grab his cock; it’s hot, thick enough to where your fingers don’t reach and pulsing in your hand. “Shit.” He hisses, hips stuttering in your grasp. 

Nex time, you’re going to tease him, too; give him a piece of his own medicine. You would now, but this has been a long time coming and you’re tired of waiting, so you line him up at your entrance and keep your hand on him as he slowly pushes in. 

He moans your name the same time you moan his, looking down to watch himself sink into your warm depths. He stops when he’s balls deep, and you feel so full that you’re positive the tip of him is about near your cervix. 

“Bucky.” You wiggle beneath him. “Move.”

“I got you, princess.” He croaks. “I got you.”

Pushing himself down on his forearms, Bucky pulls out painfully slow, his dick already wet and slick with your juices, and pushes back in. You roll your hips into his thrusts, taking him deeper. Every single muscle in his body flexes under your touch as you wrap your arms around his back, rolling into you with perfect thrusts that hits a spot deep inside you. You're too wired, too engrossed with the fact that it’s him, that your still overly sensitive pussy clenches around his cock. 

“Baby,” his voice presses sweet and deep in his throat as he gasps. “I’m not—fuck I’m sorry I-I’m not—”

“It’s okay.” You tell him breathlessly, pressing your forehead against his and giving his lips a quick peck. “Just fuck me, Bucky. Use me, like I’ve dreamed of.”

Bucky chokes, eyes wild and neck red, and pulls almost all the way out until the tip is barely in and thrusts back in harshly. You cry out and dig your nails into his bare skin, leaving angry marks in their wake. He grabs your leg and hitches it over his hip, bringing his arm back down to wrap around you. 

“You ever touch yourself thinking about me, doll?” He grits. “Huh? Have you?” 

How—oh Jesus fuck how are you supposed to answer that when he’s fucking you so deep that you can barely remember your own name. Your pussy clenches in answer to what he already knows, and that gets him to grind down at you; the curls of his hair brush heavenly against your clit. “Yeah, you have, haven’t you?”

Pleasure rips through as his hips meet your harder and faster, the slap of skin against skin becoming louder and louder, as is your cries, but you don’t care if the whole fucking world hears you. 

“You’re tight,” he gasps, closing his eyes. “How are you s-so fucking—fuck tight?”

You don’t know if he really wants you to answer that, but the only thing you can do is bring him down to kiss you again, clashing teeth as you moan and cling to him. He breaks the kiss and buries his head in the crook of your neck, breathing heavily. His arms slide back down to grope your ass cheeks and lift your lower half up to meet more of his heavy and hurried thrusts. 

“I’m not going to last much longer,” he warns you in a moan. 

You kiss his neck while your hand slides down his back to grope at his ass—as if you can push him even more deeper inside of you—and you lick his earlobe, tugging at the end with your teeth until he shivers. 

“I want you to cum,” you whisper seductively in his ear. “Sergeant, please.”

Sergeant. Sergeant. You have no idea where it came from, but as soon as the words leave your mouth he growls and starts to plow you, fingers digging into your flesh as his hips snap into yours. 

“Shit. Oh fuck babygirl I can—I can’t.” His rhythm falters, your pussy fluttering and clenching around him, trying to get his cock to say within you after each delicious drag against your walls. He whines—a pitiful, deep whine that resonates throughout the shocked nerves—and you can’t—

“I’m cumming.” You manage to break out. “B-buck—fuck.”

Your ankles cross around his waist, and it takes his teeth in your neck to have you cry out onto the ceiling as your pussy pulses around him, sucking him in and clenching until your muscles feel spent and sore. 

“Oh God,” Bucky whimpers and it sends another wave through you, making him sputter and choke as his hips slam into you unevenly. “Shit shit, fuck.”

“Please baby.” You encourage softly. “Cum.”

He abruptly pulls out, your protest lodged in your throat as you feel the hot, thick ropes of cum spurt out onto your stomach. 

“Fuck, fuck.” Bucky continues to gasp, his hand flying to his weeping cock and fisting it. 

You moan as a few more land on your chest, painting your body with his pearly white cum; you know it’s over when he starts to slump. Without a second thought, he pushes back into you. “Bucky.” You can only say in slight confusion and pain.

“Sorry, I’m sorry I just—“ he winces as his hips connect with yours again. “—just wanna feel ya. Too good.” He slurs. 

He kisses you then, slow and unhurried unlike earlier. This kiss says so much more in its language, lost in the dance of your lips. He trails his lips up to your forehead and places the softest and faintest of kisses there before settling on your chest. 

You hum and rub his back soothingly. You’re both sweaty and sticky—Bucky doesn’t seem to mind this fact as he presses himself closer to you—and your body is satisfyingly numb and exhausted. Finally exhausted for what seems like ages. 

Once the haze evaporates from your mind, questions start flying: what does this mean for you and Bucky now? When and how do you tell the others? What does this mean for missions? What does—?  

“Stop thinking.” Bucky mumbles, voice covered by the breast he’s laid his head on. “Too loud.”

He’s right. This time, it can wait. 

You smile and whisper an apology, snuggling deeper into the hug. You try to get comfortable, but the sticky evidence is drying uncomfortably on your skin. 

“Bucky,” you sigh. “We gotta shower.”

You feel his nose squint. “Few more minutes.”

You fall asleep before those few minutes are up.

Tags: @scarlett-berserker​, @justlovetoreadfics​, @lil-baby27​, @mando-vibes​, @beepbeepyabitch, @that-void-witch​, @im-the-music-whore​, @certifiedhunter​, @softpedropascal​, @domino-oh-damn​​, @okaydacre​, @lemongrove​, @appreciating-chase-brody, @iwontforgettheapplepie, @mybabyboytony​, @olyamoriarty, @pcrushinnerd​, @elusive-ivory​, @dizzydazed​, @bluejeancntrygrl​, @dadzawas-eyebags​, @moonstruck-witchy @our-mrlangdon, @parody-the-emi​, @evalynanne​, @purplewaterbird​, @vikingqueen28​, @tedpicklez​, @blunt-cake-yes​, @agoldin​, @lustriix​, @readsalot73​, @kateb013​, @eupphoriaaa​, @imalovernotahater​, @everything-lost-and-unsaid​, @dlmafa1, @hoodedbirdie​, @drunkenliterary, @fioccodineveautunnale​​, @fangirlfree​, @amarvelousmandalorian​, @ironheart-hanako​, @sando-rann, @meganoid1997​, @adikaofmandalore​, @cahooter​, @charliepeaceout, @dreamgirl-67, @phoenixhalliwell​, @acrylics-and-sunshine​, @sunkissed-winter​

[hawksugarbaby]

Shinso x reader - Burning sensation

Fluff

Every morning at 7:00 you would meet shinso outside your dorm to head to school "Hey Hitoshi how ya doin this mornin" you asked sideling up to the boy who you had gotten to know quite well through your walks too and from school, and your time in class, and lunch, and training after school, you were never really away from each other actually. He took comfort in the time you spent together and you enjoyed talking to him and being his friend. It was pretty understandable why he didn't want to be friends, to begin with, but there was no way in hell you were letting the boy go through 3 years of school without any friends! So you made it your own personal mission to change his mind about you, and you were pretty chuffed when he actually stopped pushing you away yep this boat was firmly tied to the dock now. "I'm fine just tired" he was always tired.

The gleaming white windows of your school came into view lighting up the area around it like a child shining a magnifying glass on a bunch of tiny ants swarming to their colony. You nudged his side with your elbow getting his attention "SO I heard someone is getting transferred into the hero course next year!" you were so proud of him! This was his dream come true and he was finally getting his big opportunity "yeah it's pretty crazy" it was true he was more than thrilled to be joining the hero course but he felt like he was betraying you in some way, you should be in there with him! You were just as powerful if not more than he was. It didn't feel right leaving you "I can't believe it Hitoshi! I'm so happy for you, we should go get ice cream later to celebrate!" you walked through the door together weaving through the other people dotted around the corridor to reach your own classroom tucked away at the end . the thought hadn't even crossed your mind about how lonely you would be without Hitoshi, and it was coming up for the end of the year, you would have to cherish your time more than ever. "Ice cream sounds nice."

Th day went on rather uneventfully, thankfully it was lunch now so food was on the top of your mind "what should I get today?" you asked your lavender friend, you were determined to have everything on the menu at least once before you left school, you had quite a few options to go "what about a cappuccino and the udon?" it was pretty lucky he was keeping track of what you had and hadn't got yet otherwise you would never get close to finishing the challenge "you just want my cappuccino huh" you stepped up to the counter and ordered your food and drink which was ready in a flash thanks to lunch rush (give the dude some credit he does lunch for that entire school every day!) "maybe" he gave a lopsided grin and you rolled your eyes.

you both set off for a table near the back where you usually sat when a green-haired boy waving his arm caught your eye "hey Hitoshi is that one of your new classmates" you questioned gesturing to the freckled boy who was frantically trying to get his attention "oh yeah that's midoriya" he brushed off the topic and continued off to your table "hey wait you should go sit with them!" you called after the boy who groaned and span round his purple locks dangled in front of his eyes blocking his view fully but he could tell you weren't gonna let him leave. "but... why?" "because they're your classmates silly come on" you pulled him over to the table much to his dismay "h-hey shinso do you want to sit with us?" midoriya asked and everyone else at the table eyed him up like a flock of vultures inspecting there pray "can (y/n) sit too?" wait no what you weren't in that class why would you sit there? That was like... the top dog table right? "Of course!" oh well oh kay then guess you were one with the big leagues now. "Hi it's nice to meet you, I'm ururaka" she introduced herself with a big grin, you noticed she was holding her juice with 4 fingers and had pink pads in the middle of her fingertips "I'm (l/n) nice to meet you too" you sat down next to Hitoshi excited to make some new friends, maybe if you liked them he would like them more.

"So you and shinso are really good friends huh?" you nodded as you took a sip of your cappuccino and ultimately decided it was one of the less amazing things on the menu "yeah he's like my best friend and I'm pretty much his emotional support dog" you giggled and handed off the warm, bitter drink to him which he was more than happy to take off your hands "in all honesty she should be the one joining your class, daughter of the number 2 hero couldn't cut the hero programme" he teased and everyone else gasped "YOUR DAD IS HAWKS!" yep it was true you were the daughter of the number 2 hero hawks and someone else?? Mum didn't stick around long, your quirk was a little HOT TO HANDLE (roll with it) "what's your quirk! Can you show us!" midoriya begged from across the table which Hitoshi was not happy about he didn't like it when people gave you more attention than he did "um no I definitely cannot show you! But I can tell you what it iss" you sang and the boy grabbed a pencil and notepad out his bag "uh it's called Pheonix I have retractable wings... made of blue fire... and I can fly and shoot the feathers and I have the feather blades like dad and all that jazz" "she also has the same dumb personality" Hitoshi added and you gasped looking at him hurt "don't talk about my dad like that he loves you" he did actually like Hitoshi a surprising amount and you were pretty convinced he shipped you like a 15-year-old girl watching 2 boys in an anime about superheroes (-_-)

"But if your dad is the number 2 hero how come you aren't in the hero course" ouch. You gripped your chopsticks harshly "some bitch thought it would be funny to knock me out during the entrance exam and it was too late to get me in by recommendation" the chopsticks snapped splintering off into a bunch of smaller pieces. The lively nature of the cafe suddenly turned to one of concern when 2 mini puffs of thick smoke filtered out from the back of your blazer blanketing the roof and the smell of burning fabric infiltrated your noses "your burning" Hitoshi said from beside you "OH sorry sorry I didn't notice" you said and started to calm yourself down by stealing Hitoshi's lemonade "you must be upset about having to be in different classes after the new year" the boy with the bird head said. Well yeah but he wouldn't be leaving you completely, you opened your mouth to speak but before you could start Hitoshi started "I don't intend on letting her go half a year alone in that class, either she moves up or I go back down" he grit his teeth at the thought of you being alone in that class by yourself, and if it meant he had to give up his dream of being in the hero course he would. You smiled and then sighed when you realised you couldn't finish your udon since your chopsticks had transformed into toothpicks.

Ah yes, finally the end of the day. You and Hitoshi walked out of the nicely air-conditioned school into the dry blistering heat of the outside world "oh god whyyy" you cried and shook your fist at the sun then immediately regretted it as a bunch of white spots danced around in your eyes (FUN FACT THOSE ARE CALLED PHOSPHENES. Y'know, like phosphor) "so ice cream" you stumbled around trying to your friends and jumped when he put his hands on the back of your shoulders "just keep walking dummy" he said and you did so until you gained your sight back. "It's such a hot day this is evil" you crossed your arms angrily as you made your way to your house since you had decided to get changed before you got ice cream so that the sweltering heat didn't melt you both to a puddle of sweat and ew (THAT'S WHAT I'M GOING WITH OKAY).

"HEY DAD ARE YOU HOME?" you shouted into the house and a little red feather shot down to where you were standing "I'LL TAKE THAT AS A YES THEN" you and shinso wandered up to your room dumping your bags with an audible thud "crop top and jeans?" you asked holding up your clothes and showing them off to Hitoshi "sure why not," he said and pulled out the bag of clothes in the bottom of your wardrobe that you kept there for him. "Vest and shorts?" he held up the clothes and you nodded and he descended down the hall to the bathroom waving to your dad as he went past. It was such a perfect day, it was too good to be overthinking little things like clothes or how lonely you would be without Hitoshi or what he meant when he said when he wasn't leaving you behind or how he really felt about you or- "how's my chicklet?" (hawk's most defining personality trait is that he likes chicken don't @me) your dad asked ruffling your hair "it is too hot to exist right now but Hitoshi and I are gonna get ice cream" you grinned and cracked open your window hoping a breeze would come through and cool you down a smidge. "Like a date?" "No dad it's not a date" "finneee have fun" he pouted and left you alone to get changed.

"Hey, Hitoshi what ice cream do you want?" you asked looking over the menu on the side of the truck that was parked in the park... "it's a vanilla day I think," you stepped up to the counter ordering your ice creams both with a flake obviously and sat on a cool metal bench which was hidden by the big weeping willow tree, it was your favourite spot in the whole park because it was always shady and the big tree made you feel like little kids again, you were so small in comparison and when the wind picked up the branches whipped around like a carousel and tangled together like a curtain to hide behind.

"hey you'll be okay in the class by yourself for a while right?" he asked and took a pit off his ice cream "I'll have to be won't I. I'm really proud of you you know that" you stole the flake that he was about to bite into and took a bite out of it letting the chocolate bit's fall off and land on your crop top melting almost instantly "I know. But I promise I'm gonna get you up there with me. You won the sports festival I don't know why they're taking me" (ROLL WITH IT) he stole your flake in retaliation and started eating his ice cream "because you deserve it stop doubting yourself" you preached. You listened to the cars drive by and the angry drivers honking at each other, in all fairness there were indicators for a reason. The bustling life of the city drowned out by the calm bubble surrounding the 2 of you "well you deserve it too (y/n)" he argued and you both burst into a fit of laughter knowing that it was almost impossible to be mad at each other and this wasn't even close to a reason.

"Hey I need to tell you something" he whispered taking a bite out of the sugary cone "oooh~ are you going to profess your undying love for me" you giggled not knowing what you were getting into in the next few minutes "yes... I am" ".....WHAT!" WELL, THIS TOOK A TURN "I like you. Like in a girlfriend type of way" he sighed when a big flake of his cone cracked and fell into the dirt under him "oh. This is unexpected" you whispered taking a bite out of your own cone getting crumbs down your top "if you don't feel the same it's okay I just wanted you to know" he pursed his lips and drew little circles in the dry dirt "no I do, I do feel the same I guess I just didn't realise I felt the same... does that make sense?" it probably didn't.

Of course, you felt the same, he had been your best friend for a while now so obviously you caught some feelings but you had never given them a title like, a crush or love or anything like that, they were just there. They would either go away or they wouldn't and now you were here. You were glad they hadn't "yeah it does" he smiled and the wind picked up a bit lacing the branches together to create th perfect veil as he leaned down and kissed you softly, it was nice and filled with love and admiration and your face turned soft pink and matched the heat of the sun beating down right now.

It didn't last long unfortunately as 2 pillars of smoke started coming out of your shirt and burning fabric once again took over your senses "NO NO NO NOT NOW COME ON" you shouted feeling the fabric separating on your back and you held the front of your crop top on your front "okay well we're gonna not do that for now" Hitoshi said calmy and you shot him a panicked glance gesturing to your unfortunate situation with your other hand. The back of your top fell off and you arched your back when it came into contact with the cold rugged bark of the willow tree "OKAY WELL NOT WALKING HOME LIKE THAT" he shouted and took off his vest throwing it to you and turning away.

You put it on quickly after you calmed down a bit and you weren't burning anything. "Okay you can turn around," you instructed focusing only on the branches in front of you "what not gonna look at me?" "nope" "why not?" you cleared your throat and clicked your tongue "because if I do this shirt will just burn off too and then we'll have to phone dad and get him to bring me a shirt and then he'll ask how I managed to burn two of my shirts off and then I have to listen to him go on and on like a 15-year-old girl about how he totally called that we would get together and then-" "alright I get it," he said putting his hand over your mouth 'well you just set yourself up for failure' you thought and licked his hand which he pulled back and wiped on your jeans "your gross" he chuckled and stood up wiping the dirt off his jeans and standing directly in your eye line putting his hand out to help you up. Which you didn't accept since you were rather busy ogling those goddamn washboard abs "well your not burning yet but you might be brain dead" he flicked your forehead and you shook your head slightly accepting his help up.

You started to walk home as the bright blue sky turned to a medley of tangerine and lavenders with pink brush strokes in between. "We should get ice cream more often," he said his honeyed voice cutting the silence held between you "I agree, we train so much we deserve it!" you exclaimed "you just wanna see me shirtless" he teased. It took every ounce of willpower you had to not burn the shirt off by accident but thankfully you didn't "pfft no. I want ice cream the shirtless thing doesn't have to be exclusively an ice cream thing" you pointed out nudging his shoulder with yours as your house got closer and he rolled his eyes wrapping his arm around your waist pulling you next to him like 2 magnets sticking to each other.

"Well I'll see you tomorrow Hitoshi," you said once you reached your door "yeah see you tomorrow," he said pecking your cheek and walking off down the road leaving you astonished at your door. "DAD YOUR NOT GONNA BELIEVE THIS" you screamed as you entered the house.

4 weeks later

"We have another student joining the hero course" the grumpy teacher announced and you bust into the 1-A classroom with your wings outstretched behind you "PUT THE GREMLIN BACK" shinso shouted from the back of the classroom "GO BACK UNDER THE BRIDGE YOU CAME FROM" you shouted back and took your seat next to him "dad wants to know if you're staying for dinner after training" you whispered, "yeah what are we having?" "chicken" 

[littledrummeraussie]

find the pieces to make you whole.

general masterlist

word count: 3261

If you would ask me what this is - I honestly cannot tell you. I was in a soft Ashton mood which got laced with some slight sub!Ashton feels too and I ended up writing this fic. It’s basically a feels dump so please feel free to skip it if you’re not in the mood.

Feedback is appreciated!  ❤️

warnings: anxiety attack. angst. comfort. slightest bit of D/s dynamics implied and talked about (Ashton calls reader Miss one time). countless nicknames for each other. soft loving for Ashton. confessions and deep talks. some fluffy feels.

- - - - -

It happened slowly and silently – nobody else would have caught it, the signs were so subtle that you thought that maybe even Ashton himself didn’t realize what was going on. Not yet. But you were way too familiar with your boyfriend’s mind and little ticks, reading his body language like no one else. His index finger tapped against his glass every now and then, little movements tying it all together as his nail made a sound when it knocked against it. You leaned into his shoulder and he let his hand fall into his lap, continuing his tapping on his knee until you gently grabbed his hand and squeezed it. It took him a moment, but a few seconds later he squeezed your hand back.

He seemed to calm down a little as you kept up the conversation with your friends, rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb soothingly. You felt his fingers lightly twitch a few more times, but he stayed mostly still after that – you kept an eye on him though. Ashton attempted to join in and for the next 20 minutes he was freely talking about something with the others, his nerves disappearing and turning into excitement. Then the conversation changed to another topic and his knees started bouncing, almost to the point that he started shaking the booth you were sitting in.

“Hey,” you made sure your voice was soft and calming as you rested your hand on his thigh, slowly rubbing his knee, applying only a light pressure on it to stop his nervous movements. “You’re okay there?”

“Yeah, sorry,” he shook his head quickly, letting out a chuckle. “Just– drumming. In my head. Can’t shake it, you know.”

But his eyes were telling you otherwise; the slight tension around his mouth as he smiled, the way he was leaning into you more and more, Adam’s apple bobbing as his throat worked around words he couldn’t say out loud. And if nothing else, the way he gripped your hand when you turned back to your friends was a dead giveaway. His fingers tapped against your hand under the table, thigh pressing against yours as his knee started bouncing again, his whole body starting to give off a nervous energy that you were way too familiar with.

You hummed at something the others were saying, fingers lightly tapping on your phone then putting it back into your bag. A second later Ashton stiffened next to you, his own phone buzzing in his pocket between the two of you. You nudged his arm as you gave him an encouraging smile, letting go of his hand.

“It’s okay, take it! I’m sure it’s Cal or Luke.”

Ashton nodded and slid out of the booth, already reaching for his pocket. He furrowed his eyebrows as he looked between the screen and you, but one small nod of your head made him turn around, disappearing behind the front door of the diner.

Your eyes searched the windows of the place, following Ashton’s form until you couldn’t see him anymore. A few minutes passed like this before you excused yourself to the bathroom, but instead slipped out of the door to the street, gaze landing on your boyfriend who was sitting on a nearby bench, legs still bouncing and wringing his hands, head hung low as he waited. You stepped closer and brushed your fingers through his hair at the back of his head, and Ash let out a choked breath before taking a lungful of air.

“What’s the matter, love?” you sat on his thigh as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and Ashton buried his face in your neck, his arms around you pulling you to his chest. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m here.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I’m– I’m sorry, I just…” Ash mumbled against your skin, words frantic as he leaned into you, fingers gripping the back of your dress.

“Sweetie, breathe with me,” you rested your chin on the top of his head, fingers going back to his neck to stroke his hair lightly. “Nice and easy, that’s it.”

Ashton let out another choked sound as he tried to match his breathing to yours, hiccupping as his breaths started to slow down. His cheek was cold against your neck, but the hot puffs of air on your skin let you know that he was calming down a bit. A kiss was pressed against his temple when his breathing was back to normal, and he pulled back slightly, rubbing away invisible tears from under his lashes.

“Better?” you rubbed his shoulder soothingly, and Ash just nodded, hands sliding down to your hips, not gripping you anymore, just holding onto you. “Anything I can help you with?”

“Thanks for giving me a way out, sweetheart,” he tilted his head towards you, foreheads lightly knocked together as he whispered.

“Of course, baby,” your thumb stroked his cheek and he leaned into the touch, a small sound leaving his lips. “You can always count on me.”

“Though, I was really confused,” he finally confessed, a shadow of a smile crossing his face. “Didn’t know why you were calling me when you were sitting right next to me.”

“Nobody needed to know what was going on. You needed a break and it’s my job to take care of you the best way I can.”

“It’s… still hard sometimes, you know?” he tucked his face back against your neck, inhaling your perfume and your scent deeply. “That I can… ask for things. That I don’t have to be the one taking care of everyone and dealing with every shitty situation. That I can let go and just… breathe.”

“You do that enough for others,” your voice was a soft caress against his ear, and a light shiver ran through Ashton’s body. “And I’m more than happy to do it for you.”

“Thank you, love,” he let out a content sigh as he burrowed even closer to you, and you kissed the top of his head in return.

“Of course, pretty,” you squeezed his body in a hug then slowly pulled back. “Do you want us to go home? It’s okay if you don’t feel like staying.”

“I don’t want to ruin your night out,” Ash shook his head, but you could see another flash of anxiety in his eyes.

“Can you do another 15 minutes?” you brushed a lock of hair behind his ear, and he nodded after a few seconds, whispering a quiet ‘yes’. “Okay. Come on, 15 minutes and then we leave. Show me how strong you can be, baby!”

Ashton nodded again and let you pull him up from the bench, giving you a quick hug before taking your hand and leading you back into the diner, acting like nothing had happened in the last 10 minutes. You settled back to the booth next to each other, hands clasped together under the table as you joined the conversation again, all the while stroking Ashton’s hand to keep him grounded. He was still tense, but his nervous twitching stopped and now quietly waited for you to leave the place together.

The promised 15 minutes passed, and you started shifting, pulling a few bills out of your purse and putting them on the table before turning to Ash, voice a bit strained.

“Can you take me home? I’m just… not feeling too well,” you lightly tugged on his hand as you turned towards your friends, giving them an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry; I think I need to skip the rest of the night. I think my migraine is coming back from the morning.”

“Let’s get going then,” Ashton was already out of the booth, reaching for your hand, his previous anxiety nowhere to be found; instead he turned on the charm that always swept everyone off their feet. “We don’t want you to get sick, it’s better if we get you home before that. Ladies, guys, always a pleasure!”

The two of you quickly said goodbye to the others, then Ashton took your hand and led you out of the diner, together making your way towards the car parked nearby. Once you’ve settled inside he turned to you, fingers lightly squeezing your knee.

“Thank you,” his voice was soft and quiet, and you smiled back at him.

“Of course. I’ve promised you 15 minutes and you waited it out so patiently, I’m really proud of you love,” you covered his hand with yours, stroking it lovingly.

“No. I wanted to thank you for… not telling them that… that it was me who needed to leave,” Ash stumbled over his words, fingers twitching under yours until you interlocked them, holding onto him like that.

“Told you, Ash,” you leaned over the console to press your lips against his cheek, making him flush a pretty pink colour. “I’ll always take care of you and protect you. You’ll always get what you need from me, I promised you. And I’m keeping that promise.”

“So– it’s okay if I ask for something? When we get home,” he bit into his bottom lip, and you nodded without hesitation, squeezing his hand one last time before letting him go.

“Whatever you need, my pretty boy.”

***

Ashton’s only request was to let him cuddle up to you, but you knew him better than that – knew what those small things were that would make him feel better, but he still wouldn’t dare ask for them, thinking that they were silly or not important enough for you to pay attention to. But that was the beauty of it all, that even without words you knew what he needed from you when he was having one of his moments.

Just as he told you only an hour ago, it was still hard for him to believe that he was allowed to take a step back and let someone else take care of him, let someone else deal with the world’s problems as he let himself breathe. He liked having control of the things surrounding him and especially his own mind and feelings, but somewhere along the way he started to lose that control. It was around that time that you came into his life, first only as a friend, and as he realized just how comfortable he was with you, a lover as well.

It still took him a long time to find the words how he really felt, how with you it was easier to breathe and face the world, how it meant everything to him that you were there during his best and worst, how your sweet words and soft touches were like a cure to his mind, body and soul. Many late night conversations later he finally confessed that sometimes he just wants someone to take care of him as well, to let someone take control instead of him. Your back rested against the headboard as you asked him to come closer, letting him rest his head in your lap, your fingers playing with his hair as he confided in you how he struggled with letting that control go, no matter how he tried.

That was the point when your dynamic slowly started to shift, your relationship now built on a different kind of trust and honesty as you helped Ashton face and voice his needs, letting him know that it was okay to ask for things from you too. It started with small stuff, 5 more minutes in bed, an extra kiss or hug before you left for work. Then came the cuddles while you watched TV, or you spooning him when he needed some extra love that day. He slowly started to open up, now letting you be the one who knew how to help him deal with his thoughts and feelings whenever he was losing himself. He still struggled, both wanting to take control of things and letting them go at the same time, making him anxious as he tried to find balance.

“Miss?”

The first time the name fell off his lips it surprised you – but it was Ashton’s way of letting you know that he needed you to take care of him without him really asking for it. Now it was natural, how you were his girlfriend and caretaker at the same time, how both your name and the title he gave you were a part of you that he loved and trusted, that you gave to him without a second thought.

“Come here, love,” you reached your hand out to him, and he shuffled closer, climbing onto the bed next to you.

When you got home you sent him to take a shower upstairs while you did the same in the downstairs bathroom, you finishing before him to make sure you have time to get ready for him. You changed into your sleep shorts and a soft shirt, opening the windows to let in some fresh air while fluffing up the pillows, dimming the lights just enough so it wouldn’t bother you during the night, but they would still bring comfort for Ashton.

You combed his damp hair back from his face, thumbs stroking his cheeks and the soft spots behind his ears, smoothing over his eyebrows and the corners of his eyes, pressing a kiss on his forehead and down on the bridge of his nose, lips brushing his lips in another sweet kiss.

“Pillow time?” you prompted, voice still soft and light as you stroked his hair at the nape of his neck.

“If it’s not too much to ask,” his fingers tangled into the hem of your shirt, tugging it a little as he rested his head on your shoulder.

“You know it’s not, sweetie,” you turned your head to kiss his temple, tapping his knee. “Alright, pillow time.”

Ashton pulled back until you slipped under the sheets and settled against the pillows, opening your arms for him, making him follow you as he climbed over you, resting his body on top of yours. His legs tangled with yours, arms wrapped around your middle while he put his head on your breasts, tucking his face against your skin to let your scent cloud his senses. He quickly found that this was his favourite place to be, close and cuddled up, your body like a soft pillow while you kissed and caressed him, making him let out content sighs as he finally let his mind turn off.

“Comfy?” your fingers teased the soft skin of his neck, drawing over the condor tattoo on the back, and Ash hummed, rubbing his cheek against your chest.

“Mhmm,” he shifted a little as he tried to match his breathing to yours, something he always did when he was anxious, knowing that it would calm him down too.

“Is there something you wanna talk about?” you asked a few minutes later, lightly rubbing the top of his spine. “Or just cuddles tonight? It’s okay to choose just one or both, you know. Whatever you need, baby.”

“I just… wanted to apologize for tonight,” he finally said, his shoulders tensing and you let your palms settle on them, soothingly rubbing at his muscles.

“Apology accepted, though I’m not sure why are you apologizing,” you tutted lightly, fingers stroking over his hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Ashton sighed, mumbling something before he shifted again, turning so he could fold his arms over your stomach, resting his chin on them. You reached for his cheek to rub your thumb over it, and he melted against your touch, letting out another sigh.

“I– don’t know if I’m good enough for your friends,” he confessed softly, resting his other cheek on his forearm. “I always feel like I have to be… someone, you know? Like they expect me to be… Ashton Irwin, not just… Ashton…”

“Did that give you performance anxiety?”

“Something like that, yeah,” he closed his eyes for a moment. “I just… I know how my friends feel about you… how much they love you. And I want your friends to like me too. I mean, we… spend so much time with my friends and that’s comfortable for me, but when it comes to your friends, I– I just…”

“It’s okay, Ash. You’re safe with me,” you squeezed his shoulders again, rubbing the knots forming there. “You can tell me.”

“I don’t want you to lose your friends because of me. I don’t want to take you away from them, and since they are important to you I want to share this with you just as I get to share my friends with you, but… I don’t know, I just…”

“Ash, I know the first few times can be scary, I’ve been there,” you lightly tugged on his hair as you looked into his eyes, a silent request for him to come closer, and he scooted up until you were facing each other, sharing a pillow. “And I know that’s because we have spent more time with your group than mine, and I’m already over this. And you’ve only met them a handful of times, and yeah, your position is quite different because of who you are. And sure, they were star-struck the first two or three times they saw you. But they also tell me time and time again how much they like you based on the time they’ve got to spend with you and how they hope you can make it to more gatherings because you genuinely seem like a nice guy. That’s why I asked if you wanted to come tonight…”

“…and I really wanted to…”

“And you did come,” you stroked the soft hair behind his ear, hand settling on his neck again. “For me that’s what matters. So we needed to skip the rest of the night? Big deal. You clearly had a bad case of anxiety, and there’s no shame in that.”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” Ashton whispered, clearly struggling with what happened.

“You haven’t,” you leaned forward to press your lips against his. “And I really appreciate your honesty with me. Thank you for letting me in and letting me know what is going on with you.”

“Thank you for listening and… understanding,” Ash finally let out a sigh, shoulders relaxing under your touch.

“I promise you I will consider this the next time we get invited, okay? We will talk about it and see how you’re feeling before we go. You can opt out if you’re not feeling it, I won’t mind it. But if you do want to come I will do my best to make sure you’re comfortable. Does that sound okay to you?”

“More than okay. Thank you, angel,” he scooted closer to rest his forehead against yours, and you nudged your nose against his, quietly humming.

“Ash?” his eyes opened, the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips. “I love you, pretty.”

“I love you too, Y/N,” he closed the short distance between the two of you, softly kissing you.

Ashton tucked his head back under your chin, finding his place in your arms as you went back to stroke his hair and neck, whispering words of love into the quiet of the room. His breath slowly evened out, his light snores tickling your neck where he burrowed against you. You let your eyes close as you followed the rising and falling of his chest, now matching your breathing to his to help you fall asleep.

In the end it was the soft thumping of his heart that lulled you to sleep.

- - - - -

taglist.

@mymindwide @loveroflrh @sadistmichael @notinthesameguey @babylonashton @talkfastromance4 @dead-and-golden @fuckyeah5sostakemehome @karajaynetoday  @myfavfanficsever @myloverboyash @suchalonelysunflower @sexgodashton @rebelwith0utacause @creampiecashton @irwinkitten @allthestarsandthemoon @castaway-cashton @spicycal @wontlastimokwiththat @luckyduckydoo @sunshineeashton @2fangirl4u @talkfastdrummer @pastelbabygirl19 @istantommoandtpwk @perfectlieirwin @thesweetness-irwin-archive @c-a-l-m-hood @youngblood199456 @tiannaxox2 @caffeinecalum @fanficsandotherthings @melanindarling @bubblegum18

[twistedtummies2]

Green-Eyed Devil

A silly piece of Sherliam fluffiness; nothing kinky, just sweet foolery. Summary: William James Moriarty always thought that Sherlock Holmes & Dr. Watson made a good pair...but he finds himself getting very jealous over just HOW good a pair they might be.

In Other Words: Liam goes into “jealous boyfriend mode.” ‘Nuff said. :P

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Another busy day in London. People bustled to and fro in the cool, semi-drizzly afternoon’s yellow-gray light. Paupers held out their hats in hopes of alms, while the gentry chattered, unconcerned by the rain pattering onto their umbrellas. Hoofbeats clip-clapped upon the cobblestone streets as carriages and hansom cabs went back and forth, carrying their passengers quickly but carefully through the mild downpour.

One particular carriage turned a corner onto Baker Street: a black carriage, with strange red-tinted lamps on its sides, which matched the dark, blood-colored lining of its inner cushioning, barely visible through the windows of the coach. The same deep red was painted on the wide wagon wheels. It was a nobleman’s coach, something that turned many eyes, as it was rare for a nobleman to hurry along Baker Street. While the road was by no means a slum, it was not one of the grander parts of the city either: a decent middle-class zone. Those who knew the street best smirked, already having a guess as to where the carriage would stop. They were correct...but not for the reasons they expected. In the driver’s seat of the coach was a young man, dressed in a dark blue suit, with a matching tie and hat, and wire-rimmed spectacles upon his fine nose. His blonde hair fluttered at the sides of his head, half-hiding the nasty scar upon his cheek; the only thing that marred his otherwise handsome, youthful face. A pair of strange red eyes which seemed to dimly glow in the shadows of his hat brim stared resolutely onward...until the carriage neared its destination. “Whoa there!” the man in blue called to the twin horses that pulled the carriage, and tugged on the reins, slowing the stallions to a stop. They whinnied softly and shook their heads as the driver tied the reins off, then hopped down from his seat and opened the door to the coach. “Brother William,” he said to the one inside, “We’ve arrived.” There was a pause...then, a lone figure stepped out of the carriage. He was tall and thin, his stance as elegant as his choice of clothes as he adjusted the gray top hat on his head and tucked a silver-topped cane under one arm. He wore a rich brown suit, and white kid gloves; over this was a thick black overcoat. His countenance was almost identical to that of the other man, with the same blonde hair and unusual red eyes...although his eyes glowed much more brightly, and the whole face seemed narrower, sharper, more mature and almost predator-like in shape, while still having a pleasing, downright attractive demeanor. His expression was serene and gentle, magnetic in the way the features were fixed; a cool, effortlessly composed face that seemed unperturbed by the rain, or anything else, for that matter. The lips on the endlessly calm face stretched ever so slightly into a satisfied smile as he saw the address plaque on the door only a few feet away: 221B. “Brother?” The man in brown turned to the man in blue. “Yes, Louis?” he responded, his voice the same practiced, even calm that could be seen on his face; pleasant, yet unbreakable. Louis James Moriarty squirmed a bit; he looked nervous. “Is this really wise?” he asked, and looked to the door as well. “Asking HIM to join you for dinner, I mean.” “Why not? The Cafe de L’Europe serves fabulous suppers.”

“It’s not the food that worries me,” Louis said, somewhat blandly, and gestured with a toss of his head towards the building. “HE, after all, is simply meant to be a part of your game. And if he figures out the truth through frequent contact…” Louis trailed off. William smiled a little wider. “Ah. Are you afraid the White Pawn might take the Black King, Louis?” the man in brown asked, almost teasingly. “That’s part of it, yes,” Louis answered, in a slow, careful way. William let out a puff of amusement through his nose...then reached out with his free hand, placing it on his brother’s shoulder. Louis turned quickly to face him. “Holmes is a powerful piece in our grand puzzle,” William said softly, making sure not to be heard by any passers-by. “One must know the enemy in order to reach the endgame properly. The more I study him, the more I can learn.” He paused, looking towards the door once more. His eyes narrowed as he seemed to peer through the door. “Besides,” he murmured, and his voice quivered ever so faintly with emotion. “I find him interesting. He seems a clever man...and a lucky one.” Louis narrowed his own eyes and said nothing. He paused before speaking again. “William,” he said, and the genius in brown raised an eyebrow at the use of his name as he gave his younger sibling a sidelong glance. “I don’t like it. I really don’t.” “Holmes’ interest in me, or mine in him?” William checked, voice even and seemingly uncaring. “Both,” Louis confessed. “The more time you spend with him, the more dangerous the game becomes.” “The game was always dangerous, Louis,” William said with a light chuckle, and his red eyes twinkled deviously. “Now the game is just more FUN.” “That’s my point,” Louis responded. “You’re literally flirting with trouble; you could be dining with disaster. I know you, brother. Don’t think I didn’t realize what was going on during the train trip to Durham, or the way you smiled when you spoke of his visit to the university.” William’s smile flickered, showing weakness for the first time, though he kept his eyes on the door. “Louis,” he said at length, “I know you’re looking out for what’s best for me. And I appreciate it. I do.” He turned back and smiled to his younger brother. “I will ALWAYS appreciate you, little brother,” he promised, his voice filled with firm meaning. “That is never going to change, no matter what happens in the future - in our plans, between myself and Holmes - you will always be my light. Having said that, I am not the sort of person to allow my emotions to ruin my strategies.” Louis seemed to relax...and a small smile of his own fell onto his face. His cheeks seemed to turn a bit pink. “If you say so,” he said, his own voice a bit shaky, before his eyes hardened again. “But after Enders in January, Hope in February, and the business with Mr. Bonde in March…” He trailed off, taking a deep breath before stiffening his back. “...If he continues to incommode us, I will remove him myself.” William’s smile was affectionate. He nodded. “I would ask no one else to do it, brother,” he said, sounding pleased to hear it...then added, very quietly, seemingly more to himself than to Louis, “I’m not sure I would have the stomach for it now…” There was an awkward pause, which was interrupted by Louis giving a nigh-imperceptible shiver. William perceived it, however. “How thoughtless of me, keeping you standing in the rain!” he smiled anew, and patted his brother on the shoulder. “Why don’t you take the carriage somewhere dry and get yourself a meal? I can take a hansom up to meet you.” Louis nodded and told William where he was going, then drove the carriage off. William watched his brother go, then marched up to the door of the flat house at long last. He could feel the rain speckling his own clothes, and had no desire to be soaked. He took the brass knocker and, without another moment’s hesitation, he knocked upon the door. Almost immediately, he heard footsteps coming to the door...then, a woman - a little older than himself, but not by more than a few years - answered. Her eyes were the color of emeralds, her hair an auburn shade, tied into a bun. She was dressed in a very proper-looking pink tea dress, a cream-colored apron draped over her front. The woman tilted her head slightly as she blinked up at William. “Hello?” she greeted, curiously. “May I help you?” William doffed his hat; the drizzled rain felt cool and soothing on his golden scalp. “Good day,” he greeted, in his most dulcet voice. “My name is William James Moriarty. I am a Professor of Mathematics at Durham University. I take it you are the famous Miss Hudson?” The woman’s cheeks turned almost as pink as her clothes, and she smiled. “Only thanks to Dr. Watson’s stories,” she chuckled, then frowned and mumbled to herself: “I really need to remind him it’s MISS Hudson, not Missus...yet…” She shook herself out of that thought and stepped aside, opening the door wider. “Come in!” she said cheerily. “No need to stand out in the rain!” “Thank you,” Professor Moriarty said with a short, respectful bow of his head, and stepped into the parlor of the flat house. He offered his cane, his hat, and his black overcoat to the landlady-slash-housekeeper, who graciously smiled as she put the items up on a rack… ...Then scowled as Moriarty began to walk across the room towards the stairs. “OI!” she suddenly snapped. William stopped short, eyes wide, a little alarmed...although the carefully constructed evenness of his voice never once gave that away. “What’s the matter, ma’am?” he asked, politely. Miss Hudson took a breath to calm herself. “Nothing, sir, nothing,” she mumbled. “Just...you forgot to wipe your feet on the mat.” William blinked, and looked down at his shoes. He admitted he felt a flutter of embarrassment as he saw he had left rain-soaked footprints on the floor leading up to the staircase. “Oh,” he whispered to himself, and smiled apologetically, his voice as graceful as his movements as he stepped back, retracing his steps carefully, and did so. “My apologies. It quite slipped my mind.” “Never mind,” huffed Miss Hudson. “I’m sorry for snapping at you, Professor, just...at least you LISTEN, unlike that stubborn, skull-wearing…!” She took another breath and sighed. William’s smile became more akin to a smirk. “I take it Mr. Holmes is as trying as Dr. Watson’s publications would lead one to believe?” he puzzled. “No,” Miss Hudson droned. “He’s even WORSE. I’ve never had children, sir, but after Sherlock Holmes, I think I know what it’s like to raise one, and I don’t think it’s fun.” Moriarty chuckled. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he soothed, and cocked his own head. “Is Mr. Holmes in, by the way? May I see him?” “He is, and I suppose that will depend upon Mr. Holmes,” Miss Hudson answered, and stepped in front of the young Professor, leading him back to the stairs. “Not that I imagine he’d have any objections. He speaks of you often, you know.” William paused at the foot of the steps. “Does he now?” he questioned, seemingly more to himself than Miss Hudson, but she answered anyway. “Yes, almost as often as he rambles on about how important tobacco ash is in an investigation,” she mumbled, with a wry chuckle. “He gets so wrapped up in the little things!” “Well, the little things are often the most important,” Moriarty defended as the pair made their way up the stairs to the upper floor of the building. “That’s what he says,” Miss Hudson shrugged. “I’ve never understood it myself, nor how many different types of ashes he claims there are! Something like one hundred different varieties-” “One hundred forty, actually.” Miss Hudson froze on the steps and looked to the Professor, whose uncanny smile never once faltered. He hadn’t sounded like he was bragging or patronizing, he just...said it. “Yes,” she murmured, and nodded slowly. “That’s exactly right, I remember now...have you read that monograph he published?” Moriarty gave one of “his smiles”: the masks of pleasant sweetness where his eyes closed and his lips curved perhaps a little TOO wide to be genuine looks of happiness. “We’ll say yes,” he answered, in a chirping sort of manner. Miss Hudson raised an eyebrow at the cryptic reaction, then shrugged and led Moriarty up the steps. The Professor followed at a polite pace and distance as she approached the door at the top of the stairs, leading into the rooms of her most popular tenant. She knocked on the door, sharply rapping it with her knuckles. “Sherlock!” she called. “Go away!” a voice from the other side of the door called back. William couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath as Miss Hudson flushed with indignation. “What’s that kind of talk for?” she shouted. “You have a client!” “Tell them to go away, too; I’m busy,” was the snorted response. Then came a new voice: milder, more genteel. “Ah, Miss Hudson...ask them if they wouldn’t mind waiting? We won’t be too long, I should think…” “No more than an hour,” added the first voice, and the Professor was almost certain he heard the other voice hiss angrily: “Not helping, Sherlock!” “I don’t mind waiting,” Moriarty said, placidly. And he didn’t; there was no rush to his visitation. Miss Hudson, however, was incensed, and would hear none of it. “Like HELL you will!” she snarled, causing William to quirk his brow at her language before she glared at the door like it was the source of all the trouble in her life. “Sherlock, you cannot keep a gentleman like Mr. Moriarty waiting! He is-” “Mister WHO?!” came the first voice. “Moriarty! Professor Moriarty from Durham!” Miss Hudson answered. Scarcely had she gotten out the last word, however, than the door burst open, and Miss Hudson jumped aside with a yelp as an excited figure all but jumped through the doorway. William’s smile softened and took on a shade of amusement at the sight of Sherlock Holmes, who looked breathless and almost manic, his smile stretched wide across the handsome but angular proportions of his face. His dark blue eyes (which Moriarty noticed were slightly baggier than usual) gleamed as his dark hair - unkempt as ever - sprung out in every direction, from the curlicue cowlick to his untidy ponytail. He was dressed in his usual garb: not the deerstalker and inverness cape the public knew from the illustrations in the Strand, but a dark blue coat and trousers, along with brown leather shoes that had seen better days, and a white shirt with its top button undone. Moriarty couldn’t help but give a passing glance at the glimpse of a strong chest and collarbone that were visible through that partition… The gangly detective grinned widely, as if his whole day had just become a little sunnier, and extended a hand to William - the one that wore his silver skull ring. “LIAM!” he boomed with a jovial laugh. “You couldn’t have come at a better time! I was just about to get started on a chemical experiment, come in, come in!” Before either the Professor or Miss Hudson could stop him, the detective all but dragged the mathematician through the door. Miss Hudson blinked at the closed door after it slammed shut...then sighed and shook her head, before sniffing primly and heading back downstairs. “Mad as a hatter; he always will be,” she muttered. Meanwhile, the Professor brushed himself off briefly as he stood in the entrance area of Sherlock’s flat. Holmes smirked, tucking one hand into his pants pocket, the other scratching his chin as he eyed William critically. “So, Liam...how was your ride over here? You took your own coach, didn’t you?” “Bumpier than I would like, but not too bad,” shrugged William, not at all bothered by how easily Holmes guessed. “Well, with the weather, you might have found the trains easier. Did our case on the Paddington line make you that squeamish?” teased Sherlock. William gave another of “his” smiles. “Perhaps a little,” he lied in a sing-song way. “Ah...how do you know he came in his own coach?” Blue and red eyes turned to look at the third person in the room: another young man, in his twenties - roughly the same age as both the sleuth and the schemer - dressed in an olive-colored jacket and trousers, along with a brown vest, a neat-looking off-white shirt, and a burnt-yellow-colored ascot. His skin was very lightly tanned, his eyes were the same shade as his vest, and his hair was a sort of pale grayish-blonde color. The eyes were very wide and bright, and peered between the two geniuses with curious interest as he stepped closer. “Elementary, My Dear Watson,” Sherlock chimed, and then looked back to Moriarty. “I don’t think you properly got introduced, did you?” William shook his head, and then looked to Watson with a smile, extending a hand. “A pleasure to see you again, Doctor,” the Professor greeted in a warm but casual voice. “William James Moriarty, at your service.” “It’s nice to meet you, officially,” Watson smiled back with a nod, and shook the hand of Professor Moriarty. “John H. Watson. Thank you, by the way, for helping Sherlock with the Hawthorne case.” “Oh, please,” Moriarty chuckled, lifting his other hand in a dismissive gesture. “Say nothing of it. I’m simply glad I could help an innocent person and see a criminal brought to justice. It was exciting, playing detective, really. I’m surprised you didn’t publish that one.” “Sherlock talked me out of it,” admitted Watson, and gave an accusing look at the detective. Holmes shrugged. “It was a simple case. Too simple, too quick,” he said, boredly. “You two were the only things that made it interesting. I figured your adoring readers would like something more interesting.” “Sure they would,” Watson muttered, then looked back to Moriarty, huge eyes burning with interest. “Now...about your ride here...do you know how he guessed it?” “He didn’t guess it,” insisted Moriarty. “He DEDUCED it, Doctor. And I think I know.” “Oh?” Holmes spoke up, and smiled challengingly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Prove it. Go on, Liam, what were the clues?” “Three clues, really: it was all a question of sight, recollection, and smell.” “Huh?” Watson spoke up, brow furrowing in curiosity. “What do you mean?” “First, recollection,” Moriarty explained, and began counting off the points on his fingers. “Mr. Holmes knows I live in Durham. To say that’s a bit of a walk from here is an understatement, and I do not own a bicycle. So there was no other way to get here beyond covered transportation, especially in this weather: the rain may be light sprinkling, but with that much ground to cover, I would have been soaked to the bone. This leads into sight: if I had even come in a dogcart, for instance, the mud and rainwater would have been splashed onto me.” “But you could have come in a cab!” “That’s where the smell comes in, John,” Holmes interjected, pulling up the sleeve on one of his arms and scratching at a spot there before rolling the sleeve back down as he elaborated. “No driver would take someone from Durham all the way to Baker Street; too much of a distance, and the Moriarty household is much too remote to simply hail a passing cab. Liam either would have had to catch a cab or a horsebus from the train station, or take his own carriage directly from his house. And as there is no scent of smoke from the steam engines or any crowds on him, as you would expect from the former scenario, that leaves only the option of him making the full journey in his carriage.” Watson blinked...then let out a slightly nervous chuckle. “Well...it...sounds kind of obvious when you put it that way,” he admitted, sheepishly. “That’s because it is obvious,” Holmes boasted. “Indeed,” slithered William. “Just as it is obvious Mr. Watson has been diluting your cocaine solution from seven to five percent.” Holmes gaped and Watson gasped. “H-How...how did you guess that?!” sputtered Sherlock, who looked mortified. William’s smile was simple and innocent. “Elementary, My Dear Holmes,” he answered, in a gently teasing tone...and pointedly said NOTHING else. Holmes gulped thinly, and gave a tight sort of smile. “Liam, you rascal,” he hissed under his breath, eyes dancing. “You’re GOOD at this game.” “Thank you,” Moriarty purred, with a slight bow, then looked towards the chemistry set. It was prepared on a table near the window. “So, what was the experiment you mentioned, if you don’t mind my asking?” “Oh!” Sherlock Holmes exclaimed, snapping his fingers, and gestured for both Dr. Watson and Professor Moriarty to join him as he sat down at his chemistry set. Watson stood to his left, while William paused at his right, both watching the detective check on the items he had gathered, to make sure everything was in place. “Part of a case?” William guessed. “Yep,” Holmes popped the word out with his lips before continuing: “A man in Cheshire - John Vincent Harden by name - came to us with the problem yesterday.” Watson nodded, and pulled from his coat pocket a piece of paper. On it was a list of items, untidily scrawled. “Mr. Harden’s friend is currently in the dock under suspicion of murdering the family butler,” the doctor explained. “This piece of paper - which includes the murder of the butler as part of a number of surly deeds to be done - is the only clue that can prove he might be innocent.” “I see,” William murmured, looking at the paper briefly...then nearly jumped as Sherlock snatched it away. The sleuth glanced over it before scoffing through his nostrils. “Offhand, I can deduce very little,” he muttered, placing the paper on the table and squinting down at it. “Only that the paper comes from Mongolia and has no watermark, that the one who wrote this is a drinker, and that they are probably not very rich.” Liam grinned, looking proud as a plum, and was about to comment...but Watson beat him to it. “The odor of cheap brandy, plus the weight and texture of the paper, right?” he smiled hopefully. Holmes grinned. “Very good, John!” he chuckled, and nudged the doctor’s shoulder with a light punch, making Watson squeak like a mouse before gripping his shoulder. Watson gave a blushing, shy smile as he rubbed his shoulder and Holmes all but sang out: “You’re getting better at this every day!” Watson shuffled on his feet. “It was...really nothing; you can smell the brandy part, easily,” he mumbled. This was the moment where Professor Moriarty’s usually marble-carved smile flickered faintly, and his red eyes seemed to shine a bit brighter...and not in a pleasant manner. He slowly looked Watson over, taking in the way the surgeon and former soldier stood and smiled at Sherlock. He could sense the doctor’s heightened pulse even from here...the way the pupils dilated as he watched Holmes work… It could just be happiness at being praised - the rather wide, almost childlike small on John’s face could make that clear - but, of course, it could also mean something far, FAR more meaningful. William glared...but then shook his head, clearing it. No. Not a chance. There was no reason to get worked up. Not yet, anyway. “Liam,” Holmes spoke up, catching Moriarty’s attention as he handed him the paper again. “Is there anything you can see that I haven’t noted yet?” “Black dust,” William said, without taking the parchment piece up. “The ink half-hides it; the man either works as a lamplighter, or frequently goes somewhere where gaslights that require coal are plentifully found.” Holmes nodded, humming softly in thought as he pulled his magnifying glass from his coat pocket and inspected the letter closely. As he did, Watson inched closer...and Moriarty felt his own chest tighten almost imperceptibly as he saw the doctor lean against Holmes, his head in the crook of the detective’s shoulder and neck. It was a casual sort of movement; something intimate, but not necessarily sensual. The same went for the affectionate smiles the two shared before looking back at the paper. All the same, William suddenly sensed the way his own fists tightened at his sides. He felt strangely cold, and he didn’t like it. “Well, until I put it through the chemical test, I can’t say much else,” Sherlock sighed at last. “So far, none of this helps Mr. Harden’s friend: he works at a theater with gaslights, and is, in fact, a frequent patron of a local pub.” So saying, Holmes stood up and held out a hand to Watson, flexing his fingers in a beckoning motion. “Light, please,” he ordered. Watson rolled his eyes but obligingly pulled and struck a match from his waistcoat pocket. Holmes plucked up the match, and then, grinning widely, lifted the paper, preparing to set it ablaze… “STOP!” Holmes jumped at Watson’s shout. “What now?” “You can’t just burn the whole thing!” John protested. “I can, and I will,” huffed Holmes. “He DOES need to reduce the paper to ash in order to conduct the experiment,” Moriarty put in. “Thank you, Liam!” Sherlock nodded. William smiled, a light glimmer of victory in his expression...but the victory was squashed when Watson spoke up again. “Well, burn a small portion of it then,” John suggested. “After all, this is your only sample: if something goes wrong, and you burn the whole thing, you won’t be able to conduct the experiment again, properly, will you? Plus, you’ll be ridding the courtroom of evidence!” Holmes opened his mouth to snap back something...then closed it...and blinked. “...Oh,” he murmured. “I...somehow did not consider that.” He smiled with friendly admiration. “John, what would I do without you?” he chuckled. “Well, you need SOMEONE more normal to tone down that insanity of yours,” John smirked back. Holmes laughed. William’s smile remained fixed...but his eyes narrowed. “You two are even closer than I realized,” he observed, quietly. Sherlock had just asked John to fetch him some scissors. As the doctor returned with the cutting blades, Holmes nodded. “Well, yeah. We’re pretty much inseparable.” “Yes, like two peas in a pod,” Watson agreed, as Sherlock cut a small portion of the paper off the rest. He then tilted his head and added: “I suppose more like two cherries in a bunch, actually. I’ve never liked peas.” “Neither have I!” Holmes exclaimed. “What a remarkable coincidence!” Watson grinned brightly. William felt his molars grind against one another very slightly. He breathed through his nose to relax; externally, he looked thoroughly composed, his smile still set...but inside, he could feel something bubbling up inside him, like magma in a volcano. He wanted Holmes to smile at him that way. He suddenly wanted to be the one there with him constantly. It wasn’t fair that someone else got to be around his nemesis so often. “I always knew you two made a good pair,” he thought to say, as Holmes burned the cut piece and then carefully brushed the ashes into a small bowl. “John has helped me on nearly all my cases since Jefferson Hope,” Sherlock smiled. “Honestly, it’s hard to imagine a time before he came around.” “Aww,” Watson mumbled, blushing once again. “Thank you, Sherlock.” “Oh, don’t think anything of it,” sniffed Holmes, as he poured the ashes into a beaker filled with a curious blue liquid. “After all the times you’ve bungled things, I have to stroke your ego a LITTLE bit.” “Oi! I do not bungle things!” Watson cried out. “Oh, no?” smirked Holmes sitting back and crossing his legs and arms with a supercilious smile. “And what about that case with Miss Stoner? You were so proud of yourself when you found footprints outside her bedroom window...only for us to find out they were OUR footprints the whole time!” “That...I...a-anyone could have made that mistake!” Watson sputtered, withdrawing childishly as he rubbed the back of his neck with embarrassment. “Not me!” chirruped Sherlock Holmes. Watson glared. “Oh, no?” he retorted, mimicking Holmes’ voice and posture as he smirked deviously. “Then how about that time you let those counterfeiters go because you accidentally set the house on fire?” “IF LESTRADE HAD BEEN THERE ON TIME, THEY WOULD HAVE BEEN CAUGHT!” Holmes shouted, and pouted like a sulking child. “I thought we agreed never to speak of that again!” “How do you set a house on fire with a spoon, Holmes?” Watson ribbed. “Clearly, another of your many talents.” Holmes growled...then reached up and pulled Watson down - “C’mere, you!” - giving the gray-blonde soldier a noogie and making him shriek and laugh. William watched the shenanigans with utter apathy. Or at least, utter external apathy. Internally, he wished he could have such an open, joking friendship...in truth, Moriarty had never really felt he HAD a true friend till Sherlock Holmes. He’d understood what friendship was, but beyond his family, he tended to see most people - even his closest subordinates - as pawns for use in his grand scheme.                                                                                                                                                                                             “Ahem,” the Professor cleared his throat, and the pair froze...before jumping away from each other like singed cats. The reaction was so much like two young lovers being caught kissing in private that it almost made Moriarty squirm. Almost. “As amusing as these hijinks are...what about your experiment, Holmes?” “Ah!” Sherlock exclaimed, smacking his own forehead. “Thank you, Liam, for reminding me. Watch carefully, both of you…” So saying, Holmes placed the beaker under a large contraption on the table: it consisted of a glass flask, with a burner under it, and a long curlicue tube - which was patched in several places - stretching from its open top. The beaker was set under the end of the tube, and Holmes switched on the burner. The flask was filled with a bright green liquid. It bubbled and fizzed, and soon began to rise in the glass chamber, pumping into the tube. Slowly but surely, it began to make its way through the piping. Holmes watched the fluid flow intently, his feet tapping on the floor like an excited, eager child, his hands drumming his knees impatiently as he muttered to himself. “Yes...yes, good, good...c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon...hmmm, yes-yes-oop! No, no, bad, bad-yes! Good! C’mon, c’mon-ah! That’s it! C’mon, c’mon...yes, yes, yes…!” Both William and Watson leaned close as the fluid reached the end of the tube...and, after an excruciatingly lengthy wait of exactly three seconds...PLIPP. A single green drop plopped into the beaker. FWOOMPH! A puff of smoke burst from the beaker as the fluid turned red...then purple...then changed back to blue. There was a pause...then, Holmes grinned wider. He began to chuckle...and the chuckle became a giggle...and the giggle became a loud, roaring laugh as he jumped out of his chair, throwing his arms up in joy. “IT WORKED! IT WORKED, JOHN!” he almost screamed. Before either of them could comment, Holmes suddenly slapped both hands down on William’s shoulders. Moriarty stiffened almost imperceptibly; he felt his heart almost stop as he looked into the earnest, happy blue eyes of the detective. “Liam...Liam, it worked!” he gasped out. “I knew it! I KNEW it! You knew it, too, yes? Right?” Moriarty blinked a few times; for a moment his mask fell away. His eyes were very wide and seemed to sparkle faintly...but finally, he recomposed himself, and licked his lips thinly before speaking. “I did,” he confirmed with a nod. “Distilled sodium chloride, yes?” “Exactly! EXACTLY!” Holmes cheered with an extremely hyper nod. “Um...wh-what just happened?” Sherlock turned around fast to face Watson. Moriarty felt a pang in his blackened heart as he realized he missed the warmth and closeness. “Oh, you don’t know?” Holmes blinked. “Would I have asked if I did?” Watson reasoned. “Hmph. Touche,” shrugged Sherlock, and pointed to the beaker. “It’s simple, John: that reaction could only have happened if the paper was, at some point, exposed to a great deal of salt water vapor.” Watson gaped. “Then the person who wrote the paper came from somewhere by the sea. Most likely the dockyards!” Watson realized. “Precisely!” Holmes said, with a clap of his hands. “And you know what that means, don’t you?” “That Mr. Harden’s friend is innocent! He lives in a spot far, FAR from the docks; on the other side of London, in fact! Well done, Sherlock!” “Yes, indeed,” William spoke up, a little more forcefully than he usually liked. He wasn’t at all liking the closeness of the pair, in any sense of the word, in that given moment...and, he realized, he had yet to present his invitation to his nemesis. “Now, Mr. Holmes, since you’re experiment’s done, I wanted to know-” “Sherlock!” Watson exclaimed, and Moriarty realized - with no small amount of affrontation - that neither had been listening to him. Watson, however, immediately backpedaled and smiled nervously at the red-eyed guest. “Oh, sorry, Professor…” “No, no. Go ahead,” Moriarty purred, trying not to clench his teeth as he spoke. He barely succeeded. Watson nodded, and looked back to his dark-haired partner in crimefighting. “How about we celebrate with some dinner? My treat!” “Excellent suggestion, John; I didn’t eat at all yesterday, I could use something now,” Holmes admitted, somewhat sheepishly. “You need to watch that,” John warned. “I will try,” Holmes laughed weakly. “Where should we go?” “Why not the Bugle Tavern?” Watson suggested, in a tone that suggested there was some significance in the spot. William James Moriarty was by no means a snob: his upbringing and his philosophy prevented that. But with that said...he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of superiority flood through him when he heard John Watson’s suggestion. He knew the Bugle; he’d taken a witness there for interrogation during the case of the Earl of Argleton. It was not a BAD place, but it was on the seedier side of the city; the food was decent but cheap. Compared to where he planned to take Holmes, it was hardly an even match, and as the detective was his intellectual equal - a man of many similar tastes - it seemed unlikely he’d ever- “A perfect choice, John!” Holmes declared, and William’s perfect poker face very, VERY nearly broke apart at the seams. “We’ll have a quick dinner, then head to the station to speak to Gregson.” “Right,” Watson nodded as he headed to the door and picked up his bowler hat and cane. “Perhaps with the help of our evidence, and a few very simple charts and graphs, we can convince him that night follows day.” “Yes, and that two plus two will inevitably equal four,” Sherlock snickered, and pulled a cigarette from his pocket as he started to follow Watson… ...Then froze...and slowly turned around to look at Moriarty, who still stood beside the chemistry set. “Oh, ah...Liam...I’m sorry, was there something you needed?” he asked. Moriarty blinked slowly...then, gave another of his far-too-happy-looking smiles. “Oh, it can wait till another day!” he sang. “Off you go! Enjoy yourself!” “Thanks, I will,” Holmes chuckled, and turned to Watson, extending the hand that held his cigarette. “Light, please? Again?” Watson obligingly lit the cigarette. Sherlock took a long drag from it, and blew a smoke ring at the ceiling, before leaving the flat. “See ya, Liam!” he called over his shoulder with a quick wave. Watson smiled politely and tipped his hat to the Professor, before using his cane to shut the door as they departed. The instant both were gone, Moriarty’s expression became cold as ice. He slowly turned his head to look out the window - almost the way a snake might turn its head when charmed from a basket - and watched as he soon saw Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson walk out into the soft shower and down the street. He saw the doctor’s arm squeeze Holmes’ shoulder...saw the way the two inched closer… William’s red eyes blazed like burning coals from the pits of Hell. He briskly marched out of the room and down the stairs. “Ah, Professor, there you are!” Miss Hudson greeted, with an oblivious smile, and handed him back his overcoat, hat, and cane. “Did you get what you needed?” Moriarty swung on his coat and carefully placed his hat upon his head. “No,” he said, very, very softly - so softly Miss Hudson wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly - as he took the cane, gripping it so tightly the hidden sword within nearly rattled. “But I still might.” He tipped his hat and left, saying nothing else but “Good day, Miss Hudson,” as he departed the flat house and went to hail a cab.

Miss Hudson wasn’t sure, but she almost swore the red eyes had turned green.

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The following day, at the Moriarty Mansion, William was sitting alone in the study, poring over a quaint and curious volume of Egyptian lore. Louis had prepared tea and sandwiches, and the mastermind - currently dressed in his fine, gold-and-burgundy robe - was sipping from a cup of Earl Gray while he read. A knock came at the study door, and Moriarty glanced quickly at the portal before placing the thin silk bookmark on the page he was focused on. He then shut the leatherbound tome and put it to one side. “Come in, James,” he called out. The door opened, and James Bonde’s turquoise eyes soon connected with William’s. The master spy was dressed in their usual garments: a light gray suit and small homburg hat, a neatly-pressed lavender tie elegantly bound around their throat. Bonde smiled, the beauty mark at the corner of one eye crinkling slightly as they removed their hat and swept some loose strands of corn-colored hair out of their face.

“How did you know it was me?” “Two very good reasons,” William smiled. “First of all, because I was expecting you, and second of all, because I heard your footsteps in the hall, and your step is unlike any other in England.” The Napoleon of Crime waved a hand towards the seat across from him and simply said, “Please.” James Bonde took the hint, and sat down, hands in his lap, legs crossed, chin held up with cocksure pride. “I take it you have a mission for me?” “Should you choose to accept it,” William confirmed with a nod, and lifted his teacup again, stirring the tea with elegant, slight turns of his wrist. “In your...ahem…‘past life,’ you spent some time with my appointed nemesis, yes?” “Yes,” smirked Bonde, a twinkle in their eye that called back to the days when Irene Adler planned her plots. “I guess that means I have the advantage of being the only agent in our organization who’s slept with the enemy.” Moriarty froze, red eyes latching onto Bonde. “Or, at least, in enemy territory,” James corrected quickly. Moriarty smiled. “James,” he said, far-too-sweetly. “You know how I really feel about him, don’t you?” Bonde nodded slowly, their own smile faltering a bit in confusion. “Well then, please don’t make jokes like that again,” William went on, in a voice that indicated he was a hundred times more aggravated than he chose to let on. James gulped nervously as William sipped his tea far, FAR too crisply. He could almost imagine the unspoken words from the Napoleon of Crime: If you do, they’ll never find your body. “...I’m, uh...I-I’m sorry,” Bonde stammered out with uncharacteristic fear. “It’s fine,” William said with a light sigh, and shook his head as he put his teacup down. His smile settled into a look of sincere apology. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bonde. I’m...feeling a little testy today, that’s all.” Sensing he was out of danger, James nodded and smiled back sympathetically. “I take it your nemesis is what my mission concerns?” the spy said, and then turned serious, frowning. “Is he getting in the way too often?” “Not often enough,” mumbled Professor Moriarty, and shook his head again, this time in answer. “No, James, it’s not that. And it’s not Mr. Holmes I want you to deal with.” James raised an eyebrow. “Dr. Watson, then?” Bonde guessed. “As a matter of fact, yes,” William said, and sat back in his seat, steepling his fingers. “I want you to keep an eye on the flat for two weeks. I want you to pay particular attention to Watson, and whenever he and Holmes leave together for any reason, follow them. I don’t care if they’re simply going to shop for tobacco at the market: keep tabs on them both. Next Friday, you will make a final report on anything suspicious you encountered.” “Suspicious? In what way?” Bonde frowned. “You’d expect US to be the ones up to no good, after all.” Moriarty chuckled. “I will let you be the judge,” he purred, smoothly. Bonde looked confused, but nodded slowly. “Very well, I’ll take the job,” James said, and cocked his head. “But...William...why?” Moriarty shut his eyes, pausing as he tried to decide on his words. “Let us simply say,” he answered steadily, “That I’m concerned about their relationship. Take careful stock of all you see, while I deal with the plans for our next caper, and the rest deal with other matters.” “As you wish,” Bonde said, and stood up from his chair, replacing his hat. “One other thing, James,” Moriarty added, lifting a single finger in instruction. “This mission is particularly special: I’d like to keep it between us. Tell no one else: not any other member of the gang. Not even my own brothers.” James frowned, narrowing his eyes; he wasn’t sure what was so important that had William this worked up...but clearly it mattered a great deal to the Professor. The True M. “Yes, sir,” Bonde said, and tapped his hat brim. “I’ll do my best.” “Very good. You are dismissed; if you need help, inform me. Good day, Bonde.” “Good day, Professor,” smiled James, and exited promptly. The moment the door shut behind James Bonde, William sighed to himself, bowing his head quietly in musing thought. “I suppose,” he whispered to the empty room of books, “That it’s quite wasteful of me to use my Knight for such a menial job in the grand scheme of the game...one should never misuse resources…” He paused...then smirked as he lifted his teacup again, and took another sip before picking up his book to continue reading. “...Then again,” he chuckled lightly, “I’ve committed far worse sins than a little self-indulgent espionage. I AM the Lord of Crime.” He glared as he hissed under his breath: “If anyone is stealing a heart here, it’s going to be ME.”

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James Bonde stared somewhat dully out the window of the empty house across the street from 221B Baker Street. Teal-toned eyes kept a careful watch in the night on the one lit room in the house. He could see the silhouette of Sherlock Holmes, fiddling away on his violin. He could hear the detective playing, too...a nostalgic smile came to his face; he could almost remember hearing those tunes play him to sleep, in another lifetime… Bonde shook his head and lightly slapped his own cheek (more of a rough pat) to keep himself focused. He’d been instructed by William, to watch them from the moment they awoke to the moment they went to bed. The doctor had evidently retired some time ago, but Holmes was still up and about, playing his violin and tinkering with his contraptions. It had been a few days since Bonde started his mission, and Holmes had been given a case by one Mr. Cubitt from Norfolk, involving a mysterious secret code. Bonde had followed Holmes and Watson every which way they went, but so far, nothing of particular unsuality had occurred; Holmes refused to travel to Norfolk till Cubitt sent more information, and so much of their days were spent in the flat, simply trying to puzzle out what they had been given so far. As a result, the past three days had really been quite boring for Bonde. A part of him felt a pang, as it always did, and he wished William had given him a different job; the side that was still Irene Adler wished she could walk across the street and just...tell Holmes the simple fact. Certainly, he guessed she was still alive, but...that was nothing to a direct encounter. James Bonde was a professional, and held out: whatever purpose William had for this mission - be it personal, or something related to the Great Problem - his job was to keep a close eye on things and keep track of any interesting movements: from before they woke up to the moment they both clocked out. Right on cue, Holmes’ silhouette disappeared from the window...and not but sixty seconds later, the light in the room went out. Bond sighed softly, and stood up, stretching; the room in the Empty House was small, dark, and not very large. It was lonely, too: aside from getting meals, Bonde stayed here all day, and could not focus too much on any great amusements, such as reading, lest he lose focus. All he had was solitaire; Moran had been teaching him how to play cards, and it was better than nothing. Bonde grumbled to himself about the slowness of the case as he began to pack up his playing cards...but no sooner had he tucked the box back into a pocket in his jacket lining...than he froze, as he saw the front door of 221B open. From his spot in the window, Bonde watched intently, wondering what was going on. The unmistakable figure of Dr. Watson crept quietly out the door. He shut it silently, and glanced from side to side, as if checking to make sure no one on the street was watching him. The street was silent and quiet; lonely on that dark night. The Doctor twirled his cane, propping its length against his elbow, and began to stroll down the street. Bonde could make out Watson’s brown eyes; they furtively darted from side to side in a ferret-like way. Unlike Moriarty, Dr. Watson had an absolute lack of anything resembling a poker face. Bonde continued to watch as Watson approached an alley...then, after checking once again, slipped into the passage between the buildings and vanished. Suddenly realizing he’d lost track of his target, Bonde cursed under his breath and raced downstairs and across the street… ...But by the time he reached the alley, Dr. Watson was nowhere to be found. “Damn,” muttered Bonde...then took a breath, and straightened his tie and hair, which had been tousled in his quick sprint. There was nothing to be done now; the question was, whether to report this to William now, or wait? After pondering for a moment, Bonde walked off down the street back towards his own lodgings. He would wait. It’s what William would want. For all he knew, this was a one-time affair; whatever had Watson acting so sneakily, it could be resolved by morning. Then he would have no reason to worry at all. Right?

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“Six times?” Professor Moriarty repeated, blinking quickly in surprise. “Yes: six times in just two weeks. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, in fact,” nodded James Bonde, standing almost like a warrior at attention as he made his private report. He was standing near the threshold of William’s room in the manor. William James Moriarty was dressed in his usual clothes, minus his brown coat, which currently hung loosely on his bedpost. “And you’ve lost him every time?” William frowned; he didn’t sound angry, or even disappointed. He was simply checking his facts. “Not exactly,” Bonde claimed, and hastened to elaborate: “The past two times, I was able to catch up with him, but I can’t follow him beyond a certain point.” “What do you mean?” “He’s been visiting a noble’s house.” William’s eyes widened. “He’s what?” “To the Forrester estate,” clarified Bonde. “He climbs over the wall at a certain point, leaps into the yard...then, every night, after a couple hours, crawls back up and high-tails it back to Baker Street.” “Hmmmm,” Moriarty murmured, placing a finger to his lips in thought as he looked down at the floor, brow furrowing. “Have you seen what happens when he goes over the gate?” “This last time, yes,” nodded Bonde. “He doesn’t enter the house, but instead runs to a gazebo in the courtyard. He clearly knows the residence well; he knows when the night watchman comes around with his dog, and avoids them.” Professor Moriarty scowled and made a sour sound in the back of this throat.. Things were more serious than he thought: behavior like that wasn’t just sneaky, it was literally criminal. It appeared that a stolen heart was far from the worst thing he had to fear from John H. Watson. “What do you think he’s up to, William?” James asked. “I haven’t the foggiest idea. Yet,” Moriarty responded. “But I intend to find out.”

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That very night, being a Friday, Professor Moriarty lay in wait behind a tree, in a park area across from the Forrester Estate. He wore a long, black, hooded cloak over his usual suit, and gripped his sword cane tightly in one hand. His red eyes glowed in the dark as he kept his focus zeroed in on the high stone walls of the mansion spot. The Forrester Family was not a bad one, nor even the most noble: they were gentry, people in the upper-middle class, who qualified among the elite but lacked the status of proper Lords and Ladies, Knights and Dames, and so on. With what they had, they were generous, and most considered them friendly. William had nothing against them, and while he sought to destroy the social order...that didn’t mean destroying the good in it. What he wanted was to eradicate evil through his own means… ...He wasn’t sure whether or not to hope he would have to do that tonight. He saw the glare of a bullseye lamp through the grates in the black iron gate that closed off the estate. The distant shape of a man with a large, black dog on a leash walked past and then disappeared: that was the night watchman James Bonde had mentioned, no doubt. Almost on cue, not long after the watchman passed, Moriarty saw a familiar figure - dressed in a green coat and a dark blue bowler hat - trot around a corner. Moriarty narrowed his eyes as Dr. Watson flattened his back against the wall. His expression was tense, worried...almost scared. He glanced from side to side, and sighed with relief; he hadn’t noticed William, and was glad to find apparently no one had spotted him yet. “It’s alright,” William heard Watson say. “What he doesn’t know, won’t hurt him…” Moriarty felt his own eyes blazing as he suspected who the “he” Watson referred to was. “Soon,” Watson added to himself, adjusting his tie and then looking up at the wall. “Soon...it will all be over…” Then, without another word, the Doctor jumped up and grabbed hold of the wall’s edge. He let out a sharp yipe, and bit his lip to silence himself; as he scrambled up to climb over the wall, the sounds and motions he made reminded William so much of a big, dumb dog trying to clamber over a fence, he nearly laughed. Nearly. Not quite. From what he was hearing, he was beginning to have grave worries. Once Watson disappeared over the wall, William took his turn to check and make sure there were no witnesses nearby...then - cloak fluttering about him as he went - he raced to the wall, and leapt over it with the grace of a gazelle. The courtyard was lushly kept, with grass, small topiary trees, and little yellow flowers all around. Quaint and tended to with perfect decorum. Across the lawn of green grass, Watson saw Dr. Watson racing towards a distant red-and-blue gazebo; it was octagonal in shape, and was a closed-off affair; no door, but with thick, tinted windows on seven of its eight sides. William was about to dart forward...when he heard the barking of the Watchman’s dog. Quickly, he dove into the bushes, and crouched low. The Watchman and his dog soon hurried to the spot; both looked around, then the man mumbled something to the black hound...and the pair continued on their way. William waited till their footsteps faded...then, stole across the lawn and made a dash towards the distant gazebo, stealing across the courtyard with such silence, he might as well have been a part of that black night. The Master Criminal only paused once more; this was when he noticed he had to run past an open window, and the light was still on. Inside, he saw Cecil Forrester - the lady of the house - speaking with a maid. Both were fair women with chestnut-colored hair. The two left the room, and Moriarty continued towards the gazebo, keeping low and moving with quiet quickness; one might have mistaken him for a wolf, stalking its prey. Moriarty traced a wide path as he drew closer and closer to the gazebo; he had no desire to be spotted when he got too close. Once he reached it, he flattened himself quietly against the glass-paneled walls, and sidled closer to the open entrance. As he moved nearer, Moriarty could hear a voice; it was tremuluous, faint, and he couldn’t quite make out properly who it belonged to or what they were saying. Once he was right beside the door, that voice stopped...and he picked up the unmistakable sound of John Watson’s voice. Now, he could most certainly make out the words… “It’s too soon. I don’t want to take any risks. This is a delicate operation; one false step, and everything could be ruined. But don’t worry...if worse comes to worse, I can handle him. He won’t be a problem. We’ll get everything we want...nothing is going to stop us. I swear it.” William narrowed his eyes into crimson slits, and prepared to draw his cane sword...before whipping around the side and spinning into the gazebo. “‘Hell is empty. All the devils are-’” The melodramatic quote was stopped short as William froze in place and his eyes went wide at what he saw. Dr. Watson - who had just kissed the lips of the person with him - gasped and backed away fast… ...Leaving a young, beautiful lady standing alone in the center of the gazebo, her indigo eyes wide and bright with surprise. Her hair was the color of brass, and she was dressed in the prim, proper outfit of a governess. Moriarty and the young woman stared at each other, each equally stunned. It was Watson’s stuttered, scared exclamation that broke them out of their momentary stupor. “P-Pr-Pro-Professor M-Moriarty!” he managed to cough out...then, impulsively, he moved forward again… ...And held the young lady close, in a protective, caring way. She coiled back against him, looking startled and more than a little scared by the red-eyed stranger that had swooped into the area. “What...what are you doing here?” Watson asked, a little accusatorily. Moriarty soon regained his composure, the look of utter speechlessness leaving his face as it slid back into his usual, blank, mask-like features. “Following you,” he answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and pointed his cane at the young lady. “Who is this, and what is going on?” Watson squirmed a bit uncomfortably at the Professor’s blood-eyed stare. He held the woman closer and then answered. “I...this is...my fiance,” he answered, and turned rather pink in the face. “Her...her name is Mary Morstan.” Moriarty blinked. His expression didn’t shift an inch. “Fiance?” he repeated, not sounding surprised, but simply questioning. “Y-Yes,” the woman answered. William realized he was still holding out his cane...and, not wishing to frighten the young lady any further, lowered his secret weapon. Mary smiled and sighed gratefully before going on: “I work for Mrs. Forrester; I live here. It’s, um...i-it’s a pleasure to meet you, ah...Mr. Moriarty.” William paused, before giving a single nod. “Mutual,” he responded, but his voice was still quite frosty, then looked back to Watson. “Is this why you’ve been sneaking out three nights a week?” Watson blanched. “H-How did you…?” “I have my ways,” William answered, smoothly. Watson flushed and shuffled on his feet. He hugged Mary close with one arm, his other hand holding hers as she embraced him. He smiled bashfully before looking back to Moriarty. “I...we proposed in secret,” he admitted. “I met Mary thanks to a case. I’ve been...I’ve been keeping this secret from Sherlock.” “Why?” William wondered. Watson frowned and looked askance. “Because I’m not sure if Holmes would approve,” he admitted, quietly, a sad look in his eyes. “He...the two of us have been inseparable, since we met, and...I’m worried about how he’ll react when he finds out about Mary and I.” “So you’ve been meeting her in secret; to rendezvous under the stars,” Moriarty romantically surmised. Watson blushed more and Mary giggled. “Something like that, Professor, yes,” Miss Morstan confirmed in a saccharine sort of way. “Is that what you were whispering about?” William presumed. “Saying you weren’t ready, that you could handle him?” “Yeah,” Watson chuckled, and scratched the back of his head. “I, uh...I-I guess wording like that could sound kinda suspicious, huh?” William sighed through his nose as Mary giggled again. “Very,” William agreed. His face remained blank, his lips still set in a straight line as he then went on: “If I may advise you, Doctor...I think you should tell Holmes soon.” Watson frowned and lowered his head; he looked amusingly guilty, like a little boy caught with his hands in the cookie jar. “Well...I know I SHOULD, but...I don’t want to make him mad,” he admitted, almost meekly. “Not about this. I still want to work with him, and...and he’s my friend, so…” “So,” Moriarty interrupted, “Shouldn’t you be used to sharing secrets with him?” Watson looked up, a little startled. Moriarty’s expression had become a thin, taut smile. “If Mr. Holmes is truly your friend, he should be able to handle something like this,” he reasoned. “Perhaps he’ll be jealous or untrusting at first, but that is to be expected. But behavior like this is dangerous, and it could lead to more bad than good. You shouldn’t be afraid to admit to Holmes things like this.” Watson bit his lip, and looked at Mary, who nodded back to him. He smiled, then looked back up at the Professor. “Yeah. That...I guess that’s right. I’ll...I’ll see about telling him soon. And...and no more of these...these midnight liaisons.” He looked back to his fiance. “We’ll meet on our own terms, without all this roundabout racing. Right, Mary?” “Of course,” she responded, and kissed his nose, making the doctor give a bashful, red-faced smile. Moriarty looked the pair up and down as they hugged...then turned on his heel. “Well,” he said, shortly and sharply. “Now, with that issue settled, I’ll be on my way.” Watson watched as Moriarty left the gazebo and began to walk back towards the wall. His brow knitted itself into a knot, and he paused, whispering “One moment” to Mary before kissing her forehead and hastily hustling out of the gazebo. “Professor!” he called out, and Moriarty paused. His red eyes glittered like rubies as he turned back over his shoulder, expression chilling. Watson didn’t seem scared. He smiled in a kind, amiable manner. “Why DID you follow me?” he asked, simply and bluntly. Moriarty said nothing. Watson paused before taking a guess: “Were you concerned about Sherlock?” Moriarty nodded, still saying nothing. Watson chuckled and smiled gently. “You don’t need to worry, Professor: when I hide things from him, it’s nothing sinister. Sherlock his my best friend, and one of the most fascinating people I know.” “I’m glad you think so.” “Oh, I know it’s so. Just like I know the reason why you looked so jealous when I asked him to join me for dinner.” Moriarty’s eyes widened...then narrowed again. Watson smiled humbly. “I AM getting better,” he said, in a faint, cheeping sort of voice. “You won’t tell him, will you?” William checked, voice staying even, conveying neither worry nor rage. Watson smiled a patient smile; he placed a hand on the young Professor’s shoulder, causing Moriarty to stiffen with surprise. “You just told me that, if he’s really my friend, I shouldn’t keep secrets from him,” Watson stated. “I think the same is in reverse: whatever you feel for him...I think he needs to hear it from you. No one else.” William paused...and his bangs hid his eyes from sight. “And if he doesn’t feel the same?” he queried, in a strangely business-like tone. “I think he will,” Watson chuckled. “You two are practically made for each other: you’re both extraordinary. You both live for the game. You’re both intelligent. You’re two of a kind! I know it’s not the kind of relationship our society smiles upon, but...if it’s the true way you feel, why should that matter?” He patted Moriarty’s shoulder, and then finished: “You’re two sides of the same coin. You belong together...Liam.” William was silent...then, a slick smile slithered over his lips. “Thank you, Doctor. I’ll remember that. But please...don’t call me Liam.” Watson pulled back quickly and let out a nervous laugh. “Ah...heh heh...s-sorry, I won’t.” “Thank you,” Moriarty repeated, and gave a mock salute with his cane. “Goodnight, Doctor. And do apologize to Miss Morstan for me: my unseemingly dramatic entrance no doubt gave her quite a fright.” “You can say that again,” mumbled Watson, and returned the mock salute with a real soldier’s stance. “Goodnight, Professor!” William smiled a little wider...and then walked forward. His dark cloak allowed him to easily slip into the shadows...and soon he was gone. As he prowled through the city back towards home, William James Moriarty couldn’t stop smiling. He hadn’t felt this good in a while.

The Devil swore the lightness in his heart must have been what Angels felt every day.

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“Married with two children. Native of Suffolk. Works in a public house.” “The shoes gave it away?” “Yeah, yeah. Invalid husband; dismissed from the army for his injuries four years ago.” “Three.” “Oh, yes, of course, three! Lastly, at least one of them has a drinking problem.” Sherlock Holmes took a swig of ale from the pewter cup he held and sighed, smacking his lips as the woman he’d been scrutinizing disappeared. He then turned to the party across from him with a daring smile. “Your turn, Liam!” William James Moriarty smirked cunningly, and looked out the window. His blazing, cat-like eyes soon caught sight of his chosen prey. “Bachelor by choice,” he began, noting a gentleman in a stovepipe hat who was passing by. “Scholarly by nature; a frequent visitor to the library. Smokes far too much. Works at a very fine hotel, most likely in an administrative position.” “Birth and residence?” “Lancashire for the former, Yorkshire for the latter. I believe he’s visiting London for the sake of family, but he doesn’t much care FOR said family. I speculate his bachelor status might be the reason-ah! He’s gone. That’s all.” William smiled back at a beaming Sherlock Holmes, drumming the fingers of one hand on the table as his chin rested on the other. “How was that, Mr. Detective?” he purred. Sherlock laughed and applauded. “Liam, you excel yourself!” “I try,” shrugged Moriarty, without much modesty, and lifted his own pewter cup before taking a drink. All around the pair, the bustle and hustle of the Bugle Tavern buzzed and hummed and bellowed...but neither gave it much attention. “I’m so glad you accepted my invitation to dinner,” William said, sincerely, folding his hands on the table with a quiet smile. “Eh,” Holmes shrugged, stirring his drink in its mug as he spoke. “When we met for lunch in Durham, you were busy grading papers. I’m glad we could just have a meal together. Although…” He paused, and then gestured with a careless wave of his free hand around the establishment. “...I am surprised a nobleman would choose to eat HERE.” William smiled a bit wider, and glanced about. A few people were giving him odd looks; it was rare someone so well-to-do showed up in this place. He shrugged again and smiled to Holmes. “I am full of surprises,” was all he said. “Isn’t that the truth,” chuckled Holmes and took another drink. Moriarty watched the detective for a few moments, eyes scanning him. His crimson irises flickered vulnerably for a split second before he spoke again. “Mr. Holmes...may I be very frank with you?” “Sure,” Holmes drawled. “What’s up?” “I’m very glad I met you.” Sherlock blinked and froze, his smile fading. “Eh?” he tilted his head. “Why do you say that? I mean...I’m flattered, obviously, but...what brought this on?” “It’s...hard for me to say,” William admitted with a very soft laugh, before going on. “It’s just...while I have my fair share of friends, and a family of my own that cares for me...I’ve always felt this...disconnect from the world around me.” He glanced out the window as he went on, watching people go by. “Like you, I can look at a person and analyze everything about them...and I can do it very rapidly. While on the surface I am placid as a still lake, my mind is always racing out of control. The sheer amount of mental exertion I go through just in the span of taking a single breath can be exhausting. The rest of the world moves...so slowly. Too slowly. Everyone going about their lives, making differences in small ways or simply shambling around…their minds so rarely used to their fullest...” He tilted his head downwards. “...There are so many days where I feel...I’m totally alone in the universe. Where the mental strain becomes too great.” He paused...then looked back up at Sherlock, once again flashing one of “his” smiles. “It’s relieving to know there’s someone even more mentally fractured than I!” Holmes snorted with laughter. “Well,” he muttered, taking a drink, “We all have our problems, don’t we?” He paused...then licked his lips of some foam as he put down his ale and leaned forward on the table. “I...I have to admit...it’s good to be able to talk to someone who can work on my level,” Sherlock said, with a surprisingly tender smile. “Someone who isn’t my obnoxious control freak of a brother, I mean. I…it’s like...” He paused, biting his lip, hesitantly...then sighed and ran a hand through his hair with a shake of his head. “Ahhh...I’m not good at heartfelt confessions,” he mumbled, and gave an almost sheepish smile. “I guess...I’m trying to say I feel the same way. And...it...it honestly feels really good to hear you...say all that, even in such a teasing way.” The pair smiled at each other, their eyes seemingly magnetized as they found themselves leaning and inching closer across the table. “...Holmes…” “Yes, Liam?” “I...feel there’s something else I should tell you.” “Yes?” was the breathy response. William’s lips were quivering as he moved nearer. “I...I think I might be in lo-” “GENTLEMEN!” Both shot back, sitting straight up in their chairs as a fat waiter with a bristly moustache waddled over to their table, and placed their meals - two plates of steak with baked potatoes - upon the table. “‘Ere’s yer food, gents!” he boomed. “I ‘ope ye find it t’yer likin’!” “I’m sure we will,” Moriarty smiled with a nod, his composure so fully complete it was as if nothing had happened. “Thank you, sir.” “Talk to ya later, Pete!” sniggered Holmes with a wink. The waiter winked back, nodded to Professor Moriarty, and then trundled off. “What were you saying, Liam?” Sherlock asked, as he began to cut into his steak, sawing off a huge chunk and stuffing it into his mouth. William much more elegantly carved a tiny square off his slab of beef, and hummed happily as he savored the juices upon popping it into his mouth. “I forget,” he lied through his teeth...then gave a challenging smile as he glanced to each of their pewters. “Say, Mr. Holmes…” “Mm-hm?” Sherlock grunted through a full mouth. “How much can you drink in a single sitting? Before you collapse?” Sherlock paused mid-chew...then smirked around his stuffed chompers, chewing a few more times, slowly, before gulping down his food. He stifled a burp in his fist and gave a cocksure smirk. “Probably more than you, fancy-pants,” he bragged. “Would you like to make a wager?” Moriarty crooned. “Sure! We’ll make it a race! First to finish twelve straight rounds without falling over wins!” declared Holmes. “Think you can handle that, Mr. Mathematician?” “As long as you can count that high,” was the sharp response. Holmes cackled and lifted his pewter. “You’re on, Liam! May the best man win!” William James Moriarty put down his fork and knife, and lifted his ale. As he clanked it against Sherlock’s, he answered the dare with one of his own, his eyes sultry as he slithered out his response. “Catch me if you can, Mr. Holmes.” Sherlock Holmes shivered almost invisibly, and quickly took a drink. As Liam’s seductive red glare caught his azure eyes, the criminal mastermind had no idea that the one thought on his mind was being copied by the other man at the table. Someday, I’ll tell him I love him. Someday.

The End

[inviberu]

til death do us part

Shino thought it was easier to say it in his own words instead of the ones that were put into his mouth forcefully by some other wizards.

There wasn’t a day in his life where Shino felt himself become this troubled—save for that one time he had a realization dawn to him which was heavily related to his worry about not being able to stay by Heath’s side if he wasn’t powerful enough—and frankly put it, he hadn’t pushed away the idea of asking his fellow wizards just yet even after many failures. First, he tried asking Heath for help. Though it ended quickly with Heath clutching his stomach, trying to suppress his laughter and Shino walking away out of annoyance.

Second attempt was with Nero and Faust who were enjoying an afternoon together out in the courtyard much to Shino’s surprise. When Shino asked them for help, Faust was surprised beyond belief before letting out a tired sigh and Nero merely looked as if he’s a mom that’s given up with her child’s ridiculous antics—that didn’t mean he didn’t find whatever he was asking for a tiny bit hilarious though. Shino, upset, walked away from the scene as well when he found out that the two old men did nothing to assist him with his quest.

Third attempt was when he bumped into the ancient Northern twins in the hallway when they were on their way to their room from the lobby. He asked them a seemingly simple question and yet they went off on a tangent for an answer, which Shino found extremely boring and unhelpful so he just walked away in the end without hearing the end of it. Snow and White got a bit upset with him for walking away just like that, especially after they switched to their adult form just to answer his unusual question.

Fourth attempt was his most successful one by far, which was with Shylock. Shino looked for him inside his bar and asked him for help, to which Shylock happily indulged him and gave him an answer that sort of satisfied Shino. Although he was still a bit hesitant, he decided to go with Shylock’s answer for the final thing he’s working on—not noticing the underlying tone of deviousness in his smile. Shino ought to remember, Western wizards loved a good show, and Shylock was the epitome of a Western wizard.

Shino felt his nervousness wash away and instead got replaced by an enormous amount of confidence that seemed unfitting for someone of his stature—short and small. His hair was slicked back and he was dressed in formal attire from head to toe in contrast to his everyday look where he was definitely more casual. Shino, himself, did not know what exactly he was doing but he decided to go through with it anyway since it was Shylock’s advice. And he knew that Shylock was way better than him when it came to matters such as this.

A proposal to you—is what he was planning.

He panicked a little bit after realizing he had no expertise in that area and that he just really wanted to marry you, terribly so. When he asked Heath for help, he almost sent the young lord rolling across the stairs out of laughter. Heath found it ridiculous—hilarious, even. Shino took it as a sign to leave Heath alone as he was of no help at all. Nero and Faust just sighed at him when he asked them how to propose to someone, telling him he should just be himself. Which Shino paid little attention to, thinking that it was fruitless advice from a bunch of old geezers. The twins were more than happy to help but they started sputtering out gibberish not long after. Shino concluded that those womanizers would be of no help.

Shylock, though, gave him a bit of solid advice. Which he followed and leads us to where Shino is today. Dolled up and with a bouquet of flowers in his hands, it was out of character for him. Anyone could tell that much but when you caught sight of him waiting for you outside, you decided to give him the benefit of doubt. Though when you approached him, there was a little bit of a problem. He was speaking weirdly, very unlike the Shino you came to know and love. Though it wasn’t necessarily a bad kind of weird, it was leaning more so on the funnier side. He cleared his throat.

“O beloved of mine, won’t you grant me a few minutes of your time? You see… I’ve been thinking—” Before he could finish, you couldn’t let out a chuckle. One that Shino couldn’t let go off easily. A simple chuckle was enough for him to feel the embarrassment rush to his face and wondered if in your eyes, he was just a fool not worthy to be taken seriously.

“Shino, why are you talking that way-?”

“Forget it,” he reverted back to his old self. His usual rudeness surfaced when his mind suddenly started taking a turn for the worse. “It’s nothing important anyways.”

Before you could let out another word, he summoned his broom and quickly fled from your sight, where you may never see the look on his face as he suddenly felt regretful. You couldn’t tell what exactly just happened but you knew this much—you felt as if you’ve done something to make him feel bad.

A figure in the air, riding on a broom, let out a puff of smoke after taking a drag from his pipe. An amused expression settling on his face mixed with a little bit of a troubled one, as if he just saw his favourite show getting cancelled right in front of him.

“Oh dear, will we be seeing the finale tonight? Or will the show simply stop here? Maybe a little push is due to apologize to dear Shino.”

You wondered if you did something to severely upset Shino, it wasn’t as if you’d never gotten into any arguments with him but this time you’ve done little to nothing at all! You considered if he got upset after your chuckle—which you thought was harmless—but the more you think about it, the more plausible it seemed. But why would he get hurt over something like that? It looked as if he was playing a silly prank on you. Unless… That wasn’t a prank at all and he had something serious to say to you.

The longer you realized, the more terrible you felt during the dead hours of the night. You paced back and forth in your room, wondering if Shino is awake or in his room right now because there was nothing more you wanted than to immediately rush to him and apologize. He must’ve felt horrible, and you only realized it now.

Making up your mind, you grabbed your coat and made your way to your door to go to his room until you heard a loud thud near your room window. There was only one person that would knock on your window during this time of the night—Shino! You quickly turned around and expected the Eastern wizard to greet you, and you were right this time. His hair went back to its usual messy look and his formal clothes were replaced with the ones he usually wears everyday.

And there were still a handful of hand picked flowers in his hand—your favourite this time, roses. You immediately rushed towards the window and slid it open, your hands outstretched towards the scenery and the cold yet gentle breeze that caressed your face. Before you knew it, Shino let go of his broom and threw himself into your arms, the strands of his hair brushing against your cheeks and his arms wrapped tightly around your torso with his head placed atop your shoulder to hide his embarrassingly red face. The flowers he was holding almost falling to the floor with how loose his grip suddenly grew.

Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around him and opened your mouth to apologize before he could say anything: “I’m sorry!”

But as if he couldn’t hear a word you said, he pulled away and looked at you straight in the eyes. For a moment, you wondered if he was mad at you but the long hug and the blush on his cheeks was enough to tell you otherwise. You felt yourself growing more embarrassed as well when he suddenly shoved the flowers towards you. Before you could open your mouth to ask, he suddenly blurted out:

“I want to eat the pie you make for the rest of my life.” Your eyes widened, and you felt yourself wanting to laugh again. You looked away, shoulders trembling.

“... You’re laughing again,” he pouted. You shook your head, tears almost falling from the corner of your eyes.

“No, no. It’s just that I thought saying something like that felt super fitting for someone like you.” You paused to calm down, clutching the flowers he gave you close to your chest. “Will you still want to eat the pie I make even if it’s burnt?”

“Then I’ll just have to make sure you don’t burn it,” Shino shot you a gentle smile. Under the moonlight, you wondered if your eyes were just playing tricks on you and this was all just a sweet spell someone cast over you. Though, there was no use in denying the fact that Shino’s sweet and genuine smile illuminated by the moonlight was something you want to etch into your memories for centuries to come.

“As much as I want to say yes, isn’t it a bit too early for us?”

“I don’t think so, no? I’m not going to wait for your answer for more years when I already know you’re going to say yes to me in the end. So why not just agree now?”

“Wow, you already think that my answer will stay the same for the years to come.”

“I don’t just think so. I know it, I know you the best. You can’t resist my charm now, and you still won’t be able to in the future.” He took hold of your chin and leaned dangerously close, to the point where you could feel his breathing close to you. You closed your eyes, expecting him to kiss you but was met with laughter instead.

“Pfft-! Did you really think I was going to kiss you?” He let out a chuckle, “consider this as revenge for laughing at me earlier.”

“H-Hey! I was not expecting anything at all, and I didn’t laugh at you. I just chuckled, that's all!” You quickly got defensive, not wanting to admit you were expecting him to kiss you.

“Are you sure?” His tone was smug and teasing, something you loved about him no matter how infuriating it is. “You still haven’t answered me, by the way. Will you pledge to spend the rest of your life with me?”

“An eternity seems long… and to think I’m considering spending it with you, of all people.”

“I know you love me.”

“Yes, yes. You already know my answer don’t you, Shino? It’s an eternity I don’t mind spending with you. Though I don’t know if Faust will allow us-!” You could barely finish your sentence when Shino crashed his lips against yours into a passionate kiss. His raw emotions coursing through him and you felt yourself getting lost in it as well, the words you held back from each other suddenly spilling like a waterfall that’s been blocked for decades through kisses. Your fingers tangled in his hair and Shino found it hard to pull back—had it not been for your need of oxygen, he would’ve never let you go.

“Let me finish my sentence first!” You exclaimed, lightly hitting his arm, breathless.

“Sorry, I got a bit excited.” He admitted like a defeated puppy but the smug look on his face made you want to smack his pretty face instead. “I just couldn’t help it when I realized that we’ll be together… til death do us part.”

Shylock took a drag from his pipe, the scent of alcohol still lingering in the air as a gentle expression took over his face, as if he accomplished something great—and he wasn’t the whole reason why a huge mess occurred in the first place.

“All’s well that ends well… Huh? I do hope dear Shino doesn’t bear a grudge against me. Eastern wizards aren’t exactly known for forgetting grudges easily.” He smiled, knowing that Shino would thank him later on. They both got what they wanted, after all. Shino and his quest for true love and Shylock with his desire for something interesting.

[officialscaramouche]

please tell me the kinks taht scaramouche would have, idf you what tro ofc! MY PUOEN IS WET SO ITS HARD TO TYRP !!!

LMFOAOOO ANON I KNOW!!!!!!!!! MY PUSSY IS ALWAYS WET FOR SCARAMOUHR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Scaramouche is a dominant man, so all of his kinks revolve around power play.

TW: STRONG THEMES OF DEGRADATION, NON-CON, PHYSICAL HARM.

Choking. He loves to feel your pulse against his fingers and watch your eyes roll back into your head as he literally fucks the breath out of you. When you start getting light headed and limp he fucks you harder, loving the feeling of getting to say when you can breathe.

Shibari. If you ask him, “bondage,” isn’t his style. It’s become something more than simply tying you up, so he’s ditched it for something more poetic. Part of the foreplay for him is tying you up. Wrapping the rope gently around your ass, or tying beautiful lattices across your tummy. His favorite is when your skin puffs over the rope, as if he’s tied it too tight. But he’s done everything with you, and his best work has to have been when he pulled your legs back taut, exposing yourself to him.

Spanking. Especially if you’re being a little shit, he loves spanking. He doesn’t like to use tools such as belts, paddles, whips, etc. He’s a traditional man. Part of spanking you is the sting on his palm. But the real reason he loves it is how you wiggle and writhe in his lap, the warm blush of your cheeks, and how it stings so bad that he can’t hit it in doggy. He might be a little more gentle if you cry. But you didn’t hear that from me.

Gagging. He loves to test the limits of your mouth, whether it’s on his cock or a ball-gag. He loves to watch you slobber; drooling for his cock. He’ll slip off your undergarments and stuff them in your mouth, fucking you with them in.

Role reversal. If he’s in a good mood, he’ll let you try to top him. Keywords: try to. He’s not a very good bottom in the same way you aren’t a very good top. It’s embarrassing hovering over him as he gives you his best “sub smile,” which frankly is very similar to the smile he gives when he’s challenging you (because it’s the same). He’ll make fun of the things you say, like “I want you to use me, baby. I’ve been good, right?” Eventually he can’t take it anymore— you’re just too irresistible and he takes the lead once more.

Roleplay. This was more your idea than his and he just goes along with whatever makes you cum. But he actually really gets into a couple of them, those being “boss and secretary,” “teacher and student,” and rapeplay. He takes all of his roles seriously but that doesn’t mean he can’t also be silly with it. The last thing he’d ever want is to hurt or scare you.

Cock worship. He was never one for head until you worshiped his cock. Kissing it, holding it gently, ogling at it, rubbing it all over your face. It threw him off the first time, but he’s crazy about it now. He’d rather have you love on his cock than suck it, but that’s part of the whole worshipping thing.

Creampies/covering you in cum. This ones pretty obvious, it’s like he’s marking his territory. Nothing makes a bottom sexier than being covered in cum. Part of the attraction is fucking his kids into you, but the other part is seeing it leak out of your fucked out hole. Sometimes looking at his cum drip out of you is enough to make him go a second round, but oftentimes he’s exhausted.

Hair pulling. Not his hair, yours. If your hair is long enough, he likes to use it as an anchor between the two of you. Otherwise, he’s generally using it to control what you’re doing. If he’s about to cum in your mouth, he’ll pull you right off before he does. If you’re kissing him and he’s ready for something else, he’ll pull you away. Just second nature to his training; you control the body if you control the head.

There are a ton more, like exhibitionism, but this already getting pretty long.

Now, all of these can absolutely pass the threshold of trust, which is why he gives you a safeword. The word itself is pretty much a turn off, so once you say it, he’s done for the night.

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (41) || atz

“Chin Hae, can you pass me the salt?”

“Coming right up!” You call over the rattle of the pans, grabbing the wooden bottle from the shelf and tossing it over your shoulder without a second glance. Seonghwa catches it easily without turning around, the two of you already so attuned with each other’s actions in the kitchen that you might as well be telepathic.

“Thanks!” He tells you and you nod, knowing that even though he can’t see it, he’ll somehow sense it anyway. The fragrance of steak and chicken marinated with spices and wild onions grilling over a charcoal fire wafts into the air and you breathe in appreciatively.

You’re almost salivating at the very thought of eating it already, the tantalizing smell lingering on in your mouth.

“Your cooking is amazing, you know that, Seonghwa-oppa?”

The cook smiles shyly, shaking his head as he prepares the stir fried vegetables in the pan, seasoning them lightly with salt. Not too much, Seonghwa always tells you, because salt has a strong taste and he wants people to appreciate the original flavour of the food. Enhance, not replace, as he likes to say.

“I did grow up intending to be a chef and cook lots of delicious food for customers.” He says wistfully, and for a moment you’re brought back to that beach on Nassau, watching Seonghwa as he chose to stay with the Treasure. Then his smile broadens gently as he puts the vegetables on a plate, hand stilling in the air for a moment. “But it’s more fulfilling to cook for people I love.”

You can’t help but beam back at him. Seonghwa is truly too sweet for this pirate life, you think as you chop up the chives finely to use as garnishing. He looks at your work proudly.

“You’ve really improved by leaps and bounds.” Seonghwa praises you, one hand ruffling your hair like a proud older brother. You laugh as he moves to the charcoal oven to take out the pieces of grilled meat, shaking your head in amusement.

“You’re not lying out of the kindness of your heart like the last time, are you?” You jibe teasingly, referring back to the time San had described your cooking to be akin to “fish innards”. Seonghwa assumes a perfectly innocent face faster than you can blink, piling slabs of perfectly grilled meat high on a tray.

“I didn’t lie. You did improve greatly… with plenty more room for improvement.”

You throw the pepper grinder at him playfully, but he catches it without blinking an eye and seasons the grilled meat to perfection. Now the food is finally done.

As if on cue, your stomach growls loudly and the door creaks opens to reveal Yunho, his head peeking in between the crack.

“Hey, hyung, is dinner ready?” He smiles that beagle like grin, hopping up and down excitedly on each foot as he sniffs the air hungrily. You swear that you had thought cooking was an easy job at first, but cooking for so many hungry men on board a pirate ship put fighting a battle to shame.

Seonghwa shakes his head good naturedly as he passes Yunho the platter of meat. “It would have been done a lot faster if you had offered to help, Yunho-ah.”

The lookout shrugs, but there’s a mischievous grin on his face that spells trouble. “I’ve got to leave you some job to do, otherwise you’d be useless on this ship, hyung.”

Seonghwa sputters in outrage and draws his meat cleaver, but Yunho ducks out into the galley stairway before the knife can find his head, the blade sinking into the wooden door instead.

“Come back here, you coward!” Seonghwa shrieks, but Yunho’s laughter only echoes down the hallway after him.

You raise a hand to your mouth to stifle your giggles, picking up the plate of vegetables and tugging lightly on his arm. “Come on, Seonghwa-oppa. Let’s go before all your steak is eaten.”

At the very horrifying thought, Seonghwa starts in fright and throws off his apron, before flying up the stairs so fast you would’ve thought the kitchen was on fire. Shaking your head in amusement, you climb the stairs after him at a more sedately pace, balancing the plate carefully in your hands.

The night air is cool upon your face as you step onto the main deck, a steady breeze tugging at your hair. You set the plate of vegetables on the deck and the crew all move forward to take their servings, thanking you one by one with smiles.

Your heart warms in your chest. You just want to stay this way forever.

“Woah, there’s chicken! And beef!” Wooyoung’s voice is right next to your ear as he glances over your shoulder at the menu for the night, clearly excited. You smile at his childlike excitement.

“You should eat before Seonghwa-oppa takes all the beef, Wooyoung-oppa.”

At your words, you see Wooyoung’s cheeks colour a little even in the dim light of the torches, making his face look rosy. He puffs out his cheeks at you.

“I know you’re just doing it to tease me, Chin Hae.” He tries to sound stern, but then an uncontrollable grin breaks through his pout. “But don’t stop doing it.”

You quirk your eyebrows playfully at him as you brush your hair out of your eyes. The wind really is very strong today. Wooyoung’s bright green eyes dart over to your hand immediately and his lips pull into a brief frown.

You’re about to ask him why the sudden change in expression when he reaches into your belt and pulls out the silver hairpin he’d given you so long ago that day in Tortuga.

“Wooyoung-oppa, what are you-” You begin to say, but then he moves behind you, gentle fingers gathering errant strands and brushing through your hair softly.

“Don’t move.” His warm voice whispers past your ear as he concentrates on twisting your hair together into some elaborate braid, tugging lightly before sliding the hairpin in to keep the knot in place. Satisfied with his work, he steps back, tucking one last strand behind your ear gently, fingers lingering there for a moment before pulling away.

You raise a hand to touch the hairdo in surprise. It’s actually very well done, a beautiful braid wrapping around itself to form a simple updo. You glance at Wooyoung in surprise, who’s smiling proudly at his creation.

“How are you so good at this, oppa?” You remark, stunned by his skill, but then you see his face fall minutely, a shadow flickering across his eyes. His smile turns a little sad, a little lost as his hands fall to his sides, the sound of the chains clanging strangely loud in your ears.

“Maybe I’ll tell you another time.” He shakes his head, but before your can press him further, there’s the strum of a guitar chord ringing through the night air. You glance behind you in surprise to see Jongho sitting there with an acoustic guitar on his lap, strumming a few random chords to warm up his fingers.

Wooyoung’s eyes light up immediately.

“Oh, they’re about to start a song!” He cheers, taking you by the arm and pulling you forward. You stumble after him as Yunho takes his place in the centre of the circle that the crew has formed, all shouting song requests to the younger battlemaster.

“They’re the battlemaster music team.” Yeosang whispers in your ear as he joins you and Wooyoung at the front, watching Yunho go around listening to the crew’s requests intently. You frown, but before you can say anything else, Jongho’s strumming suddenly picks up a lively tune.

“I can make your hands clap~”

Everyone on the ship claps in time to the beat and to your surprise, the crew all start chanting one name.

“Go Captain! Go Captain! Go Captain!”

Glancing about you, you barely spot your captain’s horrified face next to yours before Wooyoung grabs him by the arm and shoves him into the middle of the circle, the crew breaking out in a round of applause. Your captain looks around frantically with a chicken skewer hanging out of his mouth.

“Now come on guys, let’s not do this-” He begins, but then everyone starts whistling and singing along, and your captain in the end, with a defeated smile on his face, does some strange dance that looks as if he’s running on the spot, before he finishes off with an attempt at a handstand.

“You’re so cool, captain!” San screams and Hongjoong throws the skewer stick at him.

It doesn’t matter how silly he looks, because all his crew absolutely adores him and breaks out in cheers. With an embarrassed smile you’ve never seen on your captain, he hops out of the circle and pushes Mingi in instead.

You’ve never seen the silent quartermaster so energetic, because the second he steps into the circle he’s singing along and gesturing for everyone to follow him as he claps.

“I can make your hands clap!” And he can indeed, because everyone does imitate him, cheering and clapping along.

Yunho comes in with a some strange dance that involves hopping from one foot to the other while saluting, but it’s when Seonghwa is pushed into the centre of the circle, ready to dance his heart out, the music abruptly stops.

Seonghwa gives the biggest baby pout you’ve seen, and that’s almost enough to send you into fits of hysterical laughter.

There’s an awkward silence as everyone turns to stare at Jongho.

The maknae looks up from his guitar in surprise. “Ahh… sorry, I just thought one string was off key.”

But there’s a little quirk to the side of his mouth that you don’t quite believe.

The song switches up again and everyone’s back to dancing once more, Wooyoung jumping into the circle completely of his own volition, doing some “sexy” stretching that you’re laughing too hard over, shaking your head in amusement.

The night ends with Seonghwa breaking out a barrel of rum, announcing that he felt that the atmosphere was lively and they needed something to help the crew sleep.

He clearly doesn’t know his crew mates well enough.

San is doing the same ridiculous dance from before, except this time he actually managed to find two star anise herbs from the galley and put them on his chest. It fits your dream from before almost too accurately and you’re not sure if that’s a good thing.

Mingi is bawling his eyes out in a corner of the ship with a tankard of rum in hand, screaming to the skies and demanding that Hongjoong should be blessed with a better life. You smile in amusement and turn around to search for Yunho and Wooyoung, and there they are again, screaming drunken insults at each other from their respective masts.

From here you can faintly hear the same nicknames ‘Poo Young’ and ‘Yun Hoe’ drifting over the wind and an amused smile tugs at your mouth. Just as you’re considering going over to break up their argument, you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder.

Surprised, you turn around to see Yeosang standing there, holding out a tankard to you with a smile on his face.

“Drink with me?”

You’ve never really drunk any alcohol before, but you suppose there’s a first time for everything. Taking the tankard in hand, you look into it and are surprised to see a fruity juice inside instead of alcohol.

Seeing the confused look on your face, Yeosang explains. “I know you’ve never tried alcohol before, so I made a fruit juice earlier from apples and oranges and added just a little rum to it so you won’t get a hangover tomorrow.”

Your heart warms at his thoughtfulness. “Thank you, Yeosang-oppa.”

The two of you huddle together against the cold at the port side of the ship, the wood of the bulwarks shielding you from the biting winds. You lift the tankard to your lips hesitantly and take a sip, to your pleasant surprise, it tastes just like a well blended fruit juice, with just a tiny nip of alcohol to take the edge off the cold.

Yeosang has some hidden kitchen skills you’ve never known about.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence until Yeosang finally breaks it.

“So, I heard that you gave up on your memories.”

You start a little in surprise, turning to look at the navigator. You’d never told anyone on board about what the sea witch had said, merely telling them that you’d die if you regained your memories, not wanting to tell them exactly how tempted you had been to do it anyway. Fortunately, no one had asked too much about it, but that Yeosang is finally confronting it, you feel like you should give him the truth.

“I really wanted to accept it, you know?” You murmur softly as you take another sip, watching the rest of the crew fool around the deck, laughing and singing drunken songs. It’s cold, so you curl a little closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder. One of his arms comes up to encircle you, pulling you to him.

“I know.” He answers, and you know he does. Since the time the two of you had brushed death together, Yeosang can simply understand what you’re feeling like no one else, sensing the thoughts that pass your mind. You pause for a moment to sort out your thoughts.

“I thought I’d feel sad after I left the island, you know?” You whisper softly to him. You’re starting to feel a little drowsy, a warm heaviness settling over you like a thick blanket. “But I don’t regret it in the least. Not even a little.”

You can feel Yeosang’s smile more than you see it.

“I’m glad.” He says, and you know that he genuinely is. That’s the kind of man Yeosang is, pure, kind hearted, a gentle soul in every sense of the word. Your eyes close and you settle against him, basking in his warmth, feeling the buzz of alcohol in your limbs.

Yeosang hums a light tune and you feel yourself drifting off into sleep, eyes fluttering shut.

“Sometimes I get the feeling she's watching over me and other times I feel like I should go… and through it all, the rise and fall, the bodies in the streets, and when you're gone we want you all to know…”

Apparently Yeosang also has some singing skills you’ve never known about either.

Yeosang’s voice is deep and soothing, washing over your ears. You’re clinging onto his words as you slip into your dreams, hoping one day you can see Jongho and he sing together.

You brought back into consciousness by a gentle rocking motion and the feeling of warm arms around you, something hard digging into your back. The person carrying you shifts a little, adjusting himself so that you’re nestled more comfortably in his arms.

“Did I wake you up?” His voice is soft in your ears and you merely curl deeper into him, burying your face into his chest, still in that sleepy stupor. He chuckles a little as he continues moving forward, raising a leg to unlatch a door expertly with his foot.

The door to the sickbay, you realise drowsily, as the person carrying you ducks inside, careful not to knock your head on the doorframe. His boots thump softly on the floorboards, an oddly familiar jingling sound in your ears.

It’s only when he sets you down on your bed do you realise who it is.

“Wooyoung-oppa?” You ask, a little too tipsy and drowsy to think properly. A hand reaches down to your hair and he slides the hairpin out of your hairdo, placing the accessory on the bedside table.

Wooyoung smiles fondly at you for a moment, even though you can’t see it, one hand running through your hair to free it from its braid. “No, it’s the dream fairy. Go back to sleep, Chin Hae.” With one last glance over his shoulder, he stands up and turns to leave, but then something stops him.

“Don’t go.” You mumble, one hand reaching up to catch his wrist. He freezes under your touch, squeezing his eyes tight against the memories that flood his mind of scarlet lipstick, painted nails dragging down his back leaving bright red marks on his skin. Scars upon scars upon scars, bruises and kisses over the same places on his body until there is no more space for more-

No. He forces those thoughts from his mind, willing the fear built into his body to understand. You’re different. You wouldn’t hurt him… you won’t hurt him. That’s why he lets you take his hand every time you reach for it with a smile, praying that you build new, brighter memories over the dark rooms and suffocating perfume that linger in his mind, hoping that one day, he might be free.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he turns to glance at your sleeping form with a pained smile. Then he bends down, dropping a brief, chaste kiss to your forehead, before tugging the covers over you.

“It’s dangerous to say those kind of things to a man, you know.” He chides you gently, even though you’re already lost in your dreams, eyes shut, chest rising evenly with each breath. He still tells you this, even though he knows full well you’re not afraid of him in the least bit.

In fact, the one in danger of being hurt is probably him.

What are you doing to me, Chin Hae?

Wooyoung sighs in exasperation at his thoughts, shaking his head, but his thoughts turn to something darker. If even battle hardened Mingi had feared that part of him, if even Seonghwa and San couldn’t handle him, what more you? If he ever let you see the other side of him, if he scared you away… what would he do then?

“I can’t.” He whispers to himself. The words are like a weight in his chest, but they’re the truth.

He can’t ever let you see that part of him.

He sucks in a deep breath, bowing his head for a moment as he collects himself. He’s got to fight it, no matter what happens. He needs to only show you the happy, joyful Wooyoung, the Wooyoung that gave you the pin with an earnest smile, the Wooyoung that kept you safe in Nassau. He can’t let you see it. He can’t scare you away. He can’t hurt you, or he’d never forgive himself.

“I need to keep her safe.”

[spc4eva]

Star-Burned: Chapter Two

Ngl, reader is well endowed in the breast department. hate me. trust me, reader is gonna complain about it later about her back hurting.

Paz fluff is probably my favorite thing to write. This fic is undoing me. Goddammit.

Word Count: 8,626

Rating: M (+18) oral sex m!receiving

Masterlist

Cross Posted on AO3

Paz barely understood what was happening when he'd crash landed, falling out of hyperspace and being thrown around the hull of his ship like a tin can before crash landing. It was miraculous he'd survived with just broken ribs. An even bigger miracle that he'd been found. 

You were a pretty young lady with more hair than should be humanly possible, a ray of sunshine, and so hilariously goofy that Paz was smiling beneath his helmet half the time as you trotted in with meals for him, eying him beneath your mop of hair --- which you often tried to manage in a ponytail, though ringlets would fall free and cascade into your face smattered with a constellation of freckles. That's why he named you Tranyc -- Mando'a for sunny or quite literally translating to 'star-burned', because you were the ray of sunshine on his day while he was stuck in bed healing. You were good company, easy to talk to, never berated him despite how much of a burden he was. Took him less than a day to realize you were on your own, running the entire moisture farm on nothing but cultivated crops and several cups of caf a day. And despite how often you fumble over words, you were smart. 

There wasn't much to do and the highlights of Paz's day consisted of you spending time with him. You had piled all your holobooks near him, given him the remote for the television, and anything else you thought he might like while you wandered off to go make repairs and tend to your livelihood. You must've been tired. The farm was a fulltime job on its own and now you had to look after him. Paz felt guilty, because you'd not complained once, not asked him for credits or when he might be leaving. You were cautiously curious, but not impolite with your questions. Not many people would have chanced bringing a Mandalorian into their home, let alone a young woman on her own. That was what was different about you and maybe it had to do with Paz's sheer luck of landing on a relatively backwater planet where people weren't in fear of their lives constantly.

Paz had lucked out. 

He hated feeling weak, being unable to walk on his own, but you were blissfully patient and kind, cracking jokes and making silly faces, telling him how he'd be good as new to start back up on hunting -- or whatever it was that Mandalorians did. And while he was eager to not have his ribs feel as if they'd been kicked in by a bantha, he was also ruing the countdown for when he'd have to return to his ship and leave you behind. Despite it being a few scant weeks, Paz liked you. Not just because you were pretty, but he found your demeanor relaxing. So when he managed to get to his feet to go to the kitchen and he saw your hair sticking out on the couch, he trotted over without an afterthought to check on you. 

He hadn't been expecting to see your coveralls crumpled on the floor and your beet red facing eying him in horror. Originally, he'd believed you were hurt from when he'd fallen on you. After all, you were a small thing. Despite being lean from working the farm you were dwarfed by him. And when the blanket had fallen over... Paz's mind began turning, the gears clicking into place, the disbelief that the pretty ray of sunshine had been caught in the midst of masturbating. To the thought of him. 

Until that point you'd been hospitable and courteous, it was the last thing he expected and dangling deliciously in front of him like a forbidden fruit. He more than owed you at this point. He owed you his life and getting you off wasn't really repayment. In fact, Paz had enjoyed it, thinking the situation was more self indulgent than selfless. You became putty in his hands, passing out from a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction. That brought a smile to his face -- well, there had already been a smile -- but it was bigger now. 

He didn't mind cleaning you up and putting you into some more comfortable clothing, tucking you into the large bed that had obviously been yours. He had found discarded hair elastics under the pillows and a few socks that had been lost to the depths of the sheets. You had taken care of him, he could manage picking up your tiny form and putting you to bed. You didn't come around until morning when Paz was up in the fresher, still testing his weight on his aching chest. 

"You can walk now," you popped your head through the open door, stating the obvious, but it made him smile that you weren't half as doleful as he'd thought you'd be after yesterday. "Um... I can make breakfast real quick and then there's something I wanna show you if you're up to it."

"If I'm up to it?" Paz rumbled, he still couldn't wear his armor, the weight would be too much of a burden. "How are you feeling?"

Your face brightened with blush immediately, matching the hue of your flaming locks at the sheer mention. "G-good, th-thank you."

The moment he'd put you to bed, he'd staggered off to the fresher to relieve himself and the throbbing erection he had from going through his ministrations. Not that you needed to know that he had been wanting more. Yesterday hadn't been about him. The last few weeks you had doted your attention on him. 

"Good."

You darted away, back in your usual attire which consisted of mechanic coveralls, boots, and a tightfitting short sleeve shirt in russet. Your arms were bared from the bicep down and you wore a pair of beat up leather gloves, hair cinched at the base of your neck with a straining scrunchie that fought desperately to contain all the curls which rebelled at being held against the back of your slightly too large overalls. 

Truthfully, you were very nervous over what had happened yesterday and even more distressed that you had slept away the entire freaking day. The hardworking farmer in you was berating you with every step, unbelievable, you slept the entire day until breakfast. Now, when drifters had stayed and you had slept with them, you had woken up and prepared breakfast without an afterthought. There was no guilt, no twisting of nerves in your tummy, because you knew that what had happened was a simple arrangement of two lonely people breaking up the cobwebs. What happened with the Mandalorian should have felt the same, but it didn't. Only one man had stayed a few days and engaged in multiple trysts and by the end, he'd been asking you to leave behind the moisture farm to go adventuring with him. While that was a very... juicy prospect, you couldn't think about leaving behind the canyons you'd known your entire life. You loved it here, even if it was solitude and silence. 

From the views up on the plateau where your farm was located, a bird's eye view of the spanning clay walls, billowing in waves of amber, brown, and orange. Your favorite days were the overcast ones where the clouds would sweep low and fringe the mountaintops with mist. That was during the wet season when the lowest parts of the canyons would fill with turquoise water from the rain. The only freestanding water you'd ever gotten the luxury of seeing and it was still a trip on your speeder bike since you lived pretty high up on the plateaus. Wasn't that time of year though, it was still the dry season and so you had to keep regular maintenance on the farm to suck every bit of moisture up. 

You kept mostly grains on the farm, but had a few animals to include tip-yips which produced eggs. Otherwise, any greenery you had was produced in your greenhouse, utilizing misty puffs of water to keep it nice and humid inside. Without it, you certainly wouldn't have been getting enough nutrients to live out this remote. You would stock up on seed every six months and grow leafy greens, root vegetables, had a few berry bushes, and rhubarbs. They were genetically modified to have additional benefits, keeping you going and healthy. You loved checking in on them, standing in your little bubble of green, imagining other planets that looked just like it but instead of being in a little capsule -- the entire planet was green. That was hard to fathom, giving the landscape you'd grown up on, but so were oceans and you knew they existed. 

Jumbles followed you out to the coop, drooling all over the dirt as you scolded him for getting too close. His head drooped and he stayed behind while you picked out some fresh eggs and threw fodder out for the tip-yips. You knew if you didn't keep the birds carefully locked up, Jumbles would gobble them all up. "Calm down. I'll give you some eggs you beast," you chided as you stopped in the green house to pick a few vegetables and fruit before going back inside. You'd never wanted more aside from companionship and to not be alone. You loved your farm so much and all the work you had put into it. You loved this dry, arid planet and the raw beauty you got to witness. But you weren't perfectly content. 

You were lonely.

Paz was waiting in the kitchen at the table, which was funny, considering he couldn't actually eat with you. Humming to yourself, you put a pot of caf on and then frowned at 6PO, who wandered around aimlessly. "6PO please make yourself useful. Go sweep out the greenhouse if you can't decide on what to do," you sigh, the droid looking as confused as ever, before creaking out the front door.

"Where did you get that droid?" Paz asked curiously as you set a skillet on the stove and began heating it up.

"Found it," you shrug. "Wasn't in one piece, so I scavenged parts and put it all back together again. Some of the neural harnessing was missing, so the droid will never be complete unless I replace it entirely."

"You mean you reprogrammed it?" he actually sounded sort of impressed.

You rolled your shoulders again. "Yeah, suppose so. Wasn't too hard. Lots of trial and error... and caf." And time. During the wet season you had more time on your hands and so typically that's when you'd spend it on projects.

"How'd you learn how to do that? Droids are complicated pieces of tech."

"My dad taught me. He was an engineer, could run this whole place without even trying. Always knew how to fix everything," you gave a sad chuckle at the thought of your parents. You missed them so much. Maybe if they hadn't passed you wouldn't be half as lonely and feeling as if there was something missing in your life. "Studied on... Coruscant, I think? Before the war broke out. Round 20BBY he came out here with my mom and I because they wanted to avoid the fighting."

"And he taught you everything he knew," Paz assumed.

"Oh, well, I mean, probably not everything. He probably would have found a way to fix 6PO completely."

"Do you mind if I ask what happened?"

The corner of your mouth quirked involuntarily and you stared down at the pan as you began sautéing the cut up tubulars. "We get a wet season here every standard year. The canyons are vast, mostly stone, and not porous. My mother was sick, so they had to make a visit to the city which is a 2 day trip on bike. Usually, we don't leave during the wet season. Too dangerous. But mom's condition wasn't improving and so my father decided the risk was worth it. 

"In order to get to the city, you have to go through the canyons. This time of year, no big deal, but during the wet season? Can start raining without warning and when it does, the crevasses act as funnels, diverting water to the lowest point, which... you're catching my drift, right?" You glance up, not particularly fond of explaining how nature worked around here, especially when it had taken your parents from you.

"Flash floods?"

"Mm," you began cracking the eggs. "Can't outrun a flash flood. Not on a speeder bike. They drowned. So-" you drew in a sharp breath. You had rationalized this several times over. Never really talked about it, but it didn't make you cry anymore. This planet had been good to you. Better than most people could hope for when they settled on a farm. You knew that you were lucky because of that and you couldn't resent the planet even if it took your parents from you. "The Jawas found them a little while after that. They know us, we trade with them -- I still do -- and they brought my parents back for me. Despite what people say about them, they didn't ask me for payment."

"I'm sorry... was that six years ago?"

"Mhm," you confirmed, wiping your hands off and picking up a few eggs, cracking them over your massiff's eagerly waiting mouth. "Not your fault. Might be safe from raiders and looters, but it's a harsh unforgiving landscape. Sometimes you get too comfortable and forget about that. My dad knew the risks when he took my mother. They lived a good life, just wish they didn't have to go that way." You wish you hadn't been left alone. 

"Where's the closest neighbor aside from the Jawas?"

"Hundreds of miles," now you were plating the food and grabbing mugs for the caf. "The canyons are the best place to set up moisture farms. The deserts soak up all the water from the wet seasons, but due to the stone around here, it's a lot easier for moisture to be trapped in the vaporators. However, they're remote and a lot of the plateaus are too dangerous to set up on because the foundation of stone is likely to crumble. Only about three farms in all of the canyons and this is one of them. We're the highest producers of water on the planet, especially during the wet season. 'Bout the only time I see starships since the city will come and pick it up."

You slapped Jumbles on the nose as he leaned over the counter toward one of the freshly assembled breakfasts, causing him to whine. "Oh shut it you baby," you hadn't even hit him that hard, just a little boop on the nose and he was pretending you'd wailed into him. "Drama queen."

You brought Paz's food over for him and went to grab your own. "I can go outside. A few things I can start on before we head out."

"Sit down and eat first," he invited, which confused you, because how were the both of you going to eat with the whole helmet situation. "If you sit at the counter with your back to me, it'll be fine."

Oh, well that went against what he said about only removing his helmet when he was alone. But... that also meant he trusted you. How many opportunities did you have to remove his helmet? The first day you probably could have if you weren't terrified of being shot. Until you'd gotten to know Paz better, he had been the big scary Mandalorian and not the patient and easygoing one you knew now. "Are you certain? I mean, it's not a big deal. I eat on the go all the time," you object kindly, not wishing for him to feel obligated to have you in your own kitchen.

"Sit," he insisted.

"Well, I mean-" you grabbed a chair, mostly talking to yourself when you muttered those words and pulled it up to the counter. Jumbles was drooling on your leg, looking at you as if you hung the stars, which admittedly -- was quite cute except for the fact that you knew he just wanted your leftovers. 

"Where'd you get a massiff?" There was a click and a hiss, the helmet disengaging and being set on the table. You tried not to think about how easy it would be to turn around and finally get a look at him, focusing on your cup of caf instead.

"Kind of just... found him," you reveal, thinking about the day you'd stood toe to toe with the beast, your arms full of scrap metal, wondering if you were going to have to use the bacta shot after getting munched on by the creature. "Thought he was gonna try and eat me."

"It's wild?" Paz's voice was different, unmodulated. There was still the same warmth you were used to, but the lack of the radio static and translation from human to droid made your skin hot, little lances of static playing down your spine as the deep bass in its full glory.

"Uuuuh," you almost forget that you're eating, your egg falling off the fork and onto your lap. Jumbles gobbles it up before you even think about grabbing it. "Jee-uh-yeah. Started feeding him scraps, probably shouldn't have done that, and then he kinda just started listening to me. I read that on Tatooine Tusken Raiders keep them as hounds, so I thought that maybe they're just partial to bonding with sentient beings."

Honestly, you'd always been good with animals. An uncanny, unnatural, totally unexplainable ability you'd possessed since you were a kid and ran into a wild dewback and nearly pissed yourself. Instead of swallowing you whole, the dewback had palmed your hand and then trotted off. The canyons were host to a plethora of fauna, many of which were quite dangerous. Having Jumbles had actually saved your skin more often than not, as the canine was keen on keeping his source of food around. 

"When they're raised from pups they are," Paz informed you.

"Oooh. Well, I found Jumbles when he was an adult," you gave the dope a fond pat on the head. He leaned into your gloved grasp and harrumphed contentedly. "Maybe he was already trained and got lost." Yeah, that sounded more logical than your weird animal whispering abilities. "He's been good. If not for him, I don't think I would have found you. He's the one who led me over to your starship." And that's when you realized something. "H-hey, Jumbles is living and your helmet-"

"I'm not worried about a massiff seeing me," Paz chuckled. "I'm not going to shoot your dog."

"I-I didn't say you were," you stammer, heart fluttering a little bit as you gripped one of the massiff's spines to comfort yourself. He could very easily shoot your dog. Did he want to shoot your dog? You didn’t think so, but you weren’t keen on losing him.  "Just you said no living thing and then you'd only take your helmet off alone..."

"No living sentient thing," he corrected, his silverware clattering before the helmet clicked back into place. A tiny wave of disappointment washed off you, almost as if you were expecting to get a little more time with his raw unfiltered voice. "Thank you for breakfast. Good as always." 

You blushed slightly at the compliment. It was just simple food, hearty enough to keep you going throughout the day. Standing up, you nearly whirled into the Mandalorian's chest as you went to retrieve his things for him. Catching yourself before you did, you offered an apologetic smile before frisking the plate from him and placing it in the sink for later. It was a sonic sink, you were very careful about how water was used. Only for food and growing plants. 

Out by the front door you grabbed your outing belt, which had your blaster and a set of tools that you'd been using. Picking up the sack beside it, laden with a few canteens, ration bars, and holobooks you glanced back at Paz. He still didn't have his armor on, but he did adorn his belt with a vibro-blade and pistol. "C'mon," you told him, offering a small wave before striding out the front door and into the crisp, sunny morning.

Drinking in a deep breath of dry air, you gave a dizzying and pleased smile before beginning to talk. "Now, I told you that I borrowed your speeder bike to get us back up here. There was a bit of damage to it since it took a beating during the crash. Most superficial, which I managed to get the dings out of the metal and replace the exhausts which were nearly crushed. Probably needs a new paint job, but I didn't have any paint laying around," you explained, bringing him over to the bike. You'd doted a bit of time on it, because you knew bikes and it was easy for you to fix. Plus it was nicer than the one you had on the farm, so you'd been using it to go back and forth between the ranch and his starship. 

Paz's helmet was craned down as he gave the bike a one over and your original pride began to fizzle out with each beat of silence. Finally, "You did a really good job. It... didn't take up too much of your time, did it?"

"Hm? Oh no, not at all. Bikes are easy, fixed plenty of bikes in much worse condition than this," you gave it a fond pat, relief flooding you that he wasn't upset that you'd fiddled with it. "But this isn't what I wanted to show you," you climbed on. "Hop on!"

Paz chuckled at your overexuberance, the way the bike looked much too big for someone of your stature. Afterall, it was his bike and so he'd gotten one that would fit his physique. Your arms were stretched upward to meet the accelerators and it was quite comical from the dopey, excited smile on your face to the way your legs barely reached the stirrups. He sat on behind you, edging up comfortably so that his thighs framed you. 

"Might wanna hang on," you warned mischievously. 

"What, this isn't going to be a leisurely ride?"

"The canyons look much the same when boxed in. Trust me, just hang on," you told him, feeling your cheeks roll was heated pleasure as strong arms encircled you and his pelvis pressed tighter to your backside. Oh, that felt really good, almost enough that you could lean back into his strong embrace and relax as you started this ride. But... No. You chased away the devious thoughts and tried not to fixate on the sturdy Mandalorian behind you as you revved the engine. It purred like a loth-cat, humming deliciously before you kicked off and started whistling down the hill and into the chasm that led into the canyons. 

He wasn't expecting how quickly the two of you rocketed off. Arms tensing around you to prevent himself from sliding right off as gravity snared him, he let out a breathy laugh. "You weren't kidding."

"Tried to warn you," you laughed at him, shouting over the din of the motors that echoed against the canyon walls. Bowing your head ever so much, you went up another gear and stuck the wide turn. He grabbed on again, his chest now flush to your back as you dared to accelerate again. 

"Where-" his voice was breathless in your ear. "Where did you learn how to drive like this?"

"Mom," you grin. "Dad was the engineer. Mom was the podracer."

"Kriff!" he cursed as you hooked the bike, reversed the thrusters, and then sputtered a sharp turn that should not have been possible except for the trick maneuver. During down time and on your long journeys to the city, you'd picked up a thing or two from your mother. Speeder bikes were easy compared to podracers, she'd tell you. Small, streamline, and capable of quite a few tricks if you understood the inertia, gravity, and capabilities of the machine you were on. Passing the signs out for the Jawas, you curved the halt, brakes slamming as the sideways turn kicked up clay sand and dust. He was still clinging to you even after you'd stopped.

"Did I frighten the big Mandalorian?" you teased, his vice grip finally relenting after taking a moment to realize that you stopped. 

Paz's muscles were vibrating from the adrenaline filling him from helmet to boot from the ride. The last thing he'd been expecting from you, the little farmhand mechanic, were daring turns and hiking the bike up to full speed without as much of an ounce of panic as you tried to take a 90 degree turn. Even Paz wasn't as gutsy with a bike to attempt what you had done, but you'd stuck the turn gloriously and were laughing at him now. He hadn't realized that he could like you more, but you were filled with pleasant little surprises. 

"Can you podrace too?" he countered as he let you go and you hopped down, springy, unaffected and brimming with joy. Your hair was scattered a bit, a few curls puffing loose from your scrunchie.

"Never tried, but can't be too difficult," you reply. Not arrogance or mock confidence, just... the comprehension of someone who knew a lot about machines and how they worked. "Now, come take a look. Gotta talk to you about somethings-" you padded away, leaving Paz to dismount and trail after you. 

The ship still had a hole in the hull, landing gear squashed, but the supply crates had been moved back inside. For something that had crash landed, Paz was astonished how intact it appeared. The reason for his confusion was soon explained as you brought him inside and he saw that wires had been soldered off and repairs had been made. 

"So, I've been heading out here when I can to make sure the thing didn't leak its fuel lines everywhere," you started, gesturing to the neatly arranged containers. "Now, I'm not a starship mechanic, but I have a few old holobooks and the manual that was laying around in here. I read up on them and was able to figure out that the fuel line was cut -- managed to fix that -- and the engines were running at 10% capacity after debris got sucked in. That's how the thing didn't explode on impact, the thrusters were still working enough that it padded your landing. 

"Landing gear is shot. I don't have any lifts strong enough to hoist the ship up or the proper caliber of steel to fix the hull. I got the engines to bout 50%, so theoretically that should get you to the spaceport on the other side of the planet. Gonna be crunchy, don't know what's hiding underneath here. So you've got a few options -- try your best to get to the spaceport and the pay for repairs there, you can try to get off planet, though next planet over is Tatooine and you'd pay an arm and a leg for shoddy repairs, or we can try trading with the Jawas. They've got their sandcrawler which might have the capability of picking your ship up, but won't be cheap. Even with my connections they're gonna want something good."

Paz was flabbergasted and at a loss for words as he looked at the work you'd done on top of the farm, on top of taking care of him, and how candid you were about what solutions he had going forward. "How did you have the time to do all this?" he asked.

"Hm?" you were looking over at a few wires that needed to be routed properly. "Uh, lots and lots of caf."

No wonder you had passed out for over 16 hours yesterday. Additionally, you'd read dry holobooks on starships and for what? To help him? At this point he knew that you weren't expecting anything out of it. He'd not been to a lot of backwater planets, but he was beginning to realize that people like you were more common in these quiet remote locations, just happy to be helping. Why that nearly broke him right there, he couldn't say, but he was absolutely moved by your selfless compassion that you didn't even really acknowledge, because it was all so natural to you. A little gem in the canyons, hiding up on your plateau farming water. 

"What do I owe you? Repairs like this cost a lot... you've saved me a lot of credits, Tranyc."

You were a little distracted, admittedly, your eyes finding the problems you hadn't remedied yet. "Owe me?" you repeated before finally looking back toward the visor. "You're my guest. Don't worry about it. Consider it a little bit of desert hospitality. There's still some work I need to do, haven't gotten round to it, but I figured you'd want to see your ship."

He didn't owe anything. How didn't he owe anything? Paz was shell shocked as you turned away, removing a set of pliers from your tool belt as you started working on the frayed wires that were getting on your nerves. People always wanted something, no matter how minute or simple it was and yet... You were fiddling along, pleased as a womp rat in sand you continued to chug along as if he weren't even there. And you'd learned how to do this in weeks? Taught yourself how to do it? Your parents had to have been smart and if your father studied at university on Coruscant -- you might've been modest about it, but that meant he'd imparted the same years of study into you while you grew up. 

He knew how to make baseline repairs, how to weld, and keep the ship from falling apart. What you were doing -- he had no idea how to do. Truthfully, the gunship needed a lot of work before it was going to be good enough to leave the planet and you were correct -- parts were needed. Sitting on a storage crate, he placed his helmet in his palm and rubbed his aching ribs, trying to think of which path would be the best option. Going to the spaceport meant that he'd leave you behind. He also didn't know how much repairs were going to cost on this planet. Flying to Tatooine was just a bad decision all around, who knew if the ship could handle it. Then trading with Jawas... It would keep him around you for a bit longer and you knew the Jawas. He was bound to have something that they wanted aboard the Kote. He could also use a talented mechanic, but somehow doubted that you'd be willing to part with your farm. 

The way you'd talked about your home, you were very proud of it and you loved the landscape. But still... all alone... he didn't like the thought of that. Even if this planet was relatively safe, what if the Jawas found your body in the canyon ravines? 

He had been lost to his thoughts as you worked, the ship heating up in the midday sun. You'd flipped down the straps of your coveralls to work and that's when he noticed. A thin sheen of sweat decorated your arms, a few curls sticking to your face as you hunched over the controls for his cryo chamber. But that wasn't what attracted his attention. No, it was the swell of your breasts beneath the fitted shirt you wore, the perky mounds that were well sized for your slender form. The fabric left little to the imagination, mostly because you weren't wearing a bra. Why would you? You lived on your own and bras were awful, constricting things that made you even clammier on hot days. Plus they were stupidly expensive. 

The coveralls usually kept them hidden, but with the thick panel of fabric cast down, Paz was staring. He'd been distracted by your lower half yesterday, but not his fixation was on the top. How could you look so good in just a tight fitting shirt that didn't betray any cleavage? He estimated that each would be more than a handful for him, the nipples pressing through the fabric and you didn't notice, completely unaware of the lack of decorum because you were a farmer and those sort of things probably didn't pop into your mind. Which was why he felt a tiny bit ashamed watching you, eying you from the protective mask of his helmet. Would you want him to touch you again? You had told him that you'd been getting off to him, but perhaps that was in the moment when he'd caught you.

Neither of you had broached the subject this morning, but nor were you being incredibly demure or shy. You were just being normal. 

"Wanna toss me a canteen from in there?" you asked, pointing to the bag you'd dumped by the hole in the hull. 

Paz tore his eyes away, glancing down, retrieving the requested item. Tossing it to you, you caught it and upcapped it, taking a few generous gulps and spilling some on yourself. He gritted his teeth as you wiped your mouth, the soft plush lips having been locked around the rim, the water seeping into your shirt. Your shirt. Dank farrik. Now he was staring again, hopelessly pressing his palms together as he tried to keep it together. Stars, he wanted more of you than just the bit of pleasure he'd brought yesterday, but it wasn't his place to take it. You'd already gone above and beyond in assisting him and so he couldn't just ask you to sleep with him, no matter how much he wanted it. That felt... wrong. Like a dirty, awful thing to request after he'd come to like you -- only utilizing you for your body in the end and not the company he'd grown fond of.

"Did you think about what you're gonna do?" you ask him, drawing his visor back up to you.

"The Jawas--" his voice was kinda hoarse, which made you tilt your head. "Might have something on here that they'd like."

A smile unfurled on your face, because secretly you'd been praying that he'd choose that option. Just stealing more time with the Mandalorian, despite the fact that he was stranded. You didn't want him to leave, but it was going to happen eventually, just like it did with everyone else who came here. Everyone left. Everyone but you and the animals. You were pretty sure you were gonna cry like a baby when the Mandalorian finally departed. "I can send 'em a transmission tonight. Probably will take them the better part of a day to get here, but they'll come."

"Thank you again," Paz insisted, but you brushed it off with a silly and overly dramatic hand wave. 

"There's gotta be some kindness in this galaxy. 'Else it'd be a sad, miserable, hopeless place," you counter, springing back to your feet, dusting your gloves off animatedly. "Let's finish up in here and then head back. Got some work I have to do on the farm too."

Sonic showers weren't the best, but they were all that you knew. Aside from when the rain would billet down during the wet seasons, you didn't know what an actual water shower felt like. Either way, you needed to get the sweat and grime off of you by the end of each day, so you trotted out with your pajamas on and into the Mandalorian. You'd already contacted the Jawas and were getting ready to tuck in for the night when he caught you. "Oof, sorry... I-I didn't hurt your ribs did I?" Your eyes flitted to where his injury was immediately.

"I'm fine," he assured you, large hands butterflied against your sides where he'd caught you from doing too much damage by trolloping right into his chest. Big. His hands were big. So large that they covered your ribs entirely when gripping your sides. They lingered, the skin beneath growing hot and beginning to tingle. Then he removed them, as if he were worried about overstaying his welcome. 

Your skin sighed where he released and you glanced up chewing your lip. "Um..." uncertain -- you didn't know where this was going, but why the hell not. What did you have to lose? He was stuck here until his ship was going to be fixed. "Yesterday--"

"I'm sorry, I really shouldn't have done that," Paz interrupted, launching your heart up into your throat.

"Wha-no, I liked it," you assured him, feeling courageous enough to take his hands in yours. Maker, you looked like a child, holding those large calloused palms in yours. "I... wouldn't mind more. I-i-if that's what you want, of course," you sputtered, cheeks sweltering and ears about to rocket off from the intense embarrassment you felt in suggesting such a thing. It'd been easier before. You could see the faces of your guests, gauge what they were thinking, see the lust in their eyes that you could give right back. They'd never stayed this long, never gotten to know you this well, and... you didn't want to make him uncomfortable because you felt a little horny with him around. But Maker, how was that not possible? He was an absolute unit, pure muscle, easy conversation, and had a voice that shattered your resolve like an earthquake.

"Would I want more?" he repeated slowly and your stomach sunk into the abyss, blood draining from your face. The leap of faith had been in vain and instead of swan diving into water, you'd hit stone. And then suddenly his hands were on your chest, driving the air from your in uncontrolled gasps as he squeezed. "Maker--" he cursed, vocoder breaking up as you almost melted on the spot. "So... you're so mesh'la. Had my eyes on you all day while you were working. You're such... a distraction."

He wasn't rough, despite holding onto your breasts, moving carefully over the fabric as he caressed you. In the past, your chest had been a fixation of other lovers because you were well endowed and you were accustomed to rough squeezing to the point where it was painful. It was almost as if most men just wanted to push them until they popped or just liked the pillowy sensation of squeezing and didn't care much for how it felt for you. They were bloody sensitive and you didn't appreciate them being manhandled -- except for right now, right now was good. Better than good in fact. 

"Distraction? I'm the one doing all the work," you mumbled, leaning into his touch as he palmed you and rubbed circles over your breasts, the nipples stiffening beneath the fabric and dimpling it. "While you just... just sit there."

"I'm still hurt," he didn't sound very convincing, maybe that wasn't the point. 

"Too hurt to be doing anything too... arduous," you pointed out, humming as he gave another gentle squeeze. "Last night did you-- I sort of just--" passed out. Say it. You passed out and left him there with an erection. That couldn't have been too pleasant. To top it off with a cherry, he'd put you to bed with clothes on. 

"I took care of things, mesh'la. You left me with some... good visuals," his thumb was circling your nipple, still separated by your shirt, the careful flicking making you shudder. Your entire body was reacting, legs weak and the same radiating heat vibrating between your thighs. 

"Bu-ut it couldn't have been that great. N-not like..." you fell off, head lolling slightly as his hands flipped the hem of your shirt and began cruising the plane of your tummy, scratching its way to your breast. A hot palm met skin, a low moan echoing as he grasped you firmly, but not too hard. 

"Stars, you're so soft," he murmured, pushing the shirt up -- higher and higher until your breasts were revealed to the air. "Maker, look at you."

The praise made your thighs clench together. They didn't usually talk. Not as much as Paz was, which was somewhat ironic considering he had a helmet on and was a mysterious Mandalorian and yet he filled your ears up as he roamed you. No, it was all typically rushed, frenzied, and to sate both parties. Honestly, the sate part was just the rutting, having to take your own hands to your clit while your past lovers plowed into you. There was no copious foreplay aside from a little making out and breast squeezing and while they'd called you pretty, it never really felt the same as the way as Paz's voice. The way in which he was breathy, as if he couldn't believe his eyes, and that you'd been put on the planet delicately by the Maker himself. It made your heart rush, galloping forward, and it made you want him more.

"Le-let me," you found your hands, having been savoring his exploring before brushing the hem of his trousers. You had felt him, sort of, yesterday but you didn't actually know what was beneath the belt. From how tall and broad he was, you had an assumption of what was there. "Y-you're still hurt, s-so..." pitifully tinny, your voice was sliding away as you offered to give him something in exchange for what he'd done for you.

"Mesh'la... I-you have already done so much-" he protested. 

"But yesterday--" you were whining now, hand coasting down more until you cupped his groin, feeling his length twitch. He was already hard. You weren't even undressed and he was already rock solid. "It'll feel better this way."

"Is... is that what you want?"

You nod, waiting for permission.

He couldn't say no. Not while your palm was between his legs and you were staring up at him with big, round, imploring eyes. In fact, he didn't think he could possibly deny you anything, removing his hands, the shirt falling back down over your spectacular chest. "I-Yes," he confirmed, drawing a shaking breath which made his ribs ache. 

You undid the belt buckle, hands scrambling slightly from nerves before undoing the buttons. Coming down on your knees didn't really work, there was still too much of a height difference, forcing you to half-crouch as your fingers slipped beneath the fabric of his boxes and untucked his manhood. Now it was your turn to be wordless. You had expected it, but expecting and witnessing were two very different things. He was massive, just the sight of him making your core twitch painfully, imagining trying to accommodate him, doubting that he'd even be able to fully sheath himself in you without pushing into your tummy. If he could even get in. 

Ok, so when you had offered to do this you thought he would fit in your mouth. Doubt welled in your stomach and he must have noticed as you stared down his cock, brushing a hand over your loose hair. "You don't have to-" he soothed. But the challenge spurned you on, undaunted and a little over zealous to be honest. 

"You'll tell me... what you like?" you had just flattened your tongue against the weeping head of his cock, licking like a kitten, lathing him before you'd attempt to take more. 

His thighs shook and he gave a terse nod. 

You weren't extremely experienced in this field. Just enough that you knew now not to bite someone. But this wasn't just 'someone'. You liked Paz a lot and wanted it to feel good for him. To chase away the pain in his chest and to show how much you appreciated what he'd done for you. Guys liked blowjobs, didn't they? That's why they were requested so much, you just assumed that he'd like it all the same, and honestly you wanted to become more intimate with his cock after feeling it pressed beneath your leg. 

You ran your tongue along his shaft, trailing back around before leaving saliva. Your hand smoothed the wetness over him, pumping a few times over his length to help lubricate him. Then you made your first attempt, tongue over your lips as you pushed his girth into the damp chasm of your mouth. He groaned, fingers tightening in your hair, which gave you the courage to take him deeper. The head of his cock met the resistance of the back of your throat and you gagged, eyes watering and jaw aching. "Relax, mesh'la. Relax your throat-" he managed gently through tight breaths. 

Easier said than done, forgetting to breathe, your throat clenching, you were forced to pull away for a moment.

Spittle trailed down your plush lips, cheeks flushed wildly as you considered your next approach. You were a sight for sore eyes, Paz's own glued to you as you gasped for air. You'd bitten off more than you could chew, but he admired your undaunted commitment as you sank back onto him and closed your eyes, clutching onto his leg for balance. This time, you were able to take his guidance better, breathing through your nose before easing your throat. Your mouth was small, tight, and damp. With the accommodation of the back of your throat, Paz's hips bucked and a strangled moan crackled through the modulator. 

"G-good. Fuck -- so good, mesh'la," he praised, beginning to move in tandem with you, fucking deeply into your throat. Your face was hot and wet, tears leaking out from your eyes at the sensation of your throat being stretched. The noises were wet and sloppy, punctuated by sharp hums as you tried to do well, to do what he wanted, to keep going -- but Maker, it hurt. Your attention was fixated completely on pleasing him, forgetting entirely about your own climbing heat, just trying not to clench your throat or forget to breathe through your nose. Then you dared it, reaching up and grabbing his balls, massaging them in your palm gently as he pushed into you. "Ahh- oh, fuck-- I'm going to cum. Do you want me to--"

You managed the smallest nod, squeezing him tighter as his thrusts rocked you, shattering almost all your resolve as you gagged. Ropes of cum splattered in the back of your throat, your lips suctioning to him as he stuttered to a halt, palm on the back of your head. His skin was like velvet on your tongue, slightly salty, but smooth and soft. Lavishing the last drops from his cock like precious water from the desert. In fact, it was more precious than water, more rare.  

"Mesh'la... ohh," he keened softly, his hand spreading over your hair, petting you, brushing the curls from your face - which was wet with spilled tears, saliva, and a little cum. Releasing him from your sweet mouth, he brushed the white droplets from the corner of your lips, which you sucked off after it being offered. "W-what did I do?"

You tilted your head in confusion.

"What did I do to deserve you?"

You tried to talk, but your voice crackled in the back of your throat, so hoarse and quiet that you simply shut your mouth and blinked. Oh fuck. Had he broken your vocal chords? Panic began to seize you and you clutched his leg and offered a very broken, "UhhhmmMm."

He bent down, cupping your face, holding it between his palms as he took a good look at you. "I was a little too rough, wasn't I?"

"S'okay," fuck that hurt. Hurt to talk. Least you still had a voice.

"What do you want? Do you want me to--" His helmet was so close, almost brushing your nose as he looked at you. For a brief moment, you felt as if you were gazing into his eyes. What color were they? Brown? Green? Hazel? Maybe blue? 

You shook your head and gave him a weary smile. That had literally taken everything out of you and you just wanted a cold glass of water and to curl up in bed. "Water. Sleep?..." you had to swallow again, struggling to get the words out. "W-with you?"

"Just... that?"

Oh no, had you chosen wrong? Did he really want to play with you? Honestly, you were good. Just making him finish had been enough for you. Your legs and throat ached, it had been a long day. You offered a dejected nod. No one ever really cuddled with you and you assumed that he'd be warm, comfortable, and feel like a blanket of protection. You wanted to feel that, even if only just once. Having sex wasn't as important as this to you. Sure, sex with him would probably be amazing, but you didn't want to overexert him because you were being greedy. Despite getting it infrequently, you'd never gotten a good cuddle. Not since you were a little girl and curled up in your parents' arms.

"Ok, ok, mesh'la," he agreed, smoothing your hair again before pushing his helmet to your brow. The gesture lit your cheeks up and felt... strangely intimate. Cool beskar kissing your sweating skin, chasing away the sweltering blush and just a thin layer between you and the Mandalorian. It felt like a kiss, but it wasn't. So gentle and tender that you let it linger and closed your eyes. "C'mon, it's been a long day," he muttered, gripping you beneath your elbow and guiding you to your feet. Your bed was just a few paces away and you were already dressed for it. 

Who would have thought that a Mandalorian could be this... kind? From all the stories you'd heard, you had half-expected him to be a broody tin can that barely offered you the time of day. But there was a man underneath, a man who had desires, who had feelings, and who could be delicate. He wasn't all blasterfire, beskar, and war -- he was still a man. 

He put you into bed, leaving the room for a moment to get a glass of water. You smiled at his return, accepting the offered water, and gulping it down. Your throat ailed and your jaw was already beginning to groan in protest. But the water helped. Putting it down on the nightstand, the Mandalorian removed his boots and climbed into bed with you, just trousers and an undershirt. Offering an open arm, his impressive bicep being revealed from beneath the short sleeve of his shirt. 

You snuggled forward, heart pounding solidly in your ears as you tucked into his side. Maker, you loved this, the way his arm coiled around you, planting against the small of your back before tugging you in tightly. It wasn't as if you didn't feel safe in your home, you always did, but this was different. You trembled slightly because you'd yearned for this proximity, not just a rush of passion, but what came after and the security of him. From the strength of his muscles, to heat of his skin to yours, and the smell of him so close. This is what had been missing. The last piece to the puzzle that was home, the rut in your belly and soul curling pleasantly as you melted into him. Please never end. But you knew morning would come and one day he'd have to leave like everyone else. And you knew that day would be soul shattering. Because once again, you'd be alone.