#i savour every moment of screen time he gets

[wizardwiener]

OOOOOOOHHH CAPTAIN REX, THE MAN THAT YOU AREEEE 😩😩😩

when this mf rocks up, you know the episode is gonna be SCRUMPTIOUS

[pierregazly]

i've got you ꨄ oscar piastri

oscar piastri x best friend!reader

warnings: angsty, arthur leclerc is the villain, oscar is in love w/ the reader but wont ever admit it, no hea [963 words]

request: 💗 can i request oscar with prompt 6? please and thank you!! 😽[6. "I've got you."]

A violent sob ripped itself from your body, your hand clutching the phone in front of you, the incriminating photo in plain view as you tried to process what was so prevalent on the screen.

It had been so obvious that things were falling apart in your relationship, they had been for months. Date nights were cancelled, anniversaries forgotten, but you never thought he would lower himself to this. Never thought you’d be getting that ‘I think this is your boyfriend?’ text. 

But here you were, trying to contain the feelings flowing through you, the anger, the sadness, the heartbreak.

He had told you it was a small trip with his brothers, it was offseason for everyone, the only time they really had to relax. The lie was staring right at you, Arthur’s hands gripping the ass of an unnamed brunette, his lips connected with hers. There was no denying that it was him, the video that followed showing the two of them pulling away from each other, an intoxicated smirk on the lips of your long-term boyfriend.

You didn’t know how to react. Didn’t know if it was worth sending the proof to him, whether you should call him and ask him outright or act like it was all fake. The emotions were running through you so aggressively, you hadn’t even had the chance to properly think through everything.

How could he do this? Why did he think this was okay? How can he tell you he loves you, and then do this? Were you not good enough for him?

The variety of thoughts continued to cipher through your mind. Your body was begging your brain to stop, begging it to give you a moment to get a grip on reality, begging it to allow you a moment to think clearly.

You barely heard the repetitive knock on the door, the noises mixing in with the unrelenting thumping noises clouding your ears.

Oscar had a key to the apartment, always had. He always claimed it was a ‘safety measure’ and he needed to have one in case anything happened, or in case he ever had to get you into your apartment after a night out.

Most of the time it was used because you weren’t answering a message quick enough, and he wanted to spend time with you. 

He had been messaging you since this morning, offering to bring you pastries from your favourite bakery, asking if you wanted to get lunch, had asked more than once if everything was alright. It wasn’t until he saw the pictures, his brain taking a moment to catch up with his eyes when he realized why you weren’t answering him.

You had been friends for years, longer than any of your other friendships, had known him almost double the amount of time you knew Arthur. He had tried more than once to explain how disastrous dating the Monegasque could end up, but his attempts were futile. You were too stubborn to listen to him, too enamoured to believe that Arthur could be anything except lovely.

There was barely a thought in his mind before he was making his way to your apartment, aggressively knocking on the door; practically begging to be let in. He knew you were in there, could hear the soft sounds of you crying through the door, his heart breaking with every vicious sob he heard through the wood.

It didn’t take him long to find his key, pushing open the door with a bated breath, unsure as to the scene he was about to walk into.

You didn’t even acknowledge his presence, your body having begun the process of curling in on itself, trying to savour any sense of peace it could gather. Oscar felt his stomach drop when he finally made eye contact with you, the puffiness of them so obvious, the tears still clouding your vision.

“Oh, love. C’mere, I’ve got you.”

A small whimper left your lips as he sat down on the couch next to you, gently tugging your body into his. Your hand clutched onto his shirt, the tears still falling from your eyes instantly soaking the material when you pressed your head to his shoulder. 

“Why’d he do this to me, Osc? Was I not good enough for him? What did I do to deserve this?”

Every other word punctuated with a cry or a sniffle prompted a small grimace onto his features. The pit in his stomach grew worse and worse with every word that fell from your mouth, his own heart breaking again as he tried to console you.

“You’re more than good enough for him, I’ve been saying for years you’re too good for him. You didn’t deserve this, at all. He’s a piece of shit,” he said.

His hands continued to rub up and down your exposed arms, your tears subsiding as you melted into his comfort. The grogginess was still prevalent in your head, your eyes puffy, your brain still trying to get a grasp of what was going on; but all you could focus on was the calluses on Oscar’s fingers catching on your skin, the heave of his chest as he cuddled you closer.

He was always the first person there for you, even without having to pick up the phone and ask him to be. For him, you always came first, above racing, above his friends; he would drop everything he was doing and run to you if you asked. He would never admit that, though, ever.

“I wish it was you all those years ago, Osc. You would’ve never done this to me,” you said.

Oscar felt his own heart splitting in two. You were right, he wished it was him all those years ago, too. 

i did NOT know where to go with this one!!!! so angsty and sadness it is!!!!! sorry!!!!

[nyahchan]

Childe's Dear Roomate

Modern AU Childe x fem!faceless pornstar streamer reader 18+

TW:mentiones of toys, voyeurism (?) , modern au childe,daddy kink, squirting,

I think you can guess the rest of the tags

This is inspired by a fic I read but I can't find it anymore so idk who to give credits

:readmore: (this shi never works)

Every waking moment

Every hour at work

It all felt irritating

He could only grow restless till his working hours were up and he could leave

Childe's favourite activity of the day was going home, not to relax, not to eat, not to sleep, but to watch his favourite streamer, oh how cute she was! hiding her face with a mask, wearing a wig for extra caution, all while showing her beautiful and gorgeous body to the entire world for money, playing with herself for ___$ , Cumming on the stream for ___$, using various toys for ___$,Moaning a certain viewer's name for special donations and oh so much more! Childe could only feel aroused and angry everytime your stream started, you were showing your lovely body and doing such unholy things in front of so many perverts like himself just for money, he could easily give you the money you need! Just thinking about having you by his side, fucking you every waking moment, giving you the money that you oh so badly need to be doing such things on the internet was enough to make him cum all over his screen as he watched your stream on his computer.

Everything was perfect as usual except for one thing, he had a new roommate now, ugh so annoying, although he didn't need to have a roommate as he had a very high paying job, he oh so stupidly agreed to it one night a few days ago while he was rewatching a few of his favourite streamer's streams, agreeing in the heat of the moment as he was annoyed that someone was calling him asking if she could be his roommate for external and internal reasons for a few days, childe kept thinking about kicking his annoying roommate out but figured it's only for a few days so he didn't even bother looking at his new roommate's face, and with that in mind he kept watching his darling streamer when he realized something, her background was different today and she was telling her viewers how she was at a different place for some internal reasons and to not pay attention to it but childe kept thinking about it over and over again... It looks familiar... Too familiar... Childe kept looking at the background till it clicked in his head, he grinned evilly and immediately dashed to his new roommate's room and behold! His darling was right in front of him, completely naked, a dildo inside her sopping pussy, her face covered with a mask, wearing a wig, her eyes widened as childe barged in. He on the other hand,wasted no time in unbuckling his already loose pants, only in his underwear from the waist down now, wearing a mask himself and going near the screen where she was sitting, "hey guys, today you're gonna see your favorite streamer get fucked by an actual cock instead of this fake tiny little dildo" childe said as he yanked the dildo out with so much force, it caused you to whimper out loudly, still shocked from the turn of events "this will be her last stream so gonna make it a special one ya see" "don't even need to pay today, just watch and see how good I fuck my darling unlike you disgusting perverts, savour this moment in your heart" he says to the screen as he quickly takes his pants off, revealing his long and girthy member ", your eyes widen "w-wait, w-what do you mean my last steam?!" You say all confused "darling, ya think I'm gonna let these animals look at you any longer now that I've found out you're my roommate~ don't worry daddy's gonna pay for everything, no need to do such degenerate things for money anymore, daddy's gonna wife ya up"

and with that, he starts aligning himself against your dripping pussy, you can only whimper in protest, he starts slowly entering you until he bottoms out, hissing at you walls tightening around him "although you just had a dildo shoved in ya, it appears you're still too tight for daddy's cock, never had an actual girthy cock before did ya?" He says smugly as he starts violently thrusting in and out of you, you start moaning loudly, lost in the pleasure, no one has ever fucked you think good before, your eyes roll back in your head as your tongue falls out of your mouth as you stop caring about how your screen is filling up with hundreds of messages , either praising you or degrading you as they talk in detail how they're jerking off right now to you,as you're getting fucked into oblivion, childe on the otherhand could feel his blood rushing to his dick even more as he saw all the comments popping on the screen, a feeling of possessiveness fills him up as he starts thrusting faster and faster while growling to show the world who you belong to now, your walls start tightening around his cock as you feel the knot in your stomach about to snap, but something feels different, very different "i-i think I need to pee, I-i feel strange" you whimper out "then piss on my cock" he grunts as he feels your walls tightening even more, and as if on command, you squirt all over his chest, your back arching as your head falls back, childe's eyes widen at the scene in front of him and he starts smirking mischievously at this new revelation "my my, it looks like someone just squirted~" he chuckles,your eyes quickly widen but he gives you a reassuring smile to indicate this is not something to be ashamed of and thrusts into you sloppily a few more times to help you through your high before cumming inside your pussy himself, you whimper out at the feeling of being filled to the brim by his seed.

Childe quickly ends the stream and places you onto his lap to let you rest up as he coos praises into your ear "no more showing the world your gorgeous body m-kay?I'll give you as much money you need, let's be permanent roommates" he says as he slips the mask off of your face and his as well, then snags the wig off of your head for more air "you look stunning, you know that right? Looked so good when you squirted,it's a shame the mask covered your face, wanted to fully see that tongue sticking out,maybe next time" he says as he brushes some hair off of your face, you might have just found a new sugar daddy, except you're probably gonna be living with him.... And might just become a parent in the process..

[quite-right-too]

Piece of Art

Tenth Doctor x GN!Reader / requests are open

Summary: The Doctor sees your newest tattoo.

One year.

You had been travelling for an entire year.

Granted, time was subjective when you are in a literal time machine, but the point still stood. For your timeline, it had been three hundred and sixty-five days of adventures.

It seemed like the Doctor also knew. He was up before you — which was normal considering his “superior Time Lord biology” allowed him to have “a considerably altered circadian rhythm” and he didn’t need much sleep.

He was already up and running around the console by the time you were up, hair tousled like he had been running his hands through it. You admired him from the doorway as he checked the screens, putting on his glasses and analysing the data that was written in that beautiful circular language.

“So, what’s the plan today?” you asked with a smirk, arms crossed and leaning against the coral entrance to the console room. The Doctor jumped for a second as he was brought out of his focused state.

He gave you his signature Doctor grin and began to flip various switches. “Well,” he drawled, “I was thinking we could go to Dracea VII. They have a wonderful festival that comes around every ten years. The food is amazing.” Nimble fingers typed into his keyboard as he watched the Gallifreyan symbols change. “Just imagine it. The sky's the perfect shade of lavender while the various rivers that flow through the city are a shimmering gold. The grass is soft, almost like silk, and is a deep blue. The entire planet is gorgeous.”

You couldn’t help the matching smile that spread across your face. “Sounds wonderful.”

“Alright!” he exclaimed, pulling a lever down hard as the TARDIS began to groan and lurch through the vortex. “Allons-y!”

A final thud upon landing threw your balance off. As you were sent stumbling, the Doctor reached out and grabbed your arm, pulling him into you as you both fell to the floor. He caught you, just as he always did. Your shared laughs filled the console room as you savoured the moment.

“Come on, up you go,” he grunted as he helped you to your feet. “Off on another adventure, us!” He grinned as he grabbed his overcoat and pulled it over his shoulders, adjusting the collar as he put it on. Once satisfied with how the garment sat, the Doctor held out his hand. His fingers wiggled in invitation. Chestnut eyes sparkled with the excitement of being able to spend time with you.

You loved it.

Fingers now laced, the door to the TARDIS was thrown open. Instead of the beautiful grass and rivers the Doctor had described, you were greeted with what appeared to be a sewer system. A very dirty sewer system.

As the two of you stepped out of the doors, the Doctor looked around with a grimace on his face. “What the-” He was quickly cut off with a low rumble.

A rumble that came from directly above you.

Although you both moved away from the now-noticed pipe above your heads, it was too late. The putrid smell of hot garbage assaulted you as you felt yourself get splashed with the brown mysterious liquid.

“Fucking dammit!” you yelled, lurching away.

The Doctor grabbed your hand, pulling you back into the TARDIS. Your shirt seemed to have gotten the worst of it. Not wanting to continue the contact of the sewage against your skin, you pulled your shirt off and discarded it on the floor of the console room.

“Alright, that was not where I intended to land. Sorry about that.” As the Doctor looked up at you, he froze. Standing before him was your shirtless form, bearing a semi-new tattoo.

The vibrant blue phone box that took up the space on the right side of your torso was beautifully surrounded with a galaxy. In the background, the Earth was able to be made out. 

His feet moved of their own accord. Before either of you knew it, he was standing directly in front of you, staring down at your ribs. “When did you get this done?” the Doctor murmured quietly, his hand coming up to hover above the piece.

You moved your hand up to his, pressing his fingers against your skin. “You can touch, Doctor.” You smiled at how enraptured he was. “I got it the last time we were in America. Probably around three months ago? Did you know that Los Angeles has some pretty amazing tattoo artists?”

“This is brilliant.” The Doctor was in complete and utter awe. “Why haven’t you shown me this before?” He traced circular patterns over the tattoo with the pads of his fingers.

“I don’t know, just…” You trailed off, mind melting at the feel of the skin-to-skin contact. “Wanted to wait for the right time.”

“Well, I love it.” The Doctor wasn’t lying. His eyes were staring into your soul. He loved it.

“Good,” you breathed. He was so close to you — it made it so hard to think.

I love you.

The words caught in your throat.

[garoujo]

✩ ˛˚ . NAGI SEISHIRO ; — theres nothing more tempting in the morning than staying in bed.

warnings: f!reader, all characters written 22+, nagi just wants to stay in bed :3 note: i was updating my mlist + decided to repost this since it got flagged like an hour in <3

“we gotta get up, sei.” your voice is still thick with sleep as you squint at the bright screen of your phone, taking an airier sort of lull when the sound only seems to draw nagi closer — pulling you tighter against his chest as his hips roll into yours, pushing more of his cock into the snug squeeze of your walls.

fuck— this position is perfect, lying on his side with your back flush against his chest, he barely has to move and even though he’s losing out on the extra amount of sleep he could be getting right now, waking up early isn’t so bothersome when it means he gets to spend time wrapped up in you before practice.

“eh, ‘m still sleepy right now. pretty thing. jus’ gimme a few more minutes” nagi’s reply is low and ragged, muffled against the space where his lips rest against the back of your shoulder — snowy peaks of his hair tickling along your skin as he presses himself even deeper into you. he hears you whine with his next lazy, languid thrust and the sweet sound only encourages him to curl his arms even tighter around your waist for the next.

“so comfy, can’t you jus’ stay with me all day?” the pout you can hear in his words is almost convincing and he knows he’d much rather be cuddled up in bed with you, buried in your warm cunt instead of sweaty and tired at practice — longing for the sweet squeeze of you around him. but then your hand reaches back to smooth through his hair and he knows exactly what you’re gonna say as he whimpers against your skin.

“you have p-practice too, y’know.” what a drag— nagi thinks before he’s following it up with a particularly deep kiss of his cock along the swollen spots inside of you, like he’s throwing a silent little tantrum despite the fact he’s 190cm and a pro football player. but your fingers squeeze in the roots of his hair before you pull with the pleasure he digs out of you, easing him to melt into you all the same as he mouths at the crook of your neck with a grumble.

“eh, so.. ‘ts so bothersome, wanna cuddle with you all day instead.” he really was like a big teddy bear, the warmth of his body only easing you to push your hips back to meet his slow pace as his large palms creep their way around your hips to squeeze.

“we can cuddle when you get home, s-sei.” your voice catches and breaks with the warmth you feel at the base of your spine when nagi’s fingers pet their way through your slick folds, lazily rolling your clit with two fingers as his other arm continues to hug you closer. there’s no real rhythm or practice to his movements, still drowsy and instinctive but it’s enough to push you close enough to your high that you almost consider calling in sick.

“mmmhf—‘ts cold without you though.” he grumbles with the next wet press of his hips against yours, abdomen twitching as his breathing turns to softer, needier pants. he’s getting close, but he knows as soon as you both cum you’ll have to leave — so he’ll fight off the blaze of pleasure that turns in his abdomen if it means a few extra moments with you.

“just wear a hoodie.” you laugh and nagi groans again, louder this time before he’s curling over you to press his face into the crook of your neck — fingers continuing their slow pace on your clit as he presses you into the cushions beneath you and it’s almost amusing — the amount of effort the usual unmotivated striker was suddenly showing just to keep you in his arms.

“eh, what a hassle, f-fuck—but you’re warmer.” he’s trying, pouting to keep you in bed with him all day like he doesn’t have somewhere to be himself, not that you’d think so with every languid roll of his hips — savouring every twitch and squeeze of your walls around his cock like he’s got all the time in the world as he presses down harder on the swollen, puffy bud between your folds.

“such a pain, g’nna make me cum already but don’t feel awake enough yet, pretty thing.. stay a lil longer, please.”

© 2023 GAROUJO. do not copy any of my layouts / writing + translate / repost onto any other sites.

[dont-touch-the-phlebotinum]

Steve has never really let himself care about Halloween. In high school he was too cool for that dorky shit – it was just an excuse to throw a party; to choose whatever costume would make him look hottest and ensure all eyes were on him; to savour the weeks of, 'Are you going to Harrington's for Halloween?' and, 'I can't believe you missed Steve's party!' overheard in the school corridors. And then he discovered the Upside Down, and out went the parties and the notoriety and trying so damn hard to be someone he's not, but by then it was too late. Halloween kind of loses its appeal when you know the monsters are really out there.

It's a shame, really. The things he's seen in the Upside Down could have inspired a Halloween party that would get everyone talking.

But instead of music and drinks and everyone who's anyone filling Steve's living room, he's playing host to, well, everyone who's not; the very people who'd have never set foot inside Steve's house had the course of all their lives not been radically altered. They're sprawled out on and around the couch in front of the TV, the kids arguing whether or not to fast-forward the ads at the beginning of the movie, 'cause according to Dustin the trailers are the best part, while Eddie and Robin are trying and failing to throw popcorn into each other's mouths from six feet away.

Steve just watches the quiet chaos for a moment, a fond smile on his face. He's long past pretending he doesn't prefer this life to his old one.

He picks his way between the bodies on the floor to set down another bowl of snacks, dodging the handful of kernels that go flying through the air towards Robin. She misses every one of them, and only narrowly avoids giving herself a concussion on the side of the coffee table in the process.

"You guys are gonna waste all the popcorn before the movie even starts."

Robin pulls a face at him as she tries to right herself, but if she says anything in return Steve's not listening, his attention already turned to Eddie. It's hard to pay attention to anything else, sometimes. Most of the time, to be honest. He's looking up at Steve with those huge brown eyes, the picture of innocence where he's sat on the couch, knees tucked up towards his chest, trying to balance an impossible amount of popcorn in one hand. Steve can't help but follow the movement as Eddie picks up a kernel and brings it to his lips.

"You're blocking the screen, Steve," says Dustin, swatting at Steve's legs and making a show of trying to peer around him.

"Yeah, 'cause you're really missing a lot." Steve gestures back to the TV, bands of static obscuring the picture as Mike fast-forwards the tape. Evidently Dustin lost the battle over the ads. Still, he clambers over Dustin, holding onto his head for balance and making sure to tread on him as many times as possible, towards the seat Eddie's saved for him on the couch. "Shift over, Sinclair. You're hogging all the room."

"If you didn't have such a big ass you wouldn't need so much room," Lucas shoots back, but he scoots over to the other side of the couch for Steve to plant himself directly in the middle, far enough away from Eddie to avoid suspicion but not so far it looks like he's trying not to sit close to him.

"Hey, it's that big ass that gets King Steve all the girls," says Eddie, with a grin that only stretches wider when Steve glares back at him. "Show it some respect."

From below them Steve hears Robin snort loudly.

"You guys are assholes." He turns his attention to the TV as the opening credits start to roll, some schlocky B-movie Robin picked out that Steve's never even heard of. "How can you even want to watch scary movies after everything we've seen?"

"What's the matter, Harrington?" says Eddie. "Worried you're gonna have nightmares?"

"Yeah!" He's only half joking. To be honest, there probably aren't many horror movies that could scare Steve more than the Upside Down already has, but they make for a pretty compelling reminder of the decidedly non-fictional monsters Steve would much rather forget.

Eddie knocks his shoulder against Steve's. "Need me to hold your hand?" he says, and his tone is so brazenly flirtatious Steve would be worried about the others starting to suspect something if Eddie hadn't been this way for as long as Steve's known him. He could probably plant a kiss on Steve right in front of them and they'd dismiss it as just Eddie being Eddie. Steve's not about to voice that thought though, just in case Eddie decides to test it.

He just nudges Eddie in the ribs in response, careful to avoid the scar tissue that still gives him trouble, and with a laugh Eddie turns back to watch the movie.

But maybe watching's not the best term for what they're doing. Mostly they're all just mocking the crappy effects and loudly predicting each twist they can see coming a mile away; the kids reacting with noisy, gleeful revulsion at the grisly deaths that Steve really shouldn't be letting them watch, Eddie and Robin yelling at the screen each time the characters trip into yet another dumb horror movie cliché.

As the next cry of, 'Just run, you idiot!' fills the room, Steve stretches his arm above his head and slowly, subtly curls it around the back of the couch behind Eddie. It's an old move, but Steve's a master at it by now. From the corner of his eye he sees Eddie fall still, lips twitching into a smile as he waits for Steve to make his move.

But Steve doesn't do it just yet. He watches the others for a moment, and only when he's satisfied that they're all too wrapped up in the movie to pay attention to Steve and Eddie does he slide his arm around Eddie's shoulders, fingertips brushing against his bare skin.

There's a scream from the TV and a chorus of 'eww's around the room, but Steve's not looking to see what they're reacting to. He's focused on the slow rise and fall of Eddie's chest, the subtle shift of his body as he presses himself back against Steve's side. His hand sneaks up towards Steve's, threading their fingers together, and he looks back to meet Steve's gaze. They share a secret smile.

Eddie's body is warm against Steve's. It's familiar by now, the gentle weight of Eddie against him, the heat of his skin beneath Steve's fingers, but Steve's not sure he'll ever get tired of it. Usually the only time Eddie manages to sit still for more than five minutes is when his mind drifts back to the Upside Down, so the moments like this, when they can just enjoy being curled up together watching crappy movies without Steve having to pull Eddie out of his own head or falling victim to a wildly gesturing hand, are worth savouring.

And while they might not have the place to themselves like usual, it's dark enough in Steve's living room that he braves to shift a little closer, lets his hand trail down the length of Eddie's arm as he noses at Eddie's hair. It still smells faintly of Steve's shampoo, and he breathes it in with a smile.

Steve's fooled around with girls in the back row of the movie theatre enough times that this shouldn't be thrilling – especially since they're not even doing anything, just sharing gentle little touches that could be so easily explained away if any of the others did notice them – but his heart is still thudding insistently against his ribs and his fingers itch for just a little bit more.

They brush the frayed edge of Eddie's t-shirt, the sides sliced open deep enough to give Steve easy access to the skin beneath, and Eddie's breath hitches when Steve's fingers ghost over his nipple. His hand settles on Eddie's side, as if the touch was completely accidental, and he keeps his eyes on the TV, fighting a grin as Eddie looks over at him.

But Eddie can give as good as he gets. His own hand curls on Steve's knee and slowly slides higher as Steve squirms beneath him, the touch just innocent enough that it can be explained away if anyone catches it while still managing to drive Steve to distraction.

Steve takes a steadying breath and tries desperately to keep his attention on the movie.

"Jesus, Steve, would you stop fidgeting?"

Robin's voice cuts through Steve's racing thoughts, quickly followed by her elbow colliding with his shin as she tries to reposition herself on the floor in front of him.

"Yeah, Steve," says Eddie. His hand has disappeared from Steve's thigh, and his eyes glitter with amusement at the look Steve levels him with. "Some of us are trying to watch the movie."

"As if you haven't already seen it, like, fifty times."

"Would you shut up already?" says Dustin.

"All right, geez." Steve rolls his eyes, but he finally pulls away from Eddie, and this time he's able to watch the rest of the movie without distraction.

They're halfway through another when Steve's eyelids begin to droop, and the next thing he knows there's a gentle nudging at his side stirring him awake again. The room is quiet, nothing but static on the TV.

"Steve," Eddie breathes against his ear. "They're all asleep."

"Think we can slip away?"

Eddie looks down. Dustin's sprawled right beneath Eddie's feet, taking up just about every inch of space between the couch and the coffee table. Maybe they could clamber over the back of the couch without disturbing anyone, but to be honest Steve doesn't trust Eddie's coordination that much. And if he goes tumbling to the floor in a cacophony of jangling chains and swearing, the two of them definitely won't be able to escape to Steve's bedroom tonight.

"Screw it," whispers Steve, his hand on Eddie's jaw as he pulls him in for a kiss. Eddie makes a tiny, muffled noise against his lips that just makes Steve grip him tighter, and Eddie's hand curls around Steve's wrist like he never wants him to let go.

It's not exactly comfortable, nor can things get half as heated as Steve would like when they're surrounded by sleeping friends, but it's Eddie, and Steve hasn't been able to kiss him since first thing this morning so he's not gonna stop until he absolutely has to.

"Quiet," Eddie grits out between kisses.

"You be quiet."

Steve's just starting to really sink into it, the press of Eddie's mouth against his, the faint scratch of stubble beneath Steve's wandering palm where Eddie didn't bother to shave this morning, when he feels Eddie freeze in his arms. He pulls back from Steve's grasp, his eyes wide.

Steve follows Eddie's gaze across the room.

Robin's sitting up, looking over at them with her mouth agape and eyebrows creeping up to disappear beneath her bangs.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. But before Steve can move far enough past that thought to pull some kind of explanation out of his ass, some reason that him making out with Eddie is definitely not what it looks like, Robin's expression melts into a broad grin.

"I knew it!" she hisses in delight.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

LOKI's POV Part I

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Warnings: Loki's side through the lens

Word Count: HAPPY BIRTHDAY @tarithenurse.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

The familiar wall of the 'BTS room' came up on the camera with the lone empty chair in the front. There was a slight movement behind the screen before the frame took in the face of Javier. His usually beautiful blue eyes seemed to lose some sleep while his olive skin looked flawless. Running his hand through the brown curls over his head, he sat down on the chair and took in a deep breath for the camera. "Hi there! I am Javier," he signed with a tired smile on his face. "As you may already know, I am one of the people behind the cameras here in the Avengers facility." He wanted to continue signing but a thought made him pause. His features were lost in some invisible maze for a moment before he came back. "A lot has changed here," he slowly began again, "and things are not how they usually were. So…" his long fingers hung in the air for two seconds before coming back. "I compiled some of the footage that I was strictly told not to let out. Well, more of a threat to not let these out. But I don't care anymore." Javier shrugs and gives a faint smile. "I'd rather have this come out than-" he paused, bringing his hands together to intertwine his fingers. He eventually sighed and rubbed his palms on his face before getting up and coming closer to the camera and clicking something to make everything go dark.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

A footage comes up, of the very first day when everyone is busy chatting, properly introducing themselves despite having met on the battlefield before. You are there too, a little reserved but never without a smile for anyone who comes up to talk to you. But the camera is focused behind all this lively chaos at the lone figure by the fridge. Loki. A glass of wine in one hand, he is observing minutely every little thing happening across the room. More so, he is observing your interactions with everyone and how you come back to cuddle with the little stray pup every time you get some alone time. Loki is practically leaning on the countertop next to the fridge all the while slightly amused by how you always come back to drown your hands in the lush fur of the baby. .

It is the next day and the 'happy to help' coming out of you has shut some part of Loki down. The camera is still zooming into his face as he is suddenly lost in some calculations thrown by your sunshine of a smile- while the world is moving past him but he just standing there by the kitchen island with his arms across his chest and a big furrow of his brows. 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

At Bruce's lab, the camera records his starry eyes as he explains to you how the universe works and you are hung up on every word of his. And once he leaves the lab, for a breather, the camera follows him."No one's looked at me like that," Loki is speaking more to himself than to the camera. Once he realises that, he looks at the camera with a straight back and a puff of air blowing out through his mocked laugh. "What is wrong with this human?" he casually points at the lab before getting his eyes stuck on you through the glass partition. Again. 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

In the night, the camera seems to be out on the balcony, right outside Loki's room. Zooming in, you can be seen standing outside Loki's door with Thor before you walk away with a smile and Loki slams the door in his brother's face. Turning around, Loki walks towards his bed and the camera pans in to show him carrying a plate with a freshly baked lava cake. The God jumps onto his bed and lies on his stomach, keeping the plate in front of him as he digs into the lava and lets his mouth savour it with the biggest smile on his face. 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The CCTV catches you falling asleep on Loki's shoulder as he reads you the lore in the library, making Loki pause and look into some invisible void in front of him. "As much as I don't want to-" he brings his hand to brush your stray strands away from your face and lock his fingers under your cheek resting on his shoulder- "but you might have to hear an earful from Barton if I do not move you away from me." He gently brings your face to rest on the sofa's headrest instead, and barely a second later, Clint barges in, waking you up and forcing Loki to lock eyes with the one camera that followed the hawkeye in. The God just gives it one tired look. 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The camera is panned in onto the large glass of orange juice Loki is pouring for himself. "Why should I be bothered by how she feels? She would have eventually found out one day that she was adopted." He brings the glass to his lips to sip it like tea. .

The God is lifting weights in the training room without much difficulty. He is more focused on something else. "Do you think she got hurt because of me telling her she's adopted?" He squats and comes back up in the camera's frame. "Because it's not great news to be told, from personal experience." He squats again and the camera can see the door open and a figure entering the room. Loki comes back up. "But that should only be a sad thing if her adoptive parents are not good parents." He thinks out loud and squats again. The camera focuses on the figure still standing at the doorway. It is Sam standing there in mild shock. "Is this dude deadlifting Seventeen hundred pounds like it's nothing?" the man exclaims to the room. .

"So what if her parents are not good enough," Loki huffs to no one in particular. The camera pans out to show the rooftop garden having the most luscious-looking fake green grass but a one hundred per cent real vertical garden. Loki sits in the middle on a lounge chair as he sips a screwdriver and puts his sunglasses on while he basks in the bright sun. "Everyone has screwed up parents," he is finally talking to the camera, "the world is not always soft and warm. She should grow up. And we all know what does not kill you makes you stronger." He nods at himself in satisfaction and goes back to sipping his drink. .

"I did get stronger. But at what cost?" It is night-time and Loki lies on the rooftop, higher than that garden. The camera seems to be sitting next to his lost figure; the figure that is staring at the starry sky, swimming in them for some answers. "Not to mention I did almost die," he whispers. "And I cried every night when I survived that wormhole, wondering what I had done wrong to make my biological parents hate me and my adoptive parents loathe me." There is a moment of silence in which the camera zooms in to show the glistening eyes of the God as he does not take away his gaze from the view of the universe above him. "Do you think she feels that way too?" he whispers. 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

At the Pepperoni wedding, Javi's camera is constantly pointed at Loki and you, and usually, you both are near each other. Often When Pepperoni finally kiss, the camera is fast to turn and find you in the hooting crowd, smiling with tears welling in your eyes and no one but the God looking at you with just a spec of longing in his eyes. And Peter and Scott look at Loki, hooting and clapping- sometimes smacking each other in the chest in excitement- with heart eyes. 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The single cement block in front of the tavern holds Javi's camera when the frame records Venom devouring one of the perverts. "Javier!" a voice comes from behind the camera, making the device shake as if startled. Loki's face comes into view with quite the lines of worry running down his forehead. "I told you to call me as soon as you found Y/N! Where is-" He hasn't even finished the sentence when he hears your scream coming from the van in the parking lot. His head whips in that direction and his eyes turn dark. Within a snap, he is right next to the van, in between you and the lowlife thug. 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The camera is recording a familiar figure sitting by the kitchenette counter looking down on the drawing of a chibi Loki on a napkin. With a sigh, the figure puts the napkin back on the counter and stands up. "All right, magic Mike, you can send me back on my honeymoon now," he announces before a sparkling circle opens to a beach and our man walks away. A few seconds later, the elevator dings open and the camera zooms in on the figure of Loki still in his formal attire- though a little crumpled- walking in. He is heading for the dorms when his eyes land on the counter. Taking a few careful steps, he tilts his head at the site of the drawing on the napkin. He stands there for two minutes, staring at the little version of himself, quietly breathing, never moving. Finally, he picks up the napkin and takes it to his room. .

The next morning, the camera is up early and recording outside Loki's room. One can hear the shower running when the frame quickly records a once-over of the beautiful room before finally landing on what it is looking for. Right next to the open window, on the study table, in between the fluttering pages of the justifiably bulky epic Mahabharata is a carefully laminated napkin of a chibi Loki being used as a bookmark. Javi records the bookmark in the frame at an aesthetically pleasing angle, taking him and a half minutes. Once satisfied, the camera is zoomed out to take in Loki's daunting figure standing next to the study table with eyes that spell murder. The camera nearly falls from the boy's hands but Loki does not flinch. He stands there, his arm resting on the French window while he looks down at the camera. "You tell anyone about this, your little cameras won't be the only ones I shut down permanently."

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The camera records you walking across your college campus with an unusual- but convincingly threatening- gait. Once you turn the corner to the desolated parking lot in front of the swimming pool, a shimmering wave of golden light changes you into Loki. "Men are disgusting," the God announces with such force as if he had been holding it in for a long time. He turns to the camera. "Javier, you are assigned to follow Y/N around campus, right? You make sure that worm David stays away from her. He does not seem to have good intentions for her." The furrow in his brow is a serious one. "And if he does try to do something that, let's just say you would not do to Y/N, you contact me. Do you understand, Javier?" The camera keeps panning on Loki while the God is lost in a two-second thought before looking at the lens with judgement in his eyes. "Did you hear what I said? Then repeat it to me."

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The camera sits right in front of the television screen in the lounge to capture you, Loki, Clint and Cassie in a serious game of Uno. "Uno," you declare, keeping down a Draw 4 card, "colour Blue." Loki gasps dramatically, bringing his hand to his chest. "How could you Y/N?!" Clint chuckles. "She got you good, Lolo." "How could you-" Loki draws a card from his pile and puts his Draw 4 on top of your card- "do this to Cassie?!!" You roar and Cassie groans, the little girl almost falling back on the floor. "Noooooo," she announces from behind her cards as she gently draws one from her pile and puts another Draw 4 in the arena, "how could she do this to Clint?!!!" Clint is simply blinking at the Draw 4s while the camera takes the liberty to pan in on the twelve cards he's already holding. "No, this can't be right. You cannot Draw 4 on another Draw 4!!!" Cassie giggles at the defeated expressions of Clint, Loki simply shrugs his shoulders for following the rules made by them girls and you guffaw in unadulterated elation, your happiness throwing you off balance into Loki's arm. There is a split second of eye contact, made by Loki with the camera before he regains his composure like a professional and sits there similar to a statue while your laughter has stopped making a continuous sound and is now just little breaks of a tiny engine of a toy train. Clint is throwing a fit. And your laughter is throwing you back till the arm you have fallen on grabs your back to support that unhinged cackle. No one notices the God's ears turn red when your hand smacks itself on his thigh for the overflowing hilarity. No one but the zoomed-in camera.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The lounge is empty thanks to everyone being out on a mission and with no one but Loki in the facility. Of course, the security team is doing their jobs in some security room but we do not care about that. Loki is sprawled on the sofa, his long stature barely fitting the already huge velvet seating setting. A camera is recording from behind the kitchenette island, panning in slowly to see what Loki is tapping on his phone’s screen. On zooming in further, the camera can finally read the name on top of the chat. V. Loki: How is Greece? V: It’s cool! Lots of white stones, lot of ocean, lots of beautiful babes… Loki: Sounds fun. V: But they don’t have jet sprays and their toilet pipes are too thin for toilet paper business. Major L Loki: …okay. Loki: I have a question for you… V: Shoot. Loki: Does your sister like precious stones? V: You can easily distract her with a colourful pebble bro Loki: …typing V: Or some food Loki: …stops typing V: I can list her favs if you want for $200. Loki: $50

V: Deal

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The holographic clock on the wall shows three past twelve on the lounge wall when the camera swerves to the figure of Loki carefully entering the space from the dorms. The camera then turns away and focuses on the light snores coming out of you as you lay haphazardly on the sofa with the TV still running. The God plants himself on the floor next to your face as he whispers a spell into his right palm before putting the hand over your head. The lens records specs of gold originating from his hand to glitter and land onto your hair before seemingly dissolving inside the parts of your head he touched. Loki knowingly smirks at the camera. "My work here is done," he says to the zoomed-in frame as he gets up. The camera catches the shift of your body. Your hand grabs his arm to let your cheek rest onto his palm as you let that side of your face turn towards the sofa. Fear. Loki's eyes show fear for the first time. "Ahh," you whisper, a smile growing on your lips covered in drool, "so cold." The camera shifts between your sleeping figure and Loki's distressed brows as he tries to get his hand out from under your face. “No, Chichi,” you moan in your sleep, making the God pause, “that’s my blanket. Don’t take it away from me.” A deep sigh leaves Loki's lungs as he crosses his legs and sits next to you. Apparently, so does the camera. No matter how often he tries, your grip on his arm strengthens. And so, two hours pass for the God sitting there, given up now as he plays with baby hair strands on your forehead- his sulky face concentrated on turning them into the tiniest pigtails. The camera is already panned in on his face, his smaragdine eyes having a dim glow in the night as he studies your face. Lazily, his eyes move from your brows to your nose, then to your lips. Loki does not realise he has tilted his head, resting it on the little space on the sofa, facing you. The fingers from his free hand are running over the fine lines, the pores, the natural moles over your face, either counting them or giving them a boop. His eyes are locked in on your lips when they part to breathe and his fingers in close proximity of them, having paused just before coming in contact with your lips. His pupils have gone wide, wider than they usually do. His visible ear is turning red. Maybe he realises it too. Because within the next ten seconds, he whips his hand out from under your face and crawls a step back on the floor. His bewildered eyes are looking at you while his mouth is agape with some newfound surprise. Gathering himself- barely- he gets up and furiously walks back into his room. The same camera runs out onto the balcony and past the other rooms to halt outside Loki's French windows. The God has closed the door to have his back stuck to it as he slowly falls down onto the ground with his hands on his mouth in some silent prayer. The camera is zoomed in- enough to have a close look at Loki's face again. "This cannot be happening." the mic on Loki is still on. "How can you even think of her that way, Loki." And apparently, he is speaking to himself. "How can you think of-" he stops mid-sentence as his gaze returns from the infinite void to something closer. The camera pans out of the beautiful face to look at the little familiar box kept on his bed. "Oh, Valhalla-" the camera looks back at Loki- who is still staring at the box as he whispers to the room- "what are these new emotions."

[cypressmoons]

Okay, okay #6 flirting prompt, the get some rest one, with whoever you think it fits 😌💤

referring to this post! look if you say "whoever you think it fits" it's gotta be alhaitham <3 you know i'm down BAD for that man :D also let's just ignore this was asked on feb 5th ok,,,i got swept up in work & school again so here's my contribution before i disappear for the next 2 weeks i cry

contents: slightly nsfw, minor sumeru archon quest spoiler <3 word count: 0.7k

the days are long and nights are even longer when alhaitham is not here.

it's not like he's being sent on expedition to the furthest corner on teyvat, per se, but it feels just as lonely to you, if not more. his title as (Acting™) grand sage, as he always likes to correct you, seems to be eating up more of his time and energy than the day before. the yellowed parchment that posted his office hours is long forgotten as people stream in and out of his office nonstop, that he thinks it might be easier to just remove the entire door altogether rather than having someone knock on it every three seconds.

and he feels guilty, he does. before he met you, his office hours served as a warning against disturbing his solitude. he much preferred spending his time somewhere secluded, reading a good book and away from prying eyes. but ever since you entered his life, you had become the sole reason behind the click of the lock at exactly 5pm. he prefers to read his books in your presence instead, his tall frame somehow nestled perfectly into your disproportionately smaller one on the sofa, your steady breathing a calming reminder that you're here, with him.

you don't blame him for being away, but you miss him, dearly.

you miss the telltale footsteps out the door at the same time everyday, followed by open arms and sweet kisses the moment he enters the home. more than once kaveh's blueprints have been carelessly swept to the floor as you're lifted onto the counter, lips never leaving each other's as alhaitham mutters "i love you"s into your skin, completely unbothered by his roommate's angry protests of I WAS WORKING ON THAT when he storms in a few hours later.

now kaveh's blueprints sit neatly on the table - well, as neatly as an architect can put it, stacked underneath a half-finished model of popsicle sticks and rubber bands. the kitchen no longer smells of delicious sabz meat stew, and you find yourself starting to miss the small signs that another person is in fact living within these walls.

hell, you're even missing picking up his littered books and scolding him on not putting things back in their place.

as if on cue, your phone lights up and buzzes against the wooden table. you set down your teacup and glance at the screen, eyes immediately lighting up at the familiar name.

the sun has long set and at this point, you've started getting used to empty beds and empty homes. you weren't expecting him to text, or even come home tonight, for that matter, but part of you still selfishly hopes that today will be the day he can leave his work behind and be with you instead.

the excitement quickly dies down as you scan the words.

i might have to stay a little longer tonight again. i'm sorry, my love.

frowning slightly, your fingers dance across the screen in response to him.

you take care of yourself too, haitham.

you sigh and lay your phone face-down on the table, the adventures in your new novel long forgotten as you savour the memory of the last time you were with him.

how long has it been now?

it feels as if he became sumeru's hero overnight, and his already heavy workload somehow tripled after that. what a way to celebrate a saviour, you think bitterly.

and you know he's doing this for the akademiya, for sumeru, for the archon you all adore. you can't blame him, but maybe you can allow yourself the right to miss him.

your phone buzzes again, and the light in your eyes reignite.

i'll be home tomorrow, i promise. i miss you.

really?

i may or may not have something special planned for you.

what is it?

your curiosity is piqued by his purposefully open-ended comment. a long-overdue date at puspa cafe? a walk along the beautiful waterfalls on the outskirts of the city? or-

what you read next has your breath hitched in your throat and a violent blush spread across your cheeks.

tomorrow i'm fucking you so good for a few hours so get some rest.

masterlist

[bbyquokka]

hi nemu… idk if your requests are open but if they are .. i’d like to request a small fic (when you have time ofc) abt complimenting jisungs lips and then he says “then kiss them” ?!?)?! i just saw a tiktok about this and i’m LOSING IT ATHRGR

if your reqs aren’t open feel free to ignore this, i hope

you have a great day/night !! 💋

lips

FLUFF BELOW CUT – MINORS, AGELESS & DEFAULT BLOGS; DNI

warnings: gn reader, established relationship, mention of food (fried chicken), kissing, semi proof read, jisung's lips are the plot words: 0.5k ~ (516)

dont repost. dont translate. feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

you wouldn't say you're exactly fascinated by jisung's lips. in love with them, however, thats a different statement. you can't help but stare at them every time he's around you.

you adore how cute and perfect they look. how his bottom lip is plumper than his top lip. when he smiles and laughs, his top lip disappearing, showing you his beautiful gummy smile.

his lips always look so perfect and soft, no matter the seasons. when it gets cold, you have to suffer with dry and chapped lips, applying lip balm every second to help moisten them. jisung doesn't suffer with that problem which makes you a lil bit jealous.

you watch jisung eat some fried chicken. the sauce coating his fingers and lips. you glance at him a few times from the corner of your eye, watching the way his tongue darts out to lick up the sauce. he lets out a small chuckle, eyes fixed on the tv screen as his favourite kdrama is currently playing.

“this is some good food. thank you yn!” jisung looks at you, giving you his famous gummy smile that makes your heart flutter.

“it's ok, ji. i've missed you so it's always nice to spend some time with you.”

“you're so cute yn. i've missed you too.” you place the chicken down, wiping your fingers with a napkin. jisung follows suit, leaning back against the sofa.

you watch him wipe his lips clean from the sauce, your eyes fixated on them. you can't help it, jisung's lips are your favourite feature of his. how they look so perfect, soft and round. he glances at you, tilting his head to the side.

“are you ok yn?” you hum, watching his tongue lick his plump bottom lip. it glistens in the dim light, making you fight the urge to kiss him. “are you sure?” he asks again.

“its just, your lips..” you mumble.

“what about them?” his attention being shifted onto you.

“they're so perfect. they're cute and round. soft to the touch. i love how your bottom lip is plump and the way your top lip disappears to show of that adorable gummy smile of yours. i love your lips so much.”

jisung chuckles softly, scooting closer to you. your breath hitches in your throat as he hooks his finger under your chin so you're looking at him. your eyes flicker from his eyes to his lips multiple times.

“then kiss them if you love them so much.”

you lean in, gently pressing your lips against his. you hum softly as you tilt your head to the side to allow jisung to move a some more. your lips mould and move together in perfect synch. the softness of his lips doesn't go a miss.

you briefly pull away to try and catch some air. jisung whines softly, grabbing the back of your head and pulling you towards him to reattach his lips onto yours.

“don't stop. not yet anyways. i love the feel of your lips against mine and i want to savour the moment for a bit longer.”

note: hi ducky! i hope you're doing well and are resting, eating and staying hydrated! thank you for this cute request! ily & have a great day/night 💋  don’t forget to leave feedback, reblog and tell me what you think here. i’d love to hear your thoughts ‹3

tags [open]: @sstarryoong ; @myprwttyhan ; @septicrebel ; @bbujiikseu ; @cixrosie ; @alyszaen ; @writerracha ; @hyunluvxo

[karliahs]

okay i am mildly ill and don't have the brainpower to actually finish any of my wips even though 2 of them are tantalizingly close to done, so i'm just gonna post some random snippets below the cut

tentatively titled to work, to rest. 3 times eri falls asleep on aizawa fic. hideously soft.

The next thing she knows, there’s a gentle hand resting on top of her head. The other is still lying on her chest. “Come on, Eri,” Aizawa murmurs. “Let’s get you back to bed.” She shakes her head. “I’m comfy here.” Aizawa sighs and she feels his breath against her hair. “I’m giving you bad habits.” “No,” she insists. “Sleeping—” She pauses to yawn. “Sleeping wherever you can sleep is logical.” “What idiot said that,” he mutters. “Okay, how about you get back in bed and I’ll sit beside you?” His little finger taps against her chest. “You can keep the hand, too.” Eri hums in thought the way she sees grownups do, even though she’s too sleepy to be thinking much of anything. “Okay then.” “Okay,” Aizawa says, and scoops her up into his arms. 

unnamed shindeku thing:

Hitoshi’s eyes flick upwards and his face falls. “Uh-oh.” Izuku glances up too, then scrambles back up onto his knees. “Sensei! What, uh…” Izuku has a thought and plucks Hitoshi’s phone from where it’s sticking out of his jacket pocket. The screen reads 11:03. “Oh, no.” “Detention,” Aizawa says, sounding almost content. “One day for every minute you’re late.” “Three days,” Izuku murmurs to Hitoshi, showing him the phone. That familiar sinister smile spreads across Aizawa’s face. “Only if you can find some way to teleport back to the house. You’re still breaking curfew until the moment you’re inside.” Hitoshi sits up. “It’ll take us at least another three minutes to get back.” He gives Aizawa a calculating look. “No way you want to supervise that many detentions.” Appealing to Aizawa’s laziness was a pretty sound strategy, and Izuku pauses his hasty scramble to his feet to eye him curiously. Aizawa’s smile grows wider. “You’re right, I don’t,” he answers. “But I beat Vlad King at cards earlier, and my prize is that he has to supervise all detentions for either class for the rest of the summer.” Izuku pales. The joy Aizawa took in punishing misbehaving students was only outmatched by the pleasure of getting one over on 2-B’s teacher. He looks down at the phone again. 11:04. “Come on!” he cries, grabbing Hitoshi’s hand and pulling him along. Even as they sprint through the trees, Izuku takes a moment to savour the feeling of Hitoshi’s hand in his.

aizawa & mic talking post-kamino:

Shouta lands on a robot in mid-air, resting a hand on its metal face to steady himself. It’s the same form he’d used to grab Dabi, and the thought makes him lose a precious second. He kicks the robot into the floor but too late, and it lands dented but mostly intact. Worried about your students, Eraser? Shouta lands on the robot’s chest, denting it further, but it’s not enough. I wonder if you can save them, in the end. Shouta rears back his arm and punches the robot’s blank face with all his strength.  The pain is immediate, as is Hizashi’s cry from behind him: “Shit.” Shouta’s heartbeat is thudding in his ears, and he pulls off the headphones with his other hand. Hizashi rushes over to him through the piles of debris, watching worriedly as Shouta flexes his injured hand slowly. “That was really stupid.” “Yep.” “Are you okay?” A wave of exhaustion floods through Shouta and he sits down on a half-destroyed robotic carcass. The adrenaline starts to fade a little and with it comes more pain. Still, he can move the hand without crying out, so it’s unlikely anything is broken. “Yeah.” He meets Hizashi’s gaze for a moment. Wonders what Hizashi is seeing in his eyes. Hizashi sighs and sits down on a nearby piece of rubble. He holds out his hand. “C’mon, show me the paw.” Shouta kicks him. 

and then there are 2 more docs i'm working on, one really close to done and one not, that don't rly lend themselves to snippets. one of them...even manages to not have aizawa in. i am as shocked as you are.

[lady-rose-moon]

Oh my godd!! I'm so happy to see your requests are open 💫

How about some fluff with Loki (any is fine), like him giving the reader motivation to study something like that?

Thank you sooo much I love your writing ❤❤❤

Take a breather, my love || Loki x Reader || Requests Open||

Hello and welcome to one of the first requests I got! Thank you for sending this in, I am honoured that you love my work so much @simping-for-marvel ! ✨ I hope you like this, even if it is a bit short. I find that even in small fics, there is so much said so I hope you see it here!

My requests are still open, friends, so please don't be scared to send in one of your own! <3

Loki had noticed that you were beginning to work less and less on the work that was given to you. His sweet pet, his golden apple, his literal world, was becoming burnt out and avoiding their work. 

The God of Mischief sat beside you and watched as your eyes scanned over the paper beside you and then at your computer screen, your fingertips hovering over the keys of the keyboard with your bottom lip pulled between your teeth. He watched as you struggled to hold a thought, looking between the paper and the screen various times and releasing annoyed huffs that signalled to him that you didn’t know what to write. 

“Love,” he whispered into the quiet of the room, grabbing your attention and waiting until you looked at him and when you did, he offered you one of his genuine smiles and took your hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “You can do this,” he continued after a moment of quiet, “who is the girl who managed to get into this university despite the odds?”

“Me,” you whispered weakly, your eyes darting away from his to the computer screen before his fingers gently held your chin and directed your vision back to him. “Don’t look away, my pet,” he whispered to you tenderly, his hand cupping your cheek as he pulled you into a soft kiss.

You savoured the silence and pleasure of the kiss before Loki pulled away and looked at your screen. “Stand up,” he commanded softly and you willingly obeyed, standing from the chair that had long since become uncomfortable. Loki sat in the chair and pulled you onto his lap, his arms wrapped about your middle with his chin nestled on your shoulder, “how is this?”

You got yourself into a comfortable position and with Loki’s arms wrapped around you, it grounded you as you looked at the screen and the words began to make more sense than they did five minutes ago. Taking a deep breath, you smiled and nodded to him, “better, thank you.”

“Anything for my world, darling,” Loki replied with a small smile.

From then on, the God was quiet and simply allowed you to work whilst also adjusting his grip every few minutes to make sure that he wasn’t making it too uncomfortable for you. With you sat on Loki’s lap like this, so wrapped up in his comfort, you felt able to finally work and as soon as your fingertips hovered over the keyboard, you were right back to work on your project.

“That’s my girl,” Loki whispered against your skin, the approval breaking a smile onto your lips and you carried on your work with Loki’s approval radiating off him as he watched you work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Main tags:

@lokisgoodgirl @lokisninerealms @evelyn-kingsley @slpnbty2001 @jennyggggrrr @hahaha12123445 @ozymdias @holdmytesseract @itsybitchylittlewitchy @lovingchoices14 @xorpsbane @huntress-artemiss @muddyorbs @nerdy-fangirl-65 @lonadane @silverfire475 @chantsdemarins @iamsherlocked1479 @kittiowolf210 @just-someone11 @stupidthoughtsinwriting @loki-laufeyson-1054 @fictive-sl0th @coldnique

[finkinthisfrew]

Anything (Pt.48)

We finished our bath, which lasted much longer than necessary since we dragged the bath out as long as possible. As Matty gently washed my hair and the rest of my body, we took our time, savouring every touch, kissing each other tenderly on whatever skin we could reach from where we lay, over and over, allowing our hearts to slowly repair as they steeped in each other's presence. 

Afterwards, Matty dried us both off, clothing us in his comfiest sweatsuits, and then placed me on his couch before turning and walking out of the room. Moments later he reappeared with his duvet and several pillows from the bedroom, then began placing them around me, tucking me in tightly.

"Wait, wait, wait, stop," I said as he wrapped me up like a cocoon. He froze, looking up at me skeptically with a raised eyebrow.

"Why?" he asked dubiously.

"Because I want you under here with me," I answered innocently. When he didn't concede immediately, I made sure to pout slightly so he wouldn't turn down my request.

He bit his lip as he fought internally about what would be best for me, finally caving after a few moments.

"Fine," he said as he resumed tucking me in. I raised my eyebrow at him in question and he quickly finished before continuing. "But I'm getting you snacks first," he said as he stood up, wagging a finger at me, then promptly turned on his heel and walked out the door. I couldn't help but laugh, then reached for the remote and began to scroll through Netflix as I tried to decide on something to watch. I settled on a lighthearted rom-com and nestled myself deeper under the covers as I began to watch.

Only a few minutes later, my phone began to ring. I chuckled as I saw the smile of Matty's contact photo light up on my screen, rolling my eyes as I picked it up.

"You can't possibly be calling to check in on me- you've been gone all of five minutes, Matty," I said incredulously as I answered.

"I'm just walking to the shop- I'm grabbing you a bunch of things, but are you in the mood for anything specific? We'll order lunch in, but any snack cravings?" he asked earnestly.

"I'm okay, Matty, honestly. I'm fine with just lunch," I laughed.

"But what about after? Just tell me what to get," he insisted.

"I'm honestly not very hungry," I said. I listened to his silence on the line, then I realized he wasn't going to take no for an answer. I sighed.

"Some chocolate, I guess? That Milka one we both like with the biscuits? And maybe some juice?" I gave in.

"Perfect," he said, his smile audible. "Anything else?"

"Matty," I replied sternly.

"Oh, hush, or else I'm going to call Agatha- she'll take my side and we both know it," he said sassily as the familiar bustle and beeps of the grocery store buzzed in the background.

"Goodbyyye, Maaatty," I sang.

"See you soon, my love," he said sweetly into the phone before hanging up.

Some 15 minutes later, I heard Matty climbing up the stairs, then reappear in the doorway carrying what must have been at least five or six grocery bags stuffed to the brim. As he carried them to the kitchen counter, I stood up and walked over to him, wrapping my arms around him from behind, earning a yelp from him.

"Anna-" he began to protest at my non-horizontal state.

"MATTY!" I yelled as my eyes landed on one of the bags which had tipped over, its entire contents spilling out of the bag and onto the counter. The bag was chock-full of Milka chocolate bars.

"I'm going to be gone for a couple more days! I didn't want you to run out!" he reasoned.

My eyes scanned the contents of the rest of the bags which were full to the brim with canned soups, heating pads, a variety of fruits including a dozen lemons, multiple bottles of honey, several different kinds of tea, various medicines, and every kind of juice you could imagine, including orange, apple, mango, pomegranate... I even saw a thermometer peeking out of one of the bags. He'd gone completely overboard, and while I found his overreaction entirely unnecessary, I was also so incredibly touched. I'd never had someone take care of me the way Matty did.

I tightened my grip around his waist as I nuzzled my head into his back.

"Thank you, babe," I whispered meaningfully into the hood of his sweatshirt.

"Hey," he said, raising his arms before turning around in my embrace so he could wrap his own arms around me. "Anything for you, my love. Anything," he said as his large palm cupped the back of my head tenderly.

Less than an hour later, once we were finally both settled under the covers on the couch with our bellies both full of takeout butter chicken, Matty turned to me, his eyes soft with care.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Tired," I answered honestly. "Kind of feel hungover, but different. I guess I feel a bit anxious too. Mostly just tired though," I said with a yawn as Matty nodded attentively. "I also feel pretty upset about... what happened... last night, but I don't really wanna talk about that now. I'm definitely too tired for that..."

"I'm sorry, darling-" he answered as he wove his fingers through my hair, running them down to my neck where he began to massage the tense muscles. "-for everything... Are you anxious about anything in particular?"

"I'm anxious about everything in particular," I sighed. "I think it's from the roofies though- the doctor warned me that I might feel some anxiety or depression from the leftover drugs in my system..." I said as I closed my eyes and let Matty work some of the stress out of my body. "But honestly I'm too tired to really think too much right now- I feel like I just ran 17 marathons back to back."

"You should get some sleep, darling," he said softly into my ear before kissing my earlobe gently, then reached for the remote to turn the movie off.

"No, I like this," I said, putting my hand on his. "This is keeping me relaxed, and I wanna enjoy your company as long as I can," she said, a tinge of sadness in my voice. We both knew he had to leave in the morning. "Please? Let's just do this a little longer."

Matty caved, moving both our hands to his chest. I smiled at him happily, and he smiled back before his eyes returned to the movie. It wasn't until now that I noticed the huge bags under his eyes. He looked exhausted.

"Maybe we should sleep, actually," I said.

He looked back at me quizzically. I placed my hand on his cheek, running my thumb along the purple crescents.

"When's the last time you slept, baby?" I asked him softly.

He averted his eyes, clearly uninterested in sharing this information with me.

"The other night," he said nonchalantly, his eyes staring at the TV but not following any of the movements.

"Which other night?" I pried.

He sighed before his eyes turned back to mine sadly.

"Two nights ago," he answered honestly. Before I could begin to fuss over him, he cut me off. "I'm totally fine," he assured me, "I promise. I don't even feel tired."

I didn't have the energy to bicker, so I gave up for now and decided I'd try again later.

As we settled back into the movie, I noticed he kept looking at his phone, reading text messages and sending off his own, his fingers fidgeting anxiously with the duvet between texts.

"What's wrong, Matty?" I said, turning to look up at him

"Oh nothing, darling," he said, smiling down at me sweetly, but his smile didn't quite reach his eyes before they flitted back to the TV.

"Matty," I said with gentle sternness, taking his hand into mine and getting his attention again. "You don't have to tell me, but please don't lie to me," I said gently as I looked into his now saddened eyes.

"There's nothing I wouldn't share with you, darling," he said as he turned my hand over in his and opened my fingers. "But I don't want to worry you- you're meant to be taking it easy," he explained, rubbing my palm with his thumb.

"I'd feel a lot better if my boyfriend wasn't stressing out all alone," I offered.

"I know you want to help because you're such a selfless, giving angel, Anna," he said between the little kisses he planet on my forehead, "but it's too much to handle right now," he admitted earnestly. "I don't think I have it in me right now," added quietly, his eyes turning to look down at our fingers which now interlaced.

"Let me help. I have it in me," I said, giving his large hand a squeeze. "Let me take some of the weight off you."

"I'm afraid you don't have it in you either right now, Anna. You need to be resting," he said quietly, his eyes looking up at me, pleading. "Let me just deal with it on my own for now. I promise I'll tell you once you've rested up a bit."

"You don't have to do this alone, Matty," I said encouragingly.

His brow creased as his eyes turned pained with guilt, scanning my face for forgiveness. 

"You've already been through enough," he said so quietly, almost to himself. He turned away before mumbling, "You don't deserve this..."

"What do you mean, Matty? What happened?" I asked worriedly, sitting up straight.

Matty put his hand on my back and began to rub it soothingly. His eyes looked even guiltier now.

"There's been another article..." he admitted nervously with a look of worry. "It came out this morning. It's more of the same. My PR team is doing what they can and I've just been messaging with them about making sure your comments are turned off on your social media this time. I don't want to risk adding any more stress to your life right now..."

My stomach dropped. I couldn't lie, I was upset. But I was too tired to feel anything more than annoyed at this moment. 

"Fucking assholes..." I muttered to myself. I sighed audibly, then leaned back into Matty's chest, melting into his arms as they wrapped around me. 

We'd been lying like that in silence for a while before I noticed Matty's heart beating faster than normal against my back.

"I'm not too worried," I said quietly before I tilted my head back to look up at him. "We have our plan in motion, remember?" I said with a small smile.

"You're not upset?" he asked in confusion.

"Well yeah, a bit," I answered honestly, "but if the last few days have taught me anything, it's that none of it matters." I peered into his worried eyes as I readjusted myself to look at him better, and he watched my every move intently.

"Nothing's more important than us, Matty," I said firmly. "Nothing."

"But you've been through so much, Anna..." he breathed, his brow creased deeply with pain. 

"And I'll go through a lot more, I'm sure," I replied. I shrugged slightly. "But it's all worth it if it means that at the end of the day, I have you."

"I don't know if I agree with that..." he mumbled. He noticed my look of hurt and quickly corrected himself. "I just mean that my world has been bringing you nothing but pain and stress and hurt since we've met, and sometimes I worry you might be better off without me."

I frowned deeply at him.

"Saying something stupid like that again, I dare you," I threatened with a playful glint in my eye. "I know I'm weak right now, but that won't stop me from trying to smack the ridiculous out of you."

This earned a chuckle from Matty, and the sound made my heart skip a beat.

"But seriously, the pain of living life without you would far exceed anything either of us has gone through since we met by at least infinity," I reassured him as I leaned toward his face, planting a kiss on his cheek. "I promise."

"Well that I can agree with," he said with a small smile as he kissed the tip of my nose.

I settled back into my favourite spot, burrowing deeper against Matty's chest as I nestled myself into the crook of his arms. His arms wrapped around me snugly and we both sighed- a mixture of annoyance at our situation and happiness that we were together.

"We should go to bed if you're tired, I don't have to keep watching," I said as Matty kissed the top of my head.

"No, I want to keep hanging out. I love spending time with you too much," he said sweetly. "I promise, I'm not even tired."

I reached to grab a piece of the chocolate bar that lay unwrapped on the couch next to us, along with several other snacks Matty had picked up for us, and munched away quietly as I continued to watch the movie.

A few minutes later, I noticed something familiar in the next scene: the familiar rectangular box Matty's band used for their merch on the t-shirt of an extra walking far in the background.

"Oh look, Matty!" I said, tapping his chest gently with my finger. When he didn't respond, I peered up to find him fast asleep, his lips parted slightly as he breathed in and out slowly, his chest rising and falling with his breath. He looked so relaxed, finally asleep after such a whirlwind few days, yet his arms stayed tightly wrapped around me. I couldn't help but smile.

"I love you," I whispered quietly, almost to myself as I looked up at his angelic face, and he tilted his head to the side, nuzzling it into mine as he pulled me in closer against him, then smacked his lips lightly all while deep asleep before settling back into his still and deep slumber with a new little smile.

[adamprrishcycle]

I wrote a silly little pynch fic set after they get engaged and it stars ronan lynch’s anxiety and abandonment issues (I couldn’t just let them live ok)

Adam sat at the table looking down at his left hand, his eyes seemingly drawn to the thick, gold band on his third finger.

Ronan watched him quietly from the doorway, leaning on the doorframe, not wanting to break the spell of Adam alone and left to his own devices.

Adam’s shoulders rose slowly and fell as he sighed heavily and lifted his head, looking over at the window. Ronan couldn’t decipher the sigh but he didn’t move or speak or make himself known. Not yet. He just watched for a few moments longer, savouring the way the morning light fell across Adam’s messy hair that Ronan had run his fingers through countless times last night, and the knowledge that he could now call Adam his fiancé.

“Hey,” he said finally and Adam turned to look at him, his serious face instantly breaking into a small smile. It wasn’t the grin that lit up his whole face, but it was the quiet kind of smile that he usually reserved for Ronan. The small, maddening smirk that he couldn’t fully control.

“Hey,” he replied and Ronan smiled back easily, his smile being something unchained and wild in recent months.

“How long have you been up?” He asked.

Adam got to his feet and approached Ronan, taking his wrist and kissing him once on the lips. As he pulled back, Ronan followed, kissing him again and bringing his free hand up to hold the back of Adam’s head, urging him closer. Ronan’s heart raced eagerly like every time he kissed Adam and when they broke apart, their faces lingering close together, Ronan noticed, vision slightly out of focus from such close proximity, the way Adam’s face fell fractionally.

It was nothing.

Ronan craned his neck backwards to get a better view of Adam’s whole face and in those few milliseconds that had passed, so had Adam’s expression and he was smiling once more.

It was nothing. It had been nothing. But Ronan found himself thinking on it for the rest of the day.

Later, as evening drew on, Adam was working on his laptop, sitting on the rug in front of the coffee table in the living room. The air still smelt of fried onions from dinner and Adam had lit the fire in the grate. His fingers tapped over the keys swiftly and Ronan rolled his aching shoulders as he removed his jacket in the doorway having shut the cows in for the night. Sometimes Adam helped, sometimes he didn’t but tonight it bothered Ronan that he hadn’t.

Despite this, he sat on the couch behind Adam heavily and he leaned forward, his hands snaking over Adam’s shoulders and massaging gently, thumbs digging into muscle.

“Your hands are freezing,” Adam commented without turning around and Ronan leaned forwards, his hands falling to Adam’s upper arms then into his lap and he rested his chin on his left shoulder, looking at the laptop screen.

“This shit is classified,” Adam told him and he lifted his left hand from the keyboard to pull the laptop screen downwards to avert it from Ronan’s gaze.

That’s when Ronan noticed his bare finger. He sat back. “Where’s your ring?”

All of a sudden the thoughts that had been on his mind all day didn’t seem so far-fetched and something inside him sunk.

Adam released the laptop and briefly balled his hand into a fist before opening it again as he turned to face Ronan, crossing his legs where he sat on the rug looking up at him. He was almost as tall as Ronan, but he looked small as he sat there looking up with big, serious eyes.

“I was washing the dishes,” Adam explained, “and I just forgot to put it back on.” He smiled and put his ringless hand on Ronan’s knee. “I’m not used to it yet.”

Ronan watched this happen, then stood up causing Adam’s hand to fall away and he went back into the kitchen and there was the ring on the windowsill above the sink. He took it, studying the fine gold in his hand as he walked back into the living room.

Adam was sitting on the couch where Ronan had sat and the laptop was closed. He extended his hand for the ring and Ronan gave it to him.

He put it back on. “What is it?” He asked seriously.

“If you don’t want it then don’t—“

“Of course I want it,” Adam interrupted, frowning. “If I didn’t want it, I wouldn’t have taken it from you in the first place.”

The fire crackled and Ronan stared at Adam’s hands instead of at his face. His hands were beautiful. Long, tan fingers, prominent knuckles, rough palms. And now a part of Ronan, something that had once belonged to his father, encircled one of Adam’s elegant digits. It made Ronan’s heart clench and he had only dared himself to think it a handful of times, but it signified that Adam was his.

Ronan felt restless on his feet as he remembered the feeling of Adam’s breath against his ear as he whispered I’m yours, over and over again last night. It felt daring to think it for himself but here he was, feeling some kind of claim over Adam because of a piece of jewelry and he felt guilty about it.

“I want it,” Adam repeated firmly, holding his left hand with his right, covering the ring as though Ronan was about to wrestle it from him. “I want you,” he added, lowering his voice.

“But there’s something,” Ronan said, trying not to sound like a sulking child, trying to stand himself even though he was being completely fucking pathetic.

Adam stood up and approached Ronan. “It’s gonna take some time to get used to. I mean, it’s been a day.”

“But I— you know how I feel about you,” Ronan said impatiently, running an anxious hand over his shaved head.

Adam sighed. “Let’s not fight over this.”

“We’re not fighting, Parrish. I gave you a fucking ring.”

Adam smiled but it wasn’t the easy smirk, it had a harsh edge to it. “A fucking ring,” he repeated. “Nice, Lynch.” He slumped back down onto the couch. He didn’t look at the ring now, he just sat there, staring at the fireplace, his face reflecting orange from the firelight.

Ronan stepped forward, pushing the laptop out of the way and sitting on the coffee table in front of Adam, blocking his view of the flames. His face fell into shadow and his eyebrows rose like he was asking Ronan a question.

“What?” Ronan asked back.

Adam smirked.

The feeling of unease that had arrived in mere moments instantly fled. He lifted one foot and rested it on the table beside Ronan and Ronan watched the motion, eyes sliding from Adam’s foot all the way up his leg, up his body and back to his face. Without words, Adam shifted, slumping further down where he sat and as he looked up at Ronan his eyes were deliberately restless.

“Asshole,” Ronan muttered but he was smiling too.

“Says you.”

[hajimeiwaswife]

AUGUST | CHAPTER 7: SAD BEAUTIFUL TRAGIC

[Masterlist]

Chapter 6 Chapter 8

Summary: You’re marrying Izuku Midoriya in September, but he gets an emergency call from All Might’s old agency in the U.S., requesting his services for the entirety of August. A death threat directed at you for being his partner has his hair on edge. However, the always responsible, caring and heroic Shoto Todoroki comes to your rescue, offering to take care of you for the whole month. Who would have thought that 31 days were enough to make you reconsider your engagement with the number 1 hero and fall in love with the Icy Hot man who held your hand during the last breeze of summer?

Warnings: Everyone is 25 more or less, death threats. MDNI.

Wc: 3,4 K

Playlist

It was a warm morning. The birds were singing in the calmness of the dead city, just prior to the usual motion of cars and people that headed to their respective workplaces or schools. The sun felt like a cosy caress to the cheek, the sunbeam mixed with the morning summer breeze created an aura so different from the excruciating sweltering weather that accompanied the endless days of August.

With a cup of iced coffee placed in the small wooden table of the balcony I enjoyed the first hours of the day, tapping on my computer and trying to keep up to date with the delayed work. I had even indulged myself in a white silk gown, feeling like an elf in a forest, and being helped by the music in my headphones that acted as a soundtrack to my fantasy life.

Shoto had recommended me to start working on the balcony during mornings for that same reason: the feeling of belonging to another world. Although he didn’t describe it like that, it was more like ‘the weather is nice’. But those are big words coming from Todoroki’s mouth, so I liked to think that was what he meant. He also added ‘come back inside at noon, it’s hot then.’

Everything was so quiet, so serene, it almost felt like a sin to savour such a delicate moment without sharing it with a loved one. Shoto had left, apparently there was a small case he needed to attend, and as I was safe in his apartment, he ―reluctantly― opted to give me the morning for myself. He would be back by lunch, or so he said.

The work on the screen kept my mind occupied, even if every so often I got distracted by the nice atmosphere. I had translated a couple of documents, but I still had quite a few to submit. I kept tapping, looking through different dictionaries and, from time to time, activating my quirk to go faster. What a blessing.

It wasn’t until the sun was too high in the sky and the summer breeze too heavy on my skin that I decided to head back to the dining room table. I washed the cup I had used from breakfast and then sat in front of my computer again. The document had me absorb, until something caught my attention from the corner of my eye: there was something in the chair next to mine.

Curiosity was never one of my weaknesses, but it didn’t mean I wanted to know less than the information I was given, so I looked. A fond smile appeared on my face when I saw the denim jacket Shoto used the night before to go for some extra rice for dinner; it even smelled like him, too.

Shoto smelled like comfort. That was the best description I could give. It was minty, refreshing, but also ash-like, the same way a fire at a chimney would aromatize the house. So characteristic, yet so odd; so foreign, yet so familiar. He had opened in such a short time a tiny space in my life and heart, and I would forever be grateful for the effort he was putting on protecting me without asking for anything in exchange.

Nearly a half an hour later I heard the sound of keys opening the front door. The rusty dragging of shoes who are being taken off and the shuffling that followed lead the host to the kitchen without a single glance towards my direction, serving himself a glass of water and sighing in between as if he hadn’t drunk water in a year. I noticed the wrinkles in his hero suit, as well as some of the fabric that came unstitched, showing his beaten skin. His hair was a mess, red and white jointed in the middle, the same way it would as if a separation between both had never existed.

My eyes continued to roam, fixing on his arms, especially on the one holding the glass, flexing beautifully and showing his prominent muscles every time he lifted it to his red and plump lips, swallowing and provoking his Adam’s apple to move up and down that svelte neck―

“Hello.” The deep voice of the pro-hero startled me out of my own spell, sight falling on his neutral face, quickly checking his lower back resting slightly against the countertop to return to his mismatched eyes.

“Hi.” I answered with the little voice I could find, I felt mortified, but Todoroki was acting as if I had not been, in fact, devouring him with my eyes just a few seconds ago. ‘For Lord’s sake, Y/n, you’re getting married in less than a month.’ “How was your morning?”

“Busy,” Shoto moved away from his previous position, grabbed another glass from the upper cupboard and came straight to the table I was at, placing both glasses on it. That was my call to start moving to set the table as well as the food, which only needed to be heated in the microwave, “we had a case.”

“Yeah, you told me so this morning,” I nodded, placing two napkins and two pairs of chopsticks on the table, “What was it about?” I put the tupper inside the microwave, waiting by the countertop for it to finish.

“Nothing serious, they could have handled it without me.” He sounded frustrated, I could pick that up from his irritated tone, “I don’t think I was necessary at all.”

“Why?” I furrowed my brows, confused. Shoto walked around the table and sat on his respective place, passing a hand down his face and looking up again.

The continuous beeping of the electronic device brought my attention to the food, which I poured in two different plates. Once I looked in front of me to get to the table I noticed it, him, looking right through me.

Shoto’s eyes held an intensity that I had not seen since the night I had to leave my apartment; and yet, the feelings behind them were definitely not the same. I couldn’t interpret it for the love of everything that was holy, but I knew I had probably stared at him the same way just a few minutes before. How intriguing to see two eyes so different hold the same gaze, so beautifully wild.

He observed me coming closer and didn’t tear his eyes away not even when I had already sat down at the table, both our plates in front of us. For the first time, I felt nervous around him; not in a bad way, though his stare was giving me goosebumps. I needed to distract him from me, or me from him, whatever came first. “Why?” I repeated, waiting patiently for his answer, even if my mind I was short-circuiting.

Just the same as me, his face looked surprised, as if awaken from a dream in plain daylight. His eyes opened wide for less than what a sigh lasts, and then, his neutral façade came back. “Why what?” he asked innocently, such a contrast to his previous behaviour.

“Why didn’t they need you?”

“Oh,” he nodded, swallowing and taking a sip of water before speaking again, coughing a little, “The villain wasn’t that much of a threat, the sidekicks could have taken care of it.” He shrugged his shoulders and started eating.

“Maybe they wanted you to work on something else that isn’t as boring as this.” I joked signalling me and his house, to which he lifted a brow in return.

“You’re not boring.” He simply said and, before I could try to explain my take, he continued talking, “This case is way more important than a fake prophet.”

“What? A prophet?”

“Yes.” Shoto passed his hand down his face once again and sighed before pinching the bridge of his nose, “He was talking about the new era of villains and the blood of the revolution and shit like that. He was a lunatic, but not difficult to catch. They really didn’t need me on this one.”

“Oh, wow! The new era of villains? What the hell?” I asked, placing down my glass of water and feeling a chill ran down my spine.

“He was a mad man, Y/n, don’t listen to that.” The pro-hero continued eating.

I would have left it there, not really knowing what else to say to him even if I wanted more details, but the nonstop shifting in his legs told me something wasn’t right. Shoto was a very still person, never moved more than what was necessary at the table, so seeing him so active while having lunch was no less than suspicious.

“Shoto, are you okay?” I asked, what gained me the heterochromatic eyes falling on my worried façade. No words were exchanged, he just gifted me a nod of the head and kept on munching on his food. “Is there any reason why you still have your hero suit on?”

With that, he suddenly stopped, looked down at him as if surprised that I, indeed, was right about his attire, and looked back up. He shook his head, cheeks puffed like those of a squirrel and painted in a soft pink. As adorable as he looked, it worried me his strange behaviour; so laid back, messy.

The small drop of sweat that was falling from his forehead to his temple alerted me that something else was going on at the moment. But what? What could make the number three hero so nervous? He continued munching until he swallowed all the food on his mouth, and then, he spoke:

“Not really. It’s just― I was hungry, really hungry. I forgot.” Even if it was true, the slight stutter gave away his real state; definitely he was hiding something.

“Shoto, has something else happened at work?”

“No!” he exclaimed, eyes wide and shaking his head, “Not at all, just that. They could have taken care of it without me, really.”

“You’ve already said that.” I furrowed my brows, looking at him, scrutinizingly. “Will you tell me, please? You look nervous and―”

“Izuku told me to tell you that he wanted you to call him.” He interrupted me. It took me by surprise, not really processing what he had just said. Izuku? When did he say that?

“Huh?” I blinked once, twice, mouth opened and brain not functioning.

“He called you the other day, you had left your phone in the living room. We talked and he asked me to tell you that, but I forgot. I’m sorry.” He rumbled rapidly, and if I hadn’t understood what he had just said, I would have definitely believe he talked in another language, maybe simlish.

But now that I thought about it, it was true I hadn’t talked to my fiancée in a couple of days. Everything going on with moving to Shoto’s apartment, working from home, not being able to talk much to my friends… Oh, how I missed being in the presence of my girls. And Izuku had probably been so busy that the poor man didn’t have time to call, either.

“Oh,” was the only thing I could say, flabbergasted. “I will, thank you.”

Shoto just nodded. Before I could regain the thread of the previous conversation, Shoto took his plate and glass, put them in the dishwasher and left the room without a single word. ‘What the hell have just happened?’ I thought, shaking my head and trying to find an explanation to his behaviour. That morning, when he left, he was fine. What happened at work?

The sun had already gone to sleep, leaving a big space in the sky for the moon to make its appearance. Shoto hadn’t talked to me the rest of the afternoon, not even at evening, because he decided to have dinner by his own in his bedroom. I couldn’t understand his reasoning, I didn’t remember anything that could have hurt his feelings or offended him.

What I did do was call Izuku. It had been a rather awkward conversation; he sounded so tired and I was too trapped in my mind to pay attention to the details about his case he was telling me about. I blamed the translations of that day, activating my quirk for such a long period of time affected me too much. Nonetheless, hearing his voice made me feel a little better.

It was a pretty warm evening, August was being hell if I had to be honest, so I decided to go out to the small balcony on Shoto’s living room. I brought a bottle of wine, a wineglass and my phone to listen to some music while I observed the busy life of the city.

The cars almost shut down the sound of the wine pouring into the glass, and by the almighty noise of the horns, it looked like someone decided to run a red traffic light. Taylor Swift among traffic, the musical. I laughed at my own lame joke, the voice of the songwriter murmuring about a love that was there, left and then came back; sounded a lot like the Lord of the Rings if you thought about it: there and back again, a journey where you are in one place, leave, and you come back. Maybe she should just write the soundtrack for the next movies and―

“Hey.” Shoto’s deep voice interrupted my train of thought and startled me to the point of my wine deciding to colour my pyjamas with a maroon tone. “Oh, uh, forgive me. I’ll go get some napkins―”

“It’s fine.” I replied, looking back at the entrance of the balcony and smiling slightly towards him. “I needed to, eh, refresh.”

“I see.” He said, nodding his head, confusion cleared in his eyes. He stood at the doorway, looking at the ground and, after a small clearing of the throat, he asked: “What are you doing outside?”

It was cute, the way he tried to make small talk even if he was unable to hold it, even after spending half the day without directing a single glance towards my way. “It’s a good evening, you know? I wanted to enjoy the weather.”

“Right.” Shoto nodded again, swallowing hard and, for the first time in that brief interaction, looking at me. “Do you mind if I join?”

“Not at all.”

With indecisive steps, he approached the chair next to mine and sat down, placing his hands on his knees and observing the same traffic I had been admiring for the last ten minutes. There was silence, just the ambient sound and Taylor’s voice filling it and waving around the two of us. At least, until I decided to break it.

“Are you going to tell me what happened at work?”

My question took him by surprise, as his eyes widened and his breathing shrank to the point of non-existence. I could appreciate a drop of sweat coming down his temple as his hands started to tremble.

“Shoto?” I asked again, brows furrowed and chest constricting at his obvious distress.

“I didn’t want to tell you.” He whispered, swallowing hard one more time, his Adam’s apple moving up and down.

“What is it? Is it about me?”

Shoto nodded his head and sighed, closing his eyes, he seemed to be trying to calm himself. It was strange to see Shoto losing his cool, he had been behaving strangely all day and I was quite worried about him. Knowing that I had something to do with it made my heart skip a beat. That's why I didn't want any of Izuku's friends to get involved in the case.

“We found some letters back at your apartment.”

My blood ran cold. Well, that was definitely something I had not expected to hear that night. My mouth was dry, my throat held a knot and my stomach was warning the floor of the balcony of an impeding change of decoration.

“… And?” I asked with little voice.

“I’m not going to tell you what they say, if that’s what you wanted to know.” He answered sternly. “But they were, um, they were written with blood.”

“Cow’s?” I questioned.

“No.” Shoto looked up at the sky and passed a hand down his hair, messing it all up more. “No, L/n, it was Jim Bubaigawara’s blood.”

“I― What― Who?”

“He was a member of the League of Villains, maybe you know him by the name of Twice.” My brows lifted at the information; I was too curious to realize how scared I really was.

“But, wasn’t Twice dead? Like, Hawks killed him, right? Ten years ago, isn’t it?” I started rumbling, more to centre myself than to get answers from Shoto. “How is it written with his blood? How do you get blood from someone who is dead? Who has been dead for ten years, to say the least. Unless he isn’t dead. Is he? Is Twice alive? Shoto, please―”

“Y/n.” that tone again, so stern, so manly and deep, it made me close my mouth immediately. “Twice is dead, we know that for sure.” I breathed again, but my relief lasted less than a sigh. “Last time someone got blood from Twice it was my brother’s doing, but we asked him and he knows nothing about this. I mean, he has no contact with the surviving League’s members.”

Would I dare to ask? The warm evening suddenly took a turn to a snowy morning of winter, it all felt so cold and misty and dead. August disappeared so December could strike in the middle of Summer, and I was the only one living the freezing wind coming from the clouds only I could see.

“We don’t know who is doing this, but they are getting bolder. They are leaving clues without wanting to, this was obviously a mistake from their part.” Shoto turned his whole body and, surprisingly, leaned towards me and pressed both his hands on my shoulders. His eyes were so serious and determined that I couldn’t take my gaze away from them, too absorbed by the way he was looking at me. I could feel his breathe on my lips, it was bizarre, cold and hot at the same time. “We’ll get them, they’ll go to prison and you’ll be safe and sound. You are safe with me, okay?” I nodded and he nodded back, sighing through his nostrils. “I didn’t want to tell you because it was too much to take in, but you’re a brave woman, and intelligent, and I underestimate you every single time in case the information we get breaks you. I know it’s scary, but I assure you whoever is making you feel so small is going to pay for it.”

I was speechless. Shoto's heterochromatic eyes stared directly into mine with the same intensity as they had earlier in the day when he looked at me at lunch time. I could feel the blood rising to my cheeks, so warm it could compete with the predictions for the next day’s temperature. My heart was beating a mile a minute, I wasn't sure if it was from fear or from Shoto's sudden closeness.

“I trust you.” I whispered, my breathe fading into his lips, which were opened due to his rapid breathing.

“Thank you.” He said.

We stood like that, in that same position, for a few minutes. Maybe we just needed some reassurance, or some human warmth, but either way, I was comfortable. Shoto’s presence was unique, so intimidating, imposing and dangerous, but also so delicate, calm and sweet. I smiled at him with a saddened expression; I was still scare. However, I knew Shoto would protect me, he had been doing so for almost two weeks and had proved his well-known ability.

The music was still playing in the background, it was almost like an omen, something none of us understood yet, though we had started to feel without realizing it was happening.

“What song is that?” Shoto murmured, smiling back at me.

“Sad Beautiful Tragic.” I answered.

“What is it about?” One of Shoto’s hands went up my shoulder, to my neck, and landed gently with a caress on my left cheek.

“Jake Gyllenhaal.”

“I hate that guy.” I let out a small laugh and wrapped myself in the coolness of his right hand.

“Who doesn’t?” It was his turn to laugh, a high pitch sound that was so melodic and funny at the same time. And that was how our night ended, with a song too sad and too romantic to be about us, or so we thought, because his hand never left my cheek and my breath never stopped caressing his velvety lips, listening to a fate so distant and so abstract that we forgot that there were 20 days left until August ended.

Tag list: @shoutocakie @kisskissshutmydoor @stxrrielle @motzgurke @hanzyyme @ashleyandanxiety

© Hajimeiwaswife 2022 | All rights reserved. Do not copy, repost or translate. Comments and reblogs are always appreciated.

[kidelune]

TW: Mature themes, death, violence, blood, all that jazz. Read at your own discretion.

(Part 4/?) | Part 3. Part 2. Part 1.

Kyoto, Summer, 2020

A soft click of the engawa door at his back announces the earnest return of company that couldn't refuse his tenacity. Kijun folds forward against bent knees, bare down to his boxers, and flicks a column of ash into the splash of moonlight wedged in his ashtray as his father settles back down beside him, huffs of satisfaction on his lips. He's smiling, the old man, unrivaled joy ensuing mostly around narrow eyes in such a way that accentuated the copious amount of sake and shochu they'd been ingesting for the past two hours. The last bottle almost spills over as he attempts at settling it down between them amongst all the empty ones, clumsy digits scrambling so hard Kijun finds himself intervening with the theatrics.

"Ah, you're makin' a huge mess, pa. Why'd you bring another," Kijun asks through a grin, though it escapes him more like a statement up in smokes. "I told you, we gotta stop now 'cause you get the worst fuckin' hangovers. Not tryin' to deal with that y'know."

"Oh, c'mon, don't be an asshole." Junseo scarcely recovers with a fist to his only son's shoulder, though he doesn't punch him nearly as hard as he could. Between the two, it's always been more like a nudge. "Just one more? For your old man. It's not every day my son comes by when I'm here after all."

Kijun holds that unsteady gaze on him momentarily, cigarette burning still at the corner of his mouth, moon delved so deeply into their tresses it turns his father entirely grey. But notwithstanding his current state of absence, Junseo is still too good at concealing any other reservations laid behind his sagged stare for his equally drunken son to decrypt, so with a sigh of defeat sounding in his throat, the latter soon slips his palm around the shochu bottle's neck and pours his father a generous shot instead.

By some absurd margin of luck, not a single drop is spilled from the glass as Junseo raises it to his mouth this time and practically chucks the spirits at once down his throat. Like it's the last thing he were to do after tonight. It takes him a moment to savour the raw flavours before surfacing again, all groans and overly flushed cheeks, and drops the glass for a cigarette he'd regret less later. He folds his legs how he always does when he's pensive and ready for the stars.

"Thank you, son." Echoes between them like faint murmurs of slow church bells throughout the minutes that unravel after, screens of smoke swooning and dispersing and mixing as they smoke in this comfortable, summer swept silence.

Just beyond the sunbaked courtyard walls lay a narrow street for local passerby's and curious cats alike, which leads to a main path that brings you straight to a small bridge for crossing. Following its dewy scent, faint rushing of water can be heard all the way from here, and somewhere in the courtyard rattles an assembly of crunching leaves, no doubt the result of a passing neighborhood cat.

Kijun thinks that if life at home wasn't so demanding, maybe he'd get to wake up here every morning instead, cradled by his futon on warm tatami flooring and listening to temple bells, his father's humming and wrangling felines. Maybe someday.

"You know, one of the most valuable things I've learned from my career in the mob, I'd learned it here in Japan. From someone who's dead now," Kijun is on the way to lighting his third cigarette as his father quietly fills the foreground noise with reminisce, finally. He releases a numbing leg from his chest, but hugs the singular knee closer to his heart with ears perked with intent. Junseo simply continues to weave words amidst the stars, fingers counting them along, "When you're up against a spider, no matter the size, the most important bits of it you should focus on removing first are its legs. Only then will you find enough safety to attack the head, and kill it once and for all." Felled ashes scatter to his lap, but he doesn't budge much beyond a harsh frown Kijun doubts has anything to do with the mess.

"But sometimes you have to yield to the risk. Sometimes there's no time for guaranteeing yourself that safety you should aim for otherwise. You must aim straight for the head and hope that it isn't you on the unfortunate end." He aims a piercing regard towards his son now, suddenly grim by memory. "That is how you conquer the world, the one below and the one above. That is how you survive."

Gyeonggi-do, South Korea, 2022.

It is some dark hours past dinner time, and halfway through his leisure 'walk' through prison grounds, Curate Kijun finds Kang Dongwook and his lackeys grotesquely strewn in the storage building before he can even think to complete his mission. In the thick of pooling blood at his feet, he smells cold blooded murder and the extent of hands that were not his own. The entire spider is dead. Fuck, escapes him breathlessly, realization carrying with it a sudden, abject fear for his life which nearly eclipses his capacity for reason, as it mounts his spine with the weight of a tonne of bricks.

But his guard remains at sky-high peaks, hands extra close to the long blades strapped under his robes as he reigns in courage through a deep breath, rolled neck, and stalks further into the midst of slaughter. He's careful not to disturb the roots death begins to take among the tools and boxes, tip of his toes preventing him from getting fresh blood anywhere on himself lest he wanted anything to do with being present in the investigation ahead. The closer he gets to where he spots Dongwook's frame in the back, though, the more painfully familiar the scene becomes. Like deja vu.

Images of Boo's body come rushing back into the back of Kijun's mind where he swims to the depths of a fleeting unconsciousness before rising back for air, all in one heartbeat. The first handed perspective of Dongwook's helpless body splayed at his feet sets him back in an endless funeral hall, then abruptly yanks him to his knees under Buddha's perpetual scrutiny. In response his stomach begins an aggressive somersault that forces bile and his last meal up his throat, causing him to almost miss the delayed blinks coming from below.

In the center of Dongwook's chest is a note skewered by a big kitchen knife, yet somehow, the man still breathes, for what it's worth. Kijun makes sure his gloves are on before he bends for the note alone, ripping it off in one fell swoop without so much as even exhaling in the obviously struggling man's direction.

Dongwook's regurgitating is a ghastly orchestra throughout the entirety of a sentence Kijun reads in silence, the handwriting so unsightly in the dark it's as though it'd been written in the blood soaking the paper.

When is a dangerous man dangerous no longer? When he is dead.

Old Dongwook still labours with the last of his breaths by the end of it, seemingly pertinacious and determined to utter a message to the very last face he'll ever see. Unexpectedly, he wields it for a warning to Kijun, who gracefully crouches with an ear in his direction for one chance.

"Never stand with your back to the darkness." He heaves each syllable with great difficulty, coughing blood which seeps to no end from all corners of his quivering mouth. Before all the life escapes him at the end, he says, albeit very faintly, "They know you're here too, foolish cunt." And then, as quickly as clap of thunder and swelling of life from a bud, he's gone.

Kijun does not return to his quarters afterwards—he doesn't even look back as he exits the storage room on hasty heels, his long black robes tailing behind him like a ghost of the past, golden rosary glinting in the dark. Whoever Dongwook was speaking of must've been searching for him at the very moment, as well, and that is all he can afford to think of until after he's at least some acres away from Gyeonggi-do itself. Narrowly making it past the unforgiving claws of death.

When is a dangerous man dangerous no longer? When he is dead.

Though the words are still a painful incineration of blood and ashes underneath Kijun's eyelids, the note on which they lay sits untouched in his robes pocket, crumpled up in all the mayhem of his fleeing for his life. By the time he makes it to the first destination of the rest of his life from tonight, the watch on his wrist reads three in the morning, and the sentence of death, an exhausted loop in his head. His superintendent, the boss' most loyal assistant, is the first person he's confronted with at the mouth of the building. Stopped halfway through the lobby for a thorough inspection.

They pat him down for planted bugs, disarm him, and ask far too many questions for his current state of comfort and steadily rising anxiety. But he doesn't protest against it, knowing it's necessary, and that exhaustion is not much of a far cry away from engulfing his limbs.

"Clear." Says the man at length, and like a pack of trained lap dogs, the rest of his team disperses in every direction thinkable. His voice picks up a softer intonation once he opens his mouth next, addressing Kijun alone, "Did you go home at all?"

"No."

"Good. They've found it. Lucky we'd anticipated this and moved you out, otherwise you'd be fucked. Now we have some time to spare, and to get you out."

"But who, exactly, are you talkin' about at this point, hyung? I found that on Dongwook, y'know. I didn't kill him." Kijun says, fury a controlled fire in his throat, "Why don't you spare me some time and tell me what the fuck is really going on here?"

"That's not for me to explain. C'mon."

Velveteen walls stare him hard in the face, their silence overwhelmingly deafening under all this pressure and confusion that plagues Kijun's heavy limbs, ones moving on autopilot as he's escorted up to the apex of the building. His patron is seated behind his cherrywood desk as he always is, though tonight he's forgone lavish, rococo-esque suits for plain night clothes. And unlike his usual, pleasant-enough appearance, tonight, he is no sight for sore eyes; scruffed, aegyo sal sagged with exhaustion and a wrathful distress.

Yet Kijun finds in him no mercy to spare, as he is brought in and left alone with the man who might've betrayed his trust, after so many years.

"Do you mind explaining to me what the fuck is going on, sir. Seriously, because if it's what I think it is, I want no fucking part of this." He spits out on the wooden desk, sharp blades that make his eyes angled for cutting. For gutting, even, if only he could.

His patron stands with a crude stillness set in his sturdy motions, one that might've sent lesser men running by now, and slips an envelope towards the younger for the second time they meet here, in this same room. Deja vu stikes Kijun again, for the second time of this godforsaken night. A night for seconds, apparently.

"What is this?" He gracelessly rips open the envelope, and finds in its bowels some cash and two one way tickets to Kyoto included.

"You're right. This is no place for part time or retired gangsters." His patron says cuttingly, his short hair an unkempt mess on his head, as though he'd been running his fingers through them without any sense of direction in his strokes whatsoever. Frustration. An unmeasurable amount of it. Kijun gapes at him, but he continues before the younger can find the right words to respond with.

"Take Junseo with you tomorrow and leave. I've already informed him to pack his things. Get yours, too, and your pets. Leave and stay squatted for as long as you can in Kyoto. It is not you they're after, so you should be safe."

"Who is they?" Kijun's voice scrapes past his throat in harsh intervals as his octaves ascend through his quickly escalating anger, "Have they been waiting for Dongwook to let his guard down? Kill him to get to you? Is that it?"

So this was what scar man meant, by him knowing nothing. This was who really was behind Boo's death. Whoever it is.

His boss sucks in a prolonged breath through two nostrils no doubt in attempt to quell impulsivity, like a bull preparing for a rodeo, then, in a heartbeat picks up the vase at the top corner of his desk and flings it with the force of a thousand men into the nearest wall. It shatters effortlessly, water splattering all over the floor as the small bouquet it held flails and scatters aimlessly. Kijun does not flinch, only stares, as if to convey that he would not back down.

When his patron opens his mouth again, his voice is a thunderous furor of roaring, which incessantly bounce off the bulletproof windows of his office. "I SAID FUCKING LEAVE! Which part of that don't you understand?! This is for your own fucking good."

Kijun squares his shoulders, reigning his back straight as a pole as a way of displaying his valour. His jaw hurts from how hard he's clenching his teeth together, anger fighting for dear life from being crushed by his strong maw. "You roped me into this while knowing what the risks really were. You fuckin' lied to me about Boo's killer being Kang Dongwook! He was my fucking friend, mind you! Then practically put me on a fuckin' suicide mission? I KILLED for this. Now you want to compensate by sending me away? For my safety? You're so fuckin' fucked up."

His patron closes the distance between them with the speed of light, takes Kijun's face in his hands and slaps him so hard across the cheek that if he hadn't anticipated it already, he might've twisted his neck backwards, never to recover again. But he only rocks slightly sideways, face instantaneously grown hot-red with a new shade of vicious, stinging pain.

The elder dry-spits off to the side as he returns to his previous spot behind the desk, and starts scrambling for a cigar in his desk drawer. Having dismissed his assistant to be alone with Kijun for this meeting, he's left to fend for himself. It takes him a while to find one with a quaking set of fingers. "I know what I have done. But do not waste my efforts to help you and your father. Tomorrow is all you will have. Once you've settled in Kyoto as you two always did, I'll wire over your money. It'll be more than enough to keep you two there for some months."

Kijun scoffs and grips around the envelope tightly–which he wanted more than anything in this world to tear in half instead– enough to crush it flat. It posses no merit to him whatsoever, especially while in the know that it comes from the man across him.

"I'm done with you. After all these years, you fuck me over like this..." He rasps, ignoring the aching in his face, the slight tinge of darkness in his eye, "How could I trust you anymore, after you've used me? For all I know I'll be walking into another one of your fuckin traps, with pops this time."

His boss hisses, "Breathe one more word and I will gut you myself. Understood?"

Kijun rubs a shade of rouge off his jaw for a moment, stuck in his rage and a pool of incredulity still. Ten times more grateful to be alive, despite the miserable predicament of having been used and almost killed a second time. Ultimately Kyoto would not hurt, he thinks, but at what cost was this?

In the end he lifts his gaze back from their pensive droop, and with his chin up in the air now, he offers a curt nod, eyes reflecting an image of indifference.

Inwardly, though, he promises something, as he holds the greying man's gaze of steel, aiming daggers at his heart. If they don't kill you first, then I will do it myself.

Then he turns on two heels and leaves, the tickets still glued like crushed leaves to his knuckles.

Kyoto, Winter, 2022.

Junseo returns home with only a pack of incense on their first night in Kyoto, and the very first thing he does is take to his cracking knees at the chabudai across from where Kijun sits with the two cats, plucks a bundle of matches from his padded jacket and precisely burns two sticks. Another turn of not speaking a single word to his son later–as he hadn't done the entire flight over, he's pushing them towards the candles already lit up in the tokonoma.

He does something afterwards, which Kijun himself had assumed he wouldn't do for at least two more days. His father speaks, albeit jadedly. "You know, I wasn't planning on coming back here until January. My love and I were going to travel to Hokkaido as we do every year."

The younger pauses on his way up to his feet, visibly caught off guard by this sudden conversation he'd been hauled into. He's silent in his movement, though, as he drags his feet on the heated tatami toward his luggage. It's only after the zipper comes undone as he recovers his own matches that he rasps, straightforwardly, "I wasn't planning on coming at all."

Behind him, his father gives a start–a brief, dry chuckle he knew was not one produced by amusement. "You've finally managed a major fuck up like you always wanted, and now you're regretting it? C'mon now, son."

"Dad, please."

"Don't you fuckin' dad me, boy. Do you even know how bad it could've gotten, Kijun?! Do you?! You know you could've been six fucking feet under right now, right?!" Unlike his younger self, his father had grown with age to be one who was quick to lose his temper. Kijun turns to find him brushing strong hands through his grown out locks of jet black, and pacing the floor in a wide circle of blatant distress. His socks whisper softly against the mats below them, chanting a wistful melody that causes a heart wrenching ache in Kijun's chest so raw it thieves him of his breath.

"I don't plan to attend your fucking funeral any time soon. This is not the order of things. You're not supposed to die on ME."

"You were a gangster too, pops. You know as well as me that age doesn't matter in this quality of life, probably even better than me considering how many people you've fucking buried." He approaches the older man, equal parts of dismal as he were frustrated, forgetting that they're nowhere near equals under the cascade of his folly and grief. "It doesn't fucking matter."

His father is quick to crack a whip across the bruise-free side of his son's jaw, however, not as hard as his patron had struck him, but unforgiving nonetheless. Hard enough to remind Kijun to focus. Though when he attempts at pushing Kijun back into the wall by the same jaw, the latter counters the grip with his own anchoring onto a seasoned wrist, and twists, hard enough to hurt.

Junseo winces, losing sight on his objective in realization that he may be hurting his only child, though his eyes still burn with a profound ire as he violently jerks his wrist from the younger's grasp.

Between teeth he growls next, a strict finger pointing towards Kijun's chest.  "I fucking wanted better for you..." He frowns so deeply the wrinkles on his face grow further in punctuation. A profound sorrow enters blunt eyes soon after, causing his usually stead voice to voice waver towards the unusual, "I wanted you to grow up happy... Remember?"

"I'm so sorry, pa..." Kijun sighs, long arms outstretched now, as his father walks into his embrace. Junseo holds his son as though he were only a boy, all over again.

"I'm sorry, too." Junseo's heaviest sigh tonight takes a tumble with no destination down Kijun's shoulder blade, as he tightly glues his cheek to the younger man's ear after pressing a tender kiss for consolation on his temple, "What's been done's done now. All you can do now is wait, and do better. Please." Junseo pulls back a final time, his handsome features graced by yellow candlelight while he holds two angular cheekbones in the safety of his frostbitten palms, his jaded gaze pleading in what seems to be his last, desperate attempt at saving the son he'd doomed from the start, "Show me that I can still hope for you, son."

It's in this particular moment of a quiet, tragic tonnage of vulnerability and unthinkable quantums of exhaustion that Kijun finally, finally shatters entirely to bits and pieces of himself, as he should've a long, long time ago. How long has it been since he'd last cried? Truly cried?

"I'm so sorry for causing you so much trouble all my life, dad..." He apologizes with the fragments of himself he could still hold onto, in between hicks and an endless flood of tears he didn't know he even had reserved within himself. If anything, he'd thought that dam had dried years ago. "I just... don't know anymore."

But maybe his father is right to have no hope left for him. Maybe he really is rotten to the very ends of himself, or had become so as a result of something inexplicable. Because even in this moment of weakness and mourning, all he can imagine is more blood on his hands, and the rather enticing price of retribution.

"How can I just be happy when I know it's never fuckin' over?"

[missmouse25]

Bestie a thought has popped into my mind 🫢 max fewtrell as a dad to a baby girl. Do what you will with that please 😏

tinfoilhat, my love, my darling. Yes please and thank you. Hope you enjoy 😋❤️

Wrapped Around Her Finger - Max Fewtrell

female first person pov (not really but the reader is the one who carried) // 736 words // very fluff! Little bit of flirting from Max at the end.

-----

Old wives’ tales say that little girls are sent to be their father’s penance but also their greatest treasure. And our little girl was no exception.

Even before Emily was born, Max was in love. Despite the fact that he’d been convinced that Emily was a boy. Always cooing over my belly. Telling me all the things that they were going to do together. All the places they would go.

When the nurse had walked in with that pink blanket and Max had held Emily in his arms for the first time, it was all over for him. She had him wrapped around her tiny finger.

~

“Emily, love. It’s time for your bath.”

I open the door to the ‘games room.’ Max sits in his racing sim with our daughter on his lap, her small hands on the steering wheel. Her eyes stayed glued to the screen, so she doesn’t notice how one of Max’s hands holds the bottom of the steering wheel, gently guiding her back onto the track.

“Come now, race car drivers. Bath time,” I encourage them, with little result.

“We have one more lap,” Max says. “Come watch.”

With a sigh and a smile, I stand behind the pair. All Emily really knows about racing is go fast and finish first, which she does every time thanks to her dad.

“She’s pretty good, babe,” Max says, as they dodge the barriers. “We should get her in a go-kart.”

“Maybe if she asks nicely, she can have a go in Uncle Lando’s F1 car.”

At the of sound Uncle Lando’s name, Emily giggles. As much as Max spoils her, Lando spoils her just as much. Emily need only smile and he’s buying all the toys out of the gift shop.

“It’s not a bad idea actually,” Max teases.

“Absolutely not,” I reply firmly.

Emily squeals in delight as the chequered flag falls.

“Ok, now it really is bath time,” I say, scooping up the now pouting girl.

“I’ll be right there. Just need to switch off here.” Max’s voice follows us out.

I simply hum my acknowledgement as we walk away.

Emily is only just in the water when Max comes in.

“Daddy!” She calls and reaches out to him. She looks so much like him, especially her kind but naughty smile. A smile that has gotten Max out of many arguments with me.

“Hello, my love.” Max crouches down. “What are all these toys doing in the water?”

I just sit back and watch.

“They’re having a bath like me, Daddy!” Emily giggles.

“But you’re not bathing, you’re just sitting there!”

Max picks up Emily’s yellow wash cloth and the soap. He tickles her sides and she wiggles in the water, making it splash. It doesn’t seem that Max even cares or notices that his shirt is getting soaked through.

Once washed and rinsed, Emily is wrapped in the biggest and fluffiest towel we have, the one Max bought especially for her. Our little family makes its way to the yellow themed room and Max manages to coax Emily into her PJ’s.

“Ok, which story should we read tonight?” I say, peering at the bookshelf.

“The sheep one!” Emily practically bounces up and down as I sit on the edge of the bed after fetching the book she wants. Max takes up residence, like he always does, lying on the covers. Slowly, as our daughter calms down, she snuggles up to him. I see how Max savours every second before I open the book and start to read.

~

Quietly, Max closes the door behind him and turns to me as I lean on the wall.

“She’s perfect, isn’t she?” He says in a whisper.

“Hmmm…” I hum, tired from the day.

I feel his hands on my waist and his lips on my neck. Enjoying the moment, I close my eyes.

“And we made her. You and me,” he says in between planting delicate kisses on my skin. “Why don’t we make another one?”

It takes a lot for me not to laugh.

“You’ll be even more outnumbered then.”

Max lifts his head and I open my eyes.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because,” I answer, holding his face in my hands. “Emily already has you wrapped around her finger. You’d be no match for two of them.”

“Maybe not,” Max says, inching closer. “But it’s a risk I’m willing to take.”