#i say this lovingly I love you all despite your choice in men

[seoafin]

[xurname]

Death's In Love With Us

Hwang Yang-jung x reader

🔞 MDNI Warnings: physical abuse, domestic violence, mentions of alcohol, mentions of bdsm

word count: 3166 🖋️ Authors note: I'm not a professional writer, nor a rookie one tbh, I have no idea what I'm doing. English is not my first language. Ignore the banner, it's a result of playing on my phone while daydreaming about our sweet ahjussi. 🖋️

POV: You broke up with your abusive boyfriend a year ago. Despite all attempts to get your life back together, you can't get rid of your ex, who still harasses you any chance he gets. One day, walking home from work, you spot him waiting in front of your apartment so you decide to walk into a sushi restaurant nearby (run by your friend Hwang Yang-jung) before he sees you.

"Good afternoon" - you greet politely, bowing your head slightly in front of the two men working behind the bar, and walk straight to the table. Surprisingly, there were no guests at all. Looking around the empty place you take a seat.

Yang-jung looks up from his cutting board as a smile spreads across his face.

"I didn't expect you here this early." - he’s just finished filleting, washing his hands.

"I know, I stopped by to see you and say hi." - you tried to hide your exhaustion and irritation behind a kind tone and a soft smile. After all, you promised yourself a better life, a normal life.

"Tea?" - he asked lovingly. Both Yang-jung and his sous chef Min-dong knew you well, you've been a regular ever since you've moved to the neighbourhood last year. 

"A beer would be better, but okay … " - you answer playfully.

"Slow down sailor, we still have evening to cover" - Yang-jung was somehow particularly in a good mood.

“Fine! After you guys finish-”, you made drinking gestures with your hands. Yang-jung smirked at your words.

“Actually, I’m skipping tonight” - Min-dong added, preparing the tea for you.

“Wow, ditching us already, it must be a girl, hmm?” - you started teasing.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm going on a blind date, no big deal.”  - he answered and his cheeks blushed, somewhat unusual for such a tall muscular young man.

“So it's just us? That's practically a date too!” - you turned to Yang-jung, winking at him.

He smirked again, shaking his head slightly, already used to your teasing comments. Yang-jung tried his best not to cross any lines when it came to you. You were young enough to be his daughter, and he reminded himself of that fact as many times as necessary since your flirtatious nature made the lines blur quite often.

"Dates don't usually end with one side carrying another home unconscious." - Min-dong spoke fluent sarcasm, where is this bravery coming from all of a sudden?

“A girl gets drunk once! Once!” - you insisted.

“Yeah, except you get drunk every time.” - Min-dong was speaking facts. But you never could drink a lot anyways. Two drinks were enough to lose your balance completely.

You scoffed. “Seriously, oppa, that's just mean...”

The guys laughed, amused by your annoyance.

“Light up, will you? I'd carry you to the end of the world if necessary.” - Yung-jung added casually, serving you a cup of hot tea. You didn't take his words too seriously, he didn't mean it like that after all, but your heart still fluttered to the thought of this charming man handling you in more than just a friendly way.

“Well, that's my cue. Cucumber rolls?” - Min-dong stood up and went behind the bar, feeling awfully uncomfortable by the sudden change of atmosphere.

“Please!” - you asked with a huge grin on your face.

“At least eat some fish. You'll turn into a cucumber roll one of these days if you keep this up.” - Yang-jung wasn't particularly fond of your food choices and he couldn't hide it.

“God, I hope so, maybe you'd take me more seriously then.” - you grinned.

Yung-jung just chuckled quietly at your silly remarks, not taking his eyes off you. It made you shy, the way he looked at you, and you hated the feeling of endless comfort when you were around this man. Or so you kept telling yourself. The truth was, you knew you were too young and didn't even stand a chance with him, no matter how much it tickled your thought.

“So, what's on your heart?” - Yang-jung asked as if seeing right thru you. He never seemed to beat around the bush anyways.

Hesitating, you answered, “I just escaped the king of assholes waiting in front of my apartment.”

Yang-jung raised his eyebrows. “Your ex again? What is it, third time this week?”

“God, sometimes I wish I could fuck up all of his limbs for good.” - you murmured. Memories of the night of your breakup triggered some insane bloodthirst in you, feelings you'd never known of before you got involved with your ex. You didn't feel like drinking the tea anymore, nor eating your rolls, your whole body trembled from the inside as your blood started to boil. Yang-jung knew the expression on your face very well, he silently inspected your reactions as you put all your strength into not letting your rage reach the surface.

“I feel you haven't told me the entire story at all.” - he stood up and walked to the window in the back. He saw a man in his 40s standing in front of the entrance of your building. He didn't look particularly dangerous, nor very muscular, but he wasn't a small guy either. Shaved head, 85 kg, 1.8 m, fairly strong arms and legs, broad shoulders, casual clothes. Something about the look in his eyes didn't feel right to Yang-jung. Finally he asked, "Is he into martial arts?"

"Taekwondo, black belt, first Dan."

Yang-jung smirked, still looking at him. "Knees and hips are his weak spot."

His cold remark went somewhat unnoticed by you.

He turned away from the window and smiled gently, "Care to tell me how you got yourself in this situation?"

Both chefs were now looking directly at you. Min-dong finished your cucumber rolls, served them and walked to the room in the back of the restaurant, leaving the two of you alone.

You sighed deeply. Awful tingles spread across your body almost momentarily, like hundreds of tiny bats swarming all over you, biting even into your palms. Your whole body was screaming on the inside.

Fuck! Here we go... Pity party time! So young and so ruined. All he's gonna see in me from now on are my past mistakes.

No, no, he doesn't need to know the full story, just tell him what you're dealing with.

Lump in your throat grew with each breath you took.

"Okay, take a seat, let's talk."

Reader x ex boyfriend flashback

Your mind wandered, thinking about the countless times your ex prepared you the most horrible surprises. All those times he'd come home drunk and aggressive, slamming you into the wall as soon as he passed thru the door, squeezing your neck until you almost passed out, cursing at you, threatening, calling you names, using his strength to pin you down for god knows what reason. Every time he laid his hands on your body it hurt, taking caution not to leave bruises on any visible parts of your body. It got unbearable by the end. The more you feared him the more he enjoyed it, the more you cried, the more manic he was. Blaming yourself for ever telling him about your sexual fantasies along with feeling disgusted by yourself was a part of your everyday life until the very end of your relationship. He used it against you first chance he got. What started as a healthy exploration of consensual rough foreplay with a hint of rookie bondage, ended up as an abuser-victim hell of a situation you didn't know how to escape from. Your fight or flight response messed up your brain chemistry as each day passed and you no longer knew if that's even love or if you despised him with your entire being. He always found a way to make you stay, he even begged you on his knees not to leave him, swearing on his mom he never meant you no harm. It was a never ending circle of shit show. Even after you finally left his place for good, he kept finding ways to get in contact with you. Finding out where you live was an easy task for a twisted person like him. "I see everything, I know everything", those were the words he repeated so often while you were dating, as if giving verbal spankings, using any chance he got to feed you a dose of fear and insanity. Everything you did for him was always out of love and kindness, thinking if only you could be the best version of yourself, he'll be good to you. But he never was good to you, his actions never made sense and you never understood the reasons behind those words. He knew about every step you took, nevertheless, few of his paranoias followed him and echoed louder and louder in his mind, as his cycles of insanity were on the periodical rise and fall. He rambled about possibilities of you dumping him quite often, crying over himself, trying to make you feel sorry for him. He talked about his boss's employees constantly checking up on his location. He even tried convincing you how they spy on him during his lunch breaks. His delusions drove him to believe he's some sort of a public officer, or an intelligence agency employee with a task to be alert at all times, when in fact he was nothing more than a secretary working at a private real-estate agency. Soon, after the honey moon phase ended, you realized his whole persona was a big lie, that's also when the first troubles started, but it was all to late for you to leave, you were already in too deep. Your inexperience was exploited for the first time. Welcome to the real world, honey. Well, it took you long before you started getting up on your own feet, and you found a way to navigate thru his cycles of insanity. You took your time and learned all you could, only to find out he's been living multiple lives all along. The only thing he didn't lie about was in fact his black belt in taekwondo and that he was a divorcee. The last time he threatened you with physical force was the night you left him for good.

"I'm not as clueless as you think I am." - you hissed as he held you by the throat. His bloody eyes were filled with rage and his breath smelled like alcohol.

"One wrong move and you'll end up behind the bars. My family knows where I am, and don't think I won't walk straight to the police if you leave so much as a mark on me. I dare you." - your whole body trembled of adrenaline rush but your mind worked fast.

"Well, well, look at you all brave, who would've thought you'd turn into such a snake, finally showing your real face, huh-"

"I couldn't care less even if you snapped my neck this instant." you laughed, slowly losing every touch with sanity. 

"You lose either way. Or did you forget?" - your laughter grew louder as he stared at you in horror, not knowing how to react. He had you by the weakest spot yet the look in your eyes was telling a completely different story. He never saw you acting like this, his blood froze. 

"Your black belt", you spoke thru laughter on the verge of a mental breakdown, "your black belt is treated as a cold weapon in the eyes of the law."

Despite hating yourself as much as you hated him, the thought of this abusive bastard ending up behind the bars for cold blooded murder sent an unusual shot of satisfaction thru your entire body. You knew he never had it in him though. He was a coward on all levels and this round was yours. A solid threat works like a charm on scumbags like him who are usually scared of their own shadow. It was written all across his face that he's finally cornered. Any chance for him to plot a sadistic revenge on the only woman who was ever kind and loving to him was completely lost. You didn't know if he'd slam your head onto the kitchen counter or not, but you could feel his hand trembling. Your laughter echoed thru the kitchen as his grip became weaker and weaker, an expression of misery and regret spread across his face. He feared you. For the first time ever, he stood in front of you, completely falling apart. 

He got on his knees again, like so many times before, begging for forgiveness. Vomit of lies started coming out of him, how much he loves you and how this is just a minor misunderstanding. He'd never hurt you and there's nothing but love he feels for you. You're his everything. You stopped counting his strikes long ago and you knew if you don't walk out of there that same night, you may never see the light of day after this, for real. The change in his tone from all mighty to smaller than an ant sickened you. Of course, there's nothing but hatred left in his heart. Hatred and fear, jealousy and shame. Cowards like him hate it when they lose from someone weaker than them, and they would do anything in their power to win their victims back, just so they can hurt them again.

"Next time you decide to lay a hand on me, better make sure I have a well sharpened knife in mine. That's only fair."

Those were the last words he heard from you on the night of your breakup. Breakup from hell. And you thought the trash is out of your life for good, little did you know your fearless attitude and insane threats only awoke in him an obscure obsession towards you. 

It didn't take long to finish the story of your rocky past relationship, considering you tried your best to avoid going into too much detail of how your ex abused you, physically and mentally. Yang-jung sat right across from you, staying completely silent. You looked down, not daring to look Yang-jung in the eyes any longer.

"A wife beater, huh? Who would have thought." - Yang-jung broke the uncomfortable silence.

"Brave." - he paused for a moment. "Was that him who kept calling all this time? Is that why you changed your number?" - Yung-jung's voice was extremely calm, a little too calm. You nodded silently.

"He kept calling from different numbers. And somehow he found out where I live soon after that."

"He probably tailed you, if he knows where you work, which I assume he does. It isn't that difficult. Why didn't you tell me any of this sooner?"

You closed your eyes, letting out another deep sigh. “Isn't it obvious?”

He didn't say a word. He looked at your face instead, trying to read your expression, but there was nothing. The facade on the outside hid a wild turmoil inside your head. Soft and gentle nature of your whole figure, along with your kind voice and elegant movements were completely the opposite of darkness you carried within you. It was hard to hold it in, especially now, but you didn't want to hide any parts of yourself in front of Yang-jung any longer.

“I wish I could fuck him up, you know? For all that he's done and for all that he's still doing.” - you said, looking him straight in the eye. “I'm not the only one with a dark past or present, but I hate these parts of me. I hate that I feel this way. I hate the desperation and helplessness. I hate the nightmares still haunting me. I hate that I let a lowly man take advantage of me for so long. And I hate that I have to tell you any of this. I hate that you won't look at me the same way you looked at me yesterday, and I hate that my ex keeps fucking up every part of my life, still, I hate it.”

Yang-jung's eyes were the softest and kindest eyes ever. The way he looked at you made you almost choke on your own words, those hateful words which made you feel like you're spewing poison in front of the one who never deserved to hear them in the first place. You could see tears in the corners of his eyes and the only thought that went thru your mind was I hate myself so. fucking. much.

You wanted to jump out of your own skin, or rewind the time and walk directly up to that bastard and face him all alone, instead of running to Yang-jung and hiding at his work place. That's not something one should do to their friends. It's not fair. He didn't deserve this.

Realising how much pain you've been carrying this entire time, Yang-jung spoke softly, "You should have told me… Out of all people, you should have come to me. I would have already made sure he never gets close to you again."

Was that a hint of anger in his voice? Or was it all just pity? It didn't matter. His words couldn't sober you back to your senses, they didn't even reach you. You were spiralling straight into a pitch black void. 

"It doesn't matter, it really doesn't. It is what it is." - you said in somewhat slow motion manner. "Just... don't look at me like I'm going to break into a thousand pieces, please, I can't take it."

"You've done well by telling me this."

You smiled softly, not feeling anything on the inside.

"Yang-jung, do you think I could turn his knees into a mush with a baseball bat?" - you scoffed. Dark humor was always your kind of thing, but saying something as dark as that now of all times didn't make it look like a joke anymore.

"There are far less demanding and easier techniques. But when the time comes I'll make sure you do whatever you need to do to him."

What?!

You wanted to burst into a hysterical laughter, but you held it in the best you could. A rush of adrenaline and relief washed over your entire body, leaving goosebumps on your skin. It took you a few moments to realise what the hell this man was telling you. But then it hit you like a cargo train. You opened your mouth trying to word out something. Yang-jung inspected the changes on your face, waiting for you to speak up. You couldn't tell if he's only comforting you, or are you seriously a meter away from a criminal who would move mountains for you, if only you asked. Moments passed and he was almost sure he got ahead of himself.

Seeing you all hesitant, he finally continued, "Unless-"

"Are you serious?" - you cut him off. "Are you...?"

You asked for reassurance, nothing else. Words stuck in your throat. Was Yang-jung really telling you what you think you heard? Is he really who you think he is?

"Don't make me regret my words." - he warned you, unsure of what's on your mind. He was dead serious.

"Ahjussi," - you whimpered, reaching for his hand across the table, "please, don't say that. You're the only real person I have. Do I need to spill my heart out even more?"

His face softened. He took your hand in his and kissed it.

"You're safe here."

____

Author's note 2: It took some time, but here it is finally. I know it's probably not what many of you expected, and I left the open (?) ending in hopes for part 2. Also, if I need to add any more warnings or notes on the classification or tags of any kind, please let me know, since I don't have much experience with these things. Thank you for reading 🫶🏻

tagging a few of sweethearts who interacted with my original posts (link 1, link 2) and expressed their enthusiasm for this fic, pushing me to write it (I hope it wasn't too underwhelming for you in the end): @quillinhand @slutforaemond @castleninja @posessedbytheinternet (I can't tag you for some reason :/)

[vilonnie]

got randomly smacked in the head by mercedes brainworms so now I’m thinking about verdant wind black eagles mercie again… imagine you are an older sister and you have abandoned everything and you have always passively gone along with whatever everyone else decides for you – you are not in the business of making choices. the only things saving you from loneliness are your faith and annette, your first and last and one and only best friend. annette understands you (she understands how to cannibalize herself trying to fix the men in her family, understands the preciousness of a teenage girl’s dear friend, understands the constant struggle to be good, good, good despite it all.) you are both good girls, but you are not good girls. and in truth she is not like you, because you see her desperate conviction, dedication, hard work and sleepless nights, and wonder how such a small girl can grasp such powerful devotion.

the first real choice you ever make is to transfer. you find the brother you left behind all those years ago, and you allow yourself to hope that maybe this time you can do better, make it better. it is a sister’s responsibility. you have been given a second chance. then you fight on their side in the war, and you are fighting against the only true home you have ever known – the only place you have known shelter, haven, friendship. didn’t you want to give that to other helpless young girls, once? it is annette who brings you back again. she brings you to your knees as her black magic pierces even your resistance, and instead of cleaving her axe through your heart, she only extends a hand once again. at this point, you both know that you cannot win. the good girls have backed the wrong horses. annette’s king faerghus has gone mad, with a doomed procession of childhood friends trailing lovingly, blindly behind him, but still she will not leave – she once told him he was like a brother to her – and she does not abandon the things she loves. she is not her father. and you know that edelgard’s time is running out, too – you have seen the tides of war turning against her. the game is up, princess. so you return. you return, and you abandon. this is the second time you have left your brother behind.

there is a man you know, dressed in red and black on wyvern’s wings, who curses his own disloyalty, his cruelty, his self-destruction, his misery. but he has stayed all these years by the same broken hearts he has loved since childhood, there for them as he has always been, unfailingly loyal, at the core of it. it is you, the holy woman, draped in shining whites and rose golds, who left them (who left her, who left your home.) you who is the traitor, you who has committed treason. you are strong and you are kind, so you will continue onward no matter what, but the burden lies heavy upon your heart. later, it is you, the gentle pacifist, the healer, who will take down the famed death knight. a legendary deed! this is a very pretty way of saying that your hands are the ones to end your brother’s life. in the end, you kill him for the country you chose over him. the first real choice you ever make.

one day the war is over, and you have played no part in it, and none of this matters, in the end. but a new dawn is still here, and you can take the woman you love into your arms, and you can promise to give her the world she deserves, promise to give all helpless children like you the world they deserve, and aren’t you finally happy, to be making a choice for yourself? I love mercedes,

[colourstreakgryffin]

Good morning/afternoon/evening/night! May l request a Romantic Yandere Hashira of your choice with a darling who islike Dazai Osamu? Thanks!

You don’t wanna pick? Okay. Well, I’m gonna pick a Hashira that hasn’t been asked at all after all! So, please do enjoy!

Yandere! Himejima Gyomei!

How mysterious. You’re dark and enigmatic, never revealing anything about yourself, other than a few details

Cant say that as a whole intrigues Gyomei but your skills with your unique weapon is, so he decides to get closer to you and give you tips on combating more efficiently

Your confidence makes you come out as cute to Gyomei. As suspected, you are much smaller than him but you have quite the bite. And it interests Gyomei further

It’s a bit tricky to corrupt Gyomei into a Yandere since of his emotionally-closed-off mindset but you managed to do it, and now, he can’t find himself living a second minute without thinking about you

Where is his little overdramatic bean? He always wonders as he waits patiently for you to arrive at the Stone Estate for more mutual training

Gyomei is very overprotective over you as you make very silly or dangerous decisions, despite your skills and wit, so he quickly takes over and decides everything for you as to avoid you potentially eat hallucinogenic mushrooms again or trying to commit s***de in a comical way again

Gyomei likes how flirty you are with him, but not with other men, including his fellow Hashira. He doesn’t want your attention nor your like on anybody but him as you’re popular with men. He knows you ten times better than all those inconveniences before him do so he pulls you away from the men admiring you with hate overflowing him

He loves holding you in his arms, you don’t mind as you sometimes just want to be lazy and ineffective. The more you ask him to carry you around, the more Gyomei wants to keep doing it. You usually say yes to him and he is thankful that he gets to hold you so lovingly

Gyomei is obsessed, possessive and delusional over you all at once. He figures that you, a dark person that doesn’t like binding with others, being friendly to him means you recuperate his intense feelings and that messes with his head, convincing him you want him too

Everything he does is based around you now. He can’t even go into a mission without thinking of picking up your favourite treat or what you made be doing in this very moment. His obsession is neverending, it keeps going

If he can’t really see you. He knows that you’re beautiful and he knows that he has the person he’ll love for the rest of his life close enough to embrace

Gyomei is possessive. Nobody knows others’ intentions so he puts it upon himself to pull you away from anybody and everybody so they can’t try anything funny. All men back up in fear of Gyomei, he’s huge, tall and big. He has no outer problems with isolating you from the general public

But your retaliation is the only problem. Though, he’ll figure out how to get around he, but he won’t lay his hands on you or even insult you. He calmly lets you insult him as he proclaims he is doing every single thing for your own good

“Good morning, love. Does the wound feel any better? No. Well, I’ll have to ask Kocho to give you painkillers, tha— huh? I shouldn’t have stopped you from— No! I won’t let you hurt yourself, nothing will happen to you whilst I’m here… Nothing”

[babyboibucky]

Obvious

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You and Bucky are more than friends but less than lovers.

Word Count: 1,700

Warnings: slight angst??? mention of injury???

A/N: Inspired by Ariana Grande’s “obvious” because I fucking love that song lmfao. Let me know if anyone wants to be included in my Bucky Barnes tag list! Will do separate tag lists for everything Bucky and Babysitting Bucky. Feedback is highly appreciated!

MAIN MASTERLIST

---

You and Bucky weren’t lovers, no. But you were definitely not just friends either.

There were kisses early in the morning, while both of you were cuddled in bed basking in the warmth of the sunlight spilling through the thin curtains; soft and subtle touches in the afternoon as the two of you navigated through the kitchen in an attempt to bake together. Slow touches late at night, cold metal fingers grazing you in just the right places that made you feel like on fire. And the exchange of whispers in the wee hours of night after coming down from the high of exploring each other’s bodies, uttered so softly, words meant only for each other to hear.

More than friends indeed, less than lovers? Maybe. Maybe not. Does it matter though? Because even without the words of affirmation, you loved Bucky and was sure that he loved you just as much.

Besides, you were obviously head over heels for the soldier. Not that you were denying or hiding it, in fact, you felt like you showed it a tad bit too much.

“Leaving so soon, soldier?” You’d asked with a pout as you watched Bucky leave your side on the bed.

“Duty calls.” He told you as he began to dress up.

Noticing your frown, he chuckled and approached you on the bed, bending down to press a kiss on your forehead.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He reassured you, smoothening out the crease on your forehead with his thumb.

“But I wanna cook you dinner.” You told him.

The thought of you and Bucky spending a domesticated evening together always elated you. You loved daydreaming about it, about sharing a life with your super soldier. Him coming home after a mission and you making sure to take good care of him. Maybe run him a bath while you prepared dinner. Silly, it seemed but you couldn’t help imagining all the possibilities with Bucky. Letting him sleep in on Sundays while you go on a jog, only to come back home with pancakes and bacons waiting for you in the kitchen. And Bucky of course, fresh out of bed with his hair sticking up in different directions.

Being with an Avenger of course, made it difficult to experience all these things. Sometimes you’d wake up alone but Bucky always made sure to leave you a little note.

I’ll be back soon, beautiful.

His notes found a home in one of your drawers. There were plenty and although these notes symbolized his absence on most days, they also meant promises. Promises to make it up for the lost time, promises that were never broken nor forgotten.

Dinner dates were often postponed, sleepovers a rare occurrence— spending time together in general, wasn’t as easy as it was for other couples out there.

But that’s okay. Because you’d always wait for Bucky. You’d wait for him to come home and even if it’d take him three days, one week, two months or even a year, you’d still wait and welcome him with hugs and kisses and affectionate whispers.

Sometimes you wondered whether Bucky knew how much you loved him.

Disagreements were of course, unavoidable even between you and Bucky. Oftentimes, the arguments would stem from his carelessness and selfless decisions during missions. Your super soldier, always so giving and generous and kind. You couldn’t care less about what others thought of him and his days under the influence of monsters. The moment you knew you loved Bucky, you had already accepted him. And that included his demons and dark days too.

To you, Bucky had always been kind and put others first before himself. Sometimes a little too much that you couldn’t help but feel hurt that he didn’t seem to care how you’d feel if ever he wouldn’t make it home.

If Sam hadn’t called you that night, you wouldn’t have known about the serious injury inflicted on Bucky while on a mission.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked as soon as you barged into the medical bay, ignoring the nurse who immediately scrambled out of the room.

Bucky laid in bed, bruised and wrecked and unable to respond upon seeing you seething with anger for the first time ever.

“Were you even planning to tell me in the first place?” You scoffed.

They needed to infiltrate another Hydra base. Raid the base, get all possible information and blow it up to ashes. But then Bucky found a secret basement at the very last minute, young women and men were kept— future Winter Soldiers. The serum hadn’t been injected into their systems yet, they were merely poor teenagers in captivity. Bucky knew he couldn’t let these young people suffer the same fate as him. With barely a minute left before the bomb was set to explode, Bucky did his best to save everyone in that basement.

Never mind the Falcon’s orders to abort his mission, never mind the back-up they had called for to help them out. Bucky knew the choices he had: walk away unscathed knowing that the back-up wouldn’t arrive in time to save the children, or stay behind and do his best to make sure that no one will become another toy for Hydra to play with.

Even if it meant risking his life, even if it meant leaving you back home unaware of his fate.

“They needed me. I couldn’t just leave them behind.” Bucky explained.

“And you didn’t think I needed you too?” You asked, eyes rimmed with tears.

God, you knew you were selfish for feeling hurt but you couldn’t help it. Did it not cross Bucky’s mind that if he had died, you’d be left behind too? Did you not cross his mind during that time?

“Look, I understand what the superhero life is all about. And I know that it’s fucking selfish of me to say this but...Bucky, I need you too. As much as the world does.”

It was a conversation that you and Bucky had many times now. But with how your love grew for him with each passing second, the thought of losing him, it had become too much for you to suppress.

Waking up without his little notes of reassurance that he’d be back soon, no more cold fingers tracing against the smooth expanse of your skin and having to sleep knowing that the next day, Bucky wouldn’t be there anymore— just the mere thought of losing him broke your heart.

“I can’t...” you breathed out, “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, Buck.” You admitted with a shaky sigh as your tears continued to fall.

Bucky wanted to get up and pull you to an embrace, but he was too injured to do so. How we wanted to kiss your tears away, all he could do was extend a hand towards you, inviting you to come closer and touch him.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled. “I should have told you, I’m sorry. C’mere.”

Despite your anger, you didn’t think twice and immediately went to hold Bucky’s hand, squeezing it tightly as if you were trying to make sure that he was fine and real and that you didn’t lose him.

“Please stop being so reckless. With how much I love you, it drives me crazy whenever you come home all wounded and bloody and now—“

“You love me?”

Bucky had asked the question as if he couldn’t believe that yes, you do love him. Sam really wasn’t kidding when he said how dense Bucky was.

“Is it not obvious?” You asked, wiping away your tears.

“I mean yeah but...I just didn’t want to assume that you do because we never really talked about it.” He explained, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb.

His metal fingers, although cold and hard against your skin, had always been your favorite. They were gentle when they needed to be, or at least whenever Bucky touched you. They were cold and made you shiver but always in a good way.

“Bucky, I’ve talked about wanting a future with you. You still didn’t think that that was love?” There was a hint of playfulness in your tone despite your deadpan expression.

Oh no, what if you interpreted everything the wrong way?

“Do you not...oh my god, Bucky am I the only one in love?” You asked, panicked.

“Oh god, no.” Bucky immediately clarified as he pulled you to sit down on the bed beside him.

“I love you. So much. Please don’t think otherwise.” He said, cupping your face and wiping away the remnants of your tears.

A smile followed by a quick peck on the lips. Bucky moved and gave you enough space to lay down beside him on the hospital bed. Suddenly, everything felt right. Not that it wasn’t before but with the both of you finally uttering those words, it felt different.

The perfect kind of different.

You laid your head against Bucky’s chest and listened to his heartbeat as his hand rubbed comforting circles on your back. You can’t imagine a life without being this close to him, your super soldier.

“I thought of you, you know.” His chest rumbled as he spoke.

You lifted your head up to look at him in confusion. He smiled at you lovingly, “During the mission. Every mission I go to actually, I thought of you.”

Bucky thought about how you always waited for his return no matter how long he took. He imagined what you’d be doing when he’d come back, would you still be asleep? Perhaps you’d be in the shower, singing. Bucky thought about how he’d kiss you as soon as he comes home, how he’d make you feel how much he missed you and your scent, how your smooth skin felt against his.

Every single time, Bucky thought about coming home to you. It was his motivation to stay alive no matter what. He knew you needed him as much as the world does.

Because he needed you just the same.

More than friends, indeed. Less than lovers? No, you and Bucky were more than that.

You were each other’s worlds.

[jackrrabbit]

Spoiled Rotten /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Request: What if Overhaul fucks spoiled rich reader because her dad owes the yakuza money and in exchange Kai takes the daughter as a form of payment using her as his personal stress doll whenever and wherever he wants making her into his perfect little doll

A/N: While I was writing this my roommate asked if I was okay bc cause I kept stopping to fan myself and blush lmaooooo god I’m such a brat. I did change the concept up a bit, hope that’s fine!

This is dedicated not only to the OG requester but also to everyone who read the excerpt I posted a while back and told me they couldn’t wait to see the finished product!! Love you guys ❤️

Tags/warnings: threats, dubcon/coercion, dom/sub, brat taming, degradation, exhibitionism, restraints, mentions of forced prostitution, verbal & physical harassment, kidnapping, kinda breath play?, long

The first thing you notice when you come to are voices. Multiple people talking to each other, speech overlapping in patterns you can’t make out. They’re quiet—not whispering for your sake, but quiet because you’re still half knocked-out and you can barely hear.

The second thing you notice is the pounding in your head and the lingering smell of something sweet spread over your nose and mouth.

The third thing you notice is the fact that when you try to blink your eyes open, your lashes brush against something soft and dark. You’re blindfolded…and gagged, and your hands feel like they’re cuffed behind your back. From what you can sense around you, it seems like you’re hunched in a kneeling position with your cheek flattened against the floor and your bare feet tucked under your backside.

At least you’re still in your nightgown. You can feel the frilly silk of it, a useless barrier between your skin and the cool air, and it reminds you of how you got here in the first place.

A loud noise in the night. Your father’s voice pleading. A heavy thump. The door to your bedroom banging open and a strange man holding you down to your bed…lifting a sweet-smelling rag to your mouth…telling you to “take a deeeeep breath, princess.”

“Hey, I think she’s waking up.”

An invisible hand fists itself in your hair and you whine in pain as your upper body is lifted off the floor. Once you’re properly upright, you hear squeaking, shoes against concrete, and the heat and breath and presence of someone behind you. Something rustles at the back of your head—you’re too scared to move so you stay still—and then the blindfold is being lifted off your face.

Once it’s gone, you have to blink for a moment even despite the low light of the dingy room where you’ve…apparently…been kidnapped. By the freaking yakuza. And for some reason, they’re all wearing bird-beak masks.

You close your eyes, almost wishing they hadn’t taken the blindfold off. You’d prefer to live in blissful ignorance of how decidedly unclean the floor is. How dare they let your face touch it? What happened to honor among thieves?

“Do you know why you’re here?”

Against your will, your eyes flick up to the speaker. He’s the only one sitting, and somehow that gives him a position of power among the others. The leader?

Unsettling golden eyes rest on yours, and you realize he’s waiting for your answer, so you slowly move your head from side to side.

“Didn’t know about daddy’s bad habits, huh?” This time the person speaking is behind you, the one who untied your blindfold, a thin man with lank, greasy blond hair. He’s the one who drugged me, you remember in a surge of panic, and you try to stand up away from him only for him to step on the chain that connects your handcuffs, jerking you back and pinning you—painfully—to the floor.

“Careful, Setsuno. I told you not to leave marks. Let her talk.”

“Got it, boss.” The blond—Setsuno—fumbles at the back of your head and then he’s pulling the gag out of your mouth.

You open and close your mouth a few times to stretch out the stiff muscles. “Oh. My. God. Was that polyester you just took out of my mouth? Do you have any idea how bad synthetics are for sensitive skin? I’m totally going to break out.”

A hush falls over the little room. You could hear a pin drop.

“…Are you complaining about the quality of the fabric we gagged you with?” the leader asks after a second.

“You may be yakuza, but you don’t have to act like savages,” you reply primly, aligning your knees together and sending a proud look off to the side.

“Ohh…little princess deserves better, does she?” Setsuno coos. He edges closer to rub his cheek against yours and laughs when you cringe away from him. “Boss, you shoulda seen her bedroom. All pink and frilly, looked like royalty lived there. Bet they treat you like a real princess at home, huh? No wonder your daddy’s in debt.”

“Daddy isn’t—“

“Your father…took out loans from my gang. My men came last night to collect,” the leader says, drumming his fingers over the armrest of his chair impatiently.

He’s wearing plastic gloves. Why is he wearing plastic gloves? Immediately your mind is spinning, imagining all the different gruesome possibilities of what they’re going to do to you. “That’s ridiculous. My daddy doesn’t need to borrow money—“

“Clearly he does, because it looks like he pissed it all away on his daughter.” The leader’s eyes are cold enough to make you shiver—although maybe that’s just the icy temperature of the floor soaking through your nightgown.

“He had a couple payments overdue, so we stopped by to ask nicely for him to pay up,” Setsuno says, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Didn’t find too many valuables in your house, but then we got our hands on a real treasure.”

“Don’t touch me—“

“You don’t seem to understand the position you’re in,” the leader says. “When I made my contract with your father, he understood that obligations like these are inherited. Since he can’t pay his debt, you’re going to be working it off in his place.”

Working it off? You swallow. Somehow you don’t think he’s talking about your little part-time job as a receptionist at your daddy’s company. “You can’t make me do that.”

“I’m not sure you’re getting the gist, princess,” Setsuno hums. “What we’re gonna do is we’re gonna put you in a room, and then men are gonna give us money, and then we’ll let those men fuck you. All that money’s gonna go toward paying what your daddy borrowed. Sound good?”

For the first time since you can remember, you’re shocked speechless. They’re going to…what? But you’re a quick thinker, and instead of letting these filthy, awful gangters boss you around, you raise your chin haughtily to look directly into the leader’s eyes. “I don’t think so. If Daddy’s the one who got himself in debt, you can make him whore himself out to pay it back. You can’t hold me responsible for something he’s done.”

Another brief silence, and then you hear a whistle echo out from the corner of the room (and you try not to look toward it, reminding yourself that this can only get worse if they know how scared you are). “She’s got a mouth on her, Overhaul,” someone says.

Overhaul. So the leader’s name is Overhaul. How ridiculous; it sounds like a villain’s name.

“Aww, princess,” Setsuno says, and once again his voice is too close for your comfort. “Little spoiled princess doesn’t know how to shut her mouth and suck it up when things don’t go her way? Well…you’ll learn.”

You don’t want to know what he’s talking about, although if you thought about it for more than a second it’d be obvious. You suck in a harsh breath and the cool, damp air stings against your dry throat. “You can’t just make me—“

“Ohh, I think we can. See, if your daddy’s been spending all of the Shie Hassaikai’s money on his precious daughter, don’t you think you owe a little too? Like, this dress—“ you jump as Setsuno’s hand tugs on the thin, floaty silk— “was bought with Overhaul’s money, so it belongs to him, right?”

You keep quiet, not wanting to prompt him to go further, but when his hands stroke up over your waist to grope your breasts in full view of everyone else in the room, you don’t really have to guess.

“And, y’know, your daddy’s been keeping you nice and healthy with Overhaul’s cash, making sure you grow up into such a pretty girl…” Setsuno’s voice is a purr in your ear as his hands squeeze your tits almost lovingly, then pinch your nipples through the fabric. “So hey—if you think about it, this tight little body…belongs to Overhaul too. Isn’t that right, sir?”

You squirm in place as best you can but with the metal cuffs digging into your wrists, there’s nothing you can do to get away from his touch. You’re desperate enough to shoot a terrified glance up at the leader—surely there are rules about treating an innocent girl like this, even for the yakuza—but he looks as unmoved as before. “Get her out of my sight. We’ll give her a rest for the next few days, and then…”

“No!” you yelp, too panicked to keep up the pretense of confidence. “I won’t, I can’t do that, please don’t make me—“

“Shhh. You’ll get used to it, princess. And if you don’t…” Setsuno’s hand combs though your hair and then trails down your neck, tracing the path of your spine between your shoulder blades. “…well, you won’t really have much of a choice, will you?”

And then he’s tugging on your cuffed hands, pulling you to a standing position, but you wriggle away from him and do everything you can to stay planted on the ground so they can’t take you away from here, away from the only man who is capable of stopping this. Overhaul. “Please! I’m— I can work it off another way! I’ll be useful— I’ll—“

Overhaul leans forward a fraction in his chair, and you wonder if you’ve caught his interest. “What, exactly? How do you think you can be useful to me?”

You bite your lip and wrack your brains, not knowing whether the question is rhetorical. What skills do you have that would be valuable to them? Suddenly all the knowledge you’ve gained in your short life seems so meaningless. You’re a decent receptionist (well, decent is a stretch), but if Overhaul wanted someone to answer calls for him you’re pretty sure he would’ve asked.

Why did you spend your life learning such impractical skills? The four-year weekend course you took on horseback riding jumps to mind and you want to hit your head against the wall. Why didn’t you ask your father to sponsor a class in something that would actually matter in the long run? And what would even be useful to these people? Accounting? Bookkeeping? Extortion?

There’s nothing valuable you can offer. You’ve wasted your life, and now you’re going to pay for it. Seriously, the only thing you’re actually good at is keeping your boyfriends (or, rather, the men you cycle through once a month) happy until the novelty wears off and you get bored and move on to the next lovesick target—

—wait. Keeping your boyfriends happy. That’s a skill, isn’t it?

Once, a little bit after you turned eighteen, you’d had a rather illicit conversation with one of your more sexually adventurous friends about being a sugar baby. Your friend had just secured a very generous benefactor, and you’d been so intrigued by all the designer purses and vacations to Cabo that you’d almost considered trying it for yourself. She’d even helped you set up a profile on Seeking Arrangements that listed your physical features and interests, but you’d blanched when it came time to post photos.

“But why do men even like this?” you'd asked your friend after your picture-less profile received its dozenth unsolicited offer. “Rich, successful guys shouldn’t have so much trouble finding girlfriends that they have to resort to paying for sex.”

“It’s a power trip,” she’d replied. “Most men never get the chance to have a woman who’s willing to do and be whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. You’re his ideal girlfriend, his therapist, his wife, and his stress relief all in one.”

At the time, you’d decided against it, deleting your profile and telling your friend you’d rather just keep taking advantage of your real father doting on you than have to fake orgasms for rich men in their 50’s. But back then, you’d had a choice; now that you’ve been kidnapped by a gang who wants you to get fucked by a bevy of strangers to pay off a debt you’ve never even heard of, you no longer have the privilege of a way out. Or, at least, the options are a lot less appealing than before.

You tilt your head back to Overhaul, eyeing him for the first time with real scrutiny instead of prideful disgust. Judging from what you can see of his face under the ornate bird mask (and again, what is with the freaking bird masks?), he’s fairly young, mid-twenties at the oldest. Short, sort of wavy dark hair (you’ve always had a thing for dark hair), a trim suit and tie, and those eyes. Like he can read your mind just looking at you.

He’s…handsome enough, you have to admit to yourself. But it’s not just that. There’s something pristine about him, something untouchable that commands discipline. He’s clean. You and him are probably the only clean things in this hovel of a room.

“Well? I’m waiting,” Overhaul says.

And now that you’ve got the idea in your head, it’s almost too embarrassing to meet his gaze. But you can do this; you have to do this. At least it’ll be your choice, and—you’re hoping—it’ll be better than the alternative.

“I could be yours,” you tell him, taking pride in the fact that your voice isn’t breaking.

His eyes narrow and you think god, his eyelashes are long. It’s not fair. Men never appreciate having long eyelashes. What is he thinking? Is he going to kill you for even suggesting it? But it’s too late now…you have to dig yourself a little deeper if you don’t want to go through with their original plan for debt fulfillment.

You force your muscles to relax, knowing this’ll be impossible to pull off if you’re tense and biting down on the words like they’re going to choke you. If you’re going to make him believe it, you have to make yourself believe it too. “You… This job must be hard. Even for a—a powerful man like you, it has to be stressful, right? Always looking out for the interests of the gang instead of your own…needs.”

Overhaul doesn’t move, but you’re so focused on him it would be impossible for you to miss the way a single muscle in his neck flexes. You’ve hit a nerve.

You take a cautious step toward him, trying to channel the sexually-liberated vixen you consider yourself when you’re not in your nightgown surrounded by men who could murder you with their bare hands and not miss a minute of sleep. “You’re always giving, aren’t you? Looking toward the future of the gang? Doesn’t it get frustrating when—when a pretty thing is in front of you and you don’t even get…a little taste of her?”

Oh god, you can feel the humiliated heat rushing to your cheeks. How can you be saying this? You’ve played the role of seductress plenty of times before, but never in such a risky situation. You just have to keep moving toward him and hope it feels authentic enough to convince him.

“You’ve worked hard. And…like he said, my—my body belongs to you.” Now you’re close enough to Overhaul and he hasn’t stopped you, so you lower yourself onto the floor, knees bumping softly into the cold surface. Kneeling between his legs.

Overhaul stares down at you, gaze as sharp and cold as before—and you’re sick with anxiety, so scared you can feel your hairs raising up on end—but if he wanted you to stop, he would have said something, right? So you shuffle a little closer and nuzzle your cheek over the inside of his clothed thigh like a kitten, then raise your head up to him to give him your best bedroom look, the one that says, I want you. I need you. No one but you. The look no man has ever been able to resist.

“…You deserve something to yourself, sir,” you murmur.

There’s a collective intake of breath as every person in the room simultaneously realizes what you’re offering. Overhaul’s expression doesn’t change, but once again, a tendon jumps out white under the skin of his throat and there’s a creak of latex on leather as his grip on the arm of the chair tightens.

“Damn,” Setsuno says under his breath from behind you. Someone whistles. You’re pretty sure you hear the word ‘slut’ being tossed around, but there’s reverence behind it.

“And what makes you think you’re so valuable?” Overhaul asks.

You close your eyes to ground yourself for a second. He’s interested, you know that much. You’ve never really had to convince someone to want you, but there’s a first time for everything. Besides, you only have to look at him for a second to know he does want you, which isn’t a surprise. Who wouldn’t?

“I’ll do anything you want, be anything you want,” you tell him, echoing your conversation with your friend back then. “Take out your anger on me if that’s what you’re into. When you’re tired of me, you can consider my debt paid and let me go.”

“And?” he prompts.

‘And’? And what? You’re offering yourself to him, your body and your mind—what more can he possibly ask from you? You cast your thoughts around, wondering what else you have to give him. “And…and I’ll do it willingly. You, um—you look like a man who appreciates obedience.”

And that’s it. Your last shred of pride is gone. Not only are you offering yourself up to a man to use as his personal stress doll, you’re saying you’ll be compliant every step of the way. Knowing yourself, you’re pretty sure that’s impossible, but you just need to make him believe it long enough for you to find a way out of here. You can pretend to enjoy getting fucked by a gangster a few times. You’ll live.

But you’re naive. And with the stream of thoughts pushing through your head, you never really consider one thing, one essential thing: how you look pleading up at him in that pale pink nightdress—soft, pure, immaculate against the filth of the underworld, the only clean body that Overhaul’s seen in a long time.

And you’re right. He is a man who appreciates obedience.

“Willingly…so you’d be willing to prove it.”

Your head jerks up and down in response. Yes! He’s taking the bait, now I just have to get him alone and—

“Then demonstrate.”

When a moment passes and you don’t move, Overhaul tips his head to the side, gaze still locked on you, and gestures vaguely at his lap. You blink and then shy back, shrinking under the hungry gazes of the onlookers. “You can’t mean—in front of them?”

“And here I thought you were going to be obedient.” There’s no mercy, no amusement in his voice. No hint of humanity.

So he’s serious. He wants you to give him a blowjob in front of—how many? one, two three, four—four other men!? Your first instinct is to jump back away from him and your next is to slap him for even suggesting it; you can actually hear the jingle of your cuffs as you attempt to raise your hand. You’ve gotten a little kinky before—blindfolds, vibrators, maybe a hand tied to the bedpost with a Hermès scarf once or twice, but this is a whole different level. And the way they’re all looking at you…like they’re itching to see you brought down. How absolutely disgusting.

But Overhaul’s waiting for your answer, and you know full well that you’re not going to deny him.

“O-Of course.” You lean forward over the seat of the chair so your face is just inches from his lap. “Um. My hands...?”

They’re still cuffed behind you, but it seems like they’re going to stay that way when Overhaul gives a curt shake of his head. “Use your mouth.”

Once again, you’re stunned into silence. How are you supposed to—? Without your hands? It doesn’t even seem like he’s going to undo his pants for you. It’s like he wants to humiliate you…oh, wait. As soon as the thought crosses your mind, it’s clear that’s exactly what he’s trying to do.

You give him another doe-eyed glance, bidding him to at least undo his belt, but he remains unmoved. Bastard.

After aiming another glare at him (because as obedient as you’re attempting to be, you’ve never been good at concealing your emotions) you lean deeper in and take the stiff leather of his belt between your teeth, gently easing it out of the buckle and trying to ignore the mixture of earthy and metallic tastes it leaves on your tongue. It takes a few tries, but eventually you’ve got the tail of the belt out of the buckle and you pull your head back to guide the metal down until the belt is hanging open from its loops.

A rush of accomplishment surges through you when you get it open, and then you want to slap yourself. Accomplishment? From doing this with your mouth like an animal—like a dog? You can hear laughter and mocking encouragement from the men watching, but you steel yourself and dip back in to get Overhaul’s pants undone. The button is tricky, especially with your face nudging into the hard muscle of his abdomen through his shirt, but somehow you manage to tug the fabric slit over the button and then—delicately, delicately—clamp the zipper between your teeth and peel it downward.

“Oh, she’s good,” someone says from the background. Setsuno. You look up warily, but Overhaul’s eyes haven’t moved from you.

Now that you’ve got his pants open, you’re face to face (literally) with what you’re going to have to deal with. The outline of his cock is bulging the fabric of his boxers outward, and he’s not even half erect. You snatch a look back up at him—and damn it, you have to stop doing that, because every time you look into those golden eyes and that stupid bird mask you feel like a lamb looking at a bird of prey right before it snatches you from your safe little lamb-house in the meadow and—fuck, you just have to get on with it.

So you dip down and mouth over him through the fabric, spreading the flat of your tongue over the length of his thick cock. Your mouth feels like you’ve been eating cotton (probably because they drugged you earlier) but you force yourself to salivate, letting drool spill over your tongue and dampen his boxers. When you duck and spread your lips down on the place you can feel the tip stretching out, you know the friction must feel good, because despite the lack of even so much of a deep breath from the man above you, his cock is getting harder.

You nudge your mouth over the tent between Overhaul’s legs again, letting the heat of your breath wash over him—but when he doesn’t do anything, you pull back and blink up at his face. Does he expect you to get him off through his underwear? You could, but most of your moves depend on skin-to-skin contact. There’s no way you can get his cock out with your mouth like you undid his pants, so…what? “Are—are you going to take it out?”

Overhaul brings a gloved hand to his face to rub absently at one of the straps on his mask. “…Beg,” he tells you.

Your mouth drops open and you reel back from his lap like he asked you to lick the dirt off the floor. What!? He can’t seriously expect you to—to beg him to put his dick in your mouth when you’re clearly disgusted at the whole situation. When he doesn’t give any indication of retracting the statement, you can’t help the mocking sneer that forms over your face. “Please, sir,” you spit, and a deaf man could hear the spite in your voice.

Now, that gets a reaction. Overhaul’s eyes flash and you take a certain degree of pride back at the anger you’ve clearly inspired in him. But it’s extinguished as soon as you see it, and then he’s reaching down to cup your chin, tilting your head back and rubbing his thumb over your lower lip.

“I think you can do better than that, princess,” he says, and you can hear your own mocking tone reflected back in his voice. “Unless you’d like me to give my men a turn?”

This, more than anything, scares you. He must be able to feel the way your spine goes stiff, adrenaline rushing, your fight-or-flight instinct kicking in at the prospect of what he’s threatening.

“Each of them, one by one. Between the four of them, I think they could cure that smart mouth…although they might just break you in the process,” he continues, and then his thumb is pressing into your lip, into your mouth, and you loosen your jaw to let him in. You can taste the rubbery latex of his gloves and the other men mutter agreement, encouraging their leader to turn you over to them, and you want to cry.

But you hold the tears back. “Please, sir! Please, please may I s-suck your cock sir? Please!” Your voice is more terrified than obedient, but that’s probably what he’s into anyway. When he doesn’t say anything, you babble on, unwilling to let yourself get gangbanged by a group of men who could probably wreck your pussy in a single round. “Please, please, Mr.—Mr. Overhaul, um, boss? M-Master?”

“Sir will do just fine,” Overhaul says, apparently satisfied, and he pulls his hand away from your face to free his cock from his boxers.

You let out a hot sigh of relief and angle yourself back toward his lap so you can zero in on his cock (and, hopefully, do a little to block out how sickeningly degrading all of this is: how easy it is for him to threaten you; how he has all the power and you have none; how the men around you are goading you, taunting you and calling you things that should get their mouths washed out with soap). You can focus on this, and this, at least, you’re good at. You’ve always been good with your mouth.

It’s a nice dick, too, you have to admit to yourself as you stare at it. Perfect length, girth, and a thick, cut head that you know just by looking that you’re going to have to stretch your jaw to get around. All his hair is neatly trimmed and groomed, and he even smells good, clean and fresh like soap. You’ve never been in front of a dick that didn’t smell like day-old ball sweat, so this is a first. It’s got a nice upward curve, too, and there’s a bead of pearly precum oozing out of the tip. The kind of cock that’s made for penetrative orgasms—

No. Fuck. You cannot be thinking this. You cannot allow yourself to lust after a gang leader who thinks of you as little more than an interactive sex doll. A tingle of blood rushes to your cheeks as you feel wetness pool in your panties and you adjust your stance, shuffling your thighs apart under the pretense of getting closer and hoping Overhaul doesn’t notice.

If he notices, he does the merciful thing and keeps quiet (which makes you think he has no idea you’re feeling the way you’re feeling, because he’s probably never chosen to do the merciful thing in his life). He does, however, shift one of his knees farther apart to accommodate you as you crawl close enough to him to get your head all the way between his legs.

So now you’re staring up at that unfairly pretty cock and wondering how the fuck this is supposed to start, but—best just get on with it. Pretend it’s not him, pretend it’s…no, wait, pretend it is him, it is Overhaul, the same bastard who’s looking down at you like you’re trash, except pretend you’re in control. Because no matter how many orders he gives, once you’ve got his cock in his mouth he’ll have to be the weak one. Right?

Lightly, slowly, you trace the tip of your tongue in a wet path up the underside of his cock, sliding up from the hilt to caress every bulging vein with all the delicacy and accuracy of a surgeon. When you reach the tip, you flatten your tongue to curve it around that bulbous head and then slip it off, the suction providing a wet smacking sound as your skin leaves his.

The breath of his barely-heavier exhale ruffles your hair and you relish the knowledge that he’s getting impatient. Yes. The bastard can wait.

You kiss the tip of his cock, barely moving your lips around the slit, only enough to let your tongue flick out against the precum and gather the bitter liquid up in your mouth. And then—right when he’s getting annoyed, when you can tell by the tension in his body that he’s five seconds away from shoving your head down to fuck your face—you duck closer, relax your throat, and swallow.

Like a fucking python. Or so you’ve been told.

The exhale that escapes him isn’t light this time. You can almost hear the barest hint of a groan under his breath, but you’re more focused on holding down your gag reflex as you let that heavy cock hit the back of your throat. Once he’s all the way down (or at least as far as you can get him), you rock yourself back an inch and then take him deeper, forcing yourself to hold still so he can feel the walls of your throat convulse around him, sucking him in, dry-gagging on the mass that’s filling you up.

“Fuuuuck,” you hear someone whine, and it’s not even Overhaul. It’s one of the men watching, and you feel a perverse mixture of hatred and arrogance rise up in you.

Overhaul’s cock is too big for you to properly moan around it, but you give it a go anyway so he can feel the vibration of your voice through his skin. You’re rewarded with a tangible twitch with it sitting on your tongue, and—oh—your mouth is watering out of where you’re clenching down on him at the back of your throat.

Spittle slips out over your lower lip and onto your chin, but you ignore it in favor of jerking your head up and down in fractional strokes, trying your absolute best to get yourself down to his base but knowing that he probably doesn’t give a shit anyway, not with how good your throat feels around what you’re capable of stuffing in.

What were you saying about ‘valuable’, sir? you think, and then you pull your head off his cock, so slow it’s almost cruel, sucking your cheeks in and hollowing out so those wet walls are rubbing up on every millimeter of his skin. When you reach the tip, you savor it, letting your tongue do the dirty work and looking up at him through your lash extensions before you release him with a nasty wet pop.

“Holy fuck, can I have her next?” one of the other men says, but you and Overhaul are too focused on each other to even look and see who’s talking.

His gaze is trained firmly down at you, and—no way, damn it—he looks bored, like he could be waiting in line at the DMV instead of getting sucked off by you, a girl who’s been complimented by every man she’s ever been with (including her first) on her bj technique. You know he’s feeling it—he can fake calm, but he can’t fake the way his cock’s throbbing under your tongue as you lick up the shaft. Still, now that you’ve got it in your head that Overhaul’s not going to make a sound, all you can think about is forcing him to moan. Let him look weak in front of all his little lackeys.

With renewed vigor, you lap up the length of Overhaul’s cock in sloppy dabs, leaving strings of saliva dripping off your mouth and his cock only to slurp them up, audibly, wiggling your tongue over the tip when you reach it. And that, that gets him, because you feel more than see the buck of his hips into your face as he hisses out a curse.

And—oh dear, maybe you shouldn’t have done that—because the next thing you feel is Overhaul looming forward over you, hand gripping the back of your head, and is he going to force you down? You hate that—so you take the initiative, tilting forward to take him into your mouth again, head bobbing up and down so quickly that your hair is falling all over your face, but it’s okay, because he’s got you, he’s got you, got his hands combed through your hair holding it out of your face, pulling so lightly it barely even hurts, but it does hurt, and he’s guiding you up and down on his cock and it’s hitting the back of your throat every time, and—and it hurts.

You really shouldn’t have done that.

“Take it deeper,” Overhaul instructs, almost encouraging, although you’re not given the option to pull off because he’s holding you down, pushing you firmly toward the base of his cock. You sputter around it, gagging, and you’re almost fucking choking, and he won’t let you up.

God, you’re not—not breathing, you can feel your throat choking down on him—“breathe through your nose,” he says, and this man, this villain has no idea what he’s fucking talking about, because you’re trying, eyes stinging and then you can feel tears down your cheeks. You try to squirm back on your knees, but somehow the combined force of every muscle in your body is outmatched by his single hand on the back of your head—and—and—you squeeze your eyes shut, relax, open your throat as much as you can and—

Overhaul forces your mouth down to the hilt.

Fuck, is he going to keep you there? You can’t, you can’t—if you could move, you’d be shaking your head and begging him to let you stop and as it is you’re whimpering around his cock. Your throat is making gagging noises and you’re crying, actually crying, actually fucking crying on a man’s dick. So this is what it feels like to be used?

“Good.” There’s something lower and darker in Overhaul’s voice, a husky undertone from the growl he’s trying to suppress. “Hold still…remember, you asked for this.”

You did. You asked for it. Begged for it. Pleaded.

“Want me to forgive your father’s debt…? You’re going to have to earn it.” He pulls out an inch just to ram himself back in. You make a weak attempt to move your tongue around his shaft and you can feel the shudder all the way through him, his cock twitching where it’s locked in your throat. “Mm…good girl. Just a little—little longer—“

His fingers are tightening in your hair, curling around the strands and tugging instead of just applying pressure to your head. He’s close, you think, and then you struggle back, not wanting him to cum down your throat, what if you choke on it? Like, really choke? You don’t want it, don’t want his cum in your stomach, but then he sighs and tells you again that you’re a good girl, and ohfuckohfuck you must be so scared you’re desperate for praise because you feel heat rush into your cheeks and your cunt when he says it and you try to move your tongue like you did earlier and his hips jerk forward and—he cums. In your mouth.

It’s salty, you think. The next thing you think is that you want to gag, because you’ve never had cum in your mouth before. For all your sexual experimentation, you’ve never let a man cum down your throat like this, always telling them it shoot it on your tits or whatever because you are not a person who should have semen in her mouth, much less ingest it.

But right now, with Overhaul lazily dragging your head up and down for a last couple pumps on his softening dick, your choice isn’t spit or swallow. It’s swallow or choke.

Hot. Thick. The texture is slimy, so viscous you can feel it going down your throat in strings. Part of you wants to throw up. It’s repulsive. Filthy. You hate this.

Part of you has to shift your position again so you don’t have to feel your own wetness slicking up the insides of your thighs.

How. Is. This. Possible. You may have just had to swallow your pride (and not just that), but what about your dignity? You’re a good person…okay, well, even if you’re not a ‘good person’ per se, you don’t hurt anyone with your selfishness. You don’t deserve to be kept as a pet by a sadistic bastard who gets off on watching you almost pass out on his cock, and you certainly don’t deserve the humiliation of finding that you’re turned on by it.

And yet. Here you are. Still held securely in place until Overhaul slides you off him. As soon as your mouth is free you suck in a dizzyingly deep breath, but even that is too much for your battered throat and the breath turns into a cough; you instinctively fold down away from Overhaul so the mixed saliva and cum you’re hacking out spatters in cloudy white flecks across the floor instead of on his clothing.

“Stop that,” Overhaul scolds, hauling you back up by your hair and forcing your mouth closed with a hand on your jaw. “If you make a mess, you’ll be cleaning it up.”

Considering what he just made you do to him, there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s implying you’ll have to lick it off the floor. You clench your jaw, holding back the convulsions of your throat as best you can, and hope he doesn’t press the issue.

Now that you’ve got your coughing under control, you can start to sense things that you had been tuning out before: the men hooting and wolf-whistling and applauding your performance, the traitorously persistent throb of your clit pulsing under your panties, and Overhaul’s hand releasing your chin to pet down your neck. “Now. What do you say when someone gives you a meal?”

Just you wait, bastard. I’m going to tie you to your bed and set fire to it. But you’ve got the sense that that answer won’t go over well, so you take a deep breath and look up at him again, meeting those piercing gold eyes with your own. “Thank you, sir,” you say in a soft whisper because it’s all your abused throat can manage.

“That’s right.” His hands feel colder than the concrete under your legs as he spreads his hand down your neck, only to toy with one of the lacy pink straps of your nightdress. “Stand up.”

You stand shakily, too cowed to even consider stepping back from him. Without warning (much less permission), Overhaul lifts the hem of your stupidly short dress up past your thighs, exposing your panties and lower belly to view.

“Hold this in your mouth,” he says, and after only a few seconds of hesitation you open up and bite down on the fabric so you’re effectively holding up the skirt for him. Overhaul skims gloved hands down the sides of your hips and comes to a rest when he reaches your panties—and why did you have to wear these today? Shiny red satin in the front; the back is just flowers worked in crimson lace. You know exactly how good you look in these panties, and judging by the things Overhaul’s men are saying, they’re more than appreciative of the view.

But Overhaul ignores them in favor of hooking his fingers under the elastic and pulling the panties down until they’re resting stretched between your upper thighs. You don’t have to see them to know there’s a string of slick connecting the lips of your cunt to the fabric, betraying in full technicolor detail how turned on you’ve gotten just from sucking him off. He gazes down at your pussy and then up to you as if waiting for you to admit it, but you stay silent.

“Well, well. What a nicely-trained slut I’ve found myself.” He gracelessly pulls the panties the rest of the way down your legs and lets them fall to the ground. “Do you always get this wet when you let your boyfriends fuck that smart mouth?”

It takes you a second to comprehend that he’s expecting an answer. “N-No, sir,” you reply, voice muffled by the fabric you’re still holding between your teeth.

“I suppose I can’t leave you like this, not after you took me so nicely.”

Does he mean he’s going to get you off? No freaking way. You drop the hem of your dress, let it flutter down over your thighs, try to scramble back, but his hand on your waist keeps you from moving. “I— It’s okay, I don’t need—“

“No, I think you do. I think I’m going to reward my pet for a job well done.” He leans back, eyeing you without sympathy. “I’d have you touch yourself, but—“

The mere possibility that he might remove the handcuffs has you straining against them again, and the sound of metal against metal rings out from behind you.

“—but, I think it’s best to keep the cuffs on for a few days…until you’ve settled down.”

Days? He can’t leave you in chains for days, helpless and powerless, so easy to take advantage of. “You can’t,” you whimper, and even though you mean for it to be a decisive statement, with your throat ravaged and hoarse it’s downright pathetic. Overhaul doesn’t even bother reprimanding you for talking back.

“My men have been patient,” he muses, and an enthusiastic wave of agreement wells up from the others. “Any of them would be happy to do it.”

You may have been through a lot in the past hour alone, but there is no way you’re going to let those rowdy criminals have their way with you. You send a nervous glance around the room and as predicted, not a single one of them looks like they have the slightest shred of control over themselves.

None of them…except Overhaul.

Still eased back in his chair, he looks just as relaxed and unaffected as he did when he was explaining your father’s debts to you. But there’s something flickering in his eyes, something he isn’t going to say to you, isn’t going to say out loud. A challenge.

Maybe, once again, he’s waiting for you to ask for it yourself. And if it’s a choice between him and one of the grimy ruffians who’ve been looking at you like dogs look at meat, you know what you’d prefer. Well—really, you’d prefer option C: none of the above (your current state might be uncomfortable, but you’re not so wanton that you’d rather cum in front of strangers than keep your legs together). Unfortunately, you’re starting to come to terms with the fact that ‘no’ is no longer an option.

Overhaul’s stare flicks from you to an unseen figure behind you, and you can tell he’s about to summon one of them over so you force yourself to move, lurching forward and climbing into his lap to straddle one of his thighs with all the grace you’re capable of. You feel the stir in the air when he inhales sharply, surprised, and his masked face is so close to your neck that you wonder if he can smell the lotion you put on before you went to bed last night.

It’s one of your favorite scents: vanilla, lilac, orange blossoms. You bought it because it smelled pure.

“Please, sir, I don’t want them,” you breathe next to his ear, injecting every ounce of sexual frustration you’re feeling into the needy tones of your voice. “I’m yours. I belong to you, just you. No one else—please, sir…Overhaul.”

He’s quiet for a long, tense moment, and you think he’s going to hit you, or maybe even kill you for your disobedience. Push you off his lap at least. But just when you’re teetering on the edge of jumping back from him and begging for forgiveness for talking out of turn, you feel it—a low rumble of laughter from deep in his chest.

Big, cold hands wrap around the sides of your ribcage under your breasts and his fingernails dig into you through the layers of latex and fabric. He tilts forward, forcing you to arch away and all you can think about is how horribly weak you are compared to him. Are you trembling? Will he be angry if you feels how afraid you are?

“You know, I guess I’ll keep you after all,” he hums, stroking his fingers through your hair and down your neck. “How does that sound, princess? I think you’d like that very much, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” The response comes all too easily, even if the words taste bitter in your mouth. You’ve never said the word ‘sir’ so much in your life…but as he repositions you on his lap and slides a single hand up the inside of your thigh under your dress, you bite your lip and decide to hold back your protest.

If you’re going to have to learn manners, you’d better do it sooner rather than later. Something tells you Overhaul’s not going to accept any less than your best behavior if you want to pay off your debt.

[sleeping-on-cracking-ice]

Hi! I'm a new follower and I just binged all of your stories today! And sooooo in love!

I just want to request a story, where chishiya is madly possesive of his S/O, where he gets jealous of anyone who would touch her.

S/O is a female.

Thank youuu so much!

Of course! Thanks so much for following and reading my fics! ❤❤

Possessive | Shuntaro Chishiya

{Alice In Borderland Masterlist}

Summary: You begin to notice Chishiya’s possessive behaviour around you when you start becoming more serious about your relationship

Type: short scenario

Word Count: 1.7k

*reader is female

Author’s Note: this is more like just a few scenarios of Chishiya being possessive. It isn’t that well written since I had to rush it a bit. I felt like I had to post something today cause I haven’t in a while, so I was a bit busy 😣

You never viewed Chishiya as the possessive type, especially when it came to relationships. The sly, manipulative character seemed to convey the vibe that he wouldn’t care less about who his significant other talked to or hung out with. But of course, during the first few weeks of dating him, you began to notice that your assumption was completely inaccurate.

It started with small gestures, like pulling you closer to him subtly when you were hanging around the pool area, or keeping a strong grip on your hand when walking down the hallways of the hotel together. You always thought it was him just being a good boyfriend, but over time you began to think otherwise.

Chishiya became more clingy towards you, both in public and private. Sometimes he would not allow you to leave his side at all, which always ended in a complaint from you. Even when you rolled your eyes and tried to walk away from him anyway, he would just grab you by your waist and pull you back to him, giving you a quick glare to warn you.

In private, like when you were in your shared room together, he always hid your shirts from you so you would be forced to wear one of his white t-shirts. He would become all happy and giddy when you saw you in his clothes, wrapping his arms around you like a little koala and not letting go for hours. There would be some nights when you would have to pry his arms off from your torso, as he simply refused to let you go.

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

One night, you both were sitting in a booth together outside around the pool area. Most of The Beach’s residents had made their way to bed, so it was just you and Chishiya having a few drinks together with the occasional small group of people walking nearby.

Chishiya had his lips against yours, moving slowly and intimately as he held the side of your face with one hand and rubbed the bare skin of your waist with the other. You were having a heated make out session, just enjoying being in each other’s presence without being disturbed by anyone.

“Chishiya,” you breathed out as you broke the kiss, making Chishiya pout unhappily. “Let’s head inside, it’s getting cold out here.”

Chishiya smiled and shook his head at your suggestion. “Can we just spend a few more minutes here? There’s too many people inside and just want some alone time with you,” he asked, tucking his head into the crook of your neck and lightly nipping at the sensitive skin. You winced as he kissed and bit along your neck and collarbones.

“I want to see Arisu. He said he wasn’t feeling too well today and I want to check up on him,” you said, pulling Chishiya away from your neck by his shoulders. Chishiya held a frown on his face.

“Why do you want to see Arisu? I’m right here, you don’t need him,” he groaned in an annoyed tone while tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. You pulled a sarcastic face and rolled your eyes.

“Yes I know, but I’m just worried about him, that’s all,” you insisted, pushing your hand underneath Chishiya’s chin and pressing your thumb against his lips lightly.

Chishiya gazed lovingly into your eyes as you traced your thumb across his cheek, closing his eyes in content as the feeling of your hand on his skin. “You’re so pretty,” you praised, giving him a short peck on his nose, making him chuckle slightly.

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

A more prominent incident that conveyed his possessive personality was when you were in an executive meeting together.

You were a higher ranking member of the militants, so you were able to be present at meetings with Hatter.

Both you and Chishiya stood at the end of the large room together, leaning against the wooden wall and listening to the debate that everyone was holding. Hatter was trying to decide which executives to send to the next game, as he was expecting the game to represent a card that they had not yet able to achieve, and he wished to make sure that they were guaranteed to bring it back.

“Niragi and Aguni could go,” Mira suggested, gesturing towards the two taller men that sat at the table next to one another. “They have a 100% winning streak, so I think they’d be the best choice for a diamonds game such as this one.”

Your eyes broke from the rest of the room when you felt Chishiya’s hand run along yours, reaching for your hand and lacing your fingers together. You looked at his face, not even earning a side glance from him. It was unusual for him to act romantic towards you in front of the executives, especially during a meeting.

“Why doesn’t Y/N join then?” you suddenly heard your name. You looked back over to the table and saw Niragi eyeing you, making you tense immediately. “She can come with us, since she too has cleared a lot of diamond games.”

As everyone turned towards you and Chishiya, you felt Chishiya’s grip on your hand tighten.

Before you could even speak, Chishiya spoke for you.

“No,” he bluntly stated.

“No?” Niragi questioned, standing up from his seat and making his way over towards you and Chishiya’s position. “Why do you say no Chishiya?” Niragi asked, pressing the barrel of his rifle towards him.

“I’m not letting her go with you, not if I’m not there.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you just continued to glance between the two bickering men.

“She’s her own person, she can speak for herself,” Niragi growled into Chishiya’s face, turning towards you. Your heart stopped as he stepped towards your smaller frame. “So, what do you think sweetheart? We could really use your help.”

The way he ran his tongue along his bottom lip creepily at the end of his sentence made you uneasy. Before you could even answer, Chishiya had pulled you by your arm roughly behind him, putting himself between you and Niragi and shoving on his chest to get him away.

“Fuck off you perv,” he cursed at him, “she’s staying here. I don’t care how much you need her. I wouldn’t even let her in the same room as you or Aguni without me there.”

Niragi scoffed and gave you both an angered look before turning away. “Fine. Keep that personality up around her Chishiya, she just might get sick of you treating her like a possession you have control over.”

***********

Another incident occurred when you were both at the neon coloured bar outside in the party area.

Chishiya had to leave for a few minutes to look for Kuina, so you decided to wait at the bar for him to return, despite his protesting.

You were nodding your head to the music and sipping your drink, enjoying your time by yourself and having a nice conversation with the young lady who was the bartender. You suddenly were pulled from your thoughts when a cold hand was placed on your lower back, making you jump and spin your head around with an annoyed expression.

“Hey gorgeous,” he slurred his words, obviously drunk. “You’re looking awfully lonely. You want to come dance with me,” he pressed, running a hand through your hair softly. You swatted his hand away from your face and shuffled over in your seat to distance yourself from him.

“No thanks,” you declined politely. “I’m actually with someone, so I’m waiting for them right now,” you tried to reassure him.

He frowned and looked around the bar for someone who you might have been with. “I don’t see anyone. I’m sure your partner won’t mind if you have a little dance with me~”

His flirtatious tone made you cringe. He seemed awfully insistent. You declined once again and stood up from your seat to walk away, but you didn’t get the chance to when he grabbed you by your waist and pulled your back against his chest. “Stop being so hard to get. I just want to get to know you a little better.”

You tried to pull yourself from his touch as he ran his hands along the skin of your stomach a bit too intimately for it to be comfortable.

To your surprise, you heard a loud impact noise and the man’s grip left your body. You turned around to see what had happened to notice none other than Chishiya standing above the man on the ground, taser in hand.

“Piss off you horny dog,” he spat towards him, tucking his weapon back into his hoodie pocket. You noticed the people surrounding you watching the scene, making you feel uneasy, but Chishiya grabbed you by your hand and dragged you away from the crowd, heading towards the hotel.

After walking for a while, Chishiya turned around and looked at you, concern painted across his face.

“Oh my god, are you okay baby?” he asked, frantically checking your body for any signs of injury. “Did he touch you anywhere? I’m so sorry I left. I shouldn’t have left you alone like that, especially around all those intoxicated people.”

He was rambling as he rubbed your skin, trying to comfort you. “Chishiya,” you said, interrupting him. “I’m fine, it’s not your fault.”

You pulled him into a passionate kiss, running your hands through his hair, trying to calm him. Chishiya wrapped his arms around your shoulders to pull you closer, making you feel his warmth against you.

You snaked your hands underneath his hoodie and wrapped them around his back, scratching lightly through the material of his shirt. Chishiya sighed and pulled away from your lips, looking into your eyes.

“You’re all mine,” he whispered, rubbing his nose against yours playfully. You smiled at his statement. “You’re mine, don’t forget that.”

You nodded as he leant downwards to bite underneath your jaw. “Maybe I’m not making that clear enough,” he slyly said, making you chuckle nervously at his words. You gasped as he latched onto the skin of your neck, sucking on a single spot harshly. H.

“Chishiya, don’t!” you whispered-yelled. “You’ll leave a mark!”

Chishiya pulled away from your skin and admired the purple bruise that had formed on your neck, making him smirk. “That’s the point baby,” he said in a teasing tone. He leant back down and licked over the spot lightly to sooth the bruise.

You smiled and playfully hit his shoulder. “Idiot,” you groaned and rolled your eyes.

[littlestarrykenobi]

Spin the Bottle (Akaashi x Reader NSFW one shot)

Summary: You are tired of Akaashi’s dual personality toward you and decide to get to the bottom of it with a bottle of wine and a late night alone. 

Warnings: NSFW, name calling, quickie, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 2793

The day you moved in you knew that Akaashi was going to be a troublesome roommate. The landlord assured you that the boys she already had living in the room were nice young men, one of them hardly ever home in the first place, and since you were desperate for somewhere to live before the start of term you didn’t figure that you had much of a choice otherwise.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Bokuto cheered as he set down the last box. “Barbeque dinner time yeah?! You promised!”

The door to Akaashi’s room was already shut before you had the chance to answer, leaving you alone with the silver haired extrovert. What you didn’t realize was that Akaashi had his back to the door, cheeks bright pink as he slid to the floor, staring at the ground as he tried to collect himself. He had hardly the occasion to speak two words to you before but he’d seen you on campus freshman year and now…? Well, he’d have to talk to you… unless…

You and Akaashi have been basically battling back and forth leaving each other subtle hints for nearly two months. The crush came fast, made of little reminder notes left on bathroom mirrors for both you and Bokuto and cups of coffee left hot for you on the kitchen counter in the mornings. You caught him sneaking little glances out of the corner of your eye before and it was sincerely sweet how he’d work late with you at the small kitchen table, his books spread over half of it while your side was just as messy. He’d make you little snacks at midnight, bring you coffee during especially strenuous study sessions, but when you would try and joke with him like you would with Bokuto he’d shut you out completely. It seemed almost impossible to you that these two men, so opposite in personality, could be such close companions but… You supposed that crazier things have happened.

“Oh come on Akaashi you and Bokuto have to have a little more in common than that,” You teased one evening.

“What do you mean?” He asked quietly.

“Well how is it that a guy like Bokuto who’s all machismo and confidence make friends with a-” You watched as his face fell, a blush on his cheeks as he shut his laptop hard.

“I should be getting to the library.”

“Wait, that came out wrong I-”

“No, no I’m not offended I really have to be going.”

Then you’d sigh and slump in your chair, working alone again. You were getting tired of how evasive Akaashi was, especially since you and Bokuto were really starting to get closer as friends.

“You just intimidate him!” Bokuto promised you one night as you sat at your favorite small dive bar. “He’s not used to having two pretty faces to deal with!”

“First off I’m not that pretty and second off how could I be intimidating?” You laughed, shaking your head as you took another sip of your drink.

“Well, okay, Akaashi only had like… Two girls he ever went on a date with that I know about. Being his best friend, I think I’d know! So… What are you going to do huh? Maybe you could get him to do a movie night when I’m gone next weekend.”

“You’re going to be gone?” You muse, thinking it over. It’d be nice to spend more time with Akaashi and besides… The mystery had a little bit of an allure to it.

As you and Bokuto walked home you thought about it more and more. Why were you so determined to be Akaashi’s friend anyway? What did it matter if he hated you or something, Bokuto was clearly happy with you being at the apartment and besides it wasn’t causing you any trouble so why did you care so damn much about this handsome fit setter? But that’s when it began to hit you. The kindness of those notes about things you had due, the thoughtfulness of how he started getting snacks he’d know you’d like for your midnight essay writing, staying up with you when he didn’t need to to cram for tests… You were starting to fall for the way he showed you how he loved you, even if he couldn’t say any of this out loud… yet. That next weekend, when Bokuto was away for a game, you were going to figure out if the seemingly insane thing your brain came up with had any merit to it whatsoever.

You hear Akaashi come home, the door slamming behind him as he dragged himself over to the couch. You could see how the semester was stressing him out, wincing as his tired eyes turned to you. He had hardly been home for the past two days, holed up in the library as finals approached.

“I turned in that paper, Y/N,” He said softly, a proud smile on his face. “I can finally relax…”

“Oh?” You smiled as you joined him on the couch, noting how he made just enough room for you but didn’t quite move far enough for there to be any more than a few inches between the two of you. “Well then it’s a perfect time for a wine night isn’t it?”

“Honestly that sounds.. really nice…” He mumbled, blushing and clearing his throat as he thought about the advice Bokuto gave him.

It’s obvious she likes you too! Just… Say yes to it! Go with what she wants to do and then you’ll figure out the perfect time when it hits, just like we always have!

That wasn’t how they always had, true, but he understood the sentiment Bokuto was getting at. Shutting down opportunities to spend time with you wasn’t helping him one bit so… Why was this so difficult? He let you run off, getting the bottle of wine and the opener before you sat back down, filling two glasses.

“To work well done and reward well earned,” You smiled, clinking glasses with him as you eased into the couch.

Akaashi blushed, nodding with the toast as he leaned back as well, absent mindedly wrapping an arm around your shoulders, his cheeks hot with embarrassment the moment he realized it. But it was too late now, wasn’t it? If he pulled away you’d for sure notice and then think he didn’t want to have his arm around you which he totally did but if he leaves his arm and you don’t want him to have his arm around you then he just comes off as creepy, doesn’t he? He’d been maintaining a distance between you two for his own protection but now that you leaned into the way his arm had been wrapped around your shoulders that had vanished into thin air… and what surprised him most was how grateful he was for its absence.

That small touch was enough to put him at ease, not thinking about how the wine flowed until you were both three glasses deep, sharing stories from high school as he told you more about how Bokuto would practically form mushrooms pouting when he messed up in Volleyball. He felt your weight shift a little to look more at him as he decided to finally get bold. A tad bit woozy, he set the glass down before taking your face in both his hands, squishing your cheeks and his legs onto the couch.

“I want… to kiss you.” He mumbled, his blue eyes flickering all over your face, trying to memorize the way you heated up as he made his infamous split second decisions. “But I cannot…” He whispered, bursting out into laughter as he fell back onto the couch, clutching his chest like his heart had been pierced with an arrow.

You crawled between his legs, leaning over him with a grin.

“I could kiss you then,” You offer, leaning in to do just that before he puts his hand over your mouth, his palm pressed to your sweet lips.

“No,” He whined, shaking his head firmly. “You can’t.”

“And why not?” You pouted, voice muffled by his hand and reminding him of Bokuto’s pout just enough to inspire a large goofy grin.

“Because if I kiss you… I wont stop… and I want to remember… everything about that, Y/N-chan.” He purred, his hand moving quickly to behind your head, pulling you down to rest your head on his chest, taking a deep breath as he held you. “I like you… a lot… And… I just want to fall asleep with you like this… Can you stay with me tonight?”

His voice had just the slightest whine to it, clearly reluctant to let you go even if it was just to walk down the hall to his room. He could hardly remember the rest of the night, his leg hooked in between yours so you couldn’t wander off, his arms wrapped around your body so you were enveloped by his warmth… He fell asleep in his clothes, not caring that he was in jeans and a button down which are arguably some of the least comfortable sleeping clothes one could wear. The next morning when his head stopped spinning he spent almost twenty minutes just staring down at you, admiring how peacefully you slept with him, sighing contentedly. This was exactly how he wanted things to be with you…

He almost began to pretend to be asleep when you woke up but the way you said his name, mumbling it before you cuddled into him… He smiled down at you, kissing your forehead softly.

“I know Bokuto-san will be home soon but… I… I wanted to…” He stammered, his cheeks getting tomato red as you looked up at him with such big loving eyes.

You didn’t give him an opportunity to finish his sentence, pressing your lips to his so sweetly he could swear that he felt a cavity pop up right as it happened. He smiled into the tender kiss, one hand gently tangling into your hair, pulling you closer as your bodies pressed to the other, desperately seeking their touch. He couldn’t fully hold back his moan as you rolled on top, happy to let you straddle him as you kissed lovingly over and over, his face radiating heat as he realized what you could probably feel despite his jeans.

“You know I’m sure it wasn’t comfortable sleeping in your dress shirt like this…” You mumble as your fingers delicately begin to work on his buttons. He lets a shiver run down his spine, the morning sunlight making you glitter like a deity above him as he lets you completely take control.

“If this is what you want I-” he whispered before you started to giggle, making him furrow his brow. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh nothing,” You tease. “Last night you were all ‘oh if I kiss you I’m not stopping’ and here you are, letting me be the dominant one.”

Akaashi smirked, huffing a little as you challenged his dominance. He quickly started to help you with his buttons, slipping out of the shirt as he sat up, throwing the garment aside as he wrapped an arm around your lower back, easily flipping you onto your back. “If you’re going to hold me to my promises like that, my little flower, then I suppose I have to do my best to fulfill every last one of them.”

His hands slipped up your shirt, fingers playing with your nipples as he pressed his lips to yours again, tugging and rolling them between his fingers, trying to illicit any reaction he could as he nibbled and sucked your bottom lip, reveling in your every small moan or noise.

“Keiji,” You whine as he moves his kisses to your jaw, finding a sweet spot by your ear before going for the pleasure centers in your neck.

“What is it, my flower?” he purrs, backing off of you just enough to slide your t-shirt over your head and throw it to the side, abandoned with his own in the corner.

“Y-You said… Bokuto could-“

“I don’t want to talk about him. I want to focus on you.” He growled, clearly a little jealous that he hadn’t rid your thoughts of everything and anything but him right now.

“N-No, Keiji he could walk in on us if we a-aren’t… you know…” you mumble, blushing darkly as you melt under his intense stare.

“Well… Then I suppose I’ll have to savor you another time, hmm? I should just punish you now then, is that it? Punish you for teasing me?”

You blush, shaking your head as he pulls off your sleep shorts, smirking to see the arousal already evident. “No underwear huh?” He chuckled. “Figures. You know who finds your… dirty panties in the bathroom, don’t you?”

Your brain is practically melting now, thinking back and remembering times when you must have forgotten to pick them up after showers. You always had all of them, you thought at least, and he’d never brought them up before so you hadn’t noticed.

“What if Bokuto-san had found them, hmm? What would he have said?” Akaashi growled, his digits quickly making work to stretch you out for his waiting, throbbing member as one hand worked on undoing his jeans. “Unless that’s what all this was, hmm? Playing us against each other? So fucking dirty, aren’t you?”

He pulled away just long enough to take off his pants, leaving them exactly where he was standing as he crawled back on top of you now completely nude, still towering over you as he pressed a finger into your mouth, making you suck your own need off of them. “Now be a good little flower, won’t you? Let me fuck your brains out.”

His pace wasn’t meant to let you adjust. If you were going to bring Bokuto up, remind him how Bokuto could be back at any minute, ruin the morning he’d been dreaming of then, well, he was going to ensure your pussy would be made into a perfect sleeve for his cock regardless of what you thought on the matter. He sucked on your neck as he drilled into you, carefully hitting your sweet spots as he held your chest to his, leaving marks hungrily all along your exposed skin. Keiji didn’t care to let anyone have even the slightest opportunity to imagine you without being reminded that he’d be there. One hand slipped back down to your sex, fingers working at a furious pace to get you off as your orgasm approached. You two were practically animals in heat, howling for each other as you took advantage of Bokuto’s absence.

“Fuck I’m so close,” he muttered, not realizing that was the first thing he’d even been able to say since he’d sheathed himself into you for the first time.

“Come on,” he whispered into your neck, not letting up on his speed. “Fuck baby I need you to cum…”

He begged for your orgasm, fingers working like mad as he finally felt you climax, gasping as his eyes widened, the hand working your sex quickly going to his own as he squeezed hard around the base, pulling out as quickly as he could to spill his cum on your stomach, panting as he painted it white with his sticky juices.

“F-Fuck,” he chuckled, still shaky as he tried to catch his breath. “You certainly know how to… take it out of me…”

He sat back on his heels, admiring how beautiful you looked covered in his cum after your own orgasm. “If I had any idea where my phone was I’d take a picture but… I suppose I can wait for next time…”

“Next time?” You said, ears perking up.

He furrowed his brow, confused and a little frustrated. “Wait you didn’t think…? Boke.”

Akaashi shook his head, sighing softly with a light smile. “Let’s clean you up before Bokuto gets home alright? I think I… Can finally tell him I have a girlfriend…”

He gently stroked your cheek before getting a tissue, happily cleaning your stomach as he let you sneak back into your room, out of the view of the living room. He stood in the door to your room, wearing some casual sweatpants and an old volleyball t-shirt, wrapping his arms around your body for a moment and giving you a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Let’s go make breakfast yeah?” he mumbled.

“I was thinking pancakes!” Bokuto laughed as he passed by the two of you, heading to his room at the end of the hall, making Akaashi freeze. “By the way, a little quieter next time yeah? Might wake the neighbors!”

[undermattsun-archive]

flavor of the month

(skate rat) matsukawa x fem!reader | word count: 2k

slight!hanamaki x reader (established relationship)

a/n: based off this post i made n spurred by some enabling :^) “no beta we die like men” -lin

18+ university age | PLS READ WARNINGS

warnings: cheating, public sex (fingering), toxic behavior, manipulation, bad language, dubcon (if u stare too long/squint at it) mattsun is a bad friend

hanamaki takahiro was a godsend in your final year of college. the sweet, doting boyfriend you had been waiting for —what felt like— your entire life. there was nothing under the sun he wouldn’t do for you, he helped you study, do your chores and had even carried you across campus, carrying both of your backpacks simply because you had a bad fall and twisted your ankle ever so slightly. he was perfect in almost every way. almost. you suppose his choice of friends could be chalked down to a little less than perfect, specifically, when it comes to who he so proudly calls his best friend.

matuskawa issei’s name was tacked with some of the dirtiest of rumors that were accompanied with a plethora of gross truths. when you had met him you were floored, your dearest, loving makki, called this entitled, smug skate rat, his best friend? it didn’t take long for his sliminess to seep through immediately and in the beginning of your relationship with makki you did everything in your power to avoid being near matsukawa. but as your relationship grew, so did your face to face contact with his dangerously flirty best friend.

“i just want two of the most important people in my life to get along!” makki had said one night while you two readied to go out for drinks with his friends. you had melted at the sparkle in his eyes when he smiled so lovingly at you. you know that could’ve told makki just how much his best friend made you uncomfortable, but the endearingly fond tone of voice he used when he spoke of the other man made you keep your lips shut tightly on the manner.

it was how you ended up in your current position, sitting at the back corner booth of one of your favorite restaurants, makki seated across from you and matsukawa seated beside you. you had made a point to sit as closely to the wall as possible, punctuating the action with a curt glare at matsukawa before focusing all your attention on the love of your life.

“it was incredible really, i can’t believe you tried to climb a tree that tall.” makki amuses as he recounts another mischievous act from their childhood.

“now now makki you mean succeeded to climb,” he spreads his legs further under the table, forcing you to squeeze your legs together to dodge any contact, “i was a tree climbing god.”

“yeah tell that to the broken arm you got when we were 10, oh excuse me we’re ready to order.” you almost sigh dreamily at the polite smile makki has on display as he waves the waiter over. as the waiter makes his approach, makki continues on with the story behind matsukawa breaking his arm and you do your best to ignore said man yawning dramatically, stretching his arms out and almost swiping at your face. he shoots you an unapologetic smirk as he scoots just little bit closer to you, you lean your head against the wall trying to focus on whatever makki and the waiter were idly chatting about.

“and for you miss?” you snap your eyes up to look at the waiter, opening your mouth to recite your order when you feel a hand land on your knee, making your eyebrow twitch. this isn’t new, you couldn’t pinpoint when it had started, but matsukawa had always been a little bit too touchy, so a hand on resting on your knee or an arm thrown around your shoulder was nothing new. what is new, is when you slightly jerk your knee to tell him to remove his hand, only for him to keep it there firmly planted with the audacity to even squeeze lightly.

“babe?” makki stares at you intently, and with a clench of your jaw you ignore the hand on you to tell the waiter what you would like. as the waiter turns away, makki dives into a story from his russian literature class, detailing just how insane he thinks his professor is as you nod along, forgetting that matsukawa has planted his hand on you. until you feel his hand slowly start to creep up your leg, making your entire body tense up, you send him another narrow look as he shifts in his seat leaning towards you a tiny fraction. for a split second, you wonder if the metal of his rings were cool to touch, or had they siphoned the heat off his hand, and would feel as if it was burning into your skin, branding each inch of bare flesh he touched with the crawl of his fingers.

“-okay love?” the soft coo brings you from your thoughts, making you flush with shame, your hand comes down and grips at matsukawa’s wrist to stop him from going any further.

“i’m sorry i might’ve...”

“spaced out? thats okay. i was just saying i don’t think i can do our usual monday study date. iwaizumi and i have this biology project and...” his voice drowns our as your focus is pulled to the sensation of matsukawa forcing his way out of your hold and pushing his fingers between your thighs, continuing to slide his hand up at an achingly slow pace.

say something, your brain screams, anything, get up and go to the bathroom, do something, your boyfriend is right there.

you press your legs together tightly, hoping the message comes across, but matsukawa is on a hell path, shamelessly trying to push you beyond your limits as his fingers dig into your inner thighs. at the back of your mind is that tiny voice that’s tormented you since meeting him. a part of you wants this, you’ve always been curious, that carnal attraction to such a rotten and handsome man is undeniable. because despite the perfection and bliss of an achingly sweet, tooth rotting boyfriend, the utter taboo of his disgusting best friend is far too tempting to not think about.

“th-that’s okay hiro.” you chew at your lip trying to play off the the stumble of your words by relaxing your shoulders, hoping that he won’t question you. you try to start a round of idle chatter as you make another weak attempt to remove matsukawa’s hand from you.

“hey you know what we haven’t done in awhile? bothered oikawa.” matsukawa leans back, looking almost innocent with his signature lazy grin. you wrap your fingers tightly around his wrist, trying to keep your position as natural as possible so that makki doesn’t pick up on what’s happening. makki agrees with a flourish of words and you don’t miss the way matsukawa’s eyes slide over to you, as if challenging you to say something to makki.

“it’ll break his heart,” matsukawa had said once when he had trapped you on top of your washing machine in the apartment you shared with makki, he had the tendency of backing you against a wall, making you feel small under his presence, “besides who do you think he’ll really believe about who came onto who? i’m his lifelong best friend and you’re just the flavor of the month.”

the memory causes a searing sensation to burn at your chest and your face, this time you dig your nails into matsukawa’s wrist, a more adamant command to leave you alone. only to make your resolve crumble as his fingers dance along your clothed cunt, making your legs fall apart just a touch. it’s a shameless action that incites a bubbling of shame in your stomach and you realize your fatal mistake. you’ve shown a sliver of interest, you’ve given in just enough that he’ll only push further.

the moment you spot the waiter holding plates of food you breathe out in relief, figuring it’s the end of his little game as the plates are set out in front of you. you release your grip on his wrist and he retracts his hand slowly, a wave of relief washing through you. tinged with something resembling disappointment.

“here babe try this.” makki holds out a spoonful of curry and you lean in to take a bite, spluttering at the feeling of matsukawa suddenly shoving his hand into your pants. you choke and cough as makki scrambles to hand you a glass of water, matsukawa a disturbing pillar of silence beside you. you stiffly turn your head to look at him, eyes pleading for some sort of answer as to why now he’s decided to hurdle himself past the line he’s been so keen on toeing since you’ve started dating his best friend. to your horror he’s sitting there quietly, as he peacefully uses his right hand to feed himself, as if his left isn’t currently shoved into your pants teasing at you with the full intent of driving you insane.

“sorry sorry i’m,” yours eyes widen as matsukawa’s fingers press harder against your covered folds, harshly dragging his fingers up to your clit, “f-fine.”

“are you sure? you’ve been looking a little red the past half hour or so, are you really feeling okay?” the concern in makki’s voice punctuates your guilt as you squirm slightly at the way matsukawa teases your clit through your panties.

“promise love, i’m fine. i think i j-just,” in one swift motion matsukawa pushes your panties to the side just enough to thrust a finger into your core, “didn’t sleep well!”

“mm it’s the stress from your history class?” you don’t trust your voice to not shake as matsukawa pushes deeper and deeper, achingly slow there’s an almost delicious burn from the sudden entry.

“mhm.” you grip your silverware tightly in each hand, a helpless shake of your hips as matsukawa curls his finger inside of you. the way you clench around his finger only encourages him, a soft huff of amusement spilling from his lips as he thrusts his finger into you.

“makki, did you finish the chem homework?” he pulls his finger out just to the first knuckle, teasing at the rim of your hole, you try not to jump when you feel the tip of another finger settle near your entrance.

“don’t.” you whisper, but the word goes ignored as he thrusts in the other finger, the sting of the dry addition burns through you and biting back a moan as your eyes widen at makki who’s so peacefully eating before you.

“did you say something love?” you feel your legs start to shake a little as matsukawa ruthlessly thrusts his fingers in and out, pressing the heel of his palm against your swollen clit.

“i um don’t forget to, empty the dishwasher?” your words come out breathless and makki only hums in agreement before continuing to shovel curry into his mouth.

“doing okay there? haven’t touched your food.” the glint in matsukawa’s eyes is borderline sadistic as he pointedly looks between you and your food. before you can reply he sharply curls his fingers again before scissoring them apart making your legs spread further, silently and shamelessly asking for more.

“i’m fine? see?” you make a point to take a big bite of your noodles, swallowing them down as matsukawa presses in a third finger. there’s barely an ache this time as he works in another finger, your dripping cunt practically begging for it at this point. the familiar tightness begins to coil deep in your belly and with a particularly harsh curl of his fingers, your head snaps down, jaw dropping as you clench around him. without hesitation he continues to knead the heel of his palm against your clit as your cunt greedily squeezes his fingers. his motions become lazier as your body shakes from the searing bliss shooting through your veins. and the thought of choking him when this is all said and done is at the forefront of your mind.

“y/n?” makki reaches across the table and intertwines your fingers. guilt swirls in your chest as you raise your head to meet makki’s eyes, a weak smile at your lips.

“thought i was gonna sneeze.”

“say makki can you get the waiters attention, i want some more water.” he makes a point to shake his cup of ice. makki pulls away from you and looks away from the table. you pant out a few breaths as matsukawa pulls his fingers out, leaving you feeling empty and shaken. you take the risk to look at matsukawa, looking painfully proud of himself as he brings his fingers to his lips, licking the glistening juices coating them.

“sweet.”

[girlactionfigure]

There's something I need to get off my chest.

I'm an Ultra-Orthodox, Chassidic, Hareidi Jew. I live in Jerusalem, in an area that is exclusively Ultra-Orthodox Hareidi for street after street, suburb after suburb, for miles and miles. In all of these neighborhoods where the roads are blocked off and no cars drive on Shabbos, each black-hat-wearing family has many many children and literally no TV’s. I personally only ever wear black and white clothes, my wife only dresses in Chassidic levels of tznius (modesty), and my boys and girls all attend mainstream Hareidi Chassidic schools where the main language is Yiddish. My kids don’t and never will have smartphones, nor have they ever been on the internet at all. Period. They don’t know what social media is and they’ve never seen a movie — not even Disney animation. 

Having lived exclusively immersed in this culture for the last 21 years, I think I'm sufficiently qualified and well-researched enough to state that the consistent depiction of Hareidim and Torah Judaism by mainstream media, from Netflix to the daily news, is somewhere between delusion, slander and the literal equivalent of racism. If you consider yourself less closed-minded than how you imagine we Hareidim to be, then permit me to share a few personal details about my family, and other families in our neighborhood, to see how well your mental narrative matches up to reality:

- Besides learning Torah each day, most of the men in our neighborhood work full or part-time.

- Many women in our area work. Some even manage their own business or company. These are not special or “liberated” women — it’s so normal here it’s not even a discussion point.

- My wife is a full-time mother by choice, who despite attending an Ivy League College,  finds it a profound and meaningful thing to dedicate her life to. If she didn’t, she’d go get a job. Mind you, she also attends Torah classes each week, works out with both a female fitness coach (who’s gay) and a frum Pilates instructor, writes and edits articles for a couple global websites and magazines, and personally mentors a number of women. None of this is seen as unusual. 

- Kids in our community go to Torah schools where they learn (surprise!) Torah. They are fluent in three languages from a young age and the boys even read and understand a fourth (Aramaic). All the kids learn grammar, math and science. Weekly after-school activities have included music (violin, drums, piano), Tae Kwon Do, swimming, art, woodworking and robotics. The girls' school teaches tools of emotional intelligence. The principal of the boys' school doesn't hesitate to refer to kids to OT if needed. I practice meditation with my children multiple times each week. None of our kids think the world is literally 6,000 years old. They devour books about science and think it’s cool. They know dinosaurs existed and don’t find that existentially threatening. They have a telescope with which they love to watch the stars. 

- The women in my family (like the men) only dress modestly according to Hareidi standards. The girls don't find this burdensome or oppressive. Period. They aren't taught that beauty is bad. They're certainly not taught to hate their bodies, God forbid. Each morning when they get dressed, they are as happily into their own fashion and looking pretty as any secular girl is. They just have a different sense of fashion than secular culture dictates. (Unfortunately for me,  it's no cheaper.)

- The local Hareidi rabbis we receive guidance from are deep, warm, sensitive, supportive and emotionally intelligent. If they weren’t, we wouldn’t go to them.

- My boys assume they will grow up to learn Torah, as much as they want to, and then when they’re ready, get a good job or learn a profession to support whatever lifestyle they choose. My girls assume they’ll be wives and mothers (which they can’t wait for) but they're also warmly encouraged to train in whatever other profession they desire. (My 9-year-old daughter, chatting with her friend in the living room, just commented, "I want to be a mother and a teacher and an artist." Her friend replied, "I'm going to be a ballet teacher.") All options are on the table, and their future seems bright.

- We love living in modern Israel, feel proud and blessed to be here, and frequently count and celebrate its blessings. Everyone in my area votes. Sometimes not even for Hareidi parties. I pay taxes. (And they’re expensive!)

- As a Hareidi person, I’m glad we have Hareidi representation in the government — though I don’t always love or approve of how the Hareidi politicians act, or what they choose to represent. For the record, I'm equally dubious about secular politicians, as well. 

- While I don't spend much time in Tel Aviv, I do have a few close Hareidi entrepreneur friends who have founded high-tech start-ups there, and are — Boruch Hashem! — doing very well.   

- We don’t hate all non-religious people. Our kids don’t throw stones at passing cars on Shabbos. I doubt they even know anyone who would do that or think that it’s ok. We frequently talk about the Torah value of caring for and being compassionate towards everyone. As a family, we proactively try to find ways to judge others favorably (even those people who throw stones at passing cars on Shabbos.)

- We invite all manner of religious and secular Jews to join our Shabbos meals each week and the kids are open, happy, and confident to welcome everyone. (No, we're not Chabad.) One of the many reasons for having such guests at our table is to teach the kids this lesson.

- While we would technically be classified as right-wing and we don’t at all buy the modern “Palestinian” narrative, we certainly don’t hate all Arabs, nor do we have any desire to expel them all from the land. We warmly welcome anyone seeking to dwell here with us in peace and we are pained and saddened to see the suffering and loss of lives of all innocent Arab families and children — as would any decent human being.

- Of the few local families I know whose kids no longer identify as religious, none at all chose to disown their kids. The very thought, in such lovingly family-dedicated communities, is hard to imagine. I'm not saying it doesn't happen, I'm just saying it's not as common as it's made out. Rather, these families have tirelessly, profoundly, compassionately committed to maintaining any connection with their children, and to emphasize that, no matter what, family is the most important thing. Because it is.

- We aren't just living our life blindly, dogmatically following empty religious rules; rather, we are frequently engaged with, exploring and discussing Torah's richness, depth and meaning. Our kids honestly love learning Torah, praying and doing mitzvos. They’re visibly excited about Shabbos and festivals. This lifestyle is in no way oppressive or burdensome for them. If you suggested to them it was, they’d laugh and think you were crazy.  

- We Hareidim are normal people: we laugh, we cry, we buy too much Ikea furniture, and we struggle with all of life's daily ups and downs, just like the rest of you. Some of our communities are more healthy and balanced, some are less so; some of our people are warmer, nicer and more open, some are more closed, dogmatic and judgmental; some of our leaders are noble and upstanding, and some are quite frankly idiots…JUST LIKE ANY SECULAR NEIGHBORHOOD IN THE WORLD TOO. But having grown up living a secular lifestyle myself, and today being Hareidi-by-choice, I can testify that in these communities there is generally a greater and more tangible sense of well-being, warmth, tranquility, connection and meaning. We love and feel blessed to be living this life and wouldn’t want any other.

If this description of Hareidi life is hard to swallow, be careful not to push back with the often-used defenses like: "Well, you're just an exception to the rule...", "You're just American Hareidim", "You're baalei teshuvah", "Well, I know a bunch of Haredim that aren't like that at all"....because the truth is, while there might be many Hareidim who aren't like what I described above, it's still an accurate description of literally hundreds of thousands of Hareidim in Israel and the US — a decent portion of all Hareidim in the world. Which is my very point — how come you never see this significant Hareidi demographic represented in the media, television series, or the news? How come we mostly see the darkest and most problematic cliches instead? 

And finally, if all the facts I've listed above about our communities are hard for you to accept as true, then perhaps the image you have in your head about Hareidim is less based on facts and reality and more based on stereotypes, fear, hate, and discrimination — like any other form of prejudice in the world. 

Care to prove me wrong? Well, you're welcome to come argue it out with me and my family at our Shabbos table on Friday night. It would be a joy and honor to have you. 

Doniel Katz

[colehasapen]

(ONE SHOT) you’ve got to run far from all you’ve ever known  STAR WARS

Febuwhump no.3 - Imprisonment

A03

As he’s carried through the oppressive halls of the Star Destroyer, Rex’s entire body aches and his stomach rolls. His head is fuzzy, the result of the stunner that had taken him down, and his chest aches where the Purge Trooper had tackled him.

He had been on Felucia, following a potential lead on Bly’s location, when he’d run into the trooper in black. He’s only heard rumours of Purge Troopers, of Stormtroopers so elite that they’d earned their own classification and higher quality weapons. Made to specifically hunt Jedi survivors, Purge Troopers were well known for never leaving survivors, and for fighting until they couldn’t fight anymore. They were rarely ever seen among the rank and file, only given the most dangerous of missions, and they were rumoured to be among the best of the clones.

Rex had been tracking any leads he could, to rescue any vode possible, but even after five years, it seemed like an impossible task. He’d gotten both Gregor and Wolffe out, but neither had had an activated chip, too damaged by the head trauma they’d received during the Clone Wars, but neither were in a good place to run missions. He had gone to Cut, had helped him remove his own and take his family deeper into hiding so that the Empire couldn’t find them. He knows that Clone Force 99 is free, he exchanges encrypted comms with Echo on a regular basis, but they never meet up, unwilling to lead possible tails to each other. Rex’s strength had been his anonymity; the Empire thought him dead, that he’d died with the rest of his men when the ship went down, and his face was simply that of another clone if he kept his hair disguised. It allowed him to sneak behind lines and collect intelligence to pass on to the fledgling Rebellion, because no one was looking for him. He had heard a passing rumour of Bly possibly being on Felucia, being on the planet where his Jedi had been killed, and Rex had acted as quickly as he could; he’d known what was going on between Bly and his General during the War, knew that the Commander didn’t just think of her as a General, and he knew that if he didn’t find him fast enough, there likely wouldn’t be anything  to save.

He had been right. He’d found Bly, found him where he knew Bly would have wanted to be, and he’d kneeled in front of those two graves and begged for forgiveness. For not being fast enough, for not listening to Fives, for not being there. The rumours had been right; Bly had been on Felucia, but he was already gone.

Someone had gone through the trouble of burying both the Jedi and the Commander, had known Bly well enough to know that he’d want to be buried with his Jedi, and Rex had wondered how long it could have possibly been - how the rumours could have been sparked.

Then he’d picked up Bly’s bucket, intent on giving his  ori’vod   one final  kov’nyn while he said his Remembrances, and he’d seen the blinking light of an activated signal.

Someone had staged it. Someone had known that a free clone would come looking if a signal was picked up, and had planted a trap at the same time as they buried Rex’s brother.

He hadn’t even had time to pull out his blasters before the Purge Trooper had been bearing down on him.

Rex doesn’t know how long he’s been unconscious since the trooper stunned him, he doesn’t know  why he was taken alive, all he knows is that there are stun cuffs humming around his wrists and the Purge Trooper has him slung effortlessly over his shoulder like he were nothing more than a sack of tubers. Rex is almost a little offended; he knows he’s lost weight since starting his hunt, knows that he hasn’t had the chance to eat the way that his metabolism demands when he’s not on Seelos where Gregor can fuss over him and shove food that tastes like ash down his throat - he has no doubt that his brother can cook, and cook well, but Rex just doesn’t have the energy to taste what he makes, just goes through the motions of chewing and swallowing to make Gregor happy and reduce Wolffe’s stress - but he hadn’t thought he’d lost enough mass to make it easy on the clone carrying him. He’s slung over a surprisingly soft pauldron, staring foggily down at the Purge Trooper’s swaying kama, and he wonders if he knows this trooper, wonders if he could knock the bucket off and place their face.

Maybe he could sway them away from the chip’s programming.

“Commander.” A voice Rex doesn’t recognize, can’t see, says, and the Purge Trooper pauses, gait skipping slightly. “What are you doing?”

“I’ve captured a traitor to the Empire, Sir.” The Purge Trooper says drolly, like they were annoyed at the interruption. “I’m taking the clone to the brig, so that it can be transferred to Kamino for repairs and reconditioning.”

Rex’s stomach drops, heart fluttering in fear. If he was taken back to Kamino, the Longnecks would put the chip back in his head, and everything that made him  Rex  would be gone again. Panic flares in his mind like a heavy fog, threatening to drown him with the memories of staring down his blaster at Ahsoka’s scared face and not recognizing her as his  vod’ika and Commander. He hadn’t seen her as anything but a target, someone to execute - a traitor, not even a person, and if he hadn’t warned her before being dragged under in that split second of horrified realization that Fives had been right, then she’d likely be dead.

“Trooper,” The Purge Trooper’s superior sounds annoyed, like they were dealing with a child that kept bringing feral animals into their bed. It’s almost the exact tone of voice Rex had to use when Tup had tried to slip a  ‘therapy animal’  onto the  Resolute. “You know your orders. Any rogue clone is to be  executed, not detained. If you continue to ignore regulations, I’ll have no choice but to have you returned for retraining.” The Imperial sighs, sounding tired. “I’ve already been far too lenient with your…  defectiveness … because of your skills.”

“CT-7567 is an exemplary soldier, sir, and can be put to use once repairs are complete.” The Purge Trooper argues, and Rex lets out a punchy little breath of shock where he’s still playing dead on the trooper’s shoulder. “He’s one of the best, General.”

  They know who he is.

“And  that’s  what you claimed the last time.” The Imp growls, “Right before CT-9021 destroyed itself  and  the transport it was on. That wasn’t even the first time either. Execute the clone and dispose of it, it’s  my position on the line if I allow your defect to cause any more damage to the Empire.”

The Purge Trooper’s entire body shudders at the order, and Rex’s hands clench against the other clone’s thigh. There’s a stun baton hanging off of the trooper’s hip, if he could reach it, Rex could possibly try to fight his way out of the situation he’s found himself in. But there’s an entire cruiser between him and escape, a cruiser he doesn’t know how to navigate with an unknown amount of Stormtrooper, of which is an unknown percentage of chipped vode, and there’s active stuff cuffs around his wrists.

“Sir, the Empire would lose a powerful asset-”

“CC-2224,  execute the traitor.”

Rex jolts, and it’s not just because he’s been dropped unceremoniously onto the floor. His head is ringing, his chest aches from the harsh landing so soon after taking on a fully armoured Purge Trooper, but all he can think is that it’s  Cody .

Codycodycody  - he’s here, he was just holding Rex. He had Cody within his grasp, after five years of desperately searching for him, looking for any sign that his  ori’vod had survived Order 66. Cody had been collecting unchipped clones, bringing them back to the Empire despite his orders to kill them. The big brother that had found Rex hidden away from the eyes of the Kaminoans all those years ago is still there, still thinking underneath the thrall of the chip, still trying to protect any  vod he could, just like how he had once promised to protect Rex from decommissioning.

Cody is staring down at him from behind the glowing red visor of a Purge Trooper, Rex can see the reflection of his wide eyes in the glossy black of his armour. He barely notices the blaster being leveled at him, too caught up with desperately trying to see his brother underneath the unfamiliar helmet.

“Cody.” His voice breaks -  gods, it must have been Cody who buried Bly, Cody who was probably one of the few people who truly understood the position Bly had found himself in when he’d fallen in love with someone he could never have. Clad in armour so different from those that Cody had chosen, had so lovingly painted to represent a part of him that the Longnecks would have never allowed, Cody just stares back. “Cody - it’s  you.” He’s almost too relieved to see him to feel the fear of his imminent execution. “You’re  alive.” Rex’s voice is bordering on reverent, but he can’t bring himself to care. It had been five years since he had last seen his brother. “Force - I’ve been looking everywhere for you -” he lets out a faint laugh, “- of course  you would be the one to find me instead.” His eyes flicker down momentarily, to look at the blaster aimed for his chest, shaking faintly, and a bitterly sad smile lifts his lips. “Well. I doubt this is the meeting either of us had in mind.” Rex raises his gaze once more to the expressionless helmet his brother was wearing, face illuminated in crimson.

If he were going to die, he’d rather it be looking into Cody’s eyes.

“It’s okay, Cody.” He soothes, “It’s okay. It’s not you - I don’t blame you.” Cody’s body shivers, “I love you,  ori’vod.”

Cody’s entire body jerks, twists, and Rex’s acceptance falls away to shock as his brother swings around to face the Imperial in white. The blaster fires, and the General drops, a smoking hole in their chest, their expression a dying mask of stunned confusion.

“Cody?”

“-execute the traitor.” Cody’s mumble is barely audible through his bucket, as his shaking hands fumble to throw his blaster as far away as possible. “Execute the traitor to the Empire. CT-7567 is an asset the Empire can’t lose.” He jerks again, movement punchy, as he moves towards Rex now and wordlessly lifts him to his feet. “How many - how many - how many are traitors?”

“Cody?” Rex repeats, stunned, as his brother hauls him through the halls, “What the kriff was  that?”

“General Medenhall was a traitor to the Empire.” Cody mutters, voice frantic. “Putting his own needs above those of the Empire. CT-7567 is an asset the Empire can’t lose. He had too much control on the ship. The others are traitors too.” Rex doesn’t even think that Cody is talking to him, wonders if Cody had ever been talking to him. It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself of his words - or trying to convince the chip.

“Cody you mad genius.” Rex says in numb shock, joy blooming in his chest.

Cody was fighting the chip.

“Good soldiers follow orders.” Cody hisses, grip tightening on Rex’s elbow to the point that it was almost painful, giving him a faint shake, and Rex gets the message to shut up and let his brother concentrate on the chip in his head. He shuts his mouth and lets his older brother drag him through the halls. “My orders were to execute the traitor. General Medenhall was the traitor. The asset needs to be secured.”

No Stormtrooper they pass looks twice at them, none of them seem to pick up that their General had just been killed and that the Purge Trooper that they all carefully don’t look at is muttering to himself. None of them seem to notice that he’s imprisoned in his own mind, fighting desperately against the chains. None of them seem to care that he’s dragging a prisoner behind him to Force knows where.

None of them stop them from reaching the shuttle bay, none of them stop them as Cody leads him onto a ship and closes the ramp behind them.

“Holy kriff Cody.” Rex whispers in awe, “You always were too competent for anyone’s good.”

Cody shakes his head, releasing his arm, but he doesn’t step away. Quivering hands grip at a black helmet, and Cody sways momentarily before he’s ripping off the Purge Trooper bucket and throwing it against the floor with enough force to make it bounce away from them with the sound of cracking plastoid.

For the first time in five years, Rex gets to see his brother’s face.

He looks younger than Rex now, his face is less lined by age, somehow, like he had actually aged  only the five years a natborn would have, but his temples have started to gray. It’s still his brother’s face, still the face that had haunted Rex’s nightmares for the last five years, when he hadn’t known if his brother was alive or dead. His scar is even more faded than it had been the last time he had seen him, had been given the chance to heal, the stress lines still etched into his forehead from scowling at datapads too often.

It really is Cody.

Dark wetness drips from his brother’s nose, tracing across the pained scowl twisting his lips, and his eyes look bloodshot, and Rex wonders how much pain his  ori’vod is in from fighting against his chip and its programming.

Fuck, he doesn’t know if Cody can fly in this state.

His gaze slides to the shock baton at his brother’s waist once more.

Slowly, making sure not to alert him, Rex reaches, curls his fingers around the hilt, and before Cody can react, he’s sliding it free. He activates it quickly, and, with an apologetic wince, the former Captain presses the sparking weapon against the unprotected patch of his brother’s side. Cody is seizing up immediately. He instinctively tries to pull away, but Rex follows. He blocks out the garbled noises of agony his brother releases, ignores the tears tracing through the grime on both of their faces, and he holds it there until Cody slumps, twitching, but blissfully unconscious.

“Sorry, brother.” Rex whispers, fumbling through his brother’s belt until he finds the key to his cuffs, and he’s barely aware of swapping them onto Cody’s wrists instead, as a last resort if he woke up while they were flying. “Sorry.”

Dead to the world, but no longer under the fist of the Empire, Cody doesn’t answer.

Taglist: @a-mediocre-succulent @yellowisharo @spoofymcgee @roseofalderaan @everything-or-anything @bellablue42 @tumceteri-fratres

[forever-rogue]

Hearth & Home

A/N: Hello friends and mainly my secret santa @marvel-and-mischief​! Zoey, this is this for you and I hope you enjoy! It was so nice getting to know you and you are such a sweet, kind person. It’s not much, but I hope it brings a smile to your face and I hope you have a fantastic Christmas! Lots of love and hugs! 

(disclaimer - this is my first time writing for Pero, please be gentle!)

Pairing: Pero Tovar x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: none

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

Snow was falling outside the window gently, coming down in soft, fat flakes. The ground was coated in it already, creating slick icy walkways and dusting the gardens you had so lovingly tended to in the spring and summer. The sudden cold front had come unexpectedly, neither of you had much time to prepare, so you decided to let it be. If come the new year and spring, the flowers decided not to make an appearance again, you would simply have to plant new ones. Things always worked out how they were supposed, even if it wasn’t the most conventional of ways. But you already knew that and had known that more some time. 

Your husband was proof of that in himself. 

Speaking of which, you paused as you were in the middle of washing the pots and pans, shaking the warm, soapy water from your hands as you looked outside and spied Pero tending to the animals. The sheep and goats followed him closely on his heels, which he always insisted he hated, but you knew he secretly enjoyed. He had a soft, gentle soul, even if the exterior did not match that whatsoever. A walking contradiction, a balance of rough and soft, but he was your everything. 

Almost as if he could sense your eyes on him, Pero stopped petting the sheep at his side and turned to look in the window, a small smile stretching across his features, highlighting the singular dimple you loved you so much. Cocking an eyebrow in amusement, he waved at you as you responded in kind, feeling a flush of warmth wash over you. You’d called him your husband for several years now, but sometimes even the simplest of looks caused the heat to pool low in your belly and make you feel like a maiden again. 

Before you got too wrapped up in your little daydream fantasies, you turned back to your dishes, grabbing a cloth to dry them. You enjoyed days like this, the ones that brought a chill and allowed you to light candles all over your small home, along with a big fire in the main living area. There was something so welcoming and cozy about it, that it caused your heart to settle and feel warmth and content. On top of all that, it gave Pero an excuse to remain at home as well, instead of going into town to work at the blacksmith shop. No one was going to need any sort of armor or equipment in this weather. 

“Mi Sol,” the sound of his warm, gruff voice caught your attention as you turned to find him coming inside, taking off his overcoat and hanging in near the door. You stopped what you were doing and walked over to him, grinning at him as you brushed some of the slowly dissipating flakes out of his dark curls. He made a small, contented sound in the back of his throat as he keened into your touch. 

“Pero, you must be freezing,” you touched his cheeks, flushed red from the cold along with his nose. Before he could argue or contest what you were saying, you pressed your lips to his. Despite being slightly dry and chapped from the wind and chill, his kiss was still soft and gentle. His hand went to the back of your neck as he held you close, taking his gentle time to kiss you. When you pulled back, your hands went to the lapel of his shirt as you pulled him further inside towards the hearth where the fire was merrily crackling away, “relax and get warm, my love. I’ll go and get you a sweater.”

“Thank you,” he nodded softly as he took a seat near the fire, letting out a long sigh as he relaxed and let himself comfortable. He was not a young man anymore, after long days of working his bones ached, particularly his back, and the cold weather wasn’t helping. Luckily he didn’t even have to say anything, you just knew. You knew you and you helped him without needing to be asked, causing a warmth to wash over him. He was not a man of many words of openly gentle displays of affection, but you never doubted his love or devotion to you. 

Nor he with you. You easily had the choice of many men to agree to have as a husband, but you had chosen him. He hadn’t even been an option, not truly, but you still chose him; you were a steadfast, stubborn little thing, he had always claimed and you had definitely proven that to him and everyone when your engagement was to be announced to the public, and you shocked everyone and chose him. It hadn’t been an easy thing; not by any means.

Choosing Pero meant losing your family and everything you had known. The reckless mercenary and the lady of polite, gentile society - a juxtaposition in every way. You were meant to marry a man of wealth and taste - culture, everyone liked to call it. But you had known in your heart since your little love affair had started with Pero that he was the one for you and there was no one else. For a few while he had wondered if you would end up regretting your decision or loathing him, but you never did, you never once had even a single regret over choosing Pero. When it came down to you, you would have chosen him again and again, every single time. 

Love was the end, you always insisted, despite what the world seemed to think. 

You gruff, stoic mercenary agreed, even if he didn’t verbalize the statement.

“Here you are,” you returned quietly, warm padded feet shuffling quietly along the wooden floor. Pero pulled his gaze away from the fire and turned to you, a smile slowly covering his face. Pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose, you held out the sweater to him before moving to grab some more blankets for the two of you. Pero was silent, uncharacteristically so for him, as he watched you. Turning slowly, you met his dark eyes and gave him a curious look, “Pero? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he promised as you lit a few more candles near the heath before joining him and sitting down on the soft couch, pulling the blanket over the two of you. Placing his arm around you, he held you close, breathing in the quiet comfort your presence provided, “are you happy?”

“Am I happy?” you repeated as you pulled gave, a puzzled expression crossing your features. You had no idea where this was suddenly coming from, but you reached up and put a hand on his cheek, “of course I’m happy, my love. I am very happy. I hope nothing in my actions has done anything to cause you to believe otherwise.”

“Of course not,” he huffed lightly, studying you with a quiet intensity that made you want pull him into you then and there, to become whole and one with him. Taking your hand from his cheek, he brought it to his lips, pressing a light kiss to your knuckles, “sometimes I just wonder if this is enough for you. If I am enough for you.”

“You are many things, husband, including a silly man,” you laughed at him, setting his soul at ease as he relaxed at your words of reassurance, “I am happy, nothing could make me happier. And you? You are everything. I don’t want anyone - I could not even dream of it.”

“Not even-”

“Not even some governor, or lord, or anyone could make me as happy as you do,” you closed the small distance between your bodies, practically crawling into his lap, “Pero, I chose you then and I still choose you and I would always choose you. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” any remainder of the tough exterior and façade he had melted away at your words. He held you close, pausing for just a moment before you decided to take matters into your own and kissed him. You were fully seated in his lap at his lap at this point, his large hands finding purchase on your waist as your arms wrapped around his neck. It wasn’t often that the two of you that were able to enjoy the quiet silence of a winter’s afternoon or to take such solace in one another, knowing that neither of you had any duties to attend to you. Pero pulled back after a few moments, his hands wandering up your body and pausing and your face, “I know I do not say often, mi sol, but I do love you very much. You make me happier than I could have ever dreamed.”

“I know it to be true, sweet husband,” you beamed at him, shining as bright as the sun on a mid-summer’s day. He’d given you the surprisingly tender nickname shortly after you’d met by chance at the farmer’s market one early spring afternoon several years ago. You’d brightened his day and instilled a sense of hope into his heart, he had told you, just like the sun - mi sol, “you don’t always have to say it. I know you mean it.”

You nuzzled your nose against his, admiring his quiet beauty for a few moments, pressing your lips against his cheeks, forehead, nose, and stopping at his lips before wrestling him down on the couch so he was flat on his back. 

“I love you,” you whispered softly before moving to straddle his waist, “now let me show you how much.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“It looks like the snow is starting to let up,” you commented as you opened the door to look outside, pulling your coat tighter around you. Gone was the harsh snowfall from the evening before, leaving everything covered in glittering white powder, but with a less harsh chill settling over everything. Pero came up behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist before pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head, “it looks beautiful out there.”

“Almost as beautiful as you,” he commented as you playful sighed at him, “what do you say we go out and look for some holly and ivy today? We can decorate for the holiday properly.”

“Do you mean it?” you asked, eyes wide with excitement as you turned to him. He nodded as he moved to go and fetch your thick woolen outer coats and boots, “everything will look so lovely and festive! It is almost time to welcome the end of the year and halfway point of the winter.”

“Then we shall plan a big feast and everything to celebrate,” he grinned softly as your heart melted. He wasn’t normally a big fan of festivities, always going along with what you wanted to do, but never really having a preference one way or another. But this year, something in him had shifted and he seemed even more in the holiday spirit than he normally was….not that you were complaining at all. You loved to see him happy and smiling; despite all of his time with you and resigning himself to a quiet life, you knew things from his past life often still haunted him. 

“I think that will be lovely,” you agreed as he held out your coat for you to slip into, followed up by him draping a warm scarf around your neck to keep you warm and toasty. You couldn’t help but grin as you buttoned up his coat, slapping his hands out of the way as you grabbed a scarf for him. He remained silent, watching you with reverence as fretted over him. When you were done, you took a step back and admired the handsome view that he provided, “there. All warm, Pero?”

“Wonderful,” he agreed as you opened the door again and stepped outside, holding your hand out for him to take. He wasted no time in enveloping your hand with his much larger one, smiling to himself as you swung your clasped hands together. He liked this - your humble little life, and getting to spend his days with you. It was nothing grand or overwhelming, but none of that mattered; all that mattered was you and love you shared. 

“Pero?” you paused when you noticed that he was lagging behind, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he insisted as he caught up to you, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, “nothing at all.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Humming under your breath, you finished setting up the rest of holly and ivy along the hearth, taking a moment to admire how it looked all around your small home. Even the small staircase leading to the second floor was covered with candles and greenery, casting a soft gentle glow around the whole place. It was nothing over the top or grandiose, but it was still beautiful and warm, and you loved it more than anything. 

Standing on the stool under the doorway separating the kitchen from the living area, you carefully tacked up the mistletoe you had found. It was more for a small laugh, a fun little folly one of your friends had told you about, but you had still wanted to surprise Pero. 

Just as you finished tacking it up, the front door opened and Pero came inside, immediately shaking out his hair to get the remainder of the snowflakes out. You were so startled by his sudden appearance that you stumbled slightly and almost fell off of the stool. Pero, ever the fighter and quick on his feet, was faster and at your side in just a second, catching you in his strong arms before anything could happen.

“Hello,” you grinned at him as he held you in his arms, a look of concern momentarily crossing his features. When he saw that you were okay, he relaxed, the rapid beating of his heart already slowing down as he set you on your feet. You leaned up and kissed his cheek, “thank you my love. You’re always my hero.”

“Are you alright, mi sol?” his hand found your face as he gave you the once over you and you nodded, “what were you even doing?”

“I was just putting up some mistletoe,” you pointed to the top of the doorway, watching as a look of confusion crossed your husband’s features. He reached up and touched it, giving it the once over as  he brushed his fingers over the lush, dark green sprigs. 

“Isn’t this poisonous?” he cocked an eyebrow as you nodded, “then why one earth…”

“It’s not for eating or anything,” you stated the obvious with a small laugh, “it’s for decoration. And besides, there’s a sort of tradition about it that I heard…”

“Pray tell, what could this so-called little tradition be?” he asked you as you pulled him closer by the lapels of his coat. He made a small sound of surprise as you let your lips linger near his.

“If two people are caught under it,” you explained, “you are supposed to kiss, and it is to bring good luck if you do and then bad luck if you fail to do so.”

“Ahh,” he laughed lightly as you nodded, “what an odd little thing. I’ve never heard of it before.”

“I hadn’t either,” you admitted, “another one of the ladies in the village told me about it today and gifted the mistletoe to us. I figured it might seem silly, but there’s not harm in trying, right? Besides that, I don’t quite fancy setting ourselves up with bad luck.”

“I definitely do not want to do that either,” his lips brushed yours as they quirked up in a small smile, “what do you propose we do about it?”

“I think you should kiss me, dear husband,” you suggested with coaxing, eager eyes, “and if it should please you, you can do even more than that.”

“I would not be opposed to either,” he put his hand on either side of your face as he offered you a gentle peck, leaving you hanging on for more, “how lucky I am to call you my wife, mi sol.”

“I love you, Pero,” you promised him, “you and only you.”

“And I you.”

“But now I really do need you to do something for me.”

“Anything.”

“Kiss me,” you insisted, “and then some.”

“As you wish.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[rathologic]

What are your character design ratings (P1 in contrast to P2, better or worse) for all Bound/ non-NPC Patho characters? :)

i love your ambition! but I'm limiting this to top 5 and worst 5 plus comments for my own sanity. since there are 24 Bound and a sum total of 34 named characters who appear (with model) in both games

gorkhon's 5 top superstars:

WOW this ended up biased a lot towards p1. in my defense p1 is better and has better characters with better designs haha

p1 rubin: rubin's size is important and by god did the character designers make the most of it. his leather outfit is A) unique, B) fairly practical, and C) homosexual (in a loving men way and an outcast breaking societal rules about bodies due to necessary and innate circumstances way), emphasizing how despite All That he leans into his own distinctiveness and trusts his abilities. it all contributes to a clear concept of his background and motivations- you can tell he's gone through a lot for his age, even while his head scar usually can't be seen without fly mode or parkour. special note to the animation where he raises his arm to match the medical poster on his wall... overall so so lovingly well done. (p2 rubin: to be discussed later)

p1 anna: just such a visually solid and interesting figure! her hair went through a lot of development stages and I think the blond wig deserves its final spot, both as a representation of her character & as a design capstone... I really love the texture and detail on her face it's just totally contradicted by the game saying she's 18. (p2 anna: give her shoes for God's sake. I can't abide like this. Decent coat but it obscures so much potential)

p1 andrey: perfect. the desaturated color of his long coat matches really nicely with his white clothing, and who can resist a guy with spurs. his red eyeshadow genuinely iconic for our 1 canon bisexual man. only complaint is I think his handkerchief was too hard to see in the game and could've been made more distinctive (p2 andrey: the color coordination gets soooo unbalanced with his chest out. #boyboss but it's really not fun to look at him)

both vlad jrs: the designers did an INCREDIBLE job of representing young vlad through his clothing, height, and mannerisms, as an anxious, unlikeable young man under a lot of pressure who tries to do his best while espousing deeply fucked up ideals... evidenced by the success of tai lopez vlad and the number of comments ive seen saying "he looks libertarian" this is stellar character design

p1 lara: her crying cat face... again a really coherent design, the purple/olive layered clothing is distinctive and pleasant to the eye. I especially like the embroidery as a hint of textile history in the patho setting and a reflection of the Town's gender roles. her hair's lovely and the sturdy boots are a perfect allusion to her family history & willingness to take action (p2 lara: hate looking at her :( they smoothed her face they took away her details. she has nothing distinctive except implausible hair physics)

honorable mention: marky mortel :) both designs slap but again p1 is more appealing in terms of varied, balanced color choices

gorkhon's cringe compilation:

2bin (p2 rubin): gets his own separate paragraph because I despise him. he looks bad I think it's perfectly in line with how deeply the writers fucked up his motivation and character but he loses so many points for his plastic looking bald head texture. doesn't even get to keep the scar! his eyes also get lightened 50% which is a baffling choice (although 2's engine is awful at displaying dark eyes anyhow)

p2 eva: sighing and moaning and sobbing. "this woman 'dresses' in skimpy and half-undone clothing because it adds to her appropriation of the kin's customs character" it really doesn't. concept art had a lovely nose but it's not IN the game. miserable. might I add the 3 primary colors are a nice attempt but not adequately balanced with yellow, which is jarring (p1 eva: honestly I do think her attire makes sense for her character in this one, and the gold/white color coordination is lovely. narrowly missed the top 5 bc she also needs shoes)

p1 victor: literally the most nothing man. guess you don't need a "character design" when you sit behind a desk anytime you're not being observed. kind of works with his being underestimated in the story but Man (p2 victor: yay he has visual personality now :) the details like his torn shirt add a lot, but they /are/ details that are sort of hard to catch)

p1 khan: off the top of my head I can't remember anything about how he looks, which is usually bad from a character design standpoint. he's an important figure and a leader of imaginative children, so it feels really jarring to have him in average normal clothing (p2 khan: also a big improvement! p2 did a lot with the Kain family resemblance, and his attire mirroring and diverging from his estranged father's slaps... however khan's haircut feels odd given the setting)

alpha marble nest georgiy: If You've Ever Seen Him, You Know

[angstsfordays]

No, Mama!

Summary: Steve Rogers faces the toughest challenge in his century’s worth of life presenting in the form of his 3-year-old son. Inspired loosely from the tiktok video on this post. 🥺💖

Pairing: Dad!Steve Rogers x Mom!Reader Warnings: None. Just FLUFF all around. Word count: 5k-ish Notes: Hi! I’m back with another story now that exams are over and I am on holiday! No angst this time just lots of sweetness. Really hope you like it as it’s just cute domestic fluff with 1 out of 2 favourite century old super soldiers!

Have a look at my masterlist of other stories if you’re interested! 🥰

Leave a like, reblog or comment to let me know what you think! Thank you! :) 

———————————————————————

The drive back home from the compound was always welcomed by Steve. Even after his many years of fighting, the world still counted on his help every now and then. As the saying goes, evil never rests.

He was starting to grow wearisome of the fighting but he knew that the world still depended on the Avengers. His innate sense of justice could not allow him the selfishness to abandon his duty. Furthermore, he needed to ensure the world was safe to keep his whole world safe.

Steve Rogers counted himself lucky still. He was able to meet someone who understood his line of work and still wanted to be with him till the end. You were a former SHILED agent and Avenger, now retired to take care of your family. As committed as you were to your career, you knew the moment your son was born, you were willing to give everything up to dedicate your life to him.

You exchanged your stealth suit for mom jeans and baggy shirts. Your combat boots with sneakers. You did not regret your decision.

You figured that you didn’t want your son to grow up with two parents who are often absent and risking their lives in the field. You made the choice to take a step back to raise your son with full time commitment.

Perhaps, you might return back to the field when he grows older. But that’s a thought for many years later. For now, it was a daily routine of diapering, feeding, napping, playing and lots of entertaining a spirited toddler.

You left your son, Hugh James Rogers to entertain himself with his wooden blocks and animal toys while you cleaned up after lunch. You just finished with the last set of dishes before washing your hands clean. 

The beeping sound of the Stark Technology home lock alerted your senses of someone entering the front door of your home. Recognising the sound of familiar footsteps, you quickly made your way out of your kitchen to welcome the arrival.

The clank of metal on the floor only served to quicken your steps as you threw yourself onto the big mass in your living room.

“Welcome back, Stevie.” Steve chuckled as he took a step back when your welcome caught him by surprise, his hands went to scoop your legs up and around his waist. You pulled away from the crook of his neck when you previously laid your head and gazed lovingly into your husband’s eyes.

Your fingers went to cradle the sides of his face before your thumbs moved along the bags underneath his eyes. Your brows furrowed at how tired he must have been from the mission. He had been away for almost three months and it was the longest he had been away from you and your son.

“I’m fine, doll.” Steve could sense your worry as you observed him silently for a moment. You knew better than to believe him. “I’m calling Tony.”

“Come on, love. There’s no need for that.”

“Don’t you try and stop me. Why does he get to stay home with Morgan and have you go out on such long missions? He’s not the only one with a family.” A pout formed on your face as your husband tried to coax you into leaving things be.

“Tony promised to give me a break after this. I won’t be on call for missions.” Steve reassured you. You raised an eyebrow with slight doubt but you knew Tony was a man of his word.

Steve’s heart soared at how much you looked after his well-being. He felt like the luckiest guy in the world for having someone to take care of him. With you, he could let his guard down and be vulnerable. People were used to viewing Steve with such awe, expecting him to be all strong and unfaltering.

However, he was only a human. He craved to be comforted when he was feeling his lowest. Steve was glad that he found and met you.

“I missed you so much, Stevie.” Steve was almost not ready for the onslaught of kisses that you started to pepper him on his face and lips to show how much you missed him. He relished in your love and care but it was short lived before you had yourself released from his hold.

Disappointment washing over him, he made to pout and whine until he heard your voice perked up.

“Hugh, Daddy’s home!”

The mention of his son’s name had Steve quickly follow you into the living room. As your son tilted his head in response to the sound of your voice, you crouched down beside him to get his attention.

“Look, Hugh! Where’s Daddy?” Your voice squealed in the baby talk as you gestured for Hugh to look towards Steve. Hugh did not move from his spot as his eyes moved to watch Steve who crouched down on his knees to meet his son’s eye level.

“Hey buddy, it’s me.” Stretching his hands out, Steve gestured for Hugh to come straight into his arms. Steve’s face was filled with anticipation for his son’s welcome. However, as seconds passed, dread started to fill Steve when Hugh still remained seating down.

You caught Steve’s crestfallen expression and decided to intervene.

“It must be the beard, babe. The last time he saw you, you were totally clean shaven.” You tried to explain at your son’s unusual behaviour.

“Should I shave it?” The gears in Steve’s mind started shifting at your words. You chuckled at the panic look that Steve showed.

“No, it’s fine. Besides, I love it.” You responded fondly as you moved to caress his full grown beard.  Steve’s eyes twinkled at your remark but he still looked sullen at your son’s lack of interests towards him.

“He will come around, Steve.” Indicating for Hugh to let you carry him, he toddled his way into your arms. Making your way towards Steve who now stood up, you hoped that you can help Steve to reacquaint Hugh soon.

If you were a little heartbroken at your son’s apathetic attitude, you were sure it was a thousand times worse for Steve.

“Should I bring the shield in so that he recognises me?” Oh, Steve.

———————————————————————

It had only been three days since Steve returned home from his last mission. He was still relishing in the comfort of his own home and the company of his family. With your help, Hugh starting to warm up to Steve again.

It involved the shield and a lot of re-enactment of himself as what Hugh watched on TV. Steve even called for Bucky to deliver the suit to your home from the compound so that he could get in costume for Hugh to be familiar with him.

However, his happiness was short lived when a call arrived for you. It was 3am when you got the call from the compound. You were called in for a special mission and honestly, both of you were taken aback since you have not been back in the field since you got pregnant with Hugh.

It was a hostage mission involving the child of a very powerful Italian mafia boss. You were specifically requested as you developed a friendship with said boss after saving his life once from your earlier SHIELD days. He did not want other Avengers involved despite their stronger talents. He only trusted you as a friend to get his only child back.

You agreed on account of your friendship and empathy with his plight as a parent. You were honestly worried about returning to the field after such a long hiatus but Steve had confidence in you. He understood the situation and encouraged you to take on the mission.

Your mission will take 48 hours and you had to leave Hugh for the first time in awhile. Aside from worrying about the mission, you also worried if Steve could handle Hugh on his own. He hardly parented on his own as you were always around.

You looked at your watch and saw that it was 8.30am. You were tasked to leave in half an hour. You had woken earlier at 7am when Hugh climbed into your bed. You decided to quickly freshen up and spend some time during breakfast together before you got ready to leave.

With your bag in hand, you left your room and turned to see your son and husband in the living room. The sound of your boots clicking on the wooden floor attracted the attention of the two men in the room.

“Mama!” Hugh called you as he put down his favourite dinosaur toy to walk over to you.  Placing your bag down on the floor, your arms stretched out to scoop your baby boy into your arms. His own chubby finger reached out to play with the lapels of your suited jacket.

 Steve looked at you from head to toe, admiring how you looked in a full formal black suit with a white silk blouse and combat boots. You reminded him of the first day he had met you when you were introduced to the team.

“It’s been awhile since I saw you in this getup.” You shifted Hugh’s weight in your arms before you responded.

“I thank god it still fits.”

“You look amazing, darling.” You could feel Steve’s eyes raking up and down when you sat down with him on the couch. He leaned over to give you a quick peck on the lips affectionately.

“Are you sure you will be alright?” Call it a woman’s instinct or more so mother’s instincts, you had a nagging feeling about leaving Steve alone with Hugh. No doubt Steve is a loving father, but in all the time of raising Hugh, his presence was staggered with missions, meetings and conferences.

Furthermore, Hugh was still getting to warm up to Steve after his previous long absence.

“I will be alright, Y/N. You raised Hugh so well, I’m sure he will be a good boy while you are away.” Steve reassured you of your worries as he smoothened Hugh’s messy locks. Hugh was in a long-hair phase now.

“Alright, I should go soon. I still need to head down earlier for the pre-mission briefing.” You said before looking over to Hugh.

“Hugh, Mama is going out for awhile. Be good for Daddy, ok?” Hugh’s interest in your attire was suddenly lost as soon as he heard your words.

“Why, Mama?” Hugh was smart and receptive for his age. He had slowly become attuned to the concept of Steve’s frequent and long absences from a young age. You had made sure to remind Hugh of Steve’s presence through video and phone calls nevertheless.

It was one of the ways to make sure Hugh bonded with his father. Sometimes, you were afraid Hugh’s bond with Steve would falter and you knew Steve shared the same worry so you did your best to be the bridge between father and son.

Luckily, you knew Hugh was incredibly fond of his father still as he always needed to have his Captain America plush to sleep.

“Hmm, Mama’s friend needs my help and as soon I am done, I will be back.” You thoughtfully came up with an answer that was easy enough for Hugh to understand.

“Like Dada?” Hugh made a thoughtful expression when he heard your answer.

“Yeah.” You nodded enthusiastically, thinking that Hugh will be understanding as how he would when Steve leaves for missions.

“NOOO! Dada go away long. Mama go away long.” Taken aback by Hugh’s sudden outburst, you looked up to meet Steve’s panicked expression.

“Oh Hugh, it won’t be long. Only two moons and I will be back, baby.” Calming your son down by bouncing him in your arms and patting down back, you hoped Hugh will ease on his crying.

“No, Mama!” Hugh immediately stood on the couch to wrap his whole body around your torso. His crying grew louder by the second. You and Steve were at a loss. Hugh rarely had such emotional outbursts. He had always been an easy-going child with a calm temperament.

“Hugh, Mama will be back really quick. Daddy will be here with you to wait for Mama.” Steve tried chiming in to calm your son down. Hugh seemed to start easing up on his cries and you handed him over to Steve.

“Baby, I promise I will be back real soon! You are a brave boy. Aren’t you, Hugh?” You tried to engage Hugh with encouraging words.

“Yes.” At the mention of the word ‘brave’, Hugh lifted his head off your shoulders to look at you.

“Hugh James Rogers is the best boy I know because he is really brave.” Taking advantage of the moment, you continued to give motivating words to Hugh so that he would feel better.

“Hugh is brave.” Your son responded adorably and you heart clenched at how cute he was. It was also because you almost regretted the decision to take on this mission.

“Yes. Hugh is brave.” You emphasized his words once more before starting to pick up your bag and making your way to the door. Steve followed closely behind you with Hugh in his arms, his nose still sniffling from his previous crying. 

“Take care, babe.” Turning to Steve, your hands reached out to bring his face closer and you give him a quick peck.

“I could say the same for you.” You eyed him before continuing. “I can’t be contacted at all for the next 48 hours. I already wrote down what to do for Hugh. His routine and such. I left it on the fridge-”

“I know, I know.” Steve returned with an expression that said he got this.

“You can do it, Daddy.” You stroke your thumb affectionately across Steve’s face. “Bye Hugh.” You made a kissy face, hinting for Hugh to lean down and give you a kiss.

“Bye, Stevie.” Steve leaned down similarly to kiss you once more and a bit longer than the previous ones. As he pulled back, he leaned in to kiss Hugh for another round of affection.

“Bye, boys.” You gave one more goodbye before walking over to the car. As you sat in the seat, you looked out the window to see your boys waving you goodbye.

Let’s do this, Y/N Y/L/N.

———————————————————————

Once you drove out of sight, Steve finally turned back to enter his home. Looking at his son with snot dripping from his nose, Steve went to clean it up. His eyes drifted to the clock hanging on the wall. 9.03 am.

Steve went back to his son whose sitting on the kitchen counter staring back with his wide eyes.

“Hey buddy, what do you think about reading some books?”

“No, Mama.” Steve was surprised at the immediate rejection. He did not expect Hugh to be putting up resistance once you had left.

Steve pondered for a minute on how to respond.

“Hugh buddy, should we play?”

“No, Mama.” The feeling of dejection washed over Steve once more at Hugh’s response to his proposal. How did you do it?

Steve went ahead to carry Hugh off the counter and bring him to his play area into the living room. Setting Hugh down on the baby-proofed flooring, Steve waited to watch what Hugh wanted to do.

Hugh looked back at Steve for a moment before standing up to walk over to the TV. Hugh’s head moved left and right as if he was looking for something. His small hands then skillfully reached to open the drawer and take out the remote.

“Boss-boss.” Hugh repeated. Steve had no clue what he was trying to say.

“What is it, bud?”

“Boss. Baby.” Like the over century old man he was, Steve had no clue what his Son was saying.

Hugh started stomping his feet and repeated the two words. Steve scrunched up his face in confusion at his actions.

“Boss. Baby. TV.” Hugh reiterated like a mini adult. Steve went to switch on the TV and the channel came on. Hugh’s finger went on to press the only white button on the remote, switching the channel to Netflix.

Steve’s eyes widened in amazement at what his son was doing. Hugh went on to click to the profile picture he recognised to be his. You had let him choose it himself.

Steve’s attention went back to the screen and the first thing he saw made him dawn in realization at what his son was trying to tell him along.

“You are indeed the boss baby, Hugh.” Steve spoke as he looked between the character on screen and his son. Steve inwardly chuckled at the slight resemblance. Hugh looked back at his father for a moment before passing the remote back to him.

Letting out the deep sigh, Steve thought that he was in for a long day.

Following an hour and a half of Boss Baby, Steve figured that it was too much television. He wanted his son to play like a normal child back in his days with toys. Steve’s decision was met with opposition as Hugh started throwing a tantrum.

Steve didn’t mean to make him upset but he was firm in his decision. He ended up cajoling Hugh for a good thirty minutes before convincing him to play with his toys.

Steve let out a deep exhale as he made his way to make lunch. He lifted the magnet that held the note you left for him. It explained Hugh’s routine and preferences.

Looking over at Hugh playing in the living room, Steve hoped that he could get lunch right for his son. He already felt defeated barely two hours into your departure. How did you do this for three years of Hugh’s life everyday?

Steve shook his head at his inadequacy as a father and hoped he could make it up to Hugh.

Lunch passed by with no issues, Steve thanked the heavens that he recalled Hugh loves cheese and made a grilled cheese sandwich. Nothing could beat the satisfaction that was brought from Hugh’s enjoyment of his lunch.

“How is it, buddy?” Steve’s question was met with silence but Hugh continued to take bites out of his sandwich. Steve grinned at this sight and considered this a small win.

Little did he know, this was his only win for the day. Nap time took awhile as Steve tried to pat a restless Hugh to sleep. After nap time, Steve had to wake up a grumpy Hugh from his nap and changed his diaper. If looks could kill, Hugh’s sent Steve into a deep hole for waking him up.

Steve tried to please him with milk and cookies. Afterwards, it was playtime before dinner. Dinner became a struggle when Hugh refused to have the porridge that Steve made. Hugh ended up having the leftover soup you had made and then kept in the fridge a day before.

Bath time was a nightmare as Hugh immediately started running off once he heard the word ‘shower’ came out of Steve’s mouth. While Steve was definitely quick to catch his son, Hugh ended up resisting his hold.

Hugh started splashing water from the tub that Steve had prepared which caused Steve to get wet and eventually joining his son.

Surprisingly, Hugh warmed up back to Steve and they had a great time pretend playing during bath time. However, this happiness was short lived once again when Steve announced that bath time was over.

It was another round of struggle for Steve to dry Hugh and dress him. The super soldier’s son ran out of the bath room and around the house stark naked. Steve had to chase him without his clothes as well. It was another twenty-minute chase and round of persuasion before Hugh allowed himself to be dressed.

It was already 10.30 pm and Steve decided it was bed time. Steve carried Hugh to his own bed and prepared to pat him to sleep. With his Captain America plushie in tow, he laid down for a peaceful moment.

Fighting aliens and bad guys could not tire him out as much as today. Steve patted Hugh’s side rhythmically and slowly, hoping for Hugh to fall into a trance. When Hugh started to blink, Steve assumed he was going to sleep soon.

Steve made the move to shift himself off Hugh’s bed but was met with a whine.

“No, Mama.”

“Come on, bud. You have to sleep.”

“No, Mama.” Hugh quickly sat up from his once sleeping position and made grabby hands at Steve. “Mama’s not here-”

Steve caved when he saw the puppy eyes and carried Hugh to his shared room with you. Placing the long bolster on one end of the bed, Steve placed Hugh between himself and the bolster to prevent him from falling off the bed in the middle of the night.

“I want Mama.”

“Me too, buddy. Hey, I know. I have drawings of Mama somewhere-” Steve got off the bed to search for something in his drawers and made a ‘o’ face towards Hugh as he held up several sketchbooks.

“Look what I have here, Hugh.” Steve exclaimed animatedly as he walked over back to his Steve who now sat against several pillows. Steve settled beside his son and began flipping the pages.

“Mama is here!” Hugh quipped excitedly when he spotted a sketch of you. You were leaning your chin on one of your palms, elbow on a table as you watched a video on your phone. You were in between a grin and chuckle as Steve recalled you watching a funny animal video.

It was a significant sketch because while you were doing nothing special and it was just an ordinary day where both of you had the day off, it was in that moment Steve knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you like this.

A simple and happy life with someone he loved and cherished.

Hugh went on to flip more pages and amazed Steve with how quick he was to recognise details in what he drew. You really did a great job raising Hugh. Steve only wished he had done more.

In fact, through today, he realised how he fell short on being a parent as he struggled with managing Hugh. This dawning realization had fell on him like a bomb and he didn’t even have a shield to protect himself.

“Mama again!” Hugh’s call snapped Steve out of his thoughts and his attention went to the random photo of the two of you. You had a love for taking and collecting photos. While photos can be forever kept in phones, there was always something special about one that was printed.

The photo in Hugh’s tiny hands was from your honeymoon. The two of you went to Japan and you were keen to see the cherry blossoms. You had one of the locals take a photo of you and Steve under a blooming cherry blossom tree.

“That’s right, bud. And there’s Daddy!” Steve pointed to himself who wrapped his arms around you close from behind.

The two of you were at peace for once. Away from saving the world, away from the perils of Avenging. It was just the two of you in the comforts of each other.

“Mama!” Steve scoffed jokingly at Hugh’s insistence. That’s why they say boys are always close with their mothers.

“Is Mama pretty?” Hugh turned to look at Steve and nodded fervently. Steve smiled at his son’s adorable act and decided to try his luck.

“Is Daddy pretty?”

“No, Mama!” Hugh huffed in response and even gave Steve a side eye. Oh well, he tried, Steve thought.

———————————————————————

The next 24 hours felt long but Steve got used to the routine. A text came after dinner time and Steve started to cheer inwardly when it came from you.

Your mission was successful but you needed to clear up some back-end work. Your mafia friend also insisted to thank you properly for your help and invited you to stay for a meal.

You initially refused as you wanted to quickly return home. However, you caved in at his persistence to persuade you. You will be back tomorrow before lunch. Steve wanted to share with Hugh the news but held back, once he figured that it might excite Hugh so much that it will disrupt his routine.

He figured he could tell Hugh the next morning closer to your time of return.

Steve ordered for flowers and your favourite takeaway to be sent as he thought of preparing an event for your return. He wanted to celebrate the success of your mission and showed his appreciation of you too.

As it got closer to noon, Steve had set up the living room with streamers and balloons. It was a little over the top but who cared? This was for you, his wife.

As soon as he heard the beeping of the door lock, he knew you had come back home. Steve heard you calling out for him and Hugh. Steve told Hugh to keep quiet and was pleased that his son was actually co-operative.

“Oh, what’s this?” Your voice drew closer as your steps drew closer to the living room, Steve pull the string of the party popper. Confetti in the air, Hugh blew into the party horn.

“Welcome back, Mama!” Steve exclaimed and your reaction was enough to call this event a success. Your jaw dropped at what your husband did and no words could describe how you felt. Multiple emotions came rushing in: surprise, joy, amazement, heartful gratitude.

“What’s this?” You asked once more. You took another gasp when Steve passed Hugh a bouquet of your favourite flowers. Your son took confident steps and presented them to you. You were floored.

“Oh my goodness. You guys-”

“Congrats on a successful first mission back after a break. We’re so proud of you, sweetheart.” Steve came up to embrace you and you were still reeling in from the surprise event he had done.

“Thank you. I’m so touched-” Steve’s lips came to meet yours before you could even finished. What a welcome home indeed. Your bliss was momentarily interrupted when you felt something or someone trying to claw your legs for attention.

You immediately crouched down and put your bouquet aside, leaving your arms open to scoop Hugh into your arms.

“Thank you, Hugh. I miss you so much, baby!” You started peppering kisses over your son to which he responded in squeals and giggles.

“Did you and daddy do all of this?” You asked animatedly.

“Yes, Hugh helped!” Hugh nodded while indicating to himself and you responded with a few more big kisses on his cheek. “Hugh is such a good boy!”

The three of you retreated to the couch where you continued to admire the setup of the living room. Hugh sat between you and Steve as he played with the party horn still. Steve was just quietly appreciating your presence back at home.

You started sharing about the mission while he listened to you intently. You asked Steve about his two days with Hugh and he let out a grunt. Chuckling at his exasperated expression, you knew it must not have been easy.

“The next time someone calls me a hero, I will say they’re wrong. You’re the real hero, Y/N. All mothers are.” An appreciative smile formed on your face at your husband’s words.

“Hugh said he had fun with me.” Steve excitedly told you of his accomplishment. Yesterday during playtime, Steve casually asked Hugh the question. Steve didn’t expect much, knowing that Hugh was still warming up to him.

“Hugh, are you having fun with Dada?” Hugh didn’t give a verbal answer but he nodded in response to Steve’s question. His response got Steve excited and Steve asked once more.

“You like spending time with me, buddy?” Hugh nodded once more and Steve knew that all his struggles were not in vain.

“Oh wow, that’s amazing Steve! You did such a good job.” Steve cooed under your praise as you caress the side of his face and leaned in for another soft kiss.

“Hugh, you had a good time with Daddy?” Hugh nodded wordlessly to your query as he fiddled with the confetti remains stuck on the couch. Steve and you looked at each other with wide satisfied smiles.

“Do you love Daddy?” You asked once more to which Hugh nodded once more. Steve let out a silent ‘YES’ as he held his hands up in victory.

“How much do you love Daddy?” You asked your son once more and Hugh paused his actions for a moment to think. He turned to you and Steve, the two of you waiting curiously for his answer.

“This much!” Hugh extended his arms out wide and horizontally.

You burst out in laughter as Steve clasped his hands together in gratitude towards Hugh’s answer. You could tell he was basking in joy.

“I love you this much too, buddy!” Steve returned with his own exaggerated gesture and Hugh laughed at his father’s silly antics.

“Mama.” Hugh made his way over to your lap and started to tell you how he missed you and if you missed him. Of course, you missed him so much. You made sure you did a good job so you can return to him safe and quick.

You and Hugh started to be in your own loving world as you exchanged sweet words, tender hugs and kisses.Steve, on the other hand, felt that his moment of bliss was short lived as he looked on at the both of you.

“Hey buddy, I want hugs and kisses too.”

“No, I want Mama!” You cooed at your son’s insistent preference for you, even if you feel bad for Steve.

“Hugh, you must thank Daddy for taking care of you. He loves you very much too, you know.” You tried to bring Hugh’s attention back to Steve.

“Thank you, Dada!”

“Nothing can beat a mother’s love.” Steve chimed as he looked at how Hugh was trying to hold your attention fervently. That’s it. He was going to make the call.

“Where are you going?” You asked Steve as he stood up from the couch.

“I’m going to call Tony. I’m taking a sabbatical. I want to spend more time with Hugh from now on.” You beamed at Steve’s words. He was making such a big decision.

“Once I get it approved, I won’t rest until I have what you have with Hugh too.” Steve proclaimed with determination before turning to Hugh.

“Hey Hugh, you and I are going to spend lots of time from now on. Are you excited, bud?” Hugh took a moment to ponder thoughtfully before smiling wide at Steve.

“No, Mama!”

“Oh come on!” Steve let out a grunt before marching out to get his phone asap.

You turned back to Hugh who had a cheeky grin and you jokingly chided him. “Stop teasing your dad, Hugh James Rogers.”

Hugh looked at you with a sparkle of mischief in his eyes and giggled. 

“Silly dada!”

———————————————————————

[ssson-of-sparda]

A Dozen Ice Cream Cones (Dante x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Patty wants to know what happened to the girl who offered Dante his very first strawberry sundae. But to know the rest of the story, she must erase the dozen ice cream cones from Dante's tab. (Part 2 of A Tab To Erase) (Part 1)

Tags: Pre DMC3 Dante / Dante is Tony Redgrave / Flirting / Lost Friends to Lovers / Implied Sexual Content / Explicit Language

Author’s note: You wished for Part 2, there it is ;-) If you want to place this part of the story in the DMC timeline, I'd say that it is shortly before DMC3. Dante is roughly eighteen (and so is Reader) and still goes by the name Tony Redgrave. Again, the Dante who is talking to Patty is definitely post DMC Anime. I decided not to give many details about him so that he could be the one of your choice. Can definitely do a part 3 if you want.

MISSION 2

Dante was about to get fleeced. He could feel it in his guts, which had somehow developed this strange ability to knot tightly in his stomach each time he was about to lose. Probably the result of so many years of bad luck in gambling. And yet, Patty’s eyebrows were weirdly furrowed as she was quietly eyeing all of the cards in her hands. She had to have a straight flush. Dante had no doubt about that. So why wasn’t she playing? “You know, Dante. I was thinking …”       “Not again.” The man grumbled, wondering why she was taking her time. But Patty had learned to ignore Dante’s sudden irritations long ago, knowing they were always brief and harmless.       “You didn’t stay friends, right?” Dante arched an eyebrow and stared at the girl in front of him as she was sitting still, big blue eyes fixed upon his face, patiently waiting for the answer to her unexpected question.   “What are you talking about?” A sigh escaped his mouth. He knew what she was talking about. He just wanted to elude the answer. But the little blonde was not one to easily give up. “With the little girl. The one who made you first strawberry sundae. You didn’t stay friends. Why?”                   “What makes you think that?” Using a question to avoid an answer. Yes, could work.             “Well, if you had a friend making you strawberry sundaes for free, then you would not spend an unreasonable amount of money on them. So, I’m guessing she must not be around anymore.” Patty was perceptive. Dante could give her that quality, for sure. Though right now it was more a bother than anything else. “What happened?”       “She moved on with her life.” was the only thing that he felt like answering as he quietly stood up to take a beer in his fridge, certain that this was just the beginning of another long questioning.               “So you never saw her again after that night in the diner?” Patty asked as she watched Dante slouch back in the couch, taking his cards back in his hand to cover whatever expression Patty was trying to spot on his face.       “Yes, I did saw her again.” He finally confessed, eyes on the dog-eared Queen of Hearts he was grazing with his thumbnail.             “Then tell me!” The girl begged, unable to resist the excitement growing in her body any longer. “ Why would I? Don’t you have any stupid soap opera to watch?”       “ The TV’s broken… AGAIN.” She complained but he couldn’t care less. He had no money to afford buying a new one or fixing this one. Plus, there was nothing worth watching on TV so …“Come on. I’ll erase the dozen ice creams cones from your tab if you do.” Dante looked away from his cards with a sudden tiny smirk as he noticed Patty on the edge of her chair, impatiently waiting for the new part of his story to begin. “Now you speak my language, Patty.”         “ You never do something for free! It’s annoying!”       “Are you kidding me? I do a lot of things for free. That’s why I’m so broke and live in this hellhole.” He waved at the place with open arms before taking a gulp of his beer with a grimace. Yuck, it’s hot! And of course it was. He hadn’t paid the bills yet again.           “So we have a deal, then. Now tell me.”

A DOZEN ICE CREAM CONES

                 It was the nineties – perhaps the most awful period for anyone who had even just a small sense for fashion or music - and as the city of Red Grave was still lovingly dancing on ridiculous love ballads on Friday nights, wearing tight crop tops, colourful scrunchies and platform sneakers, Dante – now named Tony Redgrave - was trying to make his place as a young mercenary in the rough areas of the city, hanging in bars serving some drinks stronger than strawberry sundaes (though he would always order one at some point) and in clubs where women would gladly take their clothes off if asked too, mind a few bucks of course (except for Venus. Venus would always flash her breasts for free for her sweet Tony).

“Not sure I want to know that.” “ Oh yes. Forgot the story must be PG-13, sorry. Anyway …”

He was looking for jobs, something that would help him pay for a proper roof over his head and the fancy long red leather coat he had just bought (five hundred bucks but worth every single dime) and luckily for him he knew the perfect man to find him that.

His name was Enzo Ferino. A short and chubby Italian-American broker, probably the best informant in the neighbourhood, one who could smell high-paying jobs for miles around especially those Dante loved to refuse.

“Where was Morrison?” “Can I tell my story please?”

“Come on Tony! You can’t refuse that job. Not another one. Not again.” He almost threw a fist on the counter before he remembered the last time he did so. Two bullets had whizzed the top of his black curly head and he had had thanked his mama for making him so short. “Haven’t you heard the reward? Don’t you see all the zeros on that check, my friend?” Yes, there were four and enough to pay the bail and few rents of the place he wished to rent to create his own agency. But Dante didn’t want that check nor did he want that job.             “If he wants to recover a stupid necklace, he can call the cops for that … or a bailiff. I don’t go after silly poker players. I have better things to do.” He took a sip of his whiskey, the third of the night, not even looking at the two men sitting next to him and begging him to take that damn job with pleading eyes.               “You have nothing better to do!” Enzo shouted, throwing his hands in the hair like a living Italian cliché. “Please Sir. It’s my girlfriend’s necklace. One she offered me on our anniversary. It’s very precious to her.” The man who wished to hire him declared as he started rummaging in the pocket of his designer coat.               “And you bet on it?” Dante scoffed. “Damn. What a perfect boyfriend you are. But that’s still a no.”

The man pressed a piece of paper next to Dante’s drink. A photo, a polaroid, judging by the quality of the paper, carefully placed face down like a poker card, showing that that man was most probably a pro-gambler or at least was used to card games. Another reason not to help. He would probably lose the damn necklace right after recovering it.         And yet, Dante took the picture in his hand. Though he didn’t really know why he did. Certainly the curiosity to know what kind of chick that prick could have in his life or maybe the will to use the picture to taunt him about his taste in women. He imagined a prude church girl, some daddy’s girl probably as rich as him, not very pretty but fancy, wearing pearl earrings and silk headscarves matching her shiny shoes. The type of girl that swaggers in the street and roll her disdainful eyes when they see men like Dante (though they might secretly wished he would rumple their sheets).  

Patty cleared her throat. “What? Every girl loves some good bad boy once in a while... And how do you even know what that means?”

He couldn’t be more wrong. And he couldn’t be more surprised. He would recognize those big (colour) eyes and that sweet smile among thousands, despite the time apart, despite the years that had turned a fearful little boy into a daredevil mercenary and an adorable little girl into a magnificent young girl. He would recognize them always because they were the first that had made in smile when he thought he would never smile again.                 “Her name is Y/N. She’s the sweetest girl in the world. Innocent. Pure.” Dante cringed at the man’s words, finding them rather repulsive and somewhat perverted. Something in the way they were rolling off his tongue.       “Come on, Tony. You can’t say no to a sweet girl.” Enzo’s sentence was met with a glare that made him shiver but when he saw his partner stand up and empty his glass of whiskey, he somewhat relaxed. “You’re pieces of shit. Both of you.”         “Does that mean you take the job?” Dante didn’t bother answer.

                 But he took the job. Not for Enzo. Especially not for his shitty client. And even less for the cash. For her. Just for her. To finally return the favour after so many years. Because he owed her one. Because she was possibly one of the few humans he’s always respected in his ten years wandering the nighty street of Red Grave. And because she didn’t deserve an asshole like the one she dated to lose something apparently so precious to her in a silly game of cards. An easy job for someone like him but one he despised nevertheless. He hated to deal with humans. They were sometimes worse than demons and you can’t fix problems with them by using a sword.

“Don’t tell me you won the necklace back?” “ I did. Fair and square. Well … almost. I ended up using my sword. Turned out the Mafiosi who had Y/N’s necklace were a bunch of demons who had made a few bars in downtown Red Grave their lairs.”

But once Dante had Y/N’s necklace in the palm of his hand he did something only Dante could do. He refused the reward, refused all the zeros on the check and the chance to finally buy that agency he wanted so badly. “The things you do for beautiful women.” Gunsmith Nell Goldstein had said when she had given him back his guns, all polished and fixed, after he had wrecked them on the job again. “They’re your weakness, Tony. Always leading you around by the nose … or something else.” Perhaps, but he never minded.        

And as he watched Y/N approaching the door to her home out of the corner of his eye, a bunch of books under her arms, looking for her keys in her bag, Dante knew he would not regret his weakness for women or his decision to refuse the money.      

She looked as sweet as he remembered, as delicate as in the picture if not more. And just as her shitty boyfriend had said, she indeed seemed rather innocent and pure. Almost fragile. Nothing like the girls he had met before, especially those he had seen undressed at Love Planet or in one of the magazines he kept in his drawers.       “Goodness grac…” She almost dropped her books as she jumped, surprised and somewhat scared, and put her hand over her heart that had certainly missed quite a beat when she noticed this insanely tall stranger on her doorstep.   But her sudden fear disappeared immediately when she recognized the silvery white hair covering the icy blue eyes of the man before her. “Tony?” She arched an eyebrow and he smiled with the same childish joy she had witnessed on his face years ago. And just like that, she was certain it was him.       “Hello, Y/N” He offered his hand and she briefly stared at it, remembering for a small instant the time she held out her tiny hand to him the same way, the night they met. And so she grabbed it, genuinely happy to see him again and yet curious to know how he had found her and why he was back after so many years.       But when she fell something cold and metallic in his hand she got her answer. “My necklace. How?” “Won it back for you.” He simply answered but that was enough for her to understand what happened. “[Boyfriend] lost it on a poker game, didn’t he?” And even though that didn’t really surprised her as she knew how much he loved gambling despite her telling him not to, it disappointed her anyway. “You shouldn’t date boys who have a streak of bad luck in gambling… Except those like me.” She looked up at Dante’s piercing blue eyes, unsettled by his flirtatious humour, thinking he accidentally let that slip but he definitely did not. Those last words, impulsive and yet somewhat well thought out, had rolled off his tongue with a scandalous smoothness and a self-confidence that had rooted her to the spot, speechless, but in a weirdly pleasant way that made her want to slap herself. “Or especially me. Depends if you like trouble.”     With a smug smirk, he stared at her, deep in her eyes, almost … hungrily? She didn’t really know. All that she knew was that never a man had looked at her that way. Certainly not her boyfriend. And who knew such icy eyes could set fire to her cheeks like that? “But, judging by that place and your guy, you seem to enjoy some well-ordered life.”

Not really. Not at all. Her life was boring, plain and dull. Nothing like in the books she read. Nothing like what she had dreamed of. But exactly what her mother had wished for her.         She was an adorable daughter, a top student finishing up high school, ready to leave Red Grave with her well brought up boyfriend to start a life many would envy but that she cared little about.     She wanted adventure. She wanted excitement. Passion. Frivolity. Freedom. And maybe even some danger. She wanted all that and more.           And as she looked at the self-assured man in front of her, she couldn’t help but believe that he had somehow managed to obtain all that. And she wanted to know how. How did that life feel? How could he live such a life? How could she have the same?         And Dante noticed that small fire, that tamed lonely flame burning deep in her eyes that needed just a drop or two of gasoline to rage and shine brightly. Something he could easily provide if she let him, if that’s what she wanted.

“Take care of yourself, Y/N” He nodded her goodbye and as he shifted to walk away, she opened her lips to say. “Would you like a strawberry sundae?” And she cursed herself for this, so damn loud in her head. You have a boyfriend! A voice repeated on and on, feeling the temptation in her heart and the ideas of what some people would call unfaithfulness seeping in her brain. But as she opened the door to her apartment, ready to finally kick the boredom out of her life for something else, for something more, the voice seemed to fade.           Guess the Devil truly finds work for idle hands to do.

[keyboo]

TTS2: EP 4 Recap: I can’t believe Leo lives like this

Today we join Tharn fooling himself into believing he can bake a cake. Everything seems right - he looks hot, his shirt collar is unbuttoned just enough to show dat collarbone, the room has a warm glow that often occurs when you are lovingly baking something, he even has a cute fancy denim apron despite having shown no proclivity in the kitchen.

Type isn’t fooled, though - he wakes up and hears movement in the kitchen and immediately envisions the deep clean that will be required and maybe even renovations for the fire damage. Tharn is pouty and the room loses its romance filter, and we as viewers are forced to wonder how in the hell Tharn got flour on the other side of the counter. They look like finger smudges so I can only assume Tharn was practicing a sexy pose on that side for when Type woke up.

Type isn’t hungry for Tharn’s cake but he is thirsty. You really only need to have flour on your face and to look like P’Mew to find success in the kitchen. I have a high tolerance for sexy scenes but this was the very first time in awhile I felt embarrassed to be watching, like I was intruding on their privacy - good lord, the whipped cream lip rubbing is literal porn.

I will say though I am living for how often Type is getting picked up this season.

Fiat and Leo have the sort of friendship that makes everyone around them uncomfortable all the time.You think once they finally get together the babying and the PDA will stop but it only gets worse. You have to start carrying a spray bottle when you hang out with them.

Meanwhile, Type is baby. He is also wearing Tharn’s shirt now. It is no doubt encrusted in flour and egg yolk but he is a cupcake so we don’t mind. You remember season 1 where Type could barely bring himself to be affectionate or admit his feelings, and here we have Type cuddling and asking Tharn out on a date, and it’s just very nice. Chef kiss. I only think it’s slightly unfair that MewGulf are being paid to do what they do constantly IRL but whatever.

Tharn takes Type to the restaurant where P’Thorn proposed to Am for...reasons???! If anyone can explain this choice to me, please go ahead - otherwise I’m inclined to think Tharn’s head is just full of cotton candy. Tharn and Type show off their improved communication skills while showcasing their differing outlooks when it comes to risk (hello season theme) - Tharn wants to expand his business already, but Type warns him to slow it down and be careful. Neither are wrong, and they’re able to have this difference of opinion without getting angry with each other, which I enjoyed. Tharn says he wants his business to do well so he can take care of Type, who reminds Tharn he can take care of himself.

Another conversation that showcases the differences in Tharn and Type’s attitude towards risk, as well as their differing attitudes towards wealth. Type has taken over the household financial planning because Tharn is careless with his money. Having come from wealth, Tharn doesn’t seem concerned about spending, whereas Type reminds him its important to have savings set aside. Type is always thinking of the future, while Tharn thinks of the now - another reason why they are finding it difficult to reconcile their differences about a wedding, while in this very scene proving how incredibly married they are already.

Type runs into Fiat and Leo buying shoes and Fiat flirts with Type right in front of Leo’s salad. Type could not be more obviously uninterested in Fiat romantically, but Leo is still understandably upset because Fiat is blatantly ignoring Leo’s feelings. Leo is in love with a fuckboi and we should all pray for him.

Tharn for once has a sense for when somebody is Up To No Good around his man. Type is so oblivious to his own charm that he can’t tell Fiat is hitting on him. Type is unaware that he leaves a trail of brokenhearted baby gays wherever he goes but Tharn knows because Tharn was that baby gay.

Omg just fuck already.

P’Thorn and Tharn are signing IMPORTANT DOCUMENTS. Look at Tharn’s suit jacket. Look at his pin. Look at his pen. LOOK AT HIM.

Our gold digger from last week makes an appearance and gives a bad name to the craft because she is not at all sneaky about it by bringing ONLY THARN snacks and coffee.

P’Thorn shows he is not only overprotective of Tanya but of his little brother too. He is icey cold to this girl. He also gives Tharn good advice to give Type time on the wedding thing and that Type’s concerns aren’t unreasonable. P’Thorn is a good big brother in all arenas except keeping secrets.

 Omg just fuck already.

Here we have another wonderful scene of Tharn being attuned to Type’s physical and emotional well being, and reminding him to take care of himself. Where Type may have once aggressively refuted any such care, he gently reminds Tharn that he knows his own limits but agrees to take a break and eat dinner. HEALTHY COMMUNICATION, WE DO LIVE TO SEE IT.

Did I mention how much I love Type? I love this calculating expression he gets when he smells something fishy. He notices the same girl liking/commenting on every one of Tharn’s insta posts. I don’t think Type is suspicious of Tharn here - a) because Tharn is gay but more importantly, b) he trusts Tharn implicitly. But as always our Type has a tingly sense for when something doesn’t feel right. I love that it only takes a look through instagram for him to clue in that someone might be messing with Tharn.

I stan One Idiot.

Okay honestly who the fuck is this nerd and does anyone else want to punch him? I know the running theory with Type’s boss hating him is that he’s homophobic but I think he’s obviously fucking his assistant or why else would his assistant have the AUDACITY to look at Type like this. 

Poor Leo disrespects himself by taking his shirt off and chugging water sexily and Fiat STILL doesn’t notice because he’s inappropriately texting his doctor. It worked for Tharn is S1, why won’t it work for Leo??? Leo, baby, you deserve more.

Nothing will ever top this scene for me in either season, I’m sure of it. Tharn laying on Type’s lap. Type feeding him popcorn. They have a set of matching mugs that says ‘ladies gloss your lips’ and ‘men comb your mustache’ - neither of them are ladies or have mustaches WHY DO YOU OWN THIS - they are eating POPCORN AND CHIPS. A cute little movie night, I am INTO IT.  The casual domesticity of a couple who’s been together 7 years. I would be okay if the whole series was like this and no drama.  

Gulf just looks so fine here too.

But....its a drama so there’s drama. Type is still anxious about what he saw on Tharn’s insta. Again, I don’t see this as distrust so much as concern and worry for Tharn.

Well....speaking of trust. Type does a no good very bad thing here by looking at Tharn’s phone secretly. Even for purposes of being protective, this is not okay.

....kdalkjdlkasjdklajsdlkss

BUUUTT since he shows up looking like THIS to catfish the girl who is hitting on his man....

I mean, I personally forgave him instantly but we’ll see what Tharn says next week.