#secret spy domination voice line

[jaratedeguadalupe]

he will not in fact, cover them up

[dandorime]

Another section from this fic.

"Haaaaaang on."

"Agent, you're going to fall!"

"Am not, just haaaaaang on..."

Agent Phoenix was practically dangling upside-down from his swing like an awkward trapeze artist, straining to reach his arm under the center drawer of the massive wooden desk that dominated the room. How annoying, he thought to himself, that he couldn't TK a target he couldn't see.

He patted around desperately to find the small metal screw that would release a spring. He knew it was there.

It was there last time.

"What are you even trying to do?" Reginald Crane hissed, nervously gripping the edge of the open skylight with both hands as he peered down from above.

The half moon overhead didn't provide enough light for either spy to see one another clearly, but the swinging and creaking of the metal cables holding Phoenix's seat didn't give his handler any sense of confidence in his agent's actions.

Phoenix, likewise, couldn't see the look on his handler's face, but he could tell from the anxiety in his voice that Crane wasn't going to be patient with his acrobatics for much longer.

"I'm trying to find the... there might be a switch or something," Phoenix hissed back.

*click*

Crane didn't know about the metal screw under the desk, of course.

Every drawer on the desk gently popped open at once, mercifully without any explosions. The ornamented cabinet containing his target, a mask that could mimic the faces and voices of four powerful world leaders, opened its door wide with a flourish as if to welcome him. 

"I'll be damned," the agent heard Crane whisper from above, "how did you know?"

Phoenix grinned in the dark. It had taken him more than a few deaths to play his way through the Fabricator's desk of traps. He'd spent hours here, dangling from an uncomfortably small swing on cables in the dark with only a flashlight and his handler's advice to pick apart dozens of defensive mechanisms.

Well, hours from his point of view, anyway. To Crane and the rest of the world, it had still only been two minutes.

He was finally in. Security was still five minutes away, none of the room's defenses had been sprung, and the mimic mask seemed to smile at him.

Surely the Fabricator wasn't patient enough to disarm everything one-by-one every time she sat at her own desk, was she? Even Dr. Zor had shortcuts through their security, if you had the right code or a key card, or an awkwardly-placed ornamental orb. Heck, the Fabricator was probably responsible for building those, too...

That line of thought sent Phoenix's hunting for a workaround to the convoluted series of dials and secret compartments, and after much more trial and error, this was the payoff. 

"Install this tracking device somewhere discreet," Crane whispered, lowering a tiny suitcase on a line containing an even tinier chip, "and then close everything up tight."

Phoenix plucked the chip off the line, just like he'd done the last dozen times. The second of these, he'd dropped the tracker, lost it in the thick carpeting on the floor, and ended up patting around for it on his hands and knees like a half-blind man hunting an errant contact lens.

The sting of shame was still fresh in his mind.

Then again, this was the hardest mission he'd had in a long time, Phoenix reasoned to himself as he popped the mask open, careful not to jostle it loose from its stand. He supposed Crane must've known it would be tricky if he brought along extra tech like a winching swing and a tracking device. It was probably why he'd come along as the support agent himself, instead of sending Phoenix in alone with an earpiece. But if anything, that decision had made it worse.

Dying in front of a helpless friend was a thousand times worse than dying alone.

As he clipped wires and soldered the tracker into place for the fourth (or was it fifth?) time, Phoenix let his mind replay the worst of it.

Dying alone meant Phoenix could tear off his microphone and swear his frustrations to his last poisoned breath, or shorten the wait with a bullet to the skull. He could trigger a bomb and experience some catharsis in his final seconds, watching Zor's plans and property go up in smoke.

But no, each time he died in the Fabricator's studio, he had to bite his tongue and bleed out quietly, all the while knowing his handler was perched on the roof with no cover, watching him die. 

---

Crane, ever vigilant, had picked up on the guard's approach along the overhead walkway as his agent was still stupidly bumbling around looking for the tracking device on the floor.

Phoenix had long since surrendered his own situational awareness to focus on finding the tracking device. He wasn't even listening for forgets when he finally heard the urgent, whispered shout of warning:

"AGENT, HIDE!"

Paralyzed with surprise, Phoenix did not hide. He inexplicably froze as the beam of a flashlight from the walkway around the upper floor of the room raked across his back.

Zero cover, out in the open, caught red-handed.

God, I'm a fool.

Damnit.

He heard both shots and felt the bullets bite through him, slamming him into the floor like they had nailed him there. Effectively, they had. A lung shot, let alone two, was more than enough to sap away 99% of whatever stamina he may otherwise have had to fight back or make a break for it.

He was dying.

Then there was a third shot.

A quiet, pained cry sounded above. Broken glass rained down over everything, and Phoenix felt a heavy thud, somewhere close, on the floor next to him.

Oh god.

He blindly reached for the body that he knew lay somewhere to his right, grasping desperately with weakening fingers, but never managed to make contact.

Rapidly bleeding out, the agent found he didn't have the strength to even lift his head and look. In truth, he didn't want to.

Reggie.

The security guard was talking fast and loud on his radio: "Two intruders! I shot 'em... I think they're both dead..."

Both dead.

Those words gave him a pang of guilt like nothing he'd ever felt on a mission before. Worse than an arrow, worse than a bullet.

Fuck, I'm sorry...

A last bloody cough escaped from his chest, and everything faded away.

In the brief dark interlude that always came after death, Phoenix caught himself actually looking around for Crane through his closed eyes. He knew it was stupid; writhing around alone in the absolute blackness, but the urge to apologize to his friend was overwhelming. What would he say, if he actually found Crane there? Christ, what could he say? 

I'm so sorry, I got you killed. I got us both killed. I usually only get me killed...

Consumed with guilt and anger, he hardly noticed the physical pain ebbing away. A familiar lightness, a floating sense of stasis soon took hold.

The lights flicked on.

Agent Phoenix was back in the Room. 

Goddamnit.

[ansksosns]

Sealed Fates

This blog has no followers b u t this is my secret writing blog, where I have not posted any works....until now. 

Simps, I present to you; Tobirama Senju. 

Part 2 can be found here!

Word count: 3023

You burst through his office doors, not bothering to knock or give any announcement of your arrival to his household despite the late hour. You knew he wasn’t asleep; the man only slept when exhaustion won the battle against his mind and body.

Surely enough, there he sat at his oak desk, gracing you with a rare display of surprise upon his face.

“Tobirama Senju.” You growl, gritting your teeth.

He quickly collects himself, his surprised expression disappearing as though it was never there. He now looks tired—How many days has it been since he truly slept?

“I do not recall inviting you into my home.” He says pointedly, as his eyes fall back on to the papers in front of him. He begins scribbling on them, probably updating notes on the newest jutsu he’d created.

His lack of urgency towards you only makes you more annoyed; you thought the two of you were finally getting somewhere, after Tobirama saved your life from the clutches of death a mere month ago. You quickly learned that you were wrong, as he became more reclusive than ever following your discharge from the hospital.

You had every intention on broaching this topic with him in a professional manner, even going so far as to schedule a meeting with him—a meeting, with the man you served as some sort of assistant for a better part of your career as a shinobi.

All formalities went out the window when you quickly caught a glimpse of a very specific marking on the small of your back; one you knew quite well, but had no recollection of getting.

“How long have you had the seal on me?” You bark, taking one step closer to his desk.

He stops scribbling for a moment, considering your words carefully.

You don’t give him a chance to defend himself. “At what point did you decide to brand me with your jutsu?”

You take another step closer to him, and slam your hands down on the desk to get his undivided attention. You won’t let him get away with this without some sort of consequence; he may be above you in the world of shinobi, but he was not above you as a human being. It is time he was reminded of that.

Tobirama gives you a low sigh and then sets his quill aside. He leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers together in his lap. He looks at you with narrowed eyes, silently telling you to tread carefully as you speak. You ignore his warning, and more forward with your wrath.

“I have given you more than adequate work; I’ve dedicated my entire life to yours and Hashirama’s dream for this village. I have fought beside you, and for you without ever asking for anything in return.”

You notice your arms have begun to shake, so you grip the edge of the desk to stop yourself. Tobirama’s eyes have not left yours since he looked up at you, and you find yourself suddenly wishing he would look away. His stare is penetrating; making you feel as though he sees right into your very being.

Despite this, you continue with your rant. “Using this seal to spy on me, whenever, wherever you want—that is your payment to my loyalty, my blood, sweat, and tears?”

Your voice is bordering on shrill as you speak. Tears threaten to spill over your eyes, and you curse yourself for such a display of weakness in front of Tobirama.

“I have forgiven you for many, many, unspeakable things, Tobirama, but this crosses the line.”

He scoffs at you, while giving you a heated glare.

“You think I would place the Hiraishin seal on you with malicious intent?” He asks in disbelief.

His voice is lower than usual, cloaked in anger, as though he is offended by the accusations you are making against him.

You give him a humourless chuckle, “You would do anything if it meant furthering your goals.” You spit back at him.

You can feel the pressure of your chakra rising in the air around you, as you find yourself getting more and more upset with the man in front of you, and for once you think you will get the better of this stubborn man. Of course, he is one always one step ahead of you—his significantly more powerful chakra is threatening to squash yours as soon as the words are leaving your mouth.

Though you know it is a losing battle, you do not back down.

“I will not be insulted in my own home.” He states.

You’ve never seen him this angry before; not even with Madara. You have seen a lot of Tobirama over the years—one would argue that, aside from Hashirama, you know the younger Senju brother better than anyone. This anger you are seeing is entirely new to you though, and if it was not for the rage that burned within your soul, you might have even felt bad for invoking it.

“I will not be disrespected—not by you, or anyone else.” You reply, leaning into his personal space.

You have known Tobirama for too long; you know how to play to his weakness’. The pressure from your chakra, though significantly weaker than his, mixed with a newfound rage, and your close proximity, should be more than his sensory skills can handle at the moment. It would throw him off, and that is what you need right now to get a win.

“I will not tolerate being berated by an insolent girl, on a subject she knows nothing of.”

He surprises you by moving himself forward, sharing a space with you without a second thought. You are eye to eye now, his piercing gaze striking through you that much more. Your chakra’s shove against each other, battling for dominance.

You wonder why he doesn’t just end it; he is more than capable of doing so. Why drag it out for longer than necessary, especially when it is causing this much anger inside of him?

“This is my body, Tobirama!” You snap. “You do not get a say in this, no matter your excuse!”

Your proximity does not bother him, and it annoys you greatly. Even when you have the confidence to be this close to him; to challenge him—he is throwing you through another loop. When will you ever win with him?

You grit your teeth, breathing slightly heavier than you would normally. You continue to hold his gaze, though you feel like it is killing you from the inside out to keep doing so. You can’t back down from him this time; Tobirama has long ruled over your heart and mind far too easily. Now was a better time than any to prove to yourself that you can no longer be easily swayed by the younger Senju brother.

Tobirama narrows his eyes at you, lifting himself from his chair, pushing you out of his space with the sheer force and pressure of his chakra. You stumble backwards a bit, your stance falters for a moment as you are in awe of the raw power he possesses. You do not see it often, as he makes sure his power is stored away for only those who deserve it.

For a moment, you think you have gone too far.

You quickly regain your composure, and use your chakra to force his right back at him. His lips twitch upwards slightly, like a smirk was threatening to pull at the corners of them.

Was he...enjoying this?

It is gone as quickly as it appeared. You convince yourself that you imagined it.

“That seal saved your life.” Tobirama argues. He rounds the desk quickly, leaving you with no time to move with him before he has you trapped against the desk, facing him.

He leaves enough room for you to escape, if you feel the need to but you know you won’t. You are aware of what he is doing—forcing your hand to make you submit to him in this argument. He’d done it time and time again, though never with malice. Tobirama has spent his life being in command, never one to give up the control unless absolutely necessary. He understands that the presence of his chakra is intimidating, and he often uses that to his advantage. Clearly though, he has yet to realize that the threat of his chakra doesn’t work on you anymore.

“I don’t care.” You respond, your grasp on the desk behind you causing your knuckles to turn white. “I’ll never be able to remove it. I’m tethered to you for the rest of my life.”

You don’t mean for your words to sound so delicate, as though they were a confession of your soul. It doesn’t particularly bother you, because you have no intent on leaving his side any time soon, but your poor choice of words change the nature of the argument to an area you did not prepare yourself for.

Tobirama’s chakra stutters before the pressure of it dies off completely. Your own chakra is now powerful against him, causing it to forcibly push him away from you.

He is no longer glaring at you, but staring at you with eyes wide, and a slack jaw.

Perhaps your words affect him more than you can comprehend.

You retract your looming chakra, and step towards him, but he takes one step back for each foot you move forward. He is quick to hide his emotions again, replacing the softness he held in his eyes for you with a drawn out and irritated sigh. With closed eyes, he turns away from you.

You watch in complete disbelief. Tobirama Senju has just backed down from you; he submitted, and in turn, admitted to his defeat. You did not expect this from him.

You open your mouth to speak, but the lax of his shoulders stops you.

“I thought of it as a means to protect you.” Tobirama says gently. There is no trace of anger, or annoyance in his tone anymore.

You feel your resolve crumble at his tone, and your heartbeat doubles in the confines of your ribcage.

You hate this.

You hate how he renders you like this so easily.

His hands ball into fists at his sides as he lets his words hang in the air, allowing you the time to process them.

“You do not need to protect me, Tobirama; You have so much more to take care of in the village. You should have complete faith in my abilities as a shinobi to take care of myself.”

He scoffs loudly at your words, and shakes his head from side to side but he refuses to look at you.

You want to question him—make him tell you out right that he doubts your skills and has no faith in you at all; that your stint in the hospital and him saving your life were all the signs he needed to change his mind about you.

But seeing him this way leaves you with no other choice other than waiting it out.

Minutes pass as you both stand there in silence. Tobirama is seemingly struggling to find the words he has been looking for, and you are just waiting for him to speak them. You decided that one way or another, the two of you would settle whatever this is before either of you leave the room.

You only hope it won’t end with him saying all the things you can’t bear to hear; such as how useless you are, or how much he doesn’t need you anymore.

If that is what it came to though, so be it. If it meant sorting this out, you would take his words with your head held high.

You rest your hips against the desk, folding your arms over your chest.

“Tobi,” You say gently, to serve as a reminder that you were still here with him. You know, of course, that he can’t forget that; he is especially strong with his sensory skills—almost always aware of everything around him without meaning to be.

He turns to you and your breath catches in your throat. He looks utterly defeated and exhausted. His hard, pensive gaze turned in for a much softer one and lips parted slightly. The tension in his forehead usually caused by having his brows knitted together in concentration is gone, and it makes him look much younger.

Tobirama was either always dressed in his armour, or kimonos since they had established the village; it helped maintain an almost royal like status to the clans who joined the founding of Konoha.

But he is just a man—still so young. War often aged people much further along than they really are; something you often forgot.

You find yourself then wishing, if only for just a moment, that you can take it all back. You wish you were easier on Tobirama, and gave him more of the support he needs without question.

But you knew, as Madara once said, Tobirama Senju will always listen to you. Though you would never take credit for the accomplishments he succeeds in, you are aware that you have an influence on decisions he makes from time to time. The two of you are a team, always; even in your stubbornness and anger, you worked together like it was second nature to you both.

Damn him for doing this to you. Damn him all to hell.

“I have lost almost everyone I have ever loved.”

He says it slowly and carefully as though he is not sure if the words will scare you away.

He takes one step closer to you, and stops as though he is unsure of what to do. Words bubble in your throat, but no matter how much you will them from yourself, they do not come out.

“I refuse to lose you, too.”

The words are spoken so quietly, but they ring loud and clear in your mind. The doubling of your heartbeat from earlier now tripled as his voice echoes off the walls of your brain. It’s just like him to confess such a thing behind a wall of pride, but the fact that he said it at all meant that he is serious.

Your balance on the desk gives out, and you quickly slam your hands into it to catch yourself from falling completely. Tobirama steps closer to you, his eyes searching your entire self, up and down. The words are caught on your tongue; a lump forming at the base of your throat prevents you from breathing.

Tobirama’s voice fills the silence. “Putting the seal on you without your knowledge was wrong, I will admit that much.”

He sounds stronger now, more determined than you have ever heard him before.

He takes one more step closer to you. Your knees grow weak.

“But it was the easiest decision I have ever made. I will continue to stand by that decision until my very last breath, even if it means you hate me for it.”

Those words manage to snap her out of her dream like state. Does he think getting rid of you will be so easy? It is just like him to do something like this—damn him. This all could have been avoided if the two of you had just told each other sooner.

You lean forward, slowly raising your hand to the side of his face. You give him ample time and room to inch away from your contact if he wants to, but he does not move. You cradle his cheek in your palm, fingers hooking behind his ear, thumb gingerly brushing against his cheek bone.

It is to your surprise that he leans in to your touch, and closes his eyes. Your heart pulls in your chest.

“I could never hate you, Tobi.” You say softly.

This is the truth; no matter how idiotic he is, the harder he pushes you away, giving you the Hiraishin seal—you could never hate Tobirama Senju.

“I am tethered to you for the rest of my life,” You repeat. In a moment of boldness, you grab one of his hands and slowly drag it to settle on the seal that is placed on the small of your back. You hear his breath catch.

“—By something much stronger than this seal.”

You love him, more than he will ever truly know.

You ghost your lips over his, waiting for the moment he will push you away, but it never comes. His grasp on you only tightens as he pulls you flush against him, capturing your lips in his.

He is soft, at first; gentle with you as he engulfs your body in his arms. The palm you had on his cheek slides down to his neck, lazily clinging to the ends of his hair.

You both pull away, only leaving a breath of space between the two of you. Your eyes meet briefly, before he is on you again, kissing you harder than before, with a certain finality burning through. You only return the kiss with as much passion, scared that Tobirama will be gone the moment you stop.

You pull him closer; he grabs you by your hips with a bruising force, walking you backwards into the desk before lifting you with ease to sit upon the edge of it. He kisses you harder than the other times, rutting himself between your legs.

It is all lips, teeth and tongue with the two of you; low and heady sighs escaping your mouth when he pulls away from you, leaving trails of kisses and bites down the side of your neck. Gasps leave you and you encircle your legs around him, securing him to you. Hands tugging at his hair, causing salacious groans to seep through his tentative mouth.

You say his name sinfully, and before you can register his firm grasp on you, he is lifting you up off the desk, and moving you from the office, to his bed room.

[step-on-me-khun]

Steamy smut where reader is undercover and khun knows and trys to tease answers out of her dom khun and bondage?

Welp, I suppose I could try to at least write this. 

🔞 No minors +18 only pls 🔞

SFW/NSFW

Warnings: Smut

Word Count: 2411

What could you say about Khun? That was was clever, a genius even. Not much got past him. He knew how to manipulate any situation. It made your heart race at times, seeing him calmly plan out his next move. He was like a spider, trapping a fly in his web.

He kept you on your toes. Challenged you whenever something questionable escaped that mouth of yours. It wasn't hard for you to fall under his trap, become ensnared. Everything he did, no matter how little, made you fall for him fast. It was against everything you were said to do.

You had to be just as manipulative as him. One little slip-up, and you would expose the reasons you were tagging along. It was a dangerous game you were playing with him. But it made it all the more fun. Just as you thought he found out, your adrenaline rose. There was a fire in both of you. Then he would tease you, asking why you're all het up and anxious.

Of course, your relationship grew. All the secrets you kept, all the tension that came along with those secrets. Why wouldn't you want to release all the stress? Being associated with FUG and not having Khun know was torturous for both of you.

Your head was spinning, wondering what Khun thought as his steely blue eyes glared down into yours.

Your knees were up at your chest, hands tied together right under the back of your knees.

Khun was always unfair in situations like this. He liked being in control.

You were lying on your back naked, not too far from the headboard. It was unfair for you as you were in a vulnerable position, clothless, your bare core displayed fully. The worse thing was Khun, though. He was enjoying seeing you like this. He likes the way your face looked, all flustered. The slight annoyance and embarrassment made you close your eyes and bite down harshly on your lower lip.

His long slender fingers were hardly doing anything to you, but his thumb would sometimes gently and slowly rub your clit, making you jolt a little as the pleasure of it got to you.

Small whines and squeals would leave your mouth. You were unable to cover your face as your hands were still tied.

"Just tell me what I need to know, then I'll let you have what you want,"

"I told you," you start explaining, rocking yourself from side to side to try to get yourself up, "I'm not with anyone. You're delusional if you think I am,"

There was nothing that could stop him from being as torturous as he was now. His index finger and thumb found your bundle of nerves above your entrance and squeezed down hard on it. An electric-like feeling shot right through you.

You could hear Khun chuckling. It was clear that he was enjoying this.

Your eyes began to water. Khun's hand moves away from you for a moment.

"Make it easier for both of us and tell me who sent you here to spy on us. I'll even reward you if you tell me everything," Khun was so damn confident that he would eventually get what he wanted out of you.

All the desperate movements you were doing did nothing to help your situation. Just as you thought you could move onto your front, Khun quickly turned you on your back again.

Fuck, this was bad. Both dread and adrenaline burst inside you. Once Khun wanted something, it was more or less impossible to stop him from getting what he wanted.

You tried to scream, but Khun's hand instantly moved and covered your mouth.

"Bad girl," he taunts, "the more you struggle, the worse it'll be for you,"

You cry against his hand. His eyes were so dark and beautiful, just like the sky was as night. But God knows what emotions lay behind those blue eyes of his.

It wasn't unusual to see him dominant; he naturally was that. Anyone who knew him knew that he liked it when things went his way. Your relationship grew like that, too. He was handsome; you couldn't deny that. He made you feel a whole new range of emotions, even making you love him.

But he was right that you were spying on the team. You were with FUG. Telling him was one thing you didn't want to do. There were times where you anxiously thought about doing just that, but your mind switched off as you began talking to him more. You were playing a dangerous game. All you had was the hope that you could abandon FUG and continue to climb the tower with these newfound comrades of yours.

You were hesitant on talking to any FUG members. It didn't matter who they were. If they knew you and your situation, they could jeopardise everything.

Seeing Khun like this, towering above you, his hand slowly move away from your mouth. His presence was enough of a threat to most people.

He wanted to try something different with you. There was no doubt that he could be rough when he chose to be. Most of the time, he was.

--

One arm wrapped around you as you entered the room, the other around your collarbone, hand covering your eyes.

"Why don't we try something a bit different, huh?" His mouth whispers into your ear. His voice was low and husky. The situation you were in and the mouth breathing onto your ear was enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You had no clue what he was thinking of doing, but you had a bit of an idea. He wanted to tie you up and use you. Just the thought of it made you bit your lip.

"Do what you want to me," you say, a little nervously.

He chuckles into your ear then lets go of you, pushing you forcefully onto the bed.

--

If you knew he was going to be like this, then you wouldn't have agreed.

His long slender finger poked inside you slowly, gradually moving in and out of you at a torturous pace. A thumb found its way to your clit again and rubbed it just as slow as his fingers entered you.

Your eyes were close to spilling, not through pain but Khun's slow and annoying movements.

"Why are you teasing me like this? It's too much," you cry, your teeth biting on your lips to suppress your moans.

"Come on now, (Y/N)," Khun teases, a smirk lining his pale face, "I know you're working with someone if you tell me who it is, I'll stop teasing you,"

"How many times do I have to say I'm not working with anyone!" You cry, nearly screaming.

But it did nothing. Khun's fingers still rubbed your walls slowly.

You remained quiet, hoping and waiting for a release to come. It would make this situation better for you if Khun let you come just once and relieve yourself of the intense pleasure he was giving you.

A knot built up in your stomach. You knew it was coming, even if it was slower than your most releases.

Your body began to shake. Khun could feel your walls contracting around his fingers. He knew what you were about to do.

"Nice try," he says, pulling his fingers out and bringing them up to his face, "but if you want to come so much, you're going to have to tell me everything,"

"You're such a fucking prick," you sob quietly.

You heard him chuckle. He brings his fingers to his mouth, licking your wetness off them. He was doing everything he could to make you feel more and more aroused.

It wouldn't take too much to have you bursting into tears over the sensation that just left your body.

"Oh, (Y/N)." He coos, his hand smacking your core harshly, causing you to jolt up and nearly scream. "You can deny it all you want. I've got patience. I could leave you like this all day. If you don't like this that much, you can always tell me why you're here. I'll even keep quiet about it and not tell anyone else in the team,"

But would he? He was toying with both your mind and your body. You wanted it over.

His hand slaps your core two more times, his finger and thumb pinched on your clit again.

"You can take all the time you want to think it over. I'm not going to stop teasing you until you cave in and tell me everything,"

There was so much going on in your mind. You could either: give in and tell Khun everything, or you could try to hold out for as much as possible and see how much more you could handle from him. But he was persistent. He could go on for the whole night if he wanted to.

It was all too much to have it go on for the entire night. You wanted it over.

He was manipulating you. It was too humiliating. But it was also something that made your arousal rise.

"Promise me you won't tell anyone," you beg.

"I will, once you've told me everything,"

"Khun, please,"

One of his hands was on the tie that wrapped around your wrists. His other hand was flat against your lower region. He gave your core another smack. He didn't want to waste any more time with you like this.

"I work with FUG," you said silently, hoping he could hear you.

"Hmm? I didn't quite get that," he teases, smacking your thigh instead.

"Fuck you," you cry, "I said I work with FUG,"

He tuts and smirks before looking you in your eyes. "I could've guessed that,"

"If you had your doubts, you could've confronted me instead of doing all this,"

"And what fun would that be?" He turns you on your side, the side of your ass in front of him. He stops smacking your core and thigh and moves his hand to strike your ass.

"Stop it," you cry quietly.

"Why did FUG want you to spy on us?"

You sighed, wanting him to untie your hands. "Can you undo your tie? I'll tell you if you let me go,"

"Nice try, but I'm not easy to negotiate with," his hands move away from you. His eyes stared at your body as you tried to squirm around.

"It's you,"

"Me?"

"Yes. You're part of the Khun family, one of the families closest to Jahad. You could be a threat in the future,"

He smirks and chuckles at you again. "Would you say I'm a threat now?"

"Yes,"

"That's brave of you. But do you mean that in terms of Jahad, or are you referring to the situation you're in?"

His hands untie your wrists, letting them and your legs fall slowly on the bed.

"I'm on about what you just did to me. I still love you and don't ever want to leave you,"

His body towers over yours again. You were still on your side.

"I promise not to tell anyone, as long as you don't keep any more secrets from me, that is," he says as he lines himself up with you and thrusts inside you roughly.

You let out a hiss as he sets up his pace. The ordeal he had you in before left you a little sensitive. His hands were on you, one at your thigh, the other at the back of your neck.

All the frustration he felt from you keeping everything to yourself, he released on you right now.

You felt a sting as his fingers and nails dug into the skin of your leg and neck.

His teeth bit down on his lip. He was so focused on making you feel all of his annoyance and frustration.

"Oh, fuck," you cry, snapping him out of his thought cycle.

His hips snapped into you roughly. The slapping of your skin and the moans that escaped your mouth sounded so heavenly to him.

Both his hands move to your waist, holding you steady as he picked up pace and speed again.

All you managed to do was moans out incoherently. Khun's name would slip out a few times.

"If you promise me that you're not going to keep any more secrets, I'll let you come," he says quietly in between a few hisses and groans.

"Oh my god, dammit. I promise. I won't keep anything from you," you cry, feeling your release rising as Khun continued to thrust inside you.

He leans down, his chest touching your side. His hands move beside your body.

"That's my good girl, that's all I wanted to hear," he whispers into your ear. He turned his hands cold as he moved inside you, finger traced down your spine slowly. You felt a Khun bite down on the shell of your ear.

It was all too much. Khun was doing everything he could so that you would come quickly.

You curl your toes as your wall closed in on him.

A string of groans escapes his mouth, filling your ears as you came on him. His hips continued to snap into you.

His teeth let go of your ear. He gave the skin around your face and neck a few kisses before he too came.

You were both panting messes. Khun's hot breath hit your skin, causing goosebumps.

His body collapses next to yours, arms wrapping around you.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" You ask curiously. "I told you I still loved you,"

He tuts and rolls his eyes, not that you were able to notice.

"Paranoid, are we?" He asks playfully.

You turned to him and glared at his face.

"Would it be bad if I was?"

"Of course it wouldn't," he pulls you closer to you, "if I didn't love you, then I would've left the room by now,"

It was a relief. There was some worry inside that Khun would maybe abandon you and spill everything to everyone. But he clung to you. It was as if his relationship with you was something that wasn't going to risk. You felt as if every worry disappeared from your mind. He was sure that you weren't going to betray him. And you felt the same way about him, that he wouldn't betray you either.

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@unexceptional-h @rizonacigaravenue @aoi-turtle

[idga-buck]

Some and Others, 1/?

Bucky wasn’t looking for a relationship, he was looking for a good night’s sleep, but when he found you he got more than he bargained for.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 5,758

Content: swearing, soft smut (18+ only), Bucky being clueless, IW and EG just didn’t happen? idk, everyone’s alive and living in the compound #classic, also me fitting in a bunch of information that probably wasn’t necessary for the first chapter but what’s a story without a sturdy foundation?

After a mission, Bucky is some kind of way. Steve is too careful with him, but he doesn’t exactly blame the captain. Plus as an uncommissioned officer, 70 years without promotion, who is he to disagree. Maybe he isn’t ready for a life of avenging. Certainly isn’t ready for the questions that will follow another sleepless night, so Bucky didn’t stay in. He went out.

His memory wasn’t what it used to be, but Bucky recognized your street the second he’d stepped onto it. He’d parked his bike in the grassy alley on his right, gotten coffee at the Caribbean supermarket across the street when he finally left that afternoon. Technology wasn’t his strong suit, despite his depth of interest in it. There was etiquette and a way to do things that were as nuanced as they were mysterious. Bucky often wondered if people just lived by their own set of rules, leaving everyone else in the dark and only interacting with the persistent few who engaged correctly. He didn’t have the patience for that sort of thing. Shuri reminded him of that more than he cared for, but in terms of debts owed, he could smile through her jokes for a lifetime after the second chance she’d given him.

Bucky Barnes was a ladies man… at some point in his life, but more accurately, his life had been colored with women stronger than him since the day he was born. His mother was the first to hold him, followed shortly after by the older sister who tried to sell him to the milkman. Luckily Mr. Spenser wasn't in the market for a throw away babe and Bucky got to grow up in a house dominated by women. His sister, his mother, his grandmother with the accent that was just gibberish outside of their living room, the two more sisters that were welcomed in after him, though he’d never dream of bartering them away for bubble gum. They were all loud, but kind and could always bring a smile to his face. Even still. Rebecca, the most distant in age, but the closest in spirit, was still living. His baby sister was all grown up to the point of growing back down, shrinking in on herself the way old women do. Bucky made regular trips to the Alzheimer’s care center, sitting with her and loving her as only a brother could. Though her recollection of recent history was gone, Rebecca Barnes could still pinpoint the exact moment that all her girlfriends fell in love with her brother, which made Bucky shake his head and laugh. Her CNAs were worried for her mind when Rebecca introduced them to her big brother, looking closer to a man in his 30s than a man from the 30s, but he assured them that she was correct. He hadn’t changed a bit, she told him with two wrinkled hands on his cheeks. In appearance, not as much as he should have, but in all the other ways people usually mean, Bucky couldn’t feel more disconnected from the man he was when Rebecca was all bright eyes and secret kisses under the corner store awning. Bucky had no problem leveling those boys with a stare back then, but now most of them wouldn’t think twice before using their canes as a switch across his shins just for cocking an eyebrow in their direction. Talking to his mother wasn’t possible anymore and his sister wasn’t in a state to give out girl advice. Shuri was on another continent. Natasha… was Natasha and he would never ask for her help with something like this. Wanda was usually awake late at night when he was, but she was still so young.

Bucky looked up from the street, noting your second floor windows were dimly lit. Golden squares stood out against the bricks, blackened by the late hour, and through the gauzy curtains he spotted movement. Without his mother to advise against it or Shuri to give him something better to do, Bucky reached for his phone and scrolled through the recent calls. You’d called yourself before he left, but thinking that he wouldn’t see you again, Bucky hadn’t actually saved the number. Something of a bad habit, he noted, scrolling through lines and lines of unrecognized and unsaved phone numbers, hoping he’d just know it when he saw it. He didn’t.

Until one appeared on its own, presenting him a choice. Answer or reject. A simple question with unknown consequences. Rejecting the call seemed safer, so Bucky pressed the red circle and resumed his search.

“Weren’t you a spy or something?” Your voice drew Bucky’s eyes up from his phone screen to the now open window above his head. You were leaning out a bit, the posture helping your voice to carry over the surprisingly still busy street.

“Somethin’,” he grinned, pocketing the useless device. Both hands secured in his jacket, Bucky tipped back on his heels to get a better look at you. “Gonna invite me up?”

You shrugged and planted your palms against the window sill to lift yourself up. Even from that angle, Bucky was transfixed by your cleavage. Subtle under the tank top you wore, but he remembered it fondly. As if you could hear his thoughts, your arms snapped closed over your chest, bringing the colorful wings of a kimono with them, shielding yourself with floral patterns and defensive body language that made him take a step backwards. “You didn’t call…” you said and though accurate, your accusation made Bucky regret what he was about to do. After waking from the best night’s sleep of his life, he said he’d call you. No amount of self love could bring that much refreshment into his life and the feeling of waking up after a deep and dreamless sleep was enticing enough. The sex was good for a one off sort of thing, Bucky would even say great, but the sleep that came after… he hadn’t been able to replicate it yet. The lure of a good night's sleep and the softness of your body against all of his rough edges were too strong to stop him now. He was committed to this indiscretion, but before he could defend himself, you’d moved on, already smiling again. “And you just ignored my call.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed and lifted in quick succession before he pulled the phone from his pocket again. Saved. And for good measure, he pulled it up to his ear again. You frowned, turning away from the window, presumably to look for your phone. The glass slid shut behind you and Bucky bounced on the balls of his feet while he waited for the metallic purr in his ear to be replaced by something even better.

“What are you doing?” You said over the line.

“Hey, it’s Bucky-“ he heard you stifle your own laughter with a choked ‘oh my god’ in the background. “Remember me?” You hummed and Bucky waited with his eyes on your window. When you didn’t return, he kept talking. “I know it’s late, but I was just in the neighborhood-“ another quiet giggle made him smile as he spoke. “You up?”

“Is this Bucky Barnes’ first booty call?” You asked.

“I guess it is…” he said, half his mouth curving up even though you couldn’t see it. “How’m I doin’ so far?” There was a pause and Bucky started moving toward your door on instinct. It was illogical to think something had happened in those few seconds, but after the day he’d had Bucky didn’t feel confident ruling it out. “Making me nervous out here, doll.”

“You’re doing just fine,” you assured him and Bucky leaned back against the door in relief. “I was about to go to bed… but since you came all this way-“ the end of your sentence was cut off by the loud buzzing in his ear as the lock on the door disengaged from above. Bucky stepped into the first hall, street lamp making the small row of Golden mailbox fronts glitter, and leisurely took the first few steps up. “Better hurry,” you sighed and Bucky stopped, foot hovering over the next step. “Door’s unlocked and I’m already naked.” Bucky was in your apartment and snapping all three locks into their closed position before you’d had the chance to hang up from his impromptu phone call.

You fucked him slowly that night. The rush he felt taking your stairs two at a time dissipated once he was in your bedroom. It wasn’t as frantic or fumbling as it had been the first time and Bucky was happy for the change. When he’d followed you home from the bar, it seemed that both of you had an understanding. One night only, so make it count. It was hard and fast, but so so good. Even the next morning’s repeat and the finale in your shower before he finally pulled away sated had been more like back to back sprints than whatever this gentle marathon was. As if you could feel the stress that Bucky needed to let go of, you moved carefully around him. Totally bare in the bluish glow of the bathroom plug in that lit the scene before him, you took your time undressing Bucky and placing his hands back at his sides whenever he tried to help move things along. When you dropped to your knees, leaving him open and vulnerable standing naked in the middle of your bedroom, he made a sort of wounded noise that made him want to bolt, but didn’t seem to bother you. If anything it spurred you on, drawing more whispers from his rosebud lips until he couldn’t take it anymore. For the first time in his life, Bucky begged for more attention. Not the teasing he did on street corners- come on, baby, you’re breaking my heart here- when a dame tried extra hard to resist his charm. This was real pleading as if he thought he’d die frozen in place without your heat to revive him.

He’d made the right choice. Bucky decided while lying across your bed, one hand twisted up in your pillow case while the other was splayed across your bare thigh, that he’d done the right thing coming to you for this. He could have gone back to that bar or a different one and gone home with another girl just like he had with you, but then he’d be missing the view from under you. Having a new girl everytime Bucky found himself feeling restless sounded exhausting. He’d also determined that his mother would be incredibly disappointed in him if he had rows and rows of unsaved phone numbers from girls that didn’t know they were being used. Finally and maybe most importantly in that moment, Bucky didn’t want to start over with someone brand new. He liked your crumpled linen sheets, liked the smell of ink from the printing studio beneath your apartment. While you rode him to mutual satisfaction, he liked the way your hips rolled sensually over his, liked the slick grind and the dull bite of your nails against his stomach. He liked that after your first, when he asked you to slow down again and extended his hands to you, you took each of them without hesitation. Supporting your weight on outstretched arms, Bucky got to enjoy your hands in his while you gasped out a second. If it had been your first time sleeping together, you’d probably be too prideful or embarrassed to admit that you were tired. He wouldn’t have gotten to hear that whine when you asked if he was close and he replied -smugly- not at all. If it had been your first time together, he’d probably be too prideful or embarrassed to ask you how you wanted him. He wouldn’t know how sweet it felt to have your back pressed up against his chest and he wouldn’t have known to turn you onto your side so he could slip in from behind you. Bucky was so comfortable in your bed with your knee hitched up over his hip, body totally open to his roaming hands. He made the right choice coming back to you and as he finished with a grunt, both arms wrapped around you tight while your arm was bent over his head, gripping his hair with the perfect amount of tension, he’d already decided to make it again.

The next morning, Bucky was refreshed, feeling like a brand new man. That was the feeling he’d been chasing last night or rather very early that morning, but the tightening in his lower body followed by ultimate release was a fine way to get there. Just like last time, he’d woken up alone only to find you in the bathroom, washing sleep from your eyes and fixing your face. His enhanced hearing meant he could listen to the tap running and the echoing “puh” of you spitting into the sink without having to open his eyes. Comfortable and naked against your pillows letting the familiar sounds tell the story of your morning routine. He didn’t mind waiting as long as you crawled back in beside him like last time. Bucky only peeked twice before he heard the zipper of your makeup bag close and the magnet on your medicine cabinet snap shut behind the mirror. You were back with him in a moment and he turned toward your scent, aloe fresh deodorant and sharp minty breath beckoned him closer and he hummed against your lips. If he cared to move, he’d swallow down the remainder of your mouthwash then swap cool kisses until his tongue tingled against yours, but he was so comfortable. Even more so once you’d laid across his chest, bumping your nose and chin against his until he opened his eyes. Bucky dropped his arms heavily across your back, keeping you planted against him, though you hadn’t struggled or made any moves to leave him. He couldn’t have that with someone new. If he swapped your number for someone else’s, he’d have to flirt and wade through the post sex awkwardness again. He’d have to go out more and hope his charm would work on another. He’d have to perform for them the way he had for you the first two times. The third, in your shower, was messy and wet and fun despite the soap in his eyes, which you wiped away for him while his hands were occupied by holding you up. He wouldn’t have that with someone new until he made it happen and frankly he didn’t want to make it happen. Not yet. Not when you were still cute and still into him and still happy to hear from him even at 2 in the morning when he looked like a creep under your window. Why trade all that just to say he could have another then another? Sex was good. That morning stuff was good too. If it was the orgasm that made him feel alive again, then the warmth of your bed and your lips drifting lazily down his chest was what made life worth living. One gal was enough for him. You were enough.

Bucky hadn’t even noticed that he was drifting off again until you spoke. He didn’t hear you, but he sure it didn’t matter and responded with some ta sentiment of his own. “Thanks. For this.”

“Thank you,” you corrected and he smirked at that, eyes still blissfully closed. “Hey, uh— Bucky…” You sounded nervous and he had to force his eyes open at the sound of your voice shaking around his name. You must have noticed his sudden concern and placed a hand soothingly over his chest. “I just…” you bit your lip and Bucky watched the wheels churn behind downturned eyes. It was sweet, the way you could flip from bold and sexy to this. An errant curl fell out of its place and he felt the desire to pull that twisty rebel between two fingers before moving it back to follow the part you’d intended all the up to his second knuckle. Your hair was the kind he wanted to touch over and over. Not because it was your hair per se, but rather because it didn't have that acrid home perm smell or a hundred little pins holding it in place like his sisters and the other girls he ran around with. They spent hours on their waves and rolls, but you flipped a fist full to one side, fluffing it with your fingers when you wanted his attention and damn if it didn’t work everytime. Before he knew it, a vibranium finger against your temple, following the curve of your ear. Your stunned look made Bucky chuckle. He even patted your cheek in encouragement. After a beat, you were gathered again. Another breath and you spoke. “I just wanted to say, I don’t really do this sort of thing.” His eyebrow shot up at that and you scrambled to correct yourself. “Not this,” you half laughed then gestured to his naked body and yours, hardly clothed. “The bringing strangers home from bars thing. I definitely wasn’t expecting to see you again- not that I didn’t love it- I just didn’t want you to think-“

“I think you’re amazing,” he said quickly to assure you he didn’t think anything else. He wouldn’t either. Couldn’t even imagine anything else after making an ass of himself at your first meeting. He’s felt so out of place and vulnerable and ridiculous trying to take you home the night you’d met, but you hadn’t made him feel wrong or silly for it. For that alone he was grateful. For the sex that followed, even more so. You’d met him with just enough teasing to keep him engaged, but not so much that he felt like he was an unwanted addition to your night and whenever his eyes drifted away like he wanted to run and forget the whole stupid idea, you gently guided him back, eyes and words making it clear that you wanted him too. It was a mutual feeling of desire, as simple as it was complicated. Bucky wanted to keep it simple though, if for no other reason than to keep seeing your awkward smile duck into his neck at the eagerness in his voice. He touched your face again and repeated himself. “I don’t think anything… just that I’m glad I met you… and I’d like to keep seeing you.”

You smiled at him and whatever silliness he felt in his confession evaporated. It was the right thing to say. You sighed and leaned in again like you were going to kiss him, before stopping short and looking up at him through your lashes. “I don’t think I can say no to you.”

“Then don’t,” he said, but it felt like begging again as he hoisted you higher up on his chest to kiss you again. The conversation was over and if you weren’t going to say no to him, then he wanted to start his morning with as many breathy yeses as he could get.

Random serendipitous encounters became less random and serendipitous with every passing week. Bucky was feeling lighter, yet somehow more whole. Boy, did he need that. A woman’s lovin’ will do that for you. He vaguely recalls one soldier or another making similar remarks while he was in Italy. Bucky’s blue eyes belonged to the nurses back then, as his own innocence slowly died with each body dropped by his own marksmanship. This new world, new century he now had to navigate was so different. His enemies weren’t always flesh and blood, even the ones that did bleed bled out in black and blue not Nazi red. Aliens, other worldsmen, some very human psychos with eerily familiar ideologies about who was of value and who was not. Bucky fought next to his friend, spilling blood of all colors when necessary, bearing the stains that Captain America couldn’t as a paragon of justice and honor. Then when the ringing in his ears got too loud, he sought you out. Over and over again. He never showed up unannounced and you always answered his call, even when you shouldn’t. You truly didn’t know how to say no to him and he truly didn’t want you to.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Bucky knew it wasn’t love, but he didn’t care. It felt good and it felt right and against his better judgment it helped him sleep at night, knowing you were only a half turn away, hugging your pillow, but content to wrap your arms around him instead as long as he asked. And he asked. When he wasn’t in your bed, it helped him stay sane, knowing that someone in the world was waiting on him, caring from a distance, maybe praying for his return. In the Big War, his mother prayed for him. His sisters too. In these mini wars, fought stealthily around the globe, he had you.

Rebecca was still blessedly alive, but his baby sister only remembered him when she saw his face. He would bet that you remembered him even as he schlepped through the mountains of Siberia for the last time. Always Siberia. Evil men must be allergic to sunlight. Sam had jokingly asked him why he always went back and Bucky had jokingly thrown the Falcon’s coffee away, leaving Sam’s hand empty and his mouth full of indignant teeth sucking. That briefing was blessedly brief and Sam didn’t need the rest of his coffee anyways. The flight via jet was longer, but not as horrible as it could have been. Steve’s sympathetic glances were unbearable. It’s the last time, Buck. Yeah, OK. The mission was a success, if you could call it a mission. Sam spun magnificently through the mouth of a cave while Bucky fired back into it, detonating the whole mountainside and leaving this particular Cold War remnant under an avalanche of snow and well kept secrets, never to be reborn. Steve dealt with the press. He had the face for it. Reputation too. Sam soaked up the due praise that came along with it, the next Captain America with his wings and his wit to carry avenging into the 21st century. Bucky, however, peeled off his heavily armed get up and peeled out of the compound without any formal announcement.

When Bucky left for long periods, most assumed he was doing what Steve Rogers would do. Ride around in his bike, traipse through the old neighborhood noting how much it changed. Captain America was the old man, the icon. He had the luxury of wandering. Bucky hadn’t gone anywhere without a mission in mind since the 40’s. He was a soldier, a weapon and while his mind could no longer be weaponized against him, Bucky was still the guy taking care of things that just wouldn’t wash out of Captain America’s shiny cowl. So when he left the compound, no one asked questions. At least not directly to him, something he was thankful for on the hour or so ride to your place. The Bronx apartment was considerably closer than a nostalgic walk through Brooklyn and he got a lot more out of it. He had no mission in Brooklyn, but you were waiting for him and that was enough.

This particular mission was no different. Steve asked him to stay on site and he declined politely as he could without actually stopping to talk to his friend. Natasha called out his hurried steps and followed him halfway to the garage before giving up at his request. It was glaringly obvious to Bucky how they got along so well. Steve and Natasha were quite the pair. Tenacious friends, like the kind of friends that never give up and definitely won’t let you give up on yourself. He saw it in her fierce allegiance and protectiveness over Clint. Now that Steve was huge and well connected in the Avenging community, Bucky supposed that made him the Barton to Steve’s Romanoff. They were insufferable do gooders too. Sure, Natasha had her fair share of red in her ledger, but once she was with the good guys, she was the best of them. Neither one would hesitate to throw themselves on a grenade or over a cliff if it meant someone else’s chance to live. They were do it or die trying people. Sam was… Sam was Sam. And when he spotted Bucky making a beeline to the exit, he just waved and shouted “have a good ride.” The wink was uncalled for and made Bucky question how much Sam really knew. He was a deadly intuitive little shit and despite Bucky’s best attempts not to even think it… one of the best people he’d ever known. Not that he felt the need to tell Sam that. He probably already knew it. Blessedly, Bucky ran into no other superheroes on his way through the compound. The garage, more like a hangar, was empty. Only the most expensive toys in Tony Stark’s arsenal and a high tech key coded workshop that Bucky felt so out of place in he kept a small tool box of his own so he wouldn’t have to wander through it. God forbid he go digging for a socket wrench and laser one of his fingers off. Anything was possible on Stark property.

Bucky zipped across the Hudson and sped toward the zoo, stopping at the deli on the corner and looking up two floors at the flat corner window. You weren’t waiting for him like usual. He’d pulled off the road once he got away from the compound and called you like he always did, giving you plenty of advance warning. It would be more gentlemanly to ask your permission before leaving home, but you hadn’t turned him down yet and if you ever did, he figured he’d keep driving anyways just to be away from everyone else for a while. Most times, when Bucky rounded the corner, slipping his bike into the space between your building and the overgrown lot next door, you found your way to that window, waving him up and putting a little something extra in his steps. You weren’t there, but you knew he was coming, so he made his way to the building’s entrance. A call, a buzz, a knock and Bucky was in your space again, taking a deep breath and inhaling the sweetness from your kitchen.

Your back was turned to him, having opened the door for him before rushing back to your place at the counter without a formal greeting, and Bucky watched curiously as you dropped little chocolate chip cookies onto a paper plate. You waved your fingers around after using your bare hands to pull them off the parchment paper and sucked your thumb between your lips to rid it of a rogue chocolate dripping. Bucky eyed the plate presented to him then looked up into your eyes.

“I googled you,” you said proudly. Bucky nodded and said okay, like he knew what that meant. It sounded sexual, but he hadn’t seen you in a week and frankly, he was more interested in googling than cookies. “It’s your birthday, Bucky! Why didn’t you say anything?” You looked delightfully scandalized and held out two cookies for him, which he accepted with a half smile. They were warm and started to fall apart between his fingers, so he shoved both into his mouth before making a gooey mess of himself. While his mouth was full, you cleaned up your tiny kitchen and dropped the plate onto the coffee table in the living area, talking about how embarrassing it was that you hadn’t thought to look him up sooner, but how lucky you felt that you’d thought about it after he called. You wished you’d had time to make a cake, but wanted to be home when he arrived, so freezer cookies were the best you could do after work.

You weren’t dating. Not really. That was why Bucky hadn’t mentioned it. Steve and Natasha wanted to make a big stink out of it, but he wanted no part of that. He just wanted to see you and get some of that good sleep he only got in your apartment after wearing you out two or three times. Sitting on the couch next to you, he took another cookie from the plate. They were better than they looked and he planned to clear the whole dang thing before taking you to bed. Maybe he’d save a few for the refractory period. You’d need sustenance too. So Bucky took his fourth cookie, which made you smile even wider and pledge to leave the rest for later.

The truth was, Bucky hadn’t celebrated a birthday in decades. The last one he could remember being awake for was in the seventies. He waited outside the governor's mansion in Bermuda for hours, watching a dinner party eventually lull and disperse. The Winter Soldier had no clue of the cruel irony watching another man’s party on one’s birthday, the asset’s only focus was quickly killing the governor and his companion once they stepped out of the house for a walk. He’d spared the dog though, a massive and beautiful beast without a single aggressive bone in its body who loped away from the scene whining. You hated that story when Bucky confessed it. He hadn’t felt the need to go into much detail regarding his time as the fist of Hydra. At first because he didn’t care for you to know. It was a fling. Fun. What pieces he did remember from those days were anything but fun. After determining that he liked you, really liked you, Bucky kept his trap shut for fear of scaring you. You knew who he was in theory, but as long as he wasn’t relaying his bloodiest days to you like he was now, maybe you wouldn’t look at him like the monster he didn’t want to be anymore. To his surprise, you hated that he sat in a tree watching people eat and drink and laugh the night away on his birthday, regardless of whether he knew it at the time. However, you zeroed in on his attempts to spare the dog, filling in the blanks that somewhere deep within the Asset, he had maintained some of his humanity. Some of his Buckyness.

“I don’t know if that helps… or if it makes everything worse…” you said, hesitating to go on, but he caught your meaning. Was it better to think that Hydra succeed in wiping him clean, using only his body and latent memories, discarding his mind all together? Or was it somehow hopeful, to think that in all their trying to eliminate Bucky Barnes in order to free their Asset, some piece of him had remained intact? Bucky wasn’t sure he could stomach the idea that any part of him had been present during grizzly assassinations, nor could he ever fully shake the idea that he wasn’t. Either way, these conversations weren’t what he came to you for.

While you were still looking shy, wondering if you should have stopped him from telling his story, Bucky kissed you. It was sweet, not just from the chocolate on his breath. “Thank you,” he said softly, thumbing a brown smudge at the corner of your mouth. “For the cookies. For listening.” His eyes passed over each of yours in turn. “Thanks for being here.”

“Of course,” you smiled. It wasn’t as obvious as you made it sound, but he liked that you felt it was. “I could be around more, you know.” Bucky didn’t know what you meant, but that became clear in a matter of moments. You sucked in your lips and started again. “I know we haven’t talked about...uh, well, what this is, but you’ve been coming over for a while now and I guess…”

“You guess?” Bucky prompted you to continue, when you trailed off.

“I didn’t expect you to still be calling me, so I guess I’m asking,” you said. “Asking what we are now?”

“Oh.” Bucky hadn’t meant to say it like that, but it came out like that and your eyes widened immediately. He scrambled, grabbing your hands quickly and holding them both in a firm pile against your thigh. “Oh, meaning, I didn’t think that’s what we were doing here, so this is unexpected.”

“Oh,” you respond and Bucky imagines you meant it exactly how it sounded. Disappointed and the single syllable precursor to his being disinvited from your apartment. And your bed. And your everything.

“But, I like the idea,” he supplies quickly, but he can see your look is hesitantly hopeful. “Of more, I mean. Seeing where… ya know.”

“Yeah,” you smile and Bucky breathed out his relief. “So we’re together…?”

“As together as we can be,” he said, having no clue what he meant by it, but it seemed to be the right thing considering how you kissed him. You pulled your hands from his to wrap behind his neck and fit yourself into his lap. Bucky’s hands went to your thighs, spread wide over his hips, and he squeezed his way up the backs to your jean pockets, slipping his hands inside to squeeze again. “Here or…” Bucky pulled away to catch his breath and nod in the direction of your bedroom.

“Take your girlfriend to bed, Bucky,” you laughed, kissing him again and he stood with you still in his arms, legs clinging to his lower back. Girlfriend. Okay, Bucky decided in a snap. He could work with that. Especially if it meant chocolate chip cookies and birthday sex. Which reminded him and you giggled as he turned back around, hoisting you higher up on his torso with the vibranium arm below your butt and stooped carefully to grab the plate of cookies with the other before taking you and your cookies to bed.

His first relationship in the 21st century had surprised him. Come out of nowhere and nothing. One moment he was standing at a bar, nursing a beer that wouldn’t affect him at all while he listened to talk about your job before not so subtly asking about his, the next it was his birthday and he had a mouthful of chocolate chip cookies while you had a mouthful of him. It’s funny how fast life changes. If only he’d known just how quickly his new relationship would fall apart.

A/N: I’ve been cooking up this series for a while now and I thought, why not post the first bit and see what happens. First time writing for this fandom, so we’re diving in head first with a feckin’ long series and some foolin’ around. I do welcome tags if you’re interested.

Masterlist

[cinnamonbunsenburner]

Love of a Billion Stars *Oikawa Tooru x reader Soulmate au*

- When you’ve heard of the concept of soulmates at school you were 8, you practically glowed with delight thinking that you probably have one of your own. Probably also thinking that it was ‘very easy’ to ‘feel’ if your soulmate was nearby.

- Lmao you believed that there was some sorta radar of something, or a bell that will go off if your soulmate moved

- *they’re not a dog y/n-chan wtf*

- But boy were you wrong 

- Then came your 16th birthday, the day you were supposed to have your mark that will give you a glimpse of what your soulmate likes in general. And on your 17th birthday, had you still not have found them, another mark will appear on your dominant hand

- You were imagining their symbol to be some sort of representation of who they are as a person, their inspirations in life, their dream career, and all that motivational shit

- To your surprise and demise, you were let down. Not really.. but the mark was very general and vague, and was NOT a symbol/ mark that will motivate you in moving through this life

- bread.

- fucking bread.

- what the fuck. 

- How in the world did you have to pair up your soul with someone who’s life inspiration was fucking bread

- What, did you need to go to France or shit to scavenge hunt your soulmate?

- ....

- no, y/n, you are not gonna think that that’s a good idea.

- no.

- Anyways

- Needless to say, you were quite irritated because how could you find someone that likes bread when literally everyone can like bread?! It’s very vague and looking for a person that has their life encompassed by a singular type of bread *milk bread to be exact* is very difficult considering that almost everyone likes that bread

- Fast forward to the time of your 17th birthday, you woke up with a dash of hope that maybe, JUST MAYBE, this soulmate of yours loves something else that’s more specific than a freaking piece of delicious milk bread.

- Alas you were surprised that this milk bread s/o of yours has their life revolved around volleyball!

- YEY they’re not completely as weird as you’d think they’d be lmao

- But, who were you to judge when you don’t even know what your mark was on them

- Maybe it was weirder than a piece of food

- Maybe it was a cow or dog or a fish 

- *very weird y/n, very weird indeed*

- The next day was a school day and you woke up bright and early, eager to hunt for your soulmate 

- You’re a third year at Seijoh and were quite popular because people thought your mark was  ‘intriguing’ *pfft* 

- anddddd because you’re gorgeous as heck ;]]

- Admirers flocked you, thinking that they might be your soulmate 

- They showed you their mark that was also some kind of pastry and that you guys paired ‘cause they also liked the pastry that was on the pack of your hand

- *you have like a line of milk bread bois at your disposal and it was kind of annoying so you give a different excuse every single time they try to confess to you. Such a player, y/n-chan*

- “l/n-san! I’ve heard that your mark was milk bread and I love that! Look, I have your *insert your favourite pastry* as my mark”

- *you were surprised because it was the first time that someone actually came up to you with your favourite pastry. But you were NOT feeling this dude. 

- C’mon, where’s the zing you were expecting and- and the slow motion eye contact-- thE ROMANCE?! Honestly, you were about to say yes ya’ll were soulmates BUT the gut feeling says that this was not it

- “Uh, sorry.. I’m lactose intolerant”

- *nice excuse y/n-chan, v v convincing*

- Then you just skrrt skrrt away ‘cause you may have a fan base but you were NOT gonna comfort that guy who’s borderline looking that he was gonna cry- nope; in the middle of the hallway, of all places. Gee, theatre boys are different

- In the back of your mind, you thought that the theatre dude was just acting that out in hopes of guilt tripping you. 

- trust issues, m8, trust issues are present because of these thoughts acCKK

- You sighed to yourself and went spy ninja sneak sneak towards the Aoba Johsai VBC, hoping that someone there might be your soulmate

- ‘cause you were v v tired of the self-proclaimed milk bread bois that was your fan club 

- But, you didn’t expect much once you were at the gym because there’s literally thousands of people in the vbc industry that might potentially like milk bread 

- You were thinking of maybe going out of town to hunt for your soulmate but you thought that you were probably gonna get strangled by your parents at how much money you were going to spend for finding a person

- *yes, you were getting desperate because you wanna FINALLY stop at being a third wheel when your friends were with their s/o*

- and maybe because you just want to hog someone else’s sweater and clothes and to do the premarital hand-holding oop

- ...

- You peeked inside the gym doors and was startled when this guy’s serve slammed to their opponent’s court 

- You’ve watched a couple volleyball matches when the second mark appeared to learn your soulmate’s passion. Awee

- And you just know that that killer serve could knock you out

- It was as if the universe was playing some sort of joke to you that his next serve landed out of bounds and rebounded towards your direction

- You shrieked in a banshee-like manner and moved out of the way just in time

- ‘I just saw my life flash before my eyes holy shit. So that’s what it feels like huh’

- While you were lost in your thought for a moment, a tall *and beautiful as fuck* guy went out the door and approached your still shocked form

- “Oh! Didn’t see you there. Sorry about that, my bad”. the tall guy said, rubbing his nape sheepishly, his eyes naturally falling on the hand that you raised up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear

- “Uh.. no! It was on me. ‘cause I was spying- I mean sight seeing-- UH WATCHING you guys play hahaha” *real smooth y/n, v v smooth*

- He promptly reached down for the ball near his feet and you got a glimpse of his dominant hand

- His mark was a star constellation,,, your favourite star constellation and beside that was a symbol of your dream career

- “Hey, quick question... do you like bread?”

- The tall guy looked down at you and grinned his pretty boy grin *damn you is whipped.*

- *your gut feeling was going haywire holy shit*

- “Why of course beautiful stranger! Milk bread to be exact ‘cause my mom bakes it so deliciously”, tall guy said

- You’re heart flipped and skipped a beat-- scratch that, your heart skipped a whole nth of beats that you might as well be dead

- “We have a practice match going on right now, my lovely fan. If you have something to give me, you can still wait until later! Wouldn’t want to be punched by Iwa-chan again..”

- And with that, he turned away to go inside the gym once again

- “Cassiopeia..” you muttered loud enough for him to hear as he passed by you

- “Sorry?”, he stopped in his tracks and turned to you with a shocked look on his face

- “Cassiopeia” you repeated once more, with a shaky voice. “It’s the constellation on your hand, right?”

- Oikawa, with his popularity, had been approached by plenty of his admirers, often claiming that they love astronomy and that they knew what kind of constellation his mark bears

- But when he asked them with his usual flirty voice he perfected to please the people around him, that person stammers and just said a random planet of some sort

- ‘does this look like a planet to you-’ he thought and never had he faked a smile more than when admirers fake their interest in astronomy to get close to him

- While he does admire all the courage and effort they put in confessing to him, he also hates the fact that they give him this silver lining of hope that he finally has someone whom he can connect with emotionally as they both have a piece of each others’ soul

- So when you uttered the correct kind of constellation, he was frozen

- His mind ran miles per second, all of it consisting of ‘what ifs’ and ‘too good to be true’

- Both of you stared at each other, heart’s unknowingly beating as fast as the other

- “Oi Shittykawa, what’s taking you so long-”

- “Iwa-chan, take charge for me will you?”

- “What? Coach’ll get mad you know!”

- “Just sub someone in”

- Iwaizumi stalked closer to you guys and was prepared to beat Oikawa’s ass off but before he could assault his lame best friend,

- “Code star, iwa-chan.”

- The buff ace froze in his actions and promptly nodded silently and closed the gym doors

- The bestfriends talked before about what they’d do if they found their respective soulmates. Iwaizumi proclaimed that it was rather childish of Oikawa to have a ‘secret code’  just because his nerdy best friend believed that the aliens might take away his soulmate once they finally find them 

- Though oddly enough, the shorter male agreed to this *pfftt*

- Finally alone, never once had you both took your eyes away from each other.

- “Uh- are you- are we?” You gestured to the two of you

- “I- I think so??” Oikawa flushed, he was NOT used to being all blushy around people, esp since he has a large fanbase

- Ya’ll were awkward as shit lmao, its adorable

- “... You want some milk bread at the convenience store nearby?” 

- You yelled at yourself internally, ‘WTF BRAIN?! COULD”VE BEEN A COFFEE IN A COFFEE SHOP JFC I am overheating sm’

- He gave you one of the softest smiles he himself never thought he could unintentionally do

- “I’d love that!”

[dontshootmespence]

Through It All

Part 24

Summary: Now married, Spencer & Y/N navigate the D/s lifestyle. How will their relationship change?

Words: 2,765

Warnings: Voyeurism, p in v, threesome, oral sex (fem receiving), face sitting, pussy slapping, bit of degradation. I think that’s it.

A/N: My next entry for @cm-kinkbingo​ run by my beautiful girlfriend @heycasbutt. This fills my voyeurism square.

So much waiting. Before this all started, you knew there would be long periods of waiting, and it hadn’t even been that long, it had been about three weeks, during which time you’d been taking your classes, but the waiting still had you on edge so often and so intensely that Spencer made some secret plans behind your back.

When your parents show up at the door, you stare blankly, confused, but they take no offense and pull you in for a hug. “Spencer still hasn’t told you?”

“Told me what?” You laugh so loud Charlotte looks up quizzically from her toys, eyeing you with a smile before she sees your parents. Her little legs carry her quickly across the room and into your mother’s arms.

Grandma assaults her with kisses, which she can’t seem to get enough of lately, not that you or Spencer are complaining. “Dad and I are gonna stay here for a few days so you and Spencer can go on a little impromptu trip.”

“Really?” You ask in surprise, turning to see Spencer’s big smile. Reaching back behind the counter, he pulls out a bag. “I already packed for you.”

Your mind races with the thought of what this trip might be, relaxing and comforting or the sexy kind. Leaning in, you kiss Charlotte on the cheek and make her promise, in her 15-month-old way to be a good girl for Grandma and Grandpa. “I love you sooooo much, Charlie. Daddy and I will be back in a couple days.”

Spencer plants a big kiss on the top of Charlotte’s head, which makes her smile and lights up your world. “Be a good little flower, okay?”

“Ooo-kay,” she replies. She’s got a whole little voice now! It’s amazing and you almost get emotional leaving her, but you know in the long run, having a break from parenthood to focus on you and Spencer as a couple is what’s best for all of you.

After giving your parents a hug and kiss goodbye, Spencer takes your hand and shrugs the duffel bag over his shoulder. As soon as the door is closed, you can’t help but ask. “So what kind of a vacation is this?”

“Remember that party we went to?”

“The sexy one?” You ask as your voice goes up an octave. It’s a good memory; just the mere thought fills you with warmth again.

“I think it’s time for another.”

---

Instead of going straight to the penthouse complex the party had taken place in last time, Spencer takes you to the hotel first, checking you in and insisting you take a nap because you are ‘going to need your rest.’

With a beautiful threat like that, it takes 20 minutes of anticipatory tossing and turning before you can fall asleep. When you wake almost an hour and a half later, you glance toward the armchair in between the bed and wall and see an outfit laid out for you. Draped over the back of the chair is a tight, rouched, pink dress with a sweetheart neckline and nude pumps. Heat floods through you. It’s normally not your kind of outfit, but knowing Spencer picked it out, means he has a picture in mind.

From behind, you hear his voice low and gravely. “You won’t be wearing any panties. I want you open for me from the second we walk in the door. And don’t worry, there’s a built-in bra in the dress.”

“When do we leave, Sir?” The stark difference between headstrong mom and wife and docile sob is apparent, but it’s you, two sides of the same coin. You truly believe one couldn’t exist without the other. “Do I have time to put on some makeup?”

“We leave in a half hour. And I packed your makeup. It’s not waterproof. I plan to mess it up anyway.”

---

Before you leave, Spencer ensures that your limits and wants haven’t changed. He also asks if you have the mental energy for a bit of degradation (you do). Him asking is what makes him, him. It’s what makes him a dominant worth kneeling before. “It’ll be a lot of the same people as last time,” Spencer says as you stride out of the elevator and down toward the penthouse. “This time though, it won’t be a ‘show’ per se, so much as we’ll have our own room, I will do as I please with your beautiful body and anyone that wants to come in and watch can. Like a revolving door for people to witness what a little slut you are for me.”

Biting your lip, you move to kiss the underside of his chin. Wetness begins to drip down your leg. “Only for you, Sir. Forever.”

Taking your place, you stand slightly behind him and watch as he raps at the door three times. Each knock sends a jolt through you, anticipation building. “Welcome back,” your host says when he opens the door. “Married since last we saw each other, right?”

Spencer nods and guides you inside. There’s already a ton of people milling around with drinks and food. From the sounds of it, at least a few people are already getting into things. And out of the corner of your eye, you spy Christina. Floating across the room to greet you, she bats her eyelashes at you. “Nice to see you both. Will I be seeing you here? Or are you just here to observe?”

“We’re here to play,” Spencer says, voice low.

Your pussy clenches around nothing at his tone, soft yet forceful. After your host welcomes everyone to party, reminding you all to stay ‘safe, sane and consensual,’ the crowd disperses. Some individuals that you know for a fact aren’t in relationships, find each other and go off to have some fun. Other couples, like you and Spencer find empty rooms and prepare to provide the guests with an amazing show.

Once inside a room, Spencer focuses on you, ignoring the first few people that walk through the door. They’re familiar faces and although you can’t remember names, you’re almost positive they were viewers that last time you were here. “Ready?” He asks.

You nod.

“Word?”

“Red, Sir.”

Spencer pinches your chin in between his thumb and forefinger, responding with a condescending ‘good’ before addressing the growing audience. “Who here wants to see my wife’s amazing body? See how wet she already is?”

A few men have no problems grunting in approval, their hands floating over hardening cocks, the anticipation building. Without a word, Spencer grabs your arms roughly with both hands and turns you so that your ass is facing the crowd and you’re staring at the wall. Cool air quickly hits your heated pussy as he yanks the bottom of your tight, pink dress just above your ass. He places a finger on the middle of your back, so you pitch forward. He wants to show off what’s his and you’re more than happy to comply.

“See?” He asks them, directing their collective gaze toward your slick entrance. “She’s already soaking wet. Frankly, I think she’s been wet since I surprised her with this party this afternoon. Haven’t you, love?”

“Yes, Sir.” You remain still while he waits for you to elaborate. “I’m always wet for you.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I love when you use me. I belong to you.”

“That’s right.” Reaching to your shoulder, he applies the slightest bit of pressure and allows you to stand up straight again. “Now, should we get the audience involved with a little poll?” His eyes glance up and down your body quickly and you’re pretty sure you know where he’s headed.

“I think so, Sir.”

“What does my little slut think I’m thinking? What do I want to ask them?”

“Whether I should keep my dress on and have you expose my breasts or take it off all together.”

Spencer smiles proudly and looks toward the crowd. “Show of hands. Dress off?” A few hands go up. “Dress on?” Most of the room votes for dress on, the image of Spencer so taken with you that he can’t even bother to undress you, you so blissed out and fucked that you don’t care, so long as he fucks you.

As soon as you have your answer, you lie back on the bed and put your hands above your head, your dominant hand clenching around the opposing wrist.

“Legs open,” he says firmly as he peels his jacket off and lays it neatly on a chair at his side, kicking his shoes off nearby, piling them not-as-neatly as his jacket. Even in control, he’s losing bits of it. “We want to put on a good show, right? Show everyone what a wet little slut you really are?”

You let out a breathy, “Yes, Sir,” in reply, already feeling the urge to touch your breasts, rake your fingers around your nipples, pinch them for the sweet bit of pain.

Once Spencer’s unbuttoned his shirt and stepped out of his pants, leaving him in just a shirt and boxers, he steps to the edge of the bed and wraps an arm around each of your legs, pulling your ass to the precipice. He thumbs your clit and you whimper, moving gently down into his hand, but he quickly pulls away, laughing at your dissatisfied whimpers.

Even in a room full of people, he’s fixed on you. That’s your superpower. Something no one else can do for him. “Your pussy is needy, Sir.”

“I can see that,” he replies. “You’re glistening already. I think I’ll actually invite someone up for a closer look.”

Your heartbeat pounds in your chest and you wait excitedly for Spencer to pick someone. His eyes fall to someone standing above where your head is. “Would you like a closer look?”

The man doesn’t reply, giving you a small smile as he rounds the other side of the bed and comes to stand a few feet from Spencer.

“Isn’t she soaked?”

“Disgustingly so,” the man says.

Spencer laughs and immediately brings his open palm down on your clit. “And that made her even wetter. Why is that, love?”

“Because I’m your slut, Sir.”

“Good girl.”

Without dismissing the man, Spencer pulls his cock free from his boxers and lines himself up at your entrance, teasing you as your special viewer takes his former place on the opposite side of the bed.

As he pushes inside you, he takes a calf in each hand and pushes your legs back, leaving you open and raw for him. “Fuck, you take my cock so well, baby.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

With each thrust he swells inside you, the friction so intense that you’re begging for him to let you come within minutes, but he refuses, insisting you stave off your orgasm unless you want to be punished in front of the crowd. You kind of do, but you want to make him proud more, so you bite your lip and try to push your mind in a different direction - anything to push away the growing feelings in your core.

For a minute, you think to focus on the faces in the crowd, but most of them are watching with rapt attention, their hungry and jealous gazes doing little to tone down your growing need. Each thrust of his hard cock fucks you open so beautifully, your juices sliding down your ass and onto the sheets below.

When you go to beg again, beg for sweet release, Spencer pinches your clit in between his fingers, ripping the words from you. It’s time to be quiet. Every pinch, every scrape of his fingers, every pointed thrust gets you closer and closer to where he wants you, fucked so senseless you can’t form words or thought, his name the only thing that’s able to fall from your lips.

“Fuck!” You cry as he pulls out and slaps your pussy with the head of his cock and his hand in quick succession.

Spencer’s gaze falls on Christina, at least you assume so. All you’re aware of is Spencer’s voice claiming that your mouth needs a distraction. Sauntering over, Christina lifts her dress, climbs onto the bed and straddles your face. She’s pink and perfect and wet and now you have a mission of your own.

Your tongue hungrily laps at her wetness and you laugh to yourself as you feel it drip down your chin. She grinds down onto your mouth, begging for you to fuck her with your tongue as Spencer pounds into your pussy without any thought.

As Spencer bottoms out, you cry into Christina’s wet cunt and tear rolls down your face. “Spencer, she’s actually crying she’s so well fucked,” Christina teases.

“Tell her she doesn’t get to come until she makes you come.”

You hear that and grasp onto Christina’s legs, pulling her pussy back to your mouth so you can eat her out like your life depends on it. It does right now. All you want is to come. Your entire body is burning with need. Spencer’s purposely slowing his movements, drawing out each sensation so that you can focus on what you need to do before you get your reward.

When Christina shakes above you, you smile, watching her as she casually removes herself from the bed and returns to her place in the crowd. “Christina, did she do a good job? Should I let her come?”

Whining, you buck down into Spencer’s cock and pray that Christina was satisfied. It sounded like it.

“I think you should fuck her so hard she forgets her own name.”

Spencer chuckles and reels back, bottoming out so hard that your eyes roll to the back of your head. Without saying a word, he flips you over so you’re face down on the bed before pushing back inside. At this angle, you feel even fuller. It feels like both seconds and hours before you’re crying out, no words, just noise as your mouth hangs open.

Once you’re able to focus again, you see people leaving the room and feel Spencer’s hands turn you back to face him. “You okay, love?”

“More than, Sir.” You smile.

---

In a haze, you’re able to get dressed and get back to the hotel. You curl into Spencer’s embrace. “Did you have fun?” He asks, the lightness in his voice already giving you an answer of your own.

Nodding, you tighten your grasp around his waist and kiss his chest. “Yes, Sir.”

---

The following day, the two of you wake up at your leisure and Spencer takes you out to breakfast. It’s leisurely. There’s coffee. He takes charge when it comes to ordering and paying the bill. It’s amazing. All you have to do is smile and bask in the afterglow of the previous night’s amazing time.

After a little bit of swimming at the hotel pool, a nap and a quick, late lunch, you head home to see your mother in Charlotte’s room, her eyes hooded and near to closing as she smiles down at her granddaughter. Your dad’s already passed out on the floor next to them. How Charlotte hasn’t woken up to tell Grandpa to stop snoring is astounding. “Have fun?” Your mom asks softly.

Nodding, you give her a hug and thank her for giving you and Spencer the time to breathe. It’s refreshing. Your dad stirs awake so you leave the room to let Charlotte sleep peacefully. “Thank you again, guys.”

“No problem.” Both your parents understand the importance of time outside of parenthood. Your mom cranes her head back toward Charlotte’s room. “You two plan on another one of those anytime soon? I can’t believe she’s 15 months already. It feels like she was born yesterday.”

“It really does, and mayyyybeeee.” After assuring them you’re not pregnant, you confide in them about your adoption journey thus far. “We haven’t heard anything yet. Still too early. But we’re looking into it.”

Your mom begins to tear up and even your dad gets his congratulations caught in his throat. “We’ll be praying for someone to pick you soon.”

“Thanks, dad. You okay to drive? Spencer or I can drive you home.”

“No, kiddo,” you dad replies, resting his hand on your shoulder. “I’m good.”

“Okay, text me when you get home.”

“We will.”

As they make their way down the stairs of the complex, you and Spencer slip into Charlotte’s room, sleepy smiles painting their way across your faces. “Refreshed?” Spencer asks. “Ready to really dive into adoption?”

“More than anything.”

@heycasbutt @ultrarebelheart @katherineisagubler @proud-slytherin-ghost @randomwriter23 @fandom-queen67 @sixx-sic-sixx @xqueenofthecraziesx @aofay02 @groovyreid @criesinreid @jdougl-love @xreider @cringeemospntrashassbutt @prettyboyeffect @prettyboyreid @themanip @spencerreidsthings @augustgraceful @whollytaciturn @prisonreid @factualfic @jasmine-negron @snitchthewitch @ellabobella051419 @crazyforsstuff @kaatelyyynn​ @jane-dough @dreatine @bitter-post-millennial @adlerorzel-blog @hallieedrew @psychedelephantt @krisymccall996 @4ueijos @mclaujac @ray-likes-starwars @nurseemilyblog @slightlyvicked @she4567 @guesswhosback129 @princessdolan @happycreatorfangirl @fallwhisper @nyemadowell @sammy-jo1977 @sin-bin-and-tragedies @imsuperawkward @ahhahahaheehee @crispygiantsaladgarden @reputay-swift @pizzarollsfordayz @andiebeaword @timey-wimey-lovi @garbagecanfics @friedparadisetale @dereksbetaa @idontevenknow2 @holyfishloverfarm @nohemi2500 @typeshitbih @sadgirlhan @kmc217 @bigbuttsowhatuniverse @charmedfandomgal @im--blushing @dangerouspersonllamabagel @fichoe21 @yes-sir-hotchner @thefandomallrounder @mrsenos08 @walkerchick007 @letsdisneythings @winchesterqueenie @specialagentleigh @spn-wheresthepie @haileymew @bitchyoulied @geniusgub @urdicksmol @6lack6erry @slutlanna976 @downondilaudid​ @baileysb1tch @la-vie-en-amour1​ @letsdoit-tomorrow @eideticprettyboydrreid​ @lazynoodledragon​ @shybaby231 @aimzonicles97​ @grace-superpowers​ @softestlavender​ @ssa-dr-ladylock​ @drprettyboy​ @patricks-fabulous-face​ @tearosaria​ @shxdowofdarkness​ @marvels-gurl​ 

[zabrak-show]

Bubble Bath | Maul x Reader

Summary: Setting Sundari Palace and reader (gender neutral) is an intelligence officer for Maul’s Mandalorian army.

Word count: 2.1k (god sorry I didn’t think it would be that long)

Warnings: some angst between reader and maul as well as obimaul angst. otherwise it’s just plain dumb and silly, oh and a couple curse words

A/n: This is about the silliest thing I’ve written in quite some time hoo boy. I hope someone else finds it funny or at the very least entertaining. I laughed writing it but I am a dork so idk. This was a request from @jabean21​ to have the reader walk in on Maul taking a bubble bath as a comedy. Idk about Maul’s robot legs in the bath ok, just don’t think about it too much I guess.

The crisp nighttime air seeped into the Sundari Royal Palace and brought with it a calming energy to all who were exposed to its delicate embrace. You were walking along the gardens of the palace, one of your favorite places to just meander and quiet your mind from the day’s stresses. The stresses of being an intelligence officer for Lord Maul’s Mandalorian army were many, but you handled it with the grace of a Toydarian haggling with a Jedi. Ok you were not handling it so well, but you were handling it. You had not cracked under the pressure yet and you were still able to complete each task at hand.

Lord Maul, was, to put it lightly, not a fun boss. There was no employee appreciation week with a picture of whoever got employee of the week plastered in the break room for all to see. Oh of course, Maul had tried this early on, but he only ever awarded the damn thing to himself. Each week holding a fake ceremony that everyone was required to attend as he presented a new award to himself. Each award was more lavish than the last. The breaking point was when he attempted to award himself the prized ship of one of the Mandalorian commanders. A fire fight ensued, and thank the maker, was short lived. Maul, ultimately decided it wasn’t worth it to lose his army over a ship that he didn’t even really want, but had run out of ideas for things with which to award himself. 

Lord Maul, would get incredibly irritable seemingly for no reason. One morning you had rushed to his side beaming with excitement as you had hacked into a Jedi holo conference. Surely, this would be great news that we had intel on what their next move was. Somehow, Maul grew increasingly irritated and violent with you as you tried to explain what you found out.

“What about Kenobi? What was his part in their plan?” He spat at you inches from your face 

“Kenobi? My lord, I do not know who all the Jedi were. I was merely listening for their next move.” You nervously explained, realizing your good news was not so good being that it was incomplete. 

“You did not hear the name Kenobi then?” He pressed into your body in a show of dominance, but you stood tall in your armor, unwavering against the ruby red Zabrak decorated with geometric obsidian tattoos. His teeth bared as he snarled out the words. You racked your brain trying to remember if the name Kenobi ever came up during your eavesdropping of the Jedi.

“Hmm kenobi...kenobi…” you whispered to yourself quietly in the hopes that saying the name aloud would spark a memory. Did he want you to say yes, Kenobi was involved? Or would that make him angrier?

“Yes, Kenobi. KENOBIIIII” He yelled the final Kenobi with a stupendous gusto knocking you back a bit all the while he stared off into the distance with a longing in his golden eyes you had never seen the Zabrak show before. You looked behind you to see where he was looking at seemingly nothing and slowly back at him again.

“Are...are..are you wanting to see Kenobi? Because it sounds like you want to see Kenobi.” you genuinely asked the now pensive Maul. A smirk slowly formed, the one side of his lip curving up.

“Yes, at last I will reveal myself to Kenobi. At last I will have my revenge.” he said in his hauntingly smooth and theatrical voice while a full menacing smile contorted his already striking features.

“I, um, actually don’t know that Kenobi is involved in this, my lord. I can find out, i mean I WILL find out.” you bowed out of the room as Maul stood still staring off into the distance dreaming of his apparent long lost lover. 

You had no idea he was in love with anyone he always seemed way too selfish, and a Jedi at that?! It was a  bit of a shock to say the least. You and him had been casual lovers at one point, but it all kind of fizzled out. His temper was too much for you and you had wanted more than he could offer. You once got really drunk at a celebration feast and referred to him as your boyfriend to more than a few people. Maul had wanted to keep your affair a secret and you blew it. The embarrassment of that night still stung. It stung worse that he had not wanted to publicly be tied to you in any way. He had been gentle about letting you down, trying to say it was for your safety, that his enemies would try to attack you. “Oh sure, that makes sense,” you had agreed not wanting to show how it felt like your heart had just shattered into a million pieces of clari-crystalline.

Fast forward to tonight, the reason for your great stress was that the Jedi were on their way to Mandalore and you still had no idea if Kenobi was actually with them or not. After you hacked their communication the first time, they must have caught wind and secured their lines better. Maul had been pacing around the throne room all day trying to get everyone ready for an attack. You honestly felt for him, to have someone you love so dearly end up being your sworn enemy. No wonder he was so grumpy all the time. You certainly understood the heartache even if it was a different circumstance for both of you.

You made your way back from the palace gardens into the throne room where Maul was causing a fuss with the servants about the decor it seemed.

“What? What are these?! This is not the way of your people. To act like we live in the gutters?! Take these all away!!” he huffed as he thrust the pile of tapestries into the hands of a servant.

“Lord Maul, I am at your service.” you spoke confidently as you dutifully walked up to him. He turned to look at you and relief washed over his rigid frame relaxing himself a tiny bit.

“Ah, (y/n). A sight for sore eyes. Tell me how much time do we have until the Jedi arrive?” he raised a tattooed eyebrow in concern as he asked you.

“By my calculations they will be here in five hours.” you answered him with ease, that was something you at least felt confident in from your spying.

“Excellent. I will meet you in your office in one hour to discuss my plan for you. Don’t be late.” he extended a tattooed finger to point at you as he made his demands. You’d be lying if you said he didn’t still make your heart stop and butterflies swirl in your stomach.

“I will be there waiting, my Lord.” you turned in a rush to walk away, not wanting him to see your flushed cheeks. Right behind you, one of the servants was carrying a bucket of mop water and you knocked right into them, their small frame no comparison for yours covered in armor and they tumbled backwards and then overcorrected forward practically throwing the dirty mop water onto Maul. In an instant Maul, now soaked, held his hand out and started force choking the servant lifting them from the ground, their hands clawing at their throat and flailing their legs.

“Maul, No!” you yelled without thinking jumping out at him to pull his arm down.

“It was my fault. I ran into them.” you tried to reason with him as you gently pulled his arm down. He snarled and looked at the servant now fallen into a pathetic slump onto the floor.

“Get out of my sight.” he hissed and the servant picked up the bucket and ran off down the hall. Maul looked down at the mess of himself and growled,

“These were my finest robes. Now what am I to do?”

“Lord Maul, all your robes look fine on you. Go get yourself cleaned up, I’ll see to it that everything gets done in here and we can still meet in an hour.” you put your arm on his back and tenderly led him out of the room as you reassured him.

“Very well. Make certain it is spotless in here. I can’t have it look like I’m running a crime syndicate in a garbage dump here. Next they will be comparing my aesthetics to the Hutts. I loathe at the very thought.’ His fist clenched up as he grimaced and walked out of the throne room. You walked back to the spilled mop water and helped the servants clean. It was not above you to help the staff out especially when you knew something was partially your fault.

If anyone should get employee of the week, it’s me, you amused yourself with the thought. What would you gift yourself? You day dreamed about dark sabers, new beskar armor, or a new ship, maybe just a really nice house somewhere far away. The throne room was now spotless and you came to your senses realizing you had been here for quite some time. You were to meet with Maul in less than 10 minutes. 

You hurried out of the throne room, down the hall to your office. Technically you had plenty of time to get there, but you liked to be ready for Maul and had also wanted to tidy things up for your neat freak boss. You made your way down a corridor, your pace somewhere between a soft jog and speed walking, when you heard Maul’s voice nearby. You stopped to listen and although he was using his usual serious and dominating tone, there was something off about it. 

“I’m not sure I’ve made your acquaintance.” a strange voice rang out, muffled by the door. 

Who was in there with him? you thought with a slight panic.

“I’m surprised you could have forgotten me so easily, after I killed your master and you left me for dead on Naboo.” Maul’s voice was strained each word spitting out of him as a separate unit from the coherent thought. Your panic began to rise as you could hear the two voices back and forth. Finally the stranger belted out,

“I’ve defeated you before and I can defeat you again!” the sounds of a light saber igniting and you didn’t have to think about barging in, it was now or never. You practically tore the door down in your rush to Maul’s aid, blaster out and ready to fire. 

What you saw was more shocking than anything for which you could have prepared yourself. Maul was almost fully immersed in a bubble bath. Bubbles were spilling out onto the floor and all around him. He had fashioned a crew cut and beard out of bubbles around his dark red face, horns barely protruding out of the bubbles, and his bright yellow eyes widened in horror at seeing you in his refresher. Your jaw might as well have been on the floor, but you couldn’t even be bothered to think about what you were doing, what was Maul doing? He was holding two small figurines one of which looked eerily similar to himself, the other wearing a tan robe and small beard. They were actually remarkable looking figures, but why? 

“Maul, my..I heard voices and a light saber, I thought you were…a tiny figurine, what are you holding?” you couldn’t even form a coherent thought, words spilling out of you with no direction.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” He threw the figurines across the floor and crossed his arms looking straight ahead avoiding your judgmental stare. Finally you picked your jaw up off the ground and reached down to pick up one of the figurines. It was the tan one with a crude little beard holding a miniature light saber.

“I um, I am relieved you are ok. I’m terribly sorry I burst in on you like this. I get so worried about you sometimes.” you admitted plainly. If there was a time to bare it all, now was it. Even if it wasn’t reciprocated, maybe it would help ease his own embarrassment. Maul was silent and you panicked  trying to replace the tension in the air with just about anything else.

“Hey you know, this little guy looks a lot like one of those Jedis I was spying on a little while ago.” you turned the figure over in your hands studying it.  At once Maul jumped out of the bathtub, water and bubbles flying everywhere,

“KENOOOOBBBBIIIIIIIIII”

Epilogue:

“Hey did you really mean it when you said I look good in all my robes?” Maul leaned over to ask you later that night, after you all had chased the Jedi out of Mandalore.

“Maul. all your robes are identical.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

thanks for reading xoxo

[mementomori-demimonde]

Hidden Scars

I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII - IX - X

Chapter 11.1 

YOU CHOOSE TO STAY IN

You keep staring at your foot trapped in the crack of the door. Suddenly, the promise you’ve made a while ago rings in your head: you swore you wouldn’t leave, that you would stay, and the scars on your left shoulder are a token for your obedience, your willingness to follow her instructions.

After all, you really don’t want to find out what the punishment would be - you’ve never really broken a promise before, but you imagine the consequences won’t be pleasant - also this might be another test. You wonder if you’ve considered, even for a moment, that she’s just seized the opportunity to put on a show and see your reaction? Perhaps she wanted you to catch the door with your foot, perhaps she’s studying your movements from a secret camera on her phone, it wouldn’t be the first time.

You imagine her coming back in a few hours top, a box of cupcakes in her hand as she grins, praising you and acting like nothing really important has happened, carrying on with your ‘normal’ lives like any other day, making you forget about the event as well, putting onto it the hazy veil of a dream until you start to question if it was really one or not.

You draw a shaky breath and, praying with all your might that you’re making the right decision, you withdraw your foot and let the door slide close, locking itself with a soft click .

Miranda doesn’t come back in a few hours.

Miranda doesn’t come back in the night.

Miranda doesn’t come back in the morning, nor the following day.

Miranda doesn’t come back for a week, nor after then days, or twenty.

Miranda simply doesn’t come back and you’re fearing the worst.

You’ve started tormenting yourself after a few days, the guilt eating you alive from the inside, because if only you’d gone after her, perhaps things would be different, now.

What if that danger caught her? What if you could’ve helped her? What if it’s too late? How can you move on, now, that your life before Miranda has been completely erased, up to the point that you’re wondering if you’re even able to function without her?

After the third week locked inside an apartment with very little distraction, you can barely discern day and night. You sometimes find yourself doing push-ups that are meant for the morning in the evening, you’re spinning your knife while munching on some energy bars that are supposed to be your dinner, and graze almost affectionately at in while you shower, mesmerized by the little droplets of blood that get suckled into the drain when you press the blade into your hand or prick your thigh.

Miranda is the only thought that stays in your mind. You wonder when you’ve eaten last time when your stomach grumbles, but you refuse to get up from your cocoon of blankets until the urge to relieve yourself is unbearable and you drag yourself to the bathroom.

More than once, you’ve contemplated the idea of simply going out and restarting a life on your own. But that would mean forgetting about Miranda… and you don’t want that.

You miss her.

The mere thought of her being in danger because of you, or her being dead, dumped into a canal because you made her flee, has your stomach twist.

You would make time go back and go after her if only you could. You would go out and look for her if you only knew where to start. However, Miranda has always been a great question mark: you don’t even know for certain what is her job, if she’s really an assassin or a spy for that matter, let alone the enemies she has so stubbornly kept secret all this time. What are you going to do? Wander dark alleys at night hoping some creepy guy has some information about a possible killer named Miranda? It’s absurd.

You have no other option than to wait, and hope - and pray - she’s not dead. After all, Miranda is strong, she’s clever, she’s mean when she has to, she knows very little limits- she can do it, she can make it, she can come back. Home, to you.

The door remains closed for another couple of days.

You’re laying on the carpet, the half bottle of liquor next to you it’s opened just to smell the intoxicating scent of alcohol and trigger memories of her. You’re spinning the knife around without looking, hissing when the sharp blade cuts through the skin of your palm, but you don’t care for the pain.

Instead, the noise of the keys rattling on the other side of the closed-door has you shot your eyes open in alertness, and you lift your head from the floor.

The lock clicks, and you’re suddenly aware of yourself, as if brought back to life, when the door cracks open. You spot a familiar lather coat poking in before her.

Miranda, all in black like always, slips inside with a shuddering sigh. She spins quickly on her heels, giving her back, and pushes the door closed with her hand, letting it rest on the wooden surface.

“Miranda?” You call, your voice hoarse for the prolonged inactivity - or when was the last time you drank something?

Slowly, you push yourself up, wondering, for a moment, if you’re not dreaming. After all, you did imagine her the other day, after forgetting about eating for far too long, but she revealed herself to be just an illusion.

This time, however, it isn’t. You can feel it in your bones that she’s real.

“You didn’t come after me.” She murmurs.

She’s still giving you her back, she’s distant, and yet her words hurt like stabs. You can’t see her face, but her eyes are carved in your brain - every move, every light, every twitch, every hidden emotion.

It’s been weeks, but you still remember them after thinking about her for hours, all day, every day, and you know the brightness in them is opaque now, her iris glassy for some tears she would try to hide, in any other circumstance.

Not now, though.

She doesn’t hide the quiver in her voice either, merely clears her throat.

“Good girl, not breaking your promises.” She chuffs out a chuckle, but you can hear the disappointment there. “So obedient, even when-”

She trails off and you swallow, her voice, your promises, swirling around your head and blending into a tormenting tune.

“You wanted me to come after you?” You wonder, brow pinched as you stand up, rubbing your hands together to get rid of some inexistent dust. The irony of it all as you puzzled: she’s spent months trying to get you to listen to her, reminding you to keep your promises, and now she’s telling you that you were allowed, after all, to break the most important one: not leaving.

You hear a dull thud when Miranda rests her forehead against the door.

“It doesn’t matter now.” She mumbles, and she sounds so tired, so broken that your first thought is to rush to her and pull her down to the couch, or help her to bed, strip her of her clothes to let her rest while you boil the water for the tea and your life returns to have a purpose.

You’ve taken barely a couple of steps when she turns over, and you gasp, stopping dead in your tracks.

Miranda’s face is all bruised. Her lip is split in the middle, there’s a faint dark halo under her left eyes and scratch marks on the cheekbone, her neck is marked by a crossed reddish lines, and she’s keeping her left arm clutched to her chest in a such awkward angle, you’d bet her shoulder is dislocated.

You see your own fear and confusion, and guilt reflected into her eyes and there’s nothing you can do to make either of those go away.

“Miranda- what happened to you?” You breathe out with a terrified wheeze, wondering if you really could’ve prevented all this if you’d just disobeyed, broken a promise, and chased after her after you told her you loved her.

Her silence makes your heart thrum in your chest, you try to take a step closer to her, but once again, you stop.

“We’ve got no time.” She murmurs, pressing her lips together, seemingly unbothered by the wound on her mouth, smeared with clotted blood. “They’re coming to get you,” she says, her tone is urgent when she sighs, “to punish me.”

You would ask for more information about who is going to assault the two of you in her apartment any time now, but you already know you’d get no answer, not to mention that you’re probably in immediate danger already.

You swallow, shaking your head, your dominant hand already reaching for the dagger that you keep strapped to your leg - you kept it there all those days because the idea of having it on you, as she showed you, as she told you to do, gave you comfort.

“We can take them.” You blurt out, your brow pinching. “Together, we can do it- please, you trained me for this-”

Miranda shakes her head. She’s smiling, but you can taste all the bitterness and the sadness that lay beneath it.

“No, this was a mistake from the beginning.” She murmurs, her voice thicker than usual, soft and sharp at the same time. “I knew you were different and I kept you anyway… or maybe because of it, I don’t know.” She’s leaning heavily against the door now, her sane hand rummaging into her pocket without a real purpose. “I was arrogant and selfish and you’ll pay for it. I’ll pay for it, we’ll both-”

In a few strides, she’s in front of you, the immense distance between you, suddenly gone. You gaze into those blue eyes you missed so much and find the halo of unshed tears there. The closeness of her wounds makes you wince in sympathy. You can feel her hot breath crashing onto your mouth.

You would like to touch her face, but you fear being rejected. There are still so many unresolved issues between you that everything is difficult and the incoming peril makes it even more complicated.

To your surprise, however, it’s Miranda that touches your face, instead. Her hand comes warm against your cheek, the thumb stroking lightly over the seam of your lips. You would talk, but you can’t, too caught in that moment.

“Know that I’m doing this because you make us weak-” She whispers, but the accusation in her voice is unmatched by the velvet in her voice. “And also because I-” Her breath hitches, your heart skips a beat when she closes her eyes and exhales. “I won’t let them have you, m’eudail, no matter what it costs.”

She’s kissing you now, and it’s desperate: it doesn’t taste of hope, it doesn’t taste of homecoming; it has the coppery taste of blood from her split lip with the bitter undertones of goodbyes. It scares you.

“I’m sorry.” Miranda whispers, parting from you.

Without tearing her eyes off of you, she walks backward toward the kitchen.  She pulls out from the pocket the hand you thought was rummaging purposelessly and reaches under the table.

You know what she keeps there, after all, you helped her with the tape that keeps the gun strapped below the marble.

You jerk when you hear the harsh ripping sound.

You swallow nothing when she walks back to you.

The metal is cold on your forehead when Miranda places it there.

You close your eyes when she rests her index finger on the trigger and pulls.

[watching-pictures-move]

Put On Your Raincoats #20 | Squalid Motels and Desperate Gals, courtesy of Kim Christy

This review contains mild spoilers.

When I first heard of Kim Christy, I knew I had to delve into her work. Here is someone who was involved in the drag scene in the '60s and went on to direct and produce pornography from the '80s onward. She's also a trans woman director (and occasional actress), which is not just unusual in golden age pornography but even mainstream cinema today. Unfortunately, figuring out where to start was a challenge. There's a very good interview with her on the Advocate but which doesn't really delve into her directing work. So I did the highly risky and ill-advised move of scanning through the titles in her filmography and trying to pick out ones with interesting sounding premises. Even this was a challenge, as a lot of her movies sounded like they didn't have a terrible amount of story. (A good many of them also had certain slurs in the title, which are unfortunately common in trans pornography.) So out of the crapshoot of movies I picked, I can't say I really got to the bottom of what makes her work interesting or even gelled to most of them, but hopefully I can convey what makes the ones I did take to interesting.

To start with the most slight, the two Divine Atrocities movies are basically a collection of sex scenes. There's a theme of dominant women running through them, but otherwise there isn't much tying together in terms of staging, aesthetics and the like. The segments have titles like "The Leather Lass Tamer", "Rubber Rampage" and "Ms. Degradation", but truth be told, nothing here is terribly shocking. So there isn't a lot to either of these movies, but if you're watching it for those reasons, they're enjoyable enough. A few of the segments feature trans performers, and I did find that Sulka had a nicely imposing screen presence in her scene, and while Sugar Nicole briefly threatens her partner with her "big black cock", I did like that for the most part the movies don't discern between these scenes and the ones with cisgender performers. In the eyes of Kim Christy, there's room for everyone in this great sexual melange. Also notable is the threesome scene with Janey Robbins, who (after likely reading Dan Savage's column) tells one of her partners, "If you don't find a different way to fuck me, you can forget it, I'll have to find somebody else", and in the first time in the history of civilization, gets mad at her male partner for not climaxing quickly enough. "You always say it'll only take a few minutes. Time is the only thing I can't replace, and it always takes too long."

A bit more substantive narratively but less interesting is Momma's Boy, with a premise that you can guess based on the title. Tantala Ray presides over a brothel set during an indeterminate period, where she presides over her girls and also her son, who mysteriously became a deaf-mute at a certain point of time. Why did her son become a deaf-mute? Will we ever find out? Spoiler: it's incest. Tantala Ray does have a weird enough screen presence to make her parts watchable, but this has none of the charge that, say, Taboo brings to the same material. (It's worth noting that Ray in this movie, looking like a debauched queen of Mardi Gras in one scene, is a camp villain while Kay Parker plays her role straight in the other movie.) As it's shot on video, the movie is not very nice to look at, and the dirt cheap production values make it unclear whether this is supposed to be a period piece. Some of the dialogue is amusing ("Oxford?" "Guess again." "Princeton?" "Try Biloxi Tech, my sweetie."), and there is some old timey music and one of the clients wears an ascot at one point, so it's not a totally squalid affair. (It's classy, see? He's wearing an ascot.) As the son, Jerry Butler does a cringe-inducing lisp, but I did chuckle at his last line.

A bit easier to recommend is True Crimes of Passion, where Janey Robbins plays a private detective (cheekily named B.J. Fondel) who invariably bungles her investigations and winds up in sex scenes with the people she's supposed to be investigating. "Out of the fog and into the smog" begins the overwrought voiceover, which truth be told doesn't compare to the likes of Chandler but I guess the effort is nice. The first case involves her investigating the wife of a minister whom her client suspects of infidelity. Surprise, surprise, it turns out the wife has a girlfriend with whom she has dominant sex. Thanks to Robbins' investigative prowess, she gets found out and forced to join the proceedings and ends up getting her client, a Dan Quayle looking motherfucker in a cowboy hat, captured as well, which leads to an incredible burn.

"The lord will punish you for this."

"The lord already has, he gave me you for a husband."

Also, when Robbins is forced into cunnilingus, she says over narration, "Oh Christ, I'm not even sure I've seen one of these things up close", and yeah, okay, Janey.

The second scene is probably the most notable as it features Christy as a performer. Robbins visits her friend to investigate a death threat against her friend's brother (also Robbins' ex), and the twist can be deduced when you start wondering why a seemingly minor character gets an unusually large amount of screentime. The scene features a trope that likely isn't terribly sensitive by modern standards, but I get the sense from that Advocate interview that Christy isn't too hung up about such things and one must concede that the film is a product of its time and genre (and within that context, there's a lot worse out there). The last scene has Robbins spying on her neighbour in hotel to get some industry secrets, which leads to some really awkward dialogue about champagne and then a threesome involving her client and mark. Like the work of Yasojiru Ozu, this scene breaks the 180-rule, but I guess if this is your thing, you might enjoy it. At the very end, the mark just gives up his secrets to the client. The secrets of male bonding sometimes elude me.

Easily the most accomplished and enjoyable film from Christy that I watched was Squalor Motel. It combines the sexual variety of the other films with a sense of camp and grounds it in a distinct, memorable location. There isn't much more "plot" than the other movies, as it's basically about a motel concierge doing her job over the course of a day, but as it follows her bumping into a variety of (usually horny) guests and finding herself in amusing (and unfailingly sexual) situations, there's enough of a narrative through line that it feels like a "real" movie where the other movies strained for similar effect, and the movie uses a soundtrack of icy synths and jazz that sounds like imitation Angelo Badalamenti to give it all an alluring vibe. I'm gonna make a wager that David Lynch would have liked this movie. Look, I have no idea what his viewing habits are or what sends his motor running, and the thought of him jacking it furiously to this or any movie is not something that brings me pleasure. But this shares some of the campy tone and surface qualities of his works, and I also wanted to leave you all with that image.

Why does the motel have its own house band (to whom people try to listen to while they engage in all kinds of sexual congress)? Why is Jamie Gillis made up like a vampire and trying to sell marital aids? Why does the one guest's blow-up doll turn into a real person (and prove, uh, extremely vocal during their scene)? Why is the owner wearing a pig mask and a tutu while he spies on his guests? Why is everyone laughing at the newlywed? Why is the one scientist with a Hitler mustache and his shrill-voiced assistant conducting experiments (read: having a threesome) with Tantala Ray? And how are most of these things taking place in the mysterious Reptile Room in the middle of the motel? With an extremely winning Colleen Brennan in the lead role (sporting a pair of thick glasses, a Lucille Ball updo, and a big, toothy smile), we'll have a pretty good time finding out. Like a lot of hardcore movies, this is pretty episodic in structure, but its distinct atmosphere gives it a nice sense of momentum as it drifts from scene to scene.

With its nice production design (and the fact that it seems to have actual sets, rather than being shot in what I assume are people's homes like in the other movies), Squalor Motel feels a bit more upscale and lavish than the average porno. While I don't have any budgetary information handy, I do know that the production had an assistant director, Ned Morehead. To what extent he contributed to the movie's DNA I can't say for certain, but the directorial effort of his I watched, also produced by Christy, had many of the same qualities. Desperate Women starts off feeling pretty stylish with its spraypaint style opening credits (although it loses a bit of style when it misspells star Taija Rae's name as "Taja Rea"). Taija Rae plays a reporter who ends up wrongfully convicted for a murder and thrown in brutal women's prison presided over by the sadistic Tantala Ray, who seems to get her jollies from spying on her prisoners as they get it on or abusing them with the help of her dimwitted guard. During such incidents, the guard frequently ends up ejaculating on her uniform as a source of comic relief. (One such scene ends with a shot of a photo of Ronald Reagan.) I must however disclose, without revealing too much about the shameful inner workings of my hopelessly degenerate mind, that the denouement of scene involving Ray, her guard and Sharon Mitchell did not leave me unmoved. Mitchell plays a prisoner who befriends Taija Rae, and it's worth noting that despite being one of the best actresses in classic porn, she's saddled here with an atrocious Hispanic accent and at one point sings a bit of "America" from West Side Story.

By porn standards, this is actually quite well produced and has a relatively sturdy narrative. (I must however note that one scene has a blatant ejaculation-related continuity error.) Women in prison movies tend to be pretty squalid affairs in general, at least in terms of production values, so this doesn't feel too far off from the real thing and offers more explicit versions of the same pleasures, while its sense of humour gives it a nice campy quality. Tantala Ray especially delivers in a pleasingly over the top performance as the teeth-gnashing villain (the camera often frames her severe face in wide angle close ups), and say what you will about Sharon Mitchell's accent, I did like seeing her pop up in here. With all the flamboyance and excitement around her, Taija Rae almost becomes a supporting character in her own movie, although I must confess that I found her character's hopeless naivety pretty cute. ("I didn't wear rubbers, it's sunny out".) With a fun cast, a firm handle on the genre's pleasures and a groovy soundtrack, this is a pretty good time.

[needtherapy]

soaring, carried aloft on the wind...continued 3 / 4

A story for Xichen and Mingjue, in another time and another place.

The Beifeng, the mighty empire of the north, invaded more than a year ago, moving inexorably south and east.

In order to buy peace, the chief of the Lan clan has given the Beifeng warlord a gift, his second oldest son in marriage. However, when Xichen finds out he makes a plan.

He, too, can give a gift to the Beifeng warlord, and he will not regret it.

The story continues...

Part 1: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / ...  HOME

It’s on AO3 here if that’s easier to read.

NOTES: This story starts out G but will eventually be E for Explicit.

Chapter 3

The boy accompanies him through the encampment, talking non-stop the entire way, but Xichen isn’t listening. He’s observing this army with a commander’s eye. It helps him to pretend that he’s a spy, not a slave. He notes the neat lines of tents, the clean smell despite hundreds of horses, the smiles on the faces of the soldiers—men and women. This is not the bloodthirsty and chaotic rabble he had expected.

Who hasn’t heard stories of the Beifeng? They have devastated even the strongest clans, whose swords and magic were no match for the Beifeng archers and cavalry, not to mention their own unknown power. Some of the clans retreated into the hills, some sought sanctuary in the Cloud Recesses. And the man Xichen has just met—just kissed—is the demon they fear the most. 

Xichen can’t believe all the stories. No man can disappear and reappear at will, nor fly to the top of a building, nor drive an arrow through the heart of a soldier a full li away. He does not have wings or fangs. He is certainly tall enough to be fearsome, Xichen thinks with irritation, if less hideous than reported. His broad shoulders must make him as dangerous with a sword as he is known to be with a bow, but surely no more deadly than Xichen himself.

They reach a tent larger than the rest, hung with colorful panels of embroidered linen. Despite his churning fear, Xichen evaluates the workmanship and the cost of the dyes with favor. He sees purple and gold mixed with blue and less expensive yellows and greens, yet somehow the riot of color is pleasing. It is a far cry from the grey and white serenity of Xichen’s home. 

Not his home anymore.

“This will be your home while you are here,” the boy announces, gesturing to an exquisitely embellished panel hiding a doorway, stitched in a beaded pattern of clouds that almost seem to be drifting in the wind.

Xichen’s stomach clenches at this small reminder of the Cloud Recesses, and he’s instantly nauseated. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe away the bile, flinching when he feels a touch on his arm.

“Zewu-Jun, please come inside,” the boy implores, and Xichen lets himself be led through the tent flap.

“If you need to throw up, there’s a basin in the corner.”

Xichen’s eyes fly open, staring at the boy, whose eyes are dancing with repressed laughter. It makes Xichen furious that this child can find his distress so hilarious, and some of his feelings must be evident on his face, because the boy takes a step backward, hands up.

“I meant no harm, Zewu-Jun. The negotiations with your family ensured your safety, but you would be treasured regardless. Whatever comforts you need, please ask.” “Ask who?” Xichen snorts, more acerbic than he intends.

The boy’s grin turns his face into a dancing butterfly, light and carefree, and again, Xichen wonders who he is to the warlord.

“Me, of course. In your language, you can call me Huaisang. I will see you daily, whenever I can, but you can always ask your guards for me. Just say my name. They’ve been informed.”

Xichen looks around him. He has been given every luxury as far as he can see. The tent is warm, thanks to a covered brazier sitting on a ring of stone tiles. There are overstuffed cushions to lounge on, light blankets for summer, heavy wool blankets for the approaching autumn chill, paintings hanging from the tent ribs, a small but sufficient desk stocked with paper, ink, and brushes, and a table he assumes must be for meals, because it holds a pale blue tea service, plates, and bowls. Furthest from the door, next to the thing he will not yet acknowledge, is a wash basin, pitcher, and an unnecessarily large copper bathtub. 

It is all exquisitely made: the wood masterfully carved, the pottery glazed to a mirror shine, the artwork elegant and refined. The finest prison Xichen has ever seen.

He looks in a trunk near the tub, and surprise escapes him in an involuntary gasp. It is filled with books. He hadn’t realized what they were at first because they are wrapped in dark leather with no identifying marks on the bindings. He touches them reverently, opening some of their covers to reveal histories, books of folklore, even musical notations. Some he knows, some he doesn’t, but they are all beautiful. Tears sting his eyes and he inhales, rolling his eyes upward just enough to stop any drops from escaping.

“There’s a guqin too,” the boy—Huaisang—offers, pointing to a wooden case in the corner. “We understand your clan values music and learning. Elder Brother wants you to be comfortable.”

As comfortable as any concubine or sex slave, Xichen’s harsh inner voice reminds him, and he finally looks at the bed that dominates the tent. At home, this bed would be an extravagance. Even in the emperor’s palace, Xichen guesses, although he’s never been there, this bed would be excessive. It looks easily big enough for four people to lay in and never touch, and the thought heats his cheeks. The bed sits low on the ground, but its tall, carved posts are draped with silks thin enough to see through, and the mattress that looks soft enough to sink into is covered with a creamy blanket woven in a blue pattern Xichen would know anywhere: the graceful, curving seal of the Cloud Recesses.

This has all been made for him.

No, he remembers. Wangji. 

It was made for Wangji.

Chapter 4

In his twenty-two years, Xichen had never knowingly broken the rules of his clan. It had been something he was proud of, that obedience and propriety came so effortlessly to him. It made his life uncomplicated, and it allowed him to protect his brother’s small, secret rebellions from notice.

Now, it made it easy for him to deceive without being questioned.

He asked to see the letter his father was sending to the Beifeng warlord, to check it for errors, because there could be no mistakes to disgrace Wangji. His father was grateful for the assistance. He even apologized awkwardly to Xichen for not telling him what they were planning.

“We knew you would resist, Zewu-Jun, and there was too much at stake for your soft heart to interfere.”

Soft heart. As though that was all Xichen was. As though he did not earn his military title at the age of fourteen, two years before his father did. As though he had not defended the Cloud Recesses successfully until he reached his majority and switched his focus to preparing to lead his clan. As though his kindness and integrity were not regularly praised by all his family’s allies. 

What his father meant was, you would have told us we were wrong, and we did not want to hear it.

His father would have been right. He would not have agreed to give away his brother—Wangji, who did not like to be touched even by people he was acquainted with—to be what? A warlord’s concubine? A servant? Xichen was filled with a rage he had never known before, and it blazed like a funeral pyre.

No, Xichen would not be ashamed of his soft heart, no matter how it sounded in his father’s stern voice. 

It was far too simple to imitate his father’s hand and rewrite the letter accepting the warlord’s terms, changing the names and some of the details like his age and accomplishments. Truly, the warlord was getting a better bargain than he intended, Xichen thought. The first jade instead of the second. The heir instead of the spare. In light of the trade, he altered the letter to ask for Yunmeng’s safety as well, rationalizing that it would be suspicious to give a greater tribute than had been asked for.

He gave the letter back to his father, rolled in leather, scented with jasmine, and placed in a bamboo tube, already prepared for travel. His father accepted without suspicion. Xichen hid his smile with practiced ease. Perhaps there was some value to living a life above reproach.

The only thing Xichen regretted was that he could not tell his brother. He knew Wangji’s stubborn pride too well, and his brother would never let Xichen sacrifice himself, even if it was for Wangji’s own happiness.

Under the plum tree, he had wiped the tears from his brother’s cheeks and reassured him that he would tell Wei-gongzi anything Wangji wished. He could deliver a letter to the Yunmeng camp, if that would make it easier, and it strengthened Xichen’s resolve when his brother’s usually impassive face lit up.

The letter Wangji gave him the day before he was scheduled to leave was heavy, several pages thick. Xichen wondered what you told your soulmate when you had been sold in marriage to save your clan and maybe even your region from being overrun and destroyed.

Xichen had no way of knowing. Now, he never would.

He added Wangji’s letter to one he had written and hid them both under a floorboard in their mother’s empty home on the edge of the great forest. She had laughingly explained that as a healer, she needed to be closer to nature, so it had not been a scandal when she had moved away from their father so many years ago. But Xichen remembered the difference in her smiles before and after and the way she seemed to take fuller breaths here in this little house. It was a place he knew Wangji visited regularly, and the only place he could think of where his letter explaining what he had done and why, would be safe.

And then he prepared to get his brother drunk.

Xichen hated to lie to him, but by now, it was just one more promise he couldn’t regret breaking. His brother would leave at dawn in a caravan of horses, mules, and guards that would convey him and his dowry north to the Beifeng camp on the southern border of Lanling. The night before, Xichen invited Wangji to his rooms to share a hot pot of aged white tea, one of the oldest their family possessed.

“If there was ever a time to drink the best tea,” Xichen said, the misery in his voice unfeigned, “Today is the day.”

It was a family joke, Wangji’s intolerance for alcohol. Xichen had put in just enough so the taste would be masked by the sweet, rich honey flavor of the tea, but it would still put his brother to sleep. He was developing a talent for subterfuge, he thought, staring down at the limp form of his brother, sprawled across the table. Wangji’s face had lost the hard planes that masked his emotions, and he looked exactly his age.

It was easier than he expected to disguise his brother as himself, undressing Wangji down to the silk underclothes they both wore, switching their hair ornaments, and turning his face away from the door. Xichen pulled the blankets high around his head, and reinforced his brother’s sleep with a brush of magic. He felt a twinge of sadness to leave his beloved Shuoyue behind, but he couldn’t very well take the sword. Someone would definitely recognize it by his side, and he didn’t want to deprive his brother of Bichen. What would he do with a sword where he was going anyway? 

He put a note on his door with a single angry word—no—and hoped it would be enough to keep anyone from entering for a while.

“I am sorry, and I love you,” Xichen whispered before he left. He told himself it didn’t matter if Wangji didn’t hear him.

The last thing he did, a risk he couldn’t help but take, was to visit the library. His library, as he always thought of it. He breathed in the smell of leather and ink, touched the bindings of books he loved and scrolls of poetry he would never see again. He tried not to think about the music he had not yet committed to memory. Some of these books were ones he had bought himself, when he used to travel to other clans to contract and trade. Some had belonged to his family for generations. Next to his brother, this library was the thing he would miss the most.

Xichen was ready to leave at dawn, waiting on his horse before anyone else was awake to see him off. It felt strange to be riding again. He had not left his city in years, not since he had traveled to Qishan for the grand wedding of the Wen clan chief mere months before the Beifeng invaded. After they invaded, of course, he was too valuable to send into battle, despite his experience.

“You are too valuable to risk being ambushed and lost,” his father had said, but what Xichen heard was, your life only has value inside these gates. 

He wore a heavy riding coat with a tall collar and a plush scarf—too warm for late summer— that covered most of his face. He refused to look at any of his family, disdaining them as he knew Wangji would have done. He wasn’t sure if he was grateful or offended that no one, not even his father, noticed the change.

Notes: This story is about 40k words, so if you want to follow along, it’ll be on my pinned post, and tagged with #soaring au. It’s also on AO3 (same title).

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

The Siren & The Healer (8)

Natasha Romanoff arc

Chapter 8: The Raven Haired Man

Platonic Natasha x fem!Reader, Loki x fem!Reader (soulmates?)

Theme: With cracks between the most powerful superheroes of the earth, Natasha Romanoff does not find rest when she is assigned on a mission to find the missing pieces of a puzzling power that once nearly got into the hands- rather, tentacles- of Hydra. In order to unearth the pieces, she must dig through her own past and make a decision that might decide the fate of the earth in the coming wars.

Series: Will contain violence, death, destruction, softness, fluff, smut, friendship, and whatnot

Chapter warnings: alcohol, dreams, shock, love, lots of PDA

A/N: This was written a few years ago with an OC in mind so reader has a name but it is a reader insert.

Word Count: Will I ever be able to find love?

MASTERLIST in bio, love

“Identification.”

“Alianovna. I’m here to see your boss.”

The six and a half feet tall muscled giant looked down at the redhead with emotionless eyes, not making an effort to move even his eyelids.

“The boss isn’t in,” he finally huffed out, eyeing you standing behind the assassin.

“Really, Krugo? Do you want to tell your boss you made her wife walk away from right outside her door?”

Natasha could feel your eyes go wide with a muted gasp barely escaping your lungs. “You are-” you tried to hold the excitement within, balancing your voice- “married. Cool! Very cool! Cool cool cool cool cool cool!”

“Boss’ wife had promised me cookies,” Krugo muttered under his breath.

Natasha smirked and you felt the need to come into full view of the bodyguard with a huge box in your hand. “This must be for you then,” you declared, opening the lid to show huge chocolate chip cookies waiting to be devoured.

Krugo watched the bounty intensely before breaking into a smile. “You never forget.”

“Of course not, Krugo,” Natasha acknowledged with a hug for the cute giant, who went ahead and opened the door for her and you to be let in.

“How do you balance your-” you flailed your hands in the air for the shortage of words for what you were experiencing- “work and personal life?”

Natasha kept walking down the dark corridor till she was at the door marked ‘Restricted entrance’, turning the knob to open it for the both of you. “It’s not that hard when you and your partner are in the same line of business,” she put it mildly before directing you to walk inside the room equipped with monitors, recorders, IR boxes and whatnot. And in the midst of it all stood a woman with her arms across the chest and her demeanour that declared she ran the goddamn place without even saying it.

“Rosa,” the assassin greeted her wife with a tone dipped in the morning dew and spread all over the skin with the utmost tenderness by the lover.

Rosa was an entire world in herself from where you stood. Her soft curls ending from the raven hair into golden brown ends framing her face perfectly. Her lips wore a mocha shade- soft and notoriously sexy at the same time- while everything else was bare. She was dressed in a black blouse over blue jeans being complimented by a black leather jacket and for the second time in one day, you were starting to question your orientation.

“Tasha,” Rosa greeted back- her heavy voice a strong declaration in itself- taking a step towards her wife, bringing her hands to settle on her waist before running up her back as she kissed her. You pretended to find a coffee mug on the table interesting to give the wives some privacy till Natasha made introductions.

“Are we adopting her?” Rosa casually spewed while opening beer bottles for the guests. Natasha burst in giggles while you stood there confused.

“I am an adult,” you stressed, “a full-blown adult, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Beer, adult?”

“No,” you shook your head, “I’d prefer something stronger with the kind of day I’ve had.”

Rosa smirked and you could see the same movements that you saw in Natasha when she first had a conversation with you. She was already studying you up and down. “I’m sorry I have to ask because curiosity is killing me. Are you a black widow too?”

Rosa took a sip of her beer while Natasha sat in her wife’s chair and looked at her with her fingers resting on her lips and other hand caressing the beer bottle in her hand- looking like a human struck with love for the very first time.

“I was,” Rosa stated, sitting down on the table, one leg dangling, “but I got out of the system early and made my way through the world till I settled here. For now. Currently, I’m a Detective and a home-made jewellery maker. What about you?”

“I’m supposed to be studying Artificial Intelligence, Data Science and Networks but I’m currently at crossroads with my career decisions and have a couple of nicely suited hitmen chasing me for reason unknown. Your wife says it’s something to do with some ancient weapon that someone might have told me about. But all things ancient- especially the secrets- that I’ve been told about are either violent, racist or incredibly sexist in nature. And none of them mentions any ancient weapons to take out modern Nazis or that creepy guy who keeps calling your wife a...a...what was that word?”

“Rusalka,” Natasha helped, making Rosa’s head whip in her direction with her eyes going wide.

“I thought he was dead!” Natasha shrugged at her wife's reaction.

“Why does he keep calling you a mermaid?” you were genuinely interested in knowing the history there.

“He’s actually calling me a siren when he uses that term,” Natasha mentioned matter-of-factly. Rosa shifted from the table to a chair beside Natasha, taking her arm in her own, letting her fingers entangle slowly to rub away whatever stress she could. “He has always called me that. Ever since we were kids.”

“...because you lured enemies with songs?” You tried to guess.

“Because I was made into a weapon who would lure the enemies with the illusion of becoming what they desired the most. A damsel in distress they could dominate, an invisible records keeper they could blurt out their secrets to, a useless spy they would share their plans with because they had big egos, a lover, a widow, a victim, an object of pleasure, a friend, a keeper. It’s really not that hard to deceive men. I mean, so was every other black widow.”

Your furrowed brows took everything in for those two seconds of silence. “Yeah, the mermaid thing makes sense if every widow was a siren. Mermaids are pretty badass too. On top it a Russian Mermaid? I mean-” you ended the sentence by mimicking an explosion in the head.

Rosa chuckled. “I like her,” she muttered into Natasha’s shoulder before turning to you, “have a drink at the bar. On the house. Tell them my name. And if anyone tries to mess with you tell them they rather mind their business if they don’t want to end up like Damon. They’ll know what it means.”

“Cool!” you exclaimed before going back out into the club, leaving the two lovebirds to finally get some alone time to themselves. Rosa took the opportunity to drag Natasha into the couch with her, wrapping her in her arms and cuddling with her; showering her with kisses till she could feel her wife’s shoulders let go of the stress they had been holding throughout the day.

“Tell me what’s going on, Tasha,” she softly spoke into her ears while Natasha played with Rosa’s hair.

“Whoever Yuri is working with is after Keosha. At first, the theory was that she knows something or has something to do with the weapon Hydra is after. But I’m starting to question that after she saved me from falling debris by just placing her hands under it.”

“What?”

“Yeah! Rosa, she was making chunks of rocks float! When I asked her she said this had happened for the first time. She said she was taught this old Japanese art of healing where the force of the universe is used to heal and protect things. She said when she saw me trapped and about to be hit by the falling ceiling the force worked like an adrenaline rush and she blocked it. Well, the force blocked it. That’s what she kept saying. That she’s just a medium and the force was doing all of it.”

“Weird but okay. Go on.”

“So, Nakia went-oh, she’s-”

“I know who she is. Go on.”

Natasha raised her brows at Rosa, turning her face up a little to be caught off guard by the little peck that came on her forehead. “Nakia talked to her sources and confirmed that there is an existence of monks in Japan who practise this form of healing and are said to take on anyone as a student who is willing to learn. And often in the past, they have experienced a short surge of that...thing to protect people during floods or some catastrophic events. In comparison, what happened today was nothing.”

“Okay. So, if she’s a noob in this healing thing, she won’t be of much use as a weapon to Yuri.”

“Right?”

“Maybe her teacher or someone like that is connected to the weapons?”

“That’s what I’m thinking. The last time the weapon was nearly in Hydra’s hand was in India. Keosha grew up in India till her father moved to Japan with her. Then she was between countries and continents for a while. If they had to come all the way for her, it could mean that the weapon wasn’t that country anymore. Or the person connected to it. And Keosha seems to be the only key.”

Natasha loved the rise of Rosa’s chest when she sighed, the former burying herself in that warmth and closing her eyes. “Looks like you have your work cut out for you, shortcake,” Rosa hummed, stroking those fiery strands to put her love at ease. “Hmm,” Natasha replied, breathing in the familiar scent of cocoa coming from Rosa’s chest, “I do. But for now, I’d rather lay here in your arms.”

.

The club was lit in a golden glow off the walls with a dance floor separated from the bar with a decent sitting arrangement right in the middle that faced the stage for occasional performances. You enjoyed tonight’s performance by someone who went by the name Serena with a Long Island in your hand and another on its way. It was relaxing, the serenade of the sweet voice mixed with whatever incense was burning inside this place to make it smell so good. Wonder what Rosa’s looking for in such a place. 

“Hey, beautiful. Can I buy you a drink?”

You had jumped at the voice being so close to you before turning around to see a man leaning on the bar, next to you, almost at the edge of invading your personal space.

“I have one, thanks,” you politely declined, going back to enjoy the performance.

“Come on, sweet cheeks,” the man continued, stepping closer this time to raise all the alarms in your body, “let’s take a corner and get to know each other a little.”

Your brows crinkled hard and turned to face him. “I’m sorry, are you hard of hearing? Or is something wrong with your sight?” The man did not know what to say so you continued. “Are you sure you can hear clearly? Because I just said no. And if that doesn’t suffice, do I look like someone who would be ready to bang the first person she sees in the club?”

The man made incoherent noises like a lost ostrich, not sure what to say. “She’s wearing a Hello Kitty t shirt with baggy jeans to a club, man. How could she not be more obvious?!”

“Yes! Thank you!” you acknowledged the other voice next to you, turning to see a middle aged man with a french goatee and shaded glasses nursing a glass of whiskey on the rocks that were raised in your direction.

“Aren’t you too young to be drinking?” the man shot his head back a little with a shade of confusion as he looked at you. You could not help but notice the expensive blue suit he wore to tell you he wasn’t some low life, unlike the other guy who made himself scarce as soon as the embarrassment hit him.

“Aren’t you too old to be wearing glasses inside a club?” you hit back, raising your glass to clink his.

“No, but seriously,” he continued after taking a sip of his whiskey, “you look too young. Hey, Marvin, did you check her ID? Did you come here alone?”

“Oh my G-”

“What! This isn’t a place for kids. Wait, are you safe? Are you in some kind of danger? Look at me. Look at me. Blink twice if you’re being used by some shady peeps for some shady businesses.”

An eye contest later- which this man lost- you finally spoke. “I’m fine. I’m here with a friend. And I am an adult. So, do you mind if I have my drink in peace?”

He raised his hands in peace and went back to his own drink.

A long satisfying sip later, something started bugging you. “Have we met before?”

“Me?” The man asked just to be sure. “You? I'm sure I would've remembered Hello Kitty."

You kept staring at him till your brain hurt. "Ugh! I swear I feel like I've seen you somewhere. But for some reason, you seem much...younger?"

The man feels his head jolt and his eyes nearly pop out. "You mean I was younger when we met? Allegedly."

"No. I mean when we met, you seemed old and...and wrinkled and definitely tired. Like dead tired."

Before he could say anything, he got caught in your eyes searching for something on his shoulder. "What."

"Is your arm okay?" You poked him over his blazer, making him smack yours away.

"Hey! My arm's okay. Don't touch me!"

"Huh...maybe it was someone else then?" You stared at his arm for a while before giving up. "You don't seem like the type to suit up in some weird funky suit anyways."

The man's back went straight as an arrow. "Okay, listen, young lady. One, no one wears and pulls off suits like me. Two, there hasn't been any mofo born who can do it like me. And three, why are we still talking?"

"Oh, I'm sitting here because you're giving off such a dad vibe that no douchebag has come over to offer me a drink. And you're sitting here because you are waiting for someone that clearly hasn't shown up yet," you concluded, popping a peanut in your mouth before taking a good sip of your Tea.

"Phone Call for you, Mr Stark." The bartender drove a metaphorical sword through the whole conversation with a wireless phone in his hand.

"Looks like you a busy man, Mr Stark. See ya later."

"Hey," the man addressed as Stark called out for you when you left your seat at the bar, "you better not be running into trouble, kid."

You guffawed, trying to hold your stomach to not barf any of the liquor you just had. "Thanks for the advice, dad, but it looks like trouble is kinda my thing now."

With that last salutation, you tried to make your way back to wherever you came from- your drunken brain trying to make sense of the passageways that appeared in front of you.

In those very passageways you tried to make sense of dreams- the ones that reluctantly came to you- and some unrelated memories that somehow always found its way to mingle with the present, no matter where you were, what you were doing; there always seemed to be ghosts of the past revolving around you, questioning your existence.

“Stark,” Your tongue repeated that name, time and again, like some forgotten flavour wanting to be revisited by your brain forcefully. Oh...only if you knew. Only if you knew.

I have to go to the loo. Where the fuck is the fucking loo?! It was a nightmare for two minutes before you finally found the door with the engravings shouting out “female” before you ran in and shut the door behind you and let the dams break as soon as the mirror showed you your sweet face.

You knew it was just the drinks but the feelings inside you poured themselves out, trying to find an outlet they could before they were shut down.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What the fuck is happening?! I never asked for this?! What the fuck is happening?! Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! Oh Fuck! Why am I crying? Why am I CRYING?!!”

As if to answer your prayers behind those closed eyes, you saw a green pair of eyes looking straight at you with the intensity of a thousand burning suns. “You are stronger than you give yourself credit for,” they announced in your direction, forcing you to get up and find your way. And so you did.

Turning the knob you barged into that one room you knew was safe.

“WE HAVE TO FIND MY MASTER, NAT! SHE’S IN JAPAN!”

It was one of those moments when- even though you were proud of yourself, you did not want to live anymore, thanks to the peak of drunkenness you were currently swimming in. The flush of heat in your cheek was proof enough to drive you out when you saw Natasha and Rosa busy in...having the time of their life.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry,” you nearly felt yourself cry before bowing to the host and running outside, never remembering Krugo leading you to the VVIP lounge where the Stark guy let you sleep with your head on his lap while he waited for the news on his friend and gently patted you to sleep while constantly cursing himself and calling his girlfriend to ask what to do in case of a drunken kid sleeping in his lap.

.

Loki woke up with a headache- a low compensation for what he had experienced right before he had been tormented into a coma.

“What happened?”

Though the question was a genuine throwback from his end, it irritated the hell out of the sisters who had tried to mend the biggest crises of their lives seconds ago.

“You hit your head and went into a coma” Nebula narrated with ease and patience fit for a storyteller of the ancient times. “Here, drink this,” she offered him some water.

Loki, reluctant to be deceived by any more mind tricks, observed the water in Nebula’s hands before being convinced it was safe to drink.

“Why are we even helping him?” Loki heard Gamora utter those words before being given a judgmental stare by her sister to quiet down and let her take the lead.

“Are you alright?” the younger one asked the God with genuine concern in those beady eyes as she wiped away the blood from the wound slowly healing in Loki’ head.

Loki did not give a convincing answer before drowning- once again- in the maze of the leftover chaotic flashbacks he was witnessing of some life unknown- something different to his own existence before he regained control of his presence; his true present.

“I’m fine,” he finally blurted out, his hands still grasping onto the metal rod in the ship that was helping him maintain his equilibrium. “Where’s the loo?”

Even though it was satisfying for the entire spaceship for the moment, it wasn’t sufficient for him. He walked with a pretentious walk towards the loo before locking the door behind him as he tried to balance his mind. His fingers was digging into his temple while he was trying to get to the root of whatever he had been witnessing- the incoherent cries, tumbling buildings, fast-paced heartbeats, chaos and whatnot till he was focused on those y/e/c eyes reflecting the cheap lights of some shady dancefloor till they were mixed in them, dancing and mingling with them right till the second a heavy voice rang in your ears. “We have to get you to a safe place.” If it weren’t for the emergency, Loki’s subconscious was sure of having already mingled with the sweet poison that was those eyes and be lost in them.

.

You were sure you had cried. Cried while Natasha and Rosa tried to get you out of the club and to the plane waiting for you by the edge of the city, You were pretty sure Aneka wanted to throw you out of the jet if weren’t for Natasha and Nakia holding her back, asking you to drink water after every thirty minutes.

“Where are we going?” Your teary, subconscious state asked Nakia.

“Japan,” she answered before she was content that you had ample amount of water and that Aneka was at a considerable distance from you as possible. For now.

“Who is that guy with that long, black, sexy hair?” you asked a genuinely confused Natasha.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about sweetie” were the last words you heard before slumber took over everything in this dark world.

[kalijhomentethi]

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑻

REPOST, DON’T REBLOG !

tagged by: @defiant-gladius

tagging: @ask-syndra @embraced-agony @voidhunting @stahri @dreadedcaptain

𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐬

FULL NAME.  Akali [Jhomen Tethi] NICKNAME(s). The Rogue Assassin, Rogue, ‘Kali, killer, babe, baby, darling GENDER. Female HEIGHT.  5′4″ / 1.65 m AGE.  23 ZODIAC. Taurus SPOKEN LANGUAGES.  English, Korean, Japanese

𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬

HAIR COLOR.  White. / Brown. EYE COLOR.  Red. / Gold. SKIN TONE. Tan. BODY TYPE.  Fit, well-built. VOICE.  Low-toned, slightly raspy. DOMINANT HAND.  Ambidextrous. POSTURE.  May seem relaxed and confident (”siga” in Filipino; badass), but she’s ready into spring into action in a moment’s notice. SCARS.  Her body is littered with them. / None. TATTOOS.  Dragon tattoos adorn her back and arms while the Silverfang insignia is inked at the left side of her neck. / None. BIRTHMARKS.  None. MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S).  Human: Hair. Oni: Fangs, eyes, horns.

𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝

PLACE OF BIRTH.  Ionia. / South Korea. HOMETOWN.  Navori. / Gaepo-dong, Seoul. SIBLINGS.  None. PARENTS.  Deceased.

𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

OCCUPATION.  Assassin. / Rapper for K/DA, worked with True Damage. CURRENT RESIDENCE.  Secret hideout. / K/DA house. CLOSE FRIENDS.  Deceased or estranged. / Ahri, Evelynn, Kai’Sa. RELATIONSHIP STATUS.  Single. / In a relationship. FINANCIAL STATUS.  Upper class. DRIVER’S LICENSE.  No, but she can drive. / No. CRIMINAL RECORD.  Clean. The cops know but are either in league with the clans or were killed. / Clean. The cop was eaten. VICES. Arrogance, wrath. / Pride, gluttony.

𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

SEXUAL ORIENTATION.  Homosexual. PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE.  submissive | dominant | switch PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE.  submissive | dominant | switch LIBIDO.  Low. / Moderate. TURN ON’S.  Confidence. Dangerous & powerful women who can kill her. TURN OFF’S.  Weak/easy-to-get people. She finds them boring. LOVE LANGUAGE.  Tolerates you, affectionate smirks & eye rolls, will make excuses to be in the same space as you. / Soft smiles, nuzzles, hand-holding, intimate embraces, arm around waist/shoulders. RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES.  On the rare times that Akali does get intimate with someone, she leaves long before they wake up. / A cuddle bug. Catch her smiling stupidly while staring at her phone. Corny pick-up lines. Extra soft after intimate activities and in the morning, when she wakes up with her S/O.

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG.  Feeling Stronger - Muzzy (High Maintenance Remix) HOBBIES TO PASS TIME.  Training, spying, listening to music. / Dancing, working out, rapping, singing, playing video games, sending memes to her S/O. LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED.  Left. / Right. PHOBIAS.  Getting attached. / Someone discovering that she’s a demon and killing her. SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL.  High. VULNERABILITIES.  Her loved ones.

[sofiayakovna]

 𝐋𝐄𝐓  𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒  𝐎𝐅  𝐖𝐀𝐑  ,  SOFIA YAKOVNA SYTNIKOVA  ,  the  SOVIETNIK  of  the  volki  is  seen  traversing  the  streets  of  moscow  ,  but  the  bratva’s  rivals  swear  that  she  is  originally  from  PETROGRAD;  perhaps  it’s  THE DEMISE OF THE ARISTOCRACY ON WHICH SHE ONCE PREYED that  brought  them  here  .  fellow  members  of  the  volki  liken  their  resemblance  to  LINDSAY DUNCAN  .  the  SIXTY-SIX  year  old  CIS FEMALE  was  COSMOPOLITAN &.  DISARMING before  the  war’s  ruination  ,  but  in  the  aftermath  have  become  CONNIVING  &.  DOMINEERING  .  rumours  throughout  eastern  europe  have  given  them  a  reputation  of  LUXURIOUS FURS THAT ARE FLIMSY TO THE TOUCH, CONVINCING FAKES PLEASING TO THE EYE BUT LACKING CRAFTSMANSHIP OR PRACTICALITY ; A THIN FINGER WITH A GLITTERING RING, GLOVED QUICKLY TO HIDE THE DISCOLORATION WHEN THE JEWEL IS REMOVED ;  QUAINT STORIES OF BETTER DAYS FILLED WITH DELIBERATE LIES ; A SUDDEN LIMP OR PRACTICED COUGH WHEN FRAILTY IS THE PROPER DEFENSE  ; PERFUMES SO SACCHARINE THEY BORDER ON BLOODY ; A VASE OF FLOWERS PLACED ON A TABLE ONLY TO HAVE SOMETHING TO SMASH OVER A HEAD ; and MATERNAL FERVOR, GIVING, DOTING, AFFECTIONATE AT ITS BEST, WRATHFUL AT ITS WORST  (  max,  26,  est,  he/him.  )

i. basics

name: sofia yakovna sytnikova 

nicknames: sonya

age: sixty-six

gender: cis female

pronouns: she/her

nationality: russian

ii. stats

height: 5′6″

eyes: hazel

hair: blonde

mbti: esfj-a

alignment: lawful evil 

iii. background

TW: Mentions of Drowning

Sofia Yakovna was born in St. Petersburg in the year 1854. The daughter of servants, she grew up on the fringes of the old aristocracy, a sulking, waifish thing lurking on the edges and waiting for the chance to step over the dividing line. The opportunity first arose when her parents came under the employee of a certain count and countess’s summer estate. The young Sofia, insisting then, as she does now, on being called Sonya, charmed her way into the heart of a certain daughter her own age. And from her, she enjoyed little gifts, stole little trinkets, and began to familiarize herself with the rules and etiquette of the upper crust.

Sofia played these games for much of her young life. One daughter would give access to a brother, and that brother would give access to boys from other families. And while she was not part of this world, she could weave through it, poke and prod it, and bend it to her will. She once allowed a young son of the count to swim out too far simply to dive after him from the water’s edge and bask in the glory of the rescue. But the play would not remain fulfilling into adulthood. 

Options did exist. She could marry, of course. But the mere thought of some lowbrow husband made her shudder, and the sparkling young men so willing to befriend her as a child suddenly turned their eyes to other prizes. The young Sofia ultimately entered employ as a parlor maid for a well-off family, resigning herself once again to life on the diamond outskirts

The volki came in the early 1880s, still in its infancy but growing quickly. Sofia had been spying on a party in her employer’s home when a certain young man, an unrecognized guest, spotted and approached her. Now, wasn’t she just the prettiest thing? Flattered, enamored by his praise, and fueled by jealousy and hunger, she found herself suddenly in the business of secrets, pilfering them from eavesdropped conversations and locked drawers, passing them on, and enjoying the fruits of the labor.

Among those fruits was, of course, money. And as well as the role of the servant spy treated her, she knew, even then, she required more than it. And that was her greatest advantage: a knowledge of the wealthy, an intimacy with their ways, but no loyalty to them.

Thus, “Anna Vladimirovna” was born. This newly realized persona, the first of many, began appearing at parties, clad in cheap but convincingly elegant gowns, pretty under the proper light. We’re old friends, of course. You must call me by my affectionate name. Friend, confidante, no one knew her, but everyone did. And they must have, because she knew them. She knew private things no one but their closest companions would dare utter. And so, they invited her themselves,on holidays, to social affairs, chatted with her privately, and filled in the blanks of the picture with their own fake memories. 

Exploiter, manipulator, blackmailer, Sofia gradually staked her place as the eyes and ears of the volki in a glittering world fading far too fast, just as she was digging her talons into it.

However, this fantasy, the eternal party guest, the conwoman socialite, could not last forever. Revolution eventually came, violent and bombastic, and the aristocracy came to its knees. Anya or Olga or Katerina or whatever she was calling herself those days disappeared because she never existed. And so, no one would come looking for her.

Sofia emerged from private life with the war’s end. But to a true Russian of the old school, the world no longer looked like it once did. 

With a stern voice and a collection of anecdotes, gossip, and private tales, she is still, however, ready to offer consul when requested and to keep an eye on anyone who might try to topple this precarious new balance. After all, there are still rules, and there is still etiquette. But if she asks you to call her Sonya, one really must approach with caution. 

[femuscleblog]

Animated Female Muscle : Totally Spies “The Incredible Bulk” (2004)

Not the greatest cartoon ever, but there was one episode that stood out. Totally Spies was an action comedy cartoon, which featured three teenage female secret agents working for the spy agency WHOOP. Yes, its as ridiculous as it sounds. It was a strange mix between Charlie’s Angels and the Spice Girls. The identical valley girl personas did not help it much. This predates Kim Possible but it has a similar premise. “The Incredible Bulk “ episode  has our spies Alex, Sam, and Clover fighting to stop  Ulrich Wernerstein who wants to take over the world with his Bulky Bars. These Bulky Bars are protein bars that have performance enhancing capabilities (gains muscle and superhuman strength )  in which a person become extremely violent. Now, Marvel fans you can easily get the reference in the episode.  Wernerstein plan is to create an army of super strong hulks to dominate the Earth. Raymon a bodybuilder Alex begins dating consumed a Bulky Bar and underwent the  transformation. The girls tack down Wernerstien’s base of operations to save Raymon and end the production of Bulky Bars. They are met by musclebound goons, who are too strong to defeat. Alex then eats a Bulky Bar and uses a device that she gives to Sam and Clover to control her in the enraged state. She beats Wernstien and he capitulates. This has to be one of the best depictions of fmg. 

The character design was well balanced without the upper or lower body overpowering one another. This show had other fetishes too and  this was not a coincidence. Someone have to be into fmg when writing this and animating it. The important part of note is that they did not skip on the muscle on Alex. The biceps on her are huge and her thighs are more thicc than deep dish pizza. That has to be one of the most elastic catsuits to not get rips or tears from increasing in body size. 

The image above  reminds me of a DBZ power up. She looks like she could take on both Kale and Broly at the same time. At times the strength level seems fluctuating. at first Alex is strong enough to beat the bodybuilder goons and   Wernerstein. Then she is easily held back by Alex and Clover when Raymond dumps her. Not like cartoons make sense or intend to, its just not convincing that two women that weigh less than Alex could restrain her in that state. Then again teenage girls who can beat men twice their size and have CIA level training seems far fetched. At least Alex looks like she could do some real damage, even though this state is temporary. It appeared as if Alex consumed two Bulky Bars in the confrontation at the factory. What is known is that they are very potent if two can increase strength to superhuman levels. Even when she ate one she was able to smack Wernerstein across the room. 

Frankly, if the Bulky Bars did not make you go crazy with Hulk like rage it would be a great supplement.  Ulrich Wernerstein could have been rich if he just perfected it. Well, he’s in jail now so it doesn’t matter. Normally, with these episodes there is a guy that the girls have affection for. Raymond does not have much character except he just likes working out. After showing support for his competition and rescuing him, he shows his gratitude by dumping  Alex. Talk about an ingrate. Now, this is done in programs to revert back to the status quo however this one seemed particularly cruel. Raymond states “ I have a thing about not dating girls more ripped than I am.” Either he does not realize that the effects of the Bulky Bars are temporary or he dislikes strong women. That phrase “ I would never date a woman stronger than I am” is used by insecure men who feel women need to be beneath them. So much for a progressive girl power based show. Poor Raymond doesn’t know what he is missing.   

Bulky Bars give you strength, but they seem to do something to your cognition and speech. Alex talks like the incredible Hulk making her growling noises. Seeing as she has a angelic and sweet toned voice this only makes her lines more comedic. Statements like “Alex crush” or “Alex smash” only are humorous rather than threatening. The strength of this program is that it never takes itself too seriously. 

Sam and Clover hold her back. If they were really her true friends, they would let her go after Raymond. Watching the episode again you can see him run off really fast. This was not the only instance of fmg in the show, there are other instances in which appears. Clover would get some gains in “It’s How You Play the Game.” The only team member who did not go through this transformation was Sam. Totally Spies  may not be one of the best cartoon series, but “the incredible bulk is worth checking out for the sake of Alex’s character design. 

[katecarteir]

MANIA (A Losers Club Superhero AU) | Coming Soon.

“I don’t understand you, Tozier.” Mike said with a shake of his head. “You have the potential to do great things for this world. Why are you fighting us?”

“I won’t be a faceless solider in another pointless war.”

[or: PENWISE ACADEMY is a safe haven for all those who are different. Supers have been the dominating force in the world for the last three centuries, and Penwise is their training grounds for North America. They’re not super heroes yet. They’re just idiots with super powers.]

CHARACTER GUIDE UNDER THE CUT.

EDDIE KASPBRAK,’s father died when he was three years old, leaving only Eddie and his mother. Sonia was always overbearing and protective of her only child, going as far as to try and restrict Eddie from having any sort of friends and keeping him home schooled. From an incredibly young age, Eddie only knew his mother as companionship and even she kept him at a distance, he couldn’t remember ever being hugged or held by his mother. Now nine years old and desperate for any kind of interaction with the other world of people, Eddie plucked up the courage to finally sneak out of the confines of his mother’s house. He would leave only at the dead of night, and that was where he met Martin, his first real friend. Eddie quickly develops feelings for Martin, but he still holds himself back for many weeks, unsure of how to have sort of successful relationships let alone any romantic ones. Eddie’s entire world comes crashing down around him the first night that Martin ever touches him. It’s a simple thing, a touch of the hands, but within moments Martin is dead and Eddie’s entire body feels like it’s vibrating from head to toe. His mother ships him off to the Penwise Academy that same early morning, without so much as a goodbye.

STANLEY URIS, doesn’t have super powers- and that’s a big problem. If a person’s powers don’t present themselves at birth, they will without a doubt present themselves by a person’s sixteenth birthday. Stan is the son of the Earth’s greatest defender, which puts a target all of its own on his back, with the additional stressor of his mother having powers a well. Stan is the first member of his family Not to possess powers and step up into the leadership position of the World. Forced into Penwise Academy anyway on his father’s demand, with the purpose to learn “self-defense”, Stan must make his way through a world surrounded by Supers while being nothing more than an average citizen.

MIKE HANLON’ is next in line for Supreme Rule, a master of all four of the Earth’s elements and with powers growing stronger everyday. He is Donald Uris’ right-hand at only eighteen years old, having been studying at Penwise Academy since he was only five years old when he started to show the affinity for the Earth elements. Mike leads most the training and self defense courses within the school. Students often turn their noses up at him, not enjoying the idea of taking lessons from somebody so much younger than they are, and nobody enjoying the idea of the Supreme going to somebody who isn’t a Uris for the first time in half a century. 

RICHIE TOZIER’ the man of many voices and faces. Ever since he was a young child, Richie had had the ability to give the most eery of impressions. If you weren’t looking directly at the boy, you would assume he was somebody else. Once Richie turned twelve, the powers began to grow until Richie could take the form of anybody- body, voice and [with enough practise] parts of the mind. His family tried to keep it under wraps for as long as they could- not wanting to separate their family by sending their son away- but when Richie was fourteen, tragedy struck the Tozier family and he’s been at Penwise ever since.

BEVERLY MARSH survived the attack that lead to her father’s demise when she was eleven years old, leading society to find the truth: she is completely invulnerable. As she gets older, as many people with Super Bloodlines, she develops more and more powers but the big attraction to Beverly is her inability to get knocked down in a battle. In causes great interest in her from both sides of the Dark War, and put Beverly’s in a very powerful position- should she ever be able to come into control of her other powers, that is.

BILL DENBROUGH’ is completely clairvoyant, he knows anything that ever has happened, everything that will happen- and everything that ever could happen. Bill claims that they aren’t super powers, really, that any human being is capable of psychic abilities if they could simply unlock their minds to their full potential. If only Bill could unlock his abilities to know the difference between what could happen, and what was going to happen.

KAY MCCALL may not personally possess superpowers,but nobody at Penwise Academy can deny that she’s the Head Bitch in Charge around there. As much as she stays out of personal details, Kay is the person you want to go to for any sort of physical training. Much like Stanley, she was born into a family of Supers with no superpowers of her own. It does not deter her, Kay is still one of the most powerful people on any team. She’s grown up completely at Penwise Academy, as her father is overseeing director. She now runs the self-defense and spy-base courses, working under her father and above Mike.

PATTY BLUM is the daughter of the most powerful villain in the continent. His right-hand and most trusted ally- and his best kept secret. Trained above and beyond in all senses of the deceiptions, Patty goes undercover at Penwise Academy to recruit new supers to their cause and to destroy the organization from the inside out.

BEN HANSCOM’s a man with everything going for him, except his best friend disappeared behind the walls of Penwise Academy nearly seven years earlier and he’s never seen her since. He’s also never given up on finding her, and find her he will. Question will always remain: how will he feel about who he finds?