#they seem coordinated s little

[bookwyrminspiration]

Important note imbetween inks amphibia ramble: u and xe are like that one painting of plato and aristotle talking ab this and then i just came in and died on the floor from the implications and emotions

keepblr house porch, 2023, colorized

[deadsetobsessions]

Snart Jr.

Lovely prompt by @stealingyourbones in her long prompts list, in which Danny Phantom meets the Rogues of Central City! This will have multiple parts, I just haven't written them yet.

Disclaimer: I know very little about Captain Cold and Mirror Master despite having watched some of the Flash. The general vibe I get from Flash is that Flash just really cares about his rogues as evidenced by how he talks to them and doesn't immediately one-shot them like I'm pretty sure he could do. And that Captain Cold is a snarky asshole that just wants to steal things and follow his plans as planned? Tbh, the whole mini-arc/episode with him just felt like Snart was trying to coordinate the world's riskiest group project. He was so done by the end lmao

"Huh. That's new."

Danny hovered an inch off of the ground, having just been spat out by swirling green portal. He was going to have to get back to the Zone later to hot potato Skulker through a couple of portals in revenge. He had a math exam he had to study for, dammit.

Danny sighed. Might as well see what's happening. The portals rarely lead somewhere boring, and Danny was bored. He floated further in, form going intangible and invisible as he passed through thick but insulated marble walls. See, Jazz? He could totally plan ahead. He's also learning that he could probably rob a bank easily, but Danny would never.

"Never been spat out in a bank before," he hummed, eyes flickering on the numerous forms of cowering people in the lobby. The goons scattered about don't see him, but it would take another ghost to even detect his presence so it was to be expected. He moved further in with little hindrance and soon touched down onto polished floor behind two incredibly suspicious individuals.

"What-cha do-ing?"

The two figures, currently and obviously robbing a bank, whirled around in surprise. Their respective weapons whirred to a start before they stopped, baffled by the meta teen standing there with his white hair waving about and innocent look pasted all over his face.

Leonard Snart knew instinctively that the kid was so full of shit. He'd bet his entire plan on the fact that the kid knew exactly what kind of shit he was stirring. Still, Snart was guilty of a lot of things but direct child-endangerment wasn't ever one of them.

"How'd you get in here, kid?" Mirror Master raised his laser pistol, ready to distract and divert the kid with threats of violence- which Snart glared at him for- or with his hall of mirrors that he'd run to.

Danny shrugged. "I walked. If you guys didn't want me here, you should have guarded the place better."

"They were supposed to," Snart drawled. He cased the kid. Teen. The kid had a weird halo effect, that seemed to draw the eyes to the stylized letter on his hazmat suit. The kid was young. Meta. Non-hostile. "You trying to stop us?"

Danny shook his head. "Nah. Came from the Ghost Zone so 's really non'a my business. I was just being nosy."

Snart gave a curt nod and nudged Mirror Master back into cracking the security measures.

Mirror Master scoffed. "What the hell is a ghost zone?"

"I mean, it's pretty self explanatory, right? It's a zone where ghosts live. Hence, you know, Ghost Zone." Danny did a little jazz hands (oh, yeah, he was definitely gonna get Jazz to make that joke sooner or later) for emphasis.

Snart paused for the slightest bit before continuing with his task. Did ghosts exist?

"...Did the Flash send you here, kid?"

"I'm not a kid," Danny scowled, walking right up to them. He got enough of that from his own Rogues, thank you. "And what's a Flash?"

"The Flash, kid." Mirror Master corrected, shoving monitors and PC's and expensive looking office chairs into... a mirror dimension? Danny shrugged and rolled with it.

"Who's that? Your boss?"

"Local superhero, not our boss. You're not from here," Snart quickly deduced as a small smile wormed onto his face from successfully cracking the security without setting off an alarm. They'd have ten minutes before the system cycles the access codes again and flags the fraudulent ones. That should be enough time.

"Superhero? Are they fast? Actually, where is here?" Danny glanced around at the now bare security office like the Flash would show up.

The guy in green and yellow took everything not nailed down to the ground. Danny respected that, even if he kind of wanted to stop the robbery. But he's not really supposed to interfere. That would be uber rude, since it looked like the guy in the fur jacket seemed like he had planned everything precisely.

"You're in Central City, kid. Did you take a wrong turn trying to get to Keystone or something?" Green-yellow guy snorted.

"Gonna be real honest with you, I've got no idea where that is. What state are we in?" Danny followed as the pair rushed to the safe doors. He could offer to phase them through but no matter how flexible Danny's morals have become over the years, he was going to draw a line at actively helping a person commit crime.

"Kansas. Do you teleport? Are you a teleporting meta?" Snart asked, eyes intense as he both glared at Danny and pressed an ear to the safe door.

"Nah, I wish I could teleport. Getting to school would be so much faster. Kansas? Huh, I've never been."

"How lost are you, kid?" Mirror Master incredulously paused from robbing the packages that were delivered to the bank.

Danny shrugged. "Oh, I'm Danny. Who are you guys?"

"Captain Cold. That's Mirror Master."

Danny shifted as the safe clicks open. "So, uh, are you guys the villains here?"

Captain Cold shot him a weird look. "We're actively robbing a bank, kid. That should be obvious."

"Also, you're acting real calm for a kid speaking to two of Fawcett's best super-villains." Mirror Master chimed in, laser-ing off locks on deposit boxes and shoving cash and stuff into his mirror dimension.

Danny padded in after them. "Eh, you haven't shot at me- not even on sight- yet, which is more than I can say for law enforcement, so you're pretty chill in my book."

Captain Cold snorted, pointedly taking his freeze gun and breaking off a large manual lock. "I believe it's my job to be the chill one. Plus, we don't kill. The Flash would be up our... business if we did. It's not worth the trouble."

"You can say ass. I've heard worse."

"Not from me, kid."

Danny hadn't had that kind of consideration from anyone in a long time. Even if it's a bit... mother-hennish, the halfa couldn't find it in him to be annoyed. "Ah, okay. Well, you also haven't kidnapped me or tried to stop me from following you, so..."

Mirror Master shoved a giant painting into his dimension. "You haven't tried to stop us; it'd be weird trying to stop you."

"Makes sense."

"Heh. You're alright, kid. Though... who's kidnapping you?"

"My fruit loop of a godfather. It's a thing," Danny avoided the searching gaze like a pro.

"Hold this." Captain Cold said suddenly, giving Danny a massive dufflebag.

"Wait, what?"

Captain Cold began stuffing the bag with cash and once the money in the vicinity (not that much) went in, he said "Go look around. Having another person in here is a risk so you might as well make up for it."

Danny's calling it. Captain Cold was full of shit. The guy's a big softie. Danny smiled sheepishly and agreed. Danny circled the place, pointing out expensive looking stuff- "for fun" and not because they were nice to him- when he felt the tell-tale zaps of an anomaly in Clockwork's domain.

"Move!" He shouted at the two villains, both of whom dove out of the way. Instinctively, Danny threw out his gloved hands and iced the floors, instincts bristling at the incoming danger. His jaw dropped as a blur encountered the ice and went ass over tea kettle onto the floor, unable to stop its own momentum.

"Oh shit!" Danny uttered, eyes wide as the blur slammed into the opposite- reinforced- wall with a pained shout. The stopped person was wearing red, with a lighting bolt motif all over their uniforms. That implied speed. Speed implied "The Flash." Danny knew a hero when he saw one and he just iced him. Shit.

"What-" The Flash groaned. Mirror Master and Captain Cold gaped.

"OhmyancientsI'msosorrygottagobye!" Danny shouted.

"Hey, wait, kid-!" Captain Cold shouted. Danny ignored him, going invisible in a panic and sank into the ground, mortified. After thirty seconds of self-hatred, he zoomed out and away. Danny held his head in his hands as he flew back to where Amity was...

Only to stare down at the empty plots of land where his city was supposed to be. Danny shoved a hand into his chest and pulled out his phone.

[No results for Amity Park. Did you mean "Amity Arkham"?]

"What."

Any research he did after that only turned up a Jasmine Fellona, a budding neurobiologist in her field, and other people that were adjacent to the people Danny knew. But nothing, nothing from Amity Park.

"Oh, yeah, we're definitely not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy."

---

As the Flash stood around to keep an eye on the hand-cuffed villains, he couldn't help but ask.

"So, uh, Snart. Did you... get a kid?"

"What." Snart asked, incredibly done with this shit.

"You know. Snart junior? With the ice and everything?" Flash gestured at the un-melting ice that covered the floor leading into the safe. "I mean, I'm not thrilled you're pulling your kid into a life of crime..."

"No."

"Wait, you had a kid and didn't tell me?" Mirror Master asked, mildly offended. "That was your kid? No wonder no one shot at him!"

"He's not my kid." Snart gave Flash the stink-eye. "And don't you have a couple of baby sidekicks running around?"

"C'mon dude, you're so obviously fond of him. It's okay, you don't have to hide it." Flash avoided the topic... in a flash.

"Can someone arrest me right now so these idiots can be removed from my vicinity?" Snart snarked to the approaching officer, jerking his head to point at the beaming Flash.

"You and me both, buddy," Officer West sighed.

---

One trip to the zone and a stressful conversation with Clockwork later, Danny was found in his keep, smacking his ghost head into the ghost wall of his ghost keep. Danny would unleash a Wail if it didn't have the nasty habit of bringing everything around him.

Apparently, he got "Amity'd," a process which meant Amity spat him out like an over chewed dog bone and refused to take him back.

"That doesn't even make sense! I left there a bunch of times! And came back!"

"The city has decided that it was your time to leave, Danny." Clockwork spared a wane smile for the curled up boy-king.

"I have people to protect there! My entire life! My haunt!" Danny yelled, breaths that he didn't technically need coming shorter and shorter. The neon green of the Zone whirled in and out of his vision in a dizzying shudder of anxiety and incoming panic.

"It wasn't your haunt, I'm afraid. The city nurtured you as a young spirit- thus shared her haunt- and has decided that it was time for you to... leave the nest, so to speak."

That stopped Danny's panic in its tracks. "Are you telling me she NightVale-d me? Some kind of involuntary coming-of-age bs?"

If he weren't on the edge of hysterical laughter, Danny would take a moment and proudly say to Mr. Lancer that he had paid attention in class.

"...Yes."

"Fuck." Danny dropped his head down in despair. His head made a loud thunk. The bag of cash he'd accidently made away with sat innocently at his feet. Further proof that it wasn't some nightmare he'd wake up from anytime soon.

---

Danny slumped over the desk, exhausted. Technus had lent him a ghostly hand and hacked into government data bases to re-establish his social security number and all the other dumb bits and bobs that he needed to establish his identity because Amity was an actual ghost town. Ghost to reality, ghost to real life. Ancients, Amity even had their own data network, which he couldn't access outside of Amity itself. This meant that Danny couldn't even call anyone. Ugh.

"I gotta find a place to live," he mumbled to himself. Danny, despite knowing that he needed to do things, did not move for another ten minutes.

Then, as his phone alarm went off, buzzing on the table. Like... Clockwork... Danny sat up straight and wiped all traces of wallowing self pity off his face. The people in the library- students- gave him solemn nods of solidarity. Danny nodded back and left the library.

He wandered around Fawcett City, somewhere Clockwork had recommended he stayed. With Clockwork, recommendations tended to be life-important (plot-important?) orders. Danny liked the place, really. It gave off the weird and settled "what-the-fuck,-Box-Ghost-did-you-have-to-destroy-the-mall?" vibes Amity constantly gave off after the ghosts started coming through. He thought he even saw a talking tiger! Awesome.

"Hey, are you new here?"

Danny looked down. His reflection stared back at him.

Did he have another kid? Did someone clone him again? Ancients curse you, Vlad!

"Uh- yeah."

"Oh. Do you need help getting around? I was born and raised here all my life, so I can totally do that!"

Oh thank the Ancients, this wasn't another Dani. Just a weirdly similar looking kid.

"You know I'm a stranger, right?"

"I don't think anyone helping Nanny Mae pick up her oranges would hurt kids," the kid said archly, but with a grin so like Dani, it made Danny miss his younger sister.

"Okay, you got me there. But still."

The kid sighed. "I know how to be safe, thanks. I'm Billy!"

"Danny. Nice to meet you."

"Okay, Danny, where you off to?"

"I'm actually trying to find a place that'll be cheap to rent." He's sixteen, but Danny could totally pass as eighteen. "I'm thinking about moving to Fawcett. It's nice here, with all the ambient magic and stuff."

This got him a wide-eyed look. "Do you use magic?"

"Something like that."

"Cool."

Danny took in the considering glint in Billy's eyes and decided that it was future!Danny's problem. Present!Danny was currently occupied with trying to stay off the streets. That giant bag of cash he'd accidently absconded with would be helpful and Danny felt kind of bad... but his growling stomach had chased that away quickly.

"This way!"

Danny shrugged his wavering morality off and followed the kid, shouldering his new and stolen duffle bag. If anything happened, he could just go ghost. It wouldn't be the weirdest thing that's happened in this city, Danny made sure to check.

"Have you been by the zoo?" Billy began to rattle off his favorite details about the Fawcett city zoo as he wove around the city.

Danny didn't think he'd actually have to go ghost.

"Not yet, actually. Is it true that there's a talking tiger there?"

"Yeah! Tawky Tawny! He's my friend!"

"Awesome."

[charliemwrites]

The long-awaited part 2 for ragdoll!reader.

I’ll be honest, I never intended for there to be another part, so I hope this is alright! I might add more in the future if the worms demand it, but for now let’s consider this the last part. Sorry!

If Price had any optimism that Ragdoll’s reaction to Konig was just a fluke - or perhaps some sort of initial, fleeting interest - he’s quickly proven wrong.

She’s utterly infatuated with him.

Constantly pressing herself close, rubbing her cheek against him and his clothes, bumping her head against his. She chirps and chitters and purrs at him, pupils blown out. Never seems bothered that he has trouble verbally responding; or seems to, though Johnny mentions they might be communicating at a frequency only cat-hybrids can hear.

Price has the briefest notion of keeping them separated. After all, Konig is a big combat placement that doesn’t seem much indulgent of his non-violent instincts. More human than cat - a complete opposite to their sweet companion kitty. It seems inevitable that something goes wrong and someone - likely the 141’s precious girl - gets injured. So naturally they try to keep the hybrids apart.

Try to coordinate schedules to keep her and Konig from passing each other, ending up in the same rooms or at the mess hall together.

It’s futile.

For one, she may be the sweetest little thing around, but she’s still a cat (or cat-hybrid anyway). There’s really no stopping her from going somewhere, especially on a base she’s had free run of for over a year already. Closed doors are blasphemy, and locks are a personal attack against her.

For two, her only job is to be a companion. She is not beholden to most military protocols like rank, SOPs, schedules, or duty. Meaning that, while she usually keeps to the 141’s routines out of desire to be with them, there’s nothing forcing her to follow along. Even as an emotional support placement, she isn’t required to be around them at any time; she always just wants to be. It’s why she’s so good at it.

And finally, mostly importantly here, there’s really just no telling her “no.”

Not with those big eyes that get so watery so fast. That sad curve to her mouth. The fucking mournful cries when she’s been denied and she doesn’t understand why - nor does anyone really have a good reason.

(“He’s twice your size” is apparently not a good reason. Neither is “he could crush your skull in one hand.”)

Worse still, it’s not even that she’s misbehaving as a reason to keep them separated.

While she does present more cat than human in a lot of ways, she understands English perfectly. She can read and even write if needed. Vocalizing human speech is beyond rare, but she has once or twice.

So she knows the hard and fast rules. Understands that she can’t interrupt drills or exercises. That there are regulations for the range should she ever venture out there. That she has to be quiet during briefings. And she does all of this - just while also being as close to Konig as possible.

She sits in the grass or on a perch watching the boys run and call to each other. And as soon as they’re done, she’s up and flitting to his side, head tilting this way and that. She shifts into her full-cat form during briefing to sit on his lap. Even follows him out to the range, lying in the grass next to him with tail swishing and headphones on, while he fires the rifle.

Never mind any free time.

Members of both their teams keep finding them cuddled up together all over the place. In the rec room on a couch, in patches of sun beneath windows, in the grass by the running tracks, even in Konig’s room on base. Most often with Ragdoll lying on him, plumed tail curled around his arm or leg while he rubs her back or ears.

Sometimes they hear him talking to her, low and quiet. She meows back on occasion, but he doesn’t seem to mind the lack of verbal response while he rambles.

And the first time anyone sees them wrestle is nerve-wracking. They hardly make a sound the entire time, rolling around on the floor in a tangle of limbs and fluffy tails. Konig always lets her win - even laughs when she gets her sharp little teeth in his arm. (It’s the first anyone on his team has heard him laugh like that and they’re a bit startled.) The entire 141 pretends not to be on high alert - except Johnny, who watches with ears perked, eyes darting between the two cats.

Price doesn’t know what to make of it. Of course he’s not upset that she’s connected with another hybrid. Johnny is usually the only one on base, and while they’re close, Price knows it probably isn’t the same as her own species.

That she’s so… preoccupied with Konig is, well.

“Is she… ya know…?” Gaz asks at one point.

When Price arches an eyebrow, he makes a vague, nonsensical gesture.

“In heat,” Gaz mumbles awkwardly.

“Shouldn’t be,” Price answers. “She has an implant.”

A hormone implant keeps a hybrid from going into mating cycles or getting pregnant - but it doesn’t stop them from bonding.

Kate is the one to bring up the possibility after speaking to her sister in law. Ragdoll spent time around other cat-hybrids before she was placed with the 141, but never reacted to them like she does to Konig.

It’s confirmed when TF-141 and the KorTac squad deploy for their mission. Ragdoll is near inconsolable. Not actively crying (most of the time) but lethargic and sad, with low appetite and lots of big, long sighs. Her ears never perk more than half-mast for the month they’re gone. Even taking her off-base back to Kate’s sister-in-law for a little while doesn’t seem to help.

The day they come back, she’s the most lively anyone’s seen in a month. Bounces between her four team members incessantly, checking that they’re okay, making little noises in the back of her throat. They happily drop kisses on her head, let her nuzzle up beneath their chins, hug her close. Rub at her ears and squish up her cheeks. Price even picks her up, rubbing his bristly cheek against her temple.

Then Konig steps out.

She wiggles, making a nervous, upset noise. Price sets her down and she bolts into Konig’s arms, crying loudly and pawing at his hood. And to everyone’s shock, he lifts it enough for her to wriggle under with him.

If there was any question that he felt the same way - it’s answered.

[buckyalpine]

Come back to you

Bucky x pregnant!reader 

What happens when a time travel mission ends up with a version of Bucky from the 40′s standing on the time travel platform. 

Warnings: FLUFFFFF, sweet charming 40′s Bucky, time travel, teensiest bit of angst. 

-

“Buck, are you sure about this” You shuffled nervously by the platform Bucky was standing on, his latest mission requiring him to travel through a time portal. It wasn’t something he hadn’t done before but time travel was still tricky and the last thing you wanted was something happening to Bucky. 

Especially now. 

“I’ll be fine doll” Bucky assured you, holding onto a device Tony had made to gather information, the time stamp on the portal set to 1943. All he had to do was locate the coordinates he was given, scan a few documents and return to the present. Ever since you found out you were pregnant, Bucky pulled himself out of high risk missions but this seemed easy enough and he was the only one familiar with the location. “Promise I’ll come right back to you in just a few seconds babygirl” 

He gave you a wink, kissing your cheek before nodding to Bruce who was by the machine console, rechecking the timestamps and settings so all Bucky had to do was press a button on his suit when he was ready to come back. You held your breath, standing back while the platform lit to life, a flash of white nearly making Bucky disappear instantly. While the mission could feel like minutes to hours for him, it would be mere seconds for you. 

You fidgeted with your fingers while Steve monitored Bucky’s tracker, getting the platform ready for him to return. You nearly let out the breath you were holding, seeing a green light indicate Bucky had pressed the button to return and you’d have him back in your arms again. 

“Alright, the portal is stable, he’ll be back in 5...4...3...2...1″

The bright light flashed again, the super soldier standing right where he’d left, not a hair out of place. Bucky blinked, looking down at his suit, frozen on the spot before looking to his best friend, the only person he seemed to recognize in the room. 

“St-Steve?” 

“Buck” Steve’s brows furrowed noting the way Bucky’s eyes darted around the room with a confused look on his face.

“Where-where am I?” Bucky whipped his head around, before looking to his best friend again for answers. “What am I wearing?” He looked down at his hands, eyes growing wide when he saw his metal one, flexing his vibranium digits. “My arm?” 

He looked like a lost puppy, unable to move from where he was standing, nearly pinching himself because he had to be dreaming. “What’s going on punk, where am I, why-why does everything look so different, where are we?” 

You felt sick to your stomach as your husband looked at you for not more than a second having no idea who you were, having no idea where he was himself. He tugged at the sleek material of the tac suit with an expression of fascination and horror, his flesh hand tracing over the metal one. 

“Steve, whats going on?” You looked over to him, blinking back tears, already feeling panic rise in your chest, desperately hoping the time travel made Bucky a little delirious, something a bit of rest would fix. Steve swallowed thickly, slowly approaching Bucky, something telling him the confusion was more complex than just being shaken from time travel. 

“What year is it, Buck”

Bucky looked at Steve with furrowed brows but answered anyway. 

“1943″ 

“Your full title?” 

“Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th” He replied with confidence, not a hint of humor in his voice. He stood with the confidence of a soldier, shoulders rolled back, with a strong stance. Steve nodded while Bruce immediately started to fiddle with the portal, understanding the mission had altered something in Bucky. The Bucky that stood before everyone was physically from the present but his mind was from the 40′s. 

“Just give me a sec Buck, I’ll be with you in a minute” Steve keep his voice light, not wanting to worry his bestfriend further. He took away the device Bucky was holding, leading him to stand away from the platform while he gently led you away to speak with Bruce. “Banner, what the hell” 

“His departure was fine but there must have been a glitch with the portal coming back. When Barnes travelled back, something warped with his memories; right now he’s Bucky from 1943. He doesn’t have any recollection of anything after that”  Bruce continued to press at buttons while carefully watching Bucky walk around the lab, his face softening in sympathy.

Bucky eyes held child like wonder, staring at the high ceilings and vast technology he couldn’t even begin to comprehend. He found himself wandering around the room, waiting for his bestfriend to tell him what was going on, distracting himself with science in the mean time. 

He always loved science. 

Tony and Sam joined the lab after a few frantic text messages; Tony joining Bruce in trying to figure out what went wrong whereas Sam had come to check on you and make sure you were okay. Sam sat down with you, gently squeezing your hand in his, not wanting stress to end up hurting you or the pregnancy.

“He doesn’t remember me” You blinked back tears, your hand coming up to rest on your swollen belly, watching Bucky stare at the other creations Tony had lying around on the tables, in his own little world of fascination and utter confusion.

“Look, we’re gonna get him back. Remember when Scott returned as a baby and then an old man 10 seconds later and he wasn’t sure which version of himself shit his pants?” He gave you a comforting smile, taking you put of the lab to rest while Steve made his way over to Bucky. “C’mon mama, terminator would wage war on all of us if we didn’t take care of you. He’s gonna be okay, he’d want you to be taking care of yourself first” 

Steve kept Bucky occupied for the time being, not wanting to confuse him with too much, only explaining a few things to him such as the metal arm. Bucky understood bits and pieces, such as something about time travel, war and something else about a mad scientist. Any details about you were left out, not wanting to complicate things further. 

Over the next few days, Bucky was learning to adjust to the modern world all over again, staying in Steve’s room while Tony and Bruce worked on resetting the portal. You kept your distance from him, going about your routine as best as you could along with a sadness pulling at your heart when you didn’t have him by your side. 

The bed was too cold. 

It wasn’t comfortable when he wasn’t there to be your human body pillow. 

He wasn’t there to cuddle up with when you were feeling needy.

He wasn’t immediately by your side with chamomile tea that soothed any nausea you felt, always knowing when you needed some without you saying anything. 

He wasn’t there with his warm and cool hands to sooth the kicks that nudged in your belly; your Bucky would always have his hands on you, obsessed with his pretty angel all full of him. 

Now you had to wait. 

But even Bucky from 1943 couldn’t take his eyes off you. 

“Whose that?” Bucky pointed over at you, having noticed that you spent a lot of time alone, no partner by your side though you were clearly very pregnant and nearing your due date. You had come to the kitchen to make some tea, not realizing both super soldiers were grabbing a snack after a morning run, deciding to continue with what you were doing instead of leaving abruptly. Steve glanced over to where Bucky was looking at, his eyes growing wide noticing the concerned look on his best friends face.  

“This is y/n” Steve nodded for you to come over, letting his hand rest on your back to give you some support while Bucky gave you a boyish smile. “Y/n, this is my best friend, the very James Buchanan Barnes, the same punk I’ve told you a lot about” 

“You can just call me Bucky” 

“Nice to meet you” You gave him a soft smile, returning his charming one, feeling butterflies all over again just like the first time you had met him. Your cheeks grew warm when he gave you his hand, immediately asking if you needed help with anything else. 

“You need us to get you anything, doll? Why don’t you go rest in the living room, I can bring this to you once the waters boiled” He sent you away so you could get off your feet, watching you with heart eyes as you waddled away out of the kitchen. He then shook his head, remembering that you probably had a husband and it wasn’t right for him to look at you that way. 

Steve shook his head at Bucky’s antics as the brunette grabbed a bag of chamomile tea before pouring the water in and checking the temperature before bringing it over to you. He didn’t linger around too much, wanting to be respectful, letting you relax while he made his way back to Steve. 

However, each day his curiosity only grew. Between passing good mornings and shy smiles, he couldn’t help but wonder why no one ever mentioned anything about your partner or spouse. It had been nearly 3 weeks and you were always alone. He wasn’t one to pry and he definitely didn’t want to come off as nosy or seem like he wanted to know your business. 

Still.

He didn’t like that he hadn’t seen anyone by your side the whole time.

12:45 AM

Bucky’s ears perked up when he heard soft footsteps padding towards the kitchen, setting down the book he was reading to find your tired face, your hand resting on your baby bump. He felt something tug at his heart seeing sleep still etched on your face, hair still tousled, your other hand supporting your back. He sprung to his feet, leading you to sit down before you could say anything, crouching down while keeping your hand in his. 

“What do you need doll, should I get some water started?” He gave you a gentle squeeze when you nodded, hearing the faint rumble of your tummy, “Maybe a snack too” He grinned, getting up and filling a kettle and rummaging through the fridge to cut up some fruit, adding a double chocolate cookie on the side. 

“There ya go, can’t have you goin’ back to be hungry” He gave you a wink, sitting down beside you with his own mug. 

“Thank you, Bucky” You couldn’t help but giggle at the cookie he proudly added to your plate. 

“You don’t have to thank me sweets, I’m happy to help” Bucky insisted, pleased to see you munch on the fruit with a satisfied hum, chuckling when your eyes rolled back as you sunk your teeth into the cookie. “Can’t have you doin’ all this by yourself” 

“Well, I’m not by myself when you’re around” You gave him a light hearted smile, wishing you could slink into his arms and feel him wrap you up, blinking back tears that stung your eyes. 

“You’re doin’ this alone?” Bucky looked at you with wide eyes, shock evident in his voice, a sliver of anger slipping through. How could anyone abandon someone as sweet as you, especially when you were carrying their child. 

“I-um-sort of-” You nodded, hoping to keep your emotions at bay, swallowing the lump in your throat. 

No. 

You’re right here.

But you’re so far away

Your mind was screaming but there was nothing else you could say, taking a sip of your tea to keep yourself from sniffling. 

“I’m sorry sweets, bet you’re real strong though. Always smilin’ like sunshine”  Bucky sat closer to you, resting his hand on top of yours, holding it softly. He gave you one of his classic dashing smiles, washing up your cup and plate before walking you back up stairs and wishing you a good night. You snuggled up in your sheets with a content sigh; whether it was Bucky from the 40′s or Bucky from today, both were still sweet and protective as ever.

-

You made your way downstairs with your shopping list in hand, growing fed up with the lack of potato chips in the cupboards and still needing to get baby supplied with your due date growing even closer. You slipped on a comfy sun dress, stepping into the elevator and passing through the common room. You paused at the sight of your Bucky, his nose tucked in a book again, the sunlight from the ceiling high windows making his skin glow. You adored the slight scrunch of his nose as his eyes flicked over the words, heavily engrossed in another sci-fi novel, his favorite thing to read after raiding Steve’s library. 

“Good morning’ doll” He peeked up from his book, giving you a bright smile, noting you were dressed to go out, “goin’ somewhere?” 

“Just going to get some fresh air, stop by the store for some things I need” 

“Is anyone going with you?” Bucky set down his book, looking over his shoulder to see if someone was going to accompany you, frowning when he saw there was no one else. 

“I’ll be fine Bucky, really-”

“Not a chance, my ma would have my head if I just let you go out alone, especially right now” Bucky shook his head, shoving a bookmark between the pages and setting it on the coffee table. “Pretty dame like you shouldn’t be going out alone. Steve can grab what you need from the store, just give him the list. I’ll take you out for a walk" 

Bucky kept his hand gently at the small of your back, the other holding your hand as you both walked though the park, keeping his eyes trained everywhere, making sure you were safe.

“Are you feelin’ alright?” He asked, always pausing incase you felt tired, concerned etched on his face whenever you huffed, firming his grip around you. “Let’s get you home sweets” 

As you both walked back home, you missed your Bucky even more, a part of you enjoying spending time with the sweet care free man from the 40′s, another part of you desperately missing your husband. Once you got back, Tony was waiting for you, taking you over to the lab where Bruce was still tinkering away, both men looking exhausted from endless nights of no sleep. 

“Good news, we’re almost ready, should be good to go in just a few days” Tony smiled, noting your face fall ever so slightly, your heart jumping because you’d finally get Bucky back but you��d miss the young soldier version of him. 

“You’re gonna miss pre-grumpy terminator, huh” Tony chuckled, while you playfully rolled your eyes, waddling back to the kitchen, following the scent of something sweet that caught your attention. You smiled at the sight of Bucky moving gracefully around the kitchen, every so often asking FRIDAY questions, his eyes lighting up with joy each time the AI answered. You didn’t want to disturb him, quietly entering until you felt a strong kick to your side. 

“Oof-” 

Bucky looked up to see your face scrunch, dropping the spoon he was holding and making his way to you.  

“Doll? What’s wrong, are you okay?” 

“They’re kicking” You smiled, resting your hands over your tummy, trying to soothe the movement but to no avail. They only responded to their daddy. 

“They?” Bucky’s eyes grew wide, taking in what you  just said while you nodded, taking his hands in yours and placing them on your belly where the babies fluttered, their little feet pressing against your skin. 

“Two baby boys”

“S’like you got me and Stevie in there” Bucky chuckled, his eyes sparking in awe feeling the movement in your belly, “Causin’ a ruckus for their ma. Can I get somethin’ for ya?” He gave you a boyish smile, ushering you to sit down. 

“They seem to respond to you” You hummed, feeling your little ones settle after Bucky’s hands rested on your stomach, something that seemed to soothe all three of you. “Sometimes they only rest when I walk around, tire all of us out” 

Bucky thought for a moment, his face glowing when an idea popped into his head. 

“Steve just showed me how to work this, not that it makes much sense” Bucky fidgeted with his phone for a bit, his tongue sticking out with his focus. He pulled up a playlist of 40′s music, picking something slow before setting the phone down and helping you back on your feet, “Maybe this will help” 

“What are you doing Bucky” You giggled as Bucky took your hand in his and twirled you towards him, your hands resting on his chest. He kept his hands around your baby bump, rubbing soft circles on your sensitive skin, dancing with you in the kitchen. 

“I’ll be gentle” he started to sway with you, humming along to the soft music, “Can’t have those little punks tiring you out, mama” You allowed yourself to melt into his touch, turning your body to the side so you could rest your head against his chest, hearing the same steady beat of his heart that grounded you. You nearly fell asleep with the way he held you, keeping you and your babies safe, his soft scent surrounding you, every muscle in your body relaxing. 

“C’mon, I’ll take you up to bed” He whispered when he noticed your eyelids grow heavy, a small yawn slipping past your lips the more you snuggled into his arms. He pushed away the thought of scooping you up into his arms, not wanting to over step his boundaries, holding you close to his side instead as you made your way up the elevator. 

“Thank you for that dance, soldier” You gave him a shy smile while he stood by your door, every part of him wanting to hold you for longer. 

“You’re a real charmer, sweets” Bucky blushed, his hands still resting on your baby bump, “I’m tellin’ ya, if you were mine...” He caught himself before speaking to much, his cheeks turning peachier. 

It was evident things were different in the future.

If he had met you just like this in the 40′s, he would have stepped up and been by your side. Of course, he’d ask you to marry him, have Steve as his best man. He would have wanted to be your man, a good husband to you and a father to your babies if you’d let him. He indulged in his fantasy for a little longer, thinking about the two little boys he’d be happy to call his and perhaps having a baby girl later on. 

“What if I was yours” you gazed up at him while he gave you a signature flirty smirk, bright blues twinkling. 

“You’d be my darlin’, my sugar” Bucky pressed an innocent kiss to your cheek, blushing more himself when you giggled, returning his kiss to the dimple on his chin. 

“Maybe one day, solider” 

“I’d like that, babydoll”

-

You held your breath watching Bucky step on the platform again, repeating back all the instructions Steve had given him, still a little confused about time travel but trusting anything his best friend said. 

“Push this button when you get to these coordinates and you’ll come right back” Steve assured him, giving his shoulder a squeeze. 

“You sure I won’t die, punk?” Bucky snorted, checking over his tac suit, glancing over to you, wishing he could take you back with him. 

Maybe one day. 

“Take care of yourself doll” Bucky quickly stepped off the platform to give you another kiss before getting back on with a grin at the wolf whistle from Sam and Tony, waving to those in the room before giving Bruce nod. He disappeared in a flash, your anxiety kicking up again waiting for your Bucky to come back, the green signal lighting up once again, just like last time....

“Alright, 5..4..3..2..1″ Everyone stood in silence as Bucky reappeared once again, blinking just as he had done before, but this time, his eyes landing to you first. 

“Bucky?” You whispered, still holding your breath as he stepped towards you, a relieved smile on his face, instantly enveloping you into a hug, inhaling your soft scent, the one that reminded him of home, his heart, his safe space. 

“Hey darlin’” He kissed the top of your head, before cupping your face to look at him, peppering soft kisses across your cheek before dropping his hands and slipping them up your shirt to feel your belly, smiling at the feeling of soft flutters and kicks. 

“You’re back” You pulled him down for a kiss, letting out a relieved sigh at the feeling of his warm pillowy lips finally on yours again, ignoring the hollering that went on in the background, your hands clutching onto him. 

“Told you I’d be back” He smiled against your lips, scooping you into his arms, not wasting another second, taking you straight to your shared bedroom. He set you down gently on your feet before nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. 

“My darlin’ my sugar” He playfully whispered, holding you close to him. You gasped, pulling away to see his lips tick up into a smirk, giving you a wink, 

“You-you remember?” 

He nodded, pressing another kiss to your lips. 

“You said maybe one day” He dropped to his knees, resting his head on your swollen belly, his heart swelling at the feeling of his babies, finally home again with the one person who lightened up his life “Glad to see you’re mine, babydoll” 

Tags: @glxwingrxse​ @hungryyeyess​ @sebsgirl71479​ @beabutterfly987​ @teambarnes72​ @witchywhore​ @jamesbuckybarneswify​ @slutforsexyseabass​ @chrisdrysdale​ @littlemarvelmenfan​ @buggy14​ @whimsyplaty92​ @sergntbarnes​ @inkedaztec​ @pono-pura-vida​ @moonlightreader649​ @brooklynscherry-z​ @elle14-blog1​ @justsebstan​ @littlelightnings​ @happyt0exist​ @emmabarnes​ @bethyruth​ @matchat3a​ @cjand10​ @getwellsoontana​ @cherryschaos​ @lokisasgardianvampirequeen​ @ashenc-blog​ @buckybarnessimpp​ @potatothots​ @goldylions​ @high-functioning-lokipath​ @morganemorganite-blog​ @kingfleury​ @peaches1958​ @spiderman-stilinski​ @peaceinourtime82​ @gublur​ @wintersmelodie​ @geeky-politics-46​ @lolawassad​ @almosttoopizza​ @a-poor-gryffindork​ @alternativeprincess​ @buckycallsmeaslut​ @kamaria-sweet-writes​ @charmedbysarge​ @xnorthstar3x​ @kryoee7​ @alina02​ @gh0stgurl​ @polishprincess999​ @jessybarnes​ @alltheficsiwant​ @chemtrails-club​ @eralen​ @perdidosbucky-yyo​ @clqrosmgc​   @buckybarnessweetheart​   @pandaxnienke​   @manyfandomsfanvergent​  

[tootiecakes234]

First Kiss

Your first kiss with Katsuki was overwhelming…

The two of you have been friends since U.A. You’ve gotten so close over past couple years to the point where if your friends saw you they expected him not to be far behind and vice versa.

Best friends, that’s what you’ve settled with because you know Kat had 0 interest in you outside of that. You’ve seen the girls he’s hooked up with and you did not fit that type at all.

And don’t get it wrong, you loved being his best friend. He taught you stand up for yourself and you’d taught him how to speak to people with some level of respect. You guys were good together… yin and yang you liked to think

One night, you’re leaving a hangout you guys had at Mina’s place and Kat is walking you home. It was cool out that night and the moon was shining so bright you could still see the clouds in the sky. Apparently you had been gotten lost looking up at it.

“Oi, earth to y/n…. Get your ass moving. I’m exhausted and I’m ready to get home.”

When you come back to reality and look at him, he does look tired. It was almost 11:30pm and Kat had a strict bed time of 9:30…. 10 if he was feeling frisky.

“You do realize I don’t need you to walk me home. I’m a pro hero. I think I can take care of myself”

“Psh…. It’s not a criminal I’m worried about taking you out. It’s your clumsy ass coordination. You’re going to end up offing yourself if you don’t learn how to walk like an adult”

Ok so yea… maybe you had sprained your ankle last year while walking up some stairs. That’s wasn’t your fault tho… it was the stair ‘s fault.

“Are you ever gonna let that go?? Isn’t it getting a little old?”

“It still makes me laugh so nope…”

You rolled your eyes at him. He’s such a dick.

You were now walking up the same previously mentioned stairs to your apartment with Katsuki on your heels.

“ Are these the tights you were talking about the other day?? The ones that make your ass look “the best it’s ever looked””

“ Yea!!! Doesn’t it look amazing??!? I gave Mina the link while we were at her house because she mention how fantastic they looked on me”

“Sure I guess. I ain’t seen anything your ass doesn’t look good in but whatever you say”

You didn’t know what to say to that. He was just upfront like that. The man had little to no filter. Thank god you were at your door. You were unlocking it and about to go inside..

“Wait”

You turned around to look at him.

“What’s up”

“I uhm… well….”

“Come on, spit it out. I ain’t got all night”

He stared you directly in your eyes and said

“Fuck it”

Before you had time to react you were pressed up against the wall and his lips were on yours. Calling what happened a kiss seemed to be a real understatement. It was more like he was consuming you. More so than he already had. You got lost in him. Your hands were in his hair and his arms were around your waist pressing you against him.

When he pulled away you found yourself chasing his lips because you were afraid if it stopped, it might never start again.

“Next time, instead of bitching to raccoon eyes about how you don’t think you’re my type, just come straight to me dumbass. Since when do you keep secrets from me?”

You were really trying to pull your train of thought together but it was really hard when his lips still looked so inviting.

Kat realizes you’re not paying attention to him and flicks you in the forehead.

“Hey asshole. You know I hate when you do that”

“Then pull yourself together. I know I kiss like a god but that doesn’t mean you get to space out.”

He was smirking at you. Katsuki Bakugo had just kissed you and was now standing in front of you looking all suave and handsome. If you died here, you’d die a very happy person.

Your brain started playing catch and you realized something

“So you were eavesdropping on a private conversation?? And I wasn’t bitching… she was asking about you and me yet again and I was explaining to her that I didn’t think it’d ever happen”

You said the last part a little softer because you were embarrassed talking about all of this

“I wasn’t eavesdropping… it was shitty hair. Idk what you think my type is but apparently you got it all wrong”

He does not elaborate or tell you that you are his type. He just leaves it at that so you side step it

“I’m gonna kill Eiji…”

You guys sit there for a second until

“Anyways I’m tired . I’m going home to salvage the little bit of sleep I am going to get tonight. See ya later.”

And he turned to leave. Just like that.

“So that’s it… you kiss me, reveal my biggest secret and leave”

All you can do is sit there befuddled and confused.

“Yep. See ya tomorrow”

Katsuki actually leaves after that. He was not playing about his sleep. You do get a message about 10minutes later letting you know he’s home and also requesting the link to the tights you had on that night.

You ask him why he needs that and all he says is that you need them in more colors than just black… ha! You knew your ass looked good in these!

*you do not know until weeks later that in his head, that kiss was the start of y’all’s relationship. Asshole never does actually ask you but what else do you really expect from the angry Pomeranian?🤷🏾‍♀️

[biteofcherry]

Flood

Bucky Barnes x female reader x Steve Rogers; Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Little Worshipper Masterlist

Main Masterlist

summary: Waking up between Steve and Bucky may finally make your desperate dreams come true.

warnings: smut; consensual; D/s undertones; power imbalance; orgasm denial finally leading to permission; degradation; slight objectification; creampie; aftercare is included;

This is a follow-up to Soaked.

You voted for those two ruining you this weekend, so here you go.

You rarely had trouble sleeping and being squeezed between two warm, solid bodies somehow deepened that state of bone-melting relaxation. Bucky and Steve worked better than a weighted blanket, even though neither of them laid on top of you. Their limbs were enough to make you feel anchored and protected. 

However, as blissful your sleep was, it was startled by your more active brain areas awaking.

And it was the supersoldiers’ fault, too.

Really, you couldn’t blame your mind from creating erotic images and rousing your unconscious body ready for what you desperately craved. 

You woke up just as your dream self was about to come (from having Bucky slap your clit, while Steve fucked your ass).

Darkness filled your vision as your eyes opened; it took a few long seconds for your eyes to adjust and notice contours. You hoped that your startled awakening didn’t stir anyone else from their sleep, but as your eyes met Bucky’s glinting gray-blue irises you realized it was too late to fake sleep. 

Your breath hitched as the lights very slowly filled the bedroom. Then Steve’s hand that’s been splayed on your hip traveled down your thigh. 

Bucky yanked the covers away, exposing your naked bodies. Steve gripped under your knee and forced your leg over his, spreading you open to their curious gaze. 

“So wet, starburst.” Steve’s voice was a velvety, soft caress, all the while his grip tightened when you instinctively tried to close your legs. “And we haven’t even touched you.”

“We were planning on it, you know,” Bucky reached out his hand and trailed a single digit along your collarbone and down over your breast. “On tormenting your sweet body while you slept. Getting you all nicely wet and needy.” 

“It seems your body already knows to prepare for us.” Steve hooks an ankle over your calf to keep your leg pinned as he moves his hand toward your pussy. “As a good little worshipper should.” 

When Steve’s fingers touched your slick folds, you couldn’t contain the gasp. Nor the way your hips rolled up, begging for more of the contact that has been denied to you for so long. 

They cooed at you in unison.

They moved coordinated, too.

Steve’s fingers spread your folds, tracing a line down and up, as Bucky flicked the pads of his fingers over your stiffening nipple. When Steve’s digit circled your clit, Bucky’s fingers moved to your other nipple, rubbing around it. 

They didn’t rush, but there was a steady increase of pressure and pace. They rolled you fully onto your back, with Steve still pinning your leg down. Bucky was pressed to your side, you felt the twitch of his dick against your thigh. 

Usually, you needed time with the foreplay, but somehow Bucky and Steve turned you into a writhing, pleading mess quickly. Perhaps it was the double teaming that overwhelmed your senses; or maybe the denial which kept you on the brink for so long. All it took was for Steve to draw a few eights across your clit and Bucky’s mouth to close around your nipple, and you were fisting the sheets and moaning. 

“Oh!” A high pitched keen bubbled on your lips as Steve slid a single finger inside you. 

“For someone so eager to take two supersoldiers, you’re very snug, starburst.” Steve angled his body, so that he could look down at your face as he pushed his finger in and out of your pussy. 

“I think it turns her on,” Bucky’s chuckle tickled your nipple, “that her tight holes will stretch around our cocks.” 

“She’s so tight, it’s going to feel like heaven.” Again, they talked to each other, speaking of you as if you were only a toy for them to use. To take whatever they gave you. 

Steve inserted a second finger and you nearly bowed in half from how good it felt. Your walls contracted and your breath turned ragged. 

You were so damn close. 

“Not yet,” Steve withdrew his fingers and you felt like bursting into tears.

Instead, you whined and kicked your free leg (since the other was trapped under Steve’s weight, as if he somehow predicted you’d be prone to kick him). 

Bucky grinned, sharing a knowing look with Steve above you. They both moved and for a split of a second you were terrified that they would just leave you all dripping and desperate. Again. But Bucky merely scooted back, while Steve knelt between your splayed legs. 

“Behave,” he admonished, tapping your puffy folds and the clit peeking from between them. 

“You’ll get to cum, no worries.” He dipped his fingers into your pussy, pumping them slowly a few times and then withdrawing. 

You watched, breath almost withheld, as he smeared your sticky juices along his hardened cock. That glorious, big cock, the sight of which had your walls clenching. 

“But you’ll be coming around me.”

Then he was pushing into you, angling his body forward, but not lying on top of you. His eyes held your gaze captive as he pushed the tip past the barrier of your hole. Your whole body tensed, heat filled you in a tsunami-intense wave, your toes curled. 

So much delicious torment. So much denial. And finally you were granted something you’ve been craving. That moment you realized it wasn’t even the orgasm that you wanted so much, but the ultimate intimate connection. 

Though your body definitely longed after that orgasm.

The men have strained you to that edge enough times that your body was primed to snatch it, before it disappears. Steve didn’t even fully sink in when the coil snapped.

Your own eyes widened in surprise as you cried out. Your cunt clenched tight, your muscles tensed. 

“Fuck, feels so good,” Steve goraned, his eyes not once leaving your face. 

“Looks fucking good, too.” Bucky moaned, stroking his length. His gaze swept back and forth between your face, the point where Steve’s dick was stretching your opening, and Steve’s face. 

Steve didn’t give you time to fall into that softly pliant, post-orgasmic state. He pressed in, shushing you as you made little mewling noises at the slight discomfort of his cock filling you more than you ever experienced. 

When he bottomed out, he slipped his hands beneath your buttocks and lifted your hips as he knelt up. Steve easily held your hips elevated; high enough your feet weren’t even touching the mattress anymore. You squeaked at the new position and the angle that allowed him to stay deep. 

“Now,” the corner of Steve’s mouth tugged upwards in a dangerous smirk, “let’s keep the needy worshipper cumming, since she claims to be so devoted.” 

Unexpectedly, Bucky was bending across your bowed body, his hot breath fanning the top of your mound as he leaned his head down to where you and Steve were connected. 

Steve slowly withdrew. Then Bucky’s tongue flicked over your clit. 

“Oh God!” Your moan was choked.

“Gods, little worshipper.” Steve corrected, amused. 

Then he started moving, hard and deep. You had no idea how Bucky was able to keep at it, but his tongue was merciless on your swollen clit; every few thrusts switching to lick inches of Steve’s cock as he pulled out. 

They had you screaming your release twice, squeezing tears out of your eyes from the intensity of sensations. It was bliss, being allowed to come after denial, but it was also overwhelming. Especially with the way you had zero control of your own movement, being used like a ragdoll. 

Through glassy vision you watched Bucky kiss his way up Steve’s torso; he bit lightly into Steve’s neck before capturing his mouth in an imperfect, hot kiss. Through the haze of your own blood pounding in your head and the sounds of slapping skin and your squelching pussy, you heard an awed “You look good together. You taste good together, too.” 

Bucky settled down beside you, bending down to nibble on your lips playfully. The way you panted into his mouth, your tongue shyly meeting his, seemed to please Bucky greatly. 

He traced a line down your arm and gently unclenched your fingers from around the crumbled sheet. Guided your hand to his hard cock, wordlessly showing you how to stroke him. He pushed two of his fingers between your open lips then rubbed your own saliva over your nipples. 

“Seems you like taking it, starburst,” Bucky hummed, tweaking your peaks. “Just being a good, obedient worshipper and taking whatever you’re given.” He pinched your nipple. “Say it.”

“I- I like it,” you complied, trying hard not to lose focus on how to move your fist over Bucky’s dick.

“Good girl.” Steve praised, gently lowering your ass to the mattress. 

“Good little worshipper, serving her gods-” he didn’t slip out, keeping his cock buried in your fluttering pussy as he settled his weight on top of you- “spreading for us like a perfect, eager vessel for our cum.” 

You moaned at that; a pinch of weak protest, but mostly a sound of pleasure from combined stimulation. Being filled and fucked, being used, being made to give Bucky pleasure, all the while being addressed as an object. 

“You think she’ll like being filled?” Bucky withdrew his hand from between your bodies as Steve’s chest crushed your boobs. 

“I think she’ll love it,” came Steve’s sure reply. At your glazed over gaze staring up at him in devotion, he chuckled darkly: “She loves being our cumdump.” 

Was it the spot Steve hit mercilessly as he fucked you, or the degrading words, but your body shattered in another orgasm. Much to their satisfaction.

“That’s it, starburst.” Steve’s breath turned ragged, hips slamming into yours in rough strokes. “Open up for my cum. No need to be shy about it. A worshipper is allowed to take pleasure from being used and filled.”

You spluttered incoherent noises; a staccato of whimpers as Steve sped up, chasing his release. A long, strained groan combined with your gasps as you felt the warmth of Steve’s spend spilling inside of you. 

Your cunt squeezed his throbbing cock - eagerly, as they predicted. 

Steve’s large hand framed your face; thumb and forefinger squeezing your cheeks slightly. His own face was flushed as he stared down at you; a strand of silky hair fell across his forehead.

“Thank me for filling you with my cum.” 

“Thank you for fucking me and filling me with your cum.” Despite your voice quivering, you were quick to follow his command. “Thank you for making me come.” You added hastily, too. 

Steve huffed a laugh; dark sternness of his features melting away, forming crinkles around his eyes. He leaned down, brushing his lips against yours. He kissed you slowly and almost tenderly, reinstalling that emotional connection. 

He was still gripping your cheeks when he ended the kiss and he used that hold to force your head to turn to the side. Your gaze immediately landed on Bucky’s cock and your hand still wrapped around it. 

“That’s right, little worshipper,” Bucky intoned almost menacingly, “you’re not yet done serving.”

He made you squeeze your hand tighter and speed your moves, then knocked your hand away. That’s when Steve slowly pulled out of you, a thick trickle of his cum leaking out of you in his wake. He sat back, leaning against the headboard and watching Bucky settle between your spread legs. 

Bucky’s gaze dragged from your face down your body. His eyes darkened and he licked his lips hungrily as he watched the white streak of cum seeping out of your pussy. He fisted his own cock, giving it a few more jerks as he stared at the mess of you.

“Do you know what will happen now?” Bucky lifted his eyes to your face.

“You’ll fuck me?” You asked hesitantly, though you sensed that it was more of you hoping than what was actually going to happen. 

Bucky flashed you a wolfish grin.

“No, starburst.” He shook his head. He bent your legs and pressed them against your chest, his hips pressing into your ass. 

“Now, I will fill my cumdump.” 

With that, he thrust his cock into your tight cunt. You were so hot and snug. And so fucking creamy. It was a dizzying sensation Bucky couldn’t compare to anything else. He cursed under his breath as he felt the mixture of your juices and copious amounts of Steve’s cum. 

Your eyes widened as you felt the hot spill of seed filling you. Bucky really didn’t need to fuck into you to reach his climax. 

That he simply used you as a vessel for his release had your post-orgasm softened nipples stiffen into hard peaks anew. The jolt of arousal shot straight to your clit, too. 

“Fuuuck!” Bucky groaned; his face contorted in pleasure, eyes closed. 

He stayed buried inside your pussy as his cock throbbed in last spurts. 

When he opened his eyes, amazement shone in his blue irises. He looked at Steve, some silent but meaningful understanding passing between the two of them. Then his gaze returned to you, just as soft and full of feeling.

Bucky stroked one of your calves and kissed your ankle. 

“You’re a perfect cumdump, starburst. A delightful little worshipper. We’re so damn lucky to have found you.” 

“She found us, if we’re being precise.” Steve chimed in. 

A few minutes later - after both Steve and Bucky had their fill of staring at your messy pussy and making a few more comments that were arousing you in a twisted way - Bucky carried you to the bathroom and into a bath. He didn’t join you in it, but was there beside you, tenderly cleaning you up. 

When you exited, the sheets on the bed had all been replaced with a fresh set and Steve was already halfway through making breakfast. They insisted on you sitting at the small, round dining table, wrapped in a blanket and being served food and tea. 

As you held the warm mug in both of your hands, sipping steaming brew slowly and watching Bucky and Steve move around the kitchen, you realized you didn’t feel any awkwardness or shame, which would be expected considering how they defiled you. 

They exchanged small smiles and sweet kisses between each other, but also with you. A brush of fingers on your shoulder when Steve brought you tea; Bucky pulling your feet to rest in his lap while he sat in the other chair at the table. They kept you included, as if it was most natural. 

For the first time in a very long time you felt wanted and cared for. 

And yeah, thoroughly used. In the best way. 

[mononijikayu]

thirty–nine — gojo satoru.

GENRE: alternate universe - reincarnation

WARNING/S: romance, domesticity, fluff, family, break up, hurt/no comfort, angst, trauma, implied death, hurt/comfort, character death, depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of graphic content,depiction of emotional breakdown, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief;

WORD COUNT: 7.5k words

NOTE: in honor of the olympics ending tomorrow, here is the figure skating pair satoru x reader which just took a while to write. i was debating adding so much stuff here, but this is so long already and i didn't want to let you suffer my yapping. please enjoy this as much as pasilyo!!! i'll see you for yuuji's story AND the winning story idea from the polls~ i love you all <3

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IF YOU THINK ABOUT IT, SATORU WAS YOUR UNIVERSE. He always has been. Ever since you were a little girl, your life had revolved around Gojo Satoru. You remember it vividly, or at least you think you do. Your earliest memories were a mix of excitement and nerves, curiosity and clumsy attempts at coordination.

You recall stepping onto the ice rink for the first time. Your tiny skates felt like they had minds of their own. You looked up at your mom with wide, apprehensive eyes, wondering if you’d make a fool of yourself or somehow transform into a skating prodigy overnight.

“Just give it a try. You’ll be great!” Your mom waves, encouraging tune echoing from her lips. “Go darling!”

Your gaze swept around the rink, trying to take in every detail. There were adults gliding gracefully, children spinning in wild, chaotic circles, and the occasional crash that sounded like a minor icequake. And then, amidst this dizzying array of figures, you saw him—Gojo Satoru, as he was back then: a whirlwind of energy with an unruly mop of hair that defied gravity.

At that moment, your child-sized heart skipped a beat. You were captivated by his effortless moves, his goofy grin, and the way he seemed to have a magnetic pull on every eye in the rink. To you, he was like a live-action superhero—if superheroes had a penchant for playful teasing and spontaneous snowball fights.

“Who’s that? He’s amazing!” You asked your mom, eyes echoing in awe as you watched him skirt through like an angel visiting earth. 

“That’s Gojo Satoru. He’s quite the skater. And one day, you’ll be just as good.” Your mom grins knowingly. “I hear he’s been in some competitions already, you know?”

“I wanna be like him, mama! I wanna be as good as him!” You say patting her arm, as she smiled. “No, I wanna be even better!”

“You will be, I’m sure.” She says, as she helped you into the ice rink. “You can do it, I believe in you.”

You took to heart your mother’s words. You could  remember clutching the side of the rink for dear life as you tried to mimic Gojo’s moves. It was a mix of determination and hilarity. But you wanted to do better. You wanted to be as good as him, you wanted to be even better.

 “Careful, you’re making my moves look bad with all these awesome spins!” Gojo Satoru skates towards you, grin on his face. You almost fell, but you recovered pretty fast. You looked at him in awe. “Of course, you’ll be in awe of me, won’t you?”

“I’m just trying to keep up! Your spins are impossible!” You reply, eyes full of stars as you stare at him.

“Impossible? Nah, just a bit of practice and a lot of attitude!”

Years later, you’d look back on those early days and laugh at how starstruck you were. It wasn’t just the skating that captivated you; it was the way Gojo made everything feel like an adventure, every practice a chance for mischief and fun. And through all the spills and thrills, he became a central figure in your life—a constant, whether you were gliding gracefully or tumbling spectacularly.

“Remember when I tried to copy your triple axel and ended up face-planting into the ice?” you said, a snicker escaping your lips as you glanced at Satoru. The memory of your clumsy attempt at one of the most challenging moves still brought a touch of embarrassment, but now it was wrapped in fondness.

Satoru’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he recalled the scene. “How could I forget?” he said, his grin widening. “You made it look like a new ice trick!”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I think ‘new ice trick’ is just a polite way of saying I looked like a flailing fish.”

Satoru’s laughter was warm and infectious. “No way! You brought a whole new level of creativity to the rink. I’d never seen anyone make a face-plant look like part of the performance before. It was almost... avant-garde!”

You raised an eyebrow, playfully skeptical. “Avant-garde? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“Absolutely,” Satoru replied with mock seriousness. “You were way ahead of your time. You just needed a bigger audience to appreciate the art of the spectacular face-plant!”

You chuckled, shaking your head at his playful exaggeration. “I suppose if we had marketed it as a ‘revolutionary new ice dance move,’ we might have started a trend.”

“See?” Satoru said, nudging you with his elbow. “Told you. The effort made you even better. Every great skater has a few unforgettable falls in their repertoire. Yours just happened to be the most memorable.”

You leaned into him, enjoying the easy tenderness between you. “Well, thanks for sticking around to see it. I might not have had the best technique, but at least I had you to laugh with.”

“And to catch you when you fell.” Satoru added with a wink. “Though, I have to admit, watching you try that move was like watching a live-action comedy show. I’m still waiting for the sequel!”

You nudged him back playfully, a smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll get your fill of entertainment with me around. Just give me a few more practice sessions to perfect my ‘avant-garde’ style.”

Satoru’s laughter filled the rink as he pulled you into a warm hug. “Deal. And who knows? Maybe your next masterpiece will be the talk of the skating world.”

You might have had a few less-than-graceful moments throughout the years, but you wouldn’t trade those for anything. Because in every one of those moments, amidst the laughter and the tears, there was Gojo Satoru, making sure that no matter how many times you fell, he’d always be there to catch you—or at least to laugh with you when you got back up. 

From the age of ten, when you first got paired up as figure skating partners, everything changed. It was one of those pivotal moments in life that seemed to alter the course of your entire world. The rink in your small town in Tokyo was modest, its walls lined with the echoes of countless skaters who had come before you. Yet, on that day, it felt like the grandest stage imaginable.

The more you saw him, the more you were in awe of him. He was beautiful in a way that transcended mere physical appearance—his presence was magnetic. He had a head of unruly, gravity-defying hair that seemed to perfectly match the uncontainable energy radiating from him. His eyes, bright and full of mischief, held a spark that made you feel as though you were witnessing something truly extraordinary.

You liked to watch his practice session. You watched every movement with awestruck eyes. He effortlessly gliding across the ice with a grace that seemed to defy the laws of physics. To your young eyes, it was like watching a dancer in a dream—a perfect blend of elegance and daring. And even though he was just a boy, there was something undeniably captivating about the way he moved.

You could see the other kids watching him too, their faces reflecting a mix of admiration and envy. He had that rare quality of being able to draw attention without even trying, a natural charisma that made him the center of every conversation. You, on the other hand, felt a mix of excitement and trepidation. You were about to join him on this stage, and while the idea was thrilling, it was also intimidating.

Sure, he could be a brat—too blunt and annoyingly confident at times. His comments were often laced with a teasing edge, and his self-assuredness sometimes bordered on arrogance. But beneath that surface was an undeniable charm, a genuine enthusiasm for skating that was contagious. Despite his occasional brashness, there was something incredibly endearing about the way he approached life with such unabashed exuberance.

It wasn’t long before you found yourself drawn to him, despite the occasional clash of personalities. There was an undeniable pull, a feeling that your paths were meant to intertwine. The more you watched him, the more you realized that beneath his bravado, there was a heart full of passion and dreams—a heart that mirrored your own in many ways.

As you began your partnership, the initial awkwardness and nerves slowly gave way to a growing bond. The rink became a space where you could both express yourselves, where you learned to complement each other’s movements and anticipate each other’s needs. The early days were filled with stumbling attempts at coordination, but through every misstep and every laugh, a connection began to form..

It wasn’t long before you realized that you were in love with him. It was as if the universe had aligned perfectly, making it so easy to fall for him. After all, who else could understand you the way Satoru did? You two had grown up together, skating side by side, pushing each other to be better, stronger, faster. You knew every nuance of his personality, every quirk, and he knew yours just as intimately. You were made for each other.

So when you were both twenty, standing on that podium with gold medals around your necks after the Olympics, the decision to marry him felt as natural as breathing. You didn’t need grand gestures or long speeches. Just a simple ceremony, your hands clasped tightly together, your hearts beating in sync as you exchanged vows. The world saw two champions in love, but for you, it was simply a continuation of a life already lived side by side. 

Now, every glide across the ice, every perfectly executed lift, felt like a dance of love—the bond you had built over the years. You knew that no matter what challenges came your way, as long as you had Satoru by your side, you would always come out on top, both in life and on the ice.

But after competing together your whole lives, earning fame and glory in the Olympics year after year, the house of cards you thought could withstand any storm, any chaos, any catastrophe, suddenly crumbled. You were thirty when it happened, at the peak of your career. It wasn’t during a pairs event, but your individual skating routine—an arena where you stood alone, without Satoru by your side.

The routine had started flawlessly, every spin and jump executed with the precision and grace that had become your signature. But then, in the blink of an eye, something went wrong. A misstep, a momentary lapse, and you felt a sharp, searing pain shoot through your leg as you landed awkwardly.

You knew instantly that something was terribly wrong, but you pushed through it. The roaring crowd, the blinding lights, and the weight of your own expectations urged you on. So you kept going, forcing your body to move despite the pain, finishing your routine with the same poise you had always shown.

When the music stopped, you stood there, chest heaving, eyes scanning the audience as they erupted in applause. You had done it—you had won a medal. But the victory was hollow, the weight of the medal around your neck a constant reminder of what it had cost you. 

Satoru was there in an instant, his eyes wide with worry as he rushed to your side. But even as he held you, whispered reassurances in your ear, you could feel the cracks forming. The injury wasn’t just physical; it was the beginning of something deeper, something neither of you had prepared for. 

The house of cards you had built together, the one you thought could weather any storm, was suddenly teetering on the edge of collapse. And as you looked into Satoru’s eyes, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was the moment it would all come crashing down.

The injury was complicated, a tangled mess of torn ligaments and fractured bones that proved difficult to operate on. The doctors weren’t optimistic, and that crushed you in ways you hadn’t anticipated. The physical pain was one thing, but the heartbreak that followed was unbearable. You found yourself spiraling into a void of despair, the life you had known slipping away with each passing day.

You began to isolate yourself, retreating into the shadows of your own mind. The rink, once your sanctuary, became a place of torment, a constant reminder of what you had lost. Satoru tried to be there for you, but even his presence felt like a weight too heavy to bear. The once unbreakable bond between you began to fray, each day pulling you further apart.

When you finally announced your retirement, it felt like the end of an era. But it wasn’t just skating you were leaving behind; you wanted to erase yourself from Satoru’s narrative too. You couldn’t bear the thought of holding him back, of being the reason his career might falter. Your failures had already cost you everything—there was no way you would let them drag him down too.

Satoru, with his usual stubbornness, refused to let go. He never wanted a divorce, didn’t even want to talk about separation. But you needed space, a distance that would allow you to breathe without feeling like you were suffocating under the weight of your shared history. Satoru understood this—he understood it all too well. So he didn’t fight you, didn’t push back. He simply waited, hoping that time and space would heal the wounds that had driven a wedge between you.

And so, the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. Satoru waited, holding onto the hope that one day you would find your way back to him, that the love you shared would be strong enough to bridge the distance that had grown between you. He waited, because he knew that no matter how far you tried to run, you were still a part of him, just as he was a part of you.

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HE WISHED HE COULD TAKE BACK THAT DAY. But he knew that he couldn’t change the reality of what had happened. No matter how many times he hoped, prayed, or wished for a different outcome, the truth remained that life had robbed you of your dreams. In the world of figure skating, the years were fleeting, and only a select few were fortunate enough to extend their careers into their thirties.

Satoru was one of those few, still gracing the ice with his presence at thirty-eight, but you had always been right there beside him. You were making plans yourself, contemplating when to step away, but it was supposed to be on your own terms, with a final performance that would leave the world breathless.

That’s what broke you the most, he thinks—the fact that fate had stolen that choice from you. You were supposed to have one last dance, one last chance to glide across the ice and feel the love of the crowd, to pour your heart into the sport that had shaped your life.

But instead, your departure was abrupt, forced by circumstances beyond your control. The ice, which had been your sanctuary, your stage, and your life, was taken from you without warning. And now, as you both reached thirty-eight, the painful reality was that you and the ice would part forever in a way neither of you had ever wanted.

For Satoru, it was excruciating to find his footing without you. Every day at the rink felt like a different world, one that was both familiar and alien. He tried to push forward, to focus on his training and his new role as a mentor, but it was impossible to ignore the gaping hole left by your absence.

When he looked around during practice sessions, at Coach Yaga’s stern face, the focused expressions of the staff, and the young skaters striving to make their mark, he felt the sting of loss all over again. The rink was the same, yet everything had changed.

There were no shared glances with you, no reassuring smiles or knowing nods as you both prepared to take the ice together. The absence of your voice, your laughter, your presence—it was a constant ache that refused to dull. Every corner of the rink held memories of you, of the life you had built together on the ice. Now, without you, it felt like skating in a shadow, always missing the light that had once guided him.

Satoru knew that this was his reality now, and no amount of wishing could bring back what had been lost. But even as he trained, coached, and tried to find meaning in this new chapter of his life, the thought of you lingered, a bittersweet reminder of what could have been.

It hurt more than he could ever express, but he kept going, because that’s what you would have wanted him to do. Even if he didn’t hear it, he knows this is what you would have wanted. And so, with each step he took, he carried the weight of your absence.

And he still got it. Gojo Satoru still managed to captivate the hearts of many in the skating world, even as the years wore on. The boy who once dazzled audiences with his youthful brilliance was now a seasoned veteran, revered and respected.

He still skated, still graced the ice with the effortless grace that had made him a legend, but he knew his time as a competitor was drawing to a close. He had begun to transition into coaching, guiding the next generation of talent. Rising star Megumi Fushiguro had caught his eye, a skater with raw potential and a fire that reminded Satoru of his younger self.

But even with the new responsibilities, the thrill of mentoring, it was hard. Every single day, the weight of your absence pressed down on him. You had been gone for a while now, distancing yourself in a way that left him feeling helpless and lost. The silence between you was deafening, a void he couldn’t seem to fill no matter how hard he tried.

He worried about you constantly, wondering how you were coping, whether you were healing—both physically and emotionally. The thought of you alone, battling your demons without him, tore at his heart. So, he made a note in his head to message you, to reach out once more. It wasn’t much, just a few words, a simple check-in, but it was all he could do. He never got a reply, but he knew you saw the messages. Somehow, he convinced himself that it was enough, that knowing you were still there, somewhere, was better than nothing at all.

At least he knew you were well. That was what mattered most, even if it meant enduring the silence that stretched on between you. And so, he continued to wait, just as he had before, holding onto the hope that one day, you might find your way back to him. Maybe someday you’ll find your way back into his arms.

But he never expected it to be right here, right now. Gojo Satoru never expected that he would find you here today. It was just another day at the rink, one of many he’d spent alone, trying to fill the emptiness that lingered after you left. As he packed up his gear, mentally preparing to head home, something caught his eye near the exit. He blinked, unsure if he was seeing things, but there you were—standing by the door, just like you used to, waiting for him with that familiar smile on your face.

For a moment, he froze, unsure if this was a dream or some trick of his mind. It had been months since you last talked, months since he had seen that smile, and the shock of seeing you here, in the place where it all began, left him momentarily speechless. But the way you looked at him, the way you waved as if no time had passed at all—it stirred something deep within him, something he had almost forgotten.

Slowly, he walked over to you, his heart pounding in his chest. The closer he got, the more real you became, and when he finally reached you, he found himself searching your face for answers. Were you really here? Was this really happening?

“Hey,” you greeted him softly, your voice carrying the warmth and familiarity he had missed so much.

“Hey.” he replied, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that you were standing right in front of him. “I didn’t expect to see you here. What brings you to town?”

You smiled even wider, the kind of smile that always made him feel like everything was going to be okay. “I wanted to see you.” you said simply. “It’s been too long.”

He felt a lump form in his throat, a mixture of relief and uncertainty. “How long are you staying?”

“For a while.” you answered, your eyes meeting him with a sincerity that made his heart ache. 

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Satoru didn’t know what this meant, or what it would lead to, but at that moment, none of it mattered. You were here, in front of him, smiling that same smile that had captured his heart so many years ago. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to hope that maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something new.

As the days passed, Satoru and you slowly began to rebuild something that resembled the life you once shared, the marriage that had been so deeply intertwined with your skating careers.

It wasn’t exactly the same, but it was something beautiful in its own right, something tender and fragile, blossoming with each shared moment. Satoru cherished it, adored it more than words could express. He had missed you more than he had ever let on, and now that you were back in his life, he found himself clinging to every second, treasuring every smile, every touch.

You fell into a rhythm together, one that was both familiar and new. It felt like rediscovering each other all over again, like finding pieces of a puzzle that had been scattered but never lost. Satoru reveled in the simple things—the quiet conversations, the laughter, the warmth of your presence beside him. He had spent so much time wondering if he would ever feel whole again, and now, with you here, it was as if the missing pieces were finally falling into place.

Through it all, one thought became clear to him: after living multiple lifetimes with you, each time he was reborn, he always wanted you. In every lifetime, in every possible world, it was you he would choose, again and again. No matter the circumstances, no matter the struggles or the suffering, he wanted nothing more in life than to be together with you. 

If he had to suffer, if he had to endure pain or hardship, he would gladly accept it—just to have you by his side. Because with you, every trial was worth it, every challenge bearable. You were his beginning and his end, the one constant in a world that was always changing.

And as he looked at you now, smiling at him as you always did, he knew that this was all he needed, all he would ever need. Satoru had found his way back to you, and he would hold onto you with everything he had, because there was nothing more precious to him than the life you were building together once more.

That night, you and Satoru were out to dinner together. He had gone all out, renting the entire balcony of your favorite restaurant in the city. The view was breathtaking, the city lights twinkling beneath a clear night sky. You sat together, enjoying a delicious meal, reminiscing and laughing like you used to. It felt almost like old times, a moment of peace and happiness that you both had desperately needed.

As the evening went on, you found yourself watching him, taking in the way his eyes sparkled when he laughed, the way his smile lit up the world around him. You loved him so much, and that love had only grown stronger with time. But as you looked at him, you knew it was time to tell him what you had been holding back.

"Satoru." you said softly, your voice tinged with both hesitation and resolve. "I have something to say."

He looked at you, a playful smile still on his lips as he asked, "What is it?"

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the words still came out shakily. "The doctor, I visited him.”

He raised a brow. “Is it about your knee? What did he say? Do you need another operation? If so, I’ll make time around it on my schedule—”

“Satoru.” You say, cutting him off. You smiled at him, shaking your head. 

“My love, what is it?” 

You looked downward, as though you were deep into thought for a moment. You raised your head once again and took a deep breath. He noticed the air shift, as he stared into your eyes. Your eyes narrowed as you looked at him with that haunting smile. He thinks he’ll never forget it. It was seared into him, how you could smile in this moment when those truths were about to come from your lips. The truth he hated most.

“I have pancreatic cancer, my doctor said." you began, watching as his expression shifted from curiosity to shock. "Final stage. The survival rate… it’s 0.08 percent."

The smile vanished from his face instantly, replaced by a look of utter devastation. His eyes welled up with tears, and for a moment, he just stared at you, as if trying to process the enormity of what you had just said. Then, without warning, he reached out and pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he could shield you from the cruel reality you had just revealed.

“What?”

“It…” You take a moment, trying not to break in front of him. “It was a shock for me too. But...…”

“When?” He huffs, as though he was about to run out of air. “When did you find out?”

You couldn’t speak for a moment, almost ashamed. “Two days ago.”

"Why?" he choked out, his voice breaking as the tears began to fall. "Why does it have to be you?"

Hearing his pain, seeing the tears streaming down his face, was enough to break your heart all over again. You felt your own tears begin to well up, and soon they were spilling over, streaming down your cheeks as you clung to him. But you tried to stay strong, tried to find some semblance of composure. You even managed a small, shaky laugh through the tears, though it sounded more like a sob.

"Satoru," you whispered, your voice trembling but filled with a gentle resolve, "All I want to do is have fun with you. With all the time left, hm? I want to skate like we used to, laugh like we did tonight… I want to spend whatever time I have left making the best memories with you."

He held you even tighter, his tears soaking into your shoulder as he cried quietly, his body shaking with the force of his emotions. "I can’t lose you, not again." he whispered, his voice raw with grief. "I don’t know how to live without you."

"You won’t lose me, you know what, hm?" you said, your voice cracking as you tried to comfort him, even as your own tears continued to fall. "I’ll always be with you, no matter what happens. But for now, let’s make the most of the time we have, okay? Let’s skate together, laugh together… let’s live."

Satoru nodded, though he couldn’t find the words to respond. He just held you, both of you crying together, sharing the pain and the love that bound you so deeply. He doesn't say anything mroe and neither do you. It was better that way.

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IT WAS A NO BRAINER FOR HIM. The day after your dinner, Gojo Satoru made an announcement that sent shockwaves through the figure skating world. Standing before a room full of reporters and cameras, he took a deep breath, steadying himself as he prepared to say the words he never thought he’d utter so soon.

“Effective immediately, I’m retiring from competitive figure skating.” he said, his voice calm but firm. The room erupted in gasps and murmurs, but Satoru kept his gaze steady, focused on the truth he had to share. “I won’t be taking on any new commitments as a coach either, not for the time being.”

He could see the confusion, the surprise in the faces around him, but he didn’t waver. “My partner, my… my spouse,” he continued, his voice faltering slightly as he forced himself to push through, “has been diagnosed with a serious illness. My priority is to be with them, to support them through this time.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling over everyone. Satoru’s heart pounded in his chest, but he knew this was the right decision. Nothing mattered more to him than being by your side, especially now. The ice could wait. The world could wait. You needed him, and that was all that mattered.

It was hard—harder than he had imagined. The pain you were in was unbearable to watch, a constant reminder of the battle you were fighting. He hated seeing you suffer, hated the way the illness stole pieces of you day by day. You tried to stay strong, tried to keep smiling for him, but he could see the pain etched in every line of your face, hear it in the way your breath hitched when you thought he wasn’t listening.

Sometimes, when you were resting, Satoru would retreat to a quiet corner of the house, somewhere you wouldn’t find him, and he would cry. He would cry for you, for the life you were supposed to have together, for the unfairness of it all. He cried because he felt helpless, unable to take away your pain, unable to do anything but watch as the illness took its toll.

And yet, no matter how hard he tried to hide it, he knew you noticed. You would look at him with those eyes, filled with concern for him even as you battled your own pain. He wished you wouldn’t—wished you wouldn’t see the cracks in his armor, wouldn’t see the way this was breaking him. He wanted to be strong for you, wanted to be your rock, but the truth was, he was terrified. 

He wished you didn’t have to see his tears, didn’t have to carry the burden of his sorrow on top of everything else you were going through. But no matter how much he tried to hide it, you always noticed, and that only made him ache more. He didn’t want to add to your pain, didn’t want you to worry about him when you had so much to face already.

But through it all, Satoru stayed by your side, refusing to leave you for even a moment. He held your hand through the pain, stayed up with you through the long nights, and whispered words of comfort even when he was breaking inside. Because in the end, none of it mattered. None of the tears, none of the fear—as long as he could be with you, as long as he could love you through every moment you had left.

Despite the pain that had become a constant companion, despite the weakness that sapped your strength with each passing day, you found yourself yearning for one final chance to skate. The ice rink had always been your sanctuary, a place where you felt most alive, most connected to Satoru. And now, as the end approached, you wanted nothing more than to experience that joy one last time.

You approached Satoru with trembling resolve. He was sitting beside you, holding your hand gently, his eyes reflecting the deep sadness and concern that had become all too familiar. You took a deep breath, mustering the energy to make your request.

"Satoru, please." you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want to go to the rink. I want to skate with you… just one last time."

Satoru’s face immediately fell, a mixture of shock and concern washing over him. "No," he said firmly, his voice strained with the effort to stay calm. "You're too weak. You can't do this. It’s too dangerous."

But you shook your head, the tears welling up in your eyes. "Please, Satoru." you pleaded, your voice breaking as the emotion overwhelmed you. "I know I'm sick. I know it’s risky. But I just want to feel the ice again, to be with you on that rink one last time. It’s all I’m asking."

His resolve began to falter, his heart aching at the sight of your tears, at the desperation in your voice. "I don’t want to see you in pain, my love." he said, his own voice trembling. "What if something happens? I can't bear to see you hurt."

You couldn’t hold back your sobs any longer. You clung to him, your body shaking with the force of your tears. "Please." you begged through your sobs, "Just...please just this once. I need this. I need it for me, for us."

Satoru’s tears began to fall as well, mingling with yours. He pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace. He could feel the weight of your illness pressing down on him, the crushing reality of it all. He wanted to protect you, to keep you safe, but he also saw how much this meant to you.

After a few moments of holding you, he pulled back slightly, his eyes red and wet. "Okay....I...." he said, his voice choked with emotion. "We’ll go to the rink. But promise me we’ll be careful. Promise me you’ll tell me if it’s too much."

You nodded through your tears, a small, grateful smile forming on your lips despite the sadness. "I promise," you whispered, feeling a glimmer of hope.

Satoru helped you get ready, carefully supporting you as you made your way to the rink. Every step was a struggle, every movement a reminder of how much you had endured. But when you finally stepped onto the ice, with Satoru by your side, you felt a fleeting sense of peace.

As you skated together, every movement was a bittersweet reminder of the life you had shared, of the joy you had found in each other. Your Satoru held you close, guiding you gently across the ice, making sure you were safe while also trying to hold back his own tears.

It was a moment of fragile beauty, a final dance on the ice that captured the essence of your love and the depth of your connection. For a little while, the pain and the sadness seemed to fade, replaced by the pure joy of being together once more, on the ice where it all began. And in that moment, despite everything, you felt a profound sense of peace, knowing that you had shared one last perfect memory with the person you loved most.

As you skated together, the ice beneath your feet felt both comforting and foreign, a reminder of the many times you had danced together in the past. Satoru guided you gently, his grip firm but tender, as you moved across the rink.

“Just a little slower, hm?” he said softly, his voice a mix of concern and love. “I don’t want you to push yourself too hard.”

You nodded, trying to match his pace. “I’m okay. you whispered, though your breath was ragged. “I just… I needed this. I needed to feel… like we’re still us.”

Satoru glanced at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and affection. “I wish I could do more for you.” he said, his voice trembling. “I wish we had more time.”

You looked up at him, tears streaming down your face despite the smile on your lips. “We have now.” you said softly. “We have this moment. That’s all I need.”

He pulled you into a gentle embrace, holding you close as you skated. “I love you.” he said, his voice choked with emotion. “I love you so much."

“I love you too.” you replied, your voice barely audible as the tears continued to flow.

Satoru’s grip tightened around you, and he rested his forehead against yours. “I’m here, okay?” he whispered. “I’m always here, no matter what happens. I’ll never leave you.”

You closed your eyes, letting the moment sink in. “Thank you for doing this, for me.” you said softly. “For making this… one last memory.”

Satoru nodded, his own tears falling freely now. “I’ll always treasure this.” he said, his voice breaking. “Even if it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, I’m grateful for every moment we’ve shared. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

You stayed like that for a while, just holding each other, the world outside the rink fading away as you focused on the connection you shared. Eventually, you began to slow down, feeling the weight of exhaustion and pain.

“Let’s rest for a bit.” Satoru suggested gently. “We don’t have to do everything at once. We can take it slow.”

You nodded, letting him guide you to the edge of the rink where you both sat down, still holding each other. The cold of the ice beneath you felt soothing, a contrast to the warmth of Satoru’s embrace.

“Do you remember?” you said quietly, trying to shift the focus to happier memories, “Our first time, when we skated together?”

Satoru chuckled softly, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “How could I forget? You were so determined, even though you could barely stay upright. I think you fell more than you skated.”

You laughed, a small, bittersweet sound. “And you kept teasing me about it, but you were always there to catch me.”

“Always,” he agreed, squeezing your hand. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’ll always be here to catch you.”

Satoru took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “Do you remember when we first met at the rink?” he began, his voice growing softer but more steady as he spoke. “You were so nervous, and I was this cocky kid who thought he knew it all. You kept falling, but you were determined to keep going. I think that’s when I first realized how strong you were.”

You smiled faintly, imagining the scene he described. “I remember.” you whispered. “You were so annoying, but you helped me up every time I fell.”

“And you kept getting up, you would grip my hand hard too.” Satoru continued, his voice steadying as he spoke of the past. “You never gave up, no matter how many times you fell. It was inspiring. It was...It was everything."

As he spoke, your breathing became more labored, each inhale taking more effort than the last. Satoru’s voice wavered, but he continued, determined to give you this final gift of memories. You could feel it. How easily it would break into shattering tears. To see one’s heart break into a million pieces. To be the one slowly being left behind.

“I remember our first competition together, in pairs.” he said, his voice trembling with both nostalgia and emotion. “We were so nervous, but we pulled it off. I remember looking at you after our performance, seeing the pride in your eyes. That look in your eyes…. it was like the stars were before us. And it was everything to me.”

Tears streamed down your face as you listened, each word from Satoru bringing back memories of the life you had shared. “Thank you, baby.” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Thank you for everything.”

Satoru kissed your forehead gently, his own tears falling freely. “I love you. I love you. I love you.” he said softly. “I always will. No matter where you go, you’ll always be with me. I’ll carry you with me, in everything I do.”

“In another life, will you choose me again?” you whimpered softly, your voice trembling as you looked up at him. He lowered his head, tears slipping down his face, and after a moment, he raised his gaze to meet yours.

“I always will,” he replied, his voice choked with emotion. He sniffed away his tears, his grip on your hand tightening as if trying to anchor himself in the moment. “I’ll always choose you, no matter what. Even if you break my heart all the time, I’ll be yours.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as well, touched deeply by his words. “Then I’ll choose you too, baby. Even if I don’t remember, help me. Help me remember. So I can love you like this again.”

“I will,” he promised, his voice resolute despite the tears streaming down his face. “I always will. I promise.”

You leaned against him, feeling a profound sense of peace despite the pain. “Thank you, Satoru. For everything. For making these last moments together so special.”

He kissed the top of your head, holding you close. “Thank you for letting me be a part of it. For giving me this final memory with you.”

And in those last precious moments, surrounded by the warmth of Satoru’s love and the memories of a life well-lived, you found a sense of tranquility. You lean your head on his shoulders, taking one deep breath and smiling.

The pain and struggle began to fade, replaced by the profound comfort of knowing that you were loved, that you had shared something beautiful, and that even in the face of the inevitable, you were not alone. The sun had begun to rise again, on your faces. And that it’s already set in stone — Gojo Satoru will find you again. He will love you again. Over and over. No matter what.

[thewritetofreespeech]

May I request Alucard (Castlevania) getting a massage from his s/o that starts out innocent only for it to turn slightly intimate?

Alucard x reader + massage

Alucard winced again as he stretched his shoulders.

He might have incredible healing from his vampire side, but the trials he has had to go through over the past few months have taken their toll. It seemed every day he woke up there was some new kind of sore or twinge of pain in his body. Invisible battle scars.

“Are you alright?” [Y/N] asked as they seemed to notice his fleeting discomfort.

“It’s nothing.” Alucard replied quickly. Going back to his tasks.

“It didn’t look like ‘nothing’. Are you hurt? From the other night?”

“No. Well…not really.” He wanted to just leave it at the ‘no’ but he could never lie to [Y/N]. Even white lies, or omission of the truth. “It’s my back. It’s just a little sore.”

“Well, you went through a wall.” They told him. “That’s understandable.”

They go back to their respective chores, but Alucard winced again, so [Y/N] spoke up. “It’s really bothering you eh? Why don’t you let me give you a massage?”

“A massage?” Alucard repeated with an arched brow. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Come on. It’s not like that.” They insisted. “Massage has actual therapeutic properties to it. It’s as legitimate as any other non-invasive medical practice. Just…people use it for other things.” There was a slight blush to their cheeks. “In any case, it might help. Get the kinks out. Trust me. You’ll feel better.”

Alucard was still skeptical, but even the suggestion of relief seemed to make his back tense up in excitement of finally being free. So he gave in. “Fine. Lead on.”

They headed back through the castle towards his bed chamber and [Y/N] told him to strip and lay down on the bed. “Whatever level of undressed you feel comfortable with.” He wanted to tell them that his level of comfort with nudity meant that he would need to be fully clothed under the covers, but he realized that was not helpful. So he just took his shirt off.

“Do you still have that lavender oil blend Sypha gave you when you weren’t sleeping?”

“What? Oh…it’s in the box on the dresser.” He forgot about that. Seemed there was no shortage of ailments to his person these days.

They seem to find it quickly and head over to the bed to straddle him from behind across his lower back. “You need to relax.” They told him.

“I’m trying.” This was all very new to him. Being close to people. Being touched. His instincts, honed from the past few months, badgering him about being ‘pinned’ from behind. He felt their fingers run through his long hair, combing it a little as they moved it out of the way, and he took a deep breath as that seemed to help.

The air was suddenly flooded with the scent of lavender and other calming herbs. Alucard suddenly remembered how strong the scent was, and probably why he only used it a few times. He flinched when the cool oil touched his back and tried to relax again when he felt [Y/N]’s hands spread it across his back. “Is this ok?”

Alucard nodded into the pillow. Not sure if he should talk or if that would ruin the moment and ‘relaxation’ he was working on. Their hands then moved up to his shoulders and gripped them with a little more pressure than before. He instantly let out a groan.

“Sorry. Is that a good noise or a bad noise?”

“It…it’s fine…”

The hands on his shoulders were slowly kneading out all the stress. It was a little uncomfortable, at first, but his muscles were definitely giving way to their ministrations. He took another deep breath and sunk further into the bed.

This continued for a while. Alucard wasn’t sure how long. He lost track of time and nearly everything but the hands on his back. Moving in a coordinator effort from one muscle group to the next. It was like he was in a daze by the time they were finished. Barely registering the question of, “do you feel better?” to which he was only able to nod.

[Y/N] smiled down at him and leaned down to give him a kiss. He lifted up his head a little to meet them, and what was properly meant as just a quick peck soon turned into a lazy, soft, open mouth kiss on top of him. “Wow. You must be feeling better.”

“Yes. I…” Alucard suddenly realized that, although his back wasn’t stiff anymore, something else was. “I…I think I feel a little too much better.”

[Y/N] seemed confused for a minute, but they were a clever person and quickly caught on. “Oh! Do you…” Alucard surely looked about as embarrassed as he felt. So [Y/N] dropped it. “I’ll get back downstairs then. If you….well…take all the time you need.”

They climbed off of him and Alucard just laid there for a moment. Willing his erection down. It went back down soon enough, and he sat up from the bed pain free for the first time in months. He would have to thank [Y/N] properly when he went downstairs. Or maybe tonight. With perhaps a less legitimate massage.

[bones4thecats]

Henlo! Could I request some headcanons where Cooler, Frieza, Android 17, and Gohan get the "If anything happens, I love you" message from their S/O? Maybe S/O was away for a little while before getting into a dangerous situation, but is found injured but alive.

Their S/O Gets Severely Injured

Characters: Cooler, Frieza, Android 17 and Gohan Requester: ❤️‍🩹Anon A/N: I now nickname you ❤️‍🩹Anon, since your prompt is about y’know… healing and whatnot. Anyways, this is my first Dragon Ball piece so I do not guarantee that they are all in character, so warning there I guess. By the way, in Gohan's piece, the reader is female since y'know... Pan and all. Now, enjoy, I guess!

••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●•

»»————————————- 　 Cooler　 ————————————-««

🧊 When Cooler first inherited his portion of his family's army, he wasn't amused with how small it was. But, when comparing his power to his younger brother's, it was understandable why it was so differentiating when it comes to size

🧊 Thankfully, his father, King Cold, was kind enough to give him the district that you, his darling S/O of many years, lead with a high amount of nobility and pride

🧊 Cooler has been away for a while when you were sent out by Frieza to cover a nearby planet and either gain their trust or completely annihilate them without any mercy. It was truly your call there

🧊 But, when he returned to see that you and your band of armored warriors were missing and have been for a few hours, Cooler began to become nervous. You were never gone this long when taking care of some minor business on Frieza, King Cold, or even Cooler's orders

" Lord Frieza! There seems to be a misreading! "

" What do you mean by a misreading? " Frieza questioned, a sense of annoyance and a very small amount of curiosity laced him his already pissy tone.

" It seems that the planet we sent Section 213 to is full of powerful fire-demons, much like us! "

" What?! "

🧊 After hearing this, your lover demanded to see your coordinates and send out another section, Section 89, out to find you and your teammates. And while his younger sibling attempted to reassure him of your team's power, Cooler merely pushed him aside and began to descend with Section 89 right behind him

🧊 Once landed, Cooler began to fight with the team following suite, knocking each beast aside with relative average stats. While it took on average two or three members per monster, they were taking care of them relatively quick

" Y/N? Y/N, where the hell are you?! "

" She's over here, Master Cooler! "

🧊 Running at a high-speed that could be compared to the super-saiyan's, Cooler stopped in his tracks when seeing your bruised and cut-up body. You had a large gash on the side of your stomach, and he could tell from a mere few feet away that you needed immediate medical assistance

🧊 Once returned, Cooler yelled for the healers to fix you. Though, it was hard for them to focus with both Frieza and Cooler glaring at them from behind. Frieza was only there because he couldn't afford to lose a powerful warrior and by-far one of the most talented fighters he had left after the battle on Namek

🧊 At some point, the doctor had to push the two outside, which was where Cooler stayed while tyrannical emperor left to sort out the rest of his ship from the chaos

" Master Cooler. Your S/O is all patched up. "

" And? "

" They will make it perfectly well. They'll just need a few days of healing. They're quite lucky. If they were a mere Yardrat or Tuffle they'd most likely be beyond any kind of help. "

" Good. Now, leave. I must see them for myself. "

" Understood. "

🧊 While he sat down in a seat right beside your medical bed, Cooler just sighed and ran a hand across your cheek, which had multiple cuts and bruises, not to mention a slight burn that reached from your chin to your forehead in a straight line. Oh, how awful was it on that damned planet?

🧊 You'll tell him when you wake up. Yes you will. But for now, Cooler can lay his head down on your bed and rest for a bit before you awaken form your long-overdue power-nap

••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●•

»»————————————- 　 Frieza　 ————————————-««

🏔️ Frieza has hated being in Hell for the many years he was wrapped up like a larvae becoming a butterfly or moth and sung to like a baby by cutesy-bears and fairies. Due to this, he had a ton of pent-up anger. Which, while he did not mean it, he had accidentally taken out on a small fraction of his army

🏔️ From this lose in members, Frieza had no choice but to send out one of his best teams; Team Y/N. Which just so happened to be led by his favorite soldier and his one and only spouse, Y/N

🏔️ Before you and your team evacuated to check for any signs of life on the now-destroyed and bare wasteland that was once a prosperous land, you had left a solid message for your husband. One that he would forever regret not telling you in person

" If anything happens, I love you? That cheesy moron... "

" As if you are any better, brother. "

" Shut it, Cooler! "

🏔️ You and your team had just barely landed when one of them was snatched away with stupendous speed. This kind of speed was alarming to you and your underlings, causing a couple of them to panic and get snatched themselves

🏔️ Meanwhile on the ship, a fairly-rounded serving demon was observing the life-monitors that laid within each Frieza's Force member's body. And once he noticed the way they were immediately falling like flies, his tail feathers erupting and knocking his chair back, alarming his Highness

" What is going on down there?! " Frieza barked.

" Team Y/N is getting pummeled, killed even! We need to send people down there- now! "

🏔️ Frieza stood abruptly and ordered for the guards to follow him, after all, backup is necessary almost wherever the dangerous man went. Especially when it came to the safety of his lover

🏔️ Once landed, the sight of four out of the seven members of your team being impaled on the elongated tongues of horrifying and demonic-appearing beasts caused the Emperor of the Universe's heart to start racing. You better not have been harmed!

🏔️ The male raised his hand and sent a large beam of energy soaring at the monster, causing it's tongue to come flying off of it's mouth. The smell from it's blood was rancid, but if smelling this meant that you would be safe, then so be it

🏔️ You were located a mere few feet away, hiding behind a large boulder structure by Frieza. And once he picked you up, he rushed back to the ship, his men and yours following as they sent many beams at the creatures as they attempted to follow suit

🏔️ Back on the ship, Frieza sat in his room as the doctor healed you up. While he would love to be there for his dearest, the sight of their beaten and bloody body was by-far the only thing keeping him away from the Cui-copy's work

🏔️ The sound of his door being knocked on made him stand and ready himself, putting on his cool and composed facial expression before opening the door, ready to scold and possibly punish the soldier for daring to interrupt the most powerful being in the ship. How he would do so was already pulsating through his mind

" What is it you want? I am clearly in the middle of business. "

" Wow, you're seeming extra nice today. Are you sad I was hurt by that behemoth of a beast? "

🏔️ A small crack of his voice was heard as Frieza opened his eyes to see you standing there with a highly-functional mechanical cast around your leg, a small amount of pre-obtained energy holding your leg up and behind you in a position as if you were kneeling on one side

" Y/N... Why aren't you healing in the medbay?! I was about to come visit you! "

" Uh-huh. C'mon, the doctor said I needed to fix up my other leg's walking anyways! " Sarcasm was highly detecatble in your tone, causing Frieza to be slightly annoyed. Why are you being so calm?!

" That doesn't matter- "

" Yeah, yeah. Anyways, you got any wine back there? "

" W-what?! By what I remember, taking in alcohol, no matter the kind, with medication could cause someone to... overdose, if I remember correctly. "

" Aw~ Are you still worried about me?~ "

" S-shut it! Just- get in here already... you're a pain. "

••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●•

»»——————————- 　 Android 17　 ——————————-««

🐈‍⬛ This guy knew how dangerous this Tournament was, so why was he now just wondering why the enemy was being so tough on you, it was obvious that you were beaten, so why was he continuing?!

" Hey! He's going to far! "

" Y/N, hang in there! "

🐈‍⬛ Everyone's calls were only enraging your husband even farther as he fought against another Universe 5 fighter while you dealt with the other two dogs

🐈‍⬛ The yellow one, Lavender, has thrown so much of his poisonous energy at you that it was beginning to make your joints slow down, which alarmed the rest of your teammates. Hell, even Frieza was nervous at the sight- you had the amount of power that could level up to defeat him!

" Why you damned wolf! "

🐈‍⬛ Holding your hand up as you canceled out every sound around you, the slight movements of feet with fur and claws was the only thing you would allow through. This meant you would be able to both dodge and hit the remaining beast-men back with ease

" Take this! "

🐈‍⬛ Gripping his hand in yours, you could feel the poison rush through your body, but the feeling was numb to you, the amount of venom in your system seemingly muted out anymore seeping through your thick-skin

" Wait, what the hell?! "

🐈‍⬛ Android 17 smirked and jumped up before kicking the blue wolf, Bergamo, in your direction while you powered a whip of energy before wrapping Basil and Lavender up as you twirled them around and threw them away, grabbing Bergamo on the way as they soared back and off the edge of the field, resulting in a Universe 7 win

🐈‍⬛ 17 ran up to you and wrapped his arms around you before you were teleported back up to your teammates for a small intermission granted by Zeno upon Goku's request

" What were you thinking? "

" About the survival of our home, and our family. "

" And while I appreciate that, Y/N, you must be more careful with your limits. I don't need another Goku around. "

" Hey! "

🐈‍⬛ Hearing you chuckle as Whis laid his staff on your forehead before booping you and releasing your body of the poison's affects made your husband smile gently and hold you close as Universe 7's angel chanted with an 'all better now!'

" Don't you ever scare me like that again, you hear? "

" Nope, you forgot a couple of things in that sentence there, mister. "

" Why you... alright. Please don't ever scared me like that again. I love you to much for that to happen. "

" That's better. "

🐈‍⬛ While you laid your foreheads upon one another's, the sound of Goku and Frieza gagging in the back caused you to laugh as 17 just sighed like a disappointed father

••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●•

»»————————————- 　 Gohan　 ————————————-««

📚 Unlike his father, Gohan was primarily focused on his work and studies growing up. Putting his training behind for helping his family of his wife, Y/N, and his young daughter, Pan, prosper in life

📚 You on the other hand, adored to fight. As you were raised by your favorite person on Earth, who also just so happened to be a fellow descendant of the Three-Eyed People, Tien Shinhan

📚 As Pan grew older, you would help Piccolo and others train her, teaching her valuable lessons in minor training for her human-side while Piccolo handled her more alien side, which came from your husband

📚 Gohan knew that sometimes you would go out and about with his father's old friends in order to handle some ordeals, and with you being one of the strongest human fighters in their current time, you were practically required to attend

📚 As you kissed your daughter's forehead and gave your husband the tightest hug known to the half-blooded Saiyan, you gave him a final message until you returned a few days later

" If anything happens, I love you. "

📚 If anything happens? How far away were you going this time?

📚 While it was quite a hassle balancing his job and caring for Pan by himself, Gohan was grateful to have both his mother, Chi-Chi, his sensei, Piccolo, and his childhood friend, Videl, all there to help out once and a while

📚 He couldn't wait for when you would come home. Counting down the days with fun dinners for him and his daughter as the calendar was decorated with cute little stickers from Videl

" Hey Papa? Why does Mama look so beaten up? "

" She probably- wait she looks what?! "

" She has a big cut on the side of her face. It looks like it's bleeding a lot! "

📚 Gohan opened the front door of your home and picked you up quickly before rushing inside and running towards the bathroom to find your first-aid kit. Well, one of the many you had around the house

📚 Pan looked worried as you picked her up and laid her on your lap, brushing your hand through her hair as she sniffed and began to allow tears to bulge up in her eyes. You never liked to see your daughter in any kind of distress, especially emotionally. Physical scars can heal, but emotions are far harder to fix

" Mama, where did you get the cut...? "

" Let's just say... Mama got into a fight with some bad people and Mama kicked their butts. "

" Really? What were they like? Were they s... sai... "

" Saiyans? "

" Yeah! Were they Saiyans like Papa? "

📚 As Gohan walked back into the room with gauze being prepared in his hands, he saw just how comfortable Pan asked you questions while you avoided the topic of exactly who you fought and what happened on that planet miles away

" Y/N, can you please lift your headpiece up? "

📚 You did as your husband asked as you laid your thick head piece on the side, it was cracked from some force coming from your now deceased enemy, but it was nothing that Bulma couldn't fix!

📚 While Gohan bandaged up your head and arms, Pan asked both you and him questions of the days back when you both fought side-by-side. And whenever you mentioned him singing with the old dragon, Icarus, his face erupted in a mix of pink and red

📚 Why was your memory so damn good...

" Can I hear the song? "

" I don't think Piccolo would like to be reminded of that... again... "

" All the more reason to do it! "

[murdrdocs]

INTERVIEW 016

with. hazel callahan

includes. nerd!tutor!hazel, inexperienced!hazel, fem!reader, fingering (r receiving), oral (r receiving), tit fixations, corruption undertones, semipublic sex

→ kinktober masterlist

She’s been staring at your tits. 

Ever since you walked into the study room and shrugged your cardigan off, skin then overheated with the walk you’d completed across campus, Hazel Callahan has only looked at her notes, or your cleavage. There were maybe two times where she was able to peel her eyes away from your exposed skin to look you in the eye, but almost instantly they gravitate back downwards, as if looking at your tits was more comforting than your eyes. 

Throughout the session, as you copied down a combination of what she was telling you and her notes (an array of question marks beside words that were entirely too difficult to spell in one go), your smirk grew more and more. You figured if Hazel was going to be shameless about her staring (or perhaps oblivious), you’d be shameless about your intentions, too. 

Elbows pressing into the scarred wooden table, biceps attempting to meet each other, separated by your tits that end up squished together. She notices, of course she does, stuttering over her words and clearing her throat an alarming amount of times.

“And then just make sure you know that microevolution is whenever changes produces only after many generations, like with the ––” 

You interrupt her, “don’t you mean macroevolution?”, and her eyes finally snap back up to yours. Her eyebrows raised, her lips parted. 

“What?” She raises a slender finger and presses her glasses up her nose. You lean a little closer, smile a little bigger. 

“You said microevolution. But you described macroevolution.” Hazel sits for a second, eyes lifting as she looks at the ceiling in thought, and just when they lower, assumingely to find your tits again, you speak once more. 

“Maybe we should take a break? You seem a little out of it, don’t you think so, Haze?” It’s a nickname you’d never called her before, and you lay it on extremely thick for the first time, dragging the syllables out and layering them with heavy sultriness. 

The intended effect is achieved; Hazel with wide blue eyes and red cheeks. 

“Uh, yeah, s-sure.” 

The proposed ‘break’ turns into you teaching Hazel something for once. 

Her head is just visible enough in the space between the table and your lap, her eyes shining with wonder beneath her glasses, even in the shadows she sits in, the tips of her fingers just breaching your leaking entrance. 

“Like this?” She asks, all shy and timid and it’s so cute that you’re grinning instantly. 

You nod. “Yeah. Keep going.” 

She does as told, sliding her fingers into your wet heat knuckle by knuckle, her pace agonizingly slow as if she’s afraid of hurting you. You attempt to hint to her that you’re not breakable whenever she has two fingers in you to the last knuckle, and they sit still, clearly unknowing on what to do next. 

You start to grind, holding onto the arm rest of the chair you sit in, spreading your legs even further as you push and push your hips into Hazel’s hand. She stares at you all the while, starstruck, mouth agape. Adorably, you notice her glasses starting to fog up, too. 

It takes her a moment, but she starts to move her fingers until you’re meeting in the middle with your combined movements, her thrusts and your steady push and pull. 

It’s coordinated and planned for a moment, you giving Hazel simple instructions that’s easy for her to follow. 

(“To the left a little. Yes! Right there, Haze. God, don’t stop. Keep going, just like that.”)

And then, in the moment where your eyes are closed, pinched together in bliss, there’s the feeling of a tongue, wet and warm, on your clit. It’s brief, just barely more than a jerk, almost as if it’s accidental, but when you unfasten your eyes you’re met with Hazel’s mouth just an inch from your cunt, his eyes staring up at you to gauge your reaction, you realize she's done it on purpose.

“Again.” 

She repeats it, this time swirling her tongue around your clit just before gliding it down the area beneath it. She’s clearly inexperienced, licking around your cunt in a non-uniform fashion and her glasses nudging against your skin each time, but her fingers are still probing that spot within you and the stimulation of her muscle against you is enough to have you losing it. 

You’re close, back arching, hips pushed further into Hazel’s mouth. Your hand finds her short hair, nails digging into the fragile strands at her scalp, perhaps a little too harshly. But it’s not like she cares about your intensity, because she slides a hand up your chest and pulls the neckline of your tee down, audibly groaning whenever she’s met with your bare tits. 

When you cum, it’s from the impressive combined stimulation of Hazel’s mouth and fingers on her dominant hand abusing your cunt, and the fingers of her non-dominant hand pinching your erect nipples.

[rilakeila]

intro: we challenge you!

host club au! jjk x fem!reader x ohshc

gojo satoru is the head of jujutsu academy's elite high school host club with his friends: geto suguru, nanami kento, itadori sukuna, shoko ieiri, haibara yu, and of course, their princess manager. what happens when they go up against another elite host club on an exchange event with different schools? let's find out!

a/n: incredibly self-indulgent. i cant decide to do an entire series or collection of one-shots. however, even if i do a series, i'm always open to do an au within au !! lmk if y'all have any ideas and hope you enjoy this one! also it's def ouran vibes with how the scenes work out like nonsensical manners with the petal entrances and random objects appearing out of nowhere

(y/n) was already tired.

she knew the exchange event would triple her work as manager for her dear beloved buffoons and their work as hosts, but she foolishly accepted their offer to go anyway. between scheduling their events, accepting payments for various fan meetings, and then coordinating with both schools to confirm times and clothing - she was ready to retire. pension required and isolation from known society appreciated. at least distance away from the menaces called gojo satoru and itadori sukuna.

for once, to their credit, they weren't fighting each other. damages would be at minimal cost. good for her and jujutsu academy's reputation. although these two were never very concerned about the school's reputation.

and that's why they were about to duke it out with an intensely frivolous blonde-haired second year and what looked to be a very feral set of twins in their first year.

"they look so hot but so scary," murmurs surrounded the two groups.

(y/n) couldn't help but sigh, attention always seemed to follow them as they go. satoru naturally reeled in the girls, which would lead into the rest of the boys and shoko being noticed, ultimately turning it into a free fan-meeting for new potential customers. she wondered how she came to this predicament anyways.

"well, i'll be back. i just need to confirm some things with the head of the event," (y/n) flipped through her clipboard of papers, signing some things off.

"do you need me to come with you?" kento questioned, adjusting his uniform.

she shook her head, "no, i'll be okay. what i need you to do is watch over these buffoons."

both looked at the buffoons in question. haibara and shoko were already taking pictures in front of the flowers. these two that were least likely needed to be watched.

"this place looks so old," satoru complained a little too loud, earning a head shake of disapproval from nanami and (y/n).

"not too loud, satoru. you really should be more polite and humble, even if it looks garish," geto stretched his arms out before placing it behind his head.

"there's no places for shade," sukuna grumbled.

(y/n) pressed her lips together, pulled a parasol out and covered the pink-haired host, "okay, i'll be back. no funny business, kento is in charge."

"who put you in charge? do you have no respect for your president?" satoru seated his head on the top of (y/n)'s head, arms wrapped around her. she can practically see and feel the pout on his face, rolling her eyes.

she grabbed sukuna's free hand, placing the parasol in his hand to hold ("hmph."). she charged her head up, injuring the prince's chin to free herself from his grasp, "well, mr. president, i suppose you would like to go over some paperwork for the event."

"mommaaa, she hit me," he cried to suguru, who just hit the backside of his head.

"we'll make sure to behave, princess. come back safe," suguru waved her off. (y/n) looked at kento who just nodded, knowing that he was the only one she could fully trust. both throwing a thumbs up to each other.

after (y/n) leaving, the rest of the host club wandered around the grounds of ouran. there were multitude of yellow dresses and blue blazers directing other schools and vendors. kento was leading the group, watching yu and ieiri to ensure that they didn't get lost as they indulged in the small events that the ouran students were hosting. he trusted sukuna would keep suguru and satoru in check, mostly satoru.

kento paused in his tracks, hearing squeals behind him, 'there goes the president again.'

"he's so hot!"

"take your glasses off!"

"alright, alright, ladies. there's enough of me to go around," the dramatic movement just to take his glasses off was enough for kento to sweatdrop. the squealing increased tenfold. typically, suguru would line up the girls at their school for uniformity for their president. however, it looked he was preoccupied with his own set of girls. then, sukuna. and there is yet another group of girls.

"honestly, that took a lot longer than i thought," yu said, standing next to kento.

"that was inevitable, girls always fall for them, somehow, someway," shoko twirled her hair around her finger.

"hmm... as long as they aren't causing too much of a ruckus. we should be fine," kento huffed, shaking his head when yu offered him the snack bag that the ouran students were handing out as "freebies." what a word to have.

though, their heads snapped to a sharp gasp next to them.

a blonde with his jaw snapped wide open fainting backwards, only for a pair of orange-haired twins to catch him as he fell back. "boss!"

other than the blonde and the twins, there seemed to be a middle schooler and a taller man. another had glasses, and well, one looked ambigious, feminine-leaning perhaps.

"doesn't the blonde remind you of someone?" yu whispered to them.

"yeah, someone that we know... can't seem to think of who it is" ieiri questioned with yu, thought bubbles practically seen above their heads as they thought long and hard.

"what happened to him, kyoya-senpai?" the feminine-looking one asked.

"it may be due to the fact that his customers have been stolen," the glasses one answered. kento recognized him, kyoya ootori, as his parents frequently invited the ootori family to the quarterly nanami galas as a thanks to the partnership of two families.

"my princesses! how dare they look at another man," the blonde immediately rose from the ground in a familiar way to kento, yu, and ieiri. a dramatic point was directed to satoru, "you, white haired student! have you come to steal my customers?"

"that should be our cue to go to them," kento lightly tapped ieiri and yu's shoulders, signalling them to head towards their members.

the chattering from the female ouran students silenced. it was also as if the red sea parted, a direct showdown line between the two groups.

this is how (y/n) ended up, almost crossing down the half. luckily, she looked up in time to stand with her club, sweatdropping in between. she eyed kento with a 'i thought you had it controlled,' which was responded with a head shake and shrug.

"customers? you called these beautiful ladies customers? what a shame. would never think that you were their prince. who might you be?" satoru pushed his sunglasses back onto his face, causing "aww's" of disappointment from the crowd.

"excuse you, i'm tamaki, the prince of the finest club of this school. the ouran host club, of course," he offered his princely smile and a rose to one of the female student bystander, who squealed and seemed to almost pass out.

"i got it, they're one of the same," (y/n) perked her ears up to ieiri and haibara whispering to each other, raising an eyebrow.

"host club? must have fooled me, there's an entire child in your group," suguru laughed as he directed the attention to the small child with the bunny in his arms, only to raise an eyebrow once he saw the taller one behind him straighten up.

"i assumed these ladies wanted someone mature, refined," sukuna showed his signature smirk to the ladies to his left, some fainting and some reaching for him.

"we are refined, right? men?" tamaki questioned with certainty in his voice.

"well, we offer brotherly love and boy lolita, i'm not too sure if that exactly counts as refined and mature, senpai," the feminine-looking one said.

"additionally, we have female hosts to those who are interested," it felt like lights highlighted (y/n) and ieiri when suguru mentioned their female host services.

"well, we technically also-" the twins' mouth seemed to be tied up by tamaki with a sheepish smile.

"so, really, what is the point of this? we have a whiny prince on our hands that can't accept the fact his ladies are talking to actual elite people, well in terms of taste," sukuna scoffed.

"you're right, kuna, why waste time with this nonsense of a host club when we can entertain the ladies here on the way to our next activity. manager princess, lead the way to where we have to go," satoru winked at the ouran host club before allowing (y/n) to take the reigns as she normally does.

she was too far lost other than knowing if ouran's host club is anything like the one she is in, their pride was certainly on the line. the last thing she saw before she turned around was a defeated tamaki with the twins fanning him, where had she seen that scene before?

"wait, we'll challenge you during this exchange event with whatever there is to offer to see who's the better host club," tamaki called out to them, still kneeling on the ground

gasps were heard from their audience. the jujutsu academy host club (more so the guys, ieiri and (y/n) could care less about a hurt pride) turned and eyed each other, reaching a consensus.

"hmm.. we never back down from a challenge. when and where can we discuss the terms?"

"music room #3, 3 p.m. sharp."

"we'll see you there."

(y/n) surely didn't know what she was getting herself into during this exchange event. everyday was already interesting enough with her own club. though, let's see what happens.

till next time !

intro completed.

[owliellder]

The Finer Details

Post DI! Leon Kennedy x f! Painter Reader

MDNI 18+

(Session 1, Session 2, Session 3, Session 4, Session 5, The Reveal)

Description: Leon realizes that retirement is in his best interest now that he's getting older. All of his accomplishments as an agent mean he's truly earned a painting to commemorate..

Warnings: Not Proofread, Age gap! (reader is anywhere between mid-late 20's and Leon is 40), Porn w/ Plot, Use of she/her pronouns, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcoholism, mentions of trauma/PTSD/depression, P in V smut (wrap it NEOW), Leon cries during sex 💔

Tags: Older Leon Kennedy, Younger afab!Reader, Leon is SAD but he is your muse, Crying, mentions of Leon masturbating, starts off with Dom! Leon and Sub! Reader, falls into switch territory because that man needs some serious TLC, Praise kink, Hickeys, Handjob, Nipple play, Oral sex (m! and f! receiving), and a heavy dose of Aftercare

Final Word Count: 22.6k

Author's Note: Ta-da! I put a lot of work into this last chapter, like actually becoming the president for a couple hours, but I really wanted to make it worth everyone's time for sticking around and reading all the way through.

Thank you so much for following along! All the sweet comments from you guys never fails to make my day!

^//v//^

Cross posted on AO3

The Reveal

Almost three months.

It took almost three months for Leon's portrait to fully dry after it had been varnished. You'd checked it almost daily after the two month mark due to Leon's constant pestering. He was understandably antsy, and admittedly, you were too.

There was a lot of convincing involved, but you managed to keep the man at home while you transported the painting to the White House. He worried it would be damaged en-route. Such a little worry wart.

Setting up the painting's respective spot a column away from Chris and Claire's seemed very appropriate; tall, fake bushes sitting on either side of where it would be placed, a warm yellow bulb lighting up the inside of the decorative archway, and the patterned golden frame where the canvas would forever be now hung empty in that portrait hallway, waiting to be pieced together and completed.

The shiny gold placard had already been screwed onto the frame, words zapped on it via laser:

Leon S. Kennedy

USSTRATCOM Agent from 1998 - 2011

D.S.O. Agent from 2011 - 2017

You knew how long he'd been working as an agent, but it was still baffling nonetheless. Nearly 20 years of non-stop intense and usually very traumatizing work, what a feat.

Moving on, you'd worked out the plans for Leon's farewell party with the President and a few coordinators over the span of a few days, making sure to store the painting in a secure room for the time being. It was to stay covered with a violet piece of velvet cloth up until the reveal at the party, no one was allowed to see it besides you, the President, and the various security guards working the grounds.

After another two extra months of waiting, the farewell party was drawing near. There had to be enough time given for invitations to be sent out to people, wait for said people to RSVP, and allow travel time. And at this point, Leon was busting at the seams; extremely nervous, excited, and even a little scared at the prospect of it all.

Your words from that second painting session all those months ago never left his mind: "Seeing the portrait once it's finished is going to be an incredibly emotional ordeal. It's a reminder that this is truly the end of an era for you, Mr. Kennedy..."

The man clung to that, doing his best to internalize it and mentally prepare himself for what was to come. He was hoping you were exaggerating, but from what Chris, Claire, and even Jill have told him about their experience after the fact, he knew deep down that you'd seen it all too well before.

What Leon failed to realize was that he wasn't alone anymore. Sure he had his friends to help, but he'd never had someone to come home to everyday.

During the last few sessions, he had asked to stay with you at your apartment, citing the potential aftermath of the party as reasoning. However, you really didn't need him to explain his reasoning, you would've let him. Even if he just felt like it, you would've welcomed him with opened arms.

Besides, he'd already been staying at your place for longer periods of time over the months. You'd visited his house a few times, but he made sure to whine and complain about how bare and boring it was. If you remember correctly, Leon had said, word for word, that your apartment "felt like a warm hug". With that, he shelled up with you in only a couple weeks before the painting had dried. He made special effort to learn your routine, wanting to give you the space that you needed while also maximizing his time spent with you.

Leon was an actual angel, you were wholeheartedly convinced. Some days you would come home after working on another painting to the man cooking dinner, having bought an expensive wine to share with you. When your hands would start to ache and your back and shoulders were sore from the long hours spent holding a paintbrush in an awkward hunched position, he would set aside anything he had going on just to give you all the massages, kisses, and love that you could ever want.

Nothing was ignored when it came to you and your wants and needs. Leon admitted awhile back that he felt guilty for intruding on your space, though you were very quick to shut that down. He was far from a burden, actually lining up more with a dream come true.

And just like he did with you, you spared nothing while getting to know the in's and out's of the man that occupied your mind, heart, and home. You learned his favorite meals, watched his favorite shows and movies with him, returning the massages when he would return from the gym, and paid extra attention to how he liked to be held at night. Who would've guessed that the Leon Kennedy loved to be the little spoon?

What you spent the most time on was making sure to listen when he suddenly went on tangents about his past. They really did haunt him. You would wake up in the middle of the night to him huddled at the top of the bed, arms wrapped around his legs and head between his knees as he did his best to cry quietly. All you could do for him in those moments was pull him against your chest, gently rocking him back and forth while whispering sweet nothings, just until he felt either ready to talk or ready to fall back asleep. If he just wanted more comfort, then that's what he got, obviously.

He was only recently put on a couple medications to help him better manage his PTSD and anxiety since he really had to cut back on the alcohol in order to take them the way he needed. Definitely worth it to both you and him seeing as his nightmares lessened in intensity and frequency.

Now here you were, straightening out Leon's tie for him since his hands were failing him, nerves getting the better of him. He had taken his meds a few minutes ago, wanting to have the full effect during the party to combat any destructive behaviors during it, so it was no wonder his hands were still trembling.

"You're going to do so well, Leon." You smiled, giving him a gentle pat between his pecs after tucking his tie into his suit jacket. He was staring straight ahead, eyebrows furrowed with worry as he stared at himself in the mirror. "You've made so much progress and I couldn't be any prouder."

He licked his dry lips before slowly looking down at you, giving you the best smile he could, which was really just him pulling his lips back tight. If it weren't for you constantly being around to encourage him and push him to get better, he would not be able to attend his own farewell party.

How had he managed to get so far without this level of love and care? Where would he even be without you? Hopefully later when his mind isn't racing a million miles per minute, Leon will be able to tell you just how lucky he is to have you in his life.

Leon watched you in the mirror as you walked around to stand behind him, straightening out his suit jacket in random spots until deciding to just wrap your arms around his midriff, pressing the side of your face against his back with a content sigh. He brought his still-trembling hands up to hold onto your arms, rubbing his thumbs up and down across your soft skin.

His eyes settled back on his own face after staring at your arms linked around him, letting out a shaky sigh of his own as he attempted to just focus on this moment. You were perfect, ethereal, a true work of art. He wouldn't trade any of this for the world.

It took some time, about an hour, before Leon's medication was starting to kick in. You were definitely a big help, he couldn't give all the credit to his meds.

His relaxed demeanor wasn't easy to spot, the man was just naturally rigid, but you waited until he let you know that he was ready; ready to go to his farewell party, ready to see the portrait you painted for him, ready to put in the effort into accepting the next chapter in his life.

The drive to the White House was seamless, having been picked up in a blacked out SUV that held four personal guards, courtesy of the President. Leon wasn't going to complain, he actually kind of liked the pampering effect that came with being driven around by a dedicated entourage.

Almost all good feelings were drained from Leon when the car finally pulled up to the front of the White House where more guards stood waiting to escort the two of you inside. It was still early in the night, but the sun had set long ago, making for quite the beautiful atmosphere.

He could see numerous party attendees walking up the stairs, dressed up in their fanciest outfits for him. He held your hand the entire way up the stairs and into the entrance hall with a grip that was sure to leave your hand hurting. No matter, you could tell he needed you. That vice grip he had was well worth it for his comfort.

There were quite a few more people than either you or Leon expected. It seems as if all available agents, young, old, and retired, had been sent an invitation for tonight, along with quite a few high-ranking government workers. Luckily, this was a private event; no reporters, no news, only those who had been fortunate enough to be invited.

The first to spot you two was Chris who quickly made his way over to pull Leon into a bone-crushing hug, giving him a few solid pats on the back before letting go. Leon only reciprocated the hug with one hand, the other refusing to let go of yours, though his grip had loosened by now.

"Where's Claire?" Leon muttered, leaning to the side to scan over the sizeable crowd. "She's.." Chris turned around to also scan the crowd, squinting a bit as he looked. "She's somewhere. My wife is with her, her family, and Jill."

Leon pursed his lips with a curt nod, humming quietly in acknowledgement before standing straight again. He glanced down at where his hand held yours, squeezing it again for just a second as if to remind himself that you haven't gone anywhere.

Chris had turned back around to see the small gesture Leon gave to you, a coy smirk on his face. "What uhh... what's all this, huh?" He subtly pointed between you and the other man, voice lowered.

Leon cleared his throat and looked around to make sure no one was close enough to hear despite the volume in the hall. "... M'gonna save that for the-.. the speech." Chris just nodded, crossing his arms before slowly turning to look through the crowd again. "Alright, well, let me go find the family and bring them over before you're swarmed." And with that, Chris made his way back into the crowd.

Unfortunately, Leon had been spotted by the rest of the partygoers before Chris could return with everyone. Many pleasantries were repeated while also returning small talk with the people he recognized, which was a lot. You managed to avoid most of it, only being questioned a few times due to the rather obvious hold the man had on you. Despite having attended the last few parties like this, most people unable to recognize you as the artist. A blessing and a curse.

The next couple hours were spent eating finger foods, conversing with whoever, and enjoying the way Leon started to flow with the event. He soon found his way to Chris, Claire, their partners and kids, and Jill which really helped him loosen up. He needed the more familiar faces, having now let go of your hand fully to talk more animatedly with them. You made sure to stick by his side as long as you could, letting out a soft laugh every time you noticed his quick glances over to you to check if you're still there.

The time eventually did come for you to part with Leon, signaling a couple guards to follow you down a few hallways until reaching the room where the portrait sat, still covered with the violet cloth. The decision to keep it back here for so long was made by the President, wanting less of a sudden reveal and more of a build up.

Normally it would already be hanging in the entrance hall, covered and ready to be revealed, but not wanting to risk any potential damage, you were asked to hold off bringing it in until the President was ready to give the speech leading up to Leon's.

It'd been set in the golden frame rather quickly with the help from one of the guards that walked down with you. You had the guard to hold it up for you so you could give it one final good look before he was instructed to lead you back. After recovering, you took the portrait in both hands, holding it close as you were escorted back through the halls and into the main entrance hall.

By now everyone had directed their focus closer to the center of the back wall. Next to where the President stood, your own art easel was now set up. That was mostly as homage to you and it wasn't like anyone besides you would understand that it's yours, though Leon did pick up on that little feature. He'd been staring at the back of that thing for months, counted the various old streaks of paint on the pale wood over and over.

It made his farewell all the more personal, struggling to mask the feeling of the ever-growing pit in his stomach from the friends he was still standing next to.

The sound of a mic being tapped drew everyone's attention in to the President, the volume in the hall quieting to a whisper, soon completely silent as he began to speak into the mic;

"Ladies and gentlemen, I stand before you to honor and pay tribute to a true hero, a dedicated public servant, and a loyal friend who has served our nation with unwavering dedication for the past 19 years. It is with great respect and admiration that I address you on this occasion, as we bid farewell to a remarkable agent who has exemplified the very best qualities of service and sacrifice." As the President spoke, Leon held his breath, hands gripping onto his suit jacket to keep from trembling again.

At this point, you'd silently walked along the side with the guards from before, bringing the covered portrait up to the front before carefully placing it on your easel. "Throughout this nation's history, these agents have played an essential role in ensuring the safety and security of our nation's people and have consistently placed their lives on the line to protect the sanctity of our democracy. And today, we acknowledge one agent who has done so with unparalleled devotion."

"This retiring agent has been a silent sentinel, ensuring the continuity of our democratic ideals. Through countless hours of training, vigilance, and selflessness, they have demonstrated a level of commitment that is nothing short of extraordinary. But beyond their exceptional professional duties, this agent has been a friend and a confidant to those of us privileged to work alongside them. They have been a source of strength, a steady hand in turbulent times, and a symbol of the unbreakable bond that can form within the ranks of those who dedicate their lives to service."

You positioned yourself opposite of the President, placing your hands behind your back to keep your posture tall as you now smiled at the crowd, subtly scanning for Leon. His eyes were already on you when you found him, and your smile only widened further.

It prompted his own nervous smile, toying with the buttons on his jacket while turning his attention back to the President, wanting to remain respectful to his, honestly, very flattering speech so far. You followed Leon's eyes, seemingly having the same idea to just watch and listen.

"The sacrifices made by our agents often go unnoticed by the public, and that is by design. Their commitment to duty is matched only by their humility. But today, we pause to recognize and celebrate this retiring agent's dedication, valor, and sacrifice." The President continued to address the attendees in the room, giving you a quick nod before returning his focus to everyone in the entrance hall.

The President outstretched his hand towards Leon standing in the crowd, now staring at him with a prideful yet relaxed look. "To Mr. Leon S. Kennedy, our retiring agent and loyal friend, thank you for your 19 years of dedicated service to our nation. May your retirement be filled with the peace and contentment that you so richly deserve. You leave behind a legacy of honor and courage that will never be forgotten." The crowd of attendees clapped and cheered briefly, causing Leon to reach his hand up to wipe across his face. A poor way to hide his red face. He's done that before, hasn't he?

Once the crowd quieted back down, the President finished his speech with a classic, "May God bless you, your family, and may God continue to bless the United States of America. Thank you" before the crowd picked back up cheering and clapping. You clapped along with them, laughing at Leon's flustered expression. He could barely hold back his smile, not really have expecting to be so well recognized for his service.

Leon's queue to make his way to the front was when the President walked over to stand next to you, making sure not to block the covered portrait from anyone's view. He'd recited this speech to you countless times, even more to himself when he was alone, but all those eyes staring at him were causing him to fumble. He messed around with the mic once he was standing in front of it, and that was your queue to walk over and stand next to him, placing a loving hand on his forearm.

That's all he needed, just a little extra encouragement from the person he relied on the most. His speech was short and straight to the point, never having been a man of professional word, yet he still managed to slip in some words of praise for you and all the help you provided him during his rough patch earlier in the year.

Neither you or Leon had outright said it to each other, let alone to anyone else, but hearing him announce to the entire hall of people that you were his girlfriend made your heart soar. Speaking about you calmed his nerves, and he wanted everyone to know just how lucky he felt, like he'd hoped for earlier.

He bent over slightly to whisper in your ear, covering the mic with his hand to make sure it didn't pick up his voice. "Now, why don't you go ahead and show us all that masterpiece you spent months working on?" Oh, now you were the flustered one, giggling nervously as you gave his arm a gentle squeeze before walking over to where the painting sat on the easel.

"Ladies and gentleman," Leon's eyes followed you as he straightened his posture out, speaking into the mic once more with a wide smile gracing his features, "I'm honored to have the wonderful artist herself present my very own portrait to you." As he spoke, you carefully lifted the cloth from where it was draped over the painting, finally revealing the ever-awaited portrait to everyone.

Just like with Chris and Claire's, Leon was sat in that soft maroon chair, slightly off center, but his position was different with his right ankle rested atop his left knee, elbows on the arms of the chair while his hands rested in his lap, fingers interlaced. His smile was soft and partially crooked while he looked forward with relaxed eyes, a few strands of hair painted to sit in front of his brow. And to tie it all together, it had a lovely green background, a dark forest green as the base while a sage green was used to add texture. The vintage look had always been your favorite, and Leon fit it so perfectly. He was nearly timeless.

Many "ooo's" and "ahh's" were heard amongst the clapping from the crowd, along with a handshake from the President. Before you could turn to face Leon, you felt his arms slowly slink around you from underneath your arms, the weight of his head now pressing down on your shoulder. You could feel his grin when he tilted his head to kiss your jawline, beginning to gently rock you side to side. Getting to show off your work was always so rewarding, but just knowing Leon was handling everything so well was a feeling you'll truly never forget.

He was happy. That's all you ever wanted for him. The man has truly earned his portrait in that agent hall of fame.

The portrait was soon brought down to the aforementioned hall to be hung up and displayed for good, a few small groups trailing down to get a better look at it. Chris was the noisiest about it, telling Leon it looked like it belonged above a grand fireplace, to which said man agreed with.

Chris, Claire, Jill, and their respective families stared at it for quite some time alongside Leon and you. They all chatted while Leon stared quietly, taking in every little fine detail you'd added. You changed his position some, and did he really smile at you like that? He really did look lovestruck. Of course only he could tell that. Hopefully.

He surprised himself with how okay he felt after seeing the painting. You warned him multiple times that it would most likely be overwhelming and emotional, and while it was, it wasn't in a bad way. The most compelling thought he had right now was to just sweep you off your feet and smother you with love.

Leon asked one of the guards to take a picture of him with everyone, including you, in front of his portrait. Then, just a picture of you and him standing in front of it, easily becoming the background on his phone.

The party went on for only an hour or so more before people started to trickle out. You and Leon were some of the first to leave, saying all your thanks and goodbye's with hugs and handshakes.

The moment the two of you walked into your apartment he practically pounced on you before the door had shut, large hands gripping tight on your hips as he sloppily made out with you. He just had to show his gratitude for all your hard work.

Your lips tasted so sweet and your soft little moans were driving him wild, he couldn't help the groan that rumbled from his chest. Full blown sex had been held off by you, not wanting to rush him into anything while you helped him manage his problems. Honestly, he was glad you'd held off on him, because now that he was feeling like his own person again, it made waiting all the more fulfilling.

Leon hoisted you up into his arms after you'd kicked your heels off, holding onto the back of your thighs as he carried you to the bedroom. You wrapped your arms around his neck, giggling against his lips as he carefully navigated around the short hallway and into the bedroom.

You looked so good splayed out on the bed for him, that beautiful dress you chose was insanely flattering on you. It had to go though, so after yanking off his jacket he made quick work of your dress, fumbling with the zipper for a moment before pulling it up and over your head. Your bra and panties didn't last either. He'd only gotten to see you naked a couple times before, but god, he'll never get tired of seeing you this way, acting all shy like you weren't his favorite view.

Leon was so eager to get his hands on you that he neglected to take off his suit, opting instead to hover over you and bury his face into your neck. He wasn't a good artist, but he loved to cover your neck in shades of red and purple like you were his own little painting, akin to leaving his signature all over you.

He only pulled away once you tugged on his hair, listening to your begs and pleas for him to get his clothes off. As much as he wanted to prolong this night and tease you, he couldn't hold himself back. He needed to feel your soft skin against his.

"So perfect." Leon mumbled against your skin, licking and kissing his way up your stomach and to your breasts after practically ripping off his clothes. His hands found their way back to your hips, pressing them firm against the bed to keep you from squirming away as he nipped at one of your nipples, pulling it into his mouth.

He moaned as he sucked and circled his tongue around your nipple, his eyes falling closed. The other couldn't stay neglected, so he brought one hand up to pinch and tug at your other nipple, sighing when he felt your body press against his as you arched at the sensation. He loved when your moans would pitch, so cute.

His cock was pressed against the inside of your thigh, rutting against it when you would tug at his hair. Once he decided your nipples had enough attention, he sat up and grabbed the backs of your knees to place around his waist. The new position offered Leon the perfect opportunity to drag his leaking cock through your folds, pressing it down with his thumb so the tip would nudge your clit with every slow thrust forward.

You were so wet, so delicate. He could've fucked you right then, slid right into that juicy little pussy, but he needed to take care of you first. He would never forgive himself if he hurt you.

Reluctantly, the man pulled his dick away from you, letting out a poorly concealed whine at the loss. He ran his hands up your thighs before moving one hand so he could circle your clit with his thumb, the other hand back on your hip to keep you steady.

"L-eon~!" You brokenly moaned out, pleading to him with your watery eyes. You needed more; his fingers, his cock, anything. He couldn't say no to that, stopping his assault on your clit to drag his middle and ring finger through your drenched folds to wet them properly. He brought your right leg to sit over his shoulder, hand gripping the top of your thigh as he leaned forward, studying your face closely as he gently teased the outside of your slit with his middle finger.

He moaned with you as he slid his finger in, keeping his eyes trained on you as he started to tentatively thrust his finger in and out. "Yeah?" Leon whispered, licking his lips as you barely managed to nod. "Yeeeaah, there's my girl..." The rumble in his voice was music to your ears.

His ring finger was soon slid in next to his middle finger, switching between scissoring you and making a partial 'come here' motion with them. After only a couple minutes you were leaking all over his hand and the bed, the wet sounds of your pussy mixed with your moans making his cock jerk and drip with precum. Leon clenched his teeth as he slowly pulled his fingers from you, immediately bringing them to his mouth to suck off your juices. He let out an audible sigh after swallowing, repositioning his dick to slide through your folds a couple more times before nudging your hole with the tip.

"Look at me, baby..." Leon's hushed demand brought you to open your eyes, if only half way. He made eye contact with you before leaning forward further to kiss you, all the while finally pushing into you. He soaked in your gasp, his eyebrows furrowing as you tensed up. "Relax.. let me in~..."

"It's only me.." He panted, tilting his head to kiss the corner of your mouth as your eyes shut again. "It's only me, baby..." he repeated this a few more times as he eased his cock inside of you, the stretch only stinging for a moment before it turned to pleasure. He filled you perfectly, you could feel every bit of him, especially with his right hand adding a bit of pressure to your stomach.

Leon sat still for a minute to give you time to adjust, taking the way you moved your hips as a sign to move. He pulled out, all the way to the tip, before slowly thrusting back in. He managed to choke out a quiet "Fuck-.." when you clenched around him. "Taking me so well.. such a big girl~.."

He always knew just how to talk to you, making sure to take his time buttering you up. You were putty in his hands, and between his words and the feeling of him reaching so deep inside of you, you could barely think.

It didn't take long for him to start to lose his composure, the sound of wet skin slapping together filling the room as his thrusts intensified. "All mine. All for me." The grip he had on your thigh was sure to leave a bruise, but that was the last thing on your mind.

The hand he had pressing on your stomach moved further down so he could circle your clit with his thumb again, jaw tight as he looked from your blissed out expression to where his hand was playing with you. "Oh fuck! That's it!" Leon growled, eyes glued to your cunt as he plunged in and out of it. "Cream this dick, mamas~... Cum on my cock so I can fill this pretty pussy up.."

The way you gasped and moaned when you came was enough to warrant a noise complaint, but screw your neighbors. You needed this just as much Leon did.

"Oohhh fuck yeah.. Milk me, baby~... shit-" Leon's thrusts stuttered to a stop while pressed flush against you, abs flexing as he pumped ropes of cum into you. Once you managed to open your eyes, all you could do was stare at the man, flushed pink and sweaty, sitting between your legs. Both of you moaned in tandem as he pulled out, Leon groaning to himself as he watched his cum drip from your pussy. Truly a work of art meant for his eyes only.

He leaned over you again to plant a quick kiss on your lips, chuckling when he felt you smile. "Let me go grab something to clean you up, okay?" You could only nod in response, reaching your hand up to caress the side of his face before he stood up from the bed. He walked across the hall into the bathroom, wetting a soft rag with warm water before making his way back over to you.

Leon made sure to be gentle when cleaning you, the warmth from the rag soothing your tender skin. You were able to sit up on your elbows and watch him, using his gentle touches as a way to calm your still racing heart.

After wiping himself off with the rag, he tossed it over in the general direction of your laundry basket. It was a problem for later. Right now, he wanted lay back on the bed and pull you up so you could lay on top of him. Along with just how nice it felt to hold you, he loved the weight of you on him. So that's what he did, pulling you onto him after laying on the bed, running his fingers though your hair on the back of your head.

"Leon." You muttered against his collarbone. His eyebrows raised, yet his eyes were closed. "Mm?" His right eye peaked open when he felt you giggle. "What?"

"I love you." His fingers paused their ministrations at your words. You lifted your head up to look at him, growing worried with his shocked expression. "Sorry, is that too-" you choked on your words, stopped mid-sentence by Leon's arms suddenly squeezing the breath out of you with a very tight hug. He pulled you up just a little further so he could smush his lips against yours.

"I love you too!" He breathed out excitedly. "You don't know how long I've been waiting to tell you!" You tapped his arm and he immediately relaxed his grip, mumbling a small, "Sorry, my bad.." when you took in a deep breath.

"You're adorable, Leon." You shook your head with a smile, brushing the hair from his face to give him a much gentler kiss before settling you head back against his chest with a quiet sigh.

Leon was still a tough man, but you made him soft. Only ever soft for you.

Side note: I totally forgot to add in the pussy eating i am so sorry. i thought i did but it was literally just a thought that never manifested 😭

tags!: @greywardensaywhat @xkittiecatx @httpsuguru @httpsuguru @k-fallingstar @lysa1201 @bobastayhigh @pocketstoriesstore @agent-dessis-posts @klee-iii @missjoenowhere @mi-zer-y @bigtiddiesimp @finsternisle @sweets3rial @sodacolablast (there's a few of you that tumblr wouldn't let me tag for some reason)

[noxturnalpascal]

Dancing is a Dangerous Game

(FrankieMorales  x  F!Stripper!Reader)

A/N & Warnings: Sexual Content below - 18+ only, Frankie doing what he do (iykyk), unspecified age gap (anywhere from 10-15 yrs), talk of stripping/dancing as a job that pays the bills. The photos on the Moodboard are just for fun, the female Reader is not specifically physically described so you can imagine her however you want. Thank you to @saradika for the divider.

Did I make this prompt up myself for me and some fellow writers? Yes. Did I set the word count limit? Also Yes. Did I stick anywhere even close to that limit? *laughs hysterically.

PROMPT: Pick a Pedge Daddy character - Joel Miller, Frankie Morales, Dave York, etc. (it can be Canon or Non-Canon/AU/No Outbreak).

PPCU Daddy is surprised - and excited - to learn that the grad/postgrad student he hires to watch his child sometimes also works as a: stripper/dancer/cam-girl/onlyfans-model/dating-or-escort-service (or straight-up SW) 

*1000 word Minimum - 2000 word Maximum

WC: 4749  (I have a problem)

Frankie’s mouth was hanging open. He knew he should close it. He knew he looked like a weirdo. He knew he was about to get a “Catfish, lookin’ like a fish” joke from his friends. But for the life of him he couldn’t take his eyes off the stage, or close his gaping jaw.

Not since his babysitter walked on stage and started taking her clothes off.

To be fair, you're not his babysitter anymore. Not since he called you three weeks ago asking if you could babysit for him tonight and you broke the news to him that you'd gotten a new job and couldn't babysit anymore. At least now he understands why you left the not-so-lucrative world of babysitting for an arguably better-paying gig. 

You've only been dancing for two minutes and he already sees more money on the stage than he would've paid you to sit his kid tonight. He’s been watching as you undulate your body across the stage, bending and dipping, stripping down to your underwear. Even though part of him thinks he should, he definitely doesn’t look away when you divest yourself of your lacy little bra.

He always thought you were hot. He was a newly-single dad, interviewing you for a semi-regular babysitting gig. He tried to focus on your resume and your qualifications. He tried to breathe through his mouth so he couldn’t smell your delicate perfume. He tried to ignore the dewy pink lipgloss you had spread across your mouth, which is in stark contrast to the bright red lipstick you are currently sporting.

He was very motivated by the fact that you, as a graduate student in your mid-20’s, seemed more responsible to leave his kid with than the other applicants to his babysitting ad, all of whom were literal teenagers. But truth be told - you were also really fucking hot. Horny dad and the hot babysitter, what a fucking cliche he was.

However, in the eleven months you babysat for him, he never acted on his inappropriate attraction to you. He never treated you as anything other than an employee. You’d show up to his house, hair in a messy bun, wearing comfy clothes, ready to sit on the living room floor all evening playing with his kid. He was polite, and respectful, and was almost positive you never caught him staring at your tits.

Your tits that he’s most definitely staring at right now. Holy shit you have great tits.

“Fuckin’ A Fish, if you’re gonna keep your mouth open, you could at least pour some beer into it.”

“Huh?” Frankie snaps his head back to the table he’s sat at, surrounded by his friends. They all chuckle. 

“We’re about to order the next round and you didn’t even drink any of that one yet,” Benny says as he points to the dripping bottle in Frankie’s hand.

Oh, sorry, Frankie mumbles as he pushes the now-warm bottle to his lips and begins to drink the beer down, his eyes moving back to the stage. The entire club is lit only by colored lights that coordinate with the twirling lights and lasers pointed at the stage, pulsating to the tempo of the music you’ve picked. Fog rolls across the floor of the stage, cascading over the edge. 

There’s a single golden pole at an outcropping of the stage that you’re now gripping with both hands, sticking your ass out towards the audience and giving it a wiggle. You let go of the pole and hook your thumbs into the waistband of your panties. You slowly begin to push them down and just as the crack of your ass comes into view Frankie momentarily forgets that he can’t swallow liquid and breathe at the same time. 

He begins to sputter and cough, choking on the bubbly liquid and spurting it across the table onto the faces of half of his friends. He’s met with groans, curses, and several swats to the back of his head as he attempts to get his wheezing under control, and the fluid out of his trachea.

Santi, who somehow managed to avoid Frankie’s beer-foam projectile, slaps a palm on Frankie’s shoulder and says,

“Guys, Frankie’s real sorry, he’s just never seen a naked woman before.”

The laughter at Frankie’s expense serves as some form of forgiveness, and everyone slowly goes back to flirting with the wandering dancers and ordering their second round. Santi keeps his hand on Frankie’s shoulder and leans into Frankie’s personal space.

“You alright?” Santi asks, squeezing his friend’s shoulder firmly.

Frankie manages to mutter a strangled yeah before several rounds of trying to clear his throat. The lights have dimmed, sinking the club temporarily into a hazy darkness. He briefly registers that the song you were dancing to has ended, so you’ve most likely left the stage.

Santi laughs, shaking his head. He moves his mouth right to Frankie’s ear, almost whispering.

“When I convinced Will to have his bachelor party at this club I thought you’d be the one making your hot babysitter choke, not the other way around,” and he claps Frankie on the back hard, “if you know what I mean.”

Frankie’s eyes go wide as he meets Santi’s crooked grin, but his friend offers nothing more as he moves to the other side of the table, turning his devilish smile on the waitress. He orders two beers and three shots for each man, dismissing the groans of protest from the table. Bachelor Down!, he shouts at Will as everyone does their shots and chases them with cheap beer.

You approach the table full of men with seven other dancers, each of you assigned by the club to give a 20-minute private dance to one of the members of the bachelor party. You’re each in various states of dress, but most are only half-dressed. You’re back in your lacy underwear set - panties and bra - but the sheer nature of the fabric leaves little to the imagination. 

Your previous job as a part-time nanny worked while you were an undergrad. When you started law school it became too much and you had to switch to more infrequent evening babysitting gigs so you had your days free for school and studying. Unable to keep up with school payments you recently had to find something new. Something that only required night and weekend availability, but paid really well.

Enter: Stripping. 

You’ve only been doing this job for a little over a month but you’d quickly gotten very comfortable with being naked in front of strangers. You had your little dance routine and could easily make flirty banter with the club’s customers. Your boss was impressed enough that he’d started assigning you party gigs with some of the other girls, like this bachelor group.

You walk up to the group of strangers, the rest of the girls fan around the table as you’re left standing just behind a broad-shouldered man with a baseball cap on, curls sticking out from under the back strap. You turn to the man with a big smile on your face.

Holy Fuck. 

Not a Stranger.

It’s Francisco Morales. The hot dad you until-recently babysat for.

He looks at you sheepishly. Your hands immediately fly to cover your breasts, suddenly mortified that your nipples are showing through your nearly-transparent choice of outfit. 

“Mr. Morales!”

“Oh I- I already,” he begins to stutter. Is he telling you that he’s already seen your tits? 

You look around at the collection of empty beer bottles and shot glasses on the table and figure that they’ve all been here for much longer than just your dance. So covering your nipples does nothing for your modesty as hot dad has probably already seen everything. You drop your arms to your side, attempting to look relaxed and casual.

“So I-uh. I guess you found a babysitter for tonight.”

He laughs. He actually laughs at your awkward attempt at diffusing the tension. Thank god. He opens his mouth to speak but before he can say anything one of his friends is speaking to the group. He explains that “everyone gets a private dance” and no one can object - and he looks right at Mr. Morales when he says this - because “it’s all been paid for already.”

Following the lead of the other girls you gently grab Mr. Morales’ hand, missing the looks back and forth between him and his friend. You do your best to confidently lead him back to the private rooms with the rest of his group. There are a dozen rooms in the hallway and eight of them have been held in reserve for this bachelor party group. Pulling him inside the last room on the right, you close the door behind you. 

The room is dim, save for the red glow of the lights. The ceiling and floor are both painted black and the three walls without the door are mirrored. Towards the left is a single high-backed black leather chair facing a brass pole that sits in the exact center of the room. On the far side of the room is a curved loveseat against the wall.

This should be easy. Not just because this is your job but because unlike any other man you’ve ever led back here, this is a man you are extremely attracted to. 

This is a man you have fantasized about.

You’ve imagined his curls between your fingers when you’ve grabbed a fistful of a customer's hair, imagined that it’s his stubble scratching between your breasts when you’ve pressed them close. You’ve envisioned his wide chest as you ran your hands down their front, his massive paws in your hands as you’ve taken their sweaty palms and placed them on your rolling hips. 

You’ve wished they were his thighs that you were grinding your ass onto and his erection that you all-too-frequently felt pressing into you. That should make this easy. But instead you’re super fucking nervous. Even more nervous than your first night here, when you dragged your panties down your legs and bent over, exposing your pussy lips to a packed room of strangers. 

What makes you most nervous is probably that the fantasies didn’t stop in the club. It would be one thing if they were just here, serving as a comfort, self-soothing by putting a familiar face in place of a groping stranger’s face. But that’s not the truth. You’ve imagined him at home too. 

In the shower, pretending your hands were his hands as you pinched and plucked at your wet nipples. Daydreaming about his weight on top of you, fucking into you, as you drove one of your toys in and out of your wet cunt. 

And if you’re being perfectly honest, you can admit that it’s been going on for almost a year, since shortly after he hired you to be his babysitter. Remembering the times you’d made yourself come on his couch, hours after his kid had fallen asleep, waiting for him to return home from a night out with his friends. Your hand stuffed down the front of your pants, petting your clit to the thought of him on his knees in front of you.

You never thought you’d actually be naked in front of your fantasy-DILF. This is like being slapped in the face with your own wet dreams. This is kind of a nightmare.

“Listen, you don’t have to-” he begins just as you start to speak as well.

“Mr. Morales I know-” and you both stop and let out breathy, nervous laughs.

“C-Can you please stop calling me Mr. Morales?”

“Oh sorry! Is that weird?”

“It sounds like the start of a bad porno,” he groans, laughing again. “Please just call me Frankie.”

“Of course, I’m so sorry Mist- Frankie. Sorry. Frankie.”

You both break out in laughter again, loudly this time, hoping to finally diffuse some of the tension. A knock sounds at the door and a deep voice - security - asks if everything is alright. You shout back that everything is fine and the room quiets down.

“I should start the music and get going,” you say quietly, motioning for him to sit on the curved red velvet seat against the far wall.

You press a button above his head and music starts up, the first of three songs forming a 10-minute loop that will repeat for this booking. You look into the mirrored wall to your left and notice how nervous you look. Then you meet his eyes in the mirror. Why does he look just as nervous?

You straddle one of his legs and shakily reach back to undo the clasp on your bra. You meet his eyes again. Fuck he can see how your hands are shaking. You look like such a fucking kid. A goddamn amateur. This is going to be the least-sexy lapdance he’s ever been given. 

You can’t stop the gasp that leaves your lips when you suddenly feel his hot hands covering yours at your back. 

“You can leave this on if you’d be more comfortable,” he says softly, barely heard over the pumping bass of the music.

“No I’m fine, I’m just…” you don’t know how to explain to him without embarrassing yourself but suddenly you’re making an admission and the word-vomit has left your mouth before you can even do anything to stop it. “I just always thought you were hot.” 

There it is. It’s out there now. 

He opens his mouth to say something and your nerves bubble up and come out as more words and why the fuck are you talking more?

“I know, I know,” you spit out before he can get a word in, “the babysitter thirsting after the hot dad, how prosaic, right? Talk about a bad porno.”

His warm hands still touching you, he slowly moves his fingers around yours, deftly undoing the clasp of your bra for you.

“It’s okay, I kinda… thought you were hot too,” his admission slips out in a whisper.

You really want to kiss him right now. But that would be a very bad idea. Security patrols the hallway and the door has a small window towards the top of it. It allows security to peek inside and see from the shoulders up. Usually if they can see your shoulders, all is good. If they can’t see your shoulders, it gives them an idea if rules are being broken or if the girls need help. 

Kissing - among other things - is against the rules.

You barely turn to look at the windowed door but you’re embarrassed to think that Frankie must know what you’re thinking because it’s like he can read your mind. Or maybe he’s just thinking about kissing you too? Either way he puts his hands back down to his sides and lets you lean into him, allowing your bra to slowly shift down your shoulders until it falls into his lap.

Your tits are right in his face. You’re half naked in front of the hot dad whose child you used to babysit. The hot dad who you’ve pictured doing this exact thing with - and more. But he’s not even looking at your tits. He’s looking you right in your eyes and making you feel more naked than you’ve ever been in your whole life.

He shouldn’t be here, not doing this, not with you. He should ask for a different girl. He should tell the security guy to kick him out. He’s making you so uncomfortable, he can tell by your twitching movements and halting breaths. He can’t stop staring at you like he’s some kind of lonely creep, what a fucking weirdo he’s being.

You position your legs on the outside of his, keeping his legs slightly open and his hands obediently face-down on the couch next to him. You’re straddling him but hovering above his lap, seemingly careful not to touch him. When you put your hands on his shoulders to brace yourself you begin to stiffly roll your body towards and then away from him.

He doesn’t know where to look. He can’t keep looking at your face, he knows the eye-contact is getting very disturbing. Why the hell did he tell you he kinda thought you were hot too? At least he didn’t admit the truth, that he thought you were fucking supernova-hot. He’s had to bite his tongue countless times to stop from asking you out.

He focuses his eyes at the hollow dip that lies at the base of your throat. It has a dance of its own, moving slightly with your pulse and rolling with your shallow breaths, the rise and fall of your chest a baseline rhythm. He tries not to think about your bare breasts just below, breasts that he’s thought about putting his hands on every single time you’ve walked into his house for the last year. 

He can see your deep red lips in his peripheral vision, and immediately the image of those lips on his skin is conjured. He pictures a chaste kiss planted on his cheek followed by a less-chaste thought of his thumb pressed into your mouth, your eyes looking up at him while your lips leave a red ring on his hand. He needs to fucking calm down. This is just a dance. You’re at work doing your literal job.

He suddenly notices you’ve almost completely stopped moving. He looks up at your face and you’re wearing a tight, pained expression. His brows furrow. Oh no. What’s wrong? Is his erection noticable? Is he creeping you out too badly? Do you want him to leave? He opens his mouth to ask if you’re okay but you silence him with a gentle squeeze to his shoulders.

“I think I’m gonna die if you don’t touch me,” you squeak out in a strained whisper.

In the back of his head a part of him thinks that he shouldn’t immediately cave. It shouldn’t be this easy. Part of him thinks he should need more than just you saying that. 

But he doesn’t. At all.

He slowly slides his body down the sofa, pushing his frame between your legs. You move your feet apart to accommodate his wide shoulders once you realize he won’t fit otherwise. He stops when his ass is sitting on the floor and his head is just above the seat of the sofa, you towering over him. He reaches down and begins to take off your platform heels one at a time. 

As your bare feet hit the floor you run your hands up your neck, over your face, and through your hair, your knees knocking at his shoulders. Touching you gently with only two fingers on each hand, he pushes on the backs of your thighs, guiding you even closer to his face. He grabs your feet and holds them in his hands, forcing your legs to fold and pushing your knees past his ears as his head rests back on the seat.

You’re kneeling at the edge of the sofa, shins on the cushion, feet dangling over his shoulders, your toes curled in his massive hands on his chest, and his head between your thighs. Your face still looks uneasy, and he can just make out whining noises over the music. High-pitched and breathy, the way a dog would beg for scraps at the dinner table.

“Don’t worry baby, I’m gonna touch you now,” he growls.

You grab the brim of his hat and twist it off his head, immediately diving your fingers into his locks. He squeezes your toes and you take his cue, lifting your hips and canting them towards his waiting mouth. Latching his mouth onto your underwear, he runs his tongue up and down your covered seam. 

He feels you begin to rock your hips into his face, rolling your body above him. Any security who looked in the window would see your shoulders moving to the beat and assume you were kneeling on the couch and giving a lap dance. He can only barely see you from his angle, sees the lace of your panties, sees your wrists grabbing at his hair.

Letting go of one of your feet, he grabs at your wrist, dragging your hand from his head to the front of your own underwear. You run your fingers down yourself, parting them around his mouth, letting his tongue tangle in them. Then you grab the edge of the gusset and pull it to the side.

Wasting no time, he immediately begins to lick at your folds, tasting the wetness that has gathered there. A lot of wetness. Christ, you’re so fucking wet. His nose touches just below your clit and a string of your arousal attaches him to you when he pulls back slightly.

A slight pause in the music has his heart stop and his stomach in his throat. After a couple seconds - that seem to stretch on forever - the first song begins playing again, restarting what must be a looped set of music. 

That must mean this private dance-time is halfway over. Ten minutes left but since you two probably started after everyone else you might not have the full ten minutes of privacy if his friends decide to burst in the door. Which, if they’re led by Santi, is a real possibility.

Less than ten minutes. No problem.

You must also feel the sense of urgency because you adjust your hand that is holding your panties to the side. You take your thumb and pointer finger and move them over yourself, parting your lips to open yourself more to him and pulling up slightly, exposing your nub. He flattens his tongue in response and drags it over your sensitive bundle, noting the way your body trembles when he does so.

He knows he doesn’t have the time to edge you as he’d like to, but he can’t help himself when he moves his head lower and twists his tongue into your hole, thrusting it into you. You are bouncing yourself slightly up and down, helping him fuck yourself on his tongue. He feels your wetness pouring over his lips and dripping down through his whiskers.

He feels your hand leave your own body and tangle back in his curls along with your other one, grabbing two fistfuls of hair tightly in your grip. Having had enough of his teasing you’re apparently deciding to take matters into your own hands.

Frankie loves eating pussy but this? This might be his favorite thing in the whole world.

He angles his head perfectly, opens his mouth, and sticks his tongue out stiffly as you begin to grind your pussy against his face. You’re using his nose, his tongue, his chin, even the bristles of his facial hair. You’re using whatever you can to get yourself off as you ride his face. It takes everything in his power not to break out in a giant smile.

He doesn’t hear you, you’re still being the quietest you’ve been since you got in this room, but he feels it. Shit, does he ever feel it. He feels your body tense, then your legs quiver, feels the pulsing in your cunt as you press yourself firm into his still-open mouth. He gently laps up your gushing orgasm as you release the grip on his hair and whimper softly above him.

Knowing you’re short on time, he has you climb off him much sooner than he’d like you to. Your heavy-lidded eyes meet his and then yours go wide. You bend down and grab his hat, plopping it back on his head and attempting to tame his just-fucked-hair back underneath it. You run to the corner of the room and grab a small robe hanging on a hook, skipping back over and roughly wiping his face off with it the way you would a toddler after a meal.

He quickly adjusts himself, tucking his protruding hardness under his belt in an attempt to conceal it as he watches you adjust your askew panties. Still topless, you throw the robe back towards the corner in a panic just as there is a quick knock at the door. Without a signal to enter the door flies open anyways, no less than three of his friends bursting through the doorway drunkenly, shots in hand for Frankie to partake in.

They make Frankie drink the shots before he even leaves the room and then they drag him away from you, hollering obnoxiously. All he can manage is an apologetic look over his shoulder as he hears the final song finally come to an end. Time’s up. Luckily you’re laughing at their antics and don’t seem to be upset. Maybe you were just flirting with him because that’s your job. Maybe you just wanted a good tip.

A tip! Shit.

Being dragged down the hallway Frankie grabs Santi by the arm and asks in his ear how much he should tip you. Santi says he usually tips $200. Frankie is shocked that a 20 minute dance would garner that big of a tip, but then again it’s been a long time since he’s been at a place like this. And to be fair, you - albeit unknowingly - let him fulfill a long-time fantasy of his.

$200 is more than he would have paid you to watch his kid tonight. No wonder you’re not his babysitter anymore. He fishes around in his wallet and takes out all the cash he has, $236. He manages to break off from the group of guys after they do another couple shots and he looks around for you. 

Unable to find you he spots one of the girls you came to the table with and she lets him know you’re on a break but she can get the tip to you. He hands her the folded bills and she thanks him by leaning in and giving him a peck on the cheek. When she pulls back from him she widens her eyes at him and flashes him a knowing smile.

“I’m sure she’s very appreciative… of the tip,” she winks.

Frankie tries not to blush and resists the urge to high-tail it to the bathroom and wash his face off, opting instead to keep the scent of you on him. He returns to the table of his too-drunk-to-notice friends and finishes out the night of revelry.

.

3:03am

Hey

Hi

3:06am

Sorry

3:09am

You’re probably asleep

3:10am

Hi

I’m just getting home actually

3:11am

Oh cool me too

Sorry to bother 

I just wanted to make sure you got your tip

I left it with your friend

3:14am

I did, yes. Thank you so much.

3:14am

Cool 👍

3:16am

Don’t take this the wrong way…

But how drunk were you tonight?

3:18am

Idk

Why?

What did I do?

I’m so sorry

3:19am

No, don’t be sorry!

I’m not trying to be rude.

I just….

Did you mean to tip me that amount?

3:25am

Oh my god

Was it not enough?

I can give you more

I’m really sorry

Do you have Venmo?

3:27am

No! OMG. It was plenty!

Literally the most I’ve ever been tipped is like 40%

You tipped me 118%

3:30am

Oh

3:31am

Yeah so I just wanted to make sure you didn’t get too drunk

And accidentally just give me everything in your wallet

3:35am

Is that what happened?

3:37am

Because I can Venmo some money back to you

It’s really not a problem

3:40am

Sorry no

I just tipped what my friend told me to

3:41am

Well I checked with the other girls….

NONE of your friends tipped that much

And they were all very generous!

3:44am

But none as generous as you

3:45am

He’s such an asshole

I’m sorry

I didn’t know

I feel like an idiot

3:46am

Again, please don’t be sorry

It was VERY generous of you

And I’m very grateful

3:50am

I was in a giving mood tonight I suppose

3:51am

Mr. Morales, is that you being flirty?

3:53am

Oh we’re back to Mr. Morales now?

3:55am

Can you get a babysitter on Wednesday night?

3:55am

I don’t have custody this week so no babysitter needed

Why?

3:56am

We should go out to dinner

3:57am

Oh we should?

3:59am

Yeah we should

Frankie

4:01am

MY treat

4:01am

LOL I should hope so!

4:02am

Pick me up at 7 😉

4:02am

I will

See you Wednesday

[elysiumania]

title: carve it to the end pairing(s): blade, reader characters: blade, reader, kafka, silver wolf word count: 9.8k+ synopsis: blade is familiar with the profound sin that encompasses his entire existence, yet he never anticipated that a whirlwind of emotions for you would also ensnare him.

In the midst of your daring mission, you and Blade find yourselves separated from Kafka and Silver Wolf, who have been entrusted with the crucial task of retrieving the coveted stellaron from the clutches of the world's sovereign. This scenario is all too familiar, as Elio, your mysterious leader, often assigns you such missions to procure the stellaron from different worlds.

The urgency of the situation is palpable, as Elio's command weighs heavily on your shoulders. Time is of the essence, and the success of your mission depends on each member's unwavering focus and commitment. 

The world you find yourselves entrenched in is a labyrinth of mysteries and dangers. Its atmosphere crackles with an otherworldly energy, its landscapes a juxtaposition of ethereal beauty and imminent peril. Shadows dance along the twisted paths, hinting at lurking threats that could emerge at any moment.

In the heart of the battlefield, you and Blade move with an elegant synchrony, your every action an evidence to the rigorous training and discipline that you both possess. Your movements are precise, your coordination seamless, as if you were two halves of a single entity, united by a common purpose.

Every movement is deliberate, calculated, as you swiftly evade the oncoming strikes and launch devastating counterattacks. The air is charged with a palpable tension, your senses heightened to their fullest extent.

Time seems to slow down. Your world narrows to the immediate threat before you, the rest of the battlefield fading into the periphery. The only sound you hear is the clash of steel, the rhythmic pounding of your heart, and the rhythmic breaths you take in tandem with each movement. There is a singular purpose that drives you forward – the complete annihilation of your enemies.

In a swift turn of your body, you witness Blade parry the bullets fired to him.

Blade's presence on the battlefield is truly formidable, exuding an aura of power and confidence that commands respect. Every swing of his blade is executed with calculated precision, a dance of lethal elegance. His movements are fluid and swift, as if he were an extension of his weapon, effortlessly cutting through adversaries with a deadly efficiency.

There is a raw intensity to his fighting style, a controlled ferocity that sends shivers down your spine. He is like a force of nature, untamed and relentless, his strikes landing with devastating impact. It is a sight to behold, the embodiment of a warrior at the peak of his skill and strength.

However, amidst the chaos and violence, you can discern a meticulousness in Blade's approach. His attacks are not haphazard or reckless, but rather purposeful and strategic. He anticipates his opponents' moves, parrying and countering with calculated precision. His reflexes are honed to a razor's edge, allowing him to seamlessly transition from defense to offense, leaving little room for his enemies to counterattack.

You, too, are a force to be reckoned with. Your reflexes are honed to perfection, your aim unerring as you unleash a hail of bullets, each shot finding its mark with lethal precision. Your training and experience have molded you into a formidable combatant, a force that strikes fear into the hearts of your enemies. Your focus is steady, your concentration laser-sharp as you analyze every opponent, calculating their weaknesses and exploiting them with ruthless efficiency.

As the battle wears on, a sense of fatigue begins to creep into your limbs. The adrenaline that fueled your movements earlier starts to wane, and you feel the weight of exhaustion settle upon you. Your breath becomes labored, each inhale a struggle as you try to replenish the oxygen needed to sustain your efforts.

The once effortless movements now require a conscious effort, each swing of your weapon feeling heavier than before. Your muscles ache, protesting the relentless strain placed upon them. But you push through the discomfort, your determination overriding the physical toll on your body.

With every passing moment, your stamina diminishes further. The pace of your strikes and evasions slows, each action requiring a greater expenditure of energy. Your once precise and fluid movements become more sluggish, the gaps in your defenses more apparent. But you refuse to yield, knowing that the moment you falter could spell disaster.

Your breaths become audible, each exhalation a visible cloud in the cold air. Beads of sweat drip down your brow, stinging your eyes as you struggle to maintain focus. The weight of exhaustion settles, threatening to drag you down. Yet, you find solace in the knowledge that you are not alone in this battle.

Despite the weariness that seeps into your bones, your pride and determination refuse to waver. You cannot bear the thought of leaving the burden solely to Blade, for that would make you vulnerable at a crucial moment. You know that victory in this battle depends on your firm presence and contribution.

As the enemy forces thin, a surge of determination courses through your veins. You can taste victory within reach, a tantalizing prospect that fuels your resolve. With renewed focus, you rally your remaining energy, striking back with a newfound ferocity. Each blow is a testament to your unyielding spirit, a defiance against the constraints of your weariness.

And finally, as the last enemy falls to the ground, a moment of stillness descends upon the battlefield. The air is heavy with the scent of blood and sweat, mingled with the unmistakable aura of victory. You stand amidst the fallen, your breaths coming in heaves, your body weary and battered. But within the exhaustion, there is a sense of triumph, an indomitable spirit that refuses to be defeated.

Every breath you took came with labor, as if each inhale and exhale required a monumental effort. Weary and fatigued, you turned your body to face Blade, whose face remained unblemished, betraying no signs of exhaustion or weariness. It was as if he had not engaged in the grueling battle that had left you drained and depleted. 

Amazement and admiration swirled within you, mingling to form a chuckle that escaped your lips. You marveled at the strength embodied by your steadfast co-hunter, a strength that defied mortal limitations. The question lingered in your mind: Was this unwavering perseverance an inherent gift of his immortality?

Envy welled within you, a gnawing ache that intensified with each passing moment. It stemmed from Blade's indomitable will, his resolute determination that propelled him forward in the treacherous landscape of the battlefield. Yet, you couldn't help but be acutely aware that this very essence of strength—the enduring spirit that coursed through his veins—was also the source of his burden, one he carried with stoic grace.

Blade's eyes, intense and piercing, locked onto yours, their gaze penetrating through the facade of nonchalance he wore. A subtle furrow appeared between his brows. With each measured step, he closed the distance between you.

Your vision blurred, and the world around you transformed into a swirling haze, dissolving the boundaries between Blade and the backdrop. Amidst this kaleidoscope of colors, it was Blade's familiar hues that remained distinct, serving as a steadfast anchor amidst the chaotic whirlwind.

"(Name)," his voice called out, urgency lacing his tone, but you found yourself incapable of responding. Your focus shifted inward, drawn to the state of your own well-being. Fatigue clawed at your limbs, a relentless heaviness weighing down every movement, while a disorienting fuzziness clouded your thoughts.

Your body swayed, a mere puppet succumbing to the invisible forces tugging at your senses. Before comprehending the full extent of your unraveling consciousness, strong arms encircled your waist, pulling you into a tight embrace. The hold was both protective and firm, a lifeline anchoring you as you teetered on the precipice of unconsciousness.

With a final shuddering breath, the world around you faded into an all-encompassing darkness, your awareness slipping away like sand through your fingertips.

Blade's intense gaze remained fixed upon you, his eyes bearing witness to the toll that your relentless battles had taken on your weary form. He understood the limits that you, his trusted comrade, bore as a fellow hunter. Countless enemies had tested your stamina, their sheer numbers depleting your reserves as you confronted them head-on, side by side.

The signs of exhaustion were evident in the lousiness of your movements, your shoulders rising and falling in an irregular manner. Each breath became a heavy burden, weighing upon your chest. Your once fluid motions had begun to falter, slowing as weariness claimed its hold. Yet, even in the face of these challenges, you stood resolute, confronting the onslaught with dedication.

Finally, the last of your adversaries had been vanquished, leaving only stillness in their wake. Blade, ever vigilant, turned his attention towards you without delay. His piercing gaze met your weary countenance, observing a vulnerability that was unfamiliar to him. The customary smile that you often flashed at him, one that had grated his nerves in the past, was now replaced by a weariness he had not witnessed before—a new encounter, a glimpse of your fragility.

He approached you, his strides purposeful and deliberate, calling out your name to capture your attention. Yet, you remained lost in your own thoughts, your gaze fixated upon the ground as if oblivious to his voice. Sensing your imminent collapse, Blade's instincts kicked in, honed from years of battles fought side by side.

With remarkable swiftness, Blade extended his arm, snaking it around your waist, pulling you tightly against his chest. The impact of his swift action halted your impending fall, providing a secure anchor within the shelter of his embrace.

An irritated expression twisted Blade's features, his countenance marred by displeasure as he clicked his tongue in disapproval upon witnessing the vulnerability you now displayed. A flicker of annoyance danced within him, tugging at the corners of his being, yet an inexplicable flutter of something else lingered momentarily, a fleeting sensation that he swiftly dismissed.

He listened intently, attuned to the barely audible sound of your breathing, attesting to the rise and fall of your chest. Blade was certain that your slumber was merely a consequence of the relentless fatigue that accompanied the arduous battle you had endured. Letting out a sigh, he adjusted his stance, shifting his weight to better support you and ensure your comfort.

In the stillness, the sound of approaching footsteps broke the silence. Blade turned his gaze over his shoulder, catching sight of Kafka and Silver Wolf making their way toward him. A mischievous smirk adorned Kafka's face as her eyes fixated upon the curious and unusual scene unfolding before her.

"What happened to (Name)?" Silver Wolf inquired, her tone tinged with curiosity as she observed Blade and the slumbering figure in his arms.

"Fatigue," Blade responded curtly, his voice devoid of any elaboration.

"Oh? Did you encounter a formidable number of enemies then?" Kafka interjected with amusement. "It has been quite some time since I've seen (Name) exhausted to this extent. She usually dispatches her adversaries with impressive swiftness."

Blade chose not to respond to Kafka's remark, his gaze drifting down to your peaceful form nestled against his chest. The lines of fatigue that etched your face seemed to soften, revealing a vulnerability that was rarely witnessed. It was a sight that both intrigued and unsettled him, stirring emotions he struggled to comprehend.

"However, this scene is undoubtedly worth witnessing and quite rare.”

Blade's irritation grew as Kafka's words rang in his ears, emphasizing the rarity and significance of the scene unfolding before them. He groaned audibly, sensing the intrusion of his co-hunters into this trivial moment. 

However, his annoyance escalated to exasperation as the sound of a shutter reached his ears, followed by the realization that Silver Wolf had captured a photograph of you both in your vulnerable state.

"I will send this photo to (Name)," the hacker announced, her fingers swiftly tapping on her phone to carry out her plan.

His head snapped towards his co-hunters, a glare burning in his eyes as he observed Silver Wolf holding her phone aloft, a mischievous and amused grin etched upon Kafka's face as she stood beside her, hand confidently placed on her hips.

A deep groan escaped Blade's lips, a resounding protest against the audacity of their endeavor. The boundaries of privacy seemed to blur in their presence, and he found himself grappling with the precarious balance between camaraderie and personal space.

Unperturbed by Blade's disapproval, Silver Wolf announced her intention to send the captured photo to you, her fingers tapping on her phone to execute the plan. Kafka's amusement was evident in her voice, reveling in the presumed surprise that awaited you upon awakening to a barrage of messages.

"She will be bombarded with this photo as soon as she awakens," Kafka chuckled, relishing the anticipation she held within her mischievous gaze. Her words danced with a mixture of presumption and amusement, an implicit belief that the outcome would be nothing short of entertaining.

As Silver Wolf scrutinized the sent photo, her sharp eyes honed in on a particular detail that caught her attention. With a sense of urgency, she zoomed in on the image, focusing on your arm. A splotch of crimson stood out, a telltale sign of blood trickling down your skin. Instantly, she relayed the concerning discovery to her companions.

"I believe it's imperative that we return to headquarters and bring (Name) to the healer without delay," Silver Wolf suggested, her tone laced with genuine concern. As she faced the perplexed expressions of her companions, she clarified her reasoning. "I noticed blood on her arm in the photo. It's possible she sustained a wound during the battle."

Blade's gaze snapped towards you, his attention immediately drawn to the area where the hacker had spotted the alarming sight. His eyes scanned your slumbering form, searching for any evidence of injury. And there, peeking out from the side of your arm, he spotted the crimson stain, smearing his own sleeves with your blood. A huff of frustration escaped his lips, mingled with a tinge of exasperation.

He couldn't help but ruminate on the recklessness that often coursed through you, the audacity with which you faced danger.

Indignation surged within Blade, rising like a tempest within his chest as he contemplated the dire consequences of your actions. While he grudgingly acknowledged his own tendency for recklessness, a belief that his immortal nature would allow him to withstand wounds and slashes with ease, he recognized the stark contrast in your vulnerability. You did not possess the gift-like-curse of immortality, and the wounds you sustained held the potential for far graver repercussions.

Devising meticulous plans, carefully assessing the movements and intentions of your enemies, had always been the cornerstone of Blade's approach to victory. It was a calculated dance, a strategic ballet that he had honed over time.

Yet, what gnawed at Blade's core, sparking the ember of irritation within him, was the unsettling realization that he was irked by your recklessness. It should not concern him if you were to meet your demise on the battlefield. After all, death had been his elusive pursuit, an ever-present companion lurking in the recesses of his existence, a catchphrase that easily rolled off his tongue. It was a facet of his other self, one he had sought to embrace yet had never fully attained.

And yet, the bitter taste that lingered on the tip of his tongue, the annoyance that prickled beneath his skin, betrayed a profound unease at the thought of your death. It was an incongruity that bewildered him, challenging his steadfast commitment to detachment. How could you, someone he had never truly regarded beyond the confines of a fellow hunter, stir within him such distaste for the inevitability of death?

Blade grappled with the paradox, his irritation growing in intensity. The disconcerting reality of his emotions cast a veil of unease upon his otherwise steadfast resolve. The boundaries that he had carefully constructed, separating himself from the lives of others, seemed to blur in your presence.

It was an annoyance that Blade struggled to comprehend, an unwelcome intrusion upon his carefully cultivated existence.

"We must hurry, for there may be more adversaries in our path," Kafka suggested, her voice grained with urgency. 

In response, Blade swiftly and effortlessly scooped you up, cradling you in his arms with practiced ease—his hands supporting your knees and shoulders—before the trio embarked towards the waiting ship.

Their hurried footsteps resonated in unison. With every stride, Blade's focus remained fixed upon the precious cargo he carried, ensuring your safety as they made their way to the ship that would transport them to their destination.

Upon reaching their destination, Blade carefully set you down upon the bed in the clinic, relinquishing his hold as the healer swiftly took charge. His piercing gaze lingered upon you for a fleeting moment before he pivoted on his heel, preparing to depart the room.

“You’re leaving?” 

Kafka's sudden question halted Blade in his tracks, prompting him to turn his gaze toward her. A hint of curiosity flickered in his eyes, awaiting her explanation.

"There's no need for me to linger here," he stated matter-of-factly.

"You're not going to look after (Name)?"

The inquiry caused his eyebrow to arch in mild confusion. "And why should I do that?"

"You already know that yourself, Bladie," she stated with a playful tone and a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Blade's frown deepened, his irritation bubbling to the surface.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he retorted, a note of finality in his voice. "And I have no interest in delving into whatever it is."

With that, Blade turned away, cutting off any further discussion. His steps carried him away from the room, leaving behind the enigmatic conversation. But, even as he walked away, the lingering words and insinuations gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, an unwelcome intrusion into his otherwise focused mind.

Blade found himself genuinely perplexed by Kafka's implications, unable to grasp the underlying meaning of her words. However, he couldn't deny the undeniable truth that it irritated him when it pertained to you. From the very beginning, since the moment you had invaded his mind, you had become a persistent presence, governing his thoughts and actions through your infuriating actions.

Within the recesses of his being, a tempestuous whirlwind raged, its origins elusive, its nature enigmatic. It swept through his soul, stirring up a maelstrom of emotions that clashed and clashed like thunderous waves against rugged cliffs. It was as if a churning vortex had taken residence within him, disrupting the tranquility he had come to know.

This enigmatic sensation, like a riddle without a solution, perplexed him, refusing to be neatly categorized or defined. It twisted and turned, defying his attempts to grasp its essence, teasing him with fleeting glimpses of comprehension before slipping away like smoke through his fingertips. It was a phantom, taunting him with its complex nature.

This inexplicable connection with you contradicted his stoic nature, defying the boundaries he had meticulously established to safeguard his emotions. The turbulence it caused within him was an unwelcome disruption, disturbing the delicate equilibrium he had carefully maintained for so long. Yet, despite his disdain for this unfamiliar sentiment, he couldn't escape its hold.

For now, Blade chose to bury those uncertainties, channeling his focus back to the tasks at hand. The path of a hunter was one fraught with danger and uncertainty, and he couldn't allow himself to be swayed by unexplained sentiments. With a steady stride, he continued his journey, suppressing the whisper of concern that followed in his wake.

“We have a new member in our team,” Kafka announced, looking at her side where a woman stood. “This is (Name). She will join as soon as Elio instructs us.”

As Kafka made the announcement, introducing you as the newest member of their team, your presence drew the attention of the group. All eyes turned towards you, including Blade's, who observed the exchange with a stoic expression.

Silver Wolf, brimming with an air of confidence, rose from her seat and approached you and Kafka. She introduced herself with a cool demeanor, extending her hand for a formal handshake. You reciprocate the gesture, a warm smile gracing your lips as you accept her greeting.

"(Name). I am pleased to meet you," you replied, your tone reflecting sincerity and openness. 

Beside her, Kafka took it upon herself to introduce Blade, her words tinged with a hint of playful warning.

"And this is Blade. He's got a few quirks, but he's a pretty decent guy. Just make sure you don't rub him the wrong way. But please beware around him," Kafka introduces him on his behalf, with a casual tone.

She conveyed his complexities, acknowledging the challenges that might arise when interacting with him. Blade simply nodded in acknowledgment, his gaze steady as he absorbed the introductions.

Taking the initiative, you extended your hand towards Blade, your gesture mirroring the earlier exchange between Silver Wolf and yourself. With a gentle smile, you spoke, voicing your hope to maintain a positive rapport.

"Blade, it's a pleasure to meet you too. I hope I can avoid getting on your bad side," you said with genuine sincerity, the sparkle in your eyes hinting at your lightheartedness.

Rather than accepting your extended hand, Blade's reaction was one of dismissiveness and disdain. He emitted a snort of irritation before abruptly turning his back to you, retreating to his designated place. It was a deliberate gesture, a clear message that he had no intention of entertaining any further interaction or connection with you.

From that moment onward, a peculiar dynamic unfolded between you and Blade. The intensity of your gaze, your unwavering attention directed towards him, became a persistent source of irritation and anger. It was as if your eyes bore into his very being, their weight an ever-present reminder of your presence.

Whether in the midst of missions or within the confines of the headquarters, your stares persisted, unabated and noticeable. It was a lack of discretion that only heightened his vexation, making it impossible for him to ignore the density of your steady focus.

Initially, Blade had chosen to overlook your behavior, granting you the benefit of the doubt and assuming that it would soon wane or change. He had granted you his patience and considered it a passing phase, a temporary inconvenience. However, as the days wore on and your behavior remained unchanged, frustration welled within him, igniting a simmering anger that threatened to boil over.

He had expected the glue-like hold you seemed to have on him to loosen, to fade away. Yet, to his dismay, it clung to him with unrelenting persistence, defying his attempts to shake it off. The irritation stirred within him, his patience waning, as the boundary of tolerance grew thinner with each passing moment.

The sudden aggression in Blade's actions shattered the fragile calm that had previously enveloped the hallway. The forceful slam against the wall resonated through the confined space, echoing with a resounding intensity. His arms flanked your head, his piercing gaze meeting your bewildered self with an unsettling mix of intensity and rage.

Caught off guard, you found yourself pinned against the unyielding surface, your movement restricted by the sheer force of Blade's hold. The abrupt halt in your path to your room left you suspended in a moment of uncertainty, as you struggled to comprehend the reason behind his unexpected and aggressive actions.

“What is your scheme, huh?”

His voice, husky yet dangerous, sliced through the air like a blade. His inquiry demanded answers, seeking to unravel the motivations behind your actions, or perhaps to assert dominance over the situation. The solemnity of his words filled the space, leaving little room for evasion or half-truths.

As Blade's intense gaze bore into your own, his indignation smoldered beneath the surface. The innocence reflected in your eyes, an aspect he vehemently abhorred, only served to further stoke the flames of his anger. It was a stark contrast to his own nature, an antithesis that rankled against his very being.

You responded, your voice steady yet laced with a hint of composure. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," you declared, your words echoing in the tense atmosphere.

Blade's growl reverberated through the air, a primal display of dominance and power. The impact of his hands against the wall echoed his warning, a reminder of what he was capable of should he be further provoked. But, despite his fearsome actions, you remained steadfast, your unwavering gaze fixed upon him, as if seeking to untangle the enigma that resided within his soul.

His voice, dripping with darkness and cruelty, lashed out at you, laying bare his frustrations. The intensity of his stare pierced through you, the weight of his words bearing down upon your shoulders. He acknowledged the patience he had shown thus far, acknowledging the restraint he had exercised in the face of your relentless scrutiny.

"You have persistently fixed your gaze upon me, which has been rather vexing. Consider yourself fortunate that, despite my reputation for impatience, I have displayed remarkable restraint and refrained from terminating your existence due to your incessant and intrusive stares."

In response to his threat, you remained resolute, your voice steady as you spoke. "Then, I am thankful that you haven't taken my life yet.”

“Tell me a plausible reason to refrain myself from ending you.”

"I want to know more about you," you admitted, your voice holding a mixture of curiosity and determination. It was a risky statement, one that defied his expectations and pushed the boundaries of his guarded existence.

His piercing gaze bore into you, intensifying with disbelief and a hint of warning. The depths of his glare seemed to echo a sense of cruelty and danger, as if he dared you to challenge his skepticism.

"Don't test me," he scowled, his voice laced with an edge of threat.

"I beg to differ," you retort. "You remain an enigma to me, a puzzle that has piqued my curiosity. It was relatively effortless for me to become acquainted with Kafka and the others, but you, on the other hand, prove to be a unique challenge. Perhaps it is your distant and aloof nature that sets you apart, or perhaps there are deeper underlying factors at play."

"You previously mentioned your desire to avoid antagonizing me, yet it appears that you have now succeeded in doing so."

Blade's words dripped with venom, his threat drifting through the charged atmosphere. The darkness that shrouded him threatened to consume the space between you, leaving little room for leniency or understanding. It was clear that he believed you had crossed a line, evoking the wrath of his ire.

With a heavy sigh, you faced him without fear.

Blade's disbelief was palpable, his features contorted in a mix of incredulity and frustration. His eyebrows furrowed deeply, and his clenched jaw revealed the inner turmoil as he fought to rein in his rising anger. With one final glare, he abruptly withdrew his body, releasing you from the oppressive presence he had imposed upon you.

"Your reasons for joining the Stellaron hunters are not my concern," he declared, his voice laced with an undeniable edge of irritation. "Keep your intrusive curiosity to yourself and refrain from bothering others. I have no interest in knowing anything about anyone, including you."

The finality in his words echoed through the space, underscoring his disinterest in delving into matters beyond the immediate scope of their shared mission. It was a clear message, signaling that further attempts to breach the walls he had erected would be met with resistance and hostility.

With that, Blade turned away, leaving you to absorb the weight of his rejection and the boundaries he had firmly established. The tension between you hung in the air, an unspoken barrier that seemed insurmountable. 

As he strode off, a cold and distant aura enveloped him, shielding him from the intrusions of curiosity and connection that you had attempted to breach.

The surreptitious glances you cast in Blade's direction did not escape notice, despite his prior warnings and threat. Nonetheless, he begrudgingly acknowledged that the frequency of those glances had diminished compared to earlier encounters. When accompanying other hunters on missions, it granted Blade a fleeting respite, a temporary reprieve from the occasional scrutinizing gazes that seemed to dissect him from afar.

Yet, upon your return, you would invariably greet him with an amiable smile and a friendly wave, seemingly oblivious to his prior admonitions. Blade, resolute in maintaining his distance, opted for complete disregard, refusing to acknowledge your presence or partake in any form of interaction.

However, when circumstances dictated that the two of you found yourselves on the same mission, the task became increasingly burdensome for Blade. Not due to any perceived deficiency on your part, but rather because of the unyielding intensity of your penetrating stares. They bore into him, as if endeavoring to unravel the enigmatic cloak that enveloped his very essence.

In response, Blade's glare would intensify, a lethal warning etched within his gaze. It stood as a silent plea for you to desist in your unyielding observation, a plea that fell upon deaf ears. Despite his explicit caution, you persisted in your pursuit, undeterred by his unspoken signals.

There arrived a moment when Blade's anger and irritation reached a boiling point, overpowering his self-restraint. In an uncontrollable surge of rage, he found himself unsheathing his sword, employing it as a tangible manifestation of his pent-up emotions. It was a perilous act, a palpable reflection of his internal struggle, as he fought to regain dominion over himself in the face of your relentless actions.

However, even in light of his aggression, you remained undeterred, unflinching in the face of the menace he presented. The clash between the two of you transformed into a battle of wills, an unyielding pursuit on your part juxtaposed with his unwavering resistance. The tension between you surged, leaving behind a trail of disquietude and exasperation in its wake.

Intrigued by Kafka's insatiable curiosity, she felt compelled to confront Blade about his abrupt outburst. Approaching him with a mixture of fascination and concern, her voice held a subtle undertone of intrigue, as she sought to crack the reason behind his aggressive actions.

"Why did you resort to such measures, Bladie?" she inquired, her tone infused with genuine curiosity.

The embers of Blade's anger still smoldered within him, evident in the acerbic manner in which he delivered his words. 

"That woman certainly knows how to stoke the fires of my fury," he growled, bitterness dripping from his voice.

Kafka's eyes narrowed, fixating on Blade intently. She meticulously assessed the situation, scouring for any visible signs of harm inflicted upon him, only to find none. There had to be a catalyst, a trigger that had prompted such an instinctive and volatile response from him.

Based on her astute observations, Kafka deduced that your actions had not warranted such an aggressive reaction. Puzzlement tinged her words as she probed deeper, yearning for clarity.

"From what I witnessed, (Name) did nothing to incite your anger. Or am I missing something?"

Blade's head snapped towards Kafka, his forehead furrowing with a blend of frustration and defensiveness. 

"She persisted with those vexing stares, despite my explicit warning," he retorted.

A playful spark flickered within Kafka's eyes as she observed Blade, a subtle amusement tugging at the corners of her lips. 

"Ah, I comprehend now," she replied, a trace of understanding seeping into her voice. "So, that is the crux of the matter."

Blade huffed, his frustration unabated. "If she refuses to desist, I shall not hesitate to end her myself," he declared, his words carrying an icy finality.

Kafka's amusement only intensified, her expression transforming into one of playful intrigue. She appeared to find the entire situation rather entertaining, studying Blade with a blend of fascination and amusement. It was evident that she had gleaned something deeper from the intricate dynamics between you and Blade, something that transcended mere annoyance.

With the threat hanging palpably in the air, the tension between you and Blade reached an unprecedented apex, the consequences of your unyielding stares teetering on treacherous ground. The ball now rested in your court, presenting you with a pivotal choice – either relent and abandon this perilous path or persist with an unwavering determination, willing to face the consequences that lay in wait.

The passage of time transformed weeks into months, and yet, there remained no trace of your return from the mission undertaken alongside Kafka. Blade found himself ensnared in an unfamiliar state of tranquility, relishing in the absence of your persistent stares. Initially expecting your reappearance after a mere week, he had braced himself for the resumption of your penetrating gaze. However, the passing months painted a contrasting picture, shrouding your whereabouts in mystery.

Inquiries gnawed at the fringes of Blade's consciousness. Could the mission truly detain you for such an extensive duration? It seemed implausible that you and Kafka, both formidable in your own right, would succumb to failure or meet your demise at the hands of adversaries. Blade intimately understood the strength and cunning of his comrades. Furthermore, the absence of any official proclamations from Elio only heightened his conviction that your mission endured.

Despite his profound antipathy towards you, Blade could not dismiss your capabilities. He was not petty enough to overlook or disregard the skills of another, even if he harbored personal disdain. Reluctantly, he acknowledged your competence, recognizing that you were not to be underestimated.

Yet, amidst the tranquil days, thoughts of you infiltrated Blade's mind akin to an unyielding anchor rooted deep within the ocean floor. Rare was the occasion when he allowed himself to be consumed by thoughts of another, especially one who irked him to the core. The frustration and anger that simmered within him escalated with each passing day, a constant reminder of the enigma you had become in his existence.

Blade grappled with reconciling these conflicting emotions, struggling to comprehend why you had managed to etch yourself so indelibly in his thoughts. He battled against his own resistance, resenting the intrusion of your presence monopolizing his mind. It was a vexing state of affairs, leaving him wrestling with an amalgamation of sentiments he had long sought to suppress.

As the months gradually wore on, Blade found himself increasingly exasperated by the lingering presence of your memory within his thoughts. The weight of your existence persisted like an anchor, impeding the tranquility of his mind. It posed an enigma that defied resolution, a puzzle that exasperated him to no end.

Blade's ruminations incessantly revolved around the void created by your absence, compelling him to ponder over the intricacies of your mission and the current state of affairs. Despite having access to the contact information of all the Stellaron hunters, he deliberately abstained from possessing any trace of your details. The contempt he nurtured towards your presence rendered any form of direct communication superfluous in his discerning eyes.

His inclinations inclined towards solitude and seclusion, seldom initiating contact with his fellow hunters unless exigencies dictated such action. He refrained from extending his reach to others or responding to their messages unless they pertain directly to the ongoing missions at hand. Blade discerned no necessity for casual conversations or trivial exchanges that deviated from the intended purpose.

"I am aware that your perpetual annoyance and anger are constants, but on this occasion, they seem to possess a heightened potency compared to prior instances, even in the absence of any discernible source of provocation," Silver Wolf remarked, her voice resounding within their customary resting room. Engrossed in her gaming pursuits, she paused momentarily after completing a round.

Blade cast a sidelong glance at her, his irritation apparent. However, he chose to remain silent, maintaining his comfortable position on the couch as his gaze reverted to fixating upon the aquarium wall situated before him.

"Even in your current relaxed state, I can sense the presence of your simmering irritation permeating the room, you're aware of that, aren't you?"

Silver Wolf let out a sigh of resignation, her shoulders slumping in response to Blade's unresponsive demeanor. But just as the air left her lungs, a familiar sound filled the air, slicing through the silence—her phone's ringing tone. It was Kafka on the line, and without hesitation, she swiftly accepted the call.

"Hey."

"Hello, Silver Wolf! I'm out shopping today since it's our well-deserved rest day for both (Name) and I."

Silver Wolf caught a movement from the corner of her eye, prompting her to turn her head and meet Blade's gaze. He had straightened his posture on the couch from his relaxed position, his attention now fixated on her. A shift in his demeanor was apparent; he seemed alert and engaged as he observed Kafka's video call.

"When will you be back?" the hacker inquired.

"I'm still waiting for Elio's instructions. He mentioned that we should remain here for a while longer, as there's an upcoming mission on the horizon."

"And where's (Name)?"

A soft rustling sound reached Silver Wolf's ears once more, drawing her attention. Her gaze shifted to Blade, noting the subtle change in his posture. He now leaned forward, his upper body hunched over with elbows resting on his knees, his hands intertwined together. His focused stance mirrored his intent, as if he hung onto every word exchanged during the conversation.

"(Name) is currently recuperating in a small hospital. She sustained an injury during our mission, though thankfully, it isn't too severe.”

"Tell her to rest well.”

"Of course.”

With the call concluded, she pocketed her phone and shifted her gaze towards Blade, her eyes searching for any trace of empathy or understanding. Yet, his response was a mere scoff, accompanied by a dismissive comment.

"Weak," he uttered, his tone laced with disdain and Silver Wolf only released a defeated sigh.

With the homecoming of weary hunters, an air of relief and delight enveloped the headquarters. Genuine smiles adorned the faces of Silver Wolf and their comrades, manifesting their sincere joy as they warmly welcomed your return from the arduous mission. The unity and camaraderie among the team were palpable, tangible evidence of the bonds forged through shared trials and tribulations.

Blade trailed behind Silver Wolf, observing the scene with a detached interest. His gaze fleetingly brushed over the joyful countenances and animated conversations, until it settled upon you—the very source of his vexation. There you stood, radiant with an effusive grin, your hand extended in a friendly wave.

In that moment, an unfamiliar warmth stirred within Blade, threatening to breach the fortress he had meticulously erected around his emotions. It was a sensation alien and disconcerting, a stark departure from his accustomed state of detached coldness. Its presence vexed him to no end, this inexplicable emergence of nascent sentiments that simmered just beneath the surface.

He endeavored to quell the burgeoning warmth, dismissing it as a transient aberration in his otherwise composed and chaotic existence. Yet, with each subsequent encounter, every instance where your firm gaze locked onto him, the intensity of this sensation surged, chipping away at his steely resolve. Frustration surged within him, further aggravating the already tempestuous storm of his emotions.

Blade fought against the onslaught of these unfamiliar sentiments, unwilling to succumb to their influence. He clung to the familiarity of his annoyance, his irritation serving as a shield against the disconcerting stirrings within his heart. But deep down, he knew that ignoring these feelings would only fuel their fire, intensifying the turmoil he sought so desperately to quell.

As the days unfolded and your presence remained a constant in his life, Blade found himself increasingly entangled in a web of conflicting emotions. The war between his irritation and the burgeoning warmth waged on, leaving him with a sense of frustration and a growing awareness of the enigma you had become to him.

In the midst of the chaotic battlefield, where danger lurked at every turn, a pivotal moment unfolded that would test the depths of your connection. As the clash of weapons echoed around you, a swift and unexpected strike found its mark, piercing Blade's chest with a searing pain.

In that instant, your instinctual response kicked in, overriding any fear or hesitation that threatened to consume you. With unwavering determination, you raced towards Blade, your steps propelled by a surge of panic and concern. The gravity of the situation urged you to act swiftly, to protect him from further harm.

Despite the formidable adversaries that interposed themselves along your path, your singular focus remained unwaveringly fixed upon your wounded comrade. Each opponent that dared to obstruct your passage fell swiftly and decisively to your calculated strikes. Guided by a relentless sense of urgency, you traversed the battlefield with unwavering resolve, your purpose anchored in reaching Blade's side and attending to his injuries.

Finally arriving at his side, your hands descended upon his wounded chest with an unyielding grip. Worry danced upon your countenance, etching a crease upon your brow and compelling your teeth to gnaw on your lip. Clutching a tightly held handkerchief, you applied firm pressure to his wound, striving to staunch the torrent of blood that threatened to steal his vitality.

Blade, despite his internal resistance to your ministrations, could not help but perceive the genuine concern etched across your visage. The furrowed brows, the resolve that emanated from your eyes, and the sheer intensity of your actions conveyed volumes, surpassing the need for any spoken words in that critical juncture.

"Blade, we must attend to this injury quickly!"

Your voice quivered with genuine concern and panic, causing Blade to momentarily recoil, caught off guard by the sincerity emanating from your words. The urgency in your voice and the unmistakable tremor in your tone pierced through his defenses, reaching a dormant place within him that had long remained untouched.

Perplexity enveloped him as he struggled to comprehend the depth of your distress over a mere wound, particularly considering his own immortal nature. Yet, as his gaze remained fixed upon your countenance, a subtle yet undeniable transformation transpired within him. A tingling sensation rippled from the pit of his stomach, coursing through his chest—a foreign and unfamiliar sensation that evoked curiosity rather than repulsion.

Blade caught a glimpse of something he had long denied himself—the touch of genuine concern and the presence of someone who genuinely cared. It served as a stark contrast to the scorn and condemnation he had grown accustomed to receiving from others. For the first time in centuries, there was someone in close proximity, tending to his well-being without reservation.

A tumultuous dichotomy of irritation and acceptance rose within him, engendering a tangled tapestry of conflicting emotions. The familiar irritation that had once consumed him began to dissipate, gradually replaced by a growing appreciation for your presence and the concern you exhibited.

Though the intricacies of his shifting emotions eluded full comprehension, Blade acknowledged the faint stirrings of comfort that arose in your proximity. 

"What happened?" Kafka's voice interjected, causing you to whip your head in her direction. The perplexed look on her face mirrored your own surprise, as she observed the perturbation etched on your features.

"Blade... he got stabbed! We need to hurry and bring him to the healer!" Panic laced your words, urgency driving you to take swift action.

Kafka's eyes followed your hand, which was placed on Blade's chest, the rise and fall of his breath now a matter of concern. Slowly, her gaze ascended to his face, a mixture of irritation and nonchalance evident in his features. Then, her attention refocused on your frantic self.

A few moments passed, during which Kafka's gaze seemed to penetrate the situation, processing the scene before her. Suddenly, a burst of laughter erupted from her chest, echoing through the tense atmosphere.

"Why are you laughing? This is not a laughing matter, Kafka!" you exclaimed, your frustration palpable as you glared at the wine-haired beauty.

Blade let out a low groan, vigorously slapping your hand away from his chest. His unexpected display of aggression surprised you, especially considering the wound he had sustained. It was as if the act of being stabbed was nothing more than an ordinary occurrence for him, leaving you even more baffled. Was that the reason behind Kafka's laughter?

Your confusion deepened, and you couldn't make sense of the situation.

"Oh, (Name). I thought you knew," Kafka chuckled, her laughter now laced with a sense of amusement at your bewilderment.

"About what?" 

With a brief glance at Blade, who was sheathing his sword with his back turned to them, Kafka's words carried a hint of knowing.

"Bladie is no stranger to mere wounds or injuries. That particular wound is insignificant to him. He is impervious to any harm inflicted upon his physical form. In fact, he transcends the limitations of us human beings; he is immortal, my dear (Name)."

WIth Kafka’s revelation your treatment of him immensely changed. As well as Blade found himself caught in a flurry of contradictions, torn between the desire for your absence and the inexplicable irritation when you complied with his wishes. Your change in treatment, while seemingly what he had wanted, now left him more unsettled and furious than ever before.

He couldn't understand why he was feeling this way, and it frustrated him to no end. The inexplicable emotions that welled up within him whenever you were around were foreign and unwelcome. It was as if the walls he had erected around his heart were slowly crumbling, revealing a vulnerability he had long suppressed.

The sight of you flashing smiles at others, tending to their wounds with genuine concern, ignited an unfamiliar sensation within him. He detested the repulsive sensation that surged through him, the possessive instinct that flared up whenever he saw you caring for someone else. He loathed the fact that you had this effect on him, making him question his own emotions and reactions.

Blade couldn't fathom why he cared, why he was bothered by your interactions with others. He was the immortal, the one who had long shut himself off from emotional attachments. And yet, here you were, weaving your way into his thoughts and emotions, stirring up a turmoil he couldn't escape.

With each passing day, the irritation only intensified, creating a storm of clashing emotions within him. He was more furious with himself for feeling this way, for allowing you to affect him in ways he had never experienced before.

Kafka, with her keen and perceptive eyes, couldn't help but remark upon Blade's discernibly heightened irritation—an observation that had not eluded her astute perception. Driven by her insatiable curiosity, she promptly broached the subject, seeking to unravel the enigma of his unusual demeanor. Yet, true to his character, Blade responded with his customary dismissiveness, casually brushing aside her concerns without proffering any elucidation. With an air of nonchalance, he redirected his attention to the task at hand, leaving the mystery of his behavior to linger in the air, unresolved.

Time seemed to elude Blade as he stood in his room. Lost in a labyrinth of thoughts concerning you, he found himself unaware of the passing hours, each moment consumed by you. A soft groan of frustration escaped his lips, acknowledging his own inability to pull away from his thoughts of you.

Feeling the weight of his restless mind, Blade resolved to take a moment for himself, to release some pent-up tension and clear his head. With purposeful steps, he made his way towards the nearby shower, where he could let off some steam. As the water continued to cascade over his form, Blade attempted to center his attention on the sensation of droplets caressing his skin, hoping it might serve as a distraction from the turmoil that roiled within his mind. Allowing the warmth to envelop him, he sought to ease the tension in his muscles, striving to liberate himself from the grip of his incessant thoughts. 

Shaking his head, he endeavored to clear his mind of these unwelcome musings. 

"What is wrong with me?" he muttered to himself, perturbed by the uncharacteristic surge of emotions that enveloped him. He had prided himself on being an unyielding and emotionless immortal, impervious to the influences of the world around him. Yet, there he stood, beleaguered by persistent thoughts concerning a mere mortal such as yourself.

With a resigned sigh, he turned off the shower and stepped out, enveloping his form with a towel. Gazing at his reflection in the fogged-up mirror, his crimson eyes reflected a blend of irritation and confusion. The unanticipated unraveling of his self-control by your presence bewildered him, leaving him grappling with emotions he could not completely understand.

Clasping his fists, he felt a surge of anger stirring within him. He could not afford to be ensnared by distractions, especially with perilous missions on the horizon. He must reclaim his focus and staunchly set aside these unwelcome and perplexing emotions.

Blade was clad in nothing but a short pajama, a towel casually draped over his shoulders to catch the lingering droplets of water. As he moved towards his bed, the resounding knock on his door demanded his attention. Curious and somewhat irritated by the intrusion, he opened the door, only to be taken aback by the sight before him—you standing there, an unexpected presence in this hour.

His surprise was evident in the slight widening of his eyes and the subtle raising of his brows. He couldn't fathom how you managed to leave the infirmary, where you were supposed to be resting. He silently calculated the time since their arrival, and the realization struck him like a bolt of lightning—five hours had passed.

"Hello," you greeted timidly. "I hope I'm not intruding."

"What brings you here?" he asked, irritated.

"I just wanted to express my gratitude for carrying me back to headquarters... and, well, apologize for any inconvenience."

"There was no other option. Kafka and Silver Wolf couldn't have taken you to the infirmary, could they? So, there's no need for thanks or apologies."

His blunt words briefly caught you off guard, causing you to blink before mustering a small smile.

"Oh." You blinked, mustering a small smile. "You're right. In that case, I'll take my leave now."

With a respectful bow, you turned on your heels, preparing to depart from his presence.

Blade's unwavering gaze remained fixated on you as you turned to depart, yet his eyes were subtly drawn to the exposed nape of your neck, igniting an inexplicable and unfamiliar sensation within him. The sight stirred something indescribable, a strange blend of emotions that only added to his growing frustration.

A maelstrom of confusion engulfed his thoughts as he questioned what was happening to him. Was he losing control, his once-steadfast sanity slipping through his grasp like elusive sand? The enigmatic emotions that besieged him intensified, leaving him grappling with a turbulent turmoil that defied understanding.

Just as the sound of heels clicking heralded your departure, Blade's trance was abruptly shattered. A primal force took hold of him, compelling him to act instinctively. In a moment beyond conscious contemplation, he seized your wrist, pulling you into his room with an abrupt force that elicited a surprised yelp from you. The door slammed shut behind you, sealing the two of you within its confines.

With an aggressive demeanor, Blade pinned you against the wall, his imposing figure rendering you feeling confined and vulnerable. His arms effectively caged you on either side of your head, while his intense gaze bore into you menacingly.

“W-What?”

Evident confusion colored your countenance as you cautiously questioned Blade, uncertain if your presence had once again provoked his irritation. His crimson eyes bore into you menacingly, wordlessly refusing to offer any response, leaving you to draw in a sharp breath, attempting to steady yourself. The charged atmosphere weighed heavily, prompting contemplation on whether a hasty escape was prudent. Yet, deep down, you recognized the futility of such an endeavor, as Blade's unmatched speed and strength would swiftly thwart any such attempt.

Summoning your courage, you made another attempt to prompt him, your words quivering slightly as they escaped your lips.

"Is there something you wish to say to me?" Despite the trepidation that tugged at your composure, you endeavored to maintain a composed facade, resolute in concealing your vulnerability.

Blade's response came with a visible grimace, his frustration unmistakable in his words, "You have persistently become annoying."

As he dipped his head, intensifying his scrutiny upon you, you valiantly struggled to keep your expression relaxed, even as your trembling hands betrayed the true depth of your emotions. The fearless front you displayed appeared only to further kindle his anger, intensifying the storm of emotions that swirled within him.

You are maddening.

"What did I even do?" Your voice took on a challenging tone, akin to that of a young cub ready to fight and growl. Intensely, you locked eyes with Blade, seeking an explanation for his behavior and his cryptic words.

"I should be the one saying that," he responded, his baritone voice carrying an edge of frustration. His answer only deepened your bewilderment, leaving you more perplexed than before.

"Huh? I don't understand—" you began to speak, but Blade's growl cut you off, silencing your words. 

“What did you even do to me? Do you have another ability that can control emotions without our knowledge?”

His sudden accusation threw you off balance, as he insinuated that you possessed an ability to control emotions unbeknownst to anyone.

Your eyebrow arched in surprise and disbelief at the preposterous notion. You couldn't fathom what had gotten into Blade to make such an accusation, but you knew you needed to explain yourself, to set the record straight.

"Blade, I must admit I'm quite baffled by your accusation, as I genuinely don't know what you're referring to. I assure you, I haven't been doing anything to intentionally irritate you," you calmly explained with unfaltering eyes. "In fact, I've been following the caution you advised me about. So, I'm at a loss as to why you're upset with me once again."

Blade was right. Your compliance with his previous warning seemed to be the catalyst for your altered treatment of him. But what baffled him even more was why this change had only manifested recently, not from the very day he initially cautioned you.

Moreover, why is he justifying himself and becoming frustrated yet again? The question rings within him, echoing like an elusive whisper in the depths of his mind. He yearned to understand the source of his inner turmoil, to unravel the feelings that are sprouting in him.

The air was charged with an unmistakable sense of unease, and you could feel the weight of his emotions, veiled behind his crimson eyes. The conflict within him seemed to mirror the battle within your own heart, yearning to bridge the gap between you and find a common ground.

As you continued to gaze at him, a sliver of vulnerability flashed across Blade's hardened facade. It was fleeting, like a flickering flame, but enough to hint at the complex emotions that churned beneath his stoic exterior. His frustration seemed to be rooted in something deeper, something he struggled to put into words.

"You're well aware that I could wrap my hands around your neck and squeeze out that life of yours, aren't you?" he murmured, his lips hovering just above your ear, causing a shiver to course down your spine.

“Y-You’re crazy…”

He retracted his head slightly, fixing you with a sharp and penetrating gaze. The subtle quivering of your lips did not escape his notice, and a silent challenge passed between you both. His eyes traced a path from your intense gaze, skimming over your nose before finally lingering on your lips—a peculiar fixation, as if he had stumbled upon something mesmerizing and peculiar. An unusual urge seemed to flicker in his mind, an impulse to sink his teeth into your soft flesh until it bled.

Blade's tongue darted out, leaving a glistening trail across his lips as he raised his gaze to meet yours once more. The crimson hue of his eyes gleamed with a dangerous allure, veiled by a haze of emotions not easily discernible. Your jaw involuntarily dropped, unable to contain the wild pounding of your heart. The tension crackled with intensity, enveloping you both in its all-encompassing grip.

Every fiber of your being urged you to step back, to flee from the enigmatic danger that lurked in his captivating gaze. Yet, an inexplicable magnetism held you firmly in place, as if some invisible force bound you together.

The air hung heavy with anticipation, each passing second stretching into what felt like an eternal moment. Words seemed superfluous, for the unspoken language between your intertwined gazes conveyed more than mere sentences ever could. The space between you two became charged with a palpable energy, akin to the approach of an electrifying storm—impossible to ignore, as it enveloped you both in its relentless and tantalizing embrace.

"B-Blade—"

In an unforeseen twist of events, Blade's lips collided onto yours with a fervor that left you wide-eyed and breathless. The abruptness of the action rendered you momentarily frozen, unable to process the torrent of emotions and sensations that surged through your body.

Far from tender, the kiss bore a fierce and almost desperate intensity, as though it carried the weight of his very existence. It seemed as if he sought to carve himself upon you, as if this act of intimacy represented the last defiant stroke in a battle he waged within himself.

A sharp whimper involuntarily escaped your lips as he bit down with force, the metallic tang of your blood mingling with the taste of his kiss. The stinging sensation jolted you, yet you found yourself unable to push him away, as his strength overwhelmed any feeble attempts to resist. Instead, instinctively, you clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders, seeking to anchor yourself amidst the swirling chaos.

When he eventually withdrew, your breaths intertwined within the tensed air enveloping you both. His crimson eyes bore into yours, a tumultuous mix of emotions reflecting in their depths. Words eluded you as your mind grappled with the tangled array of feelings that engulfed you.

All was a blur, your heart pounding in your chest, mirroring the adrenaline-fueled rush of your thoughts. You felt like an unwitting participant in a dance of fate, entangled within a complex web of emotions that seemed to defy all rationality.

Blade's actions left you dazed and vulnerable, your thoughts in disarray. However, beneath the veil of aggression, you couldn't help but sense a raw vulnerability in him, a vulnerability that mirrored the turmoil of your own feelings.

His intense gaze bore into you, searing into your very soul, as he uttered those few words that carried a world of meaning. 

"You make me go crazy."

[scoops-aboy86]

Break Free (Secret Admirer pt 9)

This is the last chapter, but there will be an epilogue posted soon.

wc: 4663 / rated: T / set after season 3 / also on ao3

It ends with Steve’s hands sliding into Eddie’s hair—damp from sweat and a little tangled and stiff from whatever product he uses to make it look so full when, actually, the curls seem fine and almost wispy against Steve’s fingers—to cradle him closer. Eddie sways back, big brown eyes glazed and slow-blinking but coming back from whatever stratosphere the kiss had sent him to. Instead of letting go, Steve lets Eddie slip through his fingers until his hands come to rest on the guy’s shoulders. And then, when Eddie starts to scuttle backwards, he keeps a loose grip on his forearms that slides down until they’re nearly holding hands. 

“Eddie,” Steve tries desperately, stomach sinking. His lips and heart feel bruised. “No, please don’t go, it’s okay.”

For a moment, Eddie’s palms settle in his hands. Those wide eyes focus on him, seemingly with great effort, and Eddie starts shaking his head and muttering, “Shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have…” Slurs the words a little. 

“It’s okay,” Steve says again, softer, trying his best to be gentle, imploring. “It’s okay that you did, don’t worry about shouldn’t. I am the opposite of mad, alright?”

Eddie hesitates, then adds uncertainly, “M’drunk.”

“Yeah, you are, kinda,” Steve agrees. “I mean, kind of a lot. I’m not, but I’m… I’m good, baby. Please just stay and talk to me? For a minute?”

“Oh,” he says in the smallest voice Steve’s ever heard—smaller than he thought Eddie even could be. It sounds a little like something breaking, and everything about him seems to shrink in on himself. “So you know. That I’m me.”

“Yeah, I know you’re my secret admirer.” Something is breaking in Steve too, just watching it happen. “Look, Eddie, you’re a theatrical guy. Maybe you had an idea about some big, dramatic reveal where everything would fall right into place with, with an impressive speech like something out of your letters. You’re so good with words, man, so I can see it. I get the vision. I don’t know your voice as well as I want to yet, but I know how you sound from those letters because you’re so expressive and smart about that shit, fuck high school and what the teachers might say, but…” 

He rubs his thumbs gently over the pulse points at Eddie’s wrists, feeling how it races, and desperately clings to eye contact through the head tilt that sends curly hair draping across his face. 

“I don’t know what you had in mind for this, or if you could even picture it because it’s such a huge thing after all the build-up. But maybe this is okay? I mean, yeah, you’re drunk, that’s not ideal I guess. But I could go inside with you and get you some water, make sure you don’t puke again, get some aspirin out for you to take in the morning… and we could try that kiss again when you’ve sobered up. What do you say?”

Immediately Steve feels like an idiot for that last sentence. It sounds more like something he’d say when offering Dustin ice cream to cheer him up after missing a radio call with Suzie or something, not offering to take care of someone he’s hopeful about being able to date. He can feel his face heating up… and after a moment, Eddie raises one hand to very, very gently touch his cheek. The one that’s still bruised under the makeup. 

“Stevie,” Eddie murmurs, and that’s a new one. Maybe a little girly, but Steve kind of likes it because it makes their names match: Eddie and Stevie. “You’d really…?”

“Offer to take care of you? I think I just did.” Steve allows himself a tentative smile. “Kiss you again? Absolutely. I would maybe direct you to a toothbrush and toothpaste first, maybe some mouthwash, but—”

Eddie shakes his head with a wet snort. “Oh fuck off, don’t… don’ rub it in.” He blinks, one eye slightly slower on the uptake than the other but for the most part pretty well coordinated. “We can go in. You, you don’ care ‘s a trailer?”

“I’m literally considering getting one of my own when I move out,” Steve tells him. Because he has been, there aren’t a lot of options for a single dude in Hawkins that don’t involve a sublet basement or room above a garage or something else to that effect. Maybe if he had roommates to split the cost of renting a house with… but all the friends he has now are still in school. 

So. Yeah, Forest Hills trailer park had been on his radar before tonight. Right now, if tonight goes well, it’s honestly at the top of his list.

Big brown eyes blink at him again. “But where’ll you put your pool?” Eddie asks, dead serious in the way only little kids or the very drunk can pull off. 

“It doesn’t travel well.” Smiling, he reaches across and pops the passenger door open. “Come on now, you need more water. No, hey hey hey, wait for me to come around—!”

~

Eddie wakes up queasy and with a pounding headache. Definitely hungover, but vaguely aware that he should feel worse. 

He has a fuzzy memory of waking up in the middle of the night (or morning?) to hurl, and being coaxed afterwards to drink more water, nibble his way through a piece of toast, and swallow a couple of pills. Aspirin, probably, based on the fact that he’s not hallucinating right now, which—he’d had a bad experience once when he grabbed the wrong tin, okay, he does not want to think about that right now. 

…

Upon further consideration, the fuzzy memory was probably a dream. Because he remembers it being Steve fucking Harrington doing the coaxing. Coaxing, and blushing deliciously whenever Eddie’s fingers had brushed against his, so of course Drunk Eddie had made a point of letting that happen as often as possible.

Nice dream, though. 

…

Why is it so warm? Like, yeah it’s summer and the trailer has one dinky AC unit in the living room window that doesn’t really do shit, and it doesn’t feel like he’s slept until the hottest part of the day, but. He’s holding a pillow to his chest or something? Damn thing is radiating heat. 

He should move. 

Ugh. He doesn’t want to move. His stomach rolls less when he stays still. 

…

The pillow is breathing. It’s holding his forearms where they’re crossed over its stomach with big hands, grip lax with sleep. 

…

Wait.

That’s no moon. 

Eddie tenses, finally starting to actually wake up.

Help me Obi Wan Kenobi, you’re… a fictional character and I’m SPOONING STEVE GODDAMN HARRINGTON.

The only thing Eddie doesn’t get is how he could’ve gotten his arms around the dude like that without waking him up. He’d been a gross, vomiting mess last night, surely Steve wouldn’t have chosen to cuddle up. Maybe Wayne had come home from work and sent him crawling in here to share the mattress instead of risking a perfectly good spine on their old monster of a couch… and then Eddie had wrapped around him somehow? While they both slept?

He tries to sit up, but immediately regrets it when his head throbs, his stomach clenches, and he realizes his left arm is numb from where it’s wedged under Steve. It’s enough to make him groan out loud, and of course that’s when Steve starts to stir. 

There’s nowhere to run. Even if he rolls away, the farthest he can go is flat on his back between Steve and the wall. It’s just a twin mattress, there’s not exactly— Oh god, and he’d spilled bong water on it again yesterday but hadn’t gotten around to stripping the sheets off and doing laundry yet. He’d figured he’d hit the party and afterwards bribe Jeff to take him by the grocery store for baking soda. But that hadn’t happened, because apparently he’d decided to get blackout drunk instead and now he’s in bed with Steve Harrington and, and, and—

“Eddie, Eds, hey, breathe!”

Steve is rolled over and facing him now, propped up on one elbow and eyes wide with concern. He has a hand pressed to Eddie’s chest over his heart—and this is how Eddie realizes they’re both shirtless, fantastic, absolute cherry on top of the freakout sundae that is this morning—while holding Eddie’s non-numb hand over his own. 

“Like this,” Steve tells him, and takes a slow breath in and out. 

In and out. Eddie tries to copy him. 

In and out. 

When trying finally dissolves into actually doing it, into breathing like a human again, something in Steve’s expression loosens in relief. “Fuck,” he sighs, sagging a little but still careful not to pin Eddie’s arm again. “I’m glad that worked, I’ve never done that with anyone besides Robin before.” He bites his lip, gaze scanning over Eddie’s face like a hot brand. There’s still fading evidence of a massive shiner around his left eye, more obvious than Eddie remembers it being last night and with hints of inexpertly wiped-away concealer here and there. “Are you okay?”

“No?” Eddie manages to croak. “How did— Why are you— What did I do?”

Because he must have done something to end up in this situation, something which he has absolutely zero recollection of, to end up in this predicament, wearing only his boxers and one sock, cuddled up to the guy he’s in love with.

Who is currently wearing a borrowed pair of Eddie’s shorts. Jesus H. Christ. 

And yet, somehow Steve manages to look bashful about the whole predicament. “I, uh. Kind wanted to make sure you got home safe, because you said you didn’t have a ride.”

Eddie rakes his brain for an explanation for that, because he had had a ride. And, fuck, where the hell is his lunchbox? He winces and holds up a wait a minute finger, because while this crisis is important, he literally cannot afford to have lost that and it’s making the bottom fall out of his stomach in a completely different direction. “I need to make a call. It’s very important.”

“Oh, uh… okay.”

There’s some shuffling, not made any easier by the pins and needles feeling now rippling through Eddie’s left arm, but eventually Steve manages to sit up and swing his legs off the side of the bed so Eddie doesn’t have to suffer the mortifying ordeal of physically clambering over him. It’s the one saving grace of the day so far. He stumbles out of his bedroom, mindful to keep quiet but still glaring down the length of his trailer where Wayne is asleep in his cot, sleeping soundly while his only nephew suffers. 

“Pick up pick up pick up,” he chants under his breath while the phone rings, using the mantra to keep his breathing steady. “Pick u—Oh hey, hi, good morning, is Jeff home? Uh, awake? I need to speak with him on an extremely urgent matter. Life or death. Please tell him that. Thank you?”

Jeff isn’t a morning person. Neither is Eddie, usually, but here he is at… Christ, only 8:42am on a Saturday morning, twisting the phone cord around one finger that it’s starting to lose feeling again. He just about jumps out of his skin when he hears Jeff’s gruff, “What the fuck, Eddie?”

“Goooood morning to you too,” Eddie blusters, trying to sound insanely cheerful rather than panicked. “Quick question, did I give you my lunchbox last night?”

The immediate groan mostly answers that question. “Yeah, Munson, you did. And I’m hauling your ass home next time if this is the thanks I get for letting you stay and get wasted.”

Eddie sags against the flimsy wall separating the kitchen from the bathroom. “Oh thank fuck. Sorry man, thank you, I’ll… It won’t happen again, I’ll never call you before noon for the rest of my days, I swear.”

“Yeah right.” Jeff yawns. “What the fuck has you so wired this early, man? Or are you still awake from last night?”

I wish. “Nope, weird dream,” Eddie replies. “I’ll, uh, swing by later. In the afternoon. Go back to sleep.”

“You know that once I wake up I can’t get back to—”

Eddie feels bad for hanging up on his best friend, but it’s not like he can tell him what’s actually going on. There’s the whole gay thing, for one, but even having a female jock in his bed would send shock waves throughout his tight little friend group, so panicking at Jeff about the remaining, and once again much more looming issue isn’t an option and never has been. Probably never will be. Maybe. Eddie doesn’t know. He has a Steve Harrington to deal with.

He doesn’t even have the presence of mind to check how he looks in the mirror. Too much pressure; he already knows it’s not going to be pretty after a night of drinking, and whatever his bed head has decided to do on feels lopsided and tangled and weird. 

Or maybe he’s overthinking it. He probably is. 

Okay.

Okay, he can do this.

… He can run out the trailer door, boxers and one sock be damned, and never look back. 

No, no, he can do this. He’d had the balls to start writing the letters in the first place, he can deal with whatever inexplicable fallout has come of it! What’s the worst that could happen? 

Maybe Steve had stayed to tell him to stop writing the letters. So he could reject him face to face in the light of day, without the risk of alcohol washing the memory of it away. Maybe even reveal that he’d figured Eddie out a long time ago and played along, that it was all just a big joke. Prank the freak, right?

Just for a second, Eddie lets himself contemplate bolting. Sinks down on his haunches with his reddening face in his hands and thinks it through: how he could get to Jeff’s on foot, pick up his seed money and his guitar, buy a bus ticket out of Hawkins and maybe find an apartment when he gets to Indy, maybe catch another bus headed for Chicago, New York, Los Angeles. He doesn’t have a high school diploma but shop was the only class he’s ever passed with flying colors, so he knows he can find work somewhere even if it sucks starting out. Set up in some city where no one knows his name and no one from home (except Wayne, of course, he could never cut Wayne out) knows his mailing address. No more letters from Steve, and it’s only a matter of time before Steve breaks out of his parents house and then Eddie really won’t be able to write to him anymore. And then life would be just… like that. Never knowing if it could have worked out after all, but by then it’d be too late. Forever. 

A world without Steve. Without sunshine. Without air. 

Okay. 

Eddie groans, scrubs his hands over his face, and reluctantly goes back down the hall to his bedroom. Without a stop to check the bathroom mirror, he’s already hanging on by a thread as it is. 

~

Waking up to Eddie having a panic attack wasn’t the best way this morning could have started out. The longer Steve waits for him to come back the more awkward he feels, enough that he gets up briefly to try and find his shirt. He fails, in all the mess, but opens a nearby drawer and pulls out the first shirt he can find: something so faded he can’t even read it, with the sleeves hacked unevenly off. 

Not that this makes him feel any less presumptuous about being here.

Eddie clearly doesn’t remember giving him a ‘grand tour’ of the trailer, or ending it with “And this is where all the magic hap’ens” while dragging Steve into his room, or whining for him to change out of his clothes and and get some sleep. He probably doesn’t even remember what had happened in the car—the music, the kiss, the pleading confession on Steve’s part. 

Actually, maybe it’s better that Eddie doesn’t remember the confession part. It was kind of embarrassing. Steve could probably do better. 

… Except he’ll probably have to do it all over again, which suddenly seems a lot worse. Shit. There are a stupid number of butterflies in his stomach and it feels like they’re about to form a tornado in there. 

He nearly jumps out of his skin when the bedroom door opens. Eddie slinks back inside and leans against it until it’s closed behind him again. “Sorry, had to check on my… illegally gotten gains.”

Steve almost frowns before he remembers that Eddie had been at the party in the first place to sell. He himself has a plastic baggie in his jeans pocket (carefully folded with the rest of his clothes on top of the messy dresser) that Eddie had literally sold to him. “Oh. Shit, man, I didn’t even think to check on that last night. Sorry.”

Eddie laughs thinly and slumps his way from the door to the bed, grabbing a t-shirt off the floor, sniffing it, and wiggling into it along the way. He keeps a carefully neutral distance between them—not close enough to touch, but not so far away that it seems like he’s avoiding him. (Or maybe Steve is overthinking it.) “I don’t think you have to apologize for not helping me enough, man. Pretty sure I’m the one that should be saying sorry for taking up so much of your time.”

That makes Steve frown. Is Eddie talking about last night, or about the letters too? Does he even remember that Steve knows? Butterfly tornado is officially a go. “It’s fine. Like I told you last night, I don’t mind helping.”

“Yeah…” Not quite looking at him, Eddie reaches up to rake the bangs out of his face, even though they fall right back into the same curly fringe just covering his eyebrows. That’s when he seems to notice the shirt Steve has on, pupils dilating slightly before he looks resolutely away and fidgeting. “I don’t exactly remember last night, but I’m pretty sure ‘helping me out’ shouldn’t include letting me grope you in my sleep.”

“I’ll take an octopus over a starfish any day,” he replies immediately, and truthfully. Embarrassingly. Lately, as the nightmares have started to calm down enough to catch some actual rest sometimes, Robin has become more prone to stretching out in her sleep. Not, like—she doesn’t stretch out so quickly that she’s flailing around and giving him more bruises, but the crowding is pervasive. Like the goddamn butterflies. 

The look Eddie gives him is flat, tired, and a little manic, plucking absently at a loose thread dangling from the bottom of his shirt. Which, upon further inspection, is inside out. “Steve. What am I missing here?”

Last night, after Steve had finally found him again in the crowd, he’d kept grinning and making dimples pop in both cheeks. If there hadn’t been so many people around, and if Eddie hadn’t been so drunk, Steve probably would have kissed him long before they got to the car. 

Steve takes a deep breath, lips tingling with the memory and urge to do it again. First, though, they have to get through this part. Again. 

He reaches out, taking Eddie’s hand from where it’s fussing with the shirt, and threads their fingers together. The chunky rings Eddie usually wears are still on the nearest flat surface to the bed, but this hand still has the thinner band—an old mood ring, Steve thinks, though the stone always seems dark so maybe it’s broken. He looks at their hands together, and feels something settle in his chest. 

Nervous as he is, this feels right. When he hazards a glance at Eddie’s face, it’s pink. Also angled down to stare at their linked hands, but Eddie is looking at him through unfairly long eyelashes. 

“Steve?” Eddie whispers, sounding… what? Afraid, awed? He’s got to be nervous too, it’s written into the tension in his slightly scrawny frame, looking smaller without all his usual layers of denim and leather. 

“I know you wrote those letters,” Steve murmurs, leaning into the carefully curated distance between them. “And I still like you. I keep telling you I like you, but you keep being surprised. Just let me want this, okay?” 

He squeezes Eddie’s hand again, watches as those eyelashes flutter slightly with the pressure. 

“Last night I said a bunch of stuff you probably don’t remember, and… I kind of don’t remember exactly either, now that I have to say it again?” Steve gives him a sheepish smile. The damn butterflies have stopped doing anything as coherent as tornadoing and are just flying around like lunatics. “Basically, you’re smart and fun and really good with words, which I’m not, but after you kissed me—”

Eddie’s eyes snap up, open wide as they’ll go. “I did what?”

“Shut up, let me finish. I was listening to that new tape you sent me on the way to the party because you make me feel good. Like everything is okay and I can do anything, even talk to you at a party. And I kissed back, by the way, and I really want to do it again now that you’ll remember it, if you still want to. But the point is—” he squeezes Eddie’s hand again “—I like being your sweetheart. I want to keep being that, but with face-to-face privileges this time. As… your boyfriend?”

He’s never seen anyone’s jaw drop outside of cartoons, but that’s what happens. Eddie’s pale cheeks go from pink to outright red, a flush that travels down his neck, and Steve can’t help but wonder how far down it goes. Stupid inside-out shirt that’s in the way now. 

“I,” Eddie says weakly. “I think I might pass out.”

“Well, I caught you the first time,” Steve jokes, and only feels a little bad for it when Eddie hides behind his free hand with a groan. And then second thoughts hit. “Um, pass out in a good way though, right?”

“Yes,” Eddie whines behind his palm. He peers out at Steve between his fingers, the hand in Steve’s gripping him back tightly. It makes the butterflies still swarming in Steve’s stomach suddenly feel a lot friendlier. “Fuck, definitely a good way, sweetheart. I was just… really braced for this to not work out, just in case, and instead I just woke up with a boyfriend.” His hand lowers just a bit, pulling a lock of his curly hair over his mouth. “And, apparently, a first kiss with you that I don’t even remember.”

“I can fix that,” Steve says eagerly, leaning forward—just a bit, he’ll wait for the official go-ahead, but god, now he’s focused on Eddie’s plush, bitten lips. He wants to feel them on his again. To feel the sparks, that rightness that he’s been missing since Nancy. The early days with Nancy, anyway… Back when she’d been just as in it as he’d been, before Barb died and monsters started crawling out of the woodwork on a semi-regular basis. 

Steve wants. 

Eddie looks like he wants too, gaze growing heated as he licks his lips in anticipation, but still his hand and hair are in the way. “I should, uh, brush my teeth…”

“Already did a few hours ago,” Steve assures him with a chuckle. “You used so much toothpaste I thought for sure you’d gag and lose that toast and aspirin I finally got into you, but you insisted on your ‘god-given right to hygiene  and tonsil tennis’ and threatened to duel me over it.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Eddie groans, squeezing his eyes shut briefly. “Can’t believe you’re still here after that.” 

Then it seems to occur to him that Steve is still here, and Eddie frees both hands and lunges forward, their mouths connecting just shy of too hard. 

Their bodies press together a second later and Steve lets momentum carry him to the mattress, the planes of Eddie’s body overlaying his. One arm goes around Eddie’s waist to keep him close and the fingers of his other hand sink into that sleep-wild mane of curls. The butterflies have dissolved, leaving his heart beating at its cage of still-healing ribs—which Eddie keeps himself propped up on his elbows just enough to not put pressure on. Steve’s lips part in a pleased sigh when he realizes, and it’s equally an invitation to deepen the kiss, his whole body tingling with glee when Eddie immediately accepts. 

It’s the opposite of the first time, which had been slow-fast and uncoordinated, desperate. This starts at a hundred miles per hour, even while chaste, and only intensifies as Eddie licks his way into Steve’s mouth. Firm and smooth, and, fuck, Eddie is good at this. Good enough that there’s a little green flicker of jealousy in Steve’s gut, in amidst the red hot coals of excitement, at the thought of Eddie making out with other guys—but he’d picked Steve to write love letters to. 

And even though Steve has been the lead when kissing girls, with extremely few exceptions, he’s happy to follow wherever Eddie wants to go. 

Just when he’s fighting off the urge to gasp for air, Eddie breaks the kiss without going anywhere, both of them panting against each other’s lips. And then Eddie presses close again and it’s even slower, savoring, tasting. Steve is floating with it, kissing back on pure instinct because everything beneath his skin has gone molten and glowing. He doesn’t have to think, because he’s the one being guided. He’s held in the gentle grasp of Eddie’s hand coming to cradle his cheek; he is loved. 

~

Dear Steve,

I hope this is not untoward; I have not written to you before, nor am I in the habit of writing letters to anyone. But as I’m no stranger to wielding a pen, I hope these words might convey the depth of feeling I hope to—no, that I must convey. 

You’ve looked so sad, for months now. It makes my heart ache to comfort you; to smooth the crease between your brows with my thumbs and shield you from the cruel world with its untold horrors. I don’t know if this will help, but I have to try. 

You, Steve Harrington, are loved. 

We’ve existed in each other’s periphery for years, enough that you might recognize my name or face if I dared to reveal them. For my part, I don’t think a day has gone by since the first time I saw you that you haven’t been on my mind. It’s as though there’s a spotlight in every room; whenever you’re there it always shines on you. I’ve seen from the way you share the contents of your lunch tray without a second thought, the way you work to cheer up your teammates after a bad game or what have you. You’re kind, Steve. While I can’t say I care for some of the company you used to keep, as some of them are real gold star assholes, even with them I could tell that you tended to give more than you took. I grew up without someone like that in my life for a long time, but I’ve come to hold it in the highest regard and you have it.

That’s all, for now. I’m going to slip this in your locker. Maybe I’ll hang around, try to see if any of it makes you smile, because god that’s such a sight. If it does, maybe I’ll write again. Try to break up a little more of that dark cloud hanging over your head, sweetheart. In the meantime, and forevermore, I shall remain—

Your Secret Admirer

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[partycatty]

Hello!

I read your last story with the Lin Kuei brothers and it was really amazing. Could I please ask for a story with the Lin Kuei brothers (I love them❤) where they watch their s/o's dance performance at Madam Bo's? Kind regards!

GOD. YES. and thank you pookie :D

lin kuei trio > dancer

bi-han, kuai liang, and tomas vrbada watching the reader dance at madam bo's!!

notes: KUAI FAVORITISM AGAIN IM SO SORRY. this is a sweet change from the heinous shit i've been writing eeeeee kicking my feet and twirling my hair! also i know that says s/o but i had some ideas i just couldn't ignore..

masterlist <3

♡

bi-han >

• somehow, the lin kuei brothers are convinced by the earthrealm chosen ones to attend a dinner at madam bo's after their victory at armageddon. come on, just once! bi-han only attends because his brothers do, and because liu kang might show offense if he declined. so, here he was, pretending he wasn't enjoying the food as much as he was.

• as his mouth hung open to take a bite of a dumpling, kung lao and johnny find a couple of spare instruments and get that "you thinkin' what i'm thinkin'?" smirk. nobody in their sane mind thought either one of them were musically enclined, but then suddenly there was a two-man band singing and galloping about. you, as one of the earthrealmers, start laughing and clap to the beat, as does the entire group. kenshi, liu kang, kuai liang, and raiden chuckle, syzoth, tomas and ashrah get up to dance, and bi-han puts his chopsticks down with crossed arms and a frown.

• he couldn't help but be mildly amused at the ridiculousness, scoffing to himself. but his scowled expression turns soft when he glances over at you and watches you lift yourself from the chair you sat on and shimmied over to the dancing group, starting to enjoy yourself. you moved in such a coordinated way that bi-han was only accustomed to seeing in combat. he didn't think such elegance could be used... for fun.

• the entire group is mostly ignoring bi-han, but not intentionally. everyone's just caught up in their own enjoyment. you playfully dance to the impromptu rhythm, twirling ashrah and bumping shoulders with kung lao. as you twirl, you lock eyes with the cryomancer and he tenses up when he realizes he'd been staring.

• "come on, blueberry ice!" you shout over the crowd and music, extending an arm. "you're too damn rigid all the time. loosen up with me?"

• "no," he replies, accidentally far colder than necessary. you groan.

• "it's one night! i'll tell johnny not to record. you work too hard. shang tsung is in prison, and our timeline's intact. that doesn't deserve at least a little shimmy?"

• "i don't dance," bi-han again replies, leaning back in his chair. he wouldn't admit it, but he finds your persistence cute. perhaps he won't give in just to see you keep trying.

• you try to do anything possible to get him to join you without actually pissing him off. the lasso trick doesn't work, and neither does the "pass on the wave" trick. you give up, throwing your hands in the air in a surrendering pose before walking backwards back into the group.

• the dancing and celebrating goes well into the night, and the entire time, his icy ass is PLANTED in that damn chair. he eventually becomes a part of the furniture.

• kuai liang leans over to speak to his brother with a grin.

• "you aren't going to dance with her, brother?" kuai liang asks, cheeks tinted with pink from the alcohol. "i understand our clan has much work to tend to, but must you have turned her down on a night like this?"

• "i am not dipping so low as to act a fool," bi-han replies, eyes fixated on your dancing still. you're now dancing with johnny in a ridiculous duo choreography you're pulling from your ass as you go.

• "bi-han, you are as dull as you are sharp," kuai liang laughs. "she was showing interest."

• bi-han launches his glance to his pyromancer brother, eyebrows shooting up. he doesn't seem to believe it, but then it clicks. you wanted to dance with him! YOU wanted to dance with HIM! it wasn't just a kind offer, dammit, it was flirting!!

• you let out a loud laugh above the crowd as you enjoy the festivities. as you calm down, you once again lock eyes with the grandmaster. it feels like only you two know of this secret tension. you extend your arm with a raised brow and flushed grin.

• perhaps one night of foolishness won't hurt.

♡

kuai liang >

• a quiet night in the shirai ryu was unheard of, considering it's still trying to pick itself up. kuai liang was always so damn stressed with work, training hanzo and finding more recruits while also upgrading the compound.

• you were one of the first recruits, so you held a sense of seniority within the clan. kuai liang often confided in you regarding these aforementioned stressors. you were his favorite rubber duck to rant to while he tried to figure things out.

• his head was buried in his hands as he sighed deeply, books and papers strewn across his workspace. you frowned, standing in the doorway.

• "how about a night away from the clan, grandmaster?" you'd politely suggest. you didn't actually expect for him to agree so easily... or know a place... or invite you.

• madam bo greets kuai liang with a sweet smile, offering up whatever she cooked for the night. he insists that anything she makes is perfect, and requests one of everything.

• you sit across the table from your grandmaster, not really sure on what to talk about. it was always work, training, and hatred for bi-han. but now you had to talk about... everything else? even so, his tense shoulders easily surpass your own nerves.

• "at ease, grandmaster," you gently say, reaching across to put a hand on his arm. he visually does ease, comforted by your touch. "enjoy yourself."

• hold on sorry i'm tweakin rn he is so fucking fine i need to chew on his man bun

• "i appreciate you more than you'll know," he replies gently with a smile. "i needed this, i suppose. to be away from a table that isn't cluttered. to eat a nice meal..."

• the plates are cleared as you two chat peacefully about anything and everything. as it turns out, you actually had a great deal in common with your grandmaster. and damn, in the restaurant's dim lighting, his features really stood out..

• as the thought crosses your mind, a small band of fengjian musicians step up to the center of the room and start to play a slow, sweet song. kuai liang swivels in his chair to view the band before turning toward you.

• "do you dance?" he asks suddenly, a little smirk playing at his lips.

• "d-do i...?" you stammer out, almost choking on your tea.

• "dance," kuai liang repeats. "do you?"

• "i-i was a dancer when i was younger. on occasion. yes."

• suddenly, kuai liang stands up and holds his hand out to you. your jaw drops.

• "i shouldn't," you insist shyly. "you're..."

• "i'm your grandmaster," he finishes your sentence. damn, this guy does that often. "yes, yes, i know. but you said tonight is to enjoy ourselves. tonight, i'm not your grandmaster. i'm kuai liang, and i'm asking for a dance."

• he eventually pulls you into a small crowd of other dancers, and you two start with shy steps, eventually understanding each other's style and speed. you wouldn't believe it, but he's actually a good dancer! he follows your every move and allows you to lead. if he focused even a little bit more on you, he'd surely lose his footing. you were just so natural with your movements. there was an attraction there that wasn't there before, and it made kuai liang feel impossibly hotter.

• a small crowd gathers at your coordinated dance. anyone would've assumed it was choreographed ahead of time, but this was entirely you two having a deep understanding of each other's movements. the music felt like a fuzzy white noise and the people disappeared. it was just you and kuai liang.

• the songs ends with you in a dip. you're both catching your breath, flushed, and giggly at the spontaneity.

• "i need nights out more often, if they're with you," he'll mumble to you still in his dip.

♡

tomas >

• tomas only had one objective that day: to determine if kung lao and raiden were ready for to be recruited. what he didn't anticipate, however, was that tonight was the night you were meant to perform at madam bo's.

• a tiny stage sat in the center of the room, and you stepped atop the platform. a couple of men to the side played their instruments for you, and you instantly got to work. as your hips swayed, your flowy garments swung around you, like a perfect gust of wind twirling you.

• tomas stood on the roof alongside his brothers, ogling at the sight. his jaw dropped behind his mask, and his eyes softened. he was supposed to be the big strong leader of the staged confrontation, but god. it was just so hard to be stone cold in front of such a beauty.

• the entire room was so focused on your dance moves. tomas could only mentally equate you to a gorgeous swirl of smoke. or perhaps a cloud—?

• bi-han elbows him in the side with a scowl.

• "focus, you idiot. the farmers, not some foolish performer. do you see them?"

• tomas is that meme where the guy goes "SHE IS VERY GORGEOUS TO ME!!! ☝️"

• tomas shakes his head with a light blush, partially shocked with himself for being so distracted by just one person. he's a ninja. he's killed, defended earthrealm, seen so much shit, and yet he's winded by a dancer. he just had to know more, had to see if you were as alluring up close as you were from afar.

• the men drop from their position and wait outside of the entrance for a moment, mentally preparing themselves. once they are, tomas enters first and stands in front of kung lao and raiden menacingly.

• just as planned, him and madam bo go at it with a fake argument ending in a fight. madam bo gets flung over the railing, mere feet away from where you froze on your little stage. tomas stops completely, forgetting that the two farmers were charging at him. he glances over at you, and how your movement stopped and was now terrified. you scream and take cover behind the bar, peering over to watch the fight.

• he was so trapped in his adoration for you that he forgets to fight back when raiden lands a damn hard punch to his chest, sending him backward. groaning and standing up, he chucks a smoke bomb at the ground and vanishes completely.

• then, before you could process anything, a puff of smoke shrouds your vision and tomas is beside you. you yelp out and crawl backward, terrified by his strength and sudden appearance. making sure bi-han and kuai liang are adequately occupied, tomas leans down to you.

• "hey, hey," he'll say cautiously with his hands out. "shh. you're alright. you're in no danger." your breathing slows from the hyperventilation, looking up at him with innocent eyes. he almost melts then and there. if he could turn into a comical puff of smoke, he would.

• a lin kuei ninja crashes down the railing and lands on top of the bar. you flinch, tomas doesn't.

• "what do you want? money?" you reply in a weak voice, still uneased and confused. tomas frowns, coming up with an answer. he doesn't blame you for being confused when three colorful ninjas and their little sidekicks saunter into a small village restaurant.

• "no, no money," he replies quietly, now crouching down to your level. "everything will make sense in time. now... now please—" tomas gestures toward a nearby exit. "be safe. i apologize for frightening you."

• he extends a hand out, and you take it. for a moment, it feels like it's only you two in the room. no "dead" madam bo, no raiden kicking the shit out of scorpion, or kung lao flinging his hat at sub-zero. it's just you and this mysterious, muscly man in grey.

• "your dancing was... beautiful, by the way," he'll admit sheepishly, his eyes showing his smile behind the mask. "i hope to return to watch it, sometime."