#to learn to have some fucking respect or decency or thought towards me

[mephilver]

Normal_Femoid: Just had another "cant be alone in the kitchen for literally 3 minutes moment. AMA" JoptotheTop: did your whole family come into the kitchen with you? Normal_Femoid: yes and it made me very mad also Hamspankings: did they also interrogate you on your eating habits? FemoidNormal: sorry my old accoutn got banned for threats but yes they didk

[fionacle]

someone please help me shorten my college essay oh my god

it needs to be 650 words, max, but it’s 897 right now, and that’s after editing.

i don’t want to take anything out, but I have to.

a teacher told me to take out every “I’m not normal” but i will absolutely fucking not

Pasting it below the cut, CW for ableism (my topic is how people will refer to people with autism and stuff as “special”)

Also if I wrote anything offensive lmk because the only people I’ve shown it to are neurotypical adults

At some point, almost every child is told that they are special. It’s a great feeling. Human nature is to strive for the top, and children especially enjoy having their inflated self-importance validated. But I quickly learned the downside to that word.

I couldn’t tell you the first time it happened, most things before high school are a blur, but I’ve often heard others called special. The meaning of this is nothing like the way special is supposed to mean. Special things are supposed to be important and unique, they matter a lot for one reason or another, it’s a very high compliment if you say it genuinely. But here it’s condescending. Like this is the core of the person being spoken about, and that core is a taboo. Like it’s pity for an illness, or warning of danger. They say the word as though they’re describing a creature, some animal of lesser mind. I still hear this often.

To speak with one of ‘them’ is seen as a great act rather than basic human decency toward a human.

“I’m proud of you for being friends with him.” “Why?” “Oh, you know, he’s special.”

I love being praised. More than anything else in the world. I need to know I matter. I need to feel skilled and important, the good kind of special. But when I’m praised for something like this I feel dirty. I can’t help but try to be the white knight when a friend is upset, I love being a hero even when it’s unneeded or undeserved, but not here. If I accept this praise it means I agree that I had to do something significant and difficult. It means that my friend is just a challenge that I beat. So, not only would I be lying, I’d also be insulting my friend, even if he wouldn’t be in earshot.

I want nothing more in life than to be special. The good kind.

I want to finish writing a good book and become famous for it. I want adoring fans, and to make a difference in their lives. I want to be talked about by people as someone cool and worthy of awe and respect, maybe even envy. I want to know that my friends consider me significant and wonderful. I want everyone I meet to be so earnest about their care for me that it forces out any thought that tells me I’m not worth their time. I want to carry around the good special for everyone.

But honestly, the word isn’t really that important to me. I don’t hold any affection for it. I’m upset that it dehumanizes others, but mostly I’m upset that it dehumanizes me.

I’m not clinically diagnosed with autism. I’m clinically diagnosed with ADHD, and that’s it. But I am sure I do not exclusively have ADHD.

When I go into testing rooms, I’ve been to quite a few since childhood, they present games to test my brain functions. This is an awful way for me to show my symptoms. I do the best I can on the tests because they’re fun and I want to show off. I tend not to have “off” days when I visit them, especially because I’m rarely around triggers. They don’t see me cry because the lunch man took my apple juice cap. They don’t see me flail around because I hear someone chewing gum. They don’t hear my autistic friends explain to me how my experiences match theirs to an alarming degree. I’m horribly emotional and sensitive and find it incredibly hard to not hate every kid outside my friend group. I need them to see my tears in action. I need them to see. I need to take my memories out of my brain and show them. They need to know everything I’ve done and they need to put a word to it and let me tell people.

Then, maybe, they won’t tell me to stop. To stop being too weird. To stop being too emotional. To stop being afraid of things no one else cares about. To stop “misidentifying” emotions. To stop all of it. To just be normal. Because no matter how much they want it to be true it’s not. It’s not. It never will be. I cannot be. I’m not normal.

There’s something both cathartic and terrifying in saying that.

I’m not normal.

“Stop doing that or they’ll think you’re special.”

I am. I am special. You’ve known me your whole life. People I’ve known for a year can see it. Why can’t you? Why can’t you see that a fundamental part of me is that my brain is not normal. Why can’t you stop making that face when I bring this stuff up. Don’t tell me I’m copying my friends. Don’t tell me my friends are weak. They are not weak. I am not weak when I act like them. When I am true to myself I am strong. Don’t tell me that strength isn’t the real me. You need to re-learn who I am before you get to tell me who that is.

I am not some normal girl, what makes me different is a bigger part of me than my loved ones would like to admit. I think they ought to know me as “bad” special, as much as I hate the word.

[audrawrites]

Hating You Never Felt so Good

PAIRING: Elliot stabler/F!Reader 

WARNINGS: rough sex, oral sex(F receiving), degradation, spit kink, slight choking, unprotected sex, orgasm delay/denial

SUMMARY: you and Elliot hated each other, and yet you were forced to work together on an undercover assignment. One day when you do something he doesn't like, you two get into an argument, one thing leads to another and...

WC: 1443

Elliot stabler had the unusual ability to constantly piss you off beyond words. He could be a selfish asshole, a fuking dipshit, or whatever other creative nickname you could come up with at the time. The nature of your work entailed that you had to spend a lot of time with him, meaning you were prone to storming out of the room in a huff of anger almost daily.

The two of you were in the middle of an extensive undercover operation in a boring suburban town, working hard to bust a crime ring operating nearby. You had just come back to your cookie cutter house where Elliot was surely waiting inside, angry. You had taken a leap of faith and done something without talking to him first. Even though you were right, you knew he would be angry with you for not consulting him.

“Elliot, just listen to me,” you screeched, waving your hands frantically. When you got home you found him holed up in his room, barely keeping a calm demeanor.

“No. You put this whole thing at risk,” he was pointing his finger in your face, something that always aggravated you beyond measure.

“But I was right, Elliot! When are you gonna learn to fucking trust me?”

“Maybe when you learn some goddamn decency,” he growled.

“You know what? Fuck you.” You started to walk away, huffing exaggeratedly.

“Don’t just walk away.” He grabbed your arm firmly pulling you back into the room. Your blood was boiling, your heart racing.

“Or what?” You were looking up into his eyes, dark with anger and…something else.

Before you even knew what you were doing, your lips were on hiss in a bruising kiss. You hated him, and yet you wanted nothing more than to have all of  him right then and there. His hands were gripping your hips, pushing you hard against the wall.

“Is this what you wanted? Huh?” His voice was gruff and breathy from the kiss.

“Don’t act like you haven’t thought about this a hundred times.”

“Someone’s cocky,” he teased. You found his lips again, nipping at his bottom lip.

He pulled at your shirt, barely exerting any effort in ripping it open, causing buttons to fly everywhere. You tugged at the hem of his shirt and he got the message, pulling it over his head in one swift motion exposing his perfectly toned upper body and the silver cross chain he always wore.

“This doesn’t change the fact that I still think you’re a dick,” you breathed out.

He shoved you back against the wall by your shoulders this time and brought his face close to yours. “Oh yeah? Or do you just want mine?”  when you turned your ear to the side to roll your eyes,  he grabbed your jaw and turned your face towards him. “You could really learn some fuckin respect.” He let go of you and took a step back.

“Me?” You chuckled dryly. Unbelievable, that he of all people would preach to you about learning respect.

“Ohh, I’ll teach ya,” he stalked towards you until your calves hit the foot of the bed and you fell backwards onto the cool covers.

You didn't fall hard, but you were breathless nonetheless. He towered over you, harshly tugging your jeans and underwear off. He grabbed both of your wrists in one of his hands, positioned them above your head, and instructed you not to move. His eyes raked over your body, sending shivers down your spine at the dark intensity of his gaze. You were speechless watching him, all witty remarks were temporarily gone from your brain. He chuckled darkly and locked eyes with you before spitting on your bared cunt with incredible precision. He knelt down between your legs to suck off the mess he made, and immediately began to devour you. His hands were firmly on your thighs while his expert tongue worked its magic, casting a spell over you. The scratch of his beard was adding just enough extra stimulation to bring you to the edge faster than you care to admit. There was no doubt that Elliot felt you getting closer and closer, and he pulled back at just the right time.

“Wh- Elliot,” you whined. He looked up at you with mischief in his eyes, his face glistening with your arousal.

“Do you really think a disrespectful bitch like you deserves to finish?” He sucked his teeth and shook his head  disapprovingly. “I’m gonna bring you to the edge over and over and not let you cum until you can promise to be a good girl for me.” His display of dominance turned you on beyond words,  

He kept true to his word. The third time around he added his fingers to the mix, making things even more intense for you. Your hands were still above your head, and you grasped uselessly at the cloth of the duvet with every pump of his fingers and flick of his tongue. You were positively on fire, and you knew that he was reveling in prolonging your release, willing you to submit to him. You wouldn’t give in so easily, though.

“You know I can do this all night, sweetheart,” he said to you after bringing you to the edge for the fourth time. You were exhausted, but you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction.

“Well I wouldn’t wanna lay here all night dealing with your mediocre pussy eating skills anyways.” You smirked at his shocked expression, greatly enjoying pushing his buttons and hoping you would get your way. Of course you just told a lie- he was magnificent, but you’d never admit that to him. “Maybe,” you propped yourself up on your elbows, dragging the word out, “you can have a chance at redeeming yourself if you think you can fuck me properly.” you raised your eyebrows to taunt him further.

“Do you really think you can win this? Huh? I know I’m a good fuck.”

“Well look who’s being cocky now.” you turned around and bared yourself to him, arching your back and slightly swaying your hips. “I bet I could take care of myself just as easily as you could. Care to prove me wrong?” one of your hands found its way between your thighs, and you knew that he wouldn't be able to resist.

“For sucks sake.” you heard the metal clinking of his belt and the shifting of fabric as he undressed the rest of the way. Within seconds you feel the warmth of his body behind you and one of his hands comes down to grip your waist tightly while his other hand positions his cock at your entrance.

“I promise you won’t even know your own name by the time I’m done with you,” he said as he pushed fully into you. You both let out deep groans at the contact you’d been wanting so badly.

“I hope I’m not disappointed,” you breathed out as he started to pick up his pace. You could already feel that you wouldn’t be lasting long, not with all of the prior stimulation he had provided.

Elliot was not holding back whatsoever. Aside from the sound of skin slapping skin as he fucked you into oblivion, the room was filled with his grunts and groans and your panting breaths as you both worked to reach your climax. His short and hard thrusts were hitting just the right spot inside you, making you see stars. You felt like you were floating. All that left your mouth were strings of curses and Elliot's name all of which were muffled by the covers.

“See? What’d I tell ya,” he pulled your head up by your hair so he could hear you. He wrapped his hand around your throat to pull your body back closer towards him, slowing his thrusts.

“I need to cum, god, don’t stop,” you gasped out, throwing your head back against his shoulder as he started to rub your clit in tight circles in time with his thrusts.

His pace picked up, his hand squeezed tighter around your throat, and before you knew it, you were cumming hard around him to the point of nearly blacking out. When you were done he dropped you back onto the bed to finish himself. He thrust into you a few more times before he pulled out and spilled over your ass with a deep groan.

“I think this is how we should work things out, from now on.” you joked, as we went into the bathroom to get a washcloth to clean himself and the mess he made on you.

[illegiblewords]

Vent post. Seriously, big vent that touches upon several topics.

Sometimes I hate people a little bit. I don’t have a ton of creative mentors I can trust or look to for guidance. A lot of what I’ve learned has been through watching other storytellers from afar. Most of the mentors who I interacted with directly either left because life took us in different directions or wound up emotionally abusing me. The ones I looked up to from afar have often revealed themselves as criminals, unfathomable assholes, extremists, or otherwise creepy. Usually they didn’t start that way. Going through this has broken my heart a lot. It feels like mourning a death repeatedly, not because the people I looked up to weren’t perfect but because they wound up being so unbelievably awful. One of the only times I tried to tell a writer how much his work shaped my life for the better, when he was feeling doubtful about his stories--I think I upset him. It still makes me cry a lot if I think about it and I’m afraid to talk about the subject with him ever again. I tried to give him one of the most precious experiences I’ve had as a reader and creator so that in moments he questioned himself he could know he brightened at least one person’s world and changed my life for the better. I feel like he took it as something ugly, creepy, fawning, shallow, or thoughtless. And I feel like the fact that I’ve had so many horrible experiences that this creator DIDN’T fall into, that his being a positive influence mattered to me so much, is something shameful. I still don’t know what to do about this but it really hurts. Anyway. I’m loyal to the FFXIV developers for a lot of reasons. Some are because they’re passionate, thoughtful, skilled, creative and have worked their asses off on this game even when it’s hard. They also clearly care about their fans, the work they’re creating, and just haven’t been pieces of shit. They’ve been really professional, they act within the bounds of what I expect from regular law-abiding human beings, and the way they approach storytelling has helped me reconnect with the inspiration that got me into stories in the first place. I’m sure every single one of them has said something horrible to a loved one in private during their lifetime, or has an opinion I’d find crappy. I figure that’s just how it goes with people. But on the whole they’ve been incredibly decent, when I’ve learned decency isn’t something I can take for granted. The devs aren’t perfect. They fuck up their work sometimes, even massively. There have been cases it happened on a narrative front for me, or some play-based issue, or a character customization element, etc. For me though, they generally have been good about fixing mistakes and the overall experience has been UNBELIEVABLY better than what I’ve experienced elsewhere. It’s easy for me to go ‘of course I still like them’. I might be frustrated about something occasionally, but it’s not even comparable to fuckery I’ve encountered. I was a dumbass and tried to post on the FFXIV forums expressing that it’s important they fix some recent shit going on, but that the devs have still done a lot and are respected/appreciated for the good things they did too. I posted there because the devs read forums sometimes. I’ve been pretty removed but I figure they fucked up housing and hairs AND know they fucked up those things pretty bad. I remember how much stress was obviously caused by the EW delay too, so this must be terrible. If I was in that position I’d be losing my shit, so as a player I wanted to offer some reassurance. Like yeah, fix the problems--but they’re human beings. This will pass, take care of it and keep going. It’ll be okay. I would not have offered that kind of encouragement if I didn’t have so many other, positive experiences. And I really didn’t mean it toward the company but the people who have specifically worked to create this game that brought something good into my life. Stupid me didn’t check what other threads were going on, and it's been years since I was there last. Holy fuck people were dicks. The ‘if you’re not 100% with us you’re against us’ mentality was insane. Also, the obsession about toxic positivity seems to have turned into ‘any positivity or optimism in bad situations is toxic, only negativity is okay.’ I absolutely HATE polarization and extremes. I hate that believing something wasn’t okay and needs to be fixed can’t co-exist with ‘I still respect, appreciate, and am impressed by other stuff you did recently’. I hate the idea that still having such deep respect for a story means I can’t have any criticism for it. And the behavior people showed was over a fucking video game. There is so much heavy shit going on in the world, you’re seriously going to pour all of your rage into that? Not just yelling at game developers when you haven’t tried talking like a normal person yet, but lashing out at anyone who isn’t also yelling? I didn’t phrase things the best myself, and I did get hostile back. I shouldn’t have, but the nastiness was so fucking unnecessary. You’d think Square Enix broke into people’s houses and kidnapped their pets, with me arguing SE deserves the pets more. And it just didn’t matter if I said the issues are still important/need to be fixed, because I wasn’t angry enough about saying so. I was too gentle about it and that was offensive. It really felt like stumbling into an angry mob, and frankly I think mobs are some of the scariest and most disturbing things on the face of the earth. People got this idea that because I had good things to say about the devs that meant I didn’t think there were any valid complaints or that other people were allowed to complain and feel upset. It didn’t matter how many times I explicitly said otherwise either. I wasn’t an individual person with my own thoughts, experiences, or opinions. I represented all the ideas and behaviors they personally disliked. Just feel upset and like this whole thing was stupid.

[alolowrites]

Gymtleman

Summary: Nothing irks you more than a random guy ruining your workout session. Luckily, Bakugou sets him straight.

Author’s Note: Helloooooooooo! Yes, it is me popping in with a new fic after almost two months of NOTHING (the dabi story was pissing me off, so i had ignore it ripppp). So this story was born from a video on saw on TikTok where a guy urged men at the gym to be more respectful toward women during their workouts. While I never encounter any harassment at the gym, there are others who have >:( 

Inspiration for the title came from a comment section on TikTok. Thought it was pretty clever. Please enjoy ^_^

Warnings: Slight harassment; maybe a few curse words but this is Bakugou so...

Word Count: 884

Gloves? Check. 

Water bottle? Check. 

Wireless headphones? Check. 

You close the gym locker and hit the main floor, determined to get in a good workout tonight. As you walk toward the treadmill, your eyes glance around the place. It’s not as packed as the dreaded peak hours where one must fight to the death for the coveted treadmills or weight benches. You value your life and avoid that bloc like the plague. 

Besides, there’s no fuss nor drama during the night sessions. Only a calm vibe that radiates throughout the gym floor thanks to the chilled regulars, or the “night crew,” as you like to call the group. A few stragglers may pop in once in a while, but you would know the familiar faces even while blindfolded. Especially when one has those menacing red eyes that burn through the cloth faster than a sprinter on the treadmill. 

Those same eyes briefly land on you as Bakugou chugs down his water bottle while striding past you. He acknowledges you with a curt nod and slight grunt—nothing more than that. Yet, this silent greeting always makes your palms sweaty and your heart race before stepping foot on any machine at this gym. You swallow your nerves to return the gesture. 

Despite months of crossing the same paths, you know very little about Bakugou. Sure, you know his usual routine or his preferred machines, but you never heard him speak before. His voice is one big mystery that you are curious to unravel. Unfortunately, Bakugou keeps to himself just like everyone else in the “night crew” since personal space is highly respected—a bright side that’s both a blessing and a curse. 

You sigh wistfully, hopping on the treadmill to start your workout. A random man slides on the machine on your left, catching you off guard. He smiles, and you nod stiffly. Right off the bat you know he’s not a regular; his face isn’t familiar, and he’s too close to you. That’s strike one; it irks you, but you act like the bigger person and just ignore him with your music. 

The ten minutes fly by in seconds. You wipe down the treadmill, ignoring the man’s wandering gaze on you. Just walk away, you tell yourself as you head over to the dumbbells. Your heart skips a beat when you spot Bakugou standing nearby, his ripped biceps pushing through the pain from his grueling set. He grits his teeth and casts a quick glance at you from the mirror’s reflection—Bakugou lets you stay.

Either he’s in a good mood, or lady luck is working her magic; you smile and take this as a win for tonight. 

The giddiness wipes off your face when you see the random man again. He lingers around the area like a shark eying its prey, except he lacks any sense of subtlety. You roll your eyes when the guy sneaks a peek at you: that’s strike two. Obviously, he doesn’t understand the whole “no fuss, no drama” vibe, but you do and focus on lifting your dumbbells. 

Eventually, you forget the weirdo as the music blasts through your headphones. You are in the zone, watching as your arms move slowly and in control. Beads of sweat roll down your face to cool down the firestorm soaring along your skin. You push through one more rep before releasing an exhausted but satisfied sigh. 

You bend over for a quick stretch when—

“Damn, that’s a nice piece of ass.” 

You shot up, appalled. “Excuse you?!”

“Think you can bend over a little lower for me, sweetcheeks?”

The random man finally stands next to you and shamelessly rakes his eyes all over your body like a piece of meat. You growl—that’s strike three. 

“What?! No!” You grip the dumbbells with an iron fist, fully prepared to whack the sleazy grin off his disgusting face. “Get away from me!” 

“Oh, don’t be like that—” 

“Oi, you fucking deaf or something?!” 

You nearly drop the dumbbells, snapping your head over your shoulders with astonished eyes. Bakugou spoke. His voice is sharper than the stainless steel barbells and heavier than the iron olympic plates scattered across the room. He stalks closer like a ferocious lion, his red eyes glancing at you momentarily before glaring at the bastard. 

He sweats bullets. “H-Hey, man, I-I—”

“Shut the hell up, idiot,” Bakugou snarls, thrusting his finger hard against the guy’s chest. “Quit harassing them and get the fuck outta here before I shove this dumbbell up your own damn sweetcheeks.”

The guy stumbles over a random kettlebell before rushing out the door without looking back.

Bakugou rolls his eyes and peeks over his shoulder. He locks his gaze at you, catching you off guard; you blink and quickly compose yourself, giving him a slight nod. 

“Thanks for having my back there. Really appreciate it.” 

“Tch, that damn perv was annoying,” Bakugou scoffs. “Bastard should learn some fucking manners.” 

“And some human decency,” you snort, placing one hand on your hip. “Too bad he won’t be coming back, though. You shoving that dumbbell up his ass would’ve been a sight.” 

Bakugou flashes an amused grin, sauntering toward the racks to continue his set. You smile when he returns and stands at a respectful distance. 

Guess chivalry isn’t dead after all.

As always, thanks for reading :D! 

Don’t know when I’ll drop another story though slkdjlfrlfek

[eurynome827]

Watch Out For The Quiet Ones

For @the-ss-horniest-book-club​ Drunk Drabbles, and this delicious anon prompt - I hope it’s worth the wait!

Pairing: College AU Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1,744 !!!! (officially my longest fic ever!)

Warnings: 18+!! Dirty talk, language, consumption of alcohol, some hurt feelings, masturbation, use of a sex toy, sex with a condom, maybe a tiny smidge of sub!Bucky.

A/N: This is filth. I don’t know what’s come over me.

*

Bucky Barnes wasn't a complete waste of your time.

He was actually a good friend. Unlikely as your friendship was, you still cared enough about him to not tell him to his face what a terrible lay he was.

Tequila was what got you into that situation, and it was becoming an unfortunate pattern.

You threw back another shot and slammed the glass on the counter, giggling with your roommate and best friend. Her boyfriend Steve was Bucky's best friend, which is how a bookworm like you ended up hanging out with the football players in the first place. Thrown together as the plus ones of a couple, you and Bucky found yourself hanging out often, but there was never a spark until a few weeks ago when you found yourself under Bucky in his bed upstairs in this very frat house having surprisingly lackluster sex.

At least he was pretty to look at it, and he didn't want to stop until he got you off so you faked a respectable orgasm, rolled out of the bed and went straight to your own dorm.

Hearing your name from the other room pulled you from your thoughts, and you stepped closer to the door. You were shocked to hear Bucky describing your little encounter - a LOT more favorably than you would. His audience of male friends certainly seemed to be enjoying the story.

"She had a really good time," he drawled, and the unmistakable sound of hands slapping in high fives finally pulled you out of hiding.

"I had a good time? That's news to me."

Bucky whirled to see you, staring him down with your arms crossed. "Uh, hey," he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and at least had the decency to look ashamed.

"I should go find all the other girls you've slept with and start a club. The 'I Faked An Orgasm With Bucky Barnes Club'."

Steve choked on his beer.

Bucky spluttered, shocked and embarrassed. "That's fucked up!"

"No, what's fucked up is you telling our friends that we had sex and leaving out how terrible it was. Bucky Barnes, you couldn't get me off with an instruction manual and a private tutor."

You whirled around and left immediately, ignoring your friends calling your name behind you. Stomping on the sidewalk all the way back to your dorm, you crawled under the blanket completely and let your anger keep the hurt from growing.

How fucking dare he.

•

A knock on your door a few hours later dragged you from bed, and you opened up to find a sheepish looking Bucky.

"Hey."

You sighed and leaned against the doorframe. "Hi."

"Can I come in?"

You moved aside so he could pass, closing the door and turning to see him sitting on your roommate's bed. You sat on your own, silently watching him worry his fingers together.

"What do you want, Buck?" Your voice was softer than you expected, and a tiny bit of that hurt you were trying to muscle away crept in. He looked up at you.

"I'm sorry, about..." He trailed off, and you nodded.

"Okay."

"I shouldn't have told anyone. You're a good friend."

"So are you, Bucky."

He shrugged, shaking his head a little. He bit his lip and looked at you anxiously.

"Is there something else?" You had never seen him this unsure of himself.

"And I'm also sorry you didn't...have a good time." He was quiet and the words settled in your chest, and then he looked into your eyes. "I did."

"Oh, Bucky, I'm sorry I said what I said. I was hurt, and I lashed out."

"But, you meant what you said, right?"

You looked at the floor, and shrugged a little before facing him again. "Yes."

"Then show me."

Confusion covered your face. "Show you what?"

He moved to sit next to you, and suddenly there was tension in the room. "Show me the instruction manual. Be my private tutor."

You smiled before you could stop yourself. "You realize I can only teach you what works for me, right?"

He moved closer to you, his voice lowering in pitch. "That's all I'm interested in right now."

Drawing in a quick breath, you stared back into his blue eyes, feeling dizzy. "Wow, Buck. This is already so much better than last time."

Then he kissed you, cradling your face in his hands, and you had to pull away and shake your head to get a hold of yourself.

"Okay, if we're going to do this, we're going to do this right. A real lesson." You stood and pulled your shirt over your head, enjoying his eyes on you. Then you opened your bedside drawer, feeling bold, and started throwing items on the bed next to him: a bottle of lube, your vibrator, several condoms....

"Whoa! What...."

"Be a good student, now." You kissed his forehead before you pulled off your pajama pants and settled on the bed, your back to the wall and legs open, hands resting on your raised knees.

Bucky swallowed thickly, and nodded. "Okay. Um, this is all," he motioned to your naughty supplies, "unexpected."

"That's part of your lesson, Barnes. Watch out for the quiet ones."

You winked at him, and his eyes grew wide as you slipped your fingers inside your panties. You hummed, stroking softly, and brought your other hand up to caress your breast through your bra. "Feels good, see how nice that is?"

"Fuck..." He groaned, palming over himself. "You're....holy shit, you're so hot."

"Thanks, Bucky," you giggled, enjoying how your little show was clearly affecting him. "I bet you want to see how wet I am."

"Oh fuck yes please." He stared at you, biting his lip. Kneeling on the bed, you removed the rest of your clothing, making sure that his eyes followed your every move. Moving back to lean against the wall and open up to his gaze again, you gave your next piece of instruction.

"Watch me. Watch how I react when I do this," you swiped your finger slowly through your folds, gathering your wetness, "and when I do this," you rubbed over your clit gently, spreading your slick and closing your eyes, breathing in deep. "Can you imagine touching me like this? You see what I need?" You opened your eyes to see Bucky staring, hungry and open-mouthed, rubbing at himself through his pants. "God yes, honey, I'm watching. I want to make you feel good."

"I think you will. You're being a very good student." Bucky whimpered, actually fucking whimpered, and licked his lips at how wet your fingers were. You grabbed your vibrator and the lube, getting it ready and switching it on, and when your body shuddered in reaction to the tip on your clit, he growled and stood up fast.

"I'm sorry, I need, I have to..." He was besides himself, eyes wide and desperate and you gasped both at the state of him and what you were doing to yourself.

"Yes, baby, take everything off, show me how pretty you are," your voice shook. "I want to see you, I want to watch you touch yourself."

He undressed clumsily, throwing everything on the floor, and seeing him in front of you in the dim light of your room nearly took your breath away. He was so hard, and he was stunning. Closing his eyes and wrapping a hand around his cock, he stroked himself a few times before letting his wild eyes settle on you again. "I'm afraid I'm gonna cum before I even touch you. Please, I need you."

You tossed the vibrator onto the nightstand and reached a hand toward him. "Come here."

He joined you eagerly, his lips on yours and his hard cock pressing against your hip. You held his hand and brought it between your legs. "Now let's see what you learned."

Bucky pulled away from your lips to look down and watch himself pleasure you, trying to repeat the movements you made with your fingers and your toy.

"That's right, oh yes ...so good. So good, Bucky.... please, Bucky..."

Finally a little of his swagger crept back into his voice. "Please what, doll? Am I making you feel good?"

"Yeah...yes..." Your breathing was staggered, he was getting you so close. "Think you can do the same thing with your tongue, Buck?"

"Oh fuck, yes," he growled, moving down your body and licking you purposefully, repeating what he knew you liked. Bucky had been paying close attention to the lesson.

You gripped his hair and rolled your hips into his face and he moaned, and then you completely lost yourself - calling his name and pulling his hair. When he moved to be face to face with you again, you giggled at his expression of triumph. "Look at you."

"I'm looking at you," he said, softly. He kissed you and whispered, "thank you."

You hummed against his lips, and pushed on his chest under you had him on his back under you. "You're welcome, but we're just getting started."

Straddling him and reaching for a condom, you ripped open the package and rolled it down his length, reveling in the shiver of his body when you touched him.

"I have never been this hard in my entire life," he looked up at you, holding your hips as you lowered yourself into him, "you're amazing. Incredible."

You moaned and rocked back and forth, bringing his hand to where you were joined with him and giving him a little wink as he started playing with your clit like you'd taught him. "And you are an excellent student, Bucky."

It didn't last long, but it didn't matter. The look on his face and the moan of your name when he came was enough to push you over a second time. You fell onto his chest, out of breath, and he rolled you over so he could pull out and throw away the condom. For a second you thought he would just get dressed and leave, and you were surprised at how much that thought bothered you. But Bucky got back under your blanket with you, holding you close.

"Do you..." You bit your lip, nuzzling into his neck. "Do you want to stay?"

He squeezed his arms tighter around you, and you giggled. "Yeah, is that okay?"

"Of course. I want you to."

"Good. I want more lessons."

[anika-ann]

Conundrum (A.B.)

Type: One-shot, challenge fic

Pairing: Andy Barber x fem!reader    Word Count: 7700 (:

Summary: conundrum - a confusing and difficult problem or question

Andy Barber is a difficult man whom you have yet to understand. He certainly doesn’t make it any easier; and right before Christmas, he manages to surprise you again.

Prompt: You have to look for a gift impromptu

Warnings: a smidge of angst, a drop of awkward humour, mention of death (mild AU - both Laurie and Jacob!), alcohol consumption, feels, explicit language, reader gets called a dumbass... that’s it I hope, lemme know

A/N:  This is my submission for the Happy Hoelidays challenge. There’s no hoeing tho, shame on me. Also, if you want some music to go with this, know that I listened to ‘God I Hope This Year Is Better Than the Last’ by SYML an obscene amount of times.

Andy Barber was an enigma.

Reporters liked to think he wasn’t; almost a year ago, they tore down all the walls he had built up to protect the privacy of his family and they shed light into startingly intimate details of his life – and where they couldn’t shed light, they used their imagination and sold it with a claim of having a reliable source. Naturally, it worked; there were always people willing to believe it just so they obtained more of juicy gossip material.

There were wanabe psychologists who would address his trauma and tried to analyse his personality, the consequences he would suffer in the aftermath of the tragedy, who attempted to strip down his soul just to get a few more reads and generally talked about him as if they were best friends, as if they knew him.

It was all a load of bullshit.

The truth, you thought, was that no one knew him. If you were being honest, you weren’t sure if even his wife ever had, truly – but that was you under the influence of the little information you bothered to gather from the influx of crap that the media provided the public with.

What you believed was that the reporters and all the self-proclaimed experts on him knew nada.

Andrew Barber was and always would remain an enigma; to the public, to the little what remained of his family after the death of his wife and son, to his co-workers – the category which included you. If you could even call yourself a co-worker; you were simply a secretary. Granted, one whose previous employer let her peek over their shoulder quite a bit so you learned a thing or two about law, but Andy Barber was the lawyer. The former DA from Boston, who moved over to rule the DA office of Portland, your home.

Even after having been working with him for nine full months, Andy’s thoughts and feelings didn’t get any easier for you to read or predict. When he wanted to let you know he was disappointed, he did. When he was truly angry with someone, well, he wouldn’t let it go unnoticed either.

Other than that, however, you would have had better luck trying to decode the actual enigma-encrypted messages sent during World War II.

Small talk didn’t last longer than three sentences from you each. Work-related affaires were discussed in his office with politeness and with calm, rather dispassionate mannerism. If you caught a hint of a smile when an important case that helped people went his way (or the office’s way really), you considered it a miracle that sent your heart reeling.

He would sometimes smile only for you if you brought him a coffee without him asking first, simply because he looked like he needed one; at those times, he would thank you softly and let slip in your first name instead of referring to you with your last. Those were your favourite moments.

Well, almost.

You found him with a tumbler and an expensive whiskey on occasion when you were leaving the office late; you never commented on it, but there were four times he actually silently invited you to have a glass with him. You refused the first time and accepted the other three.

Those nights, you got a glimpse of the mystery of a man hidden behind surprisingly soft mannerism, one which was in such a sharp contrast to his shark-like demeanour he displayed in front of the judge and the jury. His scars ran deep, his hopes had been shattered, his life in the past year as bitter as the overpriced liquor. Your heart cracked for him to the point of nearly breaking altogether.

And yet, it was beating for him too; behind all that hurt, you couldn’t but notice certain gentleness. Yes, he could be scary, downright terrifying and when his temper got the best of him, the true rage on display, he was a force to be reckoned with. But oh, that gentleness. The kind shattered soul he hid so well every morning, more so on the days right after your little heart-to-hearts. Trying to build a working relationship with him – a friendship of a sort, anything you wanted to call it – was a game of push and pull and more of a string of guesses than an effort that would bore fruit.

You might have already given up on that and instead, with the ferocity you hadn’t known you possessed, you kept punching the crush you had on him; that silly thing that would always call louder and louder after he revealed a piece of him on one of the precious nights, only to shut you out completely the next morning.

Andy Barber had never even remotely showed a romantic interest in you and by God, did you not blame him for not being interested in anyone at all as far you knew. While you considered yourself a fairly capable worker and half-decent person, you were aware you could never measure up to him. Just another reason to push down the feelings you had for him, ones that seemed to bloom with more intensity whenever he raised the corners of his damn lips, when he asked a question about you during those stupid nights as if he cared— nonsense. You had to get rid of those. He didn’t even like you, barely acknowledged you in the end. Or did he? You honestly didn’t know.

Bottom line was that if you couldn’t get close enough, then the reporters knew jack shit, no matter how much reading on him they had done or how many books on psychology, criminology and law and shit they went through. Many people knew Andrew Barber’s name, but no one could hope to know him.

And yet, those assholes still called and asked about him.

It was the fourth one that day; December 23rd, over a year from the accusation of Jacob Barber, and those fucking vultures still called Andy Barber’s office. They weren’t even good newspapers and news sites anymore; obviously, because every rational decent person would have let the poor man rest. But nope. Not them.

“Portland’s DA office, secretary of Mr. Barber speaking. How may I help you?”

“Oh, wonderful! Is there any chance I could talk to Mr. Barber personally?” the chipper of a man asked on the other end of the line and just by not giving his name, he raised suspicion; was it forgetfulness caused by his distress or intention?

Fortunately for him and unfortunately for you, you had to be polite. Hot-shot lawyers and other important people rarely returned the courtesy, but that was the world you lived in.

“There might be, Mr-?”

“Oh, Connor. Peter Connor.”

“Well, Mr. Connor, what is your legal issue?” you asked patiently, writing down his name automatically.

“Well, you see, I would rather talk with Mr. Barber about—my delicate situation, in private.”

Your eyes narrowed as you stopped scribbling and spared a brief glance towards the door to Andy’s office. It was opened ajar in what could be an invitation, but all blinds on both the door and the windows were down in typical fashion.

Talk in private?

Yeah, not gonna happen. You knew a few tricks that these assholes calling the office tended to pull and whoever this man was, you were growing more suspicious by the minute that he was not seeking legal advice.

You went back to your notes and wrote down the word liar right next to his name and a question mark. Was he a liar? One way to find out you guessed; you caught your phone between your ear and your shoulder, opening a new tab in your browser to google the name along with a wild guess of him being a reporter.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Connor, I’m afraid I will need more information before I put you through. And I will probably need to make you an appointment, my boss is a very busy man-“

“Oh, is he? Lots of cases in Andrew Barber’s new district, huh?”

The blood in your veins was set aflame even before the search was done, because in an instant, you knew for sure.

And then you had it confirmed by the results.

This jerk had even given you his real name, utterly shameless. Sure, he could have only had the same name as the journalist you found, but what were the chances? Two days after you told his colleague – who had made it through your vetting, got an appointment and even got past the reception desk before you spotted him for what he was – to get lost and not try again?

Your pulse skyrocketed along with your blood pressure. Technically, you didn’t owe Andrew Barber anything, but he was respectful enough, didn’t make much trouble and for most time, was an okay boss to you.

You owed him this much: he was a decent guy. Why couldn’t other people show a shed of basic human decency too and leave him the fuck alone?

“That depends, Mr. Connor,” you purred, barely holding the outrage locked inside. You felt both energized by your anger and achingly tired and done with humanity. You rested your elbows on the desk and leaned onto it with a sigh, massaging the bridge of your nose, eyes closed. “Is he going to have to sue your rag of a newspaper or will you and your colleagues finally get the memo and leave. His. Personal. Life. Alone?!”

You most definitely strained the last words through your teeth, but you didn’t care anymore if you were being rude. He was the fourth reporter today ready to ask about Andy’s personal matters. The FOURTH!! He was lucky you didn’t tell him to go fuck himself… explicitly.

“Are you threatening me?” the man demanded, his voice insulted, losing all traced of pretence.

As if you ever. You knew better than that, working with lawyers.

“Nice try, Mr. Connor.  I will thank you to never call this office again unless you have legal issues or a relevant question which you should direct to our PR department anyway. And if you could extend this to all editorial staff, please, preferably to all editorial staff in the United States, that would be splendid. Have a good day. Happy Holidays.”

You slammed the phone down, missing the slot for it, not caring. You were sure he would hang up on his own.

“Asshole,” you muttered under your breath and hid your face in your palms, grunting, fingertips sinking into your hair.

“I hope you don’t mean me,” sounded from the doorway and you yelped, honest to god yelped and straightened in your seat, head snapping up-

-only to meet your boss’ curious gaze. Hurt and anger casted shadows over his beautiful cerulean irises, but there was no mistaking the melancholy and resignation on his face either.

“Of course not!” you blurted out quickly, panic rising in your chest.

How much had he heard? Was he going to fire you for being unprofessional? Did he figure out what was this about— of course he did, there was little room left for doubt. Your choice of words was pretty straightforward.

Andy bounced off of the doorframe he was leaning onto, not easing his stance – his arms remained crossed over his chest and had you not been so alarmed, you would have indulged in the sight of his biceps nearly cutting through the seams of his shirt.

“Why do I get the impression that whoever you were talking to was not the first person to call the office to feed on ‘the misery man’ that Andrew Barber is?” he more stated than asked, his tone unmistakably bitter.

You gulped as he approached your desk, nails digging into your palms. You had no idea what to say. Once again, you couldn’t quite read Andy; you had no idea where this was heading and how you should answer without setting him off, making him sadder or even more bitter. And without getting fired, obviously.

“I—uhm, well, I suppose you heard me, so you know he wasn’t the first—Mr. Barber. I apologize-“ His eyebrows rose a fraction and you didn’t dare to analyse why. “-if I was too loud. But--- humanity sucks.”

The moment the last two words left your mouth, you instantly regretted them, snapping your eyelids close and squeezing. You were sure you were about to have bloody crescents in your palms from your nails at this point.

Did you really just say that? To your boss, no less?

Way to go, me.

“Not wrong there. Why don’t you take your lunch break now?” he offered casually.

You nodded as you felt the tell-tale burn of tears forming in your eyes; fuck, this was humiliating. Why had he had to walk in exactly in that moment? And now using that tone?

He didn’t say anything else and you didn’t dare to look at him. Only when you heard him walk back to his office and close the door behind him, you opened your eyes and released the breath you were holding, your heart hammering in your chest.

Gulping and swallowing your tears before they could escape, you grabbed your purse and your coat, rushing out to the cold air of Portland winter.

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Andy didn’t bring up the incident again when you came back. You had a short list of assignments for the upcoming days off which you went over with him before parting ways for the holidays. You mentioned you would probably drop in tomorrow despite not necessarily having to, but wished him Happy Holidays in case you’d miss him during your brief visit.

The corners of his lips twitched at that, but he wished you the same. You supposed his holidays weren’t about to be happy – more like the opposite. Last year, he celebrated with his family, even if it might have been already falling apart. This year however…

Your heart cracked another fraction for the man and you wondered if you should leave some cookies for him in the office tomorrow at least. Then you realized he would probably hate it, either being bitter about feeling like a charity case or hating the reminder of what he had lost, what wasn’t waiting for him at home anymore. Not to mention that maybe even the poinsettia, which you had placed on his office window two days ago and neither of you commented on, was already too much.

The only cookies you baked that night were the ones you knew should stay in a box with apples for over a day, the cookies you were supposed to bring to your sister’s house for Christmas, because your nephew Harry loved them.

With cheesy Christmas songs in the background and a bottle of wine for the party of one, you kneaded the double batch of dough and couldn’t but spare your achingly handsome and likely lonely boss a thought and maybe… maybe a tear or two.

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The office was empty when you arrived on 24th at around half past four; everyone left as soon as possible, which was to be expected. Admittedly, despite not knowing what you would talk about with Andy, you found your heart sinking when you didn’t see light peeking through the blinds of your and his offices. You had expected him to be working to avoid being at home; but then again, you knew next to nothing about him. Maybe he was with a girlfriend. With a boyfriend. With former colleagues. With his deceased wife’s family. It was only assumption of yours that he might be lonely on Christmas.

You shook your head at your train of thought as you unlocked your office, mentally going over which files you needed to bring home, trying to eliminate the amount as not to endanger confidential information by taking them away from the safety of the bureau.

You froze in your tracks when you found a rather large piece of paper folded into a roof on your desk. A note, you realized, frowning and slowly walking to the suspicious object.

There were very few people who could enter your space, namely three: the janitor, you and Andy. The first option was unlikely, the second impossible, the third confusing. You didn’t understand why he wouldn’t just shoot you a text if he needed anything.

You halted in your steps, the air knocked out of your lungs when you noticed that the note was not the only new item on your desk.

There was a box.

A box roughly size of your extended palm. And if you weren’t mistaken… it looked like a jewellery gift box.

“What the hell?” you asked yourself breathlessly, your curiosity getting the best of you; more so as you recognized what was most definitely Andy’s handwriting on the paper.

Andrew Barber, your boss, with whom you weren’t sure what your relationship was – if there was any at all – might have got you jewellery.

Say that again?

A tiny voice in your head told you he might have just used the box for something else entirely, but that didn’t seem to be his style.

So you picked up the gift carefully, almost reverently removing the lid, your heart pounding in your chest, stomach twisting with pleasant anticipation; with the familiar rush that kids feel when opening a present with high hopes of what could await them inside.

Your lips parted in pure shock, you mind turning blank.

There were no words in English language to express how… how absolutely magnificent the bracelet inside was.

Five thin circles with symbols made of slender lines inside, looking like charms, but withing the body of the bracelet, one clasped to the next one with delicate ellipses. The metal reflected the fluorescent lights of the office, glimmering softly, appearing almost fluid, a thin stream of water trapped in a box.

You actually had to blink and it took all your willpower not to pinch yourself, because—how-

How had he known? Where had he got it? Holy mother of Jesus, how much had he spent on it?

And why get you a gift in the first place? You were… acquaintances at best. Yes, there were almost friendly moments, and then there were those nights, but this was---this- you couldn’t even---- think, apparently.

Keeping an eye on the opened box, you gently placed it back on the desk, afraid to even touch the metal itself. You blindly reached into your purse in search for your phone to dial the only number that made sense for you to dial at that moment.

It sure as hell wasn’t Andy’s.

Nothing but a dialling tone sounded for half a minute, the time seemingly endless. You fell heavily into your chair, still staring at the absolutely gorgeous and thoughtful gift.

How did he know?!

You fought the urge to roll your eyes as your sister still didn’t answer the phone and your hand automatically reached for your necklace to toy with.

And that was when it hit you.

Your necklace; one you got from your sister during the period of your biggest obsession with the Divergence series. Two arrows in a circle pointing different directions, the symbol for a ‘divergent’ person. Your eyes wandered over the five circles of the bracelet – scales, an eye, hands connected, a flame, a tree –, an incredulous chuckle escaping you.

But--- you didn’t think he would notice. You didn’t even wear it all the time, rather often, yes, and yeah, perhaps you did have a bit of a bad habit of fumbling with it when nervous-

“Hey sis! What’s up?” Amber’s voice sounded cheerily from the microphone. You jumped in your seat, startled by her as she interrupted your musing. “Please tell me you’re still coming, because Harry wouldn’t shut up about his favourite chocolate chip.”

You cleared your throat, barely able to comprehend what she was talking about, too caught up in your head.

“I—hi. Uhm- I need help actually,” you finally stuttered and you could practically feel her frown even over the phone.

“Oh? Is everything okay? You sound… a little strange.”

“That’s-“ not wrong. You scanned the office and listened in for the tinniest noise, making sure you were still alone. “I’m at the office and I--eh, I found a gift for me.”

“Awww, a secret admirer? Nice!” Amber chuckled, then abruptly stopped. “…unless it’s a stalker. You don’t think you have a stalker, right? Is that why you called me, so I could tell George? He’s not on duty-“

This time you did roll your eyes at the mention of her husband who happened to be a police officer.

“No, Amber, I have no stalker as far as I know. I’m pretty sure I can recognize my boss’ handwriting at this point.”

Nothing but silence could be heard from the other end for a good minute. You bit your lip in anticipation of… something.

And then: “You’re shitting me.”

“Not really-“

“Holy mother of-!” your sister squealed loudly and you winced, instinctively withdrawing from the phone. “Your boss got you a Christmas present?! --Wait. Is it a Walmart card? Because if it is, then this call is pointless, because that’s boring as-“

“No, Amber, he—he gave me a bracelet,” you admitted softly, your gaze once again wandering over the said object. Beautiful. Fragile. Yours, apparently. What?

When Amber only responded with silence again, words suddenly spilled from your lips, all the mixed feelings you had about receiving the bracelet released, relief singing in your veins as you vented.

“And-and it’s actually really beautiful and--- it’s thoughtful, because it has all the fractions from Divergence on it? But not like something you buy for ten dollars, only paying for the copyright or whatever and the quality is shitty, no, I mean--- it looks pretty, eh, delicate.”

It did, awfully so, which was why you still couldn’t make yourself to touch it even if you really, really liked it and wanted to do nothing but to wear it for the rest of your damn life.

“And expensive. I-- I think it might be real silver and…” you wavered, almost scared to share your last observation out loud for it seemed impossible for it to be true. “Amber, you know I looked through a lot of Divergence-related goods so I would know. It- it doesn’t look familiar at all, it’s--- I think it might be custom-made.”

You choked on the last word, tasting so strange on your tongue as you couldn’t quite believe that you were saying it. You felt--- incredulous to put it simply… and touched and- absolutely bewildered.

Silence stretched in the follow-up to your rambling and you felt your brows drawing together.

“…Amber? You there?”

“Oh yeah, I’m here,” she assured you swiftly, mischief curling around the tone of her voice like a smirk on her lips you couldn’t see. “Just wondering how could you not tell me you started sleeping with him-“

“What?! No!” you protested instantly, straightening in the chair. “I’m not—I’m not his sugar baby or whatever! This is not a ‘thank you for letting me fuck you raw’ gift-“

“Not that you would complain from what I heard and saw-“ she hummed playfully.

She was right. But shush!

“Screw you!”

“George does, that’s why we have Harry in the first place,” she sassed you. “But… sis? What kind of a gift it is then?”

And wasn’t that the question.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Well, you should, because from what you told me, you guys aren���t even friends. Nota bene, this isn’t exactly a gift you give to a friend,” she pointed out, addressing one of the million issues concerning the damn (gorgeous) bracelet.

“I-- I guess?” You were sure, in fact. This was something to give to a… well, to a lover, to a partner. “But- Amber, he doesn’t--- that’s not-“

“What did the note say?”

“Huh?”

“You said you recognized his handwriting,” she reminded you slowly as if speaking to a five-year-old. “What does the note say?”

You glanced at the note again noncommittally, remembering exactly what it said. Pretty much nothing. Definitely nothing to go on.

“Uhm… Thank you. Happy Holidays.”

There was a beat of silence, again. “That’s it?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Eloquent.” You rolled your eyes at her sarcastic tone. She should see him at court. True though, on personal level, he wasn’t exactly chatty. Unless he opened up a bit over a glass of whiskey--- anyway, she had a point, obviously. “What are you gonna do?”

That snapped you from your musing like a shot of life into your bloodstream.

“That’s why I’m calling! I should-- I should get him something too, right?” Right?! Absolutely. “Oh god, I hate last-minute shopping. And I don’t even have a fucking clue what to buy! Well, a good whiskey is always a safe bet I guess, but supporting his drinking habits doesn’t sound like a good idea. Plus, it’s kinda… impersonal with comparison to what he gave me.”

Though if there was one thing you learned about Andy Barber, it was that he could appreciate the high-quality liquor, so perhaps it wouldn’t have been as impersonal as one might think.

“Well, I don’t know him so I can’t really help, but what you got from him should definitely give you a clue.”

“A clue?” you parroted, confused.

“I don’t mean like a clue for what you should buy him. But… look, even if you didn’t suspect that it’s custom-made, which whoa, he has to pay a lot of attention to buy you something like this. Much more attention than you thought.”

“…okay?”

“He likes you, you dumbass! It doesn’t matter what you get him, he’ll be happy you got him anything in the first place!”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” you deadpanned, unsure which statement you were referring to. That he liked you or that you shouldn’t take care to choose something that would really bring him at least a little joy.

You tried your best to ignore how your heart skipped the beat at the former.

“Whatever. Harry’s throwing a hungry eye on me, I gotta go fix him a snack unless I want him to eat all the candy again. Good luck!”

“Amber!“ you called out in honest despair, panic rising in your chest, only to get no answer.

You pulled the phone from your ear to look at the screen, already knowing what awaited you.

Disconnected.

Fuck.

It seemed you were on your own. Wasn’t that wonderful?

You shot your sister a simple ‘I hate you’ text, the gears in your head already turning frantically in order to figure out what you could get Andy.  

Amber replied with a set of laughing emojis within seconds. Bitch, leaving you alone to deal with a situation like this! What a sister she was.

You sighed, admiring the delicate lines of the bracelet again, torn between indulgence and guilt. There was no questioning whether you should buy Andy something too.

Say yay for the last-minute shopping for a man out of your league and whom you had no idea what you should get.

You were utterly at loss, growing anxious not only about the difficult choice of a gift, but also about possible delivery, wondering what should you even tell him and when.

Maybe though…. just maybe, you were getting kinda excited about what you were about to do too.

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Three hours.

You spent almost three hours at the mall where you could barely breathe because of the crazy crowds and yet you were none the wiser; your excitement left you quickly, once again replaced by despair. It took you three hours and passing the lingerie shop four times, a shop with pieces on display that barely covered anything, intended for either bedroom games or a swimming pool, before it finally hit you.

You cursed under your breath, calling yourself an idiot in murmur loud enough to have few people around you look at you in surprise.

“Dumbass, I’m such a dumbass,” you continued your monologue as you fished out your phone, quickly scrolling through your contacts.

To say that the person on the other end was shocked to hear from you at this time of month and hour was an understatement.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, Lee. I have… eh, a favour to ask…”

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You were being ridiculous.

Absolutely and utterly ridiculous as you stood on a modest porch in front of a small family house, the roof hiding you from the intrusive drizzle but not keeping you quite safe from the wind as you clutched your handbag to your side as if it was your lifeline, cursing yourself for not wearing a scarf in December.

Your nose was practically freezing, your cheeks burned from the wind and your hands were cold too, because you were stupidly underdressed; as if you haven’t lived in Portland your whole life.

But that wasn’t the main issue; an Uber dropped you off about five minutes ago and still, here you were, standing outside and trying to convince yourself to ring the bell.

The plan had been to finish packing a bag and leave around 10 p.m. to your sister’s house, where you would spend the night so you could be with her family on Christmas Day from the very beginning. But then Andrew fucking Barber, your fabulous boss, left a gift in your office, a breath-taking bracelet now sitting low on your right wrist, and it all went to hell.

Maybe you could still make it to your sister’s house – it was shortly after nine, your bag waiting on your bed, so maybe you should just call another Uber and be on your way. Maybe you could leave the silly envelope in the post-box just so you wouldn’t have to deal with Andy’s reaction; after all, he had chosen the same approach; cookies be damned, there would be more left for Harry then-

But you really, really wanted to thank him. And you might be shitting your pants, but the prospect of seeing him in a domestic environment, possibly more relaxed, perhaps nearing the man you had had the honour to see on those nights… you couldn’t make yourself to pass on that opportunity.

At the same time, you kept reminding yourself that Andy did not expect to see you tonight, he might not even be home – you were pretty sure a dim light was coming from the living room, the TV on probably, but yeah, you could keep lying to yourself – and that he might be grieving and genuinely might hate you for invading his privacy since you had to search his home address in the official documents.

Yeah, you definitely should just spin on your heels and-

“Oh for God’s sake,” you muttered under your breath and pressed the doorbell, your heart suddenly hammering in your ribcage as you realized there were no takebacks now. “Shit.”

Maybe you should just run. What if he had fallen asleep already and you just woke him up?! Oh, he was so going to be pissed and he might even show that emotion, screaming you down like he did one with that intern-

A scruffle on the other side of the door snapped you from your hopeless expectations and you sucked in a horrified breath.

And then the door slid open before you could react and you were certain you looked like a deer caught in the headlights, a semi-frozen deer to make the situation worse and--- there he was.

You quickly dropped your gaze, only then realizing how rude that was and that you should meet his eye no matter how much you did and did not want to do so at the same time. As you gaze travelled up, you found that a domestic Andy was everything you imagined he would be; black socks, loose dark grey sweats, pale t-shirt slightly wrinkled. One of his arms hung loosely by his side, the other still at the door-knob as you continued your inspection, gaze caressing the line of his bare forearm, reaching the sleeves that were hugging his biceps precisely. Broad shoulders, perfectly trimmed beard framing plush lips with the slightest hint of a curious smile.

You smiled awkwardly as your eyes met his watching you with interest, dimmed with a hint of a doze-off you must have woken him up from. You tried not to dwell on the inconspicuous redness surrounding his irises.

“I’m sorry if I woke you up!” you blurted out quickly, rewarded with a light shake of his head and a stifled yawn; subtle.

“You didn’t. Hi,” he greeted you, only to make you realize that 1. you forgot to say hi and 2. his post-nap voice was a thing from wet dreams-- which was definitely not relevant at that moment.

“Hi,” you offered unsurely, eyes roaming his face, searching for any trace of anger. All you found was bewilderment; if pleasant or not, you couldn’t tell.

“I’m sorry for barging in. I just… uhm- I wanted to thank you and-“

The hint of a smile on his lips grew a fraction, expression softening at your admission and before you could find your footing, he opened the door further, subtly extending his hand to usher you in.

Your heart skipped a beat, the strangest feeling tickling your gut, teeth sinking into your lower lip, the grip on your handbag growing stronger. Yet you accepted, taking two reluctant steps inside. The door clicked shut behind you, sealing whatever fate awaited you.

Attempting not to look too nosy, you turned back to Andy rather than scanning the hall.

Words got stuck in your throat. As tired as he looked, worn to a bone by everything but physical exercise, you couldn’t but marvel at what a handsome man he was, even without his smart suits and ties and neatly styled fluffy hair; it was still very fluffy, just more of a mess than a fashion statement.

God, wasn’t he beautiful.

He kept looking at you too in mute anticipation of something, appearing mildly lost just as you were, giving the impression of a man who couldn’t tell what to expect.

Your gaze locked with his, unyielding, a gorgeous trap and you knew you had to say or do something before your heart gave out entirely.

Your mouth opened, no words coming out and you cursed yourself, simply opening the bag and pulling out a Tupperware box with half the cookies you baked last night, practically shoving it to Andy’s capable hands.

He accepted the item with eyebrows shooting up once before settling back, eyes misting for a moment. His fingertips brushed yours as he took a firm hold of the box, the not-quite-there smile of his remaining on his lips.

He seemed perplexed.

You felt like an idiot.

“This feels so silly now,” you admitted with a sigh, realizing the absurdity of the situation only accented by the fact that you stood there in the hall of his home in your coat and high-boots, ridiculously overdressed in comparison to him.

“It’s not,” he whispered finally, forcing the corners of his mouth to rise higher. “Thank you. Didn’t know you baked. Should have figured.”

You shrugged. “Never came up.”

Something shifted in his expression as did in the air; you knew he sensed it too. The unspoken hung between you, that you meant not in your daily routine at the office, but on your private nights, so rare and precious, so desperately pretended to be non-existent the next morning.

Your gaze lowered as the silence fell on your pair again and you awkwardly shifted your weight from one leg to the other. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“So, uh-“

“Thank you for the bracelet. Really. It was-” you licked your lips, meeting his eyes again, so deep, so blue and somehow soft and you forgot what you were about to say. “Eh- I wasn’t expecting it. I-- I didn’t think you’d… notice. And--- care.”

His brows furrowed for a bit and he placed the box on the shoe rack next to him; an action he soon regretted you guessed, because his fingers went for his wrist as if he wanted to readjust his cufflinks, a nervous habit of his, only to meet bare skin. Good to know you weren’t the only one iffy in this conversation.

“But you liked it?” he asked almost shyly and the corners of your lips rose on instinct as did you right hand, the sleeve of your coat sliding down a fraction, enough to reveal the new accessory.  “Looks pretty on you.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers gently slid over one of the symbols, brushing over the sensitive skin of your wrist. His gaze returned to yours, a flicker of something heated in his eyes, calling butterflies to your stomach.

Lord have mercy.

“Thanks- uhm--- thank you. Here, I got you something too.” You quickly reached into the handbag again to hide how flustered you felt – for a different reason than awkwardness.

He had touched your wrist and you turned into a blushing mess. Fabulous. And to make the matter more humiliating, now a twinkle of amusement played in his irises.

“You gave me a plant. And cookies.”

“Yeah. Kinda? But that was more of a… gesture?” you offered reluctantly as you handed him the envelope. “I uh—this is probably stupid, but, uhm--- here.”

“Stop putting yourself down,” he muttered darkly, causing your cheeks to burn hotter. “Thank you. You didn’t have to get me anything.” Pulling out the firm colourful paper, he blinked a few times, seemingly surprised. Ha, you bet he expected a Walmart card! Instead, there was a voucher for five entrances to the swimming pool where your friend Lee worked at. “Oh. Thank you. That’s really nice of you.”

A stone the size of Texas fell from your stomach and you couldn’t help the sigh of relief. Andy seemed genuinely pleased by your choice of gift and you felt your whole body relax.

“It’s just… eh, just for half an hour each and you can pick them on a horizon of three months. I’m not sure how often you like going, so… uhm, my friend works at the place, so you just give her a call and it shouldn’t be a problem to book it for mornings right before the opening hours,” you explained lamely, earning a puzzled look.

“How did you know I liked going when no one’s there?”

That caused one corner of your lips twitch in slight amusement and your eyebrow arch, even if his reasons weren’t exactly funny; his cheeks flushed a hint of red, a sight to behold for more than one reason. It was nice to have the roles reserved, you making him feel flustered for once.

Really? The rather quiet lone-wolf Andy Barber, followed by reporters still, just asked you this? Cute.

“…that’s fair,” he said and for a brief second, you were afraid you had shared your thoughts out loud. But he didn’t look offended, so probably not. The self-awareness then. “Thank you.”

“No problem. I’m-eh, glad you like it.”

You stood there again, both smiling – a little reluctantly, a little soft – and once again you had no idea how to proceed.

What you did know was that you enjoyed talking to him, even if it was awkward like this. You enjoyed seeing him in his natural habitat, in his home, relatively relaxed. You thrived seeing more of this Andy Barber, just a handsome guy, not Andrew Barber, the hot-shot lawyer.

He was the first to break the silence, hesitantly gesturing further into the house.

“Would you—would you like to-“

YES! was what you brain screamed.

“Oh, I don’t want to be a bother…” was what you told him, mentally cuffing yourself on the head.

“You’re not,” Andy opposed lowly. The whisper of your name that followed made you shiver.

His gazed trailed all over your face, so intense you would swear he saw right into your soul and further. You felt naked, but for some reason not too vulnerable – Andy seemed to like what he saw, expression genuinely inviting and yet. Yet there was a subtle promise of this not being a friendly invite which was as exciting as unsettling. The air appeared the crackle and you found yourself yearning to taste the electricity on your tongue.

“May I?”

He beckoned to your coat, suddenly free hands already rising and all you could do was to nod, automatically placing your handbag on the floor and unbuttoning the garment. Once if fell open, revealing simple black jeggings and a light pink sweater, Andy sidestepped you, fingers sliding under the hem, cautiously skimming over the bare skin above your collarbones, leaving a burning sensation in their wake.

The warmth of his fingertips seeped into your flesh and yet you shuddered, goosebumps rising on your skin.

You watched Andy put your coat away with care, turning back to you torturously slowly. He filled all of your personal space, so close and too far. You weren’t sure when exactly the air turned so heavy in your lungs, but as your gaze travelled to his lips, not missing how his sought yours in return, you felt all the oxygen leave the room.

“Andy,” the word rolled off your tongue, nothing but a soundless breath of his name.

His gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips again and back before he spoke, voice barely above a whisper, hoarse.  

“Am I imagining it?”

He didn’t have to say what and still you knew with absolute certainty that he was addressing the unbearable and delicious tension, the one that had been building and coming to life during those three nights you had spent talking in his office late--- and now it was back with smouldering intensity.

“You’re not.”

You shivered and gulped when he cautiously took a single little step further into your space, your gaze falling to his chest, lowering in sudden surge of the deep-rotted insecurity, whispering about your and his world being thousands of miles apart. And yet, your heart raced in anticipation, your hopes dizzyingly high that you might touch heaven, even if for a few moments.  

When his fingertips grasped your jaw, tough light and oh so careful, your eyelids fluttered close, already indulging in the sensation. God, his touch was so soft despite the roughness of his fingertips…

As if he wished to torture you or to indulge that sweet little moment before lips met lips, he stopped an inch from his destination, his breaths as wavering as yours, the words whispered straight into your mouth just a little broken.

“I’m fucked up.”

Your brain basked in blissful fog, but this got across, causing you to tense briefly.

You couldn’t deny what he was saying, you both knew he spoke the ultimate truth – well, you guessed. What had happened to him, having his life dismantled and then losing his family, that sort of thing was bound to leave a scar. Confirming it bluntly though, that felt unforgiving, only adding insult to injury.

“We all are,” you whispered instead, not only because you wouldn’t say ‘fucked up’, the words too harsh.

And it wasn’t trivializing the tragic turn his life had taken. It wasn’t downplaying the depth of his wounds. It wasn’t necessarily implying that you had been through something equally horrible either. Most importantly, it wasn’t you mocking him.

And somehow, he understood that; even if he could have interpreted it in every wrong way imaginable and shove you away, insulted, disgusted.

But no, in that fleeting moment that meant everything, Andy understood that this was your acceptance; this was you telling him that you were willing to try; take whatever he offered and give anything you could in return.

Finally, his lips brushed over yours, slightly chapped and oh so warm and delicious, withdrawing too soon, leaving you to savour the taste as your ran your tongue over your own lips. You inhaled shakily, overwhelmed by everything that was him, powerful, electrifying and then your hand was somehow on his chest, your palm laid over his racing heart, your fingers twitching as his ribcage expanded with a sharp inhale.

Blindly, your mouth searched his again, his whiskers tickling softly and scratching at once, a pleasant sensation on your sensitive skin as he grew bolder, and truly attached your lips in a kiss that made you feel lightheaded with the emotion poured into it. Your hand curled around his nape, an instinct to pull him closer, fingers toying with the short soft hair there, drawing a hum from within the expanse of his chest.

You granted him access to your mouth when he wordlessly asked, but it was him who retreated shortly after that, his heart now appearing as if in pain with its furious beats under your palm. His breaths started coming out short and it dawned to you what was wrong. How fast this could have felt to him, even if he was the one to start it.

‘I’m fucked up,’ he had said. Too caught in the moment, you hadn’t fully realized the extent of his words perhaps.

But you did now – at least a little better than before.

So when he rested his forehead against yours and a breathless ‘sorry’ slipped from his lips, you shook your head lightly and planted a kiss on his cheek, hand still on the back of his head, fingers running over his scalp in a hopefully soothing motion.

“I’ve got you, Andy. You lead.”

You had no strength to keep him close when he pulled his face away, your eyes snapping open in fright that you had said something terribly wrong.

But Andy’s cerulean eyes were big and glassy, grateful and softly speaking about him being… moved by your proposition. Your heart felt like it just grew twice its size, too big to fit into your chest at what a breath-taking picture he was.

The next thing you knew, he dropped a chaste kiss to your forehead and pulled you into his arms, an almost protective embrace, kissing the top of your head for a good measure and you melted against his large frame, smiling into t-shirt.

“Thank you,” he murmured breathlessly into your hair and your smile widened, remembering the note he had left with the exquisite gift that had started everything that led you right here into this moment.

“Happy Holidays.”

Thank you for reading! I’ve been sitting on this since the beginning of damn November. I hope you enjoyed.

It was my first (and maybe last) time writing Andy, so I hope it was alright. Feedback always appreciated.

P.S. – sorry if the nosy reporters thing offended you.

P.P.S. - …I know, the prompt was veeery loosely filled. Shush.

Pretty divider by whismicalrogers.

[dabi-drift]

Yaoyorozu, Bakugou, Compress x S/O {Valentine’s Scenarios} - Incomplete

If you want any characters adding here or to anything else I write, just drop me a comment or an ask!

Momo Yaoyorozu:

♡ La douleur exquise: the exquisite pain, unrequited love…

♡ This was perhaps the most appropriate summary of your emotions. You loved this girl, this sweet, gorgeous young woman, with all your heart, all your essence. But would she ever return that love? You watched her interactions with Todoroki and Jirou…it was more likely that she'd develop feelings for one of them.

♡ What was the point in all this pining? Not that you could help it, of course. You would've given anything to break free from the stifling jealousy, the borderline worship.

♡ It wasn’t obvious. You were the type so often described as a 'Kuudere'; your face very, very rarely betrayed your heart. But Momo…she made heat rise to your cheeks and butterflies flutter in your stomach.

♡ She was breath-taking, indescribable…incomparable.

♡ You noticed the way she captured everyone's attention, how she did it so innocently…you couldn’t help falling for her.

♡ You didn’t think she'd ever accept your advances, so you stayed at a distance. You became friends, but refused to take it further. You wouldn’t even try. You weren't willing to lose her.

♡ So when Valentine's came, you were extremely ill-prepared. Ashido asked if you were giving chocolate to anyone, and with your usual stoicism, you said no. For a split second, she seemed disappointed. Was the idea of love really that tempting to her? You would never understand that girl. Love wasn’t always something to flaunt. It hurt. A lot.

♡ Now, you weren't going to lie - you had briefly considered making Momo some chocolate with your sub-par skills, but that'd be too desperate…right? You could've waved it off as friendly, but if she was the only one to receive it, would she truly believe that?

♡ You sighed, busying yourself with school and listening to the mindless chatter of your classmates. Lunchtime approached, and you decided to sit alone. On the roof, of course (when is the roof ever not mentioned). You had to admit, all the happy couples sent you a slight wave of nausea.

♡ You were just wondering, ‘Why couldn’t you and Momo be like that? Why did love have to be so complicated?’

♡ Well, at least your food was there for you. As you began to eat, the last thing you expected was a polite little knock at the door. This was the rooftop - unexplored territory to the average student - no-one needed to be so gentle. You didn’t respond, thinking it'd been either the wind or your imagination.

♡ The door opened.

♡ It was Momo, all worn-out and blushy.

♡ Your heart rate picked up, and all potential words died on your tongue. Why did she hold such power over you? And why, why was she so damn cute?

♡ You wanted to turn her away, but a strange determination was burning in her eyes. In her hand lay a small box, complete with a ribbon and label.

♡ She moved toward you slowly, legs shaking. She presented the box to you.

♡ "I-I made these for you! Please accept them!"

♡ Although it floored you, how could you possibly refuse her?

Atsuhiro Sako/Mr Compress:

♡ His dramatic flair will certainly bleed through to this special day.

♡ This man 100% sat down and learned as many expressions of love (in different languages) as humanly possible; the more poetic the better. Obviously, he uses them at every opportunity, but on a day such as this…it was bound to be more heartfelt (I mean extra).

♡ He was forever going over-the-top, no matter whether it was your birthday, Valentine's, Christmas or anything in-between. He didn’t care for the tradition of men waiting until White Day to return gifts - he wanted you to experience the most amazing day, feel all the love he poured into you. He actually went to the trouble of purchasing (not stealing?? Man's dropped being a villain to officially become your biggest simp) everything he gave.

♡ Let's face it, the lure of thievery was strong, but his devotion to you was far, far stronger.

♡ You'd never professed to be a hero, but…you weren't a villain, either. You appreciated honesty and decency. Y'know, normal stuff - core values that villains were often shown to be lacking. So for Atsuhiro to break from his criminal tendencies, even for a moment…it meant that you were respected, cherished beyond belief.

♡ He hoped to prove as much, with each new dawn.

♡ But today, society had provided a legitimate excuse for Atsuhiro to flaunt his love. He'd organised the entire day, ensuring radio silence on the League's part. His plans wouldn’t be ruined by other obligations. Your importance surpassed theirs, tenfold. He couldn’t (nor did he ever wish to) fathom a world without your radiance.

♡ You were everything he never thought he'd find.

♡ This man will absolutely take you for a fancy dinner (PLF funded, of course), ending the night with a kiss beneath the twinkling stars - the ones he can't help but compare you to. In truth, the thousands upon thousands visible amid the partial cloud-cover, paled when judged against you.

♡ How did he ever win over such an otherworldly beauty?

♡ That thought was reoccurring. But it didn’t matter. It never would.

♡ "Tu sei un dono del cielo, e tu sei tutto quella che voglio."   *You are a gift from Heaven, and you are everything I want.

♡ "Voglio passare la mia vita con te."    *I want to spend my life with you.

♡ Get used to these more intimate phrases he's sprinkling into conversation. He might slip up a few times, but you'll never realise. And what does it really matter? The sentiment speaks with far greater clarity.

♡ He's a romantic at heart.

Katsuki Bakugou:

♡ Oh, your heart yearned for Bakugou's love. You couldn’t really understand it, given his attitude and that apparent God Complex. Unfortunately though, your rationale was side-lined in favour of this pursuit.

♡ Valentine's seemed like the perfect time to expose your feelings, but you just didn’t know what to do! While you stared at him a lot, you didn’t hang around the Bakusquad, and you couldn’t recall ever hearing him confess to liking something.

♡ That's where Midoriya came in. He was the ultimate treasury of information about the explosion boy. You just knew he'd have the answers. You spoke for a while in the dormitory's common room, Midoriya's notebooks spread across the table. By nightfall, you'd acquired knowledge of practically every inch of Bakugou's life. You wondered for a moment if that was a breach of privacy, but…oops?

♡ You settled on Mountain Climbing gear - Mountain Climbing, as Midoriya explained, was a favourite activity of Bakugou's. He gave you measurements, just in case you bought any clothes (how the hell did even know them), and walked you through the things Bakugou definitely wouldn’t turn down.

♡ It was gonna be a bit costly - good thing this boy was so intoxicating. 

♡ It sort of felt like trying to buy his affections, but even if he issued a fierce rejection, you'd still insist he take all the stuff. You didn’t hike, so what use would it be to you?

♡ You were determined to show your love, to prove you'd be his perfect match, far worthier than anyone else!

♡ When you'd collected everything (and thrown in a few spicy chocolate treats), you wrapped it up and steeled your nerves. The day of reckoning was fast approaching, like a herald of ruin. This could make-or-break your heart.

♡ Midoriya gave you lots of encouragement, but every time you saw Bakugou in the interlude, your smile faltered. What if he really did reject you? What if he hated you?

♡ Bakugou being Bakugou, he received letters and confessions of love on a daily basis. He never reciprocated, and he always complained - they were too desperate, too annoying, too…anything! He just seemed to hate love - the very concept! It was disheartening.

♡ But you wouldn’t give up.

♡ You wanted this boy, more than life itself. You wanted to be the one he held dear, the one he protected and grew jealous over.

♡ It was a fluffy fantasy. But hopefully, hopefully, reality would prove sweeter.

♡ The morning of Valentine's descended, and you caught him just before school. He would've walked with Kirishima, but said boy dismissed himself with a smile. He'd been clued in, you supposed.

♡ Bakugou tried his usual 'What the fuck do you want? How dare you address me directly, you piece of shit idiot', but you weren't letting him. He hadn't even realised the date, but when his gaze drifted to the items in your hand, he froze.

♡ You were in the middle of "IgotyouthisandIhopeyou'llbemyvalentinebutIreallydon'tknowit'sfinetorejectmeIjustwantedyoutoknow-".

♡ You saw the blush climbing his neck. You saw it settle on his cheeks. You heard him stutter, for the very first time. He was struggling under his contradictory thoughts of: My long-time crush actually feels the same way! And, I have a fucking reputation!

♡ You took pity on him, swallowing down all your nerves and stepping forward.

♡ You kissed him.

[lovethisletters]

The Bat & The Lantern || Batman x Reader

Hi, lovely! I had so much fun writing this (I'm not gonna lie, I was quite nervous at first, since I don't know that much about the whole green lantern universe, but guess it turned out...ok?) so I hope you enjoy it as much as I did and to be honest, I would like to revisit this story again in the future!

Little disclaimer: The reader is a Human green lantern but similar to star-lord she lived the majority of her life in space, that's why she's so oblivious as to whom Batman is, also this takes place during Dick Grayson early years as robin (12-13).

Word count: 2233!!!

Summary: Reader is a new member of the Justice League...but Batman doesn't seem too happy about it.

Keys: Y/S/N: Your Superhero Name | Y/N: Your (real) Name.

Hal Jordan was your friend since you joined the green lanterns (which it was barely 3 or 4 years ago)

Basically...you were "new"

But that didn't stop your fellow green lanterns (?) From seeing all your potential.

Everyone is convinced that with the right training and perseverance, you will become one of the greatest green lanterns of all time.

So, it didn't take long before you proved yourself to be capable enough to join the big leagues.

More specifically, The Justice League.

Hal was the one to introduce you to his companions.

The Amazonian, the human looking alien, the speedster, the other Alien not so human looking, the half robot; everyone was so nice to you since they met you.

Everyone except...The grumpy bat.

When you first introduced yourself, he didn't even bother to be as welcoming as the others.

He just stood there, looking all big and serious that you almost thought it was a statue or the poor guy had catatonic lapses or was way too shy or socially awkward to approach you.

You felt bad, so you approached him instead.

—Hi! I'm Y/S/N...—You said enthusiastically before being abruptly interrupted.

—I know, I heard your introduction already—His voice so devoid of any kind of emotion that you may as well had been talking to a machine.

"Scanning complete, Batman"

A voice inside his cowl informed him, it sounded like an older man with a British accent.

—Thank you, I'll check it later.

That’s when it hit you…the reason why he was watching you so intensely and standing so incredibly still: He was scanning you.

Fucking. Son. Of. A. Bitch.

You stayed there, your face paralyzed with surprise and anger, without knowing very well what to answer; you didn't want to cause a scene on your first day, but this man was just so rude; That is not an appropriate way to receive a new member. yes, it is normal to have suspicions, but you would appreciate if he had the decency to let his suspicions be known when you weren't present.

—she just introduced herself and already on with the paranoic behavior, Bats? seriously? —Hal stepped in your defense.

—this is a routine procedure; I'm just being cautious.

—He was like that at the beginning with all of us too, don’t worry he’ll warm up to you in no time—Wonder woman whispered in your ear after watching your uncomfortable expression.

Ultimatedly you decided to listen to the amazonian and let that one slide, “is normal to be wary of new things anyways” you repeated yourself.

As the months passed you have grown quite frustrated. Between all the missions and meetings even though you felt your relationship with the rest of the team grow closer and they began to trust you and respect you; your relationship with the Batman stayed pretty much the same.

Yes, there was a bit of progress….a bit.

He was bit more talkative to you, a bit more “friendly”, a bit more trusting.

But it was always just a bit never actually fully a teammate to you, your relationship felt more like distant coworkers.

At the beginning it didn’t worry you too much, until your lack of communication started to mess with your performance in the missions, sometimes something completely bizarre and unexpected would happen and because both of you didn’t know each other very well, the mission would take the double amount of time to resolve since you couldn’t coordinate at all.

One time he almost ran you over with his batwing…

The whole thing was kinda funny looking back on it but at the time you were furious (rightfully so)

In his defense, he didn’t knew you were there…I mean…you basically where standing in his parking spot (not that you knew there was such a thing, most members could fly or at least jump really high, so you kinda always forgot he couldn’t…and to be honest you didn’t know his exact powers)

—Sorry—was all he said as he got out of the strangely shaped flying vehicle and directed only one glance at you to make sure you where ok before entering the building, always maintaining that characteristic calm and cold demeanor.

One day you entered the hall of justice earlier than usual only to find an unexpected guest sitting in one of the empty chairs his gaze fixated on a book, he was wearing a rather colorful suit of some sort matching his green mask, then you realized when you were close enough…he was a C H I L D.

You panicked, why was a child here? Is he some sort of mini spy? How was he able to get through the security system?  Did he touch anything dangerous?

This and many more questions ran through your mind, the child noticed you were looking at him and only gave a polite nod as a greeting before returning his attention to his book.

Perhaps a school trip that you weren’t aware of was taking place and this kid strayed from his class? Perhaps he was looking for one of your teammates to ask for a photo and got lost and decided to wait here for his teacher? That will explain why everyone wasn’t here in the meetings room, perhaps they were busy giving the (hypothetical) group of children a tour?

—Hey kiddo! Are you lost? —you began the conversation in a friendly tone before kneeling down a little in order to appear less imposing…after all he was a child you didn’t wanna scare him.

He looked at you so incredulously.

You could almost hear him think “ma’am wtf are you doing???” through his expressions.

—What’s your name?

—Ummm…uh…Robin?­—He spoke like it was something obvious  while signaling the “R” symbol on his chest.

—Robin, uh? What a pretty name! tell me Robin…why are you here? Are you lost?

Poor boy he was so confused, you didn’t know who he was? Didn’t any of the members told you about him? And more importantly…Why where you talking to him like if he was a 5-year-old?

—No, ma’am…I’m just waiting for Batman.

“Batman? Was he a fan of Batman of all superheroes?”  It surprised you a bit, usually kids tend to like superman or wonder woman more since they are nicer and charismatic, and Batman was the opposite.

—Sorry Kiddo, I don’t think he’s one for photos, perhaps you could ask the others some other time! ­— you began explaining trying to dissuade the kid while guiding him towards the exit.

—He’s not here for photos—smooth as ever…the Bat was behind you.

—He’s my sidekick.

Your jaw dropped, a sidekick? He’s a CHILD! You knew superheroes had sidekicks, but you never knew they were that young!

Before you could even begin to protest, Batman ignored you, looking down at the child and instructing him to collect his things.

—Hurry, you’ll be late for class again. — He said before disappearing behind the door that led to his parking spot.

Robin quickly followed, hanging his backpack over his shoulder before stopping in his tracks directing an apologetic smile towards you and saying:

—Don’t worry miss, I can take care of myself! — He must have noticed the concern on your face before leaving.

Since that day your routine changed.

You would wake up earlier, many times you’ll be the first to arrive to the Hall of justice, and even have breakfast flying on your way there all for one thing: Robin.

Once you learned he was Batman’s sidekick you couldn’t help but worry over that poor child, “what if he gets hurt? Is he eating/sleeping/resting properly?” you just couldn’t help yourself.

At first it was just checking on the kid by just…seeing him in the morning and greeting him casually but there were times he wasn’t there, and you would panic internally and there was no other way to calm your anxiety until you would ask the Bat about the child.

He would always replay shortly: “He’s at home” “He’s at school” “He’s busy” and your conversations always would end there.

One day that Robin was there however, instead of your usual ‘greeting nod’ he started talking to you.

He asked you all sorts of things (that weren’t compromising to your real identity ofc) “What’s your favorite color?” “What music do you like?” “What’s your favorite movie?”

And it started from there.

The conversations with Robin grew not only more frequent but also more personal (as personal as someone with a superhero lifestyle can be), to the point it had become a routine for you to come early and talk to the boy, sometimes you had breakfast together or even helped him with his homework before the Bat would take him to school.

Perhaps it was because you didn’t have many acquittances here on earth, but Robin became family to you.

And family takes care of each other.

It had been a rather difficult and spontaneous mission; Lex Luthor was starting to act a little bit fishy (more than usual) using his connections and money Luthor had been acquiring/robbing very specifically concerning items all over the US, his next objectives: a Radion sample being investigated in a secret laboratory in Star city and a Dionesium sample...contained in the Wayne tower laboratories...

The team decided to split to put a stop to Luthor’s minions and his plan.

The Bat insisted the rest of the team should go to Star city, telling them that he and Robin could handle it, but everyone was immediately against it: Luthor had already collected relatively powerful items and being the intelligent motherfucker he is, probably transformed some of those items to give to his goon’s so they might have a chance in harming any of the members if they were to interfere.

Ultimately, the team agreed you and cyborg would accompany them to Wayne Tower.

Robin was stoked, he would get the opportunity to fight alongside you! But Batman…not so much…he kept trying to lose the two of you on the way there; fortunately, cyborg put a tracker on the batwing, he wasn’t going to get rid of you that easy.

Upon your arrival, you could spot several men (armed like if they were military but with a much more upgraded equipment) already leaving the building, carrying two tanks (presumably full of that substance Martian Manhunter had mentioned before) and heading to a truck without any plates.

Long story short: you organized a plan as quickly as you could but…something went wrong…Cyborg and Robin were supposed to create a distraction while the two of you recovered the tanks without damaging them, since the properties of the substance within remained unknown.

But something went wrong: You and Batman failed to coordinate and so you were spotted by the henchmen, they started aiming their weapons at the two of you, initially you thought a force field generated by the power of your ring would be enough...oh no, honey, you’re so wrong.

Sonic weapons were able to not only break your concentration quickly, but also made your ears bleed! One after another you kept re-making the fields, but the sonic waves so deathly and loud just kept coming.

You don’t know how but you were able to stand your ground long enough to make cover not only for Batman and allow him to get the tanks back safely but also for the rest of your team and give them a slight advantage to take down as many of Luthor’s minions as they could.

And then…you passed out.

You woke up at the infirmary in Justice Hall, your head a mess and wrapped in bandages, you had broken your arm because that shit inside a cast too for some reason…and…your ring was gone!

Panic!

No, never mind it was on the nightstand next to the chair in which batman was sitting on.

WAIT…next to the chair in which batman was sitting on?!?!?!

—How are you feeling? — you didn’t know if it was him suddenly talking or the genuine concern on his voice that startle you, so you just nodded slightly while he approached you.

—Can you hear me properly? —Surprisingly you could, but you still were a bit taken aback by his presence.

—I…­—Before responding your brain reminded you of the fact that you didn’t had your ring on, hence your secret identity was revealed to Batman. Your hands practically flew to your face in embarrassment. You didn’t know why but without your mask you felt naked and vulnerable.

He noticed.

His gaze studying your pained expression before he let out a small sigh.

—I came here…to thank you…and apologize— hesitantly his hands moved to the back of his cowl.

—You not only put yourself in danger for Cyborg and Robin, but you also concerned yourself with my safety even when it was probably my fault that we ended up in that situation —He admitted pressing a hidden button loosing up his cowl before finally taking it off and reviling the most gorgeous man you’ve had ever lay your eyes on.

—And for that I thank you and apologize…sincerely—Such sudden action left you speechless for a while, Batman not only had thanked you and apologized, but he had entrusted his identity to you.

—I think-…I think we started with the wrong foot; you know? —You finally were able to respond, breaking the silence that filled the room and surprising him slightly by your sudden declaration.

—Let’s start again…Hi! I’m Y/N—You imitated the same friendly voice tone you first used to talk to him.

The lips on the man in front of you curved forming a subtle almost imperceptive grin.

—Hello, Y/N, I’m Bruce…Bruce Wayne.

 ♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤

 WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! IT. TOOK. SO. LONG. Sorry :c

I had a bunch of ideas for this request but ended up going with this one since I wanted to expand on their beginning, I’m still trying to figure out a way to write Bruce and this was my first attempt, so…sorry if it was…bad :c I’ll try harder next time!!!

Any errors you might see, please let me know; English is not my first language so I’m trying to improve.

In the final scene I wanted Bruce to show he recognized the Reader as an equal so that’s why he took it off…still I felt like it could improve.

 ♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤

I will forever thank you if you go check out my other profile: @aileysmirnov​ where I post things about my OC: edits, one-shots, imagines, art, etc. If you like Greek mythology and the bat family maybe you would get to be a little bit fond of her as much as I am!

Anyway! Thank you for reading!

[hopekiedokie]

The Dreaded First Day of School (single dad!jimin)

SUMMARY: On his son’s first day of school, we learn that the badass, leather jacket wearer, and tattoo clad single dad might not be so tough after all. Or maybe, his soft little son isn’t as pure as he ought to be. (In short, Jimin’s baby is growing up and he’s not prepared for it.)

GENRE: fluff, humour, maybe angst if you squint hard enough

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

NOTES: So Jimin isn’t supposed to be a mean or awful dad here. He’s just still not totally equipped to be one even after five years now. This might become a mini series with Ms. Y/n being Haneul’s teacher in the future. Who knows? Also, the photo is not mine.

POSTED ON: 26th March, 2021

What the actual heck is this??

Jimin has seen a lot of crazy things in his life but this, whatever is happening in front of him, is something he truly cannot believe.

You see, today is his son's, Haneul, dreaded™ first day of school.

The kid was up until 3 in the morning, crying his eyes out. He kept begging Jimin to not let him go, saying things like “I’ve been a good boy.” or “I don’t know those people.” or “Please, daddy, I don’t want to go!”

Half of the time, Jimin didn’t even understand what he was saying because he was crying so much.

The worst part is that Jimin had half the mind to give in to all these excuses and to just let Haneul attend school next year.

Contrary to popular belief though, he’s not entirely an awful example of what a father should be. In general, yes, he’s done a lot of questionable things. But in particular, as a father, he does like allowing his son to eat whatever junk food he wants, watch whatever is on the tv, or letting him up way past his bedtime (as late as 4am).

BUT he still has a smidge of decency left in his being and he actually wants his son to grow up decent.

(Which for the most part, is going along fine since Haneul is probably one of the sweetest and softest kids he’s ever seen. How though? Jimin has no idea.)

So with tired eyes and barely 4 hours of sleep, he dragged his son to school.

Even during the drive, Haneul was still adamant about skipping school and all the while, he kept using his cute crying voice that ALWAYS turns Jimin into mush.

Not this time though.

“It’s gonna be okay. You’ll meet a lot of friends and you’ll play with them! It’s gonna be fun, I promise.” This is one of the many things he said to lift his son’s spirits up.

All his efforts are still not enough to pacify Haneul as the tiny boy kept throwing a tantrum. Jimin even had to carry him after getting out of the car and during the entire walk to the school gymnasium where the assembly is, Haneul held his arms tightly around his neck.

To be completely honest, Jimin thought that it would be embarrassing but actually, he found the entire thing quite endearing.

Maybe it’s the narcissistic prick inside him that’s talking but seeing and hearing his son say that he’d rather spend time with him makes him feel like perhaps he’s not so bad of a dad after all.

Which brings us to the present.

To reiterate, Jimin cannot believe what’s happening.

One moment, his son is clinging to him for his dear life, then in an instant, he watched him grow up right in front of him.

In the worst way possible.

Not to be dramatic, but it was like watching his entire life slip away from his grasp.

The beginning of the end started when Jimin pointed to these three boys and insisted Haneul to introduce himself.

Boy, oh boy, oh boy, BIG mistake on his behalf!

He probably should’ve pushed his son to the “nerdier” looking kids. That would’ve helped him in the long run, as well!

At first, he watched in awe from a far as Haneul progressively turned less tense and more comfortable with those boys. They started with cute small smiles but it quickly turned into wildly animated gestures while comparing their Paw Patrol themed trolley backpacks.

“That’s my boy! Already making friends and it’s only been 5 minutes.” Jimin proudly thought to himself.

Okay, maybe Haneul is going to be fine. All that crying thinking Jimin did the entire night was for nothing! His cute soft son can totally do this.

Now, Jimin’s life altering moment comes. The time to actually say goodbye is here.

A teacher announces that they’re taking the kids to their respective classrooms and even if they cry or make a huge fit about it, the parents or guardians should stay where they are. They should refrain from “babying” their child.

Alright, now’s the time for Haneul to cry again! There’s no way he doesn’t cry even just a tiny bit…....Right?

Jimin makes eye contact with Haneul and, without any second thoughts, proudly mouths “I love you” while pointing to him.

Normally, Haneul is quick to return the gesture. Heck, he even goes as far as drawing a huge heart with his tiny pointer fingers!

But today, he doesn’t do that. No no no no no!

Instead, Haneul discreetly looks around him to check if anyone is watching him then……….

He shakes his head towards his father then faces back to his new friends.

Gasp! What is this???

Jimin has never felt so betrayed in his entire life! Not to mention, by his OWN son too.

This irks him so much.

So much so that he stands and gets close to his son, opposing the teacher’s instruction of letting their kids be.

Bitch, no. He’s getting his “I love you” from his son no matter what.

As he walks towards Haneul, it’s apparent that the kid had somehow done a complete 180 from his mood 10 minutes ago.

How can this be? How is he suddenly so cold towards his own man?

When he finally gets to Haneul, he literally, no joke, had to call his name 4 times to get his attention. The actual audacity of this kid!

“Hey, Haneul. Daddy’s gotta go!” Jimin says with his world famous “no eyes” smile.

Haneul’s face drops.

Bingo!

This kid is about to get a huge reality check or so Jimin thinks he is.

He’s waiting for any signs of despair, a sniff or maybe some glassy eyes but nothing happens.

Come on, where are the water works?? Where are all the hugs and kisses???

Haneul is like (・-・) to Jimin.

O-okay…….

“...”

“...”

“...”

Nothing???

“There’s a lot of scary strangers here……”

Okay, so that was really mean for Jimin to say bUT HE ONLY WANTS TO SQUEEZE EVEN JUST A DROP OF AFFECTION FROM HIM. Sue him!

Haneul finally opens his mouth.

Jimin quietly anticipates his son to return to his warm and loving self that he still doesn’t quite know where he gets from...

“So what, daddy? I’m a big boy! I don’t need you.”

(´⊙ω⊙`)?！

Uhm exCusE mE, but W H A T??

Needless to say, that statement hurt Jimin like a buttcheek on a stick.

However, he’s not gonna break away from his badass persona in front of all these people, especially around these little shits that they call “children”. He has an ✨𝓪𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓽𝓲𝓬✨ that he strictly abides to, people!

And frankly, he’s not gonna let his son walk all over him.

So without any word, Jimin leans down to give Haneul a kiss. If he’s not gonna receive any affection through words then fine! He’s gonna get it through a different way.

Jimin’s lips are almost in contact with Haneul’s plush cheeks. They are literally a hair away that Jimin can feel the heat emitting from it but all at once, that heat is gone.

You know why?

Because Haneul is quick to do that matrix shit where he bends his back to avoid his father’s lips.

Then he saunters away, leaving Jimin hanging.

(๑´⊙ ₃ ⊙`๑)

Jimin calls him a couple times but again, he did not look back.

S I G H

Alright, then. He doesn’t normally raise his voice towards his son (nor disciplines him tbh) but oh boy, oh boy! This kid is practically asking for it.

He doesn’t give a fuck if he’s five, no son of his is gonna be allowed to treat him like that!

“HANEUL! GET BACK HERE. NOW!”

Well, that got him looking back towards his father.

Jimin points in front of him to which Haneul begrudgingly complies after taking a peek from his new found friends.

Haneul hears the other boys snicker behind him as he trudges towards his slightly pissed father.

When he’s standing right where his father wants him, Jimin leans his cheek down again for him to kiss.

Now, the other boys are blatantly laughing at him.

Maaaaaaaan. He can’t be a laughing stock on his first day of school! He needs to be as cool as his daddy!

As Haneul contemplates his life choices, Jimin patiently waits for his kiss. There’s no way Haneul is gonna reject him for the third time in a row within a span of two minutes!

Within a few seconds, he feels Haneul’s lidol babie hand against his cheek.

O M G

How 😭 cute 😭 is 😭 this 😭 ??

This has got to be one the softest moments they have shared together. AND it’s in front of all these people!

Take that Namjoon hyung for saying I can’t be a gentle and tender loving father!

Jimin is about to place a hand over Haneul’s small one to caress it but then Haneul pushes his face away.

“Just go, daddy!”

Before Jimin is able to process what just transpired, Haneul is already strutting towards the other kids, feeling like a king or a boss for bitch-slapping his own father.

This little fUqer!!!

Who does he think he is to act like this towards Jimin iN FRONT OF OTHER PEOPLE??

This is what happens when he lets his son spend too much alone time with his Uncle Jungkook and Uncle Taehyung.

But to be fair, Haneul is still Jimin’s son at the end of the day so…..like, maybe he shouldn’t be too surprised??

Yet, still, he truly cannot believe it.

All it took was 5 minutes and a rowdy set of friends, then his kid has grown up.

He apparently “doesn’t need him” anymore, according to the kid.

To think that Jimin got up early to make him those cute bento boxes. He even specifically made them look like various pokemons that Haneul fancies!

Wow. Just. WOW.

Excuse him, but he’s just gonna get in his car and crank up “Slipping Through My Fingers” by ABBA while he ugly sobs.

[senju-sekhmet]

The Leash (Part 11)

Summary: Your rescue was supposed to be as smooth as these missions can be. However very quickly, Tobirama faces off against an enemy that has no form, color or smell - and time is running short, very fast. Unless he figures out what truly holds you hostage, your life will be lost. Warnings (for the finished work): Blood, illness, descriptions of heavy injuries and graphic violence, torture (both depicted and implied), needles, morally grey territory, human experimentation, panic attacks, character death, angst with a happy ending ~6000 words (this chapter, finished work: 80.000) Previous: Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6; Part 7; Part 8; Part 9; Part 10 Read on AO3!   Disclaimer below the cut!

DISCLAIMER! Part two of the finale! More to go after this though as you can tell, stay with me <3 Other than that: enjoy my very self indulgent work, filled with my own headcanons and angst galore. Let me know what you think and thank you so much for reading!!!! ________

Tobirama was nothing if not dutiful. The time for your last dose had come faster than he wanted to. And he’d be there to administer it. He made sure to look more presentable before he entered your rooming using the hiraishin seal. What for, he didn’t know anymore. It didn’t matter, did it? Failure was certain, anyway. Perhaps it was for decency. Or maybe he needed the moment to recover. He was too numb. Spent from the breakdown. The short minute he spent at your shared home - that already screamed mute guilt at him - to wash off his smeared facial paint and reapply it before teleporting to your room.

You were in your bed, perfectly still. At peace. Of course. You couldn’t take any withdrawal anymore, at all - your body was too exhausted. To think this was how you’d pass - a shadow of your former self, at the limit of what you could take, physically, in every sense. You had fought a gruesome, cruel battle, gave it your everything, and now? Now, it was all for nothing. The sorrow flared again in a most painful way.

You won’t even hear his words.

He wouldn't even get to say goodbye.

Dazedly he strode closer to your bed, silently wondering where Hashirama was. He’d surely be here in a moment, he barely left your side. Your condition wouldn’t allow it - although with the seals covering your pale skin, you were stable, at least stable enough to allow him to tend to other duties, briefly. So long as the withdrawal didn’t kick in. He seized the moment while it presented itself like this.

He wouldn’t get another.

His eyes prickled again as he shuffled closer to your side. Briefly, he sat down on the side of your bed like he always had done when nobody else was around - but soon, the ache in his chest pulled him down onto his knees on the floor, by your side. The tightness inside was yet expanding and stealing his breath viciously as he wheezed past his clenched teeth for more air. Looking at you - your content face, the way your chest moved evenly albeit too fast - weak maybe but alive - it was tearing him apart. He didn’t know how to even exist with the grief that was seizing him faster than a fire ate up dry parchment.

His shaking hands reached for your cold, slender one, enclosing it in his, slowly bringing it to his face as he nearly buckled over it. Already, his chakra expanded to cover your network gently, coating it, wrapping around it in an utmost tender way. Tears welled just as the sorrow overflowed inside of him, like a barrel that was full and kept being poured in. The moment was sheer agony and yet he didn’t want it to end - to let go - because that would be the end.

Very tenderly he increased the connection to examine you, briefly - you still wouldn’t respond, but that was normal. You hadn’t woken in a couple of days during what was your lucid interval because you simply were too strained - Tobirama wondered if you could at all, really. The exhaustion was too great. Still, his examination found you were no better nor worse than the last time he performed it - your body was heavily impacted by each time the withdrawal had wreaked havoc inside, particularly your lung and heart were affected. At the same time the seals steadily streamed their support into you to keep your blood pressure up, your airways free, your attacked organs functioning. Not to mention the many wounds from the torture that had not been healing as you had been fighting for dear life. There wasn’t a part of you that wasn’t affected in some way, damaged, dysfunctional - critical, but not so that it couldn’t be helped.

It was, just like they had judged, a narrow edge they had been teetering.

And now it would tilt. The delicate balance they had managed to uphold, all they had done-

“I’m so sorry,” Tobirama finally spoke, his voice but a broken, haunted whisper. The baritone wrecked by guilt and sorrow alike, entirely unlike him and yet with an utter tenderness, reserved for you and your ears only. “I’m so sorry, Y/n.” Tears still flowed. “I’ve given it my all, my love. I couldn’t do it. I had it - I thought I had it - but in the last moment, it eluded me,” he continued, slowly cracking more by his sobs. “My failure will cost you everything,” he was practically wheezing now. “And I will never forgive myself for it. The void inside of me won’t ever be filled.” He paused for a moment to take a few shaking breaths, stroking over your forearm as he still cradled your hand to his face, rocking back and forth on his knees now. 

“Please, forgive me, for I’ll never be able to.”

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he heard the door being opened. He needn’t tune into his sensory skills to know it was Hashirama, only his brother carried the gargantuan aura about himself.

His steps froze the moment he realised Tobirama’s pose. “What are you doing?”

Tobirama didn’t move nor open his eyes. He didn’t want to break the connection with you. He’d savour every single second that he had left with you. With a numb voice, he explained the result of his last experiment to his brother, his final findings, their implications.

During it, Hashirama got on his knees by Tobirama’s side, an arm flung around him in comfort. ________

The clinking of metal armor echoed through the corridors of the interrogation and information headquarters. Two fully equipped shinobi made their way down the hall. One of them carried an odachi in front of his chest with both hands - sheathed. For now. They were given respectful nods and salutes where they passed members of the unit, but nobody questioned their purpose nor their destination. After a left turn they were greeted by a burly man with stern, pale eyes and two more members of the unit, all dressed in a black uniforms. Only curt greetings were exchanged before they descended the winding staircase down into the cell block. 

Their appearance gathered attention immediately. A rumble clattered through the bleak prison, growing with each cell block they passed. They needn’t go far. It was the middle cell block where they intended to go.

The prisoner’s gaze swept up as the group of five halted in front of his cell. Recognition flashed in his gaze, followed by laughter that carried an eerie sense of finality. “It happened, finally?”

Nobody answered. The burly man unlocked the door to enter with his two subordinates. The prisoner flashed a toothy grin, aimed precisely at one of the armed shinobi, namely the one carrying the odachi. “I’ve won,” he sneered, “I’ve fucking won, I’ve told you!” - his voice was a hoarse shout in the end, strained by the pain of a broken jaw. The three interrogators made quick work of the chains that held him tightly wrapped in the middle of the cell to ready him for transportation, arms still secured and legs only allowed a minimum of movement to walk.

The two armored shinobi watched them entirely impassively, showing not even a shred of emotion. 

The prisoner’s manic laughter echoed off the prison’s wall forlornly, hauntingly. An utterly broken sound of defiance only a certain kind person would have.

A shrill scream broke through the dismal setting. “You fucking idiot! I hope you rot in hell!” - the woman of the far end. Nobody paid attention to her.

The group made their way down the corridor that was only illuminated by a few candles along the way, passing the stairway they had taken down. The prisoner kept chattering. His voice carried a slight tremble now, “How did she die? Tell me, come on. I’ve never actually seen it, but I learned it’s fucking gruesome in the end,” his eyes were alight with sick pleasure.

The shinobi dressed in blue battle armor adorned with a white fur collar gripped the odachi so hard his knuckles turned white. His back was turned towards the prisoner, he couldn’t see the way his face scrunched under his happuri.

Nobody answered him.

He kept jabbering along incessantly. At some point the tone had taken on a perfectly fine frantic edge. Blubbering, almost, to himself. Eventually, they reached a door the burly man unlocked. The room beyond was dark but lit up as soon as they entered. No windows were inside, just like in the prison block, but no seals adorned these walls. This room was entirely bleak save for dark, crimson stains on the stone floor in the middle of the room.

The subordinates dragged the prisoner into that very center. With an ungraceful kick to the back of his knees, he was brought to kneel. The two shinobi stood in front of him and the man in the red armor crossed his arms. His expression was sorrowful, moved. But the taut line of his jaw and the coldness of his gaze betrayed no lightness about this situation.

“Zenji of the Stone Village,” he began somberly as the three interrogation unit members lined up behind their prisoner who now was wheezing on a low tune, his stare fixated on the harbinger of his fate. “The actions of your unit have endangered our borders, the civilians who live there and ultimately,” he paused meaningfully to take a deep breath - the stone cold tone cracked a little, pained lines wrinkled his smooth face. “Cost the life of one of our own.”

Immediately, Zenji’s mien lit up. He grinned widely, but he did not give the red-armored man another glance. Instead, his gaze was trained on the figure in blue, whose scarlet eyes were murderous as he stared him down, face framed by his happuri and finely applied facial paint. He looked spotless. Zenji cackled again.

“I do not wish for there to be more bloodshed,” the shinobi continued, entirely unperturbed by the behavior of the prisoner. “However our village can and will not condone these actions with idleness nor continue to nurture an enemy we cannot possibly ever release. Your kage,” Zenji’s head snapped back to the red-armored man momentarily. “Made clear he is not interested in an exchange of prisoners.”

The room became completely silent.

“I bear no revenge nor joy, but as the Hokage of Konoha, I’m here to tell you that you have been sentenced to death.”

The blue armored man stepped closer now, odachi still tightly clasped, but the man in the red armor raised his hand slightly, prompting him to stop and give him an irritated stare.

Zenji’s ragged breaths came wheezing so loudly they echoed off the walls as his wide eyes stared at the man, motionless besides the fight for oxygen.

Hashirama regarded the prisoner with the same cold gaze he had been wearing all the time. “Do you wish to speak one last time?”

That was his clue. Zenji threw his head back to release a long groan, each breath transforming more and more into a chuckle. A disconcerting lull settled over the room as it died down with a sense of finality and his eyes locked with Tobirama’s. “Oh, I fucking do,” he began, grinning widely. “To him. It’s my last wish.”

Tobirama’s eyes narrowed and he clenched his teeth, giving no verbal answer. Hashirama did instead. “Very well.”

Zenji cocked his head. “Tell me, how did you fail? What part of the leash didn’t you copy? I want to know.”

Tobirama’s eyes closed slowly and his jaw worked visibly. “Anjia…,” he began slowly, his deep voice so low it was barely more than a strained growl.

“Answer him, Tobirama. A dying man’s wish should not be denied.” Hashirama’s tone left no room for discussion.

Tobirama’s eyes opened again to give Zenji a glance of sheer hatred, his nostrils flared, scarlet glare ablaze. He did not even attempt to hide the fury in his voice as he spoke. If he spat the words out any more in fact, they’d be lost in the rage. “I created a leash of my own and tethered Kimi to it. However…,” he worked hard to find the next words, Zenji’s grin widened already, likely in anticipation for the best part of the story, “... it would appear my sealing technique differs from yours, if just slightly.”

The prisoner burst into laughter, Tobirama flinched. The sheathed odachi trembled slightly from the force he held it with. “I fucking knew it! Ah,” he replied when he had gained a grip on himself again. “The seal. The master’s finishing touch. Unique, really.” Zenji wriggled his eyebrow in a manner that prompted Tobirama to bare his teeth slightly. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to copy mine. Ha!”

Hashirama cleared his throat. 

But Zenji was not yet finished. “I’m not a liar though, y’know? I keep my promises,” the grin now was sickening. Gloating. Zenji cherished this moment as though he was an actor on a grand stage. Living it to its fullest. “And I promised to tell you everything once Y/n croaked, so here we are.”

Tobirama exhaled a wheezing breath as he stepped closer abruptly, Hashirama’s hand shooting up instantly to lay on his shoulder guard. “Brother, please,” he whispered, turning towards him slightly. Then the cold stare was back on Zenji. “You need not besmirch your Village’s secrets now.”

“Ah, ah,” Zenji sneered, “Why the fuck should I care? I’m as good as dead anyway, and I want to teach Konoha’s best scientist how he could have saved his oh so beloved.” His voice dripped with caustic smugness and Hashirama had to grip Tobirama’s forearm lest his brother shot forward and delivered the sentence just for these words alone.

Tobirama’s expression was one of sheer murder. His teeth were bared and the scarlet gaze alone was ready to kill a man - just like the rest of himself, particularly the large weapon he carried; the same weapon he had used many times before.

Zenji continued to live his show. “Now I needn’t explain the weaving process since you kinda copied it - well fucking done, man - but my seal - ah, let’s see. My seal is relatively simple!” Hashirama’s grip on his brother tightened as he near vibrated with lethal energy still, spurring Zenji to even greater extravagance. “Of course, it was passed down to me by the one who taught me, but I made some modifications,” he drawled lazily, an adventurous glint to his gaze. 

What followed was a detailed explanation about the intricacy and yet simplicity of his own sealing process Tobirama couldn’t stomach anymore - he turned away lest he drove the odachi through the prisoner’s neck on the spot, perhaps. It was impossible to tell in the dim light - the shadow looming over his face hid his expression well and with the happuri, his profile was somewhat obscured. Only the taut stance, the clenched grasp on his weapon were telltale signs of the high-strung situation - a tight coil, ready to lash out any second. 

Zenji didn’t hold back on information about how exactly he performed the seal that made the disruption stick within the leash - everyone else listened quietly. Hashirama’s mien had turned stony throughout it and the three members of the interrogation unit simply watched the man with practiced nonchalance. 

“And that,” Zenjia finished his grand, final play, “is what could’ve saved Y/n. Too fucking bad.” The grin he wore was nothing short of sick. “Maybe I can tell her too, when I’m dead, hm?”, he tilted his head.

Suffocating silence befell the room.

Hashirama cleared his throat. It was time for the execution of judgement, literally. He turned his head towards Tobirama, whose back was turned towards the prisoner at this point. “Very well,” he concluded with a loaded kind of finality.

A few moments of heavy silence later, Tobirama turned around.

His head was tilted downwards slightly, shadows cast over his face.

Then he looked up.

Smirking broadly.

He lowered the odachi that he had clasped so tightly throughout all of the conversation - more like, Zenji’s soliloquy, and stepped yet again closer to the prisoner.

The smirk became smug, and smugness became condescending as skin around his mouth wrinkled in an utterly arrogant way. There was a satisfied, bright glint in his scarlet gaze. “You are without a doubt the dumbest shinobi I’ve ever encountered,” finally, he bared his teeth in a wide grin. “And for that I thank you from the bottom of my heart.” His baritone voice dripped with sarcasm.

Zenji’s expression fell apart. His jaw hung open slightly and his gaze was wide as he tried to process the change of demeanour in who he deemed by now his arch nemesis. “What the fuck?”, he spat out finally when Tobirama didn’t speak again.

He simply clicked his tongue sympathetically and arched both eyebrows. “Y/n is not dead. In fact, thanks to you, she will live.” Both relief and caustic smugness were tangible in the way he worded this, no doubt basking in the moment of figuratively crushing Zenji under his heel. Who still didn’t find the words to answer yet, but Tobirama was more than happy to supply him with more fodder. “Certainly, time was running quite short - almost, imagine, almost - you could’ve won.”

Zenji’s jaw trembled beside the pain that must cause him alongside the rest of him. The man still hadn’t found his words again.

Tobirama wasn’t done with the verbal execution, however. “I truly did not know how to copy your seal after creating my own.” A slow nod, his baritone voice now came rolling smoothly, “And then it occurred to me - why not use your petty thirst for revenge for Y/n? All it’d take was make you believe she died. And here we are,” a smile  spread over his lips again. “You delivered perfectly.” Then, he had the audacity to give Zenji a single pat on the head as though he was praising a dog.

The prisoner recoiled from the touch as though it was scalding hot. “Fuck you!” he screamed from the top of his lungs, nearly tipping over from his kneeling position, had it not been for Ikuro’s hand shooting out to secure him by the shoulder. “Rot in fucking hell, Senju!” he howled, but it was no more than a little bandaid for the hurt pride.

Tobirama already turned around to Hashirama, any trace of smugness or gloating gone from his expression. “I’ll get to work. Thank you, anija,” he dipped his head slightly. Zenji was still shouting profanities at him, but it was no more than a background noise.

Hashirama smiled broadly, much more like himself. “Of course.”

Tobirama turned back to Ikuro and his subordinates. Now, he actually took a slight bow. “And thank you, too. There still is little more to be done, but I’m very grateful for your support.” 

Ikuro had already wrestled an unruly Zenji off of the floor, but the burly man wore a wide grin. “I - no, we will be expecting you. Right, Zenji? Come on, let’s get you back to your compatriots. They’ll be glad to see you again,” he finished with a dangerous chuckle.

The sounds already drowned out as Tobirama initiated the hiraishin seal teleport to the laboratory.

You only had a few hours left.

_______

You were suspended in sweet nothingness.

You had been for a while really, perturbed only by occasional nightmares. They were dim and far away, visions of what had been. Maybe. You weren’t sure anymore. 

It hadn’t been like this before. Before, your world had been on fire. You had been on fire. Being burned from the inside out and yet too powerless to scream out your agony at the world. Something - someone - had chained you up in the nothingness with no company except your torment that you suffered through, over and over again. Until it faded, and the nightmares came. You laughed about those now. Then, all was calm. For a while.

Your reason for going through all this was becoming but an abstract concept.

Until you weren’t even sure anymore what might be happening. Dimly, you remembered your strength leaving you - waking up was getting harder, eventually it was tantamount to the one armed climbing exercises you used to steel yourself with. You actually had been able to pull off something like that?

Tobirama had been by your side every waking second. His face; you’d never forget the expression. Never before had you seen him haunted by distress of this kind while his chakra warmly embraced you, while he comforted you - telling you he was working hard. You had wanted to comfort him in turn, then. He needed it more than you - he hadn’t looked fine. Drawn, worn out.

Unwell. Sick, almost.

Things must be looking very bad, you knew then. It reminded you why you went through all this. But you all were losing the fight, it seemed?

No matter how much you fought, how badly you wanted to - during the phases in which you weren’t suffering from being burned alive nor haunted by nightmares, you couldn’t wake anymore. You wanted to. So badly. But your eyes wouldn’t open and ultimately, the darkness was your lonely repose in which you anxiously waited for the next time the fire began to light up again.

But that had been fading. The fire’s burn was becoming shorter. And your consciousness was slipping more. Sometimes, you thought you felt Tobirama’s presence, but maybe that was wishful thinking.

Eventually it was just you and forlorn nothingness with the occasional nightmare. 

Had you died?

It changed. The fire returned once more - and this time, this time it felt as though you were burning away. Not like before - when it burned you out until someone snuffed out the flames - now, it consumed your very being. It became so great at some point, pain was all you were - nothing besides the scorch of the fire that ate you alive.

You realised then, this must be it - every moment more of you faded and the pain kept on roaring through every single cell of your body. But you - you were becoming duller and duller. You didn’t want to. Not yet - this wasn’t how you were going to go down, was it? Yet the promise of eternal rest after this, all of this pain - it was alluring. After all you’ve been through, was there really a point in returning?

Tobirama would choke you personally if he ever caught on to these thoughts.

But he’s not here, is he? 

You were all alone.

Ready to go. You had fought, you had tried, you had walked the road to hell many times over but eventually even your stamina would forego you.

Except they didn’t let you go. Something - no, someone was holding you back. Any time you were dipping into the part of darkness you just knew there was no returning from, there was a pull. It was forceful, unpleasant - a jolt that might have spurred your heart to keep on beating, your lungs to draw air and each organ of your body to keep on functioning. 

You wanted to reject it.

I don’t want to, anymore. I can’t. I just can’t. It hurts too much. Please.

They didn’t let you.

You wanted to cry.

You were suspended in nothingness by titan chains that forcefully kept you right on your very own pyre while pain was becoming you.

_______

He didn’t want to take any chances. But he didn’t have time, either. Tobirama had no choice but to follow the information Zenji had given as dutifully as possible and hope this was it - that the bottle of leash he had crafted was identical to what Zenji would have produced. Really, it was an all out move. His back was against the proverbial wall while yours lowered more and more into a coffin.

You were going into withdrawal again, and he knew what that meant.

Never before had he woven the leash this fast - frankly working with a larger quantity of base substance seemed to make the whole process easier, and yet at the same time more demanding. Not that he felt any of it, he was focusing entirely on getting this done as fast as possible. Once he was satisfied with the result - enough to give it to you that was, which was about the highest standard he could think of - he teleported straight into your room.

Where his brother was bent over your sweating, and shaking body as his palms glowed lightly.

The rattle of your breath - Tobirama knew it well. He had heard it many times before.

A dying person’s breath.

“I’ve got it,” Tobirama whispered as his heart spasmed alongside your flat rasps for air. Blood rushed in his ears and ice-cold through his veins. He struggled to keep the floor under his feet as he staggered closer swiftly. He wouldn’t lose you now. Not after all this, not with the solution to your demise in his hands.

Hashirama didn’t even answer him; his expression was wrinkled by deep concentration and a fine sheen of sweat had formed on his forehead.

Numbly, Tobirama plucked the vial with Zenji’s - his - leash from his pocket and effortlessly opened your mouth. Your skin was icy to the touch and so pale, were it not for your faint chakra signature, he’d have thought you dead already.

The image branded itself into his mind, scarring him forever.

He poured the leash in and tilted your head back so it’d run down your pharynx, giving your scalp a trembling stroke with his hand.

With prickling eyes, he moved to bend over you, place his palms on you as well to assist his brother in healing - no, in keeping you alive. As soon as he established the connection needed for examining and healing, the reality of your condition rolled over him like a boulder. Your body’s reaction to the withdrawal was as violent as ever, just like the substance that was causing it. A proverbial bushfire that had spread throughout all of you. Hashirama wasn’t just stabilizing you alongside the seals - he was taking aggressive action to keep you alive. There wasn’t a part of you he wasn’t actively pouring his own chakra in to keep on working. Were it not for him, you’d be long gone already - in his brother’s chakra’s embrace you’d stay alive, barely, so long as he forced your body to keep on going, and going. Tobirama was positive you were well beyond what you could take any more in terms of another person’s chakra. 

The alternative was you dying. 

It was another problem they’d deal with later. Swiftly, he began to assist his brother to split up the efforts evenly and try to keep you alive to the best of his abilities.

The next moments felt like an eternity.

Work. Work already. It was all Tobirama could think of while his chakra bolstered your failing heart to keep it on pumping, wound through your lungs into the tiniest alveoles to clear them of fluid and repair tissue damage so that you might breathe.

Just work.

Agonizingly slowly, the drug was taking effect. Already, your chakra began to clog, freeze - the muting component hit your network exactly like the leash would.

Tobirama thought time and his heart both froze in the next few moments that surely decided your fate.

The withdrawal’s flame died down and fizzled out as though water had been poured over it.

Time was starting again.

He started to breathe once more. Before he realised it, he sank to his knees at the side of your bed. He couldn’t focus any more, he barely felt the wheezes that escaped him as a few heavy sobs wrecked his torso.

He had done it. Finally.

The oppressing feeling of time running out - the rock that had been crushing him was lifted.

But the elevation did not last long.

Reality - the parts that weren’t circling around the fact you were at least not going to die due to a lack of the leash - very quickly yanked him back to the situation at hand. Already, he dragged himself up again to aid Hashirama once more, who had not once broken focus. They had stopped the destructive withdrawal, true enough; but the damages it had wrought were not gone of course. Swiftly he gathered himself to concentrate back on aiding his brother in keeping you alive, really, a task no less dire than before. Rather, it was time to tip the scales into the opposite direction now.

He couldn’t say how long the two of them sat in silence, simply forcing you to keep going by continuously pouring their chakra into you.

He wouldn’t lose you - not now, not after everything you both had gone through.

He wouldn’t let you go.

Bit by bit, your body started to function more and more on its own - requiring less of the forceful aid both brothers were providing. That wasn’t to say you were becoming stable at all - tentatively, Hashirama would nudge Tobirama to withdraw some, only to watch you relapse quickly.

As it was, your condition remained critical.

Some time later, his brother allowed himself a momentary almost-break. Hashirama hummed deeply. “She’s well into chakra overload now,” he announced somberly, gazing at your face. “However we can’t stop yet.”

Tobirama’s attention was still mostly turned inwards and towards you as he did the brunt of the work so his brother could catch a breath. There wasn’t a part of you his chakra wasn’t aiding in some way; all he managed was a brief grunt of agreement.

Effectively, chakra overload wasn’t much different than a late allergic reaction of the body to the procedures a medic nin had performed. The extend of what a patient could take and experienced varied from how well-versed the healer was - and Tobirama knew his brother’s skills to be capable of healing fatal wounds without sending the person into overload - but your system barely had been able to catch a break from the agonizingly long time of capture, torture and what effectively just served to keep you alive for more torture. And then of course, all that had followed back home, in Konoha.

But what they had been doing to you for who knew how long?

That was as good as keeping defying death itself.

Hashirama sighed deeply. “I suppose we have no other choice anyway. The next few hours will be decisive.”

An ice-cold shiver ran down Tobirama’s spine, disrupting his strained focus momentarily. 

Of course. They couldn’t keep on going like this forever - and neither would you endlessly, readily respond to what they did.

Either you’d start pulling your own weight again, or…

Tobirama swallowed heavily.

Silently, Hashirama’s efforts picked up again alongside his own to stabilise you.

_________

Tobirama had thought weaving the leash was about one of the most straining things he had done. But like so often these last few days, he had been wrong - cradling your very life with his proverbial hands was wrecking him a lot more for numerous reasons - the least of which was the exhaustion setting in.

Because if one thing was keeping him going, it was his determination - he wouldn’t, he couldn’t lose you, not now, not after all this.

Slowly, they had begun to lessen the intensity of the aid they provided and watched whether you relapsed into a more severe state or not. If you did, they settled back to the previous level - and waited again. A tedious procedure, but there was no other way.

Eventually, the time you managed without any aid from him or Hashirama had increased substantially - naturally, the seals on your body still were working strongly, though.

Both were now standing next to your bed, an eerie silence had filled the room, save for your flat, strained breaths.

Hashirama spoke first. “I don’t want to say this is over, yet,” he announced somberly. His mien was drawn, tired. His brother had his limits - keeping someone alive for hours pushed even him. Something told Tobirama he still could have kept on going, though. “Though we will watch now. Her overload is very severe. If she makes the next hours well enough…” He trailed off, giving Tobirama what best could be described as a sad glance.

Tobirama didn’t know what he felt anymore. In these last hours he felt just about any kind of extreme emotion - utter heartbreak, loss, sorrow, murderous fury, followed by exhilaration, followed by despair, topped off with numbing focus.

Truth be told, he could sleep while standing at this point. And yet at the same time, he was restless. He knew - he knew, just a bit longer. Just a bit. 

He swallowed heavily. “Alright.” His gaze was locked on your gaunt features still. “We should keep her sedated,” not that he believed for a second you’d be anywhere near waking anytime soon. “There will be no more withdrawal challenges. We’ll keep her chakra locked and use the seals to stabilise her until the overload fades.” Perhaps he was just convincing himself this would work, too.

Hashirama hummed in agreement. “Frankly her weak state may be advantageous. She’s too weak to have much of a too severe reaction now, I believe.”

Tobirama’s gaze flickered momentarily to his brother, then back to you. He hadn’t considered that angle. Then, he sighed deeply. “The irony,” he muttered finally.

A low chuckle was the answer, which irritated Tobirama slightly. However his brother’s gaze bore an honest kind of appreciation he always had a hard time spitting sarcasm at. “Either way, I’m hopeful she’ll make it. You’ve done it. The plan was… daring, but.” He shrugged.

He could only give a curt snort in reply. “I regret not having used my enemy’s pettiness and thirst for revenge for Y/n’s advantage sooner.” The solution had been so obvious when it revealed itself to him in what had been the darkest hour of all this fight. When he had crumbled by your bedside with his brother by his side. He frowned then. “Although it made the show most… credible.”

Hashirama’s mouth formed a thin line again as he nodded. His brother might not have fallen apart like Tobirama did, but his reaction had been just as intense. And just like Tobirama, he had been ready to protect you with any means available. Using his position for a mock execution was nothing difficult. “Now to find a cure.”

Tobirama sighed again and crossed his arms. Luckily, time wouldn’t be pressing him this time. Although he had not spent a single second on the matter, either. “I first will create the leash in such a way Y/n doesn’t need to suffer the psychotropic effects of the base substance anymore.” His baritone voice was firm. With the weight off of his chest, the protectiveness was filling him again. You were not going to suffer any more than you had. And he knew precisely how to make that happen. “It’ll just be medication she has to take regularly.”

Again, his brother hummed affirmatively. “Very well. Even so…,” he frowned then, growing quite stern. “You are going to sleep now. For about a day or three.”

Anger flashed through Tobirama faster than he had truly comprehended the words. “Anija, I will not-”

“Yes. You will.” Hashirama crossed his arms. “You’ve been awake for, what? Forty-eight hours? More? Don’t make me throw you out.”

Tobirama’s voice had risen in volume before he realised it might disturb you, but the ire stewing inside made it near impossible to keep it down. “I most certainly will not before I made the drug more bearable for-”

Something flashed in Hashirama’s eyes. One didn’t need Tobirama’s sensor skills to feel the surge in chakra that his brother emitted - but for him, it was like staring into the sun. Sometimes, it was too much. Like right now.

He yielded with no more than a curt “Alright,” before teleporting to your shared home.

Now, it didn’t feel so forlorn anymore.

[derivativealigner]

Crenny (Craig x Kenny) Blush

Thank you for the prompt! I really needed a break from crenny angst so here’s just a good old-fashioned story where everyone has a good time. I hope you enjoy!

*

What would make Craig Tucker blush?

Kenny had a bad habit of accepting bets without a thought. It was easy money, accepting bets. Do something outrageous, get ten dollars. Who wouldn’t go for it? That could buy groceries! And the reward for causing Craig to be undone was too good to pass up. Thirty dollars for a simple blush.

“That’s kind of unfair,” Stan said after Cartman had laid the bet out. “You should pick someone else so it’s at least doable.”

They were gathered around a table in Kyle’s dorm room, ready to head out to a party. A party where, rumor has it, Craig would sulk in a corner because Clyde had dragged him there and Craig had presumably made a blood pact to always be a wingman.

“Thirty dollars.” Cartman laid three ten-dollar bills on the table, one after the other. “Thirty dollars if you make Craig blush before the party’s over. Come on, Kenny.” He flaunted a bill. “You know you want this. Thirty dollars, Kenny.”

“Stop that.” Kyle snatched the bill and returned it on the table beside the others. “Why are you so obsessed with playing matchmaker? Didn’t you learn anything from the time—”

“I’ll do it,” Kenny said. Obviously. He would’ve done it for five dollars, or for free since it was Craig—not because he had any special feelings for the guy, but just because a blush on that stone-cold face would be a sight to behold. “Throw in twenty more and I’ll blow him under a table.”

“Don’t,” Kyle said when Cartman looked like he just might.

“Yeah,” Stan said. “You can’t play with people’s feelings like that.”

So the bet remained simple: for thirty dollars, make Craig Tucker blush before the end of the night. It was for the best. The added incentive of twenty dollars would’ve had Kenny on his knees, which would force some serious introspection about his sexuality that he’d be happier contemplating outside the realm of a bet. For now, he considered himself a thrill-sexual whose life’s mission was to get a rise out of Craig. For thirty dollars. Only because of the thirty dollars.

And because it’d be a treat to see Craig Tucker reduced to a blushing mess, but really it was for the thirty dollars. The blowjob remained optional.

+

The frat house looked surprisingly nice for a frat house in Boulder, Colorado. A couple drunk girls giggled beside the steps leading to the house, ducked out of view behind a vine-covered lattice. They yelled out giggled greetings as Kenny opened the door to the party, but he was on a mission and no amount of giggling could distract him.

“Where’s Craig?” Cartman asked as soon as the door closed behind them, so Kenny wasn’t the only one invested in this bet.

It would be hard to spot Craig even in a well-lit room full of respectful partygoers, but in a crowd of drunken bastards and flashing lights of too many colors in the otherwise dark room, it was tricky to find a man who didn’t want to be found.

“There.” Stan pointed at a white couch in a moderately secluded area behind a horde of people. “He looks bored.”

“No shit,” Kenny said. Craig had a serious case of RBF, or Resting Bored Face, alongside an even more deadly affliction of being effortlessly handsome. Really it was the perfect combination for the blush of a lifetime; a little pink on those perfectly sculpted cheeks would make anyone’s knees weak.

“Go, Kenny!” Cartman gave a push that only made Kenny stumble. “Thirty dollars, Kenny. Thirty dollars!”

“Shut up. I’m strategizing.”

What could make Tucker blush? He didn’t seem like the type to blush at nudity, so pantsing him was out of the question. Anything quick was unlikely to work against such a calm and restrained person. No, this was an endurance sport. So heavy flirting with a side of groping? Respectfully, of course. No hand on dick allowed.

Yeah, that’d do the trick.

“Okay,” Kenny said. “Keep those dollars ready for me.”

Craig sat on the couch, deliciously detached from the party around him. Surely he wouldn't mind company. Kenny headed through the crowd of people and sidled beside his expressionless target.

“Hi, Craig,” Kenny said with a smile because if someone came up to him with a smile and his name on their lips, he’d already be on the fast track to a red face.

Craig, however, barely turned his head. “Hey.”

Clearly this would not be a straight road to victory. What kind of flirting produced the most blushing, anyway? For Kenny, a compliment would get the job done, so that was his next angle.

“Have I ever told you,” he started with the sultriest voice he could summon, “that you're ridiculously handsome?”

Nothing. No blush or even a vaguely bashful blink. Craig barely even acknowledged Kenny. If the roles had been reversed, at least Kenny would have the common decency to become a blushing mess.

“You haven't,” Craig said.

“Well, you are.” Kenny moved closer. He would get a reaction, no matter what. He nudged Craig’s chin. “Look at me for a second. Just real quick.”

Craig looked. “Why?”

“Because I, uh.” In this closeness, staying focused was not easy. “Just. Your eyes. Nice color.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“And, and!” Kenny booped Craig's nose. “I've never seen anyone with such a powerful nasal… part. Like the bridge. And it's so well-placed, right in the middle.”

He might have been grasping at straws. He was warm and tense and his heart wouldn’t calm down.

“Did you do shrooms?” Craig asked.

“No. I'm just admiring your gorgeousness.” Kenny shimmied closer, smushing their legs together. “If I were gay, I'd let you do whatever you want to me.”

Craig didn't move away. Not that he had any space to move to, but it still stirred something in Kenny's stomach—knowing Craig could’ve gotten up if he didn't find the advances flattering, and yet he stayed right there.

“If you were gay?” Craig asked.

“Yeah.” Kenny dared a hand on Craig's knee. “I'd lay down and let you do me.”

“That makes you a little gay.”

Kenny faltered. “Yeah, well, everyone's a little gay. I'm just saying you could—”

“No, that makes you a little gay. Unless you're only saying it because that fat fuck who's watching us dared you to do this.”

Kenny glanced over at Cartman, who was not being subtle about his giddy voyeurism.

“No, he just, uh.” An unfortunate warmth spread around Kenny’s cheeks, and the only excuse he could think of would only make it worse. “He knows I have a crush on you. That's why he's watching.”

“Oh,” Craig said. No blush, not even in the face of a love confession.

But the difficulty only made it more of a thrill. This was the time to commit, and commit hard.

Kenny rubbed Craig's knee. “Yeah. I have a huge crush on you. Because you don't take any bullshit and I find it really hot.” It wasn't exactly a lie, and Kenny didn't have time to untangle why it was so easy to say these things to Craig.

“And that's why you're touching me?”

Kenny's hand ventured toward the inner thigh. “Am I being too forward?”

Craig put his hand over Kenny's and leaned closer. “No. Go as far as you want to.”

Kenny could barely breathe with that gorgeous face so close to his. “You’re into this?”

“I am. You're kind of handsome yourself.”

Now Kenny's face was properly burning. “Really?”

“Sure, why not.” Craig moved their hands to Kenny's leg instead, to a danger zone that immediately made Kenny's blood rush. “I could take you out someday. Just us, a couple drinks or a movie.”

A movie and perhaps a blowjob in the parking lot. Knees on gravel, hands in hair, a messy scene of desperate—

Kenny blinked. "Wait, are you fucking with me?”

“Are you fucking with me?” Craig took his hand away and left a need in Kenny's body. “Because that'd be messed up.”

“I'm not,” Kenny said, and somehow it was true. “We can go on a date if you want.”

For only a moment, Craig seemed uncertain. “You’re committed to this act, aren’t you?”

Maybe a bit of making out would leave Craig red in the face. Kenny leaned closer. “What if we kiss? Would you believe me then?”

“Only if you're convincing.”

That sounded like permission. Or another dare.

Some might say Kenny was at the whim of his impulses, and when Kenny found himself climbing into Craig's lap and wrapping his arms around his neck, he started to think it might be true.

“I won't get up,” Kenny said, “until your face is bright red.”

Craig's hands landed on Kenny's ass. “Good luck.”

Kenny's heart hammered as he leaned in and he didn't have the restraint to pretend he could take this at any pace. The second their lips touched, Kenny melted into the kiss and pulled Craig closer by the collar. For years, Craig had been a distant fantasy, a gorgeous face teasing Kenny’s dreams, too good to be true. Kenny started moving his hips, rocking into the kiss, then decided he was still only doing it because of the dare. This was only to make Craig blush. And writhe. And put his cock in Kenny's mouth later.

“Ah, fuck,” Kenny moaned into Craig's lips. “Craig.”

If they hadn't been in the middle of possibly watching eyes, this would've been the moment it got serious. A clothes off, cocks out, messily making out kind of serious.

Craig pushed Kenny only enough to force them to part. “You’re not pretending?”

Kenny was about to dive in again, but—

A blush! The tiniest smudge of pink had spread on Craig's face, which made him look so fuckable that ‘a little gay’ was dangerously close to becoming ‘very fucking gay’.

“I guess not.” Kenny brushed his thumb against the pink cheek and admired his handiwork. “You're gorgeous, Tucker. How was I supposed to resist?”

The blush deepened. “So we're really going on a date?”

A date with Craig Tucker? Holding hands and kissing and just being together until sunrise, lips sore from exploring. Kenny’s heart rate climbed at the mere fantasy.

“Yes, please.” He punctuated his words with a quick kiss, and he stayed close as he whispered, “I need to get you alone.”

“Okay,” Craig said, a bit breathless, and it took all of Kenny's willpower not to spend the rest of the party trying to reduce Craig into a blushing mess.

+

Later, Kenny met Cartman on the outskirts of the party.

“I'm going on a date with Craig Tucker,” Kenny said with a smile that just wouldn’t go away. Then he held out a hand, palm up. “And he blushed, so pay up.”

After he had paid for popcorn with Cartman's money, he kissed Craig in the dark theater. Not because of a bet, not for a dare, not for anything other than the need to feel those lips against his again. And later, in the cozy darkness of Craig’s bedroom, he got the blushing mess he had fantasized about long before the bet.

[lavenderwatercolor]

Kylo Ren’s Spy (Kylo Ren x Reader Smut)

Summary: You're a spy for the First Order, and Kylo Ren isn't pleased with your progress.

Warnings: Cursing, smut, dub-con smut. 

Pairing: Kylo Ren x Reader 

Your day had been unbearably long. All of your hours of daylight had been spent faking everything from emotions to information, you were exhausted. You’d planned on having a relaxing evening, you had a bath, bought a new nightdress, and settled down on the couch in front of your fireplace. You were working on your second glass of wine when you were rudely snapped out of your relaxed daze.

“Do you have it?”

Working as a spy for Kylo Ren wasn't an easy job. Not when he would harass you constantly, showing up in your bedroom every night to fuss at you for not getting the information he needed quickly enough. It takes time to gain the trust of people, and he couldn't seem to understand that.

At this point, you were beginning to become angry. Had he no sense of privacy? Did he not respect you enough for that? You didn’t bother moving from the couch, not even looking away from the fire. He didn’t deserve it. If he couldn’t respect your privacy you wouldn’t give him common decency.

“I’ll send word when I do.” You answered dryly, taking the last sip of wine from your cup.

“I don’t pay you to sit around all day.”

“You think I’m sitting around all day?” You scoffed, a bit insulted. You’d spend all fucking day being his rat. And now he had the nerve to call you lazy. “I’m doing my job.”

“Maybe I should redact your pay, maybe that will give you the motivation you need.” After that, he took his helmet off, something he had a habit of doing when he planned on taunting you.

“And what good will that do you?” You looked up at him and shook your head, sneering. “Calm down. I’ll get your information.”

The muscles in his jaws flexed and for a split second, he looked like a spoiled little boy. But he relaxed, so quickly it disturbed you.

“You don’t need to come every day. I don’t need to be watched. I’ll get your information.” You felt like a broken record at that point and you reached over to the small wooden table beside your chair, grabbing the fancy glass bottle of wine and refilling your cup. “You could use some as well.” You muttered and took a sip, nearly choking when it was thrown from your hand.

You’d had enough. You stood up and got so close to him you could feel his breath on your face. “What is wrong with you? I’m doing the job you’re paying me for. It takes time, Kylo, I can’t get the information you need in a day! You need to control your temper!”

Kylo grabbed your throat, turning the both of you and slamming you against the wall next to your fireplace. You looked at him with wide eyes, instantly regretting your decision. What the hell were you thinking? Did you think you were invincible? You were a spy, not a soldier!

“Watch your tone with me.” He hissed, eyes scanning over your face. You were so close, if it wasn’t Kylo’s hand around your throat you would have been aroused. His upper lip curled in what looked like disgust. “I can read your thoughts, I suggest you stop thinking so filthy.”

Your heart jumped to your throat and you swallowed hard, looking anywhere but his eyes. “Please,” It was becoming hard to breathe.

“You say that word often. Do you beg for other men as well?” How dare he? You bared your teeth and grabbed at his hand, fighting to get him off of you. He knew just the right buttons to push. “Do you? I bet you do. I bet you sound sinful when you beg.”

What the hell was he doing? You couldn’t pinpoint his motive until you felt the hand that wasn’t choking you reach under your nightgown. You gasped and fought harder against him, kicking and shoving, but it was no use.

“You’re still fighting me?” He mused darkly and you felt his gloved hand run up your bare thigh, his breath hot and humid against your cheek. “I can feel what you feel, don’t forget that. I know how lonely you are. How long it’s been.”

“Kylo,” You warned, and you tried to deny it, you tried to pretend he was wrong, but from the moment he had grabbed your throat you’d been set ablaze. And now with his hand between your legs, it was impossible to block him from your thoughts.

“You’re weak.” He spat, his hand retreating from your legs only for him to pull his leather glove off with his teeth. Oh god. How did he look so irresistible doing that?

Then he was squeezing the inside of your thigh so hard you thought he’d pull your skin off, his hand hot against your flesh. “And too defiant. You need to learn to respect me.”

And he thought this was the way to earn your respect? Normally, you were quick to retort, but with his fingers around your neck and his hand bruising your thigh, you couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. You wanted to kill him right then and there, but at the same time, he was right. You had been so lonely and it had been so long. Years since you’d been with someone. And humans had their needs.

He snorted at your thoughts and released his grip on your thigh, his hand reaching up to your panties. You sucked in another gasp and felt your legs grow weak when his fingers looped through the hem of your fabric. “Stop it, let go of me, don’t touch me!” You choked out the words but he ignored them, moving his hand from your neck to grab a fistful of your hair. You were turned around and slammed back against the wall by his grip alone, your cheekbone hitting the hard surface.

“I’ve been lonely too.” He breathed on the back of your neck, using the force to hold you in place as he pulled down your panties. “Stop lying to yourself, you want it just as badly as I do.” His voice was barely a whisper now, needy and rushed, his hands pulling up your nightgown to your hips. He sounded much more genuine, his mocking had come to an end for the moment.

“I don’t, I don’t want you.” You gritted your teeth, still keeping up the lie. He had worked you into a mess with his aggression, you’d never been treated like this, and you fucking loved it. You wanted him to fuck you against that wall. You wanted him to choke you and bite you so hard you’d be left with blood blisters on your skin.

“Your thoughts say otherwise.” His hands left you for a moment, only long enough to free himself from his uniform. “Keep denying it. We both know the truth, why won’t you give in? Let yourself feel good.” His words calmed you slightly, but only for a few seconds. Then you felt his cock rest against your inner thigh, hot, heavy and the tip of it sticky with arousal.

A bolt of electricity went through your body, and if not for the Force holding you in place, you’d be climbing up the wall to get away from him. You gave one last attempt, straining so hard against the Force before giving up.

Why fight? You wanted it. He was right. Just give in.

You relaxed and slumped against the wall, closing your eyes and letting him push inside you. Kylo shuddered and swallowed, his mouth incredibly dry. “(Y/N).” He breathed out, the puff of air from his lungs blowing a lock of hair off of your shoulder.

He had to go in slow, for his sake and yours. It had been so long for you, the only thing that had been inside you for years being your fingers. You were so damn tight.

You both moaned together, sounding sinfully beautiful, Kylo’s forehead resting on the top of your head as he tried to regain his bearings. He pushed in deeper, stretching you impossibly wide, the sensation of you squeezing the life out of his cock almost too much. He groaned, long and drawn out, his lips trembling when he was fully inside you.

“Oh, yes, oh my, Kylo,” You slurred, bracing your hands against the wall. He was no longer using the Force to hold you in place, you were willingly staying in place and letting him fuck you. He would have said something snarky about it, but you had left him breathless.

Kylo hadn’t expected to react to you this way, he thought he would have more control over himself. At this point, you could do anything you wanted to him. And he would beg for it.

He stilled for a moment, getting used to the tightness and allowing you to get used to the size of him. The room was quiet and still, save for the sound of your breathing. Both of you. Soft little gasps and sighs.

It made you uncomfortable.

“Fuck me,” You spat, getting impatient. “If you’re going to do it, fucking do it, or I’ll-”

Kylo cut your sentence short and grabbed your hair again, at the same time withdrawing and slamming back into you at a brutal pace. You cried out and felt your knees give in to their growing weakness, causing your body to fall down onto his cock. Kylo gasped sharply at the sensation of being completely inside you, then groaned and pulled your hair harder.

The pain of your weight forcing his tip against your cervix caused you to scream and you shot back upright, only for him to slap his other hand on your mouth and pull you back down on him.

He fucked into you fast, pulling you tight against his body by the grip in your hair and his hand over your mouth. Your back arched almost painfully in that position, your ass pressed into his hips with no space between your skin.

You came fast. And as soon as you did, you were angry again.

Gritting your teeth, you caught him off guard by whirling around and shoving him backward, causing him to trip over a chair and onto the floor. He hadn’t expected you to fight back anymore.

“I’m the weak one?” You were on him in a second, darting forward towards him before he could move.

You relished the look on his face. He gazed up at you with wide eyes and parted lips, completely at your mercy. You crawled on his lap and used your hand to push him flat on his back, slowly sliding your palm up his chest, over his dark clothes to wrap around his throat. “Look at you,” You hissed with a smug grin and rolled your hips down against his cock, hot and wet with your cum, feeling his length slide between your slick folds. “ Commander. ”

The sound Kylo let out was animalistic. He groaned deeply and let his head fall back against the marble floor, his hips thrusting up against your own in hopes of slipping back into your warmth.

He looked beautiful. His face flushed, his eyes blown with lust, his black curls sticking to his sweaty face and neck. “I’d make you beg for it, but I’m not patient.” You reached between the two of you and grabbed his cock, giving him a firm squeeze and making him grunt before you angled him at your entrance.

Ever so slowly you sank down on his length and sighed, tilting your head back and closing your eyes, feeling his abdominal muscles tense through his clothing under your flattened palms. It felt amazing having him fill you back up again, and at this angle it was phenomenal.

You’d never hate fucked anyone in your life, but if this is what it was like, you could definitely get used to it.

His eyes fluttered shut when he was back inside you. You slowly rose and fell, feeling his head rub against that perfect spot in your walls. He let you set the pace for a few strokes before taking control again, grabbing your hips and holding you in place while he fucked you. His thrusts were the same as before, hard, fast, and rough, demanding and merciless, making your hair bounce around your head and your moans come out as choppy ‘oh, oh, oh’s.

Since he was supporting your body you used both of your hands to squeeze around his throat.

Oh. He liked that. Being the one choked was something completely new to Kylo Ren.

He tried not to let on to the fact that he loved the feeling, especially when you were choking his cock as well. But it was painfully obvious because as soon as your fingers tightened around his throat you felt his cock twitch excitedly. He fought to breathe as you used your upper body weight to press down on his neck, still thrusting up into you with that aggressive pace.

“How do you like it?” You panted as your body was bounced on his cock. His eyes fluttered open and his attention was on your face as you spoke, flickering from your lips to your eyes. “How do you like the feeling of blood being cut off from your brain? The pressure in your head, Commander ?” Each time you teased him with his title, he came closer and closer to his climax.

With the help of your words, his orgasm came fast, swelling inside him before he let out a deep groan and sat up, looping his arms around your back to pull you down onto him. He held you firmly in place as his hips rolled against yours, spilling all of his cum into you.

He was panting hard now, gulping in fast and shallow breaths.

The feeling of your clit being pressed down so tightly on his skin set off your second orgasm and you sank your teeth into his neck, biting down hard as you rode out your waves of pleasure. The streams of white-hot bliss surged through your body, from your clit to your organs, all the way to the surface of your skin.

Fuck. What had you done?

You came down from your high and swallowed hard, opening your eyes. Kylo was still holding you tight against him so you couldn’t see his face. What was he thinking? You could feel his heart thumping against your chest, just as fast as your own, his heavy breathing rocking your bodies.

You glanced down at the damp skin of his neck under your lips, seeing that you had been the one to leave blood blisters. A deep red mark in the shape of your teeth stood out angrily against his pale skin, the bruise harsh and prominent, raised up slightly. That would be there for weeks.

No words were said for a while. The silence was finally broken when you slid off of him, out of his lap, the cum inside of you immediately leaking out of you. You placed your hand between your legs to stop the flow, but it still trickled around your fingers and down your thighs.

“You know,” You panted, walking to your panties that had been left on the floor near your fireplace. Once you slipped them back on you turned to see he had pulled himself together and was leaning against the couch. “If you fuck me like that every time you come to get information, I won’t mind you coming every night.”

[elizabeethan]

14!

Hanging Up Mistletoe

This took a turn... so enjoy some smutty crack on this lovely Monday afternoon

Takes place in the My Hands, Your Hands universe!

Send me a Holiday Prompt!

Killian won’t stop humming It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas.

It’s been eight weeks since their first date, just one night after their first kiss, and everything has been perfect. She’s never been so happy, day in and day out, and Killian has been a wonderful and respectful partner to her. The only problem is that they still haven’t told their friends, and he won’t stop humming.

“Did you know Michael Buble covered this song, Swan?” He asked her as he messed with a piece of tape, and she rolled her eyes.

It’s not as if they’re trying to keep it a secret. Both of them have been in relationships that have ended badly, and they agreed that it might be nice to keep things to themselves for the first little while, but they weren’t purposely not telling anyone. It’s just that no one has asked.

They all celebrated Thanksgiving together in the loft a few weeks ago and still no one noticed. It isn’t like Killian’s being shy with the way he flirts with her, and she certainly isn’t shy about returning it, but no one seems to give them a second glance. Perhaps that’s why they’ve gotten so comfortable with publicly and excessively flirting with each other and then sneaking off to bump uglies in his bedroom.

Perhaps that’s why hanging the mistletoe in the living room has led to Emma waiting for him in his room wearing nothing but her festive apron.

She sneaks across the hall into his room almost every night. Some nights it’s not for sex, but most nights it is. It’s just that he’s really good at it. She tries to brush from her mind the amount of practice he may or may not have had throughout his life, because she honestly doesn't care. Whatever it took for him to get like that is good enough for her.

She sees that her text has been read, then hears a slight commotion outside the door before it swings open much too quickly and she’s met with her grinning, already-slightly-hard boyfriend. She giggles. “That didn’t take long,” she says playfully.

“Well, when I get a distress call from a fair maiden, I’m on the spot.”

“I’m not distressed.”

“No? I thought you needed help with untying these…” he says, suggestively trailing his fingers along the bow tied at the front of the apron, just under her breasts. “Isn’t that what the photo you sent me was supposed to convey?”

She hums out a giggle again, tugging on the collar of his shirt and dragging him onto the bed on top of her. “I needed help hanging some more mistletoe,” she mumbles between kisses, “in here.”

“Over this?” He asks, pressing a kiss to the side of her breast exposed to the chilly air. “Or perhaps we should hang it a bit… lower…”

He trails his fingers down the front of the apron, tugging the bow undone and letting the ties fall to her side. “How low?” She asks breathlessly as he drags his mouth down, down, down.

He hums a throaty laugh into her skin and it makes her shiver. She lets her eyes slip closed as he drags his hand up her thigh, stopping to squeeze her ass firmly then moving swiftly to bury his head under the fabric of the apron and nip at her exposed flesh. She doesn’t hesitate to lift her knees, opening herself up to him easily and planting her heels on his back as he dives in with little preamble.

Did she mention that he’s good at this?

So good, in fact, that she has to grab his pillow and shove it over her own face to keep from shouting and alerting the others of their activities as he dives two fingers into her and curls them just right.

The only thing keeping the apron from falling off of her is the straps tied around her neck, and she’s about to tug them open so that she can remove it and see his dark hair between her legs, moving her hand from the pillow to behind her neck, when the door flies open.

“Killian, have you seen Em— ooooh, shit.” He stills under the apron. Emma stills under the pillow. She pushes it harder to her face in hopes that it suffocates her so that she doesn't have to face Ruby. “I see. I won’t tell her I saw you and… whoever this is,” she says pointedly, aggressively, and slams the door.

He hums in thought against her sensitive clit and she squeezes her thighs around his head. “Dammit, Killian,” she says exasperatedly. She expects him to stop and to pop his cocky face up from between her thighs, but he doesn't. She tosses the pillow aside so that she can look down at him, though he’s still hiding below the apron as he continues his ministrations against her. “You should,” she starts, but she can’t finish. Well, actually she can, and she likely will if he doesn't stop, but he really should stop, shouldn’t he?

He doesn't stop. He continues to curl his thick fingers against her just so, sucking and nipping at her clit until she’s putty in his hands. She presses her heels harder into his back to hold him in place, begging him not to move from exactly the spot that he’s in, then shoves the apron away so that she can grip his hair. “Fuck,” she breathes out. “Don’t sto—” He doesn’t stop until she’s seeing stars. Or maybe they’re silver bells. Whatever.

He laughs lightly as he crawls up her body, sucking on his fingers and licking his lips because he absolutely wants to drive her completely insane. When he reaches her head, he presses a soft kiss to her lips and runs his weakened left hand along the side of her face as best he can. “How the hell did she not know it was you?”

“Because I had my face shoved into a pillow to keep quiet.”

He laughs again, kissing her temple as he settles next to her and drapes his arm over the waist. “Well, it didn’t work very well in the end there.”

“I didn’t notice.”

“I’m sure the others did, love.”

She shrugs, snuggling into his side and biting against his collarbone. “Maybe we should go out there. Although I did lose my clothes, and I’m pretty sure Ruby’s probably waiting in my room.”

“You lost them, did you? Is that what’s happened here, you minx?” She giggles softly against his chest, the breath coming from her nose moving the hair just slightly. “Are you alright with them knowing?”

“Yeah. Are you?”

“Yeah.”

~~~~

Ruby isn’t waiting in her room, so she’s able to safely get dressed and join the small party after applying a bit of concealer to the side of her neck. Killian isn’t there, but she assumes that he’ll be on his way.

“There you are, sweetie,” Mary Margaret says as she re-enters and is tugged into the kitchen. “Ruby and I need to talk to you.”

“Emma!” Ruby calls once she’s in the kitchen, and she rushes over to her friend and takes her hands. “You okay?”

“Fine, why?”

Ruby sighs and Mary Margaret runs a hand comfortingly up Emma’s arm. Emma smirks slightly but holds it together as Ruby says, “I don’t want you to freak out, but I just walked in on Killian and the girl he’s been boning. I’m so sorry.”

“Ruby—”

“We really didn’t want you to find out like this, Emma. We know you’ve had feelings for him and you’ve seemed so happy lately, but he’s been sleeping around with some woman. David and Will say they hear them almost every night.”

They both look so concerned for their friend, and Emma finds it sweet aside from the fact that they’re completely off base. “It’s alright,” she says with a soft smile.

“No it isn’t, it’s completely insensitive. That’s why we sent David in to talk to him.”

Emma laughs and shakes her head as she makes her way to the fridge for some eggnog. “I’m sure that’s not necessary.”

“We just want what’s best for you, Emma. Ruby told me about a few weeks ago when you almost kissed, and if the two of you didn’t work out, that’s fine, but he shouldn’t be rubbing it in your face.”

“I think I’m the one rubbing it in his face,” she deadpans, and Ruby scrunches her thick, perfect brows together in confusion.

“What, the fact that you’re single?”

She laughs, then hears David’s booming voice coming from down the hall as he makes his way towards the living area and she knows that he’s pissed.

“Would it kill you to take this seriously, Jones? This is my sister we’re talking about here.”

“Aye, mate, I’m well aware. I believe I’m taking things very seriously.”

“Then at least have the decency to be discreet!” He shouts.

“David,” Emma tries.

“No, Emma, I’m tired of Killian being a huge asshole to you and having no regard for how you might be feeling. It’s not a secret how you felt that night the last time we played that stupid game.”

“I know it isn’t.”

“So don’t you want him to quit flaunting his new fling when he knows you live across the hall?”

“David, I’m his new fling.”

His face falls. He goes from angry to irate in a matter of seconds as he absorbs Emma’s meaning, turning slowly towards her with his eyes the size of saucers then back around to Killian. “My sister?!”

“Mate—”

“Don’t you mate me! You think you can get away with defiling my sister? My best friend and my sister?!”

“David, honey, just calm down,” Mary Margaret says, making her way around the counter.

“My best friend and my sister!”

“David, he isn’t defiling me! We’ve been dating for two months!”

He freezes. He turns back towards her and she can see the red flush fading as he seems to relax. “Dating?”

“Yes, dating. Like, we’re in a relationship.”

He turns towards Killian again, who looks to Emma and grins. “Relationship?”

“Aye, mate.”

“My best friend and my sister…” he says, as if trying it on for size now, rather than using it as an excuse for second degree murder.

“Right. Dating.”

“You two are dating?” Ruby asks from behind her, and she spins around and smirks.

“Yep.”

“So earlier… when I busted into Killian’s room…”

“Yeah, thanks for that.”

“Oh my god…”

“You guys need to learn to keep it down, then, bloody hell,” Will says from the couch.

Christmas goes off without another hitch.

They try really, really hard to keep it down later on when they pick up where they left off, honest.

Some things just don’t always go to plan.

~~~~

~~~~

[jimmythejiver]

For the first time in a long time I went to the movies in forever and then to Target. At Target I see some Godiva bars on discount yellow tags and I was ecstatic until I read 70% Cacao, Dark, Salted Caramel and was deflated.

Anyway that's how I felt about seeing The Green Knight. What you thought this was about chocolate?

No see since the pandemic I've been back on my perennial King Arthur kick. I've for a long time since I was a young preteen thought, someday I too will write my own King Arthur epic and it'll be gay, magical, gangster and culty too, but for now I'll make up my own stories for practice and then with every story I got attached too, it got too involved and convoluted to the point that when it came down to actually writing a novel, I threw it all away and made a space opera I only planned in two weeks and wrote in a month. Anyway...so now I've been writing this very gay, magical, gangster and culty take on Final Fantasy XV with my boyfriend and just fell in love with Somnus Lucis Caelum who nobody has any insight about him than to make him the Mordred to Ardyn's Arthur, which is a strange flex, but okay, I thought about what if I wrote a Dark Age prequel about Ardyn and Somnus, but Ardyn becomes king and Somnus his shogun and they play games of seduction and power because I'm twisted like that. Anyway...I was like I'm never going to write this and I have to keep making up characters based on FFXV characters and King Arthur tropes because there's not a lot of stories that take place during the Dark Ages, it's always some Roman Empire story, or High Middle Ages and FFXV gave no room for either society to happen after the fall of Solheim and the rise of King Somnus...so we left with Dark Ages, y'all, the King Arthur comparisons are obvious, but Ardyn is no Arthur and Somnus is no Mordred, Aera is only Guenevere if you make up an affair with Somnus, Gilgamesh is no Bedwyr/Bedivere, but uh...they both amputees and the oldest companions to their respective kings so...I guess. Anyway making an ancestor of Cor Leonis and deciding well he's Owain/Yvain, or am Ignis type as idk Sir Cai/Kay I guess, they both cook, but Cai's more like Seifer Almasy than any FF character... Anyway I'm losing people.

My plan was to just scrap the FFXV prequel, leave my Somnus ideas into Overtime (a gangster and gods story) and just plan an actual King Arthur adaptation. I'd have King Arthur the treasure hunter, leader of a warband turned founder of Camelot who fights giants, giant cats and dogheads, but also fights King Claudas of the Franks and King Aelle of the Saxons and Cerdic a Briton who puts in his lot with the Saxons, etc. It'd been a a glorified turf war, meanwhile Arthur's gotta make alliances with King Pelles, The Fisher King and his strange cult he's founded because, why yes I find the ends justifies the means prophecy of the Holy Grail Quest very culty because Christianity then does not resemble it now. Meanwhile you got the secondary plots of Mordred, Gawain, Lancelot, Percival, Tristam and other's going on because they matter and too many modern King Arthur stories sideline the knights.

So many have always sidelined Mordred as a final boss eldritch abomination in mortal flesh conceived of sin and give him no personality, or complex motives, or even just a relationship with Arthur. I also have noticed the general sidelining of Lancelot, or give him a chad villain upgrade if you must include him at all, and the villainizing of Gawain to the point that you don't even have to have Mordred, or Agravain as a catalyst shit stirrer in court, just slap Gawain's name on Liam Neeson in a top knot and you're good. Mordred can just be a child offscreen until last act...fuck that, while Morgan Le Fay can either be a villainess plotting her cabal through men, or a well-intentioned, ineffectual idiot. Fuck that.

Now Hollywood just be doing King Arthur first acts that suck ass, only for said director to get rewarded failing upwards by giving this same jerk the Aladdin remake. The tonally shitty, crammed in blockbuster mess of a cliche heroe's journey that sucks.

With that background I was excited for The Green Knight. I read an illustrative version as a kid, I read Tolkien's translation as a teenager, I read Simon Armitage's superior, but with liberties taken translation. I was prepped to go knowing that indie, or not they were going to make changes to weave the disjointed poem together. I'm excited that because this movie exists Project Guternberg's finally thrown Jessie Weston's prose rendition up on their website. I'll be reading that at some point when this blows over.

The movie adaptation makes a lot of...choices, many I wouldn't love, but would forgive had their been a payoff. There was none.

The journey was fine, the cinematography was a breath of fresh air after crappy slo mo, glossy action scenes ruined another. Guys, I don't think I want to see a Zack Snyder Excalibur, it'll marginally be better than Guy Ritchie, but that ain't saying anything. Leave Excalibur to the post-Star Wars 80s where it is impeccable for it's time. I liked Green Knight's breathable pacing, it's color palette's in the forests and mountains made up for the muddy grey of every Ridley Scott send up in the castles and villages in every other Dark Ages/Medieval story in the last I don’t know since the shitty 00′s. For all the dark tones when there was blues, greens, yellows or reds, they were vibrant in this movie to contrast the gloom of Britain. The soundtrack was good. This isn't all what makes a movie, but it enhances it so let's get to the story and what I did and didn't like.

Things I Liked: Gawain is still a novice in his career The Costume Dressing Everyone pronounces Gawain's name different. I pronounce it like Gwayne, or Guh Wayne, but here you got Gowen (like Owen), Gowan (like Rowan), or even Garlon who I'm pretty sure is the Fisher King's heir in some versions of that Arthurian story, so uh... The reference to Arthur slaying 960 men with his bare hands (Nennius for the win!) The Waste Land that is implied to be a site of a battle (an important aspect of the Arthurian landscape) The Fox companion No long grisly, drawn out hunting scenes. The Fox lives! No misogynist speeches

Things I'm Mixed: This being a dream, is the magic real? Are the giants? Is the Green Knight a figment of Gawain's imagination from a spell Morgan casted in him to hallucinate? Is Lord and Lady also figments? It's...a way to interpret the poem, but lazy and I don't see why it's got to all fantasy, or all dream...this movie makes it too vague you're stuck picking one camp than to accept it's a fantasy with dream and hallucinatory sequences.

Things I'm Meh: Morgan Le Fay as Gawain's mom. Look I fucking hate Morgause as a character and these two get merged and steal each other's aspects so much at this point the difference is who did they marry, King Urien or King Lot? Both are attributed to being Mordred's mom, Mordred is Gawain's brother...both practice magic depending on certain incarnations, both love and hate Arthur their brother and are in conflict with him. Saint Winifred. I actually liked this sequence, but I don't appreciate her as the tacked on wife in the later dream sequence as like...a contrast between the wife you should marry than the whore next door you don't respect anyway? I don't even know what lesson I'm supposed to get out of the damn dream sequence, or any of it? That Gawain should've married his girlfriend and then he'd be a just ruler? That he shouldn't be king? That he'd never have to make the same heartless, impartial choices? I don't know, he seemed like a king doing king shit because guess what? It never gets easier. Wars will be waged. The world didn't become better because he married the right woman, respected her and lived in obscurity. The world didn't become better because he made her his queen. We certainly don't know the world would be better Gawain had his head chopped off and dead XP They never reveal the Lord and the Green Knight as one and the same because of this shit.

Things I Hated: Arthur withdraws from the challenge because he's old. In poem he takes it on and Gawain takes it so he don't have to and he finds himself more disposable than the king. Gawain only takes the challenge because of arrogance. Arthur and Gawain had no prior personal relationship. I'd not have hated this so much if it wasn't compounded by it cancelling out the first two things. Gawain is portrayed as having no respect for his woman, or any woman, maybe his mother? He has to be pushed by Winifred to regain her head. Gawain is portrayed as arrogant, covetous and ready to pass the buck, or the bare minimum than have any honor or decency. It didn't matter the kid in the wasteland was shithead bandit, the way Gawain acted towards him, when he gets robbed, it almost feels like he deserved it and Gawain doesn't learn a damn lesson. I'll admit him taking the sword to cut his ropes and cutting his hands was a neat sequence, it shows him go from stupid, to almost clever and having will to survive...you know traits he had in the poem, but he stops showing these traits or growing. Basically Gawain has to be dragged kicking and screaming to help people and shows no fortitude when facing temptation, or when showing respect towards others, it's exhausting. You don't make this kind of journey story without character growth. Why are you skipping this? Also is it just me, or is this like when you take Frank Miller Batman and transport him onto a Bill Finger story? This is at best Thomas Malory Gawain (and this is charitable) transported on the earlier Pearl Poet's story. Stop it. It's not tonally correct and goes at odds with the story and the set up characterization you'd need to tell it. Speaking of which, you know how I get through the oof... of Liam Neeson Gawain in Excalibur? By pretending he Agravain instead. Here...I don't even think Gawain could pass as Mordred in spite of his covetous nature, lust and entitlement. Why? because I don't think even Mordred is this dumb to warrant this hubris. Essel being invented as a tacked on love interest just to be shit on utterly and for what? I don't think I have much commentary here as there is no Essel I'm aware of to compare, or stack up. I just notice this trope of like...usually if you include a sex worker in Hollywood she often has a heart of gold, she often has her own sense of values that goes at odds with society, but is more true and less hypocritical than a privileged lady’s. I thought that's what they would've done with the added trope of back at home sweetheart to contrast and pit her against the despicable femme fatale of Lady Bertilak and her adultery and her ladyship...and I'm glad they didn't...but you did nothing with Essel than to shit on her for existing when you made her exist, you know. Lady Bertilak being portrayed as the seductress devil incarnate. Look I know adultery is a touchy taboo, but uh her and Gawain hit it off in the poem, dammit! Her values and his values come to clash, but here it's played off as Gawain is stupid and covetous and Lady Bertilak wants to prove something because...? If my brother's theory that she's a figment of Morgan Le Fay's magic, then I'll take this as a lesson of Gawain is impulsive and covetous and his mom knows it, but he don't want to fuck his mom, but he wants her power, and Morgan wants to teach him a lesson... I guess. Hey we don't have misogynist speeches in this movie, but we'll make sure to have the movie drip with it with no point, or commentary. Pass. Lord guilting, extracting and initiating the same sex kiss and only once. Poem automatically better that Gawain don't have to keep being reminded to keep his part of the bargain and he does it willingly more than once. What he doesn't do is give up his belt...gods how did we get more homophobic as a society that the homoeroticism here is worse? Catholics of the middle ages officially had no issue doing same sex, passionate kissing until it lead to sex. The Ending: The gods damn ending. In the movie as is, Gawain waits to uphold his end of the bargain and get his head chopped off. He imagines, even though we don't get any fuzzy or distortion to indicate this is a dream, but I already knew this was coming, he runs away and comes home, is regarded a hero, he sees his lady, takes her from behind and if you saw Brokeback Mountain (I didn't, but DJ has) you know this is a sign of disrespect to women. He gets her knocked up, pays her off for the kid she wants to keep, he is crowned king, marries the ghostly saint lady he helped retrieve her head earlier from a lake in the movie (this right here is the damn tip off). There's no more dialogue by this point and everything is montaging, so you know by now it's a dream, though nothing is out of focus. He rules as a heartless king, his whore son dies from war he waged, he has a daughter, his wife dies. Gawain then takes off the belt that would've saved his life and his head falls off. This would've been the one good twist, except... In this sequence of events he never had his head cut off so uh... now we back in present day. He decides not to bitch out, Green Knight in a sexy way is like "now off with your head," movie cuts to credits with no resolve...uh what the fuck? What the fuck? This is not good. You wasted the one twist in your dream when idk, you could've...

How I'd fix it: No dream sequence at all. No Incident At Owl Creek twist. Gawain comes home a hero and survivor of this game and ordeal. He wears this belt of shame. He becomes a well-renowned knight, but he bears a shame. One day he goes to take off his belt and his head falls off because he cheated to get this belt and to survive this encounter. There. Done. Improved your high concept movie that couldn't play any of the lessons straight from the damn poem without making everyone an asshole for no reason! Ugh! But nope you had to end it on we don’t know if Gawain lives or dies...because...it's dream magic made from his momma's witchcraft...?

Last Thoughts So then post-credits scene because Marvel because Pirates Of The Caribbean existed. A white girl who looks nothing like Gawain's daughter we see who didn’t pay off, or any child I can remember through this whole movie picks up King Arthur's crown that dream Gawain inherited and puts it on her head. Who is this girl? Are we gonna have an indie equivalent of of the Marvel Movie Universe/Universal Horror Monsters thing with ancient British legends? We gonna get a Life Of Saint Patrick next that crosses over? I don't know. What is this?

[tarithenurse]

Stolen - 23

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson &/x fem!gifted!reader Content: A roller coaster of emotions and feels. A/N: So my psychiatrist recommended/ordered for me to take 2 weeks of sick leave because I’m a stressed out mess...that’s not going to stop me from writing, of course. Au contraire, without work I’ll have more time for that! Ask or reblog for tag ;)

23. Misery Machine

...   Reader   ...

What the ever-living FUCK? The bubble of happiness bursts, the pop loud in your mind but blown away by the cold storm raging before you in the shape of a raven-haired god with the colour of blood in his eyes. Memories of faces smiling during the feast come and go in a blur and leave you none the wiser as to what Loki’s problem is.

“Uh...yeah? It was okay,” you try carefully, “think I’m getting closer to Sif and the trio to accept me.”

“You don’t say?” Sarcasm is probably the default state for the god, you decide there and then. “Practically crawling onto their laps.”

Staring dumbfounded at him, each snarled accusation is a whiplash driving you closer to desperation as up and down cease to make any sense. Unsure whether to laugh, cry, or scream back at him, you just stand stock still. Loki, on the other hand, has taken to stalking around the room as he denounces the Asgardian ways – feasts, pretend friendships, nothing goes free – before ultimately turning to you again on an unseen wave of icy coldness radiating from the bluing skin.

“I’m surprised you didn’t have my dear brother rescue you,” he hisses, “or went with Fandral for comfort...he’d be more than willing to oblige.”

“Wait...what?”

Oh yeah, the fallen prince’s eyes are swallowed by red, leaving only a pinprick of black from the pupil. “You heard me.”

Sure did, smurf. “This’s ‘bout them? Are you...? D’you think I’m desperate enough to dick it down with Fandral or have Thor sweep me away like I’m some maiden in distress?”

Now you’re the one getting into his personal space. Though you’re far from as imposing compared to a god with ruby eyes and frosty skin, his raven hair cascading to his shoulders in ways fit for an anime character, you still manage to push him back a few steps before he digs his heels in.

“Tell me honestly, the idea doesn’t tempt you, mortal?”

“Hell yeah, it tempts me! But, y’know what? I can’t! If I go back home to hide and some day Thanos shows up...how’d you think that’d make me feel? Or if you take your dumb-ass on some quest to find the fucker only to get killed? No, that ain’t happening ‘cause I’ma stick through with this. That’s what this mortal’ll do: do things right.”

You can barely see him because tears (which you refuse to let fall) are blurring your vision. By some miracle, you manage to find the door and march down the dim hallway without bashing face first into something but by the time you turn the first corner, your cheeks are wet.

GAAARGH! He’s such an...an...UGH! Haven’t you already proven yourself? Sure, he might just see you as a mortal, as he keeps pointing out, but how many mortals does he know that would’ve been able to handle the mess he’s thrown at you? Admittedly, it might be your self-diagnosed Stockholm Syndrome speaking when you feel you deserve more respect from Loki. Not that he has to “like me” like me...just...

Wiping salt water and probably snot from your face, you look around for somewhere to be alone with your thoughts and spot a double door which could lead to a balcony or terrace only to find it blocked by a blond figure.

“Lady [Y/N]?” You’ve only spoken with Thor once, but no one else has a voice like that, a voice you don’t want to hear right now. “Please, tell me what troubles you.”

Why bother? It’s so easy to follow along as he cups your elbow with one of the huge hands and escorts you onto what does indeed turn out to be a balcony.

Any other person would gasp at the view of the golden-roofed city below, stretching towards the ocean and the infinity of space just beyond. You, a sarcastic thought jeers in your mind, you’re busy sniffling and holding back tears because of some silly spat – and there’s no way you can tell that truth to the man beside you.

“I know...I’m a stranger to you and you have no reason to trust me with your worries,” Thor begins softly, “yet I do feel responsible for your fate. Your chance of happiness. What my brother di-”

“Enough!” The exclamation startles him, blue eyes reconsidering the woman before him. Oops. “I’m...I’m sorry, your highness,” you try to recover while your heart beats in your ears. “Forgive me. You have no obligations on my behalf, your brother’s actions are not yours to atone for.”

The dazzling smile is pretty even if it’s barely hiding a pain beneath. “Kind words, but clearly it torments you.”

“No.” Oh, that’s actually true. “No, what pains me is what I’ve learned since. Thor...you’ve been to Earth. You’ve seen us humans...and you know we’re hopelessly unprepared for what’s to come!”

“Even if Loki would be foolish enough to attack once more, Midgard is not defenceless. You know this.”

The Avengers. Thor had stopped Loki and his Chitauri (as you later found out the aliens were called) invasion. It hadn’t exactly been pretty which is something a lot of politicians are still pointing out – or were before you suddenly found yourself at the mercy of the guy who’d plotted the attack. It feels like years ago.

“Not...” How can I say this right? “Not Loki. Thor, please believe me, he’s not the real problem.”

“Any threat at all...your realm is under my protection.” At least his brows have the decency to furrow, almost hiding the pristine blue.

“He came for the Tesseract...but he already had a Scepter with magical abilities. Where did he get that? Who helped him – or who did he help?”

Obviously, the older brother isn’t as dimwitted as Loki claims because you can see tiny lights go on and off as he connects some of the dots – eyes gazing through your skull and into a different infinity than the one beyond the borders of Asgard and finding the murky areas where there isn’t enough information to illuminate the unknown.

When the crown prince does focus on you, a new worry tightens the muscles of his jaw. “If the Tesseract was all he wanted, why not leave?”

“Who wanted the Tesseract, really? And was that all?”

“Then why the invasion? A smoke screen?”

You shrug (even if it’s hard with Thor’s heavy hands resting on your shoulders) because what else can you do? And silence falls again as each option and its implications are weighed carefully.

“What makes you certain of this?”

Loki might be the God of Lies, Mischief, and whatnot...but looking up into his brother’s face there’s no way he wouldn’t sniff out the smallest inkling of deceit.

“I don’t know anything for sure,” you sigh, “I was...shown some bits and pieces. Been trying to make sense of it.”

“A vision.”

Weeeeell... “If that’s what you’d call it. I’m just scared of what might happen.”

Later, you’d think back of it as a pretty decent hug, but in the moment you are more concerned with continuously breathing as Thor pulls you into a crushing embrace.

“Get some rest, little one,” he smiles tiredly after pulling back, “you have my word I’ll look into this matter.”

... Loki   ...

He hears her return to the suite, mainly due to the subdued curses as she struggles to undress. Then the few candles he had left alight are snuffed before [Y/N] settles into bed with a sigh. The single candle in the servant’s tiny room creates sharp borders between shadows and illuminated areas unless Loki exhales particularly hard. I’m not sighing.

Since the woman had stormed out of the quarters, the Jotun has tried to calm himself down and ignore the screaming in his marrow as guilt eats through the bones. Eventually, he succumbed and went to bed only to lie and stare up into the ceiling. A thin blade slips between his fingers in repeated somersaults until he grabs the knife by the handle only to redo the whole thing.

Counting his breaths, he reaches well into the hundreds before daring to step into the suite. The slanted moonbeams illuminate patches on the floor and bed, glistening on the silken covers shaped like a woman. He does his best to ignore it, he really does. Moving silently, Loki picks up the scattered layers of the dress to straighten them out and hang them on the other side of the screen. In the cold light, it is difficult to ascertain the colour of the fabric but he remembers it clearly from when he saw her across the room during the feast where he had been expected to assist – a task perfectly suited to get him closer to the servant and listen to their gossip, of course. He has to shake himself from the tainted memories before continuing the silent duties.

Once, not too long ago, these were details he didn’t bother with. The work of lowly servants, there was no need for a prince to worry about picking up after himself unless he chose to, and while Loki was (and is) meticulous he had certainly never expected to be the one doing this for others. Beneath me! Grumbling within, he still lingers to let the delicate ribbon from [Y/N]’s hair slither between his fingers.

It’s a welcome diversion to imagine how it would be to untie the bow and set her locks free. Or to be the one slipping the straps of the dress off her shoulders and watch it hang on for dear life by her bosom. To gently tug at it, bearing the nipples for me to admire. He can see it in his mind. What Loki doesn’t notice are the eyes watching him.