#yes they’re at some fancy black tie event

[eye-of-the-hawk]

Conflicted.

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

Do you ever imagine Steve burping helplessly and Bucky getting turned on in a public place?

This isn’t public public but something that I have been thinking a lot about recently is car rides and how an especially rough ride might jostle burps out of someone while also forcing them to hold their sensitive, overfull tummy, groaning with complaints as the car rumbles and shakes. Then, as all this is going on, there’s also nothing they can do about it because they need to get home. In fact, before they got in the car and started getting jostled around, they really wanted to get home, they were so excited to get home so they could lie down and sleep off all the excess food and/or drinks they stuffed into themselves. So they're just trapped burping and being shaken up like a can of soda, about to pop. And that’s what I’m going with here! I hope you enjoy it!

Unbeta'd stucky belly kink under the cut. Warnings for alcohol consumption (but Steve can't get drunk because we're talking about serumed Steve, so it's not really intox? yanno?), burping, bloating, button pops, etc.

Steve and Bucky have just spent their evening at the latest fancy, excessively formal gala where they’re playing politics. Shaking hands with the government officials they pretend to listen to when it comes to how to save the world, living up to their roles as superheroes who are definitely not vigilantes and certainly operate under the law, yes, sir. Really actually gritting their teeth against boredom while making polite conversation. They’re doing it for the sake of the other Avengers and so they’re not deemed as enemies of the state… again.

So, once it’s over and they’re free to go home, both Steve and Bucky breathe a sigh of relief upon getting back to their car. It’s all over, well into the night or, actually, the next day. It’s morning now. Early, early morning. But. It’s over with. Thank God.

Steve, however, sighs especially loudly, fidgeting with his tie and instantly undoing the knot the moment he drops his ass into the passenger seat, shutting his door with a little too much force.

“That bad?” Bucky smirks, teasing him but not looking over from the driver’s seat at him because he’s too busy sticking the keys in the ignition and starting the car, flicking on the ventilation system and fiddling with the radio, turning it on low for some background noise.

“You have no idea,” Steve snarks back tiredly, falling farther into his seat as he buckles up with a click.

Amused, Bucky looks over at his best guy now that the car is idling, warming up, there’s something in his voice that catches his attention - he swears if anyone said something stupid to his Steve, they’re gonna pay for it - and

Oh.

After he blinks and takes a moment to process what he’s seeing, Bucky feels his own eyes widen comically when his gaze lands on the way Steve’s gut is suddenly bulging out from his body. The breath gets caught in his throat. His stomach. Woah. It’s… it’s a thing. It’s big. Suddenly, straining the limits of his choking formal attire. His neatly pressed black suit jacket and white dress shirt underneath with the tails of his black tie falling to either side of the hill rising from the middle of his body.

“What the fuck?” Bucky murmurs involuntarily, staring at his best guy and trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. His belly is so pressed outwardly and distended that Bucky can’t see the shiny leather belt that he knows is holding up his slacks. He’s… huge.

With eyes on him, Steve stretches like a cat, arching his back like his belly actually fucking fighting to escape the formal wear and seat belt that he’s wrapped haphazardly around it. His suit looks painted on, so unbelievably tight; his seat belt is curving underneath his belly’s sudden weight and curled over the top of it, emphasizing its heft.

“C’monnn,” Steve whines, high-pitched, breaking his Captain America facade that he uses for these types of events and returning to the punk he really is, “get us out of here already.” He turns his head to the side, his blue eyes glassy.

Automatically, Bucky puts the car in gear and does as he says - he’d do anything for that stupid punk - but, at the same time, he can’t stop shooting glances over to the passenger seat where Steve’s resting, reclining, fully exhausted, in his seat. He sighs heavily again, this time it’s in relief from unbuttoning his suit jacket. Bucky catches an eyeful of it, his dick jumping, trained like a dog to a whistle but the whistle is Steve taking off his clothes. And… if possible… his belly swells outwards another inch. Maybe more.

“Jesus, Stevie,” they come to a stop at a sign, just leaving the parking garage, and Bucky uses the moment to reach over and touch his belly. Just making sure it’s real and he’s not seeing things. Patting him down. Under his palm, it’s very real. Very tight and very real, making a ripe, solid thump sound with each pat-pat he makes.

The collision has Steve stifling an airy belch behind a loosely curled fist, “c-careful, Buck,” he warns.

“Or what, you’ll pop?” Bucky’s teasing but also… he could. He might. Just look at him, nearly bursting out of his clothes. On a goddamn normal day, Bucky can’t deal with Mr. Steve I-Like-Tight-T-Shirts-That-Show-Off-Every-Inch-Of-My-Hot-Bod Rogers. So how is he supposed to deal with Steve when he’s dressed to the nines in formal wear and they’ve just had to deal with a fucking room full of stuffy politicians that frustrate him to the point of wanting to rip out his hair or punch a wall or fuck someone hard? (Preferably the last option, and preferably Steve).

He looks - Bucky licks his lips which are suddenly dry - almost pregnant. Ready to pop alright. Bucky shivers as he shifts gears.

Steve lazily chuckles at him, breathless, explaining his situation away by flapping a hand passively, “everyone wanted to have a toast to or a toast with Captain America,” Bucky nods, trying to listen and barely succeeding, “and you know how it is, I can’t turn anything down when I’m wearing the stars and stripes, it looks bad.” Steve shifts in his seat as Bucky hits the gas, the softest groan falling out of his loose, full lips already driving Bucky insane even before he admits, “so I have no idea how many flukes of champagne I drank.”

As they continue to cruise, Bucky keeps looking over at him, stealing glances, trying but failing to keep his eyes on the road. He’s trying to process the thought of Steve getting fucking wasted in this new century. Sloshed. Hitting glass after glass, bottle after bottle, until he’s flushing pink, and getting stumbly and tipsy and touchy like he used to before the serum when he was the lightest lightweight. Always snuggling up to Bucky, all over him, curling up in his lap like a cat after they went out drinking back in the day, kissing him and clinging to him, begging him with slurred words and dangerously mischievous eyes to fuck him rough and hard. Yanno how I like it, c’moooon, Buck, do meee, Bucky can still hear his drunk voice.

“Christ,” Bucky finally spits out some fucking words, his brain practically smoking, “it’s a good thing you can’t get drunk then, pal.”

“Yeah,” Steve’s breathing is labored as he tries to get comfortable, wiggling around in his seat, pulling at his now open collar and the seat belt cutting into him, “still can get full, though-”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees too quickly, too eager.

“And bloated,” Steve hisses out the tiniest of burps, leaning completely back into the leather seat, flopping back, his hands limp at his sides, “I’m sooo bloated.”

Bucky swallows thickly, “you look it… looks like you’re smuggling a watermelon under that suit.” Bucky’s flesh and blood hand aches with how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel, he’d be worried about breaking it if all his attention weren’t split between making sure he’s not about to crash and Steve.

“Thanks, asshole,” Steve laughs gently, the sweet sound ending in a gasp as he feels the alcohol in his belly swirl, the finger food he ate swimming in it, there’s so much.

“Just look at yourself, baby-” Bucky can’t resist pushing further, teasing and in awe at the same time. That’s what he and Steve do, though, they give each other shit. It’s a love language.

“Mmmmm-hm,” Steve lazily glances down, moving slower with just how overfull he is.

“You were sucking that thing in?” Bucky risks taking one hand off the wheel to reach over and smack his gut. Lightly. But, still, it’s enough to jostle a bigger burp out of Steve. He can’t believe how tight Steve’s belly is. He can’t believe how big Steve’s belly is. It’s making it hard to think. “That whole time? Your poor abs!”

“Uh-huh,” his big chest heaves as he tries to breathe deeply but can’t find the room in his body to fully expand his lungs, his stomach is too big, stretched, taking up all the extra room in his body and more, “Jesus, yeah,” he agrees, “my abs hurt, they’re so stretched-”

Bucky licks his lips, why does that sound so good? To him, and evidently to Steve with his tone of voice… it’s gone all breathy and soft like it does when he likes something. Turned on and weak for whatever it is, unable to put up a fight.

“-But it feels good to let it out, too.”

Christ.

Tease much, Rogers? Bucky wants to bite back.

But instead, Bucky can’t be bothered to be ashamed of himself when he answers, “it looks good, too.” Fucking sue him. He’s attracted to Steve all the time. Constantly. How would this be different? Why wouldn’t he want him like this? Even more of him. He can’t believe how hard that dress shirt is straining to keep his swollen gut covered. There are diamond gaps of exposed pale flesh between every button. It’s as if his belly is dying to get out and swell bigger, needing more space to get larger. And he’s… he’s interested in seeing it get bigger. If Steve can stomach it (ha), at least. He doesn’t want to actually pop Steve. He just wants to push his limits. See how much he can take.

Steve huffs, shaking his head affectionately like he can’t believe it. But he blushes bright pink, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. He’s on the same page, just shier about it, “thanks, pal,” he murmurs, ducking his head, “you know how to make a guy feel special.”

Bucky snorts, “sure thing,” they stop at a red light and Bucky indulges himself, finding one of the gaps between his buttons to put two fingertips against his bare skin. Investigating the new landscape of Steve’s mountainous gut. It feels like he has a fever despite being unable to get sick these days, and when Bucky presses his fingers in, just to feel how much give there is in that tight belly -

“Oof,” Steve groans, “be carefu-uuuurpp,” there’s nothing Steve can do to stop the burp that comes barreling out of him.

“Be careful?” Bucky smirks, laughing a little, more breathless than anything, though, he had no idea that a stomach could do that. Could be so tight. He’s felt up Steve’s rock-hard abs plenty. Often, even. But… this is different and it’s exciting. “Or what? What’re you gonna do if I’m not? It seems like you’re having a hard time over there, bud.”

A car drives up behind them, appearing out of the empty night and honking, forcing Bucky’s eyes back onto the road. Ah, the light’s green, it probably has been for a while, too. So, he drives on.

Steve is about to respond, giving him shit right back, he’s sure, when the car hits a sudden pothole, jostling them both. But, poor Steve, it hits him worse. Not just startling him. The pothole is on the passenger side, to begin with, and Steve’s more affected by it anyway with his bloated belly. Despite how tight it is, packed to the brim with carbonated liquid, the dip in the road leaves it bouncing, jiggling, and sloshing violently as the car shakes. Bucky has never so deeply paid attention to the suspension because fuck. The impact seems to send a shockwave through Steve’s whole body, causing him to emit a loud, reckless belch that actually echoes in the tight confines of the car. The last of it turns into a groan as Steve curls his hands protectively around his belly like he can stop it from sloshing around. Meanwhile, Bucky could fucking thank the god-awful Nazis right now for gifting him with super hearing, forgiving all the other torture they put him through, just because he can hear the way the champagne bubbles trapped inside him fizz, tickling his insides almost… pleasurably if the blush spreading over Steve’s face and down his neck is anything to go by.

They’re both breathing harder now.

Not even a minute later after the first cacophonous, obscene accidental moment, Bucky turns onto another road, taking them home on autopilot, leaving NYC and heading towards Brooklyn. On the other road, right after the gut-churning too-fast turn, there’s another polehole, this one worse. Worse not because it’s bigger but because Bucky knows what’s going to happen. He sees it ahead of them and his brain is still processing what just happened, how seeing Steve jiggle and wobble made him feel involuntarily forcing him to picture the way Steve’s ass and tits move when he rides him, the way he groans when his dick bottoms out inside of him, stuffed full, and -

Bucky doesn’t even try to avoid the pothole, he just stares at Steve out of the corner of his eye, white-knuckling the steering wheel.

Steve’s swollen midsection heaves with another burp. Fuck. Bucky might be crazy, he might be seeing things, but his formal shirt, the buttons!, God, they’re almost straining more than they were before.

This time, his burps mix more with his groans and moans of discomfort.

Bucky’s head is spinning.

He feels like he needs to ask, “you alright?” But it’s more excitement than concern racing through him. This is… something about this is hot. Boiling even.

Letting the back of his head hit the headrest, hands supporting the underside of his belly, Steve swallows. Then, he nods weakly, cheeks flushed, “yeah,” he coughs to half-hide another burp, “‘m just gassy.”

Bucky’s gaze lingers on the mesmerizing sight before him, unable to tear himself away. The roughness of the road seems unending, who the fuck is in charge of New York streets anyway? They’re doing an awful job!, every jiggle and slosh of Steve’s belly sends shivers down Bucky’s spine. It makes Bucky’s face hot and tingly, stealing glimpses of his bloat as he takes them home.

Bigger and bigger and bigger.

He’s just filling up more with each shake-up of the contents of his stomach. Gas building. Bubbling.

Reflexively, with each belch and moan that escapes Steve’s lips, Bucky gets more and more aroused. His dick feels as hard as Steve’s belly looks. The tension in the car thickens. Steve tries to apologize for being so noisy and gassy, embarrassed, the manners he was taught holding him back, but Bucky won’t have it. Hastily, he reaches over with his hand not on the steering wheel to massage the roundest, most bulged-out part of his belly, saying, “you gotta let it out, baby, it’s okay. I want you to. Don’t hold back” He digs his fingers in just enough to cause another belch from Steve - a whimper right after - and they both squirm in their seats. “That’s it,” Bucky pats his tummy, encouraging him.

It seems impossible. He’s so full of champagne, so round. And all the sweet, fizzy alcohol is just getting more and more carbonated, more sparkling, more bubbly, more sloshy inside him with every jolt and shake of the car. Despite how much he’s burping, letting some of the gas escape, he just keeps swelling. Little by little, his belly inflates farther, expanding like a balloon. A balloon attached to a helium tank. Bucky is exhilarated by it, and judging by how Steve’s uncomfortable groans have pitched up into sounds that are more like moans of relief chasing each belch… Bucky isn’t the only one.

There’s something so hot about watching him blow up. Inflate. Expand. Swell.

The tension in the air follows Steve’s strained dress shirt, at first, it’s well-fitting, then a little bit tight, then tighter, tighter, until it’s creaking at the seams, ready to burst. The tension is so thick, it could be cut with a knife. Ready to snap. The buttons are threatening to pop off at any moment. All that gas… all the sloshing. The pressure is mounting. Every pothole, speedbump, black-tar snake, and accidental hit curb is a sweet torment for Steve, making him burp and cry out more which in turn torments Bucky. Both of them are wracked with anticipation, crawling with the need to touch each other.

The next time Bucky can take a hand off the steering wheel again and reach out to thump Steve’s swollen gut, Steve lets out a low, guttural moan, his body jerking into the sensation. But at that same risked moment, they hit the deepest, biggest pothole yet and -

Pop!

The first one is so loud and unexpected that it makes both of them jump in their seats, Bucky slams on the break which doesn’t help Steve’s precarious situation.

Pop!

The second one makes Steve whimper, trembling in his seat under the sloshing liquid inside him, swirling around, leaving him aching, the seat belt digging into him harder, feeling as though it’s cutting him in half.

POP!

The third one has Bucky swearing because fuck. Fuck! That’s so fucking hot. Steve is so big, so swollen that the buttons on his shirt, stretched over Steve’s belly have popped right off, flying forward and hitting the dash or the windshield. His shirt is no longer able to contain the bulging dome of his gut. It’s too much to handle, it’s expanded too far for the once perfectly fitted formal attire to hold on.

With each button that bursts free, a pleasurable relief in its own right, Steve’s pale, round, so fucking round, gut spills out into the heated, thick air. No longer held back by his clothes. The audible slosh of Steve’s champagne-and-gas-filled belly swelling suddenly, violently into his lap between the white halves of his now-ruined dress shirt is mouth-watering. With every stuttered breath Steve takes, stunned by arousal and shock, his gut seems to pulse with his overindulgence. Bucky can hear his heart racing and he knows Steve can feel it in his expanded stomach. All that taut, smooth, blushing skin exposed.

Oh, God.

Steve lets out his loudest moan so far, reckless with it. His hands had been braced on the center console and door handle respectively, hanging on as he was sloshed and jiggled. His hands fly up, grabbing his gut now that he isn’t so precariously balanced on the edge, feeling ready to burst with the pressure mounting inside him, forcing burps to come out of his mouth whether he wanted them to or not.

“Oh. Ohhh,” he can’t stop saying it, as if he’s shocked by what’s happening to him and he is, probably just as much as Bucky is. Somehow his flesh is still so taut. The pressure has alleviated some, but not much. He still feels like a fucking balloon.

Swollen.

Bloated.

Spherical.

Shaking, the blond caresses the surface of his shiny stomach. The heat of his belly pressing down against his thighs, in his lap, sends waves of pleasure through his whole body. He may not be so tightly compressed but the burps keep coming, released between his desperate gasps for breath, “ah, urrrp, oh, ooh, auurp, fuck me. Buurp. Guh. Uhhn. I feel so full!” He whines, “I’m so gassy, and, urrrrrp, God, so round.”

Bucky is amazed that he’s still fucking driving because he isn’t fucking functioning. Watching Steve touch himself, rubbing the dome that is his tight middle and daring to try and sink his fingers into his swollen body for relief from the pressure, Jesus Christ, it’s enough to kill him where 70 years of brainwashing didn’t.

Fuck Steve Rogers.

“Ah, oh, ohhh,” Steve’s voice trembles, “I can’t - URP - believe it. Look at me,” he begs Bucky, turning his head to the side to pout at him.

Fuck Steve Rogers.

“‘M so big! Buck! I’m so big! I didn’t know-oh, I could stretch so much. It aches,” he whimpers, “‘m so stretched! Buurp.”

Bucky stops in the middle of the road. He doesn’t give a shit anymore. It’s nighttime. There’s no one driving behind him anymore. There are other lanes. Anyone who does drive up behind him can fuck off. They can go around - they can go to hell. He needs to get his hands on that gut. Now.

Steve writhes as much as he can under the mass of his gut sitting on top of him when Bucky lunges toward him, “look at me!” he whimpers again, happy under his attention, “it, it… it fills my, my whole lap. Urrrrp, ugh, God, ‘m so bloated!”

His stomach feels so tight that Bucky can’t believe it. He can’t imagine what the pressure must feel like for Steve. The fullness. It has to be unbearable. Like being fucked full of cock but so, so much more. Hell, just looking at him is raw and pleasurable in a way that it shouldn’t be, so he can’t imagine what it’s like for Steve. There’s nothing erotic about this yet everything about it is insanely erotic… how he can’t stop making noises, uncontrolled burping. Sloshing. Belching. Fizzing. The way he’s squirming. The way he’s begging Bucky to help him, relieve the pressure, touch him, massage him, anything!

“Buck, I’m… I’m so full,” he whimpers.

“I know, Stevie,” he growls, his voice low and husky, practically already fogging up their windows he’s burning so hot for this, “but, Christ, babydoll, you look incredible.” He does. His gut is throbbing, red, and shining under the street lights. Bucky can’t stop touching his belly, massaging it worshipfully. Thumping it to hear how much his body sounds like a drum. “We should keep you like this,” he’s already salivating at the thought, his hips jerking forward to grind into nothing but thin air. He wants him so bad when he’s like this, stuffed full, exposed, and incapacitated by the sloshing weight in his big, sexy belly.

“Unnngh,” Steve whines, nodding, “it, it feels so good,” he pants, “urrrp, aarrp, ‘m so fuckin’ full, Buck.”

“You’re like a balloon,” Bucky whispers, leaning over awkwardly in the car to say the words into his mouth, kissing him desperately, “so tight you’re about to pop.”

Steve’s eyes flutter shut, shivering, “keep, keep touching me, I need-” he cuts himself off, burping right in Bucky’s face with a flare of embarrassment so strong it makes him squeak. Mortified.

Bucky won’t have it, though. He bites Steve’s lower lip hungrily and digs them deeper into the debauchery, “I bet we can find a liquor store that’s still open, you wanna see if we can get a few more bottles into this tanker?” Then, he slaps his gut to make him convulse, curling around his pulsing, throbbing, aching belly.

Steve can’t take it, moaning, “yes! Yes, Buck! Please! I wanna be bigger. Fill me up until I can’t take any-ah-ahh, URP, any more!”

(Why does staring at an overflowing bottle make me horny? What even is this fetish 😂)

[artzychic27]

More fancy villains au please?

Metamorphosis: Perpare for trouble!

Prince Paon: And make it double!

Metamorphosis: To protect the world from devastation!

Prince Paon: To unite all peoples within our nation!

Metamorphosis: To renounce the evils of truth and love!

Prince Paon: To extend our reach to the stars above!

Metamorphosis: Metamorphosis!

Prince Paon: Prince Paon!

Metamorphosis: Team Rocket blasts off at the speed of light’

Prince Paon: Sureender now or prepare to fight!

Ladybug: … Do you have to do that every time?

Metamorphosis/Prince: YES!

Sometimes for the hell of it, they go out transformed. They aren’t doing anything. They’re just walking and talking

It’s the citizens that got a problem. Always staring at them like some attraction

Prince Paon: So, she says… *Notices a lady staring at them* … Uh, can I like, help you?

Lady: … *Looks away*

Prince Paon: Yeah, I thought so.

As fancy villains, they go to fancy restaurants. They drink expensive tea bought with Audrey’s credit card and look badass while sipping that shit

Somehow they sparkle. It’s weird, just… When they pose, there are sparkles coming from out of nowhere

They like to show up where they’re not invited. Imagine the scenes from Cruella where she crashes each event in those outfits

It’s mostly at Audrey and Gabriel’s fashion events. They show up in extravagant versions of their usual outfits and cause a fucking scene amongst all the gaudy glitter and conservative outfit wearers

They’ve never heard of gender roles. Metamorphosis is in a suit and carrying a cane, Prince Paon has heels, a tiara, and a hand fan

And of course, they’re going to show up to events where Ladybug and Chat Noir are invited, just to be little shits since they can’t fight at an elegant black tie event

Prince Paon: Those pigtails make you look five.

Ladybug: You motherfu-

Prince Paon: *Smirks* Language. Let’s not upset the Prime Minister.

Chat Noir: Easy, m’lady.

Metamorphosis: So, is that leather suit like a kink for you?

Chat Noir: Say what, motherfu-

Metamorphosis: Oh, is that the President with his five year old niece?

Prince Paon: *Whispers* We could do this all night, motherfuckers.

Disaster Gays when they’re not Distinguished Gay villains

Marc will never forgive himself as Prince Paon for flirting with Nath. Fortunately, Zoé knows not to make that mistake… Maybe

The worst excuses to transform

Now, as for why they are doing this… Spite. They want to spite the Bourgeois family, Gabriel Agreste, Lila Rossi, The Austins minus Tomassian, Lucien Rebois, and anyone else they don’t like until they crack and end up in a mental ward

As you can see, they have a very valid reason to be villains

Next on their list is Tomoe. She’s had it too good for too long

Marc goes feral when he hears about Nath’s ex, and Zoé is considering a pyrotechnic Akuma to take care of Cosette’s family. They’ve also had it too good for too long

They’re the people who walk away from an explosion and look badass as they put on a pair of shades

[stitchkiss]

would you answer all of them??? if not, i'm shooting u some random numbers: 12. 22. 6. 1. 29

love ya 😚💕

goodness gracious all?? ofc i will for you love<33

1. i don’t go to chipotle, pancheros is my main bitch. my order is burrito or bowl, extra rice, chicken, cheese (not queso), and sour cream

2. you do you it’s important to respect dietary restrictions BUT i hate when vegans shame you for eating meat or don’t understand why sheep need sheering and especially when they promote vegan leather and stuff like that bc that’s literally fuckin plastic??? (only a small few do this i know but i’ve met sooo many like this)

3. army green for obvious reasons. i love all colors<3

5. waffle!!

6. lol nope

7. starfish!!!!! seahorse!!!!!! jellyfish!!! any fish with DSL’s tbh i think they’re funny

8. i always change into shorts when i get home i hate pants

9. face wash, toner, topical gel, moisturizer. i want to add in an serum eventually.

10. i do not fly. apple juice ofc

11. yes! when i was young my parents put me in a fashion show for an asian festival and one of my tita’s gave me a flower hairpin she brought back from the philippines and i keep it safe in a drawer bc it means a lot to me

12. aveeno moisturizer, hawaiian tropical for sunscreen, vaseline for lips.

13. go shopping

14. no my hydroflask is right next to me

15. what the fuck. best to worst: burning freezing drowning

16. fucking love it. s tier flavor

17. i HAVE to always have something on both my wrists. hair tie or bracelet doesn’t matter if i see my bare wrist i freak out and i don’t know why. if someone asks for a hair tie i hide my wrists bc i’d rather die than give mine up. also i need to wash my hands if i touch literally almost everything.

18. taro

19. fuckin onions. cant stand them. if it’s in my food it HAS to be sautéed or boiled until they’re mushy soft. no tomatoes.

20. the little mermaid and tangled!!!!

21. i’m not that kind of neurodivergent

22. yeah. purple hydroflask and all my starbucks cups

23. bracelets and necklaces always. rings when i go out. fake septum occasionally. earrings for fancy or nice events

24. american but not when i watch ted lasso

25. yes. i have the best taste in everything

26. decent. no one likes to drink my special hot chocolate after my brother almost died bc he accidently drank mine instead. love spicy dark chocolate too

27. okay i have this shirt that says “women want me fish fear me” and it’s my most popular shirt (my brothers gf borrowed it the other day and she was so excited and happy to wear it that she made me take a picture of her) and my favorite cargo jeans. OR my purple flannel w a black tank top and jeans. i’m starting to wear hair ribbons too

28. sinigang w rice ofc

29. bow tie!!! 🎀

30. jaque ask me something lol

[silvfyre-writings]

Aizawa Cares Pt. 11 (MHA Fanfic)

One day I will understand that tumblr is more than posting work. But that day is not today. Enjoy the next part!!!

If there was one thing Aizawa hated more than villains, it was the stupid parties that the Hero Public Safety Commission organized. Not only were these events busy and loud, they were a massive target for the villain organizations that had the guts to attack a large group of heroes. Yet the HPSC seemed more than happy to ignore that in favor of cramming a bunch of heroes into a large room together. Heroes with a wide variety of quirks and personalities. It was a recipe for disaster and he was surprised that something hadn’t happened sooner. Although it had come close last time when a newbie hero had openly mocked Endeavour, and the fiery man had almost set fire to them all in response. It was lucky he’d been there to erase both party’s quirks before things escalated.

Maybe that was why he was always invited to these parties.

So naturally, when he received an email with an invite to one such event, his first reaction was to sit and stare. Once he’d actually processed the email, his head dropped, hitting his desk with a loud thunk, and he let out a groan.

“Everything alright, Shouta?” Hizashi’s hand appeared on his shoulder, squeezing it gently, and despite his friend not saying anything, he knew that his friend was reading the email. “Ah. I wonder why they keep inviting you to these things.”

“It’s to make me suffer at this point, I swear.” Aizawa grumbled into his desk, frustrated that the people in charge of heroes didn’t seem to understand that the whole point of him being an underground hero, was that he stayed out of the spotlight. Never mind that he just hated crowds in general. “Did you get an invite?” Having Hizashi with him was bound to make the event so much easier to handle.

He heard Hizashi hum from beside him, hand still on his shoulder, as he pulled out his phone and checked his own emails. “Yep, I got one! I’ll ask and see if anyone else was invited. Did you want to go together?”

“Sure.” Aizawa sighed, finally lifting his head. “Find out if anyone else has been invited. I need to know if I have to arrange for another teacher to stay at the dorms while we’re gone.”

Aizawa sunk down in the seat of the car as he and Hizashi approached the building that the party was being held in, wishing more and more that he’d had the guts to just refuse the organizers. Already there were plenty of heroes, dressed up in fancy suits, dresses, and other types of formalwear walking into the massive hall that had been decorated for this event. Some of them Aizawa recognized, but most he did not. The downside to being an underground hero.

“You okay, Shouta?” Hizashi asked from beside him, dressed in a nicely pressed black suit, hair styled in a half-bun, and regular glasses on his face instead of the flashy ones he usually wore. He looked nice. “Who did you get to watch the dorms while you were gone?”

“Ectoplasm.” Aizawa answered, reaching up to readjust his tie, even though he knew it was perfectly done. After all, Hizashi was the one that had dressed him and if there was one thing that his friend was good at, it was fashion. If he hadn’t had interfered, then Aizawa probably would’ve just gone in his hero costume. And that wouldn’t have gone well. “The kids asked if he could be the one.”

“Well that’s good! Means they’re trusting in their teachers more.”

“I suppose.”

“But you’d still rather be the one to look after them, right?” Hizashi grinned at him.

“Yes.” Aizawa huffed, only slightly annoyed at how well Hizashi could read him. Only slightly because it certainly came in handy at times, like if Aizawa got angry and tried to fight someone when it clearly wasn’t the best decision. He really was blessed to have such a good friend.

Silence fell upon the two heroes, Hizashi navigating his way into the nearest carpark. Aizawa took a deep breath to steel himself before climbing out of the car. Tonight was certainly going to test his patience. Thankfully the media that was hanging around the entrance was more focused on Edgeshot, who had just arrived, giving Aizawa and Hizashi the chance they needed to slip through unnoticed. Momentarily blinded by the bright lighting once they got inside, Aizawa stopped to blink until his eyes adjusted. He looked around the room, taking in the decorations, and the massive amount of heroes already crammed into the space. It had him wondering how many sidekicks were being left to man the agency’s so that their bosses could come to this party. The answer was; probably a lot.

He recognized many of the heroes that were gathered in groups, quietly chatting amicably amongst themselves, everyone being polite and cordial, even if they didn’t usually get along when working. A few of the heroes spotted Hizashi and promptly flocked towards his friend to speak with him. Aizawa stepped away, not wanting to get dragged into conversation, but stayed close enough that if he was needed, he’d be there. Although his friend was quick to catch his gaze and wave him away, signaling that he’d be fine on his own. So with only a slight amount of hesitation, did Aizawa quickly walk off to find the quietest place possible that he could observe from, if there even was such a place.

Salvation came in the form of the bar that only had a few heroes lingering around. Probably because the drinking would come after someone announced the party had officially started. Aizawa sat himself at the bar and quietly ordered himself a drink, not intending to get drunk, but also wanting a bit of alcohol in his system to handle the party. Next time, he was rejecting the invite. A sudden, excited yelling from the entrance had Aizawa looking up, and immediately frowning as he recognized the massive form of their Number One hero. And just behind him was Hawks, the mans bright red wings tucked so close behind him, it almost looked like he didn’t have wings. Great… Aizawa turned back to his drink and slouched. He doubted the two heroes would take the time to come bother him, although he wouldn’t put it past Endeavour to harass him about his son, especially since the kid was currently ignoring his father’s attempts at communication. And if Aizawa had encouraged that decision, he wasn’t going to admit it.

“What kind of event is it this time?” Aizawa asked the bartender, downing the rest of his drink in one go. He didn’t ask for another.

“It’s a unification event, I believe.” The bartender reached over to take the glass. “The HPSC is trying to get heroes from all over Japan to form connections with each other, in order to help curb the spread of villainy. Another?”

“No thanks.” Aizawa refused the offer of another drink. “And they think a massive party is the way to go?”

The bartender shrugged, serving a few other heroes that had discovered where the bar was. The man called over his shoulder. “Apparently. I just work where I’m told, sir, so I don’t pretend to understand the motive behind these events. But even I think it’s not the best of ideas. I hope your quirk doesn’t end up being required.”

At that, Aizawa looked up. It wasn’t often that civilians recognized him after all. “You know who I am?”

The bartender noticed his confused expression and explained. “I work in the shitty part of Musutafu. I’ve seen you in action.”

“Ah.”

An entire hour had passed before Hizashi managed to make it back to Aizawa’s side, the man quick to order himself a drink as he leant against the bar. Aizawa watched him with a bored expression. The event was in full swing now, all the invited heroes having arrived and greetings been exchanged. Since most of the heroes in attendance appeared to be young adults, the HPSC had catered for that, having loud pop music playing over speakers and a dancefloor on the other side of the building. Thankfully, the bar was as far from that as possible, meaning it was blissfully quiet… well as quiet as it could be at least.

“I thought you liked socializing?” Aizawa smirked as Hizashi knocked back the drink and asked for another. He quickly tacked on a drink of his own to the order, happy to enjoy sipping on one with his friend.

“There is socializing. And then there’s that.” Hizashi huffed, sliding into a recently vacated seat. “I think they invited all the young heroes who’ve recently debuted. And I will admit, I don’t even know who half of them are. Is that bad, Shouta?”

“You’re doing better than me. I don’t think I know anyone other than the top ten. I’m amazed they’re all here actually.”

“Jeanist and Musha aren’t here. So not, the entire top ten.” Hizashi pointed out.

“One. Jeanist is on medical leave still. Two. Can you imagine Musha coming to an event such as this? The man has better things to do.” Aizawa argued. He couldn’t picture any of the top ten willingly attending an event like this, except for maybe Hawks and Mirko, but he wasn’t going to tell Hizashi that.

“Touché. Are you going to hide here all night?” Hizashi asked. “Because if you are, I’m going to go enjoy the dancefloor.”

“Going to put all these young heroes to shame?”

“That or embarrass them.” Hizashi laughed as he finished his drink and got ready to leave. “Don’t have too much fun without me.”

Aizawa grunted and went back to his drink. There was absolutely nothing that would drag him from this chair before the time came that he could leave. Although, he figured that the least he could do was keep an eye on his friend, in the event that something happened. Despite the amount of people that were in the building, he was still easily able to see Hizashi, although that probably had more to do with his friend’s chosen hairstyle than the amount of people in the building.

In keeping an eye on his friend, Aizawa was able to observe the rest of the room. He spotted Endeavour in the corner of the room that was as far from the dance floor as possible, looking like his typical angry self. Although it appeared the man was at least trying to be sociable and was talking with some other heroes, one of them being Mirko; if the rabbit ears were anything to go by. Looking past the group, he spotted the quieter heroes, such as Manual and Kamui Woods, hanging and quietly chatting amongst themselves, many of them with drinks in their hands.

A commotion from the dancefloor drew Aizawa’s attention over to it, and he frowned when he noticed that something had knocked over a bunch of people. Yet despite the felled people, others were still trying to get at whoever, or whatever, was at the center of it all. It was behaviour that didn’t belong to heroes, yet was the behaviour that happened when alcohol was involved. That was when he noticed the bright red wings that were tightly wrapped around their owner, which was enough to send Aizawa to his feet.

Navigating the crowd with ease, he pushed past everyone that dared to walk in his path, ignoring their complaints and exclamations in order to continue on his path. As he got closer to the dance floor, the noise increased to the point it was starting to make his head pound. How could these people stand such a racket? Pushing aside his discomfort, Aizawa forced his way through the crowd, snapping at anyone that dared to try and shove him back, until he was standing beside Hawks’ curled up form.

“Out of the way!” He snapped, elbowing someone that dared to touch the hero who very clearly, did not want to be touched. Honestly. No situational awareness at all. How did these people become heroes? The crowd didn’t take to his dismissal and began to get even rowdier than before. Aizawa noticed Hawks visibly flinch and that was all it took for anger to fill his entire body.

Salvation came in the form of his best friend.

“Hey, hey, listeners!” Aizawa heard Hizashi’s voice echo from elsewhere in the room. It was hard to tell from where, but it was appreciated all the same. “The bar would like to remind you all to stay hydrated and is offering a free drink of your choice to everyone in the building, but only for the next twenty minutes! So let’s stop the dancing and get some drinks into you all!”

And just like that, the crowd’s attention was drawn and began to disperse, although some still lingered on the dance floor. But it was empty enough that Aizawa felt that he could breathe again, and he only hoped that Hawks felt the same. He knelt beside the Number Two hero, unsure of what could be ailing the man, but knowing that he needed to get him off the floor and away from prying eyes.

“Hawks, it’s Eraserhead.” Aizawa’s made sure his voice was calm and quiet. “I understand you don’t want people touching you, but I’m only here to help. I only wish to move you somewhere quieter.”

Silence followed his offer, and he almost thought the young hero hadn’t heard him at all, when finally, a slight nod came from Hawks. And that was all Aizawa needed. Quickly, he hooked his hands underneath Hawks’ shoulders, and dragged the hero to his feet, finding himself supporting Hawks’ weight almost entirely as the man fell against him. Stumbling back a few steps, Aizawa quickly righted the both of them before dragging Hawks in the direction of the building’s bathrooms. No one followed them, and the moment that they were inside, Hawks shoved him away and once again, collapsed to the ground. Aizawa scanned Hawks’ body in case of a hidden injury, yet noticed nothing out of the ordinary other than the heavy tremors that wracked the man’s body. He could hear Hawks’ breathing picking up, the hero’s chest heaving as he gasped for air.

A panic attack.

Aizawa pulled out his phone and quickly shot a text to Hizashi, telling him where he was and to keep everyone away from the bathrooms until further notice. Once that was done, he shoved his phone back into his pocket and focused all of his attention on Hawks. He wasn’t the best at dealing with panic attacks, that was a job more suited to his friendlier co-workers, but he knew the gist of how to handle them, and had dealt with many—both his own, and his students—before. So he drew on those experiences in an attempt to bring some comfort to someone who was in desperate need of it.

“Hawks.” Aizawa crouched beside Hawks, who curled up into an even tighter ball, red wings thrown to hide himself from view. Aizawa simply let it happen. “Hawks, I need you to breathe, okay? Even just a single one.”

A keening noise was the only response he was given, the tremors increasing. Aizawa’s worry increased, knowing that if he didn’t get Hawks to control his breathing soon, the hero would pass out.

Aizawa decided in that moment to take a gamble, and moved to the one gap between Hawks’ wings and the floor. If this didn’t work, then he had no doubt Hawks would either shut down completely or lash out at him, neither option being the man’s fault. He sat on the floor and stretched himself out, just barely being able to see Hawks’ face. One hand reached out beneath the gap and gently touched the back of one of Hawks’ hands. Golden eyes flew open, and Hawks’ body stilled immediately. The hero wasn’t breathing at all now.

Aizawa tapped the back of Hawks’ hand with one finger. “I’m not going to hurt you, Hawks. I just want you to take a breath for me.”

Hawks continued to stare at him, unblinking, for several seconds like he was waiting for something. Aizawa took an exaggerated breath to try and coax Hawks into following, pleased when he saw the man take a nice deep breath, which was all it took to bring Hawks back. The man’s eyes blinked, and he slowly moved his hand to grip Aizawa’s own, the grip bone-breaking tight. Aizawa hid the wince that tried to break out, and just squeezed gently. He continued to breathe evenly; his own gaze fixated on Hawks’ chest, watching it rise and fall. Who knew that you could shock someone out of a panic attack?

Silence blanketed the both of them, yet it wasn’t an awkward silence, or even a tense one. It was the type of silence that happened when words weren’t needed. Aizawa watched as Hawks looked away from him and finally moved his wings to that they weren’t hiding him from view anymore, and watched as Hawks’ body slowly began to relax. Although the stress grip on his hand remained.

“’m sorry…” Hawks rasped. “You can go.”

“No.” Aizawa was quick to shoot the suggestion down. No way was he going to leave Hawks on the bathroom floor. “I’m not going anywhere until you’re alright. Present Mic’s running interference to prevent anyone from coming in here, so take all the time you need. Besides, you’ve trapped my hand.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Hawks just blinked at that, like he couldn’t believe that someone actually wanted to help him. It had Aizawa remembering that the Number Two hero wasn’t that much older than his own students, and that Hawks hadn’t gone to a hero school like most heroes. He’d been picked up by the HPSC and who knew how they trained heroes.

“It’s fine.” Aizawa soothed, speaking to the hero like he would to his students when they were distressed. “Do you need anything?”

Hawks shook his head, still refusing to look at Aizawa. “I’m supposed to be stronger than this.”

“Everyone has their moments of weakness. There’s no shame in that.” Aizawa squeezed the hand that was still gripping his own, finally drawing Hawks’ eyes to look at him. “The trick is knowing that it’s okay to ask for help when you need it. So I’ll ask again. Do you need anything?”

Hawks was silent for a moment, clearly thinking over Aizawa’s words. But it appeared that whatever he’d been taught was stronger than Hawks’ own needs. “I’ll get in trouble if I’m gone too long.”

“Forget the Commission.” Aizawa huffed. “They aren’t here right now, and if they say anything, I’ll take responsibility for—”

“Why?” Hawks interrupted; his voice small. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I care, Hawks. From my point of view, you were forced into a situation that overwhelmed you into a state of panic. Which is a cruel and heartless thing to do to someone, regardless of how popular they are as a hero. You’re allowed to say no, Hawks. You’re allowed to ask for help.”

“Oh…” Hawks’ eyes gained a distinct shine to them, which Aizawa avoided staring at lest he make Hawks feel self-conscious. “Um… you’ll help… me?” The question was hesitant and quiet, as if this was the first time Hawks was truly asking for someone to help him.

Aizawa nodded. “Of course.”

“How?”

That wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. Aizawa blinked and spoke carefully. “Well, you can talk to me about what happened. Or if you want to leave, Present Mic and I can get you out of here without anyone knowing. Or I can just sit with you if you think you’ll be able to handle the rest of the party. It’s your choice, Hawks.”

Hawks looked both thoughtful and uncertain at the same time, and Aizawa had the feeling that this was the first time that someone had truly offered help to Hawks. And it hurt a little to know that the hero felt the need to hide this vulnerable side to him, especially when all he’d ever seen before was the energetic, carefree persona that Hawks showed to the world. He wondered what Hawks’ life had been like before he’d become a hero, although he wasn’t going to question the man about it tonight. Not when he was still recovering from being overloaded.

Finally, Hawks answered. “I want to leave.”

“Okay. I’ll call Mic.”

It took a lot of maneuvering and careful diversions, but Aizawa and Hizashi successfully managed to get Hawks out of the building with no one the wiser. It had been difficult, when Hawks had flinched away from all forms of physical contact, which Aizawa didn’t fault the man for at all, yet Hawks had apologized all the same. So he and Hizashi had waited for Hawks to get his legs underneath him, and they’d thrown a jacket over the wings that were tightly tucked against Hawks’ body. Although the moment the jacket had touched the feathers, Hawks’ face had paled, and he’d looked like he was about to pass out, so Aizawa had made the execute decision to cause Hawks some distress in order to bring relief, and dragged him out of the building and towards the car. It wasn’t something he’d wanted to do, and it pained him to cause someone deliberate harm, but at that moment, he hadn’t seen a better option.

Hawks practically flew into the backseat of the car once they’d made it, curling up as far from Aizawa as possible, and staring at him with a look of betrayal, body shaking once again. Guilt filled Aizawa’s body, and he threw the hero an apologetic look as he climbed into the passenger seat, but remained silent otherwise, knowing that words weren’t going to help in this situation. Hizashi quickly situated himself into the driver’s seat, and after shooting their unexpected passenger a concerned look, started the car and pulled away from the party. Thankfully, his friend had the sense to keep the radio off, and although slightly awkward, the silence was appreciated.

The entire drive home, Aizawa kept throwing looks over his shoulder at Hawks just in case the hero’s condition changed. The sudden, but subtle change in Hawks’ breathing pattern when they were halfway home had Aizawa tapping the seat just in front of the hero and silently offering his hand once golden eyes were looking at him. Hawks blinked once, looking much younger than he was in that moment, and tentatively reached out to grab Aizawa’s hand, and then latching on tight. Aizawa ignored the discomfort, just glad to bring some comfort to the other.

This was all unfamiliar territory to Aizawa. While still young, Hawks wasn’t one of his students and that meant that he had to treat the situation with delicate hands. If this had been one of his students, Aizawa would’ve known exactly what they needed to overcome it. But he didn’t know Hawks all that well. All he’d seen in that moment on the dancefloor was someone in desperate need of help, with him as the only one offering it. Was it because Hawks was the Number Two hero? Or was it the Commission’s influence? Either way, it made Aizawa’s hatred for the rankings grow even stronger. Heroes should never have started being ranked. It just caused more problems in the end.

“We’re here.” Hizashi’s voice was quiet and subdued, yet soothing at the same time, as he turned the car off. “I’ll head inside and get the couch ready.”

“Okay.” Aizawa waited for his friend to shut the door before shifting in his seat to look at Hawks. “Do you feel up to heading inside?”

Hawks’ grip on his hand tightened before the hero let go of it, his own hand thumping against the edge of the seat. The man looked exhausted. “I guess.” Was all Hawks said.

“Do you need help?”

“I’m not a child.” Came the slightly annoyed response.

Aizawa ignored Hawks’ tone, used to worse from his students when they were in a bad mood, and just shrugged. “That’s fine. But you can’t stay in the car. It’ll be warmer inside.” He climbed out the car himself and waited by the entrance for Hawks, watching as the man seemed to have some kind of internal battle with himself before emerging from the car, much steadier on his feet than he had been when they left. Aizawa opened the door and ushered Hawks inside before entering himself, stepping past the hero when he stopped in the entryway.

“The living room is through that door there.” Aizawa pointed to the door on the left. “Bathroom’s the last door at the end of the hall. Would you like to have a shower?”

Hawks quickly shook his head. “No. But I’d… I’d like to get out of this suit.”

“Here.” Hizashi appeared from around the corner, a bundle of the softest and fluffiest clothes in his arms that Aizawa knew his friend adored. “You can borrow these while you’re here. I made room for your wings as well.”

“Oh… you didn’t have to do that.” Hawks’ eyes were wide as he carefully took the bundle from Hizashi. His eyes grew even wider once he realized how soft the material was, running a finger across the shirt in awe. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem at all!” Hizashi gave Hawks one of his signature smiles before gently shooing the hero towards the bathroom. “Go get changed, listener, and don’t be afraid to take as long as you need.”

Once the door shut behind Hawks, Hizashi turned towards him with sad eyes and opened his arms. Aizawa sighed, but still stepped forward to let his friend embrace him. It wasn’t something he engaged in often, but physical contact was one of the ways Hizashi would calm himself down after something upsetting happened. It just so happened that Aizawa was almost always the one closest when it was required.

“He’ll be fine.” Aizawa said quietly.

“I know.” Hizashi sighed. “I’m just sad that he was put in such a position that we had to essentially rescue him. Is that what the Commission’s really like?”

“I don’t know. We don’t deal with them much.” Aizawa pulled away and made his way into the living room. “Not much we can do other than be there for him when he needs the help.”

“Aww, Shouta, are you adopting him?” Hizashi teased as he followed Aizawa into the room, making is way to where the extra blankets for the couch were stored.

Aizawa glared at his friend, not even bothering to dignify his friend with a response. Instead, he took the blankets from Hizashi and got them settled on the couch, ready for Hawks to use. Afterwards, he left the room, heading towards the storage space where they usually kept the spare beddings—pillows included. It seemed that Hawks was partial to soft things, so Aizawa made sure to pick out the softest of the pillows he owned. Making his way back to the living room, he could hear Hizashi’s voice speaking quietly, although he couldn’t discern what was being said. And upon re-entering the room, he was greeted by the sight of Hizashi, his arms wrapped around Hawks, who was now dressed in the clothes he’d been leant. His friend was talking about nothing in particular, his voice being kept low and soothing in the way he usually did when dealing with the victims of villain attacks. Aizawa noticed that Hawks’ shoulders were shaking slightly.

“Everything alright?” He asked.

“Yep!” Hizashi smiled over the top of Hawks. “Just some emotions running their due course. Which of course, hugs help with! So, we’re hugging.”

“I see.” Placing the pillow on the couch, he moved to place a hand against Hawks’ shoulder. “Do you need anything?”

A single eye glanced towards him. Hawks shook his head and pulled away, sitting down gingerly on the couch. “No, I’ll be okay. I… appreciate your help. I’m sorry I lashed out at you before. You were just trying to help me.”

“It’s fine.” Aizawa sat on the armchair across from Hawks. “You didn’t want to be touched and I ignored that. If anything, I should be the one apologizing.”

“Ah… no, it wasn’t your fault. I let myself get overwhelmed in the first place.” Hawks sighed.

Aizawa frowned. “You didn’t let yourself get overwhelmed. Sensory overload isn’t something you can control.”

“Sensory… overload…?” It was Hawks’ turn to frown, although it was more of a confused look.

“It’s when your senses get overwhelmed out external stimuli.” Hizashi explained. “It’s different for everyone, but the experience is similar in most cases. Touch, sight, hearing; they can all get overloaded and that causes your body to just shut down basically.”

“Oh…”

Sensing what Hawks was thinking, Aizawa was quick to speak. “Overload can happen to anyone. It doesn’t make you weak if it happens to you. It’s quite common for it to happen in crowds, though. And it’s okay if you don’t handle it well when it happens.”

Hawks just nodded.

“I’ll leave you both for the night. Night Hawks, night Shouta.” Hizashi waved at the both of them before leaving the room, leaving the door open.

Aizawa watched as Hawks shifted on the couch until he was lying down, head resting against the pillow, and drawing the blankets up and over his body, effectively hiding himself from the world. Aizawa bit back a chuckle at the child-like behaviour, instead turning the lights off and getting himself comfortable in the armchair, fully prepared to watch over Hawks for the night, just to make sure that the hero was safe.

“Eraserhead…?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

[nothing-but-dreamy]

BLACK TIE

A/N: Thanks again for this idea @mindlessstories

I hope you have fun with it

Pairing: LEON KENNEDY x READER

Words: 1.736

Warnings: fluff, cursing, Leon in a suit

Synopsis: Yn and Leon are on a mission with fancy clothes. But somehow the mission is not the most interesting thing...

"W-What the bloody... What are you wearing?", Yn asked as she checked the appearance of the man in front of her. The guy was neatly dressed in a white suit shirt, black suit pants and a black jacket. Even a black tie was bound around the man’s neck. Quickly, Yn checked the number of the hotel room once again in fear she had mistaken it and might stand in front of some stranger. No, it was the right room and actually, it was also the right guy. It was just … even if it was part of the mission, Leon S. Kennedy had swapped his typical, casual leather jacket with a tuxedo. It was a sight for sore eyes. Unusually and at the same time, perfectly fitting as if Leon would be some kind of secret undercover supermodel instead of an agent.

Leon, amused about Yn’s big eyes and astonished expression, chuckled and stepped aside, letting his partner in who was still watching him as if he would be an alien. A handsome one but still. Leon closed the door, "It's a tuxedo. That's what you wear on a bow and tie event.", he explained and watched how Yn rolled with her eyes.

“I know what it is but to see you in it… and by the way! Black Tie, Kennedy! It’s called Black Tie! And not ‘bow and tie’.”, Yn explained for maybe the hundredth time since they both got assigned to this secret mission. In fact, the job was easy. A rich weapons dealer had started to ‘extend’ his sortiment with some BOWs. His business was flourishing. But instead of just catching him, Yn and Leon had decided it would be better to bug the dealer to get information about his clients as well. Therefore, they were able to dig out the whole nest.

“I don’t care what these events are called. They’re all the same. It’s just to show off how rich and important everyone is.”, Leon said and leant with crossed arms against the doorframe.

“I know how much you hate these things.”, Yn said, grabbed her bag and aimed for the bathroom to change her outfit as well, “But I have to admit, you look good in this tuxedo. It suits you.”, she said through the half closed door.

Leon smirked, “Oh, really? You know, maybe you could show me how much you like my outfit?”, he asked flirtatiously.

Yn opened the door again and stepped out, “Focus on the mission, Kennedy.”

Leon was hearing her words but his mind went kinda blank as he saw her robed in a floor-length, backless, black dress. The silky-soft fabric hugged all her curves perfectly and gave much input for many, many x-rated fantasies. Slowly, Leon’s eyes wandered upwards until he met her challenging glance. Slowly, he stepped forward with a smirk, “I might hate these events but I could get used to seeing you working in such a stunning outfit.”, Leon said low.

Yn saw dirty thoughts glittering behind his steel-blue eyes and smirked, “Take a picture, it might last longer. Come, we have to go.”, she said, passed Leon and knew that he was staring at her back all the way.

**

Thirty minutes later, Yn and Leon were entering a huge, pompous decorated ballroom. Chandeliers bathed the room in dim, atmospheric light. Soft jazz music played in the background. And obviously a whole diamond mine had exploded because it was sparkling and twinkling in each corner. The room was filled with high-society and in the middle of it two special agents who tried to fit into this kind of world.

“Shall we split up?”, Leon asked low.

Still with a wealthy smile on her lips, Yn shook her head, “Let us take a round together and then, if necessary, we split up.”, she said and linked her arm with Leon’s.

The idea had been good but quickly, they had to admit that the room was too stuffed with people. And because they searched for a guy, and everyone looked kinda the same in their black suits, they had difficulties finding their subject.

Evading into a quiet corner, Yn looked up at Leon, “That’s not working. There are too many people here. Alright, we split up. I walk around a bit. You could monitor the guys who are without women like the group over there at the bar.”, she said and nodded unobtrusively into the said direction while putting a small intercom into her ear to activate it and gave Leon the other earpiece who mirrored her move. With a serious expression, her eyes met Leon’s, “If one of us finds him, the other one comes to the position.”, she said and was about to leave.

Leon held her back, “Be careful, okay?”, he said and looked her caringly but serious in the eyes.

She smirked, “Of course. I’m not the one with the reckless moves like fighting against infected dogs on a motorbike.”, and with that, she stepped back to vanish in the crowd.

Leon chuckled about her boldness and shook his head before he followed her idea to aim for the bar. He ordered a drink and while waiting for it, Leon looked left and right to check out the people around him if their target would be with them. Leon was just about to check an older man with salt-and-pepper hair as fragments of a conversation waved over to him, catching his attention.

“These women are all the same. Rich, wealthy and absolutely boring.”, one tall man said before taking a sip of his Whiskey.

“Yeah, or ugly. I mean, how many surgeries are really necessary? I get the impression that all these women here are just made out of plastic and silicone.”, another man said. He was a bit smaller than the first one.

Leon was just about to leave as the third guy said something that caught his attention to the point that he fully turned over to them, “You might be right except with this pretty thing over there. What? None of you haven’t seen her yet? Okay, then, she’s mine.”, the guy said and let it sound as if the woman was just a piece of meat and he was the lion to hunt it down.

Leon knew he had to focus on the mission and he really was about to leave the group of idiots behind but then, he noticed the way how the guy looked at the unaware victim. It was a lust filled glance that even Leon felt disgusted by the sight. The guy was pretty sure about himself that he would be successful to win the woman over this evening. The guy, tall, dark haired and looking like a lot of money, licked over his lips while his eyes showed that he looked at a point that was lower than the woman’s waist. Now more interested in who the innocent lamb might be, Leon followed the guy’s glance and felt how his blood ran hot and cold at the same time.

Yn stood there, talking with an older lady and facing the group of guys with her back. The dress gave a beautiful sight of her flawless skin. While she talked, her body moved beautifully and she even swayed a bit to the soft tune of the music so that her hair fell over her bare back, dancing a little through the air.

“You can’t have her! I saw her first. I just couldn’t say anything because I became speechless by her eyes.”, the first, tall guy said.

“By her eyes? Forget them! Look at her god damn ass. So round and juicy.”, the guy said and his eyes became filled with raw, sexual hunger.

That was enough for Leon to forget the mission for a moment as he walked over to the group, “I couldn’t miss hearing how you were talking about this young lady.” Leon said low, getting the attention of all three men at the same time, “Stay away from her. All of you. Or otherwise, things will turn ugly.”, he said with a kind of threat lingering in his voice.

One of the men stepped closer to Leon, slightly towering over the agent and looking down, “Who do you think you are, huh? Nothing we do is your concern.”

Not impressed at all, Leon stepped forward, holding the man’s glance, “She’s mine, get it? Therefore, yes, it concerns me how you are talking about her. So, do yourself a favor and stay away from her or I will become your worst nightmare. And trust me, I know what I’m talking about.”, Leon said threateningly, leaving no room for any further arguments.

The guy stared at Leon for several more moments and considered his best next step but in the end, the guy saw something in Leon’s eyes that told him to better back off. And after another few seconds, the guy stepped back, nodded to his friends and disappeared somewhere else.

Leon went back to his drink and emptied it in one big sip. As he placed the glass back on the counter, Yn stood already next to him, leaning against the bar with a smirk on her lips, "So, I'm yours, huh?", she asked low.

With a shock filled glance, he stared at her and swallowed thickly, "Oh, uhm... Well... I- I didn't like the way he looked at you.", he stammered with an apologetic glance.

Yn nodded, "Yes, I heard that.”, she said, tapping at her ear with her index finger to remind him of the intercom. As Yn saw his awkward smile, she stepped forward, “You know, to see you jealous and protective was kinda cute. But it was unnecessary, don't you think? I'm not your girlfriend."

Leon also stepped forward, a smirk was playing on his lips while he snaked his arm around her waist to bring her even closer, "Actually, we're just one date away that I can call you mine."

"Oh, really? Then, I would say we count this evening as a date, what do you think?", Yn suggested whispering against his lips which were just inches away.

"Deal.", Leon breathed before he kissed her. It was a deep kiss. Filled with hunger to show off to whom Yn belonged to. Yn tugged on his suit jacket to bring him even closer, knowing exactly where these clothes would land later this evening…

[yes-more-ego-headcanons]

Google (Blue) Headcanons!

hello I know I've been GONE for like EVER but I'm back 💕 ....... for now- Anyways let's get some of these headcanons out!

I have multiple ideas for Google and the Google Brothers so let me know if you want to see more on the brothers!

The cell block for a brain [/affectionate] has feelings he just doesn't know how to express them or realize they're even there.

RBF [resting 'bitch' face] is a constant.

Older software but he's still working like new.

Always wearing that blue shirt with a G on it and black jeans. Nothing ever changes except for when it's winter. Then he wear a light jacket. With a G on it.

"Second objective is to destroy mankind" okay you emotional baby. You just hide it. /lh/j .../hj

Bright blue eyes that look like neon lights in the dark. So just imagine Dark or someone trying to get snacks in the middle of the night and you just see 🔵🔵 near a wall. I know someone would scream. (I would-)

He actually enjoys talking but does it rarely as that's not his 'objective'.

Don't say his command phrase he will 🤼 [and good for him. Get em]

He doesn't look down on Bing but Bing reads it like that.

Yes he is able to style himself and look absolutely fantastic but. It's not his 'objective'.

... now to explain the whole objective part. His systems are heavily coded to be one way and it would take some major rewiring to fix that.

Only does repairs if it's absolutely necessary. (so many dents and scars 😭 but I will pat them all because scars are beautiful)

Goes by He/It/Code pronouns. (Code/Codes/Codeself)

23 years old.... (Happy belated birthday Googs.) He was a advance A.I. at the time now he's just in android form.

I would like to think...... If there was a fancy event he'd wear sneakers with a obviously expensive suit. Like imagine a blue velvet suit with a white bow-tie and a black button up then you just see... Dirty sneakers as his shoes. I would cry-

Has some ingraved designs on his body and face.. Beautiful tech designs as well as in his eyes.

Have standard piercings and changes them rarely. He'd be surprised if anyone even noticed he changed them, usually Bing says something because of how observant they are.

Anyways that's all I have for now!!

@even-more-incorrect-ego-quotes 💕

[headheartbellarke]

Paper Rings | OWEN JOYNER

Requested by anon: “Owen request? A series of events that leads Owen to finally working up the courage to propose to his girlfriend?” PAIRING(s): Owen Joyner x fem!reader WARNING(s): some language, mentions of abuse, panic attack, anxiety, and fluff haha WORDS: 3.7k SUMMARY: Five times Owen almost asks his girlfriend to marry him, and one time he actually does.

0.

    Charlie looks around, feeling out of place amongst the big mirrors, bright lights, and the sparkling diamonds. When his best friend, Owen, told him that he wanted a ‘guys night’ (he’s still unsure as to why he wants to have one: they live together, it’s guys’ night every night – he was expecting bars, or clubs, or fancy restaurants; things they don’t get to do every night, because of work. But he definitely wasn’t expecting to be dragged into a jewellery store.

  “O, buddy, what are we doing here?”

  Owen shushes him, walking ahead to a counter. A woman with kind eyes greets him. “Mr. Joyner!”

  He smiles, familiarity pooling in his eyes.

  Charlie frowns. He didn’t expect Owen to be into jewellery – sure, he buys stuff for his sister and mother, but he always takes them with him.

  He thinks of Y/N, Owen’s girlfriend of about five years – there’s a possibility that he may be buying something for her, but it’s highly unlikely. Y/N has been pretty vocal about the fact that she hates diamonds, and who’s to blame her, really? Her father used to buy her mother a diamond necklace after every time he hit her or when he came home smelling of another woman’s perfume.

  Charlie exclaims, “Owen! I’m gonna die if you don’t tell me what’s going on!”

   “I know, I know.” He shushes him, again, and Charlie feels like a child, even though he’s older than the blonde boy. Owen turns to the woman in front of him, Miranda, as her name tag reads, and says, “I hope it’s ready.”

  She nods, excitedly. “Yes! I have it right here with me.”

  She disappears beneath the counter, and Charlie expects her to return with a big box, like a magician’s apprentice. But, instead, she emerges with a small, tiny box and he wonders –

  As realization dawns upon him, he feels a rush of euphoria. “Oh my god, are you –”

  Owen nods, his face aglow with anticipation, hope and adoration. “I – I walked into this store a couple of weeks ago, after I decided that I wanted to marry her, I mean, I’ve known it for a while, you know? I can’t see myself being with anyone but her for the rest of my life, and I want a family with her. She’s my soulmate, dude. And I – I think it’s the right time, too. She’s got that amazing job, and my career’s going great, so, yeah. I wanna marry her.”

  Charlie sniffs, feeling tears at the back of his eyes. “Bro.”

  His friend grins. “Bro.”

  Charlie pulls him into a hug, but Owen pushes him away, and they swat each other’s hands for a second before Owen whisper shouts, “Do you wanna see the ring or not?!”

  Charlie’s eyes widen and he nods. They turn to the woman in front of them, and she points to the box placed on the counter before them. “If you’re ready.”

  Owen nods, and Charlie feels amazed at the determination clouding his irises. He opens the box, and the Canadian boy gasps.

  Inside sits a simple platinum ring. Except at the middle, there’s a diamond shaped like a star. It’s so beautifully built, every edge looking like they’re fit to cut steel. And the entire ring – it’s so simple, yet beautiful, and Charlie knows why he picked it.  

  It’s a mirror of the way Owen sees Y/N – something gorgeous, something priceless, something elegant, yet something so simple to him, and something that will always makes sense, no matter what.

1.

    Owen inhales, staring at his reflection in the full body length mirror in front of him. He’s going to do it today – he is going to ask his best friend, his soulmate and the love of his life to marry him. He has planned it all – even Charlie went out with the rest of the cast tonight to give the twenty-three-year-olds some privacy. (Charlie, Y/N, and Owen live together in Vancouver, at least while shooting the fourth season of Julie and The Phantoms, so, as one can guess, it’s really difficult to get a moment alone – but since the both of them love Charlie so fucking much, they don’t really mind.)

  He straightens his tie and hears soft footsteps in the hallway outside his room. Y/N’s head pokes in, her face lit up like Christmas lights.

   “Don’t you look sharp!” She says, while walking up to him and wrapping her arms around his torso. Owen smiles, catching her eyes in the reflection. “Are the bad puns ever going to stop?”

  She gasps, dramatically, and exclaims, “You don’t gotta be so mean about it!”

  He shakes his head, and feels love swell in his chest for the woman behind him. “I love you so much, you know that, right?”

  A mischievous glint appears in her eyes. “I could use a reminder.”

  Owen grins, turning backwards and cups her face in his hands, about to kiss her, when a voice stops him.

  “I think I just broke the coffee machine!”

  Y/N’s eyes widen, and she yells, “You did what?!”

  Owen’s brows furrow. “Is that –”

  She casts him an apologetic glance. “Zoe, yeah. I forgot to tell you, but Cece had to go out last minute, so I offered to watch her for the evening!”

  Usually, Owen loves kids, especially Y/N’s cousins like Zoe, but right now, he feels like jumping off a cliff. She seems to sense that as she runs her hands down his arms, and says, “I’m sorry! I know you said that tonight was gonna be just us, but you love Zoe, don’t you? And it’s gonna be fun, I promise!”

  It’s not. Owen had booked a table at Y/N’s favorite restaurant in Vancouver, and he would have proposed midway through the dinner, when the musicians there would start to play ‘Love Story’ by Taylor Swift, and when they got to the bridge, he would have dropped to a knee.

  Ignoring the weight in his chest, he plasters a smile on his face. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m sorry, I just – it’s been a while since we’ve been alone, you know? With work and all. But I’m sure it’s gonna be great with Zoe, too!”

  She nods. “Thank you. We can go out alone next week when Charlie has that photoshoot with Madi!”

  He nods. “Absolutely.”

  The little black box stays hidden in the pocket of the beige coat in his closet that he never wears.

2.

    As Y/N smiles at him, Owen thinks that this is it. This is the moment he’s gonna ask her to marry him.

  As the light from the fire illuminates her face, he thinks about how perfect this weekend has been. After long days, and even longer nights of filming, they finally got a weekend off, and Charlie immediately booked a cabin in North Vancouver.

  And there’s no one better at planning trips than Charlie.

  Along with Owen, Y/N, and Charlie; Madison, Jadah, Jeremy and his wife, Carolynn, Savannah, Sacha, and Tori are here, too, everyone basking in the peace. Throughout the weekend, they’ve done anything and everything they can do in snow – from skiing, to making snow angels, and finally, as the shades of evening rolled on the last day of their trip, they are tired.

  After dinner, everyone wordlessly returned to their rooms, and Owen knows that they’re all fast asleep, right now – except Y/N, who is still as bubbly as champagne.

  When they returned to their room, Y/N quickly lit the fire – because no matter if it’s snowing or if it’s fifty degrees outside – she is always freezing.

  It’s the opposite in Owen’s case, though – he’s always warm, and that’s why Y/N wasted no time to settle in his lap.

  Owen quickly pats his pocket to check if the ring’s still there. It is, and it’s been there for the whole weekend. He’s been searching for opportunities, but they were always either with someone, or it wasn’t a good time.

  “O?” She asks, her voice soft.

  “Hmm?” He replies, threading his fingers through her hair.

  Her eyes brighten up, putting the fire in front of them to shame. “I’ve just had an idea.”

  “Later. First, I have something to ask you.” He says, his hand reaching into his pocket again.

  She smiles. “I know what you’re gonna ask.”

  Owen’s surprised. “You do?”

  She nods excitedly. “Yeah. Charlie told me!”

  He must have had a horrified look on his face because her eyes widen quickly. “Oh, he didn’t want to, believe me! But, now that I know, tell me, when are you gonna do it?”

  Owen stammers, suddenly feeling breathless in this room. The anxiety starts to pool in his stomach, along with an anger, directed towards Charlie. “I – I – I can’t believe he told you this…”

  She shrugs. “You know that he can’t hide anything from me. He’s like the brother I never asked for. Anyway, so he was showing me some of the designs, and I love you, but I don’t think you can handle a tooth piercing.”

  Owen’s brows furrow. “What?”

  “Like, totally no offence, but you passed out when the dentist came to do a routine check up on your teeth. I don’t wanna imagine what would happen if you got them pierced.”

  “What are talking about?!”

  “Charlie and your matching piercings, dummy! What else would I be talking about?” She looks at him as if he’s grown a third head.

  Owen���s lips part. “We are not getting matching piercings – I wasn’t gonna ask you that!”

  “Oh!” Her eyes widen. “What were you gonna ask, then?”

  He gulps, thinking to himself – this is it. This is it. This is it.

  “Do you wanna go home for New Year’s?”

  He mentally curses when that question comes out of his mouth, and even with Y/N’s bright smile, he starts to feel queasy inside, knowing that he still isn’t confident enough to actually ask her.

3.

    Owen wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans and stands up. “Y/N, I have to tell you something.”

  She nods, her eyes sweeping across the mostly empty LA beach. He brought her here today to finally ask her to marry him – his past attempts have been nothing short of disastrous.

  As he opens his mouth, he feels a pang in his heart, and his mind starts to race. All kinds of thoughts race through his mind, like – what if she says no? what if she hates him for ruining what they have? What if Champagne Problems by Taylor Swift becomes his most relatable song? What if she –

  Y/N stands up, and her hand finds that of Owen’s, a reassurance, and he knows that she can sense his anxiety. She doesn’t ask him to talk about it – she knows that he will, eventually, when he’s ready. For now, she shows him that she’s here for him, and somehow that is enough.

  As she brushes his hair, his mind starts to calm down, his erratic breathing slowing down and involuntarily matching the pace of her breathing. She whispers, softly, “You’re okay. You’re safe. Everything is okay. You’re okay. I love you. I love you –”

  She keeps repeating that, until it’s like a mantra in Owen’s head, turning the racing thoughts to mere background noise.

  He opens his eyes, and looks into hers, and finally feels calm. He exhales. “That… uh....”

  She nods, comfort flooding through her eyes. “I know, baby. But it’s okay. You’re safe now.”

  He shakes his head, taking his hand in hers. “I – I – I think that maybe you and I should, uh, get – um, matching tattoos. Yeah. That’s what I wanted to ask you.” He lies.

  She nods enthusiastically. “Yes! Of course. You don’t even have to ask – we’ve always talked about it, and I think that now is the perfect time! Do you wanna –”

  As Y/N talks about designs, he thinks that he’s a fucking coward.

4.

    As Owen laughs, he feels confident, for once. He knows that tonight he’ll be able to ask her to marry him, especially in front of all his family – he loves his family, and so does Y/N and vice versa. He remembers the first time he brought her home three months after they’d started dating. He remembers feeling absolutely euphoric about the fact that she fit right in with his family. That was also the day that she had told him, for the first time, that she loves him.

  He looks around the table, and watches Y/N talk animatedly to his mother. His parents think of her as their own daughter, especially after finding out about her rocky relationship with her father. Y/N’s mother sits next to Owen, and he loves how carefree she looks – her ex-husband, really, was an asshole.

  He takes the little box out of his pocket, and his cousin, Elias, gasps. “Is that an engagement ring?” He whispers, his face scrunching as if the sentence left a bad taste in his mouth.

  Owen nods. “Yes. Elias, I would appreciate it if you kept it down.”

  His cousin raises his hands. “Always, homie.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Right.”

  Elias looks around. “Hey, do you think that it’s a good idea to propose now?”

  “What do you mean?” Owen’s brows furrow.

  “I mean people do it in private for a reason. What if she says no and then you get embarrassed in front of your entire family and hers? It’s sympathetic looks for the rest of your life, bro. And your parents wouldn’t be able to talk to her, nor to her mom, ‘cause it’d be, ya know, friggin’ embarrassing. Everyone’s probably gonna hate you.”

  Owen’s eyes widen, and he toys with the truth in his cousin’s words. Elias shrugs, and takes a sip of his water. “But it’s up to you, dude.”

  Slowly, Owen slides the ring back into his pocket.

5.

    Owen looks around, checking if any distractions could be in this room. None. How could it, though? He’s standing in an empty classroom, in the middle of winter break. Nobody in their right minds would be here.

  Well, that would mean that Owen’s not in his right mind. To be really, really, really honest – he is kind of losing it. He has been trying to propose to Y/N for the past month, but every time – every god damn time, something comes up and ruins everything.

  So, he decided to break into his middle school. Well, ‘break into’ isn’t the right phrase – he asked the guard to give him the keys for the night, and even thanked him with a hundred dollar note. Unlike his girlfriend, he’s incapable of breaking rules.

  The guard thought that it was very romantic of him, but really, he’s just tired and wants to get married already. He taps his foot anxiously, and finally hears the door opening, signalling Y/N’s arrival.

  God, she looks absolutely adorable. Her nose is crimson from the cold, and she is bundled under what seems to be ten layers of clothing. She huffs, grinning when she notices him.

  “Are we here to make out? Because your house was much more comfortable and so, so warm.”

  Owen shakes his head. “Nope.”

  “Well, are you gonna murder me, O? Because, well, it’s certainly the perfect location.”

  “I have to tell you something.” He says, taking a step toward her. He looks around and sees that there is nothing that could possibly ruin this moment, and smiles brightly, preparing himself. Y/N’s eyes gleam with anticipation, as she nods for him to continue.

  “Y/N, I still remember the day that I met you. I remember the way you smiled at me even though I had spilled black coffee all over you and ruined your very pretty, white dress.”

  She laughs. “I was really mad at first, yeah. But the cutest boy in all of Oklahoma was in front of me, and well, you know that I was a goner.”

  He smiles fondly. “And the beautifulest girl in the world was in front of me.”

  “That’s not a word.”

  “I know. And then you laughed at my dumb jokes, and even agreed to go on a date with me.”

  “To compensate for that absolutely gorgeous dress.” She clarifies, a teasing smile on her face.

  He grins sheepishly. “And then somehow, somewhere we fell in love, and somehow, you became my other half, and somehow, I can’t imagine a world without you. I don’t want to. You are my best friend, and you are the one person around whom I can be completely myself and face no judgements.”

  “No, I do judge you. You’re a little questionable.”

  “And what would I do without your wicked sense of humour?”

  “Honestly? You’d be lost without me. I mean, you forget to even put your socks in the washing machine.”

  “You’re not supposed to wash them. They go on your feet. Obviously.”

  “That is disgusting, and you know it.”

  He laughs. “I wanna be with you for the rest of my life, and I… I… I want a family with you, you know? I know that we’ve never talked about this, and I don’t know how you would feel about one, but still, if you’re up for it, I’m too. But, if you don’t, that’s okay, too. More than okay.”

  For a moment, an unrecognizable expression crosses her face, and he wonders if he’s hurt her. But then the biggest smile blooms on her face.

  “We should have talked about this. But I would like a family with you, too. I mean, I’ve never really wanted one, and you know why. But, after seeing you and your family, I realized that a part of me does want it. I do want to have the home that I never got to have with you and I wanna do better. I know that you’ll be an amazing dad, and I wanna raise my kid the way that kids should be raised. And I want it with no one else but you.”

  Owen feels as if he’s on cloud nine, and he stares at her for a moment, wondering how lucky he is to find a girl like her. He says, “Y/N, I –”

  Before he can ask her the question, though, her ringtone cuts through the silence of the empty classroom. She whispers an apology and takes her phone out from her jeans pocket.

  She accepts the call and speaks into the phone. “Hey, Luka, what’s up? Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down. Luka, slow down.”

  She exchanges a panicked look with Owen.

  Speaking of Owen, he’s losing it. Absolutely. He was so close. And for the first time, he had both confidence and hope. And something had to happen. He starts to feel annoyed at Luka, his sister, and then immediately feels bad about it, but then starts to feel annoyed again.

  “Oh no, you did what? Do you need me to come?”

  At Y/N’s last sentence, Owen bursts out. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

  Y/N raises her brows at him. He feels anger replacing all his emotions, anger towards the world, it’s timings, and mostly, towards himself.

  Sensing his rage, Y/N gives him a weird look. “What is wrong with you?” She whispers.

  “Everything. Everything is wrong!” He whispers back.

  He starts to feel breathless, and the familiar sensation of a panic attack starts to overcome him. He looks around, trying to focus on something, anything, when he spots the door.

  He looks at his girlfriend, and says, “I love you, but I’m gonna lose it.” With that, he walks by her, and out the doors, while she yells after him.

+1.

    It’s been twenty minutes since he last talked to Y/N, and he has lost all hope. He’s now sitting on a park bench a couple of minutes away from the school, and he is listing all the reasons why his life is absolutely shit.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  Owen looks up, and notices Y/N walking up to the bench, with a concerned look in her eyes.

  “I – I just… I’ve been trying to ask you something, Y/N, for the past month. And every time I try to do it, I’m either interrupted, or I’m not confident enough. And, today, there were no distractions, and I was finally feeling confident and hopeful and then my sister decides to ruin it – is she okay, by the way?”

  She nods and sits down beside him. “Yeah, she misplaced her dress for tonight.”

  He grits his teeth in annoyance. He loves her, but his sister has the worst timing.

  Y/N rests a hand on his, an odd look taking over her features. “You should know by now that the answer will always, and obviously be a yes.”

  Owen sharply turns towards her. “What?”

  A brilliant smile makes its way onto her face. “You are gonna propose, aren’t you?”

  A gasp involuntarily escapes him. “How’d you know?”

  “Well, you just said some pretty nice things about me. Also, I can see the outline of the ring box, and you keep checking your pocket for it every two minutes, even if you don’t realize it. You’re literally doing it right now.”

  In his defence, he wasn’t, or rather, isn’t consciously doing it. He slowly retracts his hand from his pocket and gives her a sheepish smile.

  She stands up. “Really, O, are you gonna do it or not –”

  “Yep, yep, yep.” He clears his throat and stands in front of her and drops to a knee. He takes the ring out, and flips open the box, and as the diamond’s reflected light dances across her face, Y/N gasps.

  “Oh my god, that’s gorgeous!”

  He grins. “I have great taste.”

  She smiles teasingly. “I know, baby.”

  “Will you ma–”

  “Yes! Yes, yes, yes!”

  “You didn’t even let me finish!”

  “Someone would’ve probably interrupted you and I couldn’t take the chance of you losing your shit again.”

  “You do have a point.”

  “I always do.”

  He slides the ring onto her finger, and she kneels in front of him to match their heights. She wraps her arms around his neck, and he wraps his around her waist, both desperate to be closer, closer, closer.

  “I love you so much.” He whispers into her hair, and she kisses his shoulder.

  “I love you. Forever.”

  She untangles herself from him, and as she kisses him, Owen realizes that he had no reason to be worried at all.

[MASTERLIST]

reblogs are always appreciated!! <3

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

💎💍TO CATCH A THIEF💍💎

Prompt: Inspired by the song: To Catch A Thief by Lovage

Word Count: Really Long, girl 😩

Pairings: 1930’s Mob! Roman Reigns x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, smut (implied), murder, manipulation.

Tagging: @ziasaph , @marlananicole , @akiko-tanaka , @nicolewoo , @saccreigns , @mindofasagittaruis , @reigns-5sos , @auawdo , @lustyromantic , @babydee17 , @yungbludjazz360

Notes: As cliche as it sounds, I’m a truly lover of music and love different genres. I love to be able to show different types of bands/ projects/ music that sometimes people might not even know exists. So this little fic is inspired by one of my favorite music projects EVER: LOVAGE (it has Mike Patton on it, so of course I would love it! The man has been my musician crush since I was 9 years old! And he’s amazing, so). Y’all know the drill loves,sorry for misspellings,english isn’t my first language (bla bla bla),check out my other stories if you’d like to(it would make your girl here very happy 😊) You can check them out on my Masterlist. Okay,now let’s get to the fun part, shall we? Hope you’ll enjoy 😉

Of course I’ve heard of them and of course they’ve caught my interest! The Reigns’s and Uso’s were one of the biggest gangsters families among the USA, who were responsible for the biggest robberies across the country.

The current rumors spreading around the neighborhood swore they were here, hiding from the authorities, in our small little town.

And I would give anything to meet one of them. As the daughter of a prostitute, my only fate was to follow my mother’s footsteps but I am more ambitious than that! The only way to prosper in life is to be completely feared. Be feared not respected as Machiavelli himself taught. And I know, for a fact that, that is completely true! Growing up in the red light neighborhood had proved to be quite the life lesson, actually. ‘Don’t trust the police’, ‘Make alliances with criminals’, ‘Trust no one’, ‘Don’t snitch’, ‘You never hear or see anything’, ‘Mind your own business’, ‘Don’t allow people to mind YOUR business’, ‘Show no emotions’, ‘Always be smarter than your enemies’, were a few of those rules. People think that, for a woman to be perfectly successful in the 1930’s she needs to be a trophy wife, nothing more than a beautiful face with zero brains and a pair of open legs to a rich husband. But they are wrong! You see, any woman can use her beauty and charm to manipulate and conquer whatever she wants, but she can only maintain that manipulation power if she’s smart enough. I’ve had the town mayor, Mr. Heyman, gift me a beautiful diamond crown (that originally was meant to be his wife’s birthday present) just with some charm and sweet nothings whispered to him. I didn’t needed to warm his bed for it, I just had to be smart enough to understand his weaknesses and say the right words! I know what I want, so I get it, and believe me when I say: I will have Roman Reigns all to myself.

Things were disappearing in my neighborhood

Once again somebody was up to no good

I saw that you were wanted, but not like I wanted you

And that's when I knew I had to be with you

And that's when I knew if I didn't, I'd be through

To end my grief I'd have to catch a thief

Your love was my relief my love is your release.

Ah! Mayor Heyman’s high society ‘charity gala balls’ (aka meet your husband’s new mistress), were the most futile yet amusing events of this town. I wasn’t a high society woman, economically speaking but again I’m good at saying the right things to the right people. So it’s no surprise to see my name in the mayor’s guest list.

I entry the big doors of the city hall wearing my most recently acquisition: an emerald green velvet dress (gifted by the Senator John), my high heels (Another gift from Mr. Smith, the banker) and my hand purse (from the all so lovely Mayor Heyman)...Speak of the Devil.

“Y/N” He greeted

“Oh, Mayor Heyman. What an honor” I smiled sweetly

“Believe me, it’s my honor, dear” He kisses my hand in an flirtatious way. And it’s a good thing I’m great at keeping my gag reflex in control.

“Oh please, I’m the one who has to thank you for always reminding little old me for your tremendously chic events. I can’t express my gratitude enough for you always having so much compassion in your heart!” I scoot closer to him, slightly fixing his tie “It is such a shame that you’re a married man, mayor Heyman, I would have loved to be your wife” I whispered softly

He gulped “I can change that” He smirked

“Oh please, mayor!” I stepped back with a offended look on my face “As a Christian woman, I cannot support divorce! That is some type of thinking that will lead us directly back to sodom and gomorrah! I can’t believe you just said that to me” I make the sign of the cross

“I am so sorry, Y/N it was not my intention-“

“I am not a prostitute or a home wrecker, mayor Heyman! I am a woman devoted to the Lord and I will not accept or tolerate that type of language or insinuations towards me!”

“I am deeply sorry Y/N, I truly am! Let me make it up to you. Here” He fastly signed a blank check “Please take this”

“I can’t” I whisper, pretending embarrassment

“Please, Y/N! It’s the least I can do. You can use it for whatever you want, no matter the price. I could never offend you! You’re such an amazing woman. Please accept it!” His pleading eyes let me know I had him hooked.

I ‘reluctantly’ accepted “Well, thank you, so much” I murmur with tears upon my eyes

“No, I’m the one who has to thank you, for dismissing my ogre behavior” He smiled “I’ll leave you now, so you can fix your makeup”

“Thank you, mayor Heyman”

Once he’s out of my sight, I can drop the naïve girl routine.

“Impressive” A deep male voice spoke from behind me

When I turn around, my knees almost failed me... it was him.

“I beg your pardon?” I ask

“The little stunt you just did with the mayor, was truly impressive. I swear that if I didn’t saw you get out of your naïve christian woman character I would have one hundred percent believed too” He smirked

“Mr. Reigns. That’s a compliment coming from you”

“You know who I am”

I shrugged “I’ve heard a few things here and there”

He gets closer to me, until our faces almost touched

“Yeah? Tell me, Y/N. That’s your name right?” He asked and I nodded

“What have you heard, Y/N?”

“How your the head of the table on your family’s business” I mumbled

“How does a woman like you, know about my family’s business, Y/N?” He walks forward, making me step back until I my back reached a closed door.

“I was raised on the streets”

Roman’s eyebrows raise in surprise “Really? You don’t seem like the streets type” He said, caressing my cheek.

“I had to learn how to be more polished if I didn’t wanted to become a hooker”

“I see” He buried his nose on my neck, inhaling deeply my perfume as his hands rested on my waist “And I imagine your perfume is also a result from a similar scene with the mayor” Roman whispered in my ear

“The senator not the mayor” I cackled

He amusingly laughs on my ear “You have friends in high places, huh?” His hands moved up, cupping my breasts through the dress

“People use what they have, Mr. Reigns” I look into his eyes “You use you intimidating strength” I squeeze his biceps “And I use my womanly charm” I batted my lashes “They’re both means to an end”

Come into my window

It's open every night

That's where I'll be waiting

I'll keep off all the lights

I'm lying on my bed

Crown jewels on my head

The loud knocks on my front door made me quickly get up. Going down the stairs I can see a tall manly figure waiting for me to come and answer. I grab my Colt 1908 Pocket Hammerless gun from the little drawer on my cupboard.

Placing my finger on the trigger I opened the door.

“Yes?” I ask harmlessly

“Mrs. Y/N?” The tall Samoan man asked

I nodded once

“My name is Jey and I’m here in behalf of Mr. Reigns”

I nodded again

“Why don’t you come and take a ride with me?” Jey coldly smiled

I'd never give you up

So come in from the cold, let your guard down

I'd hide you from the cops

Don't be frightened now my love

I'll take the life of crime, all to make you mine

The hotel room is big, fancy and very expensive by the looks of it. If I had to take a lucky guess, I would say that he’s not paying for anything in here, it is all a curtesy from the mayor.

“I’m glad you came” Roman smiles

“Did I had a choice?” I tilted my head

“No, you didn’t” He chuckled “Can I offer you anything to drink?”

“Are you going to drug me if I say yes?” I joke

“Depends on your answer to my proposal” He smirked

“Proposal?”

“Yes” Roman got up from his chair coming to stand in front of me

“You see, Y/N. You’re a very, very interesting woman. Ambitious, smart, charming, intelligent and gorgeous. You’re not easily scared, in fact, it looks like you enjoy danger” He pulled me closer to him, until our bodies were pressed together “I could use a woman like you in my business. At the gala ball you told me about your goals in life and I could see with my own eyes you successfully work your magic on every men in that room. So, what I propose to you is: come with me, I’m leaving town tomorrow and I would like for you to come with me, be a part of my team, use your looks and your brain to our favor.”

“And what’s in it for me?” I asked

“Money, power, jewels...Anything you want” He sincerely said

“What if I would like to add you to that package?” I whispered

Come in off that roof top

You're so handsome dressed in black

See you in the shadows

I'd like to see you on your back

Take this precious treasure

And I will treasure you

Roman smirked “So be it! If you want me too, then you can have me”

He leaned down, capturing my lips in a famished kiss. Pushing me down on the bed, his broad body hovering over mine, grinding, kissing, biting, panting, pounding and moaning until the first rays of sunshine from the next day peaked through the curtains...

6 MONTHS LATER

“What do you say about we take a drink, Mrs. Reigns?” Tony, my husband’s arch enemy and Capo of the Italian Mob asked

“I would love to” I smile sweetly as I hook my arm in his. Going to the back alley.

“I figured it was already time for you to leave that husband of yours for a real man, you know? And I knew you would come to me, sugar” Tony winked

“You’re right, Tony. I do need a real man” I smirked to the shadows when the gun fired.

Tony’s body fell down by my side on the dirty alley street

“But you didn’t thought you were that man, right?” I cackled

Roman’s arm circle around my waist, pulling me closer to him.

“Hello Tony” He smiled “Did you really thought you could have her?” Roman chuckled “C’mon, we both know she’s too much of a woman for you! You can’t handle it! I bet you’re regretting to have thought with your dick now, don’t you?”

“She will leave you eventually Reigns. Just wait for it!” Tony spat

I pressed my high heel on his chest wound, pressing it down and making Tony scream in agony

“You watch your mouth, you fucking fat pig! You know nothing, you ARE NOTHING! I would never leave Roman for you” I laugh “I will never leave him for anyone” I smile at him, aiming to his head and pressing the trigger right afterwards.

We'll run away my dear

Some place special have no fear

We'll even change our names

We'll be kinky, we'll be strange

I'll take the life of crime, all to make you mine

All to catch a thief

Your love is my relief, my love is your release

Your love is my relief, my love is your release

All to catch a thief

“You are perfect” Roman whispered, kissing me vigorously in front of Tony’s dead body. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here” He opened the passenger door of his Rolls Royce and I enter it.

Once we’re driving through the highway he says

“I can’t wait for us to get to the hotel” Roman kisses my hand, intertwining our fingers “I’m going to fuck you senseless” He growls

And I can’t help the happiness smile that spreads on my lips..

[amiedala]

SOMETHING MORE (mandalorian x reader)

CHAPTER 6: Gravity 

Rated: Explicit 

Warnings: sexual innuendos and allusions! there’s also mentioning of taking off clothing while our narrator’s snoozing (consensual, i promise!) 

Summary: “He’s dead.” 

You sit down in the holding bay, still confused. “But—”

“I slit his throat,” he says, his voice unreadable through the modulator. “I’m not collecting anything for him.” 

Suddenly, too quickly, it all comes rushing into focus. The bounty was Merle. You stifle a small sob, trying to comprehend the gravity of the situation. Regardless if you left the Crest in that ridiculous, half-baked runaway attempt, Mando would have brought Merle back to the ship. Either way, you would have been face to face with your past, painfully, quickly. But Mando could have gotten money for him, you realize, he could have dragged Merle alive back to the ship, to trade him into the Guild. But he didn’t. He killed him instead, to protect you. 

You gasp again, trying to find the words to thank him, for protecting you even when you didn’t deserve it. Even without having to ask him. “I—thank you,” you manage. “Thank you, so much.”

You aren’t shaken awake. And you don’t wake up in Mando’s arms.

When you do slowly slide your eyes open, itchy and dry with sleep still clinging onto the corners, and stretch your arms up over your head. Eyes still closed, you feel around for the blindfold that lived there the night before, then realize there’s a breeze on your legs, and your eyes fly open.

You aren’t wearing pants. You feel around, and you realize the shirt that you’re wearing is very much not yours. The underwear you have on are considerably fancier than your normal ones, and everything around you smells like Mando’s soap. Suddenly, you’re wide awake.

You shiver, standing shakily, rubbing the goosebumps that have risen on your arms. Did the Mandalorian strip you down after you slept and redress you, willingly, in lacy underwear and his clothes?

You’re absentmindedly pinching the fabric of his shirt, trying to remember why you bought the panties you have on in the first place, because they’re lacy and slightly itchy and very much not practical, running a hand through your hair—and then you remember the events of last night and why you’re wearing something clean. When you came, you soaked everything clean through, and you were sweaty and dirty from your run-in with Merle, and now Mando—

“Mando,” you say, your voice quiet, and then, rising in volume, “Mando!”

A helmeted head pops up the hole in the floor of the cockpit. “Good morning.”

“Good—are you washing my clothes?”

His helmet turns back to where your clothes are strewn all over the floor in various states of wetness. The baby is sitting in the middle of it all, making a mess out of the ones Mando has very carefully laid out on the ground. Your heart soars. For some reason, this alone makes you want to cry, the gesture of it all swelling inside you.

“Yes,” he says slowly, and then you’re grinning and scrambling down the ladder, and he sighs from behind you, and you register the reason for the noise when he hitches his big, gloved hands around your hips to help you down the last few steps and slides a single finger under the lace of the waistband. You shudder, the memory of the last time he touched you, all the events of the night before clenching and flooding through your stomach. It flips over for him as he turns you around, gentle but intentioned, and even with the baby watching, he pulls his other hand away from where it’s tangled in your waistband to push the hair out of your face. You sigh, happily, leaning into the glove.

“And you put these clothes on me?”

He looks at you, down at his shirt and the fancy underwear, and he inhales, sharply, and then says, “Yes. But I didn’t do anything—I just wanted to get you out of the dirty clothes.”

Your cheeks flush with the memory associated with the word dirty, and you grin up at him, putting a hand on his shoulder, then on the side of his helmet to pantomime touching his face. “Thank you.” You lean in, making sure the baby is preoccupied, and then, to reassure him in his decision to strip you down after you were asleep, you whisper, “you can get me out of my dirty clothes every night if you want to.”

“Maybe I will.”

You smile again, then gesture at the lace that’s riding high on your hips, very aware that his shirt only hits just past your ass, where the bottom half of both cheeks is totally exposed. “You certainly dressed me up.”

“They were the only ones clean,” he confesses, pointing at the small quantity of rest of your clothes you had hastily rescued from the X-Wing crash, only because they were already in your bag as you were climbing out of the broken cockpit. You really hadn’t done laundry recently, because you lived on the ship and they hadn’t gotten dirty. But after last night’s events, you had a feeling you would be running clean through the small stock of clothes you did own, and you blush again.

“You didn’t just want me in the lace?” you ask, and he exhales slowly through the modulator. You can tell, even disguised through the helmet, that your question hit in the right spot. You step closer, just slightly, and press your hip and the very top part of your leg in between is, and you can feel him harden underneath your touch.

“Let’s pretend I did.”

You smile, winking at him, stepping back against the coolness of the ladder, and you shudder again. “I’m cold.”

He looks from you to the drying clothes on the floor, to the baby, who coos in agreement. You tiptoe over and pick the kid up, reveling at how quickly he latches onto you, burying his little green fuzzy head into the crook of your neck. You smile over at his dad, loose hair falling in your face again, and Mando just looks at you, and even without the read on his facial expression, you can tell he’s smiling back at you. In whatever way his smile looks like.

This is it, you think, and it’s with that bigness and sureness that you felt the first time that you met him and the baby. This is what the rest of your life looks like. You sigh happily, twirling, trying to find something dry enough to put on.

“Wear this,” Mando says, and you unfold the ball of black he’s handing you the best you can with only one hand. It’s a pair of black pants, soft but worn, sizes bigger than you typically choose for yourself.

“These will fall right off me.”

He tilts his helmet at you, silently, and you burn with the knowledge of his insinuation.

You grin. “Maybe I’ll tie them tight.”

“You can,” he offers, and you press another kiss to the baby’s forehead, and he sighs sleepily in your arms, “but that’ll just make it harder for me to get into them later.”

Your heart does a flip. “Oh yeah?”

“It’s your choice.”

You pull them on, clumsily, and when you’re standing and clothed again, Mando grabs your face with one hand and pulls you into him. “Why won’t you get into them now?”

He plucks the baby out of your grasp, sighing. “Because I have to go see Karga and collect more bounty pucks.”

The gravity of realization that that’s what you’re doing here is sobering and quick. You feel heavy with remembering that there’s a life outside of the Razor Crest, and somewhere in the back of your mind, the shame and guilt you feel from ever trying to leave it pulses. Yesterday already feels like a lifetime ago.

“Oh.”

“I don’t want to,” he allows, but his voice already sounds distant. Your heart sinks, and you know you’re being selfish, you know that you can’t get in the way of his literal job, but Maker, you want to. You want to hole away with him on this ship, impenetrable from the dangers that awaited you both outside, for as many years as you both had left.

“I don’t want you to,” you whisper, something you would have been terrified you’d scare him away with even just a few days ago, but he sighs again and lets you rest your hand in his gloved palm, just for a second.

“I’ll be fast,” he says, and then he climbs the ladder without another word.

You stand there, confused at his abruptness, and then you slip on some socks that aren’t sopping wet and you follow him. When you get up to the cockpit, you realize that the Crest is about to touch down on Nevarro. You look, dazed, at the navigation panel, and realize you must have slept twelve hours or so last night to swallow up all the distance between here and Dantooine.

You hadn’t ever slept that well. Not even on Yavin when you were a kid. Not even in your own ship, before you lost it to the smuggler. You curl into a ball on the copilot’s chair, tucking your knees up to your chest. Nevarro’s volcanic surface hisses and bubbles as Mando parks close to the same town he met you in. He’s come back here since he picked you up, but you had always slept through the quick transaction.

“Can I come with you?” The question is blurted out of your mouth, way too fast for you to catch it, and then it’s out in the air, and you’re so anxious for his response.

“No,” he says, quietly, and that same swooping, sinking feeling in your chest serves as a bitter and stubborn reminder that you’ll never get used to him rejecting your ideas. That fear of rejection had put you in orbit of last night’s events, you remember, embarrassed, especially with the memory of why last night’s events had even transpired. Because you left the ship, and you got yourself into danger.

“I’m sorry,” you manage, and then his seat is turning around, and you jut your chin onto your knee so that your loose, messy hair hangs in your face, and you don’t have to look at him or his armor head on.

He sighs, more air than anything else, and then he’s tucking your hair behind your ear again, such a small but fierce gesture, and you hum into his hand.

“Nevarro isn’t safe,” he whispers, his voice falling flat under the modulator. “It’s never been, but even with the town rebuilt and revamped…”

You nod, closing your eyes. You understand. He’s protecting you, and no matter how much you want to cling to his side everywhere he goes, you know you’re both in more danger when he has you to worry about, too. Even if you were once a Rebel and a fighter pilot, you were better at the helm than you were on your two clumsy feet, and even Nevarro’s molten surface was dangerous.

“I’ll be here,” you say, and he’s slipping the commlink around your wrist.

“Don’t take this off,” he insists, kneeling down to level his visor with your eyes. You nod, tipping your forehead against it, just for a second, just so he knows you won’t run this time. He slides his hand over your cheek before he checks on the sleeping baby in his cradle, descends the ladder, and steps out of the Crest.

You sit there, happily, trying to close your eyes and relive the memory of last night. You can’t have been there for more than a handful of minutes before the commlink buzzes and your heart flips over, sliding from your lazy position in the chair that’s become yours into the pilot’s seat, just in case he’s ran into any trouble.

“I’m fine,” he reassures, and you sigh into it.

“What happened to ‘only for emergencies’?” you tease, and when nothing but silence radiates back over the line to you, you swallow. He’s trying to talk to you, and you just made fun of him for it. You smack your forehead, lightly, and then press the button again. “I like that when I’m hearing from you, it’s not an emergency. Love it, actually.”

He sighs, and you wait with bated breath to try and decode it. “I thought I’d narrate what I’m seeing for you.”

“Oh,” you say, and fold yourself up again, in his chair, wearing his clothes. Your heart is beating fast and hard, and you realize you’re giddy with excitement. “Do tell.”

“There’s lava,” he says, and then he’s quiet for a long time, and you think that’s maybe everything he’s relaying to you. But then, “lots of it.”

“How descriptive,” you say, resting your head on your knee, raising your other leg to rest comfortably against the dashboard. “You paint quite the word picture.”

Mando chuckles, once, and it sings inside you. That’s a sound you know you’ll never get tired of. “You’re lucky it’s me out here,” he pushes back, “and not the kid. All you’d be getting from him is babbling.”

“You make a good point.” You smile, front teeth grazing over your lip, still swollen from his kisses the night before. “Wait,” you say, suddenly, bringing your leg down from the dashboard. “You had another bounty to catch—on Dantooine, you had one more before you could return them to Karga—” You pause, heart hammering wildly in the realization that his rescue from your stupid adventure yesterday prevented him from getting the bounty he was on the planet for in the first place. “I’m so sorry,” you apologize, voice shaky with the weight of it.

“I got him.” Mando says it softly but intentionally. “Don’t worry.”

“But—”

He says your name, and your breath catches in your throat with the sound of it. “Trust me.”

“Okay,” you say, still wallowing in guilt. “How are you lugging the carbonite to your meeting?”

“Drag them.”

You furrow your eyebrows, get up from the chair, descend the ladder. The three blocks of carbonite that had amassed after you pushed the Twi’lek into the gas have vanished. You look back and forth between the commlink and the tiny holding bay. “You dragged them? All the way to town?”

“They’re not heavy.”

You balk. If three people in carbonite weren’t heavy, he could probably throw you up in the air like the baby’s little silver ball, catch you with one hand. The thought ripples through you, and you shake your head clear of the thought. “Wait, but you—now you have four of them?”

Mando’s silent for a moment, and you think that maybe he’s gotten into town and is on higher alert, but then he breathes over the commlink. Something about his silence makes you a little uneasy—you know he’s hiding something from you, and you want to know what it is.

“I only have three,” he says, finally.

“But then you’re not done,” you repeat, stupidly, completely in the dark. “Why did we leave Dantooine if you didn’t have the other bounty?” You can feel that slick, heavy guilt flooding through you again, wanting to apologize for the circumstances you put him through for years and years.

“I didn’t need him.”

“Mando,” you whisper, still not understanding, “what do you mean?”

He’s quiet, again, and you have the feeling that you should know what he’s trying to say, but you still feel waterlogged and completely lost. You try to ask him again before he interrupts you, and you shut up the second his words filter through over yours.

“He’s dead.”

You sit down in the holding bay, still confused. “But—”

“I slit his throat,” he says, his voice unreadable through the modulator. “I’m not collecting anything for him.” Suddenly, too quickly, it all comes rushing into focus. The bounty was Merle. You stifle a small sob, trying to comprehend the gravity of the situation. Regardless if you left the Crest in that ridiculous, half-baked runaway attempt, Mando would have brought Merle back to the ship. Either way, you would have been face to face with your past, painfully, quickly.

But Mando could have gotten money for him, you realize, he could have dragged Merle alive back to the ship, to trade him into the Guild. But he didn’t. He killed him instead, to protect you. You gasp again, trying to find the words to thank him, for protecting you even when you didn’t deserve it. Even without having to ask him.

“I—thank you,” you manage. “Thank you, so much.”

“You don’t have to,” he whispers back, “thank me. I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but in any circumstance, if I saw him there, holding a knife to you, having men hold you down…” he sighs, darkly, deeply, and you curl up even tighter against the cold wall of the Crest. “He’d be dead either way,” Mando finally says, and you don’t know if you fully believe him, but you nod against the commlink.

“I have to go,” he says, and the warning is abrupt, but you’re happy he managed to give one at all.

“Be safe,” you whisper, trying to load your voice with as much gravity and gratitude as you can in the economy of those two words, and he waits a second before he clicks off. Just one minute of bated silence, but it’s a salutation, an understanding. You curl yourself up into a ball, smell his shirt against your skin, and let him go.

  You love the Razor Crest. It’s a hunk of junk, and it rebels against you like a teenager whenever you try to pilot it any faster and quicker than the way Mando handles it, but in the last six weeks, it’s become more of a home to you than anywhere else has ever been. You love to sit in the dark hull as you move through space, steadily and surely, with no intentions of going anywhere ever again after so much life of solitude. But right now, it feels like a prison.

You can’t exactly pinpoint when being on the ship felt like being closed off from anything, but you know ever since you were pulled right into the Mandalorian’s orbit, ever since he touched you for the first time, any time spent without him in the hull feels like you’re trapped. Even the baby struggles to give you solace today, especially knowing that Mando’s going back to Karga with one less bounty than there is pucks, and your heart wrenches itself into the not.

The baby coos, and you startle, dropping the small insignia on your silver necklace back against Mando’s giant shirt. You pull him into your lap, pressing your forehead to him.

“What’s up, baby?” you ask, and he pulls on your necklace. It glints in the low light like his little silver ball does, and you can feel him tug at it, gently, with his little stubby fingers, and something pulls in your chest. “No, bug, you can’t have this, I’m sorry.”

His little eyes well up, and that alone is almost enough to undo the clasp and slip it over his head, but you gently use your finger to hook the line of the necklace that you know Mando gave him not too long ago. You don’t know if he can understand what you’re doing as you strain the chain over your thumb so that both silver pendants clink together, softly, so you grab his little hand with your free one.

“Your daddy gave this to you, right?”

His big eyes fill up with happiness as he coos in agreement.

“Well, my necklace is from my parents, too. I wear it every day to keep them close to me, like you wear yours to keep him close to you.” You tip your forehead into his again, gently, and then pinch the Rebel insignia between your fingers. As you lay back, he looks up at you again, with those big, bright, sad eyes, and somehow, you know what he means. You shake your head, just a little, just to answer his unspoken question. “No, bug, they’re not coming back.”

You can’t take it when his eyes well up with the truth of it, so you scrunch up your face at him. “Don’t worry,” you whisper, pulling him into your arms, “I have them right here.” You tap a circle around your pendant, around your heart like a hex. “And I have myself another family now.”

He looks at you in confusion, and you tap his pendant, then touch your finger to his tiny nose.

“You,” you say, so quietly that only his giant ears could pick it up, “both of you.”

“Hey,” comes a modulated voice, and you startle, looking wildly around to where it’s coming from until you see the red blinking of the commlink on your wrist. “I’m coming back.”

“Good,” you breathe, cuddling the baby against your chest.

“I’ve got company,” he says, darkly, and you push yourself upward in one fluid motion, setting the baby back into his cradle even as he cries out for you, picking up your dried clothes and shoving them into your pack. You flail a hand at your leg, panicked, before you realize your belt and holster aren’t on you because you’re still wearing Mando’s pants, and you yank them down and trip into your own ones instead, which are a lot less comfortable, but they still smell like him, and you slide your blaster into the holster. Your own speed impresses you.

“Should I hide?” you whisper, leftover fear from yesterday and the other close encounters you’ve had on the ship running miles through your body. “Should I hide the kid?”

He takes forever to answer, so you pull the baby’s egg closed and push him into the alcove where his dad’s bed is, and you bend down behind the armory, blaster in hand. “Hey,” you say, urgently, “Mando, what do I need to expect—”

The hiss of the disengaged gangplank cuts you off, and you click the safety off the blaster, tucking all your loose hair behind your ears, ready to shoot if you need to. You leap out from the small hiding place you were crouched under, and the man next to the Mandalorian recoils and swears at the sight of you, steps back, and then looks incredulously between you and Mando.

“You know her?” He asks, clearly affronted, but it’s barreled over by your, “You know him?”

Mando’s visor moves back and forth between the two of you, and then gives a short, curt nod. The man next to you—hefty, well-dressed, with a booming voice—sighs, slaps an arm on Mando’s stoic shoulder, and extends a gloved hand to you.

“You’ve been keeping quite the company, Mando,” he says, and the volume of his voice compared to Mando’s brooding silence is almost deafening. “Pleased to meet you, darling. I’m Greef Karga—”

“She has a name,” Mando interrupts, and your eyes widen a fraction at his blatant insistence, as if he hasn’t called you “hey” and “sweet thing” in every interaction you’ve ever had with him, save for the two times he actually wrapped his mouth around your name at all.

You introduce yourself. “I’ve heard so much about you.” You aren’t sure what Mando’s reservedness is about, especially since he lets Karga pick up the baby, who has maneuvered himself out of the alcove and is now standing with grabby hands at one of Karga’s boots, ready to be held. You furrow your eyebrows at him, and he sighs, and the sound is all noise. All annoyance.

“I haven’t heard anything about you,” Karga replies, knocking his elbow into Mando’s beskar. He is literally just standing there, as frozen as his bounties were in the carbonite. You look at him again, trying to figure out why he’s so grumpy, but Karga reaches out and points at you. “Until today, when Mando returned three bounties to me and told me that he killed the other one!”

Your gratitude and embarrassment about the whole thing ripples through you at the same time, and you have to force yourself not to wince. “That was my fault.”

“I gave him Merle Calican’s bounty puck,” Karga continuous, and you clench your teeth at the mention of his name, “as a long shot. I didn’t think anyone would be able to bring him in. Turns out,” he laughs, “I was right! I heard it through the grapevine that Mando slit his throat in the middle of Dantooine.”

“He’s worth more dead than he is alive,” comes Mando’s voice through the modulator, but you can tell how dark and furious it is, and you wrap your arms around yourself in his big shirt, pretending just for a second that it’s his arms instead.

“No question,” Karga agrees, and at this, you startle. You’d known Merle to be a hotshot on Corellia, and you knew that he had a dark and dirty reputation to double cross anyone that wasn’t in his inner circle. And you knew that once he held a grudge, it was forever—or at least, until the person the grudge was against was dead. You knew he was persistent, wily, lethal. But you’d never heard his name again after your narrow escape from him and his men back on Coruscant, after you’d accidentally killed Jacterr, after you ran for your life. Hearing him mentioned from someone else who didn’t know him up close was alarming. “I gotta tell you, Mando, I am happier he’s dead than I would be if you brought him in alive. That was one twisted son of a gundark. That whole family is cursed.”

You look nervously at Mando, again, who still hasn’t moved a muscle. The whole family? As far as you knew, Jacterr was Merle’s only brother. You bite your nails. Slowly, Mando nods. You don’t know what to say next, and you’re not sure if you want to ask Karga how he knew Merle, so you just stand there, watching the baby reach from Karga to his dad, and Mando hoists him into his own arms.

“Well, I’ll better be going,” Karga says, finally, and even though he’s much more pleasant than you would have imagined, you’re happy he’s leaving. You move closer to Mando as he steps away, finger finding your necklace again. “It was nice meeting you. Hopefully next time, you’ll come explore the town.”

“Probably won’t be anytime soon,” Mando finally says, raising a halfhearted hand at Karga, “you gave me some tough catches.”

“You’ll get them,” Karga says, easily. “And when you do, you’re both welcome on Nevarro.”

You smile at him, giving him a little wave. Mando nods at him.

“I’ll tell Cara you both said hello,” he says, and then the gangplank is engaged, and Nevarro’s molten surface disappears. Cara? Both?

The second the airlock tightens again, Mando grabs your chin gently. You sag into him, happy to see him upright, unharmed.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and an apology from him still doesn’t sound real. You furrow your eyebrows at him, trying to understand what in the world he’s sorry for.

“You came back,” you say, confused, “within a few hours and without getting hurt. Why are you sorry?”

“That was unexpected,” Mando sighs, and lets the baby down from his arms so he can toddle across the floor to a bag of food that Karga brought. Mando tucks your loose hair behind your ear, the gesture already so familiar, so warm, and you sag against him. “He wouldn’t stop talking.”

You smile up at him. “He talks less than me.”

He sighs, but it’s just air. “I like your voice better.”

You blush, trying, impossibly, to catch a glimpse of his eyes behind the visor. “I thought you were friends with him.”

“He did try to kill me once,” Mando says, and at the baby’s angry reprimand, he shakes his head, “although, I tried to kill him too, so maybe we’re even.” He pauses. “And he’s too friendly. With you.”

You squint at him, ignoring the second admission, even as it does backflips in your chest. “What in the universe happened to you before I boarded your ship?”

He brings one gloved hand to your face again, and you sigh happily. “Nothing spectacular.”

You don’t want to say it. And you’re trying not to be jealous. But her name has been written across your head since Karga said it, said that he’d tell her you both said hello, especially since he didn’t know of your existence before today. “Cara?”

At the mention of her name, the baby coos in delight, and Mando looks from him and back to you.

You don’t know what to expect, but when he says it, it still throws you off guard. “I guess she’d be the one I call a friend.”

“Oh,” you say, in a tone you think is neutral, and then he’s cupping your face in his hands again, and it feels like everything else in the atmosphere has been filtered out.

“She’s the reason you met me,” he says, softly.

“Mmm,” you say, not needing him to elaborate, “then maybe I should have told Karga to thank her instead.”

He just looks down at you, unreadable through the visor. “She made me wait to leave the planet after the battle here. I wasn’t going to, but then I saw your ship crash.” He pauses. “You’ll like her.”

You beam at him. “For that alone, I do already.”

“She’s an ex-shocktrooper.”

You gape at him, both because he’s willingly offering you information and because that is an impressive title, and when you regain your words, all you can manage is, “Wow.”

He nods, moving his hands to your waist, and you sigh happily. “Come with me.”

You follow him, silently, up the ladder, looking at the baby for a second, trying to decide if you want him to come, too, but Mando hoists you up the last two steps, and you decide you love the baby, but you’d very much like him to stay hidden away for whatever happens next.

Mando leads you over to the pilot’s seat, slowly but forcefully, and you hum when he pushes down lightly on your shoulders to make your knees buckle and get you in the chair. You love the view from here, the way the stars streak past you, the way it looks like the entire galaxy is at your fingertips.

“Don’t turn around,” Mando says, and you oblige, happily looking out at the universe around you. “Hold your hand up.”

You do, in front of you at first, and then over your shoulder when you realize he’s not moving, and he places three bounty trackers in your hand.

Your eyebrows furrow, and then you remember he can’t see you, so you ask, “What am I—supposed to do with these?”

Slowly, agonizingly, Mando’s hand moves from your shoulders to the chair, and he spins you around. You look up at him, realizing again that you’re at the perfect angle to take every inch of him down your throat, and you gulp, trying to keep your eyes on him with some semblance of focus.

“You’re going to pick which one we go after next.”

You gape at him. “But there’s—there’s an order to it, you work your way out and back again, right? Or you go for the easiest catches first?”

He nods. “Not this time.”

You bite your lip in confusion, gaze flickering back and forth between him and the flashing pucks in your hand. “This one,” you say, suddenly, grabbing the one in the middle.

He looks down at you, and then grabs your throat, just with his fingertips, a ghost of a thing, and your whole body shudders, every nerve in you pulsing and alive. “Good girl,” he says, and you gasp again.

“Which one did I pick?”

Mando lowers himself down to where he’s level with you, and your heart is about to burst out of your chest with it. You want him, you want everything about him, the blood rushing in your ears is blocking every single other thought out—and then you realize he’s speaking.

“The furthest one,” he sighs through the modulator.

“And that’s good?”

“Oh, yes,” he says, tracing his gloved hand down your body from your collarbone to your bellybutton. “It means I get to make good on that promise I made to you last night.”

You’re heaving, already, it feels like all the air in the Crest has been sucked clean out. “What promise?” you squeak out, finding it nearly impossible to focus on anything else than where his fingers moving.

“I’m going to get to take my time with you,” Mando whispers, and when his hand sinks down in between your thighs again, everything else in the entire galaxy stops.

CHAPTER 7 WILL BE UP SAME TIME SAME PLACE, 7:30PM TOMORROW, SATURDAY THE 30TH EST!!

thank you all SO MUCH for all the love!! i promise there's SO much more coming <3 it's been such a joy sharing this with y'all. can't wait to hear what you think!!! i'll be hanging around my tumblr inbox all weekend if you wanna chat about Something More at all!

xoxo, amelie

TAGLIST: @myheartisaconstellation | @fuuckyeahdad | @pedrodaddypascal | @misslexilouwho | @theoddcafe | @roxypeanut | @lousyventriloquist | @ilikethoseodds | @strawberryflavourss | @fanomando | @cosmicsierra | @misssilencewritewell | @rainbowfantasyxo | @thatonedindjarinfan | @theflightytemptressadventure | @tiny-angry-redhead | @cjtopete86 | @chikachika-nahnah | @corvueros | @venusandromedadjarin | @jandra5075 | @berkeleybo | @solonapoleonsolo | @wild-mads | @charmedthoughts | @dindjarinswh0re | @altarsw | weirdowithnobeardo | @cosmicsierra | @riseofthefandomfollowers

[ghost-in-the-hella]

Hi could I prompt 38. holding hands in a museum to pull them to the next exhibition and Pricefield please? ^^

Better hella late than never, right? According to the prompt list, 38 is actually "swinging hands back and forth, skipping like children" so I've thrown that in as well as holding hands and pulling to the next exhibition. Bonus hand holding!

I've also decided that Victoria wasn't the only Blackwell student to survive the storm in this particular story, because fuck it. Let some people live.

---

Chloe loves date nights. She and Max never really got a chance to officially date; after all, once someone has let an entire town and most of its inhabitants get razed to the ground for you, ‘dinner and a movie’ feels like a bit of an unnecessary step. They’d left Arcadia Bay that day and just sort of naturally shifted from “Max and Chloe: Best Friends Forever” to “Max and Chloe: Old Married Couple” pretty much immediately. They had been together for three years before it occurred to either of them that they had never actually ever gone on a “date.”

Regular date nights became a thing shortly thereafter, and even though they both acknowledge that the whole thing’s a bit silly considering how joined at the hip they are, date night is usually Chloe’s favorite night of the week. She loves getting dressed up and going out with Max, letting the world know that they belong together. She loves feeling like a ‘normal’ couple, one with an appropriate meet-cute story instead of one forged in magic and mass destruction.

Plus, Max is just so fucking adorable when it’s her turn to plan a date.

Tonight Max seems extra nervous about whatever she’s got in store, which is endearing but also a bit silly because Chloe literally always loves her dates no matter what they are. Max could take her to a stupid sporting event Chloe gives zero fucks about and she wouldn’t care as long as she could sit next to her girlfriend and hold her hand.

Chloe’s pretty sure they’re not going to watch sportsball or whatever, though, judging by the way Max is getting all dressed up. She’s wearing her best black slacks - she even got out the ironing board and pressed them, so this shit is serious - and the dark blue button down shirt that Chloe always teases her about because she got it in the kids’ section (but damn if it doesn’t bring out her eyes). She’s paired it with one of the many neckties she’s collected from thrifting, a thin black and brown plaid number she’s tied and untied and retied half a dozen times in the past twenty minutes.

“...Should I be getting dressed up for this?” Chloe asks. “‘Cause I hella feel like I should be getting dressed up for this.”

“You don’t have to,” Max rushes to assure her. “But, um, it’d be nice if you did? But you don’t have to. No one’s gonna, like, look at you funny if you’re in jeans and a t-shirt or whatever.” Her face pales. “Oh, fuck, maybe I’m dressing up too much. Is this too much? Should I lose the tie?”

“The tie is adorable.” Chloe puts calming hands on her shoulders. “Chill. You look amazing. I can’t really tell you if it’s too much or not since you won’t tell me where we’re going, but… I’m gonna say you look perfect.” She pulls out a pair of skinny jeans that don’t have any holes in them and the collared shirt and vest she wore to Joyce’s third wedding. “Here. I’ll match you. We can be fancy together.”

“You don’t have to do that…”

“Are you saying you don’t want to see me in this vest again? Because I seem to remember you wanting to rip it off of me last time I wore it.”

Blush stains Max’s cheeks. “Um. Yeah. Okay. Vest is good. Yes to the vest.”

Chloe chuckles and enjoys Max’s admiration as she changes into her dapper-butch best. She usually opts for comfort over fashion, but fuck it. It’s date night.

They hold hands through the subway ride, the crush of bodies around them putting wrinkles in their fancy clothes. It’s a Friday night, so they’re far from the only people in the car dressed up for a night on the town. Every time the train lurches to a stop, Max loses her footing and bumps smack into Chloe’s chest. Two years in this city, and Max still hasn’t gotten her subway legs. “Landlubber,” Chloe teases the fifth time it happens. Max sticks out her tongue in response, because at heart she’s still a bratty eight-year-old. Chloe responds in kind, because same.

Their destination is a museum, and Chloe is far from surprised. “Nerd,” she whispers affectionately in Max’s ear as Max drags her toward the building by her hand. It’s all lit up like a party. Max has taken her to a fair few openings at galleries over the years. Apparently, this is the museum equivalent. There’s wine and cheese and dozens of people spinning artsy nonsense. They are neither the fanciest nor the least fancy people there.

For an art shindig, it’s pretty cool. The music isn’t really Chloe’s style, but it’s live which is always cool. There’s a fuckton of finger foods being passed around on trays and living on long tables.

Max holds her hand tightly, which isn’t that unusual for the first few minutes in a new place. She lets Chloe haul her to the food tables and doesn’t needle Chloe for piling up a plate with more food than is reasonable. Normally, Max would then drag Chloe from art piece to art piece, lingering for a painfully long time at some, maybe occasionally pointing out an artist in the room whose work she admires but who she can’t get up the nerve to talk to (and then almost dying of embarrassment when Chloe marches her over and introduces them both, then thanking Chloe profusely once the ordeal is over).

But this time, Max is being weird. This time, Max is the one trailing Chloe around the room, glancing around impatiently as if she can’t wait to move on when Chloe lingers too long at an artwork. “All good, Max?” Chloe asks.

“Mhm,” Max grunts tightly. “Totally fine.”

“This show’s pretty cool. You try the goat cheese stuffed dates wrapped in bacon? They’re fucking phenomenal. We should fill our pockets with them.”

“Mhm…” Max’s eyes trail off toward the hallway.

“Seriously, dude. You wanna create the diversion, or shall I?”

“Mhm…”

Chloe frowns. “Okay, cool. I’ll streak around the room and you fill your pockets with as many dates as you can grab before security makes me put clothes on.”

“Mhm…”

Chloe lightly digs an elbow into Max’s side. “Babe. This date is getting kinda lonely without you.”

Max blinks back to reality. “Oh, Chloe, I’m sorry! I’m just… kind of distracted.” She squeezes Chloe’s hand. “Come on. Let’s go to the next exhibit, okay?”

Chloe shovels the rest of her food in her face and ditches her empty plate before Max drags her into the hall. “So what is all this?” Chloe asks as Max speedwalks her through the next room, barely pausing to admire the artwork.

“There’re a couple of different exhibits opening tonight,” Max tells her. “I’ve been really excited about it for a while.”

“Really? You coulda fooled me. Max, you’re gonna sprain an ankle if you jog past the art any faster.”

“Sorry,” Max apologizes again with a cringe. “This is supposed to be our special date night and I’m ruining it…”

“You’re not ruining it,” Chloe assures her. “But you are acting hella weird. Are you gonna tell me what’s going on of your own free will or do I have to tickle it out of you?”

Max grabs Chloe’s hands preemptively with a look of panic. “No tickling. Please.” Her cheeks turn red and she glances around nervously. “There are totally famous artists here,” she says with hushed reverence. “And probably, like… agents and gallery reps and people like that.”

“Okay, okay, I won’t embarrass you in front of them,” Chloe chuckles. “But you’d better start talking, Caulfield.” Max worries her lower lip between her teeth, deep in contemplation. “I think it’d be better if I show you,” she says at last in a voice filled with determination. She releases one of Chloe’s hands but grips the other tighter. “Come on,” she says, “follow me.”

Even if Chloe wanted to, she couldn’t decline without risking injury: Max’s fingers have her own in an iron embrace and when she starts walking with a purpose toward a nearby door Chloe needs to scramble into action before her shoulder gets yanked from its socket. “Woah, okay then,” she mumbles as she chases after Max.

Chloe can’t remember the last time Max’s palm felt so sweaty pressed against her own. If Max’s fingers weren’t so firmly locked into her own, she’d be in danger of slipping right out of her grasp. “Where are we going?” she asks breathlessly as they race through one room to another, then down a hallway and into yet another room filled with artwork that blurs on the walls as they run past. Max doesn’t seem to notice the stern looks of the security guards they pass, which is so uncharacteristic that it’s a little alarming.

“You’ll see,” Max pants as she drags her into another room then stops so abruptly that Chloe has to slam on the brakes not to bowl her over. She takes a deep gulp of air and lets it out. “We’re here.”

Chloe takes a moment to let her lungs stop screaming - damn, she really needs to quit smoking - then starts looking around. It looks like… an art exhibit. Photography specifically; no wonder Max wanted to come here. Photographs in understated frames on every wall and every partition. Some small, some large, some so big they’re basically murals. Some as small as… polaroids. Huh.

Max’s grip slackens but doesn’t release. “Come on,” she says in a nervous voice. She tugs Chloe’s arm gently, and Chloe follows her over to the small squares displayed salon style (Chloe’s been going to way too many art shows) on a far wall. Chloe’s heart thumps in her chest. “Max, is this what I think it is?” she asks in a small voice.

It is. Holy shit, Max’s photos are in a museum. A legit, honest to god or what-the-fuck-ever museum. It takes Chloe a minute to remember to breathe. “Oh my god, Max,” she chokes out at last. She’s shaking, she’s so fucking proud. She has to wipe her eyes multiple times before she can actually see what she’s really looking at.

They’re beautiful. Candid shots from Max’s day to day life, little glimpses into who she is and what she loves. Tea rising from a steaming cup with a delicate handle and Kate Marsh’s equally delicate hand resting beside it. Chloe’s bare back as she naps on the couch after a particularly tiring day of work, their rescue cat Cassie curled up on the tangle of her legs. Sunlight shining through Lisa’s leaves and casting shadows on their bedroom floor. Chloe standing outside Max’s job waiting for her shift to end, smoking a cigarette under the No Smoking sign. A cup of black coffee next to an open copy of The Thief’s Journal like a goddamn instagram shot because Max is still a fucking hipster. Chloe putting on eyeliner, framed by their bathroom door. Chloe, shirtless, cradling Cassie to her chest like a baby. Chloe, Chloe, Chloe.

Her heart swells. She’s always loved Max’s work, but even with her limited art knowledge she can tell that Max has improved by leaps and bounds over the years. She recognizes these photos; she helped Max pick them out months ago. Some call for artists Max didn’t think she was good enough to submit her work to. “You did it,” Chloe says softly. “You applied.”

“At the last possible moment,” Max admits. She looks a bit like she wants to throw up. “I almost didn’t do it. But you helped me so much with choosing the photos to submit and with filling out the application and… You just believed in me so much. So I thought maybe I should try to believe in myself, too.”

Chloe slips her hand from Max’s and immediately pulls her into a fierce hug. A lump fills her throat as she fights back tears. “Damn right,” she forces out, trying to sound gruff and failing miserably. “I am so fucking proud of you, Max.”

“Thank you,” Max says, muffled against Chloe’s chest.

Eventually Chloe releases her with a huge grin. “My partner, a big time photographer with art in a museum. Wait’ll I tell Dana and Kate.”

Max groans in pleased embarrassment. “It’s only a temporary exhibit,” she protests halfheartedly. “It’s not like I’m in the permanent collection or anything.”

“An exhibit for New Voices in the World of Photography,” Chloe replies, pointing emphatically at the vinyl letters on the wall. “And it’s in a legit, actual museum, Max. Like, you know I’m impressed as fuck when your work hangs on, like, the walls of a shitty restaurant or whatever, but this is the big time.” She gestures at the wall text. “They’re calling you an emerging artist. That means you’re coming up in the world, dude. They expect great things of you, they’re looking forward to seeing how your career progresses and are honored to champion your work... Have you actually read this?? This is incredible, Max.”

“They’re saying it about all of us, not just me,” Max mumbles self-consciously.

“Yeah, but they’re saying it about All. Of. You. Not ‘everyone except Max Caulfield, she got in by mistake.’ You’re included in this.”

“I guess so…”

“No negative vibes. Be proud of yourself.”

“Okay, okay,” Max chuckles sheepishly. “I’m trying.”

“Good.” Chloe snorts. “Have you told Victoria about this? I bet she’s shitting herself.”

“Um, I didn’t have to. She got in, too.”

“Well… Good for her, then.” She wrinkles her nose. “Oh, crap, does that mean she’s around here somewhere?”

“Probably,” Max admits.

“She’s probably too busy hobnobbing with the famous folks to notice a couple of plebs like us. I guess we should probably say hi at some point, though.” Chloe shudders.

Max jostles her shoulder. “She’s been way more chill since she and Steph got together. We actually had a really helpful conversation about photography the last time we saw each other. She’s pretty nice when she’s not convinced she isn’t allowed to be.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it. But in the meantime, why don’t we stare at your incredible pictures some more and then we can check out the rest of the exhibits. The night is still young.”

Max indulges Chloe’s fussing for a few more minutes, letting Chloe take pictures of her with her phone as she poses by her photographs even as her embarrassed blush gets redder and redder. Eventually, she convinces Chloe to move on so that the other people circulating the room can actually see her art, too.

“Okay,” Chloe sighs reluctantly. “I guess it’s rude to hog all the Max Caulfield originals all to myself.” She reaches down and squeezes Max’s hand. “As long as I can hang onto the original Max Caulfield original.”

Max laughs and squeezes back. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

It starts off innocently enough, just a little sway to their hands as they walk through the rest of the exhibit. By the time they’ve reached the hallway they’re straight up skipping, arms swinging back and forth between them like a jump rope building momentum. Chloe can’t remember the last time she felt this light and easy, skipping and giggling uncontrollably with her best friend like a couple of giddy kids.

So what if there are famous people there? So what if Victoria Chase is probably watching them from a distance like a particularly judgemental hawk? So what if the security guards are distinctly unamused by their hijinks. Chloe’s partner has work in a goddamn mother fucking museum. Chloe’s partner is proud of herself.

Who gives a fuck what anybody else thinks?

[flamehairedwritings]

hi! could you do some hcs about hopper and his gf going to a fancy event and him being all handsy?

I’m so sorry this has taken so long!! Thank you so much for requesting this, I hope you’re doing okay!

NSFW below the cut!

Hopper hates going out.

Actually, hate is a strong word.

He hates going somewhere he doesn’t know. He doesn’t like going out. If he could, he’d hole up in his trailer until the end of time with beer, his record player, crime novels and a TV.

That was before he met you. When he did... well, he kind of started to like going out, as long as it was with you. In your first few months of dating, you went to the cinema, to restaurants, to shops, to his favourite bar, over to his colleagues’ houses for BBQs and dinners and he found that maybe, slightly, a little bit, sometimes, he enjoyed himself. As long as you were back at his or yours by midnight.

‘oKaY CiNdErElLa’ you are oft to say as he pulls his jacket on and eyes up the door.

The Hawkins City Hall Gala is an event that happens every year, once a year to celebrate the bravest and best of Hawkins, with some citizens invited who are honoured, and officials and those from the police, hospital and fire department also in attendance. It sounds fancy? It isn’t. As much as Mayor Kline likes to put on a show, get all those invited dressed up to the nines and free champagne going, it’s just an adult version of a school awards assembly.

Hopper has to go. Has to. When he once tried to decline, Kline sent a huge gift basket to his trailer and to the Station every day until he called and said ‘ACTUALLY YES I WILL COME’.

Usually he goes with his work buddies and they bring their wives or girlfriends and they’ll hang around in a corner drinking and eating until the awards ceremony starts and then they’ll all sit together at the back bored out of their minds.

You’ve been dating for nearly six months when it comes round to it, and he invites you, in the way that Hopper would invite.

‘It’s just a shitty little ego parade thing for Kline, some people are good there, they deserve the awards sometimes, but more often than not it’s just some kids and old people gettin’ ‘em for living a long time or doing the most paper rounds or some shit like that, but the food’s good and the drinks are free ‘cause Kline wants everyone to have a good time and it finishes at about 11 and then there’s the after-party which is usually shitty, too, so we can just come home or go to a bar with the guys and their girls or just come home, I don’t mind.’

‘... So do you want me to come.’

‘Yeah. If you’re not busy or have anything better to do ‘cause really it is so shitty─’

‘I’ll come.’

‘You sure? It’s really shitty, it’s just the worst─’

‘Stop, I’m coming.’ you will be

On the night, you’ll be dressed up to the nines like everyone else, wearing your favourite outfit, which also happens to be Hop’s favourite outfit on you, but he likes anything on you so it doesn’t exactly count, and he’s in a suit, one hand in his pocket, the other holding yours.

After being greeted by Kline and his wife on the steps, the Mayor’s constant grin verging on maniacal, Hop’ll make a beeline for the nearest drinks and you’ll just have caught up with him when he’s heading to a corner, his colleagues already there with their partners. They’ll have hoarded some food and beer and champagne bottles already and you’ll resign yourself to the not so terrible idea of just hanging out here all night.

Hop’s hand will settle on your lower back and a conversation with start up about the food or the drink or Kline, in hushed tones, and that’ll be it.

Except you start to feel Hopper’s hand drifting down a little.

And then a lot.

Your back is to the wall, so no one can see, but you’re very much hoping no one notices your slightly widening eyes, your lips parting then quickly closing, and the hitching in your breath.

Hopper, on the other hand, is cool as a cucumber, nodding and carrying out a conversation with Powell without missing a beat. His hand is now fully cupping your ass, fingers splaying and gently caressing. You have to fight very hard to stop your back from arching.

You bastard...

What is it about him and his touch that has you turned on in seconds?

His fingers drift lower, sliding in until they’re near your covered pussy, and damn him...

Your attention is drawn away, momentarily, by someone standing at the other end of the room calling for everyone’s attention. As the preliminary speeches start, your little group quietens, but Hopper’s hand doesn’t move.

It slides even closer, his fingers caressing in slow, light circles.

You have to fight so hard to keep your breathing even, your hands clasped tightly in front of you.

Hopper shifts his stance slightly, his head leaning down, and he murmurs into your ear so only you can hear;

‘I bet you’re wet already, aren’t you.’

Oh, fuck.

Clearing your throat, you smile politely at your group and excuse yourself quietly, saying you need to use the restroom. Hopper’s hand slides off your ass, but not before his fingers give a slight squeeze.

Message received.

You have to ask one of the staff where the restroom even is, hoping your slightly flushed and faintly jittery attitude will just be interpreted as confusion and a desperate need to go.

She points towards a grand staircase and tells you to go right before it. You do, your heart pounding with anticipation.

God, this place is fancy.

Hopper mutters all the time about how Kline has poured the majority of the town’s money into this place, and, hell, next time he mutters you’re going to join him.

There are three doors, all having a gold ‘W/C’ on them. You open the furthest one at the end of the corridor and step in, quickly closing the door behind you and leaving it unlocked before you survey the room. It’s very fancy.

Gold everywhere. Gold everything.

You pull a slight face at trying to take it all in, the slightly dim lighting shining off of it all.

Then, the door opens behind you.

Turning, you watch Hopper step in, your breath catching in your throat. His eyes are on you, darker, focused. Closing the door, he doesn’t even blink as he locks it.

‘Are you?’ he asks in a low, gravelled tone.

Your three seconds of silence are just to tease him.

‘Yes.’

He closes the distance between you in two seconds.

Hands cupping your face, he captures your lips in a fierce, demanding kiss, long fingers spreading across the sides of your neck. You return it instantly, hands gripping at the back of his suit jacket to both steady yourself and keep him against you.

He’ll take you hard against the counter, your hands having to grip the sink as he thrusts into you from behind, hands tight on your hips.

‘Look at me...’ he’ll growl, and you’ll lift your gaze, meeting his in the reflection of the gilded mirror as moans tumble from your lips. ‘... Yeah... Look at me while I fuck you, sweetheart... while my cock’s deep inside you... I want you to look at me while I feel you cum...’

No one will notice that it takes you both ten minutes to return, and that you’re still trying to catch your breath, and his shirt is rumpled, tie now knotted too tightly.

It’ll only take a few moments for his hand to return to your ass, and a smile will pull at your lips, his last words to you lingering in your mind.

‘Oh, you just wait until we’re home, sweetheart...’

—

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Masterlist

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[kenganparadise]

Wdym go easy? You know what kind of fandom we all love an appreciate here there is no easy! ( ok sometimes we can have a tea break ) Now picture this, our boys Kato, Jack, Katsumi and Retsu are out and about with their feisty and bold s/o ( a female btw). They are at some sort of event where they gotta be prim and proper. When suddenly their s/o tugs them down so that she can whisper in their ear. " I cant wait for us to go back home and eat you up....". How would our boys react?

Ohhh my goodness I love this so much. Yes DONT go easy on me GIVE ME ALL OF IT!! Thank you for sending me a request,m my friend and I have to take you again for requesting my baby Katou. It warms my heart knowing you requested him just for me😭

🔞WARNING SLIGHT NSFW🔞

Katou-

• Katou can’t keep his eyes off his S/O. He feels almost sky standing next to them. He’s rarely ever timid like this. But they look so beautiful.

• He and his S/O were invited to a dinner party. It’s a black tie event. Katou thinks you’re breath taking- and you are. He can’t take his eyes off you.

• He’s not good at being all prim and proper, he’s a sneakers and sweatpants kinda guy. The only reason he came was to see his S/O all dressed up.

• His S/O looks at him, a smile in their eyes, he wave him over. He leans his ear over, “I can’t wait for us to go back home so I can eat you up~” they seductively whisper. Katou feels a chill go up his spine. All of his hair are standing on edge

• He’s begging for his S/O to leave so they can go home. He is itching to get out, his S/O has him in the palm of their hand.

Jack-

• Jack and his S/O go to a very fancy restaurant, a restaurant that has a dress code. Seeing his S/O all dressed up is a nice change of pace. He loves their usual sense of fashion but ssinf them so formal is oh so sexy.

• He usually doesn’t go out to fancy or expensive places like this ,it’s not his style. But he saw something on the menu that he had to try.

• He’s enjoying his meal, and the nice wine they ordered. “Are you enjoying your meal?” He asks them. “Sure, it’s good, but I can’t wait for us to go back home so I can eat you up~” They say, taking a sip of their drink.

• Jack nearly chokes. That alone lit a fire in his heart... and in his pants. Jack wolfs down the rest of his meal.

• If his S/O really wants to tease him they could eat extra slow then order desert to rub salt in the wound. Jack would be itching to get home.

Katsumi-

• Katsumi is trying to have a nice time. But his S/O looks so good it should be illegal. He can barely keep his eyes or hands off of them.

• If they wore red lipstick he’d melt, it doesn’t matter their gender, everyone looks good in red lipstick in his eyes.

• They could give him just a look, half-lidded eyes filled with lust and he’d be putty in their hands.

• He’s so close to his S/O. They’ll lean over “I can’t wait for us to go back home so I can eat you up~” They purr in his ear- it’s pretty much instant boner.

• He’ll pounce on them the second they’re in a private place. He’s itching to be inside them.

Retsu-

• Retsu is stunned by his S/O’s beauty. He is speechless. He feels like a lucky man beside them. He puffs his chest out unconsciously.

• He’s another that likes red lipstick and maybe a nice set of high heels. It makes his heart skip a beat.

• His S/O leans their head on his shoulder. “I can’t wait for us to go back home so I can eat you up~” they coo just so he can hear.

• His heart instantly jumps in his chest. His Adam’s apple bobs. His lips twitch in a smile. He cannot wait to get home with his S/O.

[q-gorgeous]

Fallen Star

fanfiction

ao3

The events of Doctors Disorders reveals that humans CAN have ghost powers. How does the public react to this? What does this mean for Phantom? prompt by @mystyrust

prequel to Ghost Farm

word count: 2665

warning: character death, experimentation, kidnapping

i need you guys to know that agent z sounds like either e boy or fix it felix from wreck it ralph

A glowing mosquito sat in an ecto-proof jar on a pristine white counter. It bounced off the sides of the glass, desperately trying to escape. A black, gloved hand reached out and grabbed the jar and shook it. 

“So humans can have ghost powers.”

An agent in an all white suit studied the mosquito. 

“How was this any different than possession? Why did this kind of possession grant the students ghost powers instead of overshadowing them?”

He put the jar down and pushed himself away from the counter, facing another man in a white suit who had been standing behind him. 

“Agent K. If we can figure out how these mosquitoes gave the teenagers ghost powers, we can use it in our fight against the ectoplasmic scum.”

“How would you suggest we go about that, Agent O?”

“We’ll have to reopen the old research compound. We can’t have the people of Amity Park finding out we’re doing this kind of research. The old compound is further away from the city so they won’t be able to trace it back to us so easily.”

“What about the test subjects?”

Agent O smiled darkly. 

“We’ll have to go find some, now won’t we?”

QQQQQ

Star was walking down the street, on her way to meet Paulina at the mall. They were supposed to go pick up some dresses for a fancy dinner at Paulina’s house. Star had told Paulina that she already had something she could wear at home, but her friend insisted Star let her buy her something. 

She turned around a corner heading down another street. The sidewalk here was pretty empty. The only person she saw was an old woman walking into her house and when her door shut, Star was all by herself. 

That’s when she felt it. There were eyes gazing into the back of her head and she quickly picked up her pace. 

She could hear heavy footsteps approaching from behind along with the crunch of gravel underneath tires. Looking over her shoulder, Star saw a man in a white suit behind her and a white car trailing behind him. For a moment, she felt a small relief. It was the GIW. They couldn’t possibly be after her. They must be tracking a ghost.

But the man had nothing in his hand and the way he stared at Star said otherwise. 

She turned back around and was about to start running when a hand grabbed her long blonde hair. She cried out as she was pulled backwards towards the man. The car stopped beside them and another man left the car, pulling a bag over her head and tying her wrists together. They both lifted her up and she heard one open the trunk and then she was being thrown in.

“Help!” She screamed before the trunk slammed shut above her. 

She heard two doors open and close before the car revved up and started driving away. Panic wormed its way into her chest and she started trying to pull her hands free. 

Luckily, the rope around her wrists loosened. She didn’t know why these agents couldn’t tie a knot, but she had to be grateful for it. She pulled the bag off of her head but she still couldn’t see anything from inside the trunk. 

Feeling around, Star tried to find a corner of the trunk where the tail light would be. When she found it, she turned around and started trying to kick into the spot. It took a couple tries, but she finally felt it start to give. With one final kick, a hole was made and she could see light coming into the trunk. 

She turned back around and started pulling material away from the hole, trying to make it bigger. When it was big enough she stuck her hand through and started trying to wave it around in the daylight. 

Suddenly, Star could feel the car turning. She hadn’t noticed they were slowing down until the turn and her heart rate began to pick up. Did they hear her kicking?

After another couple of turns, the car came to a stop and she could hear a door open. 

The pop of the trunk sounded and she was blinded by the sunlight that shone behind the man who was staring down at her. She held his gaze in fear for a few moments and the next thing she knew he was swinging at her and she was gone. 

QQQQQ

Star slowly woke up. The world came to her slowly and through her blurry eyes she could see white tiles, white walls, and a glass with a different man standing outside it. 

She yelped and suddenly she was falling into the hard cot beneath her. She looked back up towards the ceiling. She had been floating? But how?

“What did you do to me?”

The man finished taking notes on his clipboard before his head tilted up to look at her. His dark sunglasses glinted in the light of the bright room. From somewhere to his left, he held up a jar with a bug in it. Was that…?

“The ghost mosquitos?”

“We are currently studying the causes and effects of ghost powers in humans. Our first study involves introducing one of the ectoplasmic specimens to a host and observing.”

Star took in a sharp breath. “You put one of those inside me? On purpose?”

The agent continued without acknowledging her. “You have the honor of being our first test subject. We would have never thought of the possibility of humans having ghost powers until half the high school was quarantined. We can guarantee this information to be invaluable in the battle against ghosts.”

A mounting horror was beginning to gnaw its way into Star’s chest. “What are you going to do to me?”

“We will be performing a series of tests, starting with measuring the effects of long term possession and then moving onto introducing ectoplasm to the host.”

“Ectoplasm?! Isn’t that toxic to humans?!”

“Yes, but we’ll introduce it in small amounts that increase over time.”

Star stared at the ground below her, horrified. “You guys are crazy.”

“Not crazy, innovative.”

Her head snapped up to look at the agent. He had a sly look on his face, like this was the best possible thing he could be doing at this time.

“You’re crazy!” Star shouted.

She shot forward faster than what should be possible and slammed her fist into the glass in front of the agent’s face. He didn’t so much as flinch. He just lifted his clipboard back up and began to write another note. 

“Promising progress.”

Then he began to walk away. 

“Come back!” She pounded on the glass again. “Come back, you son of a bitch!”

He continued walking away down the hallway until she couldn’t see him anymore. Alone in her quiet room, Star’s anger faded back to fear. She looked down at her shaking hand.

How much worse could this get? What kind of changes were they expecting to happen to her? It was just possession! Overshadowing! Albeit, a different kind. Normally people don’t remember what happened while they were overshadowed, she didn’t know the difference between this and that. She wasn’t even in the batch of kids that had been quarantined. 

But she had been flying. Moving faster than she should be able to. She’d been so much stronger than what she actually is, and she still couldn’t get out. Couldn’t break free. 

Star took another look down the long hallway and dread filled her stomach. 

She didn’t think she’d be getting out of here. 

QQQQQ

With no changes in her powers via mosquito three days later, the agents went onto the next part of their plan. 

One minute Star was floating above her bed counting the ceiling tiles, the next she was on the floor clutching at her head as something pulsed in her room. By the time the pulsing stopped, she was already strapped into a chair. She could feel the full weight of gravity and she knew the mosquito was gone. They were moving onto the injections now. 

She looked up and sitting in front of her was another different agent. This one looked younger than the three she had seen already. 

“Hi! I’m Agent Z!”

She hasn’t met any rookie GIW agents before, but that must be what this guy is. The newest addition. 

“Today we’ll be starting the introduction of ectoplasm trial! Today we’ll start with a small amount of ectoplasm, which will increase in amount each day! As the days go by, we’ll start doing two doses of ectoplasm per day.”

Maybe she can work with this.

“Uh. You seem real chipper. Are you new to the GIW or something?”

“Yep!” Agent Z said brightly. “This is my first special assignment!”

“Doesn’t it bother you that you’re experimenting on a human though? Isn’t that a terrible thing that they’re making you do?”

“They’re not making me do anything!”

Star paused. “What?”

“I was the only agent who volunteered for the position! I think this is all very exciting!”

“What the hell.” Star whispered. “You’re all insane.”

“It’s not insane if you’re benefiting the rest of humankind!”

“That-”

Star let out a cry of pain as she was interrupted. The needle plunged into her arm and Agent Z pushed the ectoplasm out of the needle and into her veins. It burned as it flowed into her arm and was kind of cold, but it was nothing compared to the pins and needles sensation that began to cover her entire body. 

“There we go!” Agent Z said chipperly. “I’ll see you again tomorrow for your next dose!”

He got up and walked to the door, scanned his keycard, and left. 

What happened to the observation part of their research?

Suddenly the straps holding her wrists and ankles in place opened and she shot up away from the chair. She hobbled her way to her bed, the pins and needles sensation crawling faster through her legs and feet with each step she took. 

She flopped onto the bed and cringed as the sensation crawled over every inch of her body. She looked up at the ceiling, intending to continue counting the tiles again, when she saw something new. 

A small camera was fastened to the glass on the outside of her room, staring at her. 

She stared at it for a few moments before she lifted her hand up and flipped off whoever was watching her. 

QQQQQ

Four days later and she was starting to feel sick from the ectoplasm injections. Today was the first day they’d be giving her two doses and the pins and needles sensation still settled in her limbs, never having gone away from when they woke her up with the prick of a needle at seven am that morning. 

She was starting to face constant nausea and her hands had been clipping through the things in her room for two days now. She could barely stomach the meager amount of food they were giving her anymore and she knew she wouldn’t last much longer if this kept up. 

Star heard the door slide open from where she laid on her bed. She knew they could tell she wasn’t doing well. They no longer used that horrible pulsing thing on her before they came in. She didn’t have enough energy to fight back anymore. 

Agent Z quickly approached her and sat her down in the chair, positioning her wrists so that the straps locked firmly around them. He roughly grabbed her arm and stabbed her with the needle. She screamed as the ectoplasm flowed into her arm, hot and burning all the way in. 

“There we go, all done!” Agent Z said as he pulled away. “That wasn’t so hard was it?”

She glared at the man through her greasy hair. He was talking to her like she was a child getting a shot at the doctor’s office. 

“Fuck you.” She spat.

“I’ll see you tomorrow for your next dose!”

With that, he swiped his keycard and walked through the door and out of the room. 

The straps released her wrists and she collapsed to the floor. Shivers wracked through her body even though she could still feel the hot ectoplasm flowing in her veins. 

Star didn’t want to die, but she hoped to whatever deity might be out there that this would all be over soon. She didn’t know how much more she could take. 

Suddenly, her stomach rolled and she was gagging and throwing up the little bit she had managed to eat earlier. Spots lined her vision and she slowly crawled her way to her bed, just wanting to fall asleep. Almost as soon as she got on it and curled up, she was gone.

QQQQQ

When Star awoke the next morning, she realized she was already strapped into the chair with Agent Z standing before her. The two agents that had first picked her up were standing on the other side of the window.

“Due to your worsening condition, today will be the last day of the ectoplasm injection trial, you’ll only receive one dose today. Starting tomorrow we’ll begin testing the effects of ectoplasmic charged electricity. We will take a few days break in order for you to gain some semblance of stability.”

“Why not just stop the trials altogether then?” Star rasped.

“The information we have gathered this far is invaluable. We’ve learned that some ways to attain ghost powers are safer than others, while others are more dangerous but much more potent. If We can find that balance between these then we’d have the ultimate weapon in our hands.”

“You guys are monsters.”

“Your participation will do much to protect your friends and family in Amity Park.” He nodded at Agent Z. “Go ahead.”

Agent Z plunged the needle into Star’s arm. 

With that last injection, Star screamed. The sound reverberated around her room over and over again, Agent Z covered his ears to protect himself from it. And then suddenly, Star’s ghost was ripping itself from her body, which fell limp against the chair it was strapped to. 

Her ghost form flickered brightly, like a star in the sky. She turned her brightly glowing eyes on Agent Z who was looking up at her with wide eyes, his hands still covering his ears. Star dove for him. 

Lifting him by the throat, Star picked him up and started throwing him into every wall as she flew around her small room. The ghostly trail she left behind her looked like the tail of a sparkling comet and soon blood was spattering onto the glass. 

Agent O pressed a button on the outside wall and the room lit up in a bright green flash and Star was falling to the floor, a beaten agent falling from her grasp into a heap. 

“Call in the sanitization and disposal team and have them come clean up this mess.” Agent O said to Agent K, who was staring at Agent Z inside the room. 

“Our Agent Z’s never last long.” K said sharply. “What should we do with the girl’s ghost?”

Agent O had a thoughtful look on his face. “We’ll keep it here for study. Her ghost must be a powerful one, that act it displayed immediately upon death is one I’ve never seen before.”

He turned around to face Agent K. “We’ll need to go gather another test subject. We’ll plan to go in two days once this mess is cleaned up.”

“Sir, I respectively ask how will we get any conclusive data if all of our subjects keep dying?”

Agent O barked out a laugh. “Who cares if they die. All that matters is that we get our answers in the end. What better way to get ghosts for research and dissection than by harvesting them ourselves?”

“Like a ghost farm, sir?”

“Yes.” Agent O Smiled wickedly.

“Like a ghost farm.”

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Dress Code (Post-War ficlet)

(A/N: Some Post-War MIC!Eragon/Arya for you all. 

I’ve extended the Rider War timeline to be closer to 5-ish years. Eragon has more time to mature, Arya has more time to heal. They start a relationship around a year before the war ends, and while I have a basic idea of how it comes about I’m not ready to put it into writing for you all yet. There’s about a year or so of Arya and Fírnen remaining behind in Alagaësia to help with reconstruction and reintegration of the elves into the world without starting an incident while Islanzadí heals, and then they join Eragon and Saphira at the Rider School. At this point, even a year on, the school is still in some phases of construction and only has maybe a dozen students + their dragons, possibly less. Everyone is still trying to settle in to the new reality, and Eragon is still getting used to the admin role he now has to take.

I’ll probably post more about MIC!Eragon and Arya’s relationship, especially as it is post-war. In the meantime, take this. It’s a little spicy, so fair warning. Cheers mates!)

~~~

Eragon scrubbed his hands through his hair, frustration edging his voice. “Remind me why I agreed to host this?” 

Invitations to the Rider School’s gala were strewn across his desk, addresses of dignitaries from the chiefdoms surrounding Mount Arngor paperclipped to each. He held in his hand three different menus in various stages of translation and tweaking, trying his best to work through the grammar of the local dialect and please the varied dietary restrictions of all in attendance. An itinerary draft sat incomplete under a handful of pens, half abandoned until the Rider’s leader could muster up the focus to finish it.

For all the good will these events garnered, they always brought in more paperwork than he thought they were worth.

“Because people tend to get nervous when dragons and Riders begin massing in one place and it looks like no one knows what’s going on.” Eragon leaned back in his chair and tilted his head to watch Arya across the room. His mate was cross legged on the floor, a portion of Fírnen’s saddle in her lap while the rest spilled out like a comically large sea turtle. A half-threaded leather needle dangled from her lips as she closely examined a patch of torn stitching to judge the length she needed. “And it’s one of the fastest ways to show that yes, the Riders have leaders in you and Saphira, and that you both aren’t as scary as they might think.”

From outside the exterior porthole a chuffing snort signaled Saphira’s amusement. That anyone would dare to put her majestic yet terrifying visage into the same league of frightening as Eragon’s squishy, scaleless frame was laughable.

Down below the cliffside, the sounds of Fírnen’s playful growls as he entertained a handful of yearlings and hatchlings rumbled up the mountain. The fledgling Riders and their dragons were on a day of leave after a month of hard work and lessons, leaving Eragon, Saphira, Arya, and Fírnen time to catch up on the tasks that went by the wayside during instruction. 

Eragon felt Saphira yawn wide, barbed tongue curling at its tip. His jaw twinged slightly as her teeth clicked together. Don’t forget your meeting this afternoon. Saphira stretched out one massive paw and began fastidiously cleaning the scales around her claws, irritated by the stone dust from construction that still remained in the nooks and crannies of the mountain’s halls. I will fly you down, but after that I must take the hatchlings to hunt.

Thank you. I won’t forget. Eragon assured as he set the menus down and picked up the draft of the event itinerary, clicking his pen in distracted boredom. As he worked, Arya finished her repairs and began the process of conditioning the rejoined pieces, working neatsfoot oil into the saddle with a soft rag.

Saphira’s deep breathing outside signaled her shift to a light doze in the afternoon sun. The sound was soothing, lulling her Rider into a state of half focused haze.

Once again drifting away from his work, Eragon’s eyes snagged on the invitation’s request of a black tie dress code. It sent his mind to other places, and, the corners of his lips curling into a mischievous smile, he let his chair turn again. 

“You know…” Arya looked up to see her mate tapping his pen against his lips. “There is one thing I don’t mind about these fancy events though.” Mirth danced in his eyes, along with something a little more, as he lifted his gaze from the papers in his hand. 

The elf set the saddle aside, wiping her hands on the rag. This should be interesting. He only acted this innocent for two reasons, one distinctly more alluring than the other. “Oh really?” She stood and stretched, fingers linked above her head as she lifted onto her toes. “And what would that be?”

“You.” Eragon broke into a blush tinged smile and set the itinerary aside, turning his chair fully to face her. “I will never get tired of seeing you all dressed up.”

Arya let out a soft laugh and approached him. His gaze boldly roamed over her form, still marveling years on that she was his and he was hers. “Really! I love you no matter what you wear. But there’s something about the way you can pull off a black dress….” Eragon practically purred in approval as the elf settled into his lap, her knees on either side of his hips. The tang of leather conditioner wrapped around Arya’s earthy scent, reminding him of their time in the field and nights around watch fires, working on their gear and simply enjoying each other's company. It was just so simply her, so entwined in his mind with who she was, that it made his heart flutter. “What will you wear this time?”

Arya cocked her head coyly, braid brushing against her back as she shifted her weight to his knees with a thoughtful hum. “I don’t know. You pick.” A sly grin touched her lips. “Within reason, of course.”

Eragon leaned back, mind awhirl with possibilities. Almost subconsciously his hands had found Arya’s sides to steady her on her perch. As he mulled over the choice she had given him, his thumbs rubbed small circles against her ribs, eliciting a pleased sigh that danced in his ears. She leaned into his touch, content. 

“Hmm...I think…” An image solidified in Eragon’s imagination, bringing back that hooded eye grin as he went a step further and imagined it covering less of his mate’s body and more of his bedroom floor. “Black dress. Mid length. Something backless.” 

Arya huffed a quiet laugh, her smirk suddenly tinged with a tiny twist that he couldn’t quite place. Awkwardness? “Love...we’re trying to make friends here, not send them running for the other side of the continent.”

It took a long, long moment for Eragon to realize her meaning. With a slight pang of guilt his grin drooped, and in quiet apology he slipped his hands under the soft material of his mate’s shirt. Calloused fingers slid up her back, ghosting over the multitude of scars that still decorated her skin, as he pulled her down to him until their foreheads touched.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured. He could feel the uptick in her heart rate through her skin, the warmth of her breath against his cheek as he massaged the silky rifts below her shoulder blades. “I’m sorry. You’d think after all this time I’d remember. They’re so much a part of you that I–” 

Arya silenced him, brushing her lips against his. The contact flushed warmth down from his cheeks to his throat and over his chest. “I like that you forget.” Her smile feathered against his skin as she shifted her body closer to his and pulled away from the light kiss. “I think it’s one of the sweetest things you do.” 

Relieved, Eragon smiled back. Taking one of his mate’s hands from where she had braced against his shoulder, he pressed lips to her palm in one last apology before returning his grip to her sides. The feeling of warm, bare skin beneath his fingertips and the new position of her hips had him quickly distracted again, and he soon found himself itching to continue their banter. “Well...what about me, then?” 

“What about you?”

“What should I wear for the gala?” 

Arya hummed quietly, teasing her fingers down his chest. “It’s black tie, isn’t it?” Eragon nodded in confirmation, doing his best to keep from moving beyond the gentle dance of his fingers against the elf’s sides. She was always more composed than he during these little games, to the point that the Rider’s leader found himself pushing his limits to better match her whenever they arose. “Well then. I say you should wear just your slacks and a tie.” She gently tapped the end of his nose before dragging her hands across the tightening muscles of his abdomen, nails lightly scraping through the material of his shirt. Her voice took on a low purr, rippling with a possessive edge from deep within her chest and sending tingles of anticipation across Eragon’s skin. “It doesn't say anything about wearing something along with it, does it not?”

Eragon raised his eyebrow, control cracking. His hands settled on her hips as she draped her wrists over his shoulders, pulling her closer. He could feel the heat between their bodies growing, pooling over their clothed skin. “Well, if it’s the dress code you’re insisting on, who am I to break the rules?” His mate grinned that little devilish smirk that set his heart pounding, fire dancing in her eyes as she leaned in closer. Eragon let his eyes drift closed, lifting away from the back of the chair to meet her–

And frowned in confusion when he felt her cheek brush his. The light touch was followed by a breathy whisper in his ear. 

“You’re going to be late for your meeting with Blödhgarm and Telvi if you don’t hurry.”

Eragon opened his eyes to find Arya pulling away from reaching over his shoulder, the small clock he kept on his desk in her hand. 

It read only eight minutes to two in the afternoon. He was supposed to be meeting the elves to go over plans for a new family housing addition at two o’clock sharp.

“Oh shit!” 

Eragon bolted to his feet, unceremoniously dumping Arya off her perch on his lap. The elf couldn’t help but laugh as he dashed around the room, searching frantically for the plans Gerard had drawn up for him and the set of drafting tools necessary to make any adjustments. Outside Saphira similarly surged to her feet and shook herself. Her wings rustled like parchment as she unfurled them and stretched, ready to leap from the mountain shelf to the courtyard below.

I can see them nearing the gate. Saphira’s warning echoed in Eragon’s mind. You need to hurry, Little One.

I’m trying! I can’t find the damn plans! Eragon jerked his gaze from ripping apart a cluttered drawer of stationary when his mate gave a short, sharp whistle. Arya stood by the porthole with his messenger bag in hand, and wordlessly slipped the protected tube that held Gerard’s plans and the box of tools in when the man looked up. He let out a wordless cry of relief and hurried over, ducking his head and lifting his arm slightly to allow Arya to loop the strap down over his shoulder and settle the bag onto his hip. 

“Where would I be without you?” Eragon asked, half sincere and half rhetorical as the elven Rider adjusted his shirt. He leaned in, hopeful and thrilled as always.

Still grinning, Arya allowed him to give her a quick kiss. Her hand lingered at his cheek, checking him over out of habit before swiping a few stray locks of his curling bangs away from his face. “In Carvahall, living a quiet life without dragons, elves, dwarves and Urgals.” Pleased that he was presentable, the elf gave him a kiss of her own before turning him to the waiting Saphira and giving him a push. “Now go! Fírnen and I are teaching Silas and Rakka some flying, so we’ll see you both at dinner.”

Eragon gave one last wave and tightened the saddle straps around his legs. With that, Saphira took two great strides and launched herself from the cliff.

[lovelyirony]

the much anticipated second part for the amnesia-related fic. 

A wedding ring. 

This doesn’t mean that he and Tony are married except that he hasn’t seen Tony with a wedding ring and he hasn’t mentioned a wife and he doesn’t sound like he has a wife and if Rhodey-if Jim had a wife, then wouldn’t he know about her? Wouldn’t they have met by now? He may not know Tony yet, but he doesn’t think that he would be that cruel. 

“Colonel Rhodes-” 

“Friday, don’t,” Jim says, swatting at the air. “What-why did you hide that from me?” 

“Sir believed it would be best,” Friday answers, tone almost quieter. “He...wasn’t sure that you would understand.” 

“I don’t understand,” he says. “Why would I marry him of all people? He’s not exactly my type.” 

“Since I am a learning program, I cannot say for sure. Humans do a lot of illogical things.” 

He’s trying to wrap his head around it and avoid Tony at the same time. 

Friday won’t let him see any wedding pictures, not until he remembers more. 

- 

Even though he’s been (mostly) successful at avoiding Tony for about a week and a half, the man is still so nice. 

He’s still operating under the assumption that Jim has no idea that they’re married, and he does stuff like leave out a cup of coffee and offer breakfast up or ask if he wants pizza for dinner.

Jim reads too much into it. 

And he doesn’t know why, because it’s not like anything has really changed, except for the fact that Tony won’t call him Rhodey. 

Jim gave him permission to, saw how much it killed him with every correction and every reminder. Told him “you can call me Rhodey, if you want.” 

And he doesn’t. 

Tony never does. 

He still almost says it, but Jim is quicker on the tongue, and he doesn’t make a move to try to push any memories at all. 

(Even though he remembers how happy Tony was to hear that memory about grocery shopping and Dum-E’s code source.) 

He does want to remember. He wants to remember why he apparently married Tony and was genuine about it, why Pepper and him are best friends and never were anything more, why he’s...why he’s so different from what he wanted. 

-

Tony knows that Jim’s acting differently. He’s not sure why. He’s not sure he wants to know why, because that might complicate everything. 

And he doesn’t want another thing to be wrong. Everyone’s walking on eggshells around him except for the one damn person that probably should be, but Rhodey’s never been good at following rules. (But he’s good at fooling people.) 

Pepper talks to Tony a lot. Asks him how he’s doing, if there’s anything she can do. 

Repair someone’s memory is a little bit outside of her area of expertise. 

“It’ll be okay,” she says, putting her tiny hand over his. “Things will work out.” 

They both know that in Tony’s life, luck has never been quite what it seems. Or existent at all, at times. 

-

Ironically, it’s their anniversary of the wedding when Jim remembers something else. It actually comes in the form of looking in the fridge and not finding his apples. 

“Quit leaving honey-crisp off of the list just because you don’t like them you asshole,” he calls to Tony. 

Tony almost yelps. 

“Out of everything in your life and that’s what you remember? Your stupidly sweet apples?” 

“Are you gonna get them?” 

“Why don’t you come with me?” Tony asks, “just so that you can get your apples and maybe get out of the house for once.” 

“Hmph. Fine,” Jim answers. “Where’s my coat?” 

“Uh...” Tony trails off, trying to find the words. “Third peg on the...right, I think?” 

“You’ve known me for years, and you don’t know where my coat is?” 

Rhodey is always the one to hang up his coat, and then put his arms out for Tony’s. 

“To be fair, I am important and fancy and a big deal,” Tony scoffs. “Come on, go get your coat and then I’m going to show you what horrible things you buy from the store.” 

“It’s not that bad. And what, you don’t like good apples?” 

“As sour as can be, sourpatch. As sour as can be.” 

-

Grocery shopping with Tony is...interesting. He didn’t think it would take so long. 

“This is why you don’t usually come,” Tony teases him. “I take so long and you end up sitting in the car and cursing at Pepper or Happy about how much time I spend dedicated to snack-judging.” 

“And I put up with that?” 

“You do,” Tony says, grabbing the cart. “Because you love me and you deal with a lot worse from me.” 

“Like what?” 

“Best not to talk about it,” Tony says. “We’re in public after all, honey.” 

“Ugh, boo,” Rhodey teases. “Give me the list. I bet I can speed-run this.” 

“How? Technically, you don’t think you’ve ever been to this store before!” Tony exclaims with a gigantic, shit-eating grin. 

“Way to rub it in you bastard,” he says with a laugh. “Now come on, I wanna see what kind of salad you think we’re gonna get.” 

“Not you thinking you’re going to be eating junk food,” Tony sighs. 

“I lost my memory!” 

“That would’ve worked, like, two weeks ago. Now I know better.” 

Grocery shopping is...fun. They make fun of foods and different products, and Tony shows him which things he might like. 

“I like...I like fruit salad?” 

“Yes, yes you do Rhodey-dear,” Tony says. “Your favorite thing in the world for fruit.” 

“Seems suspicious.” 

“You’ll have to try it again, then.” 

Rhodey watches him as they’re shopping. He’s easy to be around, honestly. He has that sort of energy that makes you feel like he’s just happy to be in that moment. 

Tony also has very questionable taste in everything. 

“Quinoa?” 

“What? You’ve eaten it before! It’s not your least favorite thing that I’ve cooked?” 

“How is it not? Is it because I’m old?” 

“No, not because you’re old,” Tony scowls. “When you’d come back from the service, you’d eat literally anything I put in front of you. I once gave you a block of cheese and you just sat there. Eating it.” 

“There’s no way I did that.” 

“You did! Ask Pepper, she has a picture of it!” 

He goes back to quiet after that, remembering the picture. 

-

Jim isn’t even sure he wants to bring it up. He’s not even sure if he could love Tony again, and somehow that thought makes his head hurt. 

He knows that apparently, he fell in love once. 

So he needs answers. 

-

Jim had talked to his parents, but he hadn’t really had an opportunity to talk about anything important. Try as he had to get more information out of them, they weren’t giving much up, except for parts about his military achievements and funny stories that he’s written to them about. 

When he gets back home and he sees Mama, she knows. 

“Come here baby,” she says, putting him into her arms. “Let me answer your questions.” 

“Why him?” 

Mama laughs, grinning up at him from her place on the couch. 

“You reacted like this when you first started rooming together, too. I was worried that I’d be involved in a court case for attempted murder!” 

“And you weren’t?” 

“No,” Mama answers. “Instead, I get no phone call from you for three weeks, until the day before your holiday break started, and you told me that you were bringing who you used to call ‘the biggest nuisance since fruit flies’ home to Thanksgiving.” 

“Why did I...why did I bring him?” 

“I didn’t get that answered until he fell asleep,” she says. “I’m making you some coffee, alright dear?” 

“Okay, so long as I get an answer.” 

“So impatient,” she mutters as she makes her way to the kitchen, Jim following. 

He watches how easily his mom pours the coffee, and remembers in a brief flash that Tony always would bring the fancy, flavored creamer to the holiday events. 

“Oh come on,” Tony said. “You have gotten too used to my kindness, and there’s no reason to stop being kind. Besides, remember last year when you nearly cried because I bought creamer from the store? Yeah, not having a repeat of that.” 

“And would that be so bad?” he teased Tony, wrapping an arm around his waist, and-

He blinks. 

That was...that was definitely a new kind of memory. 

“James, are you alright?” His mother is looking at him, and maybe she knows, maybe she doesn’t know that he just remembered something. He’s honestly not sure. 

“Uh, yeah. Fine. I’m good.” 

Mama looks across the room, smiling. 

“He was a timid little thing when he got here. Fixed up the washing machine when it broke, just in time. Nearly wore a suit to dinner, said you didn’t tell him what kind of ‘casual’ we were going for...” 

He snorts as he slowly remembers that one. 

“What do you mean you didn’t mean a suit?!” Tony had wailed, gripping Rhodey’s shirt. “You said I had to dress nice!” 

“I meant literally anything but your Black Sabbath shirt!” 

“Why would I have worn my Black Sabbath shirt? Your mom would probably think I was a Satanist!” 

They both look at each other for a moment, and Rhodey’s the first one to break and laugh. 

“Listen you idiot, it won’t be so bad. We can just ditch the coat, ditch the tie, and you’ll be...okay. A bit nicer than most of us, but hey. That’s what I get for not telling you that suits are weird.” 

“Suits are not weird, you’re just uneducated in what is sophisticated,” Tony says, turning his nose up as Rhodey rolls his eyes. 

“Oh yeah, sure, because knowing which one is the dessert spoon is going to help me save people abroad. My bad.” 

Tony looks back at him, and his heart skips a beat. It does. Really, it does. 

It almost feels like someone’s reading back to him what he already knows at this point. 

His mom squeezes his hand, smiling. 

“You remember at least some of it, don’t you?” 

“Well...uh, yeah? I-I do.” 

“Does Tony know that you know that you’re...married?” 

“No,” Rhodey says. “I know some, but not enough.” 

“Give him a chance,” she says. “And get back home, I’m sure he’s missing you.” 

Rhodey embraces his mother, and prepares for the drive home. 

- 

Being missed is a weird concept to deal with. 

He also did not exactly think of that. So he’s currently driving back and checked his phone to seven missed calls from Tony, three from Pepper, and one text from Happy that simply reads “lol ur dead hahaha good luckkkkk” 

Well shit. 

Tony, understandably is pissed and scared and a tad upset. 

Not a tad. 

“Where were you?” He says as soon as Rhodey appears back in the kitchen. Tony’s hands wander close, and he almost leans in. 

Almost. 

“I was visiting my parents,” he responds. “Sorry, forgot to text.” 

“Please remember next time, your-well, Tony’s annoying when you leave,” Pepper says. 

(Okay Rhodey doesn’t know how they got away with this for so long, it’s really, really obvious that they’ve been covering it up.) 

“I will,” Rhodey says. “Did I miss anything?” 

“I’ve elected that we’re going to cook tonight,” Tony declares. “I am absolutely sick to death of takeout, and I’m pretty sure that with your lack of knowledge on recipes now, I have you beat in the kitchen.” 

“I can still read recipes, you dumbass. Besides, I just remembered your stupid ‘bake’ hack for your stupid casserole dish, so...” 

“Out of everything, and that’s the thing you remember today?!” 

“Well, I also remembered that apparently you wore a suit to my house for Thanksgiving!” 

Tony stops. 

“What else you remember from that, or was it just that?” 

He doesn’t want to say anything in front of Pepper, doesn’t want to say anything just yet. 

“I remember that you were weird about your suit!” 

Tony deflates a bit, but still smiles. 

God, he looks gorgeous. 

Rhodey blinks. Shakes his head out of the thought.

“So. What are we cooking?” 

- 

Tony and cooking is a very interesting concept because it shouldn’t work. 

He never stops moving, can lose interest quickly, and Rhodey would think that he could burn water. 

But he doesn’t. Tony hums along to music, and he tells him all about his favorite songs and why. 

It’s not any rock music, any heavy metal. 

“I don’t listen to that all the time,” Tony says. “You always think I do!” 

“Oh right, because someone who personally has Angus Young’s number just casually isn’t someone who listens to the band all the time, sure,” Rhodey says sarcastically. 

Tony grins, and it’s probably the best damned thing he’s seen all day. 

His heart zings at the realization that Tony smiling is what makes him smile now, what makes him want to stay and learn so much more about how they came to be, what they’ve done together. 

-

Dinner is fun. Tony tells him all about college and what they used to do, and what Rhodey had done. 

Memories are coming back easier. 

“You totally emailed the professor really petty responses!” Tony cries, laughing. 

“It wasn’t that petty,” Rhodey said, huffing. “He was an asshole anyway, he hated whenever we would come late because we wanted coffee, and your order was too complicated!” 

“It wasn’t that complicated!” 

“Oh I’m sorry, them having it written down behind the register for when you come in?” 

“Oh, like they didn’t have a description of you.” 

“Yeah, as your long-suffering companion,” Rhodey teases. 

“You’ve always been,” Tony says. “Because you’re the best.” 

Rhodey stops stirring the pot for a moment. 

“Rhodey? What is it?” 

“I...” 

Tony stands there, grinning. He’s nervously fidgeting, and it’s his move to say the vows. 

“You know, I wasn’t ever sure you’d be up to marrying someone like me,” Tony confesses. “Especially since I almost burned down our dorm room one time.” 

“Wasn’t just one time,” Rhodey teases. “But carry on.” 

“You loser,” Tony says. “Even now, interrupting my heartfelt moment.” 

There’s a ripple of laughter from the small crowd that’s gathered. Rhodey smiles at him, feels tears prick up around his eyes. 

“But I knew that I loved you ever since you would always buy my favorite ramen even though you hated it, and you were the one to get the pizza when I was sad. I knew I wanted the chance of seeing you every day, coming home to you at the end of the day. You’re home, Rhodey. You’re it. No one else could ever possibly hold a candle compared to you.” 

Rhodey startles, looking at Tony. 

“I...I remember. I remember!” 

“Remember what?” Tony asks cautiously. 

(He can’t be let down. Not again.) 

“You smashed cake in my face at our wedding!” Rhodey yells. “And we got married! We got married! Where the fuck is my ring?” 

Tony laughs, scooping Rhodey into a hug. 

“I can’t believe you remember.” 

“Well I was bound to at some point,” Rhodey says. “I can be smart, doofus.” 

“Don’t call me ‘doofus’ during an emotional outburst you absolute nimrod!” 

“I’ll call my husband whatever I want,” he teases, “although I still wanna know where my ring is.” 

“Come with me and get it,” Tony says. “I hid them in my room, just in case.” 

It’s all coming back, the steps they take, the way that Tony supports him as he moves slower. 

Iron Man, for one. War Machine the next. The dates they went on, the proposal. 

The rings are simple. They’re also not wedding rings. 

The class rings. 

Rhodey remembers getting them, remembers getting his initials and Tony’s on the inside, remembers how Tony made some “adjustments” after they received them. 

“You know that you got me,” Tony had told him. 

It slides on, and it feels right. Feels like something was missing. 

He looks up at Tony, smiling. 

“Show me the pictures, Tony.” 

- 

Pepper walks in to find Rhodey absolutely terrorizing Tony about the decor choices from the reception. 

“So I agreed with red and gold? I had no problem with it?” 

“Well, I did do some major convincing, so...” 

“What does that mean?!” 

"You’ll remember later and be sad,” Pepper says. “Or happy. But please don’t tell me if you remember it.” 

“You loved the color scheme,” Tony says. “Because you love me!” 

“Now I am doubting,” Rhodey declares. “I loved you enough to have those colors?” 

“You lost a bet, Boss,” Friday interjects. “That’s why there were those themes.” 

“Friday,” Tony whines. “Why snitch on your creator like this?” 

“I am not programmed to have loyalty, Sir.” 

Rhodey laughs, taking Tony’s hand in his. 

“Well, I guess I’ll still love you. Even if our wedding theme was weird.” 

“It wasn’t that weird!” 

-

It takes about another month before all of the memories are all back to normal, and in that time Rhodey learns (and relearns) a couple of things: 

1.) The best feeling in the world is waking up to Tony, who sleeps very lightly and also wacked Rhodey in the face a total of ten times. (That’s not a new thing, he remembers.) 

2.) He special-orders peppermint-flavored coffee creamer. 

3.) Tony was lying when he said that Rhodey’s new favorite movie was The Goonies. 

(He mostly forgave him for that one.)