#<- is this really the first post under tag ever? damn. heavy weight on my shoulders now

[zeeckz]

OK OK HOW ABOUT....BBKAZEVA

This was really tough (I barely had any thoughts about them when you asked, I've been making most of them up as I wrote)

Somehow I think Kaz & EVA would team up most of the time to "scold" Big Boss for something he did, but the second Kaz does something wrong Big Boss is definitely supporting EVA even if he doesn't actually agree with her complaints (he'll let him know later, scoffing, and kiss him for forgiveness)

Well, I already said kazeva would ride motorbikes, so Big Boss clearly isn't an exception (not to the leather jacket/outfit and the matching helmet either)

He also gives me the impression to enjoy alone time rather than being surrounded by people, despite being in a leading position, so he's also going to isolated places with them

They kinda have to force him to write something worth reading on those postcards they send to David, if it was for him he'd just sign it as "-Boss" (not even "-Dad" smh) and call it a day (since they require his participation, otherwise he wouldn't do anything)

When it comes to the animal shelters, I feel he would pretend not to care as much as he actually does about animals, like just waiting outside while smoking his cigar, but the second he sees a Doberman, a German Shepherd (afaik the only specific breeds mentioned to be used as attack dogs in mgs) or a wolfdog (substituting actual wolves from the games) he's getting closer to pet it (depending on how doable it is, he might as well try to steal it)

He's the one who doesn't care about fashion as much as the other two, so, if anything at all, he'll only match the color palette or maybe wear a small, kinda discreet accessory (like wearing the same watch, buying the same lighter, or having a small sewn figure that matches his partners' clothing pattern, stuff like that), just so they don't bother him

Kaz and EVA are reinforcing each other's horniness just by being together, so I feel it's more likely they'll be questionably touchy in public (and I think they'd both do it to Big Boss, who's trying to keep them under control at least until they have more privacy; he doesn't like bringing any attention towards themselves)

For some reason I just imagined Big Boss buying ice-cream cones to them, so I will now accept this as his go-to way to treat them when going out; he doesn't look like the kind of man who'd buy flowers, chocolate boxes, jewelry, etc etc - ice-cream seems informal enough and a good way to keep them happy quite frequently

He also gets to have both of them licking the ice-cream in a rather indecent manner in front of him, but that's just a side effect and not his goal at all (he just wanted to cool down and eat something sweet)

Someone recently pointed out to me Big Boss seemed to show voyeuristic behaviors in mgs pw, so... These two being hornier than average... Y'know. Sometimes he just sits and watches as he smokes.

Tbh I already thought Kaz is into voyeurism and I'm not having too hard of a time imagining EVA being into that as well (just to a much lesser extent than them), so. Um. They can take turns.

And now that I accidentally ended up in this thread of thoughts - if it's the three of them, Kaz and EVA have to do most things at the same time or take turns, it doesn't work if only one of them does this or that (they'd fight) (they're into it anyway, just brings up a slighty dirtier side of them both and Big Boss is Not complaining)

I feel having EVA by his side would make it more likely for Kaz to work on music - yeah, she's not deaf and probably told him he's not much of a singer, but she'd also encourage him, maybe even sing herself, and Kaz would write little songs about things he likes about their trips and their little adventures as a throuple; I actually am not sure of what Big Boss' impression is regarding his musical skills, but I think he'd encourage him to improve himself (y'know, a very firm pat on the back and a few words while directly looking at him, then hold his jaw and a little kiss to get him going)

Now that I think of it. Big Boss seems more kinky than EVA, but less than Kaz. Do what you wish with that information

Anyway, back to the music - they visit music shops, second-hand shops from time to time and Big Boss is often forced to hold Kaz up so they can leave after several hours of him investigating all of the instruments, musicians and albums he's interested in (EVA finds this cute and enjoys seeing Big Boss holding Kaz like a sack of potatoes on his shoulder). Oh. Happens with fishing stuff too. AND trains. Specially trains.

It's kind of the same thing with EVA when they pass by a motorbike club, an exposition, motorcycle dealerships, and any other ride-related event (likewise, it's now Kaz who finds this cute and Big Boss is just the one who has to drag her out)

Since we're already doing this, they both have to drag Big Boss out when they find a gun shop (this isn't cute to either of them because he's stronger than them, he so badly wants to look at guns and he's not willing to leave). Also happens with any military or hunting related shop.

EVA sleeps between Kaz and Big Boss, who are faced towards each other. EVA just turns to one or the other depending on the day (yes, there's a really neat schedule Kaz did on Excel) (there are times they just wanna cuddle and Kaz will always click his tongue before saying "fine..." despite being more than okay with it, he's just mad the schedule is being ignored)

EVA will sometimes only wear Big Boss' shirt (which means, oversized) at home (wherever that is) - he couldn't care less about it, but Kaz finds it particularly hot and has a bit less of focus when this happens. EVA will also do this with Kaz's clothing, but it just doesn't hit the same, y'know. He likes it regardless, but the feeling is not exactly the same

Kaz is definitely teaching Big Boss how to use chopsticks. I assume EVA already knows, but I don't think she'd have the same amount of patience to teach him - she'd rather poke fun at their efforts and serve them food herself from time to time

Flirting is so ingrained in Kaz's & EVA's personalities that Big Boss sometimes asks them if they're genuinely trying to flirt with someone - they aren't, but always tease him about it when he asks

Regarding that, even though I already described kazeva as Bisexual Swingers, somehow I feel they'd remain in a closed relationship with Big Boss. I guess it'd be kind of a "just assumed that" thing, meaning Big Boss wouldn't actually mind them trying to add another person for intercourse, he simply doesn't actively look for that kind of experience (as if he doesn't already have more than enough with these two horny bastards) and they never really bring it up either (they're that infatuated I guess), just joke about it

I think EVA is the type to steal food from the other two while actively eating. Oh, we're having breakfast and I already finished? Too bad for you, I'm grabbing your marmalade toast. Out of your hand. After you already bit it. Big Boss just steals something back, but from Kaz. Kaz gets mad. He's the one who has to prepare more food. To get stolen. Again.

EVA is the one who repairs the motorbikes. Only her. You better not touch her damaged babies. It's her work. She Will hit you. She tolerates Kaz because he knows what she's talking about, but Big Boss can only help by bringing clean towels and food (and not touching anything else)

Kaz often tries to take them to hot springs whenever they visit a place with them - not just for nostalgia, but also as a way to have them completely relax for a bit

Okay, I hope this is enough!

[blueparadis]

LEMONADE + SHIU KONG // f!reader ( she's a sniper), smoking, mention of murder and violence, implicit smut, semi-public ( happens in a car ), little tension between them, rivals to fvck buddies dynamics, he is such a tease here. 1.3 (w.c)

special thanks to @poohbea for beta-reading. without her, i really wouldn't have posted this. i had something in mind and this is entirely different. so i said better luck next time to myself and found the courage to post this. | back to nav. | also tagging @yuujispinkhair

“You’re not nearly as inconspicuous as you believe yourself to be.” Kong mutters off-handedly under his breath, reaching for the latch of your belt. His minty tobacco-laced breath paired with that familiar musky cologne threatens to send your nerves into a frenzy. He’s too close for someone who claims to ‘just wanted to undo your seatbelt’. He had no reason to but he did it anyway, probably because you were asking too many questions. He could have easily pressed one of those buttons on the driver’s side door, the one that unlocks all seat belts at once. The car is fancy enough to have those kinds of luxury features anyway, but you can’t help the racing of your heart when his fingers brush your skin. It’s only when he sits back in his own seat do you register his remark. Did he just scold you? The possibility alone has you licking your bottom lip nervously. 

It’s not as though he never has, but given your history with him, he rarely comments on your professionalism. He has been your handler for almost a year now and has yet to actually correct or complain about the way you do your job. He’s proud of your skills, he has to be, otherwise, he wouldn’t be hiring you for every sniper-kill case he gets.

“I heard you were back in town,” he starts, tapping on his cigarette packet before taking one between his lips. “But I couldn't contact you until I got the green light. That, and I’ve been too damn busy with the bounty offers that keep coming up.” He digs into his breast pocket to fish out a lighter, the flame flicking to life as his thumb rolls over the spark wheel. You look at him visibly confused, something he acknowledges with an amused huff. “Were you really so busy that you couldn't read the briefing I sent you?” He is definitely scolding you, but for what exactly? Trying to stay neutral in the face of his crude teasing, you let out a small breath, choosing to keep his gaze despite the nagging need to look away. He’s changed a bit. There’s worry in his eyes, more than usual, eyebrows creased as he continues. “Ah! I can't let you slip up now — ” 

“Why am I here?” You interject with a frown. 

“What?” He has the audacity to look at you surprised, as if he wasn’t the one to call you here again.

“This is the third time this month you’ve had me meet you… and in case you haven’t noticed, I have a bit of a busy schedule.” Kong lets you speak for longer than ten seconds for the first time in a very long time, his bad habit of interrupting taking the backseat for once. When he doesn’t answer you, you click your tongue, irritation evident in the furrow of your brow. “Why am I here, Kong-san—?”

“Shiu.” He corrects. Guess you spoke too soon. “And you still didn't answer my question. Did you or did you not—”

“I did.” You respond sourly. “And it told me a whole lot of nothing. Which is why I'll ask you again. Why am I here, Shiu?” Despite your irritation, the glaring fact of his contributions to your career as a sniper sits heavy on your shoulders as you sit in weighted silence. He knows it too, and never fails to bring it up every time you try to walk away, try to tell him you don’t need his help. He’s pushed you farther than anyone else ever has. Certainly, you owe it to him, but his ego is already big enough without the offer of such a confession, and you would rather put a bullet in your skull than admit that. 

The air inside the car grows thick with smoke as he takes drag after drag of his cigarette, not that you minded, you’re a smoker yourself, but just to spite him you opened the window by your side. “Isn’t it obvious?” Kong soon discards the butt out of his own window, studying you all the while, observing the mix of question and frustration that creases your forehead as your frown deepens. His lips tug up in one corner ever so slightly, too slight for anyone else to spot, but being around him as often as you have, you knew it was coming. “I’ve missed you.”

You blink. Once. Twice. Thrice. What a horrible man… he’s toying with you.

“Hilarious,” you mutter, offering him a sarcastic chuckle. He doesn’t waver, doesn’t look away, that small smile growing at your skepticism. The realization has your heart beating in your ears, and suddenly finding it difficult to keep his gaze.

“Want me to prove it to you?” He dips his head slightly, the leather of his seat squeaking in protest as he leans closer.

“No.” Your reply was instantaneous but you do not move, his hand reaching to play with the necklace resting against your collarbone, the very someone he gifted you after your first successful case. “Aren't we supposed to be doing a job here?”

“You tell me. Haven't you read the briefing?” Again with the same question. He is far too calm in this situation, fingers caressing the hammering pulse that lies just below the surface of your skin. “You weren’t lying to me were you—?”

“This is going nowhere.” You huff, finally breaking the intense staring contest he had trapped you in, finding the courage to withdraw from his touch momentarily. 

“It could if…” he guides you back to him, grasping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, gaze dipping to your lips. “If you wanted.”

You bite your lip lowering your head to hide your merriment. “Like the last time?” You ask with a knowing smile. If you wanted. Yeah. Sure. As if he didn’t. Because during the ‘last time’ in question, things were entirely different. You two weren’t out for a job. In fact, you were in a situation similar to this one, in his car, engaging in your usual back and forth. It’s unclear exactly what came over you that day, but those sly eyes and that cocky smile had you seeing your handler as less of a mentor and more of the man he was. The conversation devolved into his lips against yours, his hands against your hips as he encouraged you from your seat onto his lap. Thunder rumbled the heavens and rain battered against the windshield, the perfect mask for inevitable heavy breaths and throaty moans. Your skin tingled beneath his touch, his lips, his teeth, the press of his thigh between your legs that had electricity crackling up the base of your spine. His name fogged the windows, each syllable working its way through the tresses of your mind till that was all you could utter, all that truly mattered. He reveled in that, in the way you gave yourself to him almost entirely. How your body grew hot with every caress, every thrust, every kiss. What did you even call this feeling? Neither of you knew, but it was clear that either didn’t want it to stop. By the end of it, his presence spanned your body, inside and out. 

Shiu laughs at your subtle accusation. It has the kind of warmth that reminds you of cozy mornings during winter. There is a pregnant pause after he says. “Yeah.” Bobbing his head in a ‘yes’. You shake your head slowly, an amused breath leaving your nose as your nerves buzz with memories past.

You sigh, assessing him with narrowed eyes, trying to figure out what exactly he’s hiding beneath that elaborately organized talk of his. But the man is a vault, hiding behind dark eyes that threaten to reel you in again. It has you playing with your tongue, curling it against the insides of your mouth before smacking your lips. “Was there really any job for me to begin with?” You retort. 

Shiu Kong smiles, his carefully crafted demeanor crumbling in the face of the woman he’s slowly beginning to fall for. “There wasn’t.” He says bashfully.

—

@angelshub @public-safety-network @underratedcharactercorner

[prettyboykatsuki]

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tell me again | e. kirishima 

➳ tags ;; fem!reader, disgustingly tooth rotting fluff, super cliche confession scene, kinda fuckboy kiri

➳ wc ;; 1.4k

➳ a/n ;; sometimes you just gotta write some corny fucking romance tropes man. 

➳ plot ;; after kirishima ghosted you post your confession, you don’t really plan on seeing him again. naturally when he shows up to your dorm during finals week - you’re not exactly sure what to do. 

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A knock on the door of your shared dorm room startles you out of a late night study session. At this time of night and during finals week - you don’t find yourself to be all that excited for whoever's at the other side. Your R.A., Iida is known for being a stickler and whatever news he brings won’t be good. 

You look over your shoulder at Mina, who instead of studying, has been playing 2048 on her laptop for the last hour. She looks back at you with an exasperated sigh leaving her lips, promptly pushing her laptop to the side. 

“Why is it always me who answers the door?” she groans. 

“Because you chose to study business,” you reply without missing a beat. She flips her middle finger off at you without a second thought but your nose is too deeply buried into your materials for you to care. 

The knocking gets more frantic as the seconds pass. 

“Coming!” she shouts it, irritation already filling her at whoever would be on the otherside. She swings it open, irritated beyond belief. In the midst of her preparing to cuss out whoever was on the other side at this hour, only a quarter of her sentence makes it out of her mouth. 

“Who the hell is -,” she stumbles, pauses. The words don’t even halfway make it out of her mouth before she blinks twice before stumbling back “Kirishima?” 

At this, your head snaps up to look behind you. You know you’re not visible from the door way, your desk opposite of view but you look anyway. You can’t see him but you can hear his voice. 

“Mina, hey - uh, is Y/N here? It’s uhm.. shit, I need to,” 

Mina crosses her arms above her chest, blocking Kirishima when he tries to look over her shoulder. You’re frozen in place and you think anyone in your position would be. 

Your.. relationship with Kirishima is complicated at best. You’d know him since you were freshman and after this semester, you’d managed to work out the courage to confess your feelings to him. You were certain he felt them back for you, ignoring his somewhat notorious reputation in hopes he was being genuine. He seemed awfully genuine to you. 

As it would be, you were met with rejection. It hurt but you weren’t worried about it either way. What you wanted was to remain friends, because Kirishima is awfully important to you. A confession shouldn’tve had made so much of a difference. You wished that’d been the case, anyway. 

But he.. left you like that. Left your friendship at the weird wits end where even when you saw each other on campus or elsewhere - there was no greeting. No hello or how are you. Uncomfortably, you faded into being strangers and you haven’t spoken to him in months.

“She’s not here,” 

Kirishima’s face twists up at the words. He looks over, just peers and shakes his head. 

“I can see the little colored lights that she keeps on to focus are on. I know she’s here. Please just let me talk to her,”

Mina turns her head slightly to make eye-contact with you. You shake your head softly, uninterested in what he has to say. Your heart feels too heavy. You know it’s kind of stupid but the wound feels fresh. Never-ending in how it aches. 

Mina doesn’t budge. 

“She doesn’t want to talk to you. Fuck off back to your dorm and leave us alone,” 

Mina pushes in on the door but he sighs, sticking his hand in even when she pushes in on it. He curses under his breath at the weight of it on his hand. Mina’s eyes go wide. 

“What the fuck are you -” 

“I know you can hear so I’ll just say it, shit” ― he curses under his breath but you catch ― “Even if Mina crushes my hand, please don’t though. You both know I don’t have health insurance,” 

You crack a warbly smile at the comment and Mina lets up but doesn’t open the door up. She keeps her hand steady on his, letting him writhe in mild pain. 

“I love you,” 

You freeze and so does Mina. Kirishima rests his forehead on the door with a soft sigh. Your heart skips a beat or two. You can’t keep track. 

“I know I fucked this up like.. really bad. When you told me you had feelings for me, at first it was.. I don’t know. It was like I couldn’t believe you,” 

You bite back tears as you listen to him. He can hear people in the rest of the dorm start to peek out but he doesn’t seem to stop.

“Shit, it was you. Not be corny but fuck like.. how the hell could I ever believed you liked me? Of all people, you chose me with a shitty fuckboy reputation and stupid haircut,” he laughs a little at this and so do you. 

“Kirishima..”  Mina mumbles

“It was too much. Like you’re so.. so much. But not in a bad way. Like the idea of being with you was just so damn overwhelming. And Bakugou told me not to be an idiot and ghost you but I was just so.. so scared,” 

You can hear the way his voice shakes. 

“I’ve never been with anyone seriously before and I’m kind of an idiot and I didn’t wanna fuck it all up. Like what if you realize half-way that it’s not me you want? What if.. what if we started dating and you realized that it was some kind of mistake?” 

“Eijirou...”

He smiles a little. The sound of your voice is soft like he remembers. He thinks it might be worth Mina breaking his hand if he gets to see you. 

“It was easier to break it off before it got serious, that’s what I thought. But then we didn’t talk for a few months and I was goin fuckin’ crazy thinking about you,” ― he laughs at the memory, drunk and dizzy from it ― “You don’t think you can miss one person so much. That just one person could mean so much to you.. like you’re incomplete without them there,’ 

You sniffle, wiping tears you hadn’t realized had fallen from your cheeks. 

“I think I’m in too deep. It was already too serious. I already.. loved you. I thought it’d be better if I just fucking.. ran here and told you,”  ― Mina opens the door up and steps to one side as you stumble towards it, tear eyed and in loose pajamas. Not confession ready in the least  ― “I thought maybe I’d get lucky and I’d have a chance of you at least.. forgiving me. Maybe if I was really lucky, you’d still like me too,” 

He shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at you, mouth curved into a half smile. So sincere, like always. You wonder to yourself if there would ever be a way to love him less. 

“So uhm.. I’m sorry. And I love you.. and it’d be sick if you like.. loved me back but it’s not necessary. I’ll do whatever you want just.. I dunno. Be in my life again, maybe?”

You run into his arms but he catches you. You’re a half conscious mess, sniffling into him as you punch his shoulder. He chuckles but hugs you back, wincing as you hit him. 

“Of course I love you, you stupid asshole,”  ― you whine, hugging him even tighter  ― “Your timing is shit, y’know that? Stupid -” 

He pulls back and leans into you. Lets his mouth bump into yours clumsily until you melt into a placating kiss. It’s all too much Kirishima - a gentle swipe of tongue and sharp teeth. Sweet but not enough. When he pulls away, he kisses the corners of your mouth. He’s too good at that, you think. 

“I know, but.. that’s why you like me right?” 

You roll your eyes, opting to keep clinging to him instead of replying. From behind you, Mina sighs. 

“I’m glad you stopped being a jackass but how the hell did you make it up here without Iida noticing,” 

From outside, there’s two loud but distinct voices. It’s Kaminari, screaming and Iida screaming back. When Mina walks over to peer outside, she catches an eyeful of a very naked and very drunk blonde. She cackles. 

“Uh.. I’ll just say I owe Kami a ton of money right mow,” 

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[mrpenguinpants]

Diluc: Comfort HCs

Oh no worries anon! We’re getting through everything and I can just see the top. I’m not sure if people saw it - probably not - but my entire blog has devolved into “See this genshin character? Animal.” and I refuse to have another cat character so I’m making Diluc a hawk.  

Apparently (maybe) Diluc’s bird is a nightingale [voicelines]. But I don’t really see Diluc the kind of guy to serenade you at night in secret because your father doesn’t approve of your marriage.

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Today’s appreciation post goes to fulltimeventisimp. Tumblr throws a goddamn fit when I try to tag people (even though I literally have a tag list but that’s apparently not good enough) so I hope you see this^^ You’ve been so nice and caring to me I feel so soft 😭 and I hope you’re doing alright! I’m remembering to take breaks and rest  💕💕

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Semi Part 1: Relationship HCs [I would read this just for the last point]

Diluc Ver: Jealous HCs

[Masterlist]

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[taglist]  <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

@hanniejji​  @mikeysbike​ @unionwitch​ @musekala​ @twistedsunnshiii​ @stanzastic​ @akaasea​ @xoneaboveallx​ @adoring-ghost​ @asheseiler​ @childelover​ @dilucsz​

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Diluc: Comfort HCs

Diluc has always had either an aloof or professional persona based on who he needed to talk to. In both cases, no matter the subject or how Diluc talked, there would always be some sort of forced distance so no one would mistaken it as familiarity or friendliness. There were only a two cases where he felt comfortable and those were with close friends and his staff. The third case being Kaeya but Diluc prefers to not acknowledge him and stashes that folder away. Even with friend’s such as Jean or Elzer, he could never really relax and let his true feelings slip until you burst into his life. Literally. “An unexpected outcome of an experiment,” is what Albedo had told him but regardless, since you entered his life he’s let himself regress into his younger days and let himself take for once.

Maybe that was why you had gotten so used to Diluc’s touched starved self that, when it was suddenly gone, you were feeling uneasy. Lately Diluc seemed to be spending longer hours at his desk or working at the tavern. You knew that he was just busy and there wasn’t any underhanded reasoning behind it, Diluc wasn’t that kind of guy. But did he seriously have to spend every waking moment, day or night, talking to the same people? When was the last time you saw him for more than two minutes? Diluc isn’t a big fan of idle talking but would it seriously hurt just to catch up? You didn’t even get together to have your weekly chess matches too.

You didn’t consider yourself a very clingy person and you knew what a relationship with Diluc was going to be like so why were you getting so bothered? You decided to take the situation in your hands and go visit him at the tavern only to see him so busy at work. It both made you a bit huffy, you wanted to storm in there and drag the man away from his work so he could stop trying to speed run life - not like that would ever happen because the second hand embarrassment would make you dissolve into the ground and you could never show your face to Diluc if you actually did that - but also making you more upset. Here he was, working and running his business, and you couldn’t go at least a couple weeks without seeing him. You ended up turning around and going home to scream into your pillow and sleep the heavy feeling away.

Your inner turmoil seemed to seep out into the open that Kaeya felt the need to bring it up. As much as Diluc dislikes Kaeya around you, he really does care about you and he still does owe you for the troubles he gave you when you first started going out with Diluc. He catches you while you’re off running errands and manages to coax you into getting some lunch with him. You’ve been bottling up your feelings so much that when Kaeya shows some concern you let it all pour out. At this point you don’t care if it’s Kaeya of all people you’re confessing your feelings to, you just want to get it off your chest because the man you’re in love with doesn’t seem to notice you’re actually there and it’s making you feel insecure about yourself. Kaeya gives you a sympathetic smile and tells you not to worry about it, he’ll personally knock some sense into Diluc.

Diluc’s been hard at work on another possible Fatui plan and business with the winery that he can’t help but feel that he was missing something. Was he overlooking something? He had planned this for a while so everything should be perfect. It wasn’t until Kaeya himself had to walk in, press his hand on the tavern counter, and call him an idiot that he realizes that he had been so wrapped up in his work and personal duties that he completely neglected you. He quickly passes his duties to Charles with a quick apology, throws his coat on, gives Kaeya a very strained thank you, and he’s out the door to find you. He’s already lost so much so he’ll be damned if he looses you. Not right now. 

You gave him the key to your home after a few months of being together, in case his he needed to temporarily hide should his night activities get the best of him. He’s already at your door in seconds as he quickly unlocks and steps in. 

“Beloved?” he softly calls out to not accidently scare you but he receives no reply. It’s dark inside but he can see your shoes at the door so he knows you’re inside somewhere. He softly closes and locks the door as he hangs his coat up. Carefully running a hand down the fabric and beside your coat as he looks around your small home. He’s always felt it was warm even when you weren’t here. The “home” he has will always be the place he grew up in but after everything that’s happened, he feels a bit alienated in there so he always appreciated that you lent him a key.

He catches the sound of some shuffling and follows the sound to see you under your blankets. He breathes a quick sigh of relief that you weren’t in any danger as he carefully circles around your bed before gently placing a hand on your back. He’s never been good at words or communicating his feelings so he’s at a bit of a standstill. Despite his reputation of being a nobleman of high esteem, you’re his first serious relationship. As far as he’s concerned you’re going to be his only relationship for that matter.

“I...apologize for my recent behaviour. It was never my intention to hurt you. I ended up letting myself get too blinded to see you were in pain and that was my fault. You don’t have to forgive me now but won’t you let me see your face my love?” he asked in all his awkward pose, put him in front of massive event and he’ll perform with flying colours but put him in front of his partner and he stumbles over his worlds like a new born fawn. But it seems to bring a small laugh from you as you peek from under the covers. 

He smiles softly as he sees your ears flush pink. No matter how many times he calls you that you always get so shy, he adores it. But he can feel the guilt rise up in his chest, you’ve always been there to support and reassure him that he was doing everything right. That things were going to be okay when he re-took his father’s business and you would be with him every step of the way. So in the best and awkward way that Diluc can manage, he tells you this. By the time he’s done he can feel his own face start to pink but it’s made you feel better so it was worth it. 

“Feeling better?” he smiles softly as you nod up at him as he lays down beside you, opening his arms in comfort, “Good, come here.” 

You shuffle closer to him as he holds you. It’s been awhile since he’s held you like this and even without realizing it, he’s missed this. Just you and him together, basking in each other’s presence. No work that needed to be attended to. No Fatui trying to cause him any more trouble. It was a safe place and one he didn’t want to let go.  

“What if we got married?”

There’s a beat of silence. 

Then a thud. 

You end up scrambling and falling off your bed face first. It’s a bit silent as you give off a pain groaned and climb back up and he can see your face has exploded red. He can almost see steam coming off as you try and nurse your nose. He blinks a bit at you taken aback as you stutter and scream into your hands as your brain seems to process what he just asked. You lift your face from your hands to look at him, somehow go even redder, and scream louder into your hands. He’s not sure if this is something he should be offended or concerned about but the weight he had been feeling earlier starts to fade away as a new and familiar feeling bubbles up. For the first time in half a month, Diluc let’s out a laugh as he tries to console you as you manage out a yes.

---

Gripping my writing hand why is no one stopping me? Diluc you’re literally acting like Childe rn. [if anyone is confused ahem Childe: Fiancé HCs (should be in my masterlist)]

Also, I continue to look away from the lore. Kaeya and Diluc are not on the best of terms but if they can have petty rich lady wine talk then Kaeya can walk in and call Diluc an idiot.

I was serious when I said that I researched hawk behaviours. I have learned the internet is horrible in telling me how hawks behave. But I did find this and I found this hilarious:

In the case of the red-tailed hawk, for example, the pair soar, screaming at each other; then the male dives at the female, who may roll in the air to present her claws to him in mock combat.

[formidxble]

summary: you and chan follow a routine every night. tonight’s different. 

pairing: bang chan x female reader 

word count: 3.1k

genre: angst, like Extreme Angst™️, college!au, established relationship

warnings: a lot of swearing, toxic relationship, mentions of sex ( oh and btw, this is not beta read. we die like men)

note: omg? finally? i got to write something and now i’m posting it on here? confidently??? who is she, we don’t know her! enough jokes though, this is my first fic ever that’s going to be posted on this platform, so i’m excited! constructive criticism and feedback are welcome 👉🏻👈🏻. 

tagged ❤️: @popisdead @hanflix

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ masterlist

it’s become routine at this point. 

when chan sees your room’s light turn off, it’s a signal that your roommates are now headed to bed and that you’re ready to come out and meet him. it’s been a busy few months for the both of you and the nights were the only time you two could meet. he’s a business major working on his business proposals for the semester and you’re a performing arts student, preparing for this semester’s art production. saying it was hard to make time to see each other was an understatement. nevertheless, you two made sure you still met, may it be only for a few minutes. some nights you were lucky, being able to meet for an hour or so. nights were reserved for chan and for chan only. 

after putting on your coat, you reached out for the door knob as you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. “are you coming or not? i’m freezing” you sigh softly.

the first few nights were fun, you have to admit. impromptu grocery shopping for the both of your food supplies for rest of the week, a few make out sessions here and there, and sometimes, leading to even more if you both were lucky enough. it gave you a high you never thought you would ever come down from. whenever he kissed you after a long day, you felt as if the weight on your shoulders fell off, even for just a moment. whenever chan held you in his arms and told you it was going to be okay, your chest loosened, even for just a moment. chan was the calm in the chaos and when you were in his car, holding his hand and feeling his lips lingering on yours, he provided the needed break you longed for during the day.

but, as the days and weeks passed by, the nights became shorter and quieter. rides became quicker and the good conversations slowly turned into mere small talk. no longer would he give you soft touches, no longer would he ask how your day went, and no longer would chan look at you the way he did before. no more i love you’s, no more second glances when he dropped you off at your dorm during the early hours of the morning. you excused the change of behavior as the result of your fatigue in school. the change was expected, you always told yourself.

it’s become a mantra now, something you repeated to yourself as you lied in bed at night, a routine. a routine. 

you close your eyes for a moment as you twist the doorknob to open the door. you focus on your phone again as soon as you got out of your dorm. “coming."

you spotted chan’s car a mile away. before, he would put the window down to greet you, a soft smile spreading across his face. now, you were faced with the car’s tinted windows, your reflection staring back at you as you wrapped your fingers around the handle of the car door. you heard the lock click. 

“hey,” you mumbled. you heard a soft hum in response. you quietly put the seatbelt on, relaxing your back on the seat as you stared ahead. chan was on his phone, seatbelt off. light from his phone illuminated his features. the bags under his eyes were a little bit more prominent than the last time you noticed. you wonder if he’s been eating, getting enough sleep, but you weren’t in the position to ask now. not when frustration is starting to boil in your chest.  

you didn’t know if you should call him out. it was his way to unwind as well, but then again, he was there to pick you up for a short date. this was the only time you both had for yourselves, yet here he was, texting away on his phone. this shouldn’t annoy you as much as it does now because chan does this whenever he was waiting. 

“hey,” you repeat louder. chan looks up from his phone, an eyebrow raised. 

“yes?” he asks, turning his phone off. the two of you are surrounded in darkness, with only the light from the lamp posts outside lighting the interior of the car. 

“what do you mean, ‘yes?’ are you serious?” chan furrows his eyebrows at your words as he straps himself in. he turns to you, blinking. you suck in a breath. 

“this is the only time we get to spend together and you’re on your phone? are you ser—“

“i’m sorry. there,” he breathes,  “can we move past this? i’m not in the mood to fight.” he interrupts. you open your mouth to say something back, but you’re cut off by the movement of the car. 

the air inside the car was heavy, heavier than usual. sure, you and chan had a couple of unresolved fights the other nights and sure, you spent you early mornings crying over him, but it should have been resolved with the few kisses he gives you, right? then why are you so upset now? chan makes amends, tells you he’s sorry for raising his voice, for ignoring you the whole day. he was busy, right? of course he’ll end up not texting you. he kisses the pain away, even though he’s the reason for said pain. he talks his way out and if he avoids the topic of the fight, you wouldn’t mind. that was the routine. but not tonight, apparently. 

“you’re always not in the mood.” you whisper, crossing your arms in front of your chest. you watch the trees outside of the car starting to blur as chan’s driving sped up. this night will end as quick as it started, you thought. you hear a sigh beside you. 

“i just—“ chan starts, “i can’t fight anymore, y/n. i’m tired.”

“and you think i’m not?” you answer back, looking at the man beside you, “god, we never talk anymore, chan. all we ever do is fuck the pain away and—“

you’re cut off by the sight of chan’s knuckles slowly turning white on the steering wheel. you almost don’t see the way he clenches his jaw. he pulls the car over at the side of the road and for a second, you think you two will be able to finally talk about your issues, the problems that were never muttered, but still plagued your relationship. god knows you wanted to hear from him, anything— fuck, just anything to finally resolve it, fix it. to finally end the routine you both had. but that hope shatters as soon as his mouth opens. 

“what do you want me to say? we’ve been okay, we’ve been fin—“

you let out an exasperated sigh, eyes meeting his, “we aren’t fine, chan, we haven’t bee—“

“what do you mean?” chan questions. he removes his seatbelt to turn to you. a gentleman he still was, even though you knew he was avoiding the topic. again. “fuck, what do you want me to say? i was on the phone. how does that merit a full blown argu—“

“it’s not about the damn phone!” you exclaim, finally feeling the frustration in your chest blow over. 

were you going crazy? why didn’t he see the changes? doesn’t he feel the frustration? were you the only one feeling this way, then? does he feel that everything was okay or were you that good at acting that everything was okay, that nothing was wrong? you run a hand down your face as you try to collect yourself.  the car became quiet, as always. chan was never really vocal about things like this and let you do the talking. maybe this is why issues were never resolved. 

“then, what is it about?” chan mumbles, eyes never leaving your form. you let out a soft scoff.

"what is it abou—are you kidding me? are you fucking with me?”chan raises an eyebrow in response, furrowing it afterwards. he lets out a sarcastic laugh after a few beats of silence. he shook his head as he turned to face the road again. 

“is this fight going to last all night? if so, i’d rather just drop you off,” he starts to put his seatbelt on, "we can continue our date when you’re not this moody."

and at that moment, your world nearly stops. the silence in the car was loud and the tension, if you could see it, could be cut with a knife. his words echo in your mind as the car starts moving again, chan preparing to make a u-turn to go back in the direction of your dorm. 

“not...this...moody?” you repeat to yourself. chan nonchalantly hums in response. 

you couldn’t even look at this man anymore. it was as if you didn’t know him anymore. he carried the name of your boyfriend, but was he really the chan you knew? the chan you knew won’t be able to say these things to you, let alone treat you like this. you feel like a deer in headlights, shocked at how everything led up to this moment. and to think that the turning point of your relationship was something as simple as chan being on his phone. you closed your eyes as you tried to fight the lump forming in your throat. 

“so, what am i supposed to do?” you ask. "just go home and think about what i did? what i said?”

chan shrugs. he shrugs. you couldn’t believe how he didn’t take this conversation seriously. was it because you’ve been in this exact same situation before? sure, fights have been frequent, but were they frequent to the point that chan just straight up ignored them? to the point that he never brought the topics up again? no effort to try and fix it?

was he that tired that he was willing to let everything pass? let you suffer in silence? 

“stop the car,” you whisper shakily. chan doesn’t listen, though. he never does, he rarely does. he never listens anymore. 

“chan, please stop the car,” you feel stupid begging, but that does it. he stops the car again, your dorm building in sight. his knuckles start to turn white again, but he closes his eyes this time. you hear him take a sharp inhale through his nose. 

“i can’t fight anymore, y/n, please, just...we can fix it tomorrow, whatever it is.”

you let out a soft sob at his words. “chan, you always say that, god, you always say that.”

chan grips his steering wheel tighter. “yes, i do, but we always fix it. we always end up fixing it.”

“no, we fucking don’t!” you scream now, releasing the frustration that has been clawing to come out, “no, we don’t fix things, we fuck it away and we pray that things magically turn okay in the morning, but it never does! it never fucking does!”

chan stays quiet, eyes drifting to the car floor. you wish you could know what he was thinking. you wish he would talk to you, tell you what he really felt instead of just sitting there. god, were you tired. you were tired of pretending things were okay when they aren’t. you were tired of telling yourself it would be fixed, that the relationship would go back to normal, but it never does. and you just somehow have to live with it because that’s how it is with you and him. that’s the routine, right? and even though you hated it, you tolerated it because you loved him. but people will reach an end point, one way or the other. you can’t help but feel that this was yours. 

“loving you is so exhausting, chan, i—“ your voice cracks, “i’m supposed to be content with this treatment? you and i not talking the whole day and then meeting at night just to make up for lost time, have sex, and pretend that everything’s okay, that the fights have not gotten out of hand, that we’re going to be ok—“

“we are going to be okay, fuck, it’s not that easy,” chan mumbles, “i’m trying, y/n, but i can’t give you everything you need, not anymore.”

silence fills the car and it engulfs the two of you. 

"what changed?" you sob softly, tears now slowly flowing down your cheeks. it was okay, a few weeks ago. days became busier, tasks became heavier, but did that mean that your relationship had to deteriorate the way it has been? 

“nothing changed, please, y/n,”chan breathes, not turning to look at you, “we just got busier and—"

“we weren’t like this, chan, we used to talk about things. w-we used to...talk. we can’t even do that now? am i asking for too much? i shouldn’t be begging for your time, chan, please—“you cry out softly. “why am i always second to you, chan? i try to be the best for you, chan, please.”

chan lets out a shaky breath as he tries to find the words to respond with. “y/n, it’s not y—“

“spare me the bullshit. spare me the "it’s not you, it’s me”. at least, be honest with me.” you say firmly, wiping away the tears on your cheeks harshly. 

“i...i just don’t feel like i’m ready for this yet, okay? i want to fo—"

your feel something in your chest. a pain you’ve never felt before. chan’s words become a blur as you feel your back hit the seat. 

you’re taken back to a time in your childhood when you were trying out the jump rope your friends had. being the idiot you were, you jumped in time with the rope and it tangled on your feet. you ended up falling on your chin, scraping it in the process. the pain rang through your skull and for a while, you couldn’t move, tears merely streaming down your cheeks. and to that that one time during one of the art productions in university, you ended up falling off of the stage. of course, it wasn’t anyone’s fault, but maybe if they turned on the lights before lowering the stage, you wouldn’t have broken your ankle. you remember how worried chan was, but most importantly, you remember how much it hurt. you couldn’t walk and if you tried, it would shoot pain up your leg. 

adding all the pain you’ve felt in all those moments, it wouldn’t amount to the pain you feel now. 

not ready? not ready after 3 years? how could he say that? this was the man you saw your future with, someone who was supposed to be your soulmate. that was him, that was chan. the nights you shared, the words you uttered, were all those fake? were all those just to make everything feel okay? 

not ready? 

not ready.

the words echo in your mind like a broken record. were you supposed to beg him to stay? beg him to be ready when he just admitted that he wasn’t? as you turned to look at him, you didn’t see the chan who loved you. instead, it was the shell of the man who used to love you, care for you. fuck, was love supposed to hurt this bad? you feel your heart starting to crack even more.

if this was love, you didn’t want it. not anymore.

“drop me off,”you mumble after a deafening silence, voice shaking as a sob threatens to come out of your mouth. chan turns to look at you, finally. you don’t meet his eyes anymore. you, instead, just look straight ahead. if he wasn’t ready for a commitment, even after 3 long years, then you were not about to beg him to stay. chan opens his mouth to say something, but you notice that he just swallows his words. he turns to look in front of him as he pushes on the gas again to drive back to your dorm. if he wasn’t ready, then he wasn’t ready. there’s no point in trying to convince him he is. the next best thing is to leave and let him figure out what he needed to figure out. if he needed space, he could have told you. what bothered you the most is the fact that chan’s always been about communication, but somehow and somewhere along the journey, he changed. maybe that’s just how it goes. 

when he pulls up in front of your dorm building, chan turns to look at you again, eyes scanning your features. “i’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

you shake your head, eyes closing as you tried to fight the urge to cry again. the question he asked has always confused you. it was always like this, that even after a fight, he expects to see you again, the same time, the same place. you were tired and it didn’t help that you now knew why he wasn’t acting the same— he wasn’t ready to commit to you, even after all this time. 

“i’m ending it here, chan."

“ending what?”

ending the routine, ending the cycle, ending us. these words rang through your head and you didn’t know which to answer. was he acting aloof so that he could get off easily? that maybe you’ll let him off again because he somehow can’t understand what was happening? you swallowed. 

“us, chan, i—i can’t go on like this anymore,” you pause. was this what you really wanted or were you doing this to prove a point? you weren’t sure, but one thing’s clear, you had to do this, not only for him, but for you. you can’t subject yourself to this cycle anymore. you had to break it sooner or later. “when i get out of this car, we’re over."

chan’s car became a place of love and security in a world full of uncertainty and chaos. it was where you both spent time together when you needed a break, when you needed to be together. now, it was a place of loneliness and despair. it became a place full of resentment and unresolved issues and you can’t help but wonder how chan will be able to sit in his car again without thinking of this moment. before he could respond, you were out of the car. 

in the back of your mind, you hoped that he would call you, run after you. beg you to stay, tell you that everything will be fixed if you just gave him time. you prayed in your head desperately. if he did so, you know you’ll come crawling back to him. if he showed some sort of care, some sort of longing, some sort of initiative that he wanted things to work out, that he wanted this as much as you do, then maybe you’ll come back to him again. that’s how it always was, right?

right?

behind you, you hear the car drive away.

[snipsnsnailsnwerewolftales]

Trial and Error (Derek x Reader)

A/N: This has been something living in my brain for a while, and I decided to get it out, along with 5 prompts.

I do not own Teen Wolf or it’s characters. Sadly.

Thank you to @xteenwolfwritingsx and @mymonandsymon for looking this over for me!

Warnings: Some language. As close to smut as I write, (If you squint.) Mostly just fluff, though.

Word count: 1,646

Anon said: “"I'd kill you on the spot if you weren't so nice to look at. Because, full offence, your personality needs a lot of work."”

Anon said: “Can you do 93 & 99 w/ derek hale pls :) thank you!”

(93. “Forget it. You fucking suck.”

99. “Don’t be an asshole. Asshole.”)

Anon said: “Hello! I was wondering if you would be willing to do numbers 8 and 101 with Derek Hale from the the most recent list you have posted? If not it’s okay, thank you ❤️”

(8. “You didn’t just wake me up at 2am because you were ‘in the mood’.”

101. “You got a cute butt.”)

Xxx

You’d barely made it into the loft before you were pinned up against the far wall, Derek holding your hands up on either side of your head at the wrists, his grip much tighter than it should be, but not as much as it could be.

“I thought I told you to stay on your side of the city,” he hissed out, face inches from yours, eyes glowing red, and a low growl rumbling in his chest.

His eyebrows knit in confusion at your smirk, his body pressing against yours as you made a halfhearted effort to push you both off the wall.

Rolling your eyes, you let out a breathy chuckle, which only made him cock one eyebrow up in either amusement or disbelief, you weren’t sure.

“What the hell is so funny?” He asked, both his tone and his weight easing up a bit.

His mistake.

“Oh, nothing,” you mused, looking up and away from him for a few seconds before flipping you both around, holding him pinned against the wall in the same position, your own eyes glowing their bright red as he let out an annoyed snarl. “Just thinking about how things can change in an instant….”

The breath was knocked out of you as you once again were pinned to the wall, this time his weight almost fully against you to keep you still. “What do you want?” He ground out through clenched teeth.

You couldn’t help thinking that the two of you would have been great friends if it weren’t for both of you being Alpha’s. Pack rivalry and whatnot overriding much of any chance at getting any closer than you were now, which given your position physically, was actually pretty damn close.

Baby steps.

“I have an idea,” you began after letting out a huff. Resigned to being stuck against the wall, you relaxed a bit, deciding to try and placate the Big Bad Sourwolf instead of poking him with a metaphorical stick, no matter how fun the latter was. “It would save both of our packs a lot of hassle, and probably save some innocent lives, too, come to think of it-”

“No,” he said firmly, his hold relaxing just a bit.

You looked at him in shock. “You haven’t even heard-”

“I said no!” His voice just as firm as before, he pushed off the wall for emphasis, your body relaxing just slightly, and you rubbed your wrists, despite the fact they were already pretty much healed.

“I’m just trying to be a good leader, Derek, offering you peace and my help for both our sakes and our packs, but because of whatever vendetta you have for me, you’re not willing to listen. Well, you know what? Forget it. You fucking suck.”

Stalking toward the loft door, Derek grabbed your elbow firmly and lightly tugged you to face him, making you roll your eyes again. “What, Hale?”

“I know. Look, I’m sorry. I really don’t know what it is I don’t like about you, I just don’t.”

“Gee, thanks,” you mumbled, looking down at your feet as you fiddled them absently.

Grabbing your shoulders to make you stand still again, you straightened your back and looked him in the eye. It wasn’t the gesture that caught your attention, but the gentleness in it. A new side of Derek Hale had just showed itself, a side you always thought was there, but never got to see, except when he was interacting with his pack.

Very small baby steps.

“But,” he continued pointedly, “I’m willing to put that all aside to listen, for our packs and everyone involved.”

“You’ll really hear me out?” You hated how small your voice sounded.

“I’ll try my hardest.” He smiled a real, genuine smile, and you felt some of the ice crack between you two.

You returned the grin with a small one of your own, before finally saying, “Don’t be an asshole. Asshole.”

Derek laughed, and let go of your shoulders, walking back into the loft, and after a few seconds, you followed him. Looking over his shoulder, he smirked and said, “I’m just trying to be nice.”

You scoffed, then let out a chuckle. "I'd kill you on the spot if you weren't so nice to look at. Because, full offense, your personality needs a lot of work."

Sitting on the couch, he spread his arm out in gesture to the open spot beside him, his own smirk still firmly in place. “So I’ve been told.”

Xxx

Waking up to the wee hours of the morning and a silent loft, you looked around bleary eyed. Once you realized where you were, and who was with you, your eyes went wide.

Laying on the far end of the couch, his legs tangling with yours in the middle at some point while you were both asleep, was Derek, head propped up on the arm of the couch, mouth wide open as a snore escaped him.

You couldn’t contain the giggle from the completely uncharacteristic image of the big bad Hale Alpha, and turned into the couch cushion to smother the sound.

It was only a second later you looked back, but you still jumped as now Derek was looking at you with one eye barely cracked open, his mouth closed in a tight line, but his eyebrow raised in what you now understood was amusement.

Lightly swatting his leg with your own, he said a mock “ow”, but neither of you untangled your legs.

Propping your elbows on the arm of the couch behind you, you glared at him. “Don’t scare me like that!”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not polite to stare?”

You swatted at his legs again, and he did the same, both of you grinning lightly.

“Did the alarm go off or something?” He lazily looked to a box on the wall that must have been some sort of baddie alarm, his hand going to the back of his neck to scratch sleepily. Contented with what he saw, he looked back at you, stilling, hand still on his neck. “What?”

“Why do you assume I woke you on purpose? Why would I put myself in a position to endure even more of your company than I have already had today, which, by the way, is I think more than we have had at once ever?”

He grinned. “You didn’t just wake me up at 2am because you were ‘in the mood’.”

You shrugged, smirking right back at him. “You got a cute butt.”

“Why, thank you,” he said cheekily, his grin doing the same.

Batting his legs again lightly, you heard him mutter, “Okay, that’s it,” and you suddenly found yourself pulled toward him, until you were basically straddling him, your wrists once again tightly held in his hands.

“Stop doing that.” His voice was firm, but soft. His eyes searched your face, but for what, you didn’t know.

Digging your knees into his rib cage, just as some sort of retaliation, he groaned softly at the pressure. You leaned down close to his face and whispered, “Make me.”

Suddenly faster than you could blink, your positions had been flipped, him now straddling you, holding you down. “Okay.”

Trying to fight back, you quickly gave up, huffing, much like earlier in the day, looking up at him with a less than enthusiastic look.

Searching your face again with his eyes, he finally landed on your gaze with knit eyebrows.

Raising yours in question, he let go of your wrists, but you left them beside your head, and he sat back on his haunches, your legs still under him.

“I’m trying to figure out what it is about you that drives me so crazy.”

“I have that effect on lots of people,” you said smugly. “I’m awesome like that.”

“That! That’s it.” He pointed at you, and you sat up, elbows once again on the arm of the couch, eyebrows once again raised in confusion. “Yeah, you drive me crazy, but I’m starting to think it’s not because we hate each other or annoy each other-”

“Are you sure? Because you’re kinda driving me insane just a little bit right now-”

He leaned back over you on your perch on the armrest, face closer than it ever had been, and you found yourself staring at his lips. “Am I?”

If it hadn’t been the look in his eyes, the sound of his voice with those last two words did it. Your eyes drifted shut when he finally met you with a kiss, surprisingly soft and tentative given the tension between you two.

But that was just the first one.

Pulling back just enough to look at you one more time, something was exchanged between you without words and you both surged forward in a heated kiss.

Slowly laying back down all the way, your hands briefly in his hair to make sure this never stopped, pulling him with you, his hands grabbed your wrists putting them by your head like before, but this time trailing his fingers lightly from your elbows up to your hands, fingers tangling with yours as he held your hands.

Instead of restricting, his weight now felt warm, and inviting, and the more of it you felt, the more you wanted.

Turning your head to the side, you had a small grin on your face, but it soon turned into a soft gasp as you felt his lips ghosting ever so lightly over your skin, working from your collarbone, up your neck, and to your ear, where he bit the lobe gently.

When he released it after a second, you turned your head to look at him, lips barely touching one another’s, foreheads pressed together, and heavy breaths being shared, almost as if the breath one was breathing out was what the other required to live.

Xxx

Tags: @mayahart02 @palaiasaurus64 @shydinosaurcandy @lucyqueenofthestars @c-breanne1999 @l4life @ethereallysimple What’s this?

[eleanorbloom]

Marry My Lover (Bryce x Eleanor Proposal Headcanon)

A/N: Well, I thought I wouldn't do it because I was too invested with this fic, but I've been thinking adult life is so fucking hard that maybe I'll never find the time and inspo to finish this fic, so... well, why not realease it to the world as headcanon/very-poorly-written-fic. If later I find the inspo, maybe I'll write it, maybe not, but I think posting this will lift a heavy weight off me.

Please forgive me my grammar mistakes and poor english, I mean, I know it's not poor, but I went really basic here, other way I would've never finished writing this lol

Tagging my WYR readers, in case you're interested in reading this @curiousconch @romereadingshop @utterlyinevitable @lahellacute @chocopeppermintcake

Also this is sumbission for @openheartfanfics Weekly Trope Challenge, week 2: Weddings & Proposals (@openheartheadcanons)

Marry My Lover

Bryce had wanted to propose to Eleanor for a while, considering both spontaneous and prepared ways to do it.

One of the first ideas was proposing on a visit to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, as it was the place of their first date. But none of their shifts let them assist for a couple of weeks, so he decided to look for something less complicated.

As he saw their annual meeting with the gang was coming, he decided he would propose on that occasion. Surrounded by friends, the people who helped them get together and supported them in the most difficult times both personally and as a couple.

So he would propose at Donahue’s. With a song, no less. Marry Me by Bruno Mars. A cheerful song, Eleanor loved Bruno Mars and simply matched with the tone he wanted to have on the proposal. Happy and spectacular. He wanted to make her feel the luckiest, most loved woman on earth.

So when he decided what he would do, he shared the news with Sienna so she could help him orchestrate the event. He would arrive a bit later than Eleanor, Sienna would keep her distracted, and then whoop, Bryce would appear at the center of the bar singing the song.

On the day of the meeting, Bryce was in the locker room when he received a text from Sienna: “All set, B! We’re waiting for you”. He breathed deeply, excited and a bit nervous at the same time.

They had talked about marriage, about a life together thousands of times, but it was different just taking the step and doing it, of proposing marriage. Marriage. Damn.

But at the same time, it was just a confirmation of the love they had for each other. Their love that had grown exponentially, to unknown highs and depths in the three years they had been together, and he was sure that their love would keep growing and getting stronger with each day.

After getting ready, he texted Keiki: “Hey Keiks, are you there already?” “Oh, yeah, hidden in the parking lot, super spy.” “Awesome, I’m coming out of the locker room I’ll be there in five” “Okay”

Bryce didn’t want her to miss it for the world. Keiki would kill him if he let that happen. Luckily for both Bryce and Keiki, she was studying close to home, more than close. Cambridge. BS in Physics at MIT, so as she was living just a few minutes away from Boston, they saw each other pretty regularly, once a week or once every two weeks depending on how busy the three were.

Keiki was excited about it, but there was just this strange smirk on her. Bryce thought it was just the fact that her brother would propose to Eleanor at last.

Once at the bar, he greeted their friends, Elijah, coming from Chicago, Jackie, from Baltimore, and Sienna coming from New York. Aurora was the only one living in Boston, working at Brigham and Women’s Hospital as attending and part of the new Diagnostic Team there.

Everyone was happy but at the same time with this strange smirk, like they were hiding something.

“And Elle?” he asked.

A few moments after the question was made, a guitar started to play. He looked at the center of the bar, and found Eleanor, on a yellow dress, and matched hatband playing guitar and singing: We could leave the Christmas lights up 'til January And this is our place, we make the rules And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?

Bryce couldn’t believe his eyes. His ears. His skin. How a shiver ran down his spine, making tingle every inch of him; how his stomach fluttered at the sight of her there, beautiful and singing and… Surprising him.

It was Lover by Taylor Swift, because, how not, his girlfriend was a Swiftie since High School, so once a Swiftie, always a Swiftie.

Bryce knew almost every song of the last two albums she had released in the last couple of years because they had blasted the speakers of their home for weeks. Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close? Forever and ever, ah Take me out, and take me home You're my, my, my, my lover

After singing the chorus, Eleanor handed the guitar to Rafael, who continued with the melody, and took the mic in one hand, singing the second verse as she started walking slowly towards him. We could let our friends crash in the living room This is our place, we make the call She took his hand on hers and softly pulled him to the center of the bar

And when Eleanor sang “And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you”, both chuckled knowingly, because they knew how true that was, wherever he goes, he enchants.

I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all

It had been three summers indeed and nor he or she couldn’t imagine a summer without each other.

Eleanor kept singing, every word with meaning, it was like the song was written for them, especially “I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover” Because who else on this planet was a magnetic force but him?

Bryce was beaming the whole song, smiling, laughing, biting his lip, showing how happy, flattered, incredulous and in love he was.

He couldn’t believe his luck. To this day, after more than three years, sometimes he still couldn’t believe he had the chance to love so much and be so loved. So happy, so free, so understood. And he would probably live this luck, this love, forever and ever with her.

When the song ended, Eleanor took out something from the pocket of her yellow dress. A velvet box. When she opened it, a silver ring with a diamond at the center shined under the multicolor lights of the bar. Eleanor took his hand in hers and kissed his knuckles softly before asking: “Bryce Lahela, mi amor, we both know we want to spend the rest of our lives together. In these three years you have made me nothing but happy. The happiest luckiest woman alive. I want that for the rest of our lives. Would you marry me?”

“Yes,” he said, eyes sparkling, shining so bright with emotions, with love, with adoration, with happiness, “Yes, babe, yes! The only thing I want is to spend the rest of my life with you!”

Everyone cheered, Sienna was crying, Kyra too, and even Keiki had shed a tear.

Eleanor put a ring on his finger and both kissed sweetly in the middle of the bar.

After a few moments, Bryce kissed her hand and chuckled, “Well, now it’s my turn.”

Eleanor stared confused at him, and when she heard him shouting “Música maestro!” she understood.

Eleanor couldn't believe it either. When the notes of Marry Me by Bruno Mars started playing, she covered her mouth with her hands just like Cecilia Bolocco when she won Miss Universe in 1986. “No way, love!” she squealed.

After a few verses, Bryce took her hand and turned her to the wall, where a video was playing. Videos of colleagues, nurses, even patients, with thumbs up singing along “Don't say no, no, no, no, no, Just say yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah” Then, her parents showed up in the video, beaming as they sang along too. Even her grandparents from Chile, Ricardo and Ofelia, appeared in the video asking the same.” “Oh my god,” Eleanor couldn't hold it anymore and simply let the tears fall. Tears of joy, of happiness.

Then Bryce started to walk around the bar, singing with a persuasive tone, asking the patrons to join him in his singing, as if he had to convince her to marry him. Friendly patrons would nod and show their thumbs up and sing along for a couple of seconds.

Once the song ended, Bryce bend on one knee and took the velvet box out of the pocket of his pants, where a beautiful rose gold ring was there, with a round diamond at the center and smaller at the sides. “Well, you won me. This was my idea too, but you were faster, or maybe you had friends who took your side and decided to help you instead of me.” Everyone chuckled. “Or maybe she just asked before you did,” Jackie teased. “Either way, I’m honored and flattered, but I couldn’t miss the opportunity to propose to you. I mean, I’ve dreamed about this day practically since I met you.” “Awww, mi amor.” “I want all summers with you and all winters, especially winters so you can keep me warm on snowy nights.” Eleanor giggled, her eyes full of tenderness, “Of course, my love. Summer, fall, winter, spring, all of the seasons and all of the years I have left on this planet.” “Good. And you, Eleanor Andrea Bloom, would you marry me?” “Yes, my love, mi amor, sí, sí, yes!” Bryce put the ring on her finger, and again, people cheered and clapped. Keiki and Jackie whistled.

When Bryce and Eleanor got off the stage, the gang approached them, filling them with congratulations and hugs, and just love for the happy, recently-engaged couple. they disclosed how everything had happened -Eleanor indeed had asked help first, she had been practicing guitar for more than a month with the help of Rafael.

After a while, Bryce took Eleanor’s hand and led her to a quiet place so they could have a moment for themselves. They smiled and laughed without saying anything, still processing what had happened and trying to understand the happiness they were feeling. their hearts were simply overflowing with happiness and love. “You know? I can say people, mostly women, have asked me a lot of things in my life, some of them shocking, some of them rather cute, but never had a woman proposing to me, so this is a first. You're definitely a keeper.” “Oh, that's why you're agreeing to marry me?” she asked, feigning offense. “One of the four hundred million reasons, babe.” Eleanor smiled pensively, earnest, “You deserve everything, my love, everything. And that includes being proposed, because, damn, we’re too far from gender stereotypes and toxic masculinity.” “I agree.” “And because I really wanted you to know that I wanna marry you, and spend the rest of my life with you, just as much as you do.”

Completely spellbound by the sincerity of her love, now and always, Bryce simply bit his lip and leaned to plant a sweet kiss on her lips.

There was nothing else to do but be happy.

____

Ps: Here pics of Bryce and Eleanor engagement rings. I had the idea of a collage, but it would've also taken me a day to finish it, lol sorry

Thank you for reading! ❤

[nyctolovian]

Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Religious Discussion, Forgiveness, Guilt, Religious Guilt, Fallen Angels, Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), (sort of?), Self-Hatred, Self-Esteem Issues, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt, Post-Canon, Post not-pocalypse, Canon Compliant, Coping, Warning: somewhat critical of god

Summary: When Aziraphale and Crowley's wings turn the same grey, Aziraphale does not take it well and begins to fear that he might be Falling with a capital F. Crowley finds his angel in a crushing spiral into immense self-blame and guilt, desperately seeking God's forgiveness.

"Heya, angel!” Crowley announced as he swung the door to the bookshop open. “I’ve got some really important stuff to discuss. Urgently. So could you maybe, um, close shop early today?” 

Aziraphale, who was shelving some books, twirled round to face Crowley, already lighting up with glee at the sound of his voice. “Well, of course!” he said, placing the books down on the stool beside himself. He’d always liked having an excuse for closing early so it was lovely to have his favourite one walking right through the doors on a Monday afternoon. “What exactly would you like to discuss?”

With a snap of Crowley’s fingers, the door was miraculously locked and the open/close card was flipped. “Here’s not good,” he replied, extra fidgety today as he eased his weight on one leg and then the other. “Upstairs maybe?”

The smile on Aziraphale’s face slowly slipped as he was ushered up the stairs to his living quarters. “Oh dear… Is something the matter?”

Crowley audibly winced. “Upstairs first, alright?”

Aziraphale let out a noise of confusion but allowed himself to be guided upstairs. Crowley pushed him to sit on the bed that miraculously appeared just a couple weeks after the Almost-pocalypse. He set his fists atop his knees and looked up at Crowley, who removed his sunglasses. 

“I need you to take out your wings,” he said. 

“Pardon?”

Of course, Crowley caught the tension in the angel’s voice and said calmly, “Your wings. I’d like to check something.”

Aziraphale nodded. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Slowly, he drew his wings out into their dimensional plane. He felt his back grow heavy with a comfortable weight and his wings, slightly stiff from disuse, stretched the aches out of itself. 

When he opened his eyes again, Crowley was looking at his wings. His eyebrows raised as he muttered, “Yup. I figured.”

Aziraphale frowned as he curled his wings forward. His jaw fell when instead of the pure white wings he was used to, mottled grey wings came into view. “Wh-What is this?” he cried. Then, his mind did a twist and he looked at Crowley anxiously. “What about yours?” he said, standing up and holding Crowley’s arms. 

“Calm down,” he said, gently pulling Aziraphale’s hands away. Then, he took his own wings out as well, and they were no longer pitch black either, and were instead the same mottled grey as Aziraphale’s. “A bit of a shame, honestly. I’ve always liked black,” Crowley joked. “We’re really on our own side, aren’t we?” Like a gentleman asking for a dance, he held a hand out towards Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale, however, flinched away. “I’ve clearly done something wrong.”

Crowley frowned. “What could you have possibly done wrong, angel?”

“I-I don’t know,” Aziraphale admitted as he paced around the bedroom. “But I must have done something that warranted this change.”

“I changed too, didn’t I?” Crowley said, stretching his own grey wing out. “We have the same wings.”

“Yes, but it’s different, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, frustration building. “If my wings are turning grey, then it must mean I’m…” A shiver ran down his spine as he looked up at Crowley with imploring blue eyes. “Could it be… that I am Falling?”

“What?!”

Aziraphale wrung his hands and his gaze fell to the wooden flooring. “That’s the only reasonable explanation, isn’t it? This is… a sign that I’m Falling. F-For going against one of God’s plans, perhaps.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes. “And I’m getting back in heaven’s favour. I’m being forgiven. Lovely.” He sighed. "Listen, you're not Falling. I know what that's like and this isn't it. God's a lot crueler than this."

"M-maybe She's giving me a second chance."

Crowley pulled a face of doubt. "Are we really talking about the same God?" He sighed. "Besides, even if you really are falling—which you aren't—it ain't that bad honestly. I quite like being a demon sometimes. For one, black wings are much cooler than white ones."

"But I don't want to fall! I like being an angel!" Aziraphale exclaimed. He took a deep breath as he clenched and unclenched his hands. “I… I need to do something. Seek forgiveness. Make up for my mistake. My wings are only turning grey so I’m clearly being given a chance to redeem myself, right?”

Worry set into Crowley’s features firmly now. “Since when do we care about what heaven thinks anyway? They tried to murder you with hellfire!”

“That was just Gabriel and those angels,” Aziraphale argued. “I just… I want to do right by the Lord.”

“You saw how She didn’t care about Earth, didn’t you? Whole bloody apocalypse just for the stupid war.”

“It probably was within God’s ineffable plan for the apocalypse to be stopped.”

Crowley threw his hands up. “God,” he said, “didn’t stop anything. We did!” He sighed, trying to reign in the rage that he knew was trickling into his voice. He lowered his voice into something gentle again as he reached for Aziraphale. “Angel–”

“Don’t!” Aziraphale said, snatching his hand back. “Don’t call me that!” His anger instantaneously melted, however, upon seeing hurt flashing across Crowley’s golden eyes. “I need some time by myself,” he said. “Can you give me that?”

Crowley’s eyes wobbled with hesitation. Finally, he said, “Sure, angel.”

***

Crowley gave Aziraphale a full day before popping by again to check on him. The first worrying sign had been how the shop was closed, despite it being only barely noon. As much as Aziraphale liked closing early, he usually stayed open till at least 2pm just so he could say that the shop had been open.

Crowley had also noticed that the books Aziraphale had left on the stool were still sitting there, untouched. He cursed under his breath and dashed up the stairs to the living quarters. He was somewhat relieved to see the angel at his worktable. Too busy muttering to himself, he hadn’t noticed Crowley enter at all. 

Cautiously, Crowley walked to his side. Atop the table were copious amounts of notes and several different volumes of the Bible. Concerned, Crowley placed a hand on his shoulder, and Aziraphale jerked back. 

“Ah,” he exhaled. He flusteredly smiled at Crowley as he adjusted his reading glasses. “You’ve come just in time, my dear. It seems that I need your opinion on this matter.” He picked up a notebook from under a pile of papers, flipped to a bookmarked page and continued, “Do you think it’s that time I used that miracle to reserve that last remaining pancake two days ago? It was really quite a frivolous miracle, and perhaps that was the last straw.” 

“Wait,” Crowley said, his hand returning to Aziraphale’s shoulder, this time firm. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Why my wings turned grey of course!”

Crowley gestured to the mess of a table. “And what does all this have anything to do with it?”

“I’m trying to figure out what exactly I did wrong that upset God and turned my wings grey.” Aziraphale sighed and dug up another notebook, which he opened to a dog-eared page. “I was also thinking perhaps… Well, maybe the punishment was only just issued yesterday and it wasn’t actually for something recent. I’m also thinking maybe it was about that time in 1367 when I poured–”

“1367?!” Crowley exclaimed. He grabbed one of the papers off the table and read it. “578 AD?! Wh-” He looked at Aziraphale, brimming with concern. “Why are you going so far back?”

“Because I’ve been doing so much wrong!” Aziraphale cried, twisting the ring on his pinky. “They… My indiscretions. They began since God knows when. I’ve been doing so much wrong since… since the beginning of time, I believe. I don’t even know if giving away that flaming sword had actually been the right thing.” His hands were shaking with torment. "I'm such a terrible angel."

The demon's heart damn near broke in two at the sight of his angel in this state. He looked at the mess of paper and books in disbelief. He shook his head. "This is just too much, angel," he pleaded. "You shouldn't be made to list down every single thing you did in the past six thousand years and made to… to analyse it all."

"I didn't want to entertain the possibility but…" Aziraphale's voice was soft, distraught, vulnerable, like a child asking their parents to check under the bed for monsters. "But… what if it's everything, Crowley? How could I seek forgiveness from God if it's just… everything?" He squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't know how I…"

Crowley leaned in closer. There was a vice around his chest, clamping down and hurting him. Why must his angel suffer like this? What has he ever done to deserve this pain? This crushing guilt? “They’re mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes, all sorts of them. We just do better next time, right?”

"But I shouldn't be making mistakes! I'm an angel. I'm meant to do good." Aziraphale pushed Crowley away and picked up his pen and notebook again. "I need to find out what it was that I've done wrong. Otherwise, it'd be terribly insincere to apologise without even knowing what I'm apologising for, isn't it?"

Crowley ripped the pen and notebook out of Aziraphale's hand. "If the Almighty wants an apology, She'd better get down here and explain what She's so bloody upset about!"

Aziraphale slammed the table. "She shouldn't have to! I'm an angel. I ought to know." 

"No! It's just unfair. God and Her ineffable plans, moving in mysterious ways and playing ridiculous card games we don't know the rules to in the dark.” He walked in a tight circle, running a hand through his hair, before turning to face Aziraphale again. “How could we be expected to know? Even now, I still don't even know why I got tossed down into a pool of hot boiling sulfur because She never bothered to explain anything! Six thousand years and still no explanation whatsoever!"

Aziraphale flinched, and Crowley felt a pang of guilt. 

Lowering his voice, he said, “Look, God hasn’t explained anything then, and She isn’t starting anytime soon. Okay?”

Plucking his reading glasses from his face and closing his eyes to massage his nose bridge, Aziraphale said, “I want to do right by Her. Why is that so hard?” 

Crowley sagged. It hurt him terribly to see his angel so distraught, so frantic, so helpless.

“Perhaps…” Aziraphale breathed. “Perhaps, I’m not worthy of it.”

A beat.

"I forgive you," the demon whispered.

Aziraphale's eyes flew open and he stared at Crowley, eyebrows tightly knitted. "You forgive me?" he bit out. At the silence, his brow furrowed further with fury. "You can't do that. Take that back."

"I forgive you," he repeated.

"What are you forgiving me for?" Aziraphale yelled. 

"All the wrongs you did. Everything. I forgive you."

"You can’t!" he insisted. 

“Why not?”

Aziraphale glared in silence.

"You're not made to carry six thousand years worth of self-blame and guilt. You're a good angel, even if God doesn't recognise that."

"But I want to do right by Her," Aziraphale said, tears welling up in his eyes. "I just… I want Her to forgive me. If I knew what exactly I did wrong, maybe…" His breath hitched, words stuck upon his throat.

Crowley knelt down and held his angel's face. He was trembling so hard Crowley feared that if he let go, he'd simply shatter and crumble apart. 

"I just want to do the right thing," Aziraphale said. "It used to be so straightforward. If it was as God intended, what I was doing couldn’t possibly be wrong. But now…" He looked up at the ceiling, as though willing the wetness of his eyes to disappear, but a tear had already spilled out and rolled down his cheek, damping Crowley's fingers. Then, a couple more followed, like beads of a snapped bracelet. He relented and sagged in his seat. “I don’t know.”

Crowley used his thumb to wipe the tears away but they continued to fall uncontrollably and he couldn't catch them all.

Aziraphale's voice was thick with tears when he spoke and his bottom lip wobbled with grief. "I don't know what's the right thing anymore. I don't know if I've ever done anything right," he said, placing his hands over Crowley’s and pulling them away from his face. “I feel like I've done everything wrong but I don't know who to seek forgiveness from.”

Crowley turned his hands slowly to grasp Aziraphale’s. “You haven’t done everything wrong, I promise. Maybe some things. But we all mess up sometimes. We don't have it all figured out most of the time and that's okay," he said. "We're trying our best to correct what we can, and that's enough." 

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, clinging to his words like a lifeline. Gently, Crowley squeezed his hands.

"Forgive yourself, angel. You don’t need to carry this six-thousand-year weight. And I can't bear to see you hating and hurting yourself like this, please."

When Aziraphale leaned forward, Crowley let go and allowed him to fall slowly into his arms. Aziraphale pressed his face to Crowley's shoulder, just as silent sobs began to shake his being.  He pulled their hands close to his chest and squeezed. Crowley squeezed back. 

Pressing closer still, Aziraphale muttered into Crowley's shirt, "I’m never going to get anything else from upstairs anymore, am I? We only have what we give ourselves now. We’ll have to figure things out by ourselves." 

Crowley hummed.

“We really are on our own, aren't we? Just the two of us.”

"Yeah. Us two, on the same side. Grey wings on both our backs. Could be fun.”

That got a short laugh from Aziraphale, and tension trickled out of him. "If you say so, my dear."

[fangirl-ramblings]

Soft asks number 3 for john and Abigail

Pairing: John Marston x Abigail Marston

Words: 1040

Summary: John thinks back on what a terrible husband and father he's been over the years… only to realise something very important 

Prompt Requested: "You're comfier than my pillow"

Notes: Fluff, Post Epilogue, Possible Spoilers for key points in the game [CW: mentions of pregnancy]

I'm so sorry this request has been sitting in my askbox for over a year 👀🙈 But your constant support and inspiration motivated me to finally finish this. So much so, what was originally planned to be around 100 word drabble turned into over 1k words. (This is also a giant thank you for putting up with my radio silences these last few weeks 😘)

Requested tags for: @redeadepression a.k.a. John and Abigail's biggest fan and defender.

~* Tumblr Masterlist | Stories on AO3 *~

Finally Found What I've Been Looking For

1908, Beecher's Hope

A thudding sound filled the air of the master bedroom in Beecher's Hope as Abigail punched her pillow in frustration. It was the third time this week that sleep had eluded her.

     "What's the matter, darlin'?" John asked, half asleep, moving his arm out towards her in an open invitation for her to come closer to him.

     "What's the matter? What's… the… matter?" She growled, emphasising every word he had just said to her back to him through gritted teeth. "I can't sleep because I'm so damn uncomfortable. And there's your damn snoring, John Marston… all of this is your fault, you know." Throwing his arm back towards him, she flopped back down in the empty space next to him.

   "So you keep tellin' me," he chuckled lightly, ignoring her earlier protests, and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her towards him. "And while I may have played a small part in makin' you feel this way, I think you'll find that it's this one here who is causin' all the trouble," he grinned, placing a protective hand on Abigail's ever-growing baby bump.

Not being able to resist a chance to swipe at her husband she muttered, "Small part indeed," under her breath, causing John to shoot her a pretend hurt look. Taking a second to steady her thoughts, Abigail apologised, placing a hand on John's chest. "I'm sorry. I'm just fed up of bein' pregnant now. I just wanna meet our daughter."

   "Daughter?" John raised a quizzical eyebrow towards her. "How can you be certain it's a girl?"

   "I'm not, but this time feels completely different to when I was carryin' Jack… so I've just got it into my head it's a girl this time."

John kissed the top of his wife's head, feeling her instantly relax into his body. "Well, I can't wait to meet them either, no matter if they're a boy or a girl, but you need to get some rest before they get here. You're cranky enough as it is without sleep; throw in a newborn awake all hours of the night, and I reckon you'll kill us all," he teased, rubbing her back.

Abigail nodded with heavy eyes, "I know… I know. But I think I might be able to sleep now - you're far comfier than my pillow is… even if you are still quite boney." 

John playfully rolled his eyes at her insistence to always get a dig in at him. He knew that while her barbed comments may seem uncaring to an outsider; he used to think the same thing himself when she'd make comments whilst living in camp together, he came to realise that her callous words were just a way of hiding how scared she was of saying how she really felt about him out loud. While John might have appreciated Abigail telling him that she loved him out loud, he already knew that she did and would smile to himself when she tried to hide the fact once more under an insult to his face.

Brushing a loose hair from her angelic like features, trying not to laugh as she swatted his hand away, John grinned, watching her finally fall asleep. He couldn't help but internally kick himself that he never wanted to do any of this all that time ago when she was carrying Jack and was never really around for them both in the years following his birth. 

He'd always held a soft spot for Abigail, ever since she first walked into camp all those years ago, the sting of her sharp witted tongue dulled by her outstanding beauty. But within a few months of meeting her, she'd fallen pregnant and told him he was the father and it suddenly felt it was like someone had placed a giant millstone around his neck. Back then John just wanted to drink and be merry with his campmates and had thought his life was to have a greater meaning than being a sole provider to two of his campmates. He even ran away from his responsibilities for a whole year to try and find out what it was he really wanted from life, but that hadn't helped him find what it was that he was looking for. No, it had just left him with a feeling of guilt and regret he'd left his chance of having a proper family behind. He'd come back with his tail between his legs, but still couldn’t summon the courage to be a proper father to little Jack, let alone be a good partner to Abigail.

He had tried though, in the years that followed, especially after they finally got Jack back from the clutches of Angelo Bronte, and later on in the aftermath of the gang's demise, John had tried to give Abigail and Jack what they needed from him; but it never seemed enough. They'd rent a room somewhere while they both looked for good, honest work… and within a few weeks, or months if they were lucky, they'd be moving on again. Abigail nagging once more at him that it was because John couldn’t help but get himself in trouble for trying to protect them.

But watching his wife sleep soundly carrying their second child and knowing their eldest was safe in a bed of his own, with a roof over his head, it suddenly dawned on John that this right here was what he'd been looking for for all that time; stability and safety for his family. He'd spent years looking over his shoulder making sure no-one could hurt the two things he loved most in this life, and only now with Arthur's death avenged and Micah laying dead up on that mountain, the unbearable weight had been lifted from John's shoulders. For the first time in a long time, it felt like they could live the life Arthur had sacrificed himself for and John could  finally breathe again.

Closing his own eyes he started to dream of all the good things that could be waiting for his ever growing family in this new chapter of their lives… only to be rudely awoken by Abigail sleeply hitting his chest.

   "Damnit John, quit with the snorin' will ya?"

[greyhavensking]

100 Followers Celebration!

God, I’m late with this, but I finally passed the 100 follower milestone and I wanted to do something for it to show my appreciation. That something turned out to be almost 3000 words of emotional hurt/comfort and dumb boys in love, so I hope someone enjoys it.

I can’t even express how grateful I am to have (over!!!) 100 people think I’m worthy of following when mostly I just reblog other people’s posts and scream in the tags, but this is me trying to get the point across. Thank you, thank you, thank you to the people who continue to tolerate my bullshit and occasionally encourage my sad stucky edits and my angsty fluff fanfics. You’re all amazing and wonderful people!

Also cross-posted on Ao3 here.

you left your mark on me like footprints in the snow

“Buck, you awake?”

It’s sort of a moot point, seeing as Bucky — light sleeper that he is — would have woken up the second Steve stepped across the threshold of the living room, but he feels compelled to ask nonetheless. His ma was a stickler for courtesy, especially when it didn’t cost anyone a dime, and while he can’t quite manage to defer to politeness when it comes to aggravating superiors, it comes easy as breathing with most everyone else.

Bucky isn’t everyone else, and half the time Steve doesn’t bother filtering himself around him, but tonight—

Tonight’s a bad night.

But it’s not Bucky’s night for a change.

As Steve pauses at the back of the couch, arms crossed and head ducked, he sees Bucky smoothly push himself up into a sitting position from where he was stretched across the cushions, rolling his shoulders back as he scrubs his flesh and blood hand over his face. He was awake, judging by the dog-eared book he lets slide to the floor; Steve can’t make out the cover from this angle, but he’d bet anything it’s one of those YA novels Sam recommended to him that he refuses to thank Sam for. Something about Greek gods and terribly unlucky teenagers. Steve doesn’t go for fantasy often, but he knows Bucky’s been plowing through the series for the last few weeks.

“I’m always awake,” Bucky says once he’s gotten a good look at Steve, despite Steve’s best efforts to tuck all the visible hurt away behind an admittedly shaky smile. He’s joking, mostly — when Bucky first came home, he rarely got more than an hour or two of sleep before some imagined threat had him prowling the confines of the apartment, checking and rechecking the locks and the security system. Nowadays his sleepless nights are still disturbingly frequent, but not every night, and he can usually pass them by reading or watching whatever he finds most interesting on TV. 

Bucky quirks a brow when Steve remains silent, tilting his head. Assessing. “You, though,” he continues as if he hadn’t paused at all, “you should be dead to the world, Rogers. Sawing logs, or whatever it is they say when you snore louder than a damn foghorn.”

“I don’t — I don’t snore,” Steve bites out, reflexive, which just gets Bucky’s other brow jumping up to join the first.

“So it’s one of those nights, huh.” Bucky nods to himself, twisting around on the couch to lean back against the armrest, legs spread invitingly. He pats the space between his thighs. “Good thing I’m a certified Steve Rogers expert and know exactly what you need.”

Steve considers refuting that claim, but he can’t bring himself to bother with it. A flare of indignation does pulse under his skin (he hates the idea that he needs to be managed), though it peters out just as quickly as it came, taking with it the last shred of warmth Steve’s been clinging to since he slipped out from beneath his bed covers. Bucky’s right, anyway; this is what Steve needs, something they’ve pieced together in the months after Bucky felt safe enough to put himself back into Steve’s orbit.

Rubbing briskly at his upper arms, more for something to do with his hands than any hope of warming himself up, Steve hesitates another moment before he sighs and climbs over the back of the couch to crawl in between Bucky’s legs. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve’s waist instantly, tugging him until his back is flush with Bucky’s chest. He noses at the nape of Steve’s neck, presses a kiss there that has a delightful shiver rippling down Steve’s spine, then wedges his chin into the space between neck and shoulder.

“What’s the threat level with this one?” Bucky asks quietly. Threat level is their established short-hand for how bad a nightmare was, what kind of toll it took on them. It’s easier getting that out than something like I woke up crying reaching for you can’t get my heart to calm down can’t breathe woke up alone and had to bite back a scream, and Steve can admit that Bucky’s nothing short of a goddamn genius for giving Steve a way to explain without explaining. 

“‘Bout a seven,” Steve says, which means it’s closer to a nine than he’d like. He can still feel the phantom chill of wind and snow on his face, the ice-clogged water in his lungs, arms outstretched but grasping at nothing nothing nothing. Bucky’s face, frozen over and glassy-eyed. No air, no breath, no life in either of them — but Steve, undead, trapped below the ice, forced to watch it all play out on repeat—

“Uh-huh. Seven. Sure, I’ll go with that for now.” Bucky’s voice is right against his ear, his breath warm, the solid weight of him so very real that Steve shudders again, leaning into him even though there’s hardly space left between them to close. “You need me to do anything extra special?”

Steve shakes his head, then pauses, reconsiders. “Keep talking?” 

His nightmares are — strange. They’re quiet, mostly, unless they involve the train, and then it’s the clack-clack-clack of the tracks, the high-pitched whistling of the wind, his own desperate screams. But when it’s the ice… it’s almost silent. Like an old film, the reels spinning on soundlessly around him. Colors are muted, too, shades of gray and blue and the occasional vibrant streak of red that could be blood, could be his suit, could be the afterimage of staring too long into a bright light. 

Bucky huffs a laugh and tightens his arms around Steve, and in return Steve shifts to lay his hands over Bucky’s skin, one sliding along his forearm, the other reaching down to slip under the hem of Bucky’s shorts. He’d grab the metal arm (it doesn’t bother him, and it’s body temperature from being tucked under Bucky on the couch) but he needs skin right now, and he knows Bucky doesn’t begrudge him it.

“Talking,” Bucky murmurs. “You gotta pick the one thing I’m no good at anymore, don’t ya. No, no, don’t start,” he says, reading the tensing of Steve’s body all too well, and Steve slumps back into his hold, caught out. “I’m not sayin’ I won’t do it, and I’m not gettin’ all self-deprecating on you, either. Words are hard, sweetheart, you know that.”

“Sorry, Buck. We can just put the TV on, or—”

“I said it’s fine, Rogers. Relax. I’m not in the habit of doing things I don’t want to these days, even for you, which is a goddamn miracle considering all the shit I put up with for your benefit when we were kids. Christ.”

Steve rolls his eyes, which he knows is the exact reaction Bucky was going for. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’d I talk you into that was so bad?”

“God, Steve, Snow White? How many times d’we see that in theaters?”

“What? You loved that movie!”

“No, you loved that movie, despite being fuckin’ colorblind. I went because I’m a goddamn sap and I couldn’t get enough of the wide-eyed baby deer act you pulled every time you got to see all that animation in action. You sparkled, Steve, it was addicting.”

“What?”

“Whaddya mean, what? Can’t a guy get all sentimental over how cute his best guy looked staring adoringly at a cartoon?”

“No, I mean— you went for me? We weren’t even…”

“First of all, jackass, I don’t gotta be in love with someone to wanna see them happy. Second, I honestly can’t tell you if I realized that I was in love with you back then. It’s all mixed up with how I definitely felt during the war, and then with everything that came with thawing out here.”

Hold on�� 

“Bucky. Bucky. The war?”

Steve’s half-twisted around in Bucky’s arms now, staring at him, slack-jawed, because they’ve never had this conversation before. Nothing even close to this has ever come up between them. When they got together this century, they only acknowledged that they’d never considered doing so back in the thirties, that their feelings only really surfaced now because they finally had a moment to rest without the fear of discovery hanging over their heads. Bucky has never breathed a word of loving Steve at any point before that.

But Bucky doesn’t seem to understand what’s running through Steve’s head, because his brows furrow as he stares right back at Steve. “Why are you acting so surprised? You think I curled up with you every night just ‘cause I was cold?” He pauses. “I mean, alright, yes, I was freezing and you were a goddamn furnace all of a sudden, but—”

“You have never said shit about this, Barnes, what the fuck?”

And there’s Bucky rising to the challenge in Steve’s voice, lifting his chin and narrowing his eyes. Refusing to let go of Steve, though, for which he’s grateful; he needs the grounding weight of him all the more in this moment.

“I ain’t exactly proud of it, Steve. You and Carter? Fuck, you made my blood boil with her.”

Steve blinks. Blinks again, shakes his head like that’ll make Bucky’s words fall into a neat little line he can actually understand. He feels Bucky’s chest expand as he breathes in deep, feels it deflate as he lets it out in a heavy sigh. His eyes are nearly silver in this light, and so sheepish that Steve just wants to set this aside and kiss on him until he’s smiling again. But — he wants to know, fuck, he doesn’t like secrets between them anymore, and he knows Bucky’s the same way. It’s not the best time to get into this, but really, in the grand scheme of things… it’s as good a time as they’ll get.

“God, alright. I was jealous, okay? Whether or not I knew what you were to me while we were still in Brooklyn, I sure as hell knew it then when I was watching you two dance around each other for months. The way you’d stare after her, the way she tucked herself right into your side whenever you were in the same room… I was sick with it, hatin’ her and hatin’ myself for feeling that way when I didn’t have a fuckin’ claim to you. When you were happy with her and I couldn’t make myself be happy for you. You think I like admitting I couldn’t put my best friend’s happiness above my own bruised ego?”

“Buck…”

“Aw, don’t look like that, sweetheart. Was my own fault for never saying anything. And, well, for all I knew back then you were straight as an arrow. You thought you were pretty straight, as I recall. Maybe it woulda just driven a wedge between us if I’d said something.”

“Fuck that.” The words are whispered, but they get Steve’s point across just fine — it’s Bucky’s turn to blink, leaning away from Steve slightly like he needs a better look at him to process what he’s just heard. Steve just follows him, getting his knees under him so he can cup Bucky’s face in both palms, holding him close. “Fuck that. I always loved you, Bucky Barnes. Platonic, romantic, doesn’t fucking matter. If you think for one second I woulda left you over something like that—”

Bucky laughs again, a quick, sharp little thing that barely interrupts Steve’s vehement protests, but the kiss Bucky plants on his lips does the job of getting his attention.

“What a stubborn asshole you are, sweetheart.”

Scowling, Steve kisses Bucky again, harder this time but still achingly sweet. “You think I’m lyin’?”

“Do I look like an idiot? No, I don’t think you’re lying, but that’s what you’re saying now, with the glorious gift of hindsight. You can’t say for sure that’s how you would have reacted, and I wouldn’t have blamed you for it.”

“One more time, Barnes, ‘cause I do think you’re a little slow on the uptake tonight. Fuck that. You got my ass through every fuckin’ illness that so much as looked at our borough, got me through ma’s death… you think you catchin’ feelings was gonna scare me away? I was afraid of you leaving, god, I woulda clung to you forever if you let me, even if you got married, had kids, whatever. I probably wouldn’t have believed you could like me, but I wouldn’t have been mad at you over it.”

It’s quiet between them once Steve’s gotten it all out of his system, save for his heart thudding in his chest and their quickened breathing, the tick-tick-tick of the ceiling fan above them. Steve refuses to look away from Bucky’s searching gaze, and god, yes, he’s a stubborn asshole, but he’s also right! He’s right and he’s going to prove that to Bucky, one way or another, because this is too important to let go. He doesn’t want Bucky thinking even for a second that there is a scenario where Steve would throw him over for someone else. Anyone Steve loved — anyone who loved Steve — would have had to accept that Bucky came first, always.

In hindsight, Steve maybe should’ve figured out his own damn feelings long before he reached the 21st century, but that wasn’t exactly his point right now. 

Steve doesn’t know how long they sit there like that, holding one another without saying a word, but he doesn’t tear his eyes away from Bucky’s for a single moment of it, willing him to understand that he’s always been Steve’s anchor, his touchstone — that absolutely nothing short of death could ever come between them, and fuck, even that didn’t stick. And he thinks Bucky might be getting there, the way a slow, tremulous smile spreads across his face, a flush high on his cheeks that does things to Steve’s heart. 

“I love you.”

Steve’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, automatic, ducking his head down to press into Bucky’s neck, the fabric of his worn t-shirt soft against Steve’s cheek. It’s far from the first time either of them have said it, but Steve still gets so giddy over it, knowing he gets to have this, have Bucky, to hold and kiss and adore this man in his arms for as long as they’re both alive… it’s heady, and something Steve doesn’t want to take for granted, not even for a second. The road they took to get here was too brutal for Steve not to be damn grateful for every moment they have together. 

Which means he doesn’t mind the teasing they get from the rest of the team, the not-so-sly remarks and gratuitous eye rolls that Sam and Natasha are so fond of, the downright lewd shit that gets thrown right back in Tony’s face when Bucky reminds them all that neither of them are innocent grandpas. 

It’s all part of getting to love Bucky the way he deserves, the way he’s always and will always deserve, and if there’s one thing about the future that Steve unequivocally loves, it’s that he can be as open as he wants about just how much he loves Bucky. And, if people do have a problem with it, Steve can kick their asses — mostly over Twitter, but still. He’s a fan.

“Love you too, Buck.”

Bucky hums, content, and readjusts so that Steve is mostly laying flat on top of him, the both of them stretched out across the couch. He snags the blanket from where it’s half-spilled onto the floor, draping it over Steve enough that it covers the majority of their bodies. Steve snuggles in, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s back, giving him a gentle squeeze to show his appreciation. 

He’s all but forgotten the phantom cold that drove him out here in the first place.

“Wanna try going back to sleep?” Bucky murmurs, rubbing circles into Steve’s back.

“Nah. You’re still gonna be here, don’t wanna sleep alone.”

“Mm, fair point. You just gonna lay here, then?”

He could, Bucky won’t protest his weight or the company. “Yeah. Right where I wanna be. You could read to me, though?”

“I’m in the middle of the book, Rogers, you won’t have any clue what’s going on.”

“Just like the sound of your voice, Buck. It’s soothing,” Steve argues, and he’s slurring his words a little, he knows, but he doesn’t care and Bucky doesn’t call him out on it. “Read to me?”

He feels the rumble of Bucky’s laughter in his own chest, pressed right up against him, then the shift of the couch as Bucky grabs his book from the floor and braces it against the dip in Steve’s spine so he can read.

And yeah, Bucky’s right — Steve couldn’t tell you a thing about what’s happening in the book right now (there are gods and monsters and quippy teenagers, but none of it settles quite right in his brain, none of it takes any recognizable shape) but he couldn’t be happier regardless.

Turns out it’s not so bad of a night after all. 

[kukukape]

Richard Malik x Operative: The Whistleblower

This the first time I've posted a fic in a while, but I'm excited! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist 😊

Tags: @simping-for-sandayu-oda @luciewarrenx3

•••

Richard had to admit, he'd come up with more... enjoyable plans than this one. He grunted as the Albion thug's knee collided with his stomach, again. Wanker was enjoying this way too much.

His eyes flicked to the camera ever so subtly. Not that the bastard would've noticed, he was too busy trying to decide which way to assault Richard Malik next. But he could see it moving around a bit sporadically, as if its operator were trying to get his attention.

And even in the midst of great pain, he had to fight a smirk. Things were already going accordingly.

"U-ugh!" He grunted as the Albion guard pulled him up by his hair and punched him in the face.

Welp, time to fall back into character.

"I-I'm not who you think I am, I-I swear!"

A slap across the face. Backhanded. Richard had to admit, that hurt his pride more than it did his face.

"You're Malik! A SIRS officer and a leaky fucking twat!" Richard, with his forehead resting against the cold concrete, found himself wanting to smile at his own notoriety.

Malik. That name carried weight in SIRS. In London's infrastructure of justice and security. This scared, begging persona wasn't him. This was a choice.

He was a spy. Slippery, and willing to relinquish his true character for his mission.

His breathing quickened with faux fear as the Albion officer picked him up by the collar, bunching up his silken silver tie amidst the action. "That's not me, I s-swear to god, please- PLEASE-"

---

Angel's heart nearly stopped when Bagley cut the feed. "Fuck…" she whispered. She had half a mind to curl up on the curb and let a grey gloom consume her, but Bagley was too much of a dick to allow that.

"Fuck is right! And fucking dead is what he'll be if you don't hurry," he said in his not-so-robotic deadpan.

Dead. Murdered. Killed?

All words and possibilities that resonated with Angel. She took a deep shaky breath, squeezing the steering wheel of her Atterley. "Drop a pin please, Bags," she said.

"I already did, while you were having a little panic attack."

Instead of meeting his snark with her own, Angel kicked the car into gear, speeding towards the construction site. From first gear to third, then sixth... and she was skidding to a stop by the sidewalk before she knew it.

Her optik buzzed as someone got onto comm. It was Brian, the team's most senior hitman. "Scope the place out before you go in. This could be a trap for all we know, so-"

The soft patters of a silenced P9, followed by two separate cries cut Brian off.

"Angel! Bagley, what's she-"

"She's storming the place like the baboon cousin she is!" Bagley exclaimed, "You know for a spy, she's rather uncovert." Which only said the absolute least.

The bodies were shrouded before the spy moved on, picking off another soldier just as they were turning the corner. A bullet between his eyes before he even knew he was in danger, and cloaked to make his death even less apparent.

Pressed against a corner wall, Angel took her phone out and let the news drone above become her eyes. "Bagley, help me find him," she said urgently.

"There's a closed off room in the back. Try there," he said. Angel jumped from camera to camera, her heart squeezing a bit every time she didn't see Richard.

Just when she was about to crack her phone in her grip, she saw him. Wrists tied, on his knees, gaze trained on the floor as he tried to catch his breath.

Angel knew this picture of him. Years ago, in a dirt-floored cell where they huddled together for just an inch of warmth. The image made her shudder, so forcefully mentally that she did so physically too.

She flinched again when Brian came over the comm. "Alright, there he is. I suggest you take out the rest of the guards before you go in," he said.

From soldier, to spy, and now to soldier again. Angel nodded as she squeezed the hilt of her gun. "I'll get right on it."

---

Richard chewed the inside of his cheek as he stared at the floor. He could feel a pair of eyes on him once again, staring through that same metal lense. He didn't dare turn to look, didn't dare break character.

Until he heard the camera screech, as if it wanted him to turn. And, flinching in surprise, he did.

He looked at the camera, wondering why the DedSec operative who'd come for him wanted to make their presence so known. Richard eyed the camera for a moment, searching for something deeper beyond the blank, metallic lense.

Of course, he found nothing. But just the notion of the operative- who he was all too sure was finally here- trying to communicate you're safe, it's okay, made him want to chuckle.

He gave the camera an acknowleding smirk, and ever so slight tilt of his head.

"AHH!" A soldier just outside screamed.

Richard's head whipped around again, and he heard some indecipherable yelling, along with the heavy footsteps of Albion-approved military boots. Somebody was obviously getting their ass kicked outside, because he only heard one person grunting in pain as limbs connected with their target.

Then silence.

He never really liked the quiet. It meant that nothing was happening, and for Richard, something always had to be happening. He couldn't predict quiet. Couldn't scheme it, outsmart it.

Thank god it didn't last long, before the metal door squealed open and quiet footsteps pittered in.

Richard kept his gaze down, as would a man currently fearing for his life. He'd been that enough times to know how to imitate it.

The 'fwoop' of a knife unsheathing made him flinch genuinely. But a steady, smooth... familiar voice eased him.

"Easy. It's just me," she said. Just me, she said. As if he were supposed to know her.

And he did. Oh lord, he did. And the mixture of fear, anger, regret, and happiness in him was too genuine for somebody so used to lying in the face of everyone short of his mother and father's graves.

The fearful part of him was scared to turn around and look at her as she cut through his restraints easily. But he didn't have a choice really, as she walked around and kneeled in front of him, cupping his face with both hands and searching for any injuries to his visage.

Richard was a confident man. Strong, assured, and decorated from head to toe in awards that highlighted his ingenius.

But he looked like a dumb fish in that moment, his mouth slightly ajar and eyes wide.

"…Angel?" He asked softly as her calloused fingertips subconsciously brushed across his brow, stretching down to touch his jaw.

---

"That's my name," she said dryly as she searched his face, looking anywhere but his eyes. Her hand reached into the pocket on his shirt, where she knew he kept a handkerchief. "Hold still, you look horrible," she said. Not that a handkerchief was gonna fix that, but whatever.

She wiped blood from his jaw, and the bits that had gotten onto his cheek. She chewed on the inside of her cheek to keep more words than necessary from escaping her.

I missed you.

Are you okay?

I know this is a farce, so what are you playing?

All reasonable, but Angel couldn't utter any of them. Because Richard Malik, her friend for all of their youth, her partner in war, her lover for that one night back in college, was right in front of her.

She raked a hand through his hair, which was as close to saying I'm glad you're okay as she was gonna get. And he grabbed her wrist gently.

Brown eyes met a lighter shade. Both of them soft, affectionate, and untrusting.

"You're Dedsec," he said it firmly but quietly. Looking for confirmation. Hoping she'd say no, she just happened to be walking down the street and decided to shoot up a restricted Albion area for shits and giggles.

But she nodded. And a pride she never had while working at SIRS shined in her eyes.

Angel helped him to his feet and cleared her throat. They clearly weren't gonna do the whole "So what've you been up to the past six years?" thing, so she spoke first, "We got the call from you. What was that all about?"

A look of shock passed over Richard's eyes. And Angel could tell what he was thinking. Probably wondering where that smile she always used to greet him with had gone.

But he remembered himself quicklyc straightening his tie with a nervous hand. "I'll upload the intelligence onto an anonymous FTP. You can sort through it-"

"No, I want to hear it from you," Angel cut him off rigidly.

Richard inhaled as his whole "My name is Richard Malik, herdyderdyder," speech was thrown out the window. "I believe I've discovered who Zero-Day really is; rogue SIRS officers from the CT unit who then framed Dedsec for the TOAN bombings."

"Men working under you?" Angel raised one elegant brow. "I always got the impression the CT unit was always fiercely loyal," she commented.

And back to the games they went. This time, for the first time, against each other.

He let out a humorless laugh. "You know how good I am at making enemies," he said, reaching for the door handle.

"Wait, Richard," she said quickly. Angel's hand shot out to grab his arm. He looked down at her in surprise.

…Down at her.

Since when was he so damn tall? And handsome…

No, no, stop it, monkey brain.

"I…" Angel's jaw moved uselessly for a moment, before she simply yanked him into am embrace. Richard made a surprised sound. Way too many surprises for one day for him.

But this one, he could tolerate.

Hesitantly, he wrapped one arm around her shoulders while hers linked around his neck tightly. Her cheek was pressed against his chest, and he could smell the shampoo drifting from her hair. "It's… good to see you again, Angel," he said quietly.

Angel chuckled once, before inhaling sharply and slowly pulling away. Out of his reach once again.

"We'll, uh... check out the info," she said, nodding before moving to step by him. But she paused by the door, then reached back over to him. Richard watched dumbly as she fixed his silver tie, straightening it back up and patting his chest twice. And she smiled.

"You grew up nicely, Richard," she said, before slipping out the door.

Richard stood there dumbly for a moment, a thousand different things racing through his head.

But the one thing that stood out the most was the fact that his plans had definitely just been shaken.

~end~

[one-winged-whump]

Keeping Track

heyyy i never post writing, but I wanted to write a section where I retconned a character getting an injury and I really liked it, so I thought it would post it here!!

also yes this is in first person, and no i will not apologize for it <3

Warnings: pet whump, collars, fear, branding, manhandling, dehumanization, creepy whumper, torture

Word count: 2187

I cracked open my eyes and sat up as I heard the doors to the office click open. To my utter lack of surprise, Sisko was strolling into the room, much too chipper for the time of day. My face formed a snarl and the smaller feathers on my wings puffed in disgust as he passed me, and I had to resist the urge to reach out and knock his legs out from under him. The fine chain leash around my neck jangled as I turned my head to follow him with my gaze.

Unfortunately, he reached his desk unscathed and sat down with his mug of coffee to begin booting his computer up. As it did, he swiveled his chair around to face me, watching me with intense, appraising eyes. I scowled at him, hoping that looks would kill for once. But he didn’t chide me contemptuously like usual, just studied me like I was a particularly fascinating bug on a window sill.

When his login screen popped up, Sisko finally set his coffee down and turned to his computer, the faintest smile on his lips.

I huffed indignantly. We’d only been here a week and I was ready to tear this man limb from limb every moment of the day. Hopefully I’d get a chance soon. Then I could get the key to this stupid collar with its weird tech and go find the boys. Then we could all get out of here together and go home. It was a wildly outlandish plan, but I was willing to take any chance I could for an escape. I’d had enough of being treated like an animal, thank you very much.

The clacking from Sisko’s computer slowly brought me out of my own thoughts and I inwardly groaned. Why the hell was his keyboard so damn loud? Who even likes loud, clicky keyboards like that?

“You know, bird,” Sisko said suddenly, making me start. “You and your companions aren’t the only animals I own.” I wanted to scowl at him again, but that made me pause. Other animals?

“I have the more exotic ones like you tucked away in a room together. They’re quite impressive, honestly.” He chuckled, still not looking away from his screen. He continued casually, like he was talking to a friend instead of me, a bird girl chained to the ground.

“Everyone who sees them insists so. But you all are just that much more special.” He pulled away from his computer, rolling his chair backwards and turning to face me pointedly. “You’re the only ones of your kind.”

I glowered. Was he trying to say something that would upset me? If he was, this wasn’t it. I knew we were the only people like this, and it honestly didn’t bother me. It was everyone else who seemed to have some kind of problem with us.

“Yes, truly rare,” Sisko mumbled, seemingly to himself. Then his eyes fell on me again. He crossed his ankle over his knee and propped his head up with one elbow on his desk. “I feel like I need to make sure everyone knows that I own you now.” His smile, which had started out as a smug little smirk, was quickly turning into the excited grin of a child in a toy store. A shiver ran over my skin, but I kept my angry facade.

Sisko paused for a lingering moment before speaking again. “While I own rare and lovely animals, I also own cattle. Did you know that, bird?” I blinked in surprise. It made sense, I guessed, but somehow, it was impossible to imagine Sisko in his sharp, sleek suits overseeing fields of huge, smelly cows.

“Mostly for meat. I like to know where my food comes from, start to finish,” he clarified, and I rolled my eyes, folding my arms over my chest. Maybe if I pretended to be uninterested enough, he would just go back to ignoring me.

“And ‘start to finish’ means keeping constant track of all of this cattle,” he continued, prattling on and on. “Knowing the cows from the steer from the heifers from the springers. Knowing which ones have had their vaccines, which ones are sick.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs the other way. “It’s all very important to know.” I sighed loudly and dramatically, slumping myself against the bookcase behind me. If this bothered him, he didn’t show it. Just kept that same unsettling grin.

“There are several ways to keep and identify cows from one another. An ear tag, of course, given at birth.” Sisko flicked his earlobe with a finger. “The easiest method, in my opinion, but they can fall off. So we must also have a backup method of keeping track of them.” I yawned exaggeratedly, hoping to annoy him into shutting the hell up. Why in the world was he telling me about his cattle, of all things?

“One of the alternate options is a tattoo on the inside of the ear,” Sisko explained, biting his bottom lip to try to contain his excited smile. “But it’s so hard to get them to stand still long enough to make it clear enough to read. Which leaves us with the other option.” He sat up, weaving his fingers together excitedly, eyes glittering. It made me extremely uneasy. I could feel some of my smaller feathers begin to puff up anxiously.

“Freeze branding is more popular these days, but I honestly prefer a good, old fashioned hot-fire brand, myself,” he said. “It might not be quite as good as freeze branding, but I would say it’s much more effective for...behavioral problems.” Sisko could no longer contain his feral grin, and I felt my heart seize in my chest suddenly. Shit. Fuck.

“I think they should just about be ready,” he said with mirth and I paled, head spinning. There was no way even he was batshit enough to do this to me. It had to just be some kind of horrible scare tactic, like stories parents tell their children to frighten them into obeying.

But sure enough, not fifteen seconds later, there was a knock at the door. My mouth went dry as Sisko called in a sing-songy voice “Enter!”

Three men entered the room wearing thick cloth gloves. I recognized them as some of the goons that had kidnapped us all in the first place. In their gloved hands, they carried a bucket with wash cloths hanging over the side, a blow torch, and a metal rod. The rod was a few inches longer than my arm, with a curved metal handle on one end, and a pattern I couldn’t make out in the other. My blood froze in my veins.

“So lovely to see you gentlemen again,” Sisko cooed to the men. “You may start whenever you’re ready.” I hoped, nay, expected at least one of them to grow a conscience and say “Hey, what we’re about to do is wrong!” But consciences seemed in short supply around here.

I scrambled to try to get away, but my collar and leash kept me securely fastened and unable to get more than a couple feet away. The men approached slowly, then one jumped on top of me, shoving me onto my back with enough force to snap my head against the marble flooring.

As I tried to blink the stars from my vision, hands gripped me from all sides and rotated me so now I was laying on my stomach.

“Oh, excellent choice,” Sisko purred from his desk. “I think that’s the perfect place for it.” I tried to at least get on my hands and knees, get just a touch of leverage to shake the bastards off, but there was a heavy weight on my legs, and my hands were bound together under my body. When the hell had that happened?

I heard the soft zrrip of a zip tie fastening and realized that my feet were also bound now. In a panic, I flapped my wings, hoping that if they couldn’t help me to my feet, they could at least disorientate the men.

But a shock of pain ran up my right wing as one of them smacked it down and slammed his boot down on it. I definitely would have cried out if I could have. Instead, I let out a gasping grunt.

My left wing was still free, but I stopped moving it when I slammed it harshly into the bookshelf in an attempt to hit one of the men. As soon as I paused, the man I’d tried to cuff with it stepped on top of my wing, putting his entire weight on it.

I was panting hard, trying so hard not to start crying and also trying to keep myself from absolutely losing it. With the two men on my wings, everything from the waist up was effectively pinned to the ground. When I moved my legs, the last man laid a threatening foot on it, so I stopped. I couldn’t deal with him breaking one or both of my legs. Not right now.

So I just had to lay immobile while the men above me flicked on the blow torch and began heating the long metal rod. The iron brand.

The wait was horrible. The only sound in the room was the loud wrooooosshhhh of the flame and my own breath coming in shallow gasps. Flat on my stomach, I couldn’t see what the men were doing. I could see the floor, part of the bookshelf, and a sliver of blue sky outside the window. I couldn’t even see Sisko, though I was sure his face still held that disgusting manic grin.

After what felt like hours, the blow torch snapped off, and I froze. Oh, no. The man on my left wing shifted, and I felt the bottom of my shirt being pulled up to my wings, exposing my lower back. Oh, god! My entire body was rigid, tense with dreadful anticipation. Please, god, someone help me! Please, I-

The most searing pain I’d ever felt shot through me. I screamed a mostly soundless guttural scream that hurt on the way out, but not nearly at the level of my lower back. I tried to squirm away for even the most minuscule relief of the more than white hot pain, but I felt boots on my neck, my shoulders, anything that could still move.

Tears were freely flowing down my face as my hands clawed at my stomach underneath me, as if I could reach through it and grab the pain away.

A foul smell reached my nose and I realized that was me. Sour and charred and sickening. That was my skin I could hear sizzling and blistering. I let out another hoarse, gasping wail from my gut and slammed my head into the marble floor, trying to stop the pain somehow.

I was breathing so hard that it felt like my entire body was jerking with spasms, which made the burning hot pain worse, which continued to make my breath come out in labored pants. On and on and on in a worsening circle. My head swam and my vision dimmed at the edges. Was I blacking out? I hoped I would, because that would be the only reprieve I could get from the unbearable, agonizing pain.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the pressure lifted from the small of my back, but the rush of cold air stung nearly as bad and I inhaled sharply as a new flood of tears spilled from my eyes. The wound pulsed with every beat of my unnaturally fast heart rate, and it made me sick to my stomach, like I might throw up. I was sweating and shivering all over, hiccuping with barely-controlled wheezing gasps for breath. Even the tips of my flight feathers were trembling.

I felt a touch near the wound and I would have jerked away if I’d had the energy, but I couldn’t. The thought of that metal touching me again was almost too much, but luckily the touch was much softer than white hot metal. It took several moments of flinching pain for me to realize that one of the men was smearing a salve on the brand wound. Probably something to keep the infection away, hopefully some kind of numbing agent. Either way, every time the cloth met my back, it was a painful jolt to my nervous system.

I closed my eyes and put my forehead against the cold marble, shuddering softly and shaking with sobs, but not wholly because of the pain. I was branded now. Like fucking chattel. A permanent mark, a reminder.

Someone grabbed a fist full of my hair, yanking my head up to face them. I pried my eyes open to see Sisko’s smug, unbothered face grinning back at me.

“Don’t worry. It looks lovely,” he told me. Then, his smile broadened as he said, “And now everyone knows you’re mine, bird.”

[talpup]

I just found read your crossroads fic over on Ao3, and damn sweetheart, I am in LOVE with this classy mob styled version of Overhaul you have going on. The smut in that last chapter was abso-fucking-lutely to die for! But I really need to know something about his character in this story. He was obviously a virgin, but r there any specific kinks he’s been thinking about or planning on trying with her?

*blush* THANK YOU!!!  You can blame my good friend and favorite Kai fanfic author @inorganicone2230 They’re the one that spurred me into having the idea for this fic and then (like they’ve done with all my bnha fics) encouraged me to write it and brainstormed with me.

Yes, Kai was a virgin. Though his skill level might test some folks suspension of disbelief (something I try not to do too much in my fics, even though I write mostly fantasy).

Kai’s kinks in this fic might be fairly tame by our standards.  But it is a 1920′s era au fic.  Don’t really know if they’re kinks; but Kai would love to spank Maya then bend her over his desk and…

...so I don’t know if you saw my post.  But I decided to do a short smutty scenario thanks/inspired by this ask.  So here you go.  Sorry it’s so short.  Between having my ‘poison juice’ (aka infusion) last Friday and unexpected visitors yesterday and the day before I’ve been kinda wiped.

FYI this little scene would take place after things settled a bit from the last and (eventual) upcoming chapter.

WARNINGS: spanking, non-con, creampie, cockwarming;  Please remember, this fic is rated explicit and has warnings of sex, violence, and other possible triggers.  For a full list of story tags please check the fics AO3 (link to that at the top of my tumblrs homepage).

Promised Pleasure

Removing his dust mask as Maya entered his office, Kai frowned at her attire. “That’s not what I told you to wear today.”

Maya’s shoulders tensed.  She foolishly hadn’t expected her choice of clothes to be an issue.  She should've known better.  Still, her pride wouldn’t let her apologize.  And she knew Kai would sniff out any lie.

Deciding a gently put truth was best, she stepped further in his office.  “I felt like wearing this.”

Kai’s golden eyes narrowed.  She was testing boundaries again.  And her testing was trying his temper.  “Close the door please, my Dear.”

Despite the politeness of the ask, a shiver ran up Maya’s spine.  Mouth suddenly dry, she turned and closed the door with a shaky hand.

“Lock it.”  Kai ordered, voice taking on a twinge of sharpness.  He had called her in here hoping for a nice diversion.  But with his beautiful girl acting so spiteful he would have to resign himself to giving her a lesson.

Maya’s hand paused on the door.  The hair on the back of her neck prickled.

“Maya. Lock the door, Darling.  You know how I dislike repeating myself.”

The slow scrape of the lock setting in place deafened Maya to everything but her ragged breathing and thundering heart.  She didn’t hear Kai’s next words.  So when she turned back around, it was to find him looking more annoyed then ever.

Smothering her nerves, Maya met Kai’s piercing gaze head on.  “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

Unlacing his fingers, Kai sat back.  “I told you to come here.  This is the second time I’ve had to repeat myself.  I won’t do so again.”

Maya shuffled hesitantly toward Kai’s desk.

Kai pushed back and slightly turned the chair he was sitting in.  “This side.  Come around near me.”

She moved around the desk, stopping a couple paces from his spread legs. Skin prickling under the caress of his roving gaze, her breath caught glimpsing the bulge in his pants.

At least Kai always brought her pleasure.  Unlike the disgusting landlord who had used her and left without care or glance after.  Kai always made her feel special.  Beautiful.  Loved.  In those moments of heated bliss she lost herself and forgot she was doing this solely for justice for her brother.  Basking in Kai’s twisted affection and the delightful pleasure he gave she’d start to believe she truly cared for him in return.  That they could make something of this.  Possibly enter a real relationship that wouldn’t end when he did as he promised and saw those who killed her brother put down.

Maya stared at the tailored suit jacket hanging over the back of Kai’s chair.  Anything to avoid seeing the twitching cock in his pants.

“Why don’t you serve me some water and unbutton my vest for me, Sweetheart.”

It wasn’t a question, or even a suggestion.  Maya knew well enough it was an order.  But with Kai’s honeyed tone and adoring gaze it was easy to trick her mind into believing there would be no consequences for disobedience.

Turning over a heavy tumbler that sat on a silver tray at the end of his desk, she took up the crystal carafe and poured.  Setting the glass in front of him, her fidgeting hands fell to her side, smoothing her skirt.

Her delay in following his second commend had Kai rising to his feet. Maya stepped back even as she hurriedly reached for his vest, seeking to rectify the offense.  Kai grabbed her wrist before she touched him.

Maya grimaced at the too tight grip.  “I’m sorry.  I--”

Kai pulled her roughly against him.  Maya stumbled, heels catching on the plush area rug.  She fell against his chest.  His expensive cologne assaulted her nose.  She loved the smell but hated smelling it as she only got a whiff when Kai had her in his space.

Suddenly gentle, Kai’s strong arms steadied her.  “Careful, Sweetheart. We don’t want you hurting yourself.”  He caressed her cheek, brushing the hair out of her face with a tenderness that didn’t match the blazing fire in his amber eyes.

Maya held perfectly still, struggling not to flinch. The way Kai flipped from loving and sweet to caustic and hurtful on a penny dime was what frightened her most about him.

Smiling, Kai’s head dipped.  “You’re so beautiful, Darling.  So soft and beautiful.”

His tender lips graced hers in a chaste kiss.  Maya’s lashes fluttered closed accepting the kiss, thinking she had escaped his anger.  Her body jerked at a sudden tug.  The sound of something ripping rang out in the room.  A sudden cold strike of air hit her front torso pebbling her nipples.

Maya’s eyes shot open with a gasping cry.  Kai had rent her blouse and camisole open.

“If you refuse to wear what I tell you to.  Maybe you should be left with nothing to wear at all.”

“Kai… I’m--”

Kai cupped her cheek.  “I don’t want to hear it, Sweetheart.  You apologize and apologize but keep on going astray from the clear, defined rules I’ve set.  My love for you has seen me be more than patient.  But I’m afraid my patience has come to an end.”

Maya stumbled again, her world spinning as she was quickly turned and shoved down against the desk.  The glass of water she served slid off the surface and fell to the floor.  It’s crash accentuated Maya’s surprised cry.  Mind reeling, she didn’t feel the splash of water soak her hose.

“Ka—ah!” She broke off with a scream, senses assaulted by the sound of her tearing skirt.  The cold hard desk against her breast and torso and Kai’s painful grip on the back of her neck.  Her nose burned, eyes watering from the lingering smell cleaner that clung to the polished surface.

Hand still holding her down, Kai dropped her ruined skirt.  His freed hand slid over the silky slip she worn.  So soft, he mused.  But not anywhere as soft as the flesh beneath.  That covering was pulled down along with her panties.

“Kai! What are you--”  Maya broke off with another shouted cry.

The crack of his hand hitting her ass echoed about the room.  Maya’s back arched at the blooming fire but was roughly pushed back down against the desk.

“Stay, my Love.  You wouldn’t want to upset me further and earn yourself another lesson after this.”

Wiping tears from her eyes, Maya tried to look back at him.  For a moment she swore she saw a horrid bird-like beast in place of her handsome tormentor.  But the monstrous vision was gone quicker than she could blink.

“Le—le—lesson?” She stammered.

“For continually testing your bounds.”  Kai leaned forward, low rasp tickling her ear.  “I’m afraid this will hurt, my Dear.  But know, that it will hurt me to do it more than it’ll hurt you.”

Ass still stinging from the first spank Maya doubted that.  By the third strike she was certain Kai enjoyed it and was glad for the chance to discipline her supposed disobedience.  Confirmation of his delight came when he paused after the fourth hit and ran a hand over her blazing butt-cheeks.

Kai’s fingers traced the red marks, trailing over the rising welts.  He loved Maya’s perfect, soft skin.  But there was a possessive pride in seeing her flesh temporarily marred by the work of his hand.  It sparked something primal in him, turning his tender caress into a rough, digging grope.  She was beautiful, his beloved.  A perfect little darling that would fit so well beside him in the new wholesome world he was working to usher in.  Or at least she would be once she learned to listen and obey without hesitance or question.

No one but him could touch her.  Certainly no one else was allowed to see her in such a weakened and debauched state.  Kai growled at the thought, fingers digging into the meat of her ass.  He would gouge the persons eyes out.  Cut out their tongue, and break their knees and fingers.  Then grant them a slow, painful death for having seen his darling like this.  Because this…  His other hand loosened and trailed down her neck, slinking around her side to cup her breast, reveling in the weight as she lifted a bit thinking they were done.   ...this was for him, and him alone.   His throbbing dick ground against her raw ass.

Maya’s lips pressed together between clenched teeth, biting back a cry at the burning pain.  Halfway into righting herself her back bumped Kai’s chest.

Weight rested on his hand planted to her side on the desk, Kai’s chin hooked over her shoulder.  “Think you’ve learned your lesson, Beautiful?”

Breast heaving with a shuddering breath, Maya nodded.

“Doesn’t appear so.  You know how I prefer worded responses.”

“Yes!” Maya expelled.  “Yes.  I’ve learned my lesson.  Please, Kai. I’m sorry.  So very sorry.  It won’t ever happen again.”

Kai’s knuckles glided down her back.  Other hand gripping her hip he pulled her blistered ass against his leaking erection.  “Why don’t we test that?  Bend over, Sweetheart.”  Annoyed as he was by her hesitance, he smiled lightly.  “Either you haven’t learned your lesson.  Or liked it so much you want another.”

Before Maya could respond she was pushed and held down on the desk.  Her eyes shot wide at the resounding spank.  Fresh tears sprang from her eyes as they squeezed shut at the sharp boiling pain.  “Kai! Please!  I’m--”

Another hit landed.  Then another.

Kai stopped after the tenth.  Staring down at her trembling frame he had a moments regret.  He should have made her count.  Next time, he told himself.

He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his vest.  Amber eyes skimmed over his handy work.  Just when he thought she couldn’t be more beautiful…  Even her mix of drool and tears puddled on the desk were lovely.

Lost in the consuming tumble of dull thudding pain accentuated by sharp stinging bursts, Maya didn’t hear the jangle of Kai’s belt being undone.  She jolted at his hand slipping between her legs. Whimpering as his prodding fingers dragging through her folds.

Kai frowned at the minimal moisture.  Usually Maya got so wet for him. It wounded and upset him.  But before those emotions could take root his eyes drifted back to the pool of saliva on his desk.  His heart lightened.  Even with her punishment his darling had thought of him and his needs.  Proving she loved him as much as he loved her.

He leaned over her and kissed her tear-stained cheek.  “Thank you, my Dear.  You’re so sweet and good for me.”

Maya’s lashes fluttered.  She watched Kai’s hand trail through her drool, gathering it.

Bringing his wet hand to his freed length, Kai slathered her saliva over his shaft.  He grimaced, skin prickling with the beginnings of a inch. But soothed himself that was Maya.  She was clean.  Worthy.  His.

It’s like indirect oral, he thought with a steadying breath.  The prickling itch diminished then fully disappeared as he focused on Maya, pumping his fist to fully wet his cock.

Lining up his cock he leaned back over her and kissed her shoulder.  “You’ve had you’re punishment, Darling.  And you took it so well.  Now, let me remind you of my love and the pleasure I can give.”

Maya’s shining eyes flicked to Kai’s.  Her brow furrowed.  Was it the light?  Or was there a dim otherworldly glow in those honeyed depths? The image of the demon Dabi’s bright burning eyes flashed through her mind.  But it vanished in an instant from the breach of Kai’s fat cock head.  She would've cried out at the burning stretch if her breath hadn’t seized in her lungs.

Kai hissed at the pull of his sensitive skin.  Maya’s drool helped. But it didn’t provide the smooth silky glide her delicious arousal did.  Wanting the discomfort over with he snapped his hips flush against her, driving his length in her tight hole.

Fully sheathed, Kai slowly exhaled.  His eyes closed, head rolling back. Taking a moment to simply feel, he basked in her velvety embrace.  This would never get old. Slipping his aching cock into Maya’s perfect, tight pussy.  Feeling her walls stretch to make room for him then flutter as they adjusted to his penetrating presence was something that consumed his thoughts; just like everything else about her.

Maya mewled the most pitiful whine beneath him and Kai lost it.  His darling was just so sweet.  So beautiful.  So helpless.

His hips pulled back and slammed right back against her.

If asked, Maya wouldn’t have been able to say if her scream was from the hard thrust or Kai’s pelvis pounding into her blazing red backside.

Her back arched, lifting her off the desk.

One hand gripping her hip, Kai’s other hand grabbed the back of Maya’s neck and shoved her back down.  Never once did his ramming thrusts stop.

The once dulling pain of Maya’s welted ass sharpened again.  Fresh tears seeped from her eyes.  Kai had lied.  He had said she had her punishment.  The pain was suppose to be over.  But every thrust was just another spank.  Until…

Kai’s feet shifted.  Angling his hips he hit that spot in her that had her seeing stars.

Pleasure mixed with the pain.  The rough scrape of his trousers zipper didn’t hurt as badly.  Even the occasional jab of his belts buckle didn’t make her want to crawl up and die.

Kai almost reached around to finger her clit.  But an idea struck him. It was scandalous.  But so was fucking his darling over his desk.  He groaned, cock twitching at the thought.  His pace sped seeking his own release without a care for hers.

Maya rocked against the desk.  Her hips started to push back against him despite the blazing pain to her ass.  A different kind of heat pooled in her belly.  But just as the coil started to tighten another warmth filled her.

Kai thrust deep inside Maya, cock coming alive.  He grunted, pushing his hips firmly against her, driving her against the desk, seeking to get even deeper as hot ropes of cum spit from his pulsing cock.

Building orgasm lost, Maya deflated atop the desk.  Her nails clawed at the polished surface, hands balling into weak fists.  Though grateful it was over, she couldn’t help but be bit bitter about Kai’s second lie.  ‘...let me remind you of my love and the pleasure I can give.’ Yes, she had felt some pleasure.  But she hadn’t gotten her full pleasure.

She waited for Kai to pull out.  When he didn’t she looked back at him.

Kai greeted her with a smug smile.  “You didn’t cum.  Did you?”

Maya’s mouth fell open.

Before she could respond, her torso was pulled up off the desk.  Heated as his skin was through his button-up shirt, Maya shivered the instant her back touched his chest.

Kai’s arms wrapped around her.  He held her firmly against him, keeping his cock snugly inside her.   His lips brushed the shell of her ear. “Did you think I forgot about my promise, Sweetheart?  I said I was going to remind you of the pleasure I can give.”

Keeping her glued against him, Kai retook his seat.  Head a whirl of confusion, Maya barely grimaced at the discomfort of his softening cock shifting inside her.  The heated pain of her abused butt numbed by her racing mind trying to figure out what Kai was doing.

Soon enough she got her answer and wished she never had.

“I’m a man of man word, my Love.  What do you say you keep me warm while I do some work?  Then I can give you that promised pleasure.”

After this, Kai might develop a breeding kink to go with spanking, rough office sex, and cokwarming.

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated.

Thank you all for being so patient with me and the posting of this fic.  Special thanks to Anon for the ask and inspiring this one shot.  And as always, an extra special thank you to @inorganicone2230​ for being the best fellow writer friend (and friend in general) and encouraging and brainstorming with me.  I mean it when I say I would’ve given up posting long ago if it wasn’t for your support.

[heysoup]

Fluffy February Day 1 - Fishing

Howdy folks! I’m taking part in the Fallout Fluffy February prompt list this month, hosted by @fluffyfebruary

Every day of this month I’ll be posting my finished prompts under the community tag #fluffyfebruary and on my own blog as #fluffyfeb. I’ll also be cross posting to Ao3, which I’ll link to in each post - so feel free to follow me over there, too!

Chapter 1: A Fisher of Men

Pairing: Butch/Male Lone Wanderer

Summary: Jamie takes Butch out on the Potomac for a fishing trip in the same spot his father had taken him a year prior. What seems to be an uneventful few hours turns into anything but when they find a monster on the other end of their line. Takes place after the events of Broken Steel.

Ao3 Link

“This is fucking boring.”

Jamie shoots Butch an irritated look from where he’s sitting across from the other man in the canoe, his brows drawn together as he tries his damnedest to untangle his fishing line from the third piece of driftwood he’s ‘caught’ that day.

“No shit,” he grumbles, spitting out some mud as he tries to break the line off the wood with his teeth. He lets out a frustrated huff, gripping his rod in both hands as he raises it up and fights the urge to just chuck the whole damn thing into the Potomac. He hears Butch snicker, and he whips his head up.

“You’re like a goddamn feral,” Butch teases with a laugh, reaching over and snatching the rod from Jamie’s grip. He digs in the pocket of his jeans and pulls out his switchblade, flicking it open and carefully beginning to cut the line away from where it’s tangled in the driftwood to try and save as much of it as he can.

He kicks his boots playfully against Jamie’s sneakers, noticing how the canvas high-tops are completely soaked through from the puddle of water they’d managed to slosh into the canoe earlier as they tried ungracefully to board it from the shore. He just shakes his head, a smile on his face, knowing that if he brings up the topic of appropriate footwear to the younger man it’ll just earn him a bruised shoulder.

“This was supposed to be like… meditative or some shit,” Jamie says with a sigh. He rubs his hands over his freckled face and ruffles some of the dust out of his sun-warmed hair. Butch just gives him an incredulous look.

“Where the hell did you get that idea from?” He finishes cutting the driftwood free and tosses it behind him into their small pile of ‘catches’ – which is really just a collection of junk at this point – before reattaching the hook and bobber and handing the rod back to the other man. He leans over and grabs his own fishing pole, squinting against the reflective ripples in the water to check on his bobber. Still absolutely no bites.

Jamie shrugs, suddenly looking a little bashful. “I dunno,” he admits. He reaches back into the salvaged can of cram they were using as bait, tears a chunk out, and works on preparing his hook again. Not like it matters much, he tells himself. He can continue to go through the motions perfectly and not catch a single thing. A little bit like everything else in his life, he thinks bitterly. His fucking bad luck.

After a moment of silence, Jamie continues. “Apparently my family came from a long line of fishermen on my dad’s side. He passed down some stories about it. Told me they were tradition or something.” Jamie shrugs. “Anyway, he taught me that you were s’posed to reflect on yourself out here. Get some peace and quiet.” Jamie finally says. He sucks the excess cram off his fingers, his tongue burning at the sudden saltiness, and casts his line out again, his bobber floating a few feet from Butch’s. Butch looks up at him, snapped out of his own thoughts.

“Huh… like, Wasteland fisherman?” Butch asks, deliberately choosing not to tell him how he thinks the whole ‘peace and quiet’ schtick is a load of brahmin shit and instead focusing on the first part of what he said. He’s always intrigued whenever Jamie tells him about his family, at least after they’d learned that he wasn’t born in the vault. The idea of generations of Arroyo’s managing to survive out here long enough to pop out the rascally kid he sits across from kind of amazes him. He sets his fishing pole back down against the side of the canoe, sure that it would be fine – he hasn’t gotten a single nibble in the past three hours.

“Nah. I’m sure some of them might’ve been, but we don’t really know much about closer generations of my family. We only really knew about some of my prewar family – something about some records my dad’s dad had kept on his terminals after searching our surname through databases in some place that used to process immigrations, or some shit. The occupation listed there was fisherman, apparently.” Jamie finishes and Butch hums thoughtfully, trying to imagine what Jamie’s granddad might have looked like.

Jamie winces when he thinks of his dad and has to shake the thoughts from his head. As if his face reflecting back at him from the clear surface of the clean water isn’t enough of a reminder of what he’s lost of his family and himself to of Project Purity – he looks like his own father’s ghost and even carries his name.

Butch’s fishing pole snapping against the side of the boat brings him back out of his thoughts, and he flinches back away from the canoe’s edge, the quick motion causing him to almost tumble out the other side as the boat sways dangerously.

“I got one!” Butch practically shouts and lunges for the pole, straddling the seat of the canoe and bracing his legs against the floor as he begins an awkward tug-of-war match with whatever is on the other end of his line. Jamie perks up with a huge grin on his face, all thoughts of his troubles momentarily forgotten, and hovers over Butch nervously.

“Make sure you don’t reel in when he’s pulling on the line! And try to give it some slack!” Jamie parrots what his father had taught him on their one and only fishing trip in the Wastes months back and digs around in their mess of a canoe for the rickety net they brought with them. Butch just gives an annoyed grunt, his face crinkled in concentration as he pulls on the line.

“This bastard is fuckin’ heavy!” He complains, giving the rod a yank that rocks their canoe again. Whatever they have hooked is pulling them ever so slightly to the opposite shore and splashing like crazy beneath the water.

“Scoot,” Jamie orders. He tosses the net aside – it’s obvious that whatever’s on the other side of the line won’t fit in it now - and moves on unsteady legs to sit behind Butch, reaching his arms around the other man’s waist and grabbing the fishing pole to help him pull. What the hell are they dealing with here?

By the time they begin to make some progress in reeling the fish in, they’re about halfway to the shore and completely out of breath. Butch laughs hysterically between pulls, his eyes squeezed shut in glee, and Jamie can’t help but laugh in return. His palms are sweaty, his white-knuckle grip on the fishing pole beginning to slip.

“Is it trying to pull us out of the water?!” Butch says suddenly, elbowing Jamie to look at the swiftly approaching shore. They’re hauling ass at this point, almost as if… whatever they hooked had suddenly caught some footing in the shallower water. Jamie’s eyes widen and he immediately lets go of the pole to root around in their bags. As he does, Butch careens forward from the sudden lack of support and just barely catches himself with his elbows against the edge of the canoe. He curses, “CHRIST, Nosebleed! Some warning next time!”

Jamie has only just gotten his hands on Butch’s shotgun when they finally catch a glimpse of their ‘fish’ as it breaks the surface of the water. At this point, they’ve reeled it in pretty close and the wake left behind the huge creature emerging from the stagnant part of the river capsizes their canoe just as they crash into the sandy shore.

With a chorus of yells both men topple over into the shallows. Jamie squeezes his eyes shut and lands on his back with a thud, his arms stretched up over his head holding the shotgun out of the river. The water feels like a cold slap to his face, and he comes back up gasping for air. He looks over to where Butch has landed hard on his ass, noting that the fishing pole is being tugged out of his hands and quickly away from him. He looks and sees the fruits of their labor – an albino Mirelurk with the fishing line wrapped around one claw.

“MIRELURK!” Butch yells, scrambling to his feet and running over to Jamie. He pulls the other man up and grabs the shotgun from him just as the Mirelurk turns toward them and begins clambering over the old canoe that groans and splinters beneath its weight.

“Shoot it! Shoot it!” Jamie practically shrieks and pushes against Butch’s arm, urging him to hurry when the Mirelurk picks up speed and barrels toward them. Butch nods and fights the urge to run, taking a breath and bracing for the recoil as he lines up his shot. Jamie flinches when he hears the crack! of the rounds exploding from the gun and shattering the vulnerable part of the Mirelurk’s fragile front shell. His ears ring from the close proximity of the shot and he grimaces, about to cover them until he realizes the monster is still running full speed toward them. Shit!

He grabs Butch and tackles him to the ground, shoving them out of the way as the huge, mutated crab stumbles past them at an alarming speed and crashes hard into the shore. It lies there face-first in a mound in the sand and they watch it with wild eyes from their position on the ground, ready to book it at any hint of movement, but it’s motionless and quiet – dead.

Jamie rolls off of Butch and flops down next to him, both of them looking up at the endless expanse of bright blue sky as they struggle to catch their breaths.

“Still think fishing is boring?” Jamie snaps and Butch begins to laugh again, the sound starting as a snort and bubbling slowly from his chest before he’s full-on wheezing with laughter. Jamie sits up and looks down at him like he’s insane.

“What about this was funny?!” He asks, shaking Butch’s shoulder. He can’t help but return the grin, though. Seeing Butch happy always manages to make him smile. Butch wipes his hand down his face as he sits up, slinging the shotgun over his shoulder and hopping to his feet. He reaches down to pull Jamie up with him, a huge shit-eating grin on his face.

Jamie’s ears suddenly feel hot as he watches Butch, noticing the endearing gap between his two front teeth and the splash of sun freckles over his now sand-dusted face. He swallows, his heart racing. “What?” He repeats again, his throat dry.

“I caught a motherfucking fish.” Butch beams even more and looks incredibly proud of himself as they turn and walk over to his ‘catch.’ He kicks it with the toe of his boot a few times just to ease his own worries of it springing back to life.

“It’s not a fish! It’s a crab, they’re different.” Jamie argues and crouches down, grabbing the edge of the Mirelurk’s shell with Butch as they flip it over with a heave. Jamie doesn’t mention that technically he did catch it with a fishing pole, and that technically they are going to have it for dinner. He doesn’t want to give Butch the satisfaction, especially considering the only thing he got out of this trip is his collection of stones and driftwood that was currently crushed under their broken canoe.

“It counts.” Butch says, the grin still plastered on his face. He pulls a combat knife out of a holster on his belt and settles down on his knees in the sand, tapping the sharp edge of it against the shell. “Look at this bad boy. You ever see a white one before?”

“It’s an albino, I guess.” Jamie says, leaning close to inspect it. He lifts the claw that’s tangled in their fishing line. “What a mess, we aren’t salvaging this.” He drops it back into the sand with a thud.

“The fuck’s an albino?” Butch asks as he cuts into their prize, grimacing and holding back a gag as he begins to butcher it. Mirelurk is good meat, but it reeks when it’s fresh.

“You know, like that one story Brotch made us read in like 8th grade, Moby Dick? It was about that sea captain and the giant albino whale.” Jamie snickers and walks the few paces back to their canoe. He flips it right-side-up with some effort and drags their valuables out of the muddy water, clicking his tongue in disappointment when he notices their bags are completely soaked through. “You’re lucky he didn’t eat your leg.” He teases.

Butch looks back at him and pouts, blowing a messy curl of his hair out of his eyes. “Yeah, I never read anything ol’ Brotch assigned. Waste of time. Like it would’ve taught me anything useful out here.” He grumbles.

Jamie laughs and drops their stuff next to a rock outcropping near their canoe. It looks like it would provide some decent shelter against the wind and by the looks of their soaking clothes and supplies, they’ll have to stay the night unless they want to catch hypothermia. “Maybe it could’ve taught ya how to catch a real fish.”

“It still counts as a catch!” Butch whines.

“It’s not a fish.” Jamie shoots back in a sing-song voice, biting his tongue to hold back the huge grin that threatens to break through. Butch jumps up from what he’s doing and turns to him, his face red, but mirroring the same smile that Jamie is trying so hard to hold back.

“It. Counts.” Butch grits between clenched teeth puts his combat knife away, buttoning the sheathe into place against his hip. They stare at each other for a moment, their eyes locked in a staring match. Jamie’s grin finally breaks free.

“Does no-“he cuts himself off with a yelp as Butch lunges for him playfully. He laughs so hard he thinks his chest might burst as he takes off in a run down the beach, Butch hot on his heels as he begins to chase him.

He knows Butch’s legs are much longer than his, but he can hold his own – at least for a little while. And even though the inevitable ending is Butch catching him in a tackle, he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy it. It’s something they’ve done since they were boys stumbling around in the grey fluorescence of the vault, constantly finding their way back to each other like it was fate, and it feels like home.

[dabis-azure-songstress]

Dabi x SelfHarm!/Depressed Reader

Alright, Love Bugs...here’s the one I have been working extremely hard on. I’m a recovering self harmer and I just wanted to give other people like me and how I used to be some extra love. I hope this helps just one person and I will feel like posting this was worth it. Dabi is himself one this, but he’s actually trying to comfort the reader. When I was cutting, sometimes all I wanted was just someone to talk to and a friend. I’ve had people get mad at me for going to them and literally voicing how ashamed they were. This creation stems from that and I hope it helps. If you really need help, please reach out for it. @kericacathouse I hope you don’t mind me tagging you, I know you wanted to read it. And please let me know as a fellow person that has had trouble.

Pairing: Dabi x SelfHarm!/Depressed Reader

TRIGGERS: Self harm in the form of cutting is described explicitly and the feelings I have felt related to it are described. This may seriously trigger you and I don’t want anyone to have a relapse, please. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE! I’m trying to help, not make it worse!

WARNING: Self-Harm, Depression, somewhat soft Dabi

The cold metal of a razor blade shakes in your hand as you stare at it. An extreme concoction of buried feelings, long stifled, is bubbling up and you can’t bear to swallow them down anymore. Embarrassment, shame, anger, hatred, disgust, sadness, loneliness, wanting to be alone/wanting someone to just be with you, wanting to end it, and just wanting to live your best. Your inner voice ranges from bitter “failure”s, “stupid”s, “no one cares”, “they’ll be happy you’re gone, you’re nothing” to “just one more cut...then I’ll stop” and “it’ll feel so good”. You can feel the bile rising into your throat slightly. Your hand slowly moves and the cold metal is biting into the delicate skin of your thigh or wrist with precise force behind it. You suddenly jerk it quickly and finish the new addition (and rapidly a few more, it never seems to stop with just one), breath shakily leaving your lips and head slightly falling back. Shame, relief, pleasure, and the familiar stinging floods up along with the crimson liquid rising to the newborn slices. Questions also begin to infiltrate through the haziness of your mind. Why did I do that? Why do I hurt myself? Why does it feel so damn good every single time I possibly might just kill myself? It’s such a thrill and utterly relieving simultaneously. People could have their alcohol, crack, heroine. This was your drug of choice. Your sweet, yet utterly terrifying addiction.

You’re still slightly rolling on endorphins when the door to the bathroom pushes open and familiar beautiful and glowing turquoise eyes fall on you. Your partner had needed to relieve himself and was about to tell you to “piss off” before he put two and two together. “What are you doing?” Heat floods up your spine and then freezes ice cold. You hadn’t thought of being caught, only thought of your medicine for dealing with the world. You thought he was mad at first, but the expression on his face was relaxed and he was just normal/usual Dabi, though his eyes seemed to hold a softer gleam.

He moves and plops down against the wall beside you, head tilted back against it with one knee pulled up and his arm resting on it while the other leg stretches out in front of him. Dabi grabs the razor from the floor and glances at you and the metal languidly. “You shouldn’t do this.” His tone still isn’t angry and he’s not freaking out an ounce. “I know...Aren’t you mad at me?”

“Mad? Why would I be mad? Why would I make your pain any worse? You probably feel upset and ashamed enough for the both of us.” You felt the tears well up in your eyes and shook under the weight of your heaving sobs. He actually understands? Dabi frowns and carefully drapes an arm around you. “Don’t cry, baby doll. I don’t like the water works.” He’s not being mean and his tone stays quite soft.

You try to reel yourself in and it’s quiet for a moment before he finally speaks up again. “I’m sorry your pain runs this deep. Someone like you should never feel like this is the only answer. I get it though. Once you get started it’s hard to stop and you cling to the relief it gives you.”

“Y-you...”

Dabi releases a long sigh before he’s using the arm not around you to point carefully to certain scars under his large ones that you can still see if you look closely enough. “I get it. I really do. But...please don’t do this to yourself anymore. A doll face like you should be smiling all the time. You deserve to be happy. And these feelings you feel now are valid too. I get you can’t be happy and smiling all the time. This place can be super fucked up, but...if you need someone to rely on and talk to, if you feel like you have no one, I am standing right beside you.”

You glance at him to see he’s already looking at you and staring directly into your eyes. ��D-Dabi...”

“C’mon, don’t get all gushy on me now,” he teases. “I’m serious though, doll. If you feel like this again, come find me. Call me. Anything. You will never bother me. Fight those demons and live for me. It’d be a hell of a lot more dull without someone as bright as you around. So, fight it. If you slip up every once in a while, that’s ok too. It happens. You can tell me that too. I’m not going to tear into you for it. It’s absolutely okay to not be okay. You’ll get there. You can recover. Promise me.”

“I...I promise...” It felt as if some heavy weight had been completely pushed off your shoulders. “Good. Now let’s get those cleaned up and get some bandages on you. Then you’re really going to have to get out of here because I have really got to pee. You can go wait in my room or something.” You chuckled softly as he grabbed a few things from the medicine cabinet. He cleaned you up and got you all set before he finally ushered you out of the bathroom and pointed to his room.

There you went and waited. You never thought you’d ever have a best friend like you did in Dabi. He was extremely easy to talk to and always listened to what you had to say. He had even managed to give you a few tight hugs to let you cry it out to him. He always acknowledged how you felt, no matter how fucked up you thought you were for it. He made you feel completely normal and like nothing was wrong. You didn’t feel alone. And you actually fit in somewhere. You weren’t some freak just because of how you were feeling. And slowly with him, you started to get better and conquer yourself. Sometimes it really is okay to not be okay.

[name-me-regret]

If The World Was Ending 4/?

If The World Was Ending Chapter Four: Los Angeles, I’m Yours

Read on AO3.

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

“There is a city by the sea A gentle company I don't suppose you want to?

And as it tells its sorry tale In harrowing detail Its hollowness will haunt you

Its streets and boulevards Orphans and oligarchs A plaintive melody Truncated symphony. An ocean's garbled vomit on the shore Los Angeles, I'm yours...”

~ Los Angeles, I'm Yours - The Decemberists

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

‘Hey, Buck, it’s me. I just want you to tell Christopher I’ll be a little late picking him up, got our hands full here. It’s a good thing you’re missing it. Hope you guys are having fun.’

Buck was exhausted and lightheaded, but constantly looking for the boy with curls and a smile bright enough to light up a room. “Hey! There’s a kid under here!” a woman yelled.

“Christopher?” he exclaims, desperately clinging to any hope that it’s the little boy he’s looking for. “Hey! Hey, guys!” He hurries over, water sloshing around his legs and the Chris’s glasses hanging around his neck. “Hey, hey, big guy! Me and you, come on!” A man that’s almost four inches taller than him (which is impressive since he’s 6’2, hurries to help him. “All right, three, two, one. Go!”

They lift the heavy sign off the child, and as the others cheer and help them stand up, his hope is crushed when he sees it’s a twelve year old girl, not Christopher. The woman consoles the crying girl and Buck sighs in deep seeded exhaustion.

When someone says they might have seen Christopher at a Cupcakery on Strand, he forgets his fatigue and is moving again. He’s so wrapped up in wanting to find Chris and already numb, that he doesn’t notice that the edge of the sign has cut his arm pretty deeply.

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Tony landed at a gas station, the water having receded, but the debris has done damage to the pumps and some were leaking. After pushing the emergency shut off button, he called it in and put up caution tape he’d snagged from a Home Depot store blocking off the driveway. Hopefully people would stay away, since there was a lot of spilled gas.

“Iron Man, there’s a fire at a Shell Gas Station on West Century Blvd,” he heard a woman’s voice from dispatch. He had just gotten back in the air as the call came in, heading toward the areas still heavily flooded with water. He was about to go put that fire out but saw a little boy in a yellow t-shirt sitting on top a car. “J, put out that fire out, I have eyes on a child in need of rescuing.”

He swooped down as the boy lifted his eyes to the sky, his small face covered in mud but looking relatively unharmed. Tony landed next to the car, making sure not to land too hard and risk upsetting the water and possibly knocking him over. “Hey, buddy,” he said, the faceplate lifting up.

“You’re Iron Man,” he said with a bright smile that made Tony smile as well.

“I sure am, what’s your name?”

“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” he told him, making Tony grin again. He had an adorable lisp, and it made his heart melt. Despite what they said about him, he liked kids. It’s just that he feared turning out like Howard and messing up the life of an innocent child that made him never want to become a dad.

“That’s true and your mom and dad are smart for having taught you that.” He could tell he was having a hard time keeping his head up, and he didn’t think it was from fatigue. Maybe a disability.

“My mom... she’s gone,” he told Tony with a sad, quiet voice.

“Well, my mom is gone too, and my dad.” He sat on the front of the car, and besides shifting a bit, it didn’t move too much under the weight of the armor. “It’s okay to be sad, you know?” The kid nodded, squinting at his face. “How about this, my name is Tony. Now you know my name, besides being Iron Man. Is it okay to give me your name now? Or your dad‘s name?”

“I’m Chris,” he finally said.

“Alright, well, let’s get you to the nearest hospital, Chris. The nice people there will make sure you’re not hurt and get you home, okay?” He reached out and gently picked him up, the kid gripping his shoulders a bit clumsily.

When Tony took to the air, he made sure not to go too fast. If he did, he might hurt Chris and that’s the last thing he wanted. That meant it was slow going, but it also allowed him to hear Chris as he cried out joyfully at flying.

Tony smiled at his resilience, and was sure Chris was going to be alright.

The man took him to the field hospital they’d set up at the decommissioned VA hospital on Sawtelle, handing him over to a nurse, who was in charge of the kids; getting their names and the names of their family to reunite them later. “Stay strong, kid,” he told him. “I’m sure your dad will find you soon.”

“Bye, Tony,” Chris said as he waved at him as he was carried away.

“Cute kid,” he hummed, before blasting back into the air despite his tiredness to continue helping more people.

That’s how he spent the rest of the day, putting out fires and rescuing anyone that was trapped or stranded, and unfortunately finding a lot of corpses in the water. He hated to move on after tagging them, but there were other, living people that needed him. Tony nearly lost it when he found a drowned infant and he couldn’t just leave her, cradling the tiny body in his arms and carrying her to the nearest hospital.

He had to take a break then before he fell apart completely, stepping out of the suit for the first time in several hours. There were several relief workers also taking a break and he sat with them as they welcomed him and tried to hand him some rations. “I uh...” he hesitated, fighting back a full body shudder that went through him as memories of being poisoned as a child filled his head. He’d taught himself never to take anything that was handed to him ever again. “I don’t... like to be handed things,” he finally managed to say.

The woman, a few years older than him, smiled and nodded, setting the rations down on the seat next to him. Tony was grateful, since he usually got derisive looks or sneers from people that thought Tony was just a stuck up rich person. The woman’s eyes were kind, and maybe she saw that it was from a trauma, or maybe she didn’t. He was just grateful when she made no comment.

After a moment, he grabbed the rations and the bottle of lukewarm water. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d eaten, so he scarfed down the dry protein bar and chugged the bottle of water. The sun was starting to sink as they shot the breeze, Tony making a note to set up a relief fund for not only the people affected by the tsunami, but also the ones working tirelessly to help those in need.

It was almost half an hour after sunset that he stood and bade them farewell, stepping into his suit and going off to help once again. He was sore and exhausted, but there were so many people still out there that needed someone. If he had to, he’d be that someone. Although, he figured after an hour or two he’d take a longer break, and maybe drop by Evan’s house to finally reassure himself of his safety.

As he was flying over Oceanside, he heard Captain Nash calling for medical transportation for 17 people, recognizing his voice almost immediately. He wouldn’t be able to carry that many, but maybe he could help. As he touched down, he scanned the area and immediately saw the downed light post, sparks flying from it, and even more alarming is when JARVIS indicated the leaking gasoline truck. Bobby immediately hurried over to him as soon as he landed. “Tony, we could really use your help,” the man says.

He wasn’t sure what he could do to help, but he could see the strain on his face, both from worry and fatigue from a long day working, so Tony would do what he could. “If it’s within my capabilities, then I’ll do what I can, Cap,” he told him. The man usually liked to work on his own if he wasn’t with Rhodey, the Avengers having been a one hit wonder that hadn’t panned anything. After all, no one had come to help him when the Mandarin had destroyed his house and he’d been presumed dead. However, it was different with Nash and his people. They all looked dirty and tired, having been working all day. The crew of the 118, and a lot more other rescue personnel had been working tirelessly to save people, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to help them when they asked for his help. He motioned toward the light post. “I imagine it has to do with that Sword of Damocles over there? And the truck leaking gasoline?”

Bobby was momentarily surprised, but shook it off before he nodded. “Yes... you know, one of my men called it just that.”

Tony smirked. “I‘ll have to meet him when we aren’t sitting on a potential explosion that could kill everyone here.”

The Captain nodded. “Well, I’ve sent two of my firefighters to acquire some vehicles, but I would feel so much better if the gasoline could possibly be neutralized.”

His mind was going a mile of minute, wondering if it would be better to douse the gasoline with kitty litter, or try and move the lamp post up and out of the way. Tony must have been talking out loud without realizing it, meaning he was more tired than he thought.

“Wait, are you sure you won’t get electrocuted?” Bobby knew the man was a superhero, and had faced many dangers, which included terrorists and even aliens. However, he wasn’t invincible, and he was just as human as Bobby was underneath his high-tech suit.

“Not to worry, Cap my suit once took a hit from Thor’s lighting and I’m still here. I’ve had 36 suit upgrades since then,” he said with a smile. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Famous last words,” the man said with a strained smile.

“Bobby, are you making a joke about my possible potential death?” he asked with mock shock, then gave him a wink as the face plate snapped closed before the man could respond. He flew toward the lamp post, grunting as he felt the shock of the electricity surge through the suit. It wasn’t as bad as when Thor had blasted him, but it was constant until he lifted the lamp post and away a bit.

‘Power at four hundred percent capacity,’ JARVIS intoned like deja vu.

Tony chuckled as he moved away from the light post, the thrusters in his boots keeping him in the air and not touching the gasoline that had already spread this far. He gave the thrusters more power as he went higher into the air. “J, give me the location of the nearest pet shop.” Tony figured that the best thing to do was bury it in non-flammable kitty litter and hope for the best.

“Alright, Cap, I’ve bought you some time, but try and hurry your men,” he told him over the frequency. He hadn’t seen Diaz among them, so perhaps he was one of the ones that had gone to get some form of transportation.

He flew there as fast as he could, knowing the others were on borrowed time. The window of the PetSmart he arrived at had it’s glass doors still intact. “Remind me to pay for these doors, J,” he said as he crashed through them in a rain of glass shards and metal. He went to the cat’s section, and the lights were out but he had flood lights on his suit, and night vision on his HUD. Tony yanked a shopping cart along and started to pile inside several bags of kitty litter, as much as would fit inside the cart. He rolled it outside and then hurried over next door to the hardware store,. “I hope they don’t try to arrest me for looting.” He grabbed two tubes of sealant that he put in a bag and dumped it into the shopping cart, making another note to pay for everything he was taking. “Next time I’m going to aim for a Sam’s or a Costco,” he sighed, lifting the cart.

It was harder to fly back at high speeds without losing the kitty liter, but he managed without dropping a single bag. He cursed when he saw that the lamp post had fallen despite his best efforts, the sparks making the gasoline catch fire, and he dropped the cart. Tony didn’t want to move the post again, so he grabbed one of the ten pounds bags and tore it open before he upended it over the flames. This particular brand was made from bentonite clay, which meant it wasn’t flammable. He managed to douse the flames with a second and third bag, but to make sure it didn’t catch fire anytime soon, he used every single bag to spread it over most of the area around the lamp post. He also got the sealant and after managing to lift the truck at an angle where the gas wasn’t spilling, used both tubes of the white plaster like sealant so make sure no more would spill. When that was done and he carefully set it back down, waited a moment to make sure it wasn’t still spilling, and then used the caution tape someone had left behind to wrap around the whole area. Just to be sure.

He saw the firefighters of the 118 loading the patients into what appeared to be mail trucks and was amused. “Alright, Cap, threat neutralized for now, but I suggest you double time it out of here,” he told him. He knew that neither he or Bobby were military, but he remembered that the guy with the nametag Diaz had a military bearing to his movements. If he hadn’t served, then he’d eat his own helmet.

“Thank you for your help, Iron Man,” he radioed back.

“Neither rain, nor snow, nor tsunami, Captain Nash,” he joked.

He heard a groan on the other end. “I hope you and Chimney never meet and become friends,” a woman’s voice said over the radio.

Tony chuckled to himself as he continued on. As he went over the city where no lights were on except the occasional fire, he felt his eyesight go dark. If it wasn’t for JARVIS taking over, he’d have crashed, and as it was, he was disoriented as he came back around, and realized that he’d fallen asleep mid-flight.

Well, he guessed it was time for that break he promised himself, and changed course toward Evan’s house. Tony didn’t have many actual friends, since people always wanted him for either money, fame, or in the case of Sunset, to steal SI prototypes. So, wanted to make sure one of the few friends he had was fine, since he wouldn’t deny that he’d been thinking about him ever since this morning.

So, he was looking forward to seeing his friend face to face after all these years.-