#Belt Not Included because as far as i can tell it's just an Actual (Removable) Belt

[postmakerkiwi]

MORAL OF THE STORY: Amazon is made of Meat

hi i finally managed to Actually Make the Metal:Meat charts for the first two pairs of Riders that I've been thinking about for . Months . Here Have This

[gascon-en-exil]

a non-FE question from a person with a tenuous familial connection to quebec (anglo father adopted by a québécois couple) who's always curious about the different francophone experiences: my dad spent a lot of time in new orleans and loved it, but how do the new orleans francophones generally regard the québécois? are there any particular culture clashes?

Unfortunately there aren't many actual culture clashes because there's so little contact. Louisiana and Québec are separated by thousands of kilometers and a national border, and everything from vastly different climates to separate experience with resisting forced assimilation has caused us to diverge from one another quite substantially. I'm glad that I've made friends in Québec, and it seems like every week we're discovering some point of commonality we share in spite of everything that divides us, but that's an entirely personal connection that I sought out myself. Just a few days ago for example a few of them were sharing this post on Facebook:

and they asked me to tell them more about Louisiana king cakes, our spin on the traditional French galettes des rois which are still prepared in Québec apparently just as they are in France.

But let's see if I can condense our biggest differences to some bullet points.

Language: Québec is well known for being a majority French-speaking province, whereas Louisiana is...not. Practically all of the Louisianais are fluent English speakers, because starting from the 1870s French in Louisiana was stigmatized and systemically excluded from education, business, and politics. In recent decades there have been attempts at reviving the language, but they've been slow to take root without a foundation in the home to build upon. Both the Louisianais and Québécois practice code switching (the linguistic term for switching between languages in casual conversation), albeit in opposite ways. The Québécois speak mostly French but will include occasional English words and phrases in their speech, whereas as mentioned the Louisianais primarily communicate in English but use a variety of French terms and names as well as direct English translations of French not used in standard English (ex. "making groceries," a literal translation of faire les courses). This stark contrast is because of...

Population and politics: I won't pretend to understand the Québécois political system in any real depth. I do get however that a large part of the reason that they've been able to maintain a limited degree of autonomy as well as preserve their language is that ethnic French people vastly outnumber Anglos in Québec, and Québec constitutes a much larger percentage of Canada's population and economy than Louisiana does the US's, even back in the 19th century when New Orleans was a much larger city relative to the rest of the US than it is today. Beginning shortly after the Louisiana Purchase, Anglo-Americans began moving into northern and central Louisiana, establishing settlements and slowly pushing southward toward and even into New Orleans. This combined with various political maneuvers that progressively weakened Creole control in the area - splitting what are now coastal Mississippi and Alabama, which had initially been settled by the French, off from Louisiana, moving the capital from New Orleans to a then-barely-inhabited upriver border fort: Baton Rouge, which is mostly Anglo-populated despite the name - resulted in the Louisianais having far less control over our own state than what the Québécois have. Compound that with the aforementioned stigmatization of the French language, and many of the Louisianais have been left feeling disenfranchised and unwilling to participate in national politics. Louisiana is a "red state," in US political parlance, because its biggest voting demographic consists of the very same sort of people that make up the surrounding Bible Belt. Speaking of...

Religion: Québec had its Quiet Revolution in the 1960s, largely removing the presence of the Catholic Church and moving closer to France's model of laïcité/secularism. By contrast, Catholicism is still a highly visible element of life and culture in southern Louisiana, and Catholic education continues to be the standard in New Orleans. This is down to several factors, ranging from the poor quality of public services (not helped, surely, by the voters of northern Louisiana who like US conservatives in general recoil in horror from anything that might be dubbed socialism) to a matter of cultural preservation. The Bible Belt is an aggressively Protestant region, dominated by denominations that have historically held Catholics in poor regard. The US at large also has a long history of anti-Catholic discrimination, particularly in large cities like Boston and Chicago where Catholic immigrants formed a large percentage of the working classes. Southern Louisiana, however, has been majority Catholic since the colony's founding over three centuries ago, and presided over by specifically Latin Catholics in spirit if not in actual practice for all that time. The Louisianais have used that to make allies of other Catholic populations who've moved here, mostly the Spanish and Italians but also more recent immigrants like the Vietnamese. While I wouldn't describe most of us as religious in the sense that the US conceives of that term (I'm certainly not), Catholicism is still a crucial part of our heritage and the preservation of this region as a cultural enclave. I've had trolls calling me a conservative religious nut job because I call myself a Catholic, and yet ironically here we associate the Church with the city's decadent and libertine atmosphere. The focus on visual aesthetics, the relaxed attitude toward alcohol and sex and even sin itself...it's all in sharp contrast to the austerity of Bible Belt Protestants who descend upon New Orleans at regular intervals to protest Mardi Gras and Decadence and call us the new Sodom and Gomorrah, etc. And finally...

Climate: I said it before and it's a comparatively much more straightforward issue, but it really does make a difference. When we're in the height of our social season courtesy of mild subtropical winters, Québec is buried under snow. The reverse is true in summer, which in Louisiana is long and lethally hot and humid and plagued by disease-bearing insects and the ever-present threat of hurricanes. This has also affected our cuisine. Louisiana has a rich and internationally-recognized culinary tradition that builds upon a French foundation with a wealth of local innovations based on crops that thrive in this climate as well as the bounty of the Gulf of Mexico. Québec has...poutine. Obviously I'm joking a bit there, but it's telling that there are multiple Louisiana-themed eateries in Montréal - but the reverse is not true. I've always heard that hot weather climates produce richer and more diverse cuisines than cold weather climates, and I suppose that in this case at least it's true.

[sunlight-moonrise]

Sugar, Spice, and Everything (Not So) Nice (Reid Imagine)

Summary: Being a Barista and falling for a regular is as cliche as it gets. Having that customer become your new professor? Not so much. 

A/N: *Peeks head out* Hello everyone. I have come back from my unannounced hiatus to show off this baby. Major thanks to @definitelynotkatesblog​ and @clean-bands-dirty-stories​ for helping me put this fic together. This was written for the lovely @httpnxtt​ for the secret-fic-swap in the Discord (thanks @imagining-in-the-margins​.) I hope you all enjoy this smutty goodness. 

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: Face Slapping, Degradation, Slight Hair Pulling, Oral Sex (male receiving), Fingering, Spanking, Penetrative Sex, Unprotected Sex/Creampie

Word Count: 6.4K

Masterlist

Being a barista is pretty awesome. Sure, there were bitchy customers and super early mornings but it had it’s redeeming perks. We got free coffee, tea, and snacks during our shifts, which served the caffeine addict in me. I also learned how to make popular lattes, mochas, and frappes that I ended up making at home for myself one too many times. While there were the occasional assholes who couldn’t appear human before getting their hands on some caffeine, there were the regulars who made it worth it. Most of the regulars were so sweet, I appreciated a familiar face when they came in. Some.. more than others.

“He’s baaaaaaaaack,” my coworker Hazel whispered to me in a sing-song voice as she scribbled a customer’s name on a cup. I turned to see who she was talking about, but I already had an inkling about who it was.

My suspicions were correct. I turned to see one of our kindest regulars, my personal favorite customer, Dr. Spencer Reid. Is it weird to know the full name -including the honorific- of a customer? Possibly. But when I’d asked for his name to write on his cup the first time he came in, he accidentally gave me his full name. 

“Dr. Reid- uh, Spencer. Sorry, work habit.” He stuttered, avoiding my eyes after the mistake.

“No worries! What can I get started for you?”

As a Criminology major,  I learned to study the people who catch my attention before indulging them. Call it an old habit. 

Dr. Spencer Reid had earned his title and then some. He’d joined the FBI at only 22, having six degrees under his belt by the age of 27. He’d written several dissertations and co-wrote novels with his colleague, David Rossi. Someone with his reputation could be a pompous ass and have a leg to stand on, which is what made his humbled demeanor so much sweeter. He was also incredibly easy on the eyes, which was a nice little bow on top. 

Hazel liked to joke about how we’d make a cute couple but I know she only did it to watch me get flustered.  

I walked towards the counter to take his order, leaving Hazel with the task of refilling the caramel syrup. I’m always the one to help him since he very aptly pointed out that I’m the only one who makes his coffee just how he likes it.  

Some days, he’d let me surprise him with a random creation. I’d confirm if he wanted caffeine (he always did), iced or not, and any flavor requests. He’d take his drink, tip me handsomely and let me know his thoughts on the drink the next time he came in. So far, his favorite was the almond milk honey latte I’d concocted. It was nice to have a little bit of fun, especially with regulars who were as consistent as him.

“Hey Doc, what can I get ya’?” I asked.

“The usual, please,” he said with a smile. I nodded and set off to make his drink: a venti dark roast with a shit ton of sugar, a dash of nutmeg, and a tiny bit of cinnamon.

“Of course!” I quickly go to fill his order, making sure to put a complimentary treat in a bag for him. I know he had the ultimate sweet tooth so I try to sneak him a confection whenever I can. At first, he was a bit reluctant to take the free pastries, but nowadays he usually smiles when he sees the small bag. 

“Here ya’ go.” I handed him his steamy cup of caffeine along with the little treat, seeing him smile at the small pun I add to his cup, “Have a BREW-tiful day, Doctor!” I watched as his lips landed on the rim of the cup, taking a long sip of the hot coffee. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, the sight making my cheeks promptly flush. I cleared my throat before asking, “Is it good?”

“It’s always good when you make it,” he stated matter of factly, a small smile touching his lips. The heat in my cheeks rose again. “Will you be taking a course this summer?” he asked, taking another sip of his coffee.

“Yeah, I’m really looking forward to it. My first day is actually later today. I’m surprised the class section was open, to be honest.” Super surprised actually. I’d been trying to enroll in this class for the past couple of semesters but it was always full by the time I was able to even load the registration page.

“Well, I’ll wish you luck, but I’m sure you won’t need it.”

“How can you be so sure?” 

“I can just tell.” He stated calmly, like it was common knowledge. I raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to explain. Before he could respond, an insistent cough caught both of our attention. I peeked over Spencer’s shoulder to see a customer waiting for his order to be taken. I turned my attention back to the Doctor, an annoyed look painted on my face. He nodded, taking a hint from the impatient mouth breather behind him. 

“Thank you for the coffee. Enjoy the rest of your day. I hope that class goes well.”

“Bye, you too.” I waved, watching as he exited the door. I turned to the waiting customer, a bit miffed that he interrupted our conversation. But because I was at work, I plastered a fake smile on my face so that he wouldn’t see just how annoyed I was. “Welcome, how may I help you?”

●●●

After clocking out at 2:30 PM, I made a dash for the building where my class would be held. It’s not supposed to start for another half-hour, but I wanted to be sure to get there in time to choose a good seat and settle in before the rest of the class arrived.

Luckily room 301 was relatively empty so I was able to score a perfect seat by the window. I decided to kill some time by listening to some music and doodling randomly in my notebook. Some time had passed when I felt someone take the seat next to me. I turned to see a young man occupying the chair beside mine. He looked to be a frat boy based on the Greek letters he was sporting. Who wears a cap and hoodie in this weather? I really hope he didn’t expect to cheat off of me- although these types of guys always seem to do so.

I was about to return to my doodle when I felt a poke on my shoulder. I turned to give the offender my full attention, removing one of the earbuds from my ears. 

“Hey, I’m Tony,” frat boy said, with a wide smile adorning his face. I must admit, his boyish grin melted the slight annoyance I had begun to stir toward him. I returned his greeting and introduced myself as well. “I don’t mean to be a bother,” he continued, “but I like to have at least one buddy in each of my classes. In case we need help or miss an assignment or something.”

I nodded my head - a friend in a class was always useful when it came to studying and swapping notes. We chatted a bit more, learning about each other’s major and why we both decided to take a summer course. Tony is a double major and this course will satisfy the credits he needs for his psychology requirement. This is why you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. 

It wasn’t until I heard the hush of the classroom that I realized the class was about to begin. I turned back to my notebook, preparing to jot down some important information despite it being the first day of class.

“Good morning class.” Wait. That voice... I didn’t even need to pick my head up to know who had spoken. “This is Criminal Psychology and I am your instructor, Doctor Spencer Reid. Unfortunately, Professor Monroe could not cover this course so I’ll be his permanent replacement. Now…”

I raised my head, watching as he continued to talk about what is to be expected in this course while a TA handed out the syllabus. He went on, able to capture the attention of everyone while speaking of the experiences he had with an array of criminals. His eyes scanned the room and for a brief moment I thought they would land on me, but they continued to take in the mass amount of students before him.

My concentration was broken by Tony passing me a copy of the syllabus. I scanned it over, making sure to highlight all the important dates. I didn’t want any exams or projects conflicting with my work schedule. I also made note of how the overall grade system is broken down. The whole thing seems pretty fair and everything was spaced out enough where I wouldn’t feel too overwhelmed with the workload.

“… and that pretty much wraps it up. Does anyone have any questions?” I tuned in just as he was pulling the first class to a close. No one raised their hands, so he dismissed us with a reminder to read the first chapter of the textbook and to check for any emails.

“So do you want to grab lunch?” Tony asked from beside me. I contemplated whether or not to go with him. He must have seen the hesitation in my face because he quickly added, “Not as a date or anything, I just wanted to grab a bite and I didn’t want to do it alone.”

“Sure,” I smiled, “Let me just ask the professor a quick question about his office hours and I’ll meet you at the food court.”

“Sweet, I’ll see you in a bit.” With that, Tony gathered his stuff and exited the back door. 

I focused my attention on the podium, seeing a gaggle of girls surrounding him asking redundant questions. From what I could hear, their questions could have been answered if they’d read the syllabus. I decided to give them the benefit of the doubt, they were probably more focused on him rather than what he was saying during class. I waited a few more minutes for them to finish up before I made my way to him.

“So do I call you Doctor or Professor now?” I laughed. 

“From you, I’d respond to either,” he replied warmly. The comment made me blush. If he looked into my eyes at that moment, he’d see more stars in them than the night sky. I bit my lip to stop the idiotic grin from spreading across my face. 

He’s your professor, get a hold of yourself.

“How can I help?” he asked, bringing me back to the original reason as to why I was standing in front of him without a cash register between us. 

I cleared my throat. “Um, I was wondering if it was possible to see you outside your normal office hours? I usually work the morning shifts and I don’t want to flood your emails with my questions.” I asked.

“Of course,” he said. “You can come to my office at whatever time works best for you. I know balancing a work and school schedule can be hard. Besides, I’m usually there handling paperwork anyway.” He gave a small shrug, pushing his hands in his pockets. 

“Thank you so much. I look forward to the rest of the semester Professor Reid.” I liked the way his newfound honorific rolled off my tongue. 

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

“Goodbye, Professor.” With that, I left and headed out to meet Tony. 

I was able to find him at the food court. We got some food and chatted more about our classes as well as life outside of school. He made it easy to be his friend, and it was nice having someone to talk to. He works as a waiter so we shared our customer service horror stories and tales of sneaking food at work. It was a nice distraction that took my mind off of Dr. Reid and the ongoing battle of calling him Doctor or Professor. As Tony rambled, my mind wandered about other things I’d like to call Spencer instead. 

●●●

In that short span of two weeks, we already had an exam, an oral presentation, and a report on the psychoanalysis of serial killers. Not one day had been wasted, but this is what to be expected from a summer course. The essay was due the day before. Now we had to wait for our grades which gave us a moment to take a breath.

I was worried that my paper was subpar; especially since I chose to write about Andrei Chikatilo, a serial killer from Ukraine. He wasn’t as popular as those in America, so I ended up spending hours on deep research to find substantial information about his crimes. It also didn’t help that some of the original reports weren’t in English. I had worked hard, and hoped Professor Reid would see that, even if my writing could sometimes be a little weak. I was worried about the grade as our research papers held the weight of 20% of our final mark. 

“Hello? Earth to Y/N! Anyone in there?” Hazel’s voice pierced through my worry bubble, her hand waving in front of my face. I shook my head, trying to focus on restocking the coffee beans.

“Sorry Haze, I’m thinking about this class.”

“Funny you say that; your favorite professor just walked in. Thought you might want to take his order.” She wagged her brows at me, making kissy faces as I hurried to the front register, trying my best to not let my eagerness be so glaringly obvious.

There he was, in his usual handsome glory, patiently waiting for me to take his order. He greeted me with a small smile that I happily returned.

“Hey Doc, what can I get you today?”

He debated for a moment before saying, “Surprise me.”

“Gotcha.” I already had an in my head; it’d been a while since he asked me to make him a random drink so I’d had plenty of time to plan. We got an early shipment of ingredients for our fall-themed drinks and I figured he would appreciate some pumpkin spice in his caffeine. “How are the papers coming along?” I asked casually as I rang him up.

“Pretty well. I’m almost done, so you’ll all receive your grades later today.” Wow, that was fast. I wondered if he stayed up reading all those papers to be done by today. Probably not, a TA must have helped him.

“I am a bit nervous about mine, especially since it’s worth a huge part of our final grade.” I really wanted to get an A in this course, but it was hard juggling everything in such a short amount of time.

“Don’t worry about it too much,” he reassured. “I haven’t properly finished yours yet but it looked great just from what I’ve seen thus far.” His words gave me a little reassurance.

“Thanks. I put a lot of effort into it. Let me grab your coffee now.” Spencer walked towards the pick-up station while I grabbed a venti cup for his drink. Just when I was about to make his order, I saw another familiar face come up to the register. “Tony, hey!” I shouted, placing the cup back down, “What can I get you?” 

This was the first time he’d been here, despite him saying for the past few days that he’d stop by for a visit, even with the promise of a cake pop if he did. It was nice to see another familiar face.

“Hey coffee girl, how you doin’ today?”

“Just peachy. My feet are killing me, though.” Just saying the words caused the ache on the soles of my feet to spike higher. I thanked my lucky stars I was almost done with this eight-hour shift.

“Give me the chance to sweep you off your feet, I promise you won’t regret it.” he offered boldly. It wasn’t the first time he’d joked about taking me out. I laughed, especially since he had a girlfriend. She met us for lunch one day and we became fast friends- she was an incredibly sweet and intelligent girl, polite and elegant as well. It is a wonder how his frat boy charm won her over but opposites attract, I guess.

“Shut up, Casanova. What are you gonna have?”

“I’ll have a grande iced matcha latte, please.” I should’ve known. He told me that he loves matcha flavored food and drinks the first time we grabbed lunch after class. He had complained that there was no good place to get one on campus. 

“Coming right up.” I quickly filled his order since it was faster to make compared to the pumpkin spiced latte. I handed him his bribe-cake pop, matcha flavor of course, while he waited for me to finish making his drink.

“By the way, we’re still studying at the library for the exam later tonight, right?” Tony asked.

“Yup, I’ll meet you at 8.”

“Copy that, see you later coffee girl.” He turned to leave while I turned to make Professor Reid’s order. I put extra whip cream and a bit more syrup to satiate his sweet tooth. I grabbed a fresh chocolate muffin from the display case and popped it into a bag for him as well, drawing yet another pun on the good doctors bag. “Thanks for being such a TEA-rrific professor!”

“Here ya’ go Doc,” I called out before placing his drink and muffin on the counter. I looked up to see him no longer smiling. “Is everything okay?”

Ignoring my question, he said, “I wasn’t aware you were so close to Mr. Montgomery.”

“Oh yeah, we study together once in a while.” I could have sworn I saw his frown deepen before his features became void of any emotions. He shifted his eyes downward, his hand moving rapidly to grab the cup.

“I should get going.”

“Oh, okay” Before I could say goodbye, he was already halfway out the door. 

That was weird. I looked at the counter and noticed that he left the cupcake behind. Maybe he was in a rush?

I shook my head. I needed to concentrate on making it through the last couple of hours of work. 

●●●

I made my way to the classroom, smiling at Tony as he pulled out my seat for me. Professor Reid walked in a few minutes later, his tall figure drawing all the attention to the center of the small stage. He let us know he already graded the papers and that they would be distributed by the TA before the end of class. I had a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach but decided to brush it off and pay attention in class. Despite my attempts to focus on his lecture, I found my mind wandering every so often anyway.

I couldn’t help but think he was less animated today. Usually, he taught with such passion that the class couldn’t take their eyes off him. But today, it felt as if we were all in a boring seminar with an ancient professor. Tony kept glancing at the clock, probably also wondering why time felt like it was going by so slowly. 

I couldn’t shake the unsettled feeling the entire class. It didn’t help matters that every time I would raise my hand to answer a question, he would call on another student. What the hell did I do? 

I decided to tune out the rest of the class. There is no point in being an actively engaged student if I wasn’t going to get treated like one. I’d just get the notes from Tony later.

Thirty minutes before the end of class, the TA handed out our essays while Professor Reid wrapped. 

“Some of you did very well, while a few others struggled with the assignment.” His eyes landed on mine as he said that. It was the first time he had glanced in my direction the whole class. He moved on to the other side of the room. My mind was probably just playing tricks on me. “If you have any questions you can see me at my office hours next week or send me an email. You are dismissed.”

The TA finally made his way over to me, handing my essay in a slight fold. I looked at the grade on top and almost dropped the paper. My heart sped up as I stared at the letter in bright red ink. No way, no way this could be my report. I looked at the right-hand corner and saw my name at the top. I read through the first page and saw they were indeed my words.

How the fuck was it possible that I got a D on this paper? I knew my writing wasn’t the strongest, but a D? 

“How you’d do?” Tony asked. For a moment I forgot I was in a room with other people.

I cleared my throat, trying to relive the lump so that he didn’t hear the croak in my voice. “Umm, not what I expected. I’m going to try to speak to him about it.” Tony was a smart kid, so I was sure he could see how tense I was. Luckily he didn’t question me any further and instead told me he’d text me later before leaving the classroom.

Fortunately, there were no other students in the classroom to slow me down this time. I walked right up to the podium, watching as Professor Reid placed some papers in his satchel. 

“Professor, I need to speak with you.”

“Not now, I’m busy,” he replied, not even bothering to glance in my direction. This can’t be real. The sweet, kind Doc could not be the man acting like a total asshole right now.

“I really need to discuss with you my paper,” I pressed, raising my voice a little louder in an attempt to get his attention. That was wishful thinking on my part since he continued to fiddle with his satchel.

“I said I’m busy,” he uttered once again, his voice void of any emotion. He was about to walk past me, ignoring my whole being. His blatant disregard made my cheeks burn, and not in the usual way they usually did when I was around him.

“Spencer,” I barked, “We need to talk. Now.” For a few moments, he stood in front of me, his back facing my direction.

I was about to speak again before I heard him say, “My office. Half an hour.” He exited, leaving me alone in an empty classroom. The only things keeping me company were the fuming feelings swirling inside me and the failed paper clutched at my fist. 

●●●

I knocked on his office door ten minutes earlier than he’d told me. The anger in my gut brewed hotter the longer I waited. As soon as I heard a “Come in,” I rushed through the door, slamming it behind me. He regarded me coolly, but didn’t comment on my actions. 

“What can I do for you Ms. (Y/L/N)?” I walked up to his large desk, not bothering to take a seat in the chair in front of me. I took a moment to calm myself down before replying.

“Well, you can start by explaining to me why I got such a low score on my paper.” I guess he didn’t like being the only one of us sitting down because he stood up and leaned against the wall behind him.

“It did not meet the requirements for a passing grade as outlined in the rubric. The information given was boring and the overall topic was uninteresting. It was tedious to get through,” he responded nonchalantly, like he was giving me a weather report.  

“You said that you enjoyed it so far.” I rebutted, placing my hands on the desk. I needed something to offer me stability so that I wasn’t visibly shaking.  

“I’d mistaken your work for another student’s. Maybe Mr. Montgomery,” he dryly clipped.

A bitter laugh escaped me as I put the puzzle together. Was- was he serious? Was this man acting like this because of Tony? The audacity! The laugh that bubbled from my lips must have unsettled him. He left his position from the wall in favor of standing in front of me.

“You want to know what I think?” I didn’t give him a chance to respond before continuing, “I think you’re jealous that I have another guy that isn’t you getting friendly with me at the shop and because of your inability to keep your---“

“That is enough,” he grounded out, shaking his head. But I didn’t stop talking.

“--private feelings away from your professional ones, you decided to give me a failing grade. Do you know how hard I worked in-” my voice rose up higher and higher until I was yelling.

“I said that’s enough,” he said again, louder this time. But I wasn’t done.

“-this class? This is my life, my fucking future on the line. I’ve told you how important this all is to me and you don’t even give a shit! You’re going to let your interpretation of my relationship with another student influence the way you do your job? And here I thought you were a decent man, Professor.” I hissed, “Do you even give a damn abo-”

“Enough,” he roared, slamming his hands on the desk and caging me against the wood. His breathing was matching the upbeat pace of my own. His quick movement and the sheer volume of his voice caught me off guard, effectively silencing me. 

“I don’t deserve to be punished over your envy,” I whispered, locking eyes with him in a steady gaze.

“You want to see a real punishment, darling?” he hissed, the heat of his words almost breaking my glare, his breath fanning along my face.

We stared at one another for a while, neither of us willing to be the first to back down. The tension between us kept rising and rising until the inevitable happened. I couldn’t be sure who made the first move but before I knew it, our lips collided with a mix of rage and desperation. My arms draped around his neck as he pressed me on to the desk. He placed his hands on the back of my thighs, lifting me up high enough until I was perched on the cool wooden surface.

Spencer’s lips were soft, a stark contrast to the harsh way he was kissing me. His tongue parted my lips, gliding over mine with fervor. I couldn’t help but moan as he rolled his hips into me. He continued his rough grind, keeping my legs open as we moved as close together as our bodies would allow. He overwhelmed my senses- the smell of him, the taste of him, the feel of him. Everything was making me absolutely feral for this man. 

I never expected the gentle Dr. Reid to be so fervent, so sensual. The kindhearted, sweet professor who regularly drank his weight in caffeine never gave me this impression. But then again, I’m sure he was shocked by my attitude as well. He knew me as the friendly, bubbly barista, now student, who enjoyed his class. He was about to meet a whole new side of me, just like I was going to for him.

Spencer pulled away from me, our mouths making an audible ‘pop’ sound from the sudden separation. I tried to catch my breath as he stared at me, our chests rising and falling together. If I were to move a bit closer to him, we would be touching once again.

He took a few steps back before motioning me to step in front of him. “I want you to get down on your knees. Now.” I wasn’t going to argue with him, mainly because I wanted the exact same thing he did. I kneeled down, keeping my eyes on his face.

“You going to shut me up, Professor?” I teased, feeling powerful, even though he was looming over me. He didn’t reply, just continued to look down on me with those honey colored eyes- full of lust and rage.

I watched as he slowly placed his hands on his slacks, undoing the belt and buttons. He drew down his pants and boxers at the same time, just low enough to reveal his impressive size. My mouth salivated at the sight of his bulge as he came closer to me.

“We’re going to put that smart mouth to better use. Open.” He said, gripping my face between his fingers, forcing me to follow his orders. I opened my mouth slightly, not giving him exactly what he wanted. Instead of ordering my mouth to open further like I expected, he placed his thumb inside. He pushed the digit deep, pressing it against my tongue. I moaned around the finger, softly nibbling at the skin. He continued to slide his finger within my mouth before dragging it out completely. He wiped the excess spit on my cheek before lightly smacking it. The small shock of pain sent a shiver down my spine.

“Open, and do it right this time.”

I obeyed, opening wide enough to accept him into my mouth. My lips were stretched almost uncomfortably in an attempt to fit around him. He was so hot and thick, I couldn’t help but hum at the taste of him on my tongue. The soft “fuck” that fell from his lips had me purring around him. I went to place my hands on the remaining portion that couldn’t fit, but he batted them away.

“You’re using only your mouth.” 

Fine, have it your way, Sir. 

I placed my hands behind me as I bobbed my head, hallowing my cheeks with every rise. His shallow thrusts encouraged me to suck harder. I slowly pulled away to run my tongue against the vein protruding on the underside of his cock. I was rewarded with a groan escaping his lips.

“I should have known that you would be so good at this, darling,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse as he tried to control his grunts.

I made sure to look in his eyes as I swirled my tongue around the head of his cock. The face he made was purely angelic. The muscles of his neck protruded more evidently and his breathing became more labored. I placed him back in my mouth, this time taking my time to go down on him.

“That’s right, Princess. Show me what a good girl you are for me.” He moaned as I felt his hands weave in my hair before he pushed my head down on to him, causing me to gag around him, tears pricking my eyes. He continued his thrusts into my mouth, barely allowing me a chance to breathe. My nose repeatedly touched the base of him as I swallowed around his hard length.

Spencer tightened his fingers in my hair and I knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.  The pace was brutal, but I enjoyed the rough treatment. Knowing that I was the one making him feel good was such a turn on. He buried himself deep in my throat after a few more thrusts to finish. I swallowed his release like the greedy brat that we both now knew I was.

He eventually pulled out, a satisfied sigh leaving his lips. I swiped the back off my hand across my mouth to clean off any leftover spit and cum.

“Get up,” he ordered, his voice hoarse.

I did so, rubbing the ache in my knees as I slowly rose. “I want you bent over the desk,” he continued.

“I want you to answer my previous question.” I quipped.

“You’re not in the position to be making commands,” he growled. He wrapped his fingers in my hair again, pulling just roughly enough so that I was looking up at his face. “If you want this to end well for you, I suggest bending over my desk before I stuff my cock in that bratty little mouth of yours again.”

He released me, eyes still on my face waiting for me to follow through on his order. I turned to his desk and did as he asked, bending over the wood until my chest laid flat against the surface. I waited as patiently as I could for him. It felt as if I was in this position for an eternity before he touched me. He pushed both my underwear and skirt down to my knees before placing his hands on my hips. I heard it before I felt it- the smack on my ass that caused me to yelp.

“Fuck, Spencer. What the—” I was cut off with another resounding smack.

“Did you really think that I wasn’t going to give you a real punishment, darling?” I took a deep breath as another shiver went down my spine. He had no business sounding so hot right now. Another smack, this time on my opposite cheek, had me biting down on my lip to stop myself from crying out.

“This” *SMACK* “Is” *SMACK* “What” *SMACK* “Happens” *SMACK* “To” *SMACK* “Bratty” *SMACK* “Little” *SMACK* “Girls” *SMACK*. A sob ripped from my chest as the last blow landed. My ass was on fire and surely littered with his hand prints.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood since you sucked me off so nicely, or I would have made that worse.”

Gee, thanks.

“You look like such a dirty slut like this.” I felt a finger enter me easily, the wetness gathered there making my entrance ready to take him. “So wet. Was it the spanking that got you like this, or your mouth around my cock?” A moan was my only reply as he added another finger, the two digits moving in a scissoring motion. 

“Are you gonna be my sweet girl, now?” He asked as I moved my hips along his fingers, desperately trying to seek some more relief for the fire burning between my thighs as his mouth littered marks along my thighs. I closed my eyes, focusing on the pleasure he was giving me as he curled his fingers, a slow moan falling from my lips. He pulled them out of me, wiping the slickness against my still burning ass. Fucking bastard. I wiggled my hips against him, hoping he would grant me a reprieve and put his fingers back inside me. Instead, he spanked my ass one more time- one quick, sharp blow against the bruised cheek.

Just when I was about to yell at him, he placed the head of his member against my entrance. He moved up and down my drenched entrance before penetrating me in one full thrust. I took a short breath in, trying to get used to feeling so full. He was stretching me out in the most amazing way.

Spencer waited until I was grinding against him before he pulled out and pushed back into me. “Look at you, such a wanton little bitch aren’t you?” He could call me whatever he wanted, as long as he didn’t stop fucking me.

He kept a steady pace, making sure to grind into me every time he slammed back in. The obscene sound of our skin smacking against one another’s and the moans escaping our throats was an erotic symphony that had my body heat raising the temperature in the room.

He hitched my leg on top of the desk, entering in an angle that made the pleasure so much better. I couldn’t stop the whines that kept escaping my mouth every time he pounded into me. His hand stayed upon my leg, holding me down and limiting my movements. His nails dug into the skin so harshly I was sure there would be bruises left in their wake.  

“Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around me,” he hissed under his breath. “Should have known you just needed to be fucked like the cheap whore you are.” He sped up, hips snapping at an almost punishing pace. The desk creaked every time he slammed into me. I hoped no one was nearby to hear what was going on. A whine left my throat when I felt his fingers rub against my clit. I was so close now.

“Should I stay inside you? Fill you up so you walk around campus carrying my child?” He growls, his pace increasing with each passing moment. “Knock you up so the whole campus knows what a whore you are for me?” He asks, earning a cry ripped from my throat. 

“Who’s fucking you?” he grunted. I don’t know how he expected me to form a coherent statement at this current moment. My eyes could barely stay open at this point. 

“Spencer, please.” He smacked the outside of my thigh.

“Try again, who’s fucking you?” 

“You are, Doctor.” Apparently, that was the wrong answer too, because it earned me another smack on my thigh. I had tears streaming down my face from the pleasurable pain he was giving me.

“You have one more chance or else I’m not letting you come. Now, who’s is fucking you?”

“Professor Reid!” I cried out.

“That’s right darling. Now come on my cock.” A harsh bite on my neck was the ultimate push that had me seeing stars. Spencer thrusted a few more times before fully sheathing himself within me.

He slumped over me, the feel of his breath against my neck causing me to shiver once more. We took a moment to have the high leave our body before he pulled out of me, a gasp leaving the both of us. Spencer was the first to break the silence between us.

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” he asked, his voice a bit shy. 

I giggled at his demeanor. A few moments ago, he was fucking me senseless and spanking me over his desk like a porno, and now he was asking me out to dinner. 

“Absolutely,” I smiled. “But I should probably cancel my study plans.” I quickly added. 

He led me to the faculty bathroom so I could freshen myself up. When I emerged, he was back to being the prim and proper professor I knew him to be. Just before we left his office, he leaned down and whispered, “By the way, you got an A.”

[koocycle]

play thing | drabble series (iii)

pairing. basketball player!jungkook x female reader

summary. jungkook is aware of the fact that you’re not his to love, yet he’s determined to show you what you’re missing out on.

wc. 2435

warnings. mild explicit language, suggestive themes.

taglist. if you’d like to be added, please send me an ask!

previous / next

“Do you think he would notice if we’d fuck here?”

The question is ridiculous yet amusing to the ear, but you’re still having a hard time finding it in yourself to laugh at the remarkable query. And that’s most likely because Jungkook’s voice falls heavy in the shell of your ear even as you attempt to ignore him the best you can. Yet the act seems harder than usual when his pretty fingertips start gazing over your clothed waist, softly nipping at the flimsy material of your tight shirt in between his pleasing, tattooed fingers.

“He would.” So I wouldn’t try anything if I were you, is what you mean to add, yet the words don’t manage to slip any further than your charming lips that seem sealed shut as soon as you look at him in the eyes.

‘���Do you think he would care?’’

This one seems to shut you up soon enough – you’re not entirely sure if the answer to that will suit your fight against the man behind you, and the jerk knows that. Because you don’t even have to look at him to see the grin that’s growing on his pretty features.

It’s taking you one more look upon the living room of which is connected to the rather chilly kitchen you’re finding yourself in before you can come up with a decent answer. The silence hurts your ears, but you have no other choice than to stay quiet by his side. Both you and Jungkook know the situation you’re finding yourself in, lying won’t do you any justice.

Your boyfriend’s dyed, blonde locks are astounding and vibrant alongside his fellow teammates on the sofa. They’re yelling at something that happens in the game playing in front of their noses, multiple chaotic arms pointing at the big screen and already loud voices which are only increasing in volume. And you can only guess there’s no good coming out of it.

“Of course he’d care.” You carry on your act, and you’re not entirely sure if it is you or Jungkook you’re attempting to convince here, but it doesn’t seem to work either way, “He is my boyfriend, after all.”

All the lights in Minho’s apartment are turned off, the only ounce of lighting available being the one coming from the big screen in the living area. And that might as well be for the best, considering Jungkook’s sneering eyes that are boring holes in the side of your face right now. He doesn’t seem satisfied with your answer, certainly not when your lips grow into a content, irritatingly smug grin. You probably think you’re the shit now.

“Are you sure about that?” He questions, the fingers that were previously playing with the fabric of your shirt tightening in the heat of his palm as for right now. He can’t keep his hands to himself today, but it seems like you don’t really mind the way today’s play is going.

“So if I do this,” both his hands position themselves down your waist, finding their place on your hips before he slams his chest against your back, “he would come running to punch me in the face right now?”

When his head dips into the crook of your neck, a gasp is leaving your lips and it’s only feeding onto his ego, especially when he can feel you freeze under his fingertips. His lips are only inches removed from the skin on the side of your throat, yet his hot breath spreading down its place is taking an enormous toll on you.

His fingers tighten around both of your hipbones, head dipping even further down your neck to place a wet peck on the spot, a gasp leaving you once a pair of dampened lips make contact with you skin.

‘‘He’d kick me out of his shitty dorm?’’ He stupidly laughs in the crook of your neck, the vibrations against you being anything but sly, but you doubt he even worries about something silly like that. ‘‘Don’t fool yourself, ___. He isn’t even looking.’’

His index fingers that were wrapped around your hips just earlier make a move to tilt your chin up, yet the action doesn’t seem to revolve around him – no, he’s making you look up at Minho. And even though the feeling of his fingertips isn’t overbearing underneath your chin, merely being there for moral support, you don’t make a move to pull your gaze away from your boyfriend.

‘‘Do you think he would care?’’

You don’t need Jungkook to constantly remind you that Minho doesn’t give more than 2 fucks about you, because you’re able to do that yourself just perfectly fine. But what gives him the right to talk about your relationship like that? As if his opinion is relevant to you even the slightest way – he’s ridiculous.

‘‘Cut it out, Jungkook.’’ You snarl in between your gritted teeth, the sweet tone from before completely disappearing as you feel yourself heating up now.

‘‘Or what? Are you going to tell him?’’ His lips are making movements that send shivers down your spine, and you have to refrain your head from falling down to rest on his shoulder, ‘‘I think you’re enjoying this far too much to be putting this to a stop, no?’’

‘‘You’re nothing special.’’ You say, but your body language proves him otherwise. The heavy weight of your head is betraying you, the way you fall limp in his embrace proving his every word to be correct.

He pays no attention to your previous statement, not feeling the need to prove you wrong when both of you already know the deal, ‘‘Tell me why you’re here today.’’ He says instead, voice lower than before.

‘‘Did you invite yourself over because you wanted to spend some time with your boyfriend,’’ flat hands slide down over your clothed belly, large palms reaching lower to the place you desperately need him, ‘‘or because you knew I’d be here?”

You stop him before he can get too far, your own hands clutching own just as desperately. ‘‘Me being here has nothing to do with you.’’

The lie is obvious and perhaps a little lacking in itself, the eager tone in your voice merely being there to overpower him. The attempt was there, but the execution could have been worked on.

His fingers are playing with the belt loops of your jeans, solely hooking his thumbs through them as he pushes you more against him – which he doesn’t even have to put a lot of effort into, not when you sloppily fall against him with your hips wedged to his own, no fight notable in your body. He uses his tallest fingers to reach out from their place to hover over the closed zipper that keeps your panties hidden – and you can’t find it in yourself to break away from him.

‘‘Go to your boyfriend, then.’’ He says, his breath tickling underneath your ear. ‘‘I’m not holding you back.’’

You’re sure it’s the conceited tone in his voice that has something snapping inside of you – most likely the thick layer of confidence nagging at you to stay in your lane. And you have to remind yourself that you’re completely falling for him, melting in his embrace as if your boyfriend isn’t mere feet away from the two of you. As if this Jungkook guy has some kind of effect on you.

Pfft. As if.

You don’t say anything as you remove your body from his own, and neither does he. Yet both of his arms fall slack besides his posture when you look back at him, the tip of his tongue pocking the inside of his cheek. And you know it irks him, yet you’d have to walk over his dead body for him to say it out loud.

If he wanted you to go to your boyfriend, then you will. He can kiss your ass for all you care.

Stupid, hot basketball jock.

With no seats left over of which are relatively close to your boyfriend, you find yourself sitting on the arm of the couch. Annoyed and pissed beyond your limits. He doesn’t reach out for you to make you feel included alongside his friends and neither do you wait (nor want) for him to do so.

You don’t know where Jungkook is, and you force yourself not to care about him for much longer. He didn’t follow you into the living room like as you assumed he would, and for all you know, he could have silently left already the dorm already.

The idea of that doesn’t sit right with you, though. The void in the pit of your stomach is only expanding at the thought of you sitting here with Minho and his friends, watching some stupid game you’re barely interested in. With you being here, bored and out of your mind, does nothing to spark your boyfriend’s interest – and it’s not like you expected much different when you walked through his door today. Your mind is already looping down a hole of excuses you’ll be throwing into his face as soon as you can get out of here.

‘‘Minho,’’ you eventually speak up, fingers nudging his shoulder. ‘‘I’m leaving now.’’

He only hums in response, a quick and effortless ‘‘mhm’’ leaving his closed lips. Eyes trained on the screen in front of him as he unappealingly munches on some popcorn, the greasy saltiness sticking to his fingertips.

He’s not asking you why you’re leaving, and you don’t think it’s happening any time soon. Except doesn’t matter this time, because again, you didn’t expect anything else to happen. His friends are focused on the game, so you’re no use to him at this moment. Not when he can’t show you off in front of the world.

As if on cue, Jungkook comes strolling into the living area as soon as you stand up from your seat on the armrest. A bright red, nearly perfect looking apple rests in the center of his palm as he’s chewing on the remaining pieces in his mouth, flawless and sharp eyebrows just slightly furrowed.

He barely looks at you as he walks by, feet moving to his previous spot on Minho’s cornered sofa, yet he raises an unabashed eyebrow once he catches a glimpse of you. As if asking you where you’re heading to, but at the same time telling you he could care less if you were actually to leave.

That’s a lie though. You know that much.

Seeing the way he falls down on the couch with a huff, cockily munching on the sweet pieces of apple on his tongue; you can see right through him. He doesn’t want you gone.

The guy enjoyed shoving all the blame on you tonight, telling you how much you needed him, yet you know he is in an all too eager frame of mind for your presence just as much as you are for his. And it’ll be a hard job to get him to say it out loud, but you might as well think Jungkook is a challenge you’d gratefully accept tonight.

So in honor of him, you’ll stay just a little longer.

‘‘What are you doing?’’ Minho’s voice rummages through the room when you suddenly decide to slip into his lap, knees on both of his sides as your ass pokes out on his thighs. It doesn’t grab the boys’ attention just yet, only a few glances here and there before they quickly avert back to the game, scooping more loads of popcorn and coke down their throats.

But you can feel the eyes of a certain someone on you.

‘‘I want to cuddle with you.’’ You shrug, resting your head on the base of his shoulder, angled perfectly in a way where you can take Jungkook’s expression in. The dude doesn’t look happy. ‘‘I’ve missed you.’’

Jungkook doesn’t even pretend as if he’s interested in the game, not towards you nor his teammates. They’re not paying much attention to him, anyways. His harsh stare is only locking with your own as he slumps down his seat on the sofa, legs spread apart before you attempt on not looking down once he does so.

‘‘Did you miss me too?’’ You don’t want a genuine answer from him. Heck, you hardly hear him once he mutters an uninterested ‘of course I did’, and instead your fingers lock with his, guiding them down your ass.

And you’re glad his larger hands rest there without question, in full view of the guy you currently have wrapped around your finger. You can see his tongue poking in the inside of his cheek again, which is more than a good sign. He repositions himself quite a few times in his place, hoping the daggers he’s shooting in your direction are put into good use and you’ll back the fuck off soon enough.

There’s no luck on his side when your fingers come up to rest on your boyfriend’s jaw, solely being there for show when your lips make contact with the skin underneath his jawline.

‘‘Do you think they would notice if we’d fuck here?’’ Your voice is sharp and confident in the crook of his neck, the volume of your voice loud enough to catch some ears in the room.

Minho’s head shoots down to look at you as soon as the words escape your lips, totally caught off guard as well as the other boys who seem shocked as well – yet you couldn’t care less about them. Jungkook’s eyes are boring into yours and that’s all that matters at this right moment.

He’s stopped munching on the apple pieces in his mouth, swallowing them down his throat with some effort, his hand is tightening around the pretty colored fruit as he can already feel his body heating up at the sudden reference.

‘‘I don’t think they would care.’’ You continue to blabber on, the guy on the other side of the couch feeling a little tense in the current situation he’s finding himself in.

‘‘Babe..’’ Minho’s uncertain voice booms through his chest as he continues to mumble something about the game, but your focus isn’t on him. Instead you have found your center of attention elsewhere.  

Else, where his hands drop down in between his spread legs, cupping the inner sides of his thighs. His jaw clenched so tightly that you’re able to catch the sharp jawline from this distance as the two rows of teeth are clutched against one another – unable to open up.

You’re leading this game. And you’re loving it.

taglist — @jinsalpaca @moonchild1 @annenhypen @fan-ati--c

[starryeyedweeb]

Walking In On Your Fave Anime Blondes Singing Along to Dolly Parton’s “Dumb Blonde”

Content Includes: Honestly, this could be read as either platonic or romantic- it’s basically borderline crack meant to give you a smile and some laughs. All underaged characters are aged up to 18+. Gender neutral reader, some language

Characters Included: Armin Arlert, Kurapika Kurta, Hawks/Takami Keigo, Tsukishima Kei, Gojou Satoru, Bakugou Katsuki

“Just because I’m blonde, don’t think I’m dumb. Because this dumb blonde ain’t nobody’s fool.”

Armin

This is actually his power song

Before important meetings and strategy sessions where he’s slated be a big presenter, you’ll always hear him mumbling the same words over and over again under his breath, but you can never make out what they are

Until one day when you’re able to connect the dots 

One such meeting was coming up, and you leave for it before Armin does

He had just told you that he’s not quite ready to leave yet, but doesn’t explain why

You don’t think much about it and carry on, until you realize that you left a part of your harness at home and have to turn back

As you walk back through the door, you notice the sound of singing coming from his bedroom

The voice is distinctively Armin’s, and seeing as you’ve never heard him sing before, you’re actually quite excited

You sneak in as quietly as possible, and much to your amusement, you find him singing to himself in the mirror, pointing back at himself and belting the words almost aggressively

“Because this dumb blonde ain’t nobody’s fool!”

You wanted to sneak away and pretend you never saw anything, but you can’t resist bursting out into laughter

He jumps around and yelps, his face turning cherry red

“Y/N! I thought you left! I, um...I- this was...”

“Oh, my god.” A realization dawns on you. “Is that what you’re always whispering under your breath when you’re nervous?”

“Um...yeah. It just makes me feel stronger, I guess. I know, it’s so stupid...”

“No, it’s so cute! I promise,” you assure him. “And it’s fitting.”

“Really?”

“Of course! Even though you’re blonde, there’s not a dumb bone in your body.” You wrap him in a hug. “And you definitely aren’t anybody’s fool. Never let yourself be convinced otherwise.”

Kurapika

He’s had a bad day at work.

A really bad day.

He bursts through the front door one evening, eyes bright crimson, absolutely raving about how sick he was of being pushed around and treated like he’s less than he is, spewing out ultimatums such as “To hell with the intel, I’m never going back to being a bodyguard ever again.”

To cheer him up and to get away until his anger could simmer down, you offer go pick up his favorite meal

And as you approach the door with the food in hand, you hear something odd on the other side

You cautiously open the door and peer inside, discovering Kurapika yelling along to the popular song

No, seriously- yelling

There’s no sense of song to his cadence whatsoever, he’s just hollering louder than you’ve ever thought him capable of

He’s also pulled out a basket of laundry and has started throwing it around the room as he continues on his rampage

(It was the least destructive thing he could take his anger out on)

You tiptoe over to put the food on the counter, but he’s still yet to notice you

When he shows no signs of stopping, his eyes growing redder by the second, you eventually clear your throat

“Pika, what are you doing?”

He stops with a jolt, the ending notes of the song fading away in the background

The red of his eyes drops down to his face as he realizes what you just saw

“y/n...how long have you been standing there?”

“Since the first chorus.” You choke down a giggle. “I didn’t know you liked that song.”

“I don’t, I just...” He rubs the back of his neck. “Silly as this is, it’s just the best way I’ve found to relieve my petty stress in a safe way.”

“So... this is something you do often?”

His face grows so red you think it might burst. “...yes.”

You two stare at each other for a few moments, then simultaneously burst into laughter

The kind where your entire body shakes, your stomach hurts, and tears spill from your eyes

When he doubles over to catch his breath, you cross the room to wrap him in a hug, rocking back and forth

“Can I join in next time?” you teasingly ask. “It looks fun.”

Kurapika wipes his cheeks and rolls his eyes with a smile. “Sure, why not? Just don’t tell anyone else.”

Hawks

This was the first time you had ever slept over with Keigo, and what he listens to while getting ready comes as quite a surprise.

He gets up before you do, and you wake to hear strange music coming through the closed bathroom door

You tiptoe over to see what’s going on, sliding the door open as quietly as possible

Not that he would’ve heard you, anyway, because as he’s doing his eyeliner, he’s humming along to the blaring Dolly Parton hit, swaying his hips in time with the beat

When the song reaches its defining line, he pulls the eyeliner pen away from his face and throws his head back, wailing the lyrics to the ceiling with comedic passion

You stifle your laughter behind your hand as he returns to his task, still  oblivious to your presence

Picking a choice moment to reveal yourself, you burst fully into the bathroom and fix him with a mischievous look

“Whatcha listening to?”

He jumps in shock when he spots you, leaving a streak of eyeliner down his cheek

“Fuck!” He exclaims, pouting at the black stripe. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” you tease.

“I mean, it’s not what it looks like.” He avoids eye contact, hunting around for makeup remover. “Don’t you just have a random song that gets you motivated, no matter how stupid it is?”

“You don’t have to be embarrassed.” You hoist yourself up onto the bathroom counter next to him. “Dolly Parton is amazing. ‘Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Joleeeeeeene’.”

“You know what? She is. You’re so right.” He points his eyeliner at you, nodding in aggressive approval. “See? This is why I like you.”

And you can bet your ass that every time you get in the car together from here on out, you’re blaring Dolly Parton

There have been several instances when you’ve shown up to missions with it pounding from the speakers as you sleekly step out of the car, ready to apprehend any villains that dare to cross the pair of you

And it’s the most badass thing ever.

Tsukishima

At this point in your relationship, you thought you had learned all of Tsukishima’s secrets.

You were wrong.

It starts completely innocently, with the two of you going with Yamaguchi for a boba run

And when Tsukishima settles into the driver’s seat, his phone auto-connects to the speakers and sends familiar country twangs through the car at a volume that prompts you to clap your hands over your ears

“Shit!” he mutters, fumbling around, unsure which would do the most damage control: changing the song or muting the volume

“Kei,” you guffaw, “what the hell were you listening to?”

“It was an ad,” he insists, eventually managing to get the volume to a favorable range and select a less-embarrassing song choice

“Don’t let him fool you, Y/N.” Yamaguchi’s head pokes between the two front seats. “Dumb Blonde is one of his favorite songs.”

“And don’t listen to how idiotic Yamaguchi’s being,” Tsukishima bites back, but the pink tinge growing over the top of his ears betrays his lie.

“It’s been one of his top five most played songs for about three years now,” Yamaguchi continues. “I think he relates to it.”

“You’re kidding!”

At this point, you can’t control your giggles, and Kei’s jaw grows tighter by the second

“Yeah, and once he has a couple of drinks in him, he’ll shamelessly belt the hell out of it at karaoke.” Yamaguchi’s gaze flickers to his phone as his finger rapidly scrolls. “Here, I have a video.”

“Yamaguchi, don’t you dare-”

Tsukishima reaches a long arm out to steal the phone, but you grab his hand before he can take it

“Aht aht, Tsukki,” you tease. “You have two passengers that you’re responsible for. Eyes on the road, please.”

As he glowers, Yamaguchi shows you a glorious video of Tsukishima absolutely wailing out the Dolly Parton hit into a karaoke microphone, the teammates around him laughing so hard that they almost appeared to be choking

“That’s amazing!” You squeal, belly hurting from so much laughter. “But I can’t believe that video didn’t spread around like wildfire.”

“Bold of you to assume that I don’t have worse blackmail to use against all of them,” Kei snaps.

“Well, you should know that you’re never going to live this down as far as I’m concerned.”

“I don’t know why it’s such a big deal. Everyone has guilty pleasures.” By this point, his face is the same shade as a tomato, but he fixes you with a knife-like gaze that strikes fear into your heart. “Shall I start listing yours?”

Gojou

(i know he’s technically silver/platinum but he just has blonde energy okay)

The last thing you expect to come home to after a long day of work is Dolly Parton music blaring through your home

And you expect even less to find Gojou standing on the couch, belting the song at the top of his lungs

Beyond the initial shock, you have to admit that he actually sounds quite good, hitting each note to perfection and performing the song with subtle corresponding choreography

“Gojou!” You eventually shout. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Oh, good! You’re home.” He deftly hops off the couch and approaches you with a grin. “I’ve been wanting your opinion on my act.”

“Your act?”

“Yes! The school staff has an annual karaoke contest coming up. I do this song every year, and it’s undefeated.”

“Every year? How have I never known about this?”

“I actually don’t have any idea. I have videos. I’ll show them to you, if you’d like.”

“You’re a little too proud of that,” you giggle. “But if it’s undefeated, why do you need my opinion on it?”

“Because everyone always conspires to try and beat me. I have to keep it fresh. But lately, it’s just been feeling stale.” He furrows his brows, a finger going to his chin in contemplation.

“How are you so serious about this but so carefree when you’re literally about to die?” You grab his elbows and give them a small shake. “Anyway, what I saw certainly didn’t seem stale. Seems like you were having a pretty good time.”

“A good time just isn’t enough anymore...”

You clap a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter as he paces around the room, more serious than you’d ever seen him

Over a karaoke contest to a Dolly Parton song

He snaps his fingers as he finally comes to his realization, approaching you with a sinister smile

“I’ve got it! You should perform it with me.”

“Are you serious? No! No no no.”

“Come on, don’t be so closed-minded.” Gojou grabs your hand and yanks you up onto the couch with him. “Give it a shot.”

After much protesting on your part and much silly encouragement on his, you try it out to pacify him, and end up being quite the dynamic duo

As he wished, you perform the comedic act at the karaoke contest, and satisfy Gojou by maintaining his undefeated record

“You know that you owe me big time now, right?” you ask as he admires the cheap trophy he’s just been handed.

He grins, draping his long arm over your shoulders. “Anything you want, you’ve got it.”

Bakugou

Bakugou discovers the song after Kirishima and Denki put it on his playlist as a joke

Denki had the bright idea to give Bakugou the nickname “dumb blonde” and figured that the prank would be the start of it all

Needless to say, it didn’t go over very well

There was yelling

And a few punches thrown

You eventually have to pull him away, imploring him to calm down

“I’m not going to calm down until that piece of shit is off my playlist.”

You promptly take his phone and hold it in front of him, removing the offending song

“See? Gone. Now please chill out.”

Flash-forward to a week or so later

You happen to walk into the gym for a late night run on the treadmill while he’s there doing weights

Since he was alone before you entered, his music is hooked up to the central sound system, blaring some heavy metal song as he softly hums along in time with his breaths

You don’t think anything of it, giving him a small wave and going to put your own earbuds in

Until the barely-perceptible lyrics seem a little familiar

You pause to listen for a moment, and shoot him a look of shock when you realize that he is, in fact, listening to a heavy metal cover of Dumb Blonde.

“Is this-”

“Shut up,” he snaps, avoiding eye contact and continuing to pump the machine with frightening intensity.

“How did you even find a cover like this?”

“Shut. Up.”

“I’m just so-”

“It just helps me work out, okay?” He lets the weight drop with a sharp clang. “Don’t you fucking dare tell anyone about this.”

You raise your hands in surrender. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good. Now get on with your workout and let me finish mine.”

He focuses his fiery gaze on the faraway wall, but strangely doesn’t bother to change or turn off the song

And you can’t resist pulling your phone out, pretending to take a selfie while you’re actually, in fact, filming him behind you

“I can see you, stupid,” he snaps. “I’m serious. I’ll fucking kill you.”

You jump in fear, the phone falling from your hands.

“I wasn’t!” You fib. “Besides, it’s away now.”

But little did he know, you had already captured everything you needed to see, and the footage was already on its way to Kirishima and Denki

You know that you’re beyond dead once he finds out what you had done, but the amusement of it all is beyond worth it

Besides, maybe now he’d think twice before the next time he makes fun of someone.

[chibimyumi]

Redesign Prompt RESULTS!

Alright, thank you everyone who has voted, the results are now in! Overwhelmingly our winner is Ranmao 🐈!

First of all, I need to insert a few caveats here. Unlike with Victorian fashion, I do not have years and years of studying of Qing dynasty-fashion behind me. So whatever results I show here are the product of a fortnight of reading up and meticulous studying of contemporary photographs. a.k.a. I am merely scraping the surface here. But! I do promise that everything shown here is done to the best of my ability to be responsible as a content provider.

Now without further ado, let us dive into Ranmao’s current design, the blatantly obvious inaccuracies, and how I propose to redes...ign... her outfit while keeping the original intact as much.... as possible????  Heck, this is not even worthy of being called a ‘redesign’, this is straight up designing from scratch!

Hair

Let us start with her bangs. Her bangs are in fact surprisingly accurate, as late Qing dynasty women would wear their bangs in a variety of Bettie bangs trimmed well above the eyebrows. Having sides of the bangs growing longer framing the face was usual too, though they would be cut slightly thicker than Ranmao’s. Though, we don’t know how much hair Ranmao has, so I see no reason to alter it.

Twin braids are very much associated with the “China doll look”, but they seem to have been branded into our image of the “Chinese Girl” because it was the go-to look for unmarried women in Republic China (which is many years later than Ranmao’s time, and also has more surviving images.)

In Ranmao’s time, unmarried girls would either wear the bottom part of their hair down, or have everything tied into a single braid behind them. Girls who preferred a more feminine look would often decorate the sides or the top with flowers or other ornaments depending on their wealth.

Yana’s notes say that the flower in Ranmao’s hair is a Chinese peony, which is also called the Empress of Flowers in Chinese as well as Japanese culture. I could find sources on how the peony was the symbol of the Empress of China, and how one better avoid wearing any type of peonies around the Empress herself for fear of being suspected of disrespect. But I could not find any evidence of such flowers being banned for other people, so presumably it was more an ‘unwritten code of politeness’ rather than fashion law.

Hence, I kept the pink peony design for Ranmao, and decorated them in the way Qing women would have.

Neckline

By far the most interesting thing I learned from this redesign attempt was that the “mandarin collar” - the thing that pops up first in most people’s minds when thinking about Chinese fashion - was in fact not at all common.

In this academic work on Chinese fashion history, Finnane writes that the ‘high collar’ was “not a common feature of costume before the twentieth century.” Instead, most costumes would have had a round neckline.

Finnane, Antonia. Changing Clothes in China : Fashion, History, Nation. New York: Columbia University Press, 2008. p. 93

The ‘high collar’ gained popularity in early 1900s in China after the Europeans brought with them the beauty standard for high collars, as well as slim-fitted silhouettes. The Chinese increasingly adopted this type of collar and the slim silhouette (the well known ‘china dress/qipao/cheongsam’), and the relatively many early photos that survived helped engrave this stereotype into our minds.

Sleeves

I do not think it requires any mention, but 19th century Chinese fashion did not include boleros... For many of the original designs of Ranmao I can sort of see where Yana got that image from, but this bolero-look truly beats me.

The sleeves worn in the late Qing period were relatively wide, though they were starting to slim down over time. Late Qing women enjoyed much more flexible clothing rules than earlier Qing women, and the width of the sleeves was in great part determined by personal preference, season, but mostly one’s wealth.

Needless to say, the larger the sleeves the more fabric and embroidery it would require, and thus more expensive. Also, the wider the more it would get into the wearer’s way.

I don’t know how much thought Yana put into Ranmao’s original design in relation to her function as elite bodyguard, but considering how the original has zero practicality and only serves to maximise Ranmao’s attractiveness, I have no qualms about giving Ranmao fairly large sleeves too. Besides, let us assume that Lau is responsible for providing Ranmao with clothes. Illegal money tends to fill the pockets quite deeply, I don’t think he can’t spare a few pounds for big sleeves.

Wider sleeves would expose much of ‘a lady’s precious skin’, as such a more fitted layer would have been worn underneath. (The sleeves under the wider sleeves obviously did not have to be orange-ish. This was merely coincidence that both my redesign and the visual source have this colour.)

Silhouette

The figure hugging silhouette x Chinese clothes was - as mentioned above - not at all a thing in Ranmao’s time. In fact, the accentuation of the “female curves” was considered very inappropriate if not downright ugly in the Qing dynasty.

Finnane, Antonia. Changing Clothes in China : Fashion, History, Nation. New York: Columbia University Press, 2008. p. 94

Yana’s notes mention that the thing Ranmao wears is just an European corset and that that is the only thing ‘English’ about her attire.

Well... I don’t know where the idea that Victorians wore corsets on the outside comes from, but I myself admittedly was fooled by this a few years ago too... I promise you all now however, Victorians decidedly did not wear their ‘bras’ on the outside. I think even now this look is considered rather ‘questionable’ by most people.

Instead, Qing dynasty clothes were mostly cut wide and straight, loosely dangling around their bodies offering maximum comfort and space. You feared Ranmao killing you in her corset? Now tremble before her now blessed with maximised agility.

Trousers

Well... I considered ‘translating’ Ranmao’s attire to 2020 standard like I did for O!Ciel, but that would not be Tumblr-filter approved. Skirts so short they could be mistaken for a belt are nothing too surprising today, but wearing one with a split that deep is probably a bit too revealing even by today’s standards.

By the late Qing dynasty, men and women, rich and poor alike predominantly wore trousers. Long robes (skirts) were definitely in fashion too, but they were reserved for those who could afford to not have much agility. If you were a farmer, robes would not have been your first option. Perhaps the way long skirts were viewed by the Qing Chinese was not unlike the way we see them now; ‘more classy’ ‘more feminine’ and ‘less convenient’, but not the only way to express femininity.

In these pictures below we can see relatively rich women, married and unmarried alike, all wearing trousers.

Ranmao is predominantly a fighter, and as trousers are plenty feminine in Chinese fashion culture, I don’t see why she would not choose to wear trousers instead of a restricting long skirt. Hence I gave her a pair of trousers.

Shoes

Like I said before, “the shoes are correct...” But the anklets definitely are not!

Golden or silver anklets are something that are worn by very, VERY young children in China. Even to this day it is customary among many Chinese people to gift newborn children at least one piece of pendant, bracelet or anklet, for it is believed to bring the child luck. More practically, this piece of jewellery will become the child’s first piece of property then, which can be sold later SHOULD they ever run into a financially difficult situation.

These anklets or bracelets would not be removed from the child unless they have outgrown them, which happens fairly quick. Ranmao who is probably full grown should have outgrown them at least ten years ago. Hence, seeing these things on Ranmao would probably make it look like she is still wearing diapers or bibs.

Chinese people would likewise not have worn shoes barefoot. Instead, they would have worn cotton socks which were mostly white.

DOUBLE HAMMERS

HERE COME THE WEAPONS! Luckily Yana wrote the following note or I would never have guessed what they are for my knowledge about Chinese weapons is next to nothing.

“These are【SUPER】heavy. They are weapons called 双錘 (double hammers) and they in fact exist. I heard these were used by power-type warriors.”

So, I googled 双錘 and it turns out that the type Ranmao is holding do indeed exist! But... only in fiction and theatre.

The hammers that were used in actual combat were either very thin and long, or short and plump. Such hammers were one of the most primitive metal weapons in China, and quickly fell out of favour among Chinese warriors when more practical weapons such as the metal spear, sword and bows were invented. The hammers mostly retained their value because of their weight in heroic tales and myths about legendary warriors and deities.

I don’t have the full details, but apparently according to some legends or myths, one of such big-ass hammers could deal a force of 200kg, and thus 400kg combined. Regardless of this being realistic or not, it sure does sound very cool! It is therefore no wonder this primitive weapon retains its popularity even today.

Nowadays when these hammers are used, they are either the blown up theatrical versions, or the smaller versions for the sake of preserving martial arts.

I had a bit of a dilemma as to which version to give Ranmao, but in the end I settled with the short and heavy ones because I wanted to keep the idea of this small and innocent looking girl wielding solid metal balls. Two cheer-leading sticks would simply not have the same weight, figuratively and literally.

Alright everyone! Did you enjoy my response to your votes? I hope you did ^^ Non-European fashion history really is not my strong suit, so my deepest apologies if I messed anything up.

Pray tell if I did, I am always happy to learn ^^

[dwellordream]

“...First, let’s talk about materials. We can rule out a Steppe Nomad inspiration for any of this right off. The Eurasian Steppe is very large and covers a range of arid climates (that is to say, parts of it are colder, parts of it are warmer), but they all have spinning and weaving technology, by which the supple hairs of woolly animals, or plant fibers like linen, or cotton, or even natural protein fibers like silk can be fashioned into fabric which is more flexible, comfortable, breathable and temperature controlled than the raw leather we see in the show.

...there is a distinct lack here of lots of leather, except in the sort of things that lots of cultures use leather for (boots, fittings, saddles, bags, tents). Instead, clothing is mostly made out of nice, comfortable, breathable textiles, because of course it is. That is not to say, to be clear, that leather or hides or fur were never used – fur especially was used; merely that they were generally used to supplement clothing primarily made out of textile.

...Now Plains Native American clothing does make much greater use of animal skin as a clothing material, but there is an important distinction to be made here. The problem here is with the plasticity of the term ‘leather’ which can technically include a wide range of products, but in practice is understood to mean exactly what the Game of Thrones costume department and literally every piece of official artwork of the Dothraki understand it to mean, which is the product of tanning processes.

I am not an expert, but as far as I can tell, Native American clothing was not made in the same way; animal products were used in a process I have seen described as ‘brain tanning’ (rather than using chemical tannins) and the final product was then smoked. The result – which is often called ‘buckskin’ regardless of the animal source for the hide – is very different from the leather we see in the show.

This is, in terms of material, very clearly not what the ‘vests’ the Dothraki in the show are wearing. Buckskin would also be used to make trousers, as opposed to the “horsehair leggings” of Martin’s wording, which also strike me as deeply improbable. Haircloth – fabric made from horsehair (or camel hair) – is durable, but typically stiff, unsupple and terribly itchy; not something you want in direct contact with your skin (especially not between your rear end and a saddle), unless you just really like skin irritation. It is also a difficult material to get in any kind of significant quantity – and you would need a significant quantity if you intended to make most of your trousers out of it.

...Well that’s for materials, what about patterns? Once again, we can quite easily rule out anything steppe inspired. Again, the Eurasian Steppe is big and has lots of variety, but relatively long robes are generally the norm in terms of dress; where long robes were not worn (see our Scythian above), the common pattern was heavy sleeved garments and trousers with very complete coverage. A common example of the type of long robe-like garments is the Mongolian deel, a long sleeved robe or tunic which provides a lot of protection against the elements. In the case of elites – and Daenerys is, initially, mostly around elites – these could be made of expensive silk or brocade – but poorer versions might be made of wool.

...And there is good reason for these relatively high-coverage garments. Plains or Steppe peoples naturally tend to live on, well, plains and steppes – that is large expanses of semi-arid grasslands. The very nature of that terrain configuration produces fairly extreme seasonal temperature variations (that is, very hot summers and very cold winters) as well as extreme daily temperature variations (that is, hot days and cold nights) because such places are far from large bodies of water and also don’t have tree-cover, both of which serve to moderate rapid temperature changes.

Consequently, as anyone who has lived in a plains state in the USA (or on the Eurasian Steppe, though that is fewer of my readers, but for my brave handful of hits from that part of the world, hello and welcome!) can tell you, you need clothes that can be layered and which can be both warm in the winter and cool in the summer. For us moderns, we mostly do this by owning multiple season-specific wardrobes, but clothing is expensive in pre-modern societies, so multi-purpose garments, or garments that be layered, to turn a warm-weather outfit into a cold-weather outfit are important!

There’s no reason to suppose the Dothraki Sea would be any different: it sits at about the same latitude as King’s Landing so there is little reason to assume it would be warm all-year-round. Parts of the Eurasian Steppe stretch decently far south, sharing a latitude with northern Italy and Spain; nevertheless they do not enjoy the same Mediterranean climate because they don’t have the same exposure to the weather patterns created by the sea. The southern end of the Great Plains stretches down all the way into Texas, but still gets properly cold in the winter with temperatures regularly dipping below freezing in the winter despite the latitude. For a people who are camping and working outside all of the time, warm clothing is going to be a must.

...There is tremendous variety here, but I don’t think any of it could be aptly described simply as “Men and women alike wore painted leather vests over bare chests and horsehair leggings.” Now, if you looked hard enough could you find something that resembled Martin’s leather vests, bare chests and horsehair leggings somewhere in the clothing of Native Americans across two continents? Probably, but among the specific Native peoples that Martin cites as inspiration, it does not seem to be at all common. And if that description was wholly unconnected to anything in the real world, we might well stop there and conclude that, well this is just the ‘dash of pure fantasy’ that Martin was talking about (although as we’ll see, it is going to be quite a bit more than just a dash). But I don’t think we can stop there, because (removing the medallion belts) Martin’s description does adequately describe something that exists in the real world: Halloween costumes purporting to depict Native Americans.

...The vest-and-pants style of Native American Halloween costume seems to be rather rare now, but it was, at least to my memory, much more common in the 1990s, when A Game of Thrones was written (initial publication date of 1996). You can see them, for instance, on many of the background extras in the famous Thanksgiving scene from Addams Family Values (1993) and that vest style was also a part of the outfit for the also-quite-unfortunately-branded YMCA Indian Guides/Indian Princesses program (rebranded as the ‘Adventure Guides’ in 2003 after decades of Native Americans complaining about it) which was also fairly popular in the 1990s.

Now, I am not saying that Martin planned to construct his Dothraki out of Native American stereotypes and bad Halloween costumes. In fact, I am fairly confident he intended nothing of the sort. But in the absence of doing some effective research (and it is going to become increasingly apparent that at least effective research was not done) there was quite possibly nothing else to inform the effort other than what was ‘in the air’ of the popular consciousness. Of course the danger of those often simplistic public stereotypes is that people often do not know that they have them, assuming instead that the vague impression they have is essentially accurate (or at least, close enough for a regular person). And that’s a real problem because it reinforces the popular stereotype, especially given Martin’s reputation for writing more ‘historically grounded’ fiction. And that is a problem because…

The clothing that the Dothraki are described and visually shown wearing is clearly intended to convey things about their society. Returning to our visual comparison above, it is easy to see that the actual clothing of both Eurasian and American ‘horse cultures’ was often bright, highly decorated and generally eye-catching, featuring complex patterns and shapes. It was both nice looking, but also spoke to the humanity of the people that made it and their very human desire to look nice and have nice looking things. By contrast, the clothing of the Dothraki is presented as simple, rugged and unadorned.

...I want to stress this to make the point clear: people in the past liked to look nice! Much of the popular perception of pre-modern clothing assumes lots of dull, drab colors, undecorated or merely adorned with rough pelts, but this is almost entirely a Hollywood construction. The Romans didn’t exclusively dress in white (indeed, the toga candida, the white toga, was an unusually formal thing to wear, like a politician’s suit-with-flag-pin), medieval peasants didn’t wear drab brown (they dressed in bright primary colors mostly), and as I hope the historical pictures for this essay show, both steppe nomads and Plains Native Americans wore nice clothing with lots of patterns, color and decoration. These men next to Khal Drogo are his elite guard of ‘bloodriders,’ the companions of a ruler who wields tremendous power and wealth! And yet they have opted to wear mostly undecorated bland brown leather.

Just to underline this point, think about what a fine set of clothing communicates to an observer (for instance, one of Khal Drogo’s thousands of mounted warrior retainers who are present at this event). Imported goods, like metalwares (which nomads won’t generally be able to make themselves) or fine imported fabrics demonstrate not only trade contacts but also often that the leader has useful ties to foreign leaders (since such things were often gifts or tribute from foreign courts). Garments whose production, due to fine patterns, complex weaves, intricate beading or quillwork, would take many, many hours of production demonstrate that the leader has a lot of subordinate people in their household (in many cases, that would mean women), which both implies the ability to give these people as gifts (either in marriage or because of their non-free status) and also the access to resources (in this case herds of animals) needed to sustain so many people – in short, the sort of leader who can reward faithful warriors richly.

And of course a leader who outfits his closest retainers – his bloodriders, in this case – with such wares (especially expensive foreign metal military equipment) demonstrates both access to military capital and also the ability to reward his trusted lieutenants. In short, the Khal whose person and immediate retainers are decked out in finery looks like backing the winning side, which is a very important thing to assess as one of his warriors. So even if not one of Drogo’s men cares about their personal appearance at all, it is still politically important for them to dress for success.

Which then demands the question, looking at the very fine clothing of historical horse cultures that supposedly provided the inspiration for these Dothraki fellows: Where is the exquisite bead work? The fine quillwork? Where are the carefully made fringes? Where is the silk brocade? Where are the detailed, complex patterns?”

- Bret Devereaux, “That Dothraki Horde, Part I: Barbarian Couture.”

[3pirouette]

Fic: Great Rivals (1/1)

Title: Great Rivals

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Spoilers: Full MCU, very specifically Black Widow

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary: “So, I have the nuclear code. But, there he is: Captain America! Finally, the Red Guardian’s time has come! I grab hold of his shield, and face to face, it’s a test of strength. […] This shield, you know, that he carries with him like a precious baby blanket, you know? I use it to my advantage. I take it and I push him out the window. I make my escape.”

“What year was this?”

“I don’t know. Like ’83. ’84.”

“Captain America was still frozen in ice then.”

“Are you calling me a liar, Ursa, huh?” – Black Widow, 2021

Humor. Steggy. Set, oh, I don’t know. Like ’83. ’84.

Steggy Week Day 4: Favorite Headcanon

A/N: This is it. This is my new favorite headcanon that this really, actually happened and you can’t convince me otherwise. Spoilers for Back Widow. If you haven’t seen it, RUN. I will wait. I am absolutely in love with Bumbling-idiot-family-man Red Guardian. Also, based on canon and my understanding of the time travel rules (I’m going by Outlander/Doctor Who rules and until they state otherwise, you can’t stop me), this is 100% possible in the current MCU timeline, even WITHOUT the multiverse.

I started writing this pretty much right after watching Black Widow, then decided to use it for Steggy Week 21, Day 4: Favorite Headcanon.

Also, YES, Peggy and Steve would be quite a bit older when this happens. As in their 60’s. But I see no reason why a super-soldier Steve wouldn’t be able to pull this off with no problem. Plus, since we have no confirmation of when they have their children, I’m going with they have teenage/college age kids at this time. Timeline is just SUPER vague, so fill in your own head canon.

~*~

Steve stopped what he was doing, wiping his hands on the dishtowel before picking up the phone. “Hello?”

Her sigh through the phone line was not a good prospect. “Darling? Are you busy?”

“Just working on dinner,” her replied carefully, moving back to the roast and the rub he was trying to get to stick to the outside of the uncooked meat. “Why?”

“I’m afraid I’ve a large favor to ask.” The phone line garbled for a moment and he could hear her yelling across the room. “No, I said three tac teams, and keep their distance!”

Steve put down the seasonings and stepped back from the roast, cradling the handset between his ear and his shoulder. “The kids will be home soon, and I’ve got a roast on the counter. My time is limited, Peg.”

“Mr. Jarvis is on the way over,” she mumbled, the sounds of her shuffling papers on her desk clear. “I’m sure he can very well handle both those things.”

Steve washed his hands, intrigued. “And what, exactly, is it that you need me to handle?”

Her laugh was mirthless. “A very large, very angry idiot.” Her sigh was softer. “I’m afraid you’ll miss family dinner, but it’s wheels up in twenty at the base. And bring the shield.”

Steve looked toward the basement where he hid it. “The shield? The one Howard made me as a joke?”

“Yes. The shield.”

~*~

His briefing in the jet was marginally useful, at best. The man was known as The Red Guardian, a super soldier of unknown origin, working for the KGB. He wasn’t usually considered a serious threat, and even though he could be extremely dangerous, was often easily outwitted.

Peggy and SHIELD had managed to figure out that they often trotted him out as a decoy. Large, boastful, and loud, he attracted attention wherever he went, and caused enough damage to keep authorities busy. He wasn’t a tactical soldier, but that didn’t mean he was easily deterred.

Steve landed in California and was brought to the swanky hotel by SHIELD Agents who filled him in on the latest. “He’s on the tenth floor, in the suite.” The young man said as they pulled up to the scene. “The president and his team are safe, but I’m afraid the Guardian has one of their briefcases. We’re still trying to verify the contents.”

Steve stepped out of the truck and moved to the back, gearing up and filling the belt and pockets of his black tactical suit. Most people didn’t know he was alive, and even though he was showing up with a red, white, and blue shield strapped to his back, he and Peggy had decided the suit shouldn’t ever make a comeback while he was still frozen. “What could be in there?” he asked as he put an earpiece in.

The young agent shrugged, clearly frustrated himself. “Could be President Reagan’s menus for the next three days, could be the round of bills he was set to talk about at the capitol tomorrow, or…”

Steve didn’t like the way the young man paused. “Or?”

The man tried not to look nervous as he said it. “It could be the nuclear codes.”

Steve didn’t waste another second as he pushed forward, knowing what could possibly be on the line. The political climate with the Soviets was tense, and both sides seemed to have their hands hovering over those figurative buttons, ready to start the end of the world at any second.

The agents and police parted like the red sea around them, and Steve swiftly made his way into the building and up the stairs as quietly as he could. He did odd jobs for SHIELD here and there, anytime they need a little extra muscle or the job was particularly dangerous, he stepped in.

He hated missing Family Dinner night, though.

He slipped onto the tenth floor and heard the man’s bellows from down the hall. He was laughing, telling some sort of joke to the SHIELD agents that had him cornered.

The man had a suit of bright red and white, similar to the one he once wore in that it called to those around him, brought attention, and tried to be a symbol. The Guardian swung the briefcase in his hand, causing the agents to back up a step.

“Now, why don’t you just let me leave and we can all have nice day, hum?” The Guardian asked, teasing the men as he moved more and more aggressively.

“Why don’t you pick on someone who can handle you?” Steve asked loudly, stepping into the room, shield drawn and at his side.

The Guardian turned, a smile widening across his face. “Captain America,” he growled, his excitement growing. “Captain America!” he bellowed, as if triumphant, while pumping his fists in the air, one still holding the briefcase.

“I’ll be needing that briefcase,” Steve said, loud and serious.

The Guardian laughed, smiling as he sauntered closer to the man. “My great rival, finally here to challenge me!” He sighed as if his greatest wish had come true. “The time has truly come.”

Steve wasn’t exactly sure what this man had heard, or why he seemed to know that Steve was Captain America so far removed from the War- SHIELD had worked desperately to keep his existence under wraps and to keep the figure of Captain America out of the public eye as much as they could. Steve couldn’t quite figure out why he seemed so excited.

The Guardian did a little skip jump in place, almost a two-step as he got closer and closer. “I have come to steal your nuclear codes. The time has come for the Soviet Union to rise!”

The man paused, almost unnaturally still, and then without warning charged at Steve. Steve held his ground, the man running into him and his shield with fantastic speed and strength, pushing them both back until Steve felt his back connect with then push through the plaster of the wall behind him. Steve pushed back, launching The Guardian off of him with his shield and pulling himself out of the wall. He saw the briefcase skid to a halt to their side, but turned his attention back to the problem before him.

The fight that ensued was sloppy, but serious. The man had no technique, which set Steve back on his heels. He wasn’t ever sure where the next punch or kick would come from, because the Guardian wasn’t skilled and the motions didn’t make sense. He managed a few good hits, including one that Steve was sure had broken bones in his ribs when The Guardian ducked, spun, and managed to catch Steve in his side.

But Steve was still a scrappy kid from Brooklyn that learned quick, and he found that The Guardian relied far too much on his size and bulk, and was not used to fighting someone who wasn’t incapacitated after a few hits. Steve started ducking his blows, his smaller body moving faster and the shield helping him to block as he finally started to understand the way the man threw his weight around.

The Guardian let out a frustrated bellow as another punch missed, but was quickly silenced by a well-timed punch by Steve across his jaw.

The Red Guardian paused, stepping back, and smiled as he ran his hand over his jaw. “We are matched!” he growled out, slow and dark. “No man is match for my power, my strength, but you!” He laughed again, this time his eyes narrowing with calculation. “You are truly the only adversary to give me challenge.”

The Guardian charged again, and Steve stepped out of the way, but the Guardian swung his arm out and picked Steve up, spinning him and slamming him hard to the ground. Steve rolled and lifted his shield, just in time to block a punch from the Guardian. The man yelled in pain, the vibranium absorbing the power and his knuckles cracking hard against the metal.

Steve swung his legs around and swept the Guardian’s feet out from under him, setting the man on his back. Steve jumped back up, intending to punch him, when he saw the man reach out and pull the briefcase back into his hands. He rolled and jumped up, a few feet away now.

“No, no, no!” He teased, swinging the briefcase at Steve. “I have the codes.”

“He doesn’t have the codes, sir.” Came the fuzzy voice in his ear.

“What?” Steve asked, straightening up and pressing his hand to his earpiece to set it deeper and get a better sound.

“He doesn’t have the codes, Sir,” the agent in his ear repeated. “He has President Regan’s food and housing preferences. Nuclear codes are still secure.”

The Red Guardian, however, hadn’t noticed Steve wasn’t talking to him. “I have the codes,” he teased, swinging the briefcase back and forth, “And your forces will be no match for the wave of blood that will take over your land when we are victorious!”

“What about…” Steve didn’t get to finish the question, one eye on The Guardian’s boastful dance that was supposed to be taunting and one ear on the voice of the agent.

“SHIELD headquarters just radioed in, reported that the Soviet Union’s actual attempt on the Able Archer files was unsuccessful. Director Carter says, and I quote, to let him go and please get home for dinner.”

“Copy that,” Steve replied. He stood tall and let his shield drop, lifting his head in challenge to the other man. “Let’s get this moving along, Guardian. I’ve got a roast in the oven.”

“A roast—” The Guardian looked confused at first, then he started laughing, great big guffaws that almost doubled him over. “Funny man. And Apple Pie for dessert, hum?”

Steve eyed the corner of the room where the Shield Agents were still standing and tipped his head towards the exit. The leader questions him silently, but Steve signaled again and he watched as they left.

The Guardian didn’t miss a beat, even through his laughs. “Ahhh, yes. You clear the field. Now is time for real fighting.”

Steve braced again as the man ran at him full speed, letting the shield take the brunt of the impact and then turning swiftly, locking an arm around the man’s neck. Steve hoped to choke him enough to get him to pass out, then make a quick getaway. The Guardian, however, was not a slight man, and finding the right spot to put pressure on as he flailed under him was proving more difficult than Steve thought.

Steve managed a sharp knee in the Guardian’s kidney, dropping him to his knees, and just when he thought he hand him, The Guardian managed to flip him over his head.

They both stood, taking a deep breath. The Guardian stepped closer, laughing, and grabbed hold of Steve’s shield with two hands like it was a steering wheel. “A test of strength, yes?”

The man started pushing, and initially Steve pushed back, causing an impasse where they were simply straining against one another, but then Steve managed to get a glimpse behind him to the wall of windows the man was pushing him towards.

He’d seen what was under those windows.

It wasn’t great, but it would do.

Slowly, he let up the pressure he was exerting on the Guardian, the man smiling triumphantly as Steve started sliding back. Steve called up every ounce of acting talent he had, from the USO show to pretending he couldn’t lift Mjölnir, to every time he’d had to make up an excuse to his children about why Peggy was missing Family Dinner night, and scrunched up his face like he was pushing as hard as he could.

“What?” The Guardian asked, “You cannot best me in just strength?” He chuckled. “I am bigger, and I am stronger, Captain America!”

Steve couldn’t believe those stupid radio plays were going to come in handy, but having been forced to listen to them by Peggy, the cheesy line that popped into his head was too good to not use. “You may be stronger than me, but you’ll never love your country more than I love America, Red Guardian! Truth, Justice, and the American way!”

Steve remembered, just a moment after that, when he was falling out of the ten-story window, that the last part hadn’t been the Captain America Adventure Hour, but rather from the Superman comics. He didn’t think the oaf would notice.

He spun and twisted, putting the shield under him just in time to make contact with the solid concrete of the courtyard. He rolled slowly, the wind knocked out of him, and made it to his hands and knees.

He looked up, just in time to see Red Guardian triumphantly waving his briefcase full of lunch menus before disappearing into the hotel.

He slowly pushed himself up off the pavement, standing tall and feeling the sharp pains of broken bones and a battered body. He was met by the SHIELD Team, who seemed astounded he was alive after that fall.

“Sir, are you- should I call an ambulance?”

“I’m fine,” Steve replied, moving carefully back towards the base of operations. “Just get me on a plane home.”

“The Director…” the agent mumbled, nervous. “She said to let him go?”

“He thinks he has what he wanted. He shouldn’t bother you again.” Steve winced and shifted, biting his lip as he felt a rib pop back into place. “I’d like to get back to the plane as quickly as possible, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

~*~

Peggy heard the bike’s motor cut out and met him at the back door. He was tired, but smiled and met her lips with his, anyway. “Sorry you had to miss dinner.”

“No, you were right.” He stepped into the kitchen, setting the shield by the door and sitting to take his boots off. He moved slowly, gingerly. “He was a very large, very angry idiot.” Steve leaned back, tossing his boots to the floor. He closed his eyes and sighed. “That’s not as easy as it once was, you know.”

“I know, my love.” Peggy smoothed his hair and dropped a kiss on his head as his eyes fluttered shut. “Did you sleep on the transport?”

“No, couldn’t.” He sat up, cleared his throat, and started pulling apart the zips and snaps to his tac uniform. “The kids asleep?”

Peggy set her mug down and helped him shrug out of the long-sleeved top. “Hours ago. It’s nearly two in the morning, you know.”

“Didn’t realize it was so late. Came right home. Why aren’t you asleep?” He asked, glancing over at the clock that was ticking away the middle of the night.

She let her hands rub over his shoulders. “Couldn’t. Kept wondering what that brute had done to you and Howard won’t let me back on base until tomorrow.”

Steve shook his head. “How does he even know I’m alive, anyway?”

Peggy laughed, moving over to the sink and pouring him a large glass of water. “Quite the opposite, really. I’m told no one can convince him you’re supposed to be dead.” She brought it over and watched as he drank the whole thing down in greedy gulps, little rivulets falling over his chin. “He seems to think you are great rivals or some such, and if he isn’t the one to kill you, then you can’t be dead.”

Steve held out the glass and Peggy quickly refilled it, watching as he took slower sips this time. Steve finally took a pause to take a breath. “But he wasn’t… he wasn’t even…”

Peggy laughed and sat across from him, sipping her own tea and wrapping her robe tight around her. “I know. It’s why I stand beside my assessment of him as an idiot.” She hummed happily. “How did you fare?”

“Fell out a ten-story window. Haven’t done that in a while.” He winced and shifted his ribs. “Maybe a cracked rib or two, but nothing that won’t be healed by morning.”

“Good thing Howard was lying when he said that first shield was all the vibranium he had.” Steve nodded and they were quiet for a moment, still gulping away at the water like he was dry as a desert. Worry fell over her face, but she knew better than to coddle him. “I do think he’ll continue to be a problem.”

Steve winced again and rolled his shoulder in the socket. “They’re using him as a distraction. If they think it works, he’ll be back. How’d the tac team fair?”

“They stopped the data breach before it could happen, but we lost half a data storage facility to fire and two agents were wounded.” She smiled at him, switching gears. “Are you hungry?”

He rolled his neck and smiled. “Starved, but I can fix something.” He reached out and put a hand over hers. “Go to bed.”

“No,” She took his hand and kissed his knuckles, a smile on her face. “No, it’s already warming in the oven. I had the tower call down when you landed so it could be ready.”

“Peg…” He was somewhat chiding, but smiled when she pulled the dish out and set it in front of him. “You didn’t have to.”

“And you don’t have to come out of retirement to save the world, and my ass, on a fairly regular basis, but you manage it and I’m very grateful.” She kissed the crown of his head once more before settling back in front of her tea. “I can manage to wait up for my husband and make sure he gets dinner.”

“Were the kids disappointed?” He asked, putting an impossibly large spoonful of mashed potatoes in his mouth.

“No, not terribly,” she smiled softly. “Though I do think they were a bit amused that it was you and not me that missed family dinner night for a change.”

They were quiet as Steve made his way around the plate, finally cutting into the slices of roast. He moaned as he chewed. “I might be really tired, but this is just amazing. That new rub I found…” He stopped when he saw Peggy grimace. “What?”

“Mr. Jarvis threw yours out and started from scratch.” She tried to be delicate, but Steve frowned anyway. “I believe the words he used were ‘abomination’ and “disgrace,’ respectively.”

Steve chewed thoughtfully. “Well, it’s good, and I can try that—"

Peggy set her hand on his wrist, dead serious. “Cinnamon has no place on a roast, Steve.”

“It’s supposed to bring out the—”

“I will divorce you.” Her deadpan delivery slowly melted into a smile for both of them. “Please stop experimenting.”

He shrugged, knowing it was a losing game. “Do you think if we keep telling Jarvis that I’m trying to cook, he’ll make us more like this?”

“I believe if we tell Mr. Jarvis you’re still experimenting in the kitchen, he and Ana will take the children and run.”

Steve finished what was on his plate and smiled. “We haven’t had a vacation just the two of us in a while, wouldn’t be the worst thing…”

Peggy laughed and gave him a gentle smack across the shoulder as she took his plate from him and set it in the sink. “While I agree we should be planning a getaway, I would very much like to keep my children.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Steve teased, stepping up behind her as she washed the dish. He wrapped his arms around her and let his head rest on her shoulder. “I do kinda like them.”

Peggy tuned off the tap and set the dish to dry. “Yes, agreed. We shall keep them.” She turned in his arms and kissed him gently. “Now hit the showers, soldier. You’re quite filthy and I will not have you in my bed like this.” She pushed him away and turned him towards the stairs. “And this time I’ll thank you to not put the filthy tactical gear in the same dirty linen basket as my good blouses. A garbage bag will do very nicely.”

“Yes ma’am.” He saluted over his shoulder to her, smiling as he marched up the stairs.

She locked the door and shut the kitchen light. She hadn’t wanted to pull the shield out of retirement, but something about the way it sat, glinting in the moonlight in her kitchen, gave her a warm feeling.

[sinsatmidnight]

The Royal Chest

Pairing - Kwon Eunbi x Male Reader

Words - 4159

Sins - Smut, oral, titjob, breast smothering, face-sitting

It’s been a while, but I’m back! This is actually a sequel to A Gift from a Princess (featuring April’s Naeun)! I’ll leave the small talk for another post, but I do have to say that there is a bit of medieval dirty talk that I researched and then used that really ends up maybe feeling a bit more funny than sexy, but I left it in anyway because it amused me, but I hope it doesn’t throw people off. Otherwise, enjoy!

Snowgleam. It’s a beautiful city. A mountaintop city visible from far off if the weather was clear. Spires of polished white marble gleam in the bright sunlight, as you breathe in the cold mountain air, surrounded by snow. The city more than deserves its name.

The journey to Snowgleam took about six days through the treacherous snow-covered mountain passes, and thankfully, you encountered nothing that might have explained why travellers have been disappearing. Perhaps whatever the cause was, it was dissuaded by the sizeable armed escort that guarded the delegation to Snowgleam.

That escort included you, who normally served as personal bodyguard to Princess Lee Naeun as a knight of the court and a member of the Royal Guard. She has entrusted you with a letter to be delivered to a good friend of hers who lives in Snowgleam, Princess Kwon Eunbi, a princess of the neighbouring kingdom.

Princess Kwon Eunbi of Snowgleam is the only child in her family and is being groomed to eventually become queen. Strong of heart, body and mind, and a ravishing beauty, she has many suitors, not unlike Princess Naeun. You’ve met her before, as she’s visited Princess Naeun in the past. 

You remember long black hair, thick red lips, a long and sharp nose, large piercing eyes of grey and skin that was fair and smooth. Most of all, you remember her figure, strong arms, powerful thighs and calves, a slender waist, and an exceptionally large chest.

You walk through smooth stone roads that wind toward the largest building in Snowgleam, the Zenith Spires. A collection of turrets and spires that go higher than any of the others in the city, made of white stone. The destination of your delegation and the home of Princess Eunbi and the rest of her family.

As your delegation arrives safely, you leave the diplomats to go about their business as servants help with your belongings and usher those of you not needed towards a set of rooms reserved for guests. You spend some time stripping off your armour and changing into a fresh set of clothing, a pairing of a silken shirt and pants, before picking up the scroll case containing Princess Naeun’s letter and going to find Princess Eunbi.

You know your way around as you’ve been to the Zenith Spires before a couple times, accompanying Princess Naeun on visits here. After asking a couple of guards, you find out that Princess Eunbi is in her chambers, so you make your way there with letter in hand.

A large door of heavy wood serves as the entrance to her quarters. You pick up the large brass knocker and bring it down upon the wood three times.

“Come in.”

You push the heavy door open and enter, whereupon it slowly shuts by itself behind you. The chamber before you is a dark contrast to most of Snowgleam, with walls of black and a large four-four poster bed of dark red. Large closed glass windows that provide natural illumination to the chamber, sunlight currently shining through them. There is a glass door to the side that leads to a balcony that commands an impressive view over the city and the mountain. Most of the furniture is made of dark wood, all dark brown or black. A velvety carpet of blood red muffles your footsteps somewhat as you take a few steps forward and bow to the princess, sitting on the edge of her bed.

Princess Eunbi wears a resplendent sleeveless golden dress that hugs her figure, with a long slit at the bottom that reveals her smooth and strong legs. The dress reveals a bit of cleavage, just enough to show it off, but not enough to make one feel scandalised in the royal court. Pearls and diamonds adorn her earrings. She currently isn’t wearing any footwear and a tall tiara of diamonds and white crystal rests upon her head.

Eunbi looks up at you, and you bow deeply before her. You try to keep your eyes away from her cleavage when bowing, given that you’re taller and she’s also sitting down.

“Ah, you’re Naeun’s bodyguard, are you not? I believe we last met when I visited her this spring. The delegation must have arrived safely then.”

“Greetings, Princess Eunbi. You are correct, my lady. I bring a letter from Princess Naeun to you.”

“Bring it forth then.”

Rising from your bow, you step forward and proffer the scroll case containing the letter to the princess. Eunbi plucks it from your hands and opens it up, pulling out the parchment within to read the letter immediately.

You wait patiently as the letter is read, standing by in case there is a message or letter that you need to convey back to Princess Naeun. You watch her smile and chuckle to herself as she reads.

Eventually, she rolls the paper back up and getting up to her feet, keeps the letter in a drawer in a side table. Eunbi then looks up at you, a mysterious smile upon her lips.

“Thank you for waiting. Did Naeun tell you what she wrote about in her letter?”

“No, my lady. The princess did not.” Eunbi’s smile widens.

Eunbi walks over back to you, stopping right in front of you. “Well, Naeun wrote to me about her experience having a secret tryst with a bodyguard of hers.” Eunbi stares pointedly at you. “And she also requests of me to partake of this bodyguard, and to send her my informed opinion on the worth and value of his performance and prowess.”

You try not to give away anything on your face, although you are incredibly surprised to hear the contents of the letter. “And she also mentioned that you are the aforementioned bodyguard.” Eunbi adds.

Well, no denying it now then.

“That is true, my lady, although I did not expect for the princess to write to you about that.”

“Naeun and I are close…in the same way that Naeun and her handmaiden Chaekyung are close. When we visit each other…we also take some time to explore each other’s bodies.” Eunbi tales a step toward you at this point, looking up at you and resting a hand on your chest.

“Now, about Naeun’s request. I’m quite happy to fulfil it, but seeing as you were given no instructions or orders in this regard and I don’t want to be an inhospitable host in my home, I would ask if you would be willing to join me in fulfilling her request?”

You are here to deliver a letter and are definitely not expecting to be asked to sleep with the princess of Snowgleam while the rest of your cohorts are off discussing diplomatic matters with Snowgleam’s king and his court.

That said, Princess Eunbi is a beautiful and comely woman. And this is apparently the will of your princess too. “It would be a most humbling honour, Princess Eunbi.”

Eunbi’s gaze changes and she licks her lips seductively. “Oh, I’m sure it is. Not just any man can sleep with the future queen of Snowgleam. No one should hear us as long as we don’t start screaming. The walls of my chamber are quite thick and I don’t have guards outside. Oh, I do have one more condition. You don’t tell anyone of this, just as you’ve presumably not told anyone of your own encounter with Naeun.”

You bow your head slightly. “You have my word, Princess Eunbi.”

Eunbi presses her body up against yours, her chest pushing against yours while a hand reaches up and grabs your head. You feel blood start to rush down below.

“I don’t just want your word. I want your lips.”

With her hand on the back of your head, Eunbi pulls you down into a kiss, her tongue forcing its way quickly into your mouth. You decide to reciprocate and kiss her passionately as well, your tongue entwining and wrestling with hers.

Eunbi’s hand on your chest slides down the silken shirt you wear and settles over the bulge forming in your pants, slowly rubbing against it. You slide one hand down to the slit in her dress, rubbing her thigh at first before inching inward and slipping inside her dress. The other hand wraps around Eunbi’s waist, bringing her in closer to you.

Your hand in her dress seeks out her core, and you feel it dripping; she wears no underwear under her dress. As the two of you push back and forth against each other with your tongues, you start to run a finger along her lower lips, collecting everything that is dripping out and moistening your finger.

Eunbi shivers against you, and not to be outdone, has your belt undone in seconds, sending your pants and belt both tumbling onto the floor. Her warm fingers wrap around your throbbing shaft, slowly stroking it. You retaliate, slowly sliding your finger inside of her. The two of you both moan into each other’s mouths as you slowly make out like this.

Eunbi eventually breaks the kiss for breath. “Not bad at all.” She grins at you playfully. “You see, my people are born and raised on a mountain city. The air is thinner here and we develop a lot of stamina as a result of needing to compensate for less air. Which explains why the thing I prize most of all when with a man, is stamina. Let’s test you out, see how long you last so I can give my opinion to Naeun.”

The princess gestures to her bed. “Sit.”

You remove your hand from inside Eunbi’s dress before turning, stepping out of your clothing, and obediently taking a seat at the edge of her bed. By the time you sit down and face her again, Eunbi’s dress is already on the floor and she casually kicks it aside. Her tiara is unceremoniously pulled from her hair and thrown onto the bed, against the pillows.

You look upon Eunbi’s naked body, slender but powerful muscles in her arms and legs, and also slim around the waist and heavy around the chest. Eunbi’s abdomen is very toned. She is as fit and strong as any knight you know, and you’re not surprised. In addition to being a princess, she also is a captain in the Snowgleam military. Your hardened dick throbs for her.

“Princess Eunbi-”

“Just Eunbi, you don’t need to address me by Princess if you’re naked with me. It feels odd.”

“Eunbi, I was going to say that from the way you kiss, it’s clear that I’m not the first man you’ve been naked with?”

Eunbi chuckles as she gets on her knees in front of you. “Naeun isn’t the only one who’s had secret trysts with bodyguards. Well, mine aren’t always with bodyguards, but you get the gist of it.”

You watch as Eunbi wraps a hand around the base of your shaft and starts to stroke. “Now, let’s partake of you, and see how you taste.” Her large grey eyes stare into yours as her pink tongue flicks over the tip of your cock, licking up the pre-cum that has formed there.

“Mmm…this looks so good. I want to bagpipe you.”

You groan softly in appreciation at the feeling of her wet and warm tongue first sliding along the slit of your penis and then an encompassing feeling of wet warmth surrounds your cock as she takes the tip of it into her mouth and starts to suck on it.

Her head starts to bob up and down on your cock and unlike Naeun, Eunbi is a lot more experienced with men. You soon feel the effects of that as she deftly takes your length deep into her throat with ease. No gagging and choking, just the tightness of her throat as she swallows around your length while her large eyes peer up at you.

You notice that Eunbi has a hand down below, fingering herself and moaning and whimpering pleasurably into your cock even as she sucks on you. A little hesitantly, you place a hand on Eunbi’s head and pull ever so gently upward on her hair, urging her to come up for air. It’s your turn to give her some attention; and you really don’t want to shoot your load so soon, with how hot and tight her blowjob is.

“Let me bring pleasure to you.”

Eunbi nods and licks your tip one final time. “I could never say no to a request like that.”

You grab Eunbi by the shoulders and help her up, before having her lie on the bed next to you. You clamber up on top of her and direct your attention to her lovely breasts, roughly squeezing one large, firm breast and sucking on the sensitive stiffened nipple of the other. Eunbi whimpers and mewls, her nails digging into your shoulder and the back of your head.

“More…” She pants as her hand on the back of your head pushes strongly down, pressing your face into her chest. The perfumed scent of her body mixed with the taste of light fresh sweat on her tits is a heady mix.

Eunbi suddenly grabs tightly onto you, her fingers digging into your skin and her legs clenching against your sides, and then she rolls you underneath her. Eunbi’s breasts completely fill your vision and senses as your face is engulfed and pressed beneath her boobs. They are soft, firm, and fair, just the way you like them. Eunbi puts the considerable weight of her chest fully onto you, smothering you with them. Her strong arms push down on your chest, preventing you from rising.

Your face is fully buried in Eunbi’s large and soft tits, and all you see is warm flesh. Eunbi’s soft moaning encourages you to keep licking and kissing between her cleavage, even though your breathing is somewhat restricted.

You manage to bring one hand up to Eunbi’s face and you slip a couple of fingers into her warm mouth, where she licks and sucks on them with gusto. Once you deem them wet enough, you retract them and use them to tease her lower lips, with your fingers slowly stroking around the outside of her pussy, just on the edge.

Your other hand continues to play with her nipples, squeezing and fondling the breasts that have trapped your face, drawing noises of satisfaction from Eunbi.

You lick her chest and tweak her nipples as her hips buck downward, eager for more of your touch. You oblige, sending your wet fingers sliding inside her, making her writhe above you. And then you stop, drawing a whine from the princess. As comfortable as this position is for you, it doesn’t let you pleasure her the best.

“I love your breasts, but let’s change positions.” Your voice comes out muffled from under Eunbi’s breasts.

There is a slight pause. “Okay, fine.” And Eunbi lifts her chest off your face, only to quickly scoot her hips forward and plant her slit right on top of your mouth. Her strong, creamy, thighs lock around your head and her hips grinding down on you.

You were hoping for a position easier to breathe in but taking in the scent of her royal pussy isn’t a bad alternative. Your tongue slips inside Eunbi’s folds and she grabs your head with a hand and pushes her hips down hard. Her hips gyrate as you fuck her with your tongue, tasting her delicious juices spilling into your mouth.

“Taste me…” Eunbi whines breathlessly. You look up at her beautiful face even as you lick and suck on her pussy; eyes closed, lower lip being bitten, cheeks flush, and the expression of pleasurable agony on her face all help to keep you rock hard throughout this.

Your hands reach up and squeeze her ample ass, pulling her grinding hips closer, pushing your tongue deeper into her. Eunbi’s breathing becomes heavy and ragged, and you only hear panting, gasping and soft groans passing from her lips.

While still underneath Eunbi, your hands shift, moving from her ass to hold onto her powerful thighs and then grabbing tightly, you flip her onto the bed, changing positions again. This time, you get to use your hands to assist your mouth. With Eunbi lying beneath you, you attack her swollen clit with your tongue, licking and sucking roughly, while you pump into her pussy with several fingers. Eunbi’s thighs still haven’t lost their grip on your head; she’s a strong woman. Instead, Eunbi wraps her legs around your head, her calves locking in around the back of your head. Your head is happily trapped around the vice-like grip of Eunbi’s legs.

“Yes…yes...yes…” Eunbi quietly repeats the word over and over as your fingers quest and coil and thrust inside her and your mouth is locked in a French kiss with her clit. The grip Eunbi has on your head tightens somehow, almost painful as her body quivers, and then she climaxes hard in a silent scream, pushing her hips furiously against your head, grinding and gyrating until she lies relatively still.

You keep licking and slurping up the nectar that flows forth, causing Eunbi to whimper and shudder still. Eunbi’s legs finally relax their grip on you and she lets them fall to the side, releasing your head. Her hands then immediately take over and pull your head up to hers, her lips then catching yours in a deep kiss.

When your lips part, Eunbi purrs contentedly as she idly strokes your cock.

“I taste good. I did like your taste as well.”

Eunbi kisses you again for emphasis, and as her tongue explores your mouth, her hands grab your shoulders and the two of you reverse positions again. Eunbi moves to position herself above your cock that has been craving for more attention for a while now.

“Look at you, you’re still hard.”

“Whenever you need me to be.”

“I have to say, I’m starting to envy Naeun a little.” Eunbi then sinks down, taking your entire length inside her to the hilt. You slide in easily from how wet she is, but she’s also still very tight around your cock.

“So deep…” She exhales. You watch as Eunbi starts to ride you, her breasts bouncing along to the rhythm of her hips thrusting down on you.

“Need a hand?” Without waiting for a reply, you reach out with both hands and cup Eunbi’s beautiful breasts, squeezing them as she fucks herself upon you. Eunbi groans at first but then grins impishly. “I have a better idea.”

Without missing a beat, Eunbi reaches down and pulls you up into a sitting position before using one hand to grab your head and force it between her cleavage. You actually can’t really breathe at all this time as Eunbi smothers you with her breasts, but it turns you on so much as you start to thrust upward into Eunbi, matching her downward rhythm.

Eunbi lets you go after a short while to help you catch your breath, and you keep your head at the same level and start to frantically suck on the nipples in front of you, taking them in your mouth one at a time and devouring them. Eunbi whimpers in response; you know how sensitive her nipples are to her. One of your hands starts to rub her clit, increasing Eunbi’s pleasure.

“I’m going to-“ Eunbi doesn’t finish her sentence as she cries out loud and throws her head back while in orgasm, her hands grab your head and force your face into her tits again, enveloping you as she cums all over your cock. Between the contractions of her pussy muscles on your cock and the breast smothering, you feel yourself getting close too.

Eunbi only releases you when she has calmed down a little, pulling your mouth off her chest and pulling you into a passionate kiss. “I see you do have quite a bit of stamina.” Eunbi remarks when she finally gets off you, revealing your cock still hard and throbbing, totally drenched from Eunbi’s orgasm. “Let’s finish this up, shall we?

The princess pulls you over to the edge of the bed and kneels on the carpeted floor in front of you. Pushing her breasts together, Eunbi has them surround your cock, sandwiching them between two soft but firm orbs of flesh.

She starts to shift her heavy breasts up and down, forming a pleasurable friction and rhythm as she pumps your cock with only her boobs. Eunbi doesn’t need lubrication for this, given that your cock is covered in her juices from the orgasm she just had and thus still very wet.

“One talent that I discovered that I had after joining the military, was that I’m really particularly good at spear polishing. All of it. The tip, the shaft.” Eunbi teases as she licks her lips, her eyes locked onto yours.

“I can tell.” You manage to get out as your hips thrust into Eunbi’s breasts, unable to keep still. Eunbi lowers her head and starts to lick her juices off the tip of your cock.

“Mmm…give me your cream, spray it all over me. Treat me like a filthy common street whore.” You didn’t know that a princess and future queen could speak like that. Princess Naeun would never speak like that.

At Eunbi’s dirty urging, you increase the speed of your thrusting, eventually fucking Eunbi’s cleavage and mouth at the same time, as she wraps her lips around the head of your dick and sucks. The sound of slurping fills the air. 

“Go on, you dirty harlot, take it all.” Your hands reach up somewhat hesitantly and hold her head through her hair and when you feel yourself hit the edge and go over, you pull her head back and off.

The first spray decorates her outstretched neck, the second shoots higher, splattering across her chin and lower jaw, the third forms droplets of white all over her chest. Eunbi continues to stroke you with her breasts throughout all of this. You feel one last spurt coming, and Eunbi brings her mouth down to swallow it all. You take advantage of this opportunity to thrust into her mouth a few times as you come down from your climax.

Eunbi thoroughly cleans your cock with her mouth, licking and sucking all over your sensitive length. A knock on the door interrupts her, a male voice comes calling, probably a guard or a courtier. “Princess Eunbi, your father requests your presence in the throne room whenever you are predisposed to come. He would like to speak with you regarding the diplomatic delegation that arrived earlier.”

She pulls her mouth off your cock to answer. “Tell Father that I’ll be there soon, you may leave first.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Eunbi turns back to you. “How many nights are you staying here for?”

“Two, weather permitting.”

“Good, that’s two more nights with you. A good first impression, but I need to sample you for longer to really give Naeun a detailed opinion.”

You chuckle. “I don’t mind.”

“Oh, and one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t ever call me a whore or a harlot outside of this room or I will order your execution.” Eunbi smiles and jokes as she walks over to a nearby standing metal washbasin to wash her face and neck. You admire Eunbi’s naked form again, watching her butt move from side to side as she walks, her back turned to you.

“I would never.” You get up from sitting on the bed, and walk over to where Eunbi stands, washing herself.

“I’m thinking of maybe going back with you, I haven’t visited Naeun in a while. Maybe the three of us can spend some time together.”

You wrap your arms around Eunbi’s waist and whisper suggestively into her ear as she wipes down her face with a towel. “That’s an excellent idea. Imagine the things we could do together, the three of us. The two of you and your wonderful royal chests sound like an excellent time.”

You dip your hands into the cold water in the washbasin and then bring both hands up to her chest, cupping her breasts from behind. “You have to wash these too.” You breathe heavily into Eunbi’s ear. Eunbi lets out a soft moan, her body shivering as you squeeze her breasts gently, and she feels your cock start to stiffen against her ass. You bring one hand down to gently rub against her pussy lips. “And down here too.”

As you kiss Eunbi on her ear and the nape of her neck, your cock rubbing against her pussy, she murmurs softly in pleasure. “I guess Father will have to wait for a little longer.”

The king of Snowgleam doesn’t see his daughter for another two hours. And you are looking forward to a busy two days (and nights).

[robininthelabyrinth]

A prompt for a continuation of your "NMJ goes mad with losing his brother" fic? It needs more. Preferably including A) NHS waking up as a fierce corpse and B) Lan Zhan, at least, not dying.

part 1, part 2, part 3

Lan Wangji wrapped his fingers around Wei Wuxian’s shaking hands, white-knuckled and fearful and unable to release his grip on the Stygian Tiger Seal. He didn’t say anything, only stood there, but that was fine, that was enough.

He was alive, and that was enough.

How Wei Wuxian had felt when he’d arrived to see him staggering backwards, Bichen falling from numb fingers, red staining his white robes –

He didn’t want to think about that.

It was fine: they’d arrived in time, it seemed. 

Based on how everyone looked, and on the general state of the surrounding area, he’d guess that Lan Xichen had started fighting Nie Mingjue first, possibly after some conversation, and for a while they’d been evenly matched, but then Lan Wangji hadn’t been able to resist coming to his brother’s aid, the two Jades of Lan perfectly in tune with each other as they fought against a single opponent.

Working together and using their full efforts, they probably would have eventually been able to beat Nie Mingjue, even blackened and more fearsome than ever as he was now; but of course, once Lan Xichen accepted outside assistance, Nie Mingjue could as well.

It was a little terrifying to think that he retained his sense of fairness underneath it all, actually. That meant that whatever he’d done to the Jin sect, some part of him still felt it was just.

By the time Wei Wuxian had arrived with Nie Huaisang in tow, Nie Mingjue had already summoned the masterless sabers, which he’d brought with him in a qiankun pouch – just two of them, in addition to himself, and the balance of battle shifted entirely to his side.

The Nie sect was known for its offensive power, after all, and even the Twin Jades of Lan would have difficulty against their sabers.

Not would. Did.

Lan Wangji had fought against the two sabers himself, leaving Lan Xichen to fight Nie Mingjue unhindered, but the sabers had cut at him - he was fast, but they were faster, and his white robes were stained from a multitude of cuts to his arms, to his chest, to his hips and legs.

Little cuts, in large part, but it was only a matter of time before the little cuts slowed him down enough -

Before -

Wei Wuxian had seen Lan Wangji falling, had seen Bichen leaving his hand unwillingly, and his chest abruptly contracted in utter panic. 

He’d reacted immediately, acted on instinct, whistling to summon any fierce corpses in the area. 

Not that there were many, it being the Cloud Recesses, a place of purification – but in the end his instincts had only made things worse.

The masterless sabers were, it seemed, exactly as terrifying as Xue Yang had made them out to be: they were swollen with power, very nearly conscious, and enraged by the presence of evil. It was as if the mighty ancestors of the Nie clan had reawaken from their slumber to help their descendant wreak vengeance across the land. 

Or at least it would be, if those ancestors were made of steel, knowing neither fatigue nor pain, neither mercy nor pity, and continuously drawing power from the earth and sky even as their opponents’ energy drained away.  

They struck hard, chopping down again and again, an unstoppable force, inexorable, taking lives as a easily as a thresher reaped grain.

The low level fierce corpses Wei Wuxian had been able to summon didn’t stand a chance.

Desperate, he had reached for the Stygian Tiger Seal, unsure if he would be able to wield it before Nie Mingjue turned Baxia against him, not thinking of the consequences, thinking only that he had to stop this, he had to save Lan Zhan -

It would all have gone very bad if Nie Huaisang hadn’t intervened at that very moment, shouting, “Da-ge! Make them stop before they turn on me!”

Nie Mingjue had pulled back at once, a harsh gesture causing the masterless sabers to unwillingly retreat from battle and return to his side; Lan Wangji had in turn struggled off the ground to come to Wei Wuxian’s side, and now he was silently holding Wei Wuxian’s hands, letting Wei Wuxian feel his still-strong pulse, and Wei Wuxian could finally let go of the Stygian Tiger Seal.

“Thank you,” Wei Wuxian said, and meant it; he hadn’t been thinking straight. 

Using the Stygian Tiger Seal so close to the Cloud Recesses, near the graves of all those purified Lan sect ancestors, all those common people in the villages not far away, everyone accustomed to peace – it would have been a disaster.

“Thank you,” Lan Wangji echoed. “You came in time.”

The sincerity in his eyes made Wei Wuxian’s face feel oddly hot, so he coughed and looked over to where Lan Xichen was leaning against a tree, recovering. “Don’t worry about it. You were doing fine.”

“We were not,” Lan Xichen said simply. “Thank you for your timely assistance, Wei-gonzi. It would have gone badly, otherwise.”

Lots of dead people, in other words.

Lan Xichen looked over to where the Nies were standing: Nie Mingjue’s hands were on his brother’s shoulders, his unguarded back to them – it wasn’t an insult as to their abilities, merely indifference to his own fate. Nie Mingjue clearly cared very little about anything beyond having his brother back. Their heads were bowed together as they spoke, and Nie Huaisang’s expression was positively fierce as he hissed out something. 

Lan Xichen’s expression wavered for a moment, and then firmed with determination; he stood and walked over to them.

“Nie-gongzi,” he said politely. “I was hoping you could confirm something for me.”

Nie Huaisang looked at him, his expression utterly unfathomable for a moment; he seemed to be thinking of something. He moved away from his brother, Nie Mingjue turning to stand by his side but never removing his eyes from him, as though he feared Nie Huaisang would die again the second he blinked.

“Go ahead and ask,” Nie Huaisang said slowly. “And then – I have something to ask of you, I think.”

Lan Xichen looked almost as though he regretted Nie Huaisang’s easy agreement. Despite this, he asked, “Your death. If you remember it, can you tell me - who was responsible for it?”

“The Jin sect killed me,” Nie Huaisang said, and now Wei Wuxian was really paying attention: he’d been so busy conducting tests to make sure Nie Huaisang wasn’t about to come apart at the seams that he’d never actually asked for the details of what had killed him. “It was at the orders of Sect Leader Jin, but the execution of the order was at the hands of san-ge – sorry. Jin Guangyao.”

Lan Xichen closed his eyes, pained; it was as if he had been struck a harsh blow, knocking the breath out of him.  

Wei Wuxian sympathized: who hadn’t heard of how fond Lan Xichen was of his youngest sworn brother? Who didn’t know that Nie Mingjue had only agreed to swear brotherhood with Jin Guangyao at Lan Xichen’s instigation?

“In that case, I am sorry,” Lan Xichen said, his voice low. “You would not have gone to Lanling alone, if not for my invitation. It may have been at A-Yao’s – at Jin Guangyao’s suggestion, but I trusted him, and you believed in me, and he killed you. The price for my blind faith was too high.”

Wei Wuxian winced. He hadn’t realized that Lan Xichen was directly involved in Nie Huaisang’s death, though of course it made sense thinking about it – Nie Huaisang had gone to Lanling alone, without any retainers, and despite the ongoing, if unspoken, war for influence between the Nie sect and the Jin sect.

It really did seem as though he had been lured there specifically to die.

And it had been done using Lan Xichen’s word of honor –

Lan Xichen’s mind was clearly going along the same lines: he inhaled once more, the sound of it agony, and said quietly, “It seems your brother was right to seek vengeance against me.”

“That’s probably true,” Nie Huaisang said, and Lan Wangji’s fingers twitched – they’re still wrapped around Wei Wuxian’s, even though he’s already put away the Tiger Seal, and for some reason Wei Wuxian doesn’t feel inclined to let go. “I’m not going to let him kill you, though.”

Lan Wangji’s fingers relaxed.

“I’m feeling very sensitive about people getting killed recently,” Nie Huaisang said, and shrugged. “For obvious reasons.”

He patted his belt in an instinctive motion and frowned, clearly having looked for something and found it missing. Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure what until Nie Mingjue mutely reached into his own belt and produced a fan, which he passed over; Nie Huaisang automatically opened it and held it in front of his face, only belatedly realizing where it came from and turning to look at his brother with concern.

“How did you die?” Wei Wuxian asked, both out of curiosity and because he remembered the stories Nie Huaisang had told in the Cloud Recesses of how his brother always rolled his eyes at his habit of carrying a fan, how silly and childish he thought he was being – that Nie Mingjue carried one with him now, even though he hadn’t known Nie Huaisang would be coming, even though he hadn’t known Wei Wuxian would be able to succeed –

Wei Wuxian thought of Jiang Cheng, searching fruitlessly for him for months, and tried not to think about it any more.

He didn’t want to think about what he would have done, if he were in Nie Mingjue’s shoes. Whether he would have made the same choices: to murder hundreds, if not thousands of cultivators, simply for the unfulfilling catharsis of revenge for a brother lost.

He thought there was a good chance that he might.

“Oh, you know, being led into a trap and left to die slowly and painfully while begging for help from someone who didn’t care to do anything – it was all very bad, and I’d prefer not to think about it, really,” Nie Huaisang said, and in retrospect Wei Wuxian would prefer that he didn’t as well – Lan Xichen looked as though he wanted to throw up. “A better question, though, is why did I die?”

That got everyone’s attention, even Nie Mingjue, who frowned. “You died because he killed you,” he said, his voice low and rumbling.

Nie Huaisang waved his fan in the air, clearly more comfortable now that he had it. “Yes, that’s the straightforward answer. But why kill me? Why risk your anger – admittedly, he may not have realized the extent of your anger, but why risk it at all? I’m no harm to anyone.”

“That is a good question,” Wei Wuxian said, and it was, now that he had a moment to think about it. “It’s not profitable in and of itself, and we all know how the Jin sect favors – ah, favored profit. If I had to bet on it, I’d say you probably found something out that they didn’t want you to know, so they felt they had no choice but to kill you.”

Nie Huaisang nodded. “I think so, too. That’s why I need Sect Leader Lan’s help.”

“My help?” Lan Xichen asked. He sounded tired. “What do you need my help for?”

“They were planning on killing da-ge,” Nie Huaisang said, and they all winced at that. Even Lan Xichen, who looked as though he had become almost resigned to the betrayal, nodded, accepting it: if he would kill Nie Huaisang, who was harmless, then plotting to kill Nie Mingjue, even if he was sworn brothers with the man…this Jin Guangyao fellow truly really knew no limits. “They were going to use you to do that, too. Something about a song you’d been teaching san-ge? I don’t know how you’d kill someone through a song, though.”

Nie Mingjue huffed, and the slightest trace of a sneer appeared on his lips – it was probably the closest thing to an expression that he’d had in the entire time Wei Wuxian had seen since his brother’s death. It was depressingly a relief to see the traces of the more familiar anger on the man’s face.

There was a sudden movement: Lan Xichen had abruptly knelt down, his knees going soft in horror if his expression was any judge.

“Clarity,” he said numbly. He had already been injured to the point of pain, and now he suffered another blow, more potent than any saber strike: it was horrible to watch. “The Song of Clarity – I taught A-Yao how to play one of the Lan sect’s ancestral songs. It was meant to help calm da-ge’s qi, to reduce the likelihood of a qi deviation.”

“So that’s probably how they were going to do it,” Nie Huaisang said, tapping his fan against his cheek. “Da-ge’s qi is already unstable naturally; if in the guise of playing music to stabilize it, you played something that would instead throw it into turmoil –”

“The Songs of Turmoil,” Lan Wangji suddenly said. “Brother – in the Forbidden Library…”

“He wouldn’t have had access to that!”

“He rescued you during the war,” Nie Mingjue said, his expression gone flat again. “You were carrying your clan’s books with you at that time, were you not?”

Lan Xichen’s head bowed. “Yes,” he whispered. “I was.”

Besides, Wei Wuxian thought to himself, Jin Guangyao had made his name by being a spy in the Nightless City - if he could fool Wen Ruohan, who was paranoid and trusted no one, then finding things out in the Cloud Recesses, where he was given free rein by the sect leader who trusted him...it would have been too easy.

“That leads me to my next question, I suppose,” Nie Huaisang said. His expression was hidden behind his fan, but his eyes were narrow. “And I would ask that Sect Leader Lan not take any insult at my suggestion. But I have to wonder: how many times is it plausible for a man to be inadvertently used as a weapon, before…?”

Before he himself should itself be investigated.

“That’s an unfair question,” Wei Wuxian said, even though it kind of wasn’t. If someone had been involved in multiple murder plots against him or his family, he would be suspicious of them no matter how virtuous they appeared to be. Still, this was Lan Xichen. “If he trusted him, he trusted him. The same initial fault led to everything else; it wasn’t anything new.”

Lan Xichen choked out a laugh, his voice raw and gasping. “I thank you for your defense, Wei-gongzi, but Nie-gongzi is correct. How many times must I be used as a knife in another’s hand before I take responsibility for my own behavior? How many other times did he use me as a shield of virtue to hide behind? I’ve always believed that he had reasons for everything he did…”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Nie Mingjue said.

“It matters to me,” Lan Xichen said, and he looked up, devastation and determination in every line of his face.

“Brother…” Lan Wangji began, looking concerned.

“No, Wangji. This is necessary. Da-ge – no. Sect Leader Nie. I have wronged you, you and your clan, in more ways than one. I submit myself to your jurisdiction, to be tried and judged, and welcome whatever punishment is appropriate under the rules of your Sect.”

Lan Wangji’s hand was so tight around Wei Wuxian’s own that it hurt, but Wei Wuxian didn’t say anything about it. His heart was in his mouth, watching the Nie brothers: with such a submission, Nie Mingjue could take Lan Xichen’s life with Baxia this instant, and Lan Wangji would have no recourse.

Assuming recourse was even possible. Those sabers...

Nie Huaisang coughed, interrupting the tense mood.

“Okay, okay, you can come back to Qinghe with us,” he said, waving his hand as if it were nothing. “We’ll figure it out from there. No more immediate executions; I think we’ve had enough of those – da-ge, I can’t believe you brought out the sabers! What were you thinking?”

“I don’t think he was,” Wei Wuxian said, his shoulders relaxing; he turned to smile at the relieved Lan Wangji. There was still hope for something vaguely resembling a good ending, maybe. “At all. You two really are brothers, Nie-xiong.”

“Rude!” Nie Huaisang huffed, but he was grinning. “You have to come to Qinghe too, Wei-xiong; da-ge won’t feel comfortable if you aren’t around, at least at first…Lan-er-gongzi, why don’t you come as well? Since you’re having such difficulty letting go of Wei-gongzi’s hand –”

[kafka-ish]

coward | s.u.

y/n, bold and beautiful, is now second guessing herself when she finds herself skinny dipping with stan uris 

word count: 2.5k

warnings/included: fluff, steamy-ish, exhibitionism, fem!reader

request: (from anon) “could i have a request where the reader is v v v flirty with stan and one day he says something really dirty even richie's shocked. it’s fine if not.” 

a/n: i accidentally changed it bc i misread ur request im so so sorry !!! also if u noticed i haven’t written in awhile it’s bc my classes started up again so fics may take more time to write/post -- hope u understand <3

-

What came out of y/n’s mouth next truly shocked Stanley.

“Wanna go skinny dipping?” It wasn’t far off from whatever usually spewed from her mouth that she and the rest of the Losers had a hard time controlling.

His mind flashed to all the times y/n’s hand grazed his: the light touches, the silent stares, the whispers that tickled his ears and kissed his brain.

“Next year for Halloween, you should be Stan without a shirt.”  

The hearts she drew on his notebook when he wasn’t looking, the hand she held in hers, the what-are-we’s before giggling in his wonderstruck face that she was joking; it was all a sign of want that he’d been too dense to see before.

“You’re great, you know. Great at being an asshole.”

Sweet, mischievous y/n; always blunt, always careless of what others thought of her. It never occurred to Stan of what she thought of him.

Richie was the first to speak up, Stan still having to catch his breath from the promiscuous words that left her mouth seconds ago. “Sure, toots, I’d love to see what’s under that suit of yours. God, you don’t know how much I hate that thing.” He laughed and Stan wanted to beat the shit-eating grin off his shit-eating friend. His jaw, pronounced and square, tightened and Richie saw. “On second thought, I think someone else would enjoy the view way more.”

Another laugh came from the group, but it wasn’t from Richie. It was y/n’s. The soft giggle leaving her luscious lips did nothing to calm Stan.

“Are you jealous, Stanley?” She asked. A smirk sat on her lips. She only called him by his full name when she teased him.

He definitely felt like he was being thrown a bone only to find out the pitcher never threw one right now.

“Of course not.” Stan gave her the side-eye, readjusting his position from the rock he sat on while doing so. “I can’t think of any situation where I’d be jealous of Richie.”

“Oh yeah?” Richie challenged and Stan squinted at him.

“Yeah.”

“I can think of one—multiple, actually.” Richie wore the same smirk as y/n—only his was less digestible. Maybe it was because y/n was less insufferable to be around, or because she didn’t take a crack at his religion every chance she had, or because her hair was soft and shiny on her head and something Stan wished he could run his hands through. Maybe it was because y/n was a girl, or because she was pretty and the way she batted her eyelashes made him see stars even in the sunlight.

“When?”

Richie leaned in and whispered something that was totally vulgar and jarring to Stan’s ears.

Stan flinched—unsurprised that his friend was ballsy enough to say such a thing, but because what if he had actually thought about doing such a thing?

“Gross, Ruh-Ruh-Richie!” Bill yelled from across the quarry, already knowing what his friend would say.

“Yeah. You’re disgusting,” Eddie said from next to him while he looked up at Bill.

“Ruh-lax. It’s not like it’s something I’m gonna do.” Richie opened a new can of Keystone Light next to his already half-drunken one. “I got freedom of thoughts though, right?” He winked and Ben rolled his eyes.

“If you already have a drink open you should finish it,” Stan instructed, ignoring the subject at hand.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist.” y/n sounded closer than she was before. Her arm brushed up against his and he thought she was about to hold his hand until her fingers grazed just past his to grab his can of beer. She took a sip. “Besides, it all ends up somewhere.”

She could be so careless with her actions. But this was the same girl who made sure paper and plastic went to recycling, the total opposite of Stan, a total enigma.

“I just think, if you want another one, you should finish the one you already have.” Stan explained himself clearly and concisely. It was something y/n always admired. She never got tired of hearing him talk—she could listen to him talk for hours on end.

“Whatever.” Her eyes rolled so far he’d thought they’d get stuck. “I’m going home. “Later, Losers.”

“Wuh-what about the sk-skinny dipping?” Bill asked and Ben elbowed him. He wasn’t yet comfortable in his body, though he had been on Derry High’s track team for a year and a half and lost a fair amount of weight (twenty-two pounds), he still wasn’t comfortable in his own skin (he didn’t think he’d ever be)—even around his best friends—friends he considered family.

“We can do it tomorrow.” y/n shrugged. “Sound good to you, Stanley?” Her eyes were only focused on him and Stan knew that. They glowered under the sun’s harsh rays and fixated on his figure.

“I don’t know.” Stan tried to sound as monotone as possible. “Maybe you should be asking Richie instead.”

At that, y/n smiled, leaving the rest of the group confused as she walked away.

“Duh-dude!” What wuh-was that?” Bill wondered aloud, astounded how y/n had him wrapped around her finger—or maybe it was the other way around.

“If I knew, I would tell you,” Stan said, holding the same shock in his voice.

“Are you and y/n like—”

“No!” The sharpness of Stan’s tongue cut Ben off quickly with a harsh glare he’d later apologize for. But it would be a lie to say that he didn’t want something with y/n. Another lie, that Stan would keep to himself, would be that he didn’t anticipate the events that were to come for tomorrow…

“Hey, stranger!” It was y/n from down below. She was already wading in the water—waiting for him, presumably.

“Hey, y/n/n.” He started for the long way down, not caring to cannon-ball ten feet down from the cliff of the quarry today. “Where’s Bill and Bev and Mike and Ben and—”

“—and Richie?” A beam shot across y/n’s face as soon as Stan met her eye line.

“And Richie,” Stan mumbled. That was the only thing he’d been worried about. Although he knew there was nothing about his trashmouth friend to worry about. But it was always best to stay skeptical.

“I told them not to come.” y/n said this with such nonchalance—such grace as she tilted her head into the water and drifted back, letting the water carry her away as if she were weightless.

“Why,” Stan asked, though it came out as more of a demand.

“Because.” y/n shrugged, but you couldn’t really shrug while you were trying to stay afloat. He noticed that her eyes were closed, and her bathing suit was still on. Maybe she was lying about skinny dipping and he had worked himself up last night over nothing. y/n was like that—making promises she never intended to fulfill. If it weren’t for y/n being, well, y/n, Stan might’ve been annoyed at her antics. But he wasn’t—far from it, even. He was infatuated with her being—clothed or not, enraptured with how sunshine she could be one hour and rain she could be the next.

Math and English were an easy feat—but trying to understand y/n was like trying to learn Mandarin blind and deaf.

Her curves spilled from the bikini bottoms that hugged her butt and the matching top she wore hugged her bust exceptionally. The bikini’s scandalous red color harmonized with y/n’s skin tone well and Stan couldn’t imagine her in anything else at the moment. He didn’t want to imagine her in anything else.

“Are you gonna get in?” Her presence startled him as she was quick to swim up to the rocks. “Or are you scared?” A sly smile splayed across her pink lips and Stan mirrored her.

“I’m scared?” He scoffed. “You were the one who said we were going skinny dipping.” He stripped himself of his shirt, revealing his pale, yet toned, chest. “Guess who’s not undressed.”

“You?” y/n guessed; the innocent tone surprising on her tongue. She had inadvertently licked her lips at the answer and Stan couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her mouth due to the action.

“No. You.”

“My bad.” A giggle escaped her bitten lips and y/n began to unclip the back of her bikini. “Is that better now?” The straps fell loose against her arms, but the top stayed covering her breasts.

Stan didn’t say anything.

“What if I…” y/n didn’t finish her sentence. Silently, she fully removed the straps from her arms and the contraption left her bodice.

“Christ,” Stan seethed out, but he wasn’t gentlemen enough to look away from the sight on display before him: y/n treading the shallow water that was crystal clear thanks to Mr. Sun that shone down on this part of town, giving Stan an eyeful.

“Don’t say his name in vain.” She had now slipped the bottoms off and Stan didn’t know what to do with himself. Get undressed, I guess.

His pants were the next to go as Stanley undid his brown leather belt that held his too-big khaki shorts together. His waistline had shrunk due to baseball season’s quick start. And although it was only early March, the heat had picked up fast in this small town they called home and Stan could feel himself already itching to feel the water on his sweat-stricken skin.

“What are you waiting for?” y/n called from below. She was growing impatient, but who could blame her?

Stan stood above her in only his underwear. If the rest of the student body was here, he would’ve been living out his nightmare—stripped to the bone with an audience to gawk at him. But only y/n was here to witness the grey Calvin Kleins that hugged his thighs and rather than a nightmare, this felt more like a daydream.

“Are you shy?” She teased. “C’mon, Stanny, there’s no need to be—”

“Shy my ass,” Stan interjected as he relieved himself of the last piece of clothing and jumped into the water all in a quick movement.

“Glad you could finally make it, slowpoke.” y/n splashed his face, disregarding his lack of clothes—both of their lack of clothes—but Stan couldn’t help but admire y/n’s skin that the water had already kissed and glowed under the flash of the sun.

He’d never seen her in such a state before. In fact, he’d never intended to. But this was worth it—even if it were the only time, he knew he’d have this memory burned into his skull forever the same way the sun would burn his skin the next day because he forgot to apply sunscreen. Since when does Stanley Uris forget to apply sunscreen?

“It’s rude to stare,” y/n deadpanned, but Stan couldn’t help it. How could he not take his eyes off her tan lines from up close and the divot of her collarbone? The way her hair slicked back from the water and the pout of her lips was all too tempting to not want to consume. Stan Uris would be an idiot to not stare. A polite idiot.

“You make it hard.”

y/n felt her cheeks heat up and she knew she wasn’t sporting a sunburn. y/n never burned. “Oh. Well, in that case, stare as much as you want.”

“Gladly.”

y/n was quiet now—a rare event, but it gave Stan an opportunity he’d never thought he’d get or go for.

He swam closer, the stroke of his arms creating rifts in the water and y/n shivered at the feeling of the coldness that hit her chest each time he got closer.

It was strange seeing him up close—in such an intimate setting. As big of a crush y/n harbored on the boy, it’s not like she did anything about it. A few remarks there, a few remarks there. This was the furthest they’ve ever gotten. Maybe a little too far now that she was considering it more closely. Since when did first base turn into skinny dipping in the quarry?

Before her thoughts could leave her second-guessing anymore, y/n felt her lips on someone else’s. They were pressed together firmly and tightly. She held her breath as if she were underwater, but her heart prevailed, only picking up at a speed she’d only feel when she caught him looking at her or when he laughed at her jokes.

The kiss was powerful and all she needed. If this were the last time they’d ever see each other again, she wouldn’t care, because she’d have that kiss to cherish. Maybe she’d long for one in the future. Just one more. But this kiss left her knowing that this skinny-dipping idea wasn’t so bad after all.

His lips were soft and tickled as he pulled apart to catch a breath. y/n’s eyes opened to find Stan’s pupils were wide and lustblown. She stood still in the water, amazed that anyone could feel that way about her.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, Stan—”

“What?” Stan asked, eager and anxious for the words meant for him.

“This is embarrassing but.. I like you.” The words were bold and packed with courage—not far from the regular way y/n spoke, but this was different. It had a certain bite to it that Stan couldn’t quite taste.

“Are you embarrassed because you like me or are you embarrassed because you’re confessing to me without any clothes on?” Before Stan’s eyes could rake down to y/n’s body once more, a splash of water hit his face—cold and abrupt. His eyelids slammed at the impact and he flinched.

“You’re such a perv.” y/n scoffed as if she had forgotten her deepest secret had just spilled from her lips in front of the boy the secret was about. Secret. Don’t act like it wasn’t as obvious as a fat kid scarfing down their third brownie in the first place—

“You know if it’s any more embarrassing… I like you, too,” Stan said. He felt winded after saying it. His chest felt heavy and his toes dug into the sand in order to keep him from falling headfirst into the water. It was so easy for y/n. Brave, crass y/n who swore like a sailor yet had the face of a doll.

Stan’s train of thought was lost at the feeling of y/n’s body pressed against his. He’d forgotten they were both bare-assed and exposed for all of Derry to see because the warmth of y/n was all too much. His heart jumped out of his chest sixty miles a minute and the muscles under his arms were now stones. Stan didn’t recognize that her lips were on his until her tongue swiped his bottom one for access in which he granted.

Teeth clashed and tongues danced. It was a hot minute until y/n pulled away with a cheeky smile and lingering fingers on his collarbone that made Stan hold his breath.

“That was hot,” he heaved, finally cutting the silence between them. Of course, the birds still chirped and the water around them never stopped flowing. But the world just seemed to stop whenever Stan stepped foot into y/n’s intoxicating proximity.

“Hell yeah, it was.” One arm was still strewn around his neck while her free hand traced code on his shoulder.

Nothing else was said. Nothing had to be said. But Stan was sure of one thing; that y/n was no coward.

[mulletcal]

triple word score - an ashton irwin blurb.

a/n: okay sO this is the third part to this little mini series i’ve been doing i guess, i’ll link part one and two below.  @sexgodashton​ said i should write a part three and who am i to say no to writing some more ash content???

word count: 3.6k

warnings: okay so there is smut, and more smut, there is light dom!ash in this, use of the nickname kitten, thigh riding, choking, use of the word ‘daddy’ once.... and i think that’s it???

part one | part two 

----

It had been nearly a month since your kiss with Ashton, and in your mind things were going quite swimmingly.  You had weekly dates where one of you would make dinner, followed by Scrabble just for something fun, and to cap the night off you would watch a movie until you would pass out on his couch with your head in his lap.  His niece left around two weeks in, finally being allowed to travel within the country.  Ashton whispered to you one night how he missed having her around, and you promised that you would remind him to call her in the morning.

The two of you hadn’t ventured into the outside world just yet, nor had you made things official.  You hadn’t minded though, content to stay in your own little bubble of exchanging baked goods and cuddles.  One other thing that happened to be gnawing at the back of your mind, was that you hadn’t made things physical yet - You were trying to be respectful of his boundaries, but everytime Ashton smiled a certain way, or he smacked your ass teasingly, it made your head spin. Figuring that maybe you could make the first move, you’d suggested maybe going somewhere more romantic for your date that week; somewhere still private but different enough that maybe it could set the mood.

Thursday rolled around, and you had just finished packing up the small picnic that you had made for the two of you before you heard your doorbell ring.  Eagerly making your way towards the door, you pulled it open with a wide grin, only to see Ashton standing there with a small bouquet of flowers.

“For me?” You teased, placing your hand on your chest as you let out a overdramatic gasp, “You shouldn’t have.”

“I mean, I know I brought cookies the very first time we met, but since this is our first outside world date I thought I’d make an effort,” Ashton grinned sheepishly, not unaware of the fact that your eyes were dragging down his chest, taking in the short sleeved black button down he was wearing, or the pants that hugged his thighs just right.  “Wanna take a picture? Might last longer.”

“Couldn’t help it, you look fantastic tonight,” Your eyes finally met his, and your smile got even wider as you caught the slightest hint of mischief in his eyes.

“Sure you’re not lookin’ in a mirror there, sweetheart? Because the only one I see right now that looks fantastic is you.”

Swatting his arm with the flowers, you tugged him inside so you could put the flowers into a vase.  You made sure to sway your hips a little extra, if only to pick up the movement in your dress, but it didn’t hurt if Ashton’s eyes lingered a little longer on your behind.  Ashton made small talk as you got the flowers prepared for the water, giggling when he told you that his niece had met a boy and she had a crush.

“Did you tell her to make some cookies?” You tossed him a glance which only made his smile grow bigger.

“Well of course, worked on you didn’t it?”

Rolling your eyes, you set the flowers down finally, turning to grab the small basket you had packed full of goodies.  Cocking your head to the side, you smiled up at him, “Ready to go?”

“Mmhm, wish you would tell me where we’re goin’ though so I can be sure I’m not about to get murdered by Little Red Riding Hood,” Ashton laughed softly, tugging on your dress.  Your plan may just work after all.

“Ash we’re just going on a little picnic!”

“At night?” He questioned, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close, “Listen I’ll trust you for now.  But as soon as things go south I’ll run.”

You pecked his lips, reassuring once again that you weren’t planning on killing him before you tugged him out of the door.  You had decided to drive, to keep an added element of surprise to your date with Ashton.  It wasn’t something that was overly extravagant, you were going to take him to the lake nearby that seemed to look pretty at night, the lights of the city reflecting onto the water.

The drive to the lake was short, Ashton nervously bouncing his leg the whole time.  You wondered briefly if he actually thought you were going to kill him.  The two of you were no longer the strangers that played Words with Friends from a distance - instead, you were on the brink of a relationship, well maybe, hopefully you were.

Pulling into a vacant parking spot, Ashton looked over at you with a confused look, “The lake?”

“Yeah! I thought that maybe we could set up a little picnic, if you’re up for it,” You spoke, a small blush tinting at your cheeks.

“This is different from our Scrabble nights,” He brought your fingers to his lips, kissing them gently before leaning in to kiss you gently right after. 

“Oh don’t worry, I have plans for that later.”

With that, you got out of your car, Ashton quickly grabbed the basket from the backseat, rounding the back to reach his hand out to yours.  Smiling brightly up at him, you took it and squeezed gently.  

The two of you walked a bit of a distance before settling on where to lay the blanket down, settling in as you pulled out the snacks, including the chocolate covered strawberries you had made.  That particular food item earned you a quirked brow from Ashton, drawing a giggle from your lips.

Your date was uneventful, the real excitement planned for later; it wasn’t long after the food had been finished that Ashton sensed you were eager to get home.  The way you sat up on your knees and kept glancing around, mostly back in the direction of your car.

“Bored of me already, are you?” Ashton asked, a cheeky grin pulling at his lips.

“No! I just… I have something else planned for us, wanna get going?”

Ashton’s brows furrowed, nodding in response to your question.  He helped you to pack up the basket once more, leaning up to kiss his cheek in thanks as he finished the cleanup - shooing you away to the car.

Driving back, time seemed to move even slower, and Ashton seemed just as nervous.  Grabbing his hand to stop his nervous drumming, he let out a soft exhale.

“I hate not knowing what’s going on,” Ashton pouted, turning to give you his best puppy dog eyes in hopes that you may tell him. 

“Those gorgeous eyes may lure me in normally, but not tonight.  You’re gonna have to wait till we get back to my place.”

A soft huff escapes Ashton’s lips, a childlike pout on his lips as you continued on.  It wasn’t until you had made your way inside and picked up the Scrabble box and wiggled your eyebrows suggestively did Ashton’s face change.

“What’s with the face?”

“Told you I had plans for this later.  What if I asked you if you wanted to play strip Scrabble?” Your eyebrows raised suggestively once more.

Ashton’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, a small grin tugging at his lips as he looked from you to the box, “How long have you been plotting this, hm?”

The air in the room shifted, but you stepped closer to Ashton, setting the box aside, “You game or not?”

Ashton’s eyes dragged down your body, sending shivers down your spine, “You’re wearing a lot less clothes than me sweetheart.”

“Well, good thing I’m better at Scrabble than you, Boomer,” Your finger dragged down his chest, casually popping open the top button before Ashton swatted your hand away.

“That’s cheating, and how many times do I need to tell you m’not a fuckin’ boomer!”

You barely missed his playful swat moving past him so you could set up the board on the coffee table.  Ashton sat across from you, close enough so that your feet were brushing against one anothers. You were kind of unclear of the rules as far as specifics, but you knew  the basics of: who ever scored higher each turn, removed an article of clothing.

You had been doing well so far at beating Ashton, but of course he was being a tease about it - starting with his shoes one at a time, followed by his socks, and his belt.  He got you a couple of times, resulting in you losing your shoes, but you knew that your next thing to go would be your dress, having nothing else left to lose.

Without a thought, you had put down the word ‘cunning’, taking advantage of the triple letter score for the ‘U’, assuming Ashton wouldn’t have anything better so he’d finally be forced to remove his shirt.  What you weren’t expecting, though, is for Ashton to put down the letters L-I-N-G-U-S’.

“You know that’s not how it’s spelt right?” You asked, leaning your elbows against the couch with a smirk.

“We know the end goal, so I think you could let this one slip, hm? Lose the dress, kitten.”

Your mouth fell open with a soft gasp, the new nickname sending a thrill through your veins- but still, you couldn’t make it easy on him, “What’s in it for me if I let you have this?”

Ashton wasted no time sliding over to close the gap between the two of you, his thigh now brushing against yours.  His left hand reached across to trail feather-light touches up your thigh, “Want me to show you, or just tell you?”

This was a side of Ashton you hadn’t seen before, but the look in his eyes made your mouth dry, struggling to find the words to say.  You wanted to continue the banter, but your want for him far outweighed your need to be borderline bratty in that moment.

“Not so bold now are you, kitten?” Ashton hummed, brushing his nose across your neck, causing you to suck in a sharp breath.  “You gonna take this dress off or am I going to have to rip it? Would be a shame to ruin such a nice dress.”

You made a small attempt to catch your breath, but all attempts were thrown out the window as Ashton nipped your neck gently, causing you to squeak.  Moving your fingers to the bottom of your dress, you moved far too slow for Ashton’s liking, his hands coming to cover yours and pushing your dress up further until it was over your head.  

A slow smirk spread over his lips when his eyes landed on the matching black set you had put on, fingers gingerly tracing the patterns of the lace.

“Someone had big plans for tonight, hm?” Ashton motioned for you to get onto the couch, pushing the coffee table away from the two of you so he could have more space.  

When you sat up on the couch, you were suddenly very conscious, aware of the beautiful raven-haired man sitting on the floor in front of you, hazel eyes looking up at you with a hint of mischief playing in them.  What if he was disappointed?

Ashton didn’t give you much room to explore your insecurities, long fingers coaxing your legs apart.  You were expecting him to remove the underwear to get better access, but instead he began to rub at your core through the fabric, the friction of the lace making you arch into his touch.  His lips were busy marking the insides of your thighs, and you couldn’t help the sharp gasp that left your lips.

“Feel good?” He asked with a wink, applying more pressure against you.

“Yes,” You breathed, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair.

Without another word, Ashton lowered his head, closer and closer, until he finally began to suck right over your clit.  You had to cover your mouth to keep from screaming at the sudden change of pressure.  

“Shit Ash,” A soft moan was able to slip past your lips, your chest heaving already with him having hardly done anything - you knew you were fucked, literally and figuratively as you felt the pressure of his tongue moving against you.  “I can take these off if you wa--”

“You think you deserve it? After teasing me all night, kitten?” Ashton pulled away, bringing his fingers up to pull the fabric taught against you to get your attention, “Look at me when I’m speaking to you.”

The tone in his voice had your eyes snapping open in a second - maybe he wouldn’t be too weirded out at the idea that you’re alright being spit on.  You had a sense always that sex with Ashton would be good, but he’d already surpassed good in the very little he had done to you already. 

“I didn’t tease you,” You lied, finally meeting his eyes and licking your lips hastily.

Ashton narrowed his eyes, leaning his head against your thigh, “Would be sad if I had to stop here, love.  You wanna try that again? Try and tell me you weren’t flaunting that perfect ass in front of me, or the suggestive touches on our picnic, and the biggest offense of all the strip Scrabble.” He let out a soft laugh, rubbing his stubble against your thigh which raised goosebumps on your skin.

You knew you were beat - you were putty in his hands and all you wanted was for him to touch you more.  To feel his long fingers against you, in you even.  “I’m sorry for teasing you,” You said with a pout.

Your admittance brought his grin back, lifting his head off of your thigh and letting the fabric go, “You don’t get off that easy, but I guess I can forgive you.”

Ashton tugged the fabric just enough to expose your entrance, slipping a finger into you and bringing his lips back to your still covered clit.  You cursed under your breath, annoyed more than anything that he didn’t want to just take it off all together.  He added a second finger not long after the first, much to your satisfaction.  Ashton’s movements were working faster than they were before, more determined.  The friction and the feeling of his fingers sending you barreling towards the edge, fingers tangled in his hair.

He must have known that you were close, likely able to feel you, because he pulled away all at once, leaving you whimpering at the sudden loss of sensation.

“Ash, what the fu--”

“I said you’re not getting off that easy, kitten,” Ashton licked his lips, bringing his fingers to his mouth to clean them off. 

That image alone could have gotten you off, but you were excited to see what else he had in mind. 

Ashton stood from his previous position, holding out his hands to help you stand up, “We’re going to your bedroom, need more room than this.”

Chewing on your lip, you followed him as he led the way to your room, your breathing still laboured from being so close to the edge only a minute before.  When you both got to your room, Ashton let go of your hand so he could sit on the bed.

“Take the rest of your clothes off.”

“You’re still wearing more clothes than me, baby,” You said sweetly, trailing your finger down his chest, finger catching at the fabric where the remaining few buttons had been done up.

Ashton grabbed your wrist gently, looking up at you, “Did I stutter?”

This side of Ashton kept very pleasantly surprising you, and you kept it in the back of your mind to ask him later what he was in to - though you were already getting a sense of what that may be.

You stepped back from him, Ashton letting your wrist drop so you could strip.  Testing your limits, you made a show of it, fingers slipping the straps of your bra slowly down your arms, followed by reaching behind you to pretend like you were struggling to get it undone.  

Ashton made a sound of annoyance, letting you finish your teasing, thinking you were in control for even a split second.  When you were fully undressed, Ashton tugged on your hands, but he stopped you when you went to straddle his lap, instead settling his thigh in between your legs. 

“You really can’t resist teasing me, hm?” Ashton whispered against your ear, your body responding with a small shiver.  “You want to cum? Now you’re going to have to show me you deserve it.”

His hands guided your hips to move against his, and you quickly got the hint of what he wanted you to do.  Bracing your hands on his shoulders, you began to grind yourself against his thigh on your own, his hands moving to your thighs, a firm reminder that he could go back to moving your hips at a pace he chose.

“Please, Ash,” You whimpered, “The pressure is too much.  Want you…” Your head dropped into the crook of his neck, almost pathetically pressing down harder against his thigh.  “Need you.”

Your nails were digging into his shoulders, whimpering soft pleas into his ear.  You were trying to be good, in a way afraid Ashton would leave all together if you let yourself go and came just from his thigh, but it was getting increasingly more difficult to hold off.  

You were about to give up on trying to be good when Ashton’s hands gripped your hips, stopping your movements, earning him a grunt of frustration from you. 

“You’ve made quite the mess, kitten.  You wanna be fucked so bad you were ready to get off on my thigh alone.  Lay down on the bed.”

You obeyed, finally deciding your desire overruled your need for being a brat in that moment.  Laying back on the bed, you watched Ashton get undressed, pressing your thighs together when his eyes lifted to meet yours. 

“There are condoms in the drawer,” You managed to say, eyes never leaving Ashton’s body.

Nodding, it felt like it took forever for him to open the package and slide the condom on - but then again, maybe he was trying to tease you in the ways you had teased him earlier.  Making you wait to feel him was probably the worst punishment you could receive.

The bed dipped as he crawled onto it, hovering over you before pressing his lips to yours, “Ready love?”

Him going back and forth between ‘kitten’ and ‘love’ made you grin, tangling your fingers in his hair and bringing him back down for another deep kiss; you tried to push the feelings of butterflies bubbling in your stomach away when you finally nodded, waiting for Ashton to move to between your legs instead.

Even though minutes before he was teasing the fuck out of you, and you him, he was soft in that moment - the fact not lost on either of you that this was your first time having sex together, after all the build up to it the last couple of months.  Ashton took hold of himself, pressing against your entrance and sliding in slowly, his eyes shooting up to your face to make sure that you were alright.

He felt better than you could have ever imagined, filling you in all of the right ways.  You could tell that he was waiting for you to adjust, so you moving your hips against him encouraged him to move too.  Ashton’s thrusts started slow and steady, each drag of him against your walls pulling a moan from you. 

He used one of his hands to hike your leg up, the new angle causing him to go deeper, earning a new set of noises coming from your throat.  Ashton’s pace sped up, small grunts leaving his mouth, allowing his free hand to roam your body.  His hand settled on your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingertips.

You weren’t sure if it was the arousal coursing through your veins, or the fact that you felt somehow safe with Ashton, but you took his wrist and dragged it up to your throat, giving him a nod that it was okay.

His hips stuttered at the action, throwing him off of his rhythm a little bit, “Kitten’s got claws, does she?” Ashton squeezed gently, the restriction to your airway sending a new wave of thrill through your body.  

Ashton wasn’t sure if either of you could hold off any longer, and he was eager to see your face as you came apart beneath him.  He let your leg go so he could lean forward, whispering in your ear, “You wanna cum, kitten?”

“Yes… Please, daddy.”  The words were out of your mouth before you had a chance to even think about it, but it didn’t seem to affect Ashton, but rather encourage him.  His thrusts were sloppy, letting go of your neck to focus on his movements.

It took less than a minute before you were being sent over the edge, the sensation of being teased and edged aiding to what was quite possibly the most intense orgasm you had ever felt.  Ashton followed not too long after, his fingers holding your hips so tight you were certain to find bruises the next morning.

When he collapsed beside you, you immediately curled into his side while you tried to catch your breath.  Ashton wrapped his arms around you, pressing his lips to your forehead when he began to laugh. 

“What’s funny?” You asked, tilting your chin up to look at him.

“You somehow managed to get the triple letter score in the game, and got the triple word score just now.”

Smirking, you pressed your lips to his cheek, “What can I say? I don’t lose.”

tag list:  @haikucal​ @talkfastromance4​ @softbabiestan​ @calum-uncrowned​ @wildflowerirwin​ @irwindoll​ @gosh-im-short​ @atlcalm​ @thesubtweeter​ @heavenisapeach​ @ridingcthood​ @loveroflrh​ @mantlereid​ @inlovehoodx​ @irwinkitten​ @n-ctarinenga​​ @g-l-pierce​ @thecurlsofgod​

[mamaskillerqueen]

Maybe a song fic with Ben Hardy to the song "Paper Rings" by Taylor Swift?

A/N: Hi anon!! So, I’m firstly going to apologise for how long this took me to get out. I just haven’t been loving it. I think I started over at least three times. I still don’t think that it’s my best but I do hope that you enjoy it!!

Four Years Ago: 

Is there anything worse than house parties?

If there was, it was house parties where you didn't know anyone. Your anxiety had already gotten the best of you, but to top it off with the only person you knew having left to be a host... this was not your ideal night. 

You'd met Joe the day you moved in next door. Having come a long way from your hometown to take up residency in New York, you were alone to unpack. That included all the furniture you had brought along to furnish your new townhouse just outside of the city limits. You were contemplating just sleeping on the hardwood floor because carrying your mattress up by yourself didn't sound appealing, when Joe came to your rescue.

Since struggling to get the furniture up the stairs, and yelling very loudly "Pivot!" at each other, you'd become pretty close friends. He was sitting on your couch during a FRIENDS marathon one day when he mentioned that his Borhap family was getting together at his later that week. Ben and Gwilym were supposed to be coming into town, and they were all going to be having dinner at Joe's. He extended an invitation and you immediately declined. 

The thing about your friendship with Joe was that he never let you turn down things that you'd later beat yourself up for. He insisted you be at his house, promising it was just a small get together. Somehow you didn't believe him... and here you were, standing in his foyer ready to bolt because this was not what you signed up for. As a good friend though, you elbowed your way further into the house, hunting for the kitchen. If you were going to stay, you were definitely going to need a drink.

"Y/N!" 

If it was possible to slur just a name, Joe was definitely doing it. Despite yourself, you smiled as your friend pulled you into a hug. He was drunkenly telling you how happy he was that you were here, vaguely pointed to his friend beside him but didn't actually introduce you two. Before you could even say anything else Ben, as you recognised him from all the Instagram posts, was pulling Joe away from you.

"Nice to meet you, love." 

He called it over his shoulder, even though you weren't actually introduced. How rude. 

Deciding that he wouldn't notice if you didn't stay, you quickly slipped out the way you came. The house reeked of smoke and sweat and booze, the combination of smells turning your stomach. It was good you were leaving, you wouldn't be missed because everyone was so out of their mind they wouldn't notice. Not to mention, you literally knew one person. He saw you, that was all that mattered. 

The next day you woke up earlier than usual, having gotten to sleep far earlier than you had anticipated. After your morning coffee, yoga, and a shower it was time to adult and go to the grocery. If you could get by just eating food delivered to your door step, you would. That would be the life, however, you couldn't. What even is a delivery expense if the driver doesn't actually see that extra money?

The day was nice, far too warm for being so early but you weren't going to complain. Much. With your purse over your shoulder, you locked the front door and started down the steps. Movement caught your eye on the steps next to you and that was when you got a really good look at Ben. Photos didn’t do him justice. 

Despite the direct eye contact, you completely ignored him as he started to wave. You came to the sidewalk as he was calling your name, trying to catch your attention. Without a word you looked up at him, a brow raised in question.

“Hope we didn’t keep you up too late last night.” 

There was a smugness to his tone that made you roll your eyes. It was a playfulness you hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“Slept like a baby.”  

You yelled over your shoulder at him, and went on your way. Most of your interactions went like this. A playful banter, and he often left you rolling your eyes. You didn’t see him too often though, only when he was out for a smoke at the same time you were passing by. Joe mentioned that Ben was crashing at his for a while, something to do with work. Anytime you were invited to hang out, you quickly declined. 

There was no way you were getting caught up in that party scene again. 

At least that was what you thought. Joe came by your place, insisting on squeezing in a few episodes of FRIENDS because it had been far too long. There was no refusing that but, that was your first mistake.

He swore it wasn’t going to be a huge gathering. Ben was wrapping up the project he’d been working on the last few months and Lucy and Rami wanted to say congratulations and goodbye before he hopped a flight back to England. You’d already missed your chance to meet Gwilym, and you weren’t going to lie, meeting Lucy sounded like a blast. 

One could always use more girlfriends. Or just a girlfriend, as you hadn’t made any since moving to the city. 

“Fiiiineee...”

The dramatics made him laugh, and despite yourself you laughed too. When the day finally came, you couldn’t help but feel kind of nervous. Even as you knocked on the door, it felt more like the first day of school than anything. You’d been playing this game with Ben for weeks now, almost like a cat and mouse. There was no denying you were interested though. 

If you were being completely honest, you may have completely stalked him on the internet. Probably more than once.... okay, definitely more than once. Something about the playful banter made you want to know him more. The only problem was, you didn't want to lose the light fun you always had when you interacted. We'll just pretend anxiety didn't play a part. 

In very Joe fashion, the party started out just the five of you but quickly developed into quite a bit of people. It was like every friend any of them had ever made ended up at Joe's house. The music was loud, because how else can one dance? They all just wanted to have fun, and sure after a few drinks that was definitely what you were having. You still barely knew anyone but it was a lot more than just one person now. 

Even with all the fun, you felt the need for some fresh air. The backdoor was much closer than the front, with far fewer people between you and it. You'd been back there a few times, loving the fact that your neighbour had a pool. Summer days were always great by the pool but as autumn was giving way to winter, the pool was the last thing on your mind. Or so you'd thought. 

"Hey." 

Ben's deep voice startled you as you closed the door behind you. You were probably a sight as you jumped, clutching your chest as your heart tried to jump out of it. After a moment you caught your breath and took a seat on the lounge chair beside him. 

"What are you doing lurking out here?" 

You were responded to with a laugh as he held up a cigarette. You nodded your head in answer and then turned to look over the pool. Joe hadn't closed it up, saying he was going to have a heater installed so that it was usable all year round. That was something you'd have to see to believe. 

Silence stretched out for a while but it was surprisingly comfortable. Until Ben finished his smoke, that is. He was over the silence, apparently, and ready to annoy you again. He quickly shed his jacket and pulled the beanie off his head.

"What are you doing?"

"We are going swimming, get up."

"Are you insane?" 

"Maybe. Let's go love." 

He had already taken off his shirt and shoes and was working on his belt by the time you gave up arguing. You just sat there and watched him as he dropped his pants. He looked over his shoulder at you once and then offered a wink before jumping into the pool. Clearly, he'd lost his mind.  

"What are you waiting for?"

"Summer, like a sane person." 

"You're so boring." 

The chuckle made your roll your eyes, a comeback wasn't going to help you. You slid from the seat, quickly removed your sweater and pants before quickly jumping into the pool. It was far more freezing than you had anticipated and when you surfaced again you couldn't help but gasp.  

"This was a stupid idea!" 

You were shivering but you weren't alone, no matter how much he tried to hide it. 

 "I didn't think you'd actually do it." 

"You thought wrong." 

 Three Years Ago: 

You were more than surprised to see how quickly your friendship with Ben grew from that night on. He left only two days after the pool night but you didn't go a day without talking. It was weird for you but somehow through the distance you'd grown closer. So much closer that you found yourself hopping a flight to London and crashing on his couch. 

It was that trip to London that ended in a relationship. 

Trips back and forth weren't a rare occasion. You often found yourself in London, and if you weren't there, it was a guarantee to find Ben in your bed in New York.

"I know you were planning on coming back to London with me this week but I've had a change of plans." 

You were laying in bed, the chill of winter crippling your little town house. It was late, the midnight sky leaving just a soft moon light coming through the blinds. You were wrapped up in Ben's arms, your head resting on his bare chest. It had been nearly a year since the party at Joe's house. Nearly a year of being together. 

"And, what kind of change are we talking?"

"I've gotta get a flight home to see my brother. He and his wife are expecting a daughter any day now." 

A smile pulled the corners of your lips up, your eyes transfixed on the finger that was drawing mindless patterns on his chest. He always spoke so fondly of his brother, and he'd been so excited to become an uncle. It was all he'd spoke about since he found out.

"I promised to help paint the nursery." 

You hadn't realised how long the silence had stretched on until he'd spoken again. 

"Sounds like a lot of fun." 

He hummed and silence stretched again. It was so long this time you'd nearly fallen asleep. 

"Come with me." 

You were surprised, the thought of meeting his family was crazy. It was probably way over due but it still made you quite nervous. You still agreed to go, and you both got there with perfect timing. The day you landed his sister-in-law went into labour, leaving the two of you to get the finishing touches done on the nursery. 

It was so much fun, getting to paint the walls and move all the furniture back in. You'd gotten to meet his parents when they dropped by before going to the hospital to meet the baby. It was a great time, and you weren't sure what you had been worried about before. Ben insisted on staying behind and waiting to meet his new niece until she made it home. 

Something about him seemed off after his parents left. He wasn't as excited, it seemed like something was bothering him. You waited until you had everything in its rightful place before you even attempted broach the subject. 

"You wanna talk about it?"

He looked up with a raised eyebrow, as if he didn't know that he was completely obvious about his feelings. For someone who often wanted to hide the way he was feeling, and for being an actor, he was terribly unconvincing.  

"It's nothing." 

Normally, you weren't one to push. When you uttered the same words you wanted enough respect from someone to be left alone for you to deal until you were ready to talk. Today seemed to be an exception.

"It's not nothing. This should be a happy occasion right?" 

It was after the words left your mouth that you felt maybe you were the problem. Maybe he felt as though he wished he hadn't brought you along? 

"Do... is it... I mean, is it me? Do you not want me here?" 

You stuttered as you got the words out and when you finally managed a coherent sentence you were immediately soothed with a 'NO! Of course, I want you here'. He sighed and then motioned for you to follow him. You made your way down the stairs to the kitchen where coffee was immediate set to make.

"I just look at all of this, and you deserve this one day." 

He motioned around the house and as you looked around your brow furrowed. This was just stuff, and with how well his career was taking off, he could more than afford to give you stuff. Not that you wanted any of it. For you, all that mattered was that you had him. 

"You're going to have to elaborate, darling." 

He chuckled at you before explaining further what was bothering him. 

"One day, when it's time for you to have a baby.. if that's what you choose, you should know that your husband is going to be there with you." 

"And you can't provide that?" 

The confusion was clear in your voice as well as on your face. Ben always told you that you were such an open book, and easy to read. You never took that as a compliment until times like these when you wanted to convey your genuine feelings.

"Not if I'm on a set thousands of miles away from you." 

He seemed so genuinely upset but all you could do was scuff at this. When he heard your reaction his head shot up to look at you. Now it was his turn to be confused. 

"I don't need any of this. I need you. It doesn't matter if your thousands of miles away or not. I would marry you with paper rings. All of the ex's, the fights, the flaws, we wouldn't be here. I adore you, if that hasn't been abundantly clear the last year or so. As for the rest of it... we can figure it out as we go. You and me. We got this."

Your shoulder bumped against his, and he couldn't help but break out into a smile. You could tell almost immediately that he felt much better. In return a smile lit up your own face, your head falling to his shoulder as you hugged his arm. 

"I think you're pretty great too, just so you know." 

Present Day: 

The mosh pit that was happening in your stomach was becoming rather annoying. You just wished your baby knew what night and day time were. The clock on the bed side table flashed a ridiculously early time at you, informing you that sleep wasn't happening any longer. 

Nights like this was when you found yourself reminiscing. It hadn't been very long after sitting in Ben's brother's kitchen that you ended up engaged. Even shorter time frame from that you were married. The shotgun wedding was only six months ago, and here you were five months pregnant. Sometimes it all felt so fast but then you looked at the snoring butt head beside you and you didn't mind one bit. 

You found yourself marveling at the fact that when you first met, you kind of hated him, and then you stalked him on the internet, and now you watch him breathe. Kind of crazy how life works out. Who knew moving into that small little townhouse in New York was gonna change your life so drastically, so quickly. Not that you were complaining.

"You're staring darling, and quite frankly it's a bit creepy."

His thick and sleepy voice startled you, making you jump before chuckling. Normally, he would have been laughing with you but he was clearly too tired for that. 

"Can't sleep?" 

"I'll get there eventually, go back to bed. I love you." 

His hand reached over, finding your growing stomach and rubbing soothing circles. They were slow and lazy, but they seemed to do that trick as the summer salts that were happening came to a slow and then a halt all together.

"I love you too. Both of you."

[callme--starchild]

Half of What You Think of Me

Donald felt this could be one of the most uncomfortable rides of his life as an adventurer. Curled up in the seat and wrapped in seat belts, his gaze wandered around the plane.

Della was piloting and chatting with Launchpad, who sat in the adjacent seat — since when had the two of them become so close? — while Scrooge stood between them, serving as the lookout that clearly both pilots were failing.

Goofy was more discreet in the seats across from him. The children were huddled around the dog, bright eyes filled with curiosity as he told them the story behind each photo in his wallet. He could actually perceive the way they waited for a photo that included him to know the memory — possibly shameful — that it possessed.

But if he knew his friend like the back of his wing, Donald knew that those images, as well as Mickey's, were in the oldest part of his cellphone gallery, far below many photos of Max. It was not something that particularly offended the duck, he understood very well what it was like to be gushing over the photos of their respective proteges.

(Feeling watched, Goofy looked up for a moment as the four ducklings admired the photos he had taken during the Powerline’s concert years ago, appreciating the soft gaze his old friend had on the children, the same loving gaze that not only seen when he looks at his.

If he hadn't known Donald since they were both younger, he wouldn't have hesitated to think of him as the biological father of the kids. He could be the uncle, it's true, but having triplets under his care for ten years was worthy of admiration, especially when counting and accepting without hesitation one more girl.)

"You are pretty quiet."

But a British accent snapped both parents out of their reverie, causing Donald to discover Goofy's gaze on him for a second before continuing to tell stories, this time about a prom.

"Oh hello Mrs. B." Donald greeted the housekeeper as she sat next to him, surreptitiously glancing at the four children. Needless to say, he did it in a very strange way by being with the belts around him. A sad smile decorated his face.

On the other hand, Beakley's expression remained neutral, with a glint in her gaze that Donald didn't quite know how to describe; preferring to focus again on the kids to perceive the way her features softened.

"You know they're not upset, right?"

Donald looked up; he hadn't noticed the moment when he lowered it and, ignoring the damp burning that was beginning to appear in his eyes, he looked back at the housekeeper. Despite the severity that was commonly woven into her face, the sailor managed to perceive the small, almost ghostly smile on her face.

It was almost hilarious that they initially got along as well as oil and water. And look at them now, bonding like a pair of confidants.

"If it was them, I would be," he confessed feeling himself shrink in his seat, his feathers clinging to the seat’s leather as if he might rip it apart.

Actually, he could; that is, he had faced greater threats for a fifth of his life, an airplane seat would be a piece of cake.

"After all, I took away from them a part of their life that currently makes them happy," and it was not the same to give it up on your own free will than to have it disappear like sand between your fingers, he knows. And it was better to think about that than the anger that tickled through his veins, all against himself “just because I was looking for an idealization of normality worthy of a  sitcom .”

Involuntarily, Donald grunted the last word. Even if it had been fun to feel on a TV show, he knew that sooner or later his trick would end up being discovered because those kids were smarter than he liked; he also did not feel happy to lie to his family — and to know that it was not the only lie he has made, the house of cards that he created with so much effort would collapse. Maybe it was better to keep the low budget and the recorded laughs on a show.

Even if he kept thinking about the life he left behind, it didn't mean that they were calm leaving theirs because what he was doing was more dangerous and it was certainly hypocritical and—

“Even if the method you used was unorthodox, I can see why you used it." Beakley's voice was the light that Donald's darkness needed, and he clung to it like a lifeline. "You love your family and you just want to see them safe and sound. I can say that I share the sentiment.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the gleam of amazement in Webby's eyes, leaning her elbows on an armrest as she listened to Goofy. He had never bothered to get to know the housekeeper better even if he lived on the pool at her house, and the fact that this was their longest talk planted something in his heart.

"And even if that fantasy were possible, I think we both know that they would not be happy with it” yes, leave the fantastic situations to cartoons and other kinds of programs for children to see “and it's incredible that I say this, but it seems like Scrooge knows what he does to keep them protected.”

There was a hint of disbelief in her voice, and the sailor stifled his laughter. To tell the truth, even he was surprised; in the adventures he engages in, he has not seen any of his nephews being pushed into a portal, shrunken, or into a block of magical ice.

It didn't hurt as much as it seemed.

“You're right.”

"Of course, I’m always right," and they both laughed, like a couple of old friends who haven't seen each other in years.

How things changed in just a few months.

"By the way," of course, they couldn't stay on the same topic of conversation, Donald himself didn't feel so comfortable talking about him, "what did you ask the genius for?"

"Oh," a smile crept in, and the duck wondered if the spy had noticed the instant his feathers turned scarlet, "I just asked for a small, big detail. You will see it arriving at the mansion.”

And oh, Donald won't be able to forget the happiness on Beakley's face at the sight of the family photograph. The photograph that included her.

One more lie.

The young duck's footsteps echoed across the silent 151st floor, one hand on his chin as he narrowed his eyes in a thoughtful and distant expression.

"Sooner or later, you'll make a mark on the ground, Old Cape," being pulled out of his thoughts by a small orb that appeared beside him, his reverberated voice playing with the superhero's nerves in an almost impossible way, "you've been like this since you returned from your mission in the 21st century, do you want to talk?”

But Uno was so worried, so nervous that Donald forgot that he was not a biological being but a machine. A  machine that acted, thought, and spoke in such a human way that it burned, that Donald wonders at what moment hearing that voice had become the most important part of his day-to-day life, prompting him to keep putting on his kevlar suit to go out on a new adventure from which he does not know if he will be able to return alive.

When had he been so lucky to meet Uno that the mere thought of something happening to him in the 21st century terrified him?

"I saw myself there," he murmured after a few seconds of silence, listening to the buzz of a chair appearing behind him and feeling a pair of hands supporting his shoulders with such care that it made him uneasy, sighing heavily as he removed his mask and his fingers fiddled with the texture, "apparently I'll be a secret agent in the future."

"Sorry to interrupt you PK, but…" Sure, Uno was concerned. He had foreseen temporal paradoxes before leaving with Lyla.

"It's all I know, he— I didn't agree to tell more. You know, the current of space-time and all that paraphernalia” but his voice gave away his anguish, and a dull sound gave away the way he let his back hit the back of the chair “but…”

But. There was always a  but.

"The Ducklair Tower wasn't there." No, his voice hadn't cracked, and Donald fought the urge to rip the hood with the voice modulator off because it was the only thing that kept his identity  secret when he's Paperinik.

Silently, Uno made his companion's sailor suit appear, letting another buzz roar in the newly silent secret floor.

"Something is going to happen, Uno, something is going to happen to  you and I don't know what it is." He squeezed his hands, applying so much force that his trembling knuckles paled more.

"It's probably not that bad, Hero." But even if Uno was an AI, he managed to hear the uncertainty in his own modulated voice. Odin Eidolon peered into the recess of his database.

Donald dropped the mask onto his lap, slowly rubbing his temples. He looked exasperated, he felt terrified.

Paperinik had never been terrified, but under that mask, he was still Donald Duck, and Donald Duck had to act on his fear more than once if he wanted to continue his life.

"He said he missed you," and maybe that's what dismayed the superhero since his return to the 20th century, staring at the ceiling and feeling smaller than usual.

He knew that the seconds were scarce before they found themselves back home, the skyscraper that was the Ducklair Tower would cease to be a non-existent point to remain the base of Channel 00 as well as the defender of the city’s; but even so… he— Donald from the future—  Double Duck had used them to dedicate a few words to the artificial intelligence, even if he had been very specific in that he would not shut up facts.

Perhaps that was what kept Donald uncertain, not Paperinik, and it is that the very idea that something was happening with Uno unsettles him.

For the first time, Uno does not know what to say to lift the spirits of his partner, not even a one-liner. But it was impossible, the artificial intelligences did not waver, not even one as advanced as he — modesty aside. That did little to reassure Donald.

It could be the first time that something had alerted both the hero and the civilian.

"Do you really think something will happen, PK?" The AI questioned empathetically as a pair of hands helped the superhero remove his suit. His system did not allow him to believe, Uno was logical; and while the Pangea project proved that even he could be wrong, it was further proof of the influence that the biological duck has had on him.

But Uno didn't believe, he  knew something had to happen for Odin to emerge, especially considering Donald couldn't connect the dots and figure out what took him a few minutes.

"I don't know," Donald growled, pulling on his sailor shirt with the help of Uno's arms — changing in front of the AI was already absolutely normal for Donald after months of doing it, often too hasty to even notice.

Still, that only demonstrated the confidence both partners had. So why did Uno feel he was lying to the sailor by hiding the truth about the billionaire businessman of the XXIII century? Why couldn't he tell him that he would never leave him alone — or how impossible it would be to get rid of him, even though clearly neither of them wanted that?

Why did the thought of losing Uno, and not by aging, terrify Donald so much?

That conversation felt very distant to the retired hero. But now that he was aware of the reason for his doubts, he wanted nothing more than to have a hint of tachyon that would allow him to travel to the moment when Uno was deactivated to avoid it.

And maybe hit Everett, who knows. He would literally have all the time in the world at his complete disposal.

But Uno was there, face to face. And Donald couldn't believe it,  he barely  could do it, but the last thing he wanted was to blink and have the intelligence— android in front of him disappear into thin air.

"H-How?" He whispered, feeling his voice harsher than usual. He was supposed to go to the abandoned Ducklair Tower to see the result of his wish. Instead, a robot perfectly built to match the appearance of an ordinary mallard stood in the middle of his door.

At this, Uno laughed. Donald didn't know how to feel; his voice did not have those reverberations that made it robotic, but one that could be heard in any duck that no one could suspect, the absence of walls causing no echoes that were familiar to the sailor to be heard.

It generated a strange feeling in his chest, but he didn't want it to fade away.

"The first piece of information that comes to my system is to be reactivated in the Tower "Uno confesses, and for some reason, he does not dare to say that among these are Donald's memories, those that he had managed to record and save in his database because well, those were personal “but this body had been in the planning for… a long time.”

His voice becomes distant as well as his gaze, and the sailor does not dare to inquire; the mere idea that his best friend had this project planned without him even knowing since before he was deactivated, left a knot in the pit of his stomach. And he prefers to focus on the lump that rested rather in his throat and left him shaking.

"It's still a bit unstable, but what else could I do? I've missed you, Old Cape…” And hearing that old nickname again felt like a lunge, and Donald couldn't help but laugh sadly as he felt moisture running down his cheeks and the edges of his beak, rushing into the android's arms before he could even prepare himself, backing out of reflex.

As Donald cradled his face against the opposite chest, concentrating on the hum that was so familiar and strange at the same time, Uno couldn't help but smile wistfully as his arms wrapped around the smaller duck's body. The AI was already aware of the size of his old companion, but now that he could see it directly, he looked much more fragile than he might have thought.

The plumage felt soft, and though he could perceive the knots and some messy feathers, the delicacy of those that grew again could not be missed. Uno was no stranger to the ducks’ molting, he had witnessed some from his partner back in the tower, but he had never realized how silky they could be.

Donald's sailor suit was now a gloomy black, had the occasional wrinkle, and exuded a faint stench of sea salt, sand, and dirt. He wasn't sure how he could identify the smells, but it must be his vast knowledge.

But the duck was trembling, sobbing in a shaky, broken voice. Or a voice more broken than usual. Not that he was critical.

"I missed you too," he confessed after a few seconds of silence, tentatively breaking the hug as he wiped his eyes. Only then could he notice that the eye bags had intensified, looking darker than he could remember “more than you think, old friend.”

And even though One couldn't age, he recognized the symbolism behind the Peking duck's words and was beyond grateful for it.

—

“So… this is the new Donald Duck?" His wing scanned one of the framed photographs on the boathouse’s stairs, and being able to feel was a feeling he didn't want to lose now.

And he was not able to stop smiling — not that he wanted to — when he appreciated the affectionate happiness on his partner's face when he kept the nephews he had heard so much about tucked in, detecting a newspaper that read blizzard in its headline.

It seemed like yesterday that Donald walked into the secret story, with a smile more radiant than he could remember, shouting from the rooftops that he would be an uncle. What he would give to go back to those times when everything was simpler and their only concern was facing Evronians and time pirates.

"It's true that a lot has changed since you left." Rubbing his arm in a nervous habit, Donald refused to leave his partner's side. Occasionally he could be heard sobbing bitterly, betraying that he had cried previously, "I would have been fascinated you were here, you would have experienced as much as I have."

However, the android had years of knowing the sailor to know that, despite the nuance that had colored his voice, no signals or double meanings were detected that directly blamed him. Donald was better than that, and they both knew it was neither their fault that he found himself disconnected and cut off from his side when he had no say in the matter.

But the would not exist. The damage had already been done and the wounds were already scarred, and with the presence of Uno Donald felt as if those scars were being treated despite being carved into his skin for ten years. It was as if the android was able to heal them almost automatically, and he was more than grateful for that little detail.

The bond between them was that strong.

"But I'm here now," he murmured, hugging his partner by the shoulder. And the sensation was so new that it was surprising to both of them, yet it didn't bother either of them, Uno's hand settling as if it had been made to be there — and maybe it was. After all, the body was built by Uno himself. “And I have no intention of leaving again…”

And it's not that the smallest duck wanted to, chuckling softly as he leaned his body against Uno's, an almost comical sight given the difference in height.

“I am glad to hear that.”

Uno's gaze continued to roam the photos, realizing that neither Scrooge nor Della was in them — except for a framed photo, prior to the hatching of his friend's nephews.

"He's Huey," Donald spoke suddenly, pointing to the red-clad triplet, and in an instant, the android had already registered that data, "he's Dewey, and he's Louie. Is more like their nicknames, but it is how they usually identify themselves.”

The intelligence said nothing, but he knew he didn't need words to show how grateful he was that he took the trouble to help him identify the triplets. It was easier and faster to search the system for them, but it was not as detailed as hearing it from his best friend and taking into account the way his voice softened when talking about them.

"And it seems that the family has grown," he added, pointing to the new family photo, seeing that in addition to Donald, the children, Scrooge and Della — who now had a leg made entirely of metal, were a girl and two ducks, the latter stout.

When the other duck followed his sight he made an affirming sound, gently taking his arm to lead him in front of the photo.

"Yes, she is my honorary niece Webby." He pointed to the duckling, and of course, Uno smirked. The hero had always had a soft spot for children, he could leave him one on his care and it wouldn't take him long to spoil them “and they are Launchpad and Mrs. B. She may look a bit strict, but she's nice; something tells me you two will get along very well.”

Of course, it hadn't taken long for his tone to turn to mock, and though the android didn't fully understand what he meant, he couldn't help but laugh with him. Like the old inside jokes they both used to have, and the fact that they will escalate now that they were together again filled him with satisfaction in an inexplicable way.

"In that case, I'm looking forward to meeting them, Old Cape."

[assembledherethevolunteers]

The Girl You Think I Am

A/N: Well, hello again! Who’s ready for another songfic? This is the song ‘The Girl You Think I Am’ by Carrie Underwood (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uLIOWEYZqNA ).So, I originally wasn’t going to write one for Freddie, but then I heard this song and it made me feel like Dad!Freddie needed some love. Also, this was supposed to be up on Sunday for Father’s Day, but life happens. Okay. Love you guys! Enjoy!

Pairing: Freddie Mercury x Jim Hutton w/ daughter!reader

Summary: Just some snapshots of your life with your Papa (Freddie) and your Dad (Jim)

Warnings: Underage drinking mentioned, fluff

Taglist: @queenlover05 @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye

 You were terrified. You were so nervous you were shaking. You were about to have your first solo in the Christmas play at school.

“Are you ready to go, lovie?” Your papa knocked at the door to your bedroom.

“No!” You yelled back to him.

He let himself in and frowned at you.

“What do you mean no? You look beautiful in your costume.”

You were in an all-white outfit with wings and a halo that your dad had helped you put together.

“Papa, what if I can’t do it?” You felt tears come to your eyes as you sat down on your bed.

“Oh no no no, no tears,” he sat down next to you on the bed and warped an arm around your shoulders. “Why do you think you can’t do it?”

“Because! I won’t sound like you!”

Your papa, Freddie, looked like his heart was breaking. He pulled you into his lap, adjusting it so that he wasn’t crushing your wings.

“Sweetheart, why do you think you have to sound like me?”

You shrugged, not looking at him. You’d heard the people in your class saying that since your papa was a good singer, you should be too. That your voice should sound just like his.

“Y/N, you know that Uncle Roger and Uncle Brian sing on our albums, right?”

You nodded, not really sure where he was going.

“Well they don’t sound anything like me, do they?”

You shook your head. You liked your uncle’s voices, but they sounded very different from your papa.

“But people love those songs too, don’t they? You don’t have to sound like me, you just have to do your best. Now, do you think you can do this?”

You looked up at your papa and smiled. He always knew how to make you smile.

“Are you two ready to go?” Your dad, Jim, poked his head in looked at the two of you.

“Yeah!” You jumped off your papa’s lap and ran into your dad’s arms. He picked you up and then you both looked to your papa. “Come on, Papa!”

Freddie laughed and stood up to walk over to you. The two of them kissed your cheeks and then the three of you made your way to the car.

You were standing in the middle of the church and the butterflies were in your stomach again. You were so nervous that you were going to sing something wrong or even worse, forget what you were supposed to sing at all. Or no noise would come out when you opened your mouth. Your butterflies turned to pure terror. You heard the music swell and looked out to the crowd. You met a familiar and warm pair of brown eyes.

Freddie smiled at you so you could see all of his teeth and it made you feel better. You knew that no matter what happened, your papa and your dad would still love you.

You belted your solo. Your music teacher grinned at you and you thought you heard your papa cry out.

After the performance, you ran into your papa’s arms. He picked you up and spun around, pressing kisses all around your face. His moustache tickled you slightly and you giggled.

“Papa!”

“Oh lovie, you did fantastic! Jim, Jim, dear, didn’t she do so well?”

Jim smiled and pressed a kiss to your hair. “Of course, she did! We knew she would!”

Your papa carried you out to the car, telling you the whole way that you had done such a good job. He secured you in the backseat before getting into the passenger seat as Jim got into the driver’s seat.

“Think you’re ready to be on Papa’s next album?” Jim met your eyes in the review mirror.

You laughed. “No, Daddy, I don’t think so.”

“Oh, I disagree. I think you could sing on the album. Maybe Uncle Roger can write a song in your register.”

“Freddie!” Your dad chastised, but you could hear him laughing. You didn’t really know what your papa meant, but it made you laugh too.

“What?!”

You laughed again and closed your eyes, leaning your head against the car door. You were suddenly very tired.

Nine Years Later

You giggled drunkenly as you tried to find your keys in your purse. Your boyfriend, Tyler, at the time was pressing kisses to your neck as you fumbled with the lock.

“Sure neither of your dads are home?” He not-so-whispered as you finally got the door unlocked and opened.

“Yes! My papa is in France and my dad went to visit him,” you said as you pulled him into a kiss in the darkness.

The two of you stumbled through the dark of your house, hoping to find your couch or a chair.

You barely noticed the lights flicking on, assuming it was one of the cats accidentally stepping on the switch.

“Excuse me, young man? Would you kindly remove yourself from my daughter’s mouth?” You heard from the corner of the room.

Tyler jumped away from you and you turned towards the voice. Sitting there was Freddie, his arms crossed, his face contorted in a way that you had only seen once and that was when you came home crying because one of your classmates had mad fun of you for having two fathers.

“M…mister Mercury,” your boyfriend stuttered out. You weren’t sure if it was because of the alcohol or nerves.

“Papa,” you took a step closer to him. “I…I thought you were France with the band and Dad.”

Your papa���s face changed into a sickly sweet smile. “Oh we were, darling, but then we thought that we’d surprise you by coming home a little early. Clearly we were in for a surprise of our own when we found you not here.”

“I…I thought I’d told you that Frankie was throwing a party since we ended term a…and we um…we, that’s Tyler and I, were just getting home and I…I…” you struggled trying to find a good excuse. The alcohol swirling in your brain wasn’t helping.

“Tyler,” Freddie stood up and glared him down. “I will show you to our guest room. In the morning, my husband will drive you home and explain to your parents what happened. Is that understood?”

Tyler cleared his throat and nodded.

“And Y/N, please go up to your room and wait for me.”

You didn’t meet anybody’s eye as you walked past them and up the stairs to your room. You sat on your bed and prayed that whatever was happening to Tyler was at least going to be easy to explain to the detectives that came around asking questions.

You were staring at your bedroom wall, willing the alcohol to go away so you could actually talk to your papa when he came in.

You weren’t sure how much time later, but Freddie finally walked through the door. You met his eyes for a moment but saw so much disappointment there you looked to the floor.

“Y/N, look at me.”

You closed your eyes for a moment and then looked up at him.

“Do you know how incredibly worried your dad and I were when we arrived home and you weren’t here? We nearly called the police!”

“I could’ve sworn that I told you,” you replied in a small voice.

“I believe what you said was that there was going to be small get together at Frankie’s and that you were going to be home before midnight. So, when we got home, after midnight and you weren’t home, we panicked.” He came around and sat next to you on the bed. “We had no idea where you were or if something had happened to you. And then you come home at nearly three, drunk, with your boyfriend.”

“We didn’t drive if that helps,” your voice was still sheepish.

“Oh great, at least you didn’t do that,” Freddie’s voice was sarcastic.

“I…we just…I…didn’t think you’d be home,” you finally admitted.

“I know that, dear, but that doesn’t matter. We trusted you to be home by yourself and look what that got us. Also, the last time I checked, you weren’t eighteen.”

“I…I’m close though,” you tried. “And you and dad have let me drink wine.” That was your last ditch attempt to get you out of some trouble.

“Under our supervision and under our roof,” Freddie’s tone was hard and commanding. “You know that we would never allow you to drink otherwise.”

“I…” you were suddenly hit with a wave of nausea. “Oh…” you ran to the ensuite bathroom and threw up on the toilet.

You felt a hand on your back, rubbing up and down.

“We’ll finish this discussion in the morning, with your dad. Understand?”

You nodded, but didn’t pick your head up out of the toilet. You felt your papa press his lips to your head and then heard him walk out. You waited a few more minutes with nothing else coming up before you got up and brushed your teeth.

You walked out of the bathroom and saw a pair of pajamas on your bed and a large glass of water on your nightstand with a note that said:

‘Drink this. Talk in the morning. Love you. -Papa’

Two Years Later

You looked around your bedroom and sighed. It looked so…empty. How had you gotten everything packed up already? Most of the things were already in your flat in Edinburgh. You only had a few boxes left that you were going to pack into your car before you left.

You sat down on your bed, next to Oscar. You scratched his orange head and he leaned into your touch, purring.

“Don’t tell the rest, but I’m going to miss you the most.”

“Does that include me?”

You looked up at your papa, standing in the doorway just like he had so many times before.

“Of course it does.”

“Fair enough,” Freddie chuckled as he walked in and sat on your bed next to you. He glanced around your bedroom, noting how empty it was now. “You know, they have great universities here in London.”

“I know, but I…” you struggled to find the words. How did you tell him that you wanted to get out from his shadow a bit? Granted, Edinburgh wasn’t that far away and practically everybody in the world knew who Freddie Mercury was and there had been pictures of you in the magazines and papers, but it was still far enough away that you could be your own person. (He did insist on you having your own flat and not in a dorm though.)

He grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze. Neither of you said anything for a few moments, but you felt tears come to your eyes.

“You know, the day you were born, I told your dad this day would come. And he said I shouldn’t worry about it yet because the day was so far off. Seems like he and I had that conversation just yesterday and now…here we are.”

You laughed through your nose and wiped your eyes a bit.

“I’ll just be in Edinburgh. I could’ve gone to Los Angeles or New York. You all could visit when you’re in the country.”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t have allowed it. You’re lucky I’m letting you go to Scotland. Also, completely unrelated, keep an eye out for homes for sale near your flat.”

You rested your head on his shoulder and he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“We’re going to miss you so much, lovie.”

“I know, Papa. I’m going to miss you all, too. But you all can come visit.”

“Your uncles too?”

“Obviously. You know I’m taking an astronomy course just for Uncle Brian.”  

The two of you sat in silence for a few more moments before Jim walked in and smiled at the two of you. He walked over and gently moved Oscar so he could sit on your other side. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

“We should probably get going if we’re going to get to Edinburgh before it gets dark.”

“Jim, you’ve lied to me.”

“Have I?”

“You told me this day was far off.”

“I told you that almost nineteen years ago. It was far off at that point.”

You felt your dad squeeze your shoulder, knowing you both were laughing at your papa’s dramatics.

The three of you sat for a few moments in silence.

You remembered sitting just like this countless times throughout your life. The first time you came home from school and some of the kids had made fun of you for having two dads. When your first love had broken your heart (and you’d gotten sent home from school because you may have ‘accidentally’ broken the windshield of his car). When your papa was leaving for a tour for half a year. When you’d gotten your acceptance letter from Edinburgh.

“As much as I would love to not make this drive, we do need to get going,” Jim finally sighed and stood up, grabbing a box before he walked out.

“As much as I hate to say it, he’s right.”

“I know,” you responded.

The two of you stood up and grabbed the last of your boxes.

“Jim, dear, I think I’ll ride with Y/N, if that’s alright.”

“Of course.”

Your small caravan took off. You drove your car and your papa fiddled with the radio.

“They don’t play any good music on the radio anymore,” he muttered under his breath.

“I heard one of Uncle Roger’s songs yesterday,” you told him.

“Like I said,” he joked, finally picking a station.

As you drove, you and your papa caught up since you’d barely seen each other over the summer since you were working to save some money (on your insistence) and he was busy writing and recording. he two of you talked about the classes that you would be taking that semester and the next Queen album that was scheduled to come out in the summer and then tour.

As you drove through the English countryside, you noticed Freddie got quiet.

“Are you okay, Papa?”

He sighed dramatically. “I think I will be. I’m just nervous about leaving you in Scotland by yourself.”

“Well, I am too,” you admitted.

“Why are you nervous?” He looked at you like you were crazy.

“I…I mean, what if I don’t make any friends? What if nobody ends up liking me in any of my classes?”

You couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling of anxiety that was hitting you now that you were talking about it. What if all that was true? Or what if you thought that you’d made true friends, but they only liked you because you had a famous father? You’d been burned by people for that before, but this time you wouldn’t have a support system around you to help you get through it.

“Oh, darling, there’s no need to be nervous. I know for a fact you can take care of yourself.”

“I know but…”

“But nothing. You are the most intelligent, kind, caring individual I’ve ever met. You can make friends anywhere and everywhere. You got that all from your dad. But, you know you could always transfer back to London.”

The two of you chuckled.

“Thanks, Papa,” you smiled.

It did make you feel better hearing that, even if it came from one of your parents.

“Well, I think we’d better be heading home,” Jim announced after breakfast the next morning.

The two of them had spent the night so that Jim didn’t have to make the whole drive by himself in one day. The three of you had unpacked your belongings and put your flat together the night before.

“Y/N, are you sure there isn’t anything else you need from us?”

“I’m sure, Papa,” you stood up and started clearing the table.

“Well, then there isn’t any reason for us to stick around then, is there?” Freddie frowned over at Jim.

“Freddie, darling, I know what you’re trying to do and it’s not going to work. We need to let Y/N be.”

“Fine,” Freddie stood up and you walked him and Jim to the door.

“Dad,” you gave him a hug and he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Papa,” you gave him a hug and he kissed your forehead.

“Y/N,” you papa took your hands in his. “We are so proud of you already, but we know you are going to make us even more proud. And no matter what, we will always love you and be proud of you.”

You felt tears come to your eyes at that.

“Thanks, Papa,” you whispered back, not trusting your voice.

He pressed one more kiss to your cheek and then Jim did as well before the two of them left. You waited a few moments before you shut the door and sat down on the couch.

You looked around your living room, waiting for the sensation to hit you that you were on your own.

But you knew that you really weren’t. You weren’t living with anybody, but you weren’t alone. You may have been far from home, but you knew that no matter what happened, you’d always have your fathers on your side.

The next day, you came home after your classes and started to get some dinner ready. You heard your phone ringing and quickly answered it.

“Hello?”

“Hello, lovie, how were your first day of classes?”

[wheresmynaya]

Cupcake Battles Ch.2 | Brittana

Thinking about you all today and I hope you’re doing alright. <3

Also available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) & below the cut!

We’re back in the Cupcake Battles’ arena and the remaining three teams stand at the ready in their stations as Sam Evans strolls in through the glass double-doors to the show’s action-packed theme music. He struts down the aisle as if it’s his own personal catwalk, smoothing his hands along his shaggy blonde hair before shooting Mercedes and Artie with his finger-guns.

They look to each other confused and unamused while Sam then finishes his entrance with a twirl that leads into a not-so-smooth body roll. Despite that though he doesn’t give up and proceeds to hump the air, missing every single beat while he does so.

\\

“Gross,” Santana scrunches her nose and tries to avert her eyes before she goes blind. Instead she catches Brittany staring at her, attempting to keep from laughing at Santana’s obvious disgust. She feels the blood start to rush to her face upon being caught but then Kurt’s whispering to her.

“And to think he was on Grooving with the Celebs,” Kurt admonishes quietly, “I think even I might dance better than him.”

Santana’s eyes drift from Brittany to find Sugar egging Sam on as she pumps her fist. She can’t decide if Sugar is genuinely into this method of torture or she’s just messing with him. Either way, Santana reluctantly looks away to acknowledge Kurt’s comment.

“I wouldn’t say all that,” Santana quips and Kurt sucks his teeth at her, “What? I’ve seen you dance after you’ve had two Shirley Temples. It ain’t cute.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, “First of all, I’m always cute.”

“Yeah,” Santana sputters out behind a laugh, “Sure.”

“Secondly, you think you’re a better dancer?” Kurt questions with a smirk, “All you’re missing is a stripper pole.”

“At least I’d get paid to dance,” Santana shrugs, “You’d probably get paid to stop.”

\\

When the music cuts, Sam straightens his suit jacket and points to the camera, “Welcome back, Viewers! Who’s ready for Round 2 of today’s Cupcake Battle?”

The camera alternates between capturing the teams’ reactions and all the teams clap and cheer with excitement upon finally getting to the challenge after the interruption that took place just before the cameras started to roll again.

It was then that everyone learned that Rachel Berry is not one to go gentle into that good night.

\\

The uncharacteristically long break between rounds was due to Rachel rushing around the arena, trying to evade being escorted off the premises.

Rachel had broken through the doors and went around knocking over as many baking pan racks as she could all while belting out Hannah Montana’s Nobody’s Perfect in between giving Santana death glares.

Who knew someone so small could cause such a big scene?

The crew had scrambled to keep Rachel from coming at Santana, but the co-judge wasn’t having it.

“Nah, let her through!” Santana called from over a crew member’s shoulder. She tapped her chest with her hands and shot her arms out, “Try me, I light up! Come on!”

“Oh my God…” Kurt facepalmed, “How is this show not cancelled yet?”

The teams were a little afraid but the drama was so addicting, they couldn’t stop watching.

Thankfully, the crew was able to wrangle Rachel to the ground before she caused anymore damage. She struggled like hell to break through until Finn came over to talk some sense into her. It seemed to work and she calmed down enough that the crew felt it was safe to let her up slowly.

Finn gave her a dopy smile before throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of full of broken dreams.

“Sorry about that,” He said to everyone then gave her butt a pat, “She’s super passionate.”

As Finn carried her out, Rachel made her exit by singing ABBA’s I Have a Dream.

It was quite the spectacle, but once she was safely removed the crew quickly reset the arena so that they could get back to filming.

\\

The camera pans back to Sam, “Well, this round is sure to quench that thirst!”

“Did he really just…,” Santana mumbles aloud looking as unimpressed as ever, “Who comes up with this crap?”

Kurt lifts his shoulder, “I thought it was quite…punny.”

Santana gives him a look and says plainly, “I’m quitting.”

“No you’re not,” Kurt chuckles and pokes at Santana’s side, “You love me too much.”

“No one said anything about love,” Santana groans, batting away his hands.

Kurt tutted, “Last premiere party, you said it in front of everyone so I have witnesses.”

“I said I appreciate your fabulousness. That’s all.”  

Kurt just gives his co-judge an eye roll before they both turn to Sam as he approaches the panel.

“Cheerleading is thirsty work, isn’t that right Coach?” Sam asks, trying to be conversational as he looks to Coach Sue Sylvester. He gives her a dorky grin but she just ignores him and continues to stare down the camera like the cameraman is attempting to infiltrate her mind.

Sam waits for a reaction before ultimately giving up. He looks to the audience, “Well, I’m sure it is! For our first round, we focused on good eats and now we’re focusing on good drinks. Round 2 is all about Day Drinking!”

“Finally something I can get behind,” Santana smirks.

Kurt tilts his head, “I don’t think that’s what it means. At least, I hope not? This is meant to be a family show…”

“The challenge for this round will be to create three cupcakes that are each based on a drink that gets you through the day. Hence, day drinking!” Sam explains carefully.

Santana frowns at the clarification, “Boo..”

Kurt nudges her side, “Shh.”

Sam goes on with explaining, “So we’re looking for cupcakes that are inspired by a drink that gets you up in the morning, a drink pushes you through those afternoon blues, and a drink to end the night with.”

\\

The camera pans to Team Batter Up Cupcakes where Brittany and Sugar exchange excited smiles as they bounce on their toes. They’re buzzing with anticipation and Brittany’s already running through various ideas at a mile a minute, her creative side ready to run wild.

Team Baking Dreams Come True looks equally thrilled with the new challenge and stares down their biggest competitors across from them. Blaine and Tina try their best to intimidate Brittany and Sugar – keyword try – but Team Batter Up Cupcakes don’t look the least bit concerned.

Team AJs Bake Shop on the other hand look slightly worried as Mercedes and Artie start to brainstorm. With the rivalry going on between the other two teams and the dramatics that came from Rachel and Finn’s kitchen during the first round, Team AJs Bake Shop has flown under the radar for the most part.

But aside from the cupcake Brittany and Sugar put up, Mercedes and Artie were the only other team that came close to a high level of praise. By high, we’re talking about Santana labeling it as tasting just fine which isn’t really that high of a critique when compared to the words said to Team Batter Up Cupcakes.

Brittany and Sugar aren’t new to this whole competition thing and although Mercedes and Artie think they’re being slick with the whole silent but deadly act, nothing gets past them. Old rivals or new ones, they’re gonna take down anyone who stands in there way of that prize money!

\\

“But wait, bakers, there is…a twist,” Sam interrupts the teams as the surrounding walls illuminated in the usual pink neon lights shift to green, followed by a dramatic sound effect.

The camera zooms in on the far wall that begins to move. A special pantry slides forward from a hidden segment in the paneling. The shelves are stocked with various cans and bottles.

“Is that?” Sugar squints at the cabinet trying to distinguish the labels. Once she realizes, she looks to Brittany and asks, “What day is it again?”

“Turn Up Tuesday,” Brittany responds with a devilish grin then it falls as she turns to Sugar, “Or maybe it’s Thirsty Thursday? I don’t really keep track of the days anymore.”

They both giggle at each other with these great big grins while Sam continues.

“As a curveball ingredient, each team is required to use an item from this pantry in their creation!” Sam announces as he windmills his arm to point to the cabinet next to him. The camera pans along the items there as he continues to explain, “There are a variety of popular sodas as well as spirits that you can choose from, but at least one of these items must be included in your final product.”

\\

“Aren’t the bakers meant to provide for a cheerleading benefit at the end of this?” Kurt whispers to Santana, “Isn’t it a bit…inappropriate to include alcohol around minors?”

Santana ponders it before deciding she doesn’t actually get paid enough to care about how ethical these challenges are, she’s just here to serve looks and dish out realness. But she can tell Kurt is a little conflicted about this so she throws him a bone.

“Listen Miss Priss, no one is going to get buzzed off of a boozy cupcake except for maybe you.”

Kurt gasps and begins to stammer out a reply, but Santana cuts him off.

“Besides, I doubt they’re unfamiliar to the taste of it because: number one, they’re high school seniors and I’m sure they’ve already turned to alcohol at least once. Number two, they have to deal with grandma down there as their coach.”

“Watch it, you knock-off J.Lo.” Sue quips without even glancing in Santana’s direction.

“Knock-off? I’ll show you knoc – “

“Sit down, Santana!” Kurt urges and tries to force her back, “You can’t try to fight another guest judge, remember what happened last time?”

Santana’s quick to bite her tongue, the producers don’t necessarily like when she roughs up a guest judge but this lady is pushing it. She cuts her with one last glare before taking a settling breath and looking back to the remaining teams.

\\

“Man your stations, bakers, and let the battle begin!” Sam pulls the pocket square from his chest and waves it like a flag girl yet again with such a flamboyant flare that even Kurt questions how straight he really is.

Brittany rushes to pull out the sketch pad beneath the counter and starts to scribble out a design she had been working on ever since the pantry rolled out.

“Alright so this is what I’m thinking…Dr Pepper, Piña Colada, and that spicy Mexican hot chocolate we like.”

“In that order?” Sugar asks as she watches Brittany craft the designs with such focus.

Brittany nods resolutely without looking up from the sketchpad, “Yup, in that order.”

Sugar glances over at the pantry to find Dr Pepper and Malibu then turns back to Brittany and asks, “You want to use more than one ingredient from the curveball pantry even though we don’t need to?”

“Yup,” Brittany says and pops the p for emphasis. She finally looks up at Sugar, “And I want you to create these cute fondant decorations for each. You saw what Tina did last round?”

“Yeah,” Sugar scoffs and shoots Tina a glare from across the aisle. Tina looks back questioningly at first then tries to match it with her own scowl.

“You’re going to show the judges how it’s really done,” Brittany smirks.

Sugar tears away from her staring match with Tina and begins to beam because her best friend is such a genius, “Hell yes, this is going to be so awesome!”

Brittany high fives Sugar, “Duh.”

\\

In Team AJs Bake Shop’s station, Mercedes and Artie work together to try and come up with their three drinks. Ultimately they decide on a mocha Frappuccino, an Earl Grey infused with lemon, and a tequila sunrise. They’re pretty confident with their choices and set off to begin making their cupcake batters while watching Team Baking Dreams Come True and Team Batter Up Cupcakes duke it out amongst themselves.

Mercedes and Artie figure that with such an intense rivalry, the other teams will be too busy bickering to notice them coming through for the win!

\\

Over in the Team Baking Dreams Come True kitchen, Blaine is working quickly to draft a design but finds that Tina keeps getting distracted.

“Come on T, focus!” Blaine urges when he catches her staring across the aisle again, “Just ignore them.”

“I can’t!” Tina cries as she continues to glare back at Sugar, “I can feel her beady eyes burning holes into me. She’s taunting me, Blaine, taunting me.”

Blaine sighs at his friend’s dramatics, “She’s just trying to get in your head, you know how they work. They always do this. Remember when they told us they replaced all the sugar in the test kitchen with salt but they didn’t actually do it and we wasted all that time recreating all of our batters because didn’t check beforehand? It’s just like that again, they’re all talk.”

Just then Sugar scribbles something on her sketchpad and shows off the message to Tina.

Still salty?

Tina gasps; it’s like Sugar is in her head and she quickly turns to Blaine. She grabs him by the shoulder and the sudden movement makes him jolt forward with wide eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“Quick! Taste the sugar!” Tina urges.

Blaine groans and pries Tina’s hand off of him, “We’ve been standing here the entire time, there’s no way they could’ve switched – “

“JUST DO IT!”

Blaine sighs and goes to sprinkle a bit of sugar into the palm of his hand before bringing it up to his mouth. Tina watches him like a hawk for a reaction.

Blaine’s facial expression goes from tired, to confused, to surprised.

“Salt?”

“Yeah,” Blaine grumbles and shoots Team Batter Up Cupcakes a glare.

Brittany and Sugar are doubled over as they laugh and laugh, it only makes Blaine and Tina even angrier.

“That’s it,” Blaine narrows his eyes, full of a new sense of determination, “Game on!”

\\

Santana watches the whole exchange between the rivals with a proud smirk. Switching out the sugar for salt is a classic practical joke, but even she has no idea how Brittany and Sugar pulled that off. It must’ve been when the crew was resetting after Rachel’s second outburst.

She glances over at the team but lingers a little longer on Brittany as she talks excitedly to Sugar. Deep down she knows she’s being a little unprofessional here, but there’s this aura about Brittany that Santana just can’t resist.

It also doesn’t help that the girl is super fine and talented as hell too!

“I’m really interested to see how Team AJs Bake Shop does this round,” Kurt says to Santana, “They’re kind of like the dark horse, the underdog, the sleeper, the– “

“Okay, I get it.”

Kurt glances at Santana to find her staring at the blonde yet again. He shakes his head, “You really need to work on your subtly.”

Santana looks to him and blinks, “What?”

“Your lesbian tendencies are showing,” Kurt says knowingly with a wag of his finger towards her.

Santana quirks her brow and looks down at her chest before adjusting her boobs, “Better?”

Kurt laughs at his co-judge’s ridiculousness, “Not what I meant, but sure.”

\\

“Alright judges,” Sam announces as they come to a stop in front of Brittany and Sugar’s station, “First stop, Team Batter Up Cupcakes! How are you ladies doing?”

“All good in the hood over here,” Brittany says coolly with a thumbs up. She’s leaning on a stand mixer while Sugar’s off to the side rolling out fondant.

Santana smiles politely at them both while her hands stay folded in front of her. She looks like a meek little mouse but at the same time ready to knock you down a peg if you think you’re flying too close to the sun. She totally nails the balance of looking adorable yet intimidating and she really is so, so attractive but Brittany can’t stop staring her boobs.

She tries her hardest, she really does but they’re right there staring at her! She can’t remember if it was like that when Santana came around in Round 1, then again she was too busy with being blinded by Santana’s gorgeous smile to notice anything else.

“You seem to be handling the pressure quite well,” Kurt acknowledges and his soft voice manages to break Brittany out of her boob-daze long enough to focus on him, “What are your drinks of choice for this round’s challenge?”

Brittany nods and looks down to taste the base frosting she has been working on before making an adjustment, “Well, my morning usually starts off with Dr Pepper so we’re pretty lucky that the drink is included in the pantry. For the aftern – “

“Wait,” Kurt pauses, “You start off your mornings with Dr Pepper?”

“How else are you meant to brush your teeth?” Brittany deadpans, “Or…do you not do that?”

Santana hides her laughter behind her hand while Sue stares at Brittany like she has two heads. Sam is looking somewhat convinced with Brittany’s logic though while Kurt gawks at her.

“Of course I brush my teeth,” Kurt scoffs then chooses to move on while Brittany starts on her next task, “And your choice for the afternoon?”

“Piña colada with Malibu from the pantry,” Brittany answers and Kurt is surprised yet again.

“For the afternoon?” Kurt clarifies and looks to Santana for some kind of back up. When she doesn’t give him anything, he turns back to Brittany, “I’m not following your decisions here. Can you explain?”

“It’s 5 o’clock somewhere,” Brittany replies easily as she tosses the Mexican chocolate into the double-boiler, “Everyone loves Piña Coladas.”

“Getting caught in the rain!” Sugar sings from behind her.

Brittany wiggles her hips to the sound and smiles sweetly at Kurt, “You’d probably benefit from an afternoon Piña Colada. Although, I’m still not sure if the song is talking about an actual drink or if it’s a euphemism…”

“I – “ Kurt stammers and Santana takes that as her cue to cut in before he combusts.

“You’re using two ingredients from the pantry,” Santana points out as she takes a step closer to Brittany. There’s this glimmer in her eye and this sexy little smile, “That’s pretty bold of you.”

“All or nothing,” Brittany says confidently, “That’s my motto.”

“I like that,” Santana chuckles, “You both showed off a lot of skill in the first round, how long have you been baking?”

Brittany ponders that a moment while she whisks through the melting chocolate and calls over her shoulder, “Hey Sug! When did I transfer to the C.I.A?”

Sugar hums as she comes up beside Brittany to steal some food coloring, “A couple years ago?”

Brittany nods and looks to Santana, “For a couple years then.”

“What?” Kurt gasps, “How is that possible?”

Santana is equally surprised, “That’s really impressive, I spent nearly ten years in school before I opened my own place. Where did you transfer from? It must be just as prestigious with the amount of skill you already possess.”

“I mean, I guess?” Brittany says, “I transferred from MIT.”

“Holy sh – “ Santana is completely in awe, “I needz to hear this backstory.”

“We really should move on to the other teams,” Sam tries but Santana just waves him off.

“Shut it, Trouty!” Santana bites before looking back to Brittany, “Tell me more.”

Brittany shrugs although her stomach can’t stop flipping because Santana Lopez is interested in her backstory. Is she dreaming? She keeps her cool though and does as she’s told.

“Well, I was working on my second Masters when I got into a little argument with someone from the Department of Chemistry over the quality of a cake they brought in for a staff luncheon,” Brittany explains, “They said that they spent years perfecting the recipe and that it takes a certain kind of talent to bake. I said that it couldn’t be that hard and here I am.”  

“You are just…,” Santana pauses and tries to keep her smile from growing any wider, “You’re full of surprises.”

Brittany lifts her shoulder all nonchalant-like and she’s too busy being wrapped up in another compliment that Santana has given her that she doesn’t realize her chocolate is starting to bubble. She quickly turns the heat down before it burns, but not before a lone chocolate bubble bursts and splatters a couple droplets on Santana’s dress.

All the cool she possessed goes right out the window as her face turns beet red.

“Oh my God,” Brittany gasps and Sugar darts to look in her direction at the sound of such a distressed tone.

Santana looks down at the melted chocolate dotting her chest.

Kurt’s jaw drops and he subtly moves behind Sam in preparation for the absolute fit Santana is about to throw. He’s seen first hand how vicious she can be and he doubts even Brittany’s pretty face will help her this time.

“Oh my God,” Brittany repeats and grabs at a paper towel to wet before she’s absent mindedly dabbing at Santana’s chest, “I’m so sorry. I – I can pay for the dry cleaning bill or I can–“

Santana stills Brittany’s trembling hands.

Kurt thinks this is it, this is the day Santana finally gets her ass fired and waits for Santana to yeet the poor girl across the room, but something strange happens instead.

Santana smiles.

Kurt thinks she might’ve hit a new level of pissed that he’s yet to see during their many years of working together. He’s actually scared for Brittany, but there’s no way in Wal-Mart that he’ll try to intervene now. There are just some things even he won’t do.

Brittany gulps.

Sugar stands back to watch, popping tiny marshmallows into her mouth like popcorn.

“It’s fine, Brittany,” Santana says through her smile then slowly let’s Brittany’s hand fall to the counter, “Although you might want to keep a better eye on your chocolate next time.”

“Yeah sure,” Brittany nods in a daze. Honestly, she’ll agreeing to anything Santana says right now as long as she doesn’t tear into her like she did with Rachel earlier.

Santana looks down at the cutting board next to where Brittany’s hand rests now and recognizes the chocolate packaging, “Are you using Mexican chocolate?”

Brittany slowly blinks and looks down at the board and back up, “Uh… yeah. It’s for our drink to end the night with. We’re doing a Spicy Mexican hot chocolate.”

“Hmm,” Santana hums before swiping a piece of chocolate from the board, “You have quite the line up for us. Good luck to you both.”

“Thanks,” Brittany says before they all begin to walk away. She feels like she can finally breathe again and looks over her shoulder to Sugar and starts to mouth holy fuck did you see th –

“Oh and Brittany?” Santana calls out.

Brittany instantly swivels on her heels and stands at attention, “Yeah?”

“Keep an eye on your chocolate,” She smirks as she pops in the piece she stole earlier before turning away.

Brittany thinks she actually might be drooling right now because woah, but it doesn’t last long before Sugar is ruining her moment.

“Oh my God, Britt!” Sugar squeals as she starts slapping at Brittany’s shoulder, “There is no denying it now. I’m not even going to say it because you and I and all of America knows what I’m thinking.”

Brittany lets out a sigh and shakes her head, “I need a drink.”

“Shots!” Sugar cheers. She grabs the bottle of Malibu from her station and pours a bit into a measuring cup and hands it to Brittany while Sugar pours some into a ramekin. They both knock back the shot and Brittany sends Sugar a knowing look.

“I’m beginning to see what you’re talking about now…help.”

“Yes!” Sugar beams, “Don’t worry about a thing, I’m going to be the best wing-woman!”

“Let’s just win this thing first before you go all Love Connection on me,” Brittany chuckles, “I know how you like to spiral.”

Sugar throws up her hands in defense as she walks back to her side of the station, “I just call it like I see it, Brittz, and I called it from the very beginning.”

Brittany just keeps her head down and gets back to work, trying to keep thoughts of Santana to a minimum.  

\\

“I thought you were going to kill her,” Kurt whispers as they leave Team Batter Up Cupcakes behind, “I thought you were going to finally catch a case and kill that poor girl, not to mention her ruining your dress.”

“The girls did their job, what do you expect?” Santana replies easily, “Besides, it was an accident.”

Santana is guided off to the side so that her stylist can work her magic and remove the stains, or at least position her hair so that it’s a lot less noticeable. It’s only a couple dots so it’s really no big deal, but Kurt doesn’t seem to want to drop it.

“An accident? You know who else had an accident? Marley Rose. In her pants. Because you threatened her with a knife.”

“Calm down, it was an off-set spatula,” Santana corrects, “There’s no sharp edges there.”

“It was completely unnecessary,” Kurt admonishes.

“You know what else was unnecessary? Combining avocado and chocolate.”

“It wasn’t that bad, Santana. Don’t be dramatic.”

Santana rolls her eyes at him as her stylists does some finishing touches before Santana is given the okay to return to set. She gives Kurt a disgusted look, “Avocado has no place in this kitchen, damnit. I don’t care what kind of food trend band wagon rolls up in here. It’s a no for me.”

Kurt shakes his head in disbelief but returns to the previous topic as his tone dips lower, “She practically had her hand on your boob, Santana. Brittany, not Marley.”

“Yeah…and?”

“And you didn’t rip it from her body…”

Because I’m a lesbian and I’m into it, is what Santana wants to say but she doesn’t and honestly she doesn’t know what stops her. She’s always said what was on her mind, but now?

Santana glances over at the station they just left and catches Brittany with her head down in deep concentration. She smirks for a split second before turning a glare onto Kurt.

“I know what happened, Kurt, I was there. I don’t need you doing a play-by-play for me.”

Kurt looks at her quizzically, but the response seems to shut him up for the meantime. They go on to check in with the rest of the teams in silence.

\\

After they make their rounds, the judges return to the panel and wait out the last few minutes. Although thus far Santana hasn’t been able to keep her eyes from straying too far from Team Batter Up Cupcake’s kitchen, she along with the other panel judges are unable to look away from Team AJs Bake Shop.

The pressure is definitely on as the team scrambles to frost their cupcakes, but it doesn’t seem like there will be enough time for Mercedes and Artie to complete all three of them. You can start to see them beginning to lose focus as they keep checking the time, the seconds quickly disappearing until ultimately the buzzer sounds.

“Alright bakers, put down your utensils!” Sam calls out as he walks to the center of the arena, “This round is ovah.”

The camera pans to each kitchen, capturing the bakers’ relief – Sugar and Brittany hug it out while Blaine and Tina high five – but when it gets to Team AJs Bake Shop, Mercedes and Artie look completely defeated and devasted.

Only two out of the three cupcakes they planned have made it onto their plate.

“First up to the judging panel,” Sam says while doing his James Earl Jones impression again, “Brittany and Sugar from Team Batter Up Cupcakes! Let’s see what you’ve made.”

\\

Brittany and Sugar make the short walk over to the panel and hand out their cupcakes. They’re aesthetically on point with Brittany’s excellent piping and Sugar’s fondant work rounding out the whole presentation, but they hope that their eccentric ways don’t scare off the judges too much.

“Looks awesome,” Sam compliments with a wide smile, “Please explain to the judges what you’ve created.”

Brittany has been pretty cool-headed so far, but ever since the chocolate boob incident she’s been thrown a little off her game. She sucks in a breath to calm her nerves before speaking.

“Hi again, judges! To start your morning off right, we’ve made a Dr Pepper cupcake inspired by my awesome dentist Dr. Pepper who taught me that teeth-brushing isn’t only done at night.”

“Oh my God…it was her dentist. I feel so stupid,” Kurt sighs to himself.

Santana just chuckles, “As you should.”

“We used Dr Pepper from the curveball pantry in the chocolate cupcake batter as well as in the cherry buttercream frosting. Sugar made the topper out of fondant,” Brittany explained while the judges went in for their first taste.

Their expressions shifted to surprise at the sudden tingling sensations on their tongues.

“Oh! And we also garnished with popping candy to replicate the fizziness of the Dr Pepper,” Brittany supplies and watches nervously for a positive reaction.

Santana is the first to speak up this time, “Can I just say this is probably one of the best soda-inspired cupcakes I’ve ever had.”

Brittany’s brows shoot up to her hairline while Sugar lets out a squeal.

“It’s not just a chocolate cake with a splash of Dr Pepper, you can actually taste the soda in this and your use of the popping candy was again…sheer genius,” Santana adds, “Great job.”

Kurt reluctantly nods, “I love the frosting. It isn’t too sweet and this fondant work is spectacular, I’m just not sold on your choice to start the day off with this kind of beverage.”

“It was alright for me,” Sue shrugs nonchalantly, “Next!”

Santana and Kurt scowl at her but move on to the next cupcake anyway.

“So to get through the afternoon blues, Sugar and I went with a Piña Colada cupcake for obvious reasons,” Brittany begins to explain.

“Get litty!” Sugar whoops and knocks her first with Brittany’s.

“There’s pineapple juice and a little coconut cream in the cupcake batter and it’s topped with a coconut rum buttercream then garnished with some toasted coconut flakes as well as another awesome fondant piece by Sugar,” Brittany finishes while the judges taste their second cupcake, “We used Malibu from the curveball pantry in this recipe.”

“Wow, you can really taste the rum here,” Kurt comments but Brittany and Sugar can’t tell whether or not that’s a compliment.  

“Be careful you don’t get all white-girl wasted on me,” Santana teases while she tastes the frosting and lets it coat her tongue. She gives a satisfied smile, “That’s really good and I’m not even a big fan of Malibu. Might be just a touch too sweet for my tastes though. Malibu is so sugary as it is, you should’ve maybe cut back on adding any more sugar to your recipe.”

Brittany’s smile falters, “Understood.”

“I really like the fruity flavors of the cake here,” Kurt adds.

“You? Liking something fruity?” Santana’s brows rise, “I’m shocked.”

Kurt opts to ignore her and continues, “It’s just the right amount of pineapple and coconut, I feel like I’m on some tropical beach somewhere. And the addition of the toasted coconut flakes was a great touch, it adds a nice texture to your cupcake.”

“This one is better,” Sue agrees and at second glance they find that she has somehow devoured the entire cupcake, “Although, I don’t know how well it will go over with the parents if you’re chosen to cater for the Cheerios benefit. You would have to come up with something different. Next!”

Brittany and Sugar feel like they’ve been dealt another blow and think that maybe they should’ve been a little more tame this round. The judges’ responses are all so mixed, they don’t know where they stand.

They remain positive though as the judges move on to their final cupcake.

“To end the night, we have a Spicy Mexican Hot Chocolate cupcake with marshmallow frosting,” Brittany says as the judges start to taste, “There isn’t anything from the curveball pantry in this recipe, only the Mexican chocolate we found in the regular pantry.”

Kurt looks like he’s struggling with his watery eyes, “Is that…cayenne pepper?”

“It is,” Brittany nods resolutely, “Hence the spicy.”

“It’s really…” Kurt starts to cough but Sue is quick to slap his back which makes him yelp in pain.

“I’m into this,” Santana nods, barely batting an eye at Kurt’s reaction, “Once again, you’re showing off how well you balance out flavors and this marshmallow frosting... I’d eat it of off anything.”

Brittany gulps at the way the word rolls off Santana’s tongue. In an instant, Brittany’s mind  takes her there. She closes her eyes tightly, willing the thoughts away with all her might because now is not the time for them.

“No hot chocolate should have cayenne pepper in it,” Kurt replies once he’s able to speak again, “Like why? I didn’t get it.”

“That’s because you’re a basic bitch,” Santana eye-rolls but turns an encouraging smile onto Brittany and Sugar, “I liked this, it really took me back to my roots.”

“I’m a big fan of cayenne pepper,” Sue agrees, “Combine that with some lemon juice and sand and you’ve got yourself the perfect Sue Sylvester master cleanse.”

Santana gives Sue a look, “That can’t be healthy for you.”

Sue doesn’t answer though, just holds her head up high.

“Okay well, great job!” Sam commends, “Please return to your kitchen. The next team up: Blaine and Tina from Team Baking Dreams Come True.

\\

“I’m a little worried,” Sugar says once they return to their station. She takes another swig of rum straight from the bottle before passing it to Brittany, “Were we too much?”

Brittany shrugs and drinks from the bottle too, “If we did it any other way then we aren’t being true to ourselves and that’s the most important thing.”

“True,” Sugar nods, “I can’t get a read on them. Their feedback was everywhere.”

“We’ll just have to wait. We’ve always been the oddballs in every competition but we still bring home a win,” Brittany adds and looks to Sugar, “It won’t be any different this time.”

“Yeah! And Santana liked most of them and she’s usually the hardest one to please so that has to count for something,” Sugar wonders aloud, “Right?”

“One of the best soda-inspired cupcakes she’s ever hand,” Brittany reminds her, “We’ve got this, Sug.”

That seems to ease Sugar’s nerves and they stay huddled side by side like that, passing the bottle of rum back and forth between each other as the remaining teams are judged.

\\

“Here you go, Kurt!” Santana teases as Blaine and Tina present them with a pumpkin spice latte-inspired cupcake that they’ve chosen to start their day with. She cuts through the cream cheese frosting with her fork, “This is right up your basic bitch alley.”

“Shut up, Santana.” Kurt groans and rolls his eyes before tasting the creation. He doesn’t want to admit it aloud and land himself right at the butt of Santana’s joke, but the cupcake is delicious.

Judging by Santana’s facial expressions she thinks so too.

“I see you’ve taken my advice from Round 1 and stepped your game up,” Santana says to Blaine in a tone that drips with condescension, “There’s actually some flavor in here this time…even if you went with something so mainstream like a PSL. You did well, yay.”

It was the most unenthusiastic, off-handed yay Blaine and Tina has ever heard and they aren’t sure whether they should thank her for the compliment or be offended. Instead they just nod and wait for Kurt’s critique.

“Finally something I’m familiar with,” Kurt sighs through his pleased smile, “This is my favorite one so far. It’s like biting into Autumn. All of your flavors are spot on and this cream cheese frosting complements it so perfectly.”

Blaine and Tina share a surprised look that makes Brittany and Sugar want to gag. Sugar rolls her eyes so hard they almost stick while Brittany just wants to push one of them, most likely Tina since she’s the closest. Those two are the biggest suck-ups ever and they only confirm it as they thank the judges for their wonderful feedback and move on to the next cupcake.

Surprisingly, Sue smiles.

It’s kind of creepy, but it happens all because of their Matcha-inspired cupcake which represents their midday beverage.

“I hate cupcakes, but this one might change my mind,” Sues says after taking a bite.

Kurt tilts his head in confusion while Santana shoots Sue a look of disbelief.

“Wait so you hate cupcakes yet you’re on a show based on cupcakes?” Kurt questions, “How does that work?”

“Talk to my lawyer,” Sue answers shortly.

Kurt is taken aback and looks to Santana, “What?”

“I don’t know,” Santana shakes her head dismissively and gets back to judging the cupcake, “Once again, you’ve chosen another mainstream trend. Maybe if I was on My Weird Cravings and liked the taste of grass mixed with frosting and topped with dusting of seaweed, I wouldn’t mind this.”

Blaine and Tina cringe upon hearing Santana’s remarks.

\\

Brittany and Sugar both bust out laughing and it’s so loud that the camera pans to them.

“You made…a cupcake…for a goat!” Brittany giggles between words. She’s close to tears and Sugar’s going red in the face.

“Way to go, losers!” Sugar adds as she tries to catch her breath.

\\

“I – I’m so sorry, we-“ Blaine began but Santana just held up here hand to stop him.

“Don’t apologize. If you’re going to bake something and present it to me, you better be pretty damn proud of it to the point where even if you don’t get the response you’re after you still think it’s the best thing you’ve ever made,” Santana tells him sternly, “Confidence is important in this industry. Grow a backbone and own it.”

Blaine just gulps and steps back in line with Tina as the judge’s move on to their final cupcake.

Again for Santana, it tastes somewhat above average and their high skill level is evident and they do all the right things but there’s no risk taken.

She’s bored, they’re boring.

On the other hand, Kurt and even Sue are blown away by everything they’ve put forth so Santana is out numbered this time around.

Blaine and Tina look relieved when Sam dismisses them back to their station and they hold their heads high as they pass Brittany and Sugar. They don’t say a word, just give their best attempt at a cocky grin before crossing the aisle to their kitchen.

\\

The final team Sam calls up arrives to the judges’ panel wielding only two of their three cupcakes.

“What’s going on here?” Santana asks as she looks down at her plate.

“Our final cupcake didn’t cook through completely…” Artie replies guiltily.

“Time management not a strong point for you, huh?” Santana comments the nods to the first cupcake, “Tell us what you’ve made then.”

Mercedes takes over for Artie and goes on to explain the first cupcake, the coffee inspired cupcake to represent the start of their day. Presentation-wise, it’s on point and when it comes to taste, they kill it!

Santana is actually surprised by how much she likes it, “The espresso is really pronounced here which is something bakers fall short on a lot, but you nailed this. Coffee and chocolate is kind of a weakness for me so I’m glad that this doesn’t taste horrible.”

“I agree,” Kurt adds, “This is a very good take on what you were aiming for. Great job.”

Their second cupcake receives similar praise; great flavor, beautiful presentation and fits with the theme.

Brittany would be a little worried if they hadn’t only come up with two cupcakes.

“So which one of these cupcakes contains an ingredient from the curveball pantry?” Kurt asks once they finish tasting.

“Well,” Artie starts nervously, “It was in our final cupcake which would’ve been our take on a tequila sunrise. It contained tequila.”

“Obviously,” Santana quips then she starts to frown, “It’s really disappointing that you weren’t able to finish on time. You could’ve had this challenge in the bag.”

Brittany and Sugar share a look upon hearing those words; were they just saved by another team’s missteps?

\\

“Okay bakers, only two teams will be moving on to the final round. Do you think you’ve made the cut?” Sam asks as he stands next to the judge’s panel, “This round was a little bit of a challenge for most of you but…Blaine and Tina…you’ve made it to Round 3!”

“Oh my God!” Tina squeals as she jumps into Blaine’s arms.

“We made it!” Blaine cheers and they bounce around their kitchen. It’s like every step they take is a jab at Brittany and Sugar.

This can’t happen, they can’t lose to them. Brittany crosses her fingers and her toes as she shuts her eyes tight and begins to wish and hope that Sam calls out their name next.

“The final team that will move on to Round 3…will be…Brittany and Sugar!” Sam announces and the lights dim over Mercedes and Artie, “Sorry Team AJs Bake Shop, your fight is over.”

Brittany lets out a sigh of relief and pulls Sugar in for a hug, “That was too close.”

“The judges agreed that you put up some tasty cupcakes,” Sam goes on to explain to Mercedes and Artie, “But the fact that you didn’t provide three cupcakes was unfortunately a critical blow in your case.”

“Oh hell to the no,” Mercedes snaps and points over to Brittany and Sugar, “They made only one cupcake in Round 1 while everyone else made two and they won the round! So we do the same and now we’re getting cut? How is this fair? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“What is with everyone testing our decisions today?” Kurt grumbles.

Mercedes is still going, “All of our cupcakes fit the theme, meanwhile Brittany and Sugar just picked random-”

“Let me stop you right there,” Santana stands up.

Brittany looks from Mercedes to Santana and prepares for the worst. She’s got that look in her eyes again, similar to when she smacked Rachel down like the hand of God. There’s this determination mixed with pure fury and Brittany knows she shouldn’t be thinking about how good she looks up there, but it’s impossible not to.

“Britt and Sugar put their personality into their work which is something I have not seen from any other team here today,” Santana starts and Brittany instantly perks up upon hearing her nickname, “They didn’t do anything by random. They put thought behind everything that they’ve done and they actually take risks. Sometimes it’s a hit, sometimes it’s a miss but at least they’re swinging for the fences. Don’t come at them just because you messed up.”

Brittany can’t help but smile at how highly Santana is speaking about them and the use of baseball references just makes her feel warm all over. Her heart thuds hard and her stomach fills with crazy butterflies again. She’s overcome with this sudden urge to rush over and –

She stops herself from thinking such a thought. She doesn’t even know the woman like that and it would be so out of line. But then when she glances up, she just barely catches Santana looking her way before she sets her gaze back on Mercedes. It’s quick, too quick for Brittany to interpret. She just listens to whatever Santana says next.  

Santana grits her jaw, “The challenge for Round 1 didn’t specify the number of cupcakes required, everyone just assumed it meant two. Everyone except, Team Batter Up Cupcakes. This round specifically stated that you were to make three cupcakes. You made two, or do you need a recount? Can you even count? Should I break out the counting blocks and have you practice for a bit?”

Mercedes quiets although she looks like she is going to go off at any moment now.

Santana hopes she does.  

“You also left out a curveball pantry ingredient,” Kurt adds, “That’s too many errors to overlook and that’s why you’re being sent home.”

Mercedes and Artie swallow their pride and exit the arena without another word.

\\

Santana takes the moment to finally sit back down, but not before glancing over at Brittany one last time. The blonde is looking at her like she has put every single star in the sky. Oddly enough, the look makes Santana blush and she has to look away quickly before the camera catches her.

What she doesn’t evade is Kurt’s quizzical eye and when Santana finally sees that she has been caught, she does her best to fake it until she makes.

“What?” She scoffs.

“I totally get it now,” Kurt says as the dots all finally connect, “You like her.”

“You’re delusional.”

“You do like her!” Kurt squeals, “I knew it, that’s why you let her touch your boobs!“

“Boob,” Santana corrects, “Singular and I didn’t let her. She did that on her own.”

“Same thing!”

“Don’t start with me, Kurt,” Santana snaps, “I’m still full of rage.”

Kurt only smirks, “That’s not all you’re full of…”

“Huh?”

“You’re full of shit too.”

Upon seeing the wide grin Kurt wears, Santana rolls her eyes, “You’re really trying to get your scrawny ass kicked, aren’t you?”

\\

The camera drags up Sam’s torso to settle in close as he makes the final announcement of the round, “Another team bites the dust here at the Cupcake Battles’ arena! The two remaining teams that will battle it out in the final round are: Brittany and Sugar from Team Batter Up Cupcakes – “

The camera pans to Brittany and Sugar who are all kinds of intimidating. They both growl at the audience and flex their muscles, alternating from different poses, before they point over to Blaine and Tina and yell out, “We’re going to break you in half like a pop tart!”

“Oh, that’s violent…” Blaine frowns.

“And facing off with them will be Blaine and Tina from Team Baking Dreams Come True!” Sam adds as the camera points to the contestants.

They’re remaining polite and do the whole smile and wave which surprises no one because they’re so boring.

“Stay tuned to see who comes out on top for our third and final round in,” Sam takes a long dramatic pause, “Cupcake Battles!”