#Half-somersault maneuver

[manuelnunezmd]

Navigating the World of Benign Positional Vertigo: Causes, Symptoms, and Management

Benign positional vertigo (BPV) is a common condition that can cause dizziness and a spinning sensation when you change the position of your head. In this blog post, we will provide you with a comprehensive guide to understanding benign positional vertigo, including its causes, symptoms, and treatment options. What is Benign Positional Vertigo? Benign positional vertigo, also known as benign…

[multifandomslxt]

Quiet Rage

MDNI

MINORS GO AWAY

Pairing: bsf!Johnny x reader

Synopsis: You wanted to test a theory and ended up making Johnny "Quiet Rage" Suh pissed all the way off. Surely he wouldn't take it out on you though right? after all, you were his best friend.

WARNING: THIS IS SMUT...arguably one of my dirtiest yet. reader is a little shit and Johnny is the quiet guy in the friend group. Johnny in glasses. Dirty and I mean DIRTY talk. spit, sweat, mentions of bruising skin, drooling, overstimulation, exhibitionism via video call, just dirty stuff alright

A/N: This took forever to get out and I apologize for that. it's exam season and I really wanted this out so I pulled some all-nighters. so I apologize for the grammatical errors and so on. I'm very very nervous about this because I did not expect the teaser to get that much attention. but anyway, enjoyyy. @neoculturecollectives @calibabii21

"I swear, Johnny's into you," your girlfriend claims, and you almost spit out your latte. You shoot her a look, throat burning, and coffee dribbling down your chin. "What the hell makes you say that?"

She rolls her eyes, handing you a napkin. "Come on, babe. The guy gives you that intense stare all the time."

You stare at her in disbelief. "He gives everyone that stare. It's just Johnny."

She grunts in frustration. "Y/n, he calls you 'baby' for crying out loud."

You shrug, trying to play it cool. "So? It's not like it's some romantic declaration."

This scenario is all too familiar, and it annoys you. People always misread Johnny and you, trying to turn your perfectly platonic relationship into something more.

"Alright, if you're so confident, come with me to Jay's party tonight," she challenges.

Your heart sinks.

Jay, aka Jaehyun, is her boyfriend, and you've crossed paths quite a bit. But you already know you can't go.

"He doesn't like you like that, right? So let's settle it, Y/n. Let's end the speculation."

"That's dumb. I don't need to prove anything," you argue. But truth be told, your heart is still doing somersaults. You both know why you won't go, or rather, can't.

Johnny has this strict no-party rule for you. Sounds stupid, but it's his way of keeping you safe. One bad experience with some idiot led to this.

"Come on, just this once, and I'll drop it, promise," she pleads.

"Fine" you reply, already feeling your energy drain.

~

You find yourselves in what's supposed to be Jay's living room turned dance floor.

"Where's that man?" your friend complains beside you.

You hadn't been paying much attention to her anyway. Tonight, you're on a mission to prove a point. Yep, you're scanning for Johnny.

"Yo, ladies!" A familiar voice greets you from behind.

It's Mark. Awkward, cute, and definitely on some kind of high.

weed probably

"Markieee." you smiled and hugged him.

"Have you seen Jay?" your friend asks, not even bothering to greet Mark.

"In the upstairs bathroom," Mark replies, the thumping bass of the music echoing through the house.

"Thanks, y/n, call me if you need me," she says, her voice almost drowned out by the distant laughter and chatter.

"Okay," you agree, even though you know she's most likely going to be too busy to pick up. With that, she confidently stalks off into the lively chaos to find her man.

You're still hugging Mark throughout that, the music's pulsating rhythm vibrating through your bodies, and neither of you makes a move to release the other.

"Markie, how high are you right now?" you ask, half amused and half concerned, the scent of various substances hanging in the air.

"I'm not high," he insists, his words slightly slurred.

Yep, he's as high as a damn kite. "Alright, let's get you seated," you decide, guiding him through the animated crowd.

You hug him a little tighter to your side as you maneuver through the sea of people, completely unaware that the man you had been scanning for was silently observing you from across the dimly lit room.

Johnny tilts his head ever so slightly, the ambient lights flickering, casting enigmatic shadows on his intense expression as he observes you cradling the nearly unconscious Mark in your arms.

"Yo, Johnny! Where you goin'?" Heachan's voice echoes from the kitchen, where the clinking of glasses and laughter weave through the air.

"You can't bail on me now, man. You promised to try this strain with me," Hexhan pleads, his tone a mix of whining and cajoling.

"Another time," Johnny responds tersely, striding away without a backward glance.

Johnny can't fathom any sober reason for Mark to be draped over you like that.

"And you shouldn't even be here," Johnny muses to himself.

"Y/n," his gruff voice calls out, a single word that carries volumes.

You pivot, finding yourself face to face with your long-time best friend, a man whose relationship with you blurs between suspected boyfriend, occasional fling, or perhaps something more permanent.

His towering figure looms over you like an impending storm, his mouth contorted in a sneer, eyebrows knitted in displeasure. A quick appraisal reveals he's opted for a relaxed ensemble tonight—black hoodie and grey joggers, his signature black rimmed glasses resting on his nose.

"Johnny, I've been looking for you. Where the hell were y--"

"Y/n, have I ever told you that your tits make the best pillows ever? Oh my god," Mark interjects, completely oblivious to Johnny's presence.

In one swift motion, Johnny shoves Mark away, causing him to collide with people behind you.

"Johnny, what the fuck!" you gasp, caught off guard.

"What are you doing here, Y/n? I'm only asking once," Johnny demands, his hand firmly gripping the back of your neck, forcefully pulling you into the shelter of his chest.

"Answer the question."

"I'm here for you," you assert, making no attempt to deceive.

"You could've called me if you missed me so much, baby," he responds, his voice softening, and his eyebrows gradually easing.

"Yeah, I know, but I wanted to have fun too," you argue.

It becomes apparent that you've made the wrong choice as his hand tightens slightly around your neck.

"Have fun at home. No parties. I'm sure I told you that," his voice remains calm, but the increasing pressure on the back of your neck contradicts his demeanor.

"Go home. Now," he states, leaving no room for argument.

For a moment, your body twitches as if to comply, but it seems you're on a defiant streak tonight.

"No. I'll stay and have fun. I've seen you now, so I'll just go look for the others and enjoy myself," you declare.

He stares at you, a blank facial expression revealing nothing.

"Y/n, baby, go home," he says softly.

Successfully prying yourself from his grip, you retort, "No."

You stalk off, leaving him standing in the middle of the living room, hands straight by his sides, and his gaze unwaveringly black yet watchful.

As you navigate through the crowd, encounter familiar faces here and there.

~

You find yourself on your umpteenth shot of tequila when, unexpectedly, you're invited to a game of truth or dare, courtesy of Haechan.

Johnny is nowhere to be found, and the absence begins to stir a sense of worry and nervousness within you.

The game had unfolded over an extended period, leaving your mind increasingly hazy with each passing moment. Holding your liquor was never your forte.

You observed as the bottle spun and twirled before ultimately settling on the guy positioned beside you.

"dare" the guy simply said.

"I dare you to kiss y/n," Haechan's slurred yet mischievous voice announced.

As Haechan proclaimed his dare, Johnny ambled into the room, seemingly oblivious to your presence, it left you feeling bothered and angry.

Fine, you mused, if he's going to act that way.

Perhaps it was the influence of the alcohol coursing through your system or some other inscrutable force, but you found yourself impulsively lunging towards the guy next to you. Teeth clashed in a messy, audacious kiss, and, fueled by the audacity of the dare, you dared to explore further by delving your tongue into his mouth.

A cheer erupted from the onlookers, making your heart swell.

Basking in the attention, you pushed the boundaries, only to be abruptly seized by the neck for the second time that night, this time by none other than Johnny himself.

Without hesitation, he mused, "Go to the car and sit. I'll be there soon."

"But, Joh—"

"Go. To. The. Car, Y/n, and shut your fucking mouth. I said I'll be there soon," he asserted, his words punctuated through gritted teeth.

~

The last ten minutes had passed in utter silence as both of you sat in the car.

When Johnny finally slid into the driver's seat, his gaze never once met yours. Without a word, he started the car and left the party, only sparing you attention when he needed to secure your seatbelt.

The oppressive silence weighed on you.

"That was a fun game, wasn't it?" you ventured, attempting to break the tension.

Silence persisted.

"I bet Haechan has a video of it. Probably gonna send it to the group later," you added, attempting to inject a touch of levity into the atmosphere, though your laughter carried an undercurrent of awkwardness.

"Quit playing with me." He bites back, completely unamused by your attempt at a joke.

Your body stills as you stare wide-eyed at the man beside you. You didn't expect that from him. He wasn't the type to be so aggressive, especially with you.

"I didn't mean for that to happen, John." You said weakly. He had to understand, you were just trying to get his attention.

"But it did y/n and now I'm gonna have to show you what happens when you don't fucking listen" He rages quietly, eyes still on the road ahead.

It was always quiet with him.

little did you know.

To the untrained eye, he seemed cool and collected. But, you could tell he wasn't quite there. Maybe it was the way he squeezed the life out of the steering wheel or how he kept clenching and unclenching his jaw. Or, you know, the massive tent in his pants…

either way, you knew

somehow, you managed to piss off Johnny Suh.

"I suggest you start thinking of a way to apologize because you have no fucking idea what I have planned for you." He momentarily looks at you just long enough for you to see the dangerous glint in his eyes

~

Arriving at Johnny's apartment, you found yourself comfortably settled on his couch while he busied himself in the kitchen, fetching a glass of water for you. Since his remark on the way here, a palpable silence hung in the air.

As he approached you with the glass of water, he broke the silence, "Thought of a way to apologize yet?"

You glanced up at him from your spot on the couch. "I'm sorry. I should've listened to you," you managed to utter, your gaze dropping to the floor, a strange sense of shame washing over you.

He snorted in response, "That's all you came up with, Y/n?"

Meeting his disappointed gaze, you took a deep breath. "I should've known better," you added quietly.

He sighed, handing you the glass of water. "Drink."

Taking the glass from his hands, you started sipping as he watched you in silence. Then, without breaking eye contact, he nonchalantly remarked, "I'm going to fuck some sense into you and then fuck it out of you."

You choked on your water, hastily wiping at your mouth as you stared at him in disbelief.

"Your apology wasn't going to satisfy me anyway. I made up my mind when you said no the first time," he asserted, his tone casual yet loaded with an underlying intensity that left you flustered and strangely intrigued.

"And what if I don't want it." You daringly ask.

you knew you did.

The way he was watching you made that clear as day.

"Then say no." He shrugs

"Now finish the drink and head upstairs when you're done."he adds

and you did exactly that.

~

Johnny was a man. You knew that, he knew that, and the whole world knew that. But sometimes, it felt like you didn't always keep that obvious characteristic at the forefront of your mind, as you should have.

Entering the room, nothing struck you as special. It was the same as always: his bed in the middle of the space, surrounded by walls adorned with retro posters and pictures he had taken over the years with friends, family, and you. Despite the numerous times you had visited his home, particularly his room, it didn't feel as intimate as it did now, and for some reason, that excited you.

As you let your gaze wander, movement from the door pulled you out of your thoughts, and you turned your focus to a strangely quiet Johnny.

You both stood in silence, staring at each other for what felt like long, drawn-out minutes.

"I didn't think I'd have to tell you to strip, y/n," he said seriosusly.

You hiccup, startled. "E-excuse me?"

He stepped closer to you. "Fucking strip."

Your heart hammered in your chest at the complete unfamiliarity of the situation.

"John, you can't be seri—"

His hands fisted in your hair, causing you to tilt your head up, meeting his hard gaze. "Strip. I won't ask again. You're always free to leave, y/n, but you and I both know you don't want to."

~

"move your hand"

you twist and turn writhing your body all over his bed, hand trying to stop his fingers from fucking into you.

"Johnny, please! I said i was sorry " you scream as tears line your eyes

"I said move your fucking hand" he grabs your writs and pins the above your head

his fingers pummeling into you repeatedly. long and thick. you felt like you could feel all the ridges and callouses on them. all the fucking veins. it was torture.

SQUELCH SQUELCH

you try to squeeze your thighs together only for him to pry them back open almost immediately.

it was almost embarrassing just how wet you were really

"God. Fuck you're all over my sheets baby hmm" he moans his eyes never leaving your pussy.

almost.

that did it for you though

"Johnny, Johnny m'cumming"

“not yet baby”

you couldn't hold it

“Y/n, I said not yet” his actions contradicted his words as his fingers curled rubbing against your g spot

your body involuntarily shoots up off the bed as your lower abdomen contracts

"I can't hold it."

You cum with a high-pitched scream. Squirting all over Johnny's hand before lifelessly falling back on the bed.

you’re trying to get your breathing under control when you hear Johnny’s displeased voice

"you don't fucking listen do you"

fingers still in you, he manages to add even more pleasure relentlessly pumping into you

your legs start trembling from the intense pressure building in your abdomen once again.

Your scream is ear piercing as you cum for the fourth time

fifth...

you don't even know.

gosh, He hadn't even fucked you yet

you didn't even realize the drool running down your chin. eyes rolled back and lashes fluttering, your skin gleaming with sweat and thighs trembling. Your chest heaved as you breathed hard still coming down from your high.

In Johnny's eyes, you looked so fucked out and so fucking pretty.

He knew his version of foreplay was intense but he also knew he took it a bit further just for you.

his stubborn girl. He loved it but you needed to be taught a lesson.

with your mouth wide agape, he takes the opportunity of your oblivious state and shoves his middle and index finger down your throat causing you to gag.

"taste yourself...that's right baby suck my fingers clean" He coos as your mouth clings to his fingers.

when satisfied he pulls his away

"knees" is all he says.

you mumble uncoherent words trying to tell him you can't get up but it seems he is already way ahead of you helping you get comfortable in your position on the floor.

He begins to pull his sweatpants down revealing his erection fighting against the fabric of his black underwear. he wastes no time in pulling his cock out and you almost drool.

so harsh but so fucking pretty.

big and veiny with the prettiest pink tip. No wonder the foreplay was so intense. there was no way he was gonna fit without stretching you that much.

You look up at him with hopeful eyes. you wanted him in your mouth so fucking bad your pussy actually ached.

"So cute," he spits in the palm of his hand before bringing it down to stroke his cock.

"open and suck" He states.

Wasting no time your hands replace his and you begin to pump his pretty cock. you lick from the base of his pretty cock to the even prettier pink tip teasing him just a little with small kitten licks

"no teasing" he warns.

But of course, you don't listen continuing to push him over the edge with those kitten licks. even having the audacity to maintain eye contact while doing it.

You see the way his jaw clenches as he loses his patience and grabs the back of your head thrusting and forcing his cock to hit the back of your throat.

Your eyes widen and begin to water as you start to harshly breathe through your nose.

Gagging multiple times as he continues to relentlessly fuck your mouth

"no teasing and you continue to fucking tease huh? who's fucking in charge here y/n? Who's fucking cock's fucking your pretty mouth?"

not being able to speak you hum around his cock watching as his gaze becomes more sadistic by the second.

"Ah fuck, you're gonna make me cum like this baby?" you hum in response causing him to groan from the vibrations

"Ah, shit"

You watch his expression contort into a pained one before he somehow manages to make his cock hit even further than the back of your throat and cums in your mouth.

"Dont waste it, baby, swallow for me" he says airly

you swallowed his mouth full of cum. loving the pleasantly salty taste.

you wheezed and choked so overwhelmed with just how rough Johnny really was.

Where was this side of him hiding?

holy fuck

"your mouth, keep it open," he grumbles still heaving firm his previous orgasm.

you open your mouth a gain forming an 'O' shape and surprise takes you as he spits in your mouth before lightly slapping you across the face.

your hair was all over the place and your entire face was decorated with a mixture of precum, smudged makeup, tears, snot, and sweat

"Atta Girl." he praises you.

He helps you to your feet before giving you a quick peck on your lips

"turn around and bend over. Yeah just like that... spread your legs for me"

you used the bed as support as you got into the desired position.

he wastes no time thrusting his cock into you rough and hard.

the sound of skin slapping and the squelching of your pussy around him cause your knees to buckle as you threaten to lose your stance.

You were gonna cum soon.

feeling your swaying form, he grabs your neck pulling you into him as your back meets his chest

"don't you fucking dare" he threatens.

"Ah... please please, please! m'sorry... m'so sorry I won't do it again just please make me cum john, I'll be good I swear" you cry gasping for air between words. soon your sentences jumble into a whole lot of nothing.

he keeps his hand wrapped around your neck as he uses the other to hold your hand behind your back

"no. Cum when I say so. you need to learn to fucking listen."

snapping his hips at a quick pace.

the area around your hips already beginning to bruise from how hard he was holding you.

"t'much please johnny!" You scream as your legs begin to shake for the umpteenth time

"you can fucking take it. This is what you wanted right? To piss me off? Having mark all on you like that?" he says begrudgingly

he grabs your left breast and squeezes your nipple hard enough for your pussy to clench around him

"so damn sensitive" he whispers in awe.

he pulls out and pushes you on the bed. you look back and he's

standing over you with messy hair, dark eyes, and a cock so erect it slapped against his stomach with the slightest movement.

"get on your back and spread your legs" he says pulling your legs to the edge of the bed .

You flip over and he immediately fucks into you even harder than before.

once again your hands flay erratically as you scream trying to get away from the aching pleasure that was starting to make you see double.

"look at that baby, " he coos eyes staring at your stomach.

you look down and see his cock bulging in your lower abdomen.

You gasp at the sight

'Johnny please" you whimper not even sure what you are asking for.

"I might just fuck a baby into you. keep you home like a good little wife hmm." he says seriously, eyes still set on the bulging in your lower abdomen.

you clenched around him liking the sound of carrying his children

"you like that huh? " He groans

you nod as tears start to stream down your face.

suddenly he stops thrusting causing you to cry out

"Just gimmie a second baby gotta fix your mistake," he says as he reaches over to his nightstand picking up his phone.

"I'm calling Mark " he says nonchalantly causing your heart to race.

"you're off-limits and they fucking know that but it seems all of you need to be reminded of how things are tonight hm?"

the dial tone blares out before a muffled "hello?" comes through the speaker. Mark.

"watch " Johnny says before he thrusts into you so fucking deep you could taste him

you moan loudly

barley registering the "fucking hell, man" that comes from the phone. That was Haechan

'watch' Johnny had said earlier and you begin to understand that it was a video call.

Mark and Haechan were witnessing Johnny fuck you into oblivion.

"see this? this is my fucking pussy and nobody else can fucking have it." he fucks your relentlessly a familiar feeling building in your stomach.

"j-johnny its t'much"

"nah, you can fucking take it."

"oh, fuck! " you scream into the pillow

"my fucking pussy and she can't give it away ain't that right y/n"

"mhmm" you say not having the strength actually speak.

you cum with a shiver and a whine and even then he didn't stop

still drilling his cock into you

overstimulating you more and more

you try to get away and he never once let his cock leave you.

"tell them how many times you cum tonight." He challenges, knowing full well that you couldn't form a word much less a sentence at the moment.

you mutter random words too fucked out to think

a sharp slap to your face brings you back

"how many fucking times?" he says through clenched teeth

"Alot" you scream.

"good girl" he says before hanging up the phone and throwing it across the room.

"just give me one more" he continues.

you moan as your toes curl from the overwhelming sensations building in your stomach

with a sharp thrust, you squirt all over Johnny's cock just as he cums inside you.

"next time you do that shit I’ll fuck you right in front of them instead of over the phone."

[halflifegifs]

Somewhere right now on a Half-Life: 2 role-playing server in gmod

DarthBart03 (OOC): Can we get a moderator to come to the sewers? There's a new player trying to roleplay sucking us all off.

[Moderator] Walter White Guy (OOC): is it that guy whose character's physical description matches christian bale's character from equilibrium?

*John Preston gives up on offering the 3 rebels tornado blowjobs and springs into action. He sees before him a web of all possible attack vectors his assailants could use against him and jumps through the air in an arc that avoids them all, his white trenchcoat billowing dramatically as he does a 720° somersault and lands perfectly, transitioning into a sweeping leg maneuver that knocks the other men to the ground and then he grabs their guns out of the air.

GEORGEBUSH7-11 (OOC): Yeah, now he's trying to roleplay using gun kata to disarm and probably kill us all, ban this fucking troll please.

[Moderator] Walter White Guy (LOOC): John Preston we've already given you a warning about this, change your character's description and cut the shit or you're getting IP banned.

[OWNER] StormBreak (Global): I've stolen all the money everyone donated to keep the servers and forum running, everything goes offline for good in 3 hours, peace.

[etherati]

Taproot - (2/25)

So, change of plans. If I only post once a week, it will take half a year to post the entire 25 chapters. So gonna post twice a week - on Wednesdays and on Sat/Sun.

Chapter content warnings: lonely boys, missing their wizard GF. Trevor gets a nice gift and is incapable of accepting it politely. Implied chicken death.

🎵 Music pairing: Undertow - REM

< -- Back | Next -- >

Go to part: one | two | three | four | five | six

It has been a cold goddamned winter in the Carpathian foothills of eastern Wallachia, and it’s barely gotten started.

Trevor kicks the wet, clumpy snow from his boots. It’s starting to come down again, gathering in the fur at the collar of his cloak—not as thick or impressively fluffy as his old one, but the wool’s not worn through in a dozen places and he doesn’t exactly sleep under trees these days, so it’s fine—and the sky is doing something foreboding and miserable out here, clouds roiling and grey and apocalyptic.

Shitbutt bounces at his heels, swallowed up by the snow every time he lands and not seeming to mind at all, and okay, that’s kind of hilarious. One bright spot.

Trevor grins, eases the service door open with his hip, maneuvering the pile of cordwood in his arms around the tall, spiny bushes that nearly obscure it from view. It isn’t that heavy, but it’s awkward as hell, and all that axe-work in the frigid air has left him achy. Between that and the weather and the fact that they already have enough fucking firewood, for God’s sake, it’s time to call it a day.

“C’mon, boy,” he mumbles, jerking his head toward the door; the little beast trots obediently inside, trailing mud and snow and making a mess Adrian will probably pitch a fit over later.

In the little anteroom, heat radiates from more of those copper pipes, filling the space. It seeps in through his clothes, settles against his skin, chasing out the chill; Trevor stands there for a moment, just breathing it in and letting his lungs thaw out—giving the ward over the inner door a chance to recognize him. Boots toed off, then onward: through the labyrinthine passageways that he somehow has learned by heart and that have even stopped somersaulting on him, as if the castle has finally accepted that a little maze solving isn’t going to scare him away.

In the sitting room, there’s already a fire going. Adrian is lounging in one of the soft chairs that he’s pulled right up next to it, one steaming mug in his hand, another on the table next to him.

“You look comfortable,” Trevor says, only halfway meaning the dig, because that’s about all he ever manages these days. A lot of the time, he doesn’t mean it at all. He crosses the room, starts stacking the wood with the rest of it.

“Mm. I am, yes.”

“Must be nice to duck out of chores early.”

That earns him a raised eyebrow and an indulgent grin, Adrian turning his head to regard him. “I cut just as much wood as you did. It’s not my fault I’m faster at it than you are.”

Nope, that would be Dracula’s fault. Trevor grins to himself, shakes his head, doesn’t say it.

“Anyway,” Adrian continues, “someone had to actually start the fire and heat up the wine, else you’d never thaw out.” He picks up the second mug by the rim, holds it out in offering, and it smells incredible—mulled and spicy and sharp, steam curling lazily toward the ceiling.

But there’s no third mug, and as always, that dampens his enthusiasm a bit. Trevor sighs, takes it by the handle, takes a careful sip to gauge the heat. It’s perfect, it’s always perfect, but.

“You look stiff,” Adrian says, dodging the obvious.

Another sip, and this one goes down better, cloves lingering in his nose. “It’s just the cold,” Trevor says, because it is. He can remember waking up feeling this way every single winter morning for years, even with the thicker cloak—like he’d turned to ice overnight and his body was just gradually relearning how to be made of flesh. Wages of the wanderer. “Makes everything sort of seize up. I’ll be fine in a minute.”

“Or twenty or thirty, if left to your own devices.” Adrian takes a long pull from his own mug and sets it aside, points to the floor in front of his chair. “Sit.”

“Really?” Trevor smirks, doesn’t budge. “What am I, the damn dog?”

“No, the dog doesn’t argue half so much.” Adrian sits up straighter in the chair, beckons with a waving hand. “I’ve been in front of the fire long enough that my hands aren’t even cold. Stop being difficult.”

Stop being difficult; he may as well be asking Trevor to stop breathing air. But he’s trying, lately—and there’s also the thought of getting those hands on him without having to do any work for it—aside from all the wood-chopping—and that’s undeniably appealing.

“Fine,” he says, sweeping the cloak off and hanging it on one of the pegs near the fire to dry out. He unhooks the Morning Star from his belt, settles to the floor in front of Adrian’s chair, the weapon coiled up within easy reach. These are tricky times, and knowing he’s prepared for outside threats lets him relax more fully, falling into a lax, messy slump, sockfeet trailing out toward the fire.

Strong, delicate hands alight on his shoulders first, start working their way downward from there, and as usual, Trevor is all at once overwhelmed: the heat from the fire, from the wine, from Adrian’s touch. It’s too soft, too much—too much comfort, too much warmth, too much safety. It’s strange how he never felt this way back when the weather was mild; only now that it’s miserable out there and he’s experiencing these bursts of cold and discomfort again is his body reminding him that that is, in fact, what it’s accustomed to.

Whatever. It can fucking well get accustomed to this. He leans back into the touch, groaning as those fingers dig in under his shoulder blades with impossible precision, loosening the corded stiffness there, letting the tension drain away.

“Enjoying yourself?” Adrian teases, the voice right next to his ear.

“Fuck you, of course I am,” Trevor laughs, as Adrian drags his hands lower, thumbs sliding down along his spine and working the long bands of muscle that run the length of it. “That feels incredi—agh, Christ,” he cuts off, as Adrian finds a knotted up little locus of ache; the sharpness of the pain when he really digs in is enough to take Trevor’s breath away. “Right there, yeah.”

Adrian obliges him, focusing his attentions. “This isn’t just from the cold.”

“No, that’s from using the axe in the same hand all day,” Trevor mutters, wincing around the discomfort; this doesn’t feel good, but it needs doing. “Should have changed it up. Stupid.”

A momentary pause from behind him, hands stilling; then they resume again, and Adrian says nothing.

“What,” Trevor says, “no commentary on that? You’re losing your touch.”

A spike of pain as Adrian twists a finger into the knot, with just a measured touch of sharpness; then the ache fades, as Trevor feels the muscle release its torturous, twisted-up grip on itself. That is—that is basically magic, holy shit.

“You aren’t stupid,” Adrian mutters, distracted, soothing over the spot. “And you don’t need me to tell you that. If anything, you’re a little short on common sense, which—well, neither of us are very good about that, on our own.”

On their own. The two of them. So very much not the way this was meant to be, even if it is just temporary, even if it is so, so much better than actually being alone.

“I’d trade away common sense for what I do know any day,” Trevor grumbles. “Common sense stuff isn’t anywhere near as likely to kill you when you fuck it up.”

“In your case, I’d give it even odds,” Adrian says, the familiar, infuriating sass bleeding into his tone even as his hands keep up their work, gently easing the ache from his muscles. “I’ve seen you nearly killed preparing breakfast.”

Oh, for God’s sake. “That was one time.”

He can almost feel Adrian frown. “One time feels like once too many, given how many actual, serious threats we have to deal with,” he says, and there it is, there’s the real issue—the actual thing that’s causing both of them so much tension. The spectre that’s been hanging over them for days.

“Fine,” Trevor says, trying to keep the sudden swell of despair out of his voice. “I get it; I’m not stupid, I’m just a walking disaster.”

Adrian’s hands still—then he brings them up to the back of Trevor’s neck, thumbs digging into the base of his skull, forcing him to cant his head forward as the tension unravels. Fingers slide forward to card through his hair. “Trevor. What’s really wrong?”

“What, besides the threat of impending attack, the fact that we don’t have any real allies to speak of, and the cornerstone of our defense plans not even fucking being here?” The words imply irritation, but Trevor can’t find the actual emotion in his voice. He just sounds tired, at least to himself. He takes an awkward sip of the wine, finds he’s nearly at the bottom of the mug. Quietly: “God, Adrian. I really miss her. I’m not—I’m not used to missing anyone.”

Another long pause, this one contemplative; then Adrian slips down from the chair, lithe form folding itself effortlessly beside him. He leans into Trevor’s space, deliberate. “Am I not enough for you?” he asks, and it’s so obviously a joke, so blatantly an attempt to distract him, and that makes something warm flutter in Trevor’s chest.

“Nope,” he replies, not looking up; he can feel a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Oh, my wounded feelings,” Adrian sighs, dramatic. “However shall I survive?”

“You’ll make it.”

“I think—I think I’m going to swoon.”

“Oh my God,” Trevor mumbles, because this is so utterly ridiculous, but he makes no move to put a stop to it when Adrian sprawls across his lap in a theatrical faint, his back bowing in such a way as to pull his shirt taut against all the—frankly gorgeous—musculature of his torso, and he is so doing this on purpose, the utter bastard.

Which means he deserves whatever comes next.

Trevor puts his mug aside, sets his hand on the flat, tight expanse of Adrian’s belly. Lets it sit there a moment, heavy and warm. Gives the other man time to consider where the hand might decide to go next.

Then he crooks his fingers in tight against Adrian’s side, spider-walking them across his ribs—and Adrian lets out the breath he’d been holding explosively, curls his body around Trevor’s hand in a spasm of hysterics. He rolls out of Trevor’s lap and onto the floor, mindless with laughter.

Here’s a truth that Trevor had been delighted to learn, about a month ago: Adrian Țepeș, the cold, unflappable bastard, the stoic dhampir that can take a knee to the dick without flinching, is ticklish.

Another truth: he only tolerates exploitation of this fact for so long before retaliating with force he can’t necessarily control. Trevor ended up with a wall-shaped bruise down his side and a very apologetic Adrian on his hands the first time he pushed this too far, so he has learned to extract a little laughter from him and then stop.

And stop he does, and teases him about it like he always does, and lets Adrian use his lap as a pillow as repayment, and it’s nice—another day, other circumstances, and Trevor could fall asleep like this, sprawled before the fire, a warm hand tucked into his own, the weight of Adrian’s presence soothing against all the worries and tensions.

But they’ve heard wolves in the night, recently.

And something’s missing.

They’ve commandeered another of these generic parlors as a study-slash-strategy room; books sit in stacks on the floor, relocated here from both libraries, everything they could find on the history of vampire activity in this area, on the history of the town—even on linguistics, Sypha hoping to pin the archaic variant of French they’d found on the tree down to a specific region and time-frame. All she’s been able to figure out so far is that it’s probably been out of use since the 1200s, which neither makes any sense nor helps them in any way.

They’d made a charcoal rubbing of the carving, and it’s pinned to the wall here, in among Adrian’s rough house designs and floor plans, rough drafts of bestia—compendium entries and mockups of illustrations.

It was joined, four days ago, by a new rubbing—this one of a carving they found very near the first one, in the heartwood of a tree much more freshly flayed:

The longest night is coming. Be ready.

...or something like that. Again, his French is rusty, and this is the same stupid dialect again, so he’s relying on Adrian’s translation. It doesn’t really matter—the gist is clear enough, and it’s nothing but bad news, even if it’s more unequivocally a warning rather than a threat.

To make things worse, it had appeared only after Sypha had left, to visit her family—to delve into some of the deeper magics of her people. To visit her people for the solstice. Which means she won’t be here for whatever’s coming—and a tiny part of Trevor is grateful for that, but it shrinks in fear before the reality that they kind of need her, and also that she will be incredibly pissed off if she gets back in a month and finds them dead and the castle overrun by vampires. Possibly pissed enough to take up necromancy just so she can give them a piece of her mind.

It’s a shitty situation. Trevor, frankly, has no idea what to do about it.

They still have the mirror, at least—the one up in Dracula’s old study, the one that matter, and people, can pass through. Worst to worst, they can probably find her and bring her back that way. It’s something they’ve been loath to do too soon, given how useful this new bag of tricks will be if she actually pulls it off.

This is why all the firewood, though—stacks and stacks of it, more than they should need for the entire winter, in case of a prolonged siege. Trevor cleaned out the dry goods vendor in the Acasă market two days ago, and the stall selling preserves, and while he got some strange looks for it, he hadn’t been sure if it was on account of him being a Belmont or on account of him being a crazy hoarder that needed thirty-seven jars of pickled vegetables. Adrian’s been laying in bandages and medicines, and the hares Trevor’s managed to hunt up in the deep snow are drying into jerky in a cellar somewhere in the guts of the castle.

Trevor’s also gone through the hold, meticulously sorting every weapon he could lay hands on into ‘consecrated’ or ‘useless’. He’s stashed as many of the former as he can into hidey holes all around the castle; finding out that Adrian could actually use the damn things had been a bit of a game changer.

They’ve fortified every entrance, and some of the larger windows. Secured some of the internal doors too, to section off the castle into safe and compromised regions if necessary. He even managed to get his hands on a pretty large supply of holy water, though he hasn’t figured out what to do with it, yet.

It’s not bad, for four days’ preparation.

It has also been a monstrous amount of work. No, he doesn’t only hurt from the cold. But it all has to be done, if they want to get through this.

And Trevor’s still not afraid of dying, not by a long shot—but he does have a preference in the matter, these days.

“Ah, shit.”

He’d just been planning to board over this window. The wood and nails and hammer are right there on the chest of drawers. It'd  only been by some strange impulse that Trevor had decided to take a look out onto the grounds first—and there they are, eyes gleaming in the moonlight, creeping up the main path like the creepy vampire fucks that they are. Six of them. Tightly clumped, easy to take out all at once if he can get the drop on them.

It’s not the solstice yet. And this group is nowhere near big enough to be something worth leaving them cryptic warnings about. He still bolts down the stairs at speed to where he’s pretty sure he left Adrian working on one of the inner doors. “Adrian—!”

“I see them,” the dhampir says, damnably calm, appearing from around a turn in the staircase—forcing Trevor to pull to a stumbling halt. He’s got something made of cloth folded over his arm, burgundy and gold, and he holds it out. “Put this on.”

Trevor blinks, thrown off. He’s already got the Morning Star in hand, is gearing up in his head, thinking through attack strategies—and Adrian wants him to play fucking dress-up?

“It will earn you more respect,” Adrian says, response to his unspoken skepticism. “Which could prevent this escalating into a fight. If it does come to bloodshed, this will protect you more than anything you’re wearing now.”

Right. That whole bit, where Adrian’s trying to remedy their ‘no allies’ problem—and the closely related ‘all the other vampires think he’s a weird hermit with a human fetish like his dad’ problem—by reaching out to nearby clans and covens, offering protection and, maybe more importantly, a voice to those who would prefer coexistence to mindless slaughter.

It’s too low a bar for morality, as far as Trevor’s concerned. And the whole thing reeks of terrible, suicidally stupid idea. But he hadn’t had a better one, so here they are, about to go talk to a bunch of fucking vampires when all the chainwhip at his side wants to do is rip through them like a scythe through wheat.

“What the hell is this?” he asks, taking the garment with one hand, tucking the Morning Star back onto his belt with the other. Shaking it out as they take the stairs two at a time, he can see that it’s some kind of—it’s a coat, trimmed in gold like    Adrian’s poncey thing. Shorter though, and the same deep red as the tapestries down in the hold, with the Belmont crest emblazoned over the left breast in the same gold—

Crowned by the abstract silhouette of a dragon’s head, wings spread.

Oh, fuck no.

“There’s an inner silk layer,” Adrian babbles, “to protect against piercing weapons. The linen should be sufficient to—”

Oh, oh fuck no. Trevor grabs Adrian by the upper arm; he doesn’t have enough strength to actually stop him should he not want to be stopped, but Adrian comes to a halt anyway, spinning on Trevor with impatience flooding his features.

Trevor jabs a finger at the dragon like he could spear it right off the fabric. “That’s fucking Dracula’s.”

“No,” Adrian says, softening, sighing in frustration. “It isn’t.”

“I’ve seen—”

“You’ve seen a red dragon, facing the other direction. I understand your own family seal doesn’t use much in the way of traditional heraldic symbols, but please trust me when I say that those changes matter.”

“You didn’t tell us you were—”

“Trevor. This is very, very much not the time for this conversation.”

And damn him, he’s right. Fine. Fine, okay. He pulls the damn thing on; it fits surprisingly well, nestling across his shoulders like it was made specifically for him, and of course, it had been. No restriction of movement that he can pick up on. Nothing flappy to get twisted up or caught on an enemy’s weapon.

Okay. He can work with this.

“You do whatever you have to,” he says, as they reach the main hall. “I’m going to be ready to take their heads off when diplomacy breaks down.”

“Such little faith in my ability.”

“It’s not what you’re going to do that I’m worried about.”

The last time this had happened, which had also been the first time it’d happened, they’d been caught completely flatfooted. They’d been walking home from the night market, in good spirits, that damn chicken Trevor had been so insistent on sitting idiotically in its wicker cage, swinging from Adrian’s grip. They’d all been armed, but otherwise dressed for a trip to town—nothing fancy, just warm and comfortable clothes that wouldn’t draw attention. Sypha had been carrying some cabbage. Trevor’d been gesturing with a loaf of bread like it was a sword. They had been, in retrospect, completely ridiculous—and then they’d just about stumbled over a group of vampires, waiting on their front lawn.

Not attacking. Not making ready to attack. Tense and agitated, sure, but standing around like they'd wanted to talk. And that had, in fact, been what they’d wanted.

It’d taken some quick thinking on Adrian’s part—drop his hair into his face before they could get a look at him, pretend to just be another servant, promise to head up and get the master of the castle for them—but they’d gotten past the interlopers and inside, and Adrian had changed and held an impressively competent audience with them for having no time at all to prepare. They’d wanted nothing more than to promise the fealty of their small group; they’d stayed out of the war, had no particular love for humans but saw no need for killing them without reason, and of all of those vying for power in a world after Dracula’s fall, they saw Alucard of Wallachia as the most likely to pretty much just leave them alone.

It had gone middling-well. They hadn’t been eager to swear off killing for food—though they saw the logistical sense in keeping their donors alive when possible—and they had ignored Trevor and Sypha as if they were court pets, but compared to the throat-ripping murder-happy lunatics Trevor’s faced down in his day, it had been a start.

They’d left satisfied. Adrian had felt confident he’d pulled off his little deception.

Then Sypha had reached up and pulled a stray chicken feather from his hair.

The group had never come back, never called him out on it. Maybe they had been spectacularly unobservant. Maybe they’d had a good laugh about it, later. Maybe they just hadn’t given a fuck, as long as they were left alone.

Trevor’s chicken stew, full of rich, doughy dumplings and parsnips and carrots, and mushrooms from the woods nearby, and lots of Sypha’s herbs and just two little cloves of garlic—well within Adrian’s tolerance threshold—had been spectacular, for as long as they’d had to wait for it.

So now he’s following Adrian out to the main entry hall at a tight clip, grip on his weapon unfaltering. It’s a more inviting space than it used to be: more lighting, and the carpets all replaced, the new ones a detailed pattern in gold and black, less gloomy and more expansively regal than their predecessors. By the time they’re halfway down the top flight of stairs, the castle’s doors have started to creak open ponderously; Adrian halts them on the landing before the second flight.

Below, the group from the yard wanders nervously inside. They look like they expect the floor to suddenly turn to lava, or to open up and drop them into a pit of holy water.

Actually, that’s not a terrible idea. He’ll have to talk to Sypha about that when she gets back.

But: the vampires. They climb the stairs, when they could just float. They show proper respect. And in the end, their nervousness makes sense.

“We are a small order, but we’re growing,” the female vampire in the lead says, and even Trevor can hear the uncertainty underlying the veneer of confidence. “We choose to value the presence of humanity on the earth—not simply for food, but for their own contributions to the collective culture of sentience.” Her eyes drift away from Adrian, land on Trevor for a moment, then shift back. “We have heard that the heir to this court holds similar beliefs, and we’ve travelled far to reach you.”

Trevor has to admit: this is gutsy. They’re putting themselves out there, in a show of ‘weakness’ that any other vampire lord wouldn’t hesitate to punish with exile or death. On the basis of a rumor, with the only confirmation being the fact that the infamous Alucard’s got a human standing alongside him, neither enthralled nor bound. Armed. Wearing his seal.

“As long as that remains your practice,” Adrian says; the skepticism doesn’t make it into his voice, but Trevor can see it in the cant of his face, in his eyes, “then you will be welcome here. We will provide protection and representation when the need arises, in exchange for your allegiance to our causes.”

And that’s some serious bullshit—vague promises and requests for help with causes unspecified—but apparently that’s how these things are done, because the leader of the group seems unperturbed. “Of course, my Lord. My people are yours.”

So: suddenly, they seem to have allies. Maybe. If they can be trusted.

Maybe Adrian had been right about the stupid jacket after all. Appearances do, sometimes, matter.

The vampires leave a few hours before sunup, their destination unclear. Trevor boards up more windows. They catalogue supplies, weapons, defenses. Adrian helps him rig up some nonsense with the holy water and the system of pipes that are already feeding most of the castle; it’ll be diluted, but maybe it’ll still help in a pinch.

They crawl into bed together at the end of the day, exhausted and weary. Trevor knows he’s going to sleep poorly; has done so for the past week or so, ever since Sypha left.

Ugh, no. She went on a trip. She didn’t leave.

“So. That was new,” he mumbles into Adrian’s hair, after about ten minutes of trying, and failing, to drift off.

“Mm?”

“Those vampires,” he clarifies, tucking himself closer; it’s not an easy thing. It seems like they’re all angles and edges some nights, pieces that don’t quite come together, without—

“Ah,” Adrian says, understanding. His own posture softens, opens up, allows Trevor to find their fit. “They were a strange group, yes. I can’t say I expected any of my people to be quite that adamant about not killing.”

“They’re not really your people,” Trevor says, yawning. Maybe that’s rude, but it’s late and he’s exhausted.

Adrian is, apparently, too tired to take offense. “I know. Easier than spelling out the details every time; indulge me.”

“Fiiine.”

“You’re right, though.” Adrian’s voice sounds odd, distant. “I’m not completely sure whether to trust them. Perhaps it’s my own biases; all the vampires I’ve known have been kowtowing to my father’s court. But it isn’t an attitude I thought existed.”

Trevor sighs, pulling the blanket tighter around his chin. Vampires that don’t want to kill. No, more than that: that want to not kill. Truly unprecedented?

For a moment, he’s fourteen again, hungry and tired and injured and bleeding, the whip in his hands barely obeying him, desperate to prove himself and the honor of his name and how else to do that, except by killing vampires?

Through the window glass, the starlight makes no dent in the darkness, barely illuminates the snow. He closes his eyes.

Back off, kid, the beast taunts in his mind, and thirteen years past, his temper flares, indignant rage. Neither of us wants me to kill you.

He tightens his grip on Adrian, feels a reciprocal squeeze around his shoulders. In his mind’s eye: just another dead monster, blood slicking the end of the whip. Just another hunt. Just doing the work he’d been born for.

“They’re out there,” he murmurs, the truth of it sticking in his heart like a knife.

< -- Back | Next -- >

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[fragileizywriting]

for kitty, not stretching is kind of like not living. she's constantly contorting herself into impossible shapes. she's the living embodiment of a cat doing biiiig stretches. both adrien and luka are used to it, watching her bend and twist and turn into the equivalent of an elastic string, but— uh—

the dl crew is not used to it. not 100% used to it, but they don't freak out when kitty is outside and decides to walks towards someone on all fours, flipped so that she's belly up, walking like a creature. it's terrifying. it's scary. she's snapping teeth and remarkably fast for someone who can't see where she's walking.

(and when she does a half and half???? twists her body at the middle so that her lower half is flipped belly up but her upper half is belly down??? lord JESUS.)

she's doing splits. she's doing cartwheels. she's stretching her leg up right behind her until she's completely 180. a line. a literal |.

she's flexible in a way that's almost grotesque.

it's hypnotic, though. there's grace in it. powerful. each stretch is held in place for a significant amount of time. dl adrien can see the coordination it takes for her to stay still and perfect, like she's practiced many times.

flp is not used to it, either. like, at all.

chat is absolutely grossed out by it in a morbid way. he watches. eyes wide. kitty is doing handstands, or weird maneuvers where she sits on her own chest and lets her legs flip up. kitty cartwheels into somersaults like a cheerleader, flipping and flipping and flipping. she can't stay still. she's a gymnast, stimming in the only way she knows how and it's to get out as much energy as possible. she plays with objects. grabs things with her feet, tossing it in the air, contorting herself to make a space where the ball lands in between her thighs like a rhythmic gymnast.

she ends up teaching chat how to do handstands. he's so unbelievably proud of himself. next on her list is to help him learn how to do a one-handed handstand. he's concerned.

[balmacedapascal]

you came. you called. [modern harwin/rhaenyra]

02:13 [SMS TO BREAKBONES]: SOS

02:13 [SMS TO BREAKBONES]: i know its your night off but

02:14 [SMS TO BREAKBONES]: i cant find laena or ali and the partys getting bad

02:17 [SMS TO BREAKBONES]: shit nvm ignore this sorry

02:17 [SMS TO BREAKBONES]: ill be fine

02:18 [SMS FROM BREAKBONES]: 5 minutes.

“Shit shit shit.” Maybe it was the room temperature jungle juice that had settled poorly on an empty stomach or maybe it was the fact that she hadn’t been able to find the girls for the last half hour no matter how many rooms she’d checked. But her head had been a little fuzzy and she’d felt that anxious itch the longer she made her way through crowded spaces full of unfamiliar faces and she’d done the only thing she could think of. Her cry for help to the man who’d been her shadow for the last two years thanks to her father. The only reason she’d managed to get to a party on Greek row at KLU was because it was his night off and now she’d gone crying to him like a scared little girl. And the second she’d done it she’d been left with a sickening feeling of embarrassment.

Phone clutched tight in her hand, Rhaenyra elbowed her way through the crowd of coeds, drinking and dancing and actually enjoying their night. Her eyes scanned the room like she’d been doing since Laena disappeared to dance with some guy from the rugby team. Alicent had been gone even longer and she was hoping to stumble upon her. Instead, she spotted a familiar figure shouldering his way into the house, glancing around with a determined look in his eyes.

Harwin Strong had walked through the door, towering a head taller than most of the other guys there. And when his eyes finally landed on her, it only took a moment for him to cross the room to where she stood frozen. Heat crept up her neck and cheeks as he stopped in front of her, another wave of embarrassment at having called him for a rescue like the damsel in distress. And the heat stayed as he bent his head, lips close to her ear to be heard over the music as he asked, “Are you okay?”

Rhaenyra nodded, trying not to think about the color in her cheeks or the way her stomach had somersaulted at his voice. Harwin had been her personal bodyguard for the past two years, her shadow ninety percent of the time at her father’s insistence. She liked to think they’d become friends over that time but this was something else entirely. She was used to him in the neatly pressed suits that were his uniform, his hair pulled back into a tight bun, his expressions always just a bit guarded. All of that was gone tonight. His curls hung loose, a little damp and falling into eyes that were tinted with what she thought might be concern.

“You came,” she said after a beat, the words stumbling out with almost a touch of surprise before she could stop them. She wasn’t sure why. Nothing in their history gave her any reason why she should doubt he’d be there when she needed him.

“You called,” was his reply, given without hesitation as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. His gaze on her softened a touch as his hand found its place between her shoulder blades. The touching was guiding, maneuvering her through the crowd of people, not demanding but reassuring. “C’mon, Nyra. Let’s find your friends and then you can tell me what you’ve been up to at that greasy spoon in Blackwater that you love so much.”

She felt a grin pull at her lips as they went, the anxiousness of before melting away with him right behind her.

[sugar-petals]

#Scream For Me (m)

↳ PAIRING. sub!hyunjin x domme!reader

↳ SUMMARY. It’s his first time. You’re in charge. He lets loose. 

↳ WORDS. 3k

warnings ⚠️ spit play, fingering, blindfolds, ribbon bondage, handjobs, casual domination, oral (f receives), slow dick riding, as you can tell by the title he’s very loud, sloppy sex, choking, aftercare

♡ NOTE ➝ surprise surprise, writing for stray kids today! vocal hyunjin is domme candy👌

“I’ll be very gentle,” you hook two fingers down the hem of his jeans. Hyunjin quickly nods: Both your attention lies on just how much his pants are bulging out already. As long as you stay focussed, surely this will be a calm first time for him— Well, we’ll see about that. In fact, if you already knew what is slumbering inside of him? You’d get fucking ready.

“Can I please touch you as well?”

He’s fumbling at your thighs, your dress, and you can feel his nervousness in the fingertips already.

“You can. But first— Mommy unwraps her present. You know how it goes.“

And it’s a big present, I’m telling you. So big, you have a hard time smoothly unzipping him in one go. And since his hips won’t hold still — God is he sensitive to touching, but hey, what’s not to like — undressing him takes some real maneuvering. It’s not easy to whip a 300 feet yacht out of some average harbor. 

“Do you like it?” 

“Uh-huh. Something I can work with right there.”

A bit of lube distributed in both hands, a deep breath, now you’re good to go. You give it a few pumps to accommodate Hyunjin to your touch. As expected: He’s not very stoic about it. Even though he’s fully reclined on your bed, and it couldn’t be any cozier, he bucks up.

“Ah!“

“Don’t worry. Just teasin’. Here,” you give him access to your dress by lifting it past your hip. His left hand finds its way past your underwear pretty fast. Guess who’s relieved by a distraction from his spike in arousal. Now that you think about it, he might like some casual handjobs in the daytime or while driving. During cuddles, maybe. 

How not to touch him all day. He’s all big and girthy, he reacts well. Your fingers fits perfectly around him, too. Hyunjin’s nice as fuck to hold and stroke. Not to mention lightning fast when it comes to reciprocating. He’s shy about a lot of things, and that’s because of having few experience, but not about being mutual. Green flag.

“So wet...”

“Just for you. Go ahead, take a dip.“

Hyunjin definitely looks like he’s having the time of his life just fingering you. Freestyle, no rules, no strategies. He delights in just pleasing you at every angle. Fuck, his hands are so nice. At one point, you resort to ripping off your panties altogether. Easier access. He gets even harder in your palm.

“Is that good?”

“That’s good, babe. Keep on circling.”

Those lips probably make for an even more unruly type of stimulation between your legs. If they’re only half as lawless, Jesus you’ll be spiralling already. They’re so nice and plump. Big cock, big lips, is there some sort of correlation? Anyway. Hyunjin feels like the type to eat pussy obsessively, so. But you think you have to be careful introducing him to it. Knowing him, he’d straight up suffocate himself on first try. Hwang Hyunjin, death by pussy.

“Can I try it with my lips as well, please?“

Fate has its way of doing things, huh. And he knows you’ve been looking at his lips, doesn’t he.

“I’ll only let you kiss and suck until I count to thirty. Wait, let me get on my back.”

“Okay!”

Switching spots lets you feel the warmth where Hyunjin just led his back. He doesn’t waste much time. One blink and he props up his lips at your entrance, waiting for instructions. Well shit.

“Keep it shallow,” you get a fistful of his hair. “Kiss, kiss. Like that. Move it just an inch upward. Don’t touch your cock, I still wanna ride it later. Lay flat on the bed. Put your hands around my thighs. 29, 28...“

At that prospect, he becomes even more obedient. His tongue doesn’t do a bad job at all. Oh wonder, he breathes just fine. First time eating you out: You get the impression that this guy has some serious talent there.

“Tastes really good. It’s all bubbly,“ Hyunjin smiles bright from ear to ear. You’ve just stopped counting by now.

“Ugh, fuck it. Just eat, eat.”

That goes on for almost five minutes, in fact. He licks and services you perfectly. That his lips feel ten times more sensual than they already look has your breath going much shorter and your grip in his hair much tighter. So much about making assumptions. And it makes sense, not having his cock stimulated has Hyunjin cooling down a little. Suspiciously so. 

When you were stroking him off, he’d go wild right along. Conclusion: Handjobs and Hyunjin are like pressing a red button. Eating pussy: Chill area. Noted. Complete slobbery wetness: Also noted. You wonder what that’s good for.

“Hyunjin, should we go for it now? I want you inside me. You’ll slip right in so nicely. I’ll take good care of you, you don’t have to be nervous.“

“Can we kiss while we do it?”

Nothing you’d love more. You lay Hyunjin just where he started out, get a soft black ribbon from the nightstand. As promised, you tie his arms above his head, not too tightly or anything. A simple bow tie keeps the whole thing together, making it easy to open. The loose ends dangle at the sides of his wrists, teasing his skin. Goosebumps. It all makes for a nice view of his arms, and his head is brought a little forward, it’s perfect to kiss. He’s practically on the verge of kissing without you moving your lips close to his.

Starting with a little peck on the forehead and nose, you make sure he feels well in his position and get a second black ribbon to tie his eyes. A bit tighter, just so it won’t come off when his head moves. The knot you place on the right side rather than the back of the head, it’d be uncomfortable against the pillow he’s rested on. Hyunjin gets more and more excited.

“I want you to just feel. Do you want me to start?”

 “Yes—,” he says. “And, do it slowly. I don’t want you to hurt yourself also.“

He’s so sweet. And he knows his dick is kinda massive. Too many first times ruined because of that. 

“Extra slow, Hyunjin. I’ll make this feel really great for us. Come, kiss me.”

Your tongues connect just when you get hold of him with your right hand. The touch has Hyunjin groaning into the kiss—

Pretty fucking strongly.

There he goes again. Your fingers, red button, the whole shebang. Little did you know he’d start whining even more the second you line him up between your pussy lips, and move his tip around a bit. Just to say hi to your clit, and to give yourself a good feel of what’s going in first. Hyunjin is literally falling apart below you already. He can barely keep it in. 

And you can’t keep it out: Finally, you point his cock tip between your labia, and his saliva is just perfect to help you glide it past the entrance. Hyunjin’s kisses are getting hungry and desperate, and even louder, with heavy breaths along the way. 

“Jesus Christ,” he’ll catch you mumbling, and you can feel his dick throbbing. “Let me hear you!”

“You’re squeezing me! Oh shit, shit!”

Looks like someone’s very passionate to say the least. It didn’t stop with the handjob, then. Any kind of contact with his dick is having Hyunjin’s voice do somersaults. Guess why he’s walking around so noisily all day when he’s just walking and his pants do their thing like, giving him a good rub even if it’s just lightly on the surface.

With reactions like that, Hyunjin’s dick is well inside of you without any further ado. Boyfriend moaning, pussy open. While you’re enjoying the feel of being completely full with him, and imagine how deep his spit is being thrust inside you — oh god, yes — Hyunjin seems to have his own imaginations. The blindfold was both a good and a bad idea. He can’t anticipate your next move, but he also seems to feel you sliding him in twice as much. 

“Are you thinking I’m some kind of succubus, huh.”

You tease, wiggle your hips. Causing one loud fucking moan.

“It feels that way, ah!”

“Are you gonna scream your lungs out when I start moving, hm?“

“I can’t control it!”

“Let’s see then.”

You lean back into the kiss, bent forward just enough to change the way his dick is aligned inside of you all over again. A little bounce and the position is perfect.

“Wow, look. This is a good angle. It just goes right in.”

“Hn—!”

It’s amazing how he reacts at your mercy. Your kisses stifle the moans, but they also make him more on edge because he wants to let it out. Congrats, you’ve found the officially best way to torture him. 

“So. How about doing this.”

You raise your hips. It takes quite some effort to pull him out that far because he’s so girthy. It’s literally pulling at your walls as if they don’t wanna let him go. You do it slowly, terribly slow, every millimeter has your pussy lips deliciously tracing another facet of him. Moving up means cleaning some more saliva off his shaft. It all goes inside you. God bless his runny mouth while he was eating you out. 

Only Hyunjin’s tip remains inside of you. The air hitting what was previously buried inside you makes for a surefire way to make him break the kiss and bite his lips. 

“My cock! My, ah, my!”

His hands are all wobbly above his head. As are his legs behind you. 

“How are we taking it down there.”

“If you do that hip thing again, I can’t guarantee anything!“

So that’s what makes his heart beat faster.

“I’d be damn cruel making you cum so early, darling. Sooner or later I’ll milk all your semen anyway.“

Well, succubus indeed.

“I’ll just blow up, I can’t!“

“You’re lucky I won’t be riding you full-speed or something. You’re just too big for that. But what if I do the hip thing and you can’t cum?”

“Oh fuck!“

For good measure, you nuzzle him generously, and yes, do the thing. The agony in his expression is not even the full effect of what you’ve done. Hyunjin is screaming out loud. 

“And that was with a warning. I’ll do it again and if you can stand it, you get some pussy in your face. Wanna get treated?”

“Please, please treat me!”

“But first...”

To add some extra spice, you push down to his base all over again. Hyunjin arches, his teeth are almost sewn shut from the pressure of his tight jaw. Once he’s balls deep, you flick your hip just a little. A loud moan simmers into a little mewl, the jaw unclenches, his tongue starts lapping out. You’ve truly shut off his brain right now.

“Very well done.”

Pulling out works faster now, but you notice how it’s not as slippery anymore. A lot of Hyunjin’s spit has gathered around the lower third of his dick. It’s a nice sight to have it drip on his terribly swollen balls that are probably going through a whole bunch of things right now. 

“Good thing you get something to slurp on. We need more spit. Use your mouth!”

Hyunjin’s cock being untouched right now seems to take the edge off, but his mouth, holy shit. His mouth is on an eager spree to wet you up all over. On top of your own lubrication, Hyunjin provides another ridiculous amount of leakage all over your clit and folds. It’s running all over his face. 

The blindfold gets soaked as does his nose. A frantically moaning Hyunjin doesn’t seem to stop slurping and pushing out spit, you swear he’s gonna fucking drown. That method. It’s completely chaotic just like his fingering. You weren’t wrong, then. He might die then, but at least you’re able to remove the blindfold, wearing that is too gross. Hyunjin is excitedly blinking at you through his own spit like the sun is blinding him but he doesn’t mind.

“Mnm—nh!”

“I love you. Amazing. Look at this. You’re so nasty. Come, let’s do this again. Hope that cock can push all that into me. It’s too good to waste.“

You get back to squatting on his dick, admittedly a little wobbly on the mattress now. Hyunjin’s satanic ritual tongue does not go without a notice. Nor does the way you slide back down on him, and back up.

“Oh woah!”

A clean thrust. Your pussy is dripping so much on him, a little stream glosses over the thread of veins on the underside. Before it reaches down and disappears between his thighs, you make sure to collect it with another thrust. Hyunjin stares just right at his cock disappearing in you, framed by your labia stretching out. His jaw is completely dropped.

“Yes, that’s how we’re looking like. You have a great cock. Listen to that sound.”

Smooth gliding and a wet little smack when you touch down.

“It’s, it’s amazing... It feels so warm and creamy.”

“Watch. I’ll be stirring your spit all inside me.“

Slowly, carefully, you ride him again, this time connecting several thrusts. Hyunjin looks adorable with his wide eyes and sweaty face. 

“Yes! Oh yes, oh.... That feels so good.”

“Nothing wasted. You’re doing really well. You’re good at this.“

You lean in for a deep kiss. Only after you tongue him down do you realize just how much he’s ruined his mouth. It’s so sticky and wet, and his lips are so exhausted. They’ve been swelling up more than you thought they would, he’s really put them to the test like a champ. Well, they’ve lost their virginity, too. The kiss ends with two wet mouths parting by a thread.

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Yes. I really love it. Thank you, Hyunjin. Can I finish off first? I wanna use my hands to make you cum.“

“You’re the best,“ he becomes flustered, and watches in awe just how you reposition yourself all over again, pointing his cock at his belly flat this time. It’s perfect to just grind right above it. A bit of fluid leaking from your pussy mixed with lube and spit makes for the best slippery help to get your clit some intense stimulation from gliding squarely across Hyunjin’s bit vein. 

“Fucking hell, babe. That’s a wonder dick.”

How he throbs and pulsates is the last push it needs to get close. You loosen the tie of Hyunjin’s ribbon and his hands dart around you, hold you, and he winds his hips to give you more of the friction. 

But this time, he’s moving faster, and your orgasm arrives quicker than you count from 30, not even that. You get messy on his balls and base, and Hyunjin almost loses it from having you grind on him. That he’s been holding it in until now is a miracle. His hair is nothing but sweaty streaks right now.

As soon as the waves of pleasure become smaller and you can think again, both your and his hand come wrapping around his shaft. No problem moving your palms around, he’s covered in all that honey. Plus there’s more space, he could fit three palms. It feels so intimate doing it together and being in sync. Hyunjin’s broken moans and whines are well accompanied by more hip bucks and a quicker pace. Your two hands squeezing up and down makes Hyunjin start to beg to you.

“Please use the other hand, please, please choke me through this!“

You go for a lighter grip, hell, he hasn’t done this before, but Hyunjin isn’t having it. The protest is all loud and clear.

“Squeeze my throat! Please, harder, do it hard, please!”

You press down at either side of his neck, and make sure to translate that onto his cock as well, still jerking him off. You don’t let go until he’s cumming. 

A thick white spurt empties between the intertwine of your fingers. Hyunjin squeals out loud, catching air, almost crying. Another load has him all shaky, growling, and rubbing his own hand around yours to push out even the last bits of sperm. Surprise, there’s more cum leaking out.

“Oh, what to do with all that big dick.”

“It’s, it’s so much!“

“Come here with that milk.“

You lower your face on him and let the last clear bits come up against your puckered lips. They spread his cum all over the tip, kiss it, catch new threads, swirl them around while your hands are pumping the lower half, all the meaty girth. Never missing an opportunity for torture. Hyunjin is screaming and suffering all over again. His semen has been oozing all over your hands. 

“Clean it, babe. We’ll lay down in a minute. That’s an amazing icing.”

Hyunjin’s tongue has a last job and it does it well. Your fingers are super clean and well-kissed, his lips are so glorious. You’re both dizzy, but you at least manage to towel down. Because his face is a mess, your lips are dripping, your pussy is a swimming pool of spit, and that ruined dick has seen some things today, oh yeah it did. What better way to leave its virginity inside of you all slicked up and sloppy. 

Hyunjin starts freezing very fast by now, and you get a weighted blanket, with you on top of him, in a sweater, just because. Sharing heat is caring heat. You love cuddles after sex.

“Say something cute and nasty,” he pouts, and you think of a good way to summarize the evening. 

“I mean look at you. You’re officially a slut now. My slut,” you pinch his nose. “If you want. Let’s have some fun like that tomorrow again. I can’t wait, you know. That’s a really loud boy I got myself.“

“Oh yes, tomorrow!”

“I might be blowing you for more of that icing. It was really nice and sugary.“

“I eat lots of fruit!”

Now that’s a keeper.

“And I gotta say, shit...“

“You came really hard on my dick, right.”

Hyunjin makes an innocent face saying that, but you know very well how he’s been taking you in, he’s learning.

“Yeah.“

“That was that sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He smiles a little, exhausted, but flustered. 

“Lot more to come. That’s only the first time for you.”

“I’ve been thinking that as well. Say it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen until tomorrow.“

“Exactly right. That’s the idea,” you kiss his neck now, breathing in the afterglow. “And, by the way. Um. I hope I removed the ribbons at the right timing.“

“It was in the right moment!“

“Should we try more like that next time?”

“I like it.“

“Me too. You look perfect tied up.”

The blindfold did the trick, you know it. Hyunjin has hardly reacted to your touch like that when cuddling. Although, that’s hard to compare, is it.

“And... You really could have choked me a little harder by the way.“

Hyunjin knows just how to mimic you. Another nose pinch for you, young man.

“We didn’t plan it so I thought I’d go easy on you. But if you like it. You want it rougher, don’t ya. You just wanna fucking scream.“

“I’ll admit it,” he nuzzles his face into your sweater. “I’m just very loud...”

“We’ll see what kind of ideas I’ll come up with to get you even louder. Deal?”

“Favorite deal.“

FINAL NOTE. thank you for reading - caro 🐅

© 2017-2021 submissive-bangtan. all rights reserved. no reposts allowed.

[gaiuswrites]

World's Best

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader

Summary: Not every day is easy. Frankie makes it better.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 2.2k~

Warnings/tags: smut, vague-ish descriptions of depression/mental health, hurt/comfort, fluff

Notes: Do y'all ever get into a funk and then attempt to write yourself out of one? Well, this is the v self-indulgent product of said instance heh. I have tagged a random assortment of potentionally interested people but obvi no pressure? idk? :) Sending so much love and well wishes to you guys. x

Masterlist | Read it on Ao3!

A sea of knotted sheets spans between you—as tangled as your legs—too tired, too leaden to unweave. The fan rotates in the corner, blowing stale air your way every few clicks. You dangle a foot off the bed, skin prickling as the weak breeze sweeps over you and a bead of sweat licks from your knee to slope down your calf. Morning sun leaks through the window— the finch perched on the tree just outside it chirping once, twice, before flitting off.

You’ve been reading the Sunday paper for a solid twenty minutes—which, in all honesty, is an overstatement; you started and quickly abandoned the Sudoku after a measly ten, and you’ve been staring at the same sentence in the local section for the other half, blinklessly hovering over the fine print.

You’re not here today. Not all of you.

There’s this sinking feeling, hollowing you out and unmaking you. It’s as if something unseeable is oozing over you - dripping - something treacle, something thick. You’re far away from yourself—far from the cornflower blue walls and the framed photos hanging on them—the happy faces in the pictures smiling back at you— far from the plants basking in the tines of filtered light by the sill, far from the body lying beside you.

You’re not always this way. Not every day drags like an inky smear, your mind meandering sluggishly in circles, holding you hostage in a prison of your own making; but you can’t say it’s foreign to you either. It’s old, familiar—like that sweater in your closet you’ve had for centuries and rarely wear, but can’t bring yourself to get rid of. You know it well, this slog—you have unwillingly memorized it’s sodden intricacies, and today you feel it. You feel every single one of your days—each grey hour— weighing heavy on your very bones.

heavy heavy

heavier, still.

If you’re not careful, you’ll sink straight through the mattress. You’ll nestle deep into the springs and make a home in the down. You’ll sleep there until you become it. Comfortable. Catatonic.

Frankie sips his coffee. He doesn’t look up from the email he’s skimming. “What’s wrong?”

The baritone of your boyfriend’s voice sucks you back to the present—to the tick of the clock marking the seconds, the whir of the fan. The paper crinkles as you lay it to your chest—big eyes feigning ignorance as you blink up at him, chewing your lip. “Hmm?”

“Baby, I know that face.”

“What face?”

“The one you’ve got on,” he replies, “that’s your ‘I’m-upset-and-I’m-trying-to-hide-it’ face.���”

“I-” you frown, “no it’s not.” Gingerly, you pat a hand around your temple, your cheek, as if you could see your expression through touch.

“Uh huh.” Frankie rolls his digit upon the mousepad, clicking and scrolling down the webpage, and your vision glazes over again—ugly thoughts fogging up the panels of your mind—

“You gonna talk to me about it?”

You blink, swallowing, “nothing to talk about.” You flap the paper, ironing out the pleats, and scan for that pesky paragraph you never managed to finish.

“Mhm,” he replies absentmindedly, bringing the mug to his lips and drinking with an all too obvious slurp.

“Really, I’m fine,” you say weakly. You’re not that convincing—you barely convince yourself.

“Sure, sweetheart. If you say so.”

He’s too casual; he’s letting it all go too easily and God, he’s gotten good at this—at coaxing the truth out of you. He doesn’t even have to try any more. He’s so kind and open and sincere, all he has to do is crack the door ajar—tempt you with an inch of space, with only a sliver of leeway—and immediately you want to plunge through it and chase after him, like a dog and a bone.

He makes you want to share; not because of what he says, but by everything he doesn’t—the welcoming gaps he leaves you with, the gaps you’re urged to fill. This happens every time—it’s pretty damn annoying, actually. You’re so miserably predictable. After three and a half years together, sometimes you think Frankie might know you better than you know yourself.

A scary thought—wonderful, too.

“I’m just-” You run a hand over your face, pressing into the bridge of your nose and you grunt, frustrated. Exhausted. “I’m just tired.”

Frankie settles his coffee cup on the hill of his sternum, closing his laptop quietly. He swivels his head to you, hair mussing into the wall.

“Of anything in particular?” he asks, linen soft.

“No, yes—I don’t know,” you heave—an errant thing fluttering around in your chest as you fold the newspaper, letting it float to the floor with a splat. “It’s just-” you worry the inside of your cheek raw, fumbling with the blur of your emotions. You shake your head. “It’s just a bad brain day.” Your voice is small as you slump into him, letting your body go limp.

“I’m sorry I get like this. I’m okay—I’ll be okay,” you mumble, face burrowed into his arm. He smells summered, like sweat and heat and the promise of long days fading into even longer nights, and you take a heady drag, inhaling his scent.

You hear him sigh, stretching as he sets the mug and computer down on the side table. He shifts back to you, snaking an arm under your body as you coil your own around his center, hugging him close.

“You know, it’s alright if you’re not,” Frankie murmurs into your hair, planting a kiss at the crown of your head. “And you know you don’t have to hide from me when you aren’t.” His thumb finds your arm, the chewed nail bed scratching soothing circles along your skin.

Your gut somersaults, flipping and purring, and all you can do is press your lips to the cottoned shoulder of his tee shirt—the one with the holes in the collar and motor oil stain on the hem; all you can do is tighten your grasp, wringing around his cozy waist.

“And you know that nothing you say is gonna scare me away, right? I’m always going to be here for you.” Frankie gives your forearm a reassuring squeeze.

God, this man.

You nuzzle further into his chest—snuggled and swaddled in the safety of his warmth—and you mumble something incoherent, muffled against his relaxed body. His beard catches on your fly-aways as he dips to hear you better. “What was that honey?”

“I said,” you crane your neck, lifting out of his side, “you really are the ‘world’s best uncle’.”

A ripple of confusion twists over his features before you bat your eyes up to meet his, shooting a glance over to that exact phrase wrapping itself around the ceramic cup beside him.

You got stuck with it at some terrible white elephant exchange last Christmas. It’s fucking tacky and aggressively large—not even you - you, in all your caffeine dependency - can chug that much coffee fast enough in one sitting without it going cold— and neither of you have any nieces or nephews to speak of…

Naturally, it’s become your favorite mug.

Frankie barks out a laugh, his stomach flexing against your grasp. “Oh yeah? Is that all I am?” he smirks, a glint of mischievousness reflecting in his irises as he bores down at you.

You quirk an eyebrow, a coy tug blooming across your lips. “I dunno,” you drawl sweetly, “you going to prove me otherwise?”

His face is split into a grin now, wide and aching and unnecessarily endearing. His hair is a mess, wavy tufts jutting out every which way, and his eyelids are still puffy from what little slumber he was lucky enough to get in your hot, cramped apartment.

You really can’t keep putting it off—you need to buy an AC unit.

His focus dances from your eyes to your mouth, breath hitching as he watches you skip your tongue over the plush mound there. “I just might,” he growls playfully, maneuvering you onto your back with one broad swoop, pinning you to the bed.

/

He makes love to you like a man unburdened - untouched - by time. He fucks into you slowly, unhurriedly—at a pace that’s mind numbingly measured and patient. Frankie devastates you, dragging himself through your walls from head to hilt, letting you feel every ridge, every vein of him; filling you up so impossibly well—his thick cock sauntering in and out, and in and out again. Each roll of his hips makes you gasp, his blunt tip brushing against that deep, uncharted chasm within you that tempts you into oblivion. Your legs are locked around him, crossed at the ankles, and the perspiration at the pits of your knees slicks his sides.

Frankie’s palms dimple the fitted sheet as he brackets your head, burying himself into the crook of your neck. He moans—hot breath ghosting over the prickled skin there, babbling disjointed strings of guttural praise into your ear.

Fuck baby—fuck you feel good

How’d I get so lucky, how’d I-

God, you’re a— fuck

You’ve got the perfect pussy—made for me

Made for me, made for me, made for-

You turn your head and capture his mouth with your own, whimpering into him as he nips at your bottom lip and bites. You scrape your fingers through his scalp, pulling at his locks, and Frankie whines a tortured noise—giving an especially hard thrust that pries a yelp from your throat. He rears his head back, catching your gaze, a concerned line creased into his brow. “Y-You okay?”

“No- nono, yes Frankie. Again, right there,” you beg, lashes fluttering.

He darkens—the timbre of his voice made husky and raw as he drinks in the sights and sounds of you mewling for him, splayed and needy. “You like that?” Frankie drives into you again, sharp and searing as he bottoms out, the smattering of curls at the base of him soaked with your gloss. “You need it hard, baby? You want it rough?”

You whimper, clawing desperately at the nape of his neck. “I just—I just want you, all of you,” you pant as you hold his stare—the gorgeous, chestnut gleam of it—and the wordless expression that crests over his features makes you want to cry. The precious indent in his cheek, the stubble littering his jaw, his sculpted nose and clever lips, the sad rings under his eyes—the grooves he thinks you don’t notice, the grooves he tries to mask by always taking care of you, always putting you first, even when he shouldn’t.

Fuck, he’s so beautiful—he’s so beautiful you could weep.

“You have me,” he rasps breathlessly, bowing to meet you in a messy whirl of tongue and teeth before breaking away—forcing himself up off his hands and back onto his shins. He hooks an elbow under your knee, letting the other frame the outside of his hip. “I’m right here—you have me, you have me-”

Frankie’s hips are frantic now, pulsing in short, strong bursts as he grinds into you. He dips a hand to your center, pad of his thumb working erratic, sloppy flicks over the sensitive nub of your swollen clit. Your feet arch, the muscles there constricting as the tension in you mounts.

“Babe.” You’re whining now, vulnerable and shaking and fuck, you’re going to come apart—any moment now, any unbearable second, you’ll snap. “F-Frankie, baby oh god—”

You clamp a hand over your mouth, eyes screwing shut as you shatter. Like a vase crashing onto kitchen tile, you break into a million jagged fragments. Your cunt seizes, legs spasming against him as he fucks you through your orgasm, and it doesn’t take long for the tight contractions of your heat to yank him right off that same ledge. The both of you—tumbling and fracturing into terrible, perfect shards—to be intermingled and scattered among each other’s glass pieces.

Indiscernible. The same.

When you glue yourself back together again, you will find parts of him there - here, within you - filling your jigsawed cracks like golden ore.

Frankie slips out of you with a squelch and a huffed groan, collapsing to the mattress in a panting heap. His cum dribbles from your apex and you shiver at the feeling of it—at the feeling of him, warm and wet and lingering inside you. He rests his cheek on your breast while you both catch your breath—rising, falling. Waxing, waning. Two pitter-pattering hearts beating in time.

The sheets have been sloughed, lazy and forgotten, to a crumpled pile on the wood floor and the steam once rising from the mug on the nightstand has long since disappeared. It’s too muggy for you two to be this entwined—his leg draped over you, a big arm slung across your belly—but neither of you dare move. Neither of you have the energy, never mind the desire.

The clock whispers in the morning quiet.

A new bird claims the branch the finch left—she sings now, roosting there in the birch.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur sleepily, drawing patterns into the valley of his spine, mapping out his freckles and moles and scars. “Thank you,” you say. Thank you for putting up with me, thank you for understanding me, thank you for listening even when I cannot speak. “I love you so much.”

Gently, silently, Frankie tilts his head, bristled hair peppering your flesh as he mattes your skin with his lips; laving along your breasts, across your clavicle and up the plain of your neck—each kiss a response, each kiss a truth.

You don’t have to apologize

You don’t have to thank me

I love you

I love you

I’m right here

I love you

tags:

@pedros-mustache @roxypeanut @frannyzooey @djarinsbeskar @read-and-rec @keeper0fthestars @krissology @greatcircle79

[lostwithoutyouherewriter]

The Perfect Offense: A Street Fighter Ficlet

Inspired by "Basket Brawl," art by Javier De la Pava, from the Street Fighter Pin-up Special 2019, © Udon Entertainment

And here comes Ryu from the backcourt, executing a beautiful spin maneuver to avoid Zangief—a fantastic move by the master of Ansatsuken! He’s got possession of the ball, but for how long? The Ki Blasters have been struggling with offense all afternoon. They’ll really have to pull it together if they want to take this game, and he knows it.

He’s got opposition on both sides. Dhalsim goes in for the steal, but Ryu somehow manages to avoid that long reach. He comes down hard on Dan Hibiki, the one weak link in the Fire Cyclones’ defense, but now the yoga master is back for a rematch. It’s all hands in the air—total block city!

Ryu has to make the pass, but who can take it all the way? He scans the court for Chun-Li, but she’s too far out. Wait! There’s a sudden flash of blue and white behind Dhalsim. Is that who I think it is?

It is! It’s Sakura Kasugano, ducking into the action. She intercepts the pass, pounding the court with ball in hand and chucks on her feet. This spunky young woman from Japan must have played ball in university, because she is showing excellent form out there today.

She’s on the attack, making a fast break for the hoop. Looks like Hibiki may have something to say about that... or not. Ouch! That’s gotta hurt! Kasugano kicks away from her opponent’s face, going up for the shot. This could be it, folks!

Oof! Rejected!

Well, no one can blame her for missing that one. With the Red Cyclone looming over ya, ain’t nothing getting through! Zangief really knocked that one away. Sakura goes down hard, probably wishing she had more padding than those skimpy gym shorts right about now. Well, she’s just gonna have to tighten that headband and get back in the game; otherwise, this match will be going to the Fire Cyclones.

This is it. The Blasters will make their final play, one point behind and mere seconds left on the clock. But what’s this? Looks like team captain Chun-Li is calling for a timeout!

It’s tough to make out anything from here, but it seems this former ICPO officer hasn’t lost her touch when it comes to grilling her team. She’s dictating protocol, pointing at Ryu and Sakura with a steely look in her eyes. Ryu is a rock, as usual, but Sakura isn’t buying it. It looks like this up-and-comer has a few ideas of her own.

“Come on! I know it’ll work. Do it again, Ryu!”

At this point, it's anyone's guess as to what the Blasters have up their sleeves, but it seems they’re gonna give Sakura’s plan a go. Chun-Li heads to the sidelines, sweeping up the ball in both hands. She's holding steady now. She isn’t even giving Zangief the time of day. It’s like she doesn’t even care that a massive wall of robust humanity is standing in her way. Could she be... Yes!

“KIKOKEN!”

I don’t believe it! That pass broke through the Russian’s defenses like nobody’s business. Raising her hips, the strongest woman in the world has just sent a ki-powered ball flying across the court, right into the hands of Kasugano. She’s still got that troublesome yogi waiting for her at the basket, and it looks like Ryu is stepping in to take over.

Wait, that’s not it at all! He’s giving Sakura a hand—literally! Grabbing her red shoes, Ryu somersaults backwards, launching the young woman higher than Dhalsim can reach. It looks like we’re seeing a repeat of this morning, folks, when this man threw half of you out of the sea. Wasn't that something? But this time, Sakura’s ready for it, and she’s flying high! She’s going in for the kill!

SLAM DUNK! The Ki Blasters have done it! The energy on the court is practically electric. Team captain Chun-Li delivers a powerful high five, but it’s nothing that Ryu can’t handle. Let’s see if he can withstand the mad rush of Sakura, who is now leaping into his arms. The two martial artists spin around, laughing in the face of victory. This was something really special, and I bet the winners are gonna be celebrating for a long time.

Holy cow! Did that actually happen? Did Sakura just... kiss Ryu?

She’s looking a bit flustered. It really doesn’t seem like she meant to do that. The court has gone silent, so silent that you could hear a dime drop, but it looks like Sakura’s trying to speak. "Uh... Oh geez. Sorry, I gotta go. There's something I forgot to do."

Ryu stares at her. Perhaps he’s as perplexed as we are, and who can blame him? "Wait, what? What do you have to do?"

"I don't know! I forget! See ya!"

And there she goes, running back to the resort at top speed. What a shame. It really was the perfect offense, but it seems this bright young woman just got a little too aggressive in the end.

Then again, folks, that’s just the opinion of this humble commentator. Only time will tell if Sakura’s unusual strategy will win the heart of this stoic fighter. Only time will tell...

You can continue reading "Summer of the Warrior" on AO3 throughout July!

[sanguineness-wings]

Why are you running?

(read on ao3)

Pairing: Hawks x gn!Reader

Rating: SFW

Warnings: bird traits/instincts

hawks/raptors have this instinct to chase and attack if you turn your back on them, so what if you accidentally trigger it 👀

----------------------------------------------------------------

The sun was dipping low on the horizon, sending amber rays of light between the tightly packed skyscrapers. You shield your eyes from the light as you step out of the convenience store, your groceries in hand. After you take a moment for your eyes to adjust, you note a small crowd gathering just up the sidewalk from you. And from the center of it sprouts a large pair of crimson wings.

It’s a dead giveaway, those wings were plastered everywhere across the city, on billboards, on buses. There’s no escaping Hawks’ image.

As you watch on, the man himself suddenly hovers above his adoring fans, stretching out his impressive wing span leisurely. Leaving you with a perfect view of his wind tossed hair kissed with dying sunlight and a lopsided smile on his lips.

It makes your heart clench as you look on with awe. He’s so effortlessly beautiful it hurts to look at him. It’s also incredibly intimidating. How can those fans just talk to him like it’s nothing. You couldn’t even imagine.

Your staring must have caught his attention as suddenly his gaze turns and locks onto yours. You feel your stomach lurch, frozen with embarrassment. Hawks has the audacity to offer you a softer smile, making your cheeks heat up instantly.

Your brain screams at you to leave now. Your shyness urging you flee the unexpected attention. So you sharply turn your back to the crowd, and the gorgeous Pro Hero, and hurriedly make your escape.

Without consciously knowing why, you take a final glance over your shoulder. Even with Hawks’ signature visor over is eyes, you can see his pupils dilate, nearly completely blown black before constricting to tiny pin pricks in a split second. His smile has fallen from his face, leaving behind a cold blankness. A shiver runs through you and a cold sweat breaks out under your collar.

Your brain unhelpfully supplies, “Haha, I’m in danger!” Adrenaline courses through your veins and you run. A full sprint down the sidewalk in panic. It’s a ridiculous response in hindsight, but you’ve never seen such an inhuman look on Hawks’ face.

You barely make it a few feet before you feel a gust of wind behind you and suddenly your vision is nothing but red. Massive wings envelope you entirely as powerful arms lock around your waist, almost bruising in their strength. You’re dragged to your knees as the body behind you curls over your spine. You feel the prickle of stubble against your neck and jaw, hot puffs of breath against your skin. You’re utterly trapped.

All logical thoughts are thrown out the window with your heart thundering against your ribs. You don’t dare move a muscle.

An indiscernible amount of time passes before you hear a huffed laugh next to your ear, making you shudder.

“Well, isn’t this embarrassing, damn. I’m really sorry about all this. Are you alright?” Hawks says in a tight voice as he slowly releases you from his grip.

You’re shaking as you awkwardly stumble to your feet, Hawks aiding with a gentle, gloved hand on your elbow. When you finally get the courage to glance at his face, your heart does a somersault in your chest. A light blush dusts the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks. He has a hand behind his head sheepishly, using the other to steady you on your jelly-like legs.

“I haven’t done something like that since I was a teenager in training,” he admits, bashfulness coloring his voice.

“…and what was that exactly?” You finally find your voice, wincing inwardly at how shaken it sounds.

“Oh you know, like…bird stuff? Well, hawk stuff? Like predator instinct?” Hawks shifts from foot to foot, looking anywhere but you.

“Like...you thought I was prey?”

“No! No, it’s not like that. Well, I mean kind of. But not really? It’s hard to explain. You turned your back and I just…couldn’t help myself. I’m really sorry. Did I hurt you at all?” Seeing this level of uncomfortableness on Hawks was so jarring from how he normally carries himself in the public eye. It was like all of his confidence was parred away. 

“I’m okay, really. Just gave me a fright, that’s all.” You’re really trying your best to sound casual, adding a weak laugh to hopefully defuse the tension.

He humors you, offering a half-hearted smile as he stoops down to gather up your groceries that you didn’t notice had spilled across the sidewalk.

"Well, if you’re sure you’re okay, I should be off. A hero’s job never stops.”

And with that he’s gone, taking off into the sky. You stand there dumbly on the sidewalk in shock for a few beats.

You then hear murmuring, whispering, and the click of photos being captured. Horrified, you realize Hawks’ fans were watching everything and recorded every second of it. You curse under your breath as you start rushing home, ignoring the growing crowd behind you. If Hawks wasn’t going to eat you alive, the internet certainly was.

---

Get it together, Hawks. What the hell was that?

The winged hero cursed at himself with gritted teeth and a furrowed brow as he shot across the sky. He shouldn’t have done that. He was trained not to do that. The Commission pushed him hard to ignore the animalistic pull to hunt and another traits they deemed unsightly or dangerous. And he had gotten good at suppressing those instincts. He passed all of their tests and drills after years of intense training. He never had a slip up since starting his Pro career.

His mind was racing as he tried to pin point what made him react like that. Did he let his guard down? Got too comfortable in the moment?

He thought of the way you trembled in his arms, immobilized with fear. The thundering of your panicked heart and the quiver of your voice. A shiver crept down his spine, making his hair and feathers stand on end. He liked it. The thrill of it all lighting up parts of his brain long neglected. 

A frustrated growl escaped his lips, lost to the roar of the wind around him. He really shouldn’t be entertaining those thoughts, even for a moment. He felt gross. 

He dug his phone from his pocket, sending a text to his PR manager. The least he could do was give them a heads up. Though pictures and videos of the whole incident were probably already circulating. His PR team had their work cut out for them, it was a seriously bad look for the hero. 

Almost immediately after he sent the text his phone buzzed angrily with replies from his team and an incoming call from the Commission. His heart sank to the pit of his stomach. It was going to be a long night.

---

The days following were a nightmarish blur of embarrassment and anxiety. Your brief brush with Hawks was plastered across every social media platform. You couldn’t escape all of the memes and GIFs. You wanted nothing more than to blink from existence.

Most people thought the whole thing was funny, even wishing it was them tackled to the sidewalk by Hawks. Your coworkers teased you mercilessly, constantly asking if you at least got his number afterwards. 

There weren’t many, but a few comments filled you with anger. They were using this to fuel for their hatred towards those with heteromorphic quirks. They claimed that this proved they were dangerous, nothing more than animals. Which, of course, was ridiculous. 

But you did your best to keep your head down and ignore the notifications on your phone. You kept reassuring yourself that this would all blow over soon. And sure enough by the end of the week the internet was distracted by “leaked” selfies of Hawks in grey sweatpants, posing in front of a bathroom mirror.

---

Hawks had just started an early morning patrol as he glided and weaved through the streets. He’d been taking on extra hours lately, finding it easier to distract himself on the job rather than staring at his bedroom ceiling. Who needed sleep anyway. If he stopped, all he could think about was you. The fear on your face. Your frantic pulse against his skin. Guilt gnawed away at him. He didn’t want to scare you, what type of hero would he be if he did. 

Instead of dwelling on the thoughts eating at him, he focused on the streets below him. It was relatively quiet, only a scattering of people going about their lives. He swooped lower, maneuvering between lamp posts just for his own entertainment. He pulled up short abruptly, nearly smacking into one of them.

His heart lurched in his chest, recognizing you immediately as you made your way down the street. He had a little mental battle with himself. Half of him wanted to talk to you, just reassure himself that you were truly okay after all this madness. The other have was telling him to leave you alone, that he’d only made it worse.

After hovering awkwardly for a few moments he made his decision. He made a show of circling ahead of you before landing, trying not to startle you. 

---

Having Hawks appear in front of you was the very last thing you expected on your walk to work. You had convinced yourself that you’d never see him again and that, even if your paths crossed, he wouldn’t want to be seen with you.

Yet here he was, with a charming smile on his face and feathers gleaming in the sun. 

You approach him cautiously, pulling out your earbuds. “Um, hi?” you start apprehensively, not sure what the hero could possibly want from you.

As you catch up to him he starts walking beside you, joining you on your commute. His wing stretches out behind you and curls around your side. Smart, you think. Even if the two of you catch someone’s eye, you were largely blocked from view.

It’s comfortably warm beneath his wing, with your shoulders brushing against each other as you walk. Your heart speeds up a little, being this close to him is a little overwhelming. Especially with the memory of him being pressed over you still fresh in your mind.

“So, I wanted to start over, if that’s alright with you. I don’t think I gave you the best first impression,” Hawks explains, his eyes fixed ahead.

“Definitely a memorable one,” you quip lightheartedly. You were more mortified by all of the unwanted attention. You knew deep down you were never in any real danger. 

Hawks snorts, making you glance at him. You watch him roll his eyes. “Not my best moment. I’m really sorry I scared you so badly. I swear I’m not going to hurt you, or anyone.”

It makes you pause as you stare at the side of his face. “I know you wouldn’t. And you didn’t even leave a mark. We can just say it was a...weird, unexpected hug. Leave it at that.”

Hawks’ gaze catches yours for a brief moment before looking away quickly, a serious look sliding onto his features. “You know that’s not what it was.”

“I know but...I’m not going to judge you for your bird stuff, or whatever it is. You’re still human. Even with the wings. We all have weird, awkward tendencies. I’m a mess of them too, and I don’t even have a Quirk. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.

“So don’t beat yourself up too much,” you say, gaining a bit of confidence the more you speak. “You’re not a monster.”

Silence stretches between the two of you, both lost in thought. You surprise yourself when you are the first to break it. 

“Besides, I thought we were starting over. I’m y/n,” you begin, nudging his shoulder with your own as you offer him a warm smile.

“I’m Hawks, but you already knew that. Say, why don’t I treat you to some coffee. There’s this great little cafe not far from here. They have these pastries that are to die for. Trust me, you’ll love it!” The hero chatters away, with you still safely tucked away under his wing.

[oh-for-merlins-sake]

CRUMBS ‘N’ CRUMPETS | gw

summary: ever since y/n opened a bakery across from weasleys’ wizard wheezes, george hasn’t stopped thinking about her. he hopes that holiday cheer, a blanket of snowfall, and one chocolatey recipe will give him the courage he needs to make his christmas wish come true.

pairing: george weasley x fem!reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: several mentions of food, gets a lil steamy, alcohol

a/n: ok so i was feeling HELLA COZY and wanted to write a comfy christmas fic hehehehe. enjoy! and happy holidays!!! 💛

taglist: @iliveiloveiwrite @andromedaa-tonks @pansydaisy​ @a-little-too-much @slytherinsunrise @marvelettesassemble @msmarklee1213​ @letsgotothehop @finnishslytherin @starlightweasley @witch-and-a-half​ (message/ask to be added/removed, loves!)

The twinkle of shimmering white lights danced across your vision as George twirled you in a sloppy circle, keeping time with the vibrations of familiar Christmas songs that rattled your feet.

“I’m going to need to sit after this!” You laughed.

“Can’t keep up, darling?” George teased, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips.

You gripped his arms, slowing him to a halt. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Weasley.”

He raked a hand through his disheveled ginger locks. “I don’t have to — you do plenty of it for me.”

George shot you a wink, but the only response you could muster was a dramatic scoff. Just as he opened his mouth to quip further, someone toppled into you, resulting in a heaping dose of eggnog poured directly down your front.

You gasped from the sudden, thick chill and glared at George, who was stifling a raucous laugh.

“‘M sorry, Y/N,” she mumbled.

“It’s all right, Eleanor, you didn’t mean to,” you assured as you propped her back up.

You passed her back to her seemingly sober friend who apologized profusely on her behalf. She tugged Eleanor out of the shop, and you heard a boisterous laugh erupt from behind you. You spun on your heel to find George with his head on the nearest display case, trembling from how hard he was laughing.

You feigned anger, “George!”

“Honestly, Y/N, I think eggnog suits you!”

You swiped your wand across your body to instantly launder your bright red blouse. George protested, “Oh, c’mon, at least save me some!”

You rolled your eyes and playfully shoved his shoulder.

The stuffiness of the shop began to settle on your sweaty skin as clusters of people roved around you. A gust of icy air blew in as another horde of people clamored through the door. The chill was inviting.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you tossed your head back, exposing your sticky neck as you relished in the fleeting cold. George bit his lip, averting his gaze, knowing all too well how he longed to taste your salty skin.

“I could really use some fresh air,” you sighed, opening your eyes. “Care to join me?”

“It’s getting a touch hot for me as well,” George nodded in agreement, absentmindedly loosening his tie.

You gulped at the sight and quickly pivoted to lead him towards the door. He followed achingly close behind, and you resisted the overwhelming urge to spin and close the gap.

You were grateful to reach the wintry air.

“You sure know how to throw a Christmas party, Weasley,” you said as you tamed your tousled hair.

George chuckled and shook his head. “Every year, we think it’s going to be a hell of a lot smaller than it ever is.”

“Well, it gets my official stamp of approval!” You curtsied before mimicking a grandiose stamping motion. “Of course, only if the new girl’s opinion even matters.”

George laughed. “‘Course the new girl’s opinion matters!” He pointed sternly. “Some may say it’s the most important one.”

Only a few months had passed since you opened Crumbs ‘N’ Crumpets, your bakery across the street, but it felt like you’d known George for years. Like clockwork, he’d stop in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, sampling the daily special and shoving a few bills into the tip jar; and every Saturday morning, you’d leave a steaming cup of coffee with a warm chocolate chip muffin on the doorstep to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes; and after a bustling day of business, when the shops all closed and the keepers turned in, you’d both walk down the alley, admiring the colorful Christmas lights that strung above the streets.

Neither of you dared to discuss it, and neither of you would admit that the routine meant more than you ever led on, but as he watched you giggle and admire the twinkling lights above your head yet again, he knew that he was careening down a treacherous path.

“Fancy a snack, George?” You asked suddenly. “I’m starving!”

The firewhisky you downed earlier created a cavern in your stomach; and the same was true of George. “What can I get you?” He asked, turning back towards the party.

You stopped him and nodded towards the bakery. “I was thinking we could make something of our own,” you challenged.

A faint blush sprawled across his freckled face as you dragged him by the hand. “Are you sure you want my help? I was banned from the kitchen as a child — blew up far too many things with my brother.”

You giggled as you unlocked the door to the bakery, pushing it with your shoulder and causing the silver bell overhead to chime. Guided by the moonlight that crept through the storefront, you led George to the back before flipping a switch to illuminate the messy kitchen.

A doughy mixing bowl sat unwashed in the sink, patches of flour blotted the countertops, and a few holly-patterned pot warmers sat on the cool, linoleum floor.

“Neat as a pin,” George teased, nudging his hip against yours.

“Do you want a snack, or don’t you?”

George chuckled as you pulled a delicate recipe box from a nearby shelf and flipped through the cards within. Eventually, you withdrew an old-time favorite: your mother’s homemade, melt-in-your-mouth, triple chocolate cookies. George was eager to learn how to concoct such an extraordinary confection — or rather, pretend to learn.

Honestly, George couldn’t comprehend much when he was around you. You raptured every ounce of his attention and always managed to short-circuit his brain and send his stomach into an endless bout of somersaults. Focusing on anything but you was a fruitless task.

His heart fluttered as you danced around the kitchen, spinning dough, sprinkling flour, and sampling chocolate. You were completely in your element. It seemed an intimate blessing to be standing there, rolling globs of sticky dough between his palms beside of you.

“I shattered my ulna when I was eight, and these cookies were the only thing to get me through those bloody buckets of Skele-Gro,” you recalled, slapping the last ball of dough onto the aluminum cookie sheet.

George grimaced. He was all too familiar with the sensation that accompanied a hearty helping of Skele-Gro. “These must be pretty wicked cookies then!”

You laughed and slid the tray into the toasty oven. “You’re in for a real treat, Weasley!”

George’s mouth was practically drooling at the delicious chocolate aroma that wafted through the air as he scrubbed colorful measuring cups and wooden spoons in the sink. Each time he passed you a dish to dry, your hand would gently graze his, which sent him into a complete and utter tizzy.

As soon as the timer chimed, George practically raced you to the oven.

You laughed as you stood between him and the oven, turning off the timer and placing your hand against his chest. “You’ve got to let them cool, Georgie!”

He peered down at you, suddenly overwhelmed by how little distance separated the two of you. “Sorry,” he muttered. The faintest trace of a smirk lined his lips. “I can be a bit... impatient.”

You gazed up at him, stammering as you attempted to craft some sort of coherent response. You were well aware of the fact that merely standing on your tiptoes at this point would close the minute gap between your lips and his; how the scent of chocolate evaporated as you inhaled his musky cologne and the notes of cinnamon that escaped his breath; how you’d been standing in silence for probably longer than what was socially acceptable — perhaps you should say something, you thought.

“That makes two of us,” you whispered. You were doused with a sudden wave of courage before swiftly tugging George to your lips by his evergreen tie, worried that if you waited another second, that courage may dissipate into another missed opportunity.

His lips melted into yours as he pressed you against the balmy glass of the stacked ovens behind you. You sighed into the kiss and tugged the ends of his ginger hair as his large hands swept underneath your blouse to rake at the small of your back. You gently tossed your head back, giving George’s mouth free rein to finally dance across your neck. A soft moan escaped your lips as you hooked your fingers through his belt loops to pull him completely against you.

You were perfectly content to continue indulging in your finally realized fantasies until a faint, burning odor infiltrated the kitchen.

You gasped and pushed George off of you, flinging the oven door open to reveal greatly crisped, blackened cookies.

“Blimey, I’m sorry, Y/N!” George exclaimed.

You safely extracted the sheet of cookies and set it on the counter before turning off the oven. You couldn’t help but laugh at how carried away you’d gotten.

“Bet they’re still bloody delicious,” George assured, reaching for a scorched cookie.

You giggled as he audibly crunched on the sweet, doing his best to hide the grimace that threatened to surface. “Well,” he muttered, “Guess that means we’ll have to try again another day!”

The two of you tossed the charred sweets in the bin, both flushed and bashful about the events that had just transpired. Neither of you mentioned it as you locked the bakery once more or as you migrated back to the Christmas party across the street. You wondered when either of you would bring it up, if at all; if either of you would ever muster the courage to do such a thing again.

As you both maneuvered to settle against a wall, George chirped, “Oh, look!” He pointed above your heads. “Mistletoe.”

He smirked as you rolled your eyes.

Well that didn’t take long.

[deafeninggardenerpanda]

This was Diamond Town. It was a small town surrounded by huge diamond mines and filled with diamonds dug out of said mine. It was also divided into two areas. The center was the "Town of Light" where aristocratic mansions were lined up. Surrounding it was the "Town of Wind" where ordinary, but cheerful residents lived. Kirby, Waddle Dee, and President Dedede were residents of the Town of Wind.

Kirby's home was a room in an apartment where no one lived. He was secretly living in a building that would soon be torn down. It was a rundown apartment, but Kirby loved it. The first reason was the the window. The window was partially broken, so it was well ventilated. Second, even if he sang as loud as he could, no one would get angry. The third thing was that a small airplane could be parked on the roof of the building. Kirby was very good at flying airplanes. He enjoyed carrying his luggage, taking an airplane, and going on an adventure to a distant city. 

Dedede, the president of a nearby factory, was his airplane racing rival. The maneuvering skill of President Dedede was not bad, but he was not as good as Kirby. In the race yesterday, Kirby brilliantly achieved a hundred consecutive victories against him. 

Even though the sun was high in the sky, Kirby was sleeping comfortably. A wooden apple crate placed near the window acted as his bed. In his dream, Kirby was boarding an airplane and flying around the sky. 

" ... Let’s ... do it ...  Somersault ...! " he said sleepily. The front door opened and Kirby's friend, Waddle Dee, jumped in.

"Good morning, Kirby! Hey, get up. Big news!" Waddle Dee gently woke Kirby. He rubbed his eyes and got up, still half-asleep. 

"Hmm ...? Ah, good morning, Waddle Dee. Breakfast, I'll have it ... "

"Yes, yes, finish up," Waddle Dee took a sandwich out of his pouch and handed it to Kirby. He always carried food with him for his gluttonous friend. Kirby's drowsiness immediately disappeared.

"Wow, egg and ham sandwich! I love your sandwiches!" Kirby smiled and bit in. 

"Hey, listen. There's big news," Waddle Dee announced in a loud voice. "This is this morning’s newspaper." Waddle Dee spread the newspaper and showed an article with a big photo.

Kirby stared at the newspaper blankly. "’An Ancient Machine Discovered in the Diamond Mine!’ ...? What is this?" 

"A mysterious machine was found in the mine. It's so old that it's buried all the way in the back. It seems that it was dug out by chance." 

"Hmm ... " Kirby wasn’t interested in diamonds or ancient machines. Waddle Dee grew frustrated.   

"It's a nice machine. Look at millionaire Mr. Fugo's photo and comments on it," Waddle Dee said. He showed Kirby a photo in the newspaper. 

The one in the picture was a smiling gentleman with a beautiful mustache. He was no stranger to the inhabitants of this town. Mr. Fugo was a rich man and the owner of a diamond mine. Not only that, Waddle Dee explained that most of the city, from railroad companies to bread factories, belonged to Mr. Fugo. 

"It seems that this ancient machine has great power, but it doesn’t work now."

"Why not?" 

"Because important parts of the machine are gone: the gears. So, Mr. Fugo put a prize on them. A prize of ... one million Point Stars!" 

Kirby wasn't interested at all when he heard the amount of money Waddle Dee shouted. He finished eating his sandwich and opened his hands with a bright smile.

"I’d like tuna and cucumber sandwiches tomorrow! Ah, but bacon and tomatoes are also good. It's delicious with fried shrimp and potato salad ... " 

"Ah, Kirby," said Waddle Dee. He spoke a bit louder so that Kirby could understand the greatness of the prize. "Listen carefully. Don’t you know how much that is? You can buy thousands of nice clothes!" 

"Hmm."

"You can buy thousands of high-end hats!"

"Huh."

"And ... and ...! You could eat a deluxe lunch for 100,000 people at Chef Kawasaki's restaurant!" 

" ... Eh!?"

Kirby, who hadn’t been listening until now, squealed with widened eyes. "100,000 servings ...!? Of the most luxurious deluxe lunch!?" 

"Y-yes, but that was just an example ... " 

"Wowwww!" Kirby grabbed Waddle Dee's hand tightly and started running. "Let's go, Waddle Dee! Fast, fast! If we don’t hurry, lunch time will end~!"

"Oh, calm down, Kirby," Waddle Dee said while being dragged along. "You need the prize to eat the deluxe lunch for 100,000 people, and you have to find the gears to get the prize." 

"Uh ... yeah ...? " 

Waddle Dee spread the newspaper. "The article. Read what it says."

According to millionaire Fugo, the ancient machine had the power to make everyone happy, however, the gears were stolen by an evil wizard and the machine stopped working. The stolen gears should still be sleeping somewhere in town.

"If the gears are found, the machine will work again. I want to make the citizens of this town happy. For that reason, I’m willing to put my entire fortune into it,” he had said, so he promised a huge prize for the gears of the ancient machine.

"But even if there wasn’t a machine like that, everyone would feel happy if they ate Chef Kawasaki's deluxe lunch," Kirby said curiously. Waddle Dee laughed. 

"If it were you, maybe, but everyone's wishes aren't the same as yours." 

"Eh?"

"I think ... " Waddle Dee said with shining eyes, "the wonderful ancient machine will surely fulfill each and every one of our wishes. Kirby's wish is to eat a lot. President Dedede's wish is to win an airplane race. I hope it’s a machine that can fulfill each and every one’s wish."

Kirby smiled. "What kind of wish do you have, Waddle Dee?"

"Huh?" 

"You must have a wish too, right? What kind of wish do you want to make?"

"I ... I, uh ... " Waddle Dee closed his eyes shyly and spoke. "I want to eat a sweet called ‘chocolate.’ Just a bite."

" ... Chocolate ... " 

You couldn’t get sweets in the Town of Wind. Only the aristocrats of the Town of Light could eat such luxury goods. Kirby sometimes flew to distant cities, so he had eaten delicious sweets from all over the world. Waddle Dee, however, had only eaten sweets by listening to Kirby's stories and imagining it. Even if Kirby bought souvenir sweets, they were all picked up by the guards at the entrance of the city. The rules of Diamond Town were strict, and people were not allowed to bring sweets in without permission. Kirby spread his hands wide.

"Don't say just a bite! Let's eat a lot—as much as we can!" 

Waddle Dee nodded. "That's right. Let's eat a mountain of chocolate together! I'm looking forward to it."

"Yeah! To do that, We have to find the gears!" 

"Let's do our best!" the two cheered.

Around the same time, President Dedede was visiting a café in the neighborhood. The store manager smiled at the president.  

"Welcome, President Dedede." 

"Give me the lunch special. I’ll have a large serving of bread with it."  

"Yes, the lunch special and a large serving of bread."

President Dedede was a regular customer of this shop, "Daroach’s Café." It was a small shop, but it was popular because it served good coffee and lunch. The store manager was a hard-working man named Daroach. 

President Dedede sat down by his favorite window, spread out his newspaper, and started reading. He spoke while Daroach brought out the plates.  

"Did you hear, manager? The big news in the newspaper?"

"Hm? Oh, do you mean yesterday's airplane race? I heard from a friend—it’s a shame." 

Dedede gave Daroach with a sour look. "Hmph! That’s boring, I don’t care about stuff like that. I'm talking about the ancient machine."

"What? Ancient machine?" 

"It seems a great machine was found in the diamond mine." President Dedede pointed to the newspaper.

Daroach read the article. He seemed amused. "Heh, I don't know about the truthfulness of it, but it's a fun story. What kind of machine makes everyone happy?" he said.

"Read the rest of the article. It says that someone will pay a prize for those gears."  

"Huh, really? Such a large amount of money. Just finding some gears can make you that much ...? " 

"They’re not just any old gears. They’re special gears that can make ancient machines move. They’re not easy to find. Hm, I don't know ... " 

"Right, but if anyone could find them, I bet it’d be you." President Dedede was quiet as he thought about Daroach’s words. 

"Really? You think so?"

"I do. You’re smart and have a lot of courage. I think you could do it."

"Wise words. Well, I think so, too."

"Heh, please find them. And if you get the prize, please order a special lunch every day at our store."

"Hahaha! I'll buy the entire store, more like it."

"I look forward to it."

President Dedede finished his meal in good spirits and began to leave. After he left, however—the aura around the store manager changed. Daroach muttered in a low voice, with a harsh light covering his face and a fearless smile in his mouth. 

"An ancient machine. Isn't that an interesting story?" At the same time, the door opened and a new customer came in. As soon as they did, Daroach returned to the face of a working store manager and greeted them with a cheerful voice.  

"Welcome! Seat yourself! Today's lunch special is hamburger steak!" 

The manager of the popular café was merely a guise. No one knew his true face in the Town of Wind.

The Town of Light, which was lined with aristocratic mansions, was a quiet area that was completely different from the messy streets of the Town of Wind. The road was wide and there was no trash to be seen. The scent of flowers from the gardens here and there was just right, and beautiful music could be heard from somewhere nearby. Every day and every night, a party was held in a mansion somewhere.

Tonight, a certain mansion in particular was crowded with guests who had arrived. Luxury meals were carried out one after another, and conversation was lively. During this, one of the guests stood up. He was a fine gentleman with a masked face and a red rose in his chest pocket.  

"Oh? Are you leaving already, Meta Knight? If you’d like, you can take the dessert home with you." The lady of the mansion, unfortunately, stopped the guest.

"It's an exquisite chocolate cake handmade by our chef. By all means, I insist you—"

"No, it's fine. I'm done." When Meta Knight left, the aristocrats whispered.  

"Maybe Meta Knight isn't interested in cakes ... "

"He's a cool person. I don't think sweet foods are good for his reputation ... " 

"Oh, such a shame. I’ll have to tell the chef not to make such a sweet dessert ... "

After leaving, Meta Knight got in his car and returned to his own mansion.

"Welcome back, my lord," the butler, Vul, greeted respectfully. "How was your party?" 

"The same as usual. Nothing but conversations and heavy food. I'm sick of it."

Meta Knight was polite in public, but not so much at home. He continued to speak as he walked down the corridor.

"Has anything changed while I was away?"

"No. There were no phone calls, and as for guests ... " Butler Vul opened the living room door. Just then ... 

"Hey, I’m home~!" 

A cheerful voice rang out from inside. Vul was so surprised he nearly fell over. Someone was sitting on the sofa, but Vul didn't remember guiding anyone.

"Huaghhhh!? Da- Da- Daroach ...!? Why you ...! From where did you ...!? " Meta Knight stopped him before he burst a blood vessel.

"It doesn't matter. The usual."

"It's because it's the usual that it's troublesome! Time and time again, in this house without my knowledge, sneaking into these halls—! Today, I have to say it's gutsy ...! "

"I said you’re dismissed."

"But ...! "

"Get me two cups of tea."

Butler Vul looked as if he was about to be sick, but when his lord, Meta Knight, commanded, he had to obey. When Vul left, Meta Knight turned to Daroach.

"Good grief. When you come next time, ring the doorbell and come in through the front door. Don't upset the butler." 

"Sorry, I’ve never gotten along with that guy." Daroach grinned and held up a paper bag. "For you: an eclair. I used a lot of the chocolate you gave me the other day. I was thinking about what kind of sweets to make since chocolate is a luxury item that I rarely get, but I thought a simple eclair was best."

" ... Thank you." 

Meta Knight’s countenance didn’t change, but his voice sounded happy. He didn’t dislike sweets. On the contrary, they were his favorite, however, the sweets that Daroach made were so delicious he couldn’t be satisfied with anything else. Aristocrat Meta Knight and Daroach, the café manager in the Town of Wind. Although they lived in different worlds, for some reason, they became friends after getting to know each other during a certain incident. It was rare, but if there was something wrong Daroach would sneak in from somewhere, like tonight. Butler Vul angrily brought in tea and left again. Daroach started his story. 

"Tonight's errand is about gears. Are you listening?" 

"Are they from a machine that was found in a diamond mine?"

"Oh. If you already know, I’ll make it quick. If someone finds all of the gears, they will get a great amount of money awarded to them."

"I'm not interested," he simply said.

Daroach looked disappointed. "Hmm. You're a very rich aristocrat, however, even if you’re not interested in gold, what about an ancient machine? Don’t you think it’s fascinating?"

" ... Not particularly."

"It's a machine made by a lost civilization. Its power is probably far greater than anything we can imagine."

" …………… "

Meta Knight was silent. He was not interested in money, but he was strongly attracted to mysteries and adventures. Daroach knew it well.

"To tell the truth, I don't want the prize, either." 

" ... What?"

"I want to know what Fugo’s true motive is. Why would he have such a ridiculous prize? I wonder if he's trying to take the gears for himself ... He says, ���I want to make the citizens happy,’ but that can't be true."

Meta Knight nodded immediately. "I wonder." 

Mr. Fugo was known as a kind-hearted millionaire. He was grateful to everyone for holding parties and made donations for the residents of the Town of Wind, but Daroach and Meta Knight both knew it wasn’t how it seemed. 

Daroach had excellent subordinates. They dug into newspapers and worked in aristocratic mansions and passed on the information they gathered to the boss, Daroach. Mr. Fugo was anything but a kind-hearted millionaire. He tricked people, made sly deals, and made a lot of money. Daroach wanted to reveal the truth right away, but there was little evidence. He couldn’t stand by, though. If one turned a blind eye to evil, they would inevitably be crushed by its weight. He strengthened his voice.

"I'm sure he’s planning to use that ancient machine to make a lot of money. If we can get proof of that, we can expose him."

"Exposing evil ...? It doesn’t seem like you," Meta Knight laughed. "You're not a hero of justice. You're a thief, right? I thought you were only interested in treasure." 

"C’mon, stop it." 

Daroach stood up. Out of nowhere, he took out a red top hat and cloak and donned them gracefully. He grinned as he tipped his brim.

"You don't need to worry when you’re with someone like me. I am the great thief Daroach who travels the world!"

Yes, this was his true identity. In the daytime, a cheerful café manager, but at night, in the darkness, a bandit who steals the treasure of bad aristocrats. His technique was splendid and artistic. He didn’t hurt anyone, nor leave any sort of evidence. 

"Oh, I know. I'm sorry." 

When Meta Knight apologized, Daroach stowed his hat and cloak. He was back to how he was before.

"Please, tell me your reply. Let’s find out what Fugo’s up to, and let’s find out the mystery of the ancient machine, together. You and I."

"Okay." Meta Knight nodded. Daroach smiled.

"If that’s your decision, we’re ready to take action. First, we have to gather information. I'll use my subordinates to search. You investigate around Fugo." 

"All right."

"See ya," Daroach said.

He jumped with light footsteps and left through the open window.

In the blink of an eye, the great thief Daroach was gone.

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[shreddedparchment]

Tamales and Christmas Lights

12/21/2020

Pairing: Steve x Mexican American Reader          Word Count: 6,838

Warnings: light smut, talks of having kids, language, drinking

A/N: This is the first time I have ever written anything for a specific type of reader. I don’t usually write for a specific race or ethnicity because I can’t speak as to the intimacy of living in that person’s shoes. By this I mean more of a family life. I’m eager to learn but for now, I will write what I know and that is a reader of my own background. I hope I don’t alienate anyone too much and that you all enjoy the story for what it is. There is a bit of Spanish in this one, but so long as you read all of the dialogue what is said is explained in English shortly after. Anyway, I’m SUPER nervous about this one, and it’s a little on the short side but I hope you all enjoy it. Thanks for your support! xoxo

“What do you do for the Holidays?”

Steve stiffens for a moment beneath you, bringing your gaze up to his sleepy face.

It’s so late and he’d only just got in an hour ago. Probably on the verge of sleep when you’d asked your quests.

“What?” There’s stress in his eyes and you’re sorry to interrupt the peace of the moment.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” He rubs your shoulder, large hands trying to coax you back down onto his chest where you’d been laying with your head cradled underneath his chin.

“You’re lying. And you haven’t answered my question.”

Steve sighs and shakes his head, “Nothing. That’s what I do for the Holidays. I don’t do anything. I should probably change that since Buck is finally back. But I think I overheard Sam making plans to drag him to some party and I’m not up for that.”

“Oh…” You deflate, laying your head back on his chest but he notices the disappointment in your voice and he pushes you up again.

When you don’t move, he forces himself up, pulling back until he can rest against the headboard of your bed. You’re also made to sit up but Steve leans forward to guide you close to his body so that you’re practically straddling him.

“What did you have in mind? That wasn’t an empty oh.” He notices.

You shake your head, suddenly terrified to bring it up.

“Come on, baby, don’t leave me wondering. I’ll assume the worst.” He reminds you.

You smile, appreciating the way he reaches up to grab your chin and give your head a little shake. You probably shouldn’t like it but you love the way he makes these small gestures of possessiveness over you.

There’s something feral within you that purrs into submission when he claims you so openly. You’re his. Heart and soul. He knows it already even though it’s only been a few months of being together.

You fist his white shirt, wrinkling it as you pull him closer and kiss him sweetly despite the aggression in your hands.

There’s just something about him that makes you want to just squeeze him! Like that feeling you get when you see a tiny puppy or kitty and you just wanna hug it and squeeze it and love it to death.

He huffs a small laugh at your reaction, though he doesn’t understand it.

“What was that for?”

You lick your lips, kissing him once more before leaning back and releasing his poor shirt.

“You know you’re mine, right?” You ask him, eyes fixed on his pretty face.

You’re not a fan of the bruising around his left cheekbone, but the rest of him is just as perfect as ever.

“And you’re mine,” he assures you. “And if anyone tries to take you away…”

The implications are tantalizing but you don’t linger there. You laugh and shake your head, turning to the windows of his room to watch the heavy snowfall.

It’s freezing outside. It makes you shiver and you pull yourself closer to Steve, wrapping your arms around him by hooking them underneath his own. You ball yourself up in his lap as best you can and rest your head against his chest again as his own arms come back around you, large hands splayed out on your back as he rubs it to give you warmth and comfort.

“Why did you ask me about the holidays, babe?” he presses.

“I want to take you home with me,” that’s the truth. “My grandma has been asking me when I’m going to get married and maybe if they see I have a big strong boyfriend she and the rest of my aunts will leave me alone.”

Steve huffs another laugh, “Are they seriously asking you when you’re getting married?”

“Yeah,” with a nod, you push up again despite being completely at peace in Steve’s arms. “They’ve been asking since I graduated high school.”

“That’s odd,” he observes and you can see how it might be to others. “It’s always been like that in my family. My grandma got married when she was seventeen. Same for my mom. Had kids pretty quickly too. So, they’re kinda waiting for me to do the same. Because getting married and having kids is what I’m supposed to do.”

“Do you want to get married and have kids?” Steve’s hands stroke your hips, a small movement of passive affection.

He’s eager to give you all the touch you want in private but you know to keep things a little more tame in front of others. Steve isn’t big into the P.D.A.

“Eventually I guess. I don’t know. It’s not a question I feel like I need to answer right now. I’m a little more sure about the marriage than the kids but I’ve got lots of time to think about it.” you shrug.

“Yeah, we’ve got lots of time,” he asserts and your heart shoots into your throat, stomach twisting with fluttering wings that make it feel like you’re doing somersaults.

“We?” you smile, despite yourself.

“I wanna marry you eventually, I thought you knew that?”

“No,” you laugh.

“Oh, well now you know.”

“You can’t just spring that on me, Steve!”

He laughs now, hooking his hands behind your knees and yanks you closer. You’re right on him, and as you settle, you feel a familiar stirring between your bodies as the exhaustion of the mission wears off and his eagerness to show you how much he missed you becomes obvious.

“I think I just did,” he teases. “If you want to take me to meet your family, I am more than happy to come along. We have been together almost a year, it’s about time I think.”

“A year?” you gasp, realizing that it hasn’t been a few months after all.

Time with Steve is so much like a dream that it feels like it’s passed in the blink of an eye.

“Yeah, we hooked up in that closet off the shooting range on New Year’s Eve, remember?”

“Okay, first of all, hooked up? You’re spending too much time with Sam and Bucky.”

Your face heats up, neck burning and ears probably hot to the touch as the memory of you half drunk finding Steve alone in that shooting range.

You’d confessed recklessly and Steve had practically tackled you into the wall when he’d realized you were serious, despite being tipsy.

The frenzy that had followed that first kiss had been uncontrollable and he’d maneuvered you both into the bathroom and then pounded into you with you pinned between him and the counter.

You can still remember the shock of cold smooth concrete under your naked butt.

The next day, Steve had sought you out to tell you that he liked you too and that he wanted to take you out properly and that he was sorry for letting himself get out of hand the night before.

You responded by accepting his invitation but then luring him into your bedroom to ride him until he was breathless and groaning with satisfaction and you were twitching from reaching a third climax.

Your love with Steve has always been rooted in a very physical connection but over time, the emotional depth has increased exponentially and you’re best friends now, as well as lovers.

Now he’s here, remind you of that very beginning and telling you that it’s time to meet your family?

“You don’t have to go, Steve. My grandma will probably ask you a million questions and the rest of my family will be just as nosy and loud. We can get kind of rowdy when we get all together.”

The last thing you want to do is chas him off with an overbearing family, but at the same time...you love them! If he’s going to be in your life, he needs to accept them too, right?

What if he can’t? What will that mean for the two of you?

“Growing up it was just me and my mom,” Steve explains, stroking the length of your arms. “A big family is just what I need, I think.”

You watch him as he leans forward, his lips finding that stupid spot on your neck that always makes you melt.

As his tongue darts out, tracing a small circle, you absolutely collapse against him, arms wrapping up around his shoulders loosely, eyes very slightly rolling into the back of your head.

“Are you sure?”

“So sure,” he whispers, the heat of his breath raising goosebumps on your skin.

He pulls you down against his stiffened cock and you moan as he throws you back onto the bed.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Stop, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Steve urges, reaching over to place his hand in yours so that you can stop pulling and tugging at your own fingers.

“I’m nervous,” you admit, staring at the peach colored house with bright red trimming around every window and the bright red doorway. It’s absolutely covered in lights, twinkling in different colors. Traditional tiny lights but then around the tree in the front yard are huge bulbs, green, blue, yellow, and red.

They’re novelty lights? You’re not sure if that’s what they are, but you find them silly. Your grandpa’s idea probably.

Your grandmother’s house hasn’t changed one bit since you were little. The only thing that changes are the cars parked along the street, the large rose bushes along the front porch are bare.

Several green hard plastic chairs line the front wall angled oddly as someone had most likely been sitting there last night. Aunts and uncles, your mom and dad probably talking late into the night.

Even sitting in the car, with the engine idling, doors shut tight, you can already hear one of your aunts laughing her head off inside the house. The shouts of kids playing also reach your very normal ears. Steve must be able to hear everything.

“Do you think they won’t like me?” Steve worries, and now it’s your turn to turn and soothe his nerves.

“Oh, no, Steve. That’s not why. I know they’ll love you. I’m just afraid of what they’ll say. Or that they’ll smother you. I haven’t exactly told anyone in my family that I’m dating anyone much less…”

The two of you never talk about his official title. Who he is. Even though he’s retired in many ways, he’s still the first. Sam might be Captain America now, but everyone knows Steve as the original Captain America. There isn’t a person on this planet that doesn’t know who he is.

Normally, it doesn’t matter. To you, he’s just Steve Rogers. Super soldier, for sure, but just a man that swept you off your feet with his sweetness and kindness and okay, those damn shoulders and his ass is biteable. But he’s just Steve!

Your family will see the title first, you’re sure of it. They’ll see Captain America.

“Are they not big Captain America fans?” his teasing is gentle and innocent.

“Steve!” you shut your eyes and chuckle, “ I’m seriously so worried.”

“I can take it, hon. I’m a big boy. Come on, let’s get in there. I wanna meet your grandma.”

Suddenly he throws his door open and steps out of the car, shutting it off as he goes.

“Wait!” you gasp, scurrying to get out with him. 

You scamper around the car until you’re beside him and take hold of his hand. He pulls you towards the door confidently but you let go of his hand and rush forward before he can reach it.

Fixing your hair, you push the door open and are immediately assaulted by the smell of spicy menudo. It makes your mouth water. The smell of spices and pine sol. Fabuloso is mixed in there too, your mom’s idea to mix the two cleansers together and use them to make a unique smelling concoction that gets the linoleum floors cleaner than if you used one or the other.

The low sofas are covered in shining clear plastic, no doubt put in place by your grandma just before all the family began to arrive. The flat screen is decorated with a simple green garland, beside the TV console is a low table where the remote sits on a lace doily, underneath in a wooden pocket are several magazines and underneath the pocket on the base of the table sits a blue round tin of butter cookies that no doubt has all of your grandma’s sewing things instead of the treats it promises.

The house isn’t big. In fact, it’s on the small side. The large master bedroom is situated at the back of the house along with the bathroom, past the kitchen where you can see the light on all of your aunts sitting around the table exchanging their respective chisme and keeping their hands busy with something you can’t see.

From the hallway to your right where the only two guest rooms are located along with a second half bath come running two of your younger cousins. They’re children still, your youngest Tia’s kids.

They don’t even notice you as you stop walking, choosing to run instead towards the back door in the distance past the kitchen, master bedroom, and bathroom.

One of your other aunts, the second oldest, turns her head as they run behind her.

“Que chingaos les dije?! Stop running in and out or I’m gonna kick your asses!” She yells at them, but the kids ignore her and disappear through the door. It slams shut behind them.

“Lulu, no les puedes decir algo?! They keep running in and out of here like wild animals.” Your second eldest aunt demands.

“They’re just playing, leave them alone.” Your Tia Lulu waves her sister off.

To your right you finally notice the centerpiece of the living room, a huge christmas tree with red, blue, and green glass ornaments. The lights are white, twinkling in different patterns, tinsel covering every branch to an obscene amount. At the top sits an old porcelain angel that your grandmother had once told you she’d received from her own grandmother and had actually been made in Mexico by some nun at an old church that had been knocked down a long time ago to make room for a cattle ranch.

The base of the tree is almost completely obscured by the dozens and dozens of presents from very large to very small. Each one is addressed to one or other member of the family. The kids especially all get gifts from each of your uncles and aunts.

You take another step towards the kitchen only to be stopped again as the restroom in the hallway to your right flushes and from inside it emerges your grandfather, buckling his belt as he lumbers out.

“Grandpa,” you call to him excitedly and he whips his head up then beams at the sight of you.

“Mijita bonita, cuando llegaste? Aye, chula…” His words fade out as he reaches you with his arms outstretched and pulls you into a quick tight hug.

His large hands pat you on the back several times before he kisses your cheek. He brings his hands to your shoulders and pushes you back a little to get a look at you.

“When did you get here?” he repeats, and gives your arms a squeeze.

“Just now,” you begin, but as you’d hugged your grandpa had turned you around and Steve moves in behind him.

He meets your eyes, shrinking a little, drawing his shoulders in to make himself smaller in the very normal person sized house.

“Grandpa, uh, I have um...this is my boyfriend, Steve,” with one arm extended you gesture towards the super soldier standing by the door.

“Steve?! ¿Trajiste un gringo?”

Your grandpa whips around, searching at average height level for the white boy you’ve brought and finds himself face to face with Steve’s chest.

He adjusts quickly, finding Steve’s face and with a gasp, he slams his hand over his heart and laughs.

“That’s Captain America!” he laughs.

The declaration brings the kitchen to a pause and like dominoes all of your aunts rise one by one, moving into the doorway of the kitchen to catch a glimpse at the commotion in the living room.

More gasps follow and soon you can’t hear yourself think as they all break into a cacophony of excited chatter.

Your Tia Lulu is the first to shove her way through, as she’s the youngest, she smiles at Steve flirtatiously before shoving your grandpa out of the way.

“Move aside, dad! Hello, hi. I’m Consuela but everyone calls me Lulu. You can call me sweetheart.” She throws out her tongue as she laughs, a clear joke but Steve good naturedly takes her hand and shakes it, a shy but kind smile on his handsome face.

“Oh my God, Tia, stop,” you plead.

“I’m just kidding, werca fregada. Don’t get your panties all in a twist.” She swats at you while your grandpa retreats to the sofa where he must have been sitting before, stuffing fives, tens, and twenties into envelopes for the kids.

Grandma and Grandpa never get anyone anything. They just put money in envelopes for the kids.

As your aunts file in, all five of them, you wait until Steve looks at you to bite your bottom lip and mouth a quick apology.

He shakes his head, setting your heart at ease as your aunts circle around him talking fast and occasionally asking him a question or two which he answers readily.

“A year.”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, I’m not Captain America anymore.”

“Consulting mostly.”

“Yeah, I-I have my own place.”

“It’s a rental.”

Your aunts gasp at that in particular, “Ooh, it’s a rental. Those can be so expensive. Did you get the insurance?”

“Uh, well, no. I didn’t mean, it’s actually one of Tony’s-Stark. He had it set aside for us when he found out we were coming to visit.”

The madness reignites at the mention of Iron Man and as they plunge into more questions, your turn just in time as your mom makes her way over to you.

“Why didn’t you call me?” she wraps you up in her arms and you hug her back, holding it for a little longer than you normally would but you’ve been so stressed with bringing Steve here that you feel a relief wash over you not only because she’s there to help you, but to finally have it happening means you can stop the anticipation.

“I’m sorry, mom. I decided to get him down here super last minute and I kinda wanted it to be a surprise. Where’s dad?”

“He’s out back with your tios. Drinking already,” she shakes her head but there’s no surprise there from anyone. “They’ve got the pit going. Chicken and fajitas to go with the menudo.”

“It smells so freaking good,” you laugh.

“Is he really your boyfriend? How long has this been going on? How come you haven’t told me?”

The hurt in your mom’s voice is subtle but you hear it and lament it.

“I was going to tell you. Every time I called. But at first it was too new and then after that I just didn’t know how to explain it to you. I know you hate my job. Now I’m dating a former Avenger?”

It’s her turn to look apologetic.

“Mija, you could have told me. I do hate that you put yourself in harm’s way, but that’s your job. No mom is going to like that.”

She takes a moment to glance at Steve, then with a flick of her eyebrows and a quick nod in his direction, she scoots closer, “Isn’t he like super old?”

You laugh and nod.

“He’s older than grandpa,” She laughs with you as you whisper, Steve giving you two a quick glance.

“He doesn’t look it,” your mom admits.

A tiny upturn to the corner of his lip tells you he can hear everything you’re saying.

“Is it serious?” She asks, letting you steer her towards the kitchen as her probing continues.

Inside the kitchen you find the entire kitchen table cleared of the usual place mats and ceramic Jesus centerpiece to make room for the bowls of masa, cooked seasoned pork and chicken for the filling of what will be tomorrow’s tamales.

At the stove you see your grandma a well worn lime green apron tied tightly around her waist and neck, huddled over the very tall and large pot, stirring and adding seasoning to the murky russet soup inside.

“I hope that has lots of posole!”

Your grandma turns at your voice and her face lights up.

“Mijita, chula!” she gushes, rushing forward to wrap her arms around you and kiss your cheek with a loud smack.

“Hi, grandma, I missed you so much,” you realize, hugging her tight.

“Por qué no nos dijiste que ibas a venir? Werca, cabrona!” she smacks you hard and you laugh, holding her hands as she pulls back to look at you. “You need to eat more.”

“Grandma, I’m eating fine,” you laugh, amused by the direction her thoughts go.

“She brought a boy home, mom,” your mom gives you away, then sticks her tongue out at you as she replaces her mother’s place at the pot.

“Mom!”

“You brought a boy?” she’s ecstatic! “A boyfriend?”

“Yes, he’s a boyfriend.”

“What’s his name?” she starts wiping her hands on her apron, cleaning them up to meet Steve.

“His name is Steve.”

“Es un gringo?!” her exclamation of surprise is just like grandpa’s.

“Yes, he’s white, does it matter?”

“Pos, no. It doesn’t matter, as long as he’s nice to you. Is he good to you?”

“He’s the best, grandma. He insists on taking me out every Friday to eat and watch a movie.”

Well, every Friday that you or he aren’t on mission. And it’s such a small thing but you know it’ll make her happy to know that he takes you out.

“Ooh, that’s good,” she approves. “Does he have a good job?”

“He’s a consultant where I work.”

“With the Avengers?” she gasps.

“Yeah.”

“A consultant? What does that mean? Is he a nerd?”

You laugh, throwing your head back, “He’s the biggest nerd, though he’ll never admit it.”

“Well, andale, let’s go meet your boyfriend,” she pushes you towards the doorway and you make to lead the way. “Is it serious?”

She whispers the second question, though you know that Steve will be able to hear.

Is it serious? “I uh…”

“Ayt! Don’t you all have husbands?”

Saving Steve from your aunts, your grandma moves forward and pushes and pulls and slaps them away from him, shoving them back towards the kitchen.

“Esos tamales no se van hacer solos.”

“Ow, mom! Stop hitting us,” your eldest aunt Margarita frowns.

“Magge, no te da verguenza?”

“Why should I be embarrassed?! Have you seen her boyfriend? Steve, do you like older women?” your Tia throws back at him as your other aunts push past you, patting you in the back and whispering congratulations at your luck.

“Technically I’m older,” he calls and everyone looks at him, not talking, apparently in shock at the fact that he truly is over a hundred years old.

“Oh my God, your boyfriend is Captain America?!” your grandma realizes, turning to slap your shoulder lightly for not explaining yourself.

Everyone bursts into laughter, the chatter moving into the kitchen as you join the laughter, Steve smiling from ear to ear as your mom rushes back out, eager to meet him.

Grandma pulls him into a hug and he gently returns it, smiling politely as she gushes over how handsome he is and how tall and then getting angry at you for not feeding him before admiring the exquisite shape of his body.

“Your grandpa had a body like this when he was young, mija,” grandma assures you. “I don’t know what happened.”

“Probably all the tamales,” you tease and she smacks you gently again before laughing in genuine amusement.

~~~~~~~~~~

You can’t find Steve anywhere. The kids are all inside, watching Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer in the living room, crowded around the flat screen with expressions that range from amusement to boredom.

Mostly it’s the older kids that are tired of the claymation film. They’ve seen it every year since they were old enough to sit up.

“Should I change it?” you wander in from the front, your Tias laughing as the door shuts behind you cutting the sound off.

One of the things you’d missed was the happiness that filled the house this time of year. Even though they fight like cats, it’s cats that are sisters and love each other deep down.

They always end up laughing again eventually. 

Your cousin Claudia sits up at your offer, “Yes! Put something else on!”

“No!” the littler ones revolt.

“Even if it’s Elf?”

You stop by the TV, remote already in hand and all of their eyes light right up.

“Okay, okay, put Elf!”

Their accents make you smile. Like you, they’d probably grown up speaking mostly spanish as a toddler and then as you’d started school, English had begun to push in as your default leaving you with a heavy accent for a few years.

Now it’s almost completely gone and only emerges when you shout angrily, or so Steve says.

As the opening narration begins, you catch Claudia’s eyes and give her the remote, “Have you seen Steve?”

“Captain America?” she smirks, getting a serious kick out of your choice of boyfriend.

But you’d also seen her all flustered when she’d met him. She thinks he’s hot and honestly, he is so you can’t blame her. At sixteen, she’s lost almost all of her bashfulness.

“Yes, Steve. Have you seen him?”

“He went out back with Tio, I think.”

“My dad?!” you gasp, already terrified of what they might be talking about.

“Yeah, he looked nervous. You should probably go save him from Tio’s interrogation.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you throw at her, already moving towards the back door in a hurry.

The inside of the house is toasty warm, especially with the tamales cooking and the menudo on low heat to keep it warm in case anyone wants thirds or fourths.

“Where are you going?” your mom asks as you pass by.

She’s sitting at the kitchen table, across from your grandma talking in hushed tones.

“To get Steve, Claudia said he was with dad.”

“Well, leave them alone, I’m sure he’s being nice.”

Your grandma laughs and you shove the door open and disappear back out into the chilly winter night.

Wrapping your arms around yourself to combat the chill that begins to set in, you scan the backyard and move past your tios sitting around the clearly diy firepit one of them had built for your grandparents, each one knocking back a beer in either bottle or can.

They’re not as loud as your tias but they’re still talking loudly, laughing and then arguing over the superbowl.

“No manches, guey. That linebacker doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. He should have stayed in Atlanta.”

You tune them out as you spot Steve and your dad standing by the table of barbecue a little further out by the back corner of the chain link fence.

Steve is standing with one hand on the tongs, flipping over some of the leftover chicken your grandma asked your dad to cook since someone will eat it eventually.

They’re talking, both in deep conversation until Steve smiles and seems to relax. Your dad, who stands at five feet, nine inches in height, has to reach up to clap Steve on the shoulder then smiles too, both of them turning their focus on the chicken.

“What the fuck?” you mutter, moving towards them with purposeful steps.

Both of them look up as you approach and immediately Steve hands your dad the tongs before moving towards you and peeling off his black leather jacket.

“Hon, why are you out here without a coat? It’s cold.” he says sweetly.

He can’t feel the temperature like you can but he can tell when you’re cold.

“Dad? What are you two doing out here?”

You’re so suspicious of your dad, worried he might be saying things to hurt Steve, but both of them look happy even.

“I’m showing him how we make the chicken,” your dad says innocently.

“Uh huh...sure you are.”

“He was,” Steve promises.

“I don’t trust you,” you say sternly, using one finger to point up into Steve’s ridiculously handsome face. “You’re just trying to suck up to my family.”

“Me?” he gasps, forced innocence on his face now too.

You narrow your eyes at both of them in turn, wrapping your arms around yourself again as Steve rubs them to try and warm you up.

“Come on, let’s go back inside,” Steve urges you, then turns to look at your dad. “Thanks for the lesson, Hector, I’ll keep it in mind for the future.”

“What lesson?”

“Never you mind, nosy. Come on, before you catch a cold.”

Steve sits you on the sofa once he’s got you inside and settles in pulling you against his side then kissing your temple before turning his focus on Buddy the Elf sitting in a bathroom singing with Zoey Deschanel as she showers.

“When did you sneak off to talk to my dad?”

Eyes narrowed, you watch him for any of his usual tells that he might be lying or hiding something from you.

So far, nothing.

“I didn’t sneak off. You were busy talking to your aunt and your dad invited to show me how to make the chicken. He was nice, serious about you. He wanted me to know that he’s got his eyes on me and if I hurt you all of your uncles will come find me and castrate me.”

He smiles wide, amused by this for some reason.

“It’s been a while since I’ve felt fear like that. Your dad really meant it.”

You’re not convinced but he reaches down to take hold of your chin and force you to look at him.

“Give me a kiss, pouty.” he requests.

How can you resist? You lean up and give him a quick kiss but then the kids say, “Ooooooh.”

You turn to them and throw Claudia a pillow but she laughs and catches it, leading the rest of them into giggles.

~~~~~~~~~~

The night grows older and everyone comes inside. As midnight approaches, the kids filter into their usual seats at the feet of their respective parents. Your six aunts and their husbands pile onto the sofas or linger in doorways, all attention diverted to the Christmas tree and the piles of presents underneath.

Your grandma and grandpa get center seating on the longest sofa, both of them ready with cash envelopes in hand for giving out as soon as the time comes.

Your dad on the other hand sits himself by the tree and while all of the adults talk amongst themselves, the kids are as quiet as they will ever be, little to teen eyes all trained on the pile of gifts.

“Mija, ven siéntate aqui. Magge, dale el asiento a tu sobrina,” your grandmother calls, waving you over to sit beside her.

Your aunt looks from your grandmother to you and then back, looking almost affronted by the request until your grandma gives her a face of deep annoyance.

Your aunt has a moment of realization, then sighs but begins to get up.

“No! Tia, it’s okay. I’ll stand. I’m alright here.”

“Don’t argue with me and get your butt over here,” your grandmother interrupts.

“She never sees you,” your tia reminds you. “Come sit here, I’ll sit on your tio’s lap.”

“Like hell you will, you wanna break my legs?”

“Callate lo sico, estupido imbecil,” she smacks him in the arm but then sits in his lap and he smirks as he wraps his arms around her waist.

Steve pushes you towards her, then leans down to kiss your cheek.

He knows you hate to leave him standing there.

“Go, sit with your grandma.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, of course babe. Go.” He kisses your cheek again then pushes you towards the sofa.

As you settle in, giving him another look of consideration, your grandma takes your hand and holds it gently plucking a smile from your worried expression.

“He’s okay, no one is going to take him from you.”

Not that you think anyone would, but it’s a common phrase among couples who are glued at the hip.

As your grandma’s old cuckoo clock chimes in midnight, your dad points at your cousin Claudia who gets up and quickly shuts off the living room light leaving all of you in the glow of the white twinkle lights.

As your dad begins to call out names, the kids scoot closer in excitement and watch as they’re each handed gifts after gifts.

Eventually the floor begins to fill with crumpled up wrapping paper and colorful bows and ribbon. Toys are yanked from boxes and the laughter begins to fill the room again.

Your aunts and uncles also get their names called and you don’t feel bad that your name is never called.

They had no idea you were coming and your Tia Magge leans towards you, “I’m sorry we didn’t get you anything, Mija. We didn’t know you were coming.”

“Oh, I know, Tia. It’s okay. I just wanted to see you all and bring Steve to meet you.”

As you gesture towards where you left him standing, you find him missing but think nothing of it as he might have just gone to the bathroom.

There are only two gifts left under the tree, one very large one which your dad calls out for your grandpa, and then he pulls a shoe sized box, wrapped in silver paper onto his lap but gestures at your grandma who lets go of your hand and begins to call names out and pass the envelopes with money to the kids.

Because you can’t stand sitting there any longer, the mess on the floor still growing, you get up and move into the kitchen.

Trash bag in hand you move back out to the living room and begin to stoop over and pick up the wrappings of all the presents exchanged tonight.

Your grandma calls out Claudia’s name and as the teen sits back down, your dad clears his throat.

“We have one more gift, and it’s for my beautiful daughter,” he says, shocking you into standing as he calls your name.

“Me?!” you gasp, completely in shock.

You hadn’t been expecting anything though you and Steve had definitely brought gifts for everyone.

Your gift had been the ability to see such bright smiles as they opened said presents.

“Here,” your dad holds it out and you let go of the trash bag as Claudia takes it from you.

With a quick wipe of your brow, you take the gift and look for a name so that you’ll know who to thank, but there’s no name.

“Open it!” One of the younger kids says with excitement.

“Yeah, rip it!” another urges.

“Rip it?” you chuckle, and rip it.

It is indeed a shoebox, but as you lift the lid and place it underneath, you find in the shoebox another box, slightly smaller, also sealed up tight this time in pink shiny wrapping paper..

“Oh my God,” you laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

You open that box too, tossing the wrapping paper to Claudia who tosses it for you as you find yourself staring at yet another box, wrapped in green snowflake paper.

“What the hell is going on here?” you laugh again, tearing it open and finding a smaller one.

This goes on and your family laughs at you as you open box after box after box, until finally the smallest box is the size of laptop charging block.

“How the hell does anyone even find a box this small?!” you gasp, shaking your head as your shoulders shake with laughter.

You tear the last box open, discarding the bright red paper then open the top to find a small black velvet bag with a drawstring pulled shut.

“Finally!”

Your exclamation brings laughter from the room and as you pull the bag open, you turn it over since the room is in semi-darkness and you can’t see in.

Onto your palm tumbles a silver ring. Sitting on top is an emerald cut diamond, solitaire, that glimmers in the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree.

“What the-?” you start, but from the hallway behind your mom emerges Steve, looking nervous as fuck.

He swallows hard as he walks towards you, stopping only when he’s right in front of you then slowly, as butterflies tumble violently in your lower belly, he kneels.

“Oh my God…” you whisper, too shocked to speak any louder.

He says your name, clears his throat because his voice shakes, and you smile, on the verge of laughing or crying. You’re not sure which.

“In just about a week we’ll have been together for exactly one year, but I’ve known since you pulled that bullet out of my a-my backside and called me a big baby for whining about it that you were the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

“Both of us work in a very dangerous job but I don’t think I know anyone else who is as brave or strong or sure of themselves as you. I wasn’t sure what to expect from life after I gave up being Captain America.

“Suddenly there were an infinite amount of possibilities ahead of me and yet, not once did I think that marrying anyone would be the path I’d take. I’d given up on love, on the chance of a normal life, but you’ve woken me up. You’ve pulled me out of my past and with you I can see that future we talked about the other morning.

“I see my life as your husband and father to our kids laid out in front of us and I can’t wait to get started. So, I guess, I just need to ask?”

Your family laughs, reminding you that you two are not alone.

“You’ve always said that if someone proposed to you, you wouldn’t want it to be in public and well, these people are your family so they’re not public. They represent a life I would very much like to be a part of. I’ve had no one for so long, I want this family, so will you marry me? Will you let me be a part of your family?”

You’re in shambles. You’re sobbing, smiling through the waterworks as your heart pounds so hard in your chest and all of the oxygen threatens to leave your brain.

“Yes!” you gasp, and the room explodes with cheers and applause.

Steve takes the ring and quickly slips it onto your finger before rising and pulling you flush against his body. He kisses you eagerly, laughing against your own lips as you kiss him back just as passionately.

As he pulls back, an audible smack snuffed out by the roar of excitement in the room, you search his eyes for any form of doubt.

There’s none.

“Is this what you were talking to daddy about? Asking me to marry you?”

“It was the right thing to do,” Steve explains, and you feel vindicated in your earlier suspicions.

“Jerk!” you smack his chest but he pulls you in for another kiss.

The two of you share in the moment for only one more second before your grandmother is pulling you two apart so that she can hug you and kiss Steve’s cheek. Your mom is also in tears, hugging you tight as your dad hugs you both, then shakes Steve’s hand before pulling him in for a quick hug.

There’s a terrifying POP that sends you and Steve ducking from instinct, but you find your grandpa holding up a bottle of champagne.

“¿Dónde está la música? Turn on the radio! Let’s celebrate!” He shouts, lifting the bottle to his lips.

As the kids spring up and split up throughout the household to play with their toys, your aunts and uncles begin to pair off, swaying and singing at the very top of their lungs as Feliz Navidad fills the room.

Steve makes his way back towards you, swerving past your excited family until he has his arms around you again, pulling you in close until he can sway you to the beat of the music.

“I’m guessing the party is just getting started?”

“Oh, babe, you just gave them the fuel to go until the sun comes up.”

Steve chuckles leans down to kiss you again, summoning an encore of cheers.

[just-jordie-things]

hi! could i request prompts #39, #45 and #74 for a zuko x reader fic with a modern au that takes place on halloween, with the gaang and everyone dressing up for halloween? with the reader and zuko already being really good friends and a part of the gaang?

prompt 39: spin the bottle kiss prompt 45: passionate kiss prompt 74: kisses where one person is sitting in the other’s lap ___

You’d been chatting with Katara, complimenting her cute 70′s themed costume, and just blabbering on in tipsy delight.  However in the middle of your conversation about one of your classes, your eyes caught sight of the door opening, and in walked your favorite person.

“Zuko!” You cheered, grabbing your drink off the counter and excusing yourself from Katara so you could be the first to greet him.

He smiled sheepishly as you bounded up to him, the hood of your alien onesie flopping your head.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” You said happily, giggling as you threw your arms around his neck.

He nervously reciprocated the hug, not wanting to spill your drink or overstep his boundaries.

“Did I miss anything?” He asked, glancing around the room, but inevitably looking back down at you, because nothing could capture his attention like you did.

“Sokka and Aang are in a competition to see who can do the most casual backflips,” You said in all seriousness.  “There’s still time to catch up if you want to join” 

Zuko just laughs, and shakes his head, and you’re quick to jump topics.

“What are you dressed as, anyways?” You asked, poking at the leather jacket he wore.

“I’m an emo phase,” Zuko said, looking down at his black clothes and ripped jeans combo.  “Is it not obvious?”

“It’s more of a sexy bad boy vibe,” You giggle.

His face flushes pink at the comment, but you don’t notice.

“I have a great idea though! Come with me” 

You grab his hand and you’re pulling him into the apartment.  He barely had time to greet Suki and Ty Lee in passing before you bringing him into the bathroom.

“How do you feel about eyeliner?” You asked, setting your half empty drink on the counter so you could pick through your makeup drawer.

“Uh...” 

“Sit,” You prompt, softly pushing him down onto the toilet.  “You’re too tall, I can’t reach your face and keep a steady hand” 

He does as you say, and forgets that he should go say hi to his friends while you carefully pull the brush from the black tube.

“Is this really necessary?” He asks, but bites his tongue as you lean in close to him.

You smell sweet, like fruit or candy.  He wonders if it’s your shampoo or your perfume, or it’s both and it’s just your natural splendid scent-

“Absolutely,” You murmur, vote quiet so you could keep your focus.  “Now shut your eyes” 

Again, he complies, and you steadily drag the brush over his eyelid.  For being fairly tipsy, your hand his still, and the liquid applies smoothly.

“Perfect,” You hum, proud of yourself, and Zuko opens his eyes.

You’re so close it’s impossible not to think about kissing you, but at the thought a blush crawls up his neck and he wishes you would move away so you wouldn’t see.

“Now look up,” You direct.  “I’m going to do some under too, make sure the goth-ness really stands out” 

He nods, speechless, and looks as far up as he can.

But then your hand slides over his cheek so you can maneuver his face properly, as well as keep yourself steady, and he’s looking back at you again.

“Hey, up” You scold teasingly, and hastily he’s following your order.

He’s not sure that you’re aware of it, but as you apply more makeup, the thumb on his cheek is caressing him in smooth circles.  It’s somehow calming, while still making his heart race.

You did that to him a lot.

You’re slower this time, worried about getting it in his eye, but it’s over all too soon, and you’re pulling away from him with a grin.

“Perfect!” You cheer again, capping your eyeliner and putting it back into the drawer.  “You look very edgy” 

Zuko stands to look in the mirror, and it’s odd, but he can’t deny that you did an excellent job and it definitely makes him look more emo.

“Do you like it?” You ask, picking your glass up and taking a tentative sip.

He looks down at your hopeful eyes, and smiles before nodding.

“You’re right, it’s perfect, thank you” 

“Great! Let’s show the others!”

And so you’re taking his hand again and weaving through the small crowd in search of your close friends, Sokka and Aang in particular, because you know they’ll get a kick out of it.

“Who are all these people?” Zuko asked after passing too many unfamiliar faces.

“Katara and I invited some people from school,” You told him nonchalantly.  “I didn’t think a halloween party would be such a hit, but I guess people love ‘em more than I thought!” 

“Well if you invited them then I’m sure they do” He mutters.

It’s a vexed comment, but you look up at him with a bashful sort of smile, and the implication in his words has him blushing again.

You giggle, and do him the favor of not saying anything about it, instead finally catching sight of Sokka and quickly pulling Zuko over to him.

“Sokka, look!” You say eagerly, pushing Zuko forward to show the boy the excellent job you did on his makeup.  “I gave Zuko eyeliner!” 

Sokka cheers loudly, and hugs you with pride.

“Zuko, you look beautiful,” He gushes playfully.  “You should be so proud of your date here” 

Sokka’s, well, hammered, but still the comment throws Zuko off, and he begins to stammer.  No real words came out, but luckily you came to his defense.

“Sokka, stop teasing,” You say, and bring your hand up to Zuko’s arm.  “We’re gonna go get a couple drinks and then let’s hang out, okay?”

“Alright, I’ll find Suki and the others, meet in the living room in a couple minutes?”

You agree, and then you’re bringing Zuko with you to the kitchen.

You tended to do this at parties, even ones where it’s just your small tight-knit group of friends.  You stuck by his side and rarely ever broke off from him.  At first he’d thought you were doing him a kindness, because he was award and not always great at small talk.  But after a few parties, he started to get the feeling that you genuinely enjoyed his company, and chose for your own reasons to stick by his side.

“What’s your poison?” You asked him as you reached the kitchen, which was littered with every alcohol known to man, as well as dozens of red plastic cups, some used, some new, Zuko wasn’t sure it mattered.

“I’ll just have whatever you’re having” He says, and you grin.

“Suit yourself” 

He realizes quickly as you pour a generous amount of shots into a cup that you’re making your drinks strong, and he takes over for you.

“Why don’t you let me do that?” He says, taking the bottle from your hands and setting it down, before pouring half the alcohol in your into a second cup for himself.

You make a face, but don’t protest while he adds in the soda, and hands you your weaker drink.

You take his hand again as you both make your way to the living room, where most of your friends have already gathered.

Sokka and Suki share one corner of the sofa, Aang and Katara on the other, both couples hogging the whole space.

Ty Lee had claimed the recliner for herself, sitting in it sideways, her legs thrown over the arm rest.  Mai was at her feet, the girls sharing their drinks and whispering amongst themselves.

That left the loveseat, if you could call it that because it was so small, but you didn’t mind as you dragged Zuko along and plopped down onto the cushions with him.

Without a second thought, you moved in close to him and threw your legs over his lap.  You did it so casually you’d think that you always sat this way.  But that wasn’t the case, in fact Zuko’s not sure you’ve ever been this close to him before, and his heart does a somersault.

“So what are we playing?” You asked, taking a sip of your drink, and then a longer more dramatic drink while making eye contact with Zuko because you could barely taste the alcohol.

He rolls his eyes and playfully flicks your arm, before turning his attention back to Sokka, who’s deciding on a game.

“Let’s play something old fashioned,” He decides, and he’s smirking at everyone as he raises his beer bottle, before pausing dramatically.

Suki nudges him, prompting him to continue his thought since no one knew what he was talking about.

“I say, spin the bottle!” He declares loudly, enough to get a few other people’s attention, and now the group grows a little bigger.

“Really?” Suki mutters, glaring at her boyfriend.

“Well I won’t be playing, I'll just be moderator” Sokka argues.  The girl rolls her eyes, but goes with it anyways.

“Spin the bottle? Isn’t that kinda immature?” Aang asks.

“I think it’s fun!” Ty Lee chimes in.  “I’ll play!” 

With that, a couple more boys come to sit around in the living room.

You stifle your giggle in your hand at the way Ty Lee so effortlessly had men flocking to her.  You always admired her for it.

“Fine.  I’ll play” Mai sighs, leaning back against the chair Ty Lee sat in.

“You guys in?” Sokka asks, looking to you and Zuko.

“Oh, no,” You shake your head and put your hands up in defense.  “It’s not for me, I’m spoken for,” 

Zuko perks up at this, turning to you with a confused look because since when did you have a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend? You were seeing somebody and didn’t tell him?

He’s about to ask you a multitude of questions, probably all at once in a messy fashion, but you’re speaking up before he can.

“But you’ll play, right?” You ask him eagerly.

He wants to say no, because games like these are stupid and the only person in this room he’d actually want to kiss just said that she was spoken for, but you give him an encouraging nod, so he shrugs his shoulders.

“I guess” He mutters.

As Sokka goes over the rules and sets the bottle in the middle of the floor, you notice Zuko practically deflating into the sofa.  When you give him a worried look, he doesn’t meet your gaze, so you’re not sure what his issue is.

You decide to wiggle in closer, your legs bent at the knees and resting against his chest comfortably, and your head laying on the sofa cushion right next to him.

At your close proximity, he can’t help but look over at you, only to find your eyes already set on his.

“It’s just a game, Zuko,” You whisper cheerily.  “Lighten up a little, have some fun” 

You give him a sweet smile, and he doesn’t have the heart to tell you that some old school kissing game isn’t what’s eating away at him.

He returns your smile, albeit faintly, before putting his attention back on the game.

A couple of strangers kiss, Mai and Ty Lee share a kiss, and Aang spins the bottle once, using his airbending to make sure it lands on Katara.  That gets a laugh out of everyone as the waterbender gives him a dramatic smooch on the cheek.

The game is dumb, but it’s amusing to Zuko because you keep giggling and cheering for everybody, and everytime you laugh, the sound vibrates through him, and he forgets that his window of opportunity for asking you out had been shut.

He’s kicking himself, but he knows he shouldn't be.  Deep down, he knew that he never would have made a move, no matter how affectionate you were, or how much time you spent together.  The fact of the matter was he was too anxious about ruining a great friendship to make his feelings for you known.

But still, his heart ached a little as you rested your head on his shoulder.

He can’t help but wonder why you’re so cuddled up to him if you’re spoken for, but he’s not so big of an idiot that he’d ask you such a thing.

You whisper something, but he doesn't catch it because he’s so lost in thought.

“What?” He whispers back, eyes flickering down to you.

“You should stay over,” You repeat yourself.  “Katara and I thought it’d be nice to have everyone stay over for scary movies- not everyone, just, you know, us,” You tell him, and he knows what you mean.  “But you should stay” 

His eyebrows furrow in the slightest, and you lift your head to ask what’s wrong.

“What about your boyfriend?” He asks, quietly, and although it’s subtle, you can hear the venom in his voice.

Despite the comment, you giggle quietly, shaking your head at him.

There’s a crease between his brows now from how much tension he has in his face, and you fondly reach out to rub your thumb between them, easing them from their furrow.

There’s no time to ask you what is so funny, because suddenly Sokka is snapping in his face.

“Hey! Lovebirds! You spinnin’ or not, Zuko?”

Your hand falls from Zuko’s face, and you sit back into your comfortable position now that the whole room has their eyes on you.

Not, he wants to say, but he grumbles in agreement as he reaches his leg out, kicking the bottle into a spin with his boot.  You, among a few others, are giggling at the action, and while Zuko is distracted by the sound, Aang sends a little burst of wind at the bottle.

A couple people notice it, but they keep it to themselves as the bottle slows to a stop.

It’s pointed back at you and Zuko, and he flusters.

“Okay, s-someone else’s turn” He stammers.

“What? But it’s pointed right at (y/n)!” Sokka shrieks, gesturing wildly at you.

Zuko turns to you for a quick moment, almost apologetic, but as soon as he meets your eyes, he does a double take.

You’re smiling at him, and you lean up off the couch and straight your posture.

There’s whispers around the room, as well as music blasting and the chatter of the party goers who weren’t playing the game, but Zuko couldn’t hear anything over his heart pounding.

You get closer to him, your eyes noticeably flickering down to his lips before you’re wrapping your arms around his neck, painstakingly slow.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth before you glance back up at Zuko, a nervous blush dusting over your cheeks.

For once, you’re the one blushing over him, and it brings him so much joy.

So in a quick move, his free hand reaches up to your face, thumb proving your lip from your teeth, instantly, you shoot forward, meeting his lips in a heated kiss.

All thoughts and reason flew out the window, and Zuko could barely set his drink down before taking you in his arms and bringing you as close to him as you could be.

Whoops and hollers surrounded you both, mostly from your friends, but a few bystanders were just happy to see someone getting some.

When you pull away, you’re winded, and Zuko’s hair is all over the place, but neither of you care.

As soon as the kiss ends, the game picks back up, and your peers go back to their meaningless conversations and dancing.  It gives you a sense of privacy, even in the crowded room.

“I just didn’t want to kiss anyone else,” You explained yourself in a murmur, your hands cupping around Zuko’s face.  “That’s why I said I was spoken for”

He chuckles, pushing the hair out of your face and bringing you in close again.

“Why didn’t you just say that?” He asked, and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Cause I didn’t think you’d kiss me if I’d asked you to” You replied.

“Well, you must have had more to drink then I thought,” He says teasingly, making you laugh as your forehead rests against his.  “Because I don’t want to kiss anyone else either” 

Your lips curl into a smile as your eyes flutter shut so he could kiss you again, this time softer, as you both took your time getting used to the new and exhilarating feeling.

You spent most of the rest of the night on that little sofa, lazily making out and drinking, as well as being made fun of by Sokka for it taking so long for the two of you to fess up your feelings.

Of course, you wouldn’t have had it any other way.  ___

xoxo ~ jordie

[iamdunn]

Miraculous Flash Forward Part 14: Tempest

A Miraculous Fan-Fic

Written By

AJ Dunn

Water began to pour into the sky like heavy rain falling upwards. This caused storm clouds to cover the sun casting ominous shadows over the whole of Paris. Wind began to whip through the team as they stood on the edge of the hotel searching for signs of the villains. Still unsure of what their powers consisted of, Ladybug was sure the source of which was the Graham De Vanily ring the mermaids wore on opposite hands. In the video they had pressed their webbed and scaly palms together before invoking the water to rise. 

“We have to focus on getting those rings from them.” Purple Emperor said standing back from the team. A beep came over Ladybug’s yo-yo as she opened it she found another video coming from the aquarium. The news station was still functioning enough to broadcast the transmission. 

“We are Tempest and we demand Paris hands over their saviors for punishment.” The echoing tone came from both of them speaking in unison. “We will use their miraculous’ to fix our mistakes and the world can go on as if nothing ever happened.” 

“What are they talking about? what mistakes?” Viperion asked. 

“Anastasia and Annalyse.” Cat and Emperor said together. 

“Wow, you two really are twins.” Pigella offered. 

“Pegasus, teleport us here.” Cat held up his tracker map indicating the location of the ice trapped girls. Pegasus drew on his power and tossed a ring into the water. 

“Pegasus, go recharge your power, Emperor, we are going to need back up, find someone to akumatized give them the power to fight back.” Ladybug asking for someone to be akumatized sent a chill through the entire team's body as they remembered the terror wrought by Hawk Moth. 

“What kind of power do you think we’ll need that we don’t already have?” Emperor asked. Ladybug thought for a second. She shook her head.

“We’ll figure it out. Stay put.” Ladybug, Cat Noir, Viperion, Purple Tigress, and the rest of the team jumped through the portal into the waters of the English Channel. The water level was very low as they swam up to the iced twins.

“Minotaurax, can you move it?” “Ladybug asked, looking around for a place to take it. He called on his power causing his body to enlarge then swam to the iceberg and began heaving. The rest of the team encircled it, lifting it with all of their strength. The ice lifted as the team swam upwards.  They moved onto the shelf of the sea floor making their way towards the beach. Ladybug pulled out her bug phone to contact pegasus.

“We need a portal to return to the rooftop. And stand clear.” She said as he answered. Suddenly a large blue circle appeared in the water and they swam through taking the ice with them. 

“Is this going to work Ladybug?” Cat asked worried about his sisters. “Bringing them this might set them off even more.” 

“Recovering your lost siblings, with a chance of saving them.” Ladybug offered. They landed on the rooftop, setting the block of ice down. “Now, we just have to figure out how to call them over here.” Ladybug said. 

“Let’s slip up and search for them.” King Monkey offered. 

“Right, but don’t engage them, lead them back here.” Ladybug stopped and looked around the rooftop. “Pegasus, where is the Emperor?” 

“I didn't know he was gone when I got back up here.” Pegasus shrugged. 

“LADYBUG!” a voice came from another rooftop. Ladybug swung her yo-yo encircling the woman with it and hoiting her back to the hotel roof. 

“Kagami.” Cat said in surprise. “Are you ready to join us?” He smiled happy to see his old friend.

“Ladybug?” she held out her hand as Ladybug pulled out the Dragon miraculous.

“Welcome back Ryuko.” She said as Kagami called on Long to transform her. “We’re going to need to do something about this ice.” Ryuko nodded and called on the fire dragon to heat it up as it began to shrink. “The rest of us split up, don’t engage them, but try to separate them. I have a feeling their powers only work when they are together.” Ladybug dove into the water followed by the rest. Pegasus hung back in case his teleport was needed. But also to look for Purple Emperor. He searched through the hotel.

Cat swam straight to the aquarium knowing it was one of his mothers favorite places to be. He was sure that Tempest was his mothers. It was odd to think of both of them being his mother, but it was true. He was right, he saw them swimming in the aquarium among the various ocean creatures. Their bodies blend into the kelp and anemones. 

“I hear you are looking for me.” He called out. “Well I have a surprise for you.” they turned on him and began swimming fast. He darted off back towards the hotel. They caught up to him faster than he could maneuver. Grasping his feet they began encircling him like eels entrapping their meal. They each grabbed an arm pulling him apart as he kicked about in the water. He couldn’t break free of their grasp so he fought them enough that they wouldn't be able to gain the edge on him and take his ring. 

He rolled his body forcing the mermaids to spin around with him crashing into each other. Rotating his arms through the water he managed to break their grip on him as he shot through the water again knowing he wasn’t fast enough to get away from them. He had to keep up this slow battle. He had to think of another way to throw them off guard. 

“You know I am friends with Adrien.” He said spinning his body again to slip through their grip. “He told me everything.” 

“What are you talking about, you foolish feline?” the voices spoke in unison. 

“About how you left your daughters to die on that yacht.” Cat wanted to enrage them, so that their emotions would betray them. “How you let them die. How they drowned in fear.” 

“You lie!” the voices shrieked. “We saved them.” 

“Oh, did you now?” he swam in circles slipping through their hands again and again. “Where are they then?” 

“They rest.” 

“That’s not an answer.” Cat toyed with them before shooting faster through the water. “Are they dead or not?”

“Preserved.” the voices shrieked behind him as they once again closed in.

“Oh, see, that's funny because I found them,” he chanted. 

“What!” their anger began to betray them as they began making mistakes. Cat grasped one of each of their hands as they tried to grab him, he somersaulted in the water twisting their hands sending them spinning out of control. He swam after them, grabbing their hair behind their heads and throwing them back through the water towards the hotel.

“How do you plan to resurrect them?” Cat asked. 

“By wishing it undone.” they voiced. 

“Nah, that’s not going to work, because then you two will die in their stead.” He wasn’t sure that was how it worked but it sounded to at the time. 

“You know nothing.” they shrieked again.

“Really now, and who holds one half of your vengeance?” he smirked. “It would be Cat a strophic for you both.” He laughed to himself. “You two are Paw itivily insane.” 

“Enough.” the swam after him again. 

“Look at me I’m a CAT fish.'' He made a fish face at them then swam up to the surface as fast as he could leaping into the air then diving back in, landing right behind them. “Wow, that was CLAW some.” he teased more. He could sense their aggregation as they focused all of their anger on him. Suddenly a yo-yo string encircled the arm of one closest to grabbing him. A stringed melody began to play behind them as they averted their gaze to look upon viperion. They seemed almost transfixed by it. 

Minotaurax capture them both in a tight hug trapping their arms to their sides. Ladybug whipped her yoyo string around the three as the group swam up a portal appearing just in front of them. They all landed on the rooftop with Ryuko who was nearly finished thawing the chunk of ice. 

“NO!” Tempest shrieked. “You’re going to kill them.” 

“You did that 25 years ago!’ Cat hisses. 

“We saved them.” the mermaids sulked together. They reached their hands up to each other but Ladybug and Cat stepped on their wrists then removed the two rings from their scaly hands. Their bodies began to dry out as their scales were replaced with white gowns. Their hair returned from the bluish hue back to a pale blond. Emelie and Amelie held each other as they sobbed. “You fools. We were only trying to protect our family.” 

“What are you talking about?” Cat asked

“They were going to expose us for what we were.” Amalie announced. 

“Shut up Amalie.” Emelie hissed. “You insultant beings, you think you get to decide who get to hold powers, look at you all smug.” 

“We’re not trying to hurt others, we’re here to save them from people like you.” Ladybug said standing over her. 

“Why are they in ICE.” Cat demanded his heart throttling in his chest with anger. 

“We only wanted to scare them, but we lost control of the storm and instead of letting them drown, we…” Amalie tried to be forthcoming. Emelie grabbed her face trying to hold her mouth shut. Minotaurax and Pegasus grabbed them, separating them. 

“Talk.” Cat said, pointing a finger at Emelie. She tried to bite him and kick him but was too far away. 

“If I melt this anymore, we are either going to find two dead girls or…” Ryuko said. “Did this keep them alive?”

“We don’t know, but we didn’t want to risk it.” Amalie sulked to the ground. 

“You seduced my husband and carried his children, knowing that I lost mine.” Emelie sulked. “You tried to take my family.” 

“I tried to give you back a family.” Amalie responded with tears. “When my husband found out what I had done, he swore he would never touch me again, and so…’ she cried. “I couldn’t give them both to you,” 

“Speaking of which, where is…” Cat looked around. To no luck, the Purple Emperor was gone. Pegasus pulled up a portal to the jail as the water was receding. They dropped Amalie and Emilie into separate cells. 

“They won’t work for you.” Emelie called after them. “They only work for twins.” the portal closed leaving them screaming. 

“Guys you need to see this.” Ryuko called everyone’s attention to the now partially exposed girls. Their hair hung forward as the ice continued to melt away. “I’m losing steam here.” 

“Release your transformation.” Ladybug said, calling on her lucky charm. A large spotlight dropped into her arms as she almost fell backward. Cat caught her then they set about setting it up. Kagami gave Long a snack as they took a break. The spotlight cast heat over the twins as the ice continued to melt. 

After a few minutes Kagami called on Long again and resumed the fire on the ice. It wasn’t too much longer after that the ice melted enough to expose the girls from the waist up. Pigella and Polymouse caught them holding their icy bodies. They began to cry as the ice melted from their legs and feet, the girls were now free. Laying the twins bodies across their laps, Pigella and Polymouse sobbed. Followed by the rest of the team as Cat stood back. His heart stalled in his chest. Ladybug looked up at him. Her heart felt the pain in his.

LAdybug jumped up from where she kneeled by the twins, rushing to hold Cat before she tripped over the spotlight. She stood up looking from it to the twins. 

“Minataurax, give me a hand.” he helped her toss the spotlight into the air as she called out “Miraculous Ladybug.” the air lit up with ladybugs flying through the sky encircling everything that Tempest had damaged, repairing all of the damage they caused. The water now gone, buildings restored, the ladybugs then encircled the twins filling the air around the team with ladybugs as their wings beat softly against their cheeks then were gone as suddenly as they came leaving the group in awe frozen for a moment. 

Suddenly the twins began to cough and choke. Cat’s mouth dropped open as the group separated so he could see them sitting up and looking around. 

“Who… Who are you people.” Cat dropped on his knees in front of them. Tears began to pour from his eyes as he took them both into his arms holding them tight to his chest.

“I’ll tell you everything but just let me hold you first.” He whispered into their ears. 

“We don’t have time, we have…”

“All you have to do is let me take care of you.” Ladybug stepped up behind him as she rang her fingers through his hair. With all the bad that has happened in the past, he needed something positive, he never knew that the Ladybugs could fix a mistake this old, or that his older sisters would be just mere children. They would need him and He would be there for them. 

“We should get them into some dry clothes.” Ladybug said, breaking him from his hold on them. 

“You’re right. He stood up taking their hands. They tried to stand but their legs were too weak. He reached down, scooping them both up in his arms holding them to his sides as he walked towards the door. Sirens and news media began to fill the streets below the hotel. 

“We can’t just walk out of here.” Ladybug said to him. “How will we explain this to them?”

“The truth.” Cat said. He released his transformation as the girls rested their heads on his shoulders. They looked up at him in shock. Though they never knew him, they could recognize his eyes. 

“Do we know you?” one asked. 

“Not, yet, but you will, and I know you.” Adrien said. “I will explain everything once I get you two home.” After returning all of the miraculous’ to Ladybug, the group followed Adrien to the front entrance. Paramedics took the girls to check them over as Adrien stood in front of the camera’s. 

“Why is your mother and her sister in a prison cell?” 

“The superhero Pegasus put them where they belong.” Adrien said. “They caused a storm resulting in the disappearance of my elder twin sisters Anastasia and Annalyse. Entombing them in ice for 25 years. Thanks to Ladybug’s team of heroes and her miraculous ladybugs for restoring them to me, and capturing yet another set of villain Paris is safe yet again.” 

“Is this the same Tempest that caused dozens of boating accidents 25 years ago, stealing millions of dollars worth of jewels, antiques and other fortunes?”

“I do not know the answer to that, I wasn’t even alive 25 years ago.” Adrien said. Marinette stood with the twins at the paramedics. 

“I have one more thing to say then I need to escort my sisters to the hospital.” Adrien said smiling at Marinette. “If anyone knows where my brother Felix Graham De Vanily is, please let me know.” He marched away from the crowd stepping into one of the two ambulances containing one of the girls. 

“It was them.” the girl said as the Ambulance began to pull away. “We tried to stop them, to take the rings away. “Aunt Amalie wasn’t happy that Mom wanted to use them as wedding rings, so she would pretend to be Mom and sneak into dad's room and take his ring when he was in bed or in the shower. So Mom and her started attacking boaters and making it look like a storm.” 

“Which one are you?” He asked.

“Anastasia, but people call me Stasia and Annalyse is just Anna.” 

“I am Adrien, I am your little brother.” he said. She narrowed her eyebrows. “I know, I am older than you, but you have been in that ice for 25 years.” 

“You’re 25?”

“24 actually.” Adrien smiled. “Amalie’s attempt to reconcile your loss to Emelie.” 

“Do you have a twin too?” She asked, confused. “All Graham De Vanily have a twin.” 

“Felix, though I am not sure where he is right now.” he said, “And about what happened today…”

“I know how to keep secrets.” She whispered

Adrien was happy to finally be home. What was meant to be a weekend trip to London, turned into a week in Paris. Luckily the Dupain-Chengs had kept most of Marinette’s high school clothes. Though a locked room in the Agreste Mansion was finally opened to reveal the girl's belongings. They shied away from it in remembrance of their father. They couldn’t believe what he had done until Adrien showed them his lair. 

Adrien had Marinette order the girls' furniture to be delivered and set up in their room. She was ecstatic about the prospect of indulging the girls in fashion. Dressing them, up decorating the spare bedroom for them. It warmed Adrien’s heart to see the three of them get along so well. Though he still found it difficult to tell the two apart. 

“Welcome home.” He said to them