#Or maybe Nick is what Hastings is deep down

[reflection-s-of-stars]

the arthur hastings-nick carraway parallels are hitting rn

[uchihaharlot]

Ok so we had a thought—well several. A simple civilian girl being plowed by Shisui 🫠🫠🫠 @shisuis-left-nipple

How rough it is even when he is being careful.

His body control, stamina, omg!!!

She can’t ask him to go harder because he would hurt her. 😩

This Drabble has to particular direction. We were going back and forth the other day and then this little number was made.

I believe he would be extremely into having someone so innocent be at his complete mercy. It is totally freeing for him, actually. No threat of an assassination or attack, no training or alterior motive, no village or clan politics, just two bodies in the throes of ecstasy. He is not usually one for power games, but somehow being completely and utterly in charge does things to him. I guess Uchiha genes do take over sometimes…

NSFW; just some Drabble on the idea of Shisui blissfully taking a civilian girl to pound town.

Civilian courage:

No matter how fucked out she is, she knows he could keep going. For hours more! Those few times his perfect control slips just slightly, she will have marks for days. On the other hand, she can just let herself go completely. No matter how much she scratches, bites, writhes under him, he just smirks and enjoys it. Encourages it!

‘Is that all you got?’ Returning her love bites and then some.

About 5 orgasms in and he is still dressed? How can someone be that good with their fingers alone! She is faintly remembering that hand signs and being adept with your fingers are a key element for jutsus, before he crooks his fingers again juuuust right and has her seeing stars. And, oh gods, her civilization body can barely keep from shaking 🫨 basically having perpetual orgasms 😭😭😭

Shaking after number six and he is now scooting down, kissing all over her body until he reaches her happy bean. He hasn't even removed his pants yet, and she starts to realize what she's in for. Poke the beast, get salaciously mauled.

She knows he is nice and will take care of her, but knowing how powerful he is and could nick her in a second makes it oh so hot. So tantalizingly good is the idea of being crushed under his weight, what would really feel like if he gave it all. To be ruined by a man that holds precedence over the entire greater Shinobi allied forces, she feels like a house of cards beneath him. There is nothing like being rammed continually over and over into head knocking orgasms.

All the while she was wholly unprepared to what lengths Shisui would go to make sure she has her fill. He is a prime specimen of man, an adonis, even among Uchiha. She expected it to be good, but not like that. Not so good to be tossed around like a rag doll, did she not think for one second that maybe shinobi men were so bored with mundane sex that they went to higher lengths to get off. No, she didn’t. Being folded like a pretzel was the last thought she had.

She comes face to face with a Shinobi's restraint and self-control, or cunt to face, really, when he has been lapping and licking and sucking at her for another hour. He just keeps on fucking her with his tongue, like she is a jumbo lollypop and he wants to reach the gooey core. Her serum coating his nose, drips down his chin. How attentive Shisui was when devouring her with full mouths haste.

She must look like a raisin at this point, there is no way she can produce that much slick without becoming dangerously dehydrated. But it can’t be that bad, she trusts he knows what he's doing and apparently he is also so, very, much, into it.

‘You’re so fucking wet for me.’ Against her sopping wet cunt as he finally untucks and strokes himself out of her peripheral. The words are hot and laced with desire, making her all the more eager for him.

Shisui sinks into her halfway for the first thrust, coating his length and running his fist to spread her fluids from mid shaft to base. Fully bottoms out the second thrust, raw and deep. Unrelenting and rough, not even trying. Not anything like Shisui would normally put out. A cry or mewl, no sound she made could be contained. Divine praise from her lips into his ears makes Shisui tick. A paper bomb rocking inside of her, pulsing. Expanding at every whimper, every contraction of her slick walls. It’s shameful she would only cum once on his throbbing cock, twice if he really tested his luck. But that’s what lip service was for, and something he excelled at. Holding her up with one arm to fuck her. Just because he can. Rugged hip thrusts, deep and long, making her cry out for any deity her lust-muddled mind can think of.

It's the first time she thinks she caught his resolve cracking for just a moment, when she works up the nerve to grip his hair and pull at his now sweaty curls. His rhythm falters just once, his hips jerking and bucking out of order of the pace he set. Interesting…

She’s so deliciously taut around him when cumming. Squeezing his cock hard, threatening to massage it out of him. Making Shisui lose his resolve and self respect for filling her stupid with his thick sticky cum. It was known practice to not cum inside of one night stands—better yet if it were a civilian. But this time, he might. Might just ‘accidentally’ bless this random village girl with an Uchiha baby.

He loooves this in particular. Because he knows she is not using any chakra to manipulate her body in any way. Because she can’t. It's all him. Because of him. For him. Her body is so pliable, flexible for a girl who doesn’t train las a kunoichi would. Bendable enough to lift her knees to chest and then ears. Allowing him to reach the deepest parts of her cunt, to scratch a particular itch she’s never felt before. The limitless stamina Shisui held over any regular man who was thinking they had brought this pleasure to her was laughable. Not when legs were shaking, heart was racing and eyes rolled shut to unwind in this elevated feeling. This hunger.

She’s nasty too. Knows exactly who’s balls deep in her, writhes for his leaking cock. “…Shisui…you can come inside me.” As if she knew and could see it in his face, “…I want you to, please.” 🫠 The vixen.

So yeah, him filling her dormant womb up with his precious creamer really was inevitable. She is so soft, so fragile, so unmarked. She is untainted by ruthless fights and the harsh reality of a Shinobi's life. She represents all that he fights for, lives for, and damn if that doesn’t make him want to ruin her even more. Soft and innocent, wholly woman in every sense of the word. The daughter of some shopkeeper would be his guess, and what on earth was she doing at a bar filled with deplorable people. People who sought out this sort of thing. Shisui was definitely doing this girl a public service by fucking her stupid for the night.

It's not out of malice or even planned, she assumes he won't, but how could she know the effect her words and body have on him. So delicate, fragile even. Him dragging his thick cock in and out slowly. Nothing she can even do about it, completely at his mercy when he does cum. It seeps around the base of his shaft, forming a creamy white ring of their mixed pleasure. Even the most productive oil rig would be out of business if Shisui was in town, his persistent dredging allowing her to cum again and clench the blissful euphoria out of his cock a bit longer. Giving this girl the show she wanted, reaming a hand around her neck as he pumps her full. Thrusting deep to the hilt and halting as the last of his genetic material spurted within her. Warm and thick.

Peppers kisses to her cheeks and forehead. Apologizing if he had gotten rough, this girl is besotted. She just bagged the hottest guy for a night. Sheepishly asks if he would want to get tea or lunch sometime. Even if just as acquaintances. Shisui isn’t an asshole, he is taking this girl out wherever the fuck she wants and paying for the entire day.

[corvidrogue]

PROXIMITY: wherein vash avoids touch as much as possible, until he can't. a vashwood character study loosely settled somewhere within the Stampede timeline.

Ao3 link

Full fic below.

The first time is an accident. 

“Stop fidgeting,” Nicholas snaps, hands chasing after the elusive ball of fluff that is the bleeding head of Vash the Stampede. “Let me look at you – can you even see straight right now?” 

“I told you, I’m okay,” the blonde insists, the thin veneer of cheerfulness quickly wearing away to expose irritation – real, genuine irritation, and the cranky note is an almost welcome reprieve from Vash’s constant fucking benevolence . From the constant softness of his face, of his empty smile; like a martyr painted in stained glass and gold, too willing to get his skull caved in if it means preventing anyone else from taking a hit meant for him. 

“If you’re okay, then stop bobbing and weaving and prove it.” There’s a hard edge to Nicholas’s voice as he gives up and grabs for what he can reach: fistfuls of crimson jacket, the fabric rough with grit against his calloused palms and knuckles pressed into stark collarbones. It takes everything in him not to slam Vash against the wall of the grungy back alley where they’ve taken cover, but Vash settles abruptly. 

Good. Maybe he’s finally gotten through that thick skull. 

“I can see straight. Well. I mean, the blood’s making things a little blurry.” 

Vash’s tone is light, expression carefully trained into reassuring cheer once more even as his left eye waters in an attempt to clear itself of the running redness. He’d removed his glasses when the lens got too smeared to see through and now he levels naked crystalline blue at Nick, underscored with dark circles and streaked with blood and still he acts like everything is fine . 

Nicholas could hit him. Instead he reaches, catches that thick skull in the pads of his fingers– 

“Don’t fucking move–” he bites, when Vash flinches again. It doesn’t seem like he’s struggling to keep his balance, coordinated enough to squirm and dodge all over the place the way he is. His eyes seem clear – aside from the blood, at least – and focused enough, searching Nicholas’s face. Something shuttered moves behind them, a silent question perhaps but Nicholas is too busy parting the unruly blonde mess above Vash’s temple to analyze it, let alone answer. 

The wound isn’t deep but it’s ragged. The falling steel beam split Vash open when it glanced off his head, leaving an ugly tear in his scalp that crosses his hairline and rips the fair skin of his forehead. Nicholas tugs his cuff down to messily blot the area clean(ish, enough), then skates his thumbs along the edge of the lurid bruising. There’s a bump. There will no doubt be an even bigger bump in an hour, but the bleeding is already slowing to a sluggish ooze. 

“Okay,” he finally admits. “Looks like you’re gonna live, needle-noggin. Beats the fuck outta me how, though.” 

Nicholas doesn’t realize that Vash is leaning on him until he starts to let go. His hands lighten their pressure, only for Vash’s forehead to sink forward – and Nicholas realizes that his eyes are closed. 

“Hey,” Nicholas hisses, suddenly doubting the clarity he saw in those summer-blue eyes just a minute ago. Vash’s head lolls, one cheek warm against his palm as Nicholas pats the other briskly and smudges more sticky blood across his cheek. “ Hey. ”

The effect is instantaneous, startling; Vash jerks upright, eyes flying open, and he nearly clocks the back of his head against the wall in his apparent haste to get away from Nicholas’s hands. He doesn’t look disoriented – if anything, he looks… embarrassed? As if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“S-sorry–” Vash stammers, and yeah, he’s definitely blushing. Nicholas’s palms, his fingertips, feel cold with the sudden absence of warm skin beneath them. His charge is already edging away, getting out from between Nicholas and the building to head for the mouth of the alley. “See? I told you, I’m okay. I’m sturdy.” 

There’s an undercurrent of nerves when he laughs, though, that sticks with Nicholas for the rest of the day.

—

The second time is hardly more intentional than the first.

They’re arguing – it seems like they’re always arguing. Either that, or getting shot at, which Nicholas is just starting to think would be less aggravating than trying to convince the Human Fucking Typhoon to commit one single sensible act of self-preservation – when he sees the glint of a gun barrel shine from an upper window across the street. 

Nicholas doesn’t think; muscle memory and training kick in before his higher mind, and he swings. He hooks Vash around the waist and snatches Meryl up by the scruff of her oversized jacket, hurling the three of them toward the front door of the inn on whose porch they’d been squabbling. Gunfire rings out as Meryl crashes across the threshold like a tossed kitten; Vash stumbles in step with Nicholas. Roberto brings up the rear but, well, Nicholas only has two arms.

Of course, Vash grabs for Roberto, shoving him and Meryl ahead of them even as Nicholas plants his hands on that slender back and herds him toward the kitchen. The front windows blow out and Nicholas hears Vash screaming for the downstairs bar’s patrons to take cover, feels him fighting to turn back toward the source and draw the fire away like the magnet that he is. 

The Punisher thuds against Nicholas’s back, shielding them both from the smattering of shots that might have hit their target. Nicholas feels one catch his calf, doing more damage to his pants than his skin, but the graze burns almost immediately. When Vash tries to twist free Nicholas hooks him again and drags; through the kitchens, out the back door – it’s too predictable, they’ll expect it, but no one seems to have circled around yet and Roberto’s split to the left, dragging Meryl around someone’s thomas pen toward a basement hatch– 

So of course Vash splits right, away from the journalists; he’s still focused on drawing whatever fire will come their way next, as if Meryl won’t come scrambling after him like the infuriating little firecracker that she is. 

Someone should teach her to handle a gun. Maybe she’d shoot better than she drives.

Vash is fast, but Nicholas is determined, and before he can blow their cover Nicholas spots a supply truck with its rear door ajar. He grabs hold of Vash again, body-checking him toward the vehicle and all but tossing him through the narrow gap before diving in behind him. 

“Ow, watch where you stick that thing-” Vash complains, as the Punisher rams his shoulder. It drives him further into the truck, though, so Nicholas won’t apologize. Instead he just heaves the crossgun behind some crates and firmly obstructs Vash’s path out of the vehicle. 

“This is exactly what I was talking about,” Nicholas growls. “Sticking your nose into people’s business gets you shot at.”

Vash opens his mouth to argue, only to let out a muffled mrrp when Nicholas’s hand slaps over it – there’s a voice outside, at the rear of the truck. His hand drifts toward the Punisher, but Vash’s prosthetic flashes out to grab his wrist. 

“Next town is seventeen iles north.” It’s a quiet voice, familiar – the owner of the inn where they were supposed to stay the night, supposed to be comped fully in exchange for clearing her son with that loan shark. Through a gap in the crates Nicholas sees her work-worn hands close around the rear door, pushing it shut. He barely hears her over the groan of old, rusty metal on older, rustier metal. “We’ll send your friends along after ya... Thanks, Stampede.” 

The door slams, but there’s a grate between the cab and the cargo hold and it lets just enough light in for Nicholas to catch Vash’s expression. He’s frozen, eyes round over the edge of Nicholas’s hand and, interestingly, the hand that doesn’t have a deathgrip on Nicholas’s wrist is fisted in the front of his jacket. Slender fingers tangle in the fabric, a minute tugging sensation carrying through to the seams. They’re very close, Nicholas realizes. He’s practically straddling one of those long, skinny legs, and he can hear Vash’s quick breath, feel that soft face getting warmer under his hand. Vash's jaw clenches against Nicholas's fingers when he swallows.

“...I don’t wanna hear it,” Nicholas grumbles preemptively, petty in the knowledge that the exact thing he was scolding Vash for not even five minutes ago is the thing that’s saving his ass now. He drops his hand, twists free of the prosthetic grip with a deliberately nonthreatening motion, and pushes away to land heavily on his ass next to Vash. 

The truck rumbles into motion, turns, and they lose some of their meager light in the changing angle. Nicholas digs around in his jacket, pulling out his lighter and a slightly wilted cigarette. Surprisingly, Vash doesn’t say anything, doesn’t defend himself or even complain about the smoke. When Nicholas steals a glance at him, he can see just enough to fill in the details of that blank, faraway look Vash gets sometimes.

He can also see that Vash’s fingertips are resting against his own lips in the near-darkness.

—

The third time it’s on purpose.

Ever since that day in the back of the supply truck, ever since the image of Vash’s long fingers pressed to the impossibly soft skin of his lips burned itself into Nicholas’s brain, he’s been paying much closer attention to the Humanoid Typhoon. 

To the way that he moves, effortlessly swaying out of proximity of anyone around him, never in danger of bumping an elbow or stepping on a toe. To the way he’ll fall into a group of strangers like an old drinking buddy, but any friendly arm slung over his shoulder slides off after a moment as easily and harmlessly as sand off a tin roof. Human contact seems to put Vash on edge, seems to be something he’s unnaturally adept at avoiding – except.  

Except for the time that Roberto absently ruffled his hair and Vash nearly tripped over his feet, an entire array of emotions washing over his pale, pretty face before he managed to clamp down on them. What was left was one of the most genuine little smiles Nicholas had seen from him – and he realized, with a sour taste in his mouth, that Vash had turned several of those smiles onto Nicholas himself. 

Except for once when Meryl had too much to drink and threw her arms around Vash’s waist, wailing into his (deceptively muscular, Nicholas now knows) chest that he’s just so nice, and she doesn’t understand why everyone is so mean to him.  

Nicholas was about to clue Meryl in to some very unkind knowledge about very kind people, but he stopped when he saw Vash get a look like all of the air had gone from his lungs. Instead he stayed quiet, watching mismatched hands settle on Meryl’s petite shoulders. Hesitate. Grip briefly, tight for just a moment like they never wanted to let go – and then Vash was gently shushing her, shooing her, extricating himself from her clinging grip. 

Vash ended up on Nicholas’s side of the booth somehow, sitting close on the worn-out bench, and Nicholas tested. He just…tested; just leaned forward, elbows on the table to mimic Vash’s posture as he reached for his glass, and his arm and leg brushed against Vash’s. Nicholas didn’t look but he listened, heard the soft intake of breath, felt the moment of hesitation before Vash somehow moved away without moving at all. 

Except – the next time their legs brushed, Vash didn't pull away. By then he had a few drinks in him, and Nicholas could tell that he was distracted by the contact.

After that night, Nicholas kept testing, formulating the theory in his head, both hungry for confirmation and loath to question why. It’s suddenly far too important to him that Vash accept Nicholas’s touch, his closeness, that he stop constantly slipping away like a mirage. It’s a nudge of knee to knee here, a leading arm around the elbow there, a gradual press until he’s in Vash’s space more often than he’s out of it. 

And Vash… well, for the most part, he takes it. He tries not to show how much it ruffles him, but Nicholas is pretty good at picking people apart and he can see the pieces that shiver apart in Vash’s expression, in his body language. The more Nicholas puts himself in Vash’s space, the longer it seems to take for Vash to react and pull back enough to give himself a buffer, until two weeks later he’s actually allowing himself to slump into the corner of another booth, at another bar, gangly legs thrown over Nicholas’s lap and arms crossed in his oversized coat. 

This is the fourth time Nicholas has touched him and Vash hasn’t immediately swerved and deflected it.

"Feels sprained to me,” Nicholas says quietly, gently palpating the swollen, bruised mess that is Vash the Stampede’s bare foot. His normally scrawny ankle is thick with fluid, vivid purples already painting his heel and the side of his foot. “Saw a lot of these at the orphanage, one wrong roll and it’d keep a kid off his feet for six weeks.” 

Vash doesn’t respond, but judging by how quickly the vicious gash on his forehead knitted itself into a thin silver line, he won’t need six weeks – hell, he might not even need two. 

“We can splint it,” he continues, glancing over to assess Vash’s face. “I know you’re not going to stop running around on it like a maniac.” 

One palm is still levered against the arch of the gunslinger’s foot, keeping it bent at a 90-degree angle, but the other hand is easing gentle pressure up the back of Vash’s calf, fingertips pressing into overwrought muscles. He knows it’s sore, even if Vash hasn’t complained once; he saw the wince at the corner of those blue-green-blue eyes when Vash put weight on it earlier. 

Those eyes look especially green today, pitched against the redness surrounding them from lack of sleep, and they’re glued to Nicholas’s hands, the expression around them vacant and slack. He’s in his own world again, one that seems to center around the contact of calloused fingers and bare skin as Nicholas’s middle finger finds the edge of a scar trailing up into the cuff of his pants. His cheeks are pinker than their usual sunburned tint, Nicholas can’t help but notice.

“Needle-noggin.” Nicholas squeezes the wiry muscle under his hand, careful not to jostle the ankle. It’s uncharacteristically gentle, but then, hasn’t he been uncharacteristically gentle all morning? Is it so wrong to be gentle with Vash, who doesn’t seem to know what to do with it? 

Shouldn’t someone be gentle with him, if he won’t do it himself? With everything he's been through and everything coming his way? 

No. This isn't a line of thought that Nicholas can afford to follow.

“Hey. Vash.” Another squeeze and this time he gets through; Vash blinks, the mesmer broken, and seems to pull himself up from somewhere very deep and realize that he’s not where he’d like to be. “I’m gonna splint your ankle.”

“You don’t have to–” Vash starts, predictably, infuriatingly, trying to swing his legs out of Nicholas’s lap. He falters when the hands on his calf and foot don’t budge at all. “I’ll go easy on it, it’ll heal up fine.”

“Like the rest of you?” Nicholas retorts sharply, then immediately feels a wash of unsettling guilt when Vash droops like a kicked puppy. He shoves at the feeling, distancing himself from it, because he’s right and he knows it: he’s seen the gunslinger shirtless, seen the tapestry of scars and patchwork modifications that hold Vash’s body together. He’s seen the price that this man pays for his pacifism and his pathological inability to ask for help. 

Vash doesn’t seem to have any fight left in him. Nicholas wonders how much of it is their sleepless night, and how much of it is related to the way he can’t seem to keep his eyes off of Nicholas’s hands. 

“...Okay,” Vash murmurs, crystalline turquoise eyes raking over Nicholas’s face for an answer that Nicholas isn’t sure he wants found. “You can splint it.”

— 

The fifth time, there isn’t really a choice. There are so many ways in which it’s simply the only option.

“Come on, don’t be silly.” 

Nicholas is shucking off his jacket, kicking out of his suit to change into softer clothes for sleeping. It’s not technically his turn on the floor, but Vash went through the windshield of a truck today and he needs the bed more than Nicholas does. 

“Don’t you ever accuse me of being silly again,” Nicholas scolds, wagging a mock-threatening finger at the puppy-eyed heap in the double bed. Vash is stripped to a pair of worn sweatpants, shirt discarded in favor of a haphazard array of gauze pads and bandages across his back. The wounds will be scattered pink flecks by this time tomorrow, but there’s no sense in leaving them exposed in the meantime to collect dirt and discomfort. 

“I won’t if you’ll quit giving me reason, ” Vash huffs, sitting up and throwing his arms – well, arm, as his prosthetic is laid carefully next to his gun on the bedside table – wide. “You said it yourself, I could sleep in a milk crate. There’s plenty of room for you on the bed.”

He’s no longer self-conscious of his scars, not after Nicholas has reinforced several times that he could not give less of a fuck. What Vash doesn’t realize is that Nicholas always ends up distracted by how soft his hair looks, flopping over his forehead and ears after a shower, damp and free of product; or how long and soft his fingers are when stripped of the shooting glove. 

“There’s even more room for me on the floor, and I’m perfectly okay with that.” He’s already shaking out the spare blankets, kicking his shoes aside to make a bit more room where he wants the pillow. There’s a long pause, and Nicholas is about ready to consider the subject closed when Vash’s voice breaks through the quiet. 

“Nicholas, please. It’s… it’s gonna be freezing tonight.”

It’s the way he says it. It’s the care, the way Vash’s perfect, soft mouth wraps around each syllable of his name, making the simplicity of Ni-cho-las sound like something valuable. He doesn’t use it much, seems cognizant of the fact that it does something to Nicholas, but perhaps that makes it worse: there’s no forced exposure, no way to acclimatize. 

There’s just Nicholas, somehow stripped bare by the simplicity of Vash’s full attention. 

“...Okay.”

Even Vash seems surprised at how easily Nicholas caves. Nicholas doesn’t dwell on it, chooses not to dwell on it, stooping to snatch the pillow back up and toss it onto the mattress before dropping down after it. 

Vash is right. Rather, he’s quoting Nicholas having been completely correct, as usual. Vash the Stampede, the Humanoid Typhoon, the six billion double-dollar man, smiles and curls up like a kitten on his side of the bed. In a matter of seconds all of that length, all that broad-shouldered lank, folds into a compact ball of limbs tucked around the empty socket of his stump. 

“Only because you’re a fuckin’ furnace, ” Nicholas grumbles, punching his pillow a few times before settling into it. There’s still space on the mattress for him to sprawl comfortably but he can feel the radiating heat of Vash’s bare back against his arm, even without touching him. 

He can’t help but look at the body curled next to him, eyes traveling along the sharp slope from tiny waist to curved shoulder, cataloging the map of textures and tones composing the fretwork of Vash’s scars beneath the bandages that decorate his body; can’t help watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, relaxed, somehow at ease with showing his back to Nicholas of all people, comfortable with the idea of taking his fucking arm off. Leaving himself vulnerable. 

Nicholas can’t help but wonder if that would even make a difference, if he were to pull a gun. If he were to try right now to put a bullet through the back of that fluffy head.

“Don’t kick me,” Nicholas mumbles, wrenching his gaze back to the ceiling and pulling the bedsheets up over both of them. They’re not very thick, but they trap the warmth nicely.

“I don’t kick,” Vash murmurs. Nicholas can hear the laughter nipping at the edge of the words.

-

Turns out, Vash does kick. He kicks hard, actually, and it has Nicholas snapping awake in the middle of the night, reaching for the pistol on the bedside table and looking for the fight, looking for the problem, looking for the threat– 

There’s nothing in the room. The moons cast their shadows across the floor, the window is still securely shut, the bathroom door still wide open. For a moment, fingertips pressed to the cold metal of his gun, Nicholas is confused about what woke him. 

There’s a whimper from somewhere near his hip. 

Vash.

The gunslinger has rolled over, still curled small but facing Nicholas now. Instead of a comfortable crumple, there’s an electric sort of tension winding through his curled form, from the way his face grinds into the pillow to the hand gripping at his stumped shoulder…to the long leg jutted out across the bed. 

“Son of a bitch, you do kick,” Nicholas hisses, the understanding dawning that he’s just been roused by one of the sharpest knees on Noman’s Land. The ire fades as quickly as it rose when Vash lets out another pathetic little noise and twitches like he’s touched a live wire. 

“Hey, blondie, hey. ” Nicholas drops back onto one elbow, reaching for Vash – trying to slip his fingers in between the thin hand and the skin it seems to be trying to pull up – but he gets no response, just another harsh twitch. Like a hypnic jerk, except it doesn’t wake Vash up. 

He’s muttering something, strained and under his breath. Nicholas tips closer, listens as he works to dig the gunslinger’s nails out of his own shoulder, and his gut shakes when he recognizes a slurred string of sorry, sorry I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

“Vash!” 

The hand comes free, clamping tight around Nicholas’s own, and Nicholas’s other hand buries itself in that flyaway blonde – this wasn’t how he wanted to feel Vash’s hair clean, wasn’t how he wanted to discover that it’s light and thick and soft like something unbelievably expensive, but Nicholas doesn’t know what else to do. This isn’t the first time he’s been roused by Vash mumbling or moving in his sleep, not the first hint that the guy’s baggage comes out to bite him in the form of nightmares, but this is the first time Nicholas has seen him try to claw himself open. It’s the first time the mumbling has sounded so helpless – the words of an apology, but the desperate cadence of a plea.

“Vash, wake up. Vash. ” 

Several things happen at once.

One: Nicholas once had his hand run over by a larger kid on a bicycle and fractured several of the bones. What Vash does to his hand now feels like that did then.

Two: Vash’s body jerks hard away from him, feet planted in the mattress, but the crushing pressure on Nicholas’s hand drags him along and he narrowly avoids collapsing right onto the panicked gunslinger.

Three: Those blazing blue eyes snap open and dart around the room. They glow with the shimmering filigree of Plant bioluminescence, fixing on Nicholas for only a moment before sliding away.

Four: Vash begins to hyperventilate. 

“Easy, easy,” Nicholas shushes hastily, overcoming the initial shock of he’s glowing, Stampede is GLOWING again to hurriedly press his palm to Vash’s cheek. He’s sweating now, shaking and wheezing. “You’re okay, blondie. Look at me, you had a nightmare. You’re okay. You tried to rip your goddamn stump off, but you’re okay now.”

He’s expecting Vash to realize how close he is at any second, to shimmy away and hastily slap those sunny, reassuring walls back up. He’s expecting embarrassment, maybe, though there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. He’s expecting Vash to rubber-band snap back to the shallow, cheerful normalcy that he clings to like he’s trying to convince himself as much as anyone else.

What Nicholas is not expecting is for Vash to yank on his hand, somehow managing to cling to Nicholas’s whole forearm with just one of his own. The stump of his severed arm moves in a heartbreaking attempt to reach, to grasp, with no hand attached to help it. 

Nicholas doesn’t see another option. Carefully, gingerly, he maneuvers his captive arm and pulls Vash up into a bear hug, pressing him close. 

“Breathe, blondie, listen to me and breathe,” he murmurs, and God in Heaven it’s been way too long since Nicholas tried to offer someone real comfort. He’s stretching way back into the depths of his own brain, to toddlers and scraped knees and Livio clinging to his shirt; trying to apply that to an inhuman, incomprehensible creature suffering from a pain that Nicholas can’t place and probably isn’t able to soothe. 

But the creature – Vash – squirms and shakes and sobs against him just like a child, clings just like one. He only has one arm to squeeze with and Nicholas still feels like he might cough up a lung from the constriction.

Both hands free now, Nicholas puts one between Vash’s jagged shoulder blades and one back into the incredible softness of his hair. He’s still talking, just nonsense really, anything to keep Vash’s attention and give him some sort of hook to ground him. It feels so important to ground him, to get him to look up and no longer be wearing that shattered, vacant look. Nicholas lets his hands wander, soothing over ruined skin and through silky, cowlicked hair, blunt nails scritching through the close-shorn fuzz at the nape of Vash’s neck. 

There’s no clock in the room. No way to tell how long they stay like that, wrapped up in each other in the middle of the bed. Somehow, Nicholas doesn’t care. He only cares that the wretched little noises slow, quieting into a gentle, sparse hiccuping. The wet spot on his sleep shirt stops growing. Vash’s arm loosens to leave a sweat-damp band of overheated skin in its wake – but from the feel of it, remains caught loosely in the back of Nicholas’s shirt. 

Vash takes a deep breath, starting to speak. Nicholas knows what’s coming and pushes that stupid, pretty face into his chest, but all it does is muffle the words. He can’t stop them.

“I’m sorry,” Vash murmurs thickly. Because of course he is. Because of fucking course he is. 

“Don’t,” Nicholas warns, gripping tight.

“Woke you–” Vash starts, but the rest of the sentence comes out on a stiff wheeze because Nicholas has squeezed his arms hard enough around Vash’s ribcage – just for a moment – to force the air out of him. 

“I don’t care,” he growls, cutting off any attempt to continue. “I don’t care, I’d rather be awake than leave you to deal with that alone.”

Vash draws in a sharp breath then, but he doesn’t respond. And… he doesn’t pull back, either. He hangs there, heavy and warm in Nicholas’s arms, for a few more minutes before he starts visibly piecing himself back together. When he finally does pull away – slowly, gently enough that Nicholas’s hands are left to drop into the tangle of their legs – the bone-deep weariness that he usually masks so well is naked on his face and in the heavy slump of his shoulders. His eyes are no longer glowing, but they’re wet and red-rimmed against the lingering clammy paleness of him. 

Nicholas can’t help but be reminded that this gangling slip of a thing is far older than he is. Older than any human.

“Why are you doing this?” Vash asks quietly, voice shaking and thick in his throat. He’s scanning over Nicholas’s face with those bleary, tired eyes, like he’s struggling with a puzzle and starting to suspect that he’s missing some of the pieces. 

At first Nicholas isn’t sure how to respond. He doesn’t have to be doing this. He could get up now, should get up now, go have a smoke and leave Vash to collect himself. Maybe slink back to the floor, get some space between them and write it off as begrudging the gunslinger for having said I don’t kick and then knocked a dent in his leg. 

He should put the correct distance between a guard dog and its charge. 

He doesn’t do any of those things. He picks up his hand and, after a moment’s hesitation, slowly reaches out to push back the hair sticking to Vash’s sweat-damp forehead. Vash sees it coming, watches it, doesn’t move. Nicholas’s palm presses against his forehead and Vash’s eyes fall shut; it slides to his temple, down to his cheek, and Vash turns his nose into Nicholas’s wrist. He leans into the contact like he’s starved for it, like he’ll die if Nicholas pulls away, barely breathing. 

“You’d do the same for me.” It’s a cop-out answer, murmured on a slow exhale, but it’s true. Vash blinks at him blankly but there’s no way he can refute it: he’d do it for anyone. Any stranger on the street.

Nicholas, on the other hand, wouldn’t. 

“...C’mon,” he murmurs, breaking contact only for long enough to tug his cuffs down and start wiping the sweat and tears from Vash’s face. There’s some snot too, Nicholas is pretty sure. He ignores it while Vash blinks at him in something that looks uncomfortably like awe, lets himself be mopped up and then nudged back down onto the mattress. 

This time, though, Wolfwood shuffles down right behind him and when he pulls the blanket up, he slips his arm beneath Vash’s head as well. He can feel the solid structure of Vash’s spine, the tense sweep of his ribs, drawn against Nicholas’s side by the slight sag of the old mattress. Despite the palpable nervous tension thrumming through Vash’s body, he's been shockingly compliant.

“This better?” Nicholas murmurs, and when he tips his head Vash’s hair is right there under his nose. He can smell the faint synthetic floral scent of the shampoo they pocketed three motels ago and under that, a gentle tangy sweetness that's distinctly Vash. They’re so unbelievably close. It’s not exactly cuddling, but there isn’t another word that quite describes the way their bodies have slotted together so neatly, the way Vash's back fits against his side. Nicholas folds his arm over his own stomach, knuckles brushing Vash’s bare skin, and smooths the pad of his thumb down that ridged line of vertebrae; feels Vash sink in on himself like a deflating balloon at the slow touch. 

“...Yeah,” Vash breathes, barely audible. Nicholas feels a smile tug at the corner of his mouth uninvited. 

“Thought so." 

[puppetgearing]

hi nick ! i hope you don't mind me popping in here ૮ ྀི◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ྀིა i think your ask game is such a cool idea and i always love anything person related hehe

awea: struggles a lot when it comes to opening up and finds it extremely difficult to trust others, which leads to not really being able to create emotional bonds or even something as simple as friendships. this causes her many problems and she often comes off as cold because of it, even though she wants to be seen as anything but. she keeps herself at a distance, too scared of what others may think. she also struggles a lot with comparing herself and doubting everything, including herself and the sincerity of others.

i know you're probably getting many requests, and i know putting together your answers can take time, so please feel free to skip over this <3

"Thou art I... And I am thou...

Thou hast established a new bond...

It brings thee closer to the truth...

Thou shalt be blessed when creating...

... Personas of the Moon Arcana..."

Awea: The Moon Arcana

Characters who are of the Moon Arcana are often similarly psychically-attuned, but a more common trend is their projection of their own fears and faults onto others (namely, the protagonist.) They often tend to have trouble accepting themselves for who they are and, because of that fear, try to correspond to an ideal person. And like the Arcana, there is a hidden depth as to why they act in their behaviors.

- The SMT Wiki about the Moon Arcana

Now Moon Arcana characters are often very complex and deep characters, in a sense that they're often misunderstood due to the way they presented themselves which often drive people away from them, Mishima from Persona 5 has a pretty meek and a "loser" attitude which makes him easy to bully and look down upon, Ai from Persona 4 has a "bitchy" attitude and often drive people away from her from her first impression and Awea's way of presenting herself might drive people away from her first glance even if it's not exactly what she has in mind.

However, characters of the Moon Arcana has very in depth and logical, often psychological, ways to explain the way they behave and how they choose to behave and show themselves to others: Mishima's struggle with feeling worthless and wanted to be someone that people can rely on, Ai's fear of being bullied again if she doesnt keep up her facade, ect... And Awea's (unintentional) cold demeanor is a very big factor that plays into how she presented herself, this in turn makes people wary and turn away from her because of her inability to place absolute trust in people.

Oh on another note, Moon Arcana characters usually suffer from an inferior complex or project their insecurities to others. In the Persona series, it's very in-your-face kind of deal where it's heavily implied it to be the case and it's usually towards the protagonist but personally i think it could just be of anything.

I feel like Awea, aware of it or not, projects her own insecurities onto other people. What do i mean by this ? It's the way she compares herself to others. Often time there are passing thoughts of "Oh they're so much better than me, maybe other like them more." or "Wouldn't he want someone better than me ?" which is a form of projection that is born out of inferiority and insecurity. Ai Ebihara is the same, she projects how she feels about herself towards the protagonist as she said "guys like him only like people who are pretty, if she's not pretty then who would want her ?" (not word for word but it is what she meant) and she hide a lot of her deeper interests because it doesnt fits her image of how a "desirable girl" is.

[mobbu-min]

☆ cat, kitty, cat (2) ☆

summary: In which an alchemy lesson went wrong and your favorite housewarden is turned into a kitten. Now you're tasked with caring for him.

a/n: due to popular demand, here is pt.2 to cat, kitty, cat! i can't thank you all enough for all the support and likes i've gotten! i couldn't fit all the housewarden in this part, but i will in pt.3!

featuring: Azul Ashengrotto, Kalim Al-Asim

!tw! cursing, spider, the leech twins

*you can find the other parts here! -> one, three

Azul Ashengrotto <3

“Get away from me, Floyd! I came for Azul! Not you!” You shouted in fear. Your breaths come out haggard the faster you push yourself to run.

“Oh~ C’mon shrimpy! Play with me!” Floyd laughed, running at you with full speed.

It was something out of a horror film. The narrow hallway, flickering lights, Floyd’s heavy footsteps and joyful, definitely maniacal, laughter. It was too much for your poor heart to handle. You really wished Azul would choose a better place to meet up. You basically had a whole ass workout every time you visited Monstro Lounge.

As fast as you could, you slammed open the door and shut it in the nick of time. Floyd’s loud whines echoing in your ears. Taking a large breath, you teased behind the thick door, “Ha! I won this time you slimy bitch!”

“I told you I’m not slimy! Just slippery!” You could see Floyd’s annoyed frown and ‘puppy-dog’ eyes. His manic laughter caught you off guard though. “Ahaha! I totally forgot!”

“Forgot what?” You questioned, leaning your ear against the door.

“Oh nothing shrimpy~ Have fun with Azul~” Floyd cooed, his footsteps growing fainter by the second. With a huff, you gently kicked the door in annoyance.

“Damn overgrown beanpole. You really like to get under my skin.” You groaned. Shaking your head you turned around and sat on one of the couches. It was odd for Azul not to be here directly after school and clubs, but chalked it up to him talking to potential clients. “That Azul, ever the hard worker.”

Just as you were about to relax, papers from Azul’s desk scattered across the floor followed by quick scampering. His rollie chair spinning around from the sudden movements. You stood up in a haste. Your heart pumping with fear.

What the hell was that?

You took hesitant steps towards his desk. Slowly coming to terms that maybe Floyd wasn’t just trying to get you riled up. He was eccentric, maybe a little psychotic, but he’s never really been big on lying like Jade. Oh, how you disliked the two.

“H-hello?” you called out gently. Slapping your hand on your face, you muttered, “why would anyone answer that?”

Shaking off your fear, you decided to go for it. Maybe it was just the air conditioning that did that. Yeah, surely it was just the air conditioning. But if it was someone who snuck in, you knew you had to at least do something about it.

Taking large quiet steps, you slowly got onto of Azul’s desk. The intruder wouldn’t expect an attack from above that's for sure. Your hands slowly took a hold of the ledge of the desk and with a deep breath, you stuck your head down.

“I got you!”

As a response, you got the least thing you were expecting. A scared shrill hiss. You blinked and jumped off the desk and crouched in front of the noise. You breathed a sigh of relief and gently cooed at the frightened creature.

“Oh, it’s just a kitten.”

Said kittens backed itself into a corner. Its chubby body curled up and its paws swatted at your hands. Luckily for you, your sleeves covered any attacks from its claws. Fingers delicately petting the top of its head to its ears to calm the small kitten. Trying to show that you were no threat.

“There, there. I’m not here to hurt you, buddy. I’m your friend, not an enemy.” To show your friendliness, you let your hand fall millimeters from his face. Urging it to come close. Slowly, but surely did the kitten sniff your hand and softly butted his small head against your outstretched hand. A small purr escaped its chest. Smiling, you gently coaxed it out of its hiding spot, “See, no one’s here to hurt you little guy. C’mon out, I promise I won’t bite.”

Timidly the little cat walked out of its hiding spot. It stared at you curiously. Soft lilac eyes blinked up at you, sparkling with wonder. Chuckling, you patted your lap signaling the kitten to hop on. Struggling a little due to its chubby body, the kitten soon situated itself on your lap. Snuggling against your thigh.

“You’re adorable. Hm, I wonder why you're here. Did Azul finally open up to my idea about getting a pet?” You laughed at the little kitten licks to your hand, “I guess he did! Azul’s kinda a funny guy if you think about it. Always going on and on about contracts, you'd think he’s an old man disguised as a teenage boy.”

You talked to the kitten for what felt like hours. Slowly forgetting your plans with Azul. The kitten merely purred and curled up impossibly close to your stomach. Finding comfort in your warmth and gentle hands.

The door to Azul’s office opened and out came Jade, holding a container of water and a can of tuna. A look of surprise flashed upon his face. Soon his signature smile graced his pale features again. Walking to you, he greeted you politely, “Good evening, (y/n). I see you and Azul are faring well.”

“Hello to you, Jade. And unfortunately no, Azul and I aren’t faring well. He’s late.” You huffed with a shake of your head. Standing up, you took the kitten in your arms and showed him to Jade, “All I found was a cat, a cute one at that.”

An amused smirk made its way to Jade’s face. Stifling a chuckle, he played along with your obliviousness. Poking the kitten’s belly, he chuckled, “My what a cute little belly. Surely, he must be hungry?”

You gasped and smiled in delight. “I totally forgot that he needs to eat! He’s a baby after all.”

Setting him on Azul’s desk, Jade placed down the tuna and water and pushed the kitten towards the food. “Go on.”

It shook in its place, backing away from Jade’s gaze and mischievous smile. Oblivious to Jade’s expression, you frowned and pushed the kitten forwards, “Eat up. I’m sure you're hungry.” It shook its head. Pushing it forwards, you coaxed, “Go kit-”

“Jade, grab Azul and let’s go!” Floyd said, slouching against the doorframe. His sleepy eyes immediately perked up at the sight of you and the kitten, “Oh! Shrimpy, you’re still here! Been keeping Azul company?”

“They have, though I think I may have given (y/n) too much credit in the brain department. It seems they don’t know the identity of the kitten they’ve grown so fond of.” Jaded answered, walking to stand besides his brother. Two pairs of eyes boring into your frozen body.

T-true identity? You thought, carefully picking up the kitten that squirmed in your hold. Like ice melting from the heat, you stared at the twin totally baffled and shouted, “Why didn’t you tell me earlier!”

☆☆☆

⋆ You didn’t trust either Jade or Floyd to take care of kitten Azul, so you took him back to Ramshackle. Of course, not after Floyd chasing after you, screaming how he just wants to give you and Azul a ‘goodbye squeeze’ aka death. Azul knew better and stayed in the breast pocket of your jacket until the both of you got in the safety of your dorm.

⋆ Maybe i'm a little biased, but Azul’s the cutest kitten. Big round lilac eyes and the softest gray fur. Not to mention his little pancita! So fucking adorable. Tho beware the more you coo and gush over his cuteness, the more embarrassed he gets and attempts to hide away.

⋆ Will faint the moment you press kisses to his little head. And literally wants to die the moment he starts to purr. It’s so embarrassing and your soft laugh doesn’t help!

⋆ Unlike most cats, he loves to play in water. Fill the bathtub up, he’ll happily splash around. This makes bathtime so much easier for you, because Grim always puts up a fight. Azul will fall asleep the moment you bundle him up like a burrito and cradle him to your chest. It's the calmest and most relaxed you’ve ever seen the devious business man to be.

⋆ Unlike the others, Azul will walk beside you and prefers to do so. It gives him some sort of semblance of normalcy. Be careful, because the moment Azul scampers up your leg it's time to book it. The both of you aren’t taking any chances of being crushed to death.

⋆ Like Riddle, he tries to keep up with his studies but it’s not really a priority. Because the moment you are in his line of sight, he’s walking right besides you and meowing for you to acknowledge him.

⋆ Speaking of acknowledging him, you thought Leona was bad, Azul on a whole other level. He’s a little attention seeker and refuses to leave you alone if you don’t scratch behind his ear or pet his head. He will crawl up your leg the longer you ignore him. If he’s feeling daring, he’ll climb up a tree or something high and scream until you come to get him.

⋆ Overall, Azul is pretty chill and living his best life in your arms, though he’ll never say it.

“What else does it look like? It’s coupons for the Monstro Lounge. You’ve wor-eh? N-no! I’m not trying to bribe you to forget! (coughs and clears throat) Ahem, please forgive my outburst. I’ll see you and Grim later tonight.”

Kalim Al-Asim <3

You were wrong, so terribly wrong.

You thought that your braincell and Kalim’s braincell would be able to join forces and make the ulimate braincell, powerful enough to rival Riddles. However you never considered that maybe you and Kalim didn’t have a braincell to begin with.

Well, you did, but that flew out the window in the presence of the sweet housewardern, but that doesn’t matter right now.

What matters is the fact that your lab partner, also number one bestie, stared up at you with the cutest red eyes known to man. You fell to your knees the moment the sweetest meow came out of his mouth. Wiping away your tears, you stared at the spotted kitten.

Maybe you should have listened to Crewel when he said that it wasn’t the brightest idea for the two of you to be paired up together. But alas, you assumed the best and, truthfully, you got the best.

“You’re the absolutely cutest, Kalim! So soft!” You gushed, cradling Kalim close to your chest. Humming in satisfaction the moment purrs escaped his throat. He, what you would only assume, smiled up at you and meowed in delight. “Adorable! Kalim you’re so cute!”

The two of you continued to play on the floor of the alchemy room. Ignorant to the confused and concerned gazes of your classmates or the exasperated sigh of your teacher. In your world, it was only you and Kalim.

That all came crashing down the moment you felt the burning anger of your fellow friend and Kalim’s vice-housewarden grazed your back. Kalim must have felt it too, because in an instant he was clinging to your shirt. Refusing to let go.

“What. the. hell. happened.”

Scooting to stare up at Jamil, you pointed to Kalim and gave him a nervous smile. Your brows creasing in fear and worry, “Um…congrats! You have a pet now!”

Jamil was pissed, Kalim was shaking, and you were on the verge of tears. You didn’t want to die, but it seems like this was the end for you. The cruel cold clutches of death are already clawing at your hands.

Jamil stared down at your tearful face and Kalim’s big red eyes. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed. “Oh great sevens.”

Picking Kalim up by his scruff and you by your collar, he shook his head and dragged the both of you out, “I’m never leaving the two of you alone again.”

☆☆☆

⋆ Jamil wouldn’t let Kalim stay with you, unfortunately. Something about poison, family expectations and standards yada yada. You couldn’t hear him over your whining and tears and over Kalim’s sad meowing.

⋆ But you and Kalim are together during the day at least.

⋆ Kalim fur is a light brownish-orange with dark brown spots with a off-white belly. He’s the second smallest of the seven but the most energetic. Like his human counterpart, he has really big red eyes that kinda spooked you when he snuck into your room in the middle of the night. He just stared at you, making no moves, just staring.

⋆ Grim screamed bloody murder that night.

⋆ Kalim refuses to set foot on the ground when you're with him. Just loves sitting on your shoulder or head and staring at everyone and everything because of the new height. Loves to hang out in your pockets. He’s small enough to sleep comfortably in it.

⋆ Another love is to scare you. If Kalim’s not with you, you already know what’s going to happen the moment you turn around a corner or walk by anywhere big enough to hide the energetic kitten. Please pretend to be scared, because his reaction to your ‘frightened’ scream is the best. He jumps around then rolls on the ground then presses up against your leg as an apology.

⋆ Will proudly show you his ‘kills’ which are literally a leaf or flower that's sorta messed up. But Kalim’s funny in a way that you never truly know what you’re going to get despite his typical finding. One day it's a pretty flower, another he’s dropping a big ass hairy spider on your lap and you're screaming and crying, and the next it’s the answers to the next test.

⋆ Overall, a very energetic kitten that makes your day bright and leaves Jamil with the worst headaches in his life.

"Let’s have a sleep over tonight! Eh? What do you mean? (chuckling nervously) O-oh, I did that? Hehe, sorry sorry! I was probably enchanted by your cuteness! So is that a yes or a no to that sleep over? Jamil’s making your favorite!”

[blondiebarnes]

in the middle

summary: steve and bucky just got home from a tough mission, and you’re determined to make them feel good.

pairing: steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader

warnings: smut! threesome, male & female receiving oral, established relationship, cumplay, basically just porn

word count: 6.5k

For the most part, you’ve gotten used to being by yourself when Steve and Bucky are on missions.

You don’t like it - not in the slightest - it goes without saying that you’d love nothing more than to go on missions with them when they’re called in the dead of night but it hardly, if ever, works out that way. They’re nearly always sent together (Fury says they balance each other out, and you’re not exactly sure you know why or how but you’ve learned to accept whatever your director says at face value) and you’re generally excluded from their missions. They get too protective, can ignore the objectives of a mission when you’re in danger, and it’s a sweet sentiment but you know it’s an issue, even if you appreciate it.

And you are used to it. Really, you are. It’s been a year of having them called off in the middle of the night, leaving you sleeping in bed with a lingering kiss to your forehead as you dip out the door - occasionally they’ll wake you up (usually Bucky, because he tends to be a bit more sentimental, though he’d never dare to admit it) and give you a proper kiss, but for the most part you simply wake up in a too-large bed that’s void of the two super soldiers sandwiching you between their warm bodies, and it never fails to feel any more jarring.

That’s what happened Friday. You simply woke up on a day like any other and they were gone, leaving nothing but ruffled covers and a small sticky note pressed to your cell phone in Steve’s scribbled handwriting, telling you that it shouldn’t last more than the weekend and we love you so much and a small smiley face that looks to be more of Bucky’s doing, but you can’t be sure.

It had been a long weekend.

Movies and books and making dinner, and work had been so slow recently with no new missions on the come-up that you need to be called away on, so you’ve been primarily holed up in your apartment watching the time tick by and waiting for your boys to come home. You’d even called Nick at one point, in your boredom, to inquire about how their mission was going, and he told you (paraphrased, of course) that they were doing just fuckin’ great and should be home by Monday, and Monday couldn’t have fucking come any slower.

You’ve been lying awake for nearly three hours since you settled into bed on Sunday night, covers pulled tight against your chin to protect yourself from the January cold that nips at your skin, even after you’ve set the thermostat to 71 degrees. Steve likes it cold - Bucky warm - you laugh at the irony of it, much to the latter’s chagrin - and you prefer it being right in the middle.

The TV plays on mute a rerun of some old movie you’ve never heard of, black and white film running rickety slow and glitching, though you’ve long since given up paying attention to it. You’d been on Pinterest for an hour before getting bored and plugging your phone in on your nightstand, and you’d begun flipping through one of Steve’s favorite books he loves to read to you sometimes, and now - you simply gaze at the ceiling in your boredom, fingers interlocked on top of your stomach, boredom settling in every crevice of your body.

You’re not sure what, exactly, you’re waiting awake for. Not even sure if you’re waiting or simply unable to sleep - it feels like a 50/50 situation, at least at the moment - but there’s still something inherently wrong with sleeping in bed without your boys. Curling into Bucky’s chest while Steve is pressed to his back, the latter’s hand wrapped around to rest on your lip while a metal hand slides up your shirt, cupping your breast just to hear the way you squeal at the chill - or, alternatively, sandwiching yourself between them as Steve practically throws his mass on top of you and Bucky squishes your face into his hard back.

Empty. You feel empty, in more ways than one, and that’s what’s keeping you awake, you decide after a long fifteen minutes of contemplating on it. Your boys complete you. It’s not right without them -

Just as the thought crosses your mind, you hear the front door knob jiggling from across the apartment, and you jerk upright as though someone had doused you with freezing cold water (not that it would be much of an adjustment from the temperature your apartment feels, but the implication still stands.)

If you were smarter - or perhaps less groggy - maybe you’d dig through your nightstand for the gun you keep in case of any intruders, buried beneath notebooks and stray pieces of paper decorated with small smudged sketches that Steve puts on any smooth surface he can find. It’s loaded and ready to go - all you’d need to do is dig through and grab it, creep outside the bedroom door and take down whomever may be invading your home -

Just as you roll onto your side to dig through your drawer and find the weapon, the front door fully opens with a jingle of keys and the scuffling sounds of footsteps, and you pause, listening to the voices that roll through the apartment, hushed and breathy.

“Fuckin’ - tripped over my foot,” comes a familiar voice, louder than the one who follows right after him, murmuring for him to shut the hell up - are you trying to wake up the entire city? -

You’re out of bed faster than you can even process, covers mercilessly kicked to the very bottom of the bed in your haste. The hardwood is cold against your bare feet and the air bites at your skin, wearing nothing but one of Steve’s old t-shirts that falls to your mid thighs and a pair of lace panties that peeks out of the shirt when you bend over or reach up or do anything, really - it’s a bit of a scandalous look - but you pay no mind to it, opening the door and tearing down the hallway into the foyer.

You’ve smacked into a hard, thick body before you could stop yourself, arms thrown around Steve’s torso as you bury your face into his chest, and you can practically feel his deep laugh before you hear it but you do hear it, clear as day, and it brings a grin to your face that’s only deepened when Bucky tugs at your waist, pulling you into his back, arms wrapped around your stomach as he buries his face in your shoulder.

“Fury said you guys wouldn’t be home until tomorrow,” you tell them, letting your body relax into Bucky’s embrace as Steve traces his fingers across your jawline, tilting your head up so he can press one light kiss to your puckered lips. His arms snake around your waist, sandwiched between your back and Bucky’s chest, fingertips clutching tight onto the loose fabric of the shirt you’re donning and he uses it as leverage to hold you closer to him.

“It was an easy one,” Steve replies, leaning forward just a bit until you’re fully pressed between the two soldiers, your head squished into his chest as he inhales the scent of your shampoo, nose buried into the top of your head. “Can’t believe you called Fury about it - missed us that much, hmm?”

A dry chuckle jostles the body behind you, feeling Bucky’s warm laughter against your neck, and you bite on your bottom lip as you nod. “‘Course I missed you - don’t get cocky -” for you’d just caught sight of Steve’s smug grin, toying his lips upward, and you use the top of your head to push him away from you in mock disgust, leaning further into Bucky’s grasp. He hums softly, breath ruffling your hair, messy from your failed attempts to sleep. “S’so lonely here.”

“Aww,” murmurs Bucky, lips pressing warm kisses into the exposed expanse of your neck, and you tilt your head to the side to give him easier access as Steve crosses his arms over his chest, watching the pair of you at work. “Poor baby.”

“Hey -” you reach behind you, running your hands through long, brunette locks just to feel the way Bucky smiles against your skin. “At least you two have each other on missions, getting each other off - I’m here all by myself. Nothin’ but the fingers.” “There’s a lot less time to get your rocks off in the middle of a mission than you’d think.”

“Is there?” you inquire playfully as Bucky’s lips trail further up your neck, landing on a spot just beneath your jawline and suckling the soft skin - the teasing lilt in your voice that you’d intended to sound confident and self-assured gets breathier and just a tad more pathetic as you continue, “Sam and I always seem to have enough time -”

Bucky grunts against your cheek, murmuring something you can’t quite make out about how he hates that fuckin’ bird boy, and a grin spreads across your face that mirrors Steve’s as he watches you. Bucky tilts your head to the side with two fingers pressed to your chin so he can ghost his lips over yours but you deepen it, pushing your face further into his as you wrap one of your arms around his neck, tugging at his hair to hear him groan into your mouth and you swallow the noise. You can practically sense Steve rolling his eyes both at your teasing and the way Bucky’s absolutely devouring you, the metal hand around your waist trailing up your torso and leaving goosebumps in its wake until he reaches your chest, cold fingers plucking at your nipple, and your chest arches into his hand with a broken gasp into his mouth.

“Better tell Sam not to touch what isn’t his,” Steve tells you, and you nod, watching the blonde take a few steps forward and for a moment you wonder if he’ll lean down, take your lips from Bucky’s and kiss you until you’re practically putty in his hands but instead he pushes past the both of you, disappearing down the hallway behind you, and you crane your neck backwards to watch his back as he vanishes around a corner.

For a moment you wonder if Bucky hadn’t seen him leave, continuing his ministrations on your nipples as his teeth bite at your bottom lip as though there’d been no interruption, his mouth turning up into a smug smirk at the way you whimper into his mouth. God, you’ve missed his touch, clever hands knowing exactly how to make you fall apart for him even without slipping into the lace of your panties, and your mouth opens in a silent gasp as his flesh palm presses to the skin of your stomach.

“Wanna go see Stevie?” the soldier questions into your mouth, voice low and sultry smooth, and you jerk your head up and down once. “Tough mission for him.”

You frown at that as Bucky pulls away from you, leaving one lingering kiss to the side of your throat as he pulls your shirt down over your lower half. “Thought he said it was easy.”

“It was,” and that makes your brows furrow as his metal hand wraps around your wrist, beginning to pull you down the hallway where your bedroom door is swung wide open. “But Fury ripped him a new one, ‘cause he disobeyed his orders - got the mission done fine - but you know how Stevie hates having his authority questioned.”

Your lips part in a silent o, and Bucky smirks ever so slightly before leading you into the bedroom where Steve sits at the edge of the bed, peeling off his suit and kicking it off of his ankles. Bucky shuts the door behind you, immediately working at tugging his vest over his head and you leave him to it, bare feet padding on the hardwood floor until you reach Steve, and you merely stand before him until he’s finished taking his clothes off, leaving him clad in only a pair of boxers.

“Do you need something?” Steve questions, glancing up at you with an amused glint in his eyes and you groan, lifting your leg up to straddle his lap, calves on either side of his, and his hands go to rest on the underside of your thigh like an instinct. For a moment you don’t say anything, grinding your hips down into his until his hands slide up your back, tugging your shirt up over your torso so he can press his cold palms to the globes of your ass, halting you in place. “Words, baby.”

“Want you to boss me around,” you tell him, dropping your lips to the side of his throat, and his dry exhale of a laugh blows at your hair as his fingers slip beneath the scrap of lace between your ass, fully digging into the plump skin, and you smile against his neck. “Missed you bein’ bossy.”

“Really?” You nod, feeling the bed dip beside you until there’s another set of hands on your body, tugging the hem of your shirt up until you’re forced to remove your lips from Steve’s neck so Bucky can pull your shirt off, littering it onto the ground beside you. Steve leans his head back as both you and Bucky lean forward, your lips to his throat and the other soldier taking his lips so that the next words he speaks are muffled into the kiss, “Sure Bucky didn’t put you up to this, baby?”

“Who’s Bucky?” 

That makes both of them laugh into each other and you smile, leaning back in his lap as you take in the sight of them - lips crashed together, metal hand burying itself in blonde locks that he hasn’t cut in a while, hair brushing the tips of his ears, and Steve’s hand that had been on your ass drops, seemingly forgotten about his job - you huff, wrap your hand around his wrist, and lift his palm up to rest against your left breast.

Instinctively he squeezes, and the two men pull apart from each other as Bucky leans forward to kiss the top of your head, flesh hand sliding down your stomach until he can push into the damp lace fabric of your panties, and you jolt against his hand as he brushes your clit. “Can’t possibly think we forgot about you,” he tells you, and you shrug, watching the way he smiles. “Come on, Stevie, you heard her - wants you to boss her around.”

And Steve is surely still doubtful of your intentions - it isn’t as though you’ve ever asked him to boss you around before - it typically just happens when he’s pissed or upset or happy -

It happens a lot. He’s a bossy guy, both in the field and out of it, and he’s more than happy to give demands and orders and he loves to see you follow them.

Bucky is - usually along for the ride. He’s the calming voice in your ear when Steve is edging you until you’re screaming, the gentle touch when you’ve been overstimulated for an hour, the smooth, sultry kiss when you’re being filled so deep from both ends you feel entirely numb - and he can be mean, too, metal hand tightening around your throat and smirking at the way you sob -

Well, it depends.

“Get on the bed,” Steve tells you, and regardless of whether he’s suspicious of you and Bucky his voice is already hardening and if the words weren’t implicitly sexual, perhaps you could fool yourself into thinking you’re on the field - you listen, though. You always do - swing your legs off of his lap and land on your back on the bed, watching as Steve stands and Bucky merely turns around, leaning back on his arms as he watches you, your leg hiked up to give a limited, tantalizing view to the lace covered pex of your thighs.

“Buck - wanna get behind our girl?”

The phrase our girl never fails to make your stomach flutter, and the feeling only intensifies as Bucky grunts in affirmation, crawling towards you, and with hands hooked under your armpits he lifts you to sit, your back pressed to his chest. Hands reach up to your chest, cupping your tits in flesh and metal palms that have a chill rolling through your spine, hips grinding back against the erection you can feel pressed into your back.

“Spread your legs,” Steve tells you, and you oblige, feet sliding across the bed to spread yourself as wide open as you can, and Bucky’s metal hand leaves your chest to grab onto one of your thighs, forcing it open wide enough that a burn spreads through your muscle. “Yeah - don’t fuckin’ move, baby - hold her down, Buck.”

Bucky doesn’t need to be told twice, moving his other hand so he’s holding both of your thighs, and you can feel wetness dripping down your cunt onto the sheets as Steve stands still, for a moment, just watching the pair of you - your chest heaves and you can feel Bucky’s fingers twitch against your thighs, surely desperate to caress your tits just the way he always likes to, but he wouldn’t dare disobey Steve when he’s like this. You know it, and he knows it, and you’re sure Steve knows it too - he looks so smug, even as he climbs onto the bed, resting on his stomach as he presses his cheek into your thigh, warm breath fanning over your cunt. His fingers hook into the soaked material of your panties, feeling the stickiness that coats your folds and the undergarment, and with not a second of hesitation he rips them in half, tugging them off your leg and tossing the ruined scrap of lace onto the ground.

Your instinct is to reach down and run your fingers through his hair as he lowers his mouth to your pussy, tongue flicking once over your clit, but the second your hands jerk in their spot resting overtop of Bucky’s, Steve is reaching up - one hand manages to wrap around both of your wrists, holding your hands in place on top of your stomach with a grip so tight it’ll surely leave bruises that will darken in the morning.

You groan softly as Steve lifts his head, gaze hard and unforgiving as he stares at you, and then his gaze moves behind you where you know he must be having some sort of silent conversation with Bucky - they’re so good at that - before he’s leaning back down, teeth gnashing at your clit with enough force to make you jolt.

“Think Stevie said not to fuckin’ move, sweetie,” Bucky murmurs, lips sucking a dark hickey just beneath your ear, and a low whine escapes your throat as Steve’s tongue laps up your sticky folds before centering on your clit. “Didn’t you, honey?” And Steve hums in affirmation, pulling back to spit harshly at your clit, and you exhale skaily as you feel the glob of coldness trickle down your folds. “Move again, and I’ll punish you,” he tells you, which is more generous than he typically is when he’s in this state but you suppose the excitement of arriving home after a shitty, weekend mission must not have worn out yet. “Be a good girl for us, baby.”

You nod furiously, Bucky’s forearms hooking beneath your knees until the ache in your thighs nearly tips the balance of pain and pleasure but it’s still leaning towards the latter - more so as Steve dips his head back down, lips wrapping around the sensitive nub at your core that tears a moan from your throat, and you bite at your lips to try and silence the noises.

“Never told you to be quiet,” Steve mumbles against your cunt, vibrations from his voice sending a shiver up your spine, and Bucky smiles against one of the many hickies he’s leaving on your neck - you’re sure you’ll look a damn sight tomorrow, made of practically entirely concealer to hide the marks he’s obsessed with, but you don’t have it in you to stop. “Let us hear your noises - how good we’re making you feel.”

You drop your head back into Bucky’s shoulder with a desperate cry as Steve’s flexed tongue circles your clit before running back down your slit, parting your folds until he can slip his tongue inside of your hole, thrusting it in and out a few times, lips turning upwards at your resulting whine. Bucky’s nails leave deep, crescent-shaped indentations in the smooth skin of your inner thigh, and you can feel his erection pressed thick and swollen against your back. Surely he’s just as wound up as you are - and as much as Steve is, his hips rutting against the edge of the bed as though of their own accord - but he doesn’t do much of anything at all to alleviate the pressure, breathy exhales in your ear as your hips rub against his bulge.

“Wanna hold her open for me, Buck?” Steve questions, pulling back just a mere inch from your swollen clit before dipping his head back down, tongue licking a fat stripe through your folds before lust-blown blue orbs lift up to meet the ones behind you - you can feel Bucky’s hair, brushing against your cheek as he nods once, and your brows furrow in confusion. Surely he’s already holding you open, hands forcing your thighs so far apart that you can feel the burn in every inch of your body - and then he drops one of your thighs against the bed, metal hand trailing down to your cunt, and his fingers dip through your folds, spreading them apart and exposing your swollen clit further to the blonde between your legs. Steve adjusts himself, moving towards the side so he can press his face into your pussy without hitting Bucky’s fingers, and his tongue circles your clit once more.

You moan at the sight, nearly going cross eyed as you stare down at Steve. It’s so erotic, watching everything in your most sacred of areas, Bucky’s fingers and Steve’s face buried so intensely into your cunt you’re sure he can’t possibly breathe - he moans against your folds every so often, as though the act of giving you pleasure makes him feel just as good, and you don’t doubt it for a moment.

“Steve -” you gasp, back arching up, and Steve uses his hand around your wrist to force you back down onto the bed wordlessly - you drop pathetically back onto the duvet, a tear sliding down your cheek, and you can hear Bucky tut behind you, cold fingers slipping on the moisture coating your folds. “Steve - fuck -”

“Gonna cum, baby?” “Yes,” you breathe, hips bucking backwards into Bucky’s erection and he lets out a choked gasp into your ear, head falling back against the headboard with a loud thud that rings through the room. “Yes, need to - please -”

Steve pulls away, then - you cry out at the loss of warmth between your legs - and his nose nudges Bucky’s fingers, prompting the soldier behind you to take the cue to dip his metal digits into your cunt, the cold thickness stretching you out until you’re preening at the sensation. “Think she’s been a good girl? Think she should cum, Buck?”

You want to scream at the pause between the question and Bucky’s answer - he hums for a moment, as though in deep thought, fingers buried down to the knuckle inside of you and body practically leaning over yours so his metal arm can reach, brushing the sweet spot inside of you that makes your vision go fuzzy. He takes too fucking long, Steve’s grasp on your wrist pressed to your tummy the only thing keeping your hips from bucking up to force pressure into your cunt, before he finally says, “You’ve been good for us, haven’t you?”

“Yes!” you practically squeal as his fingers pull out hardly an inch before pumping back in, curling upwards again to hit your G-spot. “Yes, please, been so good, Bucky -”

“Cum for us, sweetie -”

You hardly wait for him to finish his sentence when Steve lowers his lips to your clit, wrapping around the bud and sucking until his cheeks hollow out, and your hips jerk desperately into his face as the waves of euphoria rack through your body, tearing a desperate sob from your throat as Bucky thrusts his fingers in and out of you, nearly hitting the side of Steve’s face in his haste to get you off, and he’s doing a damn good job at it - your hips jut into his back as you cum into their mouth and fingers, stuttering groans leaving your mouth one after another.

Steve’s mouth never leaves your clit - not even when your hips thrash against his mouth and you tear your hands free of his grasp to dig into his hair, attempting to stop his ministrations on your clit but he refuses - your folds drip wetness into his waiting mouth and he laps it up like a man dying of thirst, Bucky’s fingers lazily thrusting in and out of you as his chest rises and falls against your back, dropping your other thigh to hook an arm around your torso and hold you close to him.

Hold her down, Steve had told him, and he seems more than content to oblige with the order, whispering loving nothings in your ear that you can’t bring yourself to understand, words coming through as nothing more than incoherent babble to your brain muddled with the pressure to cum already building in your core again -

“Oh,” you whimper, heels digging into the mattress as Steve’s tongue laps over your folds and Bucky’s finger before settling on your clit again, flicking the nub over and over until you feel yourself fucking burst - “oh, fuck!”

It’s entirely more intense than the first one, Steve’s teeth nibbling at your clit as you topple over the edge like a row of dominoes - fire shoots through every limb, every crevice of your body until you’re shaking, tears streaming out of the corners of your eyes and trickling down to your jawline. Your thighs tense, a high pitched cry piercing the air of the room as the aftershocks overtake your body, leaving you trembling into Bucky’s grasp as Steve pulls off your clit with a pop.

“That’s good,” Bucky whispers into your ear, pulling his metal fingers out of you once the shaking rolling through your body has come to a relative halt - through your blurred vision you can see Steve take the digits in his mouth, licking them clean eyes rolling up to meet Bucky’s, and he groans softly. “Good girl.”

Steve leaves one last kiss to your swollen clit before moving up your body, and you’re quick to lean forward, wrapping a quivering arm around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss - it’s rough and biting, teeth clashing together and his tongue swiping into your mouth without a moment for you to catch your breath, and when he pulls away his breathing is noticeably heavier than before. 

“Yeah, you’re good for us,” he tells you, bringing a hand up to stroke at the soft skin of your cheek before pulling it back and smacking it back down - it’s not hard, not by a long shot, but it’s enough to draw another whimper from your throat at the soft sting. “On your knees.”

Your legs feel shaky but you manage to push yourself to your knees, resting your arms around Steve’s shoulders to hold yourself up as Bucky shuffles behind you, slotting his hips against your ass so you can feel his bulge through his boxers - he grinds himself into your ass, sliding his arms around your waist just as Steve tugs his own boxers down, fist lazily pumping his cock as you watch him.

“You know what?” the blonde murmurs after a moment of you watching him, your cunt throbbing in need. “Think I’m gonna take your throat.”

You whine at that as Steve pulls away abruptly, leaving you nearly collapse onto your stomach but Bucky’s arm around your stomach mercifully holds you up, practically manhandling you as he turns you around, shoving you onto your back with your head nearly dangling off the bed as he crawls up your body, leaving lingering kisses on the smooth expanses of skin exposed to him. Large hands force your thighs open, pushing his hips in between your legs, and you whimper as his cock rubs against your overstimulated clit, even through the fabric of his boxers -

Steve stands beside the bed, smoothing his fingers through your matted hair as you come face to face with his cock, throbbing red and leaking precum down the sides, and your mouth practically waters at the sight - then Bucky’s pulling his own boxers down, swollen tip of his dick sliding through your sodden folds wettened from the aftermath of two orgasms. You push your thighs farther apart, opening your mouth wide and sticking your tongue out for Steve and he grins down at you, the expression looking less joyful and more downright smug and don’t you love seeing him like this? All dominant and intense, like he could control you if he pleased, and he does please -

His cock shoves forward into your throat at the same moment Bucky sheathes himself inside of your cunt fully, and a choked cry forces its way out of your mouth, reverberating through Steve’s body until he lets out a strangled grunt. Your nose brushes against the trimmed hair at his pelvis, hollowing your throat to take him in the best you can, and his grip on your hair tightens as leverage to hold you onto him.

“Oh - oh, shit,” Bucky gasps, the noise stuttered and breathy, and the hands on your thigh move up to squeeze your waist, grasp tough and bruising against your skin. “Fuck, fuck -”

You gag around Steve as he finally pulls out of your mouth, leaving just the tip on your tongue, and you swirl it around him - he drops his head back with a groan and when he speaks, his words are shallow, controlled - “Feels good, Buck?”

“So good, Stevie -” Bucky thrusts himself out of you before pushing back in, cunt stretching around his girth and your eyes roll back at the coil of pleasure already building in your lower stomach as his pace picks up, hips working faster and faster until the sound of skin slapping skin nearly overpowers your desperate mixture of moans and cries -

Nearly. Not completely.

Steve tugs at your hair and you remember your job to suck him off and you let him push your head forward, lips wrapping around his girth and tongue flattening to lap at the thick vein on the underside - his resulting groan is immediate, is desperate, and your urge to smile is only thwarted by Bucky’s metal hand pressing to your clit as his hips slam against yours.

Your hips jerk against his, pressure on the most sensitive point of your body making your eyes roll back once more as Steve’s cock slides in and out of your throat, both hands buried tight in your hair until there’s nothing else you can do than just take both of them - you bring your hands from their spot clutching the duvet to your tits, shaking fingertips kneading at your peaked nipples, and you’re not sure if the needy whine that emits from Bucky’s throat is due to his cock slamming into your pussy or from the sight of you toying with your boobs, but either one is reasonable, you decide.

It takes hardly a moment to work the three of you into a rhythm, but when you get it, it’s perfect - Bucky thrusts into you, filling you up so deep you swear you can feel him in every crevice of your body, and once he pulls out Steve pushes himself into your mouth, tip of his dick hitting the back of your throat just to hear you gag around him. Every once in a while, though, there’s a stutter in the pattern, and both men pull out to ram into your cunt and mouth at the same time, and the three of you cry out in unison.

Bucky’s flesh hand moves to your thigh, pushing it up so far that your knee nearly touches your chest and the burn only heightens the pleasure he’s giving you as he hits the sweet spot buried deep in your cunt over and over like he’s memorized exactly where it is - and surely he has - they know your body better than you do, sometimes - know just how to make you scream. Metal fingers tweak at your clit and your hips grind up into his, pushing him deeper and deeper into you, and you moan around Steve’s dick.

“I’m gonna cum,” Bucky groans, hips slowing deliberately in pace but it’s still fast enough to make your head spin - Steve moves one hand to your face, grabbing your chin and holding you in place with his cock still halfway down your throat. “Fuck - want me to fill you up, sweetie?”

You nod.

“Tell me,” he insists, and your eyes squeeze shut as you exhale through your nose. “Want me to fill you up?”

Steve pulls out until only the tip of his length rests in your mouth, and you swallow thickly before saying, words a desperate sob, “Please - please cum in me, Bucky, baby, please - fill me up -”

“Good girl,” the brunette between your thigh grunts, squeezing your clit harshly and your back arches, Steve slipping his cock all the way back in your mouth, hitting the back of your throat and you gag around him as he moans. “Good - fuckin’ - girl -”

With a few more harsh thrusts into your pussy Bucky’s hips halt, pressed taut to yours, filling you to the brim, and his head drops backwards, lips parting with a drawn out, silent scream before he fully cries out, and you feel his ribbons of cum in your cunt - the warmth filling you up is enough to snap the coil building in your abdomen and you sob around Steve as you cum onto Bucky, core clenching around him like a vise as he holds you to him. 

“Yes, yes -” Bucky’s voice sounds far away as your muscles go lax, collapsing like putty onto the bed with the grasps on your head and your hips the only thing grounding you to Earth - “yes, takin’ me so fuckin’ good -”

It’s then that Steve gives one last thrust, deep in your throat, and his grip on your chin forces you to look up at him, meeting his stern eyes and he’s so close you can see it reflected in his orbs - they’re dark, pupils wide, and you whimper. “Don’t swallow,” he whispers, tone sounding similar to that of a hiss, and you nod. “Don’t swallow a single drop.”

Your head bobs up and down as Steve’s hand pumps up and down the base of his cock, his cry strangled and needy when he finally releases into your mouth - he cums in spurts onto your tongue and you keep it stuck out for him, trying to resist the overwhelming desire to swallow everything he’s given you but he looks so proud of you when he’s finished and every drop still rests on your tongue and you prefer that look of admiration over the taste, really.

“Kiss her, Buck -”

And Bucky doesn’t have to be told twice, both hands moving to your neck and pulling you up so vigorously your head is spinning when he crashes his lips to yours. His tongue slips into your mouth and you part your lips for him, cum dribbling out of the sides of your mouth and he laps it up like a dying man, palms pressed to your tits. You can see the bob of his throat when he swallows everything you’ve forced into his mouth and you swallow the rest, parting your lips from him with a gasp, practically heaving for air in the bedroom that suddenly feels humid, smelling of sex and cum and desire and remarkably like your two boys themselves.

Steve collapses onto the bed first. He grabs for Bucky, tugging him into his chest and you sit on your knees for a moment, simply watching them - they fall into tandem with each other like they were made for it, and maybe they were, Steve’s face nuzzling into Bucky’s back and you’re never surprised by the sudden vulnerability of your captain immediately after sex. The first time you’d joined them you’d suspected he was embarrassed but you don’t think he is 

He’s in love.

It’s a sweet thought.

Bucky wraps his metal hand around your wrist and pulls you down to him, his chin resting on top of your head as you press your cheek to his sweaty chest, feeling his arm wrap around your back. He’s silent, using his foot to kick the comforter up from where it’s been shoved to the bottom of the bed, and when it’s far enough up Steve reaches down to pull it over the three of you, drowning you in its warmth even though you’re not feeling quite cold anymore.

“I don’t know,” you say, after a moment of silence, voice muffled against Bucky’s chest. “It feels like I’m the only one getting ganged up on, nowadays.”

They laugh at that, Bucky’s flesh palm smoothing up and down your back. “You asked for it,” Steve tells you, and you shrug.

“Still.” You move to rest your chin on Bucky’s chest, and he nearly goes cross eyed to meet your eyes as he looks down at you. “Maybe, one of these days, we could tie Stevie up. Have our way with him.”

“He’d love that,” Bucky muses, and you can practically hear Steve rolling his eyes.

“Yeah - right after a mission, when he’s all wound up -”

“Hey,” Steve warns, and you smile.

“I don’t think there are restraints strong enough for those muscles, anyway,” you murmur, and Bucky smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head.

You fall into silence again, and after a couple of minutes you hear Steve’s soft snoring, followed by Bucky’s, until you’re the last awake between the three of you. They’re rightfully exhausted, surely getting little to no sleep over the weekend - you like hearing how peaceful they sound when they’re resting, even after fucking you so silly you were practically crying.

You smile as you bury your face into Bucky’s chest. Shit, maybe Fury was right - maybe they do balance each other out, a bit.

[admiringlove]

“wait, really?”

— welcome to sam’s brewery, where we commemorate reaching 500 customers! this event lasts for one week, and will only take up to twenty orders(as above that can become quite overwhelming).

+order: hey :) if there are still spots open for your event, could I maybe ask for "I hate you" "I love you" "wait, really?" with Sugawara Koushi as angst to fluff or hurt/comfort (something in that direction)? Please take all the time you need and if you don't feel like writing this, don't worry and just delete this ask ^-^ [submitted by @x-whyareyoureadingthis-x​]

+word count: 1k.

+author’s notes: pls i had so much fun writing this i stg 🥺 i hope you don’t mind me changing up the dialogue just a lil to suit the scene better <3 here is the link to the event masterlist.

You never thought falling in love would be such a pain. 

And you never understood how or why you fell in love in the first place. Maybe it was because of his obliviously pretty smiles, or his caring yet forgetful nature, or the way he always greeted you with that same glint in his eyes—Sugawara Kōshi always managed to make you feel giddy like a child. Your heart always beat faster around him, and your smiles almost always were wider when you spoke to him. 

You didn't know how to avoid these unnecessary feelings of yours; even after brainstorming for days on end, and trying to get rid of them, you couldn't. It felt impossible, having to meet him every day while walking to school, or having to walk home with him because he actually didn't live that far away. Between your high-school years, you never knew how you fell deep for him. And now, being the smart Senior you are, you come up with a fool-proof plan, and that is to avoid your friend—whom you are hopelessly in love with. 

You decide to take the longer routes to school(you were almost late on the first day of your oh-so-perfect plan, so you now set your alarm a little earlier to manage your time better), you hide in the bathroom for a bit before leaving(because he always waits outside the gates for some time till you get back from your club activities), and you make sure to leave the class as soon as the day is over, so he doesn't have time to even call your name. 

It hurt you. It really did, but it had to be done. You knew someone like him would never reciprocate the feelings you have. What was the point, if you simply built your hopes up, only for them to be shattered in the end? What was the point, for you to build a skyscraper full of expectations if they were to only end in tears?

So you cower behind this game of hide-n-seek. It was your ultimate method to forget.

It was all going perfectly—or so you thought, really, because your feelings still remained. It was like someone put a fake screen in front of your eyes, hypnotizing you into thinking that every single aspect of your so-called plan was working when it actually wasn't. You still subconsciously cared for him; because every morning, you'd think if he was doing well. Every night, before bed, you'd think if he still smiled the same way. Every time you successfully avoided him, you'd let out a shaky breath, thinking if you're hurting his feelings while doing the same. 

Today was supposed to be the same, really. You'd gotten up at six, taken the route that was to the opposite side of his home, gotten to school just in the nick of time to avoid being late. And even in the gym period, you ended up making small talk(something you really didn't like doing) with a few classmates to avoid him. 

Emphasis on 'today was supposed to be the same'. Because soon enough, you started realizing that today was, indeed, turning out to be a disaster. Your club, the student council, finished up later than you thought. You were handling accounting, and when the calculations were finally finished, you handed them to the President and left in such haste that they'd never seen before. You could swear you heard the President of the Student Council say, "Are they okay?"

"Shit," you mumble under your breath when you see the same pewter mop of hair walking out of the gym. You stop dead in your tracks, and you're sure your shoe screeched loudly as you turned on your heel and headed the opposite way. 

You could definitely hear his footsteps. The bathroom was nowhere nearby, and all you could see was the turn towards the library, and at this point, you had no choice. 

You stood there, back against the wall with your eyes closed until a soft yet familiar voice spoke in your ear, "Who are we hiding from?"

You definitely screamed. 

"What the hell are you doing here?" you ask him, his usual smile playing on his face as if you hadn't been avoiding him for the past month or so. He laughs smally, then says, "Oh, I just came out of the library and saw you standing here with your eyes closed. So, who were you hiding from?"

"None of your business," you grunt, walking towards the exit(you're mentally yelling at yourself now, because you could've just walked out instead of standing there like a fool).

He follows you—well, not really, because he has to walk in the same direction anyway. This feels like the first time someone ever tries to go to the gym and ends up burning themself out instead because all of the progress you've made until now has just sunk. Seeing him again, being this close to him again, making eye contact with him—it all makes your heart flutter with such intensity that it hurts.

"Well, you've been avoiding me too. You know, that hurts my feelings, [Y/N]," his teasing tone invokes a blush out of you. And before you know it, you're mumbling out, "I hate you."

"Ouch that hurt," he holds his hand to his heart to fake being offended, but then crouches down to your level and mumbles softly, "I love you though."

Your eyes go wide, the blush on your cheeks evident as you turn to look at him, "Wait, really?" 

"Really," he throws you a smile, ruffling your hair as he continues walking, "I'm guessing you avoided me because you knew?"

"No," you shake your head as he looks back, "No, I was avoiding you because I think I love you too."

It all comes together now; all the strings become untied, and it's in front of you. Falling in love with Sugawara Kōshi was the easy part. It's admitting to yourself that it happened which was hard. You had built up many walls around you, but he always found a way through. Why, you may ask? Because the boy you've fallen in love with decided to build a door to walk through.

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[kurokoros]

risky business | dabi

Rated: M

Words: 5.3K

Pairing: dabi x fem!reader

Summary: On your way home, you run into Dabi. He has no intentions of letting you go without having a little fun.

AN: This is a secret santa gift for @vixen-scribbles​ <3 I don’t think we’ve spoken much, but I hope you had a wonderful holiday! Also a special thanks to @the-smut-pile​ for hosting this exchange! This is by far the riskiest (hur hur) thing I’ve ever written, so I hope all of the degenerates out there are happy lmao

Warnings: smut, dubcon (consensual non-consent/roleplay), predator/prey undertones, knife play (and minor blood play) public/outdoor sex, mentions of voyeurism/exhibitionism, anal play, dirty talk (degradation), choking, hair-pulling, spanking/slapping, spitting rough sex, overstimulation, creampie/unprotected sex, aftercare at the end

Blue eyes stare down at you tauntingly from across the alley. He cocks his head to one side, watching as you shrink back against the wall. Amusement flickers across his face, a sick smirk tugging at his lips as you stare back at him, wide-eyed. Frozen in place now that there’s nowhere left to run. There’s a scream lodged in the back of your throat, trying to force its way out, but icy fear tears through your chest and rips the air from your lungs.

As your bottom lip trembles, his smirk only grows, pulling grotesquely at the staples holding his mismatched skin together. Burning, turquoise eyes look you over slowly, trailing from your terrified expression to your legs, your bare skin on display thanks to your short little skirt. Hungrily, he devours you with his eyes. Expression calculated. His eyes are practically glowing as he stalks towards you, his irises reflecting the light of the blue flames dancing threateningly on the tips of his fingers.

The predatory glint in his gaze makes your stomach twist into knots, but you still can’t will your legs to move.

“Well, what do we have here?” Dabi asks, his voice low and rough. A shiver runs down your spine. He stops when the two of you are nearly touching, an inch of space left between his chest and yours. Close enough for you to feel the immense heat radiating from the flames. “You lost, sweetheart?”

Concern drips from his tongue, but it’s mocking. Snide. Maybe the question would sound sincere if you didn’t know exactly who he was. If it wasn’t a wanted criminal standing in front of you. A villain. If he wasn’t looking at you like you were prey that he hunted down.

He’s playing with you. Toying with you now that he finally has you cornered. The chase was fun while it lasted, but now he has you right where he wants you, looking up at him like you’re nothing but a scared little animal. It’s pitiful, really. How easy it was. You made it so easy for him to catch you, almost like you wanted to be caught. A willing participant in the game of cat and mouse.

You don’t respond. Can’t. Desperate, your gaze flicks towards the mouth of the alley, hoping to find someone who could help you. The streets are still busy this late at night, the last train yet to depart.

It’s with a sinking feeling that you realize no one is going to help you. Most of the passersby refuse to look into the dark alley. And the lone man who does quickly averts his eyes.

Dabi’s gaze follows yours. Sick satisfaction bubbles in his chest when he watches the same man scurry away, his eyes wrenched away from the scene, ignoring what he’s just seen.

The flames licking at his knuckles extinguish themselves. Smoke wafts through the night air, dispersing slowly.

The tips of Dabi’s fingers scorch your skin as he grabs you by your jaw, digits digging into your chin. You wince as he yanks your head around, forcing you to face him. The fire is gone, but his hands are still burning hot, and his grip is tight enough to hurt. When your eyes lock, you find it impossible to turn away. Hypnotized by that deep shade of blue.

Suddenly, your mouth starts to work. “Please,” is all you manage to choke out, trying to beg him to stop, but the rest of the words die on your tongue.

“That’s right. Start begging like the little slut you are.” You want to shake your head, but his grip is too tight. “I’m in a good mood tonight,” he says, digging his fingers into your cheeks even harder, liking the pained grimace you give him. “Be a good girl for me and this won’t hurt too much.”

Hot fingers brush against your bare leg, and you’re wrenched back to reality. You slam your hands into his chest and shove him away. He grunts, taken off-guard by your boldness, and stumbles back just enough for you to slip away. You throw yourself to the side, lunging towards the mouth of the alley. But Dabi is faster. Before you can get far, he’s on you again. A strong arm wraps around your waist and hauls you back. You start to cry out, but the sound is smothered by a scarred palm covering your mouth. Instinct drives you to lash out, but Dabi throws you up against the wall before you can kick him.

It knocks the breath out of you. This time, his hand wraps around your throat and squeezes hard, choking you. It doesn’t take long for black spots to dot your vision. Your hands scramble for purchase around his wrist in a weak attempt to pull his hand away. Hot metal burns your fingertips. And you claw at him, your nails digging into the back of his hand and ripping at the staples holding him together.

Dabi swears as you manage to tear one of them out. The bloody staple clatters to the pavement, and the quiet, metallic chiming sound it makes might as well be a death toll. It’s followed by a louder shink that makes your blood freeze in your veins.

Cold metal grazes your cheek. Your struggling comes to an abrupt halt, your grip on his wrist loosening. Heart skipping a beat, your stomach twists as he carefully drags a knife down to your jaw, the sharp tip digging into your soft skin, though Dabi is careful not to cut you.

He sighs, low and frustrated, and you fight the urge to curl into yourself when he levels you with a harsh look, blue eyes alight. “You really wanna piss me off, dollface?” As he taps the blade against your cheek, you squeeze your thighs together, ashamed of the slick feeling growing between your legs.

When it becomes clear you aren’t going to fight him again, he releases your throat. Lightheaded, you gasp for breath. The knife shifts away from your skin, but doesn’t go far. Moonlight reflects off the blade as Dabi holds it in front of you, letting you get a good look at the thin, sharp object. The threat is blatant, and you shrink back against the wall.

There’s an audible hitch in your breathing as the tip of the knife touches your collarbone. The cold steel against your bare skin almost makes you flinch, and Dabi chuckles when he hears the small, shaky sound that falls out of your pretty mouth.

“Not so brave now, huh?” he murmurs, dragging the flat side of the knife along the column of your throat. You shiver as he ghosts the blade over your pulse point. “You gonna behave this time, or do I have to teach you a lesson first, pretty girl?”

The question hits you between your ribs, and you bite your lip when the knife slides back over your collarbone, trailing towards your cleavage. He clucks his tongue when you don’t respond. “Answer me,” he demands.

The blade stops when he reaches the top button on your shirt. You hold your breath as the sharp tip slips beneath the fabric. The button pops off and falls to the ground as Dabi slices through the thin string holding it together, revealing more of your pretty skin to his predatory gaze.

With the knife tracing the curve of your breast, you don’t dare ignore him. “No. I’ll—I’ll behave,” you tell him, stumbling over your words. Unintentionally, you arch your chest into his hand as the knife presses against you even harder, just shy of marking you.

“Good girl.” Dabi slips the knife under the next button, but changes his mind before he can cut it. Instead, he places the blade under your chin, forcing you to tilt your head up to meet his eyes. “Now why don’t you strip for me?”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

“You heard me.” Dabi shoves his knee between your thighs, forcing your legs apart. Your stomach rolls, but you have to stifle a moan when he grinds his leg against your clit through your panties. “Give me a show. Nice and slow, and maybe I’ll let you cum when I fuck your cunt.”

There’s something perverse about undressing yourself for him. Letting him watch as your shaking fingers fumble with the buttons on your shirt, practically ripping at them in your hurry to comply. He’s making you a willing participant in your own humiliation. Dabi wets his lips, rocking his thigh against your cunt with every button you pop open, which only makes you fumble more.

It doesn’t take long for him to grow impatient. As you struggle with the last button, Dabi murmurs a curse and tears your shirt open for you.

In his haste, the knife nicks your collarbone. The pain makes you whimper, and you flinch, causing the knife to dig into you harder before he angles it away. Blood wells in the cut. It isn’t too deep, or too long, but it stings. Your hips jerk against Dabi’s thigh, grinding against him. This time you moan outright, pleasure mixing with the pain, though you’re ashamed of yourself for it.

Dabi tenses when you mewl and rut against him, watching, fascinated, as a line of blood drips down your chest and soaks into the lacy cup of your bra. Even in the dark he can see the fabric stain.

There’s a split-second pause after as he presses the knife to your face. His demeanor shifts. Those blue eyes meet yours, searching your gaze, and he hesitates. Like he’s waiting for something. There’s blood on the blade from when he cut your chest, and it smears across your mouth as he slowly traces your bottom lip. Your gaze doesn’t waver, and you taste iron on your tongue after he pulls the knife away.

He slips back into character as his fingers slip into your hair. Dabi grabs a fistful of the soft strands and yanks, forcing your head to the side. A pathetic little whimpering sound is all that comes tumbling out of your mouth, and he smirks as you look at him with wide, teary eyes that do the begging your mouth can’t.

Your shirt is left intact as his attention shifts lower. He removes his knee from between your legs, and you almost whine at the loss of contact that you know you shouldn’t want. It shouldn’t feel good, but it does.

The knife leaves your cheek.

You tense.

The flat of the knife teases the inside of your leg, and you don’t dare move as Dabi drags it higher, inching closer to your dripping pussy. His hand disappears under the hem of your skirt, and you mewl, back arching off the wall as a hot hand teases your sensitive inner thighs. The fabric bunches around his wrist, revealing inch after inch of velvety soft skin to the chilly air. He grabs your leg with his other hand. Scorching fingers dig into your thigh, easily prying your legs further apart. As you shiver, Dabi runs the blade against you, making you squirm even more from the cold and the underlying threat of danger.

He stops. Looking down at your trembling form, Dabi eyes the mess he’s made of you already: your shirt ripped open, chest bloody where the knife sliced you open so easily, your skirt hiked up over your quivering thighs. You’re practically begging for him to bury his cock inside of you. Fuck you like a little bitch in heat.

You’d take his cock so well. Squeeze him just right. But he’s not done playing with you quite yet.

Suddenly, the knife is pressed up against your panties. The flat edge grinds against your clit, and you squeal. Without thinking, you grab his arm again, this time to steady yourself. His fingers are slick with blood where you ripped out one of his staples, but you don’t care, clinging to him as your legs threaten to give out. Your head falls back against the brick wall as he rubs the blade against your covered slit. “Don’t,” you plead, voice weak and laced with arousal. “Please…”

Dabi laughs when a soft, pleased mewl slips from your lips, your hips rolling back against his hand as he rubs your clit with the flat of the knife. It’s fucking filthy. Hot. And you hate how good it feels to have him play with your pussy like this.

You willingly spread your legs for him this time, and Dabi finally pulls your skirt over your hips. He leaves it bunched around your waist and takes a small step back to watch you grind your slutty cunt against the knife.

By now, your panties are soaked with your arousal. An ache settles low in your belly, and your walls clench around nothing as he presses harder against your clit. Tears burn at the backs of your eyes, shame swirling sickly in your stomach as you tug on his wrist instead of pushing it away.

The blade shines under the moonlight, glimmering wetly, and he quirks a brow. You barely stifle a whimper as he pulls his hand from between your legs. Before you can squeeze them shut, he shoves his knee between your legs again, his thigh grinding up against your pussy, not allowing you a moment to breathe.

“Look at that,” he muses, twisting the knife between his fingers so that you can see your own slick glistening on the blade. “Fuck, that’s hot. Thought you didn’t want me, dollface?” Your skin burns where he touches you. “Look how fucking wet you are already. Kinky little slut.” You turn your head away, but Dabi grabs your chin and forces you to look at how wet he made you.

When he’s sure you’re paying attention, he lifts the knife to his mouth. Heat flares in your belly as he licks your slick from the blade. Taunting you.

You slump forward as he yanks his knee away from your pussy, your legs giving out underneath you. Dabi catches you, manhandling you as he grabs your hips and spins you around; shoves you up against the wall, your cheek pressed to the bricks as his hand fists in your hair. You barely have time to steady yourself with your hands. Dabi presses the knife against the curve of your ass cheek, and you gasp as the sharp blade slips under your panties. He cuts the lacy fabric away and it flutters down, catching around your ankle. It’s soaked through with your arousal, cold against your leg.

The knife dangles from his fingers, pressed up against the inside of your thigh. The blade barely grazes your clit this time, teasing your slick folds. This time you can feel the cold metal against your swollen nerves, the sharp edge so close to nicking your sensitive folds.

Dabi slaps your ass suddenly. You squeal, hips lurching against the knife. He angles the blade away before you can cut yourself, spreading your cheeks apart so he can see your dripping slit. By now, you’re practically trying to grind against the knife, anything to relieve the tension between your shaking legs. It hurts. And the humiliation that washes over you only makes it worse.

“Gonna cum for me already?” Dabi asks, watching your hips stutter as he brings the knife back to your thigh. You whimper as he nicks you again. Warm, wet liquid beads in the cut, blood mixing with the fluids dripping from your drenched pussy. The blood smears against your leg as he rubs his knuckles against you. “Dirty bitch. Cum then. Or do you need a little help getting there? Hmm? You want me to make you cum all over my fucking hand?”

You shake your head, sobbing as he tosses the knife to the ground. Dabi’s arm wraps around your front as he brings his hand back to your leg. His fingers burn as they trail across your inner thigh. Small welts in the shape of his fingertips scorch your skin, leaving marks that won’t disappear for weeks.

Lazily, he strokes your clit, hand still hot to the touch as he rolls the swollen nub with his thumb. His chest molds against your back, crushing you between him and the wall as he traces your slit with two fingers.

Your body responds eagerly to his touch, your legs spreading to accommodate his hand. He chuckles as your hips roll against him, practically begging for him to fuck you, to make you cum over and over until you can’t take it anymore. And he’s more than willing to give your body what it wants.

You gasp as he shoves two of his fingers into your pussy, immediately picking up a harsh pace as he fucks you with his hand. You make it easy for him, your pussy taking his fingers so fucking well. They’re thick and long inside you, and it doesn’t take him long to find that spot that makes you squirm and cry out.

He shoves your face harder against the wall. Bits of brick dig into your cheek, but you barely feel them as he grinds his palm against your clit.

Expression contorted with bliss, you whimper as he forces a third finger inside your tight cunt, your walls stretching around the digits. He doesn’t give you time to adjust, rough thrusts picking up speed as your legs tremble, threatening to give out beneath you. It stings. Too much. Too soon. But Dabi doesn’t stop his brutal pace, even when there are tears streaming down your face and you choke out a sob, pleading with him to stop or slow down.

That only seems to encourage him. He yanks on your hair, pulling your head back against his shoulder so that your back is arched and he can see the line of blood dripping down your chest. You wince as one of the staples on his palm catches on your clit. The cool, metallic sensation is foreign and rough, but so, so good. Dabi grinds against your ass suddenly, making sure you feel every inch of his hard cock.

There’s a mocking tone in his voice when he asks, “That hurt?” He presses his thumb against your clit, rubbing with fast circles. “Can’t be that bad if it’s making you this fucking wet. Bet you like this, huh? Fucking slut. Letting a villain play with your cunt like this. Are you gonna cum for me? Fuck, this pussy is gonna feel so good around my cock.”

Your cheeks burn as you hear the slick sound of his fingers thrusting into your pussy, fluid dripping down his hand. Humiliation burns in your chest as you realize how quickly he’s going to make you cum just by fingering you in some dirty back alley. And your body betrays you, your cunt clenching around his fingers as those staples rub against your swollen clit again. The contrast between his hot fingers and the cold metal is dizzying.

“Please,” you whimper as he curls his fingers against your sensitive walls. Your pussy clenches around him tighter, a knot winding tight in your belly as he forces you closer to the edge.

Dabi lets go of your hair. You moan as he slaps the back of your thigh. “Desperate little bitch,” he calls you. “Begging me to play with your dripping cunt in some dirty back alley. Now fucking cum. That’s all you’re fucking good for.”

It’s him degrading you that gives you that last push you need, your body unable to fight him anymore. Dabi’s fingers curl just right and your hips buck into his hand, taking him deeper. Those staples rub against your clit harder, and your body locks up as an orgasm rips through you, leaving you breathless as you cum all over his fingers with a silent scream.

He drags your pleasure out until you’re crying, but you’re too weak to push him away. All you can do is squirm and cum again as he overstimulates you. And you feel empty when he finally pulls his drenched fingers from your cunt.

You slump against the wall as he lets go, fingers scraping the bricks as you try to hold yourself up on your trembling legs. He doesn’t allow you to get comfortable though. Dabi’s hand slaps your ass, and he chuckles when you squeal. He takes a step back, watching your cum drip down your thighs before glancing at your swollen pussy.

His belt jingles as he rips at the buckle, tearing at the leather. Your cunt clenches. Dabi shoves his pants down his hips just enough to pull out his thick cock, the tip flushed and beaded with pre-cum. He hisses as he strokes himself, his fingers running over the piercings lining the underside of his dick.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you realize his fingertips are on fire as he grabs your waist and forces you to bend over, giving him a nice view of your ass and your sloppy cunt. His grip on your hip is bruising, his burning fingers digging into your side harshly, branding you with more small burns. You flinch away from the heat, but Dabi only grabs you harder, holding you in place.

You whimper as he rubs his cock against your slit, rocking against you slowly just to torment you. The metal piercing through the head of his dick is hot enough to make your toes curl as it rubs against your sensitive clit, your nerves frayed from his earlier ministrations. The bricks beneath your hands scrape at your palms and scratch your cheek. Unwanted arousal further mixes with the sharp spikes of fear prickling at your skin, sending heat flooding your belly as slick drips down your inner thighs.

“Please,” you mewl as he reaches between your legs and lines his cock up with your entrance. Dabi easily knocks your legs apart when you try to squeeze them shut. “Please, stop, I can’t—” Your protests turn into a choked moan as he swipes a finger over your clit to shut you up, getting sick of your whining.

That’s all it takes to distract you, your naughty hips wiggling against him enticingly when he rubs with fast circles, his fingers heating up.

It’s amusing, Dabi thinks. How you keep pretending you don’t want this. How you keep telling him to stop when your body is begging for him. Little slut.

He buries himself inside of you with one hard thrust, splitting you open with his cock. You squeal, jerking, and buck against him, taking his cock even deeper as your walls stretch around him until it hurts. He’s so fucking big inside of you. Even his fingers weren’t enough to stretch you out. And the piercings lining the underside of his shaft rub your walls perfectly as he drags his cock back out until only the tip is left inside.

“Knew you wanted a fat cock inside of you,” Dabi sneers, laughing as you clench around him and moan. “Fucking cock slut.”

Dabi doesn’t let you breathe as he starts thrusting and grinding against your dripping cunt, fucking you roughly from behind. His hips slap against your ass with each hard thrust. His fingers dig into your waist. At some point, one of his hands palms your breast, slipping beneath your bra to pinch and pull at your nipple.

The filthy sound of your wet walls clinging to his thick cock fill the alley. Abruptly, you’re reminded that anyone could walk by and see you like this. Sobbing and moaning as you let a villain—a wanted criminal—fuck your soaked cunt. The thought makes you clench around him harder, your pussy sucking him in deeper.

And Dabi knows exactly what you’re thinking. “Fuck, your pussy feels good,” he tells you, grabbing either side of your waist so he can drag you back on his cock and fuck you harder, using you for his own pleasure. “You get off on this? Being fucked where anyone could see you?” He snorts. “Naughty girl.”

You shake your head weakly, and Dabi laughs at you again. More tears burn your eyes.

Dabi grins as you start rolling your hips back against his, finally taking his cock like a good girl. Your teary cries have softened into muffled moans and mewls, slutty little sounds that make his cock twitch. Every thrust makes his piercings rub against your walls. Your pussy won’t stop fluttering around him. Clenching and trying to take him deeper.

You’re dripping all over his cock and balls. Making a mess all over him with your sloppy pussy. He can’t help but dip one of his hands between your legs to run his fingers through your slick folds. He rubs your clit with his thumb until your hips start to twitch, then cruelly pulls away just to hear you whine and beg for him to touch you.

A slicked-up finger slips between your cheeks, and you squeak as Dabi’s thumb presses against your hole. The way you moan when the digit slips inside of you is needy and embarrassing. The knot in your stomach coils tighter as he stretches you out, playing with your ass as he fills you with his cock.

Your muscles clench around him. Dabi’s fingers dig into your ass cheek, spreading you apart so he can watch you take his cock, see his finger shoved inside of your other slutty hole. The sight makes his cock twitch inside you, and he groans.

Dabi’s thumb pops out of your hole. He slaps your ass hard enough to make you cry out. Fingertips dig into your skin, littering you with small burns that make you writhe underneath him. The air surrounding you is sweltering, leaving you sticky with sweat.

He grabs you by the neck, yanking you upright and pulling your back flush against his chest so he can whisper absolutely filthy things in your ear. You latch onto his wrist again, your head lolling back against his shoulder, back arched in a pretty curve. The new angle has his cock battering your sweet spot with every thrust, and your hips move with his, grinding back against him as his fingers constrict around your throat, choking you. Dabi shoves your torso against the wall, giving himself better leverage as he fucks you harder.

A hand dips between your legs again, this time to play with your clit, rolling and pinching it with his fingers. He’s going to make you cum one more time. Make you cum around his cock like the slut you are. Stubbornly, you try to squirm away from his rough touch, refusing to give in. Pissed, he slaps your cunt, making you squeal. Hot fingers roll over your clit, and this time you give in to the heat, letting it cloud your mind as you lose yourself to bliss.

Blue eyes glance at your parted lips, your mouth open as you pant, your eyes half-lidded and hazy. Dabi tightens his grip on your neck. Tilts your head back for a better angle. Spits in your mouth. Your eyes widen, but he squeezes your throat. “Swallow it,” he murmurs in your ear.

You do as you’re told, further humiliated. But you don’t have time to dwell on it as his cock pounds you and his fingers swirl over your clit just right.

Your mouth falls open as you clench around his cock, cumming hard, your orgasm tearing through you. It leaves you breathless. The only sound you make is a choked whimper, a mewl that almost sounds like his name, but it’s so muddled you can’t tell. Your legs tremble beneath you, Dabi’s chest and hands the only thing holding you up.

He fucks you through it, groaning again as your cunt spasms around him. Dabi drags your orgasm out until it hurts, your body sensitive and spent from everything he’s put you through.

With a resounding slap, he buries his cock inside of your pussy, cumming deep inside of you. The rush of warmth has your eyes fluttering shut, a sigh falling from your pretty mouth.

Thick, milky fluid drips down your thighs as he eases his cock out of you, tucking himself back into his pants. Cool air brushes against your wet cunt, and the uncomfortable feeling makes you shift. Dabi’s cum is sticky on your legs. Hot. And he slips a hand between your legs to shove it back into your pussy.

Your heart is still pounding in your chest when his grip starts to slacken. Dabi’s hand loosens around your throat, allowing you to breathe again. Heat sinks into your skin as he rubs his thumb against your hip, soothing a tender spot where his fingers dug into you a little too hard. There are burns there. Not bad enough to scar, but you’ll feel them later every time you move, his touch imprinted on your body, claiming you.

Possessiveness flairs in his chest, and he presses himself closer to your back, relishing the feeling of your body against his. Slowly, he moves his hand higher, slipping it under your ruined shirt. Two fingers tap against your waist, demanding attention like they did earlier, when he leaned in close while walking you home and told you to run. Indulging in a scene the two of you have only talked about before.

You looked at him with such wide eyes when he did, nervous and excited. It was the heat in his gaze that sent you running, pangs of arousal already getting you wet before he even caught you.

“Hey.”

Dabi sighs when you don’t react to the sound of his voice, your gaze far off as you stare at nothing, your breath slowly evening out. He adjusts his grip on your waist, squeezing you just a bit tighter to his chest. “Hey,” he tries again, jostling you with his shoulder. His fingers dig into your cheeks when he grabs your chin, gently turning your head towards him. The pad of his thumb brushes against your bottom lip, coaxing you back to him. The vacant look in your eyes slinks away when his gaze finds yours in the dark. And you sink into deep blue. “You with me, doll?”

The arm looped around your waist doesn’t lose its tension until you finally nod.

Slowly, you lean into the hand on your jaw, soothed by the heat and the rhythmic motion of his thumb stroking your cheek. Dabi lets you nuzzle into him, your eyes falling shut. His breath fans over the side of your face, and you subconsciously lean back against the warmth sinking into you from behind, seeking out his affection.

“Okay?” Dabi presses his lips to your temple, lingering as you sigh.

“You broke character,” you whisper as he eases you around in his arms. And you cling to him, hands fisted in the back of his jacket and your head tucked against the side of his neck.

He only shrugs. “Wanted to give you a chance to tell me to knock it off. Didn’t think you’d like me cutting you up like that.” His tone turns teasing. “But you took my cock so well, didn’t you, doll?” He runs his hands down your hips. “What a good girl. Next time I might fuck that cute ass, too.” Dabi grabs your cheeks and squeezes suddenly, and you squeal, giggling as he forces you up onto your toes. “Bet you’d like that.”

Dabi kisses from your neck to your collarbone, his lips finding the small cut he made. It’s stopped bleeding already, but there’s a ruby line trailing down your chest. You sigh as he focuses his attention there, being unusually soft with you.

You call out his name—his real name, but he shakes his head, pulling away to level you with a fond look, and you realize he needs this as much as you do. “Let’s get you home, doll.”

[patchies]

Shadows

Pairing: Dream x Reader x ???

Summary: An apocalyptic world where creatures of the night roam all around it. Searching for living beings to satisfy their hunger. Vicious creatures they are. It’s said that one person called upon their wrath in revenge. You awake in this place with another human being at your side. No memories whatsoever of the life you’ve had prior to coming here. In search of a way out, and your memories, you stumble upon multiple people with many personalities. Some can’t wait to meet you. If you take it the friendly or hostile way is up to you, but worry not… Nothing can hurt you. Or can it, now?

Warnings: none that I can think of

Word Count: 2.8+k

Author's note: hi, hi, hi! I bring you a new chapter after what... 1 and a half months of not uploading anything? My apologies are probably not enough, but I have been working on chapters, I promise! And, drum roll, please, I might have some art in store for this series. It isn't done, yet, but I'm trying to work on it, guys!

Wattpad link: here

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Chapter 4: Forming Friendship

As the sun starts off the next day, you and Nick depart from your home in search of more resources. He throws in a suggestion that you should spread out, so you could cover more ground, and you agree- not like you have anything else to do for the meantime. Unless you want to be stuck at home playing some card games Nick had found while searching for the paint buckets.

You search the places south, just outside the town. All the buildings look the same to your wondering eyes, nothing valuable piquing your interest that much, so you rather opt for wandering further. Through the greenery until a clearing reveals itself before you.

A beautiful and elegant meadow stretches across the horizon. As if a page was torn from a fairy-tale book, and rightfully so. The only thing missing is a royal castle or fairies' houses. Pollen flies in the air and swirls around you enchantingly and a surge of calmness goes through your being. An accommodation in your body along with the feeling of delight.

The nature has truly taken over most of the world.

It's not like you can complain, really. Colours, textures and elements flow with each other in a beautiful harmony, creating an almost painting-like picture that you can marvel at.

Deep down, you were always a fan of the quietness Mother nature has offered you at times in need. Whenever you felt down, really.

You slightly remember how it helped you with your anxiety, shyness and depression when you used to be socially awkward and unwilling to do something about it. It felt peaceful compared to the continuous pressure many people used to put on you. Not many people were harsh on you, but your social battery could take so much until all you were ready to do was just lie down, put on a playlist of your favourite songs and chill. They denied your want to be left alone when the only thing you needed was space and your own time. Their faces are now blurry images of faces you once used to know, but you don't know if you'll ever get back to your life or how long it might take.

I should throw away my pessimistic thoughts…

That was a part of the old you, though. You'd like to think that you're better now, but your pessimism has stayed with you nonetheless. It's about time you started working on it and who knows? You might get to form plenty friendships here who will be willing to help you.

With a shake of your messy hair, you focus back to the beauty in front of you, pushing the vines away and walking towards the flowery meadow.

Yellow grains contrast gorgeously with the sparse greenery the field has to offer here and there.

You bent down and pluck one of the many Dahlias near your feet, putting the pistil close to your nose.

Sniff, sniff, sniff

The flower alone doesn't smell alluring or sweet, like anything. The stem and leaves, on another note, smell bitter with a slight flowery undertone. It strikes a sense of serenity in you as you inspect the innocent white petals be carried away from you by the wind, flying off to the clear sky to join the fine powdery substance.

You let go of the stem and watch it be snatched, following its trace until it falls between the loads of flowers.

Just then, a gentler breeze begins and takes a handful of leaves of the ground, aiming just below a small hill to your left as if it had a mind of its own. You realize that it might actually do as it points you to a lone building sitting at the base, overflown with the finest flora you've ever faced.

A mere bookshop from what you can see from the distance. The walls are built from brick and it still seems in a decent shape, except the nature, but that gives it a special charm. A great place to get away from all this chaotic and death-threating events for even a while.

You carefully move through the grass and blossoms, trekking your way up to it.

• • •

Meanwhile, somewhere far away from you, a deer curiously, yet cautiously, examines you from a cliffside looking over the whole meadow. Its doe eyes flick from you to a small fawn by its side.

It huffs, shakes its head and turns, departing into the forest.

• • •

The inside is wondrous, despite your expectations of it being completely trashed.

Bookshelves line the walls and are all filed with all styles of literature. Slightly used, torn and unkept. It gives you an idea how no one surely visits this place. The place looks great, so it doesn't make much sense to you. You cannot help but be a little happy over the fact at that despite the telling signs of its abandonment.

Your hand automatically lifts up to slide over the spines of the books, keeping your touch light as you advance further inside. The rough, yet extremely soothing, texture extracts a small smile from you and you close your eyes. You begin dragging your other appendage across the parallel shelf until a thud makes you shoot your eyes open in alert, whipping your head behind you, but finding nothing out of ordinary.

With your now unsure footsteps, you slowly walk to the end of the aisle in front of you, peeking around the corner.

You catch sight of a short boy sitting in front of a shelf, or rather a stand, with comic books. He's sat down near the middle where the wooden stand is, flipping through each comic with haste.

A messy brown nest of hair sits atop his head while a flower crown with some scarce plastic bees thrown in reasts atop and a long green scarf messily wrapped around his neck. It strangely compliments his look that is styled with green, golden and black and despite the apocalyptic surroundings and lack of proper resources, you're surprised he's styled it very prettily.

A black stylish coat with golden accents is thrown on the floor near him along with his messenger bag, its contents peeking out. Especially the thick book with a pack of pencils. You wonder what the book contains, but maybe you'll get a chance to see it sometime.

You cautiously and carefully lean against a counter near you, observing the young boy as he shuffles through numerous comics. He huffs out a long sigh, throwing another book aside. It comes tumbling down back to him due to the amount he has already piled on top of each other. His nimble fingers pick up another one, swiping through it with precision.

He mumbles something quietly, softly putting the comic onto another pile beside him that is neat compared to the other one.

This demeanour continues for a long minute, basically choosing a book in a ratio that one is kept and twelve are thrown away. He never seems too happy with his decision, frowning at some in sadness despite having to give up on them. You don't understand why he doesn't put them onto the obvious piles of his favourites, but you stand in your place.

Having enough of watching, you whistle too loudly to get his attention.

Only to see the guy jump up in the air and slip on a paper he has previously abandoned on the ground. He pointlessly flails his arms around until his elbow hits the ground first, followed by his hip and the rest of his body.

You wince.

As if caught in the headlights, he spins his head to you. The previously left out paper now present on his head. You see confusion, fear and surprise fight against who will persevere on his face, so you lower your shoulders back down and give him an awkward smile, “Uh, sorry?”

He unsurely stumbles to his feet and dusts his clothes off, tightening the scarf around his neck with tense movement. His eyes widen and he makes a quick, though awkward, show of pulling out a stick?

He fumbles around with it for a bit before it extends into a normal looking sword, posing heroically, “I'll- uh, stab you! Yeah! I'll use this sword to stab you.”

You quirk an eyebrow at his choice of words, and at the adorable stutter he did, “Do you even know how to wield a sword?”

“Of course, I do! Wait- do I? No, no, no, you're just trying to make me look silly. I do know-”

Cue an uncoordinated swing of the sharpened weapon at his own leg, but at least his reaction time seems to be fast and he slides his foot out of harm's way just in time. One he created, and he watches as the sword penetrates the wooden boards and he struggles to pull it out.

His action makes you doubt his abilities further and a you can't help the small giggle that escapes you, raising your arms in mock defence when he sends you a defensive glare, “You- you cannot be serious. Quit the child's play, I'm not here to hurt you.”

He stays quiet, still pulling on the handle of the sword with unfortunate outcomes. It slips out of his fists multiple times and he sighs before flopping down onto the floor, defeated, “I guess I really don't know.”

You choose not to retort any sassy comeback to his gloomy self, rather analysing his figure and approaching the weapon. Arms still held above your head to show you don't plan on attacking, your features soft, “Mind me getting the weapon for you? I won't use it against you, I promise.”

“Go ahead,” he gives you an absent wave of his hand and only stares as you grip the handle.

At first, you tug and nothing happens, so you try holding it at a specific place and are delighted when you feel a small button press against your palm, giving it one more tug along with a squeeze of the switch.

An imaginary lightbulb blinks above his head as he sees the sword retract from the ground and you're left gripping the stick in your hand, “See? It isn't as hard, is it now?”

“I admit, you're right,” he accepts the handle from your outstretched hand, storing it into his hoodie pocket.

No wonder you didn't notice it before. He's had it hidden there and he had to have pulled it out when you whistled. Although you personally wouldn't own a weapon like that, it probably comes in handy for situations like these. You aren't sure if it'd be beneficial in an actual fight against a stronger and better crafted weapon, though.

A switchblade would do a better job, surely. From what you've seen, they're a lighter object, more portable and friendlier to beginners. Might even suit his style of fighting better, even if you haven't seen it in action yet, to be truthful, “I do believe I'm right.”

“I would beat you if I had my hatchet!”

You chuckle, “Well, we can always engage in hand-to-hand combat, if you're that confident in getting me. Why use weapons?”

His eyes widen and all his courage dissipates, waving his hands crazily and shaking his head, “When you say it like that, I'll pass you on that offer, thank you. Why didn't you attack me, by the way? Oh, and also, I'm Tubbo, since we seem to be okay with each other.”

Refraining from telling him your name back, you swing your arm at his head and watch him yelp, shut his eyes and flinch from you in humorous satisfaction. You stop it inches from his face, lowering it and stepping away from him, “You should've seen your face, Mr. Tubbo. I'd say we are okay, but I had to pull that on you and to answer your question of my peace towards you… You just seemed harmless.”

He stands up and looks at you in feign anger, jabbing an accusing finger into your chest “You're so cruel, what? I can't trust you now.”

Tubbo crosses his arms, turning away from you. You turn away from him and spot his collection of comics. His previous actions coming to the forefront of your mind, “Hey, why were you browsing through so many comics?”

“I was looking for something,” he shrugs, walking past you and picking up quite a big amount of comic books. He catches the incredulous glance you give the items in his hands and nods his head at them, “They aren't for me.”

“You looked quite sad when you couldn't grab one for yourself, why can't you?”

He's surprised you picked up on that, but he just shrugs, “I would. If my bag allowed me to carry so much at once and I just want to surprise my friends.”

You give a small 'aww', making his ears flush pink and cower away, “I could help you carry them. Where is your camp?”

“I don't think I should be revealing that to strangers, but I've never been the smartest with decisions and I'm sure you'd notice either way,” Tubbo stuffs the books inside his bag, barely closing it, “I could just act like I abducted you.”

“Won't that be suspicious? You actually seem like a person who's too nice to do that.”

The bee boy lightly grins at that while putting his coat on, throwing the messenger bag on his shoulder, “I'm bad at acting, too, so they'd surely notice.”

“Are any of them keeping guard on this place, by the way?”

“No,” his answer is straight-forward, without any hesitation, “It might be very shocking, but none of my friends know about this place. Although I visit quite often than not. It gets quite harsh out there, y'know?”

You hum, choosing to drop the subject and return back to an airier topic, “Which ones do you like?”

Tubbo's quick to light up at the change, dropping to his knees and shuffling through the messy mountain of comics once again. He carelessly throws ten of them at you in happiness and leaves you grasping them to your chest. You laugh at his enthusiasm, reading off few of the titles and shaking your head as he keeps on searching for more.

This was probably a crazy idea, but whatever. Tubbo seems like an adorable person to be around.

Not long after you get ready to leave, keeping the conversation loose and it's almost effortless how you get along. The themes get intertwined between you with ease, pointing to some aspects around you if you want to make a point.

He is a strange guy to get a hold of, but you can say that you like how easy-going talking is with him. The male has visibly suffered some of his own stuff, but he still has this bubbly personality around him that you can't wrap your mind around. Though, you enjoy that little perk he has.

At one point, you lose sight of the boy, looking around you in confusion only to have him appear behind you and throw a freshly made flower crown on top of your head. The question of where he got it from is lost to his ears as he babbles on how he needs to teach you the crafting of one, so you could be 'flower crown buddies'. His own words. Your reaction is to bump your shoulder with his, joking how he is too goofy for you to even want to learn. A look of betrayal is thrown at you and you chuckle.

He proceeds to skip at certain intervals during your trek through the forest, too, visibly being excited to earn a new friend who is close to his wave-length. You don't even notice when you get close, having too much fun getting to know each other and goof around, but Tubbo increasingly slows his steps near an old-looking house.

He turns to you, “Well, this is my stop. I shouldn't take you further or I'll get spanked for not listening to my peers.”

“Uh, I won't respond to that, though I hope everything's alright back at your base. You shouldn't go through child abuse anywhere,” you awkwardly scratch at your neck, handing him the comic books meant for him.

Tubbo light-heartedly laughs at your perplexed self, a jokester-like glint appearing in his eyes as he accepts the papers, “I hope we can meet again.”

“I do, too, and hey. The library can be our place, if you're comfortable enough to call it that,” you heartily smile at him, ruffling his hair and receiving a pouty 'hey! my hair, not yours!'.

He shakes his head to fix your doings, throwing a lop-sided grin, “I can allow that.”

“Well, I should go,” you look up to the sky, seeing the sun brightly shining more to the west side now. It shouldn't be that long before you'll have to get ready for the night and report your findings with Nick. Not like you have much to say to him, but there are some things worth mentioning to him, “I have a friend possibly waiting for me already. It was incredible meeting you, Tubbo!”

“Likewise.”

[santalsaburablog]

The adventures of Santal. Chapter 11. Santal, help out!

Believe in yourself, otherwise no one will believe in you.

A riddle! Santal, who has recently been studying at the Jedi Temple, saw for the first time a real lightsaber duel, as well as the former padawan of Master Yoda, Master Ian Dooku! Wanting to get acquainted, the girl, however, suffers because of the tension that has arisen between her and another youngster named Landa Selmura. Not knowing what to do, Santal decides to seek help from the grandmaster, but after receiving advice, something unexpected happens…

- Santal, just in case, I have nothing to do with it! It's not me! I don't know!

- Hush, calm down, what happened? Santal gently pulled the boy's hands away from her.

But Svante continued to tremble, folding his hands in a cross.

— I do not know how it happened! - the little Rodian continued to talk confusedly.

"You'd better show me," Santal interrupted. She was burning with impatience at what had happened.

- Let's run.

Svante took the girl to his room. It was, as Santal had expected, the same as hers. But there were minor differences. There was a plate with three jogans on it. On the left is a computer. The boy brought the daughter of the Jedi to him.

"I want to say right away that I'm not a computer hacker," Santal admitted.

And then I caught a slight sadness, although the expression of the face was not completely visible.

— Yes, and where did you get this device? - the girl continued. — We, the Younglings, like ... - and stopped. She didn't know if she was speaking correctly or not.

— It shouldn't be so personal. And that's the problem. One of the older ones lent it to me, and I screwed up. Here, " Svante pointed to the screen.

Santal looked carefully and did not understand. There were two tabs on the screen.

— And what's there? Santal asked, holding out her hand to the screen.

- You see, I was looking for information, and then I clicked somewhere. And so…

Santal, without thinking twice, moved her finger along the mouse and clicked on the first tab. The text appeared.

Svante opened his mouth slightly. And then he smiled, wanting to say something, but changed his mind.

- Hurrah! Thanks! And then I was scared, I thought that…

And Santal didn't know what to do. Laugh or swear. She thought something serious had happened. And here... oh, the Power!

The girl closed the second tab.

"Don't push that thing again," she advised. — I don't understand one thing. More precisely, two things. Why did you ask me for help, and not one of the older ones? And what were you shouting at first, I don't remember?

— I was just scared. Especially not my room, but that padawan's. That is... yes, that. Room. Sorry, I didn't say that… He allowed me to use it without leaving his room. And when I clicked, I didn't get my bearings, ran for help, stumbled upon you, and you sometimes sit in the library and know something about it. Probably. That's what I thought, " Svante finally relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief. And before that, I was flexing my fingers and getting confused in words. - I think I've said everything.

"Okay, I'm going," Santal said, and after waiting for an approving nod, she ran to her room, feeling great comfort from her clansman.

However, she still had some thoughts left. But she brushed them off like an insect, because there was a more important task. Find Dooku.

The girl did not run fast, feeling as if after what had happened a minute ago, she herself felt a little easier.

But then she suddenly realized that she had forgotten where Dooku's room was with all this fuss. And almost immediately calmed down. Why would she be in a hurry? Anyway, the old master is not going anywhere. She can approach him tomorrow.

And the next day the girl safely forgot about it. And calmly continued to study.

So six months have passed since getting into the Temple. And then, one day, the daughter of the Jedi woke up and realized that she was turning four.

As soon as she jumped out of bed with a wide smile, she immediately collapsed. The girl remembered that she now lives in the Temple. My aunt, who is preparing a cake in the morning, is not around. She will not kiss her again in the morning, will not hug her. My uncle will not circle over my head. No. It won't happen again.

So Santal just got up without haste, got dressed and went out. A little sad. Because no one will congratulate her.

This day was a day off. No classes, so you can relax. Santal calmly wandered through the corridors. Finally, I found a mirror and looked at it, wanting to find out what had changed.

And there were no special changes. The girl has grown up a little, and that's all. In the face, consider, there are zero changes.

— So I became a year older, so I became a year older... - Yunling hummed to herself.

According to tradition, I wondered what my aunt, uncle and that uncle were doing. Do they think about it?

Suddenly, Nick came across her. The Twi'lek, seeing the clansman, made a sign to lekku, meaning a greeting. Santal understood, because before the unexpected departure, her aunt had managed to teach her how to say hello, say goodbye, and other simple things with the help of the movements of tchun and tchin.

So Santal understood the Lekku language and the Twi'lek language a little, but she wanted to go further, to master it perfectly.

- Hi, there.

- Hi, Nick.

- Wow, did you learn the word "hello"? Congratulations! Progress, " the boy laughed.

Santal also laughed, but deep down she was a little offended by the joke. She didn't like it for something. There was something about her.

- Don't be offended. I was just joking, " Nick somehow realized that Santal was unpleasant to hear.

Santal decided that Nick guessed because of her expression or just felt it with the help of the Force.

— Where are you going?

— I want to rest. I'll probably sit in the Hall of a Thousand Fountains. Or where the trees are. I like quiet places.

- All right. I'm going to see a friend. He's making something again — " Nick went on his way.

And Santal is his own. Even though she said where she was going, she was still bored. She even thought, maybe she should have told about her birthday? Or not?

As a result, the girl, after sitting in the Fountain Hall, went to the garden. I sat down under a tree, thinking about everything.

- "Today is my birthday. 4 years old. But for some reason, I'm a little sad. Why? Maybe because this is my first birthday not at home, but at the Jedi Temple. I wonder if the Jedi celebrate their birthdays? I hope so. And it's not interesting to live without such an important holiday. After all, on this day you realize that you have become a year older, more mature. Another year has passed. And if there is no birthday, then the years fly by unnoticed. You don't have time to keep up."

The girl sighed and began to think further.

- "What are others doing now? Yes, I'm thinking about them again. Because there is not much to think about. My aunt probably forgot me by refusing. My uncle, I think, remembers me. And the guy with the hat? I wonder if he thinks about me? Although, on the other hand, why should he even think about me? Well, he lost me. And at first, most likely, he was looking for it. Then, maybe, he waved his hand. And I understand him. I would also give up pointless searches. We are nothing to each other."

Santal sat for a while longer, looked around and went back. She didn't know what to do, so she decided to read something.

However, the girl did not suspect that today she is not the only one who is overcome by anxiety for some unknown reason.

***

Dooku was sitting in his room and meditating. His face was absolutely calm and serene, as befits the face of any Jedi. But it was fake. In fact, the old Jedi was a little worried. He had a premonition that something would happen soon. Fortunately or not, it is unknown. Moreover, the excitement appeared exactly after the demonstrative duel. But Dooku couldn't figure out what exactly was bothering him.

***

Barriss Offee was sitting quietly in the library, her head modestly bent over some text. Although she had not been a youngling for so long, even more than Santal, she already dreamed of the times when she would become a padawan, and then a knight. It is obvious that her teacher is most likely to be mirialanka. This is the tradition. Created in order for the teacher to pass on the experience to the student.

The girl also imagined how she would travel, discover something new, unknown. It will open a previously unexplored planet, a civilization. This is one of the main reasons why she wanted to be a Jedi. She also planned to spend her evenings studying ancient texts. From her point of view, this is a very exciting activity.

Perhaps she will do this together with Santal. And what? She liked this girl with her thirst for knowledge. He likes to read, so there will be something to talk about.

But with a lightsaber, things were bad. The young mirialanka could not even hold a sword properly. But maybe someone will help. Two days ago, she still didn't think, but now it seems to her that a couple of additional lessons still wouldn't hurt. Mara also said that he would like her to be a little more cheerful, smile more often, laugh. Well, Offi tried to behave like that. It's not working out very well.

In the meantime, she will allow you to help with the sword. Here Tutso Mara volunteered.

***

Santal still plucked up the courage and told her fellow clansmen about her birthday. After much thought, I finally decided that there would be no harm to her from disclosing this information.

Almost everyone reacted, as the Jedi daughter expected, with a smile. They started congratulating me.

— Why didn't you tell us?" - Max was "offended".

And Santal didn't answer. She wanted to laugh. And she didn't care that she didn't receive any gifts that day. The main thing is the attention that was given to her. The members of the clan showed that they care about her.

Until the evening, the children had fun, chatted about various things. Santal mostly just listened.

The next morning at breakfast, Santal had an idea. Write letters and make peace with Landa. The second did not work out, because they did not meet in the dining room somehow. Apparently, it so happened that one of them came earlier. Maybe they were separated for a split second or something else.

Well, nothing. She will meet with Landa in the classroom. He will have time. Yes, and she will have time to write letters. Namely, my aunt and uncle. She knows the address. And even if they don't read, it will at least make it easier for her.

And she will also write a letter to that uncle. The only bad thing is that she doesn't know his name and address where he lives. But she will write anyway, and then she will find someone who will pass it on. The main thing is to write.

And now in the evening Santal was coming from class, wanting to retire to her room and start writing. I left the classroom, decided to go to the library, but decided to take a longer path.

Santal still studied the corridors of the Temple and other nearby places at her leisure, even though she had lived in it for quite a long time. Just because she was interested in it. It is interesting to walk in such a peculiar maze. It's always so exciting to go back and forth, right and left and guess where the exit is, where the road will lead you.

So, Santal Sabura was distracted by the windows before entering the library. Or rather, the views that open from them.

Almost all Younglings did not know life outside the Temple until they became padawans. But not Santal. She, by virtue of the circumstances, saw the world, at least a little. I managed to visit other planets. I saw houses, and sand, and the sea, and grass, and trees. That's why she was so attracted to the windows of the Temple, showing life on Coruscant. Cars flying at great speed. Houses, lights.

On this planet, urban "Coruscant" life reigned around the clock. Santal had already taken a bite out of it. And, of course, she wanted more. Last time, she definitely looked at a couple of levels. This is great, but I would like to see the whole city. All levels. From top to bottom.

Having seen enough, Santal still forced herself to tear herself away from the window and continue her way to the library, or at least to her room. She turned her head to the left and stopped dead.

Master Dooku was standing by the window, apparently also admiring the view. Santal was surprised and delighted. Plus, it felt like going to the toilet downstairs. The girl did not believe her luck. She kept putting off meeting this Jedi, and then he met her himself. Unbelievable! There are coincidences!

Santal froze, afraid to move. She knew that such a chance could not be missed, and therefore she did not want to make a mistake terribly. It is very important for her now to think about where to start a conversation. It would be easier if everything depended on her, but no. Her interlocutor will be a man much older than her, and therefore smarter. His questions also determine which way the dialogue will turn.

It seemed to the girl that a lot of time had passed, and she was already beginning to be afraid. She already wanted to take the first step, giving out a banality in the form of a simple greeting. It was too simple, but it couldn't be better, and she felt that there wasn't much time left. Santal didn't care anymore, as long as she didn't keep silent.

"Hello," she said softly, but so that she could hear herself clearly.

The man turned and looked at her. Santal was already at the limit, because the master's gaze was strict and serious. But calm, without malice.

***

Dooku, in search of a source of excitement, decided to air out and take a walk, at the same time observing what was happening outside the Temple windows. At such moments, he always remembered his home planet Serenno. His parents, his sister. They have all been gone for a long time, but Yan Dooku still remembered them.

The man perfectly remembered how his sister gave him a comlink to communicate. He remembered coming to his mother's funeral, where his father yelled at him and even beat him.

All this was already a long time in the past. It's time to forget and move on. That's what Jedi usually do. And Dooku did the same. But still, sometimes I was nostalgic for the past.

After wandering for about half an hour, Dooku decided to make a stop at one of the windows, and after a while he suddenly realized that he might now find the source of excitement. It began to seem to him that there was someone nearby, and this someone was either afraid to take the first step,or waiting for him to start.

After waiting for quite a long time, Dooku got tired of this, and he decided to look at the one who is next to him. I turned my head to the right and saw...

A little human girl. Ordinary appearance. Nothing special. But what really caught my eye was that the girl, although frightened, did not lower her head, but continued to look. Amazing.

***

"Yunling, what are you doing here so late?" The master asked the girl sternly.

Santal was even more scared because she intuitively understood that the further conversation depends on what she will say. My tongue was numb.

- I was ... going to my room. But first I wanted to go to the library, take it to read, - it seemed to Santal as if someone was speaking for her with her mouth. And she was even grateful for it. The necessary words pop up by themselves.

- I see, - Dooku turned around and went to the left side.

And Santal stood confused, not knowing what to do - to rush after her, not knowing what else to say (and she really did not know and did not understand), or to go where she originally intended.

While she was thinking, the master had managed to get far away. Santal wanted to catch up, but thought: what will she say to him at all? Just facts and compliments. This begs the question: and what?

- You fought so hard.... It was so... Great... I heard that you were a student of Yoda himself... Santal suddenly uttered aloud in one breath.

- Thank you, - Dooku heard even at this distance, turned around and walked on.

Santal, feeling a little relieved, quickly ran to the library and went to her room.

And after some time, the Santal clan received a real surprise. When the children entered the classroom, Master Yoda was already waiting for them.

- Max, hand out the swords. They are in the drawer on the left.

Everyone was shocked. They finally began to be trained to wield a lightsaber! And Max asked, worried:

- Are they real?

The other Younglings laughed. Yoda giggled.

- We will study the training ones. So that you don't get hurt, but learn the basics.

We started with the simplest movements. And the first discovery that the daughter of the Jedi made was that only the hilt of the sword has weight. Because of this, there were difficulties when performing exercises. Without feeling the blade, you can turn it in the wrong place and burn it-fortunately, not so much.

Anyway, the first impression is always unforgettable. Santal was sure that even if many years passed, she would still not forget how she first took a lightsaber. Let it be a training one. It's simple.... I can't put it into words. The daughter of the Jedi was sure: instead of choosing the right words, you should just let her hold this beautiful thing, the symbol of the Order, in her hand. Only then will it become clear what sensations are entering the brain at this moment. How an unprecedented feeling spreads through the whole body in different streams.

Another good news for the girl was that Yoda will teach. The one she respected the most. She even came up with a nickname for him - the Wisest.

"You should always rely on your feelings in everything," the grand master said, and Santal tried to absorb every word like a sponge.

Throughout the training, the girl stood up in different poses, then in one position she held a small sword, then in another. And so far it has worked out well. Everyone has.

It is not surprising, because so far, being younglings, children were taught only the First, the easiest, form of combat.

But then, as it should be in such cases, it became more difficult. One day, Yoda announced at the beginning of the lesson that the lessons would change. Now the younglings will learn to perform slightly more complex acrobatic tricks with somersaults, jumps, and so on. Of course, they have done this before, but from now on it will be a little more difficult. Plus, a sword is added. Not just training different stands and swings, standing firmly on your feet - now the type of exercise "sword plus acrobatics" is added. For example, you will need to jump up and make some movement with a training sword.

That's when Santal started having big problems. The old fear returned. She was afraid of tumbling, jumping or anything else before, because she was afraid of falling, of getting a fracture. I didn't want to disfigure myself. I was afraid of damage forever.

Although such serious injuries had never happened to the girl, she still did not want to experience such sensations on herself. That's why I was afraid. Each time losing faith in their own strength.

It is very strange that most of her fellow clansmen did not experience such problems. They calmly did what they said, without fear of consequences. Especially Max. Santal immediately realized: let him go, he will only be engaged in physical training all the time.

But they were also timid, like her. Svante was afraid, but he tried to do it. Justin was careful, but he tried anyway.

One day Santal got tired of all this. I thought, others are not afraid, they do it somehow. And what about her? Like it's worse than the others? As a result, at the next lesson, I was so brave that I tried. Unfortunately, it was unsuccessful.

The girl was hurt - not much, of course, but it was still a shame. Especially when the others laughed softly. Barely able to wait until the end of classes, Santal ran out of the room unnoticed, carefully watching the fellow clansmen and the master. Fortunately, no one stopped her. Although the girl still thought that Yoda knew everything, but decided to keep silent. Probably, everything was already clear, so there is no need to ask. It is written on the forehead, simply put. Moreover, everything was happening in front of everyone.

Fortunately, it was the end of the school day, and the daughter of the Jedi could safely look for a place to cry. But wherever she went, there was either at least someone everywhere, or there was just the certainty that someone would appear later. Santal could not imagine any completely secluded places. And suddenly I remembered. The map! We need to look at it more closely.

After a few minutes, carefully studying every detail, the girl found the perfect place. Ventilation! But how to get into it there? There was a ventilation vent in her room, but to get there, you need to jump high, which Santal was afraid to do, and did not know how.

I had to look elsewhere. Finally, the Jedi daughter found a place where the passage to the ventilation system opens low, so that she could push the hatch back there, climb in and close it again.

At that moment, Santal realized that the desire to cry had decreased a little, but the desire to hide deep inside had not. So it took a long time before the girl got tired. She walked for a very long time through the newly opened new maze. I went through a lot of turns, a couple of times I found abysses with giant fans and ran away in fear, because I was afraid of heights, until I found the perfect dead end, sat down in a corner. There, Santal Sabura finally gave way to tears.

***

"It looks like I'll have to accept it, although I don't want to. I hope Nobi is right, and Santal is fine, studying and all that. He lives in excellent conditions. Oh, why did I say that?! Oh, if only everything could be turned back. I wouldn't be in such a hurry. Maybe I had a chance to convince him to come back, and I missed it. Although our niece has never lived on her own before, Nobi believes that she adapts quickly. And we will think about her all the time while she is studying.

But I'm sure she'll forget about us. We took care of her, and she will forget. And when Santal grows up, she will suddenly remember, most likely, and will come to our common grave. Because by this time we will die of loneliness and not being needed by anyone. How are we going to live now? For what? How are we without you-eh?"

Elina Sabura gave way to tears, and then went to prepare the table. That evening, for the umpteenth time, the table was set rather sparsely. Just two plates and two glasses. The wonderful niece of Elina and Nobi did not have lunch with them anymore.

***

Shrinking into a ball and being very upset not only because of today, but also because she was in such a situation because of that kidnapper, Santal did not immediately notice the presence of another Jedi.

- Hi there. What happened? Why are you crying?

The daughter of the Jedi really did not want to show a tear-stained face, because she did not even move her ear. However, the young guy, as she understood from his voice, had his own opinion on this matter. Suddenly, the girl felt a hand on her shoulder. It was impossible not to turn around here.

Santal turned around. Very close to her, to her right, sat a really young guy with brown hair and gray-blue eyes. The look is very attentive and sympathetic. In other words, he is filled with a desire to take part in someone else's trouble.

- What's your name? the girl asked, sobbing.

"I'm a trainee padawan. My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi.

[impala1967dwinchester]

Sam Winchester: Hair dye

*Credit to gif creator* 

Pairing: Sam x Reader 

Pov: Sams

Warnings: Cuteness, couple things, swearing, soft kisses, Mention of Dean 

Summary: You ask Sam to help color your hair. You and Sam make a mess while watching old classic movies. 

Word Count: 2.4k 

A/N- I’ve been writing a lot of angst, so I thought a good fluff ridden one-shot would be nice to write. 

Your Favorite Color- Y/F/C 

Masterlist

Taglist: 

Telling everyone that I was going on a supply run, Y/n ears perked up. She ran over and whispered in my ear. “Can I come with you?” She asked. Smiling “Yes you can come along.” I said wrapping my arm around her waist.  

“So, do you need anything Dean?” I asked “Nah, man I’m fine.” He said before throwing me the impala keys. “You scratch her and you both die.” He said and went back to his phone.  

“Thanks Dean.” I said before walking with Y/n by my side to the impala. “I’m glad you came along, Y/n. I like having time with you like this where Dean isn’t teasing either one of us.” I said opening the passenger door for Y/n. “Thank you kind sir.’ I walked around and got into the driver's seat ‘I wanted to spend time with you. I feel like sometimes it gets taken because of hunting.” She spoke.

I started the impala, and was immediately met with the loud music that Dean listens to. I turned the radio off and backed out of the garage. Y/n and I drove for a few before I exited the highway, and went to a store that we had never been to ‘Target’.  

Y/n sat next to me, all excited. Which wasn’t unusual just was good to see her so excited. “What’s got you so excited?” I asked as I pulled into a spot rather far from the doors of the store. “I’m just excited that’s all.” She said leaning over to place a haste kiss, before going to open her door.  

Y/n had this effect on me that no matter what was going on; she could stare at me, or just gentle kiss me were the time around us would seem to stop. A moment of clarity every time, like butterflies in my stomach.  

When I heard the door, slam closed I quickly turned the engine off and jumped out of the car. There was Y/n her ass pressed against the back of the trunk, her arms crossed, along with her ankles. “What’s wrong Sammy?” She spoke.  

I just smiled and grabbed her wrist. “Let’s go, before you scratch Dean’s precious car.” I spoke. Y/n’s made its way inter locking it with mine. She gentle sway her arm back and forth setting a slight motion between us with both our arms.  

In moments like these I felt like we weren’t hunters, we weren’t credit card thief’s, we didn’t go to hell and come back. In moments like these I just felt normal. The automatic doors opening as Y/n and I got closer.  

I grabbed a cart not really thinking. Y/n started walking around. Catching back up with Y/n she was walking around the isle with all the office supplies. Again, another moment of clarity like we were just a normal couple, with a normal life.  

I passed the sticky notes, throwing a few packs in, Y/n had picked up a few other things. Again, we walked through, perusing around the different isle, sometimes Y/n would pick things up and show them to me.  

We’d have a short laugh, and then she’d put it back. Y/n said we needed some more blankets, even if the bunker was climate controlled ‘it’s always nice to have so many blankets’ she had said once, and then she throw three or four blankets into the cart. “I don’t mind, baby.” I said as I pushed the cart following Y/n.  

We skipped the clothing for some reason, not that I was really bothered by it. When we finally made it through the blankets, pillows, and furniture of ‘Target’ We had made it to the food, and medicines. All of sudden the list that I had in my mind appeared reminding me of why we were here. “Honey, I’m going to get the stuff for the bunker okay.” I said kissing her on her cheek.  

Thinking for a quick second I kept the cart with me. “Be careful, and I’ll find you.” She said before walking away. I walked around looking for all the medical things that I needed for the hunts, grabbing a bit of food as well.  

I saw Y/n waddle over with a few boxes in her hands. “So, I might have found a very time-consuming project for you to help with me with!” She said doing a little dance, before coming over to and showing me that she had picked up a few hair dyes boxes.  

“You wanna do this?” I asked raising an eyebrow. All Y/n did was vigorously shake her head. “OKay, okay, okay. Don’t hurt yourself!” I said laughing a little before I took them from her hands and dropping them into the cart.  

“Yay, I’m so excited. Ya know, this isn’t the first time I’ll be dying my hair.” Y/n said as she inter looped her arm with mine. “Really, do tell.” I said as we walked.  

“Well right before I met you two Winchester boys, I had redyed my hair a deep purple, there was a time when my hair was blue, another time when I was a teenager, I had a undercut and then shaved it which was pretty cool.” Y/n said as we pulled up to a register. I pulled everything out and paid for it all, with a look coming from the young man at the register.  

Y/n and I walked out again Y/n inter looping her arm with mine. I hadn’t realized how far I had parked until Y/n said something. “Why’d you have to park so far away” whining a little bit at the end of her sentence.  

“Because have you met my brother, no scratch can come to this car.” I said wiggling my eyebrows. She giggled and helped put the bags into the trunk. I opened her door for her, and then put the cart away before getting into the driver's seat.  

The drive was short back to the bunker, which was nice. I could see Y/n was excited to get her hair dyed. Again, when we made it to the bunker, I was careful to not nick Dean’s car as I backed in.  

Y/n didn’t wait for the car engine to shut off before she had four bags on each arm. “Okay I’m ready!” She said walking towards the adjoining door. Looking at her and then the trunk I noticed she had left me the heaviest nags but also there was only two bags left. I grabbed them quickly and slammed the trunk shut, so I could open the door for her.  

“Deanie Beanie, we are back!” Y/n said as she walked into the library. Setting the bags onto the table. “Y/n... Never again call me that.” Dean said rolling his eye, “So... you don’t want your prizes that I got for you?” Y/n said. Dean looked over at me for a second. “Well... maybe.” He spoke.  

I handed him the pie after I set the bags on the table, Y/n shuffled through the bags pulling out a soft, king sized blanket. She gently slid it across the table “I thought you’d like it, but if not. I can always take it back Dean.” Y/n said.  

It was silent for a moment and then Dean got up and walked over to Y/n hugged her tightly. “Thank you, Y/n. And thanks Sam for remembering the pie this time.” releasing Y/n from the hug. Taking his pie and new blanket with him before leaving the library to go to his bedroom.  

“Good night you too!” He screamed half-way down the hallway. “Well, that went much better than predicted!” Y/n said. “I didn’t know that you bought a pie for him either.” She said before taking the rest of the stuff out of the Target bags.  

“Well, years ago instead I got him cake, and he lost his shit. Then years before that I basically forgot to get him his pie.” I said shrugging my shoulders taking the food into the kitchen.  

“Sammy!” Y/n said whining. “Yes dear.” I said as I walked back into the library. “When can we start to do my hair?” She said spinning around. Laughing a little “We can do it after we put everything away, sound good?” I asked.  

A loud enough huff came from Y/n, “I guess... I don’t really have a say.” She said rushing past me and starting to put things away, to try and speed up the process. “Honey, why don’t you go grab a t-shirt you don’t mind getting icky, and come back to the library.” I said walking over to her and kissing her with passion. “Hmm, okay Sammy.”  

I finished up putting everything away and made my way back into the library, in the corner Y/n and Dean had fashioned a mini living room, a little TV and a small love seat, along with Dean’s recliner.  

I flipped through the channels looking for a movie to play, but all I found was classical movies something like ‘Gone with the wind’ and ‘Psycho’. It honestly was just there for background noise. I turned when her heard Y/n cough a little.  

She had on one of my very old university shirts it hung past her thighs. She smiled slightly, and grabbed the boxes off the table. She throws it over to me catching it before it slammed into my face. “I’m going to get snacks, read the direction.” She yelled from the kitchen.  

Y/n was shorter than I was, which ended up being very cute especially when she wears my shirts, it didn’t matter if they were flannels, my grey t-shirts, or my ginormous jackets, and sweatshirts. “Are you reading!” She yelled from the kitchen.  

“Um, yeah.” I said as I fumbled with the box. When Y/n reentered the library, she had a bowl of popcorn balancing in her left hand, two bottled waters tucked under that arm, and many other boxes of chocolates in her other hand.  

“How long do you think this process is going to take?” I asked. Not upset with spending to much with her, just wondering why she had some much food. “I don’t know smart boy read the box.” She winking at me and she placed the bowl of popcorn on the table.  

Y/n sat down and let me read the box, she watched whatever was playing on the TV. “Okay, so I’d say and hour. Y/F/C is what you want? I know you grab other boxes?” I asked, “Yes dear, it’s the one I want.” She said getting up quickly.  

“I have to get a old towel.” Y/n said before walking out of the library yet again. Finally, Y/n returned with a towel wrapped around her shoulders, “This is so you don’t make a mess baby.” She spoke. I rolled my eyes, and started to take the contents out of the box.  

“Here, give it to me. I’ll mix all the stuff up, and all you have to do is put in my hair, and maybe wash my hair too.” She said gracefully taking the box out of my grasp. “Here’s your gloves, so your hands don’t stain.” Y/n said handing me gloves over her shoulder.  

It was a few minutes and then she handed me a bottle and simply said. “Just pour it over my hair and massage it in, I guess.” She said looking over her shoulder. “Okay,” I said bending over kissing her nose gently.  

The process went by quickly, every few minutes I'd stop to kiss Y/n temple, avoiding the hair dye that was close to her forehead. I set a timer on my phone something like twenty-five minutes, so I pulled the gloves off and stuffed them into the box, before coming sit down with Y/n.  

Her eye becoming more and more hooded, she’d yawn and lift her arms up the shirt only rising more, all I could see was the skin on her thighs. It never stopped. “Do you want to watch something else, baby?” I asked her, ‘no’ she shook her head. “Okay, baby.” I said resting my hand on her exposed thigh.  

Just like that my timer went off, “Baby, you ready?” I asked her, Y/n looked over at me and gave me a face like ‘really was that even a question’, “Duh I’m ready!” She said jumping up from the couch and running into the kitchen.  

“Don’t forget the conditioner.” she yelled yet again from the kitchen. When I walked in, she was testing the temperature of the water, “We have to use kind of cold water.” I gave her a look of confusion wanting her to explain more.  

“Because hot water will strip the color from my hair, crazy.” She said shrugging her shoulder and giggling before grabbing my hand and dragging me to sink. “Can you give me a little bit of a head massage, please Sam?” Y/n whispered.  

Good thing that I was much taller than her, but regardless. There weren’t many times that  Y/n would ask me for a massage, only when she was desperate for the touch of my hands. That was one of the first things Y/n had told me when we first got together. ‘I love your hands Sam’ she had said while she slowly grazed her rather smaller fingers against the palm of my hand.  

Anyways, I also checked the temperature of the water, and started to wet Y/n’s hair, the color draining out, and when it cleared a bit. I heard Y/n say “You can use the conditioner now, remember massage please.” I smirked as I lightly grazed my hands through her soft locks, just gently massaging her neck and then rising up to her temple.  

I heard the slip of two or three moans come from Y/n, I momentarily stopped taking a second to notice how the shirt had risen to the half cover her ass. She wore a pair of spanx under the shirt. “Sam” “Hmm?” I responded. “Can we kind of hurry this process my back is start to hurt.” She said a whine in her voice.  

“Oh shit, yeah. Sorry.” I said spreading the rest of the conditioner through her hair and washing. turning off the faucet off, I wrapped the towel around her hair. “Thank you, baby. I bet it looks great” Y/n said.  

Reaching on her tip-toes she gave me a slow and passionate kiss. My hands finding their way to her hips. “I love you, Sammy.” She said as her need for air overpowered our kiss. “I love you too baby, I love you too.”

Completed 03/04/2021 

[fallout-drabbles-n-stuff]

Romanced companions getting caught under the mistletoe by Sole?☺️

(Because it’s the holidays and stuff and I’m weak, if ya’ll want any oneshots or something of the sort- don’t hesitate to ask me. It can be surrounding this idea or any other idea y’all have, and don’t forget...I LIVE FOR WRITING SMUT) (also, I’m aware some of these might be a little longer than the others but...ya’ll should know by now that I love me some emotionally constipated synth men- looking at Danse and X6-88. Also, I only did the male companions because I got a little lazy so if you want any of the other ones just let me know)

Danse:

He was completely oblivious at first..which come to think of it, may be more surprising than what came shortly after he stepped a couple paces forward. Well, with the whole “boot camp training” thing, he’d like to think he would’ve been more observant of his surroundings than this. Regardless of what his mind would eventually wander off to, his thoughts were completely ripped away from him as a gasp left his mouth, only to be stifled by your soft lips in a chaste- yet enjoyable- kiss.

Instinctively his hands clasped around your hips, all regard for the surrounding audience seeming to slip his mind as he tried his best to deepen the kiss, even going to chase your lips with his own when you went to withdraw. However he lost, resulting in him peering down at you with those gorgeous whisky coloured eyes and his brows knitted in a confused expression.

“Look up, Paladin..” You tittered, hands finding their place upon his surprisingly, armourless shoulders once you realized he wasn’t going to relent his grasp on your hips.

Slowly the realization dawned upon his face when his gaze was met with the tantalizing sway of bright green leaves above his head.

“Oh..”

Deacon:

The whole thing was his idea to begin with...just like decorating HQ was as well. How could you blame him though? It was sort of his job to lighten the mood around the place, so he did. However he needed some help..

“Hey babe, can you come see for a second? I need your opinion on where you think this should go.” He called, disturbing you from your typing on the terminal.

Giving a soft sigh in response, you rose and made haste to come to his aid. Only whenever you got over to him, there in his hand was an all too familiar ball of bright green leaves and white flowers. Before you could ask just what the hell it was he needed with that, he swooped down from his step stool and pressed a playfully soft kiss to your parted lips.

“Thanks!”

Gage:

He didn’t know how long he had been waiting for you underneath the stupid plant..he just knew that unlike him, you seemed to like these festivities, so being the opportunist he was, he was going to reap the benefits of said fact. Luckily what felt like so long to him, came to an end as you sauntered over to him with a soft smile.

Within seconds, he found you in his arms. Such a tender scene compared to what he was used to, but he wasn’t going to complain. Especially not when you happened to look up, your beautiful eyes lighting up with mirth when you realized just why he wanted to lure you to this particular spot.

Rolling your eyes, you took the first step and pushed into your precious raider- gingerly kissing him...only to pul away just as he was getting into it and leave him dumbfounded and quick to chase after you.

Hancock:

It didn’t matter how many onlookers were present. The very moment he saw the ornamental plant, he made it somewhat of a mission to get you under it. Thankfully it didn’t really take you too much convincing, especially when you realized where his enthusiasm was coming from.

With a smile that could light up all of his city, the ghoul man placed an uncharacteristically innocent kiss to your forehead. For whatever reason, that gesture made you blush....and the sea of people in the Third Rail cheer.

Macready:

It had been a rather rough night. Not to be gotten wrong, you definitely prefer nights like these over the cold and unforgiving terrors of adventuring but sometimes Duncan and Shaun could match the stress levels of the wastes perfectly.

Therefore, once your two rowdy children finally settled in, you and your mercenary turned lover wearily bumbled into the kitchen. It had to have been some ungodly hour by this point...

Perhaps that tiredness that came with the hour was the reason you didn’t take notice of the hanging plant in the doorway- but you didn’t miss it for very long. Your blue eyed lover abruptly stopped in the hall, clearing his throat to stop you in your tracks.

Quirking a brow, you turned to face him- following his kind gaze up to the plant hanging above your head.

“Are you kidding?” “Tradition is tradition, (y/n).”

Maxson:

Okay..so maybe it wasn’t fair that you placed it right above his desk..but frankly, you didn’t exactly care if it was or wasn’t. Whatever consequences you may face later couldn’t have matter less whenever you walked into your lover’s room, his coat lazily folded over his arm, and a shocked look on his face.

“Is something wrong Arthur?” You asked, praying to some higher being that your tone didn’t give away your sheer amusement.

Without even turning to completely face you, he held out his outstretched arm and motioned for you to approach. As soon as you were within arms distance, you could see the silly grin on his face just seconds before he pulled you in for a kiss.

“Watch it, Sentinel, otherwise you’re going to be on the naughty list.”

Nick:

As gentlemanly as he was, whenever he realized what was hanging boldly above your heads, he leapt into action like it was instinctive.

The press of his cold lips against your own drew a Yelp from you, to which you flushed in embarrassment. Luckily it was quick enough for you to try to spew your questions..only to laugh when he simply pointed up and went about his business.

Old Longfellow:

There was only so much room in the little cabin for decorations..so you’ve had to improvise some. As such, one of your best ideas yet perhaps, you clambered up into your snow-haired lovers lap.

About the time he was going to ask what the sudden forwardness was about, out came a pathetically spare twig of bright colored green leaves from your back pocket. He couldn’t help but roll his slate coloured eyes at you whenever you held it above his head, giggling like a fool when you kissed him.

He couldn’t ever grow tired of your antics.

Preston:

It was the cutest thing.

It had been an accident whenever you both happened upon the hanging plant, his deep eyes slightly widening when his gaze flickered up. Quickly after that discovery, he began to stammer and blush.

No matter how many times he had already kissed you, he still couldn’t get over the butterflies.

“Well, Garvey? Are you going to keep me waiting?”

Sturges:

It probably wasn’t the best act, but he tried to pretend he didn’t see it. Walking hand in hand with you, the whole walk to the spot under the mistletoe had felt like the longest he’d embarked upon. Despite his intention to keep his desire hidden, you knew exactly what he was doing.

“You know...there are much easier ways to ask me for a kiss.” “As sugar, youre no fun..couldn’t have waited until we were underneath the mistletoe?”

You simply answered that question by giving him a soft kiss to his cheek.

X6-88:

The Institue had its Christmases, that he was aware of, but as a synth- he wasn’t ever included in the festivities. So, seeing you and all your friends so cheerful and running amuck did little aside from just confuse him. Sure, seeing all the pretty lights inspired a little sense of wonder but that was about all he felt.

He was just happy that you were happy.

At least that was all the joy he felt until you introduced him to one tradition, one he’d soon consider to not be utterly ridiculous.

With a warm smile, you pulled him underneath what he assumed was drying herbs and suddenly kissed him. This sent his glasses askew and those gorgeous stormy coloured eyes to widen in shock.

“Wha-what was that?” “Mistletoe, X6, Mistletoe.” “I think I like it.”

[grim-faux]

23_Where We Shelter Sorrow

 First

 Even resting buried deep and snug in a little nest, within the narrow barriers of a passage didn’t bring the comfort like it once did. If he was fortunate, he could get semi-dry in the intervals when he didn’t have to cross paths with the relentless storm, but never did his coat or clothing dry to their fullest. It probably would work better if he could remove the coat and curl under its sprawling embrace. But in the milli-instant he needed to relocate, he had to do so without a thought. Anything not tied to him would be abandoned, and he couldn’t afford to lose his very stylish coat.

 He contended with the jitter of half sleep. Sort of sleep but not quite able to tip into rest. The crawlspace was unsettling with the silence, the void of vibration and sound. He didn’t know where he was, but suspected it was deep in a wall behind something imposing. This didn’t put him to ease, as one time before he had thought he settled down in a nice, secure, warm haven where he could rest.

 Then he awoke to the unyielding burn of static, the vibrating prickle surging though his bones, and knew how much of an illusion this reprieve was. If the dull thrum of his heart was not enough, the delicate tap outside the wall certainly was. What saved him from capture was the brittle fact the Thin Man didn’t know how to extract him from the wall – or directly where he was secluded.

 Mono didn’t even remember how he got out of there so fast, he blanked. When he came too, painful and gradually, head whirling, he was curled up in a broken lamp hanging haphazardly by its cord from the shattered upper floor. It disturbed him that he didn’t have an idea or connection of how he got there, let alone know where he was at all. It took hours before the buzzing in his mind diminished.

 Worst was the fresh scrape on his arm. Sometimes bad nicks or cuts happened, but they go ignored because it was never a good time to stall and take a look. His sleeve was a little scuffed, but somehow he managed to get a nasty carve on his arm that bled almost as bad as his leg had – another cut he barely noticed. For that he did stop for a while to wash the dirt out with some rainwater, and get some cloth to cover it. And take some precious time to scrub out his coat.

 What worried him more than how bad he was taking care of himself, was the thought of what the Thin Man might do if he saw how banged up he’d gotten. There was no telling, the Thin Man might be angry, or annoyed – he thought annoyed. Everything he did annoyed the Thin Man. Maybe the man in the hat would put him someplace and give foods, until he was better? But not understanding why to do that made him upset, and Mono didn’t like getting caught. The Thin Man could get bored and do something else with him, such like put him in a pit he can’t get out of. Or lock him in a room with no doors, no windows. He didn’t know a thing of the Thin Man’s reasons, and he was already too dangerous, too difficult to escape.

 All of this made Mono so queasy, some days(?) it was near impossible to motivate himself into choking down the scraps he’d had the good fortune to stumble upon. When he stopped it was either to collapse, or eat something in haste. Sometimes it was hard keeping his eyes open when he paused to eat.

 Once more, he has to depart the fortified narrow spaces of who-knows-where. It’s not like there’s an extensive network, but he preferred not to spend so much time out in the open when he should stay hard to reach.

 Flee. Hide. Flee. Hide. Flee. Hide.

 He was so exhausted of it. Though, it’d been some time since he’d felt the prickle of danger the Thin Man posed. That didn’t stop his skin from crawling, not knowing was worse. For now, he was avoiding the televisions as much as he could; kept his distance from them, wouldn’t use one unless he needed a leap.

 It was one of those rare days he located some decent foods in a secluded room. He didn’t linger to scarf, he spent the bulk of his time taking tedious trips from the end table to a space in the wall and performed this cycle over-and-over. That is, up until a Viewer crashed into the room from a collapsed door, which was a sure indication of a television nearby.

 This was what his time consisted of. Rooting for some crumbs of something, hoping for more than a mouthful before he had to scurry away same as before. Repeat the process somewhere else. Be alert, stay vigilant, flee at the first sputter in his nerves. Don’t risk it. Idle children die.

 It wasn’t wise to stop for too long without the protection of a crawlspace nearby, but he wanted to sit down and examine the toy he’d found. The object was large and fitted with paralyzing stitches, but the texture was knotted and coarse like wool. He popped out the glass eyes – he didn’t like things watching him – and sat with it, testing the floppy arms.

 Briefly, he gave the room a short glance. Featureless and spoiled by neglect, not much remained aside from a desk and a filing cabinet, the cabinet was rusted along the bottom. He couldn’t get it open. The only window afforded light from the day.

 Mono just wanted to sit and… well, he glared at the toy. He hated it. The ugly thing wasn’t that offensive, but he hated it all the same. His hands gripped its arms tightly, but it didn’t complain. Maybe he should take it with him. The lack of sound, aside from the rain, the absence of presence and some indescribable shape shifting the air, was distracting. He decided something should be there, but it wasn’t… this made him uneasy. He didn’t like the unknown. His eyes kept glancing aside, seeking but not finding.

 He brought his head up with a raspy gasp. Where was he? He looked at the toy. It had a round head, a full round nose, and round ears. Once, it had beady glass eyes. He pushed it back and plopped his forehead against its leg. He needed to get up.

 With a jolt he’s on his feet stumbling past the fallen toy. He couldn’t see where he was going and collided with the wall. For a spell he stood holding his head, groaning. Quiet. Shh.

 It was dark. The air rolled around his shoulders, steady. Nothing was there. No shades or looming monsters, grinning. No… eyes. He was dreaming, but of what he didn’t know. The thought jarred him. He was asleep, in the middle of the room. That was… not good.

 Now more awake and mindful of his surroundings, he could pick out where the walls curled around the doorway through the murk. He fled from the room, seeking his next location of shelter. His head remained muddled, he was mortified. That could have ended badly.

 __

 For the time the Thin Man had relinquished his mission to locate the child. If the boy was so adept at staying out of trouble, then leave it at that. He could subsist on keeping watch over the city, observe the corrupt residents as they drifted to the soft croon of the Signal Tower. He wondered, when did it all begin and where? How was it that the timeline overlapped itself, wherein he was present as an elder?

 A paradox of this magnitude with such secrets, rarely gave anything but questions and doubt. What always was, must always be.

 It was by some off incident that he set to patrol some tall building, where he decided to check some boorish and marginally small section of room, that he happened to stumble across the child. The scenario was bizarre, of all the nonsensical events to come and pass. This irony knew no bounds. On a good day when he tried, he couldn’t come within a glimpse of the boy’s proximity. This was the correct child, was it not?

 Perhaps enough distance was between he and the smaller one. Or the drumming rain on the windows concealed the bristle of interference. He navigated among tables, curious to how near he would be allowed before the child blew off the table.

 To his surprise the child stalled what he was doing and glanced his way. This was… peculiar. His presence was briskly dismissed, aside from Mono inching around so that he faced the Thin Man. He resumed gnawing at whatever he had found on the plate, though the process of eating did hasten. A steely eye did remain fixed on him, and the Thin Man recognized the mood. Terse, angry, and something else. The child practically emitted his own static disturbance. This could be dangerous to tamper with, but given the history that worked between he and the younger-one, that point was moot.

 It seemed he didn’t need to be a hostile threat, he merely needed be present.

 The Thin Man set a hand upon the back of a chair, and afforded hesitation to see what the boy would do. As far as he knew, a wrong prickle of static could send him scattering. The child seemed wholly intent on eating.

 Thus, he took a seat and wove his fingers together, and set his hands on the table surface. Mono inched back. He wasn’t wearing a hat, and the Thin Man tried to study the lines in the child’s face. Did he look that way, when he removed the mask from his face? He had to wonder.

 “When look at me that way,” he began, carefully. Mono winced. “I fear you are think to hurt me.”

 A low wheeze issued from the child. He shuffled to the edge of the table and looked down, studying the floor, as if he forgot how to get down. The table was shrouded in a ratty table cloth, but the boy wisely gripped the stable edge of the table and let himself down a ways before dropping.

 He was walking away. Not running, not springing over cracked furniture, or throwing himself with reckless abandon into the shrouds. He walked carefully from black pool to black pool, working toward the furthest visible doorway.

 This… was the correct child? The Thin Man pondered. No child under normal circumstances would allow him this close, so nonchalant, and Mono was especially NOT the exception. This behavior did not set him to ease.

 In a flicker he was standing, turned and followed the child. Where was he going, and how far would he let him trail before he was addressed? If the opportunity was available, perhaps the boy would be amenable to stopping. If only for a moment.

 At least Mono did pick up the pace. It wasn’t a jog but it was beyond a brisk walk. The child zipped around the edge of the doorframe, and the Thin Man tempered time to cut the distance. The boy checked him, while his eyes continued to sift over the gloomy walls and crevices along the floor. If he had the capacity to teleport, the boy should do that.

 This practice baffled the Thin Man. Once more, he tried to garner patience or focus from the child. “Do want know how I know name?”

 The child ground to a halt and clenched his fists at his sides. He was rooted and wouldn’t turn back, refused to raise that imploring, questioning gaze upward to the man in the hat. In fact he quaked, the air about his tense shoulders fluttered; the dead light in the ceiling above flashed.

 That might’ve been the wrong thing to say. The Thin Man eased back a step, guarded and uncertain. This was unforeseen, he didn’t plan—

 “Mon—”

 The child swept his arms up and the whole building came down.

 It was horrendously similar to the day he rushed to the Signal Tower. Crumpling under his injuries, single-minded focus on his own directive.

 Stole back. Steal Her. Take Back! TAKEBACK!TAKEBACK!

 He thought of nothing else. Aside from his dread and concern for her wellbeing, or the state he might find her in. The sound of her scream when she was ripped away, echoed hollow and endless through his memory. All he could do was cringe inside the cabinet, overwhelmed by the thunder of static twisting in his skin. His gut clenched, he didn’t know if it was from the migraine or that they’d gone days without food. There was nothing he could do but wallow in pain and terror.

 I’m sorry! I’M S̷̀͘͢͜O̶̷̧R̢̛͢͝R̶͘Ỳ̴̢͜͡!

 The man in the hat stood before him, barring his way to the Signal Tower. She was there. HE came from there, He would not let him pass. They were frighteningly similar, in that they both wanted Her. He despised the tall thin man. Hated the hurt and anguish he inspired. The tricks and endless pursuit. It wouldn’t end, unless he did something.

 Enough is ENOUGH!

 So he raised his arm, and forced the Thin Man out of existence.

 In the aftermath of the buildings collapse, he is unharmed. Nothing in this world could expulse him, save for the child. The Thin Man is mostly stunned he did survive, the force and will was not set at him. Certainly, the child’s power was coming along. How delightful, though delayed…..

 The entire building was in utter collapse. It was mishmash of jenga fever dreams, of concrete stacked or crammed together, and metal support beams crisscrossed in sporadic patters against the outer walls. What wasn’t thrown aside completely, collided downward. He stood on a portion of floor, a patch of concrete and carpet which remained intact. A nearby pipe gushed water, spewing against the thick vapor of rainfall cast through a ruptured breach in of the wall. The outer wall would—

 Where was the child?

 Nothing was recognizable, as if that would aid in the slightest. But the boy was… well, he was certain. He existed somewhere, the cycle persisted. What always has… where was he? A little spike of apprehension twisted in his mind, given the state of the surrounding… what remained of the walls, now demoted to floors. Hardly a suitable section of surface lay intact, he didn’t even pretend he was at the same level he began at. Along with the creaking of an unstable construct held together by the sinew of its moorings.

 He peered down, the transmission pricking at the static disturbance. Down there.

 The task of descent is not easy, given his stature, and the brittle levels that are anything but steady. He doesn’t want to bring the entire structure down. He could set this to right, but not before he located the boy.

 With every delicate, tedious leap, the tinge of transmission becomes more vibrant and localized. It’s not moving, which is not a surprise. But he wouldn’t put it past the child to start climbing out of this mess he’s caused, with negative consequences. Likely the child came down this far unhurt, due to his connection to his abilities. How fortunate. Divine intervention, always a treat.

 At last, he flashed down upon a brace of metal beam among a collision of timber and plaster. He knelt, judging where to shift to next, when his sight alit on the child.

 Below, the pier of a floor jutted out from the ruptured wall, some plaster keeps it fastened in place. Something is wrong, the boy is not moving. Even at his proximity, he should rouse. While he favors a still and waiting child, this is not in Mono’s nature. It’s unnatural. What is worse, is the blood splattered to his head and ear.

 “Psst.” The Thin Man leaned down further, reaching a hand through a gap in the space dividing them. If he lays down, he could get close enough that Mono could reach him. If he can awaken the boy. Was there a way he could teleport—

 A squealing creak splint the air and the platform, which Mono was precariously perched upon, dipped sideways. The child tumbled twice before he activated abruptly, jamming his palms against a bent crest of timber. He cringed two meters from the edge, gawking over the side and the emptiness below. The wind whipped at his coat, threatening to tear him loose and cast him downward.

 “Mono.” The Thin Man laid down and reached his arm to its extent, but despite his impressive reach, it was not enough to claim the child. “Here.”

 The boy tilted his head up. He blinked at the water hitting his face, the dust and soot ran in dark rivers down his cheeks. He disregarded the proffered hand and scooted backwards, bracing himself on his hands. He was either very disorientated or that stubborn, and that was a generous assessment.

 “No,” the Thin Man hissed. Once more he tried to reach, to coax sanity back into the boy.

 Mono wouldn’t have the strength for another jump, let alone a flicker. It might even kill him. In the delicate shift of weight, the platform moaned as some bit of wire within strained. It was going to snap completely, but when couldn’t be said. A false move. A frail breeze. The gentle sweep of rain.

 “Mono,” he beseeched, reaching, drawing on the static, “please. Not safe.”

 The child swept his gaze up to him only to glare, disregarding the comment. Carefully, he wound around—

 With a crunch the platform sunk hard, nearly tipping ninety degrees. Somehow, Mono managed to hold on – barely – by jamming his fingers into cracks along the plaster. He scooted up and inch, braced himself, and crept up higher. All while the slate moaned in protest, and the rain washed through the hallowed openings.

 The Thin Man grimaced. “You disagreeable brat!” Enough of this, he channeled electricity into the air and polarized his surroundings. Some metal deflected, shifting away as he reached further. Demanding to draw the child into his grasp.

 But finds he cannot.

 For a moment the Thin Man is stumped, and panicked. The child will be dashed to a millions pieces if he falls, nothing is beneath the platform but a gnashing grinder of concrete and rebar. Is it due to the boy putting out his own interference, a counter frequency of some sort? He doesn’t understand!

 ……………………………tUNe tHe TrAnsMISsion……………………………

 It might kill him….

 His exact thought. He speculated then, on the flash of lightening. How spectacular and painful it was. Painful. And how he did not draw the child to his hand. He snatched Mono from open, feral air. That was why in the tower, it had been too close. Much too close. In all that time, he had not been able to reach nor snare Mono.

 Then he tampered with his frequency. Destabilized it, so he could understand Mono’s speek. He forgot. So intent and deluded, in reacquiring the boy. He didn’t think.

 This was a risk, but Mono was far from cooperative at current. It might destroy him yet, without meaning to, but all in the same, Mono might destroy himself, without meaning to.

 The Thin Man touched the side of his head, tilting his hat a bit with the force, and reached for the child. He leaned far over, pressing his shoulder against the collision of particleboard and plaster. He hoped he was right, and hoped he had not discarded too much time with his neglectfulness. With a flash of his fingers, Mono is yanked loose off his perch – the boy reached through the air, slashing for a hold of something, only to grapple at swirling rain. The child looked at the Thin Man and delivered such an expression of utter betrayal, it almost paralyzed him.

 As expected, the pier buckled and tore loose, it fell silently to the interwoven patch of catacombs beneath. When it made contact with the weave of destruction, its agonized thunder bellowed forth.

 When the Thin Man coiled his fingers securely around Mono’s body, the boy goes rigid as if electrocuted. The conflicting signals stacked atop of what he did to topple the place are too much, and the child wilted in the next instant.

 The Thin Man hoisted the child up and hastily relocated, to a platform with more space, more stability. A concaved patch of floor, resting atop a folded wall. His grasp of the transmission began to wane, he barely skipped the surface of the platform and folded to his knees. He dropped the body and recoiled, to stare.

 What had he done?

 He stalled to retune and adjust, subsiding the harsh electric crawl and soothe the frequency. Resume on a wavelength the child could tolerate – that they could exist in. He acted in such haste, he didn’t know if he adjusted it sufficiently.

 “Mono?” he tried, gently. “Mono!” The boy couldn’t be done with, if he still existed. It was inconceivable. That was how it worked! Wasn’t it? After everything he had done, he was uncertain and lost.

 He raised a hand and… cautiously, settled his fingers over the little body. Breathing. He was still breathing, though shallow. Unconscious. His fingers drifted over and nudged the miniscule hand. Hurt. Actually hurt. When did that happen?

His spirit plummeted. Indeed, the boy was… in bad shape. Why did he do that? Why wouldn’t he let him help! He wouldn’t have turned him away. He knows he wouldn’t… he couldn’t hurt him.

  Was the child so intolerant of him? Repulsed, perhaps. He didn’t want anything to do with the man in the hat, so fled. Again. And again. He didn’t believe any of this would come to happen, yet, what else did he expect? The child, he didn’t know anything about him. The Thin Man had reappeared, so the child took care of it.

 He gripped at his slacks. This was beyond his capacity. He was prepared from the moment that door opened, to lose it all and be destroyed. Conclude his unity with this world. Everything the child, Mono, did, was for his own self-destruction. Even in this sequence of events with the solution so simple – remove the threat – it all turned on himself. They turned on themselves. Of course, Mono had yet to know who the man in the hat was. Didn’t suspect a thing. Even so, it never mattered.

 He should have… it was obvious he was not wanted. Feared. Not hated, but feared. That was worst of all. He did this.

 With some hesitance, he collected the little body up in his hands. No reaction of any form came from Mono as he was adjusted, so that he was tucked secure and guarded in the crook of the Thin Man’s arm. Navigating out of this wreck would prove to be harrowing, given his tempering and temporal shifts still caused stress for the smaller one – unaccustomed to these transitions as he was. But there was no other way out of this cage of their own making.

Next

[aurorafreerose]

Don’t Be Late- Ch 3

Summary: Bakugo and Uraraka spar, but not before it gets... complicated.

Notes: Inspired by part by this fan animation by DailyKrumbs~~ 

Writer’s note: Also wrote this while listening to Novacane and Nights by Frank Ocean! Hehe but things are heating up between these two!!!

Word count: 1709

Read on ao3!

Ochaco hadn't given it too much thought. However, imagining Bakugo Katsuki- the most aggressive person she'd ever met- pinning her down and yelling 'SHINEEE!' for the next hour made her squirm. 

Was this really a good idea, to have asked Bakugo of all people to spar-

Her inner monologue was suddenly interrupted by the sound of Bakugo opening the door to the training rooms for her.

They'd entered and unpacked their things, and shot looks at one another from opposing sides of the room.  Ochaco's brow had furrowed in concentration, eyeing Bakugo with a stare of unyielding determination.  Bakugo, on the other hand, was glaring at Ochaco with the same fury, that same pent-up drive that always hid behind his red pupils. Both of them were searching for openings, and yet the space in the room seemed to be shrinking the longer they met each other's gaze. 

They hadn't said a word to each other, but yet, there was a growing tension between them, something becoming more apparent with each second. It was different from the sports festival; there was nothing really at stake for either of them, but there was still a competitive aspect to it. Ochaco felt that same intense desire she knew Bakugo had, that passionate need, to prove her worth as a hero.  

She realized she'd forgotten to ask something in her haste.

 "Bakugo-kun..."

"What is it?" he said gruffly, looking disconcerted. 

"Will we be using our quirks?" 

"What, are you stupid or something? Obviously, Angel Face," he answered, clearly annoyed by her lack of foresight. 

"Oh.. um, yeah..." Ochaco said sheepishly, rubbing her temple absentmindedly. 

The uneasy silence resumed occupying the space between them, building more and more with each passing second. 

Then, giving her a curt nod, Bakugo was the first to strike, and he rushed her head-on. Ochaco held her fighting stance as he approached, two sets of five fingers gently brushing each other, watching him grow ever-closer. He's fast, she thought. His fingers curled, deftly swiping a cloud of flame and smoke aimed at her face. She dodged in the nick of time, not giving him a second to connect with her jaw. He spun around in anticipation of her counter. She launched herself into a kick, aiming at his knees. He'd swiftly dodged. She went in again, this time with her right reaching at his collarbone with her fingers stretched out, but no-

He'd evaded her twice now, as if it were second nature to him. Her left grasped at the other side of his face, attempting to bridge the large space between them Bakugo had made in his last move.

Bakugo's features curled into the devilish smile she'd seen once before at the sports festival. Ochaco, in contrast, looked nothing but concentrated as she met his amused expression. It was as if a fierce desire inside of him had been momentarily satisfied. He looked to be enjoying himself, like someone had flipped a switch inside his normally-brutish personality.

In a rapid succession of movements, he'd grabbed her wrist, turned her around so she wasn't facing him, and placed her in a chokehold up against the wall. She let out a primal sort of groan. Her breathing was coming out sharp and ragged as Bakugo restrained her, feeling a mixture of humiliation, rage and... nervousness? at her all-too-easy defeat. 

"Come on, cheeks, you can't be this fucking easy...You'd get blown to fucking hell if I were a villain, that's for damn sure..." Bakugo was teasing her. It was like he was deliberately trying to rile her up. Maybe he just wanted to gloat? 

He still hadn't eased her restraints, keeping one hand on her wrist and another keeping her arm pinned behind her back. She couldn't see him, only feel his hot breath barely meet her skin as he aimed insults at her. She knew he was smiling at her, taunting her lack of skill in a way that made her want to tear him apart. Adrenaline was coursing through her veins, making her impulses run rampant.

Bakugo finally let her go, allowing her to face him once more as she wiped the sweat from her face, still panting from their previous exchange. He was smirking. She still didn't know why, but she quickly regained her composure. 

She felt a thrill as they traded blows once again. Ochaco was slightly mollified to see she'd wiped that irritating grin off of Bakugo's face. They were using their fists to communicate with each other rather than their words. A jab here, a missed punch there, and they were both growing more collected, more determined, with each passing second. They were so unnervingly close, their bodies instinctually touching and feeling the longer they went on. 

He tried to put her in the same position again. His hand grasped at her wrist, but she'd gone for his leg instead, flipping him onto the floor. Unfortunately, she went down with him.He laid on the floor for a few seconds, his legs raised and his arms behind his head. She grabbed one leg, and he landed a sharp kick to her neck as a response. Ochaco saw stars in front of her eyes. She jolted herself into focus too late as Bakugo had already gotten up. She raised her hands in a defensive stance, but Bakugo had sent another explosion straight at her. 

This time, it launched her off of her feet and sent her sprawling across the floor. Ochaco scrambled to her feet, but a few seconds too late again- he'd caught up to her already, and threw her to the ground once more. Bakugo was directly on top of her, his hands clamped around her wrists, legs wrapped around either side of her waist, face just a few inches above hers. She was helpless, despite her body continuing to protest against his. She refused to give in.

"Give up," Bakugo commanded. 

Ochaco looked up in surprise. Bakugo was staring her straight in the eyes, his voice strained from their fight. She knew he wasn't in this for fun anymore. His body sagged against hers, breathing laboriously, his neck almost opposite hers, knees dipping ever-so-slightly. A soft moan slipped out of his mouth as he fought to keep her held. They were so close. Ochaco was made increasingly aware of the physical effort he put into completely overpowering her. The intimacy of fighting wasn't something she was all too familiar with, but she was growing acquainted with it.

They fought again, but his moves were getting careless, and hers more precise. She didn't know if it was because he was volunteering himself to become her personal punching bag, or if he was simply distracted. Ochaco kept gaining the upper hand, which incensed Bakugo, igniting a flame somewhere. 

They were both drenched in sweat, Bakugo's tank top adhering strictly to his abs, and it wasn't too much of a distraction for her, but she made note of it nonetheless. Watching his muscles grow taut, so tense as he fought, was not an ugly sight per se. She convinced herself he reminded her of Midoriya to get her mind off of it.  

Bakugo made a hurried lunge towards her. In a phantasmic kind of way, she blocked it and sidestepped him. Now she was the one who had him restrained, in the converse of their previous predicament. She had his arms above his head. Her knees were buckling into the wall to keep themselves around either side of his legs (he was an annoying height taller than her, after all). It didn't seem like she needed to, because he wasn't moving.

They were too close. Bakugo's lips, parted in an expression of hunger, were only an inch or two away from her own. Ochaco knew she should ease her hold on him, let go, return the feeling they had between them back to normal. But she didn't want to untangle her legs from in between his. She wanted to just stay there, their heaving, tired bodies leaning against each other, him looking at her in that tantalizing way. 

Deep inhales, heavy exhales, were all that was exchanged between them. Neither of them could stop staring, but they also couldn't bring themselves to do any more than that. It was like magic, the little bursts of feeling that jolted her heart in her chest, making it beat faster and faster and faster. 

Ochaco was sorry when Bakugo seemed to snap out of it. "Oi, get off of me, cheeks-"

His fingers landed on her chest without much thought, ostensibly to wrangle her off of him, but they ended up grabbing something else. Ochaco flushed, and Bakugo's eyes widened as he realized his opponent was definitely a woman. He removed his hands like he was touching a deadly disease, looking both offended by-and disgusted with-himself. Ochaco knew he wasn't thinking of it that way, but that didn't make it any less awkward. 

"I-it's fine! I know you didn't mean to-" she tried to communicate her lack of anger to him, but he seemed oddly flustered. He was refusing to look at her, head tilted towards the floor, eyes pointed at anything but her face.

"No, it's my fault. I- I'm sorry," he offered, voice much quieter than his usual tones. A blush crept up his cheeks. She had never heard him apologize to anyone. Ochaco hadn't seen him like this before, and doubted most other people had. 

 As they packed up, she couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if he hadn't stopped it when he did. 

She banished the thought as soon as it occurred to her. That didn't guarantee it wouldn’t make an appearance in her dreams.

[oh-styles]

Something About a Loss: Part I

Disclaimer: Before we jump in, I want to disclose that this chapter talks heavily about miscarriage, and depicts violence and bouts of depression. If it is something you aren’t comfortable with, I advise you to skip this one.

In addition, I found this chapter extremely hard to find a finishing point on. I feel it is not as good as my other works, simply because it’s sad as fuck. I don’t write sad stuff well, and I know this now. Nevertheless, I did it. 

I also advise that if you are sad after finishing this, you stream Lights Up.

May 18, 2019 Los Angeles, CA

You were ill, and infallibly ill, at that. Since the days leading up to this very moment, the one where you are splayed over the king size mattress with a thin sheet covering half of your exposed body – you can’t decide if you’re hot or cold – you swear up and down you have purged at least half of your body weight. Harry, who was as well as a whistle, claimed you just had a stomach bug, but felt confident enough to remain by your side despite the risk of germs.

“I can pop to the shops real quick, get you some ginger ale?... What sounds good, pet?”

Death. Death sounds good.

You don’t want to risk moving – or risk any movement, really – for the sole sake of your sensitive stomach that is one head acknowledgement away from projectile vomiting like you were in a poorly casted remake of The Exorcist. You can sense Harry standing beside you, and after a beat with no response, he reaches his hand out and holds it front of your mouth to confirm you are still indeed breathing.

“You still with me, sweets?” You wiggle your toe rapidly. “Is that a yes…?” Wiggle. “Alright, I’ll be back in a bit, okay? You want anything else? Crackers?” He’s met with silence, but he watches you from the doorway – giving a subtle glance to your big toe – and nods to himself. “Is it okay if I take y’car? Mine’s low on petrol and I don’t feel like—”

“Keys in purse,” you mumble into your pillow, pulling a hand free from the sheets and pointing somewhere towards the corner of the room.

“Right,” he spots the Gucci bag hanging on the closet door. “I won’t be long.”

But be long, he did, but it wasn’t his fault, really. He had to remind himself he couldn’t get sidetracked, that he had a sick girlfriend back home waiting for him, so he needed to promptly check off his mental grocery list and be out the door before you could say Harry Styles. But, it’s right as he’s awkwardly carrying three Canada Dry’s, and beginning to regret passing on grabbing a basket, that he hears it.

“Harry Styles!”

It was a few photos and a video of a cool hat trick later that he finally found himself tucked away safely back in your car.

“Alright, sicky, I’m home.” He nudges the bedroom door open with a light kick and sets the bag of drinks down on the end of the bed. Where he left you, just a mere thirty minutes before, is now empty, and he spots where you kicked off the sheets in a clear haste; it was no telling where you are now. He can hear the harsh guttural retching from the bathroom door, and with a peek inside, there you were, lay stark naked on the opaque tiles. “Blood hell, pet.”

“I think I’ve fallen ill,” you mutter against the toilet seat. That was a major understatement if he’s ever heard one. This was the second day you’ve been stumbling into the bathroom at all hours of the day, seemingly fine just moments before. It was hard telling how much longer this could last, but Harry already decided by tomorrow he was willing to take you to the doctor if no symptoms have let up.

You were not having it; you had fully accepted death if it meant avoiding any doctors office--needles, blood tests, what have you. It was just a stomach bug, one that would pass, and you’d rather not waste his time and money on something that can be treated with water, rest and back rubs.

Though, the following morning, after you were finished purging your breakfast into the toilet, you spotted Harry in the doorway of the bathroom with your shoes in hand, and a sullen, sunken face.

“Alright, let’s go, pet.”

You were 24-years-old, an adult woman, who at the mention of anything medical, instantly recoils into a ball on the floor. No, sir. There was no way you were going. Water, rest, and backrubs--that’s all you needed, thank you. But, unfortunately for you, your boyfriend stood firmly in the doorway, and already prepared himself for such a reaction.

“There could be something seriously wrong with you, pet. Read something about a parasite--”

“A fucking parasite.”

“It’s just a thought--”

“Something could be growing inside me?”

There was more on his mind than just a fucking parasite, but he couldn’t find the words to say them, not with you hyperventilating on the bathroom for in fear of having to see a doctor. In truth, it was the first thing that came up when he searched your symptoms, and when he called the doctor that morning, they too agreed you come in for tests.

If he were to say the p-word, your panicking might only intensify. It’s not that you didn’t want kids, but it wasn’t something that was exactly on the table for discussion as of late. Was it something you could see yourself doing in the future? Of course, but that was in the future, maybe a couple years from now. You still relied on your boyfriend to remind you to take your vitamins; there was no way you were ready for a baby.

As for Harry, ever since the first morning you chucked yourself off the bed and raced to the bathroom, he knew; it was this gut feeling most would describe as an intuition, and with every passing day, it would only grow in size. If it wasn’t the morning sickness, it was you sleeping your days away, and complaining about the tenderness of your breasts.

You just thought your period was coming.

“Or...you could be pregnant.”

He had his assistant drop off a few tests that morning while you were still asleep, and maybe it was a father's instinct, but he knew the outcome before you even had to glance down at the test. He made a deal with you, if the tests came back negative, they would see a doctor. If they were positive, he’d give the two of you a day to let the shock settle.

He was relatively surprised by how resilient you were when he handed over the tests. There were three boxes, six in total. Throughout the day you would take one, which was easy because your urgency to pee had sparked over the last few days, and whatever response it gave you, you would make a note of it.

By the third pregnant, you stopped taking them.

Harry was making lunch, and the only thing you felt you could stomach was cooked spaghetti, minus the sauce. You sauntered down the stairs, the tests concealed in a ziplock bag, and tossed them up onto the kitchen counter.

“I want eggs instead.”

“Oh, yeah?” He didn’t bother to glance back at you. “Scrambled? Poached?”

“Fertilized.”

He was spreading mayonnaise onto a piece of bread, and you think he might’ve not heard you, but it was once he twisted the lid back on, setting the knife on the edge of the sink, that he turned around, that you realize he’d been crying.

“So,” he sniffs, a smile spreading wide. “We’re having a baby?”

It’s then that you pull out your phone, and do a quick Spotify search, fast forward the song until you’re reached the chorus, before you hit play on Kiwi.

* June 10, 2019 Los Angeles, CA

“Think we can snatch up some Cinnabon today, muscles? I got a hankering for some cinnamon on buns.”

At first glance, you don’t look any different; not from the day before, anyway. To any new pair of eyes, you’re just an ordinary woman who insists on stopping to pet every dog that passes by, and who trips over her shoelace she refuses to tie. No stranger would be vaguely aware of the hidden secret laid burrowed deep inside the swell of her stomach.

“Is it you that wants it, or baby bean?”

You snicker, but you damn well knew the answer. The little baby bean laid protectively inside of you just entered its ninth week of development, and you were proud to say it was the size of an almond. You spent the greater portion of the morning studying over all the changes the little one would be making, and the sexual organs were one of them.

“Okay, get this. It says that the gonads have become either testes or ovaries. We actually have a boy or girl—or whatever it wants to be, that’s their choice, but testes and ovaries, babe!”

You knew it would still be some time before you found out the gender, but it didn’t stop either one of you starting a list of names written in the Notes section in your phone.

“I really like Lily…or Meadow,” you inquire from the kitchen, as you dip a carrot into a tub of ranch. “Maybe even Moonbeam?”

“Moonbeam. Moonbeam Styles.”

“Could be a middle name, too. Meadow Moonbeam.”

“Babe, our child wasn’t conceived at Woodstock.”

No, but the thought crossed your mind frequently as to when your egg had openly welcomed your boyfriend’s sperm, and after some math and a doctor’s visit, you were left with a definitive time: late march, or March 29, to be exact.

“I think you knocked me up after the Rock ‘n’ Roll thing.”

“The Rock ‘n’ Roll thing,” Harry rolls his eyes.

“I remember—I was on my period the week before, and I didn’t want you anywhere near me, and I remember once we were in New York it was finally over, and after the Stevie Nicks thing—” You could see him roll his eyes once more. “—we went back to the hotel and we fucked like…all night, practically.”

“Okay, but you know that doesn’t mean it was that night.”

“Listen, okay. Because of the time change, I forgot to take my pill that day, so I doubled the next day, but because I missed—”

“How do you remember this stuff?”

“Just let me finish, will you!”

In the end, despite your distinguishing facts, the boy that laid sprawled out on the sofa in nothing but his underwear, still was doubtful whether to believe your undeniable facts. Yes, you were right that the two of you did get down and dirty that night, but you also got down and dirty for likely many nights after that, but he’s aware of how stubborn you are, and let you have this one thing.

“I can’t believe it… I bet it was because you were around Stevie Nicks. She put a spell on your sperm, I bet.”

*

June 18, 2019 Wembley Arena, London, UK

“Are you going to ask Stevie Nicks if she put a spell on your sperm?”

“Pet, I will leave you in the car.”

“No, no, I’ll be good, I promise!”

“And don’t…give anything away.”

You were one who did well with keeping secrets, but this secret was nestled away inside of your body, and it was only a matter of time before that secret was impractical to hide. You and Harry had decided that you would tell family and friends by the twelfth week, because there was something he read about most miscarriages happening in the first trimester – for whatever reason – and it was just better to wait until that risk was lower.

“It’s literally a week away—a week. A week, Harry.”

“6 days, actually.” He pulls his hoodie up and over his head, tousling his hair in the process. “Can wait 6 days, yeah?”

“You’re asking the impossible of me!”

“I’m asking you to not tell my mother I knocked you up.”

Knocked up. This wasn’t some one-night stand bullshit—though, you might recall him shoving your face into the bedsheets and ramming himself into you dripping cunt quicker than you could say, “Yes, baby, right there!” You like to imagine the conception of your child was a moment filled with love and passion, but you can’t lie to yourself and ignore the fact he spit in your mouth, and after he came in you, making you stand and let the cum drip down your thighs while he got off to it on the bed.

No, your child was created by love, dammit!

“Don’t tell Anne we made love and are having a baby, got it!”

Even he knows ‘making love’ wasn’t what you would call it, and the long pause as the two of you walked into the venue was more than proof of that.

Despite being given this absurd task of not letting any cats out of any bags, you did manage to keep your mouth closed upon the arrival of Anne Twist. She was quick to swoop you in her arms, planting a kiss on your cheek, and even rubbing a thumb over your cheek, saying something about your clear complexion.

“Your skin is looking beautiful, darling. Are you using something new?”

Pregnancy hormones. “Vitamins.”

“Oh, what kind?”

Pre-natal. “Hair, skin and nails.”

“Well, you are looking very healthy.” She really was none the wiser, well, up until moments later when you turned down a glass of wine backstage.

“I, uh, was really hung over this morning. Was throwing up all night. Pretty gross stuff.” You weren’t entirely fibbing. You and your unborn child have been playing a cat-and-mouse game of whether it will agree with what you eat or not. Last night, turns out, it did not particularly care much for the chicken and rice Harry had cooked up. “Just sticking with water tonight.”

Two days later, you and Harry attended the wedding of Amy and Mike, which was just another imminent disaster just scheduled to happen. It was one thing biting your tongue for one person, but that evening, you would have his entire family on your tail, and you aren’t completely confident on how many lies you can pull out of your ass in one evening.

But, it was that morning, after waking up in a haste and purging every last bit of your late dinner – you sometimes get hungry around 2 am – that you realize, staring back at you in the mirror, is the well-defined beginnings of a bump. Before, it only looked like you had spent your afternoon at an all-you-can-eat buffet, but now, you were pregnant. There was no way José you could fool anyone into believing you were just simply bloated from a big lunch.

“I think if the morning sickness gets any worse, we should try those pills the doctor was telling you about.” You hear Harry rustling around in the bedroom, seemingly on the hunt for the little slip of paper with the prescription. “D’ya want some toast, love?”

You heard a light tap on the other side of the door, and it was once he peeked his head in, that he spotted you, standing bare-chested in front of the mirror, and the obvious little convex mass that he swears up and down was not there a minute ago.

“We have to tell them.”

“Babe—”

“Your mom is already onto me, and I’m only going to get bigger.”

“You can’t announce pregnancies at weddings—that’s a law, or summit, yeah?”

“Well, this wouldn’t be a problem now if we had just told them earlier.”

“All of the books say it’s best to wait—”

“Well, fuck waiting—I’m fucking massive now!”

You ended up arriving late to the wedding, and considerably disorderly, after having to redo your makeup in the venue bathroom because you started crying on your way there because you saw a bird. No, that’s it. Just a bird, one that you thought looked very beautiful. You knew there was no way you could finish the night without crying at least five more times.

Your excuse for that: “Oh, probably going to start my period soon!” They’d get the truth soon enough.

*

June 28, 2019 New York, New York

“You’re actually going to wear that shirt to dinner,” you affirm, giving your hand a little wave in the air to help dry your nails. Harry gives a brief glance down at his top, stretching it at the bottom to admire it fully. “There isn’t anything else you could wear?”

“What’s wrong with m’shirt?”

“It says Safe Sex…like, in big letters—can’t miss ‘em.” It’s then, with a little more observation, you notice the two figures, and how they each appear to be holding— “No, for fucks sake, Harry. You aren’t wearing that outside of this hotel room.”

“It’s a nice shirt.”

“They are whacking each other off!”

“It’s a Keith Haring, darling. Get with the times.”

In the end, after much persuasion – and a threatening promise of spilling red wine all over his vintage top – he wore the shirt to dinner. A nice restaurant, mind you. One where the appetizer costs as much as a normal entrée at Applebee’s, and to fork the bill at the end of the night, you’d have to ask politely if they accept payment plans.

“Babe, stop looking at the cocktail menu.”

“I’m just looking.”

“You’re going to upset yourself because you can’t have any of it.”

“Babe, they put an actual egg white in a White Lady… Fucking rich people, let me tell you what…” And leave it to the rich guy sat in front of you to wear a shirt promoting masturbation to a 5-star restaurant.

“Maybe I can get the little Styles a matching one, so they can match with their daddy.” You saw the corner of his mouth twitch at the word; he still was getting used to the idea of being a father in the coming months.

“You’d actually be fine with your newborn child wearing a onesie that says Safe Sex?”

And after a moment’s thought, he didn’t bring the topic up again.

In the month since you found out about the pregnancy, there were many lifestyle changes you inevitably would have to change. For one, you weren’t allowed to stand in front of the microwave anymore, nor could you lay on your stomach, because you might ‘squish’ the baby. You tried to explain to your boyfriend that your child was practically the size of an almond, and laying on your stomach would do it no possible harm, but he wasn’t having any of it.

As if giving up alcohol was bad enough, you were forced to abandon your love for seafood. There was a list of things you could eat in moderation, but you weren’t exactly sure how to eat lobster in moderation.

You also spent an hour crying when you were told you couldn’t eat cookie dough do to the raw eggs.

“Love, you shouldn’t be eating it anyway!”

“It’s fucking good, Harry! Like you would know. The only sweet shit you put near your mouth is my cunt.”

Harry realized very early on that pregnancy, for you, was just a rollercoaster of hormones, and he better strap in for the ride. After he had told you that you had to give up coffee and sushi, you locked yourself in the bathroom while you cried in the bathtub.

“You hate me!”

“I don’t hate you! That stuff just isn’t good for the baby.”

“If it’s my baby, it’ll want it!”

You stayed locked in the bathroom for an hour, and only came out because you forgot there was a new episode of This Is Us. Harry then spent the next thirty minutes online trying to track down a eggless cookie dough recipe he could make, that way you could stop giving him the stink eye from across the room.

He was lucky you didn’t make him sleep on the couch that night.

* June 29, 2019 New York, New York

Tonight was your last night in New York, and you would then spend a week in London before heading out to Canada to enjoy a nice, serene vacation with the Gerber’s. Harry called your little holiday in Muskoka a pre-babymoon, but all you wanted was a vacation. You knew it would be later in the year when his schedule began to pick up, and all of the plans they have been deriving for months would finally be set in motion, so it was not set in stone as to when an actual babymoon could fit in that timeline or not.

“We’ll make something work, love.” Harry bumps his hip out and taps your side. “You’re not due until December; I know we can get away for a week.”

December 20th, to be exact. Harry had his fingers crossed for a Christmas baby, but the last thing you wanted was to spend the holidays overdue, trying to push a small human out of your vagina. If you could have it your way, Christmas would be spent cuddled on the sofa with a cup of hot chocolate, your baby girl – or boy – fast asleep in its My First Christmas onesie, snoozing soundly on your chest. Harry would be off in the corner, taking aesthetic photos of you by the Christmas tree, and maybe he would find himself cuddled into your side for a little family nap.

But that was still six months away.

Harry was off doing a photoshoot for Rolling Stone, so you spent your afternoon back at the hotel with his debit card, buying every stretch mark cream that promised fast results, and ramen from GrubHub. You were also mildly surprised when your child decided it liked your lunch choice and let you digest it properly.

“So, we know you like ramen… I’ll make a note of that.” You smile, giving gentle rubs to your little bump. “I think next we should try some… Oh, dumplings sound good. Think you want some dumplings, little bean?”

And once again, you right back on GrubHub.

“Daddy will be back soon, and then we’ll go back on a plane and be home… Nana said she got you some stuff, so we’ll have to check that out, huh?”

You like to imagine that they’re bundled inside you, nodding along to everything you say. “Well, yes, I would like to check out what Nana got me!” Though, only the size of a lemon, your little, growing human has developed vocal cords, teeth, and even fingerprints.

So far, the pregnancy has been pretty smooth sailing for you. You feel like you spent most of the first trimester asleep or puking, but now you’re finding yourself up and moving, doing the dishes and laundry, vacuuming, and trying to find some time to spend in the bedroom.

The idea of sex while you had a growing fetus taking up your insides, for a lack of better words, freaked the fuck out of you both. Would it hurt? Would it damage anything? Every article you read online sufficed your thoughts, but you wouldn’t let Harry’s penis near you until your OB gave you the green light, and once that green light was lit, the two of you didn’t waste a moment.

You also didn’t really imagine the first time having sex since you two found out you were expecting would result in him calling his mom immediately after. In his defense, you trust Anne, and she’s been through this twice, so she must have all the answers. But, I think the last thing anyone would want is having their boyfriend call their mother after they’ve finished fucking you, to ask if it’s normal for their girlfriend to bleed a little.

“Yes, Harry… a little is normal…”

You texted her a few minutes later to apologize.

“I can’t believe you called your mom.”

“I panicked!”

“I don’t like it when she knows we’ve had sex.”

“Well…you are pregnant…with my child… Had to have m’cock in ya for that to happen.”

Harry didn’t waste any time getting back to the hotel after his shoot, and just like every morning right as he wakes up, he made a beeline to your bump and greeted it with a little kiss. “Hello, little bean. Did ya keep y’mum company today?” And of course, a kiss for you. “Are you all packed? Probably going to leave here in a few—flight leaves in two hours.”

“Yep, and—” You watch as he strolls around the room, picking up his phone charger and tosses it in his bag. His eyes, they were different. They were darker. They— “Eyeliner? They really put you in eyeliner?”

“Oh, yeah.” He grins, throwing on his jacket. “I wanted to get back here, so I didn’t bother taking it off.”

“You look like you belong in a pop punk band that writes songs about how much they hate their hometown but refuse to leave.”

Thirty minutes later, and the three of you were out the door. His driver was parked outside, and felt informed to give a heads up that a group of girls were beginning to form outside the building. This wasn’t your first time, nor would it be your last. At this point, all you could do was shrug your shoulders and carry on. All the times before, they never pay much attention to you, nor have they ever bothered to do so.

You noticed how Harry grew silent on the elevator, and even made the comment, “Stay close to me. Don’t stop for anyone.” You felt that was the baby talking, because the last thing he could imagine happening was lingering outside too long and getting jostled.

Outside the doors, he spotted the driver waiting outside the car door, and he reached his hand back to find yours. “Just stay close. We’ll be quick.”

You could hear the screaming through the glass doors, and once you were outside it was amplified. Girls were shoving, and reaching their arms out as far as they could, trying their best to get that small, brief touch. You kept your hand bound tight with his, your eyes fixated on the ground, and you knew you were only a few feet away from the car, until you felt a sudden, deafening whack across your back, one that sent you flying forward into Harry’s jacket.

Before you could find your footing, you felt a pair of hands tangle and twist itself in your hair, and you were violently thrown back, colliding with a hard blow on the pavement.

You could hear the screaming – much different than from before – and most certainly not from the same person. When you opened your eyes, all you could see were a pair of shoes, but they became closer and closer until you felt the kick strike your stomach, and again to your jaw.

“Get the fuck off of her!”

“Go fucking die, cunt!” Spat.

You didn’t realize you had been shielding your face until you felt a pair of hands reach out, taking your in theirs. You saw a brief glimpse of a cross tattoo, and were swiftly lifted up and settled in the backseat of the car.

*

Two hours ago, it had a heartbeat. It had told you how much it enjoyed the ramen and dumplings, and how excited it was to hear about the presents its Nana had gotten them. It was only the size of a lemon and had developed teeth and vocal cords and fingerprints. It was close to 3 inches long, and not even a full pound in weight, and now it’s all gone.

There wasn’t going to be a Christmas birthday. You weren’t going to sit on the sofa with a cup of hot chocolate, with your newborn asleep on your chest. There wasn’t going to be photos taken by your boyfriend, ones he would show off to every one of his friends.

All the names would go unused. Meadow Moonbeam, Lily Magnolia, Sunshine Rainbow were all ceased to exist now. There would be no family now, just the two of you.

You listen to the nurse talk, and you watch Harry sit beside you, but you don’t say a word. You stare at the ceiling tiles and count 94, and once you’ve finished you notice she’s still talking, so you recount again, but this time you get 95. Maybe the room is just getting bigger, or you’re just getting smaller.

Harry adjusts himself in his seat and squeezes your hand. When you peak a glimpse over, you notice his eyeliner is now smeared, mostly having been rubbed off, and you can confirm that by the black mark on his hand. He says something to you, and you stare at his lips as he repeats it, but all the worlds fly over your head like the wind.

“Pet,” he says again, and this time you acknowledge him. “We can go. You don’t have to say here.”

You’ve already spoken to the police, given your statement. There wasn’t much of a statement to give, anyway. You didn’t see the person; hell, you weren’t even sure if there was just one. They could have had three heads; you really didn’t know. All you remember is the voice.

“Go fucking die, cunt!”

It wasn’t me who died.

There weren’t much more the nurses could do, at least not now, anyway. The nurse – you think her name was Nancy – said there was a chance you could need a D&C, and she went over the details, but you blocked her out. Harry even excused himself out of the room.

Before she left, she dropped a sonogram photo down on the side of the bed, the last picture you’d ever get of your child.

It’s been two hours, and you’ve not said a word. You reach down to feel your bump, to confirm to yourself it is still there, to make sure it wasn’t taken away from you while you weren’t looking. There wasn’t a heartbeat, but you bump remained untouched.

“Sweetheart, we can go. We don’t have to stay.”

You don’t even realize he’s returned, but he’s standing by the end of your bed, and the moment you notice his red nose – the light sniffle gave it away – you immediately reach out to grab the ultrasound photo, tucking it away at your side.

He keeps saying that, but once you leave, it’s really over. Those few months you had spent lying to your friends and family, keeping your little bump a secret, was all for nothing. It was all done. Finished. There was nothing to come tomorrow. No new development news next week. No waking up to Harry draped over your stomach, leaving a trail of drool on your shirt. No kisses, no change, no baby. It was all back to the beginning now, before you met your baby bean.

But life was different back then, because you hadn’t known what special love it gave you, and now that love has been taken away, and you’re just supposed to find your footing again and carry on like nothing happened. It’s only been two hours, but you don’t believe that’s possible.

You stay at the hospital for an hour more, until it’s been confirmed that you and Harry have another flight, this time at a different airport. Instead of JFK, you would be driving to Queens to leave out of LaGuardia.

“Hun,” you hear him walk around to the other side of the bed, reaching down to grab your shoes. “I love you.”

You can’t turn around, not with the pain still inching all across your abdomen, but you feel the weight shift on the mattress, and all of a sudden, a pair of arms wrap around your chest, pushing you back against his chest. It’s silent for just a moment, until a retching sob expels from the back of his throat, and he lays his head on your shoulder, and all you could feel where his tears drenching your skin.

His hand falls and lands on your bump – still there -  and it rests there for a while, softly rubbing little circles back and forth, his way of giving his baby bean one last goodbye. You feel him kiss the inside of your neck, and with another sniff, he steps away, and helps you into your shoes.

The two of you leave out of a back entrance where your vehicle is waiting, and in silence, you sit unmoving. You check once again to make sure your bump hasn’t disappeared.

It’s all you have left.

At LaGuardia, you’re escorted in by security, through another back entrance, and only once does Harry stop to take a couple photos. You stand silently, watching the interaction, and you’re astounded at how calm his demeanor is, where just forty-five minutes ago, he was at the hospital sobbing into your neck. You don’t understand how he could pose and smile – if you can call that a smile – despite having been given the news just hours before that his unborn child is dead.

It sounds vulgar; you hate the word dead, but that’s the reality of it now. It’s not living anymore, and maybe if you say it enough, you’ll stop feeling.

Anything to make the pain stop.

By now, the news has spread about the attack, and it’s all every update account and fan page can talk about. They talk about how they’re grateful you’re okay, how you’re up and walking and seemingly unscathed. As Harry walks back at you, you think you see them take another photo – a quick one, probably blurry – and you realize your hand is still resting on your bump.

Doesn’t matter anyway.

“C’mon, pet. Let’s get home.”

[misscrawfords]

Hey hey! My apologies for not answering your delightful Agatha Christie comment on my blog awhile back -- I was out of town over the past couple days and it cut into my Tumblr time. Basically, I would love any and all recs! I have an extra fondness for characters getting stuck in eerie isolated locations (including but not always big old houses!) and, of course, compelling female characters in general. :)

It has been so long since you sent this but I have finally got round to thinking about my one true love, Agatha Christie, and put together a list of recommendations! I’ve picked out 10 you might enjoy, aiming for some that are maybe a bit less well known. Everyone knows And then there were none which is tbh the most well known “characters stuck in eerie isolated locations” novel. Similarly Death on the Nile, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, Murder on the Orient Express etc.

These are in no particular order.

1. They came to Baghdad

A surprise first choice but this is one of my favourites and one I re-read quite frequently. It’s a thriller with a plucky young woman as its heroine. Victoria Jones is determined to travel and follows a handsome man to Baghdad where she gets caught up in international espionage. Exotic locations! Fun heroine! Ludicrous spy plot! Unnecessary inclusion of archaeology because this is Christie! I love it and I think it would make a terrific film.

2. The Hollow

Personally, this is Christie’s darkest and most psychologically compelling novel, though I know others will disagree. It features Hercule Poirot who arrives at a country house to find a man shot dead in the swimming pool, his wife standing over him holding a gun. Seems simple, but obviously it isn’t. This is very much a country house mystery but the motivations of the suspects, including some very well drawn women, are dark and complex.

3. The Seven Dials Mystery

A bunch of young people play a trick on their friend Gerry with tragic consequences and get caught up in, you’ve guessed it, international espionage. The plucky heroine, “Bundle”, is great fun and the mystery pulls you forward between country houses and creepy locations in Soho, London. Not deep but definitely fun.

4. N or M?

I can’t create this list without at least one Tommy & Tuppence mystery and this one is my favourite, set when they’re married and during WW2. The setting makes this for me, in a distinctly creepy seaside boarding house, making something very mundane seem full of peril. Tuppence definitely has the run of the investigation here too and she’s a great sleuth. If you want to read them in order, start with The Secret Adversary which is also fun but quite similar to other books on this list.

5. Cat Among the Pigeons

Not a country house here, but a girls’ boarding school! In many ways just as confining and isolating. This is a Hercule Poirot mystery but most of the cast are women from school girls to teachers with a past. I remember the solution to the mystery being unexpectedly touching and this is definitely a story dominated by women with compelling back-stories.

6. Body in the Library

I couldn’t not include Miss Marple here because you don’t get more of a compelling female character than her - she is my contented spinster role model and I’m not even slightly joking here - and this is arguably one of the best. As for plot, couple find an unknown body in their library and call Miss Marple in to help. I mean, it pretty much does what it says on the tin.

7. The Big Four

A bit like The Came to Baghdad I feel like this is one I love and nobody else does, so I have to recommend it even though it doesn’t really fit either of your criteria. Poirot and Hastings chase all over Europe to increasingly implausible places to bring down a global conspiracy. I mean, there is a very clever female character in it, but mainly I just think this is really cool and I love thrillers.

8. Appointment with Death

Do the cliffs of Petra count as an eerie, isolated place? Because a vile matriarch is murdered there and I keep coming back to this one when thinking about cool and creepy settings and compelling female characters. The murder victim and her influence definitely counts but her relatives are also pretty messed up and interesting. This is a Poirot mystery.

9. Dead Man’s Folly

Another country house murder, this time involving everyone’s favourite apple eating authorial avatar, Ariadne Oliver. She’s invited to stage a fictional murder hunt for friends at their country house, but gets a bad feeling about it so invites Poirot along. Guess what? There’s a real murder! Plenty of twists and turns and some interesting women along the way.

10. Peril at End House

Poirot steps in to protect an extremely... accident prone... young woman. Nick Buckley is a rather darker version of characters like Bundle and Victoria mentioned above which makes this quite a compelling story.

There are, of course, lots more I love, and now I really want to go away and read Christie for the rest of the weekend!

If you want other detective fiction recommendations, can I suggest Lindsey Davis who has written the Marcus Didius Falco series set in Ancient Rome. Her style is fabulous and witty and she’s very historically accurate. Alongside Falco is also the wonderful senator’s daughter, Helena Justina. And she has recently been writing a spin-off series starring Falco and Helena’s daughter, Flavia Alba, whcih are also great. They do need to be read in order though, so start with The Silver Pigs (not the best one tbh but sets the scene).

I’d also recommend Elizabeth Peters’ Amelia Peabody series, starring a forceful Victorian lady and her irascible archaeologist husband, Emerson, who solve mysteries in Victorian Egypt. Start with Crocodile on the Sandbank. 

And it goes without saying, but if you haven’t read Dorothy Sayers, especially the Harriet Vane books, you need to do that right now. Start with Strong Poison.

Happy reading!