#and kicking them off just before retirement hits

[amynchan]

God I wish, I wish, but the way I see the free schedule happening is one of two ways:

We get more teachers on more shifts, so teaching becomes a 24 hour profession OR teaching ends up with a day shift, where we get the morning kids; the afternoon shift, where we get the late risers; and the night shift, where we teach the insomniacs. Obviously, you'd need teachers who have the same natural sleeping rhythms to teach these classes, but that can kinda be done. In the college sphere, we have morning, afternoon, and evening classes, but you'd run into the same problem we get over here. The classes themselves would most likely have the same workload as the classes that are taught during the current time frame, but the main trouble is that we wouldn't ever be sure if those teachers have full classes that will pay them out until basically a few days beforehand. Classes get cancelled due to low enrollment all the time, so these teachers would be lesson planning and building classes that may not be used (which, yeah, that's a reality. It's happened to me a couple times now. Not enough students enroll in a class, and it gets cut, and the teachers don't get paid for the work we do before class even starts). We also have students who don't pay attention and sign up for the 8:00AM classes and just... show up as zombies even though they signed up for it. They're not engaged, they're not ready, and it's somehow my job to fix that.

The other one is move instruction to completely online courses so that way we can allow all students to take classes at entirely their own pace. This is the one we're closer to, and it's the one that's easier to see the practical problems of it (so hopefully we can fix the damn things!). Online learning, as we all know from our good ol' friend Covid, puts a great deal of responsibility on the student that—half the time—they weren't aware that the teacher had provided for them all along. A place and time separate from other responsibilities with which to do the work, materials to do the work, steady socialization, near instantaneous feedback and guidance when you get off-task. The classroom itself does a lot. Online learning can give you so much freedom, but as an instructor, I've seen so many students use that freedom to say "fuck all" to education. And I teach college in America. The USA doesn't make you go to college. I'm not sure how it works elsewhere, but that's how it works here. You won't get in trouble for not going or even applying. You should be in college because you've got some kind of goal for it. Therefore, you should only be enrolled in the class in the first place because you want to do something with it and should already have some kind of internal motivation to follow through. But students just don't. Not because of their sleep schedules, but because online learning requires a level of discipline and internal motivation that just isn't expected of them anymore. If a student doesn't wanna do the work, they just won't. And it's relatively fine for a college instructor, who isn't paid by how many students pass the class. Honest. I could fail the entire class and get by relatively okay as long as I'm able to defend my decision and point out the numerous amount of times I reached out to help them.

But high school and below??? They are paid and penalized by how many or how few students pass their course. Again, covid taught us this; if all of those students just choose to sit on their asses, they could get their way at the expense of people's jobs and livelihoods (for the longest time, my dad was the only worker in our house. As a high school instructor, he shoved all six of us—yes, including himself to get his master's degree so he could earn more money to support us!—through higher education by working his ass off. He was a stern teacher, too, so if the students did that to him, they would have fucked over my entire family. It's scary to think of how many other teachers' families are going through that right now because of the shift in cultural attitude about learning and going to school). And to the students, this threat to lives and livelihoods is usually not their concern, because they'll be gone after a year and why should they care? Easy A! Sit on your ass! Accuse the teacher of some shady shit! Works for me!

(Seriously. A student didn't like their grade in my dad's class, went home, ripped out their own stitches, and tried to cry to admin about my dad abusing them. I was in the room when the 'confrontation' happened, and the audacity shook me to my core. And this was years before Covid. This is only one example of some of the shit my dad has been through. The shift in attitude has been going on for years.)

Like, I get the original argument that "everyone in the world has different needs, and the world needs to adjust and accommodate to take care of it." I want that. I want a world where my sister didn't have to feel like an idiot because she's not a morning person and I am. I want a world where my sibling has the time to pursue both passion and education. I want that. However, on this side, I can only see this broken system that punishes us for trying to educate kids who don't see what, exactly, we are trying to offer them and can only see "you fuck with me and I fuck with you and no I don't give a damn about how it'll hurt you as long as I get my way." It's never enough. It's never, ever, ever enough. Even if we try to help them within the parameters we're given, it will never be enough.

Try to hire more teachers to teach in shifts to accommodate for the different and very natural sleeping patterns of students? First, find a teacher who has that same sleeping pattern and then have them on standby, only to cut their job if not enough students sign up for their class and stick to it. Hope that teacher has got a backup plan, buddy. Try to do online courses where students can learn at their own pace? In addition to all the work that goes into making a class that is both engaging and effective (I overworked myself to mental exhaustion for one online course this semester. The students who stuck it out loved it, and while that's worth it, I just hope that all the prep I did this semester will save me next semester when I gotta do it all over again), good luck making sure that the students themselves have the internal motivation to finish AND good luck also trying to be available to them so they can ask questions while also maintaining whatever little sanity you have left. That student who's up at 2AM, as is natural and good for them, may not be able to meet up with the teacher who sleeps from 12AM-5AM every night (if they like to push to the brink of their sanity).

I teach English, but I teach more than that, too. We all do. Time management, respect for others, critical thinking, problem solving and troubleshooting, and more. And I'm a college instructor. I have freedoms that not many others in the industry have. I can create my lessons liberally, I can choose OERs to use so I don't have to force my students to buy anything, I can create content that they don't have to shell extra money out for. As long as I follow the standards and guidelines, I can alter what I need when I need to for the betterment of my students. I feel so bad for the rest of my family, all of whom teach high school and are trapped within the same bureaucracy that everyone bitches about, but they, as teachers themselves, can't do anything without getting hit with a huge hammer for it by admin, by students, or by parents (and that is a WHOLE other thing). The shifts don't work entirely, and the online classes don't work entirely either (yet, yet, hopefully yet!).

If the sleeping schedule was literally the only thing, those options might be viable. Because then we'd probably have students consistently signing up for time slots so we could make them more consistently available, and we'd have students consistently doing the work without the sleeping schedule as a natural impediment because they'd be motivated to get it done. But as much of a good student, or even mediocre student who just showed up and didn't make too many waves, as you were, these are currently luxuries that we can't afford because we're trying to get everyone on the same page teaching-wise.

There's the sleeping schedule thing, yes. There are possible fixes for it, yes. However, as much as a lot of people want this, there's always going to be some bureaucracy and some people who just say "what if I hit the big red destruct button?" that it fucks it up for everyone else.

And, yeah, I'm mad about it.

In the future the way we treat different sleep schedules is going to be thought of as just as weird and barbaric as beating kids for being left-handed. People will read about how we thought certain circadian rhythms were bad and made people take melatonin and use special lights to make their circadian rhythms different, and they will think, "So sad and ignorant...everybody is just afraid of difference."

[oceantornadoo]

bloody perfect

this is so insane i am so sorry

ao3 link

roommate!simon riley x f!reader with a blood/period kink, dubcon, slightly mean!simon, blood as a symbol for love and devotion (two and a half steps away from cannibalism)

—

the door to your apartment opened in a blurred flash, keys jangling from the door. you snapped shut the book you had been reading, jumping to stand at attention, like some poor imitation of a soldier. like your roommate.

“hi, simon. nice to have you back.” you squeaked out, forcing your shoulders to relax. simon had his back to you, gloved hands fiddling with the lock. his boots looked dirty, streaks of dirt staining the floor. your gaze lifted up to the back of him, looking impossibly bigger than before he left for deployment. he somehow filled out his jeans more, thighs and ass hugging them in all the right places. even his black sweatshirt seemed strained against his shoulders, fabric fighting the breadth of his wingspan. your eyes landed on his head, hair messy from taking off his balaclava. you felt yourself step forward once, twice, almost in a trance. it had been so long.

“can feel ya starin’, love. miss me?” simon turned around, his smirk mean around the edges. you were hit with the full force of his gaze, new scratches on his face, a bandage on his arm. “you-you’re hurt.” he gazed down at the bandage, as if just realizing it was there. “‘s nothin’. didn’t answer my question.” you gulped audibly, almost comically. the air was sticky sweet with your nervousness and his cockiness, getting thicker by the minute as he kicked off his boots and made his way towards you. you didn’t understand it, this sudden change in your dynamic. you’d been cordial roommates, sharing a few meals and a movie or two. it was nice to have the apartment to yourself (that’s what you told yourself on cold nights), nice to have the rent taken care of with an absent roommate. but something had changed. some hunger had festered, sickly growth set behind simon’s eyes. he met you in two steps, taunting you with his height as he forced you to crane your neck towards him. it was his nearness that threw you off, made you say some insane thing.

“i missed you.”

his eyes flashed, clearly not expecting your submissiveness. practically a bitch in heat, rolling over to show him your tummy. he could almost smell the desperation coming off you in waves, the need for intimacy, the need for him to darken your doorstep. he could almost smell something else.

simon lowered his face to that juncture of skin between your jaw and collarbone, nosing at it gently. “missed ya too, dove.” you hummed as he nosed further, like some battered K9 who never retired, practically foaming at the mouth. he slipped his gloves into his back pockets, silent as a ghost. “‘aven’t gone on any dates, hav’ ya?” you shook your head vehemently, almost knocking into his own with the force of your eagerness. “thas’ a good girl." he rewarded you with skin on skin contact, calloused hands brushing up and down your jaw. you practically moaned at the contact, your body sorely missing the touch of a man. he maneuvered you back to the couch, laying you down with controlled restraint.

“y’ve been lonely.” you opened your mouth to answer but he cut you off, one large paw covering the bottom half of your face. simon tutted, practically clicking his tongue like a scolding teacher. “wasn’t a question.” words escaped you, jaw opening and shutting with no sound. you settled for a nod, pretending you had some semblance of control over simon’s actions. his gaze trailed down your body, eyes stopping for a second at your heaving chest, noting the pebbled nipples behind your sleep shirt. you moved to take it off, hands shaking, but that same hand shot from your mouth to your hand, gripping it hard. “not tonight.” your brows knitted together. did he not do foreplay? you had been without sex for far too long to entertain that idea. just as you were about to voice this particular concern, he squeezed your wrist hard, resisting from twisting the delicate bones beneath him. “shut it. stop askin’ shit. y’re not in charge ‘ere.”

“now this.” his hands moved to toy with the hem of your pajama shorts. “can smell ‘er loud and clear.” he brushed a hand over your lower stomach, pressing into your flesh with a groan. you let out a small moan, practically a mewl, as the heat of his touch battled the simmering cramps you’d had all day. “simon.” you bit back a gasp. “simon, it hurts.” so frail under him, practically begging for ghost to come home and take care of you. he shushed you with a kiss to your stomach, lips brushing the fabric of your pajamas. he tore off your shorts with practiced restraint, the hands of a trained killer dragging down each inch like each one was its own mission. each glimpse of your segment of skin was the target, weapons trained on the underwear it revealed to him. ghost let out a groan, the sound rumbling through him to you, his body practically molded to yours. his thumbs found your hipbones, small circles repeating their path.

“simon, you’ll mess up the couch.” he grunted. “need a bigger one, anyway. shut y’r pretty trap, dove.” you followed orders immediately. he dove in nose-first to the seam of your underwear, trailing down slowly. “‘s sweet.” all saccharine under him, the beast within beating at his ribcage, screaming to be let out. ghost was a shark in the water, dangerous at the first smell of blood. the need to claim, to conquer, make use of the fertile body under him. to eat. to feast.

in one fell swoop he was tugging down your underwear, yanking off the offending piece of fabric and flinging it to the floor. you hissed as your skin met the cool air, unused to being so exposed in your vulnerable state. “there she is. come ‘ere.” there was no experimental lick, no hesitation at the sight of blood. ghost went from one battlefield to another, preferring bloodshed over the silence of domesticity.

he started at your outer lips, practically cleaning you up, movements made for his taste and not your pleasure. blood coated his tongue, mixed with your seeping wetness. one final lick and he moved to your hole, winking at him, welcoming him home. his hands pressed your back upwards, crooked nose set against your clit. “bloody perfect.” he chuckled at his own joke, chuckled at how your body was already shaking under him. he tongue-fucked you expertly, sloppily eating you up. the blood mixed with cum made a pretty pink on his pale skin, fingers digging into your back as he pulled you impossibly closer. the tension in your core was getting harder to ignore with every lick, every time he said here she is and some welcome home, dove. he moved the bottom of his palm to press down on your clit, rubbing his nose in it, and you were coming, core clenching around nothing as your body emitted the loudest sounds. “ther we go, com’ on.” whispers of encouragement to your cunt, thick fingers joining in to coax another orgasm. one turned into two, your slippery pussy welcoming him in desperately. all whiny under his touch, squirming as he banded the other arm to hold down your stomach.

“nowhere ta fly, dove.” that didn’t stop you from trying, hips bucking into the air as he added a third finger. you were unbelievably full, stretched out like his personal fucktoy. he changed the angle, reaching deeper with calm strokes as he found the spot to make you crazy, gummy walls touching his rough calluses. he beckoned inside you, like he was telling you to come here, and you did, cunt clamping around his fingers.

“simon, simon it’s too much i-“ he shook his head, making that beckoning motion again. you spasmed even more, months of tension releasing under him. “there we go, she jus’ needed sum attention, yeah? not working with your own fingers, hm?” you nodded your head, agreeing with him passionately. “gonna split ya with my cock soon, see ya all fucked out.” your lips formed a small “o”, the crassness leaving his mouth like it needed to be washed with soap. “‘s get you to a shower, dove. go’on.” you scrambled out of his arms, clothes forgotten on the floor as you flew for the safety of your bathroom. he knew his dove too well, knew you needed some option to fly away and recoup before going farther. he’d spent all of deployment thinking about you, tugging his cock in shared showers and metal-framed cots. simon cleaned off his fingers one by one, savoring the metallic taste as he fixed the mess you made. he’d order a new couch tomorrow, something that could fit more than two, five being ideal. he’d fuck you on his cock tomorrow, once you’d knocked all of those thoughts around your head enough to pass out in his arms. but for now, he’d settle for the pink stain on his chin and your taste on his lips.

[marshmallowdarling]

John Price got the letter early dawn, up just before the sun rises. A habit he and his boys can’t seem to shake after being at war for years, even if they had time to ‘relax’ now. 

John’s arm lazily wrapped around Kyle’s waist as he peers over the younger man’s shoulder to look at the recruit assessment forms with the sound of Simon’s cooking behind them, and the smell makes his mouth water. Food, actual food without the fear of living off rations around the corner, all of them had packed a few more pounds but John told them it was good, healthy weight covering their muscles and fuelling their bodies. 

A knock on the door breaks the soft morning atmosphere and all the men tense up, Johnny even pops his head in the doorframe from around the corner where he was still brushing his teeth. 

John pats Kyle’s waist and gives the others a soft reassuring nod before heading to the door, the others can hear soft muffled voices before John comes back with a letter in his hands and the boys can see the unmistakeable golden imperial seal, one they were all too familiar with. 

All of them had spent hours talking after finding out about the wedding, but a Knight couldn’t refuse an order and an agreement had been put in place after. Keep you safe even through their own emotions.

A few days and a multiple meetings later the boys are trying to tidy up the house, keeping their weapons that were strewn in every room in only a few now to not seem intimidating. The manor had originally came with help but John had let them all go, wanting his own privacy and knowing his boys wanted that too. 

John thought he had more time, way more time since the King hadn’t said anything about the actual wedding date or day or meeting you or your family…. But then you show up at their door with an imperial knight, your bags next to you and a letter in your hands with the golden imperial golden seal and John can tell it’s a marriage certificate without even opening it. 

He snaps into work-mode, his brain going a million miles per hour but his body nods to the Knight and opens the door wider for you to step inside, picking up your heavy luggage like its nothing to bring in after you as he kicks the door closed behind him. 

✮✮✮✮

It’s weird at first for everybody, obviously, but the boys get a big surprise. They had all brainstormed various of ideas on what you would be like, maybe a pompous spoilt brat, or scared out of your mind living with four blood-stained men, or maybe you would fight back and make their life hell but… 

You don’t care…. You *don’t* seem to care about their reputation. Your polite enough, only taking as much as you need, making little conversation but keeping to yourself, seeing that they already had a system. 

They had tried to keep their secret around you, they really did. Not wanting to make you seem like an outsider and not wanting to feel your judgement but all of them get restless. 

Simon was training most of the time with his balaclava on always even thought he had been finally working on letting himself relax a bit after being retired before you came along. 

Kyle was at work pulling more over time, training the recruits harder and before to try and get his frustrations of keeping his emotions at bay out. 

Johnny was at the local blacksmith, forging the same piece of metal over and over again while zoned out, hitting the same piece of hot metal with a cross peen hammer with all of his force. Feeling so pent up he was going to burst. 

And John Price, their ‘General’ who had always seemed to be so collected in every situation for all of them, is hit the worst. Wanting to stay around to make sure you were okay and settling in and he never thought he was a needy man but *Gods* did he seem to have taken for granted the small touches and praised words they all would share, especially since he saw how much it affected *his* boys and everything in him screamed at him to go make sure they were okay. 

Until the secret gets out when you walk into the kitchen late at night, having drank all of the water on your bedside table, to see John on top of Simon. Not having seen Simon’s face with his Balaclava half rolled up to only reveal his lips since it was dark with one a small candle lit. 

John rushes and stumbles over his words to try and say something but Simon stays silent, just wrapping his arms tighter around his captain’s waist almost possessively.  “It’s fine, I don’t know why you think I would care. I already knew.” You say so casually it wipes John out. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

DID YOU GUYS LIKE IT?! I HAVE SO MUCH MORE TO SAY RAHHHHH AND I WILL FEED YOU MY RAMBLES IF YOU WANT!!!

Also this MIGHT turn into dark content later down the line so please be careful with my profile! Also its 1am, ignore any mistakes.

Tag list (omg look at me mom, ive made it) : @sheep-from-rad

[mr-bas00nist]

I’ve got a request my dear! Can you please do bottom Nanami who just had rough day and finally gets the chance to relax and be a pillow princess.

Love you dear!

Good Boys Deserve Good Things

𓇼 🌊 🐚 -Nanami Kento x Dom! Male Reader

𓇼 🌊 🐚-Cw: Overstimulation, dacryphilia, praise, Some sir and daddy kink, like one spank and manhandling (readers a strong boy 💪🏽)

It really didn’t take anyone special to tell how hard Nanami Kento worked. From a busy salaryman who hated his job to a sorcerer who still couldn’t stand the business, just had less of a hatred towards it. That was life though, grinding through shit you hate. It was worth it he believed, eventually retiring to Malaysia with his sweetheart was worth any challenge.

It would be awhile until that point though. For now he was a slave to the workforce. Nanami was returning back from home after a long day as usual. He looked over to see the kitchen was clean and some delicious looking cuisine in a container. Must’ve been your cooking.

He kicked off his dress goes and took his suit coat off before trudging upstairs. A few annoying comments from Gojo always got him exhausted and annoyed. He entered the room to see you relaxing on the bed lazily scrolling through you’re phone. You glanced up to see your husband with an annoyed expression on his face.

You couldn’t help but smile at his annoyed and flustered look. You could tell he was aggravated, not at you of course. “Hey there handsome, work got you down?” You smiled teasingly. Nanami Kento was no submissive man by any standards. A wise and reserved man which could be seen by anyone. Though, sometimes a man needed a break.

He got on his knees crawling over to your side of the bed as your large hand cupped his cheek. “Please sir….” He pleaded. The alias rolling off his tongue sounding like sweet honey in your ears. “Please what handsome?” You inquired with a knowing eyebrow.

“Please, fuck me…” He spoke softly, cheeks flushed with a pretty pastel dusted across them. You couldn’t help the mean grin that graced your lips. “Was that so hard baby? So hard asking you’re husband to make you forget about every little thing?” He shook his head no.

~🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

“Shit! You’re squeezing me so much handsome..” You lick your lips panting as you gripped his hips from the back pulling him into you. Kento had his face buried in the pillow as he moaned and cried. Pretty hazel eyes red from crying so much.

“S’ too much- can’t take it! Can’t take it! Mercy~!” You smiled softly at his pleas giving a small slap to his plump ass. “Shhh, know you can take it… because you’re a good boy right? Good boys deserve good things right?♡” You didn’t really expect an answer but you were pleased when you heard a whine. “Yes- I deserve this…”

You nodded in agreement. “You do, so stop thinking and let me take care of you okay baby?” You cooed softly at him as you gripped his sweaty locks. You gently ran you’re fingers through them before tugging to get him to arch. His face was pulled off the pillow leaving his mouth open to let the groans and moans escape.

He had no idea how many times he’d cum already. All he knew is that he’d been manipulated into position after position by you. Pretty head blank from everything except you’re dick in his ass abusing his prostate with each Plap! Plap! Plap! You gave so graciously to him.

You felt the telltale signs of his impending orgasm as he constricted tighter around you. You lifted you’re leg to plant beside his torso and adjusted you’re hands to his broad and muscular shoulders to pull him back into you. You leaned your weight over him making your dick hit even deeper from the forced arch. You smiled softly as you heard him cry out, hands reaching up to the drool covered, sweaty pillow to try and pull himself away from the burning pleasure.

“Nope, don’t run away from this dick baby…” You grinned as you pulled him right back to you’re pelvis. “Shhhh, shhhh, let daddy hear you scream for him m’kay???” You asked, but he knew it was a demand. The coil in his stomach stretched to its limits, face dripping with sweat, toes curling and eyes rolling back.

He peered up at you from wet lashes, a pleading look on his face. You smiled at his manners. “You know you don’t have to ask to cum…. Nut on daddy’s cock…” you gave a final sturdy thrust and his orgasm came crashing down like a wave on the coast. He gave a final drawn out groan mixed with a gasp as thick, ivory rivulets spilled from his shaft.

You came just in time with him as you filled him to the brim with your own release. You sighed in relief as you rubbed small shapes in his hips to ground him. After a few moments he felt you pull out and quickly flip him over before climbing back atop. You lined yourself up once more with his entrance as he let out a whimper from feeling you invade once more.

“You’re still coherent prince… can’t have that can we…? My sweet pillow prince needs to have his pretty head drained isn’t that right?” You asked with a slight mocking tone as he nodded. His legs raised as he wrapped them around your torso, burying his tear soaked face into your shoulder. You smiled brushing a small start tear from his cheek.

You kissed his temple before gently thrusting. “Just a little more for me baby… just let go of all those inhibitions hmmm?” You asked in sickly sweet tone. And who was he to deny or say no when you asked like that?

A/N: It is so nice to be back and writing for JJK! Thanks so much for the request Jason, I missed all you sm! Things have just been busy. Anyways, keep requesting! Im on a writing kick. :)

[azriels-human]

In Your Dreams: I ☁️🌙☁️

Azriel x Reader

A/n: Okay this is my first time writing in years but Az is Bringing me out of retirement. Opinions and ideas are always appreciated. Enjoyy😌

Summary: Az isn’t very fond of the newest member of the Night Court so much so that you even plague his dreams.

Warnings: This is a smut series. MDNI

part II

Song inspo:

“Az, you’re back!” Cassian’s booming voice probably alerts everyone in The House of Wind of his arrival just as Azriel touches down on the balcony.

Az can’t help the small smile directed at his brother. After being away on a mission for days, he appreciated Cassian’s loudness, it means home, comfort, relaxation-

Or so he thought until his eyes land on you, lounging on a sofa, book in hand but your empty eyes set on his own.

His smile instantly vanishes, replaced by a displeased glance before turning away.

Azriel cannot stand you. The newest member, a pick pocket from the Hewn City turned spy pupil for The Night Court. A dark presence that made him physically ill.

It’s no surprise you’re sat in the far corner of the room. Azriel hasn’t seen you speak to anyone beside Rhysand since your arrival. Even then, it was only about the minuscule missions he’d been sending you on the last 3 months.

Azriel simply nods at Cassian and Nesta. Words failing him as that illness returns deep in the pit of his stomach.

He can feel your uncanny gaze still focused on him, despite his obvious distaste for you. He knows that is precisely why you do it too.

Gods, you are the bane of his existence.

With a slight twitch of the brow, Az makes his way toward Rhysand’s study ready to give him yet another ear full about you.

How Rhys had even given you a position is beyond Azriel considering you were a straight up criminal.

Azriel had been on a mission in the slums of the Hewn City, the worst part, in fact. A part so small and forgotten that crimes are a first nature.

He just found the information he’d been looking for and his mood was nothing less than happy knowing he’d be back home soon.

That was until a cloaked figure had bumped him and continued on their way.

Naturally being in a more poor part of the city, Azriel pats his left hip making sure none of his weapons or money had been swiped. But they hadn’t.

It isn’t until he brings his left hand to move his own cloak and double check that he realizes his siphon is gone.

“How the fuck…” Azriel hasn’t been caught off guard like this in a long while. How could they swipe a stone embedded in his leathers without him feeling a thing?

Azriel wasted no time looking over the crowd to find the grey tattered cloak gracefully zipping through the crowd.

He follows just a swiftly. His eyes glued to the figure as he maneuvers past on goers.

The thief, as if sensing him, looks back for half a second before darting through the crowd, ducking and jumping over items and people. Still managing to move past them without bumping into anyone.

Az mutters a breathy, “Asshole” when he takes note of that.

At this point Azriel begins to push past the crowd. He can’t let them leave with it. Something that valuable, not just on market but to himself personally, will not fall into some slick criminals hands.

Just as they are about to round the corner Azriel sends his shadows in a silent command to detain the culprit. The shadows weave through the crowd even more speedy and graceful, wrapping around the hooded figure and yanking them back.

Their back hits the ground with an ‘oomf’ before they quickly try freeing themselves from the shadows constraints.

Azriel grabs their collar in one hand, lifting them up and bringing them to his eye level. The other hand snatching back the hood of the cloak.

He nearly gasps upon laying eyes on you. The bewitching darkness in your eyes bore into his, reaching for his soul as if you’d take it right from him.

Taking advantage of his perplexed state you kicked him in the stomach causing him to let go and his shadows to withdraw.

Azriel groans holding his middle and coughing once, twice.

You don’t hesitate to run down the empty alley but Azriel is quick to snap back.

You don’t make it half way through when he winnows in front of you. You slam into his chest and fall again, mud splattering the two of you. Azriel’s shadows bind your wrists above your head as he straddles your thighs.

You thrash beneath him, growling and clawing. His hands scanning over your arms, sides and hips until he felt the bulge of it settled on your hip…beneath the waistband of your pants.

He looks up at you, amusement dancing behind your wicked eyes as if he were being tested, ‘a will he, won’t he?’

His eyes flicker from yours to your somewhat now exposed navel. He can’t just…reach in there.

But he can’t just let you have it. He wouldn’t be wrong to take back what is his.

He scoffs, reaching under your waistband and pulling up a belt with a pocket attached causing you shriek almost inaudibly.

Azriel pulls the dull blue siphon from the pocket and looks back at you. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t half amused himself.

A strange girl from the slums of the Hewn City stealing his siphon and testing his honor as a male.

Though he is not crazy enough to indulge the amusement. You are a thief. Not just a common thief but a a thief able to pick a very valuable possession off of a very cautious male.

“What is your name?” Azriel asks still hovering over you.

You only glare back.

“I asked what your name is.” Azriel grows impatient above you but you do not respond.

It could have been over. He could have let you go and steal from some other fool who wouldn’t notice but…he didn’t want to. Perhaps your crime against him was too personal and punishment seemed fit.

“Get up.” Azriel roughly pulls you to your feet, shadows still binding your wrists. Your struggles are deemed futile when he whisks you away to his High Lord.

Azriel all but stomps into Rhys study, shutting the door behind him. “Your newest addition has a staring problem.”

Rhysand looks up from his notes to see his irritated brother throw himself into the seat across from him. “What happened to ‘hello’ ‘how are you’?”

Azriel sighs. “Rhys.”

Rhys leans back in his seat, a smirk on his lips. “What harm is a bit of staring? Maybe she likes what she sees.”

“Please.” Azriel rolls his eyes. “She likes nothing and no one.”

Rhys shrugs. “She’s not so bad, Az. You’re just pissed she was able to pick something off of you.”

“I’m pissed that you gave her a job instead of consequences.”

“How couldn’t I? I’d rather have someone that can out sneak my spy master on my side.” Rhysand teases.

“She did not ‘out sneak’ me. Her methods were textbook. Not sneaky at all.” Azriel grumbles his blatant lies. He knows not just any theif, not even an exceptional one, could do what you did.

Rhysand chuckles. “Whatever you say, brother.” He clears his throat. “I assume you found the shop?”

Azriel shakes his head. “I did not but I heard rumors of where it will turn up next.”

Rhys had assigned him a rather odd case, a book of lethal potions stolen from a temple in the Hewn City by a traveling shop now supplying those lethal drugs. Reports saying it makes users hyper aware, a party drug when used correctly but as expected there are those who abuse it, turning them aggressive and eventually killing them when too much is consumed. Azriel has spent the last week trying to track the shop down with nothing to show for it until today.

“Where?”

Azriel’s jaw tightens. “Coincidentally, in two days it will be in the same part of town…she…is from.”

Rhys chuckles at his brother’s pettiness once again. “She must really get under your skin with her staring.”

Azriel shakes his head, “Rhys, I’m telling you there is something off about her.”

“She’s been here for 3 months without incident. What do you suppose she will do?” Rhy asks entertaining the idea purely for the amusement of seeing a riled up Azriel.

“Steal. Spy. Hells for all we know she could be plotting everyone’s death.”

“Well, then I guess I should fear for your life when she accompanies you on your assignment?” Rhysand lifts a brow in mock questioning.

“Absolutely not. She will not be accompanying me anywhere…ever.” Azriel laughs at the notion.

“She knows her way around, she is successful in her missions and you need to get over your bruised ego and get along with her. She is supposed to be your pupil.”

Azriel shakes his head but before he can deny his High Lord, Rhysand continues.

“You will be taking her with you to retrieve the book and shut it down. That’s final.” Rhysand crosses his arms.

Azriel hesitantes but ultimately nods, dreading the thought of having to spend any amount of time near you.

.☁️🌙☁️.

Azriel is sat in the lounge, a book in one hand and a glass of scotch in the other. His eyes read over the page for the millionth time before he slams it shut and rubs his temple.

Sleep had evaded him, unable to stop thinking of this damned mission he has to take you on. At the fact that he must push away the alarms going off in his entire being when you are around.

Azriel knows something is wrong with you. It’s your expressionless gaze, the eerie aura that follows you and the stillness of your existence, even just standing around you’re still as a statue. You’re like a ghost. His own personal poltergeist.

As if on cue, he shadows curl up his neck whispering of your presence.

His stomach drops. He’d be damned if he had to endure you anymore than he has to.

Just as he retreats into the shadows in the corner of the den, you glide straight past the room entirely. Not even peaking into the only lit room of the house.

He knows it’s ridiculous but it irked him that you didn’t even look. Had you no curiosity either? And if you aren’t coming to the den, where are you going?

Regardless, he definitely isn’t going to find out. He has no intention of being anywhere near you. He wouldn’t subject himself to that.

…

But he wants to know. What if you had some secret hobby or routine? Something that made you…a person.

Why should that matter to him!? He doesn’t give two shits about what you do. His own curiosity only further proves how offbeat you are. He certainly will not follow you and he definitely won’t care what you are doing.

…

But what if you were up to no good? What if you were stealing from the High Lord every night after he goes to sleep?

Now that he can’t allow.

Azriel emerges from the shadows, peaking out from the door frame to find you at the end of the hallway. You enter the library and shut the door closed behind you.

He slips through the hallway and into the library, careful not to make a sound.

The empty library felt cold in your wake though there was no sign of you. You weren’t sitting on the sofas or searching for a book. There is only silence in his company.

Azriel strides through each row of bookcases lined throughout the room to no avail.

And now you’ve even disappeared like a ghost.

A beam of light enters at the back of the room earning his attention. The balcony.

Azriel stealthily crosses the room, concealing himself behind the bookcase closest to the balcony.

There you were. Sitting on the marble bench, staring up at the sky. Not causing any trouble.

Well, he has his answer, he can leave. He can go about his sleepless night.

But once again he did not want to, despite those alarms going off and the growing pit deep down. He couldn’t bring himself to move.

So he didn’t for a very long time.

He only watches your ominously still figure watching the sky. You do not look away or blink or breathe it seems. Not even a twitch of the fingers.

You just cannot be of this world.

“Azriel.” You call softly.

His heart drops into the swirling void in his stomach as chills sweep across his skin and the hairs of his arm stand.

You’d sensed him there. For how long? Though he doesn’t care what you think of him, he did not need you telling anyone he’s some stalker creep.

“You can come out.”

Azriel contemplates. He can leave as he should have done an hour ago but you already know he is here. Then again, maybe if he leaves you’ll think you were mistaken.

All of those options fly out of the door when you look back, directly at him.

He winces at his lack of options and being caught. How did you even know? He’s the fucking spy master and now he can’t even hide from you?

Azriel lets out a deep exhale, not even realizing he’d been holding his breath before coming out into your full view.

You look right into his eyes as he approaches you. Each step feels like a crushing weight as he struggles to maintain his composure.

“What are you doing out here?” Azriel asks firmly, not a shred of friendliness behind the words.

You only look back to the sky.

Were you ignoring him now? After telling him to come out?

Irritation begins to fill the void in him. The audacity. HE is the one ignoring YOU.

“What are you doing out here.” A command rather than question this time.

You subtly shrug.

Azriel rolls his eyes.

For a while the two of you are silent. What is he even supposed to say to you? You are the one that called him out here.

He isn’t surprised that you hardly speak but that doesn’t change the fact that it is annoying.

“You don’t speak much.” Azriel states plainly wanting to escape the awkward, silent tension.

“That’s your perception.” You match his blunt tone provoking his wonder. How could it be his perception when you don’t speak to anyone?

“I haven’t seen within 10 feet of anyone here.”

“That’s because you disappear anytime I’m in the same room as you.”

Azriel didn’t know what to make of your straight forwardness. Though he tends to speak directly himself, he’s not fond of such attitude. But coming from you, it seems fitting. “Perhaps I simply don’t enjoy your company.”

“Curious.” You look at him, standing up and making your way back into the library. “No male has ever complained about my company.”

Azriel follows close behind, watching your every poised step.

“As a matter of fact I’ve been told I’m quite the pleasure to be around.” You glance over your shoulder. That familiar sinister delight returning to your eyes, the same look you gave him when he realized where it is you held his siphon.

Azriel nearly trips on over his own two feet. The void beginning to whirl again. He cursed himself for needed to clear his throat. “Is that so?”

You stop abruptly and pivot on your feet, coming face to chest and tilting your head back to look up at him. His stomach leaps at the sudden proximity and your intense stare. He steps back.

“With my bright and bubbling personality, how could they not?” You raise a brow.

Azriel didn’t know if it was relief from the cut tension or the actual joke or both but he lets out a breathy chuckle.

“Not to mention my breasts and ass.”

Azriel’s shock couldn’t have been anymore evident. His lips part unable to form a single word, not that his brain could form a single thought.

Azriel hadn’t thought of you in any way other than suspicion but now, standing before him, he can’t help but notice your deadly beauty. The enthralling darkness dancing behind your eyes and those plump pink lips. The thin strapped shirt clinging to your ample breasts. The outline of your peaked nipples. The perfect angle he has of your soft cleavage.

“That was also a joke.” You clarify and turn on your heel continuing towards the door. “Kind of.”

It most certainly was not a joke.

The loose shorts gripping your waist do nothing to hide the outline of your backside. Each step you take further away from him only giving him a better view of the swish of your hips and the bounce of your ass.

“Goodnight, Spy Master.” You bid farewell without so much as a glance back.

.☁️🌙☁️.

Azriel couldn’t stop thinking of you, yet now it’s in whole different light. He would have never thought you to be so vulgar, in a cruel way maybe but not in a humorous way.

You’re so quiet and reserved and unsettling. He didn’t think you capable of making a joke, let alone a sexual one.

He couldn’t deny that it is a rather riveting piece of information. He should have known when you all but challenged him to reach into your pants a few month ago.

The memory of your tits sitting nice and pretty, your waist and full hips, your ass, all flood his mind.

Lying in his bed, Azriel turns onto his back, shaking the thoughts from his head.

He needs sleep. And he needs it now.

.☁️🌙☁️.

Exhaustion cannot begin to describe what Azriel felt. He needed not just to rest but recharge, and there is nothing better than laying down after a hard days work.

After what felt like forever he finally reaches his bedroom, twisting the nob and shutting the door behind him. He sighs, shutting his eyes and resting his head against the door.

“Azriel.” You call just as softly as you had earlier in the night.

Azriel whips around to find you sat on the center on his bed, feet under you and hands politely placed on your knees, as if you’d been waiting for him.

Azriel scans the room. Possibly a prank brought on by Rhysand but it’s only you in here.

“What are you doing in here?” Azriel hisses, sending a vicious sneer in your direction. And he thought ignoring him was the hight of your audacity but to enter his private quarters at such late hours?

“I haven’t been on my best behavior, have I.” You tilt your head to the side, feigning innocence.

Azriel’s brow pinches. “What?”

“I’ve displeased you in some way.” You slowly stand from his bed. “I can’t have that.”

Azriel swallows hard as you inch closer with every word. “After all, I am a pleasure to be around.”

Azriel can only watch. Your shorts doing little to hide your exposed legs and soft thighs. That fucking shirt hiding your tight nipples.

You come to halt with only centimeters between you, looking up at him with that deceptively virtuous gaze.

He could smell you. An intoxicating scent of amber and jasmine. Like a garden in the fall.

Azriel’s heart thunders in his chest. Not fast but hard. He was sure not only you but everyone in the house could feel it. His whole being pulses with each thump as you reach for his chest.

“Let me be a pleasure.” Your delicate fingers just barely touches his chest, drawing a line down his chest. Then lower. And lower. And lower-

Azriels eyes widen as he snatches your hand in his. His chest heaving, trying to gulp down the air that slips away from him. You, however, seem un phased, eager, if anything. “W-what do you think you’re doing?”

The scent of his own arousal permeates the air he desperately tries to breathe.

With half lidded eyes and a slight pout of your lips, you take your wrist from his loose grip and place your palm over the back of his hand, brining it up to your cheek and leaning into it.

Azriel’s blood turns cold at how tender your touch is, gentle as the embrace of death. Your skin warms his palm as you drag his hand down the side of your neck painfully slow, his thumb tracing the column of your throat.

Gods, he wanted to bite it. To latch himself onto that spot. If it was possible to envy one’s own hand, he’d turn green.

“I see how you look at me.” Your voice low and sultry. “You despise me.”

You move his hand down your collar bone, to your chest, settling between your breast. Something deep inside Azriel twists and knots, his cold blood turns hot as it rushes into his pants.

“Let me fix it.” You groan, trailing his hand further down to your stomach. “Let me show you…”

Azriel bites the inside of his cheek to keep his own sounds at bay. His brows pinch together at the sight of you. The rise and fall of your swollen, flushed breasts. Your bottom lip trapped between your teeth and the look of pure carnal desire.

“…just how much of a pleasure I can be.” You whisper breathlessly when you lead his scared hand beneath the waistband of your shorts.

Azriel chokes back a guttural groan when his fingers reach the slick folds of your cunt. Looking into his eyes with a feral hunger, you guide his fingers in sensual circles around your most sensitive spot. Hushed whines hum from your chest, purring at his governed touch.

His middle finger twitches against your clit, testing for himself. You respond with a low moan.

Azriel’s eyes flutter shut trying to reason with himself.

This was wrong. So fucking wrong. Azriel can’t even stand the sight of you yet here he is with his hands down your pants for the second time, and he felt just as he had the first time, he wanted to ruin you.

Another flick of his fingers causes you to throw your head back.

Azriel growls. A fire ignites in his chest, coursing through every nerve of his body as he gives in to you.

His fingers take a course of their own, rubbing your center with fervor. A noise somewhere between a yelp and moan escape your parted lips. You grabbing onto his arms to steady yourself as pleasure over takes you.

“Fuck, you’re dripping.” Azriel leans forward to whisper in your ear. His warm breath tickling your skin as he asks, “Who made you this wet?”

You only moan, digging your hands into his bicep.

Still massaging your clit, he brings his free hand to strike the fat of your ass earning a very loud moan.

“Tell me.”

“You!” The stinging sensation mixes with your pleasure, encouraging you further. “You made me this fucking wet.”

Azriel hums, gripping your hair and tilting your head back. “Mhm. Keep being a good girl and I’ll forgive you.”

His attacks your neck, teeth clamping down hard in what he knows will scar but he didn’t care. He wanted you marked. Proof that he could take control, even over someone with such a silent attitude as yours.

You hold back a scream. As much as it hurt, he knows you like it. “Dont hold back. I want to hear the pretty noises you make.”

Azriel’s tongue laps at the column of your throat, finally nipping at the spot he craved minutes ago. Your moans vibrate against his lips.

He pulls away to look at you. Eyes shut and jaw hung in ecstasy. His cock twitches in pants at how good he can make you feel.

The sight was anything but dark. Dare he say heavenly.

Suddenly, your eyes open, fixating on his. Lust and desperation laced in your stare as you plead, “I want your fingers in me. Please, Az.”

Azriel smirks down at you arrogantly. “Yeah?” You nod frantically, your moans and pants driving him absolutely wild.

“Whatever you want.” Azriel pulls away from you, sitting at the edge on his bed, knees spread as he pats his lap. “Come here, pretty girl.”

You stand between his legs but before you could straddle him, he grabs your wrist, roughly turning your back to him.

His textured hands glide down your back, feeling every curve until he reaches your shorts, yanking them down in one swift motion and leaving your rear exposed for his viewing enjoyment.

He gathers as much of your ass in his hands as he can, squeezing, caressing and parting for an even better view. Your slit and inner thighs glistening from your wetness.

He does dare to say heavenly.

“So fucking pretty.” He leans forward, placing a soft kiss on your ass cheek and quickly slapping it right on top.

You jerk forward with an amused hum.

Azriel grabs your hip and brings you down to him. Your full weight falls onto his solid cock, strained in his leathers. He moans at the impact.

Azriel’s hands trail up from your hips, over your stomach and under your shirt and to your breasts. You whimper as his fingers lightly trace over your firm nipples and kneed at your breasts.

He should stop. Should have never even started when he hates so much but Azriel revels in it. The way you feel, the way he makes you feel. His lips latch to your neck sucking as he rolls your buds between his fingers.

“Azriel, please.” You breathe, writhing against him.

He groans, flicking your nipple harshly and immediately finding your center. The tip of his middle finger sliding up and down, toying with your hole.

“Please! Please put it in.” You whine, reaching up to tug at his dark locks. The sensation pushing him over the edge.

Promptly, his middle finger plunges into your cunt, pumping at a hungry pace.

“Oh, fuck! Azriel, yes!” You grip his hair stronger, receiving another painful bite and a slap on your tits in return.

Azriel adds another finger and you clench around them. “So fucking tight, angel. I bet you’ve never been fucked so full with two fingers, have you?”

You shake your head and throw it back over his shoulder when his fingers disappear in you to the knuckle.

“One more for me.” Azriel hums, a warning rather than a request as he teases a third finger against you.

“I…I don’t know.” You hesitate.

Azriel guides you to look at him, your face inches from his. His brows pinch and with a slightly patronizing pout he nods. “You can take it. Don’t you like how full I make you feel?”

You bite your lip and nod. “I can take it.”

“Good girl.” He breathes with a smug expression. Azriel can’t get enough of you like this. Pleading. Submissive to his every whim. The satisfaction of seeing that stoic demeanor dissolve because of him.

Azriel slides a third finger in slowly. Hells, you’re so fucking tight around his fingers, he can only imagine how you’d feel on his cock.

You release a long, aching moan and arch your back against him.

Azriel gasps at the sudden movement against his pants. It wouldn’t take more than a minute to make him explode. “F-fuck, y/n. Keep doing that.”

You grind in his lap, feeling his length throb beneath you. “Like this, Az?”

“Gods.” Azriel’s fingers sink into your cunt, over and over. Your screams of pleasure blend with the sopping sounds of your wet pussy.

Azriel was absolutely sure this was heaven.

“I’m so close! Mm, you gonna make a fucking mess out of me?” You rut against his cock.

“Fuck yes.” Azriel’s free arm wraps around you pressing you further into him and he fucks you with his fingers. “C’mon. Make a mess for me, Angel.”

“Azriel!” That’s all it took for you to crumble in his lap. Your entire body trembles and euphoria seizes control of your body. Your screams informing all of Veleris of who made you cum so fucking good.

As you ride out your orgasm, Azriel lifts his own stuttering hips to grind against yours. The full weight of you quivering and fidgeting against him builds a blissful tension deep within him. And with the string of his name still being sung from your lips, the coiling pressure couldn’t hold anymore.

“I’m gonna-”

.☁️🌙☁️.

Azriel shoots straight up out of his bed and on to his feet, panting and looking around his room, illuminated with the first light of day.

But there was no one. No you.

Azriel blinks and wipes his eyes. It was a dream?

He looks around once more.

It couldn’t have been a dream. He’s dreamt of many females but never anything so…real.

He could still feel the weight of your body flushed against him. He could still feel the blissful aftermath of an orgasm.

Azriel looks down at his stained tented pants. His half hard cock still dripping on his thigh.

What the fuck was that? Why the fuck would he dream of that? Of you.

Mor? Sure. Elain? Once or twice, but you? Someone he couldn’t even stand to be in the same room with?

Azriel huffs and makes his way to his bathroom to clean up, angry with himself and his deplorable dream. A nightmare, he decides, considering it involved you.

[eelnoise]

incandesce

zoro x afab!reader an: just some lovesick drabble because im weak in the knees for my big stinky boy. he's so cute and i wanna just snuggle w him so bad 🥺 cw: fluff :) wc: 1.1k @bby-deerling @kaizokuniichan @themushroomofdeath

The flash of the morning sun hits Zoro’s face like a white-hot light as he descends from the crow’s nest, freshly exhausted from training. Squinting in the daylight, he looks upon the deck below as it comes into clearer view – silhouettes of the crew fade into focus, and quickly does he scan the scene for a brief headcount. A slight warmth fills his chest, and not from the tide of day washing over the ship.

You’re not among them. You’re still asleep.

Zoro’s boots hit the deck with an audible thud, and heads turn to greet him. He offers a sleepy ‘good morning’ nod before heading right in the direction of the women’s quarters. No one stops him, nor are any words exchanged. They all know where he’s headed, just as they know why you tend to sleep in.

It isn’t often that he gets this opportunity – to join you for a nap. Most days he retires from the watch far earlier than any of the women awake, sometimes avoiding his own bed all together and simply napping in the nest. The odds are in his favor this time, and he means to take full advantage of the very limited time he can have with you. Only you.

No sooner does he creak the wooden door open that his heart skips a beat beneath his ribs. You’re there, just as he hoped you would be, softly snoozing beneath the sheets. Your hair is folded wildly about your face and the pillow beneath your head, and your lips are slightly parted with just a speck of drool glistening down your chin. Zoro can’t help but find you endearing, and seeing you in a deep, restful sleep does something to soften his stoicism. 

He almost can’t bring himself to wake you, as the sudden shift on the mattress always causes you to stir – though you’re never soured by it. Never once do you make him feel unwanted or loathsome, always welcoming into your arms or by your side when he needs you most.

And, while not the most affectionate man, Zoro relishes in the love you give him. The good-willed and honest devotion that you deem him worthy enough to receive makes his head spin. Somehow you had latched onto his sin-soaked soul, cleansing it in your soft, practiced hands and invigorating him in ways long forgotten.

Memories that ache - that wear him down with the weight of the past, present and beyond - they all seem to slip away when he’s next to you. You’re his anchor, reeling him back from the somber reverie that so frequently plays in his mind. A light that burns bright even in the darkest of places, and somehow he always finds his way back to you. Zoro knows that real worth is wordless, actions speaking emphatically over all else.

And you show him that worth.

His worth.

Zoro kicks off his boots, practically tiptoeing his way around the bed to it’s open side – and though he knows it’s fruitless, he does make an attempt to slide in next to you as carefully as he can manage to. And you stir – as if right on cue, the sudden weight pressing into the mattress that rolls you against his chest. 

A sleepy hum of acknowledgement befalls your lips, a small - yet simple - gesture of welcome to the man now aside you.

A hint of a smile etches into the cooks of his mouth as he returns the gesture with a hum of his own before curling his arm around your middle and burying his face into your hair and breathing in deeply. Your body is warm to the touch, and with it comes elation. Oftentimes he appreciates that you had cast the first stone, releasing him from the nigh-torturous, unknown feelings that he couldn’t possibly have navigated alone.

Zoro clings to you, as if magnetically attached around your body. His thumb drags along your tummy, up and down in a soothing yet natural response to being with you. He murmurs a throaty “Good mornin’” against your ear that makes you shiver with longing. Far too little do you get to indulge in his embrace, and though you’re not as tired as he is, you aim to enjoy the time regardless.

“Morning,” You reply, twisting your head just enough to see him and allowing your hand to fall atop his and entwining your fingers together. “How was watch?”

“Same as ever.” He whispers into you, feeling that familiar tranquil serenity blossoming within him. Zoro squeezes your body against him and moves some of your hair out of your face to place a series of pecks to your cheek before trailing up to give you a soft, tender kiss to your lips. 

It hadn’t been easy, learning to love – but with you there, ready and willing to guide him at his chosen pace the whole way through his strained emotions. Not once in his life did he expect to feel this way, a man of action and ruthlessly devoted to his dream and to his course upon it. Zoro once saw life as just that – his own. A narrow pathway in hindsight, one fit enough for just himself at the end of all things.

Though now, the path had forked, widened, and along it do you walk beside him. Every decision, every step, every pinch of ash left in his wake has your name written upon it in dark, permanent ink. Zoro thinks with you in mind, acts with your face at the very forefront of his synapses. He’s grown to adore you, both body and soul.

Part of it terrifies him still. The thought of losing something more precious than words can explain dives deep into his core. In love, there is fear. Fear of loss, fear of weakness in life’s most pivotal moments, fear of losing one's sense of perception. 

Though, there’s also hope. Hope and happiness and support and all else that comes with devoting your very essence to another. Seeing you smile or laugh brings him a peace that borders on inexplicable. The feeling of your hand on his bids him well wishes, each kiss a reminder of sanctuary. Every tangle between the sheets when he makes love to you renders him spellbound - the saccharine, honeyed taste of your skin on his tongue mixed in with those sighs and coos of pleasure that only he can hear, a song that only he can make you belt, it makes Zoro’s head spin with just the thought.

To Zoro, you’re beyond compare. No single person in his life comes even toe-to-toe with you, and as you snuggle against him, he allows himself to feel vulnerable. You’re his safehaven, a blessing in disguise that nabs him by the heart and never fails to lull him into a rejuvenating respite. 

You’re home.

You’re his.

[warping-realities]

Parental Pressure 

Eddie watched the personal trainer's video for the thousandth time as he was getting closer to the little gym for his first class. He had snuck out of his house super early and quietly because he knew Nick, his old man, wouldn’t approve of his son wasting time on this kinda stuff. He became a single father really young, back in high school, and now, at 35, he did everything he could to make sure his kid didn’t follow the same path. Becoming a doctor was Nicholas Rousseau’s biggest dream, but early fatherhood messed up his chance to hit the books at college. Not that he blamed Eddie for it; on the contrary, they usually had a solid relationship, except when Eddie strayed from the plans his dad laid out for his future. If Nick couldn’t get into med school, Eddie sure as hell would, whether he liked it or not. And now, with less than a month before college kicked off, Eddie was having doubts about the path laid out for him. So, in a rebellious move, after getting an invite to check out Rocco “Rocky” Mancini's gym, an Italian bodybuilder who moved to the States, now retired and not exactly a big name in the game, who a few years back started hustling as a personal trainer and, according to the promo video on Eddie's Instagram, was looking for young men to boost his portfolio. It looked like that gig wasn’t going great either. The first person to sign up would get a month of free daily training. Perfect for Eddie; after all, a month of training with an expert before college would make things way easier when he had to hit the gym away from his overprotective dad’s watchful eye. Surprisingly he was the first one to sign up! And so, the young  skinny man, with light brown hair found himself stepping into the dimly lit gym at 6 AM.

As he stood frozen at the door, anxiety washing over him, a monstrous figure approached, strutting with swagger, muscles bulging looking like they might burst from the thin layer of skin wrapping them. With a fuller beard and looking at least five years older than in the video Eddie had seen over and over, the guy oozed confidence and a certain arrogance. But those weren’t the only things he was giving off, as it became clear to Eddie when the dude came up to him with a sweaty hand extended to shake, a distinct animal musk dominating his senses.

“You must be Eddie! Nice to meet ya, kid; I’m Rocco, but you can call me Rocky—everyone does. Welcome to my little temple. So, you ever trained before?”

“Ahn, no... I wanted to, but my dad... no, I’ve never trained.”

“Feeling a little bit of Daddy Issues here? Just kidding, son! Where’s your workout gear?”

“I thought, since it’s the first day... I... didn’t bring any...”

“Damn, son, you weren’t kidding when you said you’ve never trained; you don’t have a clue! But don’t sweat it, we’ll fix that! You can wear the shirt; I’ll get you some shorts.”

“I... don’t wanna be a bother.”

“Son, you came here to train, and train is what you’re gonna do. I don’t know what your pops taught you but it looks like you got a lot to learn from me. First thing, you gotta be more assertive—don’t be scared to say what you think or do what you like.”

Hearing that, Eddie felt something shift inside him; the fear and anxiety that had been eating at him for weeks seemed to fade away. He wanted to be there, and nobody was gonna take that away from him, not even his old man.

After hitting the locker room and putting on the shorts Rocco lent him, which were way too big in the legs but surprisingly just right in the waist, Eddie went back to the main room where the personal trainer was waiting for him.

“We gotta fill those shorts, son!”

“That’s why I’m here, Mr. Mancini.”

“Hell yeah! That’s the spirit but none of this Mr. Mancini nonsense; you either call me Rocky or coach.”

“Yes, sir, coach!”

“That’s right! Now, back to our chat, you said you’ve been training for a while, but how long is a while, son?”

That info was totally wrong; he’d never trained, right? But why did he have fuzzy memories of sneaking out to hit the school gym before class during his senior year? If he hadn’t trained, where did those small but tight muscles come from?

“I’ve been training for almost a year, coach, but I don’t think I’ve seen much result.”

“Two more things to teach you, son: first, we’re never happy with the size we are, and second, even so, you’re never gonna downplay your achievements; you’ve done something that most people can’t even pull off. Be proud of that.”

“I... I’m proud, yeah!” he replied, realizing the coach was speaking the truth. He had a lot of pride in what he accomplished, even though he knew he was still far from where he wanted to be.

“Awesome! Now you’re talking like a real champ. But enough chit-chat, let’s see what you’re made of.” Rocco said before putting Eddie through the most grueling workout he’d ever experienced. His self-taught training hadn’t prepared him for this level of exhaustion. After half an hour of intense agony, they took a break, and Eddie tried to recover before what he knew would be another half hour of torture as Rocco praised him.

“Damn, son, all that fuss you had with your pops to come train with me in your junior year was worth it. You’re huge; another minute and that shirt ain’t gonna hold!”

Still exhausted from the workout, Eddie took a moment to wrap his head around what the trainer had said. A fight with his dad...? And training here for at least three years...? No... it didn’t make sense... but then he saw his own reflection in the gym mirror, and he was... fucking swole! And that... that wasn’t just possible; it was thanks to the time he’d spent caring for his body all this while, even with his dad breathing down his neck.

“Thanks, Coach, but I’m still not anywhere near where I wanna be!”

“Well, if you get closer, this shirt definitely isn’t gonna hold. I’ll grab you one of mine, or you can train shirtless until the other clients show up, son. In the meantime, figure out how to get that thing off, but I doubt it’s coming off without tearing. Maybe you should film a video for your social media; I bet your followers will go wild!”

“Haha, I don’t think that they will care, and I feel kinda uncomfortable putting myself out there. So I’ll take the shirt.” Eddie replied as the coach returned with an enormous shirt in hand and offered it to him.

“Son, there’s no reason to be shy about showing off; you sculpted that body for a reason. Don’t tell me that’s another one of your dad’s ideas? You never cared much about what he thinks, and I’ve known you since you were a little brat, fourteen years old, showing up on opening day to get an autograph!”

Once again, Eddie felt something shift inside him; the cordial relationship he had with his overly protective dad was turning into a conflictual one, with both of them constantly arguing about the expectations they had for Eddie’s future, which drove him to practically live at Rocco’s gym, where he helped with maintenance or took care of the place to keep training without having to pay.

“You’re right, as always, Rocky; it’s just that, I dunno... I think this crowd that needs to post everything they do is kinda empty and vain.”

“Son if you don’t show off your gains, you won’t grow your followers, and so what if it seems kinda empty? What matters is being seen. And nobody builds a body like yours without a bit of vanity. I’ll let you keep training; I’ve got a client in twenty minutes. If you need me for anything, just holler.”

“Rocky, I can train better than a lot of pro bodybuilders, man! You know that!”

“Son there’s a fine line between confidence and arrogance! You can strut around all you want with your followers, but don’t come at me with that!” Rocky shot back, though he couldn’t hide a smile of approval.

As the trainer moved away to organize things for his client, Eddie focused on finishing his remaining exercises. Kicking off his sneakers and heading to the squat rack barefoot, he stacked plate after plate until he formed a sizable pile that would surprise anyone. But the truth was, despite the insane weight, it was relatively easy for Eddie. Next, he hit the leg press and finished with deadlifts using a bar that weighed more than a baby rhino. When he sat down to do his last exercise of the day, calves, a distinct funk emanated from his armpits, but mainly from his giant size 14 bare feet. Looking at himself and feeling pumped, he couldn’t resist pulling out his phone to shoot a TikTok video. He was in the middle of recording when Rocky interrupted him.

“Damn, kid, you reek! No offense, we all have a little man funk; I know how it is, but clients are gonna start showing up, so take a shower and let’s get to work.”

“Damn, coach, sometimes you’re worse than my dad.” The kid replied, stopping the recording.

“I am your father, boy!” The older man shot back with a sinister grin and a predatory look at the younger man before continuing. “And if you really wanna please your fans, be a show-off; don’t hide your assets, son; show off that chest and those abs, but hurry up, ‘cause this place is gonna be packed soon. We’re not the biggest gym in town by luck, Wardo. This young stud pose might please your fans, but the morning ladies prefer when you play the part of the innocent bambino.”

This time, the wave of strangeness hit Eddie so hard that he felt dizzy and nauseous, exacerbated by the potent funk he was putting off. And for the first time since he stepped foot in that gym, he fully realized what was going down as he automatically took off his shirt and walked toward one of the gym mirrors, a gym which seemed to expand with every step he took, turning from a small studio into a gigantic complex. As his skin took on an olive tone and his dark brown hair curled into perfect black curls, while his nose turned aquiline like a Roman emperor from antiquity, Eddie struggled within his own mind while Edoardo Mancini took control. If someone could hear the debate between the two, it would sound something like:

“Dude, I am... no, we are what you’ve always wanted to be! Pops gave you this chance; why not embrace it?”

“’Cause I... I’m going to med school...”

“You never wanted that; we never wanted that; that was Nicholas’s thing, not ours. This is our chance to be whoever we wanna be!”

“No... we are what Rocco made us; we’re just trading one controlling dad for another!”

“Not even close, dude! We chose this path; he didn’t pressure us! We followed him out of admiration, and that boosted both his success and ours; we’re legends in the fitness world!”

“Rocco was a mediocre pro... he’s using us for leverage!”

“And what’s wrong with that? We’re getting something out of it too! And how is that different from Nicholas pressuring you?”

“I... I... don’t know...”

“Dude, if you didn’t want this, I wouldn’t be here. Chill and enjoy; besides, Pops already got what he wanted from us. He’s not gonna pressure us to follow in his footsteps. We can be whatever we want: bodybuilders like him, or fitness models, or even kickstart an acting career; and I’m not even talking about porn, even though this big guy between our legs would be a hit. Just accept it.” Wardo said, stroking the giant cock in his mind and in real life.

“I... I... damn... this feels so... fucking... good!”

“Wardo! Wrap it up, kid, and stop playing with that thing; we got a new client coming.” Rocco scolded his son.

“Damn, Pops, another ruined video!”

“You weren’t gonna post that, kid; you wanna get banned from social media?”

“I was just messing around...”

“Kid... you’ve got five minutes to take a shower and get your ass to the front desk.”

“Okay, Dad! Did you hear that, folks? The great Rocco Mancini has spoken, and the good son obeys! I’ll be back with updates soon.” The young man said before stopping the recording.

“I’ll edit it so nothing racy gets out; don’t worry, Dad!”

“Five minutes and counting!” Rocco replied with fake irritation, but in reality, he was puffed up with pride for his son as he headed for the reception, spotting a man in his mid-thirties, wearing glasses and an outfit that screamed he’d never set foot in a gym in his life.

“Good morning, sir; welcome to Rocky's Gym; I’m Rocky Mancini, the owner and head coach. Are you looking for something?”

“Good morning, I’m Nick Rousseau, and I’m actually looking for my son; his phone tracker showed he was here just a few minutes ago before it suddenly stopped working.”

“Tracker? Isn’t that a bit much? Anyway, how old is he and what’s he like? We haven’t had anyone too young around here today, except for my own kid, but if I can help you out…”

“I... I don’t know...”

“You don’t know? What kinda dad doesn’t know how to describe his own kid?”

“I... I...” Nicholas replied, his voice filled with genuine desperation, which made Rocco feel a bit of sympathy, but not enough to stop him from making the next call.

“Hey, Wardo... Wardo!!! Damn kid never listens! Edoardo Mancini!!!!” Rocky yelled while watching Nicholas slightly tremble at the sound of that name.

“What’s up, Pops? I’ll get ready in a sec.” The handsome young man replied as he prepared to flex the powerful muscles that no kid his age could get without maximum dedication, watched by his dad and the other boy.

“Not that, you insubordinate ragazzo! This guy’s looking for his son; has anyone younger shown up today?”

“Nope!” He replied, giving Nicholas a quick glance over the shades he was wearing just for style before turning around and finally heading to the locker room.

“Sorry about that, teenage boys; you know how they are.” Rocco said, smiling at the other man.

“I... know?”

“Didn’t you come looking for your son?”

“Son?? Son... no... I don’t have kids... do I?” Nicholas replied, looking both confused and desperate.

“Are you feeling alright? I’m no doc, but I can try to help.”

“Doc... doctor? No... no need... I’m a doctor.” Nicholas replied with more confidence.

“Seriously? That’s awesome! Doctors are always good clients; they know how to take care of themselves.”

“Client?”

“You didn’t come here to train? We’re in a gym, after all.”

“Of course... I came... to train. You come highly recommended.”

“Modesty aside, it’s because I’m the best. I normally don’t take new clients, but we could use a doctor to evaluate our clients, so we could do a trade; you wouldn’t happen to be a sports doc, would you?”

“No, I…”

“Awesome! Just what I needed! But I can tell you’re already in shape!” Rocco said, grinning. “Let me show you the gym. Normally, this would be Wardo’s job, but the kid’s been so focused on his influencer career that he’s slacking here... between us, I’d rather he be a bodybuilder like me, but I think a dad should respect his kid’s wishes; don’t you think?” Rocco asked, and without waiting for a reply, he continued. “Don’t you wanna have kids? Are you single or married? Dude, if you’re single, I gotta introduce you to my sister; no disrespect to her, ‘cause my mama raised me right, but between us, she’s a total smoke show...” And so he went on while Nicholas followed, not realizing that with every word spoken, his reality was adjusting to the other man’s desires.

Minutes later, Rocco stepped into the locker room bathroom and watched his son recording another video, already showered but still unable to shake off the musk that surrounded him, maybe because he was still wearing the same shorts from his workout. He admired his boy, feeling proud knowing all this was his hard work paying off.

When the young man finished recording, he turned to him.

“Wardo, finish getting dressed and come out here for a minute; I got a surprise for you.”

….

“Hey guys, Wardo Mancini here, and I’ve got some awesome news! You’re probably tired of seeing my pops in my videos, but today, besides him, I wanna introduce you to someone else.” He said, repositioning the camera in the packed gym.

“This handsome fella next to my dad is my doctor, Nic Russo, and on top of that, he’s my uncle, married to my dad’s sister. And now for the biggest news: he’s about to be a dad, and he asked me to be the godfather of his boy! Just think about the genetics of that kid with a dad like this and an uncle like my pops. My uncle says the kid can be whatever he wants, but we all know the iron bug is in our blood, and as far as his godfather is concerned, Rocky Russo is gonna be a champion bodybuilder!”

[hedgehogsaretheultimatelifeform]

Even more thinking about getting assimilated into the retired 141 polycule.

[part one]

[part two]

Part three (the good NSFW stuff) below the cut

‘Earn it?’ You spit back at Simon, sitting up as the incredulity of his request hits you.

‘Earn it.’ He repeats, staring you down with a grin as he waits for you to give in.

You really don’t want to give him that satisfaction. You could do it, too. Outlast him.

Sit back on the sofa, comfortable into the coverage provided by Gaz and Soap’s clothes, not giving Simon anything until he changes his attitude. Until he comes to you on his knees, begging for the privilege of your time, so he can show you how he fucks Soap.

You could. But, it would take all day. And, take so, so much effort. You’d have to spend all that time waiting, resisting the urge to give in yourself, to satisfy the curiosity of what Simon had going on under that tight shirt. Now, when it was just the two of you, that wasn’t so hard, but if the others took it upon themselves to get involved, to intercede on Simon’s behalf, leaning down to whisper in your ear that you can have your way next time, just let Simon have this one, please… He’ll fuck Soap so good if you do… and, you know, earning it will be a hell of a lot of fun, too…

Ghost grind victoriously when you start to strip, struggling as you move too quickly and catch your arm in the sleeve of Kyle’s shirt. You pull on it harder, hearing some of the stitches tear before you can pull it over your head and toss it aside, hurrying to stand up as you kick Soap’s boxers down your legs, leaving them hanging from one ankle as you walk towards Simon.

He reaches for you, allowing you to use his hands to steady yourself as you climb into his lap, settling on his slowly tenting jeans. Simon spreads his legs wide underneath you, the denim rubbing against your thighs as they’re pulled wide in turn. You hiss at the feeling and Simon catches it, cupping your back as you wordlessly shift against each other until you’re comfortable.

Simon doesn’t complain when your hands land heavily on his chest, grabbing the material of his shirt and feeling the fatty muscle hiding underneath, as he slides his hands down your back to cup your ass instead.

‘Go on, now,’ He murmurs. ‘Not going to make me do all the work, are you?’

‘You haven’t done any work yet,’ you reply, but start grinding on his lap, rubbing yourself up against his jeans, feeling his dick get even harder against you.

Simon gasps softly when you press down on him, gently tilting you back as he looks down to see where your body is pressed against his.

You hold yourself there, reaching up to the collar of his shirt with the intent of pulling it off, only for him to start tapping his fingers on your ass.

‘Don’t stop now that we’ve got an audience.’ He nods over your shoulder.

‘Don’t mind us, just watching.’ Kyle says, from behind you.

‘Why just watch?’ You reply, not glancing back at him as you start moving again, sitting up in Simon’s lap, pressing your hands against his abs as you push your hips up.

‘They’ve got a point.’ Ghost leans back on the cushions, squeezing your ass tight.

‘Okay, fine, you’ve got me.’ Kyle sighs dramatically, but slips up behind you, running his hands down to your hips, guiding you into a faster rhythm. ‘I’ll do my bit.’

‘Course you will.’ You hear Price grumble, as he appears from behind you too. He pecks Kyle on the cheek, then moves around behind the sofa, tilting Simon’s face back to kiss him.

The sight makes you and Kyle gasp in unison, pressing into each other as Simon twitches underneath you.

‘Ask John to choke him.’ Kyle murmurs in your ear.

‘What?’

‘Ask him.’ He insists, trailing kisses down your shoulder, in some kind of silent plea.

‘John?’ You call, feeling your voice crack halfway through his name.

‘Yes, love? Nervous about something?’ John looks up, still holding Simon’s head as a blissful expression spreads on Simon’s face.

‘Will you choke him for us?’

John chuckles at your question. ‘Gaz putting ideas in your head, is he?’

‘No.’ Kyle mumbles, his head dipping behind your shoulder, like he was trying to hide under the pretence of kissing you all over your skin.

‘Sure, sure.’ John says, but looks down at Simon. ‘Hey. You want to be choked down there?’

‘A little early, isn’t it?’ Simon tries to focus his eyes, glancing in the direction of the broken clock.

‘Maybe. But, they asked.’

‘Really?’ Simon tilts his head up. ‘You want to see me get choked?’

You nod. ‘Yes, please. Please, I want to see you get choked.’

‘Good to see someone knows how to ask for what they want.’ Price comments, and Kyle mutters something behind you, but you’re too busy watching as Price and Simon make eye contact. Simon nods, and John slips his hand around his neck.

You swallow, seeing how Simon’s skin disappears under John’s hand, covered in nicks and scars, gently rubbing at Simon’s equally marked skin, before the fingers tighten, and Simon’s hips buck up violently as he chokes.

You gasp, suddenly sent jostling upwards, leaning back into Kyle as he catches you, moaning into your ear at the sight in front of you. Price holds it for a second, gently stroking Simon’s hair back from his face as he watches him, before relaxing his fingers. Simon inhales again, and lowers back to the sofa, Kyle guiding you with him, setting you back in Simon’s lap.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Soap’s accusatory tone cuts the moment short. You look back over your shoulder, seeing him standing there, cup and tea towel in hand, having obviously been dispatched to keep him occupied while you had fun with Simon.

Simon sits up, gently pushing you off his lap, instead tucking you into his side as he stands. ‘Calm down, Johnny. Just getting me ready to fuck you.’

‘Well, why didn’t you say so?’ Soap sets the cup aside, hurrying to Simon’s side, wrapping his arms around both him and you. ‘Been waiting for you to show off.’

‘Just for you, Johnny.��� Ghost cups soap’s head, rubbing his thumb behind his ear. ‘We’re sorry for leaving you out.’

‘Are you?’ Soap, Johnny, challenges, looking around. Kyle and John nod, mumbling something that passes for an apology, before Johnny looks back at you.

You cup the other side of his face, lean in to him and kiss his cheek. ‘We’re sorry, Johnny.’

‘Fuck me,’ he murmurs in your ear. ‘Don’t have to apologise if you say my name like that.’

‘Getting eager, aren’t you?’ Simon mumbles as you lean back, and can see Johnny pressing a half hard erection against Ghost’s thigh.

‘Sure, he is.’ John approaches you from behind, draping a hoodie over your shoulders. ‘Can’t have you getting cold while we wait, can we, love?’

Ghost half snorts a laugh, looking keenly at John. ‘Don’t pass off territory marking as kindness.’

‘Don’t act like you don’t want to see them in one of your masks.’ Kyle responds at your other shoulder, helping you pull the hoodie on, but leaving it hanging open, unzipped in the front.

‘Masks?’ You ask, glancing at Kyle, who kisses your shoulder before covering it with soft cotton, his breath fanning over your neck as he turned his kisses to the skin there.

‘Simon has a taste in balaclavas. Skulls, specifically. Has a big collection,’ Soap starts narrating, before Simon presses his hand over his mouth, silencing him.

‘It’s why we call him Ghost. And, he likes to see us in them.’ John finishes, tucking you close to his side, as the three of you watch Simon struggling to keep Johnny close to his side, as Soap tries to squirm out from under his hand and keep spilling Ghost’s secrets.

‘I’m down. Maybe not now, but… sometime.’ You meet Simon’s gaze as he looks at you, and groans softly.

‘Oi, don’t cum before you’ve fucked me.’ Johnny pokes Simon’s face, drawing his attention back to him.

‘Like I would.’ Simon glances at John. ‘Your room or mine?’

‘Let’s go for mine. The sofa’s comfier.’

‘Go get settled, then.’ Simon turns his entire focus on Johnny, leaving the three of you to trail out of the room.

John leads the way, setting a quick pace as you hurry after him. Kyle whines behind you, trying to grab hood of you and missing, only coming up with a handful of hoodie, pulling it half off as he trails after you.

The door John opens leads into a much larger bedroom than the one you’d you’d shared with Kyle and Johnny last night.

‘Is that a king?’ You stare at the massive bed against the back wall. It stretches almost wall to wall, leaving only a narrow pass to get in and out of it without crawling in from the bottom.

‘Nah. Bigger, something, some state king.’ John mumbles, going to straighten the covers as Kyle leads you to the sofa.

‘What?’

‘S called an Alaskan king, right?’ Kyle glances over at John as he pulls the hoodie back around your shoulders.

‘Yeah. Something like that. We needed something that would fit all of us.’

‘Does it?’

‘Yeah. It’ll do five too.’ Kyle pulls you down onto the sofa (comfy, as advertised), settling you between his legs as he grabs hold of your thighs. ‘If we all cuddle up.’

‘I think I can manage that.’

‘Knew you would.’ John joins you, gently pulling you free from Kyle to sit between them, one hand on each thigh, as John presses a kiss to your temple. ‘You’re good like that.’

‘Course they are.’ Simon announces his and Johnny’s entrance to the room, Johnny waving as Simon leads him over to his he bed. ‘Did a number on Soap, though.’

‘Oh yeah, they did.’ Kyle chuckles. ‘I forgot that.’

‘Do tell.’ John sounds amused, glancing at you as you frown, confused, searching through your memories. You remember sitting in Johnny’s lap, clutching at his neck, kissing every inch of his skin…

Ghost pulls Soap’s shirt off over his head, revealing bruises scattering down his chest from his collarbone.

You remember kissing skin, licking skin, Kyle’s voice in your ear, telling you how to suck, gently bite, mark him up, declare your territory, all over his skin.

‘I taught them how to do that.’ He’s smirking, squeezing your thigh, trying to take credit for your work.

‘I know how to give hickies.’ You grumble, tossing his hand away, and move yourself into John’s lap.

‘Course you do.’ John mumbles, gently soothing you by rubbing a hand down your back. ‘Don’t let him get to you. Just keeping watching Johnny over there.’

You sigh, leaning back on him as you turn back to Simon and Johnny.

Johnny’s naked now, helping Simon strip to reveal his equally hard dick. The pair of them seem to be entirely absorbed in each other, moving like the rest of you aren’t there.

So it seems, until they’re both naked, pressing against each other as Johnny holds Simon’s dick in his hands, asking him, begging him, to suck his dick, just for a little bit, get Johnny good and brainless, ready to be fucked like he likes, and Simon considers his head as he considers it.

He holds Johnny up like that for half a minute, maybe more, before he pushes him down onto the bed, pulling him to be in the right position, completely mucking up the work John had done making the bed, as Johnny moved to hang his head over the edge of the bed. Simon reached down to hold it steady , cupping his hand over the back of Soap’s head, before finally glancing over at you as he takes hold of his dick.

Gaz groans to your right, pulling his joggers down to let his dick out. John shifts you closer, nodding to Simon.

Simon looks back at Johnny, leaning over to brush his dick against Johnny’s lips as he opens his mouth eagerly, huffing out air before Simon pushes his dick into him.

Soap groans as his mouth is filled, his eyes sliding closed as his throat bulges. Ghost runs a finger down it, groaning as he cants his hips forward.

‘Fuck…’ John groans underneath you, shifting as you feel his dick harden. You slide off his lap, back to between him and Gaz. The hoodie slips from your shoulders in the process, as you get a front row seat to Gaz slowly stroking his dick at the same pace Simon is fucking Johnny’s throat.

‘Fuck, that’s hot.’ You murmur aloud, without thinking.

‘You want him to do that for you?’ Price tilts his head close to your shoulder.

‘Which one?’ Your eyes flick between them.

‘I mean, both, for sure.’ Gaz groans at John’s words, muttering something about not putting images in his head, as John continues, ‘but I think I meant Soap.’

‘He’d do this for me?’ You look at Soap more closely: spaced out, sucking dick, clutching at the sheets for stability as he hangs off the bed, tilted at an angle for the three of you to enough watching him, rather than his own comfort.

‘This, or something like it. He likes having his mouth full.’ Price’s words make you bite back a moan, as you imagine having Soap’s mouth moving down your body, desperately taking in whatever you had to offer, to make him feel full.

Price chuckles as you lean his head back on his shoulder. You feel his arm shifting beside you. He must be touching himself, like Gaz has been this whole time.

‘Fuck,’ Gaz bites off, tilting his head back as he lets go of his dick. ‘Fuck, Simon, just fuck him already.’

‘Patience, Gaz,’ Simon says, looking admonishingly at him. Despite that, a moment later he pulls Soap up, gently brushing his hands over his face, moving Soap around again as his dick hangs heavy and leaking between his legs.

‘I’ve been patient.’ Gaz tries, before you flop onto his shoulder.

‘Not for me, you haven’t.’ You pout. ‘Haven’t touched me or anything.’

‘You’re capable of touching yourself.’ Gaz gripes, trying to shake you off.

‘But I want you to.’

‘Come on, Gaz. Listen to them.’ Price chastises over your shoulder. ‘Touch ‘em like they want.’

Gaz sighs dramatically, and turns to you. He nudged you around so you’re sat leaning back on John, who’s still slowly jerking himself off, glancing back and forth between you and Soap, as Gaz runs his hands down your body, gently rubbing you at the same pace that Simon is fucking his fingers into Soap.

Johnny’s whining, squirming that he wants more, more, he’s fine, Simon, just fuck him please, desperation edging into his voice as he glances up at the depraved tableau on the sofa, as you take hold of Gaz’s dick in your hand.

Simon rolls his eyes and gives in, slowly pushing his dick into Soap once, before pulling back to fuck him hard and deep, twisting their bodies to give you the best view. Simon pulls Soap’s leg up onto his shoulder, letting you see Soap’s dick bouncing, leaking precum against his abs with each of Simon’s thrusts forward, as Soap clutches at his arms, begging for more and more and more, until Simon’s had enough.

He drops onto his back, as Soap scrambles to follow him, to keep Ghost’s dick inside him, ending up sat in Simon’s lap, squirming because he’s so full of dick, as Simon pats his ass and tells him to ride if he wants to finish.

John groans under you, his hand stilling as Kyle leans over your shoulder and kisses him, before John relaxes, and you feel him shift, catching you against his chest as he moves his hand to sit on top of yours, upping the pace on Gaz’s dick, as your own had started to slip when you felt it twitch in your hand. Kyle groans, and you feel his hand stutter on you, before resuming, dragging you closer and closer to orgasm with him, as you all watch Soap rock and and forth on Simon’s dick.

Johnny groans louder than anyone when he cums, his hands hitting the bed by Simon’s shoulders as he leans over him, making direct eye contact with him as he cums, hips rolling as his cum covers Ghost’s abs, before falling forward onto him, telling Simon that if he wants to fill his ass up he has to hurry.

Simon’s groan when he does just that permeates your mind, as John makes sure you and Gaz come at the same time, shaking as you press against each other inside John’s arms.

He chuckles, and kisses you both in turn, before Kyle tries to mash all of your lips together and once, and Simon has to step in to break it up.

‘Easy, now.’ He pulls Kyle from your lap, ignoring how you reach for him as Simon pulls you up to cross the room on shaking legs, in order for you to get into the bed with Soap, who immediately curls up to your side, his mouth hanging open, pressed to your skin your hands find their way to his head, gently stroking through his mohawk.

‘You know…’ Soap mumbles after a minute. ‘Only one thing I’d change about you.’

‘What?’ You say, not sure if you had heard him right.

‘Your last name. MacTavish would be much better.’

‘Nah. Garrick’s better.’ Gaz piles into the bed behind you, having been similarly helped across the room.

‘I reckon Riley.’ Ghost supplies, as he and John stand at the end of the bed, looking down at the three of you.

‘You should take a photo. They lasts longer.’ You curl one of your arms each around Soap and Gaz’s shoulders, keeping them close to your sides, like they had been when you woke up.

‘There’ll be plenty of time for that.’ John chuckles. ‘Pretty sure all of our good cameras are in storage.’

‘Yeah.’ Ghost confirms, wiping Soap’s cum off him with a shirt. ‘But, we’ll be clearing it out anyway, for them to move in.’

‘That’s true.’ Price nods. ‘Could have you all settled by the end of the week, love.’

‘Tomorrow, even.’ You think Simon is joking, with that, since even with the best will in the world, no one moves house in less than 24 hours.

‘Today.’ Soap half springs up from your side. ‘Why not by today?’

‘Because I want to cuddle today.’ You respond. You really don’t want to get out of this bed now. You barely wanted to get out of the first one, and now you have decided that you’re absolutely not getting up again.

But, if you hadn’t gotten up, you might not have made it here. In the biggest bed you’ve ever been in, two hot as fuck men at your sides, and two more climbing in to join you. Four men who would be there for you tomorrow, too. And the day after that, and that, for as long as you wanted them to be.

You snuggle back between Gaz and Soap, content to spend the rest of your day the way it began.

[cyborg-franky]

Playing with their hair.

SFW GN Reader Chars include: Killer, Marco, Ace, Corazon/Rosinante

Killer

Moments like this with Killer were some of your favorites. Just laying together in his hammock, his strong arms around you. He wore his sleep mask and just rested with you while you read a book. It was nice, a calm that you longed for more of. 

Being a pirate, especially a Kidd pirate, didn’t often afford you moments like this. You sighed and turned the page as you felt him shift to get comfortable. You felt something tickle you, a strand of his long cascading hair.

You couldn't help yourself, playing with it, wrapping it around your finger, and watching how it shone in the light. He had lovely hair, so long and full and it made you jealous. You started to gather up his hair and run your fingers through it. 

He made a noise and you blinked, looking up at him. The sleep mask was pushed up on his forehead so he could watch you. “Sorry, is that annoying?” you asked about to withdraw.

“No,I like it,” he said with a thoughtful hum. He turned his head and let you run fingers through the entire length. It took you a moment to run fingers from the top of his head all the way down to the end of his hair.

“Good, I like playing with it.” You said with a smile.

Marco

He’s working, reading over the papers scattered in front of him, he’s hunched over his desk. Marco worked late into the night and as much as you admired him and knew he didn’t need to get as much sleep as everyone else, you still worried about him.

Getting up from the chair you were sitting in, nursing a cup of tea he’d made you a while ago you furrowed your brows, it had gone cold, you’d neglected it too long. You stretched and walked over to the sink, tipping it out. “Want another tea Marco?” you called and he didn’t answer..

So lost in his own little world until he finally noticed you, looking over his shoulder as you walked over. You stood behind him and started to play with his tuft of hair, pulling it up into a pineapple do before letting it flop back on his head.

You could tell he’d closed his eyes now, leaning into your touch, enjoying the feeling of you running gentle fingers over his scalp, lightly brushing his hair back each time, letting out a happy little hmmm before you kissed the side of his head.

“Another tea?” you repeated.

Ace

Sitting on your shared bed, muscles aching after a long day of work you needed to feel the pillows on your back as you sank into them. You watched as Ace stumbled into the room. Limbs heavy from his duties, his day was even longer, the curse of being a commander you guessed.

He dragged his feet, his boots clomping on the floor before he kicked them off. You could see the bags under his eyes, the tired look on his face, you glanced at the clock. Well, it was close to when Ace would consider retiring for the night.

You watched as Ace managed to remove his belt, the buckle making a clank as it hit the floor. Tossing his hat on the desk, missing with a grumble as he collapsed onto the bed with you, his head on your lap as he sighed into your thighs and mumbled something,

Chuckling at his half-asleep mutter of I love you you started to run your fingers through his wavy hair, enjoying how they ran through, careful of any knots that had formed during the day. You heard him make a happy sound, his body going limp against you, and his breathing slowed down.

You watched him adjust, turning his head to one side and letting you brush the hair off his freckled cheeks, behind his ear. Your loving touches started to send Ace to sleep. You smiled when you heard his soft snores.

Rosinante/Corazon

He’d just come out of the shower, training had been hard work, and he’d had to stay behind longer after because he had knocked over a bunch of equipment. You sniffed the air when the door opened, letting out the smell of his shampoo. 

You watched as he sat on the edge of the bed, a towel around his shoulders which seemed tense, you knew he felt bad when he had caused an inconvenience due to his clumsy nature. You crawled over to him, kneeling behind him and grabbing the towel. 

He made a confused noise before you started to dry his hair, firm but gentle. His shoulders relaxed as he leaned into what you were doing. You smiled when he closed his eyes and let out a happy sigh, just basking in the attention.

Once you’d towel-dried his hair you leaned in, taking a big whiff of his hair and making a happy noise. “I love it when you’ve just washed your hair, it always smells amazing.” You commented and heard the low rumble of his chuckle.

“I never change it because of that,” Rosinante replied, feeling fingers run through his damp hair, enjoying how you played with it.

He always felt happy and relaxed when with you.

[toxycodone]

ship. trans (ftm) kabru x reader

cw. nsfw + oviposition + monster/beastkin!reader

an. very very self indulgent for me and my followers. basically, kabru’s pretty and you gotta fill him with eggs. it’s only right.

It’s not often Kabru finds himself in situations like this. Or ever. Yet. Here he is, all due to his inability to say no.

And well, he can’t just blame it on that. The situation at hand is a byproduct of his own curiosity as well. Deep in the back of his mind, this is something Kabru’s been secretly curious about as well.

Breeding season is never easy. And it’s especially more difficult when you have such a handsome lover like Kabru around.

Your body’s been on overdrive. You could tell by your newfound appetite along with the growing desire building for Kabru. You need him. More than what he’s already given you, though. That’s not enough.

Just looking at him would have your mind on fire. His pretty, blues eyes…lithe body…even the sheen on his plump lips would be enough to make you shake off thoughts of pinning him to the table and fucking his brains out.

It got worse when the two of you would retire to his quarters at night. Sex didn’t even need to be on the table. When Kabru would take off his shirt, exposing his smooth tummy…

You’d wonder what it’d look like filled with your eggs. Kabru’s skinny enough that you’re sure you’d be able to see the distension in his abdomen after you pumped him full. He’d be such a good carrier, maybe a little broody—you shake your head. It’s enough Kabru’s conquered his fear of monster kind and has decided to enter a romantic relationship with you. You couldn’t ask him for this. Not now.

Kabru notices your discomfort. It’s written on your face the way you seem to be holding back around him. Disengaging with him sexually. He asks about it. And after a little discussion…he seems curious—maybe morbidly so. But it’s his responsibility as your boyfriend? Mate? Whatever? To help you, right? And it’s not like this can go anywhere unless you choose to fertilize them, so…

The length of your ovipositor rests against Kabru’s thigh. His chest rises and falls with a quick rhythm as you start to cover it with his slick.

“Is it going to hurt…?” He asks. There’s apprehension in his tone, but in the back of your mind you know he isn’t going to back out. His hard on makes that clear.

“Just a little.” You answer honestly. “There’s secretions that’ll…open you up. Keep you comfortable. But it’ll take a moment for that to kick in.”

Your body isn’t meant to breed with a humans. But you know it’ll affect Kabru’s similarly to a mate of your kind. It’ll feel odd at first, but pleasurable. You have a feeling he’ll come to enjoy it more than anticipated.

You line yourself up with Kabru’s entrance, then gently push in. This in itself isn’t a new experience. Kabru’s walls eagerly open for your length as they usually do. His head falls back onto the pillow, eyes fluttering as he does so. You place a kiss to his neck, continuing to pump in and out of the man before you. Kabru’s breathing picks up as his light moans fill the air.

You relish in his warmth around your length. It feels good, no, great. The familiar way his walls flutter around you and clench when you hit a certain spots makes you shudder…but something more primal than achieving orgasm drives you. After ensuring Kabru’s had enough time to stretch out, you let your length bottom out inside Kabru fully. You use one hand to gently stroke his cock, making Kabru’s thighs twitch as more wetness starts to leak from his slit.

He cracks open an eye. He’s so gorgeous, you have to resist the butterflies that flutter in your stomach.

“You’re stopping?”

You huff, lifting Kabru’s hips to better angle to fuck him deeper. Your length presses against his cervix—knocking the entrance to his womb. Kabru hisses, and you shush him with a kiss. As you said, the secretions from earlier have his body loosening up. An egg passes down your ovipositor, prying Kabru open for you.

He cries out. It’s in discomfort at first, but it quickly turns into pleasure. You can tell by the way his eyes roll back that your own biology is ensuring the upmost pleasure for your mate. His body shakes with orgasm after orgasm as you continue to fill him. Each one you talk him through it, cooing words of encouragement and praise of how well he’s taking you. How perfect he is for letting you impregnate him.

Kabru takes the eggs surprisingly well. Each one that fills his warm hole has him gasping and groaning in pleasure. It’s the same for you too. Not only is it pleasurable to have him clenching you and milking your length, but there’s a biological need taken care of by filling your mate with your eggs. You’ve staked your claim on his womb.

“M’ full…” Kabru mutters. His words are slurred—likely a mix from the pleasure and effects of the chemicals from your body.

You take a look at his abdomen. It’s slightly distended. Kabru’s human anatomy likely can’t make room for any more eggs, at least not in his womb.

“Can’t take anymore?” You tease, kissing his temple now. “I think you can stomach just a few more.”

He growls. You comment about him being broody already, which doesn’t earn you any favors.

Kabru tsks, his brows furrowing in annoyance.

“Just pull out. I gotta…”

He seems…very embarrassed. Which is odd, considering the situation at hand has progressed past the need for that. You shrug and oblige.

Kabru parts his thighs. His hole twitches annd ass flexes as he tries to push something out. His puffy lips part to let out one egg, and then another. You’d feel bad if it weren’t for the lewd moans he’s making—along with the pride you feel for wearing out his human body.

“I guess I did fill you up, hm?” You kiss his skin as Kabru’s face falls in relief.

“I’m just glad it’s over…” Kabru says. Drowsiness lies thick in his tone. “I’m exhausted…”

“Who said it was over?”

[latenightdaydreams]

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSY8mJ1go/

When I watched this clip, 'the attack of triplets' made me laugh so hard and reminded me of Konig immediately. I can't stop thinking about Konig and reader after she gave him triplets. 😩😩

I feel like your writing skills are improved, all your writing recently is so smooth and easy to imagine the scene. And the circumstances are so real too!!! Keep going, I love you sm🎀🎀

You're the sweetest🩷 I always appreciate your support🥰 I decided to turn it into a little Father's Day fluff!

Father's Day (fem)

All fluff!

Master List

>cw: fem/afab, adoption, fluff

1.0k word count

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When König first met you, he had no desire to be a father. Growing up, his own father was abusive and distant. It’s always been a fear of his that he would turn out like him if he has his own. Then he met you. A single mom of a four-year-old daughter. It’s as if everything he thought he wanted suddenly changed.

Becoming a dad to your daughter, Sara, was like second nature. Even though he’s a massive scary man, Sara was never scared of him. Early in the relationship, he brought you a more reliable car and an apartment in a nicer area. While you weren’t his wife yet, but he knew you would be someday.

He was right because only one year later, the two of you got married. After only two months of being married, you missed a period. At your first ultrasound appointment, you were given the surprise of your life. One, two, three sacks. Three.

König nearly fainted looking at the image of three babies in your uterus. From that day on, he would brag to everyone and anyone. His first time getting a woman pregnant and it’s with triplets? That just proves how powerful his sperm is, right?

Today is Father’s Day morning. In the kitchen Sara, now nine, helps you cook breakfast for König. The triplets, two boys named John and James and one girl named Jessica, run around the kitchen screaming and trying to hit each other with plastic swords. They’re three years old and absolutely crazy.

“Hey, James, John, Jessica, why don’t you go get Daddy? Go tell him food is ready.” With mischievous little giggles, the three set off to wake König from his slumber.

Asleep peacefully in bed, König dreams of retirement on the beach when he feels a hard whack on his head. He slowly wakes up when another comes down hard. König can hear the sounds of their giggles, causing him to smile. He opens one eye and looks at Jessica, the one that’s been hitting him. She looks just like König, blondish hair and pale skin.

One more hit before König roars like a wild beast, causing all the kids to scream and scatter. His arm wraps around little Jessica that was the closest and brought her to him, pretending to eat her belly.

“Nom, nom, nom! Yummy children!” He yells as Jessica kicks her feet, giggling.

James and John run from the room laughing and yelling, “Daddy's a monster!” They shout, running to the kitchen.

König places Jessica on his shoulders as he crouches down and rushes after the boys. Jessica points forward at her brothers. “Get them!”

“Daddy will get all of you!”

As you continue to make pancakes and Sara sets the table, you can hear the commotion heading your way. Sara looks back at you with wide eyes as we hear König and Jessica’s evil laughs. James and John come running into the kitchen and hide behind Sara.

“Daddys a monster!” They repeat excitedly. “He ate Jessie!”

“Ahhhhh! I’ve found you!” König stomps, running into the kitchen. He rushes and grabs the boys while Jessica holds on to his head.

König freezes and looks at the table set, the red flowers in a vase, the smell of good food in the air. His gaze lands on the cards lined up on the kitchen counter too. A warm smile rushes over his face as he gently puts the boys down and then Jessica. He walks to Sara with a big smile and hugs her, kissing her forehead. She’s his first baby, who made him a dad, of course he has to thank her first.

“I love you, Blume.”

“I love you too, Dad.” Sara smiles and hugs him back.

Once he pulls away, he walks to you next. A flirty smile on his lips as he gazes down at you. A messy bun and stained pajamas, yet you look like an angel still. His large arms wrap around your body and squeeze you, the true reason he’s a dad. The woman who showed him it’s okay to feel vulnerable. You’re his whole world.

“I love you, Schatz.” König whispers as he leans down to kiss your lips tenderly. “Thank you for everything. My kids, this home, helping me heal, everything.” He picks you up in a deeper kiss.

“Ew.” Sara turns away rolling her eyes making you both laugh.

König sets you back down on your feet. “Thank you for breakfast.”

He takes a seat at the table; James comes over and crawls on to his lap as you sit the other two in their booster seats at the table. Sara leaves for a moment and comes back. She stands watching as König cuts up pancakes for the little ones. He senses her standing there.

“Ja, Blume?” He turns to look at her to see she’s holding a folder in her hand. “What’s this?”

“Um, I guess it’s something that’s been a long time coming.” Sara walks forward and hands it to him.

König opens it to see adoption paper work inside. Instantly tears begin to flood his tear line, making his vision blurry. He has no words as he looks down trying to choke back tears.

Jessica looks at König and points. “Daddy, don’t cry.”

James looks up at König and pats his face, causing König to cry. He stands with James in his arm and used the other to squeeze Sara in a big hug. Tears stream down the usually stoic and cold Austrian man’s face.

“I’ll be your dad.” He whispers to Sara. His silent tears turn to sobs as you place your hand on his back and caress him.

König never imagined his life turning soft. He never saw himself as a step dad or dad, now here he is. He’s been blessed for some reason with a beautiful wife and amazing children. There isn’t a day that doesn’t pass without him thanking which ever god sent you all to him.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Villain who actually used to be sinister and obnoxious is now an AMNESIAC lil softie😩😩😩

For whatever reason, the villain blocked the hero's hit perfectly. Not only that, but when the hero went in for a kick, the villain managed to throw them off balance. Before the hero could fall to the ground, the villain caught them, arm around the hero's waist, pulling them closer than decency allowed.

The villain's eyes widened and a gasp escaped them. Despite the hero's blush, they tried to look grumpy and annoyed - as so often - but the villain could tell it was just for show. What a night. They were exhausted and confused.

"Sorry," the villain whispered. "I almost hit you."

They pulled themselves up and with them the hero.

"No, it's fine, it's good." As soon as possible, the hero took a step back and the villain still felt the warmth of their waist on their fingertips. Was it possible to yearn for someone they had forgotten? Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe they hadn't forgotten the hero at all. They remembered parts of them, not the whole picture but the most beautiful pieces, it seemed.

"I'm sorry if I-"

"Your muscle memory seems to be pretty good. I think you learnt how to fight at a very young age. Which is...sad." The hero looked at them and their face softened. Suddenly, the villain felt a familiar pain in their chest. Something was hitting close to home. "But you're not as aggressive as before. We need to work on that."

"I appreciate that you want to help me, really. But I think I don't want to be violent," the villain said. The hero touched their own chin, thinking intensively. That was familiar too.

"I've told you a lot of people want you dead," the hero said slowly. "Killing you would turn the whole city upside down. Every criminal tries to be on top of the whole network."

"Can't I just, I dunno, retire?"

"If you want criminals to take over and burn everything down to prove that they are the one on top of the food chain...sure." The hero took in a deep breath. "It's hard to admit but I need you. This city needs you. You keep things organized. You cause damage, yes, but if it wasn't you, it would be five different criminals at five different locations and I don't have the time nor the energy for that."

"Seems like I was a big deal before they fried my brain," the villain said. From what they had been told, they had been a horrible human being. They didn't really miss not remembering.

But there was one thing they wished they hadn't forgotten.

One person.

"You have no idea," the hero whispered. They were quiet for a moment but the villain was sensing that their annoyed and grumpy mask was slipping from their face. "Sometimes it feels pretty lonely. We used to talk about that every now and then."

"We used to talk?" the villain asked, even though they knew they hadn't always tried to murder the hero. Trying to remember was like going through mist and when they had seen the hero for the first time again, it had felt like a warm light in the middle of all the thick fog was calling them.

The hero smiled.

"Most of the time you tried to make me join you. You loved taking me hostage."

"That doesn't sound like a good thing." The villain was disgusted at their own actions. What on earth had driven them to such drastic measures? It was like the villain from the past was someone else.

"...no, of course it wasn't a good thing. It was...different." The hero cleared their throat. "Talking to you was refreshing in a sense. I don't know, it is hard to explain. Our relationship was difficult."

"Like a love-hate-thing?" The hero looked at them but didn't say anything. That was enough of an answer for the villain and acid started to burn their throat. So, the hero had liked them and now they seemed annoyed by them.

What if the hero had liked their old version more? The villain that was violent and aggressive? What if the hero wouldn't like how they were now? What if the hero absolutely loathed them now because they weren't the right villain?

"I was taught not to show any emotions to my enemies. I think that has made me quite bitter but you challenged that. I was angry at you and I hated you a lot of the time. But in your soft moments I loved your voice. I loved your thoughts. I loved when you were kind to me. When you decided to saved me before death could take me. I loved it when you talked to me and argued with me without being an asshole. And those mixed feelings for you conflicted me."

And now? The villain's heart was beating in their chest, loud enough, they swore, for the hero to hear.

"Of course, I knew you wouldn't understand it. You were doing this for your own benefits. You were a strategist, after all. It is more complicated now for me. You're someone I like a little too much."

"You've been waiting to get that off your chest, haven't you?" The hero looked at the ground and back at the villain. Their ears were red and they closed their hands into fists over and over again. They closed their eyes, swallowed.

"I know training can get tiresome and-"

"I remember talking to you. You're pretty much the only thing I remember. Little details. What you look like. What you smell like. Honestly, I thought we were married when I saw you for the first time after waking up." The hero's blush stretched over their cheeks. "Maybe you can give me some more tips? Punches and kicks, I mean."

"Y-yeah of course." The villain smiled softly.

[syoddeye]

last

gaz-centric, 141 gen. | ~800 words. tags: pure, heavy angst. alcohol. several major character deaths referenced. abuse of italics and parentheses. a/n: so i was thinking about gaz being the last to die. decided to ride the big sad wave into whatever this is.

he gets word that price finally kicked the bucket, upright and boots on. the old man pushed his luck to the cliff’s edge and camped there, years beyond when he should’ve retired.

the news forces him to look back down the long and bloody road to his current gig, desk jockey for laswell. (–analyst, cap. –a pencil pusher.)

it was kate’s hand—the only hand—that reached out after riley decided to run a suicide mission and died a ghost. a task force can’t be two people, she said.

he remembers thinking on the flight to the DMV about whether the american outlaw felt like that, felt the loss when the civilized world, the old west, decided they didn’t want men like them anymore. didn’t want men who took on the world, gloves off.

he books the trip. he returns to a town and landscape barely recognizable to him anymore, but he knows it like the back of his hand. could navigate it with his eyes shut. (he was the best at that, once.) a town where a clock tower looms with the names of his predecessors and his friends etched into its surface. he avoids it. avoids as much of the pomp and circumstance as he can. they–they aren’t his people. not anymore.

he wanted you to have this.

a cigar box. weathered, old. still reeks. in it, memorabilia: a clutch of ID tags with more of those dreaded names, cap’s favorite lighter, and a scrimshaw knife. he doesn’t look at the clip of photos. not right away.

he thanks the soldier tasked with tracking him down, tucks the cigar box into his bag when he returns to his hotel and hops a plane home. his other home, the one he shoehorned himself into at kate’s behest.

it takes the better part of a month to work up the nerve to open the box. to unclip the photos. a torrent of memory held back by a piece of flimsy metal. unleashed and saturating the room.

(they’ll leave a waterline, an impression that decades of life still left to live won’t be able to erase.)

most of them are candids. quick shots someone took, developed, and printed. probably left on the corner of price’s desk.

one of soap, mid-story, something raunchy—he can tell by the man’s smirk. one of riley’s chin, tucked over kyle’s shoulder with soap’s stubbly cheek pressed to his. all drunk and bleary-eyed, fresh off a fucked op. one of price, asleep with his heels kicked up and riley attempting to balance an unlit cigar on the tip of his boots.

a polaroid of nik and price sat in the corner of some bar. both men big and intimidating, faces stern and ringed by smoke. probably chirping like two old hens—the gossips. god, poor nik. they never found him.

an old, pristine copy of the photo of him, price, farah, and alex. all standing tall and proud. triumphant. hurts to look at them for too long. both gone before their time.

(price and laswell didn’t talk for weeks after he reamed her out. —shit intel. makes you wonder. the insinuation was the death knell for the 141 and riley going rogue was the nail in the coffin. after that, cap took his news as a personal affront. hard not to, in hindsight.)

defecting? don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

that insinuation led to months of radio silence between him and price. broken by an insured, over-packaged bottle of single malt that appeared on his desk one day. shit was worth more than his monthly rent.

(never mind he doesn’t even drink whisky. just like price to send a piece of himself in apology instead of picking up the phone.)

the gut punch is soap’s last identification photo. john mactavish. the smiling, joking oaf with his pressed mouth flat in a grim line. eyes wild, probably thinking of something filthy to say to the poor photographer. on the back, his birth and death dates. gone way before his fucking time.

the true catalyst. made them all more reckless. his lieutenant, most of all, grew hungrier and hungrier for the long sleep.

shuffling through the rest makes the ache worse. reopens wounds. grinds against his ribs and tunnels a hole to his gut. it takes a strength he hasn’t used in years to put them away, forced to draw from a well long covered.

he buries the box in the back of a closet and digs out an old bottle. pours an ample amount and chokes it down. goes to bed smelling smoke, praying he doesn’t dream.

he does, of course.

he dreams of chaos and a padlock in piccadilly. of olives and motor oil in urzikstan. of canals and juniper in amsterdam. of the tunnels and blood beneath london. of a bar in chicago. a pub in hereford.

in the morning he wakes. visited upon. heavy.

the last man standing.

[livwritesstuff]

uh so i was feeling like writing something angsty and ever since i wrote this a little bit ago i can’t stop thinking about the idea of what the upside down coming back decades later would look like, however it’s a bummer and not the vibe i want for my steddie!dads verse so consider this an au for an au or whatever idk

It’s a normal, average, mundane, regular Wednesday when Dustin calls.

They don’t talk as much as they used to, but that’s adult life, Steve supposes. 

They both have entire lives now, spouses and children and jobs that consume pretty much every waking hour. The near-1000 miles that separates Steve and Eddie in Massachusetts from Dustin in Indiana doesn’t help things either, and seeing as how Dustin had long-since inherited the Hawkins Lab research from Owens when he retired back in the mid-2000s, that won’t be changing any time soon.

Steve is home when Dustin calls, and between counseling clients, so when the phone rings and lights up with his name, Steve picks it up with a grin.

“Hey man, what’s goin’ on!”

Nothing but silence comes through Dustin’s end for a while – such a long time that Steve checks to make sure that the call didn’t drop or his phone didn’t die or something (and neither had happened, so it’s definitely a Dustin thing).

“Dustin?” he asks, “You there?”

Silence, still.

Then –

“Steve.”

Dustin sounds…not normal, and Steve feels the grin slide off his face.

“What?”

“Steve,” he chokes, “It’s…it’s back.”

Steve feels his heart stop for a second, feels it like all the blood in his veins came to an abrupt halt for just a moment.

“The Upside Down,” Dustin continues, “It…all of…it’s back.”

He sounds like he’s underwater, or maybe Steve’s the one sinking beneath the surface, just like he’d done forty years ago when he’d taken Dustin’s place on that boat and got dragged into hell through the depths of Lover’s Lake.

Steve hangs up the phone, his hands shaking.

His knees feel shaky too, like they can’t support his weight anymore despite doing so for nearly sixty years.

They’ve been giving him problems lately – his knees. Nothing too crazy; he can still go on his runs and putter around the yard and all that. It’s just a part of aging, he supposes, and he hadn’t minded aging before – liked it, even. Liked his greying hair and the crow’s feet around his eyes and his achy knees, because there’d been a period of time many years ago when he wasn’t sure he’d make it long enough to experience that inevitability of life.

Right this second though, he hates it, hates the way it makes him realize he’s not as nimble as he used to be, the way his reaction time isn’t the same anymore, because he knows that’s what had gotten him through those horrible years back in the mid-eighties.

He lowers himself down, and as his ass hits the tile floor of the bathroom – his daughters’ bathroom, the one they’ve shared practically their whole lives, the one Moe lost her first tooth in, the one Robbie pierced her own ears in, the one Hazel will be getting ready for prom in soon – Dustin calls him again.Steve doesn’t pick up, too busy kicking himself for not considering sooner the possibility of this sooner, for not having a plan ready to execute to keep their daughters safe the way no adult had done for him.

He can feel an old instinct – the urge to gather his loved ones close – starting to kick in, his mind starting to race as he catalogs the people who make up his small corner of the world. 

Hazel is easy – she’s at the high school just down the road. He can have her back home, back within arm’s reach, in a matter of minutes.

Robin and Nancy are next closest, still living in Boston after all these years. Steve would wager a guess that they’ll be hearing from Dustin soon if they haven’t already, and then they’ll probably head Steve and Eddie’s way, and then they’ll all regroup. 

They’ll figure out what their next moves are.

Moe and Robbie are trickier with both of them living in New York City and likely unwilling to leave their school and their jobs and their friends without any warning whatsoever. Moe is getting more and more reasonable the older she gets, so Steve may have to start with her and hope that Robbie follows.

Moe is twenty-two now. 

Moe is older than both of her dads had been when Eddie had nearly died, when Steve had carried him out of hell and made sure he didn’t. All three of their daughters – even seventeen-year-old Hazel – are older than Steve had been when he got sucked into that horrible mess, and they’re still so damn young. 

With two decades of parenting under his belt, he finds it kind of unbelievable that anybody had looked at his sixteen-year-old face and seen anything but a child, nevermind actually asked him to do the things that he’d done.

Dustin calls him two more times before he gives up. Only a moment later, Steve hears Eddie’s phone ring downstairs, and then he hears Eddie’s jovial tone as he answers the call. 

He goes quiet real quick after that.

Just as Steve is deciding who to call first – Hazel’s school or Moe – his phone vibrates, two quick buzzes that can only indicate a text from Robin.

He opens it.

did dustin call you?

Steve lets out a heavy breath because, fuck, it’s real.

Yeah, he texts back, then adds –

This fucking sucks

40 years

As Steve watches the bubbles of Robin’s incoming response, he can vaguely hear Eddie’s ascent of the stairs, still on the phone with Dustin. 

The bubbles disappear.

“Fuck you, Dustin,” he hears Eddie snarl, “This is on you.” There’s silence for a while, and Eddie seems to pause in the hallway just in front of their bedroom door. Then, “Yeah, I’ll talk to him…I know…later, man. Love you. Be safe.”

Steve looks down at his phone to see that Robin is still typing, only for the bubbles to disappear again a second later.

Finally –

nance is going back

i’m going with her

Steve could throw up.

He almost does, he’s pretty sure, although he’s not positive because he might be having an out of body experience, or maybe he’s dissociating, or maybe it’s a fucking PTSD flashback or something. He doesn’t know.

He should know, or so his handful of psych degrees would suggest, and he probably would know if it was happening to someone else, but then again, he’s always worn blinders when it comes to himself.

That was true about him when all this shit started in 1983, and it’s still true now, almost forty years later.

Forty fucking years.

He doesn’t look up when Eddie comes into the bathroom, joining him on the floor with his back against the bathtub.

“Dustin took offense to you hanging up on him,” he says, and Steve can hear the way he’s forcing humor into his tone.

As if any of this shit is funny.

“Erica and the kids left with Claudia,” Eddie continues, answering a question Steve probably would’ve gotten around to asking Dustin himself if it weren’t for the whole hanging up on him thing, “Erica went kicking and screaming, obviously. I offered up our house, but they’re still deciding where they want to camp out. And everyone has agreed not to say a word to Jim and Joyce.”

Yeah, that makes sense, seeing as they’re both in their eighties and perpetually acting like they’re thirty years younger – at a minimum.

Not that Steve would know anything about that.

Definitely not.

“He said he’s one-hundred percent positive that it’s all still contained to Hawkins, so…” Eddie pauses, “We don’t have to, like, track down the girls or anything. Just make sure they don’t go anywhere near Indiana.”

And that, at least, is an actual relief.

“Robin’s going back,” Steve tells him, because there’s no point waiting to address that particular issue in this whole fucking mess.

The so I’m going too is implied, because that has never needed to be said when it came to Steve and Robin.

The way Eddie’s face changes evades Steve’s ability to describe. It makes him regret saying anything – that’s for fucking sure. Makes him wish he’d just snuck away in the dead of night.

“C’mon man, we’ve picked up a whole fuckin’ litter over the years,” Eddie says, and he’s still forcing humor into his tone, “You can’t leave me to fend off the masses alone – the years have made me weak-willed, I’ll surrender immediately.”

Steve manages a snort, but he still looks down at the floor all the same.

Eddie doesn’t say anything else for a while, but his hand wraps around Steve’s ankle as if there was enough brute strength in the one appendage to keep him rooted to the bathroom floor.

(Strangely enough, it feels like there might be).

“Steve,” Eddie finally says, his voice stiff and hard in a way Steve doesn’t think he’s ever heard before, “We are way too old for this shit – Robin and Nance too.”

Eddie pauses.

“Steve,” he says again, “I know how important Robin is. I know, but our children would be fucking devastated if anything happened to you. Don’t think they wouldn’t – and something would most certainly happen to you.”

“Eddie.” 

He’s still avoiding his husband’s eyes.

“Steve,” he pleads, something desperate in his voice, “We talked about this. Remember? Last spring, when we watched that stupid zombie show with Hazel? And there was the episode with the old gay guys? We talked about this. You told me not to let you go if this shit came back.”

Steve makes no response. Ed lets out a heavy breath, looking to the ceiling.

They have this conversation every now and then – one of those conversations that always teeters on the edge of an argument – in which Eddie insists that Steve could be fine if their relationship ended in a way that Eddie himself would not. It’s a conversation that Steve hates, because he hates the idea that Eddie – his husband of twenty years and the love of his whole entire life – could still be thinking so low of himself, that there’s any part of him that doesn’t think Steve would be fucking wrecked by losing him.

Still, it had always been a hypothetical. It had never been real.

Suddenly, Steve feels claustrophobic sitting on the floor of his daughters’ bathroom. He gets to his feet and, as he heads for the door, Eddie scrambles up after him.

Halfway down the hall, Eddie lunges for him and catches his arm, wheeling him back around to face him.

“Steve,” Eddie says one more time. 

Then, because he apparently has no words ready to follow with, he stops.

“Steve,” Eddie starts again, “Please. You’re everything. I love the girls and I love our life, but Christ, Steve, you’re my entire world. You changed everything for me. You showed me how life could be worth living, and you keep showing me, and I’m not ready to let go of you yet – not even fucking close. Please don’t let this be the way we leave each other.”

Steve finally lets himself look at Eddie’s face, the face he’d fallen in love with decades ago, the face he’s still in love with decades later. He looks at his big eyes and the hint of grey at his hairline and his crows feet and the scarring that creeps up his neck from underneath the collar of his shirt (it’s a shirt he’s had for ages – since before even Moe was born by the looks of it, but so is the rest of his half of their closet).

And he finds himself nodding.

Eddie’s exhale is all desperate relief as he tugs Steve into his arms and wraps them around his shoulders. Steve immediately reciprocates the hug, pulling him in even closer, surprised to feel tears pin-pricking his eyes

“I love you so much, Steve,” Eddie tells him, gripping the back of his t-shirt so tight he feels the collar pulling taut against his throat, “I don’t say that to you enough.”

“You say it all the time,” Steve replies with a wet laugh.

“Not enough,” he shakes his head, and Steve decides there’s no point in arguing.

A minute goes by.

“Fuck,” Steve half-laughs, half-chokes as he lifts his head to meet Eddie’s eyes, “This fucking sucks.”

“I know,” he says. 

Again, he reels Steve in, and again, Steve lets him, holding onto his husband like a lifeline, like they’re standing somewhere far more perilous than the carpeted floor of their upstairs hallway.

“I know,” Eddie repeats, “And we’ll…we’ll talk about it but for now, just – can I just hold you for a bit, okay?”

Steve nods again.

“Okay.”

read the extended version on AO3 (i.e. feat. added “flashbacks” so it fits the formatting of the rest of the series)

[scribbledghost]

Alright, alright, the last one.... for now >:)

Fem! Simon is faced with an incredibly difficult decision between her military career and her girlfriend. Perhaps she is offered a high-ranking position that requires relocating overseas for several years, but this means leaving behind her girlfriend and putting their relationship on hold. Her girlfriend wants to be supportive but is heartbroken at the thought of being apart for so long. I'd love to see the emotional struggle and how they deal with this heart-wrenching choice

Simon pales when the reality hits her.

She's sitting outside your shared home in her truck, having just cut the engine.

She'd been offered a position by one of the brass, one that would launch her through the ranks. The pay would also increase accordingly. She'd be out of the field less and behind a desk more - still moving chess pieces without being a pawn herself. Not to mention she'd be fast-tracked into retirement as soon as it was done. By all accounts, it seemed like the perfect deal had simply landed in her lap.

Except for one aspect:

She'd be overseas. For the next five years. The job would be so intense during that time that even the senior officer who'd given her the offer had informed her she likely wouldn't step foot in this side of the world during the entire tenure.

Five years away from home.

Five years away from you.

The air around her is heavy when she walks through the door. Naturally, she's drawn to you; drawn to your light and your warmth.

You notice almost immediately.

You sit her down, asking her what's on her mind. When she reveals she's been offered a new high-ranking position, you're initially happy for her. With a tinge of confusion.

"You... seem upset though."

That's when she reveals that it will require the two of you to essentially be apart for half a decade. And that's when you go quiet.

"You've got your own life here," she says quietly. "Y'r own job, y'r friends, family. I... I can't take you away from all that."

When you don't offer anything in the way of words, she continues.

"An'... I can't ask you to wait for me."

"I would."

"I know you would," Simon says. She knows you'd support her, even at the expense of your own heart. "But I won't ask you to."

She hopes you understand what she's trying to say - that she'd rather break both of your hearts in two by breaking things off than forcing you to sit here alone while she's away. Judging by the way your eyes begin to water, she thinks you get the gist.

"I told them I'd give them an answer tomorrow."

"I... this would be good for you, Simon."

"On paper."

She's not wrong, and both of you know it. On paper, the offer is a dream - higher pay, likely enough to live off of for a good, long while before her retirement benefits kick in after.

But paper doesn't factor in the emotional cost.

You quickly wipe a stray tear away.

"No matter what you choose," you say in a fragile voice, "I'll support you."

She knows you will. It's more than she can ask for.

The rest of the evening is quiet, most of it spent as close to each other as possible. Simon slow-dances with you in the kitchen while dinner simmers on the stove. She showers with you after. She lays with you late into the night, slowly mapping your body with her hands, memorizing the taste of your skin.

You tell her you love her. She believes you.

She tells you you're everything to her. She hopes you believe her too.

When she wakes the next morning, lavender morning light filtering in through the curtains, your soft form resting with your head on her chest and one arm across her middle, she knows.

She knows what answer she needs to give.

The way you kiss her when she leaves for base feels like you're kissing her for the last time.

The walk through the halls and towards the brass's office seems longer than usual.

She's there far longer than she wanted to be - she'd simply wanted to give them an answer then turn around and walk out. But it hadn't shaken out that way. Hours pass before she's dismissed, before they finally accept her answer and tell her she can go.

When she gets home, you're still waiting for her. You've been crying.

She wipes your tears away, kissing you softly in the light of the setting sun.

"When do you leave?" you whisper.

She kisses you again.

"Never."

[missvelvetsstuff]

No Benefits

Bucky x Reader

Summary: Reader and Bucky are best friends until a drunken hook up. Bucky wants a friends with benefits situation because he doesn't feel ready for a relationship but reader knows that will lead to a broken heart.

Then Sharon Carter comes to work with them.

Notes: Steve, Nat and Tony are around but retired, everything else is mostly canon

Chapter 9

Warnings: Swearing, angst

Bucky spent the next week the same way he spent the previous week, since Cookie left, seeing Dr Raynor every day and writing to Cookie after his sessions. Raynor had suggested it. Of course, she told him to bare his soul and dispose of the letters but he felt the need to finally reach out to Cookie. He needed to tell her the whole truth even if she had moved on with that rich guy in Boston.

So he wrote everything and mailed them to the new address that was listed for her on the SWORD employee directory. He wanted to go see her but didn't know if she wanted to see him so just kept writing and sending the letters, almost every day.

A couple of nights after she disappeared, Natasha showed up in Bucky's room in the middle of the night, waking him up as she sat on his groin. Before he could even think about anything he had her pinned to the wall with his vibranium hand around her throat. He kept her there as he shook the sleep off, his hand tight enough to hold her there but not so tight that she couldn't breathe or speak.

"Nat? What the Hell?"

She smirked "I was going to wake you up with a surprise." Licking her lips "Do you remember how much I loved the arm? This feels different than the titanium but not in a bad way." and moaning "Show me what it does, Soldat."

Bucky flinched at the name and pulled his hand away from her.

"No, Natalia, I don't want you. After everything that's happened I don't want anything to do with you. Why can't you understand?"

Nat snapped back "I was being controlled and manipulated too you know. Where's my forgiveness?"

Bucky shook his head "I know you were but you keep acting like you were before so I have to wonder how contrite you really are." He sighed "You need to get to medical. Sharon was checked out and that serum was still affecting her but the docs gave her something to counteract it and she's better now. You're still under some level of Antonia's control, don't you want to get out from under it?"

Nat rubbed up against him "Please, I'm fine. Besides Buck, we were good together before. Don't you remember?"

Bucky sighed "I remember two people in a completely fucked situation that needed some human companionship. That's all."

Nat tried to convince him, reaching out "But, Bucky-"

"No!" he grabbed her outstretched hand and didn't let go when she twisted around and kicked him in the gut. Instead he grabbed her ankle with his vibranium hand and pulled so she hit the floor, knocking the wind out of her, then sat on her straddling her hips and held both wrists.

Nat caught her breath before she realized the position they were in. She smirked and started to wiggle under him "This is definitely something I can work with."

Bucky quickly stood and pulled her up with him just as Sam showed up.

Sam smirked "Looks like the Wolf caught a spider. We can take her to a holding cell until Dr Cho gets here in the morning."

He held up some zip ties and after a short struggle they secured her wrists.

Nat started to squirm "Come on Barnes, let me go. I can't believe you would lock me up after all we've been through."

As he pushed her ahead of him Bucky scoffed "All we've been through is even more reason to lock you up."

He flinched when Nat kicked back and her heel hit his shin "Dammit Romanoff, knock it off. It's only till morning and Dr Cho will take care of you. Sharon had additional treatment and is back to normal."

When they arrived in the holding area Bucky cut the zip tie, pushed Nat into a holding cell, made sure the cell was properly secured and turned the lights off. "Sleep tight."

Nat started yelling and banging on the wall as they walked away which made Sam chuckle. Bucky sighed in relief knowing there was more work to do but getting Nat neutralized was a great start.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On Monday, Cookie was the topic of all the most interesting water cooler conversations but she tried to ignore it and get her work done.

Until Tyler knocked on her open office door.

Cookie looked up smiling "Good morning, Tyler. Come on in, have a seat. What can I do for you?"

Tyler looked grim as he stood over her "I'm sure you are aware of the current office gossip."

Cookie shrugged "Yes, I know but it's gossip. I don't pay it much mind."

Tyler glared at her "It's disruptive. You can't just run around doing whatever you want, you know. You don't have the Avengers to protect you here so better learn to behave appropriately on and off the clock."

Cookie stood to her full height and rolled her shoulders back before she spoke, looking straight in his eyes

"I'm only going to say this once, since my arrival here seems to have thrown you off of your groove. I don't report to you, you are not my boss and you have no seniority or rank over me. I don't need anyone to protect me because I'm the best at my job and I've done nothing wrong. I went to a book launch and was seen with the grandson of the author in question. Fully clothed, barely touching the entire time we were in public."

Tyler smirked "And in private? Drysdale has quite the reputation."

Cookie bristled "None of your goddamn business. That's why it's called private. If you can't control your staff then I'd be happy to offer some ideas in that regard but don't come in here trying to shame me for my legal actions in my personal time."

She sat back down and started going through her in-box for a couple of minutes before realizing he was still there.

She scoffed "Was there anything else? I have work to do."

Tyler's face flushed red, he shook his head and stomped away to his office.

Cookie sighed, so many men thinking they have power over women just because they were men. Fewer than before but still too many for her taste. She hoped Tyler would get the message and grow up.

Cookie went to the diner on the first floor for lunch with Annie, who insisted on all the details so she could live vicariously since her life was all marriage and a teething baby right now.

Annie sighed "How fun. Sounds like he really swept you off of your feet. When are you seeing him again?"

Cookie chuckled "Beats me. That wasn't the first chapter in an NC17 fairy tale, it was just two people having some fun, so I don't know if I'll ever see him again. I suppose the odds are good since we work a few buildings apart but I have nothing planned. He doesn't really seem like the prince charming type anyhow."

Annie frowned "Aawww, that's too bad seeing how he is rich and hot but his reputation does precede him. At least he was a good one nighter, I've had plenty that couldn't even be bothered to make me cum."

Cookie laughed out loud "I didn't know that was a problem with women partners."

Annie winked "I never said they were all women but some women are just as bad as some men."

"Well that's depressing."

Cookies alarm went off "That's time, back to the salt mines."

When they arrived back on their floor, there was a crowd by Cookies office and excited murmuring.

Annie stayed back by her desk to watch as Cookie worked her way through the crowd. "Alright folks, nothing to see, everyone back to work becau-" she stopped at the doorway to her office and her eyes grew wide when she saw him sitting at her desk "Oh, hey you" she smiled and rushed into his arms, shocking everyone who was watching.

Nick Fury smiled at her "I wanted to come check up on you before I go to the compound and kick some Avenger ass."

He glared at the people still gawking "Don't you people have some work to do?" and chuckled as they all scattered back to their desks.

Cookie grinned "You should have told me you were coming, I would have waited for you and we could have had lunch."

Nick shrugged "I don't know if anyone has told you but I'm the boss so do things when and how I like."

He closed her office door and they both sat.

"So I know what happened at the compound but why don't you tell me your version."

Cookie shrugged "Nothing really happened. I just realized how difficult seeing me around, reminding them of what they were forced to do, was for Bucky, Sharon and Nat. I didn't want to make their recovery any more difficult."

Nick sighed "What about you and your recovery? Your trauma started before Antonia kidnapped you. I know you and Barnes-"

Cookie shook her head "No, no. I don't want to go there. I'm fine recovering here."

Nick looked at her pointedly "I was going to say you and Barnes were good friends, not to mention Wilson. Now you're here in a new town, new office and separated from your friends. I don't think thats great for you.

I want you back at the compound, asap."

"No, Nick I just, I can't, I-"

Nick softened his tone "Look, not today or even tomorrow but this isn't a permanent move. Stay here a bit, get the analysts in line and please, please keep your boot on Tyler's neck as he has gotten too comfortable thinking he's top dog. But 6 months. A year tops and I want you home. If they have issues I'll deal with them." He looked at his watch and sighed "Speaking of, I need to go ream me some super heroes."

He kissed her on the cheek and left.

A couple of hours later when she went to get more coffee she saw Tyler glaring at her from his office. Jackass, she thought to herself as she gave him a cheery smile and wave. She saw him get up and felt him slam the door because it made the whole floor shake. She laughed all the way back to her desk.

When Cookie arrived home there was a stack of envelopes on the floor under the mail slot. She sighed, picked them up and sat down at the table to go through them. Most went to the trash but there were 3 plain white envelopes with the same writing and return address as the one from the night before.

She sighed and put them with the first letter Bucky sent here, unsure if she was ready to deal with that yet. She ordered Thai for dinner and went to take a quick shower before her food arrived.

Clean and dressed in pj's, Cookie sat on the couch with a glass of wine, a plate of food and the letters from Bucky next to it. She drank, ate and watched the news while regularly looking at the letters, trying to decide what to do about them.

On one hand she was curious about the contents. Especially because there were four now. Why would he write four times? What did he have to say that couldn't have been said in the first letter?

On the other hand, she was feeling more at peace than she had any time in the last,  well however long since she slept with Bucky and wasn't sure she was ready to risk disturbing that peace yet.

Cookie knew that eventually she would need to deal with all of this. Bucky and her feelings for him, plus Nat and Sharon and that whole drama.

She finished her dinner then refilled her wine and grabbed a special brownie to help her sleep.

Eventually but not tonight.

@erelierraceala @capswife @ozwriterchick @cjand10 @wintrsoldrluvr @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @browneyedgrli @greatenthusiasttidalwave @hhiggs @dontworryboutitsweetheart-blog @behindmygreyeyes @pattiemac1 @calwitch @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @ordelixx @blackhawkfanatic @casey1-2007 @scott-loki-barnes @selella @hiireadstuff @winterschildren8

Chapter 10