#but he can't give up. because what has this even been for?

[illou-sainte]

RAFAYEL BDAY SEX NOW

Happy birthday...to you!

pairings: rafayel x reader

cw: unprotected sex, foodplay, missionary, lots of cum, teasing, overstimulation

"ngh- h-hah--, baby 'lemme h-hear you sing it.." Rafayel breathed out, hands gripping your hips tightly as he pounds his gritty cock inside of your poor throbbing pussy. You can't help but be overstimulated with his pace--you're a mess. Hair disheveled, drooling, tears streaming, eyes rolling while you blabber nonsense to your lover.

Rafayel adores this sight of you--the way the party hat tilts to the side of your head, your chest and lips smeared with the icing of the cake you bought him. You're adorable.

"P-please..baby..." He pleaded, hand reaching as it cups your cheek. His thumb gently brushing your tears away--you're so beautiful, even with this state. You pursed your lips as you both locked eyes--maintaining eye contact, while he continued on pumping his gritty cock in and out of your drooling pussy.

Even with situation like this--Rafayel wasn't ashamed to yearn and beg for you. That's one thing that isn't good. Because, once he's in control--you'll never escape.

You can hear gushing of his cum and your juices mixed together inside as it oozes out of your tight hole--he's been painting your walls white many times already, you've lost count. Filling you up to the brim with ropes after ropes of his loading hot cum. And it doesn't miss a chance to make your body tremble beneath him--he knows how to push your buttons so well.

His thumb gently moved to your plumped lips as it touches the icing he smeared--wiping it to the side and brought it to his lips and licked his thumb clean. Earning a soft grunt from you as you stare at him.

"Baby..." He looks at you with his pleading eyes--filled with love and lust. Eyes that you can never say no to. You feel yourself giving up--you know damn well he isn't taking no for an answer.

Your lips quivered and you slowly blink, feeling your mind going blank as it becomes hazy. Rafayel smiled at you and grabbed your hand as he intertwined it with his--placing a soft kiss over your hand.

Your heart flutters in awe as you bit your lower lip--preparing yourself. This will be the last time, you thought--but, he'll surely brought this up in the morning.

"Ha....H-happy..." You muttered, face flustered while Rafayel's ears perked and his cheeks began to redden. His lips can't help but twitch a smile as he watches you struggle to blurt out words while he's still deep balls inside of you--makes him want to tease you even more.

"b-birth...day...."

"What was t-that, baby?" He hum, hand gripping the flesh of your plushed thigh.

"....H-happy....birt--ah!" You let out a loud moan as Rafayel cuts you off when he pulled out his gritty cock out of your drooling pussy and pushed it right back in one go. The action made your body twitch as your back arches, toes curling while you mutter curses at him. He lets out a breathy chuckle and leaned closer to you.

"You don't...h-hah-...want the..birthday boy to be sad...right.?.." He whispered to your ear, breath hitting your skin as it makes you hitch in response. You quickly shook your head and he leaned back. He continues his pace and lets you wrap your arms around his back as your nails dig deeper through the flesh of his skin earning a soft grunt from him.

"ngh- come..on, pretty girl...." He grunted, burying his head in the crook of your neck as he started leaving hot kisses and hickeys on your skin. Making your aching pussy throb as it tightens around his gritty cock inside. He fills you up so good--not leaving any space in your tight pussy.

You can't help but tighten your legs around his hips as he continued drilling his cock in your poor pussy. The heat between the both of you rising while you felt your climax building up through your drooling pussy--preparing to release.

"hah- please...too much! I cant--!.."

"ngh- let me hear you...let me h-hear that sweet voice, baby.." He cooed, moving his lips to your face as he plants kisses everywhere. You cried out while he kissed your tears away--you're definitely left with no choice.

"please...baby..."

"ngh-...! Ah-! Happy.. birth...day! To..ah!" Oh, he's definitely doing this in purpose. Cutting you off with every thrust his gritty cock gives your aching pussy? He's definitely going to sleep on the couch after this.

"hmm....hah- what was that?..." He joked, resting his forehead against your while you glare at him and he chuckled.

"I-I swear to- ah!" You moaned out, as he gives you another big thrust--his angry red tip kissing the lips of your womb as it hits. Making your eyes widen, as you can feel your building up climax bursting as it releases--cumming as you squirt. Letting your high release like a waterfall, hitting his pelvis as it drips to the length of his gritty cock.

Rafayel pants against you and leaned back. Slowly pulling his gritty cock out of your aching pussy, his hot cum leaks out of your poor hole. Ozzing out as it traced down to your plushed thighs to the covers of his bed under, leaving a nasty mess.

You both were a mess, panting heavily while trying to catch your breath. He brushed strands of his hair sticking out of his sweaty forehead as he rests his hardened cock against your clit--earning a soft whimper from you when he started rubbing his length against it.

"Let's continue this in the bathroom, want to hear that sweet voice echoed just for me..."

Maybe he'll make this an "Lemurian tradition" now.

Not proofread. masterlist

[complete-clownery]

some fun facts about this whole picture

(also just because I share all of this with you guys, nothing is set in stone, if you have your own theories that's the coolest thing ever!!! Share them with me please!!)

🍜Some of y'all said that Macaque was sitting alone but believe me just because Bai He turned around to chat with MK and Mei she is only there because Macaque came and Macaque is only there because Bai He begged him to tag along,

THEY COME IN A PAIR DO NOT SEPARATE IN GROUP PICTURES!!!

🍜 You might have noticed that some of the chopstick holders and sauce holders have stickers on them. Those were put there by MK. He first did it when he was much younger to help decorate the shop because he overheard a convo between Tang and Pigsy discussing renovation and finances - it was a whole thing - Pigsy even got mad at MK, but they figured it out eventually and nowadays when the stickers get too worn MK replaces them with new ones

🍜 Mei is showing Bai He a puppy video you can hardly see it

🍜 Mei hardly even touches Red Son in the illustration, Red Son is just completely distraught by the idea of being so close to someone. (He's very embarrassed they might be blushing a bit too (I just weren't able to draw that properly lol))

🍜 Yeeah Yeah okay,,, I know there is a shadowpeach shaped question in the room bugging your minds like: omg clownery is it on purpose that they are the only characters that we can't see the faces of???

🍜MK is sitting on the outside of the boot because he keeps on getting up and helping pigsy around (it's not even a conscious decision anymore, whenever they sit down with the others he sits somewhere, where he can easily get up to land a hand to Pigsy (or to anyone in general))

Except from this one ;]

And my answer to that is: I made this drawing on a whim, I started drawing it purely to mess around with perspective and expected to give up halfway bc it looked ass, I could have hardly given it any deeper meaning or thought. How could've I possibly planned anything? The core elements of this picture are all developed while I was drawing it...

See when I sat down and got an idea about a group picture I wanted to differentiate the celestial monkeys (excluding MK) from the main group

This picture takes place some time after season 3 and a bit before season 4. I would like to say that Wukong and Macaque are not a part of this group. Especially in season 3 both of them have done terrible shit and regardless of where they're sitting and what they are doing, they're not part of it all.

For Macaque this is pretty easily illustrated, he is the one who stands out the most, not a lot of people want him there since they did try to kill members of the group even if he was under the influence of LBD. He's at a different table. MK invited them bc MK genuinely wants to be friend Macaque, but this was already stated: Bai He wants Macaque to be there - I have a lot of head canons about their relationship but I'm not going to talk about this here cuz this rant might get even longer - but Bai He at first was scared as fuck with Wukong around, she only felt better when Macaque was there. She has gotten better since then, as you can see she's pretty comfortable with MK and Mei (even Red Son surprisingly), but she still needs Macaque there.

Well for once he is turned away from the pov, we cant see his face already distancing him from you guys the viewers.

Making Wukong stand out and look isolated is a bit more tricky... He's in the group seemingly chatting with Sandy, he's there, part of the whole thing, but there are subtle hints about his environment and body language you might notice:

Also I think It has been made pretty evident in the show that Wukong loves eating right? If he was perfectly at ease he would at least have 3 bowls of noodles, yet he barely touched anything, he's not eating.

His body language is also closed off, arms crossed, legs just next to each other tightly, he's not comfortable, he's somewhere else, Sandy is there but his talking at Wukong rather than talking to him.

I mean he almost got Mei killed and the whole plan screwed since he was unwilling to cooperate and share his plans with the others. I like to think that Mei just straight up ignored him for a while,, same with pigsy,, those two had enough of Wukongs past getting MK in trouble, they do not like him (and them being so buddy buddy with him in later seasons is annoying af to me,,, maybe season 5 gets some form of pass, because more time has passed and Wukongs actions in season 4 were considerably better, but they were waaaaay too comfortable with him at season 5,,, it bugged me a lot)

I think they're also very aware of each other's presence (I have a whole au that plays between season 3 and 4 explaining how Macaque started living on the FFM with Wukong, so in that context,,,, damn they are having a BLAST especially Macaque, he would like to be anywhere but near Wukong :] )

🍜Also they're sitting away from each other as far as possible, and (this was not planned and got pointed out by one of my friends) Wukong is sitting closest to the sun and Macaque is the one who is in the shade the most

Sorry about the big monkey rant, I am just so extremely shadowpeach pilled that it distracts my brain form everything else

And once again: I tell all this stuff to you guys, but feel free to come up with your own theories about the illustration, details, backstories, whatever you have in mind. You guys have different interpretations makes it all the more fun!!

Please share your theories with me in the comments I would love to hear them 🍎🍊🍊

I'll edit this if I have more ideas 💡

Wow okay

[ssentimentals]

hellloooo can u please do idol!coups x reader for sleep deprivation on cheol’s part with reader taking care of him xx

helloooo anonie, sure i can, thank you for requesting! 💜

prompt: sleep deprivation

you try not to hover. you try not to act like mother hen in fear of being annoying. you try but it's so god damn hard when seungcheol looks like a dead man standing. your boyfriend has always been a hard worker, that's one of the qualities you admire about him, but his work ethic is also your biggest worry. seungcheol is present but just barely - you are sure that he didn't hear majority of the things you said with his mind being very, very far from here, buried in new dance routines or lyrics that had to be finished. it's amazing to see how work energizes seungcheol and gives him purpose, but it's horrible to watch him crumble under pressure. slowly you reach out for his hand, giving it a light squeeze: 'cheollie, baby. you're with me?'

seungcheol blinks at your touch and it takes him few moments to sit up straighter on the seat and send you a fake smile. 'yeah, baby, sorry, i'm here. what did you say?'

god, you can't believe this man wanted to pick you up after your work. seungcheol can't be trusted with a car now, not when he can barely focus. 'i asked if yuo're sure that we should go out tonight. you look really tired, cheol.'

he stubbornly shakes his head. 'no-no, i'm good. i'm so caught up at work that we haven't seen each other much lately.'

you kind of want to strangle and kiss him at the same time. he is so good for trying to make time for you amidst his hectic workload but he is so bad for not taking care of himself properly - you sigh loudly. 'when did you sleep last time?' you ask straight to the point. thank god for traffic at this hour, so you can fully turn to your boyfriend without paying attention to the road. 'you look like a zombie, baby.' seungcheol purses his lips and you instantly understand what's the problem. 'cheollie... you can't fall asleep?'

seungcheol sags in the passenger seat, looking embarrassed and done with himself. 'yeah,' he admits quietly. 'i- it's so fucking stupid. i don't know, i'm trying everything but it's just not working.' he sighs and rubs his eyes tiredly. 'i don't think i actually slept properly in the last 4-5 days.'

this admission breaks your heart. seungcheol is running on fumes and yet despite it all, he still is here, with you, because he doesn't want you to feel neglected. without thinking you enter new address to the gps, knowing full well what can help him this time. 'instead of the restaurant, let's have a picnic,' you announce in an overly enthusiastic tone.

'at eight pm?' seungcheol asks, confused. 'i mean if that's what you want then i don't mind but-'

'that's exactly what i want.' you squeeze his hand, sending him a small smile. 'no worries, baby. we are very close.'

it doesn't happen often, but it did happen before. sleep deprivation is, unfortunately, a part of seungcheol's life as an idol and you learned hard way how to deal with it. familiar scenes of home or studio don't calm him mind down, but fresh air and water always help. you park the close as close you can to the river and roll down all windows, letting cool evening breeze in. 'alrighty,' you turn to him with a gentle smile and snatch small blanket from the backseat. 'you take this and get comfortable. i'll order us some food.'

seungcheol grabs the blanket, frowning. 'what is happening?'

'we are having a picnic in the car,' you explain, opening food delivery app. 'and you are sleeping until the food arrives, getting much needed rest.' seungcheol opens his mouth to protest and you cut him off: 'this is a date. this is our date that i want to have.'

the thing is, you don't really care about specifics of date as long as seungcheol is close. he doesn't look convinced at first, but when you start talking about your date with a quiet music on the background, he relaxes. it doesn't take him long to fall asleep - adjusted seat, warm blanket, fresh air and your hand in his do their magic. you watch quietly as his breathing slows; in sleep seungcheol doesn't look as tired. still holding his hand you adjust your own seat and lower the radio volume. seungcheol going out of his way to be with you makes you want to do the same; and if date is about you letting him finally sleep and guarding his sleep then you're not complaining, not at all.

a/n: writing this made me so soft :') pls give cheollie all the hugs and sleep he deserves!! - nini

request your own here

my other seventeen work is here

[nanamiskentos]

➤ 𝐉𝐉𝐊﹙ 脹相 : CHOSO KAMO ﹚ ─ the death painting cw ─ MDNI. canon!choso, óràl (m. receiving)

"and don't get me wrong," choso huffs, his breath puffing out like steam escaping a kettle. pale pink lips pouting, "i know yuuji's got a heavy burden on his shoulders, but he could really stand to try and take my advice a bit more, don't you think?"

huh. no response. choso's scowling now. cinnamon-hued eyes thinning into slivers, searching for where on earth you disappeared to.

thin brows furrowing, "my love?" the end curling into a question as uncertainty colours his tone. choso's had a long day training thus far, and it didn't help that upstart who shoulda' stayed in that damned box — gojo satoru, seemed to occupy most of his younger brother's attention. diverting his attention away from the important lessons that his petulant older brother was trying to teach him. eso and kechizu were never so stubborn.

with a sharp exhale, choso pushes himself up from the seat, smacking his thighs in frustration, but not before —

"sit back down, cho."

choso's mouth goes bone-dry, nerves going into some twisted form of sensory overload as he tries to calm the blood rushing through his pounding heart before the muscle explodes. but it's too late for the blood rushing down south, already pooling in a satisfied coil over his groin.

he hasn't the faintest clue on where you managed to swipe away his robes, but he thinks he may yet be the luckiest man (no, wait, let's not unpack that yet) alive. amber eyes raking over how the cream linen drapes your form so perfectly, clinging to every curve that he loves to worship.

but choso is sharp, he doesn't miss the mischievous glint in your eyes nor the way that your teeth sink into the flesh of your lower lip. teasing, watchful. he should have known better than to be caught off guard like this, but choso truly cannot even bring himself to care about how much of an effect you have on him. how you unravel him to the core.

"you're lookin' pretty frustrated, baby," you're purring, already stalking closer so choso has to tear his eyes away from the swell of your chest and back to somewhere more polite and acceptable. think, choso, think of something smart to say. something that isn't sleazy, and something that hasn't been concocted by the heat throbbing and pumping straight outta' his cock.

but there's some awful lag between his brain and his tongue, and choso can only let the crimson flush build up, painting the back of his neck awash. watching as you snicker, knowing that the half-curse is practically one touch away from trembling in your hold. well, you can truly give him something to quiver about now.

"had a rough day, is all," choso rasps, and he doesn't even seem to be aware of how his vocal cords have turned to a husky granite. loose strands of chestnut-dark hair falling over his eyes as his pink tongue comes out to moisten his lips, mind whirring on how to turn this loss of composure into a win, "uh, it really sucked, you could say. mhm, i guess that's how i'd describe it."

you're already seated between his knees, head gently leaning against the broad muscles of his thighs. hands already pawing at the loose waistband of his ivory martial pants. unimpressed eyes blinking up at him, "what did i say about bad puns, cho?"

"that they're no good," choso murmurs, doing his best not to shudder as your nails lightly skim over the thatch of dark curls past his hips. but because he truly can't help himself, he has to add on, "that they blow."

he's really a natural born comedian, choso thinks to himself, it's just a shame that no-one else can really see past the gloom and doom to appreciate his natural wit.

you're pressing a gentle kiss to the base of thick shaft, and choso has to muffle a loud groan to prevent himself from coming undone already. fuck, he was far more sensitive than he anticipated but how could he not be? when you're proving personal love and care to each thick, throbbing vein that spirals up his cock?

choso shuffles in his seat, muscles already twinging as he parts his thighs. giving you more room to giggle and slot yourself into that gap, allowing you to firmly reach for his shaft and giving it a firm one, two! pump. already managing to pull out slick beads of translucent precum from the pink slit.

"sooo, how's that feel, baby?" your tongue barely brushing against the tip of his cock, applying the most gentle and teasing pressure that makes choso press his lips together firmly. your mouth parting to try and take as much of him as possible past your lips.

"g-good, real good," choso breathes out, tawny eyes already reaching skywards to thank the heavens for bestowing this upon him. he's panting, hands flailing in the air to clutch at the air, then at the thin material of the seat before settling at your scalp.

but he's gentle with it, determined to not apply too much pressure, to not delivery any sharp stings of pain. not when you've lavishing him with such attention, your fingertips now resting on his bare thighs as your mouth steadily bobs and releases with a sticky pop! each time you pull back.

and god, choso's entirely obsessed with how you press against the underside of his cock with a lil' more firm pressure. laving right up against the girthy veins in a way that makes his muscled abdomen tense and flex with each new wave of pleasure.

"m-my love?" choso's eyes are shut now, dark lashes fluttering against splotched skin as he feels something creeping up on him. he's sensitive, so sensitive now and each caress of your loving mouth has his thighs shaking, "i think 'm gonna, hah, i'm 'bout to — what the fuck?"

choso does pride himself on being an exemplary role model and a high standing member of whichever society will have him, so he doesn't actually curse quite often. but this situation entirely calls for it, and he can only swing his hazy eyes open to blink down at you. dumbfounded as you're already smiling like a minx. pulling yourself up, and up and —

oh. well, choso's never been one to complain. not when you're gently positioning his large hands against the ties of the robes, nudging him to pull the linen off so your bare skin can be lavished by him. a gentle kiss being pressed to his bite-stung lips, "wanted you to cum in me, silly."

[typhoonquixol]

What do you mean they can see everything?

Tim: Jason. You have your tumblr profile set to public. People can see who you follow, and what you've liked.

Jason: No.

Tim: Yes.

Jason: So then everyone can see...?

Tim: Yes.

Jason: How many people know about my account.

Tim (smiling wickedly): Enough.

Jason: How to I make it private?

Tim: Why would I tell you that?

Jason glares at Tim with the hatred of a thousand suns.

Jason: Even if I deleted the account you'd recreate it by hand wouldn't you?

Tim: yep.

Jason, hands clasped together, leaning forward: I will pay you.

Tim: I could take over Wayne and Queen industries in a week if I wanted to, money doesn't matter to me.

Jason: Then what do you want?

Tim reaches behind the couch and picks up a black motorcycle helmet. He'd planned this interaction. Sonofa-

Jason: No.

Tim: no? Alright... Damien is going to love scrolling through so many-

Jason: FINE. Fine. Fine. You can use my bike.

Jason digs into one of his dozen breast pockets, pulls out his keys, and tosses it to Tim.

Tim: Cool. I'll give it back Friday night after I take Bernard out. You have until then to delete the account or set it to private.

Jason: Can't you just... hack the likes away?

Tim: That many? Not a chance. So either suck it up or delete it.

Tim walks away, satisfied and looking forward to driving the infamous Red Hoods bike into a brick wall.

Jason watches him go with pure hatred and respect. He opens his phone and checks. Sure enough he can see other peoples likes. He flicks back to his page and scrolls through his likes. 10,000 in just one month. How long had he stared at his phone on patrol?

He was never going to understand technology again was he...

Tim walks Bernard out of his apartment, promising him something really special. They finally get outside to the curb and Tim dramatically points to... nothing.

Bernard: Uh, cool. So are we walking to the surprise?

Tim: I left it right there what hap- I need to check Tumblr.

Bernard: Tumblr?

Tim: Yes.

Tim opens his phone and looks at Jason's page. He's posted a photo of himself driving in the middle of the street laughing like a maniac.

It is then followed by re-posts of several cutesy photos of animals hugging each other. Specifically of wolfs curled around their cubs, carrying them by their scruffs, and so on. Damian has already commented on seventeen, demanding why Todd would hide this from him.

Tim: That petty little...

Bernard: So what was the plan?

Tim: I blackmailed my brother into giving me his bike but he chose to expose the himself rather than let me use it.

Bernard: You mean that brother?

The six foot tall brick house that is Jason Todd appears behind Tim and slaps his brothers shoulder.

Jason: I said you could use my bike little bro. Not which one.

Jason sweeps his arm towards a vintage 1983 Honda Shadow he'd parked a few spots down.

Tim: Your kidding.

Jason: I'm not

Jason, leaning in closely to whisper: Because I know you wouldn't dare crash this one.

Jason, loudly chuckling: Have fun on your date. See you Bernard

Bernard: See you Jay.

Jason walks off cackling. He gets a ping on his phone. It's Grayson.

Grayson: Why didn't you tell me you liked wolves??? I could have been sending you wolf memes daily.

This is then followed by a tidal wave of adorable wolves.

Grayson: See? See i can give you memes. Jason let me make you happy!!!

Jason already regrets his decision.

[amarriageoftrueminds]

The problem with all this is of course that it straight up ignores what Sebastian Stan said: that, of course, he doesn't remember them.

(And even if he weren't lying, what does 'remember' even mean in that context, to Bucky? Because it could mean remember as in memorialise or honour. Like Bucky means he intends to memorialise them all, not that he literally does recall them all. And, as Seb also pointed out, how would Bucky even know that he remembers them all, if he can't remember what he doesn't know?)

I take Seb Stan's word over whatever Spellman or whoever comes out with; he knows the character better than them and it was him playing that beat!

(I don't regard tie-in books as canon either because they're not the canon films and frankly I don't trust whoever writes those for Disney to do a competent job. (Yeah they can go in depth but they can also take things at superficial face value, without thinking -- like that line from CACW about remembering all of them, as mentioned in that book excerpt up there.) Likewise, whatever the real-life state of neuroscience is and how that would affect Bucky's brain if they were following those rules isn't relevant, IMO, because the MCU writers aren't putting that much thought into how they portray Bucky's memories! This is Markus & McFeeley and Spellman under Feige's interference. They aren't working that hard. They're not that conscientious!)

It's also treating the fact that TFATWS said Bucky remembers missions as solid canon when:

a) the people 'writing' that didn't give a shit about characterisation consistency and have been very open about the fact that they didn't even bother to watch the movies Bucky's in. 😒

So whatever their 'take' on Bucky's memories is, we can pretty definitely state that it's incorrect = most likely to be completely wrong and diametrically opposite to canon, as you'd expect from someone who doesn't even know what Bucky's canon is. (All they care about is that "he" killed people.)

Textbook example of this 'getting Bucky exactly 100% wrong': that line from Spellman there about Bucky having a piece of the Winter Soldier inside him and that means he's an awful person.

That's complete bullshit and an exact misunderstanding of what the WS is.

The WS is NOT a monster lurking inside Bucky, not even a piece, because the WS was the complete absence of Bucky's personality, of any humanity at all. As blank as an Iron Man suit.

So he's not a dark hidden Jekyll-and-Hyde piece of Bucky's psyche that was always waiting to come out, (as the show posits), like the Hulk is to Bruce. In fact, the Winter Soldier is the exact opposite of that (ie. a monster with a good man inside). He's more like an Iron Man suit that is being remotely controlled, that Bucky has been locked inside and has no control over.

The show creators have stupidly taken that one single line from CACW at face value, ignoring everything else, (I get the feeling they're Tony stans tbh), and fixated on it as 'proof' of Bucky's innate buried villainy that he needs to grovel about.

If this is the sort of rubbish they mistakenly believe to be true about Bucky, we can certainly discount whatever else they say about his memories. In fact, if it's the writers of TFATWS who said X, I can't think of a stronger argument in favour of the opposite! 😬

.

b) the events of TFATWS also happen years and years after Bucky is in the situation where he, eg. wakes up from being triggered and doesn't remember what he just did as the Winter Soldier and has to ask Sam and Steve, lied to Tony, etc.

It might be that Bucky has, since treatment in Wakanda, reacquired all his missing memories. Which sucks for him.

The state of his memory is not a monolith that has always stayed the same and has not altered: just because his memory seems to be in a certain state in TFATWS, that doesn't mean it was in the same back in CACW days.

Watsonian explanation: this shoddy characterisation from TFATWS could mean that Bucky was lying to Tony when he said he remembered the mission to kill his parents.

That could've been completely untrue at the time Bucky said it, but has since become true only because Bucky has recovered more memory -- as a result of receiving bad writing proper treatment, longer to heal, etc.

Another HUGE thing people always totally ignore about that scene in CACW:

Bucky has just watched a friggin' video tape of his mission!

I imagine that's not standard Hydra procedure, to show him tapes of his own performance!

So even if 'I remember all of them' is resigned-abuse-victim bullshit to goad Tony, it's possible Bucky has literally just seconds ago recalled the Starks for the first time ever... because Zemo just reminded him!

Oh! Another detail:

Think about the way we see the story of the Starks' murders sequentially, throughout CACW.

In fractured pieces, bit by bit.

Whose POV are those scenes supposed to be coming from?

I think it's Bucky's.

(ie. it's what Bucky can remember of that story at the moment -- ie. just being taken out of cryo, put in the chair and given a mission… but not what the mission itself was.)

And we don't see what the end of that little mystery is until Bucky himself sees the video, which completes the missing puzzle for him?

So it still seems to me that Bucky remembered the inbetween-missions things?

IE. He clearly remembers procedures.

In CATWS we see him preparing to open his mouth to have a mouth-guard put in, before he is asked to, and leaning back into the chair before it reclines. And in CACW he doesn't look surprised by anything that is happening to him while he's in the Siberian base, in the chair, etc.

So he knows what happens to him when he's back at Hydra HQ (and where HQ is) and doesn't need to be re-taught it every time.

Similarly, all the brain damage aimed at his pre-Hydra memories hasn't destroyed his ability to shoot, which Bucky acquired during WWII, not under Hydra. Bucky still has the skills he got in the chunks of memory Hydra are targeting hardest of all (ie. his personality-forming years).

As per CATWS he also speaks Russian, a language Bucky canonically is not shown having any knowledge of pre-Hydra. So skills acquired during Hydra time are also retained, despite the fact that they're damaging his brain repeatedly all the time, including wiping him of Hydra periods of time.

He's like Jason Bourne; he can do things without remembering when he learned how to!

This may be impossible in real-life brain damage terms, but I think MCU canon looks like Bucky doesn't remember missions for most of his screentime (up until TFATWS started ineptly fannying about with his backstory), but does remember the in-between missions bits necessary for the efficient handling and wiping of of the WS.

(In CATWS they treat it as risky to keep him out of cryo for too long between wipes, that he'll become erratic and start attacking technicians, as his memories start to regrow. But despite this, 'erratic' Bucky -- who is asking questions! and speaking English! -- is still retaining knowledge of being wiped and how he has to behave... even when he can't remember meeting Steve earlier on in the same week.)

Maybe it's repetition that's the key?

He remembers skills learned, and being given mission briefings, and what is done to him, over and over and over again, because that's all repetitive...

but he can't recall missions because they're one-offs? No new skills acquired?

(And his missions have no emotional impact because... the WS doesn't have emotions. Only Bucky Barnes can look back in horror.)

It's curious that Zemo tries to trigger Bucky and then command him. But Zemo isn't Hydra. He's not official. I think that's why there was that chaos in the room, when Sam and Steve got to where Zemo was and found the WS out of his cage.

I think the WS attacked Zemo once he realised this wasn't an official Hydra handler & this wasn't a proper Hydra procedure.

(Also curious that Sam and Steve have him sitting down, in restraints, which also mimics a Hydra procedure set-up. Maybe that helped Bucky's recall too? 🤔)

As you said, Bucky was able to recall what Zemo asked him about because Bucky hadn't been wiped.

Likewise, maybe he can recall fighting other WSs either because Zemo told him about them, AND/or because he was 'ordered' to remember it (if you think about it, that's a very very unusual order for someone to give him!)

And... fighting the WSs wasn't an official off-base-assassinating mission, it was standard 'training in between missions' stuff. Plus the other WSs skill set is intel the WS would need to retain about his colleagues in order to function as a team, if Hydra intended to send them out on missions together.

It's repetitious skill acquisition and mission-critical intel, so it's necessary that the WS be allowed to recall it? 🤔

Another possibility: Bucky had been KO'd just before he recounts things about the other WSs and what Zemo asked about, to Sam and Steve.

Maybe that head wound shook up his brain status quo too?

(Magical fairytale thinking: maybe it's also different because it's Steve...

He was able to break through Bucky's conditioning with the Power of Twu Wuv in CATWS, so maybe the fact that it's Steve who gave Bucky the head wound by dropping a helicopter on him that shakes loose some more marbles? 🥰)

You could posit that Bucky does usually remember all his missions and procedures, and it's the head wound (acting like a mini-wipe) that prevents him doing so immediately after waking up to Sam and Steve.... except that Bucky consistently displays this post-wipe amnesia of missions, more than once (ie. doesn't remember Nat even after years of healing... doesn't remember previous missions after wipes in the same week in CATWS, more than once, etc.)

And this is including times when he hasn't just received a head wound / been KO'd / had any other head trauma equalling or approximating a wipe before becoming WS.

IE. in CACW he fights Steve exactly as if he doesn't remember him at all, when we know that isn't the case. Once he wakes up, the WS is always a blank slate.

...That's an interesting distinction, actually:

what does Bucky remember, and what does the Winter Soldier remember?

Because, even after years of Bucky's brain healing, and even though he hasn't been 'wiped' of Steve since CATWS, once activated by Zemo ... the WS doesn't remember Steve.

But Bucky does.

Maybe that's the crucial distinction:

Bucky can recall missions, but the Winter Soldier can't?

(The WS wouldn't see missions as emotionally significant, things that stick in the memory, because he is emotionally stunted, and these people don't mean anything to him ... no more than the Nazis Bucky shot during the war. (Despite subsequent attempts to whitewash Howard (because of his Hydra connections), he and Bucky were not friends in any way in the main MCU; they're never even shown meeting!) So Steve breaks the pattern because his is the first and only time the WS has been sent after someone who actually matters to him emotionally.)

So he only recalls procedures? 🤔 And he can only recall missions, by -- much later on down the road -- becoming Bucky Barnes once again?

(I mean, the Doylist explanation here is that the writers are just shoddy and inconsistent even within the same movie. (IE. The WS being blank again in CACW to me smacks more of 'oops we forgot he's supposed to be electrocuted for that memory-wipe to happen.')

But hey, we have to work with what we've got here! 😖)

In any case, I'm sticking by what SebStan said because he's the Bucky expert: if he said Bucky specifically didn't remember the Starks, at the time he said that to Tony, then I believe him. (And if that later changed because Bucky healed, well that still doesn't contradict what SebStan said!)

“That line was an interesting moment. At the time, the choice I was making is that [Bucky] had realized there was no way he was getting out of there, and someone was gonna die, whether it was gonna be him, Steve or Tony. When he says that line, to me, it was a turning point — he was, like, ‘Okay, I know what you want me to say, and I’m just gonna say it.’ When someone comes at you over and over again, and they can’t hear you, they can’t see you’re pleading with them, you’re trying to figure out how to get through to them and they just won’t accept it, at some point you just give in, and you go, ‘that’s right, that’s what you want.’ Of course [Bucky] didn’t remember them all.” —  Sebastian Stan

[baphometsss]

Solas repeatedly explains that things are not so black and white and the fandom's response to the nature of his relationships with Mythal and Felassan etc are weirdly reminiscent of what he finds frustrating about modern Thedas.

He explains repeatedly that the distinction between spirit and demon is not that black and white, that there's always an element of choice involved. Likewise, he cannot be so easily defined as wisdom or pride. He is a mix of both and will lean into one or the other depending on how he is perceived. Over and over again he tries to make people see that it's our expectations that create the dynamics of our relationships and therefore how we perceive others. If we respect others in the way they would like to be respected, you can come closer to an authentic and equal partnership.

Likewise, he says that he is not defined by his body, a point Trick said came from their own thoughts around their gender and figuring out that they were nonbinary. Solas chose a male body, seemingly because he had to choose one, not necessarily because he felt like a man. In fact he repeatedly explains that he sees himself as a spirit i.e. genderless

The romance or friendship with the Inquisitor is special because it is the first time that he's branching out of his comfort zone of bonding like a spirit bonds (reflecting) and trying to bond like a person does instead (meeting them on their level, sharing his heart with them and being vulnerable). This is why one of my favourite lines from him is 'You are unique. In all Thedas I never expected to find someone who could draw my attention from the Fade. You have become important to me.' This is the first time he has fallen in love, the first time he has actually relished being a person and not a spirit, because he's able to be with Lavellan this way. He can't fall in love as a spirit as spirits don't bond that way, as is repeatedly stated throughout his story. I personally think the relationships he forged before Inquisition were all done using the attachment style of spirits, which is apparently quite abstract, and not as a man, which is more understandable to mortals and us, the player.

What's especially pertinent about this is that says this line right before he's about to abandon his plan to tear down the Veil by telling the Inquisitor the truth, a plan that symbolises his attachment to his spirit-self and the world he inadvertently destroyed. Once he does that, there's no coming back; likewise, once you take a body, you cannot go back. When you fall in love in a way that makes all the parts of you line up perfectly for the first time, you can't go back.

What is so beautiful to me about Solas's love story with Lavellan is that we witness Solas in a chrysalis state between spirithood and personhood, past and present (and future), on the precipice of metamorphosis. At the very moment he's about to take that final leap like The Fool his romance card is based on, he backs out, because of guilt, trauma, grief, duty and the rest.

Even with a befriended Inquisitor, he bonds with them on their level. He doesn't try to elevate them to his level; he comes to theirs. He is the opposite of Pride in their friendship, which is why he respects them. They allow him to be himself.

It's because of this change in nature that I think Solas and Lavellan's love story is so compelling--Solas's world quite literally changes when he falls in love, as he states multiple times, in various ways. I mean, look at the way he needs time to think about a potential relationship with Lavellan. He probably knows that it's a bad idea, but at this point he has no idea how much of a bad idea it is with respect to his plans because he has no idea that it will make him want to give it up. If he had, he never would've entertained the idea of a relationship. His romance card in Veilguard explains that he didn't know what it would mean to fall in love, because he's never actually been in love. He has loved countless friends and companions, like Mythal and Felassan, but he has not fallen for someone like he falls for a romanced Lavellan; Lavellan, who is deified like he was deified, who sees him for who he is (as much as they can) and doesn't shun him or punish him for not doing as he was told like a good lapdog.

Once again there's more of the irony that pervades Solas's story at every turn. It's in falling for a mortal that Solas becomes a more complete person, more of the man he says he is and not the god others have revered him as. That is the deepest change of all and the one that reflects his earlier statements on the delineation between spirit and demon not being so black and white, and involving a level of choice. Solas chooses to be more of a man in a similar way to how Cole chooses to become more human. He knows deep down that he's already in too deep to stop, and this is why, despite knowing he has a job to do and a duty to fulfil, he leaves clues for the Inquisition to follow him. Because he's already gone too far, and now he can't go back, and deep down he wants to be stopped, like Varric said. Solas, as a former spirit, doesn't simply feel love, he embodies it, and so he is helpless to that emotion. Of course he left clues.

Because that is what falling in love meant for Solas. It meant going into that chrysalis state and emerging as a totally new being with an experience that is quite far removed from his spirit self and all the limitations that come with that. Mythal and Felassan etc predate this experience, they're intrinsically tied to his nature as a spirit and then as a manifested spirit. While he loved them, that love was tangled up with a simpler nature, and the love he shares with Lavellan is coming from a totally new place. For that reason, the two can't really be compared.

[halliejaade]

please please 🙏🏻 can we get a jealous joaquin torres fic

One jealous Joaquín coming right up! This is gonna take place in the Edelweiss universe because I'm already in love with the dynamic there lol. Hope that's okay!! This takes place right before you leave for college (:

"Are you sure this color looks okay on me?"

Your mother laughs softly, and smooths your hair down. "Yes, honey. Logan will love it. Won't he, Joaquín?"

His silence frightens you.

You turn to him expectantly, only to find a sour look on his face.

Well, that was different.

"If Joaquín doesn't like it, Logan won't either," You say exasperatedly. "I'm gonna have to change. Again!"

Maria groans from the corner of your room, "Please, for the love of God, don't do that."

"He's going to think I look frumpy or something!"

"No he won't, Y/n, you look great."

"No, I-"

Joaquín stands a loud sigh escaping his lips as he scrubs his hands up and down his face. "I like your outfit, alright? Don't change again."

His tone catches you off guard. He has never so much as raised his voice at you in the years that you've been friends, so this knocks you off kilter, to say the least. "What's with the attitude?"

He plays with a loose thread at the bottom of his T-shirt, and shakes his head. "I'm totally fine, I dunno what you're talking about."

You squint at him.

He scrunches his nose back at you.

"Whatever, grumpy," You sigh. "Logan's going to be here any minute. Are you sure my outfit looks alright?"

Maria jokingly knocks her head against the wall a couple of times. "If you say that one more time, I'm going to scream. You look great, hot even. He's gonna be blown away."

Joaquín huffs, crossing his arms.

Before you can get a chance to say something, Maria turns, "And you! Quit being an ass."

"I'm not being an ass, I'm just worried he's not going to be gentlemanly-"

Honking comes from outside. You half-yelp, half-screech, as you look outside and find that Logan's car is sitting in front of your house. "He's here!"

Joaquín rolls his eyes, another huff leaving his lips. "He can't even come to the front door to get you? He just comes here and honks at you? Where did you find this guy?"

You glare at your best friend, before grabbing your bag and shoes. "Relax, Joaquín."

You check your hair and makeup once more before leaving, a rush of adrenaline racing through you as you approach Logan's car. The last date you'd been on was back in high school, and that hadn't been much of a date. It was ice cream, and you had both been too shy to say much to one another. A friend you had through dance knew Logan, and had set the two of you up.

You always held onto the hope that Joaquín might like you, but you couldn't just sit around and wait until you were old and frail and hadn't had any fun. So you told her to give him your number, and he has asked after a week of talking if you wanted to go on a date.

Logan is sweet. He's thoughtful, and kind, and he pays for your dinner. He pulls your chair out, and holds the door open for you as you leave the restaurant.

One date turns into two, then three, then four, and somewhere, along the way, you become official with Logan. You're unsure of if you're in love with him, but you can say pretty certainly that you care pretty deeply for him. He's the type of guy that is easy to get along with, easy to picture marrying and creating a life with.

After six months of dating, you become quite comfortable with the idea of a long term relationship with him.

On a Friday night in late December, you find yourself squeezed on the couch between Joaquín and Maria. It's a big couch, but somehow the three of you have managed to sardine yourselves into the corner, with Joaquín's shoulder pressed against yours. You were hoping to see Logan on your winter break from school, but lately he has been elusive.

"This movie is so cheesy," Joaquín snickers, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

"It's sweet," You retort. "They're in love and won't admit it. When they finally do it's going to be so cute."

He side eyes you, and sends you a playful smirk. "You're such a romantic."

You laugh softly, "Yeah, yeah. Sue me for loving love."

Your phone chimes loudly then, indicating a phone call. "Hand me my phone, please?" You say to Maria, who grabs your phone from the coffee table.

It's Logan.

You don't bother to move from the couch, thinking that whatever he's calling you for won't last long and that it'll be just a quick goodnight call.

"Hey!" You chirp.

Joaquín shifts beside you, fiddling with his fingers.

"Hi, baby," Logan says. "I had a bad day, mind if I tell you a little about it?"

"Yeah, sure. I'm just watching a movie right now."

Logan launches into a story about how he got into trouble at his internship for taking too long of lunch breaks. "It was kind of embarrassing, you know? We kind of got yelled at in front of the whole office."

You shake your head, although he can't see you. "I'm sorry."

There's a beat of silence, "Yeah, I got into quite a bit of trouble."

You take a deep breath, and maybe you're overanalyzing things but...

"You said 'we'."

"Huh?"

"Oh, I don't know. You said 'we got in trouble', but then you backpedaled and said that only you did?"

You're not sure why, but dread crawls through the hollow parts of your bones.

Logan laughs, "Oh..yeah. Angie's been going to lunch with me."

You swallow, and flick a piece of popcorn from your lap. "Oh."

"Don't make this into a thing. She's just a friend."

You don't like how defensive he's being. "I didn't even say anything."

Maria shifts, and mouths, 'Everything okay?'

You wave her off.

"Babe."

"Yeah?"

There's a long pause that makes your stomach queasy.

Logan sighs, and the sound makes tears jump to your eyes. You don't know why you're reacting like this. "I...it's been difficult with you in New York."

"It's been difficult for me, too."

"No, you don't understand. Men have needs, honey, and Angie-"

You cut him off, your heart pumping wildly in your chest. "You slept with her?!"

There's another pause that tells you everything you need to know.

You shudder, trying to remain calm as a tear streaks down your cheek. Joaquín places a hand on your shoulder, turning you to him.

"Give me your phone," He commands quietly. Your chin wobbles as you breathe deeply. "I just want to have a word with him. Please."

You hand Joaquín your phone, feeling the weight of the phone call as you pass it to him. He smiles reassuringly at you, before dipping down and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Be right back."

Joaquín steps outside, and although you can't exactly hear what he's saying, you can hear the volume in which he's saying it, and he sounds angry.

Maria does her best to calm you down as everything settles in, as you finally realize that, yes, this is real life, and your world has just been flipped upside down. When Joaquín finally slips back inside, your head is resting against Maria's shoulder, sobs wracking through your chest.

"Hey," Joaquín says softly, he sits down beside you, and takes you from Maria. He gathers you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. "I don't think he's gonna bother you anymore."

You sniffle into his green shirt, "What did you say?"

Joaquín's chin presses against the top of your head, "It wasn't polite, and I am in the company of ladies so I can't repeat it."

"Thank you," You breathe. He squeezes you tighter against him, and leans back against the couch.

"Go get her a glass of water, Maria," He says, shooing her into the kitchen. He gently traces a finger up and down your spine, his breathing lulling you back into a sense of calm.

"I'd do anything for you, boots."

You shift, curling up against him. "You're my bestest friend. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Another kiss is pressed to your head. "You're never going to have to find out. I promise."

[dreamsteddie]

Can't Take My Eyes Off You

Written for the @stmarchmm day one prompt “courting rituals” | Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Courting Rituals, Alpha Eddie Munson, Omega Steve Harrington - Also on Ao3

Bat divider -@popmilky | Diamond divider - @inklore

Eddie knows he doesn’t have much going for him in terms of mating material.

Despite presenting as an Alpha early at age twelve, something that should have given him some kind of status in a town like Hawkins, there’s always been something about him that makes people turn their noses up at him, close doors in his face. He’s kind of wishy-washy when it comes to the things he’s not passionate about, he smells like wet pavement and cigarette smoke, and can’t for the life of him seem to graduate high school.

He also can’t grow a beard, can’t remember to separate the darks from the lights, can’t tie his shoes without using the bunny ears method, can’t hop in place and rub his tummy, can’t- 

Well the point is, there are a lot of “can’t”s in his life and never a whole lot of “can”s

The one thing Eddie can do without a shadow of a doubt is pursue delusions of grandeur with a single-minded determination. No matter how hard this shit-hole town and all its designation-obsessed inhabitants have tried to beat him into the dirt over the years, he’s never let go of his dreams. Some day, he’s going to play songs for the entire goddamn planet, making millions of dollars off lyrics inspired by all the games and books that have gotten his head shoved in the Hawkin’s High toilets over the years, and Mayor Kline will have to give him a key to the city while Eddie Munson, town freak, gives him the middle finger.

And, if all the stars align and the Big Guy upstairs he doesn’t believe in does him several solids, he’ll be doing it with Steve Harrington standing by his side.

The guys think he’s crazy—Eddie thinks he’s crazy—but Eddie is determined to give his all into courting Steve Harrington before their shared senior year ends. He’s, by and large, the most eligible Omega in all of Hawkins, even with his recent breakup with Nancy Wheeler under his belt. No amount of ditching the popular crowd, adopting a bunch of children, and becoming best friends with band geek Robin Buckley has been enough to deter the Alphas of Hawkins High, even if some of them won’t admit it.

Eddie takes great pleasure in watching every failed courting offer. Steve has always been picky about who he lets take him out, but he hasn’t taken up a single Alpha’s offer since Nancy and the rejections are getting more brutal by the day. Eddie suspects it’s Robin’s influence and if that is the case he needs to thank her profusely because Eddie goes a little weak in the knees every time he sees Steve literally turn up his perfect nose at an offer.

So, the odds aren’t looking good. Steve is picky and Eddie is famously a poor, nobody freak, not the kind of guy with the resources to properly woo a guy like Steve, but what Eddie does have is a lot of passion and a strong desire to prove himself. 

So Eddie has a capital P Plan.

“Hey Buckley,” Eddie says sliding up to the girl where she’s packing up at the bleachers after practice. She gives him a scrutinizing look and clearly finds him lacking, squinting her eyes at him like he’s a little bug landed on her shoulder. Irritating and suspicious. Which, rude. “I was wondering if a fine lady like yourself would happen to know what one Steve Harrington might be hoping for in a courting” Robin clearly wasn’t expecting him to come right out and ask, her blue eyes going wide.

“What the fuck, Munson!” She crows, clearly embarrassed by his lack of tact.

“What!?” He fires back, not understanding what the big deal is. He wants to court Steve and Robin is the best source of information on how to go about it.

“You can’t just ask that, you doofus,” she hisses, lavender scent going smokey like brush fire.

“Why not? I want to court him, like, publicly. Everyone’s gonna know in a couple weeks anyway. Shouldn’t you be glad you’re the first to know?” He huffs. He knows it’s not exactly the done thing to go around telling people you’re going to court someone. You’re supposed to be delicate. Hint at it and build up little courting gifts and don’t look anyone in the eye. It’s dumb as hell and Eddie wants no part of it. Besides, so far as Eddie has seen, that method hasn’t worked on Steve anyway. Eddie may as well go about this in his own way, which includes getting insider information.

Still clearly not impressed, Robin says “You? You want to court Steve? Resident anti-conformist, jock-hating, Eddie Munson wants to court Steve Harrington. Why?” Her tone is clearly disbelieving, which, again, rude.

“Uh, I mean, have you seen him with those kids? He’s wicked hot with that whole mom thing he’s got going on.” At that, Robin gags. “And, I mean, I know he’s a jock but he’s also an Omega and he pretty much said fuck it to Hawkin’s High when he presented and refused to give up his position as captain. That was super fucking metal,” he says all earnest.

“And I like the way he smells, like a fresh cinnamon roll. And we shared an English class once and he asked me about the doodle of a Beholder I worked on instead of taking notes. And I know I’m not exactly a prime Alpha but I don’t think that really matters. At least not to me. I want to kiss him and make sweet love to him and have babies with him and -” Robin cuts him off with a hand over his mouth.

“Ok, I get it. You like him.” She says that, but she’s still looking at him like she can’t figure him out. “Alright…I don’t know if I like you Eddie but I’ll throw you a bone. Just one, got it? And if you fuck it up, I’m not helping you again.” She says, waiting for him to nod before removing her hand from his mouth.

Eddie takes a deep, overdramatic breath in like he’s just breached water. “Got it.”

Robin takes a deep breath of her own. “Steve’s been propositioned for courting 19 times since he presented and he’s only said yes to one. One-off dates not included.” She hasn’t stopped looking him straight in the eye, making sure he pays attention. “Nancy gave him a set of handwritten notes for history because she noticed he was struggling. All the other Alphas got him fancy jewelry, useless house stuff, and generic valentine's day crap.” With that, she gives him one last, long look before grabbing her trumpet and leaving, the sound of metal clanging under her feet following in her wake.

“Thanks, Buckey!” He calls out, waving his hand wildly at her retreating back. She ignores him.

Well, no matter. He’s got a courting to plan.

The thing about courting when you have $3.45 to your name after rent and gas is that you have to get creative. Which isn’t a problem, Eddie breathes creativity. If he wasn't already “The Freak” he’s sure he would be Eddie “The Creative” Munson. Really, it has a nice ring to it.

The problem comes with making something with $3.45 that is also a worthy courting gift for Steve Harrington. Which, given Robin’s tip, might not be as big a concern as he would have thought. But even if Steve would be happy with a heartfelt love letter and those peanut butter brownies Eddie knows he likes, there’s a part of him that wants to blow every other Alpha and Beta that came before him completely out of the water. Maybe especially Nancy Wheeler.

Sue him, he wants to be the best.

Which leaves him with the option of a gesture. Eddie loves a gesture, but this one is going to require some help. Luckily, Eddie knows where every gang of geeks in Hawkin’s makes their dens, even if they’re not his gang of geeks. It comes with being Head Freak. It’s his responsibility, really.

Which is how he finds himself in the Hawkins Middle AV club room being stared down by a bunch of beady-eyed thirteen year olds on the verge of presenting. Jesus, these kids are intense.

“So yeah, that’s what I’m planning,” he finishes explaining. Would it kill them to look a little impressed? He’s pretty proud of it himself. Instead of sharing looks of awe, the six of them share looks of judgement between them, obviously having a silent conversation between them like some kind of hive mind. Eddie will never admit it makes him sweat a little bit.

“You want to ask to court Steve. Steve Harrington?” the tall, skinny one asks like he can’t believe it. Eddie doesn’t know if the disgust is for him or for the Omega. Either way, ouch.

“Yes,” he replies, sweating a little more. They all share more looks, the redhead in particular is looking at him like he’s gum stuck on the bottom of her shoes. 

“Why?” The curly one asks, firm and more seriously than any kid that dorky looking should have any right to speak. Seriously, he looks like a poodle in a Star Wars shirt and a trucker hat. But, Eddie knows enough about Steve to know that these are his kids, his pups, and despite how much it chafes him to have people continually asking why he wants to court Steve, like it isn’t obvious, he knows these pups are just looking out for their pack Omega.

With a deep sigh, Eddie explains for the second time in less than a week, everything he loves about Steve Harrington. At the end of his speech, the pups stare at him for a long moment before simultaneously turning their back on him to form an honest to God huddle. Seriously, the hive mind thing is looking more and more likely. Maybe he should use this for a campaign. Very Children of the Corn.

While Eddie is lost in his musing, they seem to come to some kind of conclusion, breaking up and returning to one solid, unbreakable line. It’s the other girl, hair short and at that awkward growing out length that Eddie knows all too well that steps forward. All these kids are intense, but there’s something especially severe about her, something Eddie only half recognizes.

“We will help you,” she says, quiet and solemn. 

This is going to fucking fantastic, Eddie thinks, wild grin splitting across his face.

It’s embarrassingly easy to sneak a band of six middle schoolers and one elementary schooler into the school after hours. The kids met him outside the building just at exactly 4:00 PM the Friday after their meeting in the AV room just as they planned. The addition of the feisty ten year old was unexpected, but she proved herself invaluable in charming the one teacher that stopped them on their way to the radio room, spinning some tale about being so excited for higher learning that they wanted to explore the high school. Eddie thinks Erica Sinclair should run the world.

The kids are a well oiled, if slightly annoying, machine. As soon as Eddie pops the door open they’re getting to work figuring out how the PA system works and how long the range is. Dustin and Lucas insist that they move the entire unit closer to the field, and Max and Will are quick to source a cart for the whole thing. In record time they’re all piling into the coaches office, the one with a clear view of the basketball court where the team is running their Friday drills. Honestly, it feels a little like they’re highjacking Eddie’s plan, but the smiles on their face and their puppy sweet excitement softens the blow a little.

“You ready?” The curly haired one, Dustin, asks while offering him the mic.

“I was born for this, Dusty,” he says, snatching the mic out of his hand and taking his place outside the main gym doors.

Despite what he said, Eddie is nervous. He shakes his hands and bounces in place, trying to shake it off. Before he’s ready, he hears the slightly crackly jazzy intro pouring through the speakers. He counts his beats, waiting for his que. He spent hours planning this, recording the background music with the band, turning the lyrics over and over in his head, even practicing his grand entrance. He’s as ready as he can be.

God, he hopes this works.

And there’s his que, that little pause in the music just enough time for him to push open the doors to the main gym with all his strength, relishing in the dramatic banging sound.

All eyes are on him. Steve’s eyes are on him.

You're just too good to be true,

Can't take my eyes off of you,

He sings as he walks. All the activity in the gym has come to a halt, everyone too confused and curious to stop it. He’s looking right at Steve, who turns his head like he’s expecting to see someone else behind him. He’s so cute, Eddie wants to eat him alive.

At long last love has arrived,

And I thank God I'm alive,

You're just too good to be true

Eddie knows he doesn’t have a lot of time, any moment now principle Higgins and his one security lackey are going to bust through the doors to find out who stole the announcement equipment. This is the moment, the one that needs to count. Eddie saunters right up to Steve like his heart isn’t trying to beat out of his chest and kneels down like a knight to their king. He takes his hand, and Steve lets him as he sings the next line looking right up into those beautiful hazel eyes.

Can't take my eyes off of you.

He turns the hand in his own over to expose the Omega’s wrist just as the music pauses and presses a soft, lingering kiss to the gland there. A courting kiss.

Almost like he planned it, the doors burst open a second time revealing the fuming face of Principle Higgins and his goon. He turns a manic grin Steve’s way just as the music picks back up, cutting straight to the chorus. He presses one last kiss to Steve’s wrist and takes in the way his pretty, pink lips are parted in disbelief, eyes wide and then he’s running.

I love you baby,

And if it's quite alright,

I need you baby,

To warm the lonely nights

Let it never be said that Eddie Munson, for all the ways he fails to be the ideal Alpha, doesn’t have a hell of a lot of stamina. He’s been a proud runner all his life, and he’s using it to his advantage today to put on a show. He’s singing and he’s running as Higgins and Officer Jerry chase his tail like they have any hope of catching him when he doesn’t want to be caught, when he can see the most beautiful boy in the world laughing at him in disbelief as he ducks and dodges around the court.

But even Eddie has his limits and, like he said, he planned this to a T. He can feel himself running out of breath but he refuses to call it before the climax. He’s stomping his way up the bleachers, making a show of going between the rows dancing like he’s in an old hollywood musical. Higgin’s is closing in, but there’s now way he’s getting caught. Not today. He puts in a burst of speed, leaving them in the dust and putting himself right at the top of the wooden stands, singing directly to Steve who is absolutely glowing on the court.

And let me love you,

Baby let me love you…

The music gives one last swell, the Corroded Coffin of two days ago pouring their heart out for the Eddie of today. The music comes to an abrupt halt, the gym very quickly filling with laughter and applause. The kids are screaming their heads off in the office, loud enough to draw Steve’s attention to where they can be seen through the large window. The joy and disbelief on Steve’s face makes all of this worth it, no matter what happens next.

Eddie wishes he could relish in it longer, but the goon squad is gaining ground fast and he has one last message to give before he hauls ass into the next phase of his plan. He starts inching his way toward the exit, not taking his eyes off Steve as he goes. He needs him to hear this.

“Steve Harrington, it would be the honor of my life to court you with the intention of mating. Meet me at the lake at seven if you’ll hear me out.” And with that, he’s gone. He wishes he could stay to see his reaction, but he’s out of time.

He pushes through the emergency exit to the sound of hollering and clapping, all he can do now is commence with phase two.

Phase two mainly consists of picking everything up from the trailer, changing into his nice clothes, and heading toward Lover’s Lake to set everything up.

Eddie thinks this is the most nerve wracking part of the whole plan. In many ways, the whole big performance was the easy part. Eddie loves to perform, eats up the attention like a cat laps up milk. This, the full bearing of his heart to the Omega he wants to spend his life with, is far scarier than anything else. Here in the back of his van, the paper hearts and pillar candles, hand-picked daisies and hand-made peanut butter brownies, leave him completely exposed.

He wonders if Steve will show up.

He wishes he didn’t set up so god damn early. The waiting is excruciating.

The Alpha paces around, adjusts the blankets on the bottom of the van and then decides they were better before, and checks his watch every half minute like it will make time move faster. He sits and watches the hands turn from 6:59 to 7:00. Maybe Steve won’t come. Maybe this was all for nothing and he’ll have to go back to school on Monday and pretend like he isn’t heartbroken.

His watch continues to tick. 7:03, 7:07, 7:10. He’s getting ready to pick it all back up when he hears the muffled sound of tires on soft dirt. Suddenly, his heart is in his throat as he watches the distinct headlights of his favorite Beamer turn into the clearing.

Eddie scrambles to his feet, he has a plan to carry out.

He watches, heart in his throat as Steve parks. Watches as the door opens and Steve emerges, a sweet, sheepish smile on his face.

“Sorry I’m late.” Steve looks like a dream. He clearly went home and had a shower and a change of clothes. He’s wearing light wash jeans that hug his thighs and a soft looking, deep red sweater, the collar of a white dress shirt peeking out from underneath. He’s dressed up for Eddie.

There’s a long pause where Eddie forgets how to speak and Steve just stands there, clearly waiting for Eddie to make a move. Eddie comes back to himself all at one, shaking his head hard like a dog, making Steve let out a startled laugh. “What the hell?” He asks, not mean, but bemused. 

“My deepest apologies my liege, I was simply stunned by your beauty,” he says with a half bow, extending his arm for Steve to take. “It is my pleasure to welcome you to Cafe Munson, the finest pop up restaurant this side of Indiana.” It’s goofy and a little ridiculous but Steve takes the offered arm with a little smile, sending a pleasant jolt through his body. 

Eddie leads Steve toward the open back of the van, watching him intently as he takes it in. He gets to see as the Omega’s eyes go wide, mouth parting in a little gasp. When he turns to look at Eddie, he’s already looking back. “You did this for me?” He asks, wonder coloring his voice. All of a sudden Eddie feels a little shy, a little sheepish.

“I know it’s not much, I’m not exactly liquid at the moment, but I wanted to do something nice for you,” he says, unoccupied arm reaching up to tug a piece of hair over his mouth. Steve looks at him for a long moment before turning back to the van. There are blankets everywhere, pretty much every one from the house plus a couple he nicked from Gareth’s house after practice. The emergency pillar lights from the pantry give the space a soft glow, paper hearts hang from string from the metal roof, and a repurposed laundry basket full of tupperwares and miller lites sits in the center.

“It’s perfect” Steve says, and Eddie can’t help but believe him. Not when his scent is blooming, cinnamon roll sweet, right under Eddie’s nose.

Eddie leads him to the van, gives him his hand to help him into the back. He takes a moment to take it all in, Steve Harrington settling into a date with Eddie Munson. It’s his biggest dream come true. 

He climbs in after the other boy and starts pulling out tupperwares. Steve has settled in to lean on the wall of pillows Eddie constructed for just this reason, pulling a blanket over the both of them when Eddie settles in next to him. Steve laughs with every overly dramatic introduction he makes for the food, and Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever been this warm. Neither of them brings up why they’re here, the underlying meaning behind it all. They dance around it, laughing about the kids, Steve’s sports and Eddie’s games, the look on Principle Higgin’s face when he burst into the gym earlier that day. The whole place smells like cinnamon and smoke, Eddie doesn’t think there’s a better smell in the whole world.

They don’t say a thing about courting or mating or scents until they polish off their cold pasta, courtesy of Wayne, and Eddie pulls out the last tupperware from the bottom of the laundry basket. “And for dessert, may I have a drumroll please….” Steve rolls his eyes but smiles as he complies, drumming a little beat with fingers on the side of the van. Eddie pulls out the container with a flourish, “The finest peanut butter brownies $3.15 worth of ingredients from Melvald’s can get you.” He expects laughter, maybe some light teasing as Steve has been shown to enjoy throughout the night, but all he gets is silence. 

He worries, for a moment, that he got it wrong. Maybe Steve doesn’t like peanut butter brownies. Jesus H Christ, maybe he’s allergic to peanuts and Eddie has just massively fucked this up. He’s getting ready to spiral and try to fix it when Steve speaks, voice soft in a way Eddie can’t place.

“Those are my favorites,” he says. When Eddie is brave enough to look at his face again, he’s met with wet, adoring eyes. Eddie doesn't know if anyone has ever looked at him like that before. Like he was something magical. Something special just for them.

Eddie clears his throat when Steve doesn’t say anything else. Just keeps staring at him like he’s waiting for something big. “Yeah, yeah I know,” he says, bracing himself for what comes next. “I uh, I saw you buy some at the club fair last year. You bought three of them and then came back for one more before they closed the booth.” It shouldn’t be such a big admission, but it feels like he’s just handed Steve his heart on a silver platter.

“Eddie?” Steve asks, turning toward him fully.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, sitting up so they’re eye to eye.

“What you said, on the basketball court, will you ask me again?” He’s looking at him with so much hope in his eyes, Eddie almost feels like he could choke on it. Instead, he focuses in on the perfect scent of the man next to him, breathes steadily in and out.

“It would be the honor of my life to court you with the intention of mating, Steve Harrington.” As he says it, he reaches into his pocket for his last offering, his hail mary pass, his death saving throw. It’s a silly thing, cost his last 30 cents at the stationary store, but he was listening to Robin on those bleachers that day. Knows that the gesture and the picnic are all well and good, but what Steve has been missing with all those other Alphas is someone who notices the small details and holds them close. Someone who cares about his C+ in History, someone who knows his favorite brownies are swirled with peanut butter.

Someone who notices that he lost his eraser last week and has been meaning to pick up a new one.

Eddie holds out his heart one last time, it’s shaped like a 30 cent eraser. White and covered with a paper band. The best one on the market.

Steve stares at the little eraser like it contains the answers to the universe, and then he’s plucking it, oh so gently, out of his hands and cradling it in his own. Eddie waits, the ball is completely in Steve’s court now, Eddie has played all his cards.

Suddenly, Steve scent starts to bloom, even more than it did when he first saw the van. The smell of sugar, cinnamon, and yeast so strong it makes Eddie feel light headed. Eddie gets a glimpse of the most beautiful smile in the world just before Steve is throwing his arm around his neck, nudging his way into his lap to notch his head right at Eddie’s scent gland. Eddie’s arms instinctually wrap around his back, keeping him close.

“Yes,” Steve says, the sound of it muffled by the soft skin of Eddie’s neck. Eddie squeezes him tight, knows he needs to ask, just to make sure but worried he’s hallucinating. Scared to believe he’s getting everything he’s ever wanted.

“Yes?” He asks, lips trembling where they’ve found their own place at Steve’s neck, wanting to be as close as possible, just in case.

“Yes.” And Steve is pulling back, which Eddie hates, and cupping his face in is hands. “It would be the honor of my life to accept your courting offer, Eddie Munson,” he says, sure and steady and full to the brim of hope.

“Holy shit.” Eddie can’t believe this is happening. Despite all the planing and the performing and the putting his heart on the line he never actually let himself think that this would happen. Never let himself think about how it would end.

Without much though Eddie barrels forward to bury his head back into the Omega’s neck, his Omega’s neck, peppering him with fervent little kisses until Steve is giggling so hard he tips them over into the pile of pillows behind him. Eddie is full to the brim with joy, happier than he’s ever been and all of a sudden he needs to move. Needs to let the whole world know what he’s got in the palm of his hands.

He jolts up with one last kiss to Steve’s cheek, managing a quick “be right back!” before he launching himself out of the van. He hears Steve calling out in confusion, but it quickly turns into more joyous laughter as Eddie steps out of the van and starts jumping in place, punching the air and whooping into the night sky.

“Fuck you Hawkins! I’m courting Steve Harrington! I’m on top of the God Damn world!” He gets in one last double bird in the general direction of Main Street before Steve is calling him back in.

“Ok, you’ve had your moment. Now get your ass back in here and kiss me for real, you dumb Alpha,” he says, laughter still caught in his throat. And really? Who is Eddie do deny a request like that?

So excited for MMM, guys! I won't be doing every day, but I will be doing at lest a couple of full one shots and some of my normal ramblings. (Also, this is the longest thing I've ever written that wasn't an academic paper and I am low key very proud of myself)

[hanniescookie]

too many hobbies - YJH

pairing - jeonghan x f!reader

genre - domestic au, fluff

warnings - use of pet names (baby for reader, hannie for jh), kissing, pure fluff, mentions of mild insecurities, and uhm yeah that's it ig

summary - everyone around you seems to be soaring, traveling and building perfect lives while you're surrounded by the love of your many hobbies that leaves you feeling a little confused at times. luckily, jeonghan is there to not let you feel insecure.

author's note - second fic and i'm sooo nervous even though i've been writing for 7 years already 😭 anyway, this is for the bbangi to my shingi @kissbyoon / baby you deserve all the love 🤍 i'm ltr sharing jeonghan w you so like gimme some love 😔☝🏻

-------------------------**~~**--------------------------

You slump tiredly into your couch for the first time in a while, closing your eyes as the setting sun reflects on your face from the large window. It's not everyday that your energy goes down, but inevitably, there are days like today when you want to isolate yourself from the world just a little bit.

The living room of your apartment is still messy with all the stuff — papers, scissors, crayons, and stationary of all sort — that you were using to make your boyfriend a gift card.

Your eyes scan all the stuff, and most importantly, the pretty purple and white gift card you completed before leaving for the dance studio. It looks meaningless now, not even slightly pretty to your eyes.

All you can think about is how your dance colleagues talked about their life plans a while ago – how their words sent you in a spiral of uncertainty about your own life.

"You all, please pray I pass the audition. Not for another second am I going to waste my time here!"

"You will! Trust yourself. I thought I was going nowhere until I got my job."

"But I have come to terms with the fact that dancing here won't get me anywhere, I'm probably gonna make use of my degree and apply at the law firm."

"Well of course, I just can't sit with my hobby for a lifetime. I'm pushing my age already, so I'm hoping for my promotion."

It isn't like you to ponder over words, but this conversation did make you feel overwhelmed. Maybe you are being sensitive, but seeing everyone else talk about their sorted life makes this mess in your living room a lot suffocating than it is.

You reach out, holding the gift card in your hands and staring at it for a while. It speaks ugly words to you — pointing fingers at you and calling you a loser.

Your fingers involuntarily curl into it, almost about to rip it apart when a pretty voice breaks your reverie.

"Oh my baby!!! Did you make that for me? Show me!"

Jeonghan appears beside you out of nowhere, making you blink at him in surprise as the card is nearly snatched from your hand. The awe on his face makes your heart soften. He reads the card — all silly little messages you had scribbled in there — his contagious smile broadening on his face.

Before you can say anything, he has wrapped you in his arms, squishing you into his large frame. "Why are you soooo sweet? What if I cry?"

You end up smiling against his chest, wrapping your arms around him with a sigh. He has managed to wash away any negative emotions you were facing a while ago so easily. "We all know you're not gonna cry that easily, hannie."

He pulls away just enough to meet your eyes, a constant smile plastered on his lips. "I appreciate that you know me well, but I fear you're not entirely aware of how much I love these little things you do."

Something in your chest flutters as your smile dims slightly, staring at this loveable man and his comforting existence. He didn't even need to give you a whole speech about how it's good that you're on your own pace, and you're doing great in life (he can provide you with words of affirmation if needed) yet you're already feeling like none of people's words matter. Because you're reminded of the fact that you're indeed exactly where you're meant to be, and you'll be where you're meant to be in the future too.

You press a feather-light kiss to his nose, "What little things?"

He grins, returning the gesture with a more firm kiss than yours. "These little gifts you make me. But that's not all I love about you, you know? I love all that you do. Your dance, your impromptu shower singing, those stories you write in your laptop — I love all of it. Never quit on any of your hobbies. They make you, you."

It isn't like you to cry easily as well, but when you feel the sight of your pretty boyfriend blurring a little, you know you have tears in your eyes. He furrows his brows, instant concern spreading all over his features.

His hand cups your cheek softly. "Baby? What's wrong? Did I say something wrong?"

You sniff, and close your eyes for a second so the tear residing there falls past your cheek. Then you shake your head. "Never." You breathe. "You can never say anything wrong, hannie. In fact, you only ever say everything right. Everything to make me feel special."

He doesn't seem convinced given that he still doesn't smile. He just continues to look at you, trying to detect signs of distress. "Baby—"

You giggle a little, moving to wrap your arms around his neck. "Don't worry. I just got a little emotional because of what you said. I'm fine."

"You sure?"

You nod, feeling his thumb wipe at the lone tear that had fallen before he finally breaks into his signature teasing grin. "Who's the one easily crying now?"

You roll your eyes despite the smile on your face, "Stop being so cocky."

"You love it." He grins, kissing you briefly because he couldn't resist it. You hum, and chase his lips the moment he pulls away. He wants to tease, but right now he's going to give you what you want so he smiles and kisses you back.

If it's with Jeonghan and his gravitational comfort, you know you'll get everywhere you want to be in life.

[siriusleee]

beating, twice

↳ 3.8k words

↳ simon has a new heart

↳ author's note: this has been sitting in my google docs since december of last year. so i'm posting it now because i've become stuck and can't figure anything else out with it

The mountains had never appealed to Simon; he preferred the asphalt jungle of London; the glittering beetle eye concrete of New York City. Easier to disappear into, the pulsating feel of the crowds giving him a sense of anonymity. But at discharge, the doctor's told him to take it easy - to enjoy retirement. 

"You're not exactly a young man anymore Mr. Riley," the military doctor said, a silver wedding ring glittering on the back of her clipboard. "You're being medically discharged - you need a plan to keep yourself healthy."

A new identity. A retirement account. A generous do-over to a life filled with one time only regrets. His heart had been grafted over with a piece from a soldier who died in the same blast that nearly killed Simon. He'd told the doctor when he woke up that he could feel it squeezing his heart, but the doctor told Simon that it was just psychosomatic - he knew there was a new piece to his heart and so he felt it. 

It took a year of rehab before they finally got tired of him, and another six of bureaucratic hell before the paperwork was finally processed. 

The relocation specialists asked him where he wanted to live - Simon didn't know what to say. He'd been all over the world, and yet the name of a singular town couldn't crawl towards his lips. 

"You can just point at the map," the specialists had said, fingers twirling a pen. "Some guys do that." So that's what he did - the clock ticking in his ears growing louder and louder as he stood, stupidly, staring at the map on the wall. He tried to count the seconds. How many had passed? Two minutes? Three? His eyes scanned the map, looking for places that he hadn't been to before, places that didn't leave a bad taste in his mouth. 

And then he spotted it - a little dot on the map nestled in the Black Hills. No where he'd even been before, or nowhere he had a memory of. But that graft on his heart squeezed when he saw the name, and before he could think, he was tapping the map with his fingernail. 

"Alright - I'll have you a place in a week."

The compulsion to walk starts the moment the last box is moved in; the pile of boxes pathetically small in the little house the military bought for him. Or maybe it was once a safe house - Simon didn't know and he didn't care. The walls are faded and the porch sagging, but it's a fresh coat of paint on the water stains that have plagued him. Simon can sense the neighbors peering out at him from behind their curtains; they twitch back into place when Simon steps out onto the porch, the wood moaning beneath the weight of his boots. The sky threatens to spit snow onto him; the first snowfall of the year comin' soon the movers had quipped to him. Simon hadn't replied, just grunted as he passed over the two hundred dollars he owed for moving everything in.

The air bites at his exposed face. When was the last time he was exposed like this? When was the last time he was allowed to show his face like this? Something like self-consciousness presses against him, making it hard to breathe until he tugs his hood over his head and he can breathe again.

The grass crunches beneath his feet, curled brown to protect itself from the oncoming storm. He doesn't look at where he's going, just lets his feet take him where they want to go as the sun slips beneath the treetops. The town falls to sleep around him as his boots carve patterns into the concrete. 

The music stops him short. It's entirely out of place on the starlit street - the notes tripping over one another to spill out onto the asphalt with a gentleness that rolls through the darkness. It makes him sick to his stomach with something he can't place, some feeling on the edge of his tongue that he hasn't felt since Johnny's funeral, since he heard gunshots and saw the way Price's hand shook as he shook the hand of Johnny's mother. The absence of something he refuses to name. He's sure he's never heard it before, but it pulls him back to sand beneath his boots and to the hum of Blackhawks above him.

The street is devoid of life; light spills out of the windows and onto the streets, little jewels that hang onto the rough and cracked concrete of the sidewalk. The music is faint- a radio turned down so a conversation can be heard. The entire street is frozen with him, the little flurries that were attempting to collect on the street cracks hang heavy in the air, breathing with him. 

Simon doesn't know how long he stands there, hands in the pocket of his jacket and letting the music wash over him. But it stops eventually, and the entire street lets go of the breath it's been holding; the flurries start to fall again, faster to make up for their pause with Simon. 

It suddenly occurs to him that he must look like a fucking freak, standing there on the sidewalk, David beneath Michelangelo's hands. It takes every bit of strength in his body to keep his boots moving, moving away from the last notes that linger and swirl around him.

He walks all night, finally falling into the bed with no sheets when the sun starts to peak back out.

He gets a job as a mechanic. His references - names all made up and cell phone numbers that lead forgotten CIA workers whose only job is to answer and read a script- give him the best recommendations, and the old man running the garage doesn't really need Simon to know how to do anything other than change spark plugs and change the oil. The man looks Simon up and down, and Simon catches the POW-MIA embroidered on the man's hat, and that's that. There's something that passes between the two of them that neither of them speak about, but they recognize it in each other's eyes. He starts the next Monday. 

He doesn't need the money. Between all the years of hazard pay that wasn't eaten away at by daycare fees or wedding bands, he has a small fortune to practice spending, but he needs the distraction from the walls that should be holding up his military honors, but instead hold blank emptiness. He hasn't been able to unpack anything. He just digs through each box when he needs something, slicing his hands against the knives and sharpened memories. 

He walks his path ad nauseum. Each night there's a new symphony that washes over the little town. He tried, more than once, to not be a fucking creep and stand in the middle of the street listening for ten, twenty, thirty minutes. But even across town he could still hear the music creeping its way through the buildings and beneath the cars. 

It stalked him beneath the street lamps until he was pulled back towards the street, trying to figure out which house the sound was coming from. 

The snow is thick on the ground, being pounded flat each night by his boots by the time he discovers which house it's coming from. The curtains are pulled back, light spilling further out onto the street than usual. The window is pushed open and the music doesn't pour out, but rushes over itself angrily. He finds himself drifting towards the open window - the music is a siren song to him. He knows it. He knows.

He knows this song. He doesn't know how he knows it, he just knows that it pulls on his grafted heart in a way that's painful.

She plays with the kind of look a person has after years of practice. Simon recognizes it as the same one he has when he cleans his gun - the look you have when you don't need to fully pay attention to what you're doing because your body knows it by memory. The song ends abruptly - the last note wrong. It stops Simon in his tracks - 15 yards from her window. He suddenly panics, thinking she's going to look at and see him standing there. She must have stopped playing because she finally caught the stalker who's been standing on her street each night. 

But she doesn't.

Instead she stands, and reaches across to slam the window shut. The house shutters from her anger, and she pulls the curtains closed. A moment later the sliver of light that was left is extinguished and Simon knows then, he needs to move. 

He's getting too comfortable. He spends too many nights outside her house listening to her play - too many nights getting closer to the window until he's found that he can stand right on the sidewalk and see her through her curtain when it's closed. 

He learns the pattern of each song by heart until one night when he passes by and the street is silent. There's no light in her windows - he immediately thinks the worst. The gun at his waist feels a thousand pounds; he reaches back to grab it as he walks up her steps.

The front door is cracked open, and his heart jumps to his throat.

Each room is empty - nothing seemingly misplaced. When he clears the final room, his shoulders sag, his gun finds its place back in its holster. He suddenly feels like creep being alone in her house.

Her.

He doesn't even know her name, and he's standing in her living room. A decrepit calico cat meows angrily when he walks by the couch, and then bounds out from its hiding spot beneath the couch to rub against his leg - completely unafraid of Simon. 

The place is empty - almost depressingly so. It mirrors his own house, no relics of family or friends. The only thing that looks used regularly is the piano. He runs his hands across the top, and it spooks him. 

He leaves, making sure the cat is left sleeping on the couch and the front door is shut tight. 

He finally figures out her name when he sees her standing in her driveway, kicking the shit out of the passenger side of her car. 

Hands tucked tightly in his pocket, he stops a respectable distance away before speaking. 

"Car trouble?"

She jumps, swinging around to face him. Her face is closed, guarded from him as she takes in his face and he wishes he had his mask back - wishes it wasn't strange to wear a mask out in the civilian word, wishes -

"Yeah it won't start; the piece of shit."

Simon keeps his spot on the sidewalk as he speaks, worried that if he moves towards her, she'll move away. 

"I work at the shop in town if you want me to give it a look."

She's shrewd; she looks at him like she's waiting on him to say something else, and he knows she's used to men hitting on her. But he can also tell she's desperate, and he can see the argument inside herself as she debates letting him look at her car. 

"I'd like that."

Her starter is completely fried, and he tells her that. She kicks the tire, but this time all the fight is removed from it, and it's a pathetic kick. 

"Thank you for telling me," she says as if the words are bitter on her tongue. 

"I can fix it for you this weekend if you want."

"I can't afford it. And I'm not sleeping with you to pay for it."

Simon snorts in spite of himself. 

"I'll get a recycled part - don't worry about it."

The argument inside herself is written all over her face, and even when she reaches out to shake his grease stained hand and tells him her name, the fight is still written across the wrinkles in her face. 

It's still there when she hands her phone to him, tells him to put his number in and to text her when he's on his way back over. 

"I can't afford this, you know."

Simon can barely hear her as she speaks over the engine, her words crawling between the houses and housing of the innards of her car to reach straight up to him. 

"You can pay me later."

"I just told you I can't afford this."

Simon's mind lingers on the emptiness of her house that he'd seen the week before - he knew better than he wanted to how little she had at the moment. But he can't let her know that, can't let her know that he's traced the inside of her house while she was gone.

When he's satisfied with the noise of the engine, he slams the hood shut. She's leaning against the driver door, her breath fogging around her - it crosses Simon's mind that he could corner her right here, tell her what repayment he wants. but he's not a fucking freak.

He's not. 

So instead he wipes the grease and dirt from his hands onto his jeans where it mixes with the grease and dirt from work and mirrors her lean. 

"Cook me dinner?"

The hint of a smile starts to creep on her face, but she bites it back. She picks at an invisible piece of lint on the sleeve of her sweater before she answers. 

"You want me to cook dinner for you? How do you know I can cook?"

"I'll take my chances."

She chews on her chapped lips before sighing, boots kicking at her tire. 

"Come by tonight, alright."

He doesn't own anything fucking nice. He's pushed all his clothes around - in the back corner his dress blues hang sadly, and everything else has a grease stain on it. 

"This is ridiculous," he growls to himself, annoyed with everything all of a sudden. He reaches into his back pocket to his phone. He's just going to fucking cancel. This is fucking stupid. This is-

She's sent a picture. He doesn't know what he's going to see when he unlocks his phone, but a little piece of him has some hopes. It's a chicken in the oven, surrounded by oranges like something out of a magazine his mother would have flipped through in the grocery line. 

Hope this is enough to repay you :)

"Fuck," he says to his pants that hang limply, and they say nothing back to him. 

He chooses the jeans with the least amount of stains. 

She's wearing a skirt with a slit dangerously high when she opens the door. 

You shouldn't wear that around the wrong men, he wants to tell her, but he is the wrong man, and he knows that, but she doesn't. He doesn't want to be the first person to tell her that about him.

His repaired heart knows the curves of her - somehow he knows that if he were to run his hand up the part of her thigh the slit is showing, there's going to be a scar there, he knows - 

"Are you alright?"

"'Course. The smell stopped me."

"That bad, huh?"

"Terrible."

She wears a hint of a smile as she steps to the side to let him in; he catches a whiff of her perfume, vanilla and tobacco and whiskey, and he's got the sudden urge to lick the base of her neck. He holds himself back, hands held behind his back as he follows her through the living room, past the piano, and into the kitchen. 

The scruffy cat comes out of the shadows to intertwine around his ankles like they're old friends. A pot boils on the stove and the chicken is on the side, steam pouring off the golden skin. 

It scares Simon how at ease he feels in her kitchen, how the kitchen table's chair is so comfortable to him. She's tense - he can read it in the tightness of her shoulders, in the way she taps her nails against the counter. 

Simon's heart beats too fast watching her flash around the kitchen and nearly jumps out of him when she places a plate in front of him. 

It feels familiar in a way that terrifies him. 

He's like a stray dog - she fed him once, and he keeps coming back. She only complains once. 

"I'm a teacher, you know. I don't make enough money to keep feeding a big man like you."

Simon buys her groceries after that, his own refrigerator growing empty as he spends more dinners at her house. He knows they both feel it - they both feel how fucking weird it is that they can orbit each other so easily despite knowing nothing about each other. 

He reads in the evenings. She doesn't have much, but she has more books than one person should, and she plays the piano and he pretends not to know the pieces. He pretends that he hasn't stood outside her house night after night committing each song to memory.

If she finds it suspicious that he hums along too fast, picks up the melody too fast, she doesn't mention it. 

"I was married once," she says, like it's a dirty secret. She taps her fingers against the glass of her beer, a sharp staccato that increases in speed like it's her heart. 

Simon doesn't say anything, just takes a drink of his own beer to quell the storm that's conjured in his chest. Married once? He doesn't know what he's supposed to feel, but it can't be this, can't be this anger that suddenly starts beating against the architecture of himself, the anger that unhooks something in his blood. 

"It wasn't very long," she continues, the rhythm of her ring getting faster, "We only were married for a year before we divorced."

Simon's beer hits the countertop with a little too much force.

"Why'd you divorce?" He doesn't mean for it to sound so eager, so fucking needy, but if she hears the edge to his voice she doesn't say. He needs to know what led to the destruction of her first marriage, so he doesn't make the same mistake with her. 

"We were kids, you know. We shouldn't have gotten married to begin with, but neither of us had anyone else. And there was no one there to tell us it was a bad idea."

"Where's he at now?"

"He's dead."

Her ring stops tapping.

"He died in a bomb blast almost two years ago. He was in the army, and he was deployed. There was nothing left of him for them to ship back to me. I didn't even know that he listed me as his family."

Simon's mouth is suddenly dry, and he feels like he's going to choke. She's still not looking at him, her eyes are still trained on the red neon sign behind the bar, so she misses the way he presses his hands into the bar to keep them from shaking. 

"I just thought I should tell you," she says, half turning in her chair to finally look at him.

The ground beneath him has shifted, he's off tilt and he doesn't know what to say. I might have his heart in my fucking chest and that's why I feel this way about you. 

"Can you take me home, please?"

There's a million things he wants to say, a million ways he wants to take that request. He swishes them around in his mouth with the last of his beer.

"'Course, love."

The two beers are nothing to him, but she's a different story. She stumbles on the ice in the parking lot, and steadies herself on his elbow. She doesn't let go until he opens the passenger door of his truck for her and he helps her climb in. Her foot bounces as he pulls out of the parking lot. It's a three minute drive back to her place, four for him to put the truck into park. 

He expects her to unbuckle, to climb out. But her hands don't inch towards the buckle. She seems to steel herself for what she's going to say next, and he's waiting on her to tell him that she noticed how weird he's been - she doesn't want him to come back. 

"Do you want to fuck?" She asks suddenly, and the abruptness of it takes Simon off guard. 

"What?"

"Do you want to fuck?"

Simon's hands grip the steering wheel so hard he's surprised it doesn't shatter beneath his grip. He waits just a moment too long, and she scoffs, unbuckles the seatbelt and has her hand in the door handle before he can react. 

He reaches across to grab the handle from her, keeping her from opening the door. She won't look him in the eye, instead pushing roughly on the door to try and shake it loose from his grip. 

"I didn't say no." The gentleness in his voice shocks him, but it's not enough to get her to look at him. 

"You didn't say yes either."

She breaks the door from his grip and slides out, her skirt hiking up high enough that he catches the edge of her curves.

His stolen heart beats, trying to escape his chest as she disappears inside - to get the fuck out from behind the steering wheel, to knock on her door and explain that his timing is bad, he doesn't know what to say and when he's supposed to say it. He tells himself he's going to leave when the light from her bedroom turns off - he just wants to make sure that she's safely asleep before he leaves. 

But the light doesn't go out.

His watch creeps past midnight before the front door opens again. The nightgown she has on makes his hands sweat - it peeks out below the heavy jacket she's thrown on top. She veers towards the passenger door and when she climbs in, Simon's hands start to shake at the amount of thigh that flashes him.

"Why don't you leave?"

"I wanted to make sure you were safely asleep."

"You saw me walk into my house."

"You never know."

And she doesn't ever know. She doesn't know what kind of horrors could be around each door. Simon wants to explain that to her - explain what he's seen to her, but he doesn't know how to do that. He doesn't even know how to broach the subject of the million things that he should be telling her. 

"Why didn't you want to have sex with me?" She asks in a small voice that Simon hates, and he hates himself for being the reason she sounds like that. 

"I didn't say I didn't want to."

"Then why didn't you say yes?"

"I don't want to just fuck you."

Her knee bounces nervously.

"Alright. We can do the other stuff."

He almost tells her, more than once, about the heart that beats in his chest. Once, when he had her folded over the piano, and again, when she tangled their legs together in her bed and the ancient cat was purring on his chest. 

He's too cowardly.

[odileeclipse]

o h hj j h my goodness i just found your blog and words cannot describe how much im OBSESSED with your writing style.... its so poetic and the metaphors you use are just *chefs kiss*

uhmm.... if its not too much trouble... could youuuu do a PV (either awakened or not) with a Y/N who,,, has a bad habit of overworking and tends to put off sleep👉👈

its been a rough few past weeks and this man has. unironically been one of my only sources of serotonin/lh

The Gentle Weight of Love Pure Vanilla X reader

The candlelight flickered, casting long shadows over the scattered papers and half-empty ink bottle at your desk. Your vision blurred for the third time that evening, the words in front of you melting into illegible smudges but you shook your head, willing yourself to push forward. Sleep could wait. There was more to do. Always more. A deep sigh behind you sent a shiver down your spine. “My dear,” a voice as soft as spun silk called to you, laced with quiet concern. “Still awake?” Pure Vanilla Cookie’s steps were nearly silent as he approached, yet his presence wrapped around you like a blanket. His warmth pressed at your back as he leaned over your shoulder, eyes scanning the mess of work you had yet to complete. His breath fanned over your cheek, gentle but unmistakably heavy with worry. "You should be resting," he murmured, reaching out to touch your wrist. "You've been pushing yourself for too long again, haven’t you?" You swallowed thickly, avoiding his gaze. "I'm fine," you insisted, though your voice cracked at the edges. "I just... I need to finish this." His fingers curled around your wrist, not to pull you away, but to anchor you in place warm, steady, unyielding in the tenderness he offered. "And when will you be finished, truly? When exhaustion chains your body? When your thoughts blur so much they cease to be your own?" You opened your mouth to protest, but the words died on your tongue when he moved, kneeling beside your chair so he could look up at you. His hands, worn by time yet still impossibly gentle, cupped yours, thumb brushing over the ink stains on your fingers as if trying to soothe the burden they carried.

"You are not meant to bear the weight of the world alone," he whispered. "Nor are you a machine to be worked until nothing remains." You exhaled shakily, your resolve beginning to fray under his kindness. "But there's still so much to do... I can't just stop." Pure Vanilla Cookie’s expression softened even further, and he lifted your hands, pressing them to his chest. You could feel the steady, unwavering rhythm of his heart beneath your fingertips. A quiet, patient reminder that you were here. That you were not alone. "My beloved," he murmured, "even the sun must set to rise again. Even the strongest trees bow to the wind’s embrace. You are no different. To rest is not to surrender, it is to give yourself the kindness you so readily offer to others." Tears pricked at your eyes, hot and stinging, because deep down, you knew he was right. Still, the fear of stopping clung to you like a shadow. "But what if... what if I fall behind?" "You won't," he assured, his thumbs brushing away the tears that slipped free. "I will be here to catch you, always." A shuddering breath left your lips as the last of your strength crumbled, and before you could think, you were in his arms. He pulled you close, tucking your head beneath his chin as his hands traced slow, soothing patterns along your back. His voice hummed against your hair, a lullaby woven from love itself. "You are enough, just as you are. Even when you are still. Even when you rest. I promise you, the world will not fall apart because you chose to take care of yourself." His words wrapped around you like the softest cocoon, unraveling the knots in your chest. And as your body sagged against his, the exhaustion you had been ignoring finally settled in. He smiled against your temple, pressing a kiss there as he murmured, "Let go, my love. Sleep. And when you wake, I will still be here." And so, cradled in his arms, you let the weight of the night carry you away knowing that, in his embrace, you were safe.

A/N I meant to post this a lot earlier I thought I had posted it

[asterkatt]

ISAT ACT 5 SPOILERS!!

okay I said I was going to give more thoughts on act 5 of ISAT and then uh. I didn't. oopsies. but we're here now!!

I loved Odile's friendquest in this act SO much. one of my favorite things about the way the game handled Siffrin's actions throughout the entirety of act 5 in general is that everyone's reactions to him were so DIFFERENT. but not only were they different, they had reasons for being different. it wasn't just "Siffrin says something messed up, hurts someone's feelings, pushes it down, rinse and repeat". each "breakdown" was specifically tailored to be character specific. to fit in with how they've behaved in the story thus far, as well as how Siffrin feels about them/tends to respond to them in particular. with Mirabelle, it really was entirely accidental. Siffrin didn't even realize how their wording might come across in the moment. It wasn't him lashing out in any way - just him genuinely trying to cut corners. Odile?? Odile's was very different. it's easy to see that there's a lot of tension between Siffrin and Odile - more tension than there is with anyone else. Odile has been a thorn in Sif's side - constantly observing and watching and theorizing about why they're behaving strangely. I did the sus quest. Sif knows that she has the ability to figure it out. Consequently, they have to be way more aware of her than anyone else. (side note that's not entirely relevant to this but I want to bring it up - the fact Siffrin believes that her constant eye on him is because "she doesn't trust you" makes me sick. because that's not it at all. they might pretend it is. hell, she might act like it is. but it's not and she knows that. she knows it's because she's worried because she cares and Siffrin can't understand that.) so I feel like they took the "mistake" of messing up with Odile harder than they took any of the other interactions. because how could they be so stupid. how could they forget. how could he forget that she always figures it out.

so of course he lashes out. not only are they being faced with the same blinding mistake they've made over and over and over again, it's also a reminder that she doesn't trust him. (and why should she?).

and then she goes and makes it all worse by calling him a "friend". because they know that's not how she sees them. he believes that she doesn't trust him. so it must seem like she's directly lying to his face - and she thinks they're too dense to see through it.

I love that Odile doesn't back down. she doesn't shy away when they start yelling at her. she doesn't let it slide just because she made them upset (Isa and Mira both probably would - though Isa would try and get them to talk about it later). she pushes, because that's the only way she's going to get any answers.

the way you can feel her anger when Siffrin hits her where it hurts the most (without even seeing her face) is just AUHGSKJDHFKJSH. the writing of this game. the details. never cease to amaze me. I love the way she snaps back. she doesn't get angry, she doesn't yell - and yet somehow it hurts just as badly.

I also love the way Siffrin reflects on it - the way they acknowledge that "she was only worried about you!!!" because deep down he knows that their friends do actually care about him. the way Odile handles the situation afterwards as well - at the clocktower?????? I love that you can tell she's trying so hard to make the "right" choice to not endanger them when it's not what she wants. she doesn't want to leave Siffrin behind. If they weren't going to take on the King the next day, I guarantee you she'd be using anything in her power to figure out what was going on with him. I don't have the exact quote rn but at the end of the sus questline she mentions that she can't let something go when she finds it odd - and this is BEYOND odd. but she has to put the safety of the whole group and their mission first, and I love seeing that side of her.

[hhughes]

does luke get touchy with best friend if someone is looking at her weird and like he gets possessive

he does and he always feels so conflicted about it because he knows that they're not together and he has no right to feel possessive of her but he can't help the way his jaw clenches a little and his throat tightens a bit whenever a guy tries to hit on her.

luke's not blind, he knows violet is attractive, she's gorgeous, she's smart, she never fails to make him laugh. of course guys are going to hit on her. those brave enough to actually ask if her and luke are dating or not instead of assuming they were, at least.

and while those guys try and convince her to give them a shot, luke can't do anything but watch, and shoot daggers at the guy and hope he gets the hint, all while his other best friend silently judges him for it.

"what?" luke finally snaps, not being able to take dylan's little judgmental stare at the side of his head anymore

"nothing," dylan replies nonchalantly

"just say it," luke pleads

"you're acting like a jealous caveman right now," dylan says and luke shoots a glare his way

"no, I am not," he argues and dylan gives him a glare right back

"no? what do you call pulling her into your lap like that? while keeping eye contact with the guy who has been checking her out all night? that has marking your territory all over it. doesn't look like it worked though, the guy obviously wasn't scared off," dylan says and both of them look at where violet was laughing with some guy

"I'm just looking out for my friend," luke defends

"sure. you have nothing to worry about then. I have class with that guy. he has three sisters, the definition of a golden retriever. he's a great guy," dylan says, and the knots in luke's stomach only tighten up further

"great," luke replies dryly, knowing he means anything but. no guy would ever be good enough for violet, in luke's eyes. not even him. but even if there was a possibility that she could meet a great guy, that could treat her better than luke could ever hope for, and give her everything that luke couldn't, he still wouldn't feel right about it.

because there was this little voice in his head that said that she belonged with him and only him. that no one could understand, love or make her happier than luke could. and while that may be a little selfish, and make him somewhat of a bad friend, luke found some comfort and validation in the fact that the little voice sounded just like her.

[writeriguess]

Hiiii I requested Katsukis sister x Dabi fic from you two days ago. I'm sorryyyyy if it's not proper to ask for another one before that's out but I can't help but come up with ideas!!! So. Reader is still Katsukis quirkless sister right, and they have a secret relationship with Dabi? Ok so. There's a battle and for some reason, reader has gotten herself in the middle of it. Katsuki sees her first just when she's about to get crushed by a flying piece of rubble and calls out to her in panic, which makes Dabi whip around and since he's faster than Kats, he saves her even when he knows it risks their secret. Kats is obviously baffled why did Dabi save his sister. Ok ok I'm trying not to dream too much but I just live for this dynamic omg.

author's note: I just had to make a confession scene XD <3 Also seems like my gif library works again!

Collateral Damage

The battlefield is chaos. Smoke and fire engulf the crumbling street as heroes and villains clash, explosions rattling the ground beneath you. You don’t even know how you ended up here—one moment, you were trying to get away from the fight, and the next, a collapsing building had forced you into the open, too close to the action, too vulnerable.

You don’t belong here. You never have.

And then you hear it.

A sharp, panicked voice tearing through the battlefield, cutting through the roars of fire and screams of combat.

"SHIT—MOVE!"

You turn just in time to see a massive chunk of rubble hurtling toward you, too fast, too sudden—

You don’t even have time to scream before a blur of blue flames and heat rushes past you. Strong arms wrap around you, yanking you against a too-warm chest, and then suddenly, you’re flying—whipped through the air so fast that your stomach drops. The next thing you know, you’re on the ground again, but not crushed, not dead.

You blink up, dazed. Dabi.

He's crouched over you, one knee planted in the dirt, hands gripping your arms tightly before they slide up in a fleeting touch—checking, making sure you're not hurt. His lips part slightly, breath coming quick, blue eyes flickering with something—concern.

And then he lets go. Stands up. Turns away.

Like nothing happened.

Like he didn’t just risk everything for you.

But Katsuki saw.

You hear him before you see him, the roar of his explosions, the way his feet slam into the ground as he lands hard, just a few feet away. He looks wild, eyes wide, chest heaving. His gaze flickers from you to Dabi, and you know your brother well enough to see the exact moment he puts the pieces together.

"The FUCK—"

Dabi doesn’t give him a chance to say more. The second Katsuki moves, he’s back in the fight, launching a wall of blue flames at your brother, forcing him to dodge.

But Katsuki is pissed now. More than before.

"Why the hell did you save her?!" he yells, dodging the flames, then twisting in midair to send an explosion right at Dabi. "What the fuck are you playing at, huh?!"

Dabi laughs. That same infuriating, taunting laugh that makes even you want to smack him sometimes. He sidesteps the blast, rolling his shoulders like this is just another day for him.

"Aw, what, can’t a guy just do a good deed?" he mocks.

"Bullshit!" Katsuki snaps. "You don’t give a damn about civilians—so why her?!"

Dabi doesn’t answer. Not directly. Instead, he smirks, cocky, knowing. "Maybe I just wanted to piss you off, huh? Looks like it worked."

Katsuki lunges, his palm sparking, and Dabi meets him head-on, fire against explosions, force against force. You scramble backward, heart pounding, knowing that if you stay too close, one wrong move could get you caught in the crossfire.

But you can’t leave.

Because you know what this is.

Katsuki saw.

He saw the way Dabi looked at you, the way he checked for injuries. He’s not stupid, and now he’s furious, more than he’s ever been before.

"You—" Katsuki growls between attacks, voice raw with disbelief. "You’re fucking Dabi?"

Dabi laughs again, this time sharper, smug. "Well, that’s one way to put it."

Katsuki’s entire body locks up, face twisting in pure rage before he slams forward with an explosion so big it makes the air shudder. Dabi barely dodges in time, rolling out of the way with a low whistle.

"Damn, didn't know you had that in you, little bro."

"DON’T FUCKING CALL ME THAT!" Katsuki roars. His next explosion is bigger, faster, almost catching Dabi in the side.

You force yourself to move, stepping closer before this gets worse. "Katsuki, stop—!"

"Stay the hell out of this!" he barks at you. "You—" He turns back to Dabi, snarling, "What the fuck is wrong with you?! You’re a goddamn villain! And her—she doesn’t even have a fucking quirk!"

Dabi tilts his head, eyes flicking back to you. "Yeah. I noticed."

"You could’ve killed her," Katsuki spits. "You will kill her."

Dabi’s smirk falters, just for a second. It’s brief—so quick you almost miss it.

But Katsuki doesn’t.

"Oh, what? You actually give a shit?" His voice is mocking, but there’s an edge to it now. A challenge.

Dabi shrugs, the cocky mask slipping back into place. "Maybe I do."

Katsuki’s hands clench into fists.

And then he moves.

Faster than before, hitting harder, more reckless, explosions lighting up the battlefield. Dabi is grinning, but you know him well enough to see the tension in his movements—he’s taking this more seriously now.

"You think you’re good enough for her?" Katsuki spits as they fight. "You? A murderer? A piece of shit villain?"

Dabi smirks. "Well, she seems to think so."

Katsuki loses it. His explosion sends Dabi skidding back, boots digging into the cracked pavement. He barely catches himself before Katsuki is on him again, and this time, Dabi doesn’t have a witty comeback, forced on the defensive.

You don’t think. You move.

Throwing yourself between them, arms outstretched. "Stop!"

Katsuki halts, barely, his explosion cutting off just before he can hurt you. Dabi, though, doesn’t stop fast enough. His hand almost catches you, flames flaring dangerously close—

And then he does stop. Completely. Too completely. His fire vanishes, his entire body stiffening as he realizes how close he came to burning you.

It’s Katsuki who notices first. "The fuck—"

Dabi swears under his breath and steps back, jaw clenched. "Move," he tells you, but his voice isn’t sharp. It’s careful. Controlled.

You shake your head. "I’m not letting you kill each other."

Katsuki glares, furious. "He—"

"I know who he is," you snap back, turning to look at him fully. "I know. But I’m not leaving him."

Your brother stares at you, eyes burning. Betrayal and fury and disbelief all twisted together. "Why?"

And you hesitate.

Because how do you explain it? How do you tell him that Dabi isn’t just some villain to you? That the man with the cocky smirk and taunting words has held you in the dark, has whispered things you never thought you’d hear, has been there in a way no one else has?

You don’t.

Because Katsuki wouldn’t understand.

So you just say, "Because I love him."

The words hit the battlefield like a gunshot.

Katsuki’s face twists. "You—" His voice cracks.

Dabi clicks his tongue. "Whoops. There goes the family reunion."

You shoot him a look. "You’re not helping."

He grins. "Wasn’t trying to."

Katsuki looks like he’s about to combust. His hands shake, explosions flickering to life before dying out again, as if he can’t decide whether to punch Dabi or just scream.

“Besides, he started it,” Dabi says after a moment of silence.

“I’M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU,” Katsuki yells.

Dabi snickers. “See?”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “Oh my god, I hate you both.”

“Aw, c’mon, doll,” Dabi hums, cocking his head. “You didn’t seem to hate me last night—”

Katsuki lunges.

You think you might actually die of embarrassment.

[lsunstreakerl]

rico/max breeding kink :)

here is one of our straggling kink prompts!

this is a kink prompt fill so it's explicit. Rico POV, 1.5k words.

pairings: rico verhoeven/max verstappen

relevant heads up: omegaverse, breeding kink, knotting, maxussy, discussion of pups, traditional alpha rico (in a good way?), retired max, slight somnophilia at the beginning (established relationship), omega max, alpha rico

Rico runs his fingers gently over Max's hip, licking into him carefully. His omega is asleep still, all pliant limbs and the sweet scent of want.

Rico's been lapping at his slick for a few minutes, losing himself in the taste of it, sticky sweet and wet. Taking care of Max is important- he can't imagine anything that needs his attention more, not now.

His perfect mate has retired, six gleaming trophies on their walls, and now he wants pups, their pups- wants Rico to fuck him full of a litter, wants to build the perfect nursery nest.

Rico never would have pushed the decision at Max, but he's overjoyed that it's what Max decided he wanted, because Rico can't imagine anything more fulfilling.

Providing for his mate, their kids- there's no higher calling. Max is going to be a perfect dame, Rico knows it, and he's excited about their future- little pattering feet around the house, messy backpacks and tiny abandoned shoes by the door.

But that's for later. What Rico is happy about now is that Max is finally letting him take care of him. His omega is tolerant of it usually- always let Rico scent him excessively before drivers gatherings, stays put after knotting until Rico is sure everything's okay- but he's grumpy about it.

Now, Rico is getting away with everything. It's simple, really. He needs Max to be as unstressed and relaxed as possible, needs his body to understand that he's completely safe and protected, that Rico would never let anything happen to him- the most ideal circumstances possible for his mate to be successfully bred.

Max shifts underneath him, scent deepening as he starts to wake up. Rico licks into him again, working his tongue inside where Max is soaking wet, slick walls having tiny little contractions as he starts to squirm.

Rico presses his nose against Max's clit, relishing in the way Max's legs wrap around his head as his mate wakes up.

"Ah- Rico, I'm going to-"

Perfect, gorgeous omega. He always gets so shy about this kind of thing, when Rico's worked him up in his sleep, gotten him right to the edge so that the first thing he does when he wakes up is orgasm.

It's how an omega should be treated.

Rico grins, squeezing at Max's hip gently as he starts to grind against his face, small little circles in tune with his breathy gasps.

"Rico-"

"Go on baby, it's okay."

Max cries out, thighs squeezing around Rico's head as he comes, a fresh run of slick dripping out of him. His scent fills the room, deep notes of satisfied omega soaking into their sheets. Rico wishes he could wear it like a cologne.

He's still lapping at Max, tasting his mate as he works him through his orgasm, legs trembling as they relax from around his head.

"Alpha..."

Rico crawls up the bed, bracketing Max underneath him as he leans down to kiss him.

Max whines at the taste of his own slick, goes pliant underneath him even more than before. His head tilts back, exposing his throat and his mating bite- it's a perfect submissive presentation, and even though Max isn't always personally into that, he'd figured out a few years ago that Rico goes wild for it.

Rico rumbles, pressing them chest to chest as Max cants his hips underneath him, arching his head back further.

"Rico, alpha- wanna knot, please-"

His rumble tips into a growl, teeth nipping at their mating mark. Max never needs to beg for his knot- Rico gives it to him whenever he wants, all the time. It's Max's right, as an omega.

He slides one hand down, fingers pressing into where Max is slick and open. Max spreads his legs further, whining into Rico's hair as he easily slides three fingers inside of him.

"I need four, baby. Let me get to four and you can have it."

There's a thin desperate scent curling into Max's needy one, and Rico knows his omega is impatient, always, but he'll never skip the prep, wouldn't ever hurt his mate.

It takes a few minutes, during which Max starts to pant, and Rico can smell that he's cresting again, so he's on a time limit here- jacks himself off a few times before he fits the head of his cock against Max's entrance, puffy and wet.

Max moans, scent curling around him, desperate and thick- it's intoxicating, being surrounded by the scent of an omega so clearly needing to be bred, to be knotted.

Rico is more than willing to provide.

He sinks in slowly, carefully watching for any discomfort, the same way he does every time, even though it drives Max up the wall.

True to form, Max tries to buck his hips, take even more of Rico's cock than he's ready for, nails digging into Rico's back below his shoulders.

Rico loves having claw marks down his back- it's a sign that he's a good alpha. He brings one hand down to hold Max's waist in place, because as hot as the impatience is, Rico hasn't and never will let him indulge in it.

He thinks, and then carefully grabs on of Max's hands, setting it between Max's hips, underneath his own hand.

The noise that comes out of Max when he realizes is filthy, accompanied by a rush of slick around Rico's cock.

"Alpha- so big, please,"

Rico pulls out and shallowly fucks back in, and he knows Max can feel it inside of him, the slight bulge under his skin.

Max writhes, wet and desperate- feeling it like that always makes him wild, eyes rolling back as he exposes his neck, trying to look as enticing as possible.

Rico rumbles, and then he's pressing all the way in, his hips bumping against Max's.

The moan from his omega is slurred this time, hormones hitting Max in full force. Rico loves when he gets like this, needs Rico to do everything for him, too focused on getting knotted and bred.

It means he'll have a very tolerant version of Max when he's done, one that he can get away with trying to spoil.

He pulls back out, the wet slide of skin and slick loud in the room, before he's setting a steady pace, knot starting to swell.

Max's hands are back between Rico's shoulders, nails leaving stinging lines down his back as he keeps a steady pace, his mate falling apart underneath him.

"So pretty Max, you're such a beautiful omega, going to be the prettiest dame- you'll take such good care of the pups, and I'll take such good care of you-"

He's not even sure what he's saying, just whatever comes to mind. The scents are starting to get to him, a heady mixture of his and Max's, and it's harder to think beyond knot-mate-breed running through his head.

His knot bumps against Max, and he picks up his pace slightly, Max writhing underneath him, as Rico presses in again and again, closer to the edge each time.

When Rico finally snaps his hips in, knot popping inside of Max as he cums, his omega leaves deep lines down his back, orgasm hitting him as Rico has him locked down.

"Rico!"

He drops his head down, teeth fitting over Max's mating mark, biting down just enough for Max's scent to gush around him, dizzying with its intensity.

His mate, his omega- Max is perfect underneath him, taking every last drop Rico has to give him. He's boneless, and he smells deeply satisfied, the scent of happy-bred-mate permeating the room.

Rico turns them carefully, lying on their sides as he keeps Max close to his chest. It'll take some time for his knot to go down, and then he'll want Max to stay in one spot anyways, keeping his hips elevated.

Not that Rico has any objections to constantly knotting Max raw- but they want it to take, which means Max has to put up with Rico and his "overbearing" habits.

Max purrs into his neck, hair brushing against his nose.

Rico keeps one arm carefully wrapped around his waist, burying his face into Max's hair as he lets Max adjust.

He needs to get more of the nursery furniture ordered, and follow up on some emails with his management team. He also needs to get back with some of Max's friends who have reached out, wanting to visit but not wanting to overstep any territorial boundaries.

Max will appreciate seeing them.

He rumbles, feels Max relax even further against him.

Two pups would be good. He knows a litter size can vary wildly, and he'll be overjoyed with any pups they have, but-

Two would nice. Rico has an older sister, and Max has Victoria, who's younger, but they'd discussed wanting their pups to have siblings.

Max is going to be an incredible parent, even if he isn't sure himself. They've had couples therapy before, and they should probably start up again while they're trying- Rico doesn't want to accidentally miss an insecurity, and Max likes to let things fester.

Still- he noses at his mates hair, letting the purring against his chest settle him.

There's nothing else he wants more than this. Him and Max, and whatever life throws at them.