#glasses got lost in the shave

[wmarximoff]

𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 | 𝐰. 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟

summary: you and Wanda spend Christmas Eve by the fireplace, making the same mistake you've been making for a long time again.

warnings (18+): intersex character (Wanda), smut, blowjob (Wanda receiving), vaginal sex (r receiving), cheating, mentions of pregnancy, angst. MINORS DNI.

pairings: Wanda x fem!reader, mentions of Wandanat and Pietro x fem!reader

word count: 4k

A/N: here's my slightly late, but not too late, Christmas/New Year special. it's sad but coming from me you already knew that.

masterlist|

A zephyr of gentle wind stirred the dancing of the curtains like dark specters, swirling into the living room in a winter breath that flickered the low fire in the nearby milky granite fireplace like a lantern flame, before the fingers of both your warm hands gripped and, in a disgruntled grunt under your breath, rolled down the windowpane – invading snowflakes gleaming like shavings of steel on the cream-colored ledge. The curtains quieted from their ghostly dance, settling back to rest like sleeping albino bats upside down. You didn't remember leaving the window open, but at the same time, you weren't in full control of your mental faculties at the end of the year either.

“Damn, it's snowing again,” you blurted out, your studious eyes peering at the world outside through the cloudy, stale glass about a hand's breadth away from the tip of your nose, “I... I don't think he'll manage to make it in time. It's too late anyway.”

A beam of pale luminescence penetrated the living room through cracks of ice that fogged up the glass, interspersed white streaks of streetlights that pierced the brief layer of spectral snow inserted inside thanks to the opening of the window above – a tight, dark light, rather vague, that posed in a grayish hue outside, offering the world (your car parked in front of the house enveloped in a sheet of ice, the low fence of the front yard turbid at that distance, the long-time plucked oak tree on the sidewalk and the distant cinder that was the house next door, just the yellow light from an window) the appearance of ghostly silhouettes, like the aftermath seen in a faded dream.

But inside you residence, everything was sheltered and protected by a thick layer of cozy heat coming from the fireplace flames (the orange light casted in tall shadows, shining in the depths of your eyes and in the ornaments hanging from the tall pine tree decorated with the theme nearby, fluttering on the ceiling; its warm reflections inside the living room windows), and you considered the possibility that, sooner or later, you might end up pulling your thick wool sweater over your head.

“Well,” Wanda's low, velvety voice drifted behind your shoulder, “He said he probably wouldn't make it in time for Christmas Eve, didn't he? And that he would stay in a motel in case the blizzard got worse. He'll be here tomorrow morning, honey, don't worry. He... he'll be fine. You don't have to worry about him, Y/n.”

And you understand, you understand what she means, what her tone of voice says contrary to her words. It's just that in so long, you've specialized in pretending, always pretending. Pretending you don't understand, pretending a lie is the truth. Your right fingers were still hooked on the vertical slit in the pale, soft satin curtain, your gaze lost in the stormy puffs of ice outside.

“I know, but… you know how uneasy Pietro can be sometimes, and he'd hate to miss even the tiniest Christmas celebration… I can't help but worry about him, Wanda. He's out there during this blizzard that doesn't look like it's going to pass any time soon, after all.”

The sudden high-pitched ping of a message dropping into a phone chat pierced the oxygen above the crackling hiss of the great dry wood fire burning in the fireplace, sounding just after you've finished your Christmas wails.

You then turned your chin over your right shoulder to regard her with your diligent gaze, and for a second of oxygen engulfed in your throat you just allowed yourself to admire her, Wanda, standing there in the middle of the room, being partially illuminated by the glow of the nearby fire, giving her silhouette the air of a scarlet creature from another world – the jadish eyes fixed on the phone set supplanted in the palm of her right hand, the thin long locks of brown hair that partially curtained a face holding her beautiful strong, fine features, her left fingers curled around the cylindrical body of a steaming porcelain teacup.

“It's him.”

A dizzying itch took hold of your right fingers, and you just took the time to sweep that long lock of hair behind her ear so deeply that every component cell in your body seemed to bristle and ache, as if there were grains of sand in your bloodstream and your bones were made of shards of glass. Your skin burned in the need of hers, a familiar touch, an outdated nostalgia. With your eyes hovering over Wanda's figure, there was no way your worries could sail towards Pietro anymore, not with all your attention focused on his twin sister as it was.

“What did he said?” your voice squirmed from the back of your throat, “Is he okay? He’s safe?”

And you wanted to care, but Wanda was just categorically stunning. Fifteen years ago you had already become familiar with the beauty of her oval-shaped face, but that doesn't mean that it wouldn't even have diminished with the lapidation of time – maturity dawned in a decade and a half, when her facial lines became more accentuated in a natural cut, just a new discovery for you. You still felt the whiffs of her adolescence somewhere, even if even she didn't feel them at all anymore.

It was as if, in so much time, you still hadn't discovered what it was that could actually be pointed out in the emerald shadow aligned with Wanda's gaze that instigated that thirsty burning inside you. You just wanted more of her, as much as you could have. As much as she would allow herself to be yours. In front of her, on her torso, Wanda was wearing the loose crimson and green thick wool sweater that your mother-in-law had given her last Christmas – Natasha had a pair of this piece knitted in green and red wool.

“See,” she muttered then, still with her eyes downcast, “He's fine. Here.”

Wanda's right forearm lifted her wrist to your eye level, turning the phone's pale screen into a synthetic glow toward you, her brother's contact shimmering across your retinas.

[Pietro]: Yo Wands tell Y/n I won't be able to make it in time anyway, this sucks man, a truck overturned on the road because of the snow and they won't fix it until tomorrow morning ☹ I miss her and the boys wtf!!!☹ ☹

The face of Wanda's thumb pressed the button on the side of the device after a couple of measly seconds of silence permeated by the ambience of the crackling of the incandescent firewood, and on the wide, newly darkened screen, the reflection of your deplorable facial expressions was outlined – your lower lip being sucked under your upper incisors, the streak of skin creased almost mournfully between both your brows. Wanda just lowered the device completely, moving it out of your field of vision.

“So… he won't be coming home today.”

“No,” she looked at you, her eyes flickering fire and dark green, “He won't come home today. And the boys are out like logs in their beds already,” and it was true, after all, she had read them a couple of bedtime stories herself. She always wanted to spend as much time as possible with the twins, after all.

Something sparked inside you, in heat and hunger, when the emerald color of Wanda's eyes stared at you from under her heavy lashes. It was like a non-syllabic question (can I?). You looked into her sharp cheekbones, engulfed partially by that orange reflection of the fire burning there so close to the two of you – you just wanted to feel her close, all to yourself, call out her name in your needy grip on your chest. Yes, scorched will and hunger sharpened through your veins, yes Wanda, you can. Now you can.

Her phone and teacup were both placed carefully on top of the light wood coffee table in front of the sofa, placed in a spot parallel to the fireplace and comically next to the fully decorated Christmas tree, blinkers off, presents wrapped in colored paper. But her phone pinged again that night, a bitter reminder, a sick joke – a message from a different contact, Natasha, a red heart emoji next to it. Wanda looked at you when you looked at her.

“I'm a fucking horrible person,” she muttered under her breath, as close to your personal space as she could get.

“I know,” was your broken voice reply, “But that's okay, because so am I.”

And, in an act of regret, you just did what your need obligated you to do – you reached forward and took Wanda for yourself, flattening the commission of your lips against her mouth that tasted of compunction and tea, just an old comfort for the overflow of your feelings so dismayed, so much need that would soon overflow. After all, that wasn't the first time that you kissed Wanda, and it certainly wouldn't be the last time that you would look for the hold of her arms, so that she could cherish the desire bristling in the hollow of your inner groins. The desire to have her always supplanted the shame of your ego.

A sinuous dance of delicate, tangible lips that fit perfectly and neatly, like something it should be. The ardent and passionate kiss was transmuted, however, into a harmonious kiss, and the harmonious kiss metamorphosed into splashes of tiny tight-mouthed kisses that soon dismantled in a state of fear, scattered in a reality where uncertainties and worries were mere ignoble daydreams, as long as you were in each other's arms. The first kisses were always fearful, they always meant to be.

The palms of both of Wanda's warm hands felt gentle against your sides, risking to caress your hipbones with the pads of her thumbs. A wave of the urge to implode in tears swept over you – perhaps out of desire or fear, regret or the intrinsic will of flesh and bone. You just wanted her to burn you like the fire in that fireplace burned to ashes in the wood, the only witness to your act of adultery, the fire that in the end consumed everything completely, a natural destroyer of evidence.

With her melodious lips parted, her pulps pink and cracked, Wanda, in turn, began to give you infinitesimal, lingering kisses along the contour of your neck, along the area where it joined your left shoulder, along the line of her jaw located in the gap between your ear and neck, validating the traces of hickeys sitting there, like long brushstrokes of dark paint on a blank canvas.

"Wanda..." you purred like a sleepy cat, the heavy lids covering your eyes again, enjoying the feel of the warm lips splashing over the bristling epidermis.

Unguarded, perhaps even a little needy in your deprived core, you snuggled against your beloved's warm body, a guilty, lazy little dread embodied by the commission of your own wet lips. You felt a warm forehead press against your pale skin band above your brows, and you and Wanda opened your lids at the same time – an immensity of burning green, brown strands of hair strumming against the skin of your chin.

“I need you now, baby,” she sighed against the kiss of your lips, “I-I – I need you, Y/n. It hurts. I need you now.”

And you knew what she needed – that's why you gave it to her, sitting her down on the couch, Wanda's sweater pants pooling around her knees in a matter of seconds. There was never room for ceremony when what you did was just the result of a mutual repression that always led to a needy outburst. 

From the hollow of your pearly lips, the tip of your velvety tongue made itself present, and that tongue, sweet and musky, soaked the entire length of her penis in a layer of shimmering saliva, the veins throbbing as the outline of the curled mouth cupped the pulsating tip, without the resistance of teeth in your way.

“Fuck, baby,” was a muffled moan against the palm she pressed to her own lips, urging you to do what you intended to do, “Just like that… Y/n, shit…”

You sucked Wanda's precum once, wringing a musical wail from both of your throats—the shivering moment, the bittersweet sap and the cinnamon heat, all etched into the center of your tongue, an already familiar taste in your stomach. Maybe that was why she chose you – the way you were the first person outside her family circle who accepted her for who she was, for what she felt she should be.

You were fifteen when you met the Maximoff twins, a boy and a girl, children of immigrants, in junior year of high school. And you were sixteen when you found out why Wanda didn’t used the locker room after PE with the other girls in your class.

“My parents thought I was a boy when I was a kid,” she once told you, under the bleachers after a literature class, “But then we found out that I was born different from Pietro, from most other people even... the doctors said the name is intersex. It's not very common, but it can happen sometimes.”

A girl with long dark hair that flowed in waves down her shoulders and wearing a second-hand fabric jacket, also dark as her hair. She was dark and stunning.

“Got it,” you hissed because you were sixteen and didn't know what to say, and Wanda was your best friend, “Your brother asked me out.”

“Oh,” it was like the sound of a piece of glass breaking, “Got it,” you always saw the way she looked at you, but it was Pietro who had the initiative. And he was always a good boy, and your parents taught you that there's no denying a good boy.

It didn't take long for Wanda's body sensitivity to acclimatize to your mouth, after just a handful of minutes in which you passed between her legs, ennobling the length of her member with just the tip of your tongue (back-and-forth movements, little kisses, and, at the latest, daring nibbles). You, upon noticing your beloved's familiarity with your tongue movements, took it from the inside of your mouth, almost the entire length between the flesh of your cheeks, reaching the summit of your throat, moist and plump.

“Y/n,” Wanda groaned, her brow furrowed, “Fuck, baby–!” and you felt a touch on the top of your head, near the roots of your hair.

Your mouth went up and down once, twice, five times. Wanda's right fingers, intertwined with your bundle of hair, made sure that the movements progressed eventually to something continuous and hard – her hips moved vigorously, fucking her way with her heavy member to the back of your throat. A cavernous yelp escaped Wanda's throat as her brows twitched and her eyes squeezed into two lines on her panting face, a pleasurable simulation of pain, a ball of yarn being woven down her navel.

You, the one who knew her as well as she herself did, tried to accompany Wanda's orgasm formulation with the movements of your mouth, thick saliva mixed with precum dripping from the corner of your lips in thick threads that wet the band the skin of your chin; you compressed your lips around her cock as you slid down its length, only to return to the head and then intensify the avid sucking until you brought your lover to the culmination of her own pleasure, of everything you wanted her to feel.

“Shit, shit, shit— ah! Y/n, I'm going to cum in your mouth, baby! Fuck!”

Wanda leaned forward so that both of her hands were resting on your temples, keeping your head in place as it spilled over your tongue, hot cum rushing its way to your stomach like you always did – always glad to swallow all the bittersweet load deposited inside you by Wanda.

At her apex, Wanda collapsed back to the length of the back of the couch, a warm, sweat-soaked dark lock plastered to her forehead. Her chest rose heavy and slumped back into her ribcage beneath her crimson wool sweater. The fire crackled in the hearth and in you too, however, because you wanted more, more of her, all of her – time was scarce and limited, and as such, incapable of being wasted. So you rose up towards her face, crying out to her.

“Wanda,” you called, your chin touching hers, your knees pierced by hers, “Wanda, I need you inside me now. Please, I need... I need you. I need you.”

You spoke as if you weren't in your living room at home – as if your children weren't sleeping right above your head. And she held you like she wasn't your husband's sister.

“It's okay, my dear. I am here. I'm here for you now, Y/n, I'll give you what you need.”

And then you were on top of her again, your shorts discarded like a rag before the fireplace, your hand reaching for Wanda's to close it by the back of your own hand, her thumb sinking soon into the warm flesh of your hip, her fingertips opening the moist lips of your pussy. On both of your ring fingers rose bands of golden wedding rings, yours different from hers, which turned copper in front of the fireplace – rings placed there by other people.

With the touch came a mutual moan that was engulfed by the embers, crackled from deep within your throats. And you began to reach down, feeling her inside, thick and firm. You came down the full length of her, and Wanda's back instinctively arched.

“Fuck-! Fuck, you're always so tight, baby, fuck–! You're practically grabbing me..."

“You're big,” your hands found her shoulders, the wool soft and red, “So big, Wanda… I want you for myself. I want you all to myself tonight, please.”

“You already have me, baby,” she lisped under her breath, “You always had me.”

With her member all tucked inside your cunt, inch by inch swallowed inside your throbbing walls, Wanda's mouth burned lustfully. The roar that bloomed through a crack in her lips had been a husky murmur.

Without circumlocution, Wanda was quick to thrust herself against your throbbing cunt, hollow slapping sounds filling the living room as she thrusted her hip against your wet entrance – so needy, a growing urgency in her bones and in your flesh, yearning for the heat of the ethereal figure that unfolded to you with such care and mastery, the inhuman touch burning over your skin. Wanda's movements were fast and uneven, solemnly guided by her desire to have you, to be inside you.

Her fingertips brushed your fine wet, low pubic hair, and you took a deep breath, your chest rising heavy and falling lightly, snorting a breath of warm air in a ravenous moan against the shell of her ear – the warm skin of your face cinched against Wanda's neck, who found herself able to feel both of your swollen nipples pressed against hers through the material of your sweaters so muffled. Her arms were wrapped around your waist, pulling you against her, the two of you as close together as you could be.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Y/n!”

“Wanda,” the words strangled in your throat in a strangled moan, “Wanda, I love you. I love you.”

“I love you too, baby,” she whimpered against your chest, “I love you too, I've always loved you…”

The steady movement of her hips brushed in eager friction against your swollen, nervous clit against the base of Wanda's cock, soaking her in your natural, smoldering lubricant juices. Your ecstasy compelled you to choke on a moan that coiled in your throat, and you rolled your hips forward, begging for more, so debilitating when against something as simple as the feel of her close to you, a single ethereal touch.

“I love you, Wanda. I love you I love you..."

The notion of the fact that that woman beneath you, reeking of tea and sex, as supernal of the encompassing reaches of human cognition as she could possibly be, could come to leave you at any moment saddened you to your ecstatic core. You didn't want to leave her. You didn't want to lose her, a battle already lost. With a soft growl (which came dangerously close to a needy moan) you pressed your entire body against Wanda's to make her feel how in control like she was over your mundane will. And your sister-in-law didn't even try to stop you.

“I love you Wanda, I love you, I love you, I'm sorry, I love you.”

“I love you too, Y/n, I love you too, fuck, I will always love you, always, always... please, I’ll always love you–”

You rode her like that, being impaled, squeezing her tighter and tighter, until the two of you came together, her orgasm painting your walls in needy vastness, in an encapsulated moment where you were hers and she was yours, where your choices led you in the right direction, her inside you where she should always be, your arms around her like you always wanted her to – her inner thighs were strong and wet against your hips.

“I'm sorry,” you cried against her neck, Wanda's hands stroking the length of your back beneath the wool layer of your sweat-damp sweater, her flaccid cock still nestled within your walls as if it weren't already too late.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I wish I had chosen right. I'm sorry. I wanna do it again. I wanna choose you. Please. I wanna choose you.”

“It's okay, Y/n,” Wanda lisped against your hair, a tear pooling under her lashes, “It's okay, honey. You already have me. You’ll always have me.”

The end of the year festivities came and went like the blur of the blizzard outside that Christmas Eve by the milky granite fireplace, and in the first half of January you and Pietro entertained your families for longer than you'd like – his parents and yours, and Wanda and Natasha, her wife, inevitably came and went too. The world presented itself in a furious way to you at the beginning of the year, incongruous: people everywhere, Wanda, Natasha, Wanda, Natasha, cold January winds. Natasha wanted kids with Wanda because she was a great aunt to Billy and Tommy.

“Children, huh?” Pietro asked his sister one night when the two of them were sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace, the fire crackling softly.

“I thought you and Nat were the type who didn't want kids… but hey, this is awesome news, Wands! You'll be a great mom, you're like the boys' favorite aunt, everyone sees that! You take great care of them, Wands, so I imagine you'll be even better with your own children!”

“Yeah,” she smiled wanly, a little bitterly, looking into the fire, ��With… my own children.”

“And I bet it will be the same with the next one too,” the twin looked at her, his blue eyes flickering towards her. Wanda looked away from the fire to look at Pietro.

“The next one…?”

“Yeah,” he smiled with the grace and pride that only someone in that situation could carry with him, “Y/n is pregnant again, Wanda! Can you believe?! Another Maximoff in the world!”

And then, Wanda looked at her brother. And she wanted to cry – cry for him, for herself, for Y/n and Natasha and Billy and Tommy, and that new child to come into that fucked up world made of lies and more lies. For all the mistakes she and Y/n made that could very well tear that family apart. She almost cried in front of the fireplace. If Pietro knew the true reason for those tears, he would never forgive her.

“Yeah,” Wanda smiled, a tear trapped in her green gaze, the fire burning in the fireplace, “Another Maximoff in the world.”

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Meeting And Dating Indiana Jones Would Include:

Meeting And Dating Indiana Jones Would Include:

Indiana Jones X GN Reader

Additional Characters: Other students (Mentioned)

WC: 1,311

Warnings: Guns, a shaving razor, fighting mentioned, cute stuff, slight baby angst, and fluff

You first met Indiana when you started college. When you first saw him, in his glasses and brown suit, you thought he was cute. You were really tempted to ask him out, but later you realized... There was one small problem. He was your professor in your Archeology class. You knew he wouldn't be interested. He could lose his job if anyone found out. But you couldn't help but let your gaze linger on him as you took your seat. You did pay attention, made sure to turn in your homework, and get good grades. It helped you ignore your huge crush on the man. 

What you didn't know was that Indiana had a similar problem when he met you. His eyes lingered longer than he would like to admit. He would admit that he thought you were very attractive. Indiana knew that you were smart too. Everything he got back from you was nothing less than an A or A+. He'd spoken with you many times after class, but after a while of thinking, Indiana had an idea. 

Calling you up to his desk as the other students left the room, Indiana clasped his hands on top of his desk as you silently packed your things, stopping at his desk. Bringing up that extra credit, Indiana opened his desk and pulled out an envelope. Handing it to you, he watched as you curiously opened it, gasping in shock as you pulled out two tickets to Brazil. Your face turned bright red as you looked up at Indiana. He was quick to ask you if you wanted to go. And of course, you said yes.

You sat beside Indiana on the plane, reading a book you had borrowed from him about the lost tribes of ancient Brazil. Occasionally, you would glance over to Indiana and find him looking at you. Once you caught him staring at you, you smiled softly at him, causing his heart to race. Indiana would say nothing, grabbing his hat and placing it over his head for a little nap.

You and Indiana, which he insisted you call him, wandered around Rio de Janeiro. There, Indiana had told you that you were both in search of a rare artifact, the golden Fire Princess statue. There had been rumors that the statue had been destroyed in a fire in the early 1800s, and no one was able to recover it. Though, there have been people who have spotted it. Who knew that looking for this statue was going to cause some problems? 

Almost getting impaled by spikes and other boobytraps in a secret ancient cave, to almost getting shot by evil men. You never thought this trip would be so dangerous. Though you and Indy grew closer as time went by. In the late evening after exploring the underground city, the two of you were lost in the jungle. Setting up a fire, Indiana and you sat together; one thing led to another and you both shared a kiss under the stars.

Both you and Indy keeping your relationship a secret from everyone. Not wanting to risk getting caught.

Indy asking you to stay after class to talk about your grade, when in reality he has another surprise trip for you.

“What do you think about going to Peru with me?”

“How is that even a question? Yes, Indy!”

Staying over at his house the littlest bit more often than what was strictly necessary. You’d come over once and boom you move in. 

Waking up to the smell of bacon and eggs, and Indy shirtless in the kitchen.

It was hard to not ogle over Indy during class, Indy's understanding of anything and everything about Archeology was beyond incredible. It was a lot of work, but Indy managed to do it all flawlessly.

Indy teaching you how to fight better. Standing behind you as he teaches you how to shoot a gun. His hand over yours, the other resting on your waist. His soft voice murmured in your ear as he told you to relax. 

You'd steal his favorite hat. Indy's 'trying to be angry' face always brought a smile to your face.

You are always wearing his shirts; to bed, in the morning, to a cafe, or even (accidentally) (not really) to his class. (You loved Indy’s face when you walked into class. 

Driving to the college together, though he’d drop you off around the corner. You liked it, the walk was enjoyable.

Calling you sweetheart when you two are in an argument. Indy knows he's in trouble when you call him by his real first name.

Indy's not too into cuddling, but he will cuddle you if you want to. Though Indy would start off with just his arm around you, in the morning, his arms are completely around you and his legs tangled with yours. 

Indy memorizing the littlest things about you. Your favorite color, your favorite music, the way you do your hair, and even your most embarrassing moments.

Trying exotic food with him when you go on adventures.

Running your hand through his hair as he rests his head on your lap.

You learned to pick up on Indy's little quirks. How he likes his coffee made, how he runs a hand through his hair when he's frustrated, and how he hums in the shower.

Surprisingly, Indy's a great dancer. He'll pull you into a small waltz or even a tango when he's feeling funny enough.

He can sing, too. You've seen Indy play his guitar, singing softly as he played. Though, he’s rather embarrassed when you find out.

He loves to pull you into spontaneous kisses. When you're finishing the dishes, he'd pull you into him catching you off guard. He'd smirk down at you, knowing exactly how much it affects you. Leaning down, antagonizing slow as he'd slot his lips over yours. Pressing you against the counter, he'd move his lips slowly against yours; not even caring about your soapy hands in his hair. 

Indy doesn't say 'I love you' often, rather showing that he loves you rather than saying it. He'd bring you breakfast in bed if you're having a bad day. Or Indy would make a hot chocolate for both of you. Though, when he does say it, it’s even more special.

Going on movie dates, going to see new movies when they come out in theaters. Indy always insists on buying popcorn.

He likes it with extra butter.

Sitting together in the dark theater, Indy's hand resting on your thigh as you watch. The same goes for drive-ins.

Indy helping you with homework if you're stuck. Though, he won't help you with anything involving his tests or quizzes. If he's feeling nice, he'd give you a small hint the night before.

Helping him shave, sitting on the bathroom counter with the razor in your hand, gently holding Indy's face in your hands as you glide the sharp razor over his skin. It's intimate. He can feel your pulse racing as you run the blade across his chin and cheeks, his fingers wrapping around your free hand on his cheek. When you're done, he'd lean his forehead on your shoulder, breathing in the scent of your shampoo, closing his eyes.

Eating lunch in his classroom, Indy sitting at his desk with his sandwich while you sit on top of his desk, your matching sandwich in your hands.

Indy can't believe how lucky he got with you sometimes. You are so perfect, yet so incredibly kind and compassionate. Even though you don't know it, you're amazing for Indy. You make him feel safe and confident in himself. You help calm him down when he feels anxious and nervous. He loves you so much. Indy doesn't think he could ever love someone else the way he does you. You're it for him.

[munsster]

Just imagine Steve freaking out when you have your first baby but by the sixth he’s totally prepared and chilled because you guys have been through it so many times lol.

domestic!steve and his little family (3)

A/N: he totally would go from gelled hair, full suit and tie to like war vet wearing glasses and drinking a slurpee in sweats

Warnings: references to childbirth/labor!, hospital, panicked steve, dad!steve, fluff, afab!reader implied, cursing, pet names (sunshine)

part one part two part three part four

steve’s character development surrounding your labor 😭 pls

and the first time he’s totally helicopter mom-ing it

bringing two duffel bags full of literally anything and everything that you might need

(most of it is really for him though)

steve “ohgodpohffuckohmyggodwhat if i mmiss it” harrington vs. steve “ay, babe, im runnin’ to the store, what kinda M&M’s d’you want?” harrington

oh god that first time he’s so lost

i mean he had 9 months to prepare and now he’s floundering???

he works up a sweat before you can even say your water broke

both of you being so diligent the first time: playing music for your bump, going to lamaze classes, being really good about the pregnancy diet

oh man, that poor sixth baby…….

not that you two are any less caring about it, but you are hella tired and they can’t expect you to avoid caffeine the whole time😭😭

now as far as preparedness goes, MAN has there been a vast improvement

the first time, he did not know what to do once you had your first contraction

he SPED to the hospital only for them to be like “uhhh just wait here” and you’re there for two hours when you could’ve been home i-

he was so scared the first time too

you were ANNIHILATING his right hand tho

probly broke a couple of his fingers, but thats okay, he’ll forgive you

him being that dad with a video camera

oh he was so obsessed the first time

bringing you ice chips so so often

asking if you needed anything constantly

helping you breathe through the hard parts

moving your hair out of your face 🥺

telling you how good you’re doing

you being an absolute menace—seriously, full on excorist—but he understands because… well, childbirth!

and once that sucker pops out, he’s so excited and you look so so beautiful holding the baby

and the first time dad really kicks in

he is SO nervous while you’re just sitting with the baby

then the nurse comes to put him in the nursery

and you immediately go “are you okay, stevie? i can see you brooding over there” “‘m not brooding, i’m just—” “nervous?” “yeah” “me too”

and he looks at you so lovingly and kisses your forehead and goes “we got this”

🥺🥺 he is just a sweetheart

then along came the twins—a whole different ordeal—and then babygirl and her brother

and then the sixth

you got your first contraction at like 5 am

yikes

and evvvvvverybody woke up

whole house was absolutely bumping

all the little ones were SO excited and you were like

holy fukcing shit im never doing this again

and steve really groggily phoned the sitter and apologized for the wakeup call

but she was sweet about it and watched the kids while you two hobbled into the car and drove off

oh and all the babes were like “good luck!!!” “see you soon” “miss youuuououoou” and waving and chasing the car down the street as far as they could 🥺🥺🥺

this time steve brought nothing

no duffel bag

he’ll drive home if he needs to

he’s learned enough to know that he doesn’t know anything

what never changes is that he’s always holding your hand if he can

like he’ll just reach for you and let you crush his hand during a particularly brutal contraction

honestly, his gentleness never fades

he’s just a lot more tired now

and wearing his pajamas & slippers

and he forgot to shave

but no matter, you are in your hospital gown looking gracefully sweaty when he waltzes into the room eating a bag of potato chips

and you glare at him

“want some?” “there is a baby coming out of me” “understood”

and he’s perched on the same chair in the same room with his chip bag tossed aside

“y’look just as beautiful as you did the first time” “please murder me, steven” “i could never” “if you don’t, this baby will” “nah, i believe in you, sunshine, you got this”

bonus: dustin bringing balloons and flowers and toys like the good uncle he is

and he definitely gives steve the same pep talk each time about how great of a father he’s been/going to be

aww dustin 🥺😌

he really loves being a part of your guys’ little family

and once it’s over, steve’s hovering over your shoulder and watching the baby with a little smile

and once the nurse takes the baby

he gets in the bed with you

“d’you think they’ll let us sleep here?” and he has his arms around you, very quickly losing consciousness

“god i hope so” and you slump into him right as he starts snoring

the babies are SO EXCITED when you finally bring the sixth home

they’re all like “woahhh” and so eager to touch the baby but they don’t

one of the grouches being like “SEND IT BACK” and steve laughing his ass off before scolding him a little

and babygirl being all like “she’s so little….. i LOVE her!!!!!”

ughhh, you know you both promised to stop after this one but

i mean, come on

masterlist

[gardens-light]

Captured

A weapon’s demonstration goes wrong, resulting in Tony Stark getting kidnapped and held hostage by an criminal organization, only known as ‘The Ten Rings.’ With his captures demanding that Tony builds a weapon of mass destruction. It’s up to Tony and his unlikely friends to survive and find a way out...

Content- Spoilers for the first film of ‘Iron Man.’ ( I know it’s old and most people have seen it, but thought to add it anyway.) Y/C= Your Country. Course Language.

Part 2

Word count: 7,342. (It is quite long. But hopefully impactful. If you think this should be cut into a mini-series, please let me know. Any and all feedback is appreciated.)

This fic is also on AO3

A low groan echoing throughout the cave caught your attention. Your gaze briefly leaving the pages of your book, as Yinsen looked at Stark's reflection through a broken mirror shard.

"He's awake." 

"Of course he's awake" you replied with a sarcastic tone. Turning your attention back on the pages of your book. 

"How much do you wanna bet he'll ask countless of questions?"

A small smile came to your friend's face as he carefully shaved his jaw. 

Tony's eyes blinked multiple times as he tried to gather his bearings. Laying down upon the army cot bed. His fingers tracing over his nostrils, feeling the tube which caused his discomfort. A groan and a few coughs escaped him, as he pulled the tube from his nose. Tony's face twisted in disgust, as he felt the thin plastic crawl up his windpipe with each tug. Ripping off the masking tape which held it against the bridge of his nose. His eyes darted around. Trying to find some form of familiarity. 

Patting around on the make shift table beside him, knocking off a small cup of water onto the earthy floor. Turning onto his side, Tony caught a glimpse of Yinsen. Happily humming to himself as he continued to shave with a blunt razor. Then scanning over to you, silently minding your own business, as your mind got lost in the pages of a fantasy book. Yinsen saw Tony attempting to roll of the army bed through the mirror.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." 

Hesitating for a brief moment, Tony heeded Yensin's warning. Rolling onto his back and turning his head slightly to the right, fear crept up his back as the sight of a car battery stood near him. With wide eyes and panicky breath, Tony's hands ran down the wires which connected to the battery. His shocked gaze looking down at himself, frantically pulling and ripping the bandages that covered his chest. Tony's eyes widened even more, fear shining through his dark eyes, as dread filled his body. An unsteady breath slipped through, as a medium sized ring pierced through his dirty flesh. Inside the ring was a magnet staring up at him. 

Tony laid in the cot for several more minutes, allowing the dread and disbelieve wash over him. Your eyes flickered off the pages for a brief moment, cautiously watching Stark with a studious stare, as he made his way towards you. Only the sound of Yensin's whistling tune echoed throughout the cave, disturbing the small silence. The fire danced in the reflection of his oval glasses, as he stirred the soup. Tony sat across from you, slouching against a rock and placing the car battery onto the floor. 

"What the hell did you do to me?" Tony's shaky tone questioned. His eyes still shining with fear, as he examined the magnet sticking out of the middle of his chest. 

Yinsen chuckled, "what did I do? What i did was to save your life." 

Placing your book aside, and accepting a bowl of soup that Yensin handed to you. You both exchanged smiles, as he continued. 

"I removed all the shrapnel as I could. But unfortunately, there's still a lot left, and it's headed into your atrial septum. Here wanna see?" 

With his free hand, Yensin's reached out towards a dusty table upon his right. Picking up a small glass vile, showing Tony the small fragments of metal shrapnel. Tony carefully accepted the vile, his eyes briefly flickering to you, as you watched the pair of them. 

"It's a souvenir. Take a look" Yinsen's kind and polite tone continued. "I've seen many wounds like that in my village. We call them, 'The Walking Dead.' Because it takes about a week, for the barbs to enter the vital organs-" 

"What is this?" Tony's flat voice cut him off. 

You rolled your eyes, "that's an electromagnet." 

You assumed Tony referred to the magnet within his chest. The billionaire's cautious stare turned to you. Watching you place your empty bowl near Yinsen, and poking the fire with a scrap metal pole. 

"It's hooked up to a car battery." Your voice was flat and unsympathetic. "And it's keeping the shrapnel from entering your heart. You have Yenshin to thank for that." 

Tony's posture shifted uncomfortably, as Yenshin tried to comfort him with a warm smile. He saw Tony's eyes shift to the camera above. 

"That's right. Smile." 

Yenshin chuckled to himself. "We met once, y'know? At a technical conference in Bern-" 

"I don't remember." 

Tony saw you and Yensin flash another smile at one another. A small chuckle left you, as Yenshin continued his little ramble. 

"Oh no, you wouldn't. If I had been that drunk, I wouldn't have been able to stand. Much less give a lecture on integrated circuits-" 

"Where are we?-" 

The sound of a heavy lock unlocking cut off Tony's question. He saw you and Yenshin quickly shift into a surrendering pose, standing upon your feet and placing your hands behind your head. You tried to control your breathing, as Yensin fussed over Tony. Getting him to stand and follow your lead, as the large metal doors- the only entrance and exit to the cave begun to open.

Heavy armed men entered the cave. Some wearing army camo, while others wore layers of tattered clothing, which protected their bodies from the harsh elements of the outside world. Tony struggled onto his feet, as Yensin yanked him up. Tony's wide eyed stare shifted from person to person.  

"Those are my guns. How did they get my guns?-" 

"Shut up!" You hissed through your teeth. "Just shut up, and do as we do!" 

A shaky breath left your parted lips. Attempting to remain calm, as multiple men, armed with heavy duty guns with 'Stark Industries' written along the barrels. Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach, as their weapons faced you three. Trigger happy fingers ready to pull at a moments notice. Emerging from the group, a rather tall man walked into the space. Black hair shaved down into a buzz cut, while grey hairs highlighted his full facial hair.

Heavy jacket and trousers, patterned in green army camo framed his pudgy frame. He approached your space, speaking in Arabic and once finished gesturing towards Yensin to translate. 

“Welcome Tony Stark. The most famous mass murderer in the history of America.”

The pudgy individual beamed a cheerful smile, as he spoke a quick sentence before gesturing to himself.

“He’s honoured.” Yenshin quickly translated, before the man continued his ramblings. “He wants you to build a missile. The ‘Jericho Missile’ that you demonstrated.”

He handed Yensin a photograph of a heavy duty machine, which held three large missiles. Your stomach twisted in an uncomfortable knot, swallowing your nerves. As you were aware of the weapon’s capability.

“This one” Yensin simply spoke. Showing Tony the photograph.

You saw the billionaire's features twist in disgust. His brows knitted together. Yensin's Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, swallowing his nerves. As he hesitated to translate Tony’s sentence in Arabic. 

“He refuses...”

Obviously disgusted and not amused by Tony’s reply. An angry expression flashed across the man’s face, as he yelled demands at two of the nearest men. They lowered their weapons, grabbing Tony’s biceps in vice like grip, and dragging him aside. The two restrained him, as the pudgy man grabbed a fistful of Tony’s hair, forcing his head into a sink filled with water. 

You turned your head, closing your eyes. Trying to block out Tony’s gargled screams and yells, as their leader yelled his demands at Tony. After a few moments, the bearded individual placed a straw bag over Tony’s head. The two men who held his biceps, forcefully moved him out of the cave. Turning his attention onto you and Yensin, gesturing you two to follow...

The sunray’s blinded your eyes as you exited the cave, the desert heat and harsh wind was cruel to your sensitive skin. The bag was roughly pulled from Tony’s head, the sudden daylight hurting his eyes. As he was shoved forward down the sandy path. Once Tony’s vision cleared, his eyes widened in shock as he walked down the path, taking in the sight of the high sandy dunes and rocky terrain. The camp littered with his weapons, all heavy duty and military graded. 

Tony held the car battery under one arm, with you and Yensin beside him. As the man from before, begun to speak and gesture towards the camp.

“He wants to know what you think.” Yensin’s voice was low as he turned towards Tony. 

A frown formed upon Tony’s lips, his brows knitting together. “I think he has a lot of my weapons.”

Yensin and the man spoke in Arabic, the convocation going back and forth. Only being interrupted by Yensin’s translation to Tony.

“He says, they have everything you need to build the Jericho missile.” Yensin explained. “He wants you to make a list of materials, and to start working immediately. Once you’re finished, he’ll set you free.”

Tony pulled a fake smile, shaking the man’s hand. “No he wont.”

“No... he wont.” You and Yensin agreed...

Night fell, along with a cold harsh wind swept across the camp. Although the fire pit within the cave kept most of the cold out, the chill could still be felt in other areas. The three of you huddled around the fire, you saw Tony’s lifeless eyes watch the flames flicker and dance. As Yensin tried to talk sense into him. 

“Look what you saw today. That is your legacy, Stark. Your life’s work, in the hands of those murders-”

“He doesn't care, Yensin.” You sighed. “He’s just waiting for his military buddies to come find him. Well guess what Stark, they won’t find you in these mountains-”

“Our survival depends on him-”

“Exactly! And look how well it’s turned out so far!” you snapped. Throwing your cup aside, causing water to splash everywhere. Tony watched you leave and approached one of the army, cot beds. Yensin sighed as he continued. 

“Look... is this how you want to go out, Stark? Is this the last act of defiance of the ‘great’ Tony Stark? Or are you doing to do something about it?-”

“Why should I do anything?” Tony voice was low. No life or confidence within his voice. Just a hopeless flat tone, “They’re going to kill me, you, her, either way. And if they don’t, I’ll probably be dead within a week.”

“Well then... this is an important week for you...”

The next day was a full hustle. Men and women came in and out of the cave, all carrying tools, equipment, machines- anything and everything Tony said to them. You directed some of the groups, and helped place certain items, as Yensin stood beside Tony. Translating everything he said into Arabic. 

“How many languages do you speak?” Tony asked Yensin, as he took apart one of the missiles that casually stood on a wooden table in the centre of the cave.

“A lot” Yensin’s voice simply replied. “Y/N can speak many languages too- but even with both of our knowledge, it’s apparently not enough for this place.”

Tony’s eyes flickered towards you, as you sat upon the end of the table. His eyes dropped back down to his work, Yensin continued talking.

“Here they speak Arabic, Urdu, Dari, Pashto, Mongolian, Farsi, Russian-”

“Who are these people?”

“’They’ are your loyal customers, sir” your sarcastic tone filled the air, as Tony took out the inside of the missile. “They call themselves ‘The Ten Rings’” 

Tony scoffed at the name, causing you to frown. 

You watched him to continue working on the missile. Taking things apart, carelessly chucking unwanted bits over his shoulder, using second hand and scary looking D.I.Y power tools. You and Yensin looked at each other, both speechlessly acknowledging Tony’s arrogant behaviour. 

“I’ve told you. He doesn’t give a shit” You muttered, still sitting on the edge of the table. A spanner casually twirling around in your fingers. 

“We need to be hopeful, and work as a team.” 

You scoffed at your friend’s words. “Team? Haha, yeah right. That playboy knows nothing about teamwork.”

You raised an eyebrow, as Yensin silently gesturing for you to watch his lead, as he approached Tony’s side, whom still tinkered with odd bits and pieces. 

“Y’know we might be more productive, if you include us in the planning process.”

But all Yensin got was a simple, “uh-huh” from the billionaire. 

Your friend’s worried eyes met your ‘I-Told-You-So-Expression’, before Tony took the tip of the missile off and removing the inside. Tossing a wheel of glass and plastic bits over his shoulder, missing you by inches. Yensin looked up at Tony, as he held a small fragment of what looked like a regular metal shard. 

“This is palladium. 0.15 grams. We need at least 1.6 grams, so why don’t you go and break down the other eleven?” 

“Would it hurt you to say ‘please’?” 

Tony looked over his shoulder at you. A sigh leaving his mouth, before turning back to his secret project. “Could you please, break down the other eleven?” 

Yensin left Tony’s side and silently gestured you to follow him. Tony heard the low bickering between you and Yensin, as he turned his back and continued on with his work.

Hours rolled by, watching Tony and Yensin work together to build whatever it was Tony had plans for- but one thing you did know. It wasn’t anything related to the missile...

Sitting upon the army cot bed, your attention left the pages of your book. Watching Yensin carefully hold a smouldering cup, with a pair of iron looking tongs. 

“Careful. Careful. We’ve only got one shot at this.” Tony’s rasp voice begun to sound a little more polite. Causing your friend to smile. 

“Relax. I have steady hands.” Yensin assured, “why do you think you’re still alive?” 

Tony returned his smile, as Yensin carefully poured the melted palladium into a circular mould. “Sorry but... what’s your names again?”

“My name is Yensin. And behind us is, Y/N.”

“Yensin... Y/N... nice to meet you.”

Tony looked up at you, seeing your slight smile that teased the corners of your mouth. “Nice to meet you too...”

The chill wind that crept through the crack of the metal door, hinted that night has fallen outside. A yawn escaped from Tony, as he stretched his body. Leaning back against the wooden chair. A little sneeze from you disturbed the still air, causing him to look over his shoulder. He guessed that it must be the late hours of the night, since Yensin was already asleep in one of the cot beds. 

The flickering of the lights in the cave, broke your attention from your book. Looking around, your curious gaze fell upon Tony. A gentle blue glow from the work bench showed his weak smile, you watched his muscles loosen and relax. As his posture slouched in the chair, his head only perking up when he noticed you approaching him. 

“That... doesn’t look like a Jericho missile.”

“That’s because it’s a miniaturized arc reactor.” Tony softly explained, as he stretched his back. “I’ve got a big one powering my factory at home. Hopefully this should keep the shrapnel out of my heart.”

“Something like this could generate anything.” Your bewildered gaze met Tony’s calm expression. “But what?”

He pulled a sly smile, a smile you’ve grown to know that he was planning something.

“If my math is correct. And it always is. Three gigajoules per second.”

Your eyes widened, jaw almost hitting the floor. “That could run your heart for fifty lifetimes.” Your tone filled with disbelief.

He bit is bottom lip, “or something big for fifteen minutes.”

You raised an eyebrow as Tony collected scraps of tracing paper. And laid them on top of one another. “This is our ticket out of here.”

Carefully looking at the designs, your soft confused gaze glancing over the pages. “What is it?”

“Flatten them out and look.” Straightening out the pieces of paper, Tony relieved the design of a rough suit made of sheets of metal. Labelled with parts, weapons, measurements, and how many pieces this thing was going to have. Covering an individual from head to toe. 

“Impressive...”

Tony sighed, “well... I guess that’s enough for one day... afternoon... whatever time it is.”  

A small chuckle left you, as you made your way back to the firepit. Getting ready to settle on the floor again. 

“Trouble in paradise?”    

You raised an eyebrow at Tony’s teasing tone. A small chuckle left him, as he attempted to explain himself. 

“You’re not with Yensin tonight. So... I assumed-”

Your cough suddenly startled him, as you broke into giggles of disbelief. 

“Me and Yensin? No! No! Please never assume anything!-”

“Oh... but you two seem so close.” Tony spoke, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m no closer to him than you are” you said between giggles. Your laughter slowly dying down. “He’s just a good friend. Saved me from these assholes.”

“How? Where you from?”

“I’m from Y/C. Plucked from my home, and brought here. I met Yensin here” you gestured at the cave. “Our captures demanding us to read, translate and locate things. As we... helped them prepare things for your capture.”

You pulled an apologetic expression. Tony pulled a weak smile. 

“It’s alright.” He assured. “It was going to happen sooner or later... so ugh... How did Yensin save you?”

“I tried to sabotage one of their weapon crates. Got caught, and was close to having a bullet in my head. Yensin jumped in front of me, begged them to spare me. Promising that my knowledge is irreplaceable, and rivals his own.”

“Does it?”

You returned his warm smile, “no, of course not. I don’t know anymore or less than him. We’re both linguists.”

Tony nodded in agreement, as he reached out for a cup of water. Taking a few sips, before speaking. 

“So... where do you sleep? I’ve noticed there’s only two beds.”

You pointed at the ground. Tony pulled a disbelief look. 

“On the floor?” 

“It’s not that bad.” You assured, “I used to go camping when I was younger. It kinda feels like that.”

Tony straightened his posture, while rubbing the back of his neck. Clearing his throat before speaking, “we could... y’know, share a bed.”

You raised an eyebrow, “what?-”

“Well, now I know that a lady is sleeping on the floor. What kind of gentleman would I be if I allowed that to continue?”

You snorted at his remark. “A gentleman? Stark, please. We both know you’re many things. But certainly not a gentleman-”

“Why can’t I be? Because the media claims I’m not? Those are nothing but rumours- I assure you”

You watched him raise onto his feet. Holding out a hand to you, “let’s go to bed. I would like to show you how much of a gentleman, I can be.”

Despite how much you wanted to, you couldn’t deny that Tony had quite the charm. Even with his untidy hair, and roughly trimmed beared, the billionaire had something that was... chivalry about him. You tried to hide the shy smile that tugged on the corners of your mouth, trying to ignore the butterflies that fluttered within your stomach. As Tony lead you to the bed, you tried to get your hand out of his grip, as nerves filled you like a shy teenager.

Only releasing you as Tony approached the bed. Both of you silently laughed and exchanged smiles, as the gentle snores from Yensin filled the air. Lowering himself to the cot, and patting the small space beside him. You carefully climbed into the cot, both laying on your sides, facing one another. Tony held out an arm, for you to lay your head in the crook of his shoulder. Your face cuddling into his chest, as yours and his free arm wrapped around each others waist. Your legs entangling with his.

“Comfy?” 

“Uh-huh...”

Tony rested his chin gently against the top of your head. Closing his eyes, and listening to the sounds of your steady breathing...

Your eyes fluttered open a small sound of chatter awoke you. As you stretched, realizing that Tony wasn’t in the bed with you anymore. Laying upon your back, giving your limbs a final stretch, before rolling out of the cot and onto your feet. Tony’s kind eyes looked up at you, returning his smile as your sleepy gaze watched him and Yensin play chess out of nuts and bolts. 

“Hey, look who’s up.” Yensin kindly greeted, as Tony passed you a cup of weak, black coffee. 

You simply smiled, giving Tony a silent nod of gratitude, before sitting on the floor beside the board. Watching them deeply think about their next moves, as the pair continued their convocation.

“You still haven’t told me where you’re from.” Tony softly spoke. Moving the his bishop, taking Yensin’s pawn. 

You looked up at him, realizing it was information you wasn’t aware of either.

“I’m from a small town called, Gulmira.” Yensin simply answered, smiling both at you and Tony. “It’s actually a nice place.” 

“Got a family?”

“Yes. And I will see them again, when I leave here.”

Your smile widened, assuming Tony already filled him in about the plan of the iron suit. Yensin asked Tony the same question, but you watched the billionaire’s features soften. Only able to pull a weak smile, as he replied with, “no.”

Your heart sunk a little, seeing the realization and hurt upon Tony’s face. 

“So you’re a man who has everything... and yet nothing?-”

“I don’t have anyone either.” You quickly butted in, attempting to pull an convincing smile to the pair of them. “But it’s alright. Cause I’ll be leaving here with two friends."

"Oh! And Stark, your arc reactor! It’s in your chest!” He returned your warm smile, seeing your gentle gaze fall onto his clothed chest. The arc’s soft blue glow shining through the tattered fabric of his shirt. 

“Yeah... Yensin put it in this morning. Works like a charm.” 

Yensin raised an eyebrow, as you and Tony reached out for one another. Holding hands in silence, as you gazed into each others eyes...

Over the period of days, or possibly weeks- perhaps longer. The three of you worked together, you and Yensin carefully followed Tony’s designs of bringing the suit to life. Your waking hours consisted of welding, soldering wires, cutting scrap pieces of metal.

During the time you didn’t notice Yensin smiling at you and Tony, laughter and playful banters were often exchanged between the pair of you. He wouldn’t admit the flirtatious comments he’d hear in the middle of the night, as you and Tony cuddled. It seemed like only he was aware of what was blooming between the pair of you...

But despite finally finding hope and light in this dark situation, you couldn’t help but not be able to shake of the feeling of dread. This sinking feeling would kill the butterflies in your stomach, allowing an uncomfortable feeling creep up your spine and over your shoulders. You often expressed this ‘gut feeling’ to Tony, but he always cupped your face, soothing your thoughts and always ending in pulling you in for a tight hug. Patting your head, and planting a soft kiss on top of your head, in an attempt to calm your nerves. 

But as predicted, the aching hunch relieved itself... 

Faminular shouts demanded your attention from the other side of the metal door. While Yensin and Tony looked at one another with puzzled expressions, your breathing slowed to a shallow pace. Uncertainty and dread crawled up your back, as the heavy locks of the door unlocked and pushed open.

The boys imedictly stopped their wielding, and placed their hands behind their head. An muscle memory imbedded into your body at this point. Your posture switching from relaxed and working, to stiff and vulnerable.

The usual group of heavily armed individuals entered the cave. Their leader from before- the man of buzz cut hair and thick dark beard, which was highlighted with gray strains, lead the group. But it was the person behind him which caused your breathing to hitch a little. His dark eyes scanned the room carefully, painfully watching the three of you for a solid moment, before his eyes moved from one to the other.

Although his relaxed fingers fumbled and played with the onyx ring, upon his middle finger. His posture still was strong and course, clearly showing what he held that the other didn't... Authority.

"Relax."

His voice certainly wasn't the tone that someone would of used. It was more like a 'soft' command, rather than a suggestion.

The three of you slowly lowered your hands, your limbs returning to your side, as the bald individual wandered over to Tony. The billionaire's cautious gaze locked onto his, as his fingers brushed the tattered fabric of Tony's button down shirt aside. The gentle blue glow of the arc reactor dimly lit the greed, which hid in his dark eyes. Tony kept his breathing calm and regular, despite staring down at the individual.

"The bow and arrow, once was the pinnacle of weapons technology." He casually stepped away from Tony, his gaze hovering from Tony and now onto you. A sly smile came to his lips, as his gaze saw the slight tremble in your body, your posture shifting. A sickening knot twisted in your stomach, as you knew he was enjoyed this reaction from you.

As he walked away, after allowing his stare to uncomfortably linger over you for another minute. Tony slowly reached out for your hand, his fingers attempting to intertwine with yours.

"Don't." You hissed through your teeth, "that's Razar... he's the one in charge of this whole shit show..."

Razar's sly smile staid upon his lips, well aware of your muttered whisper, but not caring. He merely continued his rambles, while examining the contents of a nearby desk.

"It allowed the great Genghis Khan to rule from the Pacific, to the Ukraine. Creating an empire twice the size of Alexander the Great" his head cocked to the side, as a slight curious tone slipped into his last sentence. "And four times the size of the Roman Empire."

Tony's worried expression flashed between Razar and Yensin, as he casually looked at designs upon bits of tracing paper. Yensin tried to calm his friend's nerves, silently gesturing to remain calm.

"But today... whoever holds the latest Stark weapons rules these lands."

Your fingers tightened around Tony's hand, as Razar looked over his shoulder, his intimidating gaze narrowing on Yensin. "And soon... it be my turn..."

his body shifted and faced Yensin, his speech switching dialect as his gaze flickered between you and Tony, before fully landing onto Yensin. You heard his voice attempt to remain calm as he spoke.

"Translate for me, Honey."

How Tony could keep his composure throughout this ordeal never ceased to surprise you.

"Um... they're speaking in Urdu, give me a moment" you listened carefully, trying to find a way to sum up the conversation between Razar and Yensin. "Um, he's... questioning Yensin. Something about is this how he repays him, after allowing him and me to live."

You watched the two interact with one another, Yensin keeping his calm mannerism, while Razar verbally interrogated him. The knot in the pit of your stomach twisted more, almost causing pain in your gut. Your voice trembling as you whispered, "he has a suspicion that we've been up to something..."

Your voice trailed off into silence, eyes widening in fear. As you watched two men follow Razar's orders, forcing Yensin onto his knees and turning his head to the side, as he rested against the cold anvil. Your breath getting stuck in your throat, as Razar reached for a pair of iron tongs. Reaching into the freshly lit furness, and picking up a piece of coal which had a molten glow.

A small gasp left your mouth, as fear crept up your back. Tony kept a firm grip upon your hand, slightly tugging you back into position whenever he felt you slowly ease forward. Your heart leapt into your throat, as Razar walked over towards Yensin. His cruel tone demanding your friend to open his mouth, as well as commanding the truth from him.

Any other person would of buckled and trembled under this kind of pressure. Tell tale signs of lies and secrets would of leaked out of them, but not Yensin. He remained calm and firm, as though he had nothing to lose...

Before you could leap into Yensin defence, Tony gently pushed you behind him as he stepped forward.

"What do you want? A delivery date?-"

Tony's questions came to an abrupt halt, as guns immediately pointed in his direction. Words of warning were shouted as he sighed in frustration. Razar's questioning glare flickered up to Tony, reading the billionaire's collected expression.

"I need him. Good assistant." was the simple sentence that came from Tony.

Razar's glare flickered from Tony to you, and back again. After what felt like an eternity, the molten coal was dropped onto the anvil, the iron tongs carelessly tossed aside. Yensin closed his eyes, as a shaky breath left his trembling lips.

Razar eyed Tony as he slowly approached him, "you have until tomorrow to assemble my missile."

The moment the metal doors closed, you broke from your statue like posture. Rushing towards Yensin, falling to your knees and flung your arms around him, pulling him close to you, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

"I'm alright. I'm alright." Yensin trembling voice tried to assure you, as a weak smile formed across his face. A smile he always pulled for you whenever you needed comfort.

Yensin slowly raised onto his feet, while helping you back onto yours. It felt strange- almost alien like how the pair simply shook off the dread and immediately got back to work. It reminded you how an ant clonally worked, only stopping their work briefly whenever an inconvenience interrupted them, only to go back to what they were doing before with hive mind like directions and command...

It was the early hours of the sunrise. Sitting at the end of the table, your legs shifting and twitching, your worried eyes watching intensively, as Tony begun to wrap white electrical tape around his hands. Easily using the entire length of the small roll, as he wrapped it evenly around his palms, knuckles and small spaces between his fingers.

The boys had their game faces on, minds clear and focused. Communicating clearly with one another, as Yensin helped Tony get into the thick layers of the protective clothing. The heavy fire-proof jacket of leather, and welding gloves covering his board torso. Tony stepped into the suit of cast iron, and scrap metal sheets. His arc reactor glowed brightly through the hole of the centerpiece.

Although you remained quiet, not daring to break their concentration. But your body shuffled and fidgeted in and out of positions. Nerves entangled your body like the wires of Tony's iron suit. Your breath shaky and uneven, as you continued to fail to hold yourself together.

"Okay? Can you move?"

Tony went through each limb movement, as Yensin tested and adjusted certain pieces, while a large metal frame held Tony and the iron suit in place.

"Okay. Good." Yensin quickly adjusted and tightened a few nuts and bolts of the suit. "Y/N, say it again."

"Forty-one steps straight ahead. Then sixteen steps- that's from the door." Uncertainty and worry rolled off the edges of your mono-toned voice. Your worried eyes staring blankly at the earthly floor, as you continued, "fork right. Thirty-three steps, turn right-"

Unfamiliar voices snapped you out of your panicky daze, as commands started shouting from the other side of the metal door.

"Yensin! Yensin! Stark!"

"Say something. Say something back to them." Tony's voice was the only thing that remained consistently calm.

"Th-They're speaking Hungarian. I-I don't-" your voice trembled through your quivering lips. Your legs bouncing uncontrollably, as you tried to rattle your suddenly blank mind.

"Then speak Hungarian."

Yensin licked his lips, attempting to keep himself calm as he tried to speak back in the foreign language. Arguments from the men and Yensin went back and forth, only stopping when the heavy locks of the metal door begun to shift and creek.

Boom! Crash!

The sudden explosion blew the doors off their hinges, mercilessly sending the two unknown individuals backwards and being crushed by fallen debris and lose rocks.

"How did that work?" Tony asked.

Yensin quickly looked over his shoulder, as your worried expression silently gasped at the sight before you.

"Oh my goodness" Yensin muttered. "It worked alright."

Tony pulled a cocky smile, "that's what I do."

"Okay, okay. Let me finish this.-"

"Initialize the power sequence."

Yensin quickly adjusted his glasses, facing the laptop which was upon the table behind him. Your violent shaking caused the table to wobble, making it hard for Yensin to press the keys. It seemed like out of all the months you three had spent together, now was the only moment where you all felt the same dread.

"Now!"

"Tell me! Tell me!" Yensin called over his shoulder at Tony,

"Function eleven. Tell me when you see a progress bar."

Becoming too frigidity, you got up onto your feet. Your body weight shifting from one foot to another, only stopping whenever you grew bored of staying in one spot and begun pacing.

A progress bar appeared upon the screen, the black void only filled with green coding which made no sense to you whatsoever.

"It should be up right now." Tony hurried voice spoke.

"Yes. Yes-"

"Talk to me Yensin. Tell me when you see it." Tony spoke.

"I have it!-"

"Control 'I.' Then 'Enter.'-"

Yensin followed Tony's instruction as he pressed the keys.

"Good! Come over here and button me up."

Turning away from the laptop, Yensin quickly attended to the small finishing touches of the suit. Tony's eyes flashed up at you, noticing your pace quicken, as thundering footsteps and loud voices echoed from the cave's entrance to the outside. His attention went back to Yensin.

"Every other hex bolt." He kindly directed, "nothing pretty. Just get it done."

"They're coming!" your panicky tone shouted. Hands ran through your hair, "they're coming!."

After attending to the last bolt, Yensin spun around and gazed at the laptop screen. His heart sinking as the process bar snailed to it's halfway point.

"Make sure the checkpoints are clear before you follow me out, okay?" Tony questioned.

"We need more time" Yensin's eyes looked up at you. Your eyes widening as it appeared you knew what he was thinking. Before you could protest, he quickly faced Tony. "Hey... I'm gonna go and buy you some time."

Tony's expression finally changed from calm to worried, his eyes shining with fear. "Stick to the plan!"

Ignoring Tony's shouts, Yensin approached you, placing a gentle hand upon your shoulder. "Everything's going to be alright-"

"Stick to the plan!" you protested.

But Yensin only flashed you a half smile, before running towards the exit. Picking up a gun from the floor, who onced belonged to the fallen individuals. Yensin ran into the rocky tunnel, aimlessly firing the weapon into the air, his yelling voice bouncing off the cave walls.

Turning his attention onto you, Tony saw you standing beside the table. Your gaze still staring in the direction of Yensin.

"Y/N. Y/N, look at me." Despite hearing the slight worry and concern hidden within his tone. Tony tried to continue speaking in his calm and collected voice. He had to call your name two more times, to finally grab hold of your undivided attention.

"I know what you're contemplating about, don't do it. I need you here, my darling. I need you to stick to the plan."

The echoing of running, yelling voices and gunshots stole you attention again. Causing your heart to race a little more within your chest, as you realized the sounds where coming closer. Reality soon snapped you out of your frozen state of mind, as you quickly approached Tony's side. Tightening up a few bolts, before hiding behind him...

Peeping over Tony's shoulder, you held your breath, as you watched three heavy armed men enter the cave. Their fearful and questioning eyes looking at the large metal doors upon the floor, witnessing the damage that Tony's homemade bomb caused. One of them carefully stumbled forward, bravely walking a little further in front of the others. The dimly lit lights within the cave shined a weak glow, nearly the whole area you've been living in being reduced the stuttle darkness.

You quickly ducked back behind Tony's still posture, as the man scanned around his surroundings with a small torch. His eyes finally falling onto the iron suit which enclosed Tony, all you could see was the individual's eyes widen in shock, before Tony harshly wacked him. Causing the unsuspected man to fly backwards, his comrades quickly opened fire.

Flashes from the guns firing aimlessly lit up small portions of the cave. Bullets flying into the rocky walls and ceilings, ricocheting off the dodgy tables and chairs. Causing papers to fly everywhere, and leaving dents into the off cuts of odd bits of scrap metal.

The gunfire only lasted for a few quick moments, before hearing the clicks of an empty barrel. Being untied from the frame which held him, and finally being able to move, Tony approached the men with thundering feet and knocking them to the ground.

"Grab one of their guns! Stay behind me!"

As I grabbed the riffle from the ground, more gunfire ahead of the rocky tunnel within the cave erupted. More bullets ricochet off Tony's iron suit, acting as a perfect human shield as he marched forward. With me blindly aiming the weapon in hand, returning the gunfire at our captures.

Our yelling voices being drowned out by the chaos. One foolishly ran towards Tony, firing his weapon blindly in multiple directions, but only to be swiftly taken out by a swing of Tony's fist. The rest quickly scampered to their feet, running further up the rocky tunnel which lead to our exit. I staid behind Tony, trying to steady my nerves the best I can, as I returned the open fire. Only stopping to pick up another weapon from the ground, once the barrel was empty. Just for me to continue the gory onsort.

Half way through the tunnel, the retreating men begun to push two heavy metal doors close. Trapping one of their comrades with us, but also blocking our path.

Tony slowly stopped, as the individual yelled in a foreign language and attempting to prize the doors open by scratching at the surface. Carefully stepping to the side, aiming the barrel of the gun at the individual's head.

"Save your bullets." Tony calmly spoke. "Plus, we need a little more force to open the door."

Retreating back to my previous position behind Tony, he shoved the man out of the way. Leaving him to cower upon the floor, while Tony pushed the closing of the doors. With the combined weight of the iron suit, you'd think that it slowed down his movements- indeed it did, but only to a certain point. Tony was still able to land pretty heavy and harsh hits upon the door, my wide eyed stare watched speechlessly as the metal of the door slowly buckled and bent under Tony's will.

With a few more heavy hits, the metal doors came flying off their hinges. The men began to run further up the tunnel, continuing their yells and shouts. Aimlessly opening fire at anything in our direction. As I opened fire on our captors, within my peripheral vision. Tony's attempt of backhanding someone caught my attention, but his swing was blindly swung, causing him to get his arm stuck in a small chunk of the cave wall.

I called out to him, over the sound of bullets and voices. But they drowned me out, leaving me no option to open fire at the individual that tried to carefully move towards an unsuspected Tony. The billionaire only caught the last moments, of the man falling to his knees as my bullet pierced his skull.

"Nice shot!-"

"Watch out next time-"

I didn't need to see his cocky smile., beneath that helmet. I could hear it within his voice.

Acknowledging our next move with a simple nod, Tony and I pressed onwards. The hint of the dry desert air filled me with hope, knowing we were so close to coming to the end of this God-forsaken underground prison.

As we turned the corner, the heat of the sun shined into the mouth of the cave. Revealing the sight of Yensin, slouching against bags of sand and dirt. Blood stained his once friendly face, as opened wounds marked his skin.

"Yensin!-"

"Watch out!-" I could barely hear his warning, as pain struggled his vocal cords.

"Y/N!" Tony pulled me backwards, as an miniature rocket came flying towards us. Tony quickly pulled me close against him, shielding me from the blast, as he raised his right arm returning the shot at a pissed off Razar.

Razar's body ragdolled against the cave wall behind him, as I pushed myself away from Tony's embrace. Running towards a fatally wounded Yensin.

"Y.N... Stark..."

My eyes ran over his body, it seemed like blood was coming from everywhere. Staining his trousers and shirt, a mixture of deep and surface wounds littered his hands and throat. I poorly attempted to pull a weak smile, gently placing my weapon to the ground at Yensin's feet. As my trembling hands cupped his face.

"Come on, we gotta go."

Tony's heavy, clangy footsteps thundered over to my side.

"Move for me. Come on. We got a plan, we're gonna stick to it." Tony said, as he lifted up the faceplate of his helmet.

I speechless nodded, as my hands left Yensin's face and reached for his bloody hand. Trying to gently pull him back up onto his feet.

"This was always the plan..." his voice was shallow and quiet.

Hearing the pain within his voice brang tears to the corners of my eyes.

"No" my voice protested. "Like Tony said! We have a plan, come on! Let's go-"

"She's right. You gotta get up and see your family. Come on, Yensin. You can do it."

"M-My family... is dead..." Yensin struggled to breath his words. "I'm going to see them now, Stark...It's ok..."

I tried to fight the tears in my eyes, as Yensin's weak yet gentle gaze. "It's ok..."

But we promised! I screamed in my thoughts. We promised to leave together!

"I can't leave you..." my voice almost cracked as I choked on my words. "You can't expect me to leave you, not here. Not in a place like this. I owe you so much! You can't go Yensin." I cradled his hand against my cheek.

"You owe me nothing, Y/N... knowing you and Stark has made my life meaningful... it's ok my dear, I want this..."

His watery gaze met Tony's once again.

"Thank you for saving me. Thank you for saving us." Tony's gentle voice thanked.

"Don't... Don't waste your life, Stark... You and Y/N, don't waste your lifes."

Tears streamed down my cheek, as the light in Yensin's eyes began to slowly dim. Placing his hands onto his chest, I felt the last shallow breath of lungs. My heart sank as I watched his eyes roll shut, and Yensin's body go limp...

He was with his family now...

"Come on..." Tony's voice gently tugged for my attention. His hand rest upon my shoulder, "we gotta move. There's still quite a long road ahead of us... it's not over yet."

[xtrafluffyteddy]

18th birthday

Pairing: Eddie munson x reader

Mentions: character death, a little mourning, happy ending though!

Imagine you finding out your pregnant after eddie had died in the upside down

When you found out you were pregnant after Eddie had perished in the upside down you were besides yourself you contemplated a lot of things, but ultimately decided to keep the little one when uncle Wayne said he’d take the both of you in after your parents had kicked you out.

After that it was years of trial and error and constantly telling your son about what a brave and great man his father was anytime he had asked about him. You worked three jobs to try to save up enough to get an apartment for you and Ozzy. Thankfully steve was always by yours side to take care of Ozzy when the shifts would run long or you got suddenly called into work, it all paid off in the end though when you were able to get a nice two room apartment just outside of Hawkins.

Years flew by it seemed, Ozzy grew more and more to resemble his father with his long brown hair and tendency to get himself in trouble with his active imagination, there was only a few differences between them really like Ozzy had to wear glasses something he inherited from you and though he decided to grow his hair out long he shaved the sides to give himself a more punk look. You supported him no matter what.

You had been decorating for his 18th birthday with the help of Steve and the kids who were now grown into fine young adults, you couldn’t help but pinch their cheeks like you did when they were little, must be the mom in you that couldn’t resist.

You hung up a huge banner that said happy 18th Ozzy, you stand back suddenly overcome with a small sadness that Eddie wouldn’t get to see his little boy become a man, you caress the guitar pick around your neck the same one he slipped on you the day you lost him.

“Ozzy is coming!!” Dustin shouted from the window snapping you out of your trip down memory lane, everyone hid in their designated spots as the sound of jingling keys could be heard unlocking the door and in walked Ozzy who looked tired from school.

“SURPRISE” you all jump out and scream Steve shooting off some of those confetti poppers as you hug your son who had grown taller than you “happy birthday baby boy” you smile up at him pinching his cheeks before leaving a loud squeaky kiss on his forehead “mommmmm I’m not a baby anymore cmon” he whined half heartedly but smiled none the less before turning to everyone “thank you uncle Dustin, thank you uncle Steve this looks kick ass” he looked around beaming with joy at the homemade cake on the table and a big box leaning against the wall that said don’t open till your 18th on it.

“Don’t thank us thank your mom she just dragged us here to do all the hard work” Dustin jokes patting Ozzy on the back. Your son turns to you hugging you tight “thanks momma your the best” you rub his back feeling over come with emotion “anything for your sweetheart” you pull away and usher him towards the table.

You light his candles smiling as Steve turns off the light and all of you sing happy birthday to him. “Make a wish sweetheart” you squeeze your sons shoulder gently sending him a soft loving smile already knowing what he’s gonna wish for “I wish I could meet dad just one time” he whispers softly to himself blowing out the candles.

You take a deep shaky breath but smile none the less as you turn away “now I know I can’t bring back your dad no matter how much witchcraft I try” you joke lightening the suddenly somber mood “but I’ve been saving this ever since you were born it was your dads when he was in a band and now it’s yours Oz” you gently lay down the large box on the table after moving the cake.

Ozzy looked at you then back at the box feeling a thrum of excitement having seen that box hidden in your closet for years. He rips open the wrapping paper and opens the box to reveal Eddie’s prize guitar, and immediately tears well up in his eyes as he looks up at you. “Mom I- but-“ he begins voice watery “it’s yours sweetheart” you whisper reassuringly kissing the top of his head.

When he picked it up and immediately started playing you smiled knowing that if Eddie was here right now he’d be proud of the young man your son had become.

[prolix-yuy]

what is frankie's favourite part about being with ms jackson? is it finally feeling settled? 🥺

Lissie, what a great freakin 'ask. I’m so glad you’re curious about how Ms Jackson makes Frankie feel, since we all know what she thinks. Let’s take a little dive in.

There You Are

Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x F!Reader "Ms Jackson"

Summary: What is Frankie’s favorite part about being with Ms Jackson?

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: M, past Sex Worker!Frankie, watch me make up shit about sex work, implied other Triple Frontier Boys!Sex Workers, allusions to sexual acts. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Cross-posted on AO3

Sex Worker!Frankie AU Series Masterlist

Frankie told you that he fell in love with you the first time you met, which you accepted with a smirk and some mild disbelief. And maybe that is simplifying it too much, calling it “love at first sight.”

But a lot of things led up to that first night.

To start, it had been a long time since Santi had called Frankie about a client. Not just because of the coke; demand just wasn’t that high for what the boys offered. And when someone did call, it was more likely Santi would send Benny their way.

I’m looking for someone fit, young, strong. A little wild if you have that. I want my world rocked.

Well, Frankie didn’t exactly know what people asked for when Santi sent Will or Benny, but he assumed it was something like that. He knew that his best days were starting to be further behind him than in front of him. His beard has more grays in it now, his jawline not as sharp. He used to be able to wear a mustache well, but last time he shaved he worried his face was looking too much like a little abuela’s to do it again. His hair is starting to thin, which keeps his trusty Standard Oil cap on his head. Soft in the face, around his middle, and maybe more in his heart than he’s ready to admit.

As thick as he thought his skin was, it still hurts to see the disappointment in a client’s eyes when they open the door and he’s not what they’re hoping for. It’s fast, the mask of politeness coming up to cover the confusion, or the disappointment. He always leaves them as satisfied as he can, even more than they expected if possible, to try and chase that look from his mind.

Too old.

Too big.

Too cautious.

Too Frankie.

The boys reassure him that he’s still got it, but watching Benny in boxing practice, all corded muscle and lightning reflexes, makes his soft stomach clench. Frankie bets he looks good no matter what lighting he’s in. That the clients he beds must love looking at his body. 

Fuck, he should work out more.

Seeing Will’s skilled hands taking apart the guts of a Harley, fingers quick and nimble, eyes sharp as he scours for problems, makes Frankie’s thick fingers feel clumsy. He must be able to pinpoint exactly what his clients want, read their bodies to know when to speed up, where to press and stroke to elicit the highest peaks. Frankie sometimes worries he’s all big hands and power over precision, no matter how many times his fingers have been complimented as long and talented and so much better than their own. 

Whenever Frankie has to don reading glasses at the end of the night, eyes exhausted and blurry, the idea that he’s even getting too old for his other profession gnaws at him. By the time he’s off probation and able to reapply for his pilot's license, his vision might be too far gone. The best years of his life squandered because he couldn’t keep it together without a line or two. He’s lost his glasses under the couch several times, sweeping them off the table with frustration.

Too blind.

Too clumsy.

Not what a client wants.

Santi always gives it to him straight, so when he asks why Benny is still getting the random client here and there and Frankie isn’t, he contemplates the answer over the top of his beer bottle before answering.

“It’s all about the people who call, Fish. I’m not just choosing for them, I’m choosing for you too. I don’t want to give you just any job that might…” Santi raises his eyebrows, the implication silent.

A job that might tempt him back to old habits. That might trigger him to turn back on the year of sobriety just to quiet his mind. A client who throws a callous word or a session that goes sideways and pulls at Frankie’s restraint and hard work.

Frankie hates that even after all he’s done, there’s still a fine thread of doubt sewn into the friendship between them. He wishes he could snap it, pull it free from the fabric, but it’s holding closed a larger wound he’s unwilling to open. 

Santi doesn’t trust him after the coke.

Frankie doesn’t trust him after Colombia.

They both have threads the other won’t pull. The risk is too great.

Santi’s eyes are kind when he slaps Frankie on the shoulder, jostling his warming beer and veering away from the topic.

“I also don’t want to give you someone who isn’t going to appreciate you and what you bring to the table,” he says. Frankie scoffs, sipping some of the foam off the lip of the bottle. “I mean it, you’re good at pleasing people, from the reviews I’ve heard, and it kills me when you come back miserable.” Santi watches Frankie with an openness that makes the man squirm, deferring with a nod and an, “Okay, sure.” Santi shakes his head.

“Fish, I promise the next client I send you will be because I think it’s a good match.”

How right Santi had been about that.

When Frankie got the call in the late afternoon, ambling out to his truck to head home from the shop, he had to make Santi repeat himself.

“You want me for a client?”

“Yeah, cabrón, are you free?”

Frankie’s mouth dried out a little at the thought. It had been four months since he’d gone home with a girl from a bar, which was…fine. She was nice, they parted amicably late in the evening. Before that, there was only one client that preferred to be taken from behind. Minimal small talk. Fast and rough and quiet. He was toweling off in the hotel bathroom as the door shut behind her.

Maybe it was time he hung up the mantle.

“Why me?” he finally asked, cringing at how small the words made him feel. Santi’s warm chuckle on the other end of the phone eased a little of his anxiety.

“She’s different from my usuals, and I think you’ll be a good fit. Not looking for sex, just someone to spend some time with her. Take care of her a little bit. Sound familiar?” Frankie blushes and huffs at the insinuation. Santi always teased him for how he treated his past girlfriends. “Puppy Dog Morales,” he would croon when he caught Frankie doting on them. Didn’t really roll off the tongue, but “STD Santi” did when Frankie tossed it out after another one-night stand that had Santi limping back home.

Frankie took a breath, trying to shift into the headspace to meet a client. He’d need at least an hour to get home and shower, make sure he was well groomed and neat. Then travel to wherever she was, negotiate what she wanted, and…get to work.

The little thrum of excitement in his chest moved him to speak. 

“Yeah, I’m free.”

Standing in front of your door, Frankie calms his racing mind. This is far from the first time he’s stood at the edge of the cliff, steeling himself for whatever reaction might come when the door opens. It’s always there, though, like a burst of stage fright before the leading man steps onto stage, all smiles and confidence. It is a sort of performance, after all, and the nerves leading up to it are only half due to being naked in short order.

Big, dopey, soft Frankie needs to be exactly what the woman on the other side of this door wants, and he pulls his mind into the pilot’s focus he’s honed over the years. 

He knocks. The knob twists.

And you’re there.

At first glance he’s attracted to you. To your proportions, your bright eyes, your smile. Then to the nervous energy he can feel coming off of you, endearing and bashful. It makes him want to calm all your fears, soothe you with his hands. You’re the perfect size to be wrapped up in his arms. 

Frankie nods at you, filling the doorway with his too-big body, his broad shoulders and his thick thighs and soft stomach and his aging face. He smiles, the practiced lopsided one that makes him look sexy rather than his larger, more scrunched-up happy one, and says hello.

And it’s here when it happens. When Frankie says it was love at first sight, this is the moment he thinks of. Because you look at him, your eyes passing over all of the things that make him feel self-conscious, and your face only says one thing.

There you are.

It’s an expression filled with relief, with amazement, with excitement and trepidation but also with such a sense of satisfaction at the man standing before you that it takes Frankie’s breath away.

There you are.

Like you were waiting just for him.

There you are.

Like you want exactly what he has to give and you are so happy he’s here for you.

Frankie has to redirect, make a little joke to ease the hammering pressure of his heart behind his ribs.

“Can I come in? Or is this a little too much? I can take a lap if you want.”

And then you stutter and smile and he’s a goner.

He still sees it now in the moments that day-to-day life presents. 

On the first date you went on after the session, you opened the door with that same expression and Frankie had to kiss you right then and there across your threshold. You squeaked against his lips, a smile tugging your mouth tight as he pressed your foreheads together.

Then later that night when he holds your gaze as you’re coming down from another peak. You whisper, “Are you real? You can’t be real, you’re too fucking amazing,” and he chuckles and nips at your chin, heart fluttering separate from exertion.

Walking into your kitchen with takeout a few minutes late, you spinning around and making grabby hands for a hug. 

At a bar after a long day when you see him across the room, tension melting from you.  

When you tell him how sexy he looks in his thick black frames and he tries to defer the compliment, you threaten to prove to him exactly how much he turns you on.

Frankie doesn’t mind the glasses as much after that.

You feel like home to him. No matter who he is, what he’s done, how he feels, you always look at him like he’s exactly what you need.

During one of Benny’s fights, when Frankie’s focus is far away thinking about how he compares to the men around him, you catch his eye.

“There you are, handsome,” you say, squeezing his bicep with a cheeky smile. “Thought I lost you for a minute there.”

Frankie pulls you into his side, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Never, babe,” he murmurs into your ear.

What’s Frankie’s favorite part about Ms Jackson?

That she makes him feel like he belongs with her every single day.

END

Want to know more about Frankie? Send me an ask! Your question, headcanon or prompt may become the next part of the story. If you've already submitted one, it takes me a few weeks to answer so keep a lookout for yours!

The story continues in Future Days

[ezithemuse]

Cupid’s Punk!

1- so it feels real

There is both terror and freedom in restarting your life. Not in a cosmic sense, but in the moving-across-the-country-and-leaving-everyone-you-knew-on-the-opposite-coast sense. That is where Scarlet found herself this morning. Eyes red from her jetlag, hair a mess from the uncomfortable seats, and a puffy-eyed death stare meeting her from the scratched bathroom mirror. Even with her fresh start, the fresh apartment, she was not ready for her first day at a new job in this new, unfamiliar city. She wanted to sleep. She wanted to forget. She wanted to go back to her home with—a pang of heartbreak through her chest interrupted the thought. That home was no longer there, and no one was waiting for her to come home. Instead, Scarlet let out a dejected sigh, opened the cardboard moving box that contained the toiletries that were not in her carry-on, and got in the shower. She was up far earlier than she realistically needed to be, to make sure she could wash her hair, shave her legs, and still have plenty of time for makeup and a relaxed cab ride to work. The pipes whined and hot water splashed her face as the new-ish utilities sprung to life. She focused on getting the sleep out of her eyes.

 She resented her own anxious, over-prepare-until-exhausted tendencies. Yet Scarlet knew that on mornings where she didn’t do this, she was late. It was part of why she’d lost her last position as a Library clerk. God, that feels like a lifetime ago. If I started taking those then…what if... Scarlet let the thought drift up with the steam, and focused on the rigorous maintenance that her curly, shoulder-length bob required. The rest of the shower went likewise. She would move on to some other form of self-grooming, only for another intrusive thought to appear, and she would do her best to let it roll off of her. By the time she was done, dripping into a towel and stepping out, she had gotten most of the self loathing scrubbed off. Scarlet turned to face the same mirror. She wiped the fogged glass with one pale hand, and the same dead-eyed look greeted her. Scarlet forced a smile, hollow but just enough to come across as courteous and eager, rather than like a retail worker who was dead inside. She had plenty of practice masking in this way. 

Her breakfast was a microwaved cup of coffee and protein bar, the leftovers from her flight. She’d have to go to the grocery after work. She ate just enough to then turn to her prescriptions, the small, resentful white triangles tasting bitter and frustrating, her knowing that it was a 50/50 on whether she would be vomiting before lunch. The three small blue estrogen pills had to melt sublingually, and wouldn’t upset her stomach. They did, however, taste like minty asshole as they dissolved under her tongue while she started her makeup routine. It went quickly, Scarlet’s old “professional” looks still in her head after years of rushed mornings where her mediocre nutrition and makeup routine battled for time. Her hands danced; brushing, patting, dabbing, blending, and setting at a quick but deliberate pace. This wasn’t Scarlet’s first time working places that made her tone down her looks and cover her smattering of artsy tattoos that criss crossed her arms. Her new boss had assured her however, that so long as she wore at least business casual and none of the tattoos visible were profane, no one would care. Simple enough to cover the guillotine on her shoulder blade or the shoddy stick and poke of her highschool bff’s band “The Fart Coffins” on the opposite blade. She only sometimes regretted that one out of any of the designs on her body.  She finished with a modest amount of very neutral blush, and got up to dress in the outfit she had laid out the night before. A simple white blouse and black skirt, black tie, black flats. Should show a good first impression for a secretary of a legal office. She couldn’t help but roll the sleeves partially, however, showing hints and edges of her ink. 

 Scarlet made sure her hair was dry, shook her head as a jolt of the last taste of estrogen left her mouth, and called for her cab. Just before leaving, she packed her purse, and heard an unfamiliar jingling at the bottom. Fishing through the myriad receipts, dust bunnies and half finished chapsticks, she finally found the culprit, and her heart dropped. A simple gold ring, with an inscription inside; Futile – the winds –/ To a Heart in port –The singular band was heavy in her hand, and Scarlet felt the heartbreak all over again. She wanted nothing more than to scream. She wanted to sob until her throat was hoarse, to wail in pain. She wanted to call her. Instead, she tenderly wiped the welling tear in one eye to preserve her mascara, roughly threw open the drawer to toss the precious bomb in with a clatter. The front door slammed and locked behind her.  The cab hummed quietly as it rode down the dense city streets, and Scarlet focused on taking in the sites of tree leaves slowly changing color through the cab window. She was headed further downtown from her new apartment, and even still there were beautiful trees she wasn’t familiar with. This is exactly what I thought the East Coast to look like, and yet it’s even more beautiful than I could have imagined, she mused to herself. She was used to her hometown in the Bay, the palms and pines of the San Francisco and Oakland areas all she had made friends with until now. The trees were dotted in front of the tall downtown shops, looking like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. She took a picture every now and again, killing time until her quiet cab driver pulled over to a sidewalk. Scarlet smoothed her skirt, handed the man his fare and a tip, and stepped out in front of a small office building. Her flats echoed against the shiny, reflective tile as she followed signs and elevator directories to Kane Arbitration & Mediation Legal Services.  The interior of the elevator shined, polished enough that Scarlet could see her own reflection.

 She took a moment as she rode to the fourth floor, using the reflection to adjust her skirt. She was so tall that no matter what she wore, it always eventually turned into a skirt shorter than intended, and that was the last thing she wanted to project on her first day.  Once the soft fabric was in place, better resting on her hips and covering much of her long thighs, she noticed she had arrived. Scarlet swallowed, her nerves making it louder than she had wanted, and exited as the doors parted. 

Kane Legal was one of the only offices on this floor, and it didn’t take her long to find, but she paused outside the door anyway. She took solace in the fact her new employer wouldn’t be able to see her through the doors frosted glass. Scarlet had a moment to steady the shaking in her hands. 

There’s nothing left for you back there. This has to work. You have no other option. The thought was supposed to be comforting. 

She opened the door and recalled all the times that thought would light a fire in her—to ignite the contrarian and spiteful nature she had to anyone that doubted her. A year ago, this would have made her unstoppable…but the last year was harder than she could have ever predicted. The reception area of the office was nicely decorated, looking like the kind you’d see on a mid-budget daytime law drama. No one was at the desk that she assumed would be hers, so she tried to peer around a corner leading to what she assumed would be Miss Kane’s proper office. Sure enough, a door at the end of the hall was open and revealed a head of deep black hair peaking just over the top of a large computer monitor. Scarlet took a moment for them to notice her.  

In another life, Scarlet would have confidently marched into the office, head held high, with enough swagger to convince anyone that she owned this office. Now the poor girl stood there, shivering as her future awaited. The Scarlet of a year ago would have left this newer Scarlet behind, just like the one she cared about the most. She prayed this wasn’t some kind of test. 

“Excuse me?” She called out, causing the head to twitch, “I’m looking for Miss Kane?”

The top of the head rose for a pair of eyes to see just over the top, and then a hand brusquely slid the monitor on a pivoting stand out of the way. Scarlet recognized her now, the telltale hazel, almost golden eyes and a striking streak of platinum blonde to one side having stuck with her since their video interview. “And you have found her.” Her voice merrily sang, reverberating down the tiled hall. She stood. “You must be Ms. Finch. I am so glad to finally get you out here. May I be the first to properly welcome you to Caulfield Valley, I hope your flight was smooth?” Scarlet was immediately put off balance, having to look up at someone for once. Even if Emilia Kane hadn’t been in imposing black heels, she would easily have three inches on the six feet even Scarlet. She effortlessly glided down the hall towards Scarlet, her hand outstretched. Scarlet met her, returning her’s for a handshake. The taller woman’s hands were so soft.

“Ah, t-thank you, Ma’am.” She politely smiled, and decided to rest her hands on the strap of her purse so as to not fidget. “I appreciate that, it was a long flight.” She wanted to divulge how exhausted and sore she was, but held back. 

“That is such a shame.” Emilia twisted her mouth into a concerned frown for a moment, a hand grabbing her chin in thought. “If you ever need to fly for me again, I can make sure you have better accommodations. Thankfully, your first day probably will not be too demanding. I am hoping to simply get you familiar with the way I organize best and have you operating at full speed before my next big meeting in…,” She checked the date on her phone, pulling it from the breast pocket of her dark green suit, “-three days. Does all that sound good?” Scarlet sighed in relief. “More than good, Ma’am, I’m sure I can be up to snuff by the end of the day.” She was a tiny bit surprised by how confident she sounded. “Oh please, Ma’am makes me feel old.” She waved a hand as if shooing the notion away, “I know to most it is respectful, but I prefer ‘Miss’ or just Emilia if it is all the same to you.” She rested the same hand now on her hips, which Scarlet noted were surprisingly accented in this type of suit. She nodded in response, and Emilia gestured for her to sit in the chair behind the receptionist desk. 

The woman looked like she was off a runway, the two piece suit and platinum jewelry complimenting her intense eyes and the vibrant streak of silver- no, platinum blonde in her hair. The hazel of her eyes became almost amber-gold as the light from the windows caught them. When her new employer wasn’t looking, she shook her head to erase the thoughts. Scarlet couldn’t exactly be thinking about how attractive her boss was if she didn’t want to risk her new living situation. 

“—and your last employer said you were familiar with all of these programs, is that right?” The question snapped Scarlet back to reality as Emilia motioned to the open windows of the computer. 

“That’s right. All of this is right in my wheelhouse.” Scarlet affirmed, grateful that the job didn’t seem to have any sudden surprises. “And this looks like a pretty standard inter-office set up on the phones as well. Would you prefer a call or a ping on your computer when you have a call or a client?” She hoped the question would help make her seem competent and ‘a go-getter,’ something her father had told her once upon a time about starting a new job. “A call is fine unless I am already with a client. If I do not respond, you may call regardless.” Emilia said, a small smile of approval spreading across her red lips. “On the topic of clients, occasionally you are to sit in for meetings and you will be taking notes. These are legal matters and meet the standard of attorney-client-privilege. So it is vitally important you understand that anything you hear or write down in those meetings are confidential, but could end up under scrutiny if we were ever to be sued or subpoenaed. Are you comfortable with that?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.” Scarlet nodded, “To be clear, any notes I take are private between you and I unless that happens right? Like—” she kicked herself for her valleygirl filler word, and tried to recover, “a doctor? For example, I wouldn’t talk about this with anyone except you or the client, even during off hours?” Scarlet couldn’t lie to herself and say that didn’t make her anxious. Her understanding of the legal system told her there were a million and one ways to mess up proceedings if everyone didn’t know them ahead of time. The clarity would help alleviate that anxiety. 

“Exactly. We can talk about it informally outside of the office but we must use discretion. God forbid  you run into a client at a bar, make sure neither of you are shouting without realizing. However you got the most important part. Good job.”  Something inside Scarlet warmed at her new boss’s approval. Emilia’s phone lit up and began ringing in her hand. She rolled her eyes. “I have to take this,” she explained, grabbing a small packet from the top drawer of the desk, “Just answer the phone if any calls come in and start filling this out with your info so I can make payments and records and such. It will only take a moment!” Emilia walked back up the hall, closing the door of her office. Scarlet could hear her talking in a tone that sounded professional and even, but couldn’t make out anything specific. 

When Scarlet realized she could not eavesdrop, no matter how hard she tried to focus, she instead grabbed a pen from the desk and focused on the forms. They were typical of starting with any new employer: tax info, new address, signing agreements. Scarlet was sorely missing the over-designed packets she would receive on her first day at each of the oversized chain stores she had grown up working at. The kind that tries to convince the reader that “we’re a family here,” isn’t the same as “your boss will not give a single shit about you if you think for yourself.” They were always a riot to laugh at with her fellow cashiers, clerks, and baristas. 

Everything was astonishingly professional, and felt tailored to the tiny law office. The forms were of course up to every standard Scarlet was aware of, but everything appeared handwritten and then copied from a master document. The young woman marveled at the curves and loops that seemed so practiced, so official. Calligraphy as a hobby?

Scarlet’s daydream was broken as the phone rang. Her arm sprung to life, grabbing the phone and bringing it to her ear. “Hello, Legal Offices of Miss Kane, how can I help you?” Her mind auto piloted the greeting, a tactic she’d learned as a young adult to perform before any social anxiety made her hesitate to answer. 

There was a silent beat, broken only by soft background hum from the receiver. A deeper voice finally spoke. “Oh, is Miss Kane not in?”

“I’m sorry, she’s stepped away for another call. I’m the new secretary.” The professional mask came back to her like a second skin, despite over a year of disuse. “Can I take a message for you?”  Scarlet offered.

“Er,” The voice stammered for a moment, then clarified, “Yeah. Actually, you can tell her that I have to back out of Friday’s meeting, I won’t be rescheduling. She can keep the deposit. Goodbye.” Scarlet busied herself scribbling the note down. 

“Wait, I’ll need to tell her your name.” She tried to catch the man before he disconnected.

It was too late, the line went dead. Scarlet took a confused look at the receiver before returning it to the cradle. She tried to imagine what would have someone behaving this way, but even her previous customer support and retail work did not track here. Scarlet merely blinked in confusion and returned to filling her new employment forms. She could hear the muffled speech of her new boss, not able to pick distinct words, only cadence. The forms were dull and simple enough, and before too long Emilia’s office door clicked open. 

Scarlet was finishing the bottom lines of the last page, hoping quietly to impress the imposing woman, as childish as that want may be. Emilia’s heels marked her approach down the hall, and Scarlet spun gracefully in her swivel chair to face her. “Did I hear a call come in while I was gone?”

“You did, and I've got a message,” Scarlet tried her best to sound professional yet nonchalant, “your Friday meeting canceled, said to keep his deposit.” She looked up to Emilia to gauge her superior’s reaction. Emilia gave nothing but a solitary eyebrow twitch. “He didn’t leave a name and hung up…is that normal?” 

“Whether it’s normal or not, we get to keep the deposit for my time, and that’s what matters to me.” Emilia said, too hurried to be as casual. Scarlet decided to just let that slip.There was something going on here, but she would catch the intricacies of the client relationships soon enough. 

Emilia very pointedly avoided her gaze to check the time, and excused herself again. The rest of the day moved slowly, save for asking Scarlet for a coffee run in the afternoon, which turned into buying a cafe scone for Scarlet’s lunch as well. 

She busied herself with memorizing the upcoming schedule, the program, and the routine expected of her. She tried not to fidget as the caffeine had its way with her later in the day. The bouncing of her leg coincided with an increase in worry. Would she have another reaction to this medication like her last, and be unable to sleep? Would Emilia be angry that she wasn’t being proactive in some way? How was she supposed to know? She paused, trying to stop ruminating. She lifted her hands away from the keyboard. They were shaking, and she squeezed her eyes closed. When Scarlet opened them, they focused through her fingers, at the sticky note she had written down the message, and the smaller coffee order beneath it. Sighing, she wrote down the coffee order on her phone and on her desktop notepad. If she could do nothing, she would be constructive and prepared for the future. 

Her hands kept shaking for the remainder of the shift. Scarlet wasn’t sure if it was the anxiety, the caffeine, or her meds. She’d been so isolated until moving she hadn’t noticed if the shaking started then. Just past five, Emilia’s heels clicked down the hall, a smart designer purse over one shoulder. “Now, is there anything I can clarify before we leave?” Her voice sang again and the hall reverberated in tune with her voice like Brian Eno was behind it. Scarlet shook her head, smiling with her mask back on as she spun to face Emilia again. 

“Thank you so much, but I don’t think I’ve got any questions yet.” Scarlet wanted to be sincere in thanking her, drop the facade and business-casual tone. Speaking without rehearsal tended to bite her in the ass lately.  She squeezed her hands between her thighs to try and avoid any probing questions. Scarlet could only imagine suspicious and overbearing concern at best if her new boss thought there was something wrong with her medically. 

“Is there anything else I can help with? I’ve just been organizing your schedule and getting used to the layout in here all day.” She desperately wanted to get her groceries before it was too dark. 

“No thank you, Scarlet. You’ve already helped me enormously, you have no idea.” Emilia ushered Scarlet out the door, and locked it behind her. 

*  *

If one thing in the world could be counted on, it was chain stores being identical on the inside. Scarlet pushed an identically squeaky cart up identically packed aisles among indistinguishable brands. The only difference really seemed to be the accents. She approached bulk rice bags, hesitated, and drew out her phone with dread. Her meager bank account balance confirmed her fears, and she begrudgingly went for the generic. Other staples like cheap instant ramen and pasta followed suit. The sole splurge was the cheapest, sweetest, garbage brand of red wine she could find. 

Her cab ride was identical, save for the setting sun behind her. Purples and oranges and cotton-candy-clouds danced behind her, out of view, as she slowly sank her head against the cool glass of the window. At least the trees are still pretty. She raised her phone again to try and take a picture, but the camera went grainy in the growing dark. 

Her new apartment greeted her with the same lonely  tone as when she first received the keys. It was cold, it was empty, the furnishings were bland and picked by the property management company. Nothing here was hers yet, save the stacked boxes of cardboard. Her tired arms carried the groceries to their appropriate resting places, and she cracked open the wine before settling on the couch. Out of habit she reached for her remote, only to remember she didn’t have a TV yet. Sold for the moving expenses. 

Scarlet was so tired of sighing. She took a swig of wine, an old comfort that was basically a juicebox and rubbing alcohol that reminded her of being broke in college. She opened her phone, wishing for any stimulation. Her friends, (rather former friends)  were still posting stories, still sharing their bad takes and inane jokes. She considered getting off the couch to do the same. It was all performative anyway, right? But the energy wouldn’t come when she called out for it. Another sip, and she swapped apps. Scarlet noticed the singular blink of darkness on her phone’s screen.

“Please, you piece of shit. I really can’t afford you to die right now.”  Her worries seemed unfounded, as the brilliant screen returned and the malfunction wasn’t replicated for the rest of the night. What was strange, however, were the kinds of new accounts she was being recommended as she scrolled her timeline. 

Now, Scarlet was no prude. She enjoyed fucking and her alone time as much as anyone. Estrogen and Progesterone even maybe had her hornier than the average. But her timeline wasn’t  full of this much smut. She had friends in the sex work game, but she didn’t exactly like, share, favorite, reblog, or any other influencer verb their content. Another website breaking their algorithm again?  

Even if Dani did porn, she didn’t do this kind of porn. Morbid curiosity, and a slight increase in her pulse, beckoned Scarlet onward. 

Drawings, videos, and staged photos of women in things she’d only seen in racy HBO content. She didn’t even know what to call the more intricate…props…but felt herself linger on a clip of a woman riding a…pleasure machine plugged into the wall behind her. Scarlet’s face matched her namesake and she scrolled on. A woman sitting at a home office, the quintessential framing of every vlog you’ve ever watched. Finally somebody is fucking sane in this world. She clicked the video without even reading the caption, and the perky eyed labrador retriever of a woman began to speak.

“Hi everybody! This is the Channel of O. SO!” The blonde clapped for emphasis. “You’re trying to learn about BDSM, and you have no idea where to start.” Scarlet’s eyes went wide, she took another sip, and watched the woman jumpcut and explain through terrible jokes. It was a trainwreck, steam engines exploding in her mind. It made her hot in the crotch. Scarlet finished her glass, finished the video, and poured herself another while going deeper to the woman’s personal channel. More videos, more introductory guides. Scarlet polished the second glass, and was too engrossed despite the initial impulse to cringe to even pour another. 

Her alarm rang to remind her to take the rest of her medication, pulling her out of her trance.How long had she been zoned out? It was eight thirty. Losing track of time like that wasn’t uncommon for her and this diversion was welcome. She resigned herself and went to go take another dose of bitter antidepressants and her dose of Progesterone. Once the poison was administered, she looked across her kitchen to the counter where she left her phone. It lay there, like a metal megalith, imposing despite being a little plastic rectangle. Scarlet had to gather her nerve just to walk across the room and lift the damn thing. Once it was back in her hand, she used shaking hands to unlock it. The Channel of O was still smiling up at her, and she felt her cheeks getting redder. 

Her glass of wine was forgotten as she brought her phone to her bedroom. She unboxed her duvet, and sat on the soft material as the video resumed. Scarlet was enthralled, soaking in every bit of knowledge she could. 

“There’s all kinds of different dynamics! You’re probably familiar with a ‘master/slave’ dynamic,” The blonde woman began, “but there’s also pets and owners, and even daddies, mommies,—” Scarlet’s pulse quickened,”—or more generically caregivers and littles! Sometimes that’s called ABDL if it involves diapers.”  Scarlet felt her breath catch in her throat. Her fingers flew into a flurry, and a private internet search later, her phone was filled with images that made her heartbeat accelerate. 

Videos, drawings, and many, many depictions of adult women, with all their curves and freckles and other parts that excited Scarlet, in thick diapers. They ranged across all body types, and the infantile garb varied from plain white plastic to over the top patterns to evoke baby diapers. 

Scarlet continued to scroll, eyes wide in wonder and excitement. She finally stopped, a thumbnail capturing her attention like a punch to the gut and clicked the video. Scarlet’s mouth went wide, and felt herself starting to leak into her panties. 

A gorgeous, curvaceous woman was lying on her back,  supple lips wrapped around the nipples of another woman, in nothing but a pastel colored diaper and delicate, lacy lingerie top. The tender moment evoked  breastfeeding, save for the “mother” holding a massive vibrator against the woman’s…diaper. 

The “baby” of the couple was moaning, growing louder, and Scarlet felt a tent growing under her skirt. Eventually, the “baby” was screaming, thrusting her hips into the massive sex toy, in time with cries of “Mommy!”

Mommy’s smile was intoxicating. She was very clearly getting off just as much as her baby, her face painted a combination of maternal nurturing, hedonistic pleasure, ecstatic elation, and sadistic control as she began thrusting the enormous vibrator in time with her partner’s thrusts. 

It was obviously acting on the merit of pornography, but Scarlet couldn’t tear herself away. She allowed her hand to snake up to a nipple poking through her top. Scarlet realized her own arousal, and in embarrassment, closed the tab, flinging her phone to the edge of the bed like it was a dangerous spider. 

She flung the covers off, racing to the bathroom for a cold shower.  

[bowandquinn]

i love headcanons so much. so here are some more!! (angst edition:( )

after the inversion, angel struggles with sleeping. they gain insomnia because all they can see is david dead. ever time they fall asleep, they wake up thinking david won’t be there.

tank lost their shit when they found out what was going on. sweetheart had called them and they were with angel when the call came through. that was the first time angel had seen tank cry. they broke down in tears.

milo struggles with very bad self-image issues due to the pack constantly makes fun of his size and how small he is compared to sweetheart.

david has really really bad trust issues due to a past relationship. they are the alpha of another pack and david refuses to do business with them because of what they did. how they betrayed him.

freelancer struggles with getting out of bed in the mornings. the days that caelum or gavin aren’t around, they miss their classes because of it. they won’t get out unless someone urges them to.

gavin feels all of the D.A.M.N groups knots and he desperately wants to fix it but he doesn’t know how. he’s only an incubus.

sweetheart is blind in one eye due to the shade that attacked them when they teamed up with milo. their vision is so blurry (in the eye that can see) that they have super thick glasses. milo blames himself for not making it earlier.

in a fit of rage, when sam was first turned, he shaved his head and completely changed how he looked. if he was gonna have a “second chance” he was gonna make alexis despise him for giving him that option.

babe always tries to seem perfect around david. they want to be accepted by him, he’s their boyfriends alpha. they want him to like him. they tone down their personality so much it worries ash.

ash constantly dismisses pack problems to babe. it makes them feel insignificant. like the biggest part of ash’s life is something they aren’t involved it. it hurts them. (based off a fanfic i read, i cant remember the author:( )

huxley hates anything that isn’t land. flying? he hates it. boating? definitely not his favorite thing. skydiving? never ask him. he hates feeling out of his element (literally)

sometimes damien burns things when he feels very strongly and it upsets him. he once burnt a letter huxley wrote because it made him so happy.

freelancer still struggles with using the water element of their powers. it makes them feel like they will become kody. like they’ll hurt someone the way kody hurt them.

vincent hates that he turned lovely. not because he didn’t want them to live, it’s that they got gifted this wonderful power just for it to be ripped away from them. the power that was the only reminder that they are what got rid of adam. their life hasn’t stopped drastically changing since they met him and he hates himself for it.

tank cant stand to look in the mirror. it makes them nauseous. all they see is their friend or quinn staring back at them in the mirror. never who they truly are.

sweetheart spends nights up late (like 5 am go to bed, wake up at 7 am) so they can figure out closeknit and the quinn case, they don’t want to disappoint milo or david.

asher has permanent trembles because of the shades injury. he hates it. it took him 2 months to learn how to write again.

lasko still doesn’t talk about his job. he’ll mention small things but never a lot. not even to freelancer or damien. he doesn’t want them hurt. not after what happened.

and that’s it, i’m not sorry for the pain. please enjoy

[harrylovex]

CHRISTMAS MAKEOUT

summary: chris can’t keep his eyes or his hands off you at a christmas party

warnings: nothing major, beard kink, kissing…

note: just a cute lil christmas idea i came up with!! even though it’s basically the middle of january hahaha i added the whole beard kink thing when these photos came out on instagram hahaha his short beard looks so yummy 😵‍💫😵‍💫

you silently giggled into your wine glass when you saw your boyfriend chris waggle his eyebrows at you from across the room.

you could see from his face what he was up to.

you shook your head at him, laughing when he pouted.

you made your way into the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of wine from the counter so you could fill up your glass.

you and chris were hosting a christmas party at your home.

you had both invited friends and work colleagues. you had decided to host a family party a separate day, wanting to relax and have a few drinks with friends without having to worry about parents being around.

chris has been trying to sneak off with you basically the whole night. even before the guests had arrived, he couldn’t keep his hands off you.

he kept mumbling about how you were teasing him by wearing a little santa dress.

it was one of those red fluffy ones with the white trimming. you were wearing black high heeled boots and a santa hat to match. you knew he would love it.

you had told him that he would have to wait until later, which he didn’t enjoy. you, however, were enjoying the teasing. you had to pull him off of you when the doorbell rang.

it’s not that you didn’t enjoy his attention, in fact, even you had to hold yourself back tonight. he had cut his hair and shaved, his beard was more like stubble, and it made you throb just to think about the burn when he’d kiss you.

overall, it had been a great party, everyone was dancing and drinking, living their best lives.

after finishing maybe your fifth glass of wine, you made your way to the bathroom to freshen up a little.

as you walked through the hallway, something caught your eye.

“psst!” you looked to your left.

chris was resting against the doorframe to your bedroom, smiling at you. you could tell by his eyes that he was drunk but hell, so were you.

“chris, what the hell are you doing?” you laughed, walking up to him.

“i was waiting for you.” he pouted.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him softly on the lips. he went in for more, his hand holding the back of your head.

the kiss deepened as he pushed his tongue into your mouth, a moan slipping from your lips. you were getting lost in the kiss, quickly pulling away before you got too distracted.

“chris, we’re the hosts! we can’t just sneak off and start making out in the bathroom.”

his eyes lit up. “wait…can we do that? please.” he didn’t give you time to answer, pulling you with him into the bathroom.

you laughed, letting him lead you. “fine. but we can’t be long, they’ll get suspicious.” you wiped your mouth, feeling a delicious burn on your skin from his facial hair.

chris closed and locked the door, pushing your hips so that you were pressed up against it.

straight away he buried his face in your neck, kissing along your throat. his hands trailed up your thighs and he pushed your dress up, until your underwear was on display for him.

“you don’t understand what this outfit does to me, bunny.”

you gulped, your hands raking through his hair.

“and red lingerie aswell? all for me.”

you pulled him up until you were both face to face, leaning in to kiss him.

chris hummed into the kiss, pulling you impossibly closer, his hands trailed over your back, down until he was harshly grabbing your behind.

you gasped, “chris, your hands are fucking freezing!”

he laughed into the kiss, slapping the skin before kneading it.

the kiss was harsh and sloppy, just how you liked it. he sucked at your bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth.

your mouth felt numb from his stubble, so you pulled away for a second to catch your breath.

his blue eyes pierced yours, and you rubbed your hands over his stubble.

“you like my facial hair, don’t you sweetheart?”

you blushed. “you realised?”

chris laughed. “of course i did. i see the way you look at me. and how you react when i rub my beard on your skin.”

he leaned in again. this time making a point of rubbing his stubble over your lips.

you shuddered, pulling at his shirt.

his tongue found yours again, the kiss getting heated.

he grabbed your hand in his, pulling it towards his trousers until you were palming his hard-on.

you pulled away, making chris pout.

“chris, baby, we really should go back downstairs.”

he whined and you laughed at his horny attitude.

you went to the mirror to fix your makeup, gasping when you saw how red raw your mouth and cheeks looked.

“chris! you gave me beard burn!” it felt weirdly good, the burning sensation growing with the passing minutes.

you turned to him and he was doubled over, laughing loudly.

“it’s not funny!” you couldn’t help but crack a smile.

chris stood up straight again. “well then, you’ve got beard burn and i’ve got a raging hard-on, so we’re going to have to stay in here for a while.”

you made a face, your eyes wandering down to the bulge in his trousers. your eyes went wide at the sight, your mouth watering.

“what are we going to do?”

“i can think of one thing we can do.” chris pulled you in by your waist, a huge smirk plastered on his face.

[noteguk]

any way you want it | kth | m

— summary; in which your best friend, Taehyung, finds out about your unsatisfying sexual experiences and decides to put an end to that track record himself. 

— contents and warnings; smut, childhood best friends, Taehyung x reader, bigdick!tae, breast play, oral (f receiving), dry grinding, dirty talk, tae has a praise kink, unprotected sex (be responsible!!), rough sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, Taehyung takes things personally but he has good intentions, this is what happens when mutual thirst gets suppressed for years of friendship 

— words; 6.6k

— author’s note; i have no idea why but this fic was so fucking hard to put down into words??? I felt mentally constipated the entire time but it’s finally here 

Taehyung wasn’t the slightest bit surprised when you called him at almost two in the morning, complaining about your newest nightmarish date and practically begging to come over. Like the good friend that he was, he made sure to tell you that you would be more than welcome to join him in his newest documentary marathon about aliens, and wondered if you could bring him some takeout on your way over there. Like the bad friend that you were, you said no. 

To be fair, the nearest takeout place was across the city from his apartment (about thirty minutes away and in a bad neighborhood), and you were already having a horrible night as it was. Besides, you refused to take part in Taehyung’s search for a high blood pressure and cholesterol levels, arguing that it wasn’t the right time to stuff his face full of hypercaloric noodles. 

But you did pity him enough to comply with his second request: a big pot of vanilla ice cream, which you were sure you’d end up consuming too. You were in a crisis.

As if to prove that the gods above were laughing at you, during the walk of shame to Taehyung’s apartment, it had started to rain (because of course it did), and your umbrella was only able to save you from the shoulders up before it crumbled and flew away from your gasp, rolling on the asphalt like a ball of dirt in a Wild West movie. By the time that you dragged yourself to his front door, you were completely soaked (and not in the way you had planned for that night to end), and about to break down crying. 

Taehyung, like the angel that he was, helped you with your heavy coat and talked you into taking a warm shower before you got sick. He took the supermarket bag from you (where the ice cream had probably already melted) and walked you to this bathroom, excusing himself so he could grab you some dry clothes — and you only saw the ones he had picked when you got out of the shower. 

With a silly smile dancing on your lips, you fumbled with the black booty shorts that Taehyung had jokingly gifted you that past Christmas — one that read “daddy’s juicy butt” in big, bold, neon pink letters over your ass — and then decided that your dignity was already dead by that point, so another kick wouldn’t hurt. Taehyung had also given you one of his favorite band shirts, which he only revealed during desperate times. 

Your heart melted with the thought of your best friend trying to comfort you, and pulled the fabric close to your face so you could take a deep inhale, drowning in his scent. It smelled of that stupid cologne that Taehyung had used ever since he hit puberty, and a bit of fabric softener. 

The two of you had an extremely close friendship, to the point that it got kind of strange at times. Ever since childhood, it was joked that you and Taehyung had been long lost soulmates — doing everything together, from going to school to laughing at the same exact jokes during movie marathons, often at the same moment and for the same amount of time. Before puberty hit (and the hormonal rage took over your first teenage years) you couldn’t remember disagreeing with him even once. You two had always been in sync. 

But the uncomfortably close part only hit after you two went to college, and your anxiety for being a virgin in a sea of starving sharks got the best of you. After long conversations, you had managed to convince Taehyung to help you learn a thing or two about the art of naked wrestling. 

Apparently it was weird to give your best friend a handjob and a blowjob for the sake of education. Go figure. 

Regardless, your friendship wasn’t affected by any of that — even if you two had agreed to never mention any of it ever again — and you could always count on Taehyung to catch you when you fell. 

Even if it was at two am on a Tuesday, after one of your nightmarish dates. 

You threw yourself on the couch next to him, hugging your knees against your chest to form a barrier between you and the divine providence that had taken you to that point. You had half-assedly dried your hair, but pools of wetness had started to build on the back of Taehyung’s shirt. 

Instead of accusing you of ruining his favorite piece of clothing, Taehyung reached for the remote and paused his documentary just as the narrator was starting to explain how hieroglyphs were actually part of an alien language. “Just tell me how bad it was,” he said, a mustache of ice cream melting over his top lip.

You took a peek at the bowl of melting vanilla on his center table, and decided that you would probably pass the desert for the night. 

You glanced at him sideways, voice coming out monotone. “You sure you want to go down that path?” 

Taehyung licked his sweet mustache off and nodded, clearly intrigued. “Yeah, hit me with it. You look like you need all the help that you can find.” 

You sighed, turning around on the couch so you were facing him — legs still against your chest. “Okay so… I went to his place...” 

“Yes…”

“And... we had dinner, talked for a bit.”

“How was the talk?” He asked. 

You shook your head, trying to kill the memories inside. “He didn’t let me say a word. He just went on and on about this new website he’s working on, and how expensive his wine glasses were.” You scoffed, angry at yourself for ignoring the clear red flags of an arrogant douchebag. That was what the desperate need for immediate human connection could do to someone, you thought. “Apparently it’s supposed to be the next Facebook or something. Or twitter. I honestly wasn’t paying much attention.”

He chuckled. “Starting off strong.” 

“That wasn’t even the main issue,” you said, lowering your forehead so it was touching your knees. You just wanted the world to end at that moment, so you wouldn’t have to go through those experiences again. “After that, we sat on his couch and started watching a movie. And you know how that goes, we started kissing, he pushed me down and got on top of me…”

“And?” He instigated. 

With a sigh, you raised your head, meeting your friend’s gaze. Taehyung thought he had never seen you look so dead inside. And he had seen a lot from you. “And he humped like… my lower abdomen for about three minutes and came in his pants.”

Taehyung cringed visibly, taking one hand to cover his mouth. “Oh, man. That’s bad.” 

You nodded, strangely relieved at his reaction. Part of you was worried that you were the evil witch in that scenario, that maybe you had done something wrong. “The worst,” you agreed. “Wanna know what else?”

“What? There’s more?”

“He didn’t even ask me if I was satisfied with whatever the hell that was.” You told him, bitterness dripping from your tongue. In the grand scheme of things, that was something silly to get mad over, but the fact that your date didn’t even have the guts to ask if you had gotten something out of that was ridiculous. “Not that I could possibly be. But it’s like he didn’t care and I was just a pillow for him to hump like a… sexually repressed religious teen, I don’t know.”

Taehyung only nodded, realizing that there wasn’t much that he could say to fix the situation. “Was he a good kisser at least?”

You sneered. “I think he was trying to crush my face with his.” You glanced at your friend, only half of his face bathed by the yellow and orange shades coming from the television. Maybe a documentary about ancient history and alien expeditions wouldn’t be so bad. Worst case scenario, it would knock you out, and you wouldn’t have to think about that mess anytime soon. “Also, too much tongue, just… the amount of saliva…”

“Got it. You can stop there.” Taehyung raised one hand, his eyes closing for a second. His palm lowered and met one of your knees, standing there in a silent attempt at consolation. “I’m sorry about your terrible date experience, dude.” 

“If you could even call it that.” You ran one hand through your hair, suddenly overtaken by a wave of anger. “God! I was just… so… ugh! Like… ughhhh!!” 

Taehyung, bless his heart, sometimes couldn’t understand the random neanderthal sounds you threw his way. “So... what?”

At last, your makeshift protection came crumbling down, and you collapsed on the couch dramatically, legs dangling off the edge. Taehyung thought that you were being possessed for exactly two seconds before you started talking again. “I did a full body shave for this night, Taehyung. Do you realize what that means?” His lips fell open, but, before he had the chance to answer, you continued. “It means that I really wanted to get railed tonight. Actually, I wanted to find a guy who actually knew what he was doing for once in my life.”

Taehyung chuckled, trying to disperse the tension in the room. “Come on, the dating pool can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, it’s bad,” you said. 

He wasn’t giving up that fast. “How bad?”

You raised your head to look him dead in the eyes, a silent threat, before finally uttering, “Try no-man-has-ever-made-me-cum bad,” and crashing your head back against the sofa. 

If you weren’t so hyper-focused on your own sexual melodrama, you would have noticed the thick silence that fell between the two of you, Taehyung’s face contorting into fifty different emotions within a few seconds. He thought that he had heard it all — from the secrets hidden in Machu Picchu to the obvious extraterrestrial influence on earthy religion — but no amount of bad documentaries could ever prepare him for that revelation. That didn’t make any sense. 

“Wait. Seriously?” He finally found his voice and managed to push his doubt out of his throat. “You’ve never had an orgasm before?”

You chuckled, humorless. “Oh no, I’ve had plenty of those. Just not from another person.” 

“How’s that possible?” he asked. 

“I ask myself that every single day.” You sighed, forcing yourself to sit back up. Taehyung was staring at you like you had just grown two extra arms, and you wondered what an amazing sex life he must’ve had for that confession to get him so confused. “Guess I’m just really bad at picking partners, who knows.”

There was a soft grunt on your throat as you fixed your position on the couch, suddenly feeling the exhaustion of your entire day piling up at once. Your gaze mindlessly traveled to the TV — a big plasma monstrosity that Taehyung had bought compulsively during a Black Friday sale — looking at a white-bearded man pointing maniacally towards a specific, round-shaped hieroglyph. You didn’t even need to hit play to know that he was making it seem like it was an UFO, but curiosity got the best of you. 

“Can you pass me the remote?” You asked, pointing at the small device that laid beyond Taehyung’s body. “I kinda wanna see what—”

“I’ve made tons of girls have orgasms,” Taehyung interrupted, looking at you like he had just clicked out of a transe.  

You laughed at his monotone voice. “I’m happy for you, Tae.” You leaned over his legs so you could finally reach the remote. “That wasn’t a jab at your masculinity, I’m sure you’re a very caring partner, and I’m sure there’s tons of guys out there that—”

“I can make you cum too, if you want.”

You had just grabbed the small piece of plastic when his sentence hit you like a smack in the face, making you drop the remote back on the couch, eyes widening. “You… what?”

He suddenly broke eye contact, taking one hand to massage the back of his neck. “Did that sound as creepy as I think it did?”

“A bit, yeah.” You forced out a light chuckle, trying to break the ice. There was no sign of mockery in his voice, and you didn’t know how to react. You could not say that the offer wasn’t tempting (you’d be lying if you claimed that you didn’t think Taehyung was attractive), but his proposal was so oddly-placed that it sounded like a joke. “What are you talking about?”

Taehyung sighed, turning his head to look at the television. “I just think it’s really unfair that no one has ever made you cum before.” 

You smiled. “That’s very nice of you, but…”

“And I want to help you with that.” He looked back at you. Oh, he was being a hundred percent serious. There was no longer a single ounce of doubt in your mind. “We’re friends, it’s not gonna be weird. We’ve done similar stuff before.”

“We were a lot younger, though.” You didn’t know why your mouth suddenly felt so dry, your fight or flight response kicking at full strength. You could tell that Taehyung was also trying to convince himself about the strangeness of the situation. “It’s gonna be kind of weird, yeah.”

“Not if we don’t make it weird,” he threw back. Was it bad that you were actually considering it? Maybe it was the piled-up exhaustion combined with the years of sexual frustration, maybe you were finally out of your mind. But you were really considering it. “I don’t wanna pressure you, alright? Just making a friendly offer. If you don’t want it, that’s fine.” 

You kind of wanted it, though. There was too much accumulated libido inside you from years and years of unsatisfying partners, and you trusted Taehyung with your entire heart. It sounded like a safe enough bet: if all went to shit and it got too awkward, you two could just stop, no hard feelings. Besides, you knew that Taehyung cared about you, which was more than you could say about all your dates in the past couple years. 

And the more you stared at him, probably looking like a deer in the headlights, the more you grew soft under his presence. At once, you were hit with desires that you had never considered before: you wanted to kiss those soft lips, wanted to know how his large hands would feel around you. You really, really wanted to know how it was to have a good sexual experience with someone, and you couldn’t think of a better candidate than your best friend. Even if you still thought it could be seen as a little bit weird. 

But you also kind of didn’t care. 

You licked your lips, finally finding your voice after a long moment of silence. “How… how would you do it?” 

Taehyung turned his head and looked at you, noticing the expectation in your eyes. “How would you want me to do it?” He asked. 

You tried to think, but your mind was completely blank. What did you want him to do? What did you like? Suddenly you weren’t sure about anything anymore. “I don’t know,” you admitted, glancing down. 

Taehyung smiled at your nervousness, one of his hands moving to your chin and tilting your head up. “How ‘bout I start by kissing you?” He questioned, gaze flickering to your parted lips. “Is that alright?” 

There were no words in your throat, so you simply nodded, closing your eyes as he leaned in. 

Taehyung’s mouth tasted of vanilla and you thought, even for a moment, that you were in paradise. The second that his tender lips met yours, your anxiety melted away, giving space to a newfound flame of desire. Taehyung kissed you softly, sensually, taking his time caressing your mouth and drowning in your heat. His hand moved to the back of your head, pressing you closer to him and leaning your head to the side so he could deepen the kiss. 

He sighed heavily into your mouth when your tongues met, his other hand moving to hold your waist. The position on the couch was kind of awkward for kissing, with the two of you sitting side by side, so it wasn’t an unwelcome surprise when Taehyung tugged you onto his lap, making you straddle him. 

The kiss was starting to get hungrier, messier, a small whimper dying in your mouth when his palms traveled down to cup your ass, pressing you down against his semi-hard cock. Taehyung sighed and groaned at the feeling of you on top of him, loving the way that your fingers played with his hair, your body so perfectly tight against his. If there was any hesitation before, it had completely vanished by that point. 

It caught you off guard when he suddenly broke off the kiss to ask you, “Do you like any pet names?”

You blinked, taken aback. “Hm? What?”

He placed a strand of your hair behind your ear. “You know, you want me to call you by something?”  

You realized that Taehyung was really taking that personal service to a different level, and you couldn’t say that you were let down by it. If any of your past partners had the dignity to ask what you liked, you wouldn’t be in that position in the first place. “I… like being called ‘baby’,” you told him. 

Taehyung smiled. “That’s cute. Baby it is.” 

Before you had a chance to respond, Taehyung’s lips were back on yours, a dreamy sigh leaving his mouth as your tongues met once again. Only a few seconds passed before he shifted his weight to lay you down, never breaking the kiss as he positioned himself between your legs, hovering over you. Taehyung started trailing a path of kisses down your neck, his large hands slithering beneath your oversized shirt and caressing the skin of your stomach. 

“Can I take this off?” He asked, tugging at your shirt. 

You agreed and, within a heartbeat, that piece of clothing was already on the floor, and Taehyung was diving in to kiss the valley of your naked breasts. You moaned timidly when one of your nipples was wrapped by his lips, his tongue coming out to play with it. Taehyung’s other hand was occupied fondling your other breast, tugging and pressing down on it, and the sensations were taking over your mind. 

“You have great tits,” Taehyung mumbled against your skin, switching to mouth your other nipple. 

“I’m glad you like them,” you teased, playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. You were letting out these cute little whimpers that were making him lose his mind. “Feels really good.” 

“Yeah?” He asked, moving back to kiss his way up your neck. His tongue was hot and heavy as it danced on your skin, and you knew that those sucks he was giving you were surely gonna leave a few marks on your flesh. But you didn’t really care. “Gonna make you feel even better, baby.” 

Your eyes fluttered shut at the pet name — it sounded heavenly when Taehyung used it with his deep, honeyed voice; his warm breath hitting your neck as he continued with his ministrations. 

He kissed his way to your cheek, placing a small pec on your lips before saying, “Can you do something for me?”

You nodded. “What is it?” 

Instead of responding right away, Taehyung’s gaze fell to your lips, and he was once again attacking them. That time, you weren’t able to hold back the whimper that you let out, your panties already glued against your core with how much he was turning you on. 

One of his hands had trailed down your exposed abdomen, teasingly playing with the hem of your shorts. You held your breath when he tugged them down, bringing your underwear with it and throwing them somewhere in the living room. Taehyung grunted loudly when his fingers slipped past your folds, digging into your heat. His brain almost short-circuited because of how wet you were. 

He broke the kiss and looked you deep in the eyes. “I want you to sit on my face, baby,” he said, and his request shot straight to your core. “Let me take care of you, okay?” 

“Are you sure?” You asked. You had never done that before.

But Taehyung wasn’t sharing your reluctance. “Yeah,” he said, voice hoarse and eyes darkened. “Wanna taste you so bad. Sit on my face, please.” 

And you didn’t need any more convincing than that. Taehyung helped you get up from the couch so he could reposition himself on it, laying flat on his back and watching as you settled yourself above him, thighs on either side of his head. The couch was the exact size for that, a little smaller and you’d have one leg dangling off the edge.

Taehyung took his hands to your thighs, running them up to your hips. His eyes were focused on your pussy, and you never felt so exposed when he started pressing you down lightly, guiding you closer to his mouth. 

You held the back of the couch for support and did as he requested, lowering yourself until Taehyung had you flat on his tongue. Your breath trembled and caught in your throat when he licked a thick stripe from your entrance to your clit, humming around the taste before doing it again. Taehyung was an expert at erasing your worries because, with a few more licks, he had you fully losing yourself in his sinful ministrations. 

It wasn’t long until you were whining out his name, your folds lazily dragging against his tongue as you started to grind on his face. “God, Taehyung!” You called out, hand coming down to tug at his hair. Taehyung grunted in satisfaction, the vibrations of his deep voice sending shockwaves through your pussy. “That’s… that’s really nice. You’re really good at this.” 

He moaned in response, closing his eyes at your words. Taehyung was eating you out like his mouth was made for it, like he was starving for your taste and you were all that he could think about. He licked you from your entrance to your clit, playing with your sensitive spots and enjoying the tremors of pleasure that ran through your thighs, his hands locked tight around your hips. You sobbed and cried over him, making special effort to keep your legs steady as you rocked yourself on his tongue. 

It was only when he decided to suck on your clit that you realized how absurdly close you were. You clenched your teeth and whined out, yanking his hair harder. “Do that again, please,” you asked and Taehyung, like the good friend that he was, was quick to comply. Taehyung wrapped his mouth around your clit in a way that had you trembling over him, licking and sucking on your sensitive nub like his life depended on it. “Fuck, that’s so good, Tae. Feels so good…” 

He moaned again, more desperate this time, and some part of your mind understood the pattern that he was presenting you: Taehyung really, really liked your compliments. And you had no problem giving away any more of them. 

“You’re licking me so well, Tae, you’re gonna make me cum like this,” you told him,  meaning every word you said. Taehyung was a Greek god beneath you, staring up at you with those dark, focused eyes as if he dared you to cum on his tongue. “God! You’re so good for me.”

And then your praises ran thin, because your mind was gravitating somewhere else — seeking for the high that was dangerously close. It was only when Taehyung started toying with your entrance, brushing two of his fingers on it, that you came undone, crying out his name like it was a personal prayer. 

There was a smirk on your mouth as you came down, a flooding relief that overtook you. You never thought that you could come so hard in your life, especially when it depended on another person, and you were so, so happy to be wrong that you could cry. 

With shaky legs, you removed yourself from Taehyung’s face, straddling his lap and watching as his lips glistened with your arousal. His pink tongue came out to lick them, a hum on his throat as he took in your fucked-out expression. 

“You did so well, baby,” he said, placing one of his hands on your waist. “Come here.” 

Obedient, you leaned in and sighed as his mouth met yours. This time, Taehyung didn’t wait to eagerly insert his tongue inside your mouth, making you taste yourself on him. 

He pulled away leisurely, his voice hoarse. “Can you taste how sweet you are?” He asked. “I loved making you cum on my tongue, baby. You looked so pretty.” 

Taehyung breathed out, planting kisses on your neck, one hand trailing down to squeeze your ass. You whined at his tight grip and pressed yourself down on him, feeling his hard cock poking out against the fabric of his sweats. 

Taehyung groaned at the stimulation, pressing down on your asscheek again. You rolled your hips on top of him, wincing in sensitivity as his member brushed your clit. “Loved your pussy so much, baby,” he continued, sounding like he was lost in a daydream, “I can’t wait to be inside you. Bet you’d be so tight for my cock, hm?” 

“Yeah,” you managed to speak. Even if you had just reached your orgasm, you were still aching to feel something inside you. You wanted Taehyung more than you could understand. “I want you to fuck me, Tae, please.” 

He breathed out, his hands tightening around your flesh as you rolled your pussy against his cock once again. Taehyung looked like he was one heartbeat away from completely losing his self control, and hearing you beg for him to fuck you wasn’t doing him any favors. “Gonna need to lie down for me, baby,” he asked. 

With a few more shifts on the couch, Taehyung had you beneath him once again, your legs open for him as he removed his shirt and pants. It wasn’t long before his cock sprung free from its confinement, standing erect. You licked your lips at the lustful sight, pussy clenching in anticipation as you took him in — Taehyung was big. Bigger than anyone you’ve ever had, that’s for sure; long and thick and already leaking for you. 

You would’ve cried out in need if he didn’t interrupt you. “What are you looking at?” Taehyung asked, the ghost of a smile creeping up on his lips. 

Your stare oscillated toward his own. “That’s why you have such a good track record, your cock is huge.” You bit your lip, thinking about how good he would feel inside you. You didn’t know how it was possible, but you were pretty sure the last time you’ve seen his cock — back in the dark ages of your freshman year of college — it wasn’t as big as that. Or maybe you just didn’t have anything to compare it to. 

“Hey, I just used my tongue on you, don’t ignore my efforts,” Taehyung teased, wrapping one of his hands around his member so he could pump himself a few times. The playful atmosphere swiftly shifted back, and, when he spoke up again, his voice was deeper. “You think you can take it?” 

“Yeah, I can,” you said. You couldn’t be sure, but you were sure going to try. 

Taehyung hummed, moving a bit closer so he could brush his tip against your pussy, coating it with your wetness. You closed your eyes in expectation, knowing that you’d love the stretch he would give you. 

“You want it?” He asked, a touch of desperation covering his words. Taehyung was nearing his breaking point, and the fluttering of your pussy on his cock was making him go insane. “Want my cock inside your tight little cunt, baby?” 

You nodded, frantic. The brushing of his thick tip on your hole was becoming too much, your walls clenching around nothing, seeking for something to fill you up. “Yes, fuck, I want it so bad.” 

“Are you tight for me, baby?” He was trying to prolong that moment for as much as he could, keep the pretty face you made when you pleaded for him to fuck you burned in the back of his head. Making you cum once was a victory he would take forever, but making you cum around his cock might as well be his life’s biggest achievement. “Ready for me to fuck you?” 

You cried out when he started pressing himself inside you, guiding his crown inside your pussy, then stopping. “Yes, Tae, just put it all in, please,” you whined, hands fumbling for support on his broad shoulders. Taehyung already had you clenching around nothing, you didn’t know what else he wanted from you. “Please, please, fuck me.” 

Taehyung chuckled, looking down at where you two met. He was only human, and his self control was short lived. “Since you asked so nicely…” 

Your back arched off the sofa as you felt the delicious drag of his large cock inside you, opening you up gradually, taking its time before filling you up to the brim. You gasped and sobbed at the overwhelming feeling, nails digging on the skin of his back as Taehyung groaned besides your ear. 

“Fuck, that’s so good.” He let out a shaky breath, and you swore you never heard his voice get so husky before. “I just slipped right in. You’re so fucking wet.” 

Your mind was an apocalypse of confused thoughts and forgotten exclamations, eyes fluttering shut as you dove into the sensation of Taehyung inside you — his hips angling backwards, tilting up just enough so he could move himself away from you core, only to come slamming back inside. The stretch of his cock was amazing, it was making you drunk, and all that you could think about was how much pleasure it was giving you. 

“So-So big—“ you muttered, half aware that the words actually left your lips. 

“How do you like it, uh?” Taehyung asked, his voice dripping sin and hunger. You could tell that he, too, was getting carried away by the feeling, his hips rutting themselves against you at a lazy pace. “Gonna give it to you any way you want it, baby.” 

You bit your lip, a small moan leaving your mouth when Taehyung leaned closer to you, distributing hot kisses on your neck. You swore you’d be happy if you died then. “I like it rough,” you answered. 

He groaned, apparently satisfied with your response. “Whatever you want.” 

Taehyung got to his knees on the couch, deciding to put one foot on the ground for support, his hands raising your hips to help him reach even deeper inside you. Faster than your brain could compute, the shallow, lazy pace he had sat was being replaced with a harsh, fast pumping that made you cry out his name, eyes closing in sheer bliss. 

“Tae! Yes, yes, just like that,” you sobbed, running one hand through your hair. You felt like your body was floating, every cell of your body overheating with the amazing pleasure that Taehyung was giving you. You never had someone fucking you so hard, his cock pistoning inside you, your body bobbing up and down on the couch. 

Taehyung’s eyes were glued to the bouncing of your breasts as he continued to fuck you, a deep groan leaving his chest. “That’s it, take it,” he moaned out, quickening his pace even more. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, mouth opening in a silent scream.  “Gonna make you cum so hard around my cock, baby. Gonna fuck you until you cry. Want that?” 

“Yes, yes, please,” you moaned. “Feels so good, Tae.” 

“You like my cock, baby? Like it filling you up?” He asked and you could only nod pathetically, your entire body too fucked out to even respond. “F-fuck, your pussy is so good. Tell me that you love my cock.” 

“I love your cock,” you whined, feeling like a complete hot mess under his thrusts. “I — fuck! — I love your cock so much, Tae, it’s so big.” 

Your words motivated him to fuck you even harder, his member hitting even deeper inside you. Taehyung was getting lost in the stretch of your pussy around him, the glorious sounds you were making, the lust that coated your face every time you called out his name. 

“Shit, I don’t know how anyone could look at you like this and not want to see that pretty face cum.” He was breathing out hard, grunting every time your cunt tightened around him. Taehyung wanted to see you like that forever, taking his cock like a good girl, creaming all over him and begging to do it again. You were wrapping around him so perfectly, taking all of him so well, that he didn’t think he’d manage to move on from that anytime soon. “So fucking hot.”

Taehyung chased after your high like a starving man looking for food, experimentally changing the angle and force of his thrusts to see what would get the best reaction out of you. At last, after a pathetically loud cry from your part after he raised your legs up, it seemed as if he had found it. “I bet you’d be so tight cumming around my cock, baby,” he was thinking out loud at that point, trying to make sense of the pretty sounds and expressions you were giving him so eagerly. He wanted nothing more than to see you cum — it was personal at that point. “I wanna feel you cum around me, baby. Wanna feel it so bad.” 

“I’m c-close.” Your nails dug into his shoulders, eyes closing tightly. There was a light heat in your cheeks and sweat on your forehead that was making Taehyung wonder if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “You’re so good, T-Tae, you’re fucking me so well…” 

Taehyung thought that he could cum right then and there, pushed over the edge with those sweet words alone. He loved being good to you, loved making you feel things that no one else managed to before. He was intoxicated by that sense of superiority, drowning in your praise. He wished that he could fuck you forever. 

“Cream my cock, baby, come on,” he pushed you on, his words hanging somewhere between an order and a breathless plea. You were getting so tight around him that it was making him crazy, your wetness coating his cock and dripping down between your legs like his own personal brand of aphrodisiac. “You can do it, come on. I wanna see you cum so bad.” 

You smiled at him, a cute, fucked-out smirk that made Taehyung go to heaven and back. “So good for me, Tae, you’re so big,” you said, your voice so needy and high-pitched. Your orgasm was looming over you, pressing down on your lower body and making you see stars. It was only a matter of time before Taehyung got you crying out his name, back arching off the couch and mouth falling open in delirium. “Tae! Fuck! Don’t stop, please, I’m gonna—“ 

But your warning came a second too late, because you were already spasming around his length, body shaking as Taehyung thrusted hard inside you. Just as expected, you were absolutely fucking gorgeous when you came — all quivering lips and rolling eyes —, and Taehyung was beyond satisfied to know that he was the only one who saw that pretty face of yours. 

“That’s it, baby, fuck.” Taehyung was starting to feel his own high approaching, called by the delicious tightening and releasing of your pussy around him. His thrusts were messy and harsh; his sweaty hair falling over his eyes like a cascade. “Can I cum inside you, baby? Can I fuck you full of my cum?”

You noticed the desperation in his tone and, with the throbbing of his member inside you, you knew that he wasn’t far. “Yes, please,” you said. “You were so good for me, Tae, you can cum wherever you want.” 

And it was that final taste of praise that pushed Taehyung over his limit; waves upon waves of cum filling you up as he rode out his high. “God— fuck!” He cried out, drunk on the feeling of your walls milking the last drops of cum out of his cock. A few lazy pumps later, and he was collapsing on top of you with a mumbled, “F-Fuck.” 

There was an instant of silence after his orgasm, the quietude only filled by Taehyung’s heavy breathing. You took one hand to his head, caressing the strands as a smile blossomed on your lips. “Well, I believe you now,” you said playfully. “I’m sure you made a bunch of girls orgasm.” 

Taehyung chuckled, breathless. “Thank you, I try,” he said, looking up at you. The darkness in his gaze was gone, and it was just your best friend staring back at you. “You alright?”

“I’m great,” you admitted. You never felt so good in your life. “You?”

“Fantastic, thanks for asking.” He leaned back so he could sit up, running one hand through his disheveled hair before saying, “I’m gonna grab you a towel, hang on.” 

Taehyung left you for a couple minutes before coming back to clean you up, tenderly wiping away the mess you two had created. After he was done, he discarded the towel on the floor and crawled back to rest on your chest once again. 

There was a comforting quietude that floated in the atmosphere, only filled by the muffled buzzing of his freezer and the vague sound of raindrops drumming on the window. You didn’t really know how to deal with that entire situation, didn’t know how things would stay between the two of you. But, at that point, you made the decision to keep those worries for the following morning and, instead, just enjoy his warmth radiating all around you. 

The glorious silence, at last, was broken when Taehyung started mumbling against your breasts.  “Hey, ___?” He called. 

“Yeah?”

“How many dates have you been on?”

You hummed, thinking for a moment. “Ever?”

Taehyung made a clicking sound with his tongue. “I don’t know, like, this past year.”

“Uh… like… five or six? I think?” You answered, looking down to meet his gaze. You knew that wicked expression very well. “Why?”

He smiled. “Because we have a lot of shitty dates to make up for.”

[ectonurites]

When did Kon change his look?

Mmm okay so I know I had thrown together an image that went over the basics of Kon's looks a WHILE ago but I don't feel like digging to find that and it was very quick anyways, so lets do something a little more comprehensive.

1993 - Reign of the Supermen & Early Days:

(Adventures of Superman #500)

So Kon starts out with his iconic jacket look- the suit underneath is what the Cadmus scientists had him in, and he gets the first jacket from the Newsboy Legion when they helped him escape. The initial jacket was a plain one, but during the course of Reign of the Supermen he gets the more familiar one (well he gets many of these he can go through LMAO) with the gold 'S' on the back. This is also what he wears for the first big chunk of his solo comic!

1994-2000 Temporary looks:

(Cover of Superboy Vol. 4 #0, #51, #60, #74, Cover of #76)

Before his next like, more longterm major costume change, there's a few temporary looks that I think are worth mentioning. He has X-Ray glasses (since that's a power he lacks) before he loses them on a mission. When he gets stranded in the Wild Lands for a bit he has a whole Kamandi thing going on. For Hyper-Tension! he dons the jacket that an alternate reality version of himself had died in for travelling through Hypertime. During Sins of Youth he gets temporarily turned into an adult and thus has a slightly altered look. After Sins of Youth he temporarily lost his powers and wore a T-shirt look with a shield and Legion flight ring until he got them back.

2001ish - Superboy #83

(Superboy Vol. 4 #83 + Cover of #89)

At the start of Kelly's run on his solo, Kon goes through a lowkey identity crisis and with the help of a civillian named Bianca he re-learns how to be cool... and a new outfit comes along with it! This design does have a jacket, but he gets drawn pretty often without it in various appearances.

2003 - Teen Titans era

(Cover of Teen Titans Vol. 3 #2)

After Graduation Day when Geoff Johns attacked the Core Four moved onto the Teen Titans, Kon gets the T-shirt as his main look for the rest of the 2000s up to the reboot

2003-2019 Temporary looks:

(Teen Titans Vol. 3 #16, Cover of #25, Young Justice (2019) #3)

Before his next longterm costume change, we see Kon in a more classic Superman-ish suit when he spent time in the future with the Legion of Super-Heroes. Then the unfortunate 'Lex takes over Kon and makes him shave his head' situation... occurs. In YJ 2019 Flashbacks we also see Kon mix some previous looks by wearing the T-shirt and a leather jacket together.

(I am purposefully skipping New 52 Kon here because he is a separate character.)

2019 - Post-Flashpoint/Young Justice

(Young Justice (2019) #1)

When Kon gets brought back into existing he's in a revamped version of his original look! Leather jacket but now with spikes and MORE patches <3

Now?

So there was the whole fakeout thing with Suicide Squad 2021 where who we thought was Kon back in the T-Shirt look was actually Match who believed he was Kon... we later got the reveal and saw Kon was in fact still in his punk look:

(Suicide Squad 2021 Annual)

We haven't really seen him since then, but we have some covers for upcoming stuff that makes his current costume uhhhh... uncertain.

(Upcoming covers for Suicide Squad (2021) #13 and Justice League (2018) #75)

Kon might be in a T-Shirt during the War for Earth-3 crossover? Or it might not even be him on this cover because the solicits don't actually mention him by name- we have to wait and see! He's also on a cover for Death of the Justice League which comes out after that, in the jacket look, so uhhhh 🤷‍♂️. We really don't know what the deal is at this exact moment, he could very well just be alternating depending on his mood for all we know. Also covers lie sometimes so either one of these could just be wrong.

[aniron48]

offering

Another evening, another time I accidentally wrote a thing I didn't mean to. I have another short fic, which you can read under the cut and on ao3. It takes place after the canon ending of NTTD (so TW for a major character death). As I was working on a completely different (and much happier) sp00qy season fic, I kept finding my mind returning to one of my own cultural traditions, día de muertos, and the tradition of building altars, or ofrendas, to celebrate the dead. It's something that means a lot to me, and so eventually I gave in to the inevitable, and gave that to Q, too. There's a bit more explanation on ao3, as well as some translations for the Spanish.

Writing this gave me space for some of my own mingled joy and grief from the last few years. I hope it is a space that holds you gently as well.

“It’s terribly inconvenient, grieving you,” Q says to no one. “Somehow I think you’d like that.”

He clears his throat, adjusts the cempasúchil in their clear turquoise vase, and straightens the fuchsia cloth laid across his repurposed beside table. While he’s moving, grief is a verb, something he can do, instead of something he must carry. He has never been good at being still.

He hadn’t built an ofrenda in years, before he became Quartermaster. It was another tradition he’d let fade to dust, lost with his kind-eyed father before Q was old enough to shave. And then he’d started at MI6, where death walked the corridors, and sat in high-backed chairs: another bureaucrat, worn at the edges from her ceaseless work. Q had lost his first agent the same year they’d lost M, and suddenly nothing made sense but this. So much of grief in England was monochrome, a gray funeral in a gray stone cathedral where the only splash of color was the Union Jack draped across a casket. Q would never begrudge his colleagues that, but he needed this, the color and the irreverence and the bits of life he felt his ghosts were owed. 

“The dead are going to follow you home no matter what,” his father had explained once, the year Q’s grandmother had passed away. “Give them a corner of their own, or they’ll think the whole house is theirs.”

“There’s a certain logistical element to it,” Q says aloud. “I have to find a room I can shut the cats out of for at least a night and, well, you’ve seen the flat. They’d eat the pan de muerto, which is one thing, but it could actually be bad for them if they got into the whisky.”

He reaches out to turn the glass as he speaks, the late evening sun refracting off the crystal and turning it briefly into a prism that scatters shards of light across the room.

“It’s Macallan,” he says. “In case you were wondering. It’s tradition to leave the dead their favorite things, you see. Normally that’s food and drink, but, well.” Q gestures to the altar. “It’s just like you, to be as inimitable in death as you were—“ 

Q takes a long moment before he continues, his long fingers clenching and unclenching around his own untouched glass.

“Not many people have guns left out for them, I would imagine. Wouldn’t be safe. But then, no one can ever fire this one again, can they? No one but you. The height of Q Branch technology, and in the blink of an eye it was nothing but a relic. 

“So much of MI6 was like that, after. So many things I’d taken for granted, only when you were gone, they didn’t work anymore, and no one knew why.

“And then there’s this,” he says after a moment, pointing at the white ceramic bulldog draped in the British flag. “Imagine my surprise when they told me you’d left me this in your will. This, and an entire box of kit you’d said you’d lost, just sitting in your garage. It’s as if you deliberately went out of your way to make me remember you as a menace. And you were. You were that. But also—“

Q rubs a sleeve, uncaring, across his face. “Every now and then, out of the blue, something will remind me of you, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s a feeling, nothing more. And then I realized, it’s just living. You were so bloody alive that living reminds me of you. It drives me mad, because then I don’t have any choice but to keep doing it. Even during all those weeks right after, when there was nothing I wanted less.”

He stands, and runs a finger against the picture of Bond on the altar. In it, he’s laughing, unguarded and free. “You were never easy, but no one can convince me that the heart of you wasn’t good.”

Q stays there as the last of the light fades, until he has to light the candles on the altar to push back the dark.

“‘Amo el trozo de tierra que tú eres,’” Q says. “Descanse en paz, James.” He touches his glass to the one on the altar, and leaves the room to its ghosts.

[whirlybirbs]

         (  chapter 6′s gif by @buckysbarnes​​ from this lovely set !  )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  6/?

summary: gunshot wounds, panic attacks, and evil next door neighbors.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 5.3k, a filler before the real sexual tension.

a/n: be warned, this chapter has a diy medical procedure where bucky removes the slug from rabbit’s shoulder. it’s nothing too graphic, but keep that in mind! also, i wanted to say thank you to everyone who has rec’d, reblogged, commented, kudos, liked, looked at this fic. the response to every chapter has been so overwhelmingly kind and i’m so thankful that i have the oppurtunity to share this fic with you all. that being said, i broke this chapter up. next week has some spice. ;-)

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Bucky wakes up with a headache that feels like someone’s tapped an icepick between his eyes. A fire-bright burn radiates under his ribs.

It’s a slow creep back to reality — he just lays there and stares at the peeling wallpaper that meets the corner of the ceiling for a while, knowing deep in the back of his muddled, confused thoughts that he most likely has a nasty concussion, maybe a few broken ribs.

How? Hm. Fighting. Music? The club.

Rabbit.

He sits up fast and Bucky’s blue eyes struggle to adjust in the low-light of the scarcely furnished apartment. The searing pang of his headache is enough to make his stomach churn, but he’s had worse. So much worse. This is manageable. So, he swallows down the nausea and looks around the room like a wounded animal — and almost immediately, relief greets him at the sight of you in the armchair across from the couch.

Your hair is a mess, falling from it’s previous style that you’d proudly worn to The Glass Cannon. Your lipstick is smeared, there’s glitter on your cheeks, and your make-up has transitioned from starlet beauty to broken-hearted bombshell. Bucky notices, with a bit of dismay, that you’re even missing an earring. There’s a nasty bruise forming along the peak of your cheekbone and a gash there from when Alexei had cracked you across the face with the pistol — and even despite all this, Bucky can feel his heart clench at the sight of you. A good clench. The sort that makes his heart kick into a stutter step.

You look… well, you look like someone who’d had the shit choked out of them and then was shot.

Shot.

Your jacket, punched clean through with the single bullet hole, is hanging over the back of the chair and there’s gauze taped to your shoulder. You’re leaning your good cheek in your hand, attention turned totally to Bucky, where you’ve fallen asleep. From here, you’re a picture of exhaustion.

Anxiety flashes in his heart and he swings his legs over the edge of the couch.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder.

“Take it easy.”

It’s the woman from before, Kiwi, and she’s got an ice pack in her hands. It’s wrapped in a ratty, green dish towel, and she hands it off to Bucky with a pitiful little look. Rounding the couch, Bucky finally gets a better look at her.

She’s older than you, maybe by a handful of years, but sharp and beautiful nonetheless. Her hair is dark as night and the tips are drenched in a lime colored dye. Her eyes are dark, too, ringed by kohl and glitter, and Bucky wonders if he’s ever seen her before.

“You heal quick,” she says quietly as she plops down into the chair across the room. On a makeshift desk, there’s a laptop, “Care to explain how you know our dear friend Rabbit here?”

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Again, his eyes fall on your sleeping form.

He maneuvers the ice pack in his hands, then gently presses it to his ribs. He melts a bit, ignoring the evident tears in the silk shirt. He feels bad — he’d busted some of the seams in the midst of the brutal scuffle and it seems like this artifact of Jaimie’s was most likely beyond salvation.

His dog tags jingle against his chest.

“Therapy,” Bucky croaks, “We, uh, we met in therapy.”

A new voice comes into the picture now, one that’s muffled by a mouthful of food.

“That’s cute.”

It’s the other one, Climber. He’s traded in his all-black, all-polyurethane outfit for an expensive looking t-shirt. Without the strobes, without the tunnel vision, Bucky can now see the intricate buzz cut that sits beneath the mountain of blue curls on his head. There are patterns buzzed into his tight-shave. He’s got a smile, too, the glimmers a little too artificially. Bucky spies crystals inset on his incisors between bites of what looks like a bowl of cereal with no milk. Spoon and all.

“I don’t think we’ve properly met,” Climber says as he plops down next to Bucky on the couch, “What’d you say your name was?”

A hand is jutted his way. Bucky blinks. He shakes it with his vibranium hand.

“I’m Bucky.”

“Well, I’m gay and you’re gorgeous,” he says candidly, giving it a good shake, “So, if that’s of any interest—”

“Can you please shut up, Climber?” comes an irritated rasp from you in your armchair. Bucky turns to watch as you raise your head and rub your eyes, “Christ, I just fell asleep.”

“And your little supersoldier just woke up,” Kiwi chirps from her preoccupation with the laptop and contents on it, “So why don’t you stop being a little baby and let him look at that gunshot wound.”

Bucky’s face falls flat. He drops the ice pack to the coffee table with a thwunk.

You sit up, gingerly trying to maneuver yourself so as to not bother both your ribs and your shoulder. It takes a moment, but finally you’re sitting up with only a dull ache of pain throbbing beneath your skin. Now, the real sting comes from the bitter look Bucky has pinned you with.

“You haven’t cleaned it yet?”

“The shits in the kitchen,” Kiwi waves at Bucky, as if to say told you so, “She fuckin’ refused to let me take care of it.”

“You’re going to get an infection if it stays in you any longer,” he snaps, standing to his feet, “Get up.”

“Kiwi isn’t exactly the most gentle person I know,” you manage to supply as an excuse as you move through the room, “And I know that thing isn’t coming out without a fight.”

He can feel the grey hairs coming in already.

You stand slowly, and Bucky looms behind you as you weave into the small apartment’s kitchen.

It’s barely lived in, but a few years ago it most definitely had life. Now, it’s mostly abandoned save for a few necessities. Kiwi had told you, a long time ago, about this spot — it was her parent’s place before the Snap. After the Blip, they ended up moving back to Massachusetts. Now abandoned by anyone seeking to really live in the one bedroom, it sits collecting dust until Kiwi inevitably needs it.

Like now.

“Up on the counter.”

You wince at his tone, but still thankful to be away from Kiwi and Climber’s prying eyes.

For the entire time Bucky had been out, you’d been subjected to a myriad of questions — all were fair, really, since Bucky did just bust out the Avenger-level super-moves on some Russian mafiosos for your sake, vibranium arm and all. The arm was really the biggest stuck point in the conversation as you tried your best to explain the nature of your relationship with the unconscious supersoldier on the couch. It was met with plenty of looks, both curious and skeptical.

You’re slow to hop up on the dusty marble countertop. From there, you watch Bucky poke through the kit that Kiwi had pulled from under the sink.

Then, with the calculated process of a man who has pulled one too many bullets from himself, Bucky slams the kit shut and wanders into the bathroom.

He returns with a pair of large tweezers. He’s silent as the dead as he rummages for a pan, fills it with water, and sets the gas burner on. He stares, watching the pot boil, as his foot taps against the floor.

You swallow down any comments.

There’s a clean towel beside you, and Bucky casually reached into the boiling water with his vibranium hand to retrieve the tweezers — whether or not he purposely ignored the pain is lost on you. You’re too busy anxiously spiraling into silence.

(He’s trying to ground himself, to feel something other than panic. It’s a mild spike, but it’s still panic. Because you’re hurt. Because you still have a fucking casing lodged in your shoulder and he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you. Ever. Because he saw it happen and then it was black, and now that anxiousness is creeping in.)

Rubbing alcohol, tweezers, gauze, tape, and… Jack Daniel’s.

It’s from the top of the fridge. It’s got a layer of dust on it — and it’s unopened.

Bucky unceremoniously pops the cap and hands the open bottle to you.

You take it and pause.

Bucky’s gaze is cold.

“You’re gonna want to take a few swigs, Doll.”

You almost snarl. You take a long drink then, ignoring the burn of the whiskey down your throat. It’s only when you’ve had enough to nearly gag that you hand the bottle back and then hiss:

“Don’t call me Doll.”

He takes the bottle and unceremoniously slams it down on the counter.

His movements are rough as he washes his hands — and if Bucky was a better person, maybe he’d take a second and parse through why he was feeling so damn irritable. But, no, no, he could figure out that he was angry at himself and you and Alexei Gardzov and Innessa Sidrova and fucking… everyone because he can’t have any normal relationships in his life without there being bloodshed or pain or suffering. That was enough, and he didn’t want to dig deeper into the nipping fear of losing you, not now, not when he had a job to do—

You suck in a sharp breath when his fingers brush your collarbone. He gently moves the delicate strap of your bodysuit, ignoring the soft skin beneath, and pulls the gauze away from your shoulder.

Your jacket had taken most of the impact it seems. Bucky frowns deeply at the pink fibers clinging to the entry wound. It’s a nasty puckered bit of flesh, smeared with blood, right in the soft muscle of your left shoulder. The hole is a little smaller than a quarter — Bucky recognizes it as shot from a 9mm almost immediately. He’s taken a few of these in his days. He’s glad it wasn’t close range. The burns from the muzzle flash make for nasty scars. He’d know. He has one on his back, right above his hip.

Bucky’s jaw is tight. He’s gritting his back teeth. His headache throbs angrily behind his eyes.

Bucky leans, eyeing the wound carefully. His limited reaction is enough to spark a little light of bravery in your gut, and you move to look at the hole — only to find a vibranium hand rooting your jaw in place. It’s gentle enough as it recorrects the line of your gaze straight ahead. His thumb rests on the curve of your chin as his index climbs your jaw, and the vibranium is warm and cold all at once. It’s an odd sensation. Not bad, but not flesh.

You like it.

(You find your mind quickly flashing with the thought of what that hand would feel like in other places. You ignore it.)

Your eyes are stuck on Bucky.

He’s clearly upset — the pinch between his brows and the evident scowl on his lips is enough of an indication. The bridge of his nose is busted and there’s a bruise crawling under his left eye. The shirt you’d given him is a wreck, and as he bends to snatch up a rubbing alcohol soaked pad, the feeling of shame creeps up on you. The anxiousness that’s settled in the pit of your stomach doesn’t help.

Arguably, it exacerbates the symptom.

The whiskey is slow to make an impact.

But, when Bucky finally swipes the gauze across the wound, your ankles have begun to tingle and it isn’t blinding white pain you feel — not yet. It’s sharp and it feels like he’s touching your shoulder blade when he presses his fingers into the holes to clean the immediate area. That has you grimacing tightly.

His obsidian-hued hand holds your face still through it.

So, you opt to stare.

His arm reminds you of some pottery you’d seen back at the Museum of Modern Art once, on a school trip. In a dimly lit room, spotlights lit up a row of vases that had been gilded back together with gold-dusted sap. You’d sat there for nearly an hour, staring at those things. You can’t remember the name now, not while Bucky does one more pass across the wound. It started with a ‘k’. It was beautiful. You loved that exhibit. Why can’t you — fuck — remember the name? Kinsi… kinsigumi? Gumi. Kintsi —

You grit your teeth and grip the counter tightly. He pauses. You exhale.

You inhale.

Kintsugi.

The seams of his arm remind you of Kintsugi.

It’s beautiful.

Bucky’s eyes flit to yours. He sees your stare.

Maybe it’s the pain, or the half-cocked daze, but the look in your eyes is enough to spur an immediate reaction. Bucky scowls. He yanks his hand back, retreating to the supplies on the counter. He’s pulled, hard and fast, and now he seems miles away.

Quietly, and with a bit more chill than he intended, he speaks. “If it was making you nervous, you should have said something.”

It.

Your head snaps to him.

“What?” you ask, nearly incredulously.

He’s silent. He has the tweezers in his hand now.

Your eyes narrow critically — and instead of shame and anxiety, it’s hurt that flies off your tongue. It’s drenched in enough pain that Bucky hears it in the waver of your voice.

“You think I’m afraid of you?”

It’s nearly a whisper.

He swallows.

He ignores it. He has to. He doesn’t want to know the answer. Either way that conversation goes is enough to drag him into territory he can’t handle right now. Not when he needs to do this without his hands shaking.

“This is going to hurt.”

Your mouth is open — be it shock or anger, he’s not sure. Bucky, however, makes a point of ignoring your expression and your reaction by handing over the whiskey once more. You snatch it from his hands quickly. There’s a look on your face that makes his chest ache. With one last pass over him with your eyes, you take a long swig.

You feel like crying.

You won’t, though. Not now. Not while he does this.

You deserve this.

And holy fucking hell does it hurt. It’s like someone’s taken a hot poker and punctured your skin, then rotated it around and around and around. You can feel every time the tweezers touch the bullet because the metallic little click echoes in your chest. It’s enough to make your head spin, and you grit your teeth and close your eyes and try to breathe — but even after a handful of minutes, when Bucky finally retrieves the slug, there’s no relief. Just a desperate throb.

Your hands are shaking when you reach for the whiskey once more.

You do cry, finally, when Bucky packs the hole.

He rolls the gauze up tightly into a cylinder and, as gently as he can, pushes it in.

It’s a horrible choke of pain that you smother into your palm and pant through. It reminds you to breathe, and while you stare up at the water damage on the kitchen ceiling, Bucky tapes a square piece of gauze over the bruised wound and wraps your shoulder tightly. He takes his time, but there’s a curtness to his actions.

Finally, when he begins to clean up the mess of bloodied gauze, you speak.

“If you’re mad at me, then just say it.”

He snaps almost immediately, like a kicked dog. “And say what, Rabbit? That I almost lost you?”

Your mouth slips shut.

Bucky pauses what he’s doing. He drops the gauze onto the towel and he bares both hands against the counter top. He leans and exhales and drops his own head back — then, you can see his own waves of anxiety knocking him against the shore of composure. His eyes move back and forth, he inhales, and then after a long while he speaks.

It’s calmer. Not so horribly mean.

“You should have told me about Alexei.”

You go to speak — but he stops you.

“I mean really, really told me,” he explains, “Had I known he wanted your fucking head mounted on a spike, I would have kept you far away from that place.”

“We had to—”

“No,” he says sternly, standing up full height, “No, we didn’t. We never have to do anything that’s going to put you in danger. Never. I won’t do it again. You should have fuckin’ told me.”

You’re quiet.

“A few more inches to the right,” he says, gesturing to your throat with his finger. His eyes are expressive and he’s speaking like he’s lived this experience, “You’d be dead. Cold and dead and I’d be here, carrying the fucking guilt around with me because I wouldn’t have been able to do anything.”

His voice splinters at the end — but he’s moved to throw away the gauze and dump the tweezers in the sink. He can’t look at you as he says it, and you know that. Because, just like before, people like you and him have a hard time looking the truth in the eyes.

You slide off the counter.

Your heart is sad. It’s heavy and mournful and weighed down with guilt.

“Bucky.”

It’s soft. He’s scrubbing your blood from his hands.

He doesn’t turn around. He can’t. He can feel the prick of an anxious breakdown beginning to climb into his eyes. Instead, he scrubs and scrubs and scrubs and your blood is stuck in the plating of his hand and it’s not going to come out—

Think of what could have happened if it had been a few inches to the right. The arched spray. Blood everywhere. She can’t speak through the gargle, she’s going cold, she’s gone. And, like always, you’re alone again, Bucky.

Then, your hands are on his.

The touch is enough to stop him. It’s enough for him to move aside at the large, inset kitchen sink. You exhale slowly as you run the water a little warmer and gingerly run his hands under the tap. Your hands are smaller than his, a bit more delicate, and he’s stunned into a sharp silence at the feeling of your fingertips gently washing away the crimson blood.

You grab another dish towel from a drawer beside the stove.

Then, in the dim light of the kitchen, you take both his hands and dry them.

It’s the vibranium hand that you pay special attention to, though. And Bucky feels like a fucking idiot — just standing there, just watching as you run the rag between the gilded plating and use gentle pressure to get into the harder to reach spots. You turn it over, and you dry his knuckles.

You take your time.

You don’t look up when you speak. You’re focused. Almost reverent.

He doesn’t deserve this.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you say sternly.

His mouth is dry. “Rabbit…”

Bucky shifts on his feet and takes a deep inhale. He feels lightheaded.

The whiskey, and the closeness of the two of you, makes your skin warm. His whole nervous system feels like it’s on fire.

“I didn’t mean to stare, I don’t ever mean to,” you apologize as your hands still over his arm. He watches your irises trace the plating above his wrist. The rag is forgotten, its purpose null. Your words are heavy, and Bucky can hear a little shake in them as you swallow, “I just… think it’s beautiful.”

You’re beautiful.

Even now, blood-soaked and sweat-stained. With makeup running down your cheeks and your composure in shambles. Even now, on the run and apparently wanted, you’re incredibly beautiful. Bucky hates how easy it is to admit and how hard it is to keep off his tongue. It nearly gets the better of him. He watches your eyelashes flutter. When you look up at him, the world is suddenly drowned in honey.

“I’m sorry.”

You mean it.

Your bottom lip wobbles.

Bucky, immediately, regrets being so goddamn cold.

You were just trying to help — you were just trying to do the right thing.

“Stop it. Come here.”

The hug is the first time you can remember touching him like this. You think you’ll always remember it, too. It’s sturdy and warm and gentle and honest and you bury your face into the shoulder as his arms come up around your neck. He’s careful of your own injured shoulder, and his fingers find the base of your neck. Around his waist, your fingers dig into the back of his shirt. Both of you ground yourselves in the other’s arms, and for the first time in a handful of hours, you both find peace.

Quiet, sturdy, lovely peace.

And the two of you stay like that for a while in the quiet little kitchen.

It’s not until Climber’s voice rises from the living room that you’re pulled away from Bucky — and even then, your face linger inches from one another for a moment too long. Neither of you say a word, only swallow down confessions that could have been, and move on.

“Oh, girlie, you’re gonna wanna see this.”

Bucky frowns. With your brows knotted tightly together, you weave through the kitchen and back into the living room.

Kiwi has sat up and both her and Climber have their eyes on the bulky flat screen on the dust-covered entertainment center. It’s cable news, and as Climber leans to turn the television up, a picture of you flashes across the screen.

It’s a photo from your arrest six months ago.

“Local authorities are asking that anyone with information on the whereabouts of this young woman call the FBI’s anonymous tip line—”

“Is there a reward?” Climber whispers almost excitedly, eyes on the screen.

“—Authorities are offering $100,000 dollars to the person who provides enough information to lead up to this dangerous fugitive’s capture.”

“Dangerous fugitive?” hisses Bucky.

“A hundred thousand dollars?” cries Kiwi, “Who the fuck did you piss off?”

You inhale deeply as you wave your hands. “The bigger question is who the fuck knew I was going to The Glass Cannon last night. Because they’re looking for me — not you.”

You point at Bucky and the gears are turning in your head.

The pacing is almost immediate, and Bucky crosses his arms tightly as you begin to walk back and forth behind the full length couch that Climber is currently spread out on.

It’s cut short, though, by Kiwi’s laptop chiming successfully.

“Well,” she stands quickly, “I have a feeling that someone knows you’re onto them. And the facial recognition software just got a match. A three point one, too.”

Your eyes brighten.

You’d given Kiwi the photo of the young Innessa, with all her decorated furs and blonde curls. She’s laughing and she���s young and she’s in love and it’s hard for you to imagine a woman like her to be dangerous. While you’d made sure Bucky was propped up comfortably on the couch and then finally calmed down from the adrenaline high enough to get comfortable yourself, Kiwi had dug out the hard-drive she kept on her at all times and began pulling data from the Alexandria Library files.

It had been a handful of hours, so it was clear that Innessa had hid herself well in the vast, expansive database SHIELD kept for all those years while it was in operation.

Bucky is quick to gather behind Kiwi, eyes scanning the screen.

Sure enough, when you come to look at the photos pulled up on Kiwi’s screen, there’s a hit. There’s an identification card photo of an older woman, maybe in her forties, pulled up alongside the photo Bucky had given you. Her hair is no longer blonde, but deep auburn color. She’s marked as having worked with Rumlow — a supervisor of some sort. Makes sense. You didn’t need to see a picture of Crossbones to remember Brock. Even when you’d interned, he’d been infamous.

And that was when he was one of the good guys.

There’s a handful of other photos of her — candids, professional photos, and even one where she is shaking Tony Stark’s hand.

And in all of them, you see your next door neighbor Bonnie McLayne.

“Fuck.”

Bucky blinks. Kiwi turns to look at you over her shoulder.

Again, you speak. Your eyes are wide. You can’t look away from the screen.

“Fuck, fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Rabbit…?”

“Fuck.”

Bucky’s face narrows considerably, confusion melting to make room for realization.

His voice is quiet.

“Do you know her?”

“Oh my god,” you say loudly, shaking your head and blinking, “Oh my fucking god, that’s my neighbor.”

Bucky can feel his whole face go clammy.

“The neighbor who—”

“—Who I showed your fucking picture to,” you nearly shriek, “Like it was some cute little matchmaking game!”

Immediately both hands are over your face as you throw your head back. Now, the pacing has begun, and like you’re being carried on autopilot, you begin to move back and forth and back and forth and—

“You don’t think she’d hurt Poke, do you?”

“Rabbit.”

“Oh god, oh god—”

Oh.

Oh, you’re having a panic attack.

Oh, that was quick. Brutally fast. Nearly immediate.

After all, she knows where your family lives. She gets Holiday cards from mom to give to you. She’s been your closest friend for nearly six years. But she’s not Bonnie, she’s Innessa fucking Sidrova. She’s seen you with Bucky. She knows — she knows a lot and you don’t know anything and you’re miles from home, from Poke, from Mom, from Ana… Oh, god, the baby. The baby.

“The baby.”

Bucky’s voice is level. “Rabbit, you gotta calm down.”

“I have to call my mom.”

“No,” Kiwi snaps immediately, “They’re going to be watching for your cell phone pings. No calls, no texting, none of it. And god forbid this woman is one step ahead of the FBI—”

“Oh, god.”

You gasp like a fish out of water, paralyzing fear sending you to lean against the back of the couch.

You claw at your chest and try to remember what Dr. Hart said about these sorts of moments. Square breathing. In and hold and out and hold. Again and again.  

“Sit down,” Bucky says as he returns to your side, nearly sweeping you up long enough to plop you down into the armchair from before, “And do me a favor and breathe.”

The whiskey isn’t helping right now.

“I’m trying.”

Another gasped breath.

Climber and Kiwi watch.

Bucky shakes his head sternly, kneeling on one knee and snagging your hands. “Don’t try. Just do it. You can do it. Just follow my lead — you’re the sidekick, after all. Remember? C’mon. There’s the smile. Breathe.”

So you do.

In, hold. Out, hold. You draw a square with one hand on your jeans and hold onto Bucky’s with the other.

Again, in and hold. Out and hold.

And again.

And then, you just listen to Bucky’s breathing.

You’re not sure how long it takes — half an hour, ten minutes, who knows — but finally you’re able to calm the spiraling thoughts in your head. Finally, the loudness quiets down, you catch your breath, and the world isn’t falling apart. The bite of anxiety still remains in the hollow of your chest and Bucky can see that when you finally open your eyes and squeeze his hand.

There’s that look again between the two of you. The one from before, in the kitchen.

“Good?” he asks quietly, blue eyes swimming with some sort of emotion you can’t really pin down. Not now. Maybe, if you’d been a bit more collected, you would have seen it as infatuation. But, no. It’s just… nice.

You swallow and nod.

“Damn, girl,” says Climber from his spot on the couch, “Now I’m starting to get the whole therapy thing.”

“Thanks, dickhead.”

“That’s recent, isn’t it?” he asks, genuine worry crossing his face as he stands to gently pass a hand over your back, “I don’t remember it ever being this bad.”

Your face is sad. “I was just partying through it back then. Distraction was always the best method and then… When I had no more distractions and it was just me? Alone? And, psh, the accident with Jaimie? It got worse. So much worse.”

Climber’s eyes soften. “I’m sorry, bunny.”

You try to put on a brave face.

Bucky stands from in front of you and begins his own pacing. This one isn’t so much born out of anxious nature — but more of a tactical logic born out of keeping you safe.

This wasn’t exactly the turn he was expecting.

“You didn’t recognize her?” he asks after a moment, voice high and tight.

“I’m sorry,” you wave a hand, exasperated, “She doesn’t exactly look the same as she did in the 70s.”

Kiwi frowns at the screen. “Definitely botox.”

Bucky squints. He looks to you for an explanation.

You vaguely gesture to your face.

His brow lifts, he closes his eyes, and he sighs.

Kiwi is next to pipe up. “It explains why the feds are looking for you, especially if she saw you with the one man she knows is looking to hunt her down — so, I think it’s best the both of you lay low for a couple of days.”

“Not to mention,” Climber wags a finger, “Bucky the Babe over here did just piss off one the smaller Russian crime families in New York. So, there’s always that ontop of the evil Nazi-HYDRA-woman-next-door.”

You groan.

“Poke has enough food for a week,” Bucky says nearly reading your mind, “He’ll be fine.”

“So, what? We just wait here? Until something happens?”

“Sidrova is going to try and bait us out,” Bucky mutters, “She knows she can’t just disappear. She’s been settled for too long and we know too much. Engaging us in an altercation is how she’ll do it. Plus, I have a feeling she wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to shoot me in the knees after a few decades. So, we wait.”

“Few decades?” Kiwi whispers.

“How old are you?” Climber asks.

“Hundred and six.”

Both of them just blink at an unphased Bucky.

You sigh, finally standing on wobbly legs. “This feels like a bad idea. I’m just stating that for the record.”

“Better than her hunting the both of you down,” Kiwi supplies, “You can stay here. There’s cable, there’s booze, and there’s plenty of instant ramen to last you until winter.”

“Stale cereal, too.”

“Wait— where are you two going?” you ask, narrowing your eyes, “You’re leaving?”

“Keeping our hands clean,” Kiwi says, closing her laptop, “And letting you be the sidekick, bunny.”

The sadness in your heart grows a little heavier at those words, but there’s a little bit of pride in Kiwi’s tone. As she stands, she moves to wrap her arms around you in a gentle hug. Quietly, she murmurs into your hair.

“Your dad would be proud of you, y’know.”

Bucky watches.

Climber is next, and that hug is bigger, more brotherly, more like sunshine and less like autumn.

“Don’t be a stranger, Rabbit.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out as the two of them gather their belongings, “For dragging you both into this. But, thank you. You didn’t have to help me—”

“Yeah, we did,” Kiwi chirps as she knocks Bucky on the arm three times, “Keep her safe, aakarshak purush.”

The Hindi rolls off her tongue with ease.

Bucky laughs. “Bahut lamba.”

Kiwi pauses mid-step. She narrows her eyes. There’s a smile on her lips. “Your pronunciation isn’t bad.”

He shrugs plainly. “I get lunch almost everyday at the Indian place below my apartment, so. The owner has been teaching me some stuff on the side.”

An approving nod.

Kiwi hucks you the keys across the room.

She points at Bucky.

“I like him. Try not to fuck that up, eh?”

And then, the two of them are gone.

And it’s just you and Bucky in the empty apartment.

[publicaciones-sin-sentido]

Unexpected Changes Chapter 2

First chapter

-Presentations-

You got out of the Jeep in which they took you, and you looked at the training shed with some fear. You advanced towards him and saw a dark-haired man with a cap at the entrance.

You held up the letter they sent you showing that you had been selected. I look at you from head to toe, but you didn't detect any bad intentions in that -Come in, Captain Price is inside, you can take the equipment you prefer for the test and take this, it's for later- He gave you a little plastic sachet, there was something inside but you didn't know what it was, you put it in your pocket. You did as they told you.

Upon entering almost automatically everyone turned to look at you "Great", you took a deep breath and noticed that there was a raised platform, you looked there and you saw them, three men looked at you from there, you recognized Captain Price and you greeted him standing to attention, he nodded without further ado and took a puff on his cigar, the second man had a mohawk cut, winked at you and smiled sympathetically, the third… Jesus, he was imposing… he was wearing a skull mask and was visibly taller than the other two, neither you couldn't even see his eyes since they were covered by glasses, you looked at him for a few seconds but he was too intimidating so you turned and went to the makeshift armory.

You could take what you considered necessary, you looked carefully at the equipment in front of you, you spent a long time analyzing what was on the shelves. -Look at her, she looks lost, hey sweetheart, do you know what each thing is for?- a guy approached you.

You ignored him and kept looking at the combat gear, but he kept joking in the background, so you started putting things in your pockets and hooking others to your harnesses. Something small caught your attention, it was under one of the shelves near the floor, you grabbed the small object and it turned out to be a small earphone... you looked around looking for where the communication equipment was placed but you couldn't find it, you turned to see the men in the platform, the guy with the flashy haircut said something and you saw Captain Price smile pleased, the one with the shaved hair brought his index finger to his mouth, then you understood, you put the communicator in your pocket and went for the secondary and main weapons.

-Very well. Attention everyone, upon entering you were given a package, take it out- everyone did as ordered. You realized that several had already opened it. -Who the fuck told you that you could open it?- The captain demanded aloud, several stiffened upon hearing that -Those who have not complied with the order leave- -Nobody told us we couldn't open it!- one of the selected commented annoyed. -And nobody told them that they could do it, get out!- many mumbled things and left the shed. -The rest open it- you ripped the wrapper and found a green pin, the soldier next to you had a red one. “They separate us into teams”

Two teams were formed, one of 9 and the other of 10. Yours being the one with one less member. -Sir, we are at a disadvantage... We have 2 less men- the hateful subject said, the room was silent, you turned to see that his pin was also green, he referred to you as the second "less man".

-He's right Captain- you gave the nasty guy a cynical smile, you looked at the Captain -in a team of 9, apparently only 8 brains work properly- you pointed your chin at the man several laughed at your joke, even the man in charge shaved head laughed, nudged the other soldier in the skull ski mask, who said nothing.

-Enough… green team will be the defense, red to the extreme will try to bring down the green team, take a position on the field, Green must transfer to the Reds and conquer the building that is being defended, each of you has bullets for ammunition paint of different colors according to the weapon you chose, even so be careful when shooting, that way we will know how many casualties you caused-

"And so the game begins," one of the other soldiers commented. You could only nod in agreement.

Well, today has been a productive day… I wrote 3 chapters, but the third one is under review, I hope you enjoy reading it,

    I can tag you if you want!

[refrainboy]

I know you have lots of things to say about nanbaka and I'm in the nanbaka mood(TM) so pls. Share with me your knowledge (headcanons)

Ok so it’s very much past my bedtime so I’m sorry if any of this is incoherent BUT

Hajime got into a motorcycle accident once and got glass stuck into his head, so he had to shave his hair. He ended up liking the shaved look more, so he just kept it like that. If he grew it out it would be blonde but a bit darker than Hitoshi's.

Speaking of hair! Liang has no idea why people perceive him as feminine because long hair just. isn’t gendered in his home culture. He has no idea his appearance is androgynous to others and genuinely thinks people are calling him feminine just to insult him.

Jyugo is autistic! I wrote a post with canon evidence for that a while back but my other headcanons are that he struggles a lot with alexythemia and has a hard time with introception; if it wasn’t for the prison’s meal schedule he’d have a really hard time eating and drinking properly. He’s sensory hyposensitive and, as a result, regularly understimulated. He doesn't understand the point of facial expressions.

Other characters I’m adamant are neurodivergent include Nico, Tsukumo and Enki! Nico has lots of anime, manga & video game special interest and avidly collects merch; Enki has a flat voice and I like projecting onto characters with flat voices, and Tsukumo literally spent a whole chapter trying to imitate other people’s facial expressions in the fucking mirror.

Kiji, Samon, and Kenshirou have a pretty friendly, professional relationship mostly; they just went off at the New Year’s Tournament because they’re competitive and sports be like that sometimes. They hang out outside of work hours fairly often! Hajime is never invited.

Kiji would like to be a teacher if he wasn't a prison guard

Kenshirou thinks he’s very calm and chill and that no one else can tell what he’s feeling at any given point and he’s just so wrong. He’s super easy to read and everyone can tell when he’s upset or anything like that, but they all just avoid bringing it up to spare his feelings lmao

Kenshirou lost his eye in a Police Training Gone Wrong incident. Taking his eyepatch off makes him real anxious, so he secretly vibes with Musashi for similar refusing to remove his bandages reasons

Rock’s response to literally any problem someone has is to offer food

[parvulous-writings]

Home // Mother!Dimitrescu x Child!F!Reader

Request:  Hi! may i request this scenario: what if lady dimitrescu had a fourth daughter? like child reader stumbles into the castle and lady dimitrescu decides to raise her as her own. thanks love!

Requested by: Anon

Summary: Lady Dimitrescu adopts a new daughter. 

Warnings: mentions of death

Words: 1.7K

Notes:  My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!

Not my gif 

Cold. That was the only thing you could feel. The only thing you had felt for the past several hours, at least. Well, feel in a loose sense of the term. Your limbs were numb, stiff and unable to move. You had been shuffling forward with no real sense of direction for who knows how long now, with no end in sight, no shelter from the elements you were forced to endure.  Your home had been attacked by massive monsters- not quite man, not quite human. You parents had ushered you and your siblings out of your home,  but now you were the last of your family line. One by one, your family had been picked off by your attackers, but each time you had managed to wriggle your way out of the situation. At one point you had even ducked into the woods to escape the beasts, but now that you had returned to the village you didn’t know what landmarks were what; almost everything you could recognise had been destroyed. You did, however, manage to find the Maiden of War, a statue that was in the centre of a roundabout like pathway that tractors and wagons often used. In normal life at least.  Nearby to that, up some stone steps, was a stone door with a carving that frightened most of the children of the village, even with the two reliefs missing. However, this time, the reliefs were there,  and the gateway had opened ever so slightly. Void of hope, and with every other option exhausted, you shuffle towards it, slipping through the crack, and starting up the snow-covered pathway to who knows where. Though, by looking up, you assumed that it lead to the massive castle which loomed over the village and it’s surroundings. 

The trek up there was probably much shorter than it seemed to be. There was a drawbridge that lay over a small, shallow body of water, and your footsteps echo off of it as you cross into a dark and rocky tunnel. It’s very dimly lit- nothing more than wall mounted torches and the fading remaining light to guide your way. You felt your way along to stone wall, the surface cold to the touch, not that you could tell all that much. Eventually, you came to a door. It was tall, much taller than you, although it was only about average height in reality. You pressed all your weight against it, and slowly- oh so slowly- did it creak open. You scurried inside, pushing the door shut once more behind you.  After catching your breath you take a moment to observe your surroundings- you were in a rather lavish room, just large enough to be classed as a hall, with hard, marble floors and a tiny staircase onto a more raised floor. You clamber up them, and notice a rather detailed portrait in front of you, of three beautiful young women, with tied up brown hair, sitting together in what appeared to be a forest or woodland clearing; it was a little bit hard to tell since the women took up most of the picture. You tilted your head slightly as you got lost in the colours and brushstrokes, wondering who these women were and what they did to warrant such a wonderful portrait. Of course, there was a plaque beneath it- most likely holding some of the information you wanted- you couldn’t read it, and it was a little too high for you anyway.

The sound of an opening door somewhere down the hall to your left catches your attention. Without knowing what else to do, you start to walk towards it, staying close to the walls and running your hand slowly along it. You push through a few more doors, before coming to a large hall- occupied with a chair, small table, assorted plants and even a chest of drawers in a corner. Your eyes roam upwards, and this room alone could house the entirety of the village, perhaps two or three times over. You knew the castle was big- it often occupied conversation among the children of the village- but this took your breath away. Not only was it huge, but it was ornate, more ornate than anything you had seen before in your life. One mere trinket from this room alone could have fed your family for at least two months, had they been alive still to see this.  You hear another door close behind you, and you spin round to see if who is there. You can only hope that the residents of this castle take pity on you. But, you see nothing. No one. You’re incredibly confused by this, and you have to glance this way and that to make sure that there’s no one around you. All you can find is a few flies. Wait. There’s more than a few. There’s three whole clouds.  You give a small shriek and duck to the floor, covering your head and face to try and hide away from the bugs, making sure they didn’t get near your face. If they didn’t get near your face, you could pretend they weren’t there at all. 

The only problem was, you could still hear the buzzing of their wings. You felt a few beat against your back, as the sounds began to warp and change. From buzzing and droning to... Laughter? Yes, it was laughter, three different laughs to be exact. Fearfully, you look up from your arms, to see three, rather fearsome looking young women in front of you. In surprise you bury your face into your arms again- if you couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see you, right? The three girls look between one another, slightly confused. Not at your behaviour, but more at how you- a mere child- had managed to get yourself up into the castle. The one standing in the middle,  one with red, oddly shaved hair, crouched down in front of you, tilting her head curiously. She glanced over her shoulder at the other two fly women, who shrugged at her; they didn’t know who you were or how you got into the castle either. “Child?” The one in front of you spoke, her voice like silk to your ears, especially after their piercing laughs and the roars of the Lycans. You shakily lift your head up again, looking up at her with tears of fear starting to prick at the corners of your eyes. She holds her hand out to you, trying to give you a smile of reassurance.  It works to some extent, though you don’t have too much of a choice other than to take the woman’s hand, so you carefully do so. She helps you to your feet, and you see the other two women staring at you. The blonde women looks to the last one, a brunette wearing a yellow variation of the pendant worn by all three. “Go tell mother.” The blonde said to her, to which the brunette burst into a cloud of flies in reply, swooping off down a hall. You give a yelp of surprise, hiding behind the legs of the woman who’s hand you still clutch to. She looks at you, confused for a second. 

She sighs, and starts to tug you along. “Come on.” She urges, rather impatiently, dragging you off down a side hall, where you can hear a couple of voices as you approach another door. The blonde woman pushes the door open, “Mother.” She greets, speaking to someone sitting in a plush, velvety chair. Whoever is sitting down places a crimson glass on a small table in front of her, before getting to her feet. “Well, let’s take a look at the child.” She speaks, and your jaw practically drops at her height. You hardly even reach her knees. You’re not sure whether to remain in awe, or to let the fright and fear set in. She looks down at you, regarding you briefly before starting to smile. “Why... I don’t see why you were so panicked, Cassandra...” She spoke to the brunette stood beside her chair, sent ahead of the other two with you. “Look at her- she poses no threat. It was chance she happened upon us, was it not?” She looked to the woman, who has lowered her head respectfully.  “Yes, mother.” She replied, before moving her gaze over to you again. “What are we to do with her? She is human, what if-” “Ah-ah.” The tall woman interrupts. “No what-ifs.” She says sternly, before turning her attention fully to you. “What happened to your family, little one?” She asks, not bothering to get down on your level. You take a moment to answer, which the Lady of the castle allows, considering you are merely a child, and in a strange new environment. She could understand any fear you may have, she has been there herself in the past.  “The.. The monsters.” You squeak, and the woman hums softly, looking at her three daughters briefly. 

In her mind, you were a child without a family, a child with need of a home and a family. She gave a curt nod to herself, folding her arms over her chest. “Well, then we shall be your new family.” She tells you, and the shock is clear on your face.  “What..?” You whisper, your voice hardly audible to any of the other women in the room.  “We shall be your new family.” She declares proudly again, “These are your new sisters. Bela.” She gestures to the woman still holding loosely onto your hand, with the shaved red hair. “Daniela.” She gestured to the blonde woman on the other side of you, “And Cassandra.” She placed a hand on the shoulder of the girl closest to her. “And you can call me mother.” She smiled brightly at you, stepping forward slightly, and bending down, opening her arms to you. “Come here, child.” She coos to you, as Bela drops your hand. You shuffle towards her, and as soon as you’re close enough, she scoops you up into her arms, resting you against her shoulder, cradling you with a warm smile. “Come now, let us find you a room...” She whispers, and as she starts walking through the seemingly endless maze of hallways you feel yourself drifting off to sleep in the arms of.. Well, your mother. Despite only just meeting her, you feel safe with her and her daughters, your sisters. You knew you’d be happy here, happier than you would be anywhere else, especially in the ruins of the village you once called home. 

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Part two