#happy crack fic friday everyone!!

[diazsdimples]

Fuck It Friday/ Inspiration Saturday

Tagged by @wikiangela @actuallyitsellie @jesuisici33 @hippolotamus @wildlife4life @exhuastedpigeon @neverevan @spotsandsocks @theotherbuckley @cal-daisies-and-briars for Friday, tagging you all back for Saturday (sorry if I missed anyone, I am SO behind on my notifications)

Okay it's Saturday here but I'm sure it's still Friday somewhere right?? HAPPY BI BUCK TO EVERYONE!!!! This fic is inspired entirely by That Kiss, and it sparked me to make a 7x06 spec fic. So, please enjoy what will hopefully be the only snippet (godwilling) of the Why Are Buck and Eddie So Dirty At Madney's Wedding fic. This snippet is from the very beginning and yes, it is Bucktommy (for now), no I will not apologise for it. Enjoy!

“You-you’ve never called me that before” he breathes. Tommy brushes the pad of his thumb over Buck’s bottom lip, releasing it from his teeth. He brushes his other hand through Buck’s hair, fingers threading through his yet-to-be-tamed curls. “What, baby?” he asks, grinning as Buck’s eyes flutter shut at the utterance of the name once again. “Is that okay?” ‘Y-yeah,” Buck nods, leaning forwards to brush their noses together again, angling his face up in an implicit request for a kiss. “I kinda liked it.” Tommy hums out a laugh and Buck feels it reverberate deep in his chest. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says softly, and he hooks his finger under Buck’s chin, just like he did the first time they kissed, and captures Buck’s lips with his. Every time he’s kissed by Tommy, Buck is introduced to a whole other side of the word “soft”. He’s had the feminine “soft” plenty of times, with the way Abby would curl into him after a long shift, or how Ali would brush his hair from his forehead with her nimble fingers, and even on the rare occasion with Taylor, when she was sleepy and would crawl into his arms and fall asleep in seconds.  With Tommy, it’s different. Tommy holds Buck like he’s a fragile egg, smoothing his thumbs over the cracks and balancing him in his palm. He’s soft in the way he holds Buck to his chest, or the way he kisses Buck’s hair while they’re watching a movie, or how he knows when Buck’s had a bad shift and needs to get out of his head for a bit, and will come over with pizza and beer and promises of kisses.  He’s soft in the way he presses his palm to the small of Buck’s back when they’re out together, but not as if he’s pushing Buck in a certain direction. More like he’s grounding Buck, showing him that he’s allowed to be out, happy, with a man.

tagging @watchyourbuck @daffi-990 @bidisasterbuckdiaz @rainbow-nerdss @babybibuck @evanbegins @fortheloveofbuddie @spagheddiediaz @loserdiaz @giddyupbuck @aroeddiediaz @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @kitteneddiediaz @elvensorceress @thekristen999 @smilingbuckley @epicbuddieficrecs @underwater-ninja-13 @shortsighted-owl @loveyouanyway (also sorry if I've missed anyone, so many have changed urls and I can't keep up sksksks)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Follow You Anywhere 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: double chapter friday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You put on the outfit Sy picked out. The lilac skirt and the matching razor back tank top are a bit mismatched in style but the colour is almost exact. You add a silver necklace to add a bit more to the top and even out top and bottom. 

You take out a pair of white keds and slip them on. As you do, Sy stand on the door mat with Aika prancing excitedly around him. He deepens his voice and tells her to sit. She obeys, still trembling with elation as he hooks her leash into place. 

As you stand, you find his attention on you. His eyes scale up and down your body as you brush your hand up and down one arm. He tilts his head and his cheek dimples as he exhales through his nose.  

“Well, let’s go,” he commands and Aika jumps to her feet as you nearly leap in place. 

He opens the door, your keys already in his pocket, and he waits for you to go ahead of him. He turns to face the door as he shuts it. He has the leash around two fingers as he slides the keys in the lock and turns. 

As he turns towards the hall, he stops and looks at you. You waver, uncertainly, cautious of a single misstep. He offers the leash. 

“Why don’t you take her, sweetie?” He says, “two of you needa get used to each other.” 

You take the leash as Aika waits patiently. At least she’s trained well. You only ever had cats so you’re not entirely sure about dogs. They’re cute, sure, but a lot stronger. 

You continue down the hall and to the stairs. Sy walks calmly beside you. You’re happy at least that the rage no longer roils off of him, though a tension remains. You sense it in the subtle twiddle of his thick fingers and the way he keeps popping and cracking his joints. 

Outside, the sun glints blindingly above, casting a shine much too bright for your mood. Aika stops and the leash tugs in your hand. You turn back as she pees in the grass and step closer to slacken the leash. Oops. You make a face. 

“It’s okay, sweetie, you’re doing good,” Sy encourages, “she can be a bit wild when she wants to. Probably more like you than you think.” 

His suggestion makes you want to frown but you won’t let him see your discomfort. You continue down the sidewalk, keeping pace with the sniffing dog as Sy lazily swaggers behind you. She stops again then crosses to the other patch of grass. You follow her. 

If it wasn’t for your company, you might enjoy the day. There’s bumblebee’s digging into stores of pollen, buzzing around vibrant petals, and birds cheeping from the interior of bushes, and wispy clouds across the sky. You might have taken a picture or two, even though your phone lens rarely catches the true beauty of the world. 

You continue around the corner and suddenly Aika darts forward. She pulls you nearly off your feet and you stomp clumsily after her, trying not to topple. You see what she sees only as she gets within snapping distance of the fluffy cat. The feline hisses before dashing away and you pull back the barking dog. 

“Aika,” Sy says firmly and quiets the canine, “good girl.” 

The silt in his voice makes even you freeze. You peek back at him and hold out the loop of the leash. You recoil as you notice the phone in his hand. Your phone. The little pearly wrist band hangs from the corner of the blush pink case. He has the lens aimed right at you. 

“Say hi,” he waves from his side of the phone, “got my girls out for a nice walk in the sun.” 

“What are you--” you quiet, realising what must be going on. 

“Your fans want to see you, sweetie,” he chimes. “Isn’t she cute? My lady. Waited for me so long.” 

He turns the camera around, holding it at arm’s length as he comes to stand beside you and faces the sunlight. You gulp as his hand goes to your hip and he pulls you close, leaning in to press his jaw to your head, angling the phone up to capture both of you. You try to smile. 

“Finally going public,” he sounds almost giddy, “military sh—stuff. Couldn't disclose it til I got home but here we are.” 

He turns his head and presses a kiss to your temple. He purrs and slowly releases you. He stands straight and backs up, once more aiming the camera at you. You feel like you might shatter into pieces. 

“We’re gonna grab some coffee. There’s a cafe around here. You’ll remember it. She did a live back in March. Got the vanilla chai, didn’t you, sweetie? I been waiting this long to get back and try it with her,” he commentates, oblivious to the people who glance in his direction. He keeps his arm extended. “Go on, Aika’s getting antsy.” 

You look down at the dog and she looks up at you. You spin and continue down the pavement. You should scream and shout and tell the world that this man is crazy. Yet it doesn’t matter. There’s probably a single viewer, if any. You realise now, he was probably your only fan. The others you’ll chalk up to bots or other weirdos. 

A trickle of ice flows through your chest. He knows where the cafe is. How long has he been here? How long has he been watching, not just on the phone? You don’t know why you keep asking. It doesn’t change a thing. 

You approach the short iron fence that marks off the patio of the cafe. You slow and Sy stands at your side, showing the tables and patrons to the camera. He rubs between your shoulder blades. 

“So how ya wanna do it? You wanna wait with Aika or you wanna run in?” He asks. 

You gulp. There is not better option. It’s all just the same. 

“I’ll get the coffee,” you offer and untangle the leash from around your wrist. “What do you want?” 

“Hm, good question,” he says, “why don’t ya surprise me. You know I got a sweet tooth.” 

“Right.” 

He takes the leash and you turn, stiffly marching through the gate and up to the door. You enter and as you’re shut in, you clutch the sides of your neck and blow out through your lips. No, you don’t know he has a sweet tooth. You don’t know him. As much as he scares you to death, he’s starting to make you really angry. It’s just how he talks as if you actually know who he is! He’s a stranger. A creep! 

You stand in line and only remember to step up for your turn as someone taps your shoulder. You mumble an apology and step up. You hadn’t even checked the menu. You look at the specials board and try to wet your dry tongue. 

“Um, white mocha,” you order in a croak, “and a uh, a lavender latte. Thanks.” 

The barista offers to add on items from the bakery. You decline and pay, already spending enough on the overpriced coffee. You shuffle along to await your order and mull your options. None. You have none. 

When your number is called, you grab your drinks and quickly spin around. You follow another customer to the door and he holds it open for you. He smiles as you step through and you thank him. 

“Not at all,” he steps out after you. “You got your hands full.” 

“It’s really nice of you,” you say as you walk just ahead of him, turning your head to glance over your shoulder. 

“Pretty girl like you. How could I not,” he says as you reach the gate, “have a good day, miss.” 

“Uh,” you’re surprised by the compliment, “you too, sir.” 

You give an awkward purse of your lips as you stand in the open gate. You look around and find Sy watching you. You go to him and hold up the drinks. 

“Um, I got the white mocha... not sure if you like that.” 

“Ooh, white mocha, sounds delicious, just like you,” he purrs, “and what did you get?” 

He takes the cup, Aika’s leash around two thick fingers. You stand dumbly, staring at the phone he keeps pointed in your face. 

“The lavender latte,” you answer flatly. 

“Well, the lady and I are gonna have our coffee date,” he says to the camera as he flips it around, “walk the pup and all that. Hope you all have a good day. Right, sweetie?” 

He once more puts you on the stream. Your lip trembles, “sure, yeah. Have a good day everyone.” 

You hold a shaky smile and he taps the screen several times with his thumb. He slides the phone into his short’s pocket and tastes his mocha. He waves you down the sidewalk and Aika takes the lead. He’s quiet as he slurps from the plastic lid. 

“That boy,” he speaks at last, “said you were pretty.” 

You blanch and turn the cup in your hand. The heat seeps through the sleeve and adds to the sheen across your skin, “er, I guess. I don’t know.” 

“Who was he?” Sy asks harshly. 

You flinch and peek up at him. He’s not happy. His entire demeanour has shifted. 

“I don’t know. A stranger. He just held the door,” you shrug, “guess he was being nice.” 

“Being nice? Shouldn’t be talking to strangers,” he reproaches. 

You nearly choke. Yeah, you shouldn’t. He taught you that well. 

“You are a pretty girl,” he says, “so I’m just lookin’ out for you. Some men...” 

You keep your eyes ahead as you fight to hold your composure. You drink from the cup, tasting the floral foam, and swallow. You force the breath from your chest and steady your nerves. 

“Sorry, I... won’t do it again.” 

He hums and reaches to grab your hand. His large one swallows yours. You don’t pull away, even as you desperately want to . He walks along with you, swing his arm slightly. 

“Isn’t this nice, sweetie?” He purrs, “you and me and Aika. Like a little family.” 

You grit your teeth and your aching cheeks fall. You can’t smile any long. You try to hide your face as you hover your mouth over the cup, “yeah,” you wisp out, “it’s nice.” 

💜

When you get back to the apartment, you’re exhausted yet adrenaline has you wide awake. Sy lets Aika off her leash and feeds her as you toss your empty coffee cup. You linger around the bin nervously, uncertain what to do next. You’re trapped again within these walls that once spoke of your freedom. 

Sy groans and stretches his neck. He runs his hands over his shaved head and combs his fingers through his thick beard. You step away from garbage before he notices you hiding. 

“Hot out, I’m beat,” he yawns, “what about you, sweetie?” 

“Yeah, uh, kinda,” you hug yourself and sway, “but um, not too bad.” 

“Ugh, one thing I was happy about was gettin’ outta the heat,” he pulls on his shirt and lifts it over his head. The fabric is darkened around the chest and arms with his sweat. More of it glistens in his body hair as he strips away the tee.  

You chew your lip and go to turn the fan on, turning it to oscillate. You sense him in the edge of your vision. He hangs the shirt across the back of a dining room chair then comes back to the living room. You stay close to the wall. 

“Er, Sy,” your heart jumps as your doubt clogs your throat. 

“Mhmm,” he flops onto the couch and leans back. He’s shameless and shirtless. His muscles flex along his arms and chest. He’s huge.  

“Do you think I can have my phone? I wanted to check my messages,” you push your palms together and twist your hands. 

“Don’t got none,” he says, “forget about that. Let’s disconnect. You and me, sweetie, let’s enjoy a quiet night in.” 

You want your phone but you know better than to push him. You’ve seen what happens when you do. You peer over at the dent in the wall. 

“Sure,” you go to him and sit on the couch, keeping a foot between you. “Do you wanna watch something?” 

You reach for the remote and he stops you. He snatches your hand back and wraps his arm around you, pulling you to lean into the couch with him. He crowds you as his scent suffocates you. It smells like sweat and generic deodorant. 

“We don’t need TV, sweetie, let’s just enjoy each other,” he reaches across you and rubs your upper arm. 

“Um,” you nearly choke, “it’s almost dinner time--” 

“It’s early,” his voice is rocky, “sweetie, it’s alright. Just relax. It’s finally just us.” 

“Sy, I... I should get some work done,” you sniff. 

“You should take it easy. You work too hard,” his hand brushes along your shoulder and to your neck. He drags his knuckles up your throat, “you’re gorgeous, you know that? This colour,” he slips his hand back down and touches the top of the tank, “looks so good on you.” 

“Thanks, I, er,” you squeeze your thigh and gulp. You can’t help the tremor that rolls through you, “Sy, please,” you reach up and grab his hand, “I should--” 

“It’s okay to be nervous. I am too, sweetie,” he rasps as he leans in, “but I can’t wait any longer.” 

He frees his hand from yours and cradles your face. He dips his head and you press your hand to his chest, helpless to stop him as he smothers your mouth with his. You let out a muffled gasp as he crushes his lips to yours, his tongue poking around eagerly. His hand crawls around the back of your head as he traps you against the couch. 

Your fingers curl against the muscle of his chest and he groans. He pulls you against him, falling back with you until he’s flat on the cushions. He brings you over him, and arm hooked around you as his other hand stays on your head. His tongue invades your mouth as you struggle to breathe past his hunger. Your brain screams at you to bite him, to smack, to do anything, but you’re paralysed with futility. 

[call-me-copycat]

Hey! Idk if you still write fics but if you do. Could you please write about Aizawa having a daughter who selfharms, but he didnt knew until one day he entered to her room and find her doing it?.

Its kind of an emergency so i would really apreciate if you wrote it 🩷

Hi! I'm really sorry for the slight delay, I've been bouncing between school during the day and work at night, so even though I saw your ask I couldn't physically write it due to exhaustion (⑉ ᷄ ⌳ ᷅ )ก

That being said, even though it's been a couple days I didn't want to leave you hanging! I got some rest and wrote as much as I could in one sitting!

I really do hope this helps, feel free to message me anytime if you need to vent or such ₍ᐢ‥ᐢ₎ ♡

What I Owe To You

*I listened to this on loop while writing*

➤ Welcome - Introduction and Request Rules (Requests are open + Some info about me)

▶ Characters: Just Aizawa and Reader

▶ Genre: Comfort + Slight Angst

▶ Summary: As the ask states

▶ Word Count: 2925

▶ WARNINGS:

- Self harm

- Depressive thoughts

- Overall lots of angst

Please don't read if any of this makes you uncomfortable!

The cycle always went on.

At this point you were afraid of what was to happen next. At the same time, the thought was pushed away by the constant emptiness that filled you through. The sticky tar-like hands of this unknown void ravaged your mind, shredding it apart piece by piece.

Leaving you constantly feeling... Hollow. It was difficult to describe it as anything else.

You walked to school everyday and went to your classes. You sat next to your classmates as they animatedly discussed the usual topics of training and what to do after school.

On the weekends, you slept. Sometimes went shopping with your father. Maybe you'd get visited by your Uncle Mic, other times you'd train.

There wasn't much variety. It was suffocating. These feelings had no place to spawn from, as your life wasn't much different from everyone else's. There didn't seem to be a reason, for all you knew. But it was there, no doubt about it. It made itself known.

-

It was a usual Friday night. You had completed all your classes and had the weekend to yourself. It felt pointless, there wasn't much to do. Nor did you have the energy for anything either.

Sitting in your room, you jumped a bit at the unexpected knock on your door. You had been gazing out of your bedroom window for who knew how long, zoning out as far from your mind as you could. You vaguely remembered that a storm was to come soon.

"Dinnertime. Wash up and come to the table when you're ready."

Your father's voice never failed to comfort you, and in a way he was one of the main beacons of light in your dark and foggy world. An unchanging pillar of strength, he held on tight to your cracking mind.

Slowly, tiredly, you made your way out of your room. As you passed by Aizawa, he couldn't help but sigh in response to your barely-there smile at him. You had a habit of doing that, possibly to keep him from worrying.

Truth be told, Aizawa always worried about you. Ever since you were young, he was on guard every second, trying to keep you from falling and scraping your knees, to keeping an eye on you during training.

Though recently, he had noticed some... changes. Your eyes began to grow dull, and their usual energy faded with each passing day. The bags under them grew more prominent, and in turn your hair began to be left more of a mess. Slowly, little things were building up, and he couldn't tell why.

It worried him sick, since the only thing he had in mind for you was for you to be happy and safe. Seeing your condition worsen with each day made him nauseous, as it was the last place he wanted you to be at. He wanted to help you, the best he could.

So that's why before you even sat down to eat, he began to question you.

"Are you feeling okay, [Name?]"

Truth be told, he knew you'd say you were fine. He just needed to soothe his frantic mind.

Looking up at him, you gave him another smile. He couldn't help but grimace at how forced it looked.

"Oh, of course I'm fine." You clenched your jaw at how unenthusiastic you sounded, but it would have to do.

Aizawa only felt uneasy. Too many things added up and gave him a weird taste in his mouth to leave it at that.

"Look at me, [Name]."

The unusual tone of his voice brought you out of your foggy state of mind as you looked up at him fully. Once you met his eyes properly, Aizawa took notice of the... Saddened expression that filled yours. He knew someone was wrong, but it was being covered.

"You'd tell me if something was wrong, right?"

He needed to know if you trusted him. He needed to be the one person you trusted in life. This was all or nothing.

Your eyes went wide for a split second as your breath hitched, but you quickly shook it off. His bluntness was what caught you off guard.

"Really, it's nothing Papa." You tried smiling once more, raising a hand out a bit in an attempt to calm him. You knew it was a pitiful attempt, but you didn't have the energy to make it convincing. Alongside that, Aizawa was generally a very tough man to fool. It'd take a lot to actually pass anything through him.

Aizawa's eyes narrowed in response as he saw your reaction to his question. Your body language indicated how uncomfortable you were, and he didn't want to push you too far past your limits.

It was tough, but he decided to give it up in the end and hope you'd come to him whenever you were ready. You always shared everything with him since you were young, and he had gained a large amount of trust over you in turn.

-

Dinner was eaten in silence, and as soon as it was over you bid your father a goodnight before heading off to your room.

Aizawa stayed seated at the kitchen table as he watched you walk off, wondering what was happening to his child. He couldn't bear the thought of you struggling with something alone. He had been there your whole life to help you get through everything you passed by, so why weren't you letting him in now?

After much deliberation, he got up from his spot at the table and made his way to your room. He needed to finish this conversation, and he needed to know what was going on. His mind had been sprawled all over the place for the last few months, as he'd been observant enough to catch on to the smallest changes you went through. Seeing you go into such a decline was like a punch straight through to his heart.

His mind was in such a haze that he threw open your door without second thought, seeing as he normally takes care to knock first. The room was pitch black, but based off of the startled gasp that came from you and the clanging of metal hitting the ground, Aizawa felt his blood freeze in fear.

Quickly flipping on the light, his eyes widened at the site that laid in front of him. You didn't have any time to cover yourself, so Aizawa saw it all.

The bandages laid out.

The blades.

And most importantly, your cuts.

You felt your eyes water at the expression on your father's face, guilt and self-loathing bleeding into your mind.

Aizawa was stuck in shock for a moment. It felt as though all time was warped as he saw what was his worst nightmare laid out in front of him. He was quickly snapped back to reality at the sound of your sobs that echoed throughout the room.

He swiftly made his way towards you from across your room, and in one smooth movement he pulled you into his lap, hugging you tightly to himself.

He had known something was wrong, felt it deep in his heart, but he didn't realize how serious it truly was. His heart ached for you as his grip only grew tighter around you. Aizawa didn't want you to hide these things from him, and in a way, he felt disappointed at your lack of trust towards him. All his disappointment and anger quickly dissipated, leaving him to face his worry and guilt.

"[Name]..."

He could hear his voice tremble, but couldn't care less.

"Why? I-" He was stuck in shock. It was something he never thought he'd run into. Looking down at you, his worry for your well-being grew tenfold, but he gathered the willpower to overcome the sudden surge of emotions he was feeling.

"I want... I need you to promise me you'll never harm yourself again," He looked down at you, cradled in his arms, "I don't think I could ever bear the pain of losing you..."

He knew this was only one step of many. That it doesn't start like this. That it grows. Although he couldn't pinpoint what might've started it, he at least needed to confirm you'd be safe. He just needed this one thing to give his already worn heart a little bit of ease.

You couldn't help but recoil a bit, bringing your arms to hug your torso. As much as you wanted it to be that easy, as much as you wanted to tell your father 'okay!', you knew it wouldn't be done so fast. And in a way, that only worsened your resentment towards yourself.

"I... don't know if I can.." You avoided his gaze as you faced the ground, hating how saddened he was and much rather preferring him to be angry. It'd lessen the guilt a little bit, at least.

He needed something.

"[Name]... I can't make you promise me you'll be able to stop right away. That's foolish to believe." Heaving out a sigh, he put a hand atop your head. "But I just need you to know that I'd be devastated without you. I can truly say from the bottom of my heart, I'd never be able to live a normal life again if you were gone."

Looking up into his eyes, you saw a heaviness that swirled in them. This was coming from a man who had seen it all - numerous deaths in ways he wished he could unsee.

You hadn't realized just how much you meant to him. It never popped up in your head. The all-consuming void had blocked any sensibility or logic from getting to you, and the more you thought about it, the more you realized just how much it would affect your father. He always told you your pain was his to deal with too.

Settling your face in the crook of his neck so you wouldn't have to see the hurt in his eyes anymore, you tried your best to explain everything to him.

"It feels..." Closing your eyes, you tried imagining everything that has built up. "Like I'm running a race, yet getting nowhere. That everything I do has no effect... I'm tired."

You stayed silent as you felt your father put a hand on the back of your head. Aizawa watched as you carefully pieced your words together, and saw the true effect of everything you had been dealing with. His heart ached to relieve you of your pain, his fatherly instincts screaming at him to help save his child.

"[Name]." His grip on you tightened ever so slightly. "I want you to get this through your head, alright? You are not a failure. You're going through a lot, and it's weighing down on you. And I understand you're under a lot of pressure, but-"

Aizawa was cut off when he began to choke up, the thoughts too much for him to bear. As much as he tried to keep his composure for your sake, his walls were beginning to crack.

You heard your father pause and looked up at him, only to be brought into shock at the sight of your normally stoic father tearing up. You felt ashamed for forgetting about his pain, tearing up once more at the guilt that ravaged your mind.

He could see how surprised you were, but he couldn't help it. He always struggled to contain himself when it came to you, especially whenever you were hurt. He hated seeing you in pain.

"Do you have any idea what it would do to me if I lost you? I- ... [Name], if anything happened to you, I don't know what I'd do anymore, I'd-"

He truly couldn't help it. All that Aizawa wanted was for you to be happy. Seeing you in so much agony... seeing your only escape being to harm yourself... He felt that he lost a part of himself.

You cried out loud this time, seeing your father so torn over you. It was heartbreaking, but oddly soothing at the same time. To have someone to deeply care about you that they felt intertwined with you. He cared.

You could feel his arms engulfing you, and you allowed yourself to be swallowed in his hold. It was warm and soothing... A stark contrast to the cold you constantly couldn't escape from.

As he held you, Aizawa couldn't help but be more shocked at himself than anyone. He normally was able to easily retain his composure, so as he felt tears flowing down his face he couldn't help but stiffen. Quickly getting over it, he held you close. The room gradually began to get quieter, the both of your emotions slowing down.

You couldn't help but feel... Secure. It was a stark contrast to the constant void you felt. You felt... Warm.

Yeah, warm.

It was a nice feeling.

Closing your eyes, you finally allowed your body to relax. Aizawa rubbed your back as he gently rocked back and forth.

"I just want you to breath. Don't think about anything else."

Following his word, you kept your eyes closed and settled your breathing. You quickly noticed how much easier it was to think this way. Nothing else was getting in the way, no unwanted thoughts or fears, and you felt safe. Safe and comfortable.

The world around you normally was so chaotic. It seemed everyone was in a rush, always somewhere to be. You couldn't have time to yourself either, constantly getting pushed to and fro. There never seemed to be a place to stop. Nowhere to rest. An unchanging race.

But here you were. The world has stopped, giving you a break you so badly needed. You couldn't describe it, but such a simple hug from your father seemed to dull everything that pained you.

"I understand what it's like."

Aizawa would be lying if he said he was never in your place before. Too many nights he was kept up, worrying about working on himself. Scared of the changing future. Feeling like nothing was changing for him while the world moved on. It was isolating.

Over the years, he got better. The world's rush blurred to background noise, and he learned to appreciate his own speed in life. It was his own life he was living, after all.

Looking down at you, he saw a mirror image of himself.

"Y'know, it's not fair..." You looked up at him as he brushed away a lone tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. "You allow me to laugh with you in your happiest moments... So why do you lock me out when you're at your lowest?"

You had never heard it phrased like that before. You did enjoy having him around whenever you had something good to share. Whenever you were proud, or amazed, or just plain happy. But you understood, he wanted to be a part of it all. Every smile... And every tear.

Your voice couldn't find you, but Aizawa didn't mind. To you, he was always a hand outstretched. A guide to help you through the fog and the dark. It made the terrifying a little less daunting.

"Please talk to me when you can. Tell me whatever you'd like, I just want to know how you're feeling."

You nodded, looking at him directly. Your heart rate had gone down significantly, and you didn't know how much time had passed. If you listened carefully, you could hear the distance rumble of an oncoming storm, thunder booming on the horizon.

There was a pregnant pause before he started once more.

"Tomorrow, we'll need to get your injuries looked over-"

Seeing a look of fear cross your expression, he was quick to calm you.

"I'll be with you. The entire time. You won't have to deal with living life alone. I understand it's frightening to look at, but let me hold some of the weight you own."

You watched as Aizawa stretched out his hand, offering it to you. Looking at it, you thought back to all the times he'd helped you in the past. Every time he's offered his hand out to you.

All the times you were too scared to cross the road when you were little. Every time you felt too suffocated by the number of people surrounding you. Or even when it was just the two of you, silently walking home together in the warm afternoon sun.

He always offered you support, for every little thing life had to throw at you. Aizawa's expression softened when you gently put your hand in his, no hesitation in your movements.

Clasping his fingers over yours, you saw how your hands intertwined. And you realized, he was always there to take some of the pain from you - acting like he was a part of you.

"You get it now, huh?" Looking up into his eyes one more time, you thought you saw a sparkle in them. "Whenever you bring pain to yourself," He squeezed your hand a little tighter, "you're hurting me right alongside with you. I need you in one piece, kid."

You breathed out, everything a little clearer now. There was so much more to do. So much to go through. It was a formidable thought.

But as you looked up into your father's eyes and as you felt his hand in yours, you realized;

You weren't alone.

You really did owe him the world.

During my lowest moments, Aizawa was always a huge character I relied on to get me through it. I will always write comfort for him to anyone who asks.

I hope you have a lovely day, and I hope things get just a little easier for you, you definitely deserve it (*´艸`)ﾌﾌﾌｯ♡

➜ Please let me know if I missed any warnings/triggers in the tags or in the opening!

[linooluvr]

𖥻𖥻 - attention! (teaser)

full fic posted! i can't put urls help me >-<

pairing - professor!bangchan x student!reader

genre - fluff [smut in the full fic] minors, dni.

teaser contents - reader is referred to as she/her, explicit language, pet names [pretty, baby, doll] mutual pining, power imbalance [not explicitly written], age gap [5 years, everyone is of age!]

teaser wc - 1k + [2 screenshots]

warnings - none

notes - this is extremely self indulgent (and my first time writing smut) don't mind me :D btw i don't condone this irl! this is purely fantasy. lowercase is intentional.

chris tried to keep his staring to a minimum, but it was extremely difficult. you decided to come to class in a short, flowy skirt and a matching blouse that showed your cleavage off just enough to still be appropriate for uni. your goal today was to finally make a move on mr. bang, your professor. you waited until a friday rolled around so in case things didn’t go your way, you wouldn’t have to deal with the embarrassment of seeing him the next day.

you two have always had an obvious attraction to each other. not obvious enough to draw attention, but more than obvious to each other. you’d come into class early just to have a small chat with him before the lecture started. he’d seem to enjoy your company; always happy and open when you two were alone and he would leave his classroom door cracked so you would know you’re welcome in. you’ve developed a crush on him to say the least, exiting his class with a fluttering heart and sodden panties just from your casual conversations.

twelve minutes. just twelve minutes until your peers begin to pour out of the lecture hall and you'd be all alone with chris. your heart is pounding, nerves and excitement flooding your veins. you occupy yourself with your phone so time seems to pass quicker. your confidence dissipates as the minutes count down but you decide to stick to your plan. you pull your phone out to open the group chat with your closest friends to help calm your nerves.

before you get the chance to respond, you hear chris dismissing the class. people get up at their own paces, tidying their space up before leaving. you watch as each of your peers leave one by one. you pretend to busy yourself with packing to not look suspicious to chris or your fellow classmates. you watch as the last person exits the lecture hall and silence fills the now practically empty room. you grab your black tote bag and stand, shakily walking over to chris's desk.

"good afternoon, mr. bang" you say shyly, unsure if your presence is currently welcome or not.

"good afternoon y/n." chris says with a smile. "you know you can call me chris, right?"

"y-yes, yes i know. i'm just. i don't know. nervous, i guess?" chris looks at you with a small head tilt, slightly confused and concerned by your nerves. he watches as you place your tote on the floor and rest against his desk.

"nervous? do you know why?" he asks looking up at you. your heart clenches at his words, not exactly knowing how to respond. you think and begin to realise feigning confidence is the best way to go about this.

"because of you" you say, not exactly sure how he'd react. you see one of his eyebrows raise for a second but he regains his composure.

"me? why? oh shit, i didn't do anything to make you uncomfortable, did i?" he asks as he gets up from his chair and stands in front of you, concern overtaking his features.

"no! no no, you didn't, it's just.. okay." you say before taking in and releasing a deep breath "so. i just wanted to know if… you were single?" you ask as you look up into his questioning eyes. the inquiry seems to calm his nerves as concern leaves his face and is replaced by a soft smile.

"why? who's asking, hmm?" he hums as he inches towards you.

"chris, don't tease okay?" you whine with a pout, but his answer seems to lean towards him being single.

"oh i'm not teasing, just curious. would the person asking happen to be the pretty girl standing in front of me?" he asks, his confidence growing when he notices how you react to his words; face flushed and cheeks tinted red as you nibble on your bottom lip.

"yes, i'm asking" you look away as he seems to be getting closer and closer, his cologne beginning to waft towards you. he chuckles deeply as he takes his hand and places it on your waist softly, giving you an option to push him away.

"and why are you asking?" chris asks looking down at you "is it maybe because… you want me y/n?" you look back up into his darkening eyes and nod slowly. his touch sets you ablaze and his gaze melts you from your heart to your core. "oh, so is that why you dressed so pretty today? trying to get my attention, baby?" you nod and this gives chris the green light to continue his teasing, his hand now softly gripping your waist as his unoccupied one reaches up to gently take your chin between his index finger and thumb, tilting your face up when you take a moment to respond to him. "i asked you a question, pretty"

"yes, you're why i dressed up. wanted your attention" your voice already seems to be softer than usual and chris takes note of that.

"but you already had it, baby. you just needed to ask" chris speaks softly as he searches deep into your eyes, already seeing how they're hazy and clouded with lust.

"can i kiss you, doll?" chris whispers, your faces mere inches apart. you whimper and nod rapidly, eliciting a deep chuckle out of chris before he closes the gap between you two. his kiss is so soft and tender, it makes your head spin. you bring your hands up to wrap around his shoulders as the kiss deepens slowly, the action causing your chests to press together.

notes - okay so, this is just a snippet cause i just wanted to see if anyone would.. wanna read this? 💀 this is my first time writing anything really so i'm a bit nervous to see how this will do. please give me any feedback, good or bad! if you'd wanna read the rest (i have some pretty nasty smut planned) please lmk ^^ thank you!~

©linooluvr 2024 | translation or reposting of the author’s works is strictly prohibited. author’s work is protected under copyright laws and policies. tumblr is my only platform! if you see my work posted elsewhere, please report it and let me know right away! please do not plagiarize my work! thank you :)

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Five Fics Friday: December 6/24

Happy Friday everyone! Hope y'all had a great week, and are looking forward to winding down with some new fics on my radar this week. Enjoy!

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[luckhound]

wardrobe mishaps.

↻ pairings ✦ jon/reader, elias/reader

��� summary ✦ You get ready for a date after work, only to run into a little trouble. Your boss graciously helps out.

↻ wordcount ✦ 3.4k

↻ warnings ✦ reader leans more masc or fem depending on scenario, elias being elias (meaning: a freak)

author's note: got back into tma thanks to my friends and found myself more immersed in it this time around. hence this lol. big thanks to @peonysgreenhouse and her lovely christmassy scenario for inspiring this fic. happy 2025!

You double check the time on your computer before you shut it down. It’s officially the weekend, and you ended up staying a little longer than usual, but you’d been determined to complete your report before you left.

Jon expects your findings on his desk come Monday morning, so he can wrap up the case at hand, and you don’t want to hand it in late. Having seen the verbal lashings that Martin has endured in the past for such a transgression, you intend to stay on your boss’s good side.

(If such a side even exists, a voice in your mind—one that sounds suspiciously a lot like Tim—adds. If it does, though, Sasha manages to remain on it somehow. You should ask her for pointers.)

Thankfully, you won’t be late for your reservation if you leave within the next twenty minutes. Good thing you brought everything you needed to work for this very eventuality.

You rise from the chair and stretch your back, wincing at the many cracks and pops that ensue, before poking your head out of your office. The Archives appear to be empty. (Well, you can see light spilling out weakly from beneath Jon’s door, but you expected that. The day he leaves before you is the day hell warms over.) You faintly recall some of the others popping in to say their goodbyes, and you had to have responded, but you must’ve been too immersed in work to pay proper attention.

That’s fine. You will be seeing them on Monday, after all.

You grab your bag and head to the loo. There, you put the final touches to your outfit. Taking a quick look in the mirror, you exit, the door swinging shut behind you. All that’s left is to grab your phone and jacket from your office. Once you’ve gathered your things, you can head to the restaurant and meet your date.

You pick up the pace a little, eager to leave the Institute...

Before you can reach your office, however, the door nearest to you opens. Jonathan Sims steps out. You gasp, digging your heels into the wooden flooring to prevent yourself from barreling into him. You succeed in the nick of time.

Had you not been so startled yourself, the way his eyes widen behind his glasses and his mouth parts in shock would have delighted you.

These days, Jon oscillates between two expressions: like he’s trying to fight off a headache and failing, or is one slight inconvenience away from snapping at the next person to approach him. You aren’t sure when was the last time you saw him smile, or relax. Before he became Head Archivist, that’s for certain.

Everyone is working hard to manage the disorganized chaos that is the Archives, but Jon puts you all to shame. It’s as if he’s working on a strict deadline that is fast approaching, one he has neglected to inform the rest of you about.

You admire his work ethic; it may not seem like it, but you do. You just wish he’d slow down once in a while, for his sake as well as yours.

To his credit, Jon gathers himself quicker than you do. He sighs wearily. “I understand you’re in a hurry to get home, but please, try to watch where you’re stepping.”

“Hey, I stopped before I knocked into you, didn’t I?” you say with a crooked smile. “And anyway, I’m not rushing because it’s a Friday night. I happen to have a date that I don’t want to be late for.”

Jon blinks, taken aback. “A date?”

“Yeah. A date. You know, that thing you plan when you want to enjoy time off work with another person?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, thank you for the definition, Tim.” After a moment, his gaze sweeps over your outfit. “Well, that explains why you’re so dressed up for a change.”

You frown, offended. “Hey, what is that supposed to mean? I might not look like a professor on his way to lecture, like you always do, but that doesn’t mean I never dress up.”

“You’re exaggerating. I do not look like a professor.”

You say nothing, only stare pointedly at his lanky frame. He’s wearing a dress shirt with a tie knotted at his throat, a jumper thrown over top for good measure. His pressed slacks end an inch or two above his Oxfords. It’s the end of the day, so his clothes are somewhat rumpled, but it only adds to the look. You can clearly picture him dressed as he is now, standing behind a lectern and scowling at a lecture theatre full of petrified first years.

Jon shakes his head with a huff, his gaze almost absentmindedly falling on something below your chin, before he meets your eyes again. Then he does a double take. To your surprise, the corner of his mouth twitches, as if he’s stifling a smirk. “At least I know how to correctly tie a tie.”

“What?” You look down at the tie you’d laboured over in the loo, pressing a self-conscious hand over the silk. “What’s wrong with my tie? It looks fine.”

“It looks like you tied it in the dark. Have you never worn one before?”

“I have!” you retort. “Just, you know... It's been a while.” You had even watched a tutorial on your phone while munching on your breakfast this morning. Not that you’ll admit it to Jon, of course.

The man in question doesn’t respond, only stares at your tie as if it insulted him personally. With a put-upon sigh, he motions you closer. “Allow me, then.”

It takes you a second to understand the meaning behind his words. You consider rejecting the offer; you don’t know what time it is, exactly, but you know you’re getting late. Surely your date won’t mind if your tie looks a little sloppy.

Instead of following through, you find yourself shuffling forward.

Long, tapered brown fingers make swift work of unknotting your tie. Once the fabric is unwound, Jon gets to tying it once more. His hands are more practiced than your clumsy ones had been. Almost like he ties other people’s ties for a living, or something.

You duck your head so you can watch, take a mental note of how it’s done, only to freeze when your chin brushes against the curve of his thumb. There’s a faint smell of fresh pine—the hand soap that the Institute religiously uses. The touch is slight, like the times your fingers overlap with his when you hand over a file or report. Yet it feels more significant, somehow.

It must be the proximity. There isn’t a desk separating the two of you, as is often the case. He has breached your personal space in order to assist you, the tip of one Oxford resting between your loafers. Or maybe it has to do with how close his hands are to the vulnerable stretch of your throat. You swallow involuntarily at the thought.

Either way, you are aware of him in a way you tend not to be. In a way you have instructed yourself not to be.

Jon is no longer the cute co-worker you like to steal glimpses of; he is your boss who must be held at a certain distance. He certainly has no trouble acting professional and aloof, so neither should you. Even if the two of you have been bantering for the past few minutes in a way that you haven’t in some time.

Regardless, you shouldn’t be mooning over your direct superior. You should be interested in other people—like your date, who had asked you out last week. You’d dithered over accepting, but eventually decided to make plans with them. It’s time for you to move on from your ridiculous crush.

(A stubborn part of you can’t help but note how smooth his skin feels against your own. How warm.)

When you feel the digit twitch, nearly grazing your bottom lip, your head snaps up. “S-sorry,” you say hastily, unable to meet the archivist's gaze.

“...It’s all right,” Jon murmurs. He resumes twisting and folding the silk around your throat, as if nothing happened. Because nothing did happen. It was an accident, and the smallest of touches at that.

You still have some difficulty getting your heartbeat to settle, as if you’re some Victorian nobleman who just caught your first glimpse of an upturned ankle.

Fortunately (or unfortunately), it doesn’t take much longer for Jon to finish. “There,” he says, eyeing your collar critically one last time before he lets go of the tie. He pauses with his palms hovering over your chest, like he wants to smooth the material there down, before he lets them drop. His arms hang limply at his sides. “All, ah, all done.”

“Thanks,” you say, glancing down to inspect his handiwork. You have to give it to him: he knows how to tie a tie. The half-Windsor knot looks crisp and sits nicely over your shirt, not at all as frumpy or lopsided as your own attempt had been.

Jon nods and steps back, widening the gap between you. “See you on Monday.” With that, he goes to walk off, interaction already forgotten.

“Let me guess,” you say, stopping him in his tracks. “You’re not leaving yet.”

He looks over at you. “Very astute,” he replies, a hint of amusement suffusing his dry tone. “I am just finishing up some last minute work. I’ll be heading out shortly.”

You hum at his response, crossing your arms over your chest. “Good. Best not to go to the break room and brew any tea, then. If you’re ‘heading out shortly.’” The way he shifts his weight from one foot to another, his eyes flitting away from yours, that must be exactly what he was planning to do. Bullseye.

Jon clears his throat unnecessarily. “Yes, well. Don’t forget that I’ll need your report—”

“Bright and early on Monday, I know.”

“Right.” He shuffles backwards. Slowly, as if reluctant to. “Have a good night. Enjoy your... date.”

“Good night, Jon.” You watch, smothering a grin, as he enters his office and shuts the door.

You aren’t in high spirits for long. You are fifteen minutes late for your reservation, to the annoyance of your date. Though you try to make up for it with your sparkling personality and witty repartee, you get the feeling that a second date is not in the stars for you.

You feel very little disappointment over it. You refuse to think hard about why that is.

Upon entering your office, you spot your earrings on your desk. You must’ve forgotten them. With a groan, you touch an ear and feel the stud nestled there. You like them just fine, normally, but they aren’t fancy enough for a dinner date.

All of a sudden, the back of your neck prickles. The tiny hairs there stand at attention. You glance over your shoulder, at the open door to your office. It’s empty. Your brows furrow, but you shake it off. It’s not fun, feeling like you’re being watched, but you’re used to it by now. It tends to happen from time to time, especially when you’re in the Archives. Must be nerves or something.

Best to focus on the issue at hand.

You briefly consider returning to the loo. No, you decide; it’ll be faster to switch earrings here. You get to work on removing the first stud. It proves harder than expected. After a few more fumbled attempts, you scowl to yourself. Other than pinching your earlobe somewhat painfully, you have achieved little.

Has it always been so difficult to take these off without a mirror?

“Stupid things,” you mutter crossly under your breath. “Would you... just...”

“Having some trouble?”

The question, voiced from directly behind you, startles you. You yank at your stud. Hard. Your earlobe twinges sharply, causing you to yelp in pain. You let go and whirl around to see Elias Bouchard standing in the doorway.

“Mr. Bouchard!” you blurt, blinking owlishly at him. Then you regain your composure. “Sorry. I, uh, thought I was alone.”

“No, I should be the one to apologize. I should’ve announced myself sooner.” His head tilts to the side. “And it’s Elias, remember? Mr. Bouchard was my father.” A small smile plays upon his lips, as if he’d told a particularly amusing joke.

“Right, of course. Elias.” The name feels strange rolling off your tongue. You have always called Jon by his first name, never Mr. Sims, but it’s not the same. Maybe because Elias is your boss’s boss. Yes, that must be it.

You wait for him to say something, explain why he’s here. He just stares back, silent. Under the weak fluorescent lights of the Archives, which cast shadows over his tall frame, his grey eyes appear darker than usual. You resist the urge to shiver.

As the silence stretches on, pulling taut between you both, you come to the realization that he expects you to break it.

“I, um,” you say lamely, “I was just on my way out.”

Elias hums, but continues to regard you with that piercing gaze. “It appeared as if you were busy, though.”

“Ah, yeah. I wanted to switch my earrings, except these damn studs refuse to budge. It’s been a while since I took them off, I guess.” You chuckle, even though it’s not funny. His smile widens a touch, but he doesn’t join in. “I can just do it in the car.”

Before you can turn back to your desk, Elias speaks. “Would you like some assistance?”

You stare, caught off-guard. You hadn’t expected him to offer. “Oh, um. If you aren’t too busy...?” You glance in the direction of Jon’s office. Elias must have come down to see the Head Archivist before the weekend. Had he already spoken with him, or had he noticed your door open and thought to check in on you first?

“Not at all.” He lifts a pale hand. It resembles a pianist’s, slender and elegant. “If I may?”

He’s asking for permission to remove your earring. To touch you.

You tilt your chin up and to the side, to make it easier for him to reach over. No need to make this any more awkward. “Please.” You hoped that you would feel less nervous if you weren’t staring into those eyes, but looking away does little to help. He’s in your peripheral vision, his dark suit and hair rendering him an ink blot. A very tall, very intimidating, very handsome ink blot.

This situation, you realize, does nothing to quell the teeny tiny attraction that you’ve been harbouring for your boss. Quite the opposite. You have only had the opportunity to speak with him a handful of times, but you admire his dedication to the Institute. His intelligence and extensive knowledge of the paranormal. The fact that he’s easy on the eyes only further complicates the matter.

You’d been certain that you could dispel your wildly inappropriate feelings for your boss. Going on a date with the first person to catch your interest was step one. Now you aren’t so sure.

Elias steps forward, so he is closer to you. The scent of his cologne, spicy and rich, washes over you. You hold unnaturally still when his forefinger grazes the shell of your ear. For some reason, you expected his skin to feel cold, but it’s not. His hand is as warm as anyone’s would be.

Belatedly, you recall that you haven’t instructed him on how to remove the earring. His own ears aren’t pierced, so he might not know how. “It’s a push-pin stud,” you explain. “I think it might be secured too tightly, so you should hold both ends and—”

“Twist it,” he finishes for you. “Don’t worry, I know.”

“Oh. Great.”

His forefinger rests against the top of the stud as his thumb gently rolls your earlobe over, to expose the flatback. To your horror, your breath hitches. Please let him not have heard that. He pauses, causing your heart to nearly shrivel up in your chest, before resuming his ministrations without comment. False alarm.

The thumb and forefinger on his other hand pinches the post, holding it firmly as he begins to twist. Your earlobe twinges again, but you grit your teeth. You refuse to make another embarrassing sound.

Finally, the two ends pull apart. Your eyes almost close in relief. Thank god.

Elias’s lips turn up at the corners. “There you are.”

You hold out your hand, palm up. He carefully places the silver ends on it. “Thanks.” Your fingers curl into a fist, caging them inside.

“Of course.”

There’s still the other ear, though, so you tip your chin to the other side. Elias shifts a little too. Now you’re leaning towards him instead of away, his form inches from yours. It’s the nearest you have ever been to him.

His suit is made out of thick wool. You have the craziest urge to reach out and rub the material between your fingers. Find out if it feels as soft and warm as it looks. Elias removes the other stud before you can give in to the impulse. Which you wouldn’t have. Obviously.

He places the last two ends in your palm as well, watches as you move to your desk and tuck them away.

“Thanks again, Elias. I appreciate it.” You pick up your fancy earrings. They glimmer under the overhead lights. “I don’t think I would have been able to take them off without a mirror.”

“It was no trouble.” He clasps his hands together, observing idly as you put on the first earring. The fish hook goes through with little issue. “Any big plans for tonight?”

“Just a dinner reservation,” you say as you move on to the other ear. It’s as easy as the first, but you wince when you feel a dull pain. The lobe must be sore from when you’d yanked on it earlier. “I need to be out of here within the next...” You glance at the clock situated beside the door. Your eyes widen. “Five minutes ago.”

Elias arches his brows, looking faintly amused. “You’d best hurry up, then.”

You have already started throwing your things into your bag. Once you’re done, you grab your phone off the desk and make a beeline for the door. Your boss is kind enough to step outside so you can turn the lights off and shut the door.

“Drive safe,” he says, inclining his head. “I hope your date goes well.”

“You too,” you respond automatically. It’s only when you’re turning the corner that you realize your goodbye made no sense. Your eyes fall shut briefly in mortification. Oh well. Nothing you can do about it now. He’ll have forgotten all about it the next time you see him.

In the end, you are only a couple minutes late to the restaurant, but you find yourself distracted. You’re unable to focus on your date or your food. All you can think about is that moment you shared with your boss. The long line of his body so close to yours, his fingers brushing your jaw...

But that is not what your mind lingers on the longest. There is one burning question that remains with you, even once you’re tucked into bed, unable to fall asleep. It must have been a good guess, that’s all. Yet you’re convinced there is more to it than that.

How had Elias known that you were going on a date? Hadn’t you only mentioned a dinner reservation?

(Earlier:

Elias watches as you turn the corner and disappear from view. He huffs a quiet laugh. He had come down to the Archives to touch base with Jon, when he noticed that you were here. What a treat it had been to speak with you, provoke you into abandoning your pitiful attempts at professionalism. Perhaps he should drop by more often.

He looks down, inspects his thumb. A small bead of red glints back at him.

Your right earlobe had been bleeding, just a little, from when you’d gotten startled and pulled too hard. The blood had transferred onto the digit when he removed the stud.

Elias smiles at the drop of blood. Then he raises his thumb to his mouth and licks it off.

Though the Head Archivist is his main priority, he intends to enjoy the time he has with you.)

[iamthemain-character]

Sankt Milo

platonic! The Crows x reader

gender neutral pronouns (reader is referred to as “you” and the occasional “Y/n”)

TW: show-based, non-canon compliant, 2014-Avengers-Tower-fic-type of writing

a/n: milo is my favorite character. that’s all.

Shadow and Bone Masterlist

You had been absent for almost a week.

Sunday afternoon, you simply disappeared from the club and hadn’t returned since. The only reason the Crows hadn’t completely panicked yet was because you had left notes for all of them saying you had to leave but you would return (each with a special indication that you did not write this as you were being kidnapped). Nonetheless, The Crow Club felt emptier without you, and each member missed you terribly.

It was storming late that Friday, and after closing the club post-another successful night, all 6 crows were gathered around a table, enjoying a drink together. With a clap of thunder the group heard the back door slam open, then shut again. Everyone drew their weapons, hearing heavy footsteps slosh their way across the wooden floors. A figure, cloaked in shadow, stopped in the entryway from the storage rooms, and everyone waited with baited breath to strike.

With a flash of lightning, the figure’s shadows were cast aside, revealing you. A very drenched and bedraggled you, but you nonetheless.

“Y/n!” 5 voices cried out.

“Milo!” Jesper’s voice carried over the others, for even more astonishing than your return was the furry, black and white animal you carried in your arms.

The Zemeni man quickly crossed the room, but not without Nina, Inej, and Wylan on his heels. The latter three took your hands, throwing a dry blanket over your shoulders and Jesper carefully took the goat from your arms, pressing kisses to it’s head over and over.

“Oh Milo, I have thought of you every day.”

The group helped you sit down at the table, bringing more towels and blankets, and Kaz pouring you a strong drink. But despite your shivering, you couldn’t help the smile that cracked across your face as you watched your friend reunited with his emotional support goat old friend.

Wylan turned to you, an incredulous look on his face. “That’s Milo?”

Nina and Matthias had matching confused expressions on their faces, but it was Nina who spoke up. “So did you disappear without a trace for the goat or was that just a happy accident? Also why is Jesper in love with a goat?”

With a laugh, some help from Inej, and some quips from Kaz, you told the newer Crows of the treacherous and disastrous journey the group had taken through The Fold and how Jesper had formed a trauma-bond with this particular goat.

Jesper came back to your table, Milo still clutched in his arms, just as you were explaining yourself.

“Jesper was so sad to say goodbye to Milo, and I just wanted to get him back. But I didn’t want to tell you guys that’s what I was doing in case I wasn’t successful. But thankfully that sweet barmaid had sent him to her father’s farm, and I was able to buy him back.”

“Please tell me you didn’t spend too much for that goat.” Kaz’s voice cut, head turned with his classic look of disapproval.

No longer able to be scared by Dirtyhands, you waved him off. “No price is too much for our little Milo.” With a smirk you turned back to the club owner, “Perhaps we should rename this place The Goat Club?”

The table roared with laughter at the pure look of disgust upon Kaz’s face at your simple suggestion. Inej reached across and scratched Milo’s chin, a smile upon her face. “That’s not so bad, after all, Milo is like our own little Saint.”

Nina clasped her hands together, delighted at the Suli girl’s suggestion. “Sankt Milo! Oh how perfect. I am all for the changing of the name.”

Kaz’s voice broke through the laughter. “We are not changing the name, and we are not keeping it.”

Despite what he said, Wylan found himself grateful for Jesper’s arms around him as they fell asleep, because otherwise the former feared he would have fallen of the edge of the bed. Somehow, one small goat seemed to take up half the bed.

And even though Kaz swore that the goat would be sold in the morning, everyone turned a blind eye when he placed a plate of waffles down for Milo in the morning.

That was, everyone turned a blind eye until Nina realized they were her waffles.

[arlana-likes-to-write]

We'll Be Alright

Summary: The life of an Avenger was never easier. The life of being the daughter to Iron Man and loving the Black Widow was harder, especially when the world calls for their sacrifice.

Warning: major character death, angst with no real happy ending, grief, Endgame spoilers

Word Count: 990

Note: This is not the story I had plan to finish and post today but sometimes you finish a story quicker than you think. You can blame the 400 tik toks I saw today for this one. I have some real angst fics coming up so get ready.

You covered your eyes from the blinding light that came from the Infinity stones. When your eyes adjusted, you watched as Thanos and his army turned to dust. Swept away by the wind but you and the other Avengers remained standing. “Dad!” You rushed over to the man as he stumbled to the ground. Rhodey and Peter were already by his side and his best friend pulled the emotionally distrusted teen away from him to give you space. You fell to the ground, ignoring every ache and pain in your body.

“Hi, angel,” he softly spoke. He tried to smile but it turned into a grimace. Half of his body was burnt and his eyes couldn’t stay focused. You saw Pepper fall to her knees next to you. “Pep,”

“FRIDAY?” You asked, placing your hand on his arc reactor. He covered your hand with his.

“Life functions critical,” the AI sadly said.

“Tony, look at me,” he groaned but turned to look at her. “We’re gonna be okay.” Your head snapped to look at her. She was smiling, desperately turning to keep her tears at bay. How could she say that? You were far from okay. His breathing became labored, wheezing as it hurt to get air into his lungs. “You can rest now.” Tony forced his head to look at you as if he was waiting for your permission. It wasn’t fair. Natasha was gone. Vision was gone. Loki, too. Why was everyone leaving? But you forced a smile.

“Yeah,” your voice cracked and Pepper rested her hand on top of his. “I’ll make sure they’re okay,” you wanted to grab him by the shoulders and scream, ‘Get up! Get up! Don’t leave me too.’ “I love you, dad.” There were sounds and smells you associated with everyone, you were sensitive to both. For your dad, he smelt like coffee and oil. There was always a quiet humming around him that came from his arc reactor. Sometimes you would lay in his lab or on the couch to listen to it, it was a nice reminder that he was here. But now you couldn’t hear it and the reactor was cold. Tony’s hand fell to the side and he was gone, another name added to the list. Pepper kissed the side of his head, burrowed her face in the crock of his neck, and sobbed.

It was as if time froze around you, your hand remained on his chest. You looked down and the tears began to run down your cheeks.

*

The funeral was a blur. You barely registered what was happening around you. Some of the Avengers came up to you, offering their condolences for Tony and Natasha but you couldn’t remember if you said anything to them. The only thing that grounded you was the hold Morgan had on your arm or Pepper whispering reassuring into your ear.

But now the funeral was over and Peter took Morgan off your hands. You put one of Natasha’s sweatshirts on over your black dress and sat by the creek edge. Your relationship with the Black Widow started rocky, with both of you dancing around your feelings for one another. She was afraid to make a move because you were Tony’s daughter and you thought the redhead was too far out of your league. You came together after the team’s fight against Ultron. She was shaken by what she saw and you provided the comfort she so desperately needed. Tony questioned her intentions with you but he came to accept it.

Your relationship was put to the test during the Accords, being on the run, and fighting with her other family to bring down the Red Room. During the 5 years of the Blip, you split your time at the cabin with your father and Natasha at the compound. You watched two of the most important people in your life grieve the loss of their family. Now they were both gone. What the hell were you going to do now? “Mind if I join you?” You heard Wanda ask behind you. Wordlessly, you pointed to the spot next to you. The Sokovian sat down with a sigh. You had no energy to talk, there was a numbness washing over you.

‘I’m sorry about Vision,’ you spoke through your thoughts. She smiled, nodding her head.

“And I’m sorry about Nat and Tony,” Was it ever going to get easier to hear their names? To think about them and not feel pain. “What do you need?” You shrugged, looking down at your lap.

‘To hug them one more time. To hear them say they love me,’ you said. ‘To-’ your throat burned as you fought to keep the tears at bay. ‘I want things I can’t have because they are gone.’ Finally, you looked at her. Her eyes mirrored your own, glossy and red from shedding so many tears. ‘What do you need?’

“The same things you want,” she sighed and a single tear rolled down her cheek and she pushed it away. “Sometimes I wonder who I angered to deserve this pain. It’s like I get my footing and the rug gets pulled out from underneath me.” You saw her grieve her brother, her country, and her actions in Lagos. “How do you move on?” You sighed, taking in the scent of Natasha’s hoodie. She smelt like gunpowder, peanut butter, and the brisk autumn air.

‘I don’t know,’ you said. ‘I’m still trying to figure it out. But life and love wouldn’t be beautiful if it was easy, you know?’ You held out your hand for you to take it. “I think,” you spoke out loud, each word you spoke shook. “The love we shared with Vision and Natasha shaped us, gave us the strength to be okay.”

“Do you think so?” She whispered, taking your hand in hers.

“Yeah,” you smiled. “I think we’ll be alright.”

[mediumgayitalian]

fic rec friday

hi!! welcome to fic rec friday. every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!

let there be light, let me be alright by annaaperson

His words stopped short as he, along with the rest of the cabin, stared in wonder-filled horror at Will. Specifically Will Solace. More specifically, his hands. His hands that were glowing a soft golden light into the night’s bleeding darkness. (aka, 5 times Will freaked people out by cracking his joints and lighting up like a glow stick and the one time he doesn't)

this was very sweet. glowstick will solace is such a funny fucking character trait and it does not have the spotlight it should have. loved the will & lee and will & clarisse. and i am a 5+1 truther why are those fics like actual crack

2. Death Boy by percyspandapillowpet

The three times Nico said he hated the nickname Will gave him and the one time he didn't.

okay full and fair warning i WILL be talking about this author all the time. they carried the pjo fandom in 2016 truly. and this fic is so tooth-rotting!! love fics where nico slowly warms up to having friends as he deserves truly

3. The Thing You Need Most by @wintersky101

When he's finished in the infirmary, when he's finally done all that he can to keep himself distracted, Will staggers into the Apollo cabin and immediately crumples to his knees, tears already springing to his eyes.

no this one is so important bc sometimes i feel like this fandom falls into the repetition of sad-nico-comforting-will and while thats not necessarily bad!! its nice to have some variety. and having nico be there for will when will cant be is so important and lovely to see. this fic does it so well!!

4. I swear by Apollo the physician, and Asclepius, and Hygieia and Panacea and all the gods and goddesses as my witnesses, that, according to my ability and judgement, I will keep this Oath and this contract: by @nicostolemybones

Will breaks the entire Hippocratic Oath.

i read this fic months ago and i literally think about it all the time. the quiet bitterness. the rebellion borne of a deep deep love for everyone around him. the backbone made of steel. william andrew solace i would die for you

5. Beautiful pain by Phantomxlegend

Will can take the pain of others and bear it himself. Half the time it’s not even a conscious decision and he doesn’t even know he did it... until later when the pain hits.

is this a little out there? yeah. a little wumpy?? yeah. but what is the point of fandom otherwise. this fic is exactly what it advertises

thank you for joining me this friday!! happy reading!!

[s-nebul0sa]

Puntastic Groceries

Full fic on AO3

Lena has had a long, rough week. Monday started with an emergency investor meeting because there was an issue with the numbers. She was grilled by them – especially the ones she usually adores most for their critical thinking that she now experienced the other side of – for hours. After struggling to wrap her head around what happened with the numbers, because they were fine when she had last seen them before they were sent out, it finally clicked. Somewhere, someone, made a typo and it messed up the entire file.

Crisis averted, mostly, but she had to take the brunt of it because of course nobody was happy something like this happened. So the rest of the day and Tuesday morning she had to spend finding out when exactly this mistake snuck in and who was responsible. 

She never likes having difficult conversations about work performance and mistakes with people. As someone raised in a household where mistakes were forbidden and immediately penalised, she wants to create an environment at L-Corp in which it is okay to make mistakes and to learn. But a mistake like this is not one that can come without consequences. Even if the consequence is just being told to be more careful next time. The repercussions are to big to let it go without any at all.

If this happens a second time, she might even have to be more strict and tie real consequences to the mistake, and she would hate to have to do that. So it is better to just have the conversation now and prevent it from happening again in the future. 

On Wednesday, she had to have the difficult conversation in question. Later, during lunch, she spilled her salad dressing on her blouse and nearly tripped at the top of the stairs, ungracefully saved herself and breaking an expensive heel in the process.

Thursday she finally had a chance to catch up on some of the work that she fell behind on by cleaning up the mess created on Monday. But it was so much and with several important deadlines in the future, she had to stay late at work for the fourth time in as many days. And even when making the most of her time, cancelling less important meetings or asking someone to sit in for her, skipping lunch break and eating a meal while bent over a stack of papers, she did not know if she was going to even make the first deadline of Friday at noon. Let alone all of the ones after.

So, Lena stayed until well past midnight. Until Kara forcefully brought her home, wrestled her into sleep clothes and nearly had to push her into bed. At the crack of dawn, Lena was back at work already. She did make the deadline. But only by a minute, and she hates irking that close to the line. To top it off, there was no relief or satisfaction in sending out these document because more work was waiting for her and it only grew more with each passing minute. 

If Jess, Sam, everyone else at work and Kara had not sternly given her a talking to about spending the weekend away from work and not working from home in secret, she would have been at L-Corp hours ago. But since she is banned from working – Jess even confiscated her laptop and changed the password to her work email, the sneaky imp – she might as well enjoy her weekend.

This Saturday morning, she wants nothing more than just stay in, lounge around in her pyjamas and do as little as possible. If she could, she would do a negative amount of things.

Kara, however, has a different idea. Long before Lena is ready to get up, Kara opens the curtains and turns to Lena with the brightest smile on her face. And any other day, Lena would love that smile but today she groans because this smile also means Kara wants them to do something. Wants to go out together.

Lena curls up tighter, pulling the covers over her with a fierce grip and ducking her head into the blanket burrito she just made herself.

Read the rest on AO3 because this story is too powerful for tumblr (aka too long at 2909 words)

[cozy-mp3]

proving grounds

tashi donaldson x reader, patrick zweig x reader

summary: patrick takes you out to meet his 'friends'. all things considered, you think it goes pretty well.

word count: 3.9k(ish)

warnings: nsfw (minors will be blocked), probably not suitable for gn!reader, readers sexuality isn’t specified but they're dating a man and fuck a woman, no penetration, one (1) face slap

a/n: my first fic in so long, everyone say thank you luca guadagnino! i’ve forgotten now to add warnings so if there’s anything i’ve missed please lmk!

you’re being scrutinized, you have been since the moment you’d sat down to meet patrick’s ‘friends’. you mentally cuss him out again for how nonchalant he’d acted about the whole thing, how he’d given you no indication that you’d be sitting across from his super rich and almost-household-name level famous tennis friends. what’s worse is that he’s abandoned you with the excuse of needing some guy time with art at the pool table, whatever that means.

you’ve been quiet since you arrived, a little late because traffic downtown on a friday is always a nightmare that you’re never quite prepared for. it’s easy being quiet when patrick is around, he talks enough for the both of you and he somehow opens up more around art and tashi. in any other situation you might’ve cringed at how his loud voice carried across the bar despite it being full, but tonight you’re glad he’s stealing some attention from you, that you could sink a little into the cracked linoleum of the booth seat you’re sharing and only answer direct questions.

tashi has been quiet too, but that’s because she’s been looking at you all evening. at first you’d thought she was judging you, she looked so out of place in her neatly pressed dress pants and a sweater that’s probably eye wateringly expensive; you’d arrived fifteen minutes late in a work blouse from target and a pencil skirt you’d dripped cesar dressing on during your lunch break. the environment almost adds to the mortification, you can’t believe patrick invited this rich, important couple to a bar like this, one that is staffed almost entirely by college students and only gets away with refusing to update their decor because they pay for the hd sports channels and have great happy hour deals.

you feel as though you’ve been blushing since you sat down, torn between embarrassed and intrigued by the way she stared first at you, your face, your chest, the little white stain you’d tried to scrub from your thigh using hand soap in the office bathrooms before you’d left and then at the drink you’d ordered, sweet, strong and fruity. she’d raised her brow when you’d mumbled the name of the cocktail, strawberry peach something, and declined patrick’s offer to order one next round by simply gesturing to the whisky she was nursing and giving him a look you didn’t quite know how to interpret.

it’d been going ok, you think. art seemed easily impressed by you, somehow looking interested when you explained your job (customer liaison for a fancy interior design company.) and how you’d met patrick (an office party at said company, he’d arrived with one of your co workers but had left with you, you’d had the decency to feel a little embarrassed retelling the story, patrick had not. art had even chastised him for sharing some of the more colorful details from the night you’d met when your flustered squeak and elbow to his ribs hadn’t deterred him.)

tashi is harder to read but you think your original assumption had been wrong, you don’t think she’s being rude-judgemental, it’s more like overprotective-judgemental, like she’s been deciding if you’re good enough for her friend. it might be sweet if she wasn’t so intimidating. she’d reclined back into the booth when art had left, her legs crossed and her elbow draped over the back of the seat, her eyes fixed on you now that patrick wasn’t there to divert any of her attention.

“patrick mentioned you’re coming to his match next week,” she says eventually and you nod, happy to engage in some conversation to alleviate the silence and equally eager to impress her, you can prove you’re good enough for patrick, good enough to join their friend group, “that’s good,” she hums, finally quirking her lips into a smile, “tennis is important to him, it’s good he wants to include you, means he’s serious.”

“i’ve never been to a match before, i’m excited to see him play,” you reply, allowing your own lips to lift. it’s nice to have some reassurance that patrick is really into you, for all his overconfidence and shamelessnes you really do like him too. “you’re his coach, right?,” you ask, although you already know that she is, patrick oscillates between praising her in a way that almost makes you jealous and pressing his forehead into the curve of your neck and complaining about how hard she pushes him.

“i am,” she answers, taking a long sip of her drink, “it’s nice to see my hard work paying off,” she adds while glancing towards art and patrick where they stand at the pool table, heads pressed together in conversation. you don’t quite know what she means by that and you won’t ask, you’re not even sure she’d answer if you did, instead you wave shyly to patrick when he glances over at the table and duck your head embarrassed when he makes a show of blowing a kiss towards you in return.

���i’m sure you do a great job, he talks about you a lot,” you mumble before sucking the end of your straw into your mouth to distract yourself from the way your cheeks are heating up again. tashi doesn’t respond but gives you a look you don’t quite know how to read, like she’s coming to some sort of conclusion about you that she isn’t going to share. it leaves you wanting, almost desperate to ask what she’s thinking but despite not knowing her well you can tell that would be a bad move, she’ll tell you when she decides. it feels very much like you’re a passenger in her presence, like there’s a game she’s playing that you’ll have to learn the rules of before you can join in properly.

the two of you lapse into silence again, your eyes flitting between the ice melting in your drink and your two boys at the pool table and her eyes on you. you tense when you feel the rounded tip of tashi’s heel brush against your calf but ignore it studiously, you rationalize it as a mistake, she was probably just adjusting her legs or something. you’d skipped tights this morning and it’d been nice in the office, the aircon had broken last week and you didn’t need any extra layers but you curse your decision now as you can feel the warmth of tashi’s ankle when she brushes against you again.

this time you glance up at her questioning but she only raises the corner of her mouth into a brief smile and continues her path up your leg. you hope you don’t look like a deer in the headlights as you hold her gaze, your lips parted around the straw that still sits in your mouth as you try to process the fact that tashi fucking donaldson is about to have her heel pressed between your legs within shouting distance from her husband and your boyfriend.

you blink harshly and tear your eyes from tashi’s to look over at patrick again and his eyes meet yours instantly. he’d already been watching, pool cue tucked beneath his chin as art makes a show of pondering his next move, the fact that he glances up and meets your eyes betrays that he must’ve been watching as well. you startle when tashi finally presses the toe of her shoe to your core, your thighs clamping around her leg in a way she must find amusing because she huffs out a laugh.

you feel hot and cold all at the same time, needy and aroused and confused. patrick, the asshole, winks at you before he turns his attention back to art who has apparently taken his turn. you can’t be sure, you’re so flustered you don’t think you could give today's date if someone asked. it must take at least thirty seconds for you to kick start again, for your muddled brain to string together some excuse about reapplying your lip gloss so you can excuse yourself to the bathroom.

you get up with as much grace as you can manage, tugging down the hem of your skirt where it’s ridden up and making your way across the bar as fast as you can without running. you can feel tashi’s eyes on your back as you go, it’s hard to decide if you want her to follow you or not.

you suck in a deep breath as the bathroom door shuts behind you and press your hands to the cool edge of the sink basin. it’s hard to resist the urge to splash your face with cold water, but you can’t remember if you’d used waterproof mascara this morning and you’d rather not go back out there looking like you’d given yourself two black eyes. you glance up at yourself in the mirror and grimace slightly at its dingy edges before focusing on your face, you feel warm from the alcohol and the phantom touch of tashi between your legs. you wonder again if you’re passing the silent test she’s conducting, you hope so.

closing your eyes, you take another deep breath to clear your mind. you have a decision to make here and at this point it probably isn’t too conspiratorial to think that’s by design. asking patrick to take you home and explain all of this is probably the most rational course of action, you aren’t quite sure that you want rational. it’s like tashi has a magnetic pull that you can’t escape, there’s something about her that leaves you feeling open and wanting.

absentmindedly, you think you might be beginning to understand why people join cults and the thought is so ridiculous it almost startles you into laughing. it’s as you’re thinking about her that tashi strides in, her nose wrinkling much the same way yours at the state of the mirrors as she stands at the sink next to you, her hands fixing the strands of hair that frame her face.

“next time we go out, i’ll pick the bar,” she tells you, her eyes meeting yours in the mirror, she shares a smile that you reciprocate shakily and it feels so good every time she does that, like you’ve worked hard for her approval and it means something when she grants it, “patrick has never been great at choosing where to take his girls out,” she says and before you can ask what she means by that she’s standing behind you, her chest pressed to your back and the blunt ends of her neatly cut bob brushing your temples.

“tashi,” you whisper, only a little humiliated by how wide your eyes have gotten in your reflection. she doesn’t bother responding to you, instead reaching around to hold your chin in her hand so she can tilt your face at different angles. you watch her instead of yourself, the serious set to her jaw and the slight pinch between her brows, you wonder what she’s thinking, if she thinks you’re pretty or if she’s cataloging imperfections. you hope it’s the former.

“you’re better than the last one,” she says and your breath catches in your throat. you don’t know if you should feel flattered or disgusted, you could push her off easily, her hand is still loosely gripping your chin and her other hand is now resting on your hip but there’s enough space for you to slip from between her and the chipped basin. you have a choice, you can leave and grab patrick by the wrist and make him drive you home, he’s only been drinking diet coke, alcohol isn’t included in his strict diet plan, or, you can remain pliant as tashi examines you.

you can tell she’s waiting for your reaction, it’s another test, you realize, part of her game. you still don’t know what it is about tashi that makes you want to succeed, to obey, to win, but you do so, so desperately. you don’t move, you allow her to press you closer to the sink, to tilt her head closer to yours so you can smell her shampoo and feel the shape of her thighs and breasts where they press against you. she smiles again and you know you’ve passed.

“does,” you begin, though you have to pause to clear your dry throat, “does patrick know this is happening?,” you ask and she hums noncommittal, shrugging one of her shoulders and repositioning her hand so that it’s cupping your cheek.

“he suspects it, i think,” she tells you with the same self assured nonchalance she seems to carry constantly, “he won’t be upset, if that’s what you’re wondering,” she adds when the unsure twist to your lips doesn’t let up. you nod and choose again to believe her, easing your grip on the basin where at some point it’d turned white knuckled.

tashi strokes the pads of her fingers against your cheek and you can feel as it heats against her skin, the slightly rough calluses you feel at the base of her fingers matching the ones you feel on patrick when he cups your face in his hands. her hands are smaller though, her fingers longer than your own but far daintier than his and her touch is less desperate than the way patrick usually touches you, as if he needs but tashi only wants.

“does art suspect too?,” you ask. you sound more breathless than you’d intended but you can’t help it when tashi has used the hand at your hip to tug your loose work blouse tight against your skin, the shape of your breasts and the curve of your waist now obvious in the mirror as the buttons strain to remain closed over your chest.

“no, art knows,” she replies simply as her hand leaves your face to trace where the lace edged cups of your bra now show prominently through the thin fabric of your shirt. you don’t know what answer you’d expected but it wasn’t that and to your embarrassment your breath hitches again, you wonder if art is telling patrick what’s happening in the bathroom, if their heads are pressed together again as they discuss in whispers if they think you’ll go along with whatever this is.

you nod in lieu of a verbal response, you don’t really know what to say, you don’t know if you’ve ever been this tongue tied in your life. tashi seems satisfied enough with your answer though since she doesn’t press for more, you suspect if she wanted a verbal response she would demand one.

“tell me now if you want this to stop,” she says after a short pause, her thumb stroking over the first of the plastic pearl buttons that hold your blouse closed, “i won’t be mad,” she adds when you don’t respond immediately. you open your mouth but words escape you so you rest your hand atop hers and press the pad of your finger over her thumb, applying enough pressure that beneath the two of you the button slips from it’s eyelet and the one beneath follows suit under the swell of your breasts. tashi’s hand slips from beneath yours and returns to your jaw where she forces your chin up to meet her eyes in the mirror, her pupils are just as blown as yours, the only indication that she’s as affected by any of this as you.

“i told you to tell me,” she reminds you, her neatly manicured nails digging into your skin, you can feel the slight chill of the rings she’s wearing as you mumble an assent, “tell me properly,” she demands and this time she uses her hand to angle your head backwards so she can look into your eyes directly.

“i don’t want you to stop,” you breathe and god, it feels as though all the blood has rushed from your head to your cunt, you can only imagine how wet you are, you’re surprised you haven't felt it dampen your thighs yet.

“good,” tashi replies and she squeezes your jaw with what you can only assume is affection, “i want you to finish undoing those buttons,” she tells you, making no move to remove her hands from where they currently rest. you obey as fast as you can, silently pleading with your motor functions to cooperate as you try to be quick and alluring at the same time.

you aren’t sure how successful you are but tashi seems satisfied as she strokes her fingertips over your now exposed breast. after you’ve untucked your shirt from your skirt you clench your fists, unsure of where to put your hands before tashi reaches down to rest them on the edge of the sink again. she strokes her thumbs across the backs of your knuckles before she trails her hands up your body again, stopping at your chest and meeting your eyes in the mirror again as she tugs the cups of your bra down and under your breasts.

you want to say something but you don’t know what, you want to say something but you can’t. you want to ask her if she likes what she sees, you want to ask if she feels as desperate as you. but you don’t, you wait, nipples hardening in the cold air, for tashi to make the next move.

“you’re doing well,” she reassures you, she can probably see the desperate, wanting look in your eyes, maybe you should feel ashamed, you don’t. she leaves you aching for a few moments longer and just as your resolve is beginning to crack she smooths her hands over the waistband of your skirt and down your thighs where she begins to tug the fabric upwards.

“tashi, ‘m gonna make a mess,” you warn once your skirt is bunched at your hips and her knee is trying to press between your thighs, “they’re gonna know,” you add, though it’s pointless as she forces her knee between your legs and instantly angles upwards, pressing the firm length of her thigh against the seat of your damp panties.

“they already know,” she reminds you and she seems uncaring of the mess you feel seeping through the sheer lace of your panties and onto the dark material of her pants. maybe her lack of caring is how she shows her desperation, maybe the way she allows herself to be disheveled by you means she wants you as urgently as you want her.

“these are cute, were they for patrick?,” she asks, ignoring the way your thighs try to clamp around her at the reminder of art and patrick outside, waiting for her to be done with you, the two of them just as obedient as you.

“answer my question,” she demands when your only response is a choked whine. her voice has an edge to it that can only be arousal which has your thighs tensing again. tashi is meaner in her demand this time, hooking one of her fingers in the waistband of your panties and letting them snap back against your skin as her hand returns to shake your jaw, as if you’re in a stupor she can jostle you from.

“yes,” you gasp, choking on a mortified moan when tashi slaps the plane of your cheek, the skin blooming with a tingling warmth that her fingers pet over soothingly as you open your mouth to answer again, “yes, they were for patrick,” you rush, your hands leaving the sink to grip her forearm in both palms. her skin is warm and you can feel her pulse beat steady where your thumbs are pressed to her wrist.

“it’s a shame they’re gonna be a mess when he sees them then,” she replies, the mocking edge to her voice softened by the fact her own voice has caught a breathless note now, “you’re going to cum in these panties and show him what a mess i’ve made of you when he tries to fuck you tonight,” she says and all you can do is nod. you feel pathetic as she angles your head toward the mirror to watch as she slides her hand into your panties, your cunt clenching desperately at nothing and soaking more of your arousal onto her thigh.

she seems to have concluded her game for the most part as she wastes no time wetting her fingers with your slick and rubbing fast, demanding circles around your swollen clit. her eyes meet yours as her free hand curls around your neck, her fingers pressing lightly against the sides of your throat at first. you manage to nod at her silent question, tilting your head backward onto her shoulder and squeezing imploringly at her wrist where your hands cling desperate, palms sweaty as you hurtle towards an orgasm.

it all happens quickly from there, tashi’s fingers squeeze around your neck and her hand somehow quickens between your legs, her thigh pressing upwards to meet your hips as they buck helpless against her. you feel the rush of blood to your head when she eases up on your neck and hear the squeak of your sensible black work shoes against the tile as your legs scramble for purchase. you can’t voice your impending peak as tashi presses her lips to yours, licking into your mouth to dampen the loud moan that escapes you as you cum.

tashi is considerate, she pets your cunt as you shake through it and uses her thigh to hold you up, her hand leaves your throat so her arm can wrap around your chest where she presses you tight against her. it takes a minute for you to finish riding it out but when your toes finally uncurl she helps you stand upright against the sink and starts to redress you herself.

“good girl,” she hums as she tucks you back into your bra and begins rebuttoning your shirt, “let’s get you back to your boyfriend, hm?, i’m sure he’s missing you,” she continues with a hint of amusement while she rolls your skirt back down.

“yeah,” you reply, voice spacey even to your own ears, tashi smiles though so you do too, “thank you,” you tell her as she uses her thumb to fix your smudged lip gloss. she only pats your cheek in response, taking your hand in hers and tugging you towards the bathroom door. it’s hard not to be mortified when you glance down at her thigh and notice the mess you’ve left on her, a large dark patch that only grows more noticeable under the bar’s lighting.

art and patrick are waiting at the table, art nursing a second pint and patrick using his straw to push the ice around an empty glass of diet coke. they both perk up when they see the two of you, like if they had tails they’d be wagging and this time you completely understand the look tashi shares with you, a little fond and a lot exasperated, as if to her they’re the most predictable people on the planet.

“she’s a keeper,” she says in lieu of greeting, keeping a gentle grip on your hand until you’re safely deposited in the booth next to patrick. you feel yourself blush as patrick tucks you into his side and art pushes a coaster with a glass of ice water perched on top of it towards you. you manage a grateful smile in his direction before you turn your warm face into patrick’s neck to escape the knowing look he’s giving you. whatever game tashi is playing, you think you’ve passed this round.

[ssuperficialspacecadett]

Have Your Cake And Eat It Too

Chapter Nine of the Through the Scope series | Chapter Ten

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.5K

Chapter Overview: Wednesday brings a date and Friday brings an unwelcome fate

TW: Oral (f&m receiving), Fingering

Notes: hey everyone !! sorry for the delay to my unofficial posting schedule ! i was battling writers block and life threw a bunch of bullshit at me this week. in better news...i got a kitten today ! my friends were fostering four kittens and I fell in love with one and now we are basically soulmates. ANYWAY... there has been a small resurgence for my One Condition (reader x Din Djarin) fic recently which has made me smile ((: i updated the tag list so let me know if i missed you/ you want to be added ! as usual...my asks are always open & happy reading <3

*no use of y/n & female presenting reader*

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Frankie’s house hasn’t been this clean since he first bought it. He isn’t a dirty man, he is probably one of the cleanest he knows if he's being honest, but suddenly everything looked dull compared to your sparkle. The chemical fumes from all of the products he is using have made him light headed. He just cracks open some of his kitchen windows and keeps on working. He has been deep in soap and suds since he got off work today at 7:30 P.M.. So far he has managed to vacuum off of the carpets and rugs, wipe down all the sinks and scrubbed the toilet (he even made sure to put the seat down), cloroxed the stove and the countertops, fluffed the couches pillows, and put fresh sheets on his bed.

Last night after his ‘work meeting’, he ran to the grocery store to pick up some ingredients for your date this Wednesday. You both decided on a quiet night in since your weeks have been surprisingly busy. Neither one of y’all had the energy to battle the busy crowds of a restaurant. He left the store with chicken, potatoes, asparagus, and some extra spices he didn’t already have. As soon as he got home that evening, he began making a marinade for the chicken so it could soak overnight. He spent his entire lunch break today sifting through dozens of different recipes on how to best prepare asparagus and calculating how much time he would have to put all the food together before you arrived tonight. When you texted him to confirm that 9:30 was still a good time for you to come over, he answered quickly saying ‘yes, but take your time closing with Benny’. He was filled with a combination of happiness and stress when you told him that Benny graciously told you that you didn’t need to help close tonight because you had a date. Damn, there goes the extra padding of time he thought he might have. He wanted to see you so badly, but he also wanted to be finished before you arrived so he wouldn't be distracted by cooking. You were the only thing that he wanted to give his undivided attention to. 

***

You’re practically vibrating in the front seat as you pull up to Frankie’s house. Much to your dismay, he refused to tell you what he was preparing for dinner. If you didn’t know what the two of you were eating, the option of buying a wine to pair with it was obviously out of the question. Well, when in doubt, make a chocolate chip bundt cake. Your only worry now is that he had already made something sweet. You park in his driveway like he told you and you take the cake’s carrying case from the passenger seat out of the car with you. After setting the dessert on the roof of the car, you look down at the casual dress you decided to wear. It’s comfortable and flowy which fits the warm Florida weather perfectly and the color of the fabric compliments your skin effortlessly. You didn’t want to over dress since the date is only at his house, but you still wanted to look nice for him to show that you care. Figuring that there isn’t any point in dwelling on your clothing choice since there is no time to go home and change, you pop your trunk to grab the overnight bag that you packed. Frankie not so subtly mentioned that by the time dinner was over it would be ‘too late to drive home’ and that it would be ‘much safer’ for you to spend the night. Who were you to argue with his bulletproof logic? You swing the bag over your shoulder, collect the cake, and walk yourself up to his front door. The mouth watering smells coming from inside have managed to leak their way past the door and tease you and your empty stomach. You knock with your foot as your hands are a bit occupied by what you’re currently carrying.

When he opens the door the two of you are quiet for a split second as you take each other in. His hair is on full display now with the absence of his cap. You suspect that it might have something to do with the shower he took. The ends of his curls are still damp from the water. He’s wearing jeans that you don’t think you have seen him in before and a crisp looking white henley. 

“Wow.” Frankie feels exactly the way he did when he first saw your photo on Benny’s phone. “You’re beautiful.”

“You don’t clean up too badly yourself.” You blush.

He leans down and kisses you, but as he pulls away you notice that he slipped the cake carrier out of your hand.

“Hey! You don’t have to-”

“But I want to. Remember?” He gives you a playful wink before waving you inside.

If you thought it smelled good on his front stoop, there are hardly words to describe how it smells inside. The whole house is warm with the scent of cooking chicken. It’s the kind of smell that feels like it's wrapping your whole body in a hug. While restaurants are wonderful, nothing compares to homemade cooking. The two of you walk into the kitchen and you spot an electric grill on the counter with four thick chicken breasts cooking on it. As you walk further in, you see that he has two trays of food heating in the oven. 

“You did all of this yourself? It looks amazing!” You say walking over to set both your purse and your overnight bag down by the couch. “Can I help with anything?”

“Uhhh,” An alarm goes off on the oven as he starts to flip the meat on the grill. “Actually, help would be great. Would you mind taking the potatoes and asparagus out of the oven for me while I handle this? I have mitts that you can use to grab them in that drawer right there.”

You locate the drawer and take out a set of oven mitts and two pot holders. The pot holders you place on the counter beside the oven so the trays will have a place to be set so they can cool. You open the oven and take each tray out carefully and set them down in their respective spots.

“Okay, what next?” You ask.

“I printed out the recipe I’m using for the asparagus. It should be over there by you.”

“You printed out the recipe?” You laugh, turning to look at the man next to you.

“What? I like to have a physical copy of things. The text on my phone is just too small to read sometimes and it's annoying that it turns off when I’m in the middle of looking at it.”

“Those aren’t bad reasons.” You confess as you pick up the paper. “Have you thought about getting glasses? You know, so you can see your phone better?”

“I don’t want to get glasses.” You have to stifle another laugh because he sounds like a grumpy child right now.

“And why is that?” You walk around him to grab the lemon in his fruit basket that the recipe calls for.

“They are going to make me look…” He mumbles the last word in the sentence so you can't hear it clearly.

“They are going to make you look what?” You press while slicing the lemon in half so you can squeeze its juice over the vegetables.

“Old.”

“Frankie!” You stop what you’re doing and face him directly. “You are not going to look ‘old’ with glasses! You aren’t even old to begin with.”

“I’m almost 45.” He counters. “Hold that plate for me, please.”

You do as he asks, but you aren’t done with this discussion. “I’m a few years shy of 30. Do you think I’m old?”

“No! Of course I don’t think that!”

“Then what’s your point? You only have a couple years on me.”

“A couple?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Shut up and finish plating the chicken will you? The bottom line is that you won’t look old. If anything you’re going to look even more handsome. I like the way glasses look on men.” You smirk.

“I’ll think about it.” He blushes. “For you.”

“Do it because you want to see, Frankie! Now help me over here.”

The two of you talk back and forth while you finish the asparagus and he prepares the baked potatoes. This is a different kind of intimacy than you are used to. The intimacy that you had come to associate with partners was skin on skin contact and hands tangled in hair, but this is seemingly more personal. You could have sex with anyone you wanted at any time you wanted, but fucking someone doesn’t make you compatible with them. You don’t have to talk during sex, like really talk. Standing shoulder to shoulder with someone while you cook and casually talk about summer vacations you each went on as children or pets you had growing up was intimacy that you didn’t know you were lacking, that you were craving. This was the kind of intimacy that you only thought lived in between the pages of a book. 

“Oh my God! This is so good! I haven't eaten like this in forever!” 

Dinner finally found its way to each of your plates along with a cold beer to wash it down. 

“It’s just a hobby, but I’m glad you like it.” He smiles, cutting another bite of food for himself. “The guys and I sometimes take turns cooking dinner when we go over to each other's places when we watch the game or before beach trips.” 

“Benny was telling me about those a few weeks ago actually! He said that y’all haven’t had one in a while because life has gotten in the way. What would you say if we went during a weekend in March? My friend Robbie, the one I told you about last weekend, is coming down to visit me then and what better way is there to introduce her to Florida?”

“That sounds really nice. It will be great to go with you, Robbie, and the guys. God knows we could all use a break.”

Speaking of the guys,” Questions that have been plaguing you since you first looked at the contents of his room swim to the tip of your tongue. “What did all of y’all do when you were in the service? Like your jobs?”

“What a question.” He reclines back in his chair. “Let’s see…Pope was the man with the plan. He was always plotting the best entry and exit point for us on missions. He was usually the one that found us the job in the first place too. Will was the one who kept us all on task and on time. I've never met another person alive who keeps track of things the way he does. He has actually kept count of every single speech he has given at the VA.” He chuckles.

“Why am I not surprised?” You love how he looks when he is discussing his friends. He’s so full of love and pride.

“Benny was the guns. We can all shoot really well, I mean that's what we were trained to do, but Benny can shoot ridiculously well.” He stops to take a sip of his beer. “We had a captain as well. His name was Tom, but he was Redfly to us. He was the one who led all of the missions we went on.”

“Is that the man in the group photo that you have in your bedroom?”

“You saw that, huh? Yeah, that’s him. He,” Frankie clears his throat. “He moved away about a year ago and unfortunately we fell out of touch. But, that's what all our jobs were.”

“And you?” You’re resting your head in the palms of your hands with the look of curiosity painted across your face. ‘What did you do?”

“I was- I was the pilot. Whatever needed to be driven or flown on a mission, I was the man to do it. Vehicles are nice, don't get me wrong, but flying? God, there isn’t anything else like it in the world.”

“What does it feel like?” Your dinner grows colder, but your heart grows warmer as he talks. 

“I don’t think I can do it justice, but I’ll try. When I’m in the cockpit of a helicopter, I feel so at peace. It sounds weird to say that operating a machine that weighs tons of pounds can give me that feeling, but it's the truth. Nothing can take it away either. Not the guys yelling over the headsets that we have to wear inside, not the chaos of whatever mission we are currently on, not even the millions of beeping sounds coming from the controls. It's just me and the open sky.”

“What’s been your favorite view?” You could listen to him talk about this for hours.

“Apart from the one I currently have right now? That's going to be hard to pick.” You have to temporarily look away from him to hide how hard you’re blushing at his comment. “I would have to say it was when I was piloting a helicopter over some mountains. The mountains themselves were beautiful, but as soon as we got close enough, the sun peaked out from behind them. It made the mountains look like they had halos.”

“I would give anything to see something like that.” You say wistfully.

“I could, if you wanted, show you sometime.”

“Oh my God! Really? Frankie, are you serious? You would do that?”

“Of course I’m serious! I want you to experience it first hand.” His million dollar smile slips for a fraction of a second. “It might take me a while to get my hands on a helicopter though.”

“I don’t mind waiting.” You rest your hand over his on the table. “At the risk of sounding corny, the best things in life are always worth the wait.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He turns his hand over so that your palms are touching. “Do you want to cut some slices of cake and curl up on the couch to watch some TV?”

He takes your squeal of excitement as a ‘yes’. You work together to pack up all of the leftovers and load the dishwasher. He tries to cut the cake himself, but you shoo him away.

“You have done enough work for one day. Let me take care of the cake at least. Why don’t you go relax on the couch and find something for us to watch?”

You cut two hearty pieces and set them on plates for the both of you. It's shocking how natural it feels to exist with him like this. There isn’t a label on what y’all have, but you don’t mind right now. All that matters is that you’re enjoying yourself and you wouldn’t want to spend your Wednesday night any other way.

“Alrighty.” You set down the plates along with two forks on the coffee table. “What did you find?”

“How do you feel about Narcos Mexico?

“I’ve been meaning to start that one actually!” You plop yourself down on the couch next to him. “Robbie and I binged Narcos when it first came out. We finished it in a matter of days. It was probably a little unhealthy now that I think about it. She had the biggest crush on Murphy, but I was partial to Peña.”

“Should I be worried?” He hits play and adjusts his arm so that it drapes over the back of the couch. His fingers are able to brush over your collarbone rhythmically. 

“I wouldn’t say so.” You look up at him. “Lucky for you, I prefer the real thing over something fictional any day.”

“Lucky for me indeed.”

He takes the hand that is toying with your collarbone and uses it to gently tilt your chin up towards him. Your lips are captured by his in a kiss. Without warning a low moan comes from your throat. It had only been two days since he had touched you last, but why did it feel like a lifetime? His free hand slides up your thigh, taking the hem of your dress with it. He can feel your pulse quicken and your breath hitch when he moves your underwear to the side and starts to rub circles on you. His voice is strained and raspy when he speaks to you.

“I missed the way you felt around my fingers, mi estrella.” One of his fingers finds its way inside of you. “So tight I can barely move.”

His words have you clenching around him and gasping for air when you feel yourself stretching to allow another finger in. Your back arches off the couch as he makes contact with the spongy spot inside you. 

“Do you know what you’re doing to me? I could hardly get any work done these past few days because you’re all I can think about.”

Your head falls back against the plush pillows of the couch. He presses sloppy kisses along your jawline as your mouth parts to allow shallow breaths and quiet moans to escape. 

“Look at this beautiful neck.” His tongue charts a warm, slick path up it. “God, I wonder what it would look like with my hand wrapped around it?”

You stretch your neck out for him as if to silently say ‘come and find out for yourself’. 

The hand that he initially used to tilt your head up comes to snuggly wrap around your throat. With each squeeze, pump of his fingers, and rub of your clit you can feel yourself start to gradually lose control. 

“That’s it, pretty girl. I want you to soak my fingers.”

Even with his hand restricting your airway, your moans have gone from quiet to boisterously loud. You can hear him groaning in your ear as he watches his fingers disappear inside your wet pussy over and over again. 

“That feels so fucking good.” You gasp out.

You can feel your legs starting to shake and the fire in your lower belly aching to be put out.

“Let go for me.” He whispers.

You cry out as your orgasm rips through your body. He guides you through your bliss with honeyed words.

“So fucking pretty coming all over my fingers. Such a good girl for me.”

When he reluctantly takes his fingers out of you, you grab his wrist with your hand and bring his drenched fingers to your waiting lips. You can see him watching you with lust clouded eyes from your peripheral vision as you take them in your mouth. You allow your tongue to glide across and lick them clean of the mess that you just made. After you are content with your work, you pull them from your mouth with a satisfying pop and lazily roll your head so you can face Frankie. 

“It’s your turn.”

“Oh?” He’s breathing almost as hard as you are.

“I want you in my mouth next.”

“Oh.”

Without breaking eye contact, you lower yourself onto your knees and situate your body in between his legs. He scoots down deeper into the couch and opens his legs wider. His lids hang low on his eyes as he undoes his belt for you. When he’s done, you take over by unbuttoning his jeans and pulling the zipper down. Your mouth starts watering when you pull him free from his boxers. As you take him in your hand a guttural moan comes from the man in front of you. You tap the tip on your tongue a few times before wrapping your lips around it. Beads of pre come dissolve in your mouth as you begin to suck.

You take your time with him. Only taking him deeper into your hot mouth every once and a while. His hand comes up to pull your hair out of your way. His words go from slurred to unable to understand when you attach your lips to his balls. Your hand continues to pump him while you kiss and suck below the shaft. His thighs twitch and jerk with every touch you grant him. Licking a long stripe up his length, you connect your mouth to him again while your hands work in tandem. You dare to take a peek at the man coming undone above you. God, he’s breathtaking. Once perfect hair, now going every which way, sweat making his forehead shine, and plump lips being pushed out by his ragged breathing. You can feel yourself grow wet for him all over again. 

“Fuck, I love the way you look with my cock in your mouth.” He fumbles out. “It feels like your mouth was made for me.”

Even with your hollowed out cheeks beginning to burn, you keep pushing yourself. You want him to feel as good as he makes you feel. When his stomach starts to heave, you know he’s close. You take him all the way down your throat. The coarse hair at his base brushes against your nose and you can feel tears trickling their way down your cheeks. 

“I’m gonna come.” He speaks frantically.

You place your hands on his thighs and keep him deep inside your mouth. Immoral sounds erupt from him as he spills down your throat. You hum as you feel it going down. You pull off of him, but softly lick him clean as he lays disheveled against the cushions. He watches with intense infatuation as you use your finger to gather some of him that is left on your lower lip and push it to your tongue. You smile contently at him as he reaches down to pull you into his lap. He wastes no time tasting himself on you. In some possessive corner of his brain, he can’t help but feel like you are his now. He hasn’t said it out loud yet, but he hopes you can feel the genuine care he has for you in the way he kisses you. He hopes you can feel it in the way that he touches you. 

“Let’s go to bed.” You breathe into him.

“Something tells me we won’t be getting much sleep.” He says standing with you in his arms. “I don’t mind one bit.”

***

The majority of your Friday shift is spent selling tickets for the fights this evening. You were excited to attend this week's match on Frankie’s arm. Honestly, you were excited to see Will and Santi as well. Between juggling your dad and trying to see Frankie as much as possible, you hadn’t had any quality time with your other two friends. 

“I have a problem.” Benny pokes his head around the brick wall that separates you from the rest of the gym. “But I think you can solve it. If you don’t kill me first that is.”

“I feel like I’m going to regret asking this, but,” You spin your chair around to face him. “What can I do for you, Benny?”

“So you know my regular ring girl? The one that has those cool purple streaks in her hair?” You nod in confirmation. “Well, she just texted me sayin’ that she has the flu.” 

“You’re kidding.” You know exactly where he is going with this.

“I wish I was.” He’s now standing awkwardly in front of you. “However, like I said before, I think you can help me.” 

“Are you asking me to be your ring girl for the night?” 

“Please!” He has his hands clasped together as if he’s praying. “It would only be for one night! I know that you were plannin’ to hang out with the other guys, but I really need you!” 

“Benny, I- I don’t even have clothes to wear.” You gesture down to your current attire. “I don’t think this would suffice.” 

“That’s where I come in.” He says proudly. “My other ring girl is about the same size as you and the new outfit that I ordered for her just so happened to be delivered to my house last night.”

“You’re the one that orders the outfits?” 

“Well, she technically picked it out, but I just ordered it so I could put it on the company card. So, what do you say?”

“Let me see the outfit first.”

Much to your chagrin, he heads back into his office and comes back with the package and a pair of black thigh high boots. “Go change! I’ll be waitin’ right outside for you!” 

You snatch the items out of his hands and head back into the locker room. As much as you hated that so few women came to the gym, it was nice to have the whole room to yourself. You set the boots on the ground and tear open the package. The top is an extremely high cropped white collared shirt that ties in the front and the skirt is pleated with a red and black checkered pattern. You can’t do anything else but laugh when you finally pull the fishnets out. The things you do for friends.

“Okay! I’m coming out!”

Benny can hear you before he sees you. Your new heeled boots echo throughout the locker room as you exit.

“God damn.” He lets out a low whistle. “Fish is one lucky man.” 

“I feel like Britney Spears in her ‘...Baby One More Time’ music video.” You rest your hands on your hips.

The skirt's short length is accentuated by the fishnets and how tall the boots go up on your thighs. The shirt’s tie sits above your belly button. This whole look leaves very little to the imagination.

“Well, I think you look great!”

“It’s not too much?” You twirl to give him a 360 view. “It’s kinda fun to wear.”

“See?! I promise it’s just for tonight, unless you want to give it another go?” 

“Let’s just take it one week at a time, okay?”

“I can live with that.” 

He starts to head to the front desk when the doorbell chimes out, but you call after him.

“Benny?”

“What’s up?”

“Can you- I don’t really know how to ask this- can you watch me tonight? Like make sure no one tries to bother me?” 

His face softens at your request. You know that he understands who you’re talking about. “I promise that the guys and I won’t let anythin’ happen to you. You’re our girl and we’ll watch you like a hawk.”

“That means a lot to me.” 

You hurry yourself back into the sanctuary of the women's side of the locker room before you give the guest waiting at the front desk a preview. Before you take your new outfit off you take a picture of yourself and send it to Robbie. She responds by firing off multiple messages that should never be allowed to see the light of day. Robbie always had a unique way of making your ego flair up. Armed with your newly gassed up confidence, you send the picture to Frankie. He responds almost instantly.

Frankie: What are you wearing?

You: What? You don’t like it?

Frankie: I never said that.

You: Benny’s usual ring girl is sick. You’re looking at Brass Knuckles ring girl for the evening.

Frankie: I’m looking alright. I hope Benny knows that he’s not getting that outfit back after tonight. 

You: And why is that?

Frankie: Because I’m going to tear it off of you piece by piece. There won’t be an outfit to give back.

You rub your thighs together anxiously as you see another text bubble pop up.

Frankie: How am I supposed to focus for the next few hours with this photo of you living in my head?

You: You better figure it out because if you don’t, you will be to busy playing catch up to fuck me after the fights.

Frankie: You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?

You: I know (:

Giggling to yourself, you change quickly so you can resume desk duty. Hopefully you can stay focused for the rest of the day despite Frankie’s words swimming around in your mind. 

***

You and Benny see the guys pull into the parking lot in their respective cars 15 minutes after closing. 

“Would you look at that? They actually got here on time to help.” Benny hums as he throws the last of the dirty towels into the basket.

“I’m gonna go say ‘hi’!” You shout over your shoulder, already darting towards the front.

You bust out the door right as the group of three are walking across the middle of the parking lot. 

“Hey Will! Hey Pope!” You rush out as you make a beeline for the man in the center. 

You leap into his arms and wrap your legs around him while snuggling your face into the crook of his neck. His exuberant laugh reverberates through your whole body as he clutches onto you. If it were anyone else, you would feel foolish for greeting them like this. But it just feels so right to be held in his arms. It doesn’t matter where you are. You feel him let out a heavy sigh into your hair as he cups the back of your head with his hand.

“What the fuck are we? Chopped liver?” Pope jokes. 

“I totally greeted you, you whiny baby.” You laugh, face still hidden from the world.

“Who are you calling a ‘whiny baby’?” 

You turn to face him, already knowing that he has his hands on his hips. “You!”

“You hearing this shit?” He turns to Will who has been silently snickering.

“Every word of it, Pope.” Will comes up and pats you on the back. “Good to see you, hon.”

“You’re going to let her talk to your best friend like that, Catfish?” Pope pouts. 

Frankie carefully sets you down and readjusts his cap. “I couldn’t control her even if I tried.” He shrugs. 

“Come on, Pope.” You lightly push him in the shoulder. “You know I love ya’.” 

Before he gets a chance to respond, a car pulls into the lot extremely fast. Frankie quickly scoops you up and moves over to the side of the parking lot that is closest to Brass Knuckles. You didn’t even have time to process what had just happened, yet the rest of them reacted just as quickly as Frankie did. 

“What kind of idiot drives like that?” You say, trying to get your bearings as you feel your feet touch asphalt again. 

“The kind of idiot with a bone to pick.” Pope mutters. 

When you look around, all three of them are watching the car park in a spot that's a few spaces down from theirs. Nervousness starts to rear its ugly head when you see them all exchange quick glances, followed by nods of their heads. Will is the first to break the silence.

“Why don’t we go inside?” His eyes look like they are pleading with you. “You can show me what still needs to be set up before people start arrivin’ tonight, huh?”

“Wait, what?” 

“That sounds like a good idea.” Frankie confirms, his gaze still fixed on the now unmoving car. He doesn’t sound like himself. “Take her inside.”

“Frankie? What’s going on?” 

He must have heard the quiver in your voice because he turns his attention to you. “I’ll be there in 5 minutes. I just need to take care of something first, okay? Everything is fine.”

“Let's go, hermosa.” You feel Pope's hand come to rest softly on your shoulder. “Please.” He whispers in your ear. 

You have never seen any of them act like this. It’s causing your stomach to turn violently. Three of the toughest men you have ever met getting skittish doesn’t sit right with you. 

“Al-alright.” Pope pushes your body towards the door, but your eyes stay on Frankie. “I’ll be right inside if you need me.” 

“I know, estrella.” A car door slams hard somewhere in front of y’all and his face hardens. “Get her the fuck inside the gym.” 

For the third time in a matter of a few minutes you’re being carried. This time it is compliments of Will. Before you know it, you’re being ushered inside and taken back into the gym. Neither Will nor Pope stop until they approach Benny who is in the middle of cleaning the heavy bags. 

***

The only thing that matters to Frankie is that you’re away from the catastrophe that he knew was about to ensue. He steels his emotions as he watches her round her car from the driver's side. With how quickly she is marching there should have been flames kicking up behind her.

“Francisco fucking Morales!” She screeches. “We need to talk!”

He starts walking towards her. “Yes, Rochelle. We do.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

{tag list: @cutesyscreenname @rsquared31 @smol-beb @bitchwitch1981 @avastrasposts @hoeslingz @saltybutteredtoast @javicstories @c-justhere @pimosworld @modernperplexity @beboldbebravethings @mxtokko @moonliqhtszn @tanzthompson @megcads @myloveistoolittle @casa-boiardi @jitterbugs927 @partyofone3413 @pedrit0-pascalit0 @golden-library @pati-et-vivere @mashomasho @lilmizmoz @angstylittlepascal @sofiparallel @selflcontrol @adriennemichelle98 @painitemoondust @pedritosgirl2000 @tpwkmera @romanarose }

[late-to-the-party-81]

You can ring my bell

AN: this is what happens when you see a headcanon on tumblr, share with the group and then get affectionately badgered into writing it…it’s just silly.

Thanks to my cheer-reader @lavenderbuckyy, my beta @alwaysabrighterdarkness and @gay-jewish-bucky for the inspo

This fic also covers the September Adoptable for Stucky Bingo round 5 - “You look so pretty like this.” in place of square G2 on my card (sorry Ice Skater AU) @stuckybingo

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Master list | Stucky Bingo Master list

Summary: Steve has a Pavlovian response to seeing Bucky tie his hair up.

Word Count: 1.2k

CW: Crack fic, Post EG AU where everyone lived, no-one died and nothing hurts, Horny super boyfriends, Tony is done, implied sexy times, everywhere, they are an HR nightmare, referenced 1940’s homophobia, brief references to Hydra control, Bucky is a little shit, Steve is so gone on Bucky, Nat knows what’s up (when does she not?)

It wasn’t hard for anyone to notice, now that the final battle against Thanos had been won and the world was getting slowly back onto an even keel, how happy Bucky and Steve were.

Neither of them could believe that they got to live openly together now and with Bucky being (mostly) recovered they were taking advantage of it whenever and wherever they could. 

Loudly.

Often.

Sometimes in places around the compound they really shouldn’t.

Tony had mentioned, in one of his dressings-down to the two of them, that he was starting to think that Sexual Harassment training had been invented because of horny supersoldiers. Apparently now there were ‘things he couldn’t un-see’… Which is why, he said, pink-faced, that whenever the two semi-stable centenarians weren’t in the privacy of their own rooms he had FRIDAY discreetly keep track of their vitals, and block others entering the area Steve and Bucky were in if their life signs… elevated. Tony also announced that he’d given the cleaning staff a raise. Bucky and Steve should have, in theory, been sorry, but they weren’t. Bucky still remembers how he and Steve had just looked at each other and started giggling, much to Tony’s disgust.

Even when they were keeping it “safe for work”, they were still always touching each other. A hip-pat here, a shoulder clap there. The odd, chaste kiss to the other one's cheek. Movie and game nights were more ‘R rated’, with kissing, cuddling and canoodling. More than once the pair had an empty soda can or cushion thrown at them by one of the others, accompanied by jovial shouts of “Get a room!”. 

Bucky normally flipped whoever it was his middle finger while still making out with Steve and grinding down on his lap. He was enjoying being with his man and couldn’t care less about who knew it. He also didn’t remember the last time he and Steve had seen a group movie all the way through. Normally one or other of them got too wound up and ended dragging the other back to the privacy of their own apartment.

Bucky had heard some of the others talking, debating who was the bad influence on who out of him and Steve. Ha! Nat was the one to point out that the two of them were as bad as each other. As usual, she wasn’t wrong. 

Bucky couldn’t resist Steve when he was trying to concentrate on something, his stoic mask on his face as he tried to be serious. Bucky always wanted to do something - anything - to bring a smile back to Steve’s features. And Steve couldn’t get enough of Bucky, apparently. Steve was a morning person and Bucky was a night owl, something that dated back to the late 1930’s and hadn’t changed over the intervening years. And while Bucky did love his lie-ins, he was never, ever, gonna get upset if Steve woke him up with blowjob, or more.

However, now that they had the opportunity to fully indulge themselves without looking over their shoulders, it didn’t take Bucky long to figure something out about Steve and his sex drive. Apart from the obvious that is. 

Steve had always been ‘hot to trot’, even when he’d been only one hundred pounds and Bucky could tuck him under his arm if he became too uppity. That hadn’t changed post-serum, other than the fact that he, and now Bucky, had a near zero refractory period. No, what Bucky noticed was something different, but just as fun, and was something they would have never discovered back in the day.

Bucky had decided to keep the long hair that he’d grown-out in Wakanda. He’d always liked caring for and styling his hair, even back in the 40’s, but there was something so indulgent about having hair that floated around his shoulders by choice. The ritual of washing, conditioning, detangling and drying his hair helped him to relax and if he was having a bad day, just having Steve brush it for him helped immensely. 

However, long loose hair, no matter how sexy it looked in movies and pornography, just wasn’t practical for sex. Especially super-serum enhanced marathon sex. This meant that whenever he and Steve were getting hot and heavy - hands roaming, clothes loosening - if Bucky’s hair was down, he’d immediately slip the hair tie from his wrist and put his hair up. His go-to was normally a loose bun, but Steve was very fond of a ponytail. For reasons. The tying up of Bucky’s hair signalled to Steve that things were getting serious in the best way, and after that point their activities got a lot more ‘Rated -E’.

What Bucky noticed though, was something that happened one day when they weren’t already at first or second base. Steve was sitting on the sofa, reading through a book on art history. Bucky had been over in the gym, and with his adrenaline high was feeling horny. He’d returned, had a quick shower and then, as he walked out into the lounge, made sure to catch Steve’s eye and then, very pointedly, tie his hair up. For good measure, he’d licked his lower lip too.

The effect was almost instant. Not-so-little-Stevie made his presence known, straining against Steve’s grey sweatpants before Bucky had even made it into the space between Steve’s legs. By the time Bucky’s knees hit the carpet, Steve’s cock was at full mast, ready for whatever was about to happen. Bucky didn’t think much of it at the time - he was rather… busy - but it was an amusing observation all the same. 

A few days later though it happened again and Bucky wasn’t even trying to be tantalising. Steve was in their small kitchen, starting the preparations for dinner, and because most of Steve’s culinary skills were linked to either boiling or over-boiling things, Bucky decided for the sake of his stomach to help out. He stepped up beside Steve, and tied up his hair so it didn’t get in his face. Steve immediately pulled him in for a rough, needy kiss before uttering “You look so pretty like this” and dropping to his knees, hands grabbing at the tie on Bucky’s sweatpants. They ordered take-out that night instead.

However, the first time that Bucky really put two and two together was in the most innocuous of places - the conference room. Tony was talking through the plan for the upcoming mission, in the long winded way only Tony could. The room was stuffy and Bucky was starting to feel a bit warm, so he pulled a hair tie from the pocket of his pants, and looped his hair up. From the corner of his eye he saw Steve shift. That in itself wasn’t an indication of anything, but a few minutes later Steve shifted again. Then uncrossed and recrossed his legs. Then he coughed. Or rather, as Bucky noticed, he let out a small groan that he covered with a cough. 

Bucky turned his head, an inquisitive look of boyfriendly concern on his face, but when he saw what the problem was he thanked god for his poker face, because Steve was sporting a grade-A, top tier boner. It was obscene even though it was still fully covered by Steve’s pants. Bucky wished it weren’t. 

His own dick twitched, and he had to employ all of his old training to stay calm and collected. However, he wouldn’t be James Buchanan Barnes, Little Shit Extraordinaire, if he didn’t take advantage of the situation.

Bucky moved his chair so that he was facing Steve more, but still able to view Tony’s presentation. Then, oh-so-slowly, he slipped off his shoe and stretched his leg out under the table. Steve twitched in his seat as Bucky’s foot met the back of his calf and his eyes were firmly riveted forward indicating to a very amused Bucky that he was desperately trying to keep his composure.  Steve’s brow furrowed and his neck started to flush a delicious shade of pink as Bucky’s foot slid up, and up, and then round. He curled his toes over the top of Steve’s cock, trying not to smirk as Steve coughed again.

As Tony droned on, Bucky kept rocking his foot back and forth, and toying with a lock of his hair, coquettishly. He wasn’t looking directly at Steve, but could feel the heated glances flashed his way, and by the time the meeting came to a close he was finding it difficult to hold back a grin. When the others stood up and started to file out, Bucky removed his foot, grabbed the case file that was in front of him, opened it and pulled his chair up close to Steve’s.

“Steve, I think we should go through our part of the plan. Make sure we’re 100 percent in sync.” Bucky pointedly ignored the knowing eyebrow Nat raised at him as she strolled out. 

“Good idea, Buck.” Steve’s voice was sinfully low and rough, and Bucky knew this was going to be good. Hooray for lube packets that could be as easily stashed as knives…

Five minutes later FRIDAY put the conference room into lockdown and deposited a bonus in the cleaning staff's accounts.

From then on, Bucky had to think very carefully before he put his hair up. It wouldn’t do for Steve to be getting a boner in the middle of a battle, but  afterward, in the jet? Well that was another thing altogether, even if Tony did chew them both out afterwards.

Tag list: @km-ffluv, @christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @doasyoudesireandlive

To get on my tag list, see my master list.

[wordsofhoneydew]

happy friday!!

put on your fucking seatbelts y’all because these fics will have you screaming, crying, throwing up, hyperventilating and climbing the fucking walls

read the tags. some of these have kinks that not everyone is into, so just make sure you know what you’re stepping into! the other half of these are just fluff fluff fluff!! enjoy!

home is where i’m with you by @luainthewild

where alex seeks the meaning of home and finds it in Henry's arms.

OR: Henry has to spend Christmas alone; Alex refuses and invites him to Texas. Ensue family crack, a lof of fluff, sexy dancing and love confession on a christmas card.

(We) Loved Her First by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

When I thought about all of the things I wanted to say to you both today, my initial urge was to write a letter. I could borrow Dad’s fountain pen from his top desk drawer and watch the ink soak slowly into the cardstock paper, to blow it dry and carefully crease it in three places before sliding it into an envelope and sealing it with the wax seal Papa bought a few years back, that he said we could use to send our Christmas cards to Sandringham in a more formal way so that Uncle Pip wouldn’t expect to find us wearing matching Christmas tree onesies inside.

But then I realized, a letter isn’t your style. It isn’t our style. Your story, the same story weaved together countless times throughout my life into a tapestry of your love that blanketed me at night whenever I needed comforting, was told through a series of pixels swirling through the air and crossing the void of space and time within moments. So, I decided it was only fitting to continue that tradition and to follow in your footsteps…an email, it is.

OR

Alex and Henry's daughter sends them an email just before they walk her down the aisle on her wedding day.

we might just get away with it by smc_27

Henry is the most gorgeous man Alex has ever seen. And Alex has seen a lot of gorgeous men. He’s a fucking model.

“This is Henry Fox-Mountchristen,” Prada’s current PR lead says, and Alex smiles and pushes his hand out. “He’s a journalist covering the merger.”

Alex doesn’t know what merger or what it would have to do with Paris Fashion Week. But he does know that Henry holding a glass of champagne as he shakes Alex’s hand is maybe the sexiest thing ever, and there is just no explanation for that.

“Hi. I’m Alex.”

Henry says, “I know,” and then does this weird, forced smile at Bianca and walks away.

Alex doesn’t know how to like, not be completely obsessed with things he wants.

OR, Alex is a model. Henry is a journalist, and a bit of an asshole. Alex wants him anyway, even when it doesn’t feel good.

Leave A Message by @sherryvalli

"This is Alex Claremont-Diaz's phone. If it's a business matter, I don't know how you got ahold of this number, but if you have my number that means you probably have Zahra's. Call her instead. If you're friends or family, just text me. If you're anyone else, I'll call you back as soon as I can."

Or: Alex's voicemail message over the years, and the messages people leave for him.

in the dead of night by @littlemisskittentoes

“Hm, am I still dreaming, or is there very pretty boy playing with me under the covers?” Alex’s voice is gruff. Its edges are coated in lingering sleep, and the drowsy-slow pull of the words lulls them to a deeper accent than he usually lets slip through. The syrupy drawl skitters the length of Henry’s spine.

or, Henry knows he can always rely on Alex to tire him out when sleep is far off.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Five Fics Friday: August 2/24

Happy August Long Weekend to my Canadian friends, and horrah it's Friday to everyone else!!! Let's start off this weekend with these great fanfics!!! Enjoy!

RECENT MFLs

Come Home With Me by AlwaysJohn (NR, 525 w., 1 Ch. || Boys in Love, Angst With Happy Ending, Ducks) – A little something to chase away the cobwebs.

On Hold by saintscully (E, 2,686 w., 1 Ch. || Porn Without Plot, Established Relationship, Sherlock's Slutty Dressing Gown) – John is on hold with the bank. Sherlock empties the teapot into the flowers.

Tipping The Scales by BeautifulFiction (T, 3,145+ w., 1/13 Ch. || Fantasy AU || WiP ||Alternate First Meeting, Strangers to Lovers, Merman Sherlock, Soldier John, John POV, Mention of Suicidal Ideation, Dodgy Scientific Ethics, Fictional Military Procedures, Baskerville) – When John is invalided out and left as little more than a glorified security guard in Baskerville, life has never looked so bleak. Will a stranger in need of his help set his life on a new course, or will he lose everything in his effort to help this "Sherlock Holmes"?

Military--kink? by Silvergirl (M, 6,025 w., 2 Ch. || TRF Fix It, Sherlock's Kinks, Preconceptions, Sherlock Does NOT Have a Military Kink, First Kiss, First Time, Happy Ending, Military Inaccuracies) – It’s fanon that Sherlock has a military kink. Well, what if he doesn’t? What if he's always had the opposite? What if he had to get over an instinctive recoil when he realized that a. oh God John was it for him and b. oh fuck he was a soldier? Sherlock has a boatload of preconceptions about military personnel. So when John comes on to him at Angelo’s, he comes out with the “married to my work” line we’ve all regretted ever since. All the prejudices Sherlock had to discard, one by one.

Limitless Ocean by angel-loving-star (M, 150,730+ w., 21/36 Ch. || WIP || Post-TLD / S4 Fix It, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, John's PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Sherlock Whump, Alcohol Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, Fluff, Parentlock, Coming Out, Nightmares, Panic / Anxiety Attacks, Dissociation, Alternating POV, Suicidal Ideation, Self-Harm Ideation, Internalized Homophobia, Closeted John, Angst, Insomnia, Domestics, Cuddling / Snuggling, Gay Sherlock) – Sherlock is recovering from the Culverton Smith case. But there are some things that time or body can't heal. When John and Rosie unexpectedly move back in 221B the day after Sherlock's birthday, nothing is as it used to be. Both he and John are treading on thin ice. It is only a matter of time until the first cracks appear. Until they begin to sink into the freezing waters of the ocean beneath, and are forced to face their demons, each other, and what has been lurking in the dark for far, far too long. Until it is only them, the promise of sky above the surface, and the limitless ocean flooding into their hearts.

[winterhawk-ao3feed]

Avengers Sillies (:

Read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/62404339

by WarriorCheese_09

A lot of one-shots with the Avengers. Imagine a domestic Avengers trope, where no one dies and it's really cute and silly. That's this.

Set in a universe where no one important dies, and they are all silly and happy.

Words: 2283, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English

Fandoms: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Nothing Too Specific Just Overall Marvel

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen, Multi

Characters: Tony Stark, Peter Parker, Pepper Potts, Steve Rogers, Thor (Marvel), Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Ned Leeds, Mary Jane Watson, Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes, Friday (Marvel), Yelena Belova

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Tony Stark/Pepper Potts, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Peter Parker/Mary Jane Watson, Peter Parker & Pepper Potts, Peter Parker & Everyone, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Yelena Belova & Natasha Romanov

Additional Tags: Fluff and Crack, Domestic Avengers, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Not Canon Compliant, Set in a universe where no one dies and its all funsies, Stony if you squint, Bucky Barnes Character Study, is in the realm of character study, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Gets a Hug, Deaf Clint Barton, Trans Male Character, Insecure Clint Barton, Fluff, If Fluff threw up on Ao3, Angst, Oops, Author Commentary, Author is gving up on tags, let them be happy marvel, A bit of endgames stuff, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Precious Peter Parker, he did it, You wont understand till you read, Can be read as stand alone oneshots or together, Auhtor read a really good fic and now only wants to read domestic Avengers, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Author Loves Yelena Belova, Clint Barton is a Ray of Sunshine, Clint Barton needs Coffee and will get it

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62404339