#hes so fuckin scared for hawke for trusting him and keeping him around and it makes me ill

[mournmage]

Brb gonna go weep in the corner at this fuckin comment from Anders that I totally missed in my first run

[rueclfer]

saturdays are for the blondes // fratboy smau part three

a/n: bakugou probs gives the bare fucking minimum as a frat boy like barely participates in the campaigns and rushes/recruitments and the only reason why he hasn't gotten booted yet is bc he's frat president kirishima's scary dog best friend and helps him make decisions lmao *written under cut*

denki kaminari, katsuki bakugou, hawks

"Embarrassing how much effort I put in for a man who doesn't even want me." You dramatically sigh as you gently tilt Katsuki's head back by his chin, and holding the opening of a chilled bottle of water up to his lips.

Walking out to see him alone under the dim buzzing light barely hanging onto to the roof and hunched over a bush with his palm pressed against the side of the frat house to hold himself up was a sad sight for you to see, but you couldn't help but enjoy the rare humiliation.

He scowls and swats your hand away, wiping his mouth against the back of his hand.

"The fuck are you talking about?" He coughs into the collar of his shirt.

"What? Am I wrong?" You press your lips together, suppressing a growing smile, and setting the empty bottle on the window ledge beside you

He rubs his temple in annoyance, clearly not near sober enough to have a conversation about his feelings. "Irritating as fuck is what you are."

With the noise of the party and thumping music leaking from inside of the house, you two were left alone by yourselves in the side yard with the occasional person or two stepping out for a smoke or to vomit.

"I'm just teasing, Kats." You chuckle, reaching up to rake your fingers through the sweaty strands of hair glued to his forehead. "It's not that serious."

"I told you not to come out here, didn't I?" He mumbles, closing his eyes and leaning his back against the wall.

"Well, Denki's occupied with the other brothers and I'm not going to leave you out here yacking in the bushes."

He remains silent for a moment, lazily intertwining his fingers with yours and swinging your hands from side to side.

"Dumbass." He murmurs under his breath. "Too nice for your own good."

"Trust me, I know." You roll your eyes. "Let's get you to your room? You look like you might drop any second." You attempt to wiggle your hand out of his iron grasp.

"It's too god damn loud in there." He groans "Stay here with me."

His flushed cheeks and swollen lips made his usual scowl falter into a perpetual pout, making your nerves twitch and it impossible to say no to him.

"You're not scared of anyone seeing us like this? Being so close? Me taking care of you?" You peer around for any sign of watching eyes.

"Like it matters. Everyone knows you're mine- or they should at least." He tightens his grip on your hand.

"Yeah? Prove it, then" You challenge, sparking a quirk of interest in his eyes.

A lazy smirk grows on his lips as he looks down at you through his lashes, scanning every corner of your face before he pulls you in against his chest and leans down to press a kiss to your lips.

"You wanna give everyone inside a show or some shit?" He mutters against your lips, peppering kisses in between every few words. "Give me 10 minutes with you out here and I can sober up real fuckin quick."

"That, or also," You wrap an arm around his torso, and the other slapping a hand over his mouth, pushing his face away. "you can ask me out on a date, dipshit."

He narrowed his eyes, furrowing his brows in the process.

"Nu uh. No fucking way. You don't want to go out with me."

"Yuh huh." You mock his drunken childish tone, keeping your hand clasped over his mouth. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because I think I love you." He muffles behind your hand. "So that'll be a fucking wreck for both of us."

"Wha-"

He pulls your hand away from his mouth and cuts you off with his lips with more desperation and force as he pulls you closer to him by the back of your neck and grip around your waist.

An efficient way to shut you up.

"Don't remind me about that tomorrow, alright?" He mutters against your lips, knowing well that if there's one thing his mind will cling onto in this drunken state, it'll be this moment with you in the side yard where your cheeks are perfectly flushed from the alcohol and cold nice breeze, your hands all over him, and his heart racing as he admit to you and himself for the first time that he loves you.

[nerdzzone]

Only For A Moment: August

Summary: A series of shorter one shots from Chris and Whitney’s life together throughout the pandemic. Some happy times, some harder times, some fluff and some things a little more sexy - they work through it all as they try to get settled in their new and blossoming relationship.

Chris Evans x OFC

Part of the Once Bitten/More Hearts series

Only For A Moment: July

Note: I’ve had a super busy day, but I wanted to get this posted so I edited it really quickly. Please forgive me if there’s any little mistakes!

Thank you to everyone who has liked, reblogged and commented! Hearing your thoughts really makes my day!

-----

August 2020

I think you'd be hard-pressed to find someone who actually enjoys moving - especially if that move involves a three year old who feels the need to be very involved in the packing, but is also incredibly easily distracted. And even more so when that child's father is almost just as distractible and, despite his insistence that he'd stay focused, does more to hinder the whole operation than help.

That was the situation that I found myself in at the end of the first summer of the pandemic because we were moving in with Chris.

While I was hesitant at first, it made the most sense and neither Grayson nor I were particularly eager to return to our tiny little apartment. I still felt that it was pretty early in our relationship for us to be living together, but we'd survived so far and moving back seemed like it would do more harm than good. Grayson had settled in nicely at Chris' house and another big change - like making him go back to having two homes - seemed like it would be very disruptive.

But moving came with it's own challenges.

After our conversation a few months earlier, Chris had told all of his most trusted friends about our change in relationship status. That came in handy as a few of his buddies - who had trucks - had volunteered to help us move things the last weekend of August, but packing had me feeling overwhelmed. I'd managed to give most of the furniture away - between our friends and Chris' family - but we still had way too much stuff.

It was on that Saturday morning that I found myself sitting in the middle of Grayson's old bedroom almost in tears. I'd packed up his mountain of toys the night before only to find Chris and Grayson unpacking several boxes the next morning while I was trying to finish up in the living room. Apparently, Grayson had wanted a certain toy that I'd already packed and instead of telling him to wait because he had several other things to play with that weren't boxed up, Chris helped him look for it.

He was trying to be helpful, thinking that repacking a few things would be easier to deal with than a meltdown from Grayson, but it had been a long, tiring week as I tried to get everything organized and their actions almost pushed me to my breaking point. I scolded them both and banished them to the little playground just outside the building while I set to work cleaning up their mess.

Almost twenty minutes later, I heard a knock on the front door as it creaked open. I poked my head out of the room I was in - ready to send the boys straight back outside - only to see Chris' oldest and closest friend, Tara. She was masked up for safety and knowing how sweet and helpful she was, she was a refreshing sight. I'd met her several times, mostly when Grayson was a baby and I lived with Chris, and she'd been a calming and encouraging presence back then so I was definitely relieved to see her during another time of high stress.

"Hey," I smiled. "What are you doing here?"

"I brought supplies," she informed me, holding up a tray of iced coffees. "Chris called and said that he thought you could use some help."

"You're a lifesaver," I groaned with pleasure as she put down the tray and handed me one of the drinks. "I need this, thank you so much."

"You're welcome," she returned my smile. "How's the packing going?"

"Not bad now that the boys are outside," I laughed. "It's pretty much all done, I think. You never realize how much junk you have until you have to pack it all up."

"Oh my god, I know. We moved last year and it felt like the piles of things we had to take was never ending."

"It's crazy," I agreed. "Especially with all Gray's stuff. I thought we did a good job of not spoiling him, but he has an insane amount of toys."

"I can imagine," she cringed. "But I have no plans all day so just tell me what you need help with and I'm all yours."

I thought for a moment as I sipped the coffee she'd brought me until I had an idea.

"Actually..." I started, feeling a bit sheepish. "Would you be willing to take Grayson for a bit? I know it's a big ask, especially while he's so excited, so feel free to say no."

"Are you kidding? I'd love to take him!"

I let out a breath of relief as I felt my body relax.

"Thank you so much. I really need Chris to help me carry these boxes and he's been so preoccupied with Grayson that he's been no use at all," I explained. "It's a big change and he's worried about him being freaked out by it all, which I totally get, but I need him to focus a bit too."

Tara laughed and shook her head.

"I get it, don't worry. I know what he can be like," she assured me. "I'll go down and get Gray now and send Chris up here."

"Thank you. You're the best, Tara."

She waved off my gratitude and insisted it was no problem before leaving me to turn my attention back to what I'd been doing before she arrived.

-

Once Grayson was in the safe care of Tara, Chris was much more useful. We were packing things with impressive speed and when it was almost time for his friends to show up with their trucks, we started moving things down to the lobby of the building to make the loading process quicker.

I was a tad nervous about the whole situation as I hadn't spent much time with most of Chris' friends and I didn't really know what they thought of me. I hoped they'd be understanding of our situation and give me a chance, but if he really had been pining away for me all these years - thinking that I didn't want to be with him - I worried that they'd think I was selfish and heartless.

Those worries, combined with my stress about getting everything organized, had me still feeling rather on edge. It didn't help that the creepy maintenance man that I'd warned Chris about was watching us like a hawk. I could feel his eyes on me every time I stepped foot in the lobby and the sensation made my skin crawl. I just wanted to get it all done and over with as fast as possible so we could get away from him, but Chris had clearly noticed him too and I could feel his annoyance rising as well.

He held it together until our last trip down when our spectator really crossed a line. I was bending over to place some boxes on the ground when I could have sworn I heard a groan of pleasure from behind me. I snapped back up to standing and looked over my shoulder to see the man with a smirk on his face and his eyes fixed on me. It made my stomach churn, but Chris was immediately by my side, his arm sliding around my waist. Before I could even question what he was doing, he pulled down his mask and then my own, cupped my jaw with his hand and pulled me in for a kiss.

It was a rather passionate embrace and I was surprised as he usually wasn't one for public displays of affection. Then it hit me why he was doing it and I felt a flash of annoyance run through me as he pulled away. There was a smirk on his face as he rested his forehead against mine, but all I could muster was a frown.

"Do you think he got the hint?"

I scoffed at his question.

"I think he got enough pictures to pay his bills for the next few months," I huffed, keeping my voice low so we wouldn't be overheard. "Are you done marking your territory now?"

Chris looked taken aback by my harsh tone and I sighed as I slipped out of his grasp and headed to the door. I wanted to see if his friends had arrived yet and get away from the creep, but Chris followed and wasn't prepared to let our conversation drop.

"What, so I'm not allowed to kiss you in public in case someone sees?" He asked once we got outside, his own annoyance coming through. "I thought you didn't care if people found out about us?"

I stopped walking and spun around to face him.

"I don't care," I snapped. "But I'd rather not give some pervert the chance to profit off of us just to save your wounded pride."

Even with his mask pulled back up, I could see Chris' jaw clench with frustration.

"He was being disrespectful. I was standing right there and he moans while staring at your ass? C'mon, he's a fuckin' asshole."

Another flare of anger washed over me as I fought to keep myself calm enough to explain to him why what he'd just said was almost as frustrating as the actions of the man who'd been ogling me.

"He was being disrespectful," I agreed, my voice steady despite my rising temper. "But to me, not to you! It doesn't matter if I have a boyfriend or not, he shouldn't behave like that towards any woman! I don't deserve to be respected because of you, I deserve to be respected because I'm a human being who has a right to feel safe in their own apartment building."

Chris' shoulders dropped as he took in my words and visibly calmed down, but I was still feeling wound up.

"Shit, Winnie, you're right," he relented. "I don't want anyone to treat you like that ever, not just because you're my girlfriend. It just pissed me off that he had the balls to do that even in front of me."

"So kissing me like that to send him a message was the best solution you could think of? Like, 'don't touch this one, she's mine'. It made me feel gross. I don't need you claiming me in public to scare off creeps, thanks."

"I didn't mean it like that," Chris insisted, looking slightly wounded by my scolding. "I'm sorry, I was being an idiot."

"Okay," I shrugged, somewhat blowing off his apology. "We should go to the parking lot. Your friends might be here."

"Are we good, Win?" He asked, clearly not as eager to let the subject drop. "I want to make this right if you're upset..."

"I'm fine," I sighed, knowing that was only half true. It was only half his fault though, the stress of the day overall was more to blame and, at that point, I just wanted it to be over so I could have a nice big glass of wine. "Let's just go see where your friends are."

He didn't argue as I walked off and when we turned the corner into the parking lot, his friends were all there lined up in the visitor's spots. I forced a smile despite the fact that it was hidden by my mask and waved as we walked over.

"Hey!" I greeted them. "Thanks so much for doing this. We really appreciate it."

"Ah, no worries!" Jon assured me. "But, are you really sure you want to move in with this guy?"

"Yeah, we were just talking," Zach continued. "And it feels a bit Stockholm syndrome-y. He confines you to a house and suddenly you fall in love? Seems a bit suspicious."

"Wow, guys, glad you're on my side," Chris laughed. "I wouldn't have asked you to help out if I knew you'd try and change her mind!"

"We just want to make sure we're not committing any crimes here," Luke insisted. "I don't want to be an accomplice to anything and we're all scratching our heads about what she could see in you."

Chris shook his head at their teasing and I tried to push our earlier discussion from my mind as I giggled and slid my hand into his. I felt him tense up in surprise at the gesture, but he relaxed as I squeezed it and leaned against his arm.

"There's no Stockholm syndrome here," I assured them. "It just took a pandemic and the constant threat of impending doom for me to come to my senses. I'm just lucky Chris was silly enough to wait for me."

Chris chuckled and leaned over to place a kiss on the top of my head as his friends rolled their eyes.

We quickly went over the game plan for the day once the initial greeting was over and as soon as his friends turned to head towards the building, I dropped my hand from Chris'. I knew I was being petty and sulky and from the sigh that fell from Chris' lips, he did too, but I couldn't help it - I needed some space to work through my cranky mood on my own. Luckily, Chris seemed to figure that out pretty fast and left me to my brooding as we followed his friends and got to work.

-

It didn't take us as long as I expected to load all the boxes into the trucks, but that was probably the benefit to having a team of strong men helping you move. Once it was all unloaded into the spare bedroom at Chris' place where I had been sleeping at the start of the pandemic, Chris broke out a few beers for his friends and fired up the grill while we waited for Tara and Gray to arrive. It was a beautiful, warm evening and perfect for an impromptu barbecue to thank all Chris' friends and it was a great opportunity for me to bond a bit more with some of the most important people in Chris' life.

Grayson knew them all better than I did, but we had some concerns that the lack of socialization would make him nervous around the now somewhat unfamiliar faces. But he put those worries to bed almost as soon as he arrived as he was the life of the party. He was thrilled to see the three men who were sitting in the lawn chairs dotted around our yard - in an effort to keep everyone somewhat distant from each other - and the cheer they let out as soon as they saw him made me think they were just as excited. They seemed to really adore him and he thrived on the attention. It warmed my heart to see the genuine care they all had for Grayson - it was wonderful to know he had so many people in his corner - and I was relieved when that care was extended to me.

Any doubts that I'd had about them accepting me were quickly pushed from my mind as they seemed to be just as eager to get to know me as I was to get to know them. They were all lovely, kind people and I wondered why I ever expected anything else from the people in Chris' inner circle.

They left as soon as Grayson's bedtime rolled around - partially because we were all tired from our long day of moving boxes and partially because we all knew there was no way that Gray was going to agree to go to bed while the party was still going. Once they were gone, he demanded Chris tuck him in so I tidied up in the kitchen while he handled bedtime.

As soon as I'd finished putting the last few dishes in the dishwasher, I felt his arms around my waist.

"Hey," he whispered in my ear, his chin resting on my shoulder. "Thanks for cleaning up."

"You don't need to thank me," I smiled, turning in his arms so we were face to face. "It's my house to keep clean too now, even if that's still weird to think about."

"Weird in a good way?"

"Definitely," I nodded. "It's felt like home here for a while now. It would have been awful to go back to that little apartment."

"It would have been weird for me too," Chris agreed. "I can't imagine being in this big house without you guys anymore."

"You'd have to move all your friends in," I teased, using it as a segue. "Who, by the way, are all very nice."

"Yeah?" Chris grinned. "You think so?"

"I do. I was a bit nervous about it," I admitted. "In case they resented me for how our relationship unfolded, but they're great."

"They never resented you at all," Chris chuckled. "Pretty much everyone who knows about our first night together was on your side about that and they've been pushing me to make a move ever since."

"Well, that's good to know."

Chris nodded and continued.

"They all really like you. Jon gave me clear instructions to not fuck it up."

I laughed at that, but felt a wave of relief.

"I appreciate their support."

"Well, you definitely have it."

Chris leaned down to press his lips against mine and I melted into his body, feeling the exhaustion from the stress of the day start to hit me. We stayed like that, just holding each other for a few minutes until Chris broke the silence around us.

"Can we talk about earlier?"

My stomach churned with embarrassment at the memory, but I nodded.

"Of course, we can. I'll start by saying that I'm sorry."

Chris leaned back slightly, just enough to look down at me with his confusion written all over his face.

"You're sorry? Why are you sorry?" He asked. "I brought it up so that I could apologize to you."

"You don't need to," I assured him. "I get why you did what you did. I just don't deal with stress very well and the whole day was overwhelming me. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"You don't deal with stress very well? I never would have known!" His words were laced with sarcasm as he smiled down at me and I laughed, gently smacking his chest in protest. "But seriously, I deserved a good scolding. You were absolutely right with what you said, I shouldn't have handled the situation like that."

"I appreciate that you can see where I was coming from," I sighed. "But there is no perfect way to handle a situation like that, really. It's best just to ignore it, but then it feels like you're letting the gross guy win."

"Well, if we're ever in a situation like that again, I'll follow your lead," he insisted. "But I can't say that I'll just ignore it. I might just punch the guy out for being a creep."

I laughed again before shaking my head.

"And then whoever is watching will have a different kind of picture to sell to the trashy magazines."

Chris cringed at that comment.

"I'm sorry. Do you really think he took pictures?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. "But if he recognized you then I'd be surprised if he didn't."

Chris nodded, clearly getting lost in thought for a moment before he spoke again.

"And you really don't care if proof gets out that we're together?"

"I don't," I insisted. "I don't like the idea of some pervert making money off of us, but I don't care if people know we're together. It might be good for people to get used to the idea now, when we're hiding at home all the time anyway. By the time we can go outside again, no one will care enough to take pictures of us."

"That might be wishful thinking," Chris smiled. "But I'll do my best to keep you out of the spotlight."

I matched his smile and stretched up to place a kiss on his lips.

"I'm sure it'll be fine."

As I predicted, the creepy maintenance man did take pictures of us and he did sell them to some trashy magazine. The internet was horrified, the hearts of fangirls all over the world were broken and I was called every cruel name under the sun. There were rumours that I trapped him with another baby and rumours that I was a gold digger - just using Chris for his money so I didn't have to work during the pandemic. The general reception to the forced confirmation of our relationship was pretty abysmal, but nothing worse than we expected and at the end of the day we didn't care.

All the people who truly cared about us were happy for us and that was the most important thing.

-

September

Tags: @maggotzombie @moonlacebeam @mizzzpink @zaylaugh @flowery-mess @flowerjewels @njrronaldo7 @hockeychick10 @partypoison00 @theladybiers @sidepieces @firoozehmoon @patzammit @sparkledfirecracker @mytbel0st @chvntelle-99

[pikapeppa]

Samson/Roman Hawke smut & feels: Home

A tale of how Samson ends up at Roman Hawke’s Hightown mansion for the first time. Mildly angsty feels, as much “fluff” as these two ever get, and smut. Recommended listening: the eponymous song by Depeche Mode. 

For beloved soulmate @schoute! ~9800 words; read on AO3 instead.

***********************

The thug took an aggressive step closer to Samson. “Come on, you sack of shite,” he sneered. “What’s wrong, too much of a ponce to throw a punch?” 

The thug’s two buddies jeered and snickered. Samson tucked his hands in his pockets and tried to look as non-threatening as possible. “Listen, fellas, I’m a waste of your time. Ain’t got a single coin to my name. I’m just trying to make a living on my corner here.” 

The thug stepped even closer. “I didn’t say you could talk back.” He glanced at his beefy buddies. “Did you ‘ear me say he could talk back?”

“I didn’t,” one crony said.

“I didn’t neither,” the other said. 

A real brain trust we have here, Samson thought sourly. He wrestled his expression into a pitiful hangdog sort of look. “I wasn’t bothering no one. I swear I won’t bother you if you just let me on my merry way.” 

“Shut your fuckin’ hole,” the main thug snarled. “Unless you’re looking to die today?” 

Samson didn’t reply. After a few seconds of awkward silence, the thug curled his lip. “What, now you decide to go all quiet?” 

Samson still didn’t reply, and the thug scowled. “The fuck’s wrong with you, eh?” 

Samson gritted his teeth, then bowed his head slightly in a would-be-polite gesture. “You said to shut my hole. Just trying to accommodate.”

He should have known better than to speak. The main thug pulled a dirty switchblade from his pocket. “We got a smart one ‘ere, boys. What say we teach him a lesson?”

Samson sighed. “Come on, there’s no need–”

The thug suddenly swiped at his face with the blade. Samson instinctively lifted his left arm to deflect the blow, and a red-hot stripe of pain lashed across his forearm.

You don’t have gauntlets anymore, idiot, he told himself angrily. He ignored the pain in his arm and held up his hands in surrender while backing away — backing his way toward an alley that twisted into a narrow passage that these burly thugs wouldn’t be able to follow him down. “Please,” he begged. “I’m not lookin’ for a fight here.”

The thug ignored him. “Grab him,” he said to his cronies.

The cronies stepped toward him. He backed away and prepared himself to run–

“Back the fuck off. Now.”

The harsh command came from Samson’s left, and he wilted. A second later, Roman Hawke was standing in front of him with her arms folded.

She narrowed her eyes at the three huge thugs. “I said back it up. Right now.”

Samson sighed, then edged closer to her. “Bird–”

The main thug laughed nastily. “What’s this, then? The beggar’s got himself a whore?”

Roman swelled to her full height. “What the fuck did you just call me?” she barked.

Here we go, Samson thought tiredly. The main thug guffawed, then turned to his buddies. “Listen to this… hey, what’s wrong with you?”

The thug’s two friends were holding back and looking apprehensive. “That’s Hawke,” one of them said. 

The main thug frowned. “Eh?”

“It’s Hawke,” his other friend hissed. “You know, Hawke. The one who blew up the deep roads and took down a bunch of golems with Varric Tethras a couple months back.” He gave Roman a scared look. “I hear she’s an abomination.”

“I heard she’s a demon,” the other one said tremulously. He looked like he was ready to piss himself, and Samson had to work hard not to laugh.

The main thug scoffed, then turned back to Roman and Samson. “This scrawny–”

Roman suddenly brought her elbow up and around in a sharp swing, and her elbow collided with the thug’s face with a solid thunk. The thug yelped and stumbled to the ground, and Roman grabbed a fistful of his hair. “I said back the fuck off, or I’ll fucking kill you,” she snarled. “Is that clear enough for you?”

The thug whimpered and clutched his cheek, and Samson watched with a weary sort of amusement as the other two men bolted. Roman roughly shook the thug’s head. “Answer me. Is that fucking clear?”

“It’s clear, it’s clear!” the thug bleated. “Andraste’s tit, you’re hurting me!”

“Good,” Roman said vindictively. She released his hair, then kicked him in the hip for good measure. “Now fuck off before I change my mind about letting your sorry ass live.”

The thug stumbled to his feet and ran away. Samson folded his arms and gave Roman a sarcastic little smile. “My knight in shining armour,” he drawled.

She ignored him and eyed his left forearm. “Look at you. You’re a fucking mess.”

He followed her gaze. Sure enough, his arm was a mess; there was a four-inch-long jagged cut running from below his wrist toward his elbow, and it was steadily weeping blood that was soaking into the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt.

He sighed. He only had two other clean shirts to his name aside from this one. “Maker’s bloody balls,” he muttered, and he pushed his sleeve up higher on his arm. 

Roman untied the red scarf from around her wrist and held it out to him. He hesitated, then took the scarf and gingerly started wiping the blood on his arm. “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, Bird,” he said quietly.

“Clearly you do,” she retorted. “Why the fuck didn’t you fight back when he pulled a knife on you?”

“Haven’t you ever heard of playing dead?” Samson said, only half-jokingly. “If you don’t fight back, they lose interest.”

Roman scowled at him. “Pulling a knife on you isn’t losing interest, you fucking dumbass.”

He shrugged. “Ah, I guess you’re right. Must be losing my touch.” He gave her a wry smirk, then studied his semi-clean arm.

Blood was still oozing from the wound. Samson sighed and pressed Roman’s scarf to the cut, then glanced at her. 

She was still frowning at him. He raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“You need to get that treated,” she said.

He shrugged. “It’ll stop bleeding on its own.”

“It’s too deep and long to stop,” she retorted. 

A dirty comment rose to his mind, but he didn’t dare to say it, especially as Roman was still talking. “You keep moving your arm, that wound’ll keep opening back up again. You need stitches.”

He clicked his tongue. “Bird–”

She cut him off. “You want it to get infected and for your arm to get gangrene and fall off? Fine. Be my guest.” 

He frowned at her, then exhaled loudly and lifted his eyes to the sky. “Fine. Fine, I’ll get it bloody well stitched up, all right?” 

She shrugged, and they started walking – both in different directions. 

Samson paused, and Roman shot him a quizzical look. “Where are you going?” she asked.

“To Anders’ clinic,” he said blankly. He frowned at her. “Where were you going?”

“To my house,” she said, to his surprise. “I was going to…” She paused and hunched her shoulders. “I can stitch a wound,” she muttered.

He raised his eyebrows. Wait, did that mean… was Roman was inviting him to her house? That was the last thing he’d expected. But why was she offering to stitch him up if she could just pawn him off on Anders? 

He ought to say no. He ought to just go to Anders’ clinic in Darktown like he usually would. He often told Roman he wasn’t proud enough to say no to charity, but for some reason as the years had gone on, he’d started to wish he didn’t need to rely on Roman’s pity to survive. 

An invitation to her house, though… What must her house be like? Samson knew she’d never wanted to live in the Amell’s Hightown mansion; she hated Hightown. How had the rough-and-ready Roman Hawke decorated the big fancy house she didn’t even want? 

“You know what, forget it,” Roman said suddenly. 

Samson looked at her. Her shoulders were hunched up almost to her ears, and her cheeks were turning pink. She glared at him. “Forget I said anything. Go to Anders, see if I care. I was just–”

“No,” he blurted. “I — er. If you, um. If you want to stitch me up, I’d be much obliged.” 

“I don’t want to,” she snapped. “I was just offering. Do what you want, I don’t care.”

He scowled at her. She was so surly and so fucking confusing. He really would be better off going to Anders’ clinic on his own. It would be much less of a headache.

Curiosity about her house finally got the better of him, however. “Bird, I’d be thankful if you stitched me up, all right?”

She gave him a hard stare, then finally relaxed her shoulders and jerked her head in the direction of Hightown. “Come on, then.”

They made their way through Lowtown in a rather dour silence. As they were walking through the Hightown market, Roman finally spoke. “Seriously though, why didn’t you just fight back?”

He gave her a chiding look. “You saw my odds, right? Three against one ain’t something to sneeze at.”

“You still should have fought back,” she insisted. “I know you’re trained in combat. You could have done some real damage if you wanted to.”

“I didn’t want to,” he said doggedly. “I told you, I was hoping he’d lose interest. Berks like that want to make themselves feel big by beatin’ up someone smaller. The more beaten you look, the faster they lose interest.” He shrugged and peeked at the wound again, then pursed his lips; it was still bleeding. 

He pressed her scarf to the wound once more. “Sometimes being invisible is better than being strong. Not that you’d know anything about being invisible,” he muttered.

She shot him a sharp look. “What do you mean with that crack?”

“You’re a bloody wildcat who doesn’t know how to stay out of a fight, that’s what,” he said bluntly.

“Well, you suck at being invisible if you’re getting stabbed,” she retorted.

“Are you going to break my balls all the way to your fancy house?” he complained. “If that’s the case, I’d rather my arm get the rot, thanks very much.”

Roman glared at him, then said nothing more for the rest of the walk. It was awkward enough that Samson half considered turning around and not coming the rest of the way with her, but his wound was still bleeding freely, so he suffered the unpleasant silence until they reached her house. 

She unlocked the door and shoved it open, then started pulling off her boots. “Lock it behind you,” she said gruffly. 

Samson closed and locked the door. A moment later, Roman’s mabari came barrelling through the foyer toward them.

Monty barked happily, and Roman smiled faintly as she rubbed his jowls. “There’s the good boy,” she crooned. She rubbed the mabari’s ears while he wagged his tail, and Samson studied Roman’s rare smile from the corner of his eye. 

Monty licked Roman’s cheek before looking up at Samson, and Samson stood there awkwardly as the mabari approached him. He’d met Monty several times before, but it never paid to take a mabari’s acceptance for granted. 

He cautiously held out his hand. “Dog,” he greeted. 

Monty sniffed his fingers, then licked his hand and trotted away, and Samson released his breath. 

“Come on,” Roman said, and she padded silently into the house. 

Samson looked around with unabashed interest as he followed her. The Amell mansion looked… nothing like Roman, in fact. The walls were done in a delicate pink-and-gold wallpaper, and the furniture was clearly expensive but pretty standard for a noble’s house. Most of the floors were carpeted, and Samson awkwardly studied the trail of dirt that his filthy shoes had left behind. There were a few paintings on the walls, but they were boring pastoral scenes. There was a writing desk in the corner that was covered in a mess of letters that Samson suspected was Roman’s workspace, but aside from that, he wouldn’t have guessed that Roman lived here. 

“Not what I’d have expected from a dog lord,” he remarked.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “My mother’s family are Kirkwall nobles, not Fereldans.”

“Ah, right.” He studied the elaborate chandelier that hung over the main room, then looked her in the eye. “This place doesn’t look like you.”

She raised her eyebrows. “What the fuck were you expecting? Half-melted candles and bowls of blood in every corner?”

He smirked at her sarcastic tone. “Yeah, that’s right. Maybe some ritual circles painted on the floor. But I guess that would make a mess of your nice carpet ‘ere.”

She snorted, and Samson raised his eyebrows in surprise. Had he actually managed to make her laugh? Unfortunately, he couldn’t check; she’d turned away and was disappearing into the kitchen.

He followed her. She was arranging some items on the kitchen island, a towel and a needle and thread, and Samson leaned casually against the island as she filled a porcelain bowl with hot water.

Monty sat beside him and leaned against his leg. Samson warily looked at the mabari for a second before gingerly patting his furry head. “I thought there’d be servants,” he said to Roman. “Big house like this? Must be a lot for your mum to manage on her own.”

Roman scoffed. “She doesn’t–” She broke off suddenly, and Samson raised his eyebrows. 

When she spoke again, her tone was gruff. “We do have a couple of servants. But they’re probably at the market. They sell enchanted items on the side.” 

Enchanted items? He raised his eyebrows. “You’re talking about the dwarves, right? Bodahn and the simple one? They work for you?”

Roman shot him a hard look. “Sandal’s not simple. He’s just… he doesn’t talk much.”

Samson held up his hands. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend.”

She didn’t reply. She placed the bowl of hot soapy water on the counter, then gestured for him to come closer. “Give me the scarf.” 

He sidled up beside her and handed her the scarf, and she immediately tossed it in the fire in the kitchen hearth. 

Samson raised his eyebrows. “You burn those?”

She looked up from the bowl of soapy water, which she was dipping a washcloth into. “Huh?”

He jerked his chin at the fire. “The scarves. You burn them? I thought you just washed ‘em after mopping yourself up.” 

She shook her head and wrung out the washcloth. “Too risky. Leaving any blood lying around is like asking some fucked-up asshole to use it against you.” She roughly took his arm and started wiping it clean.

He flinched, and Roman paused. “Hold still,” she muttered, and she wiped the wound more gently. 

He watched her face for a moment before speaking. “You’re telling me that you, the blood mage, are worried about other people using blood magic against you?”

She shot him a venomous look. “Mages aren’t the only ones who use blood for shitty reasons. Don’t think I don’t know all about Templars and the way they use those fucking phylacteries.”

Samson raised an eyebrow. “It was mages who came up with the phylacteries.”

“You think they came up with that by choice?” Roman snapped. “There’s no fucking way they came up with that idea of their own free will. It’s the Templars and the Chantry who use the phylacteries. Those fucking things are just as much of a leash for the mages as lyrium is for the fucking Templars.” She went back to wiping his arm.

He sighed and leaned against the island. “Yeah, well…” He trailed off.

She paused in her ministrations. “What, no clever fucking comeback?”

He shot her a weary look. “I’m tired, Bird. I’m not in the mood for a comeback.”

She pursed her plump lips, then went back to cleaning his arm. When his arm was free of blood, she dropped the washcloth in the bowl of water and looked at him. “You agree with me, don’t you? You think phylacteries are fucked up, too.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter what I think. It doesn’t change anything.” He studied the smarting wound on his arm. Maker’s balls, it was still bleeding slightly. It was a good thing Roman had insisted that he get it stitched up.

She didn’t reply. Samson finally looked up and met her gaze, and his heart did a funny little twist behind his ribs. The way she was eyeing him was… she looked less pissed than usual. Her pitch-dark eyes were as bottomless and deep as always, but she was looking at him in that way she did on occasion — looking at him like she was seeing someone whose opinions were worthy of respect. Like he was someone whose presence in the world could be worth some good.

She was looking at him like he was someone he wasn’t. 

His heart felt like it was migrating up toward his throat. He swallowed hard and gestured at his arm. “Well?” he said roughly. “You going to stitch me up then or what?”

When her usual scowl returned, it was almost a relief. “I’m going to freeze your arm a little,” she said. “Just the surface of the skin to numb it.” Without waiting for an answer, she placed her palm over his open wound. The skin instantly started to cool, and Samson waited tensely as his arm grew colder and colder. 

Finally, when the smarting pain of his wound had nearly turned into a smarting pain of cold instead, she lifted her hand. Without speaking, she silently threaded the needle she’d brought, then started sewing up the cut. 

He clenched his jaw as she worked. Despite his chilled arm, he could still feel a tiny pinch of pain every time the needle pierced his skin, but he didn’t want to point it out in case Roman got angry and told him to leave. 

Then he wondered why he even wanted to stay. She always made him so bloody tired with her constant scowl and the way she was always picking arguments with him. And she was such a hypocrite, trying to insist that his life was worth something when she was always cutting her own arms and throwing herself into nearly-fatal situations as though she didn’t care what happened to her.

He pursed his lips and looked away from her. When the stitching was done, she took a roll of linen strips and bandaged his arm, then stood back and folded her arms. “Done,” she said. 

He inspected his bandaged arm, then tucked his hands in his pockets and looked up at her once more. “Thanks, Bird.”

She nodded. She didn’t say anything more, and as the silence stretched on, Samson started to feel awkward. 

He took a step back. “Well, er. I’ll–”

“Have you eaten?” she said. 

He paused. “You mean today, or…?”

Her eyebrows jumped up. “When was the last time you ate?”

He hesitated and tried to remember. “Yesterday. Yeah, that’s right, I think I ate yesterday. I…” He trailed off. She’d walked over to the kitchen hearth and was stirring the contents of the cast-iron pot that was hanging over the fire. 

She grunted, then went to a cupboard and pulled out a dish, and Samson watched in bemusement as she returned to the pot and ladled some of its contents into the dish. She returned to the kitchen island and plonked the dish of stew in front of him, then rifled around in a drawer and thrust a spoon at him.

“Eat it,” she said. “If the meat’s tough, too bad. I think it’s supposed to cook for a few more hours.”

He stared at her for a second. There was a lump in his throat again. He must be getting sick.

 He gingerly took the spoon. “What’s with the hospitality?”

“What are you talking about?” she said sulkily.

He jerked his chin at the spool of thread and the bowl of bloody water. “This amateur healer business, the food… you’re being real hospitable today, Bird.”

She glowered at him. “Look, if you don’t want the stew, you can just get the fuck out of my house. No one’s stopping you.”

For some perverse reason, her hostility made him feel more at ease than her kindness. He dipped his spoon into the stew. “And turn down a free hot meal? Not a chance.” He blew on the stew and took a bite. The meat was rather stringy; it clearly needed to simmer for a few hours more, as she’d said. But it was still the best thing he’d eaten in weeks. 

He took another big bite of stew and burned his tongue, then forced himself to slow down. Roman leaned back against the island and folded her arms, and Samson eyed her from the corner of his eye while he ate. 

She glanced at him, and her eyebrows creased into a scowl. “What?” she demanded. “Why are you staring at me?”

He chewed slowly to stall for time. He couldn’t tell her he was admiring the way her stubborn jawline blended into the delicate line of her neck. 

He finally swallowed his mouthful of stew. “Can I take a bath while I’m here?” he said.

She curled her lip at him, just as he’d known she would. “What the fuck does this look like to you, a boarding house?”

He lifted his loaded spoon. “I’m askin’ for your benefit, Bird. You’re the one always complaining about how I smell.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he slowly chewed another bite of stew as he waited for her response. Finally she unfolded her arms and sighed loudly. “For fuck’s sake. Fine. You can use the bath in my room. Come upstairs when you’re done.” She pushed away from the counter and patted Monty’s head before leaving the kitchen, and Samson watched in mild surprise as she walked away. He honestly hadn’t been sure if she would agree or if she’d just tell him to get the fuck out. 

He quickly finished his stew, then scratched Monty’s ears and made his way toward the stairs. He headed up to the one open door on the second floor and peered cautiously into the bedroom.

He instantly recognized it as Roman’s room. The decor was a stark contrast with the rest of the house: it was lush and dark and eclectic, bursting with furniture and fabrics that looked like she’d picked them up piecemeal over the years instead of trying to foster a cohesive theme. The wallpaper was dark red with an intricate grey pattern of curlicues. The bed was dark mahogany hung with heavy rust-red velvet curtains. The curtain was drawn across the window, leaving the room dimly by with the warm glow of candles and an oil lantern despite it being the middle of the afternoon. An ornately framed full-length mirror was propped carelessly in one corner, and in another corner was a fancy version of the sort of folding screen that Samson had seen at the Blooming Rose for the prostitutes to change their clothes. Roman’s folding screen was draped with a multitude of scarves: scarves that he rarely saw her wear, aside from the crimson ones she tied around her wrist. 

He slid his hand into his pocket and self-consciously rubbed his thumb over the crimson scarf he kept in his pocket — the same one Roman had used to mop herself up after that one time they’d had sex in the alley. She’d shoved the dirty scarf into his hand, and Samson still wasn’t sure why he’d kept it. He’d even used some precious soap to wash it out, and now it was tucked deep in the pocket of his trousers where he always carried it. 

He stepped into her bedroom and followed the sound of running water to the en-suite washroom. Roman was sitting on a wooden stool while the bathtub filled up, and Samson could see the faint red glow of runes around the bottom of the tub.

He raised his eyebrows. “Is that an enchanted bathtub?”

She shrugged. “It came with the house.”

He leaned against the doorjamb. “You really are the upper crust now, eh? Golden chandeliers, enchanted bathtub… must be nice.”

She frowned at him. “The bathwater doesn’t have to be hot, you know. I can chill the water if you’d rather freeze your balls off.” She held up one hand, and a little ball of ice appeared over her open palm.

Samson shot her a chiding look. “And you wonder why people are afraid of apostates.”

She scoffed and threw the ball of ice into the tub, where it promptly melted. “I know why people are afraid of apostates. Because they’re fucking sheep to the Chantry.” 

He huffed. “Should’ve seen that one coming, I s’pose.” He shucked his vest and started kicking off his shoes while pulling his shirt over his head. 

“Oh, for fuck’s — you’re not even going to wait until I leave the room?” Roman demanded.

He winced as his sleeve brushed over his freshly-bandaged arm, then glanced at her unconcernedly. “Why bother? I’m not modest.” He smirked. “Are you shy, Bird? You going to blush like a country milkmaid or something when my cock comes out?”

“No,” she said loudly. 

He shrugged. “All right then.” He unlaced his trousers and shamelessly pushed them down. In truth, he’d long grown used to taking baths in front of other people — first the communal baths in the Templar barracks, then in the one half-decent public bathhouse in Lowtown when he could spare the coin to bathe.

Roman scoffed and folded her arms. “If this is your way of trying to get me to fuck you again, it’s not working.”

He shot her a scathing look. “Relax. I’m not trying to trick my way into your twisted knickers.” Not that he would say no if she were ever to offer, but he knew better than to get his hopes up about anything anymore. 

He stepped into the tub and immediately sighed in relief. “Damn, that’s nice,” he groaned. 

“Don’t get that bandage wet,” Roman scolded. 

“I know, I know,” he said. He really hoped she wasn’t going to nag him the whole time he was bathing. 

He kept his left forearm above the water and submerged himself, and for a few long seconds, he enjoyed the way the hot water pricked his scalp and the skin of his face. He slowly broke the surface of the water and rubbed his face with his right hand, then opened his eyes. 

Roman was still sitting on her stool next to the basin with her arms folded. Samson lifted one eyebrow at her. “Are you going to watch me to make sure I don’t piss in your bathtub or something?” He reached for the soap and started washing his arms.

Her face twisted with disgust. “Why would you even suggest that? Is that something that you would usually do?”

“No, Bird,” he said flatly. “But I’ve seen some things at the bathhouse, let me tell you.”

Her pouty lips twisted even more. “Don’t bother. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Probably for the best,” he said. He washed his chest and his back as best he could with one arm, then started washing his hair. 

She tsked. “Don’t use the soap for that.”

He looked up at her. “Why not?”

“There’s shampoo,” she said slowly, like she was talking to an idiot. “Use the fucking shampoo.”

He sighed, then put the bar of soap down and picked up the glass bottle of shampoo. He poured a measure of it into his palm, and the scent of it pulled at something deep in his belly. 

It smelled sweet and smooth, almost like the filling in those amandine croissants that the Orlesians made: like warm vanilla and almonds.

It smelled like Roman’s hair.

Maker’s balls, his cock was starting to get hard. He was suddenly grateful that Roman couldn’t see his body over the high edges of the tub. He inhaled the shampoo fragrance once more, then started washing his hair. 

A few seconds later, Roman tutted again. “You’re not doing it right. You’re not washing the roots.”

He lowered his hand and shot her annoyed look. “I’m a bloody grown man. I know how to wash my own hair.”

“Apparently you don’t. You’re only washing the surface of your hair,” she said. “You need to wash your fucking scalp.”

“I’ve only got one hand,” he complained.

“So?” she said snidely.

He glared at her. “If you’re such a bloody expert, why don’t you come and do it for me, eh?” 

She glared back at him, then stood up. “Fine,” she spat. “Fine, I will.” To his immense surprise, she dragged her stool over to the tub behind his head and sat down bad-temperedly, then held out her hand. “Give me the fucking shampoo and dunk your head.”

He dumbly did as he was told. When he emerged from the water once more, Roman slid both of her hands into his wet hair.

He tensed slightly, expecting her to roughly scrub his hair. What he didn’t expect was gentleness. 

She pressed the tips of her fingers into his scalp and started to rub in a slow and careful massage. She stroked her fingers through his hair and started lathering it carefully, and Samson sat stock-still in the tub, paralyzed by how fucking gentle she was being. 

“Tilt your head back,” she said quietly.

He silently obeyed her. She smoothed the water and shampoo away from his forehead, and then her fingers were moving in a careful circular motion from his temples toward his nape. To his horror, he suddenly felt like crying. 

There was a pressure in his chest, like a weight that seemed to be throbbing up toward his throat. As Roman continued to gently massage his scalp and run her fingers through his hair, the ache in his chest only seemed to worsen.

Samson closed his stinging eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him this gently. Had he ever been touched this way before – in a way that insipid romance novel writers might almost call tender, if it was anyone else doing the touching other than the rough and cranky Roman Hawke? 

He swallowed hard. “I thought you’d be pulling my hair by now, Bird,” he said. His voice was husky to his own ears, and he hoped she wouldn’t notice. 

She huffed. “Unlike you, I know how to wash hair. I told you, you were doing it wrong.”

He grunted in response. If the gentle work of her fingers was right, then he’d definitely been doing it wrong. 

“How d’you know how to wash other people’s hair?” he asked. “You used to help your mum with washing Carver and Bethany?” 

“No,” she said shortly.

He waited for her to say more, but when she didn’t speak, he glanced over his shoulder at her. 

She was scowling. When she met his eye, her scowl deepened. “Don’t look at me,” she said defensively. 

He turned around with a sigh. “I was just making conversation,” he grumbled. “I wasn’t trying to piss you off.” 

She said nothing in return, but she kept combing her fingers through his hair and running her nails gently over his scalp, and Samson eventually just relaxed into the soothing touch of her hands. His hair must be clean by now, and he should probably ask why she was still massaging his head. But it just felt… Maker, it felt too damned good, and he knew that the moment he asked what she was doing, she would pull her hands away. 

He closed his eyes once more. Her hands continued to stroke and smoothe their way across his scalp and down to the back of his neck, and it was hardly a stretch for him to imagine her hands stroking other parts of his body just as intimately. 

A flare of longing came to life low in his gut. A few heartbeats later, his cock was unfurling and straightening in the bathwater.

He shifted restlessly, annoyed at himself for getting horny and at her for making him feel this way. Then she pushed on the crown of his head. “Rinse,” she said. 

He sank into the bathwater and used his right hand to rub the shampoo out of his hair. When he rose to the surface once more, Roman was on her feet and moving toward the door. 

“You can have some of Carver’s old clothes,” she said. “He doesn’t need them anymore as a fucking Templar.” She left without looking at him or waiting for a response. 

He sighed, then sat there in the cooling bathwater for a moment and brooded over his traitorous cock and the traitorous heavy feeling in his chest. He eventually dragged himself out of the bath and pulled the drain, then started drying his hair with the towel she’d left on the edge of the basin.

His idle gaze fell on his clothes that he’d abandoned on the floor, and he paused. He considered putting on his own clothes rather than taking even more charity from Roman, but now that he was clean and his hair smelled like vanilla and almonds, he could really see what Roman was talking about when she complained about his smell.

He sighed, then wandered back into her bedroom as he rubbed his hair. A second later, she opened the bedroom door and came back in with an armful of clothes. 

“This stuff might be too big, but maybe–” She stopped short, and her eyes fell straight to his groin. She stared at his upright cock for a second before raising her eyes back to his face, and he hunched his shoulders. 

“Don’t look at me like I’m some kind of monster,” he said defensively. “It’s your fault, anyway.”

She lifted one eyebrow. “How is your hard-on my fault?”

He couldn’t tell her it was the way she’d been stroking his hair. He felt perverted enough already just from the way she was eyeing him. “Just… I’m a man, all right?” he muttered. “Can’t always control my own knob.” He tied the towel around his waist. 

She dropped the pile of clothes on the bed. “Pick what you want from there,” she said. 

He glanced at Carver’s hand-me-downs. “Thanks,” he muttered. He reached for the closest piece of clothing, intent on putting clothes on as quickly as possible. But before he could pick anything from the pile of clothes, Roman stepped closer to him.

He shied away from her. “What are you doing?” he said suspiciously. 

“I thought you weren’t modest,” she said.

He double-taked at her. “Eh?”

She reached for the towel around his waist, and he was so stunned that he didn’t stop her when she pulled it off.

She shoved his hip. “Sit down.”

He sat dumbly on the edge of the bed. When Roman dropped to her knees in front of him, his whole brain seemed to freeze with disbelief. This wasn’t real, was it? Maybe he’d drowned himself in the bathtub and this was some kind of out-of-body thing. 

His throbbing cock felt real enough, though. And when Roman suddenly grabbed his shaft, he gasped with pleasure. 

Well, that was certainly real. 

She pumped her fist along his length, and he clenched his fingers in the blankets. “Bird–”

She suddenly took his cock in her mouth, and it felt so fucking good that his vision actually went black for a second. His mouth fell open in a silent moan – silent because he’d forgotten how to breathe. Roman was suckling him, those plush red lips of hers moving up and down his cock, and he couldn’t – his body couldn’t – it was like his body could only handle so many tasks, lungs moving and heart beating and his arms keeping him upright, and when the velvet heat of Roman’s mouth on his cock was added to the mix, something had to give, and apparently it was his ability to breathe. 

Samson stared stupidly at her as her lips moved up and down the length of his shaft. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a blowjob – certainly not for several years. And now here he was, an ex-Templar beggar addicted to lyrium with no home and barely a coin to his name, sitting on a bed in Hightown while a pretty woman at least ten years younger than him was sucking his cock.

He must be dreaming. Maybe he’d fallen asleep in the bathtub. It was the only possible explanation. 

Roman fondled his balls and angled her head over his lap to take his cock deeper in her throat, and Samson finally dragged in a lungful of air. He released it in a pleasured groan and gave in to the silken smoothness of her throat, savouring the way she squeezed him when she swallowed with the head of his cock all the way at the back of her tongue. A couple of minutes later, when his growing climax was trembling in his limbs to the point that he couldn’t take it anymore, he reached down and slid his fingers into her hair.

She growled around a mouthful of his cock, and he exploded in her mouth with a helpless cry. She swallowed his come without pausing the smooth up-and-down of her lips along his shaft, and when his trembling had stilled and he could finally open his eyes again, he curled his fingers in her hair and pulled. 

She released his cock with a gasp and pushed his hand away from her hair, then stood up and folded her arms, and Samson studied her belligerent posture with a reckless sort of laziness. It almost felt as though she had swallowed not only his release, but also some of the jaded disbelief that had been stopping him from asking her again to fuck him.

No, not asking. He’d only had her once, but already he had a visceral sense of what she really wanted, it wasn’t to be asked.

He boldly met her gaze. “Take your clothes off, Bird.”

A tiny sardonic smile touched the corners of her lips. She scoffed at him and turned away.

He stood up and grabbed her arm. “Take them off now,” he said.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she snapped.

She was glaring at him, but importantly, she hadn’t pulled her arm out of his grip. He pulled her closer until they were almost nose to nose. 

“Roman,” he growled, “take your bloody clothes off right now.”

She bared her teeth and leaned in closer. “Make me,” she hissed.

Gotcha, he thought vindictively. Without warning, he kissed her hard. 

She gasped and parted her lips, and Samson blissfully delved his tongue into her mouth. Half a second later, Roman bit his tongue. 

He gasped in pain and recoiled from her. He couldn’t taste blood in his mouth, but fuck, that had hurt. 

He glared at her. She was smirking again and watching him in an obnoxiously arrogant way, and Samson finally snapped. 

He grabbed her arm again and pulled her close, then started roughly pulling her shirt out of her trousers. “Take this shirt off or I’ll rip it. I swear I will,” he threatened. 

She scoffed and tried to shove his hands away. “You wouldn’t fucking dare.”

He fisted his hands in the deep v-neck collar of her shirt and started to pull, and she grabbed his wrists. “Fine!” she blurted. “Fine, for fuck’s sake, don’t rip my shirt.” She pulled the shirt off and tossed it on the floor, leaving her torso bare except for a surprisingly lacy little bra covering her nearly-flat chest.

She gave him a withering look. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”

He chuckled, then pulled aside the cup of her bra and ducked his head low to nip her tidy little breast. She gasped and grabbed his shoulder, and Samson dragged his tongue over her nipple before taking it in his mouth. He sucked hard on her nipple and savoured the sharp sound of her moan and the sharp bite of her nails in his shoulder until she shoved him away. 

She glared at him, and he watched in satisfaction as her chest rose and fell with her heavy breaths. “You’re going to leave toothmarks on my tit, you dick,” she accused.

“I sure hope so,” he said snarkily. He grabbed her by the waist and shoved her down on the bed. “Trousers off, or I’ll rip those off too.”

She scoffed and propped herself up on her elbows. “These are leather. You couldn’t rip them off if you were a fucking qunari.”

He crawled onto the bed so he was straddling her hips, effectively trapping her beneath his body. Then he reached down and curled his fingers carefully around her throat. 

She gasped, and he smiled slowly at her. “Take the trousers off, Bird. I know you want to.”

She arched her spine. “I do not,” she panted. 

He gently squeezed her throat until her eyelids fluttered. “Yes you do,” he taunted. “You want to take them off, because you know what’ll happen when you do.”

She glared at him, but her restlessly twisting hips betrayed her. “What?” she said belligerently. “What’ll happen?”

He tipped her chin back. “I’ll bury my face in your pussy and lick you until you’re begging me to fuck you,” he growled.

She let out a harsh little laugh. “I’m not going to beg you for anything. I don’t beg.”

He huffed, then pressed gently on her throat to force her down onto her back. By the time she was flat on her back, she was practically gasping for breath, and her bottomless black eyes were feverish and unfocused. 

He leaned in close to her. “Take the trousers off now,” he snarled.

“Fuck you,” she whimpered, but she finally reached down and started unlacing her trousers. 

He shifted his position over her body so she could untie her laces. Once the laces were undone, he released her throat and shifted to a kneeling position between her legs.

He curled his fingers into her unlaced trousers and dragged them down. He ran his palms up along the smoothness of her thighs, then shoved her legs apart and bit the inside of her thigh.

“Ow!” she yelped. She reached down and grabbed a fistful of his hair. “You fucking asshole–” 

He ran his tongue smoothly along the length of her sex, and she broke off with a moan and twisted her hips eagerly toward his face. 

Samson lifted his mouth and smirked at her. “I knew you wanted this, you bloody wildcat.”

She bucked her hips toward his face. “Shut the fuck up and lick me,” she gasped. 

He chuckled and lowered his face between her legs once more. He kissed her sloppily, taking all her musky wetness onto his lips until he could taste her at the back of his tongue, then swirled his tongue around her clit.

She fisted her hands in the blankets and thrust her hips toward his mouth, breathing hard all the while, and Samson eventually looked up again. “Look at you, trying to fuck my face,” he taunted. “I knew you wanted this, even when you was acting like you didn’t.” 

She gasped and arched her spine, then glared down at him. “Stop fucking talking!”

He scoffed, then teasingly smoothed his fingers over her swollen folds. “So bloody rude all the time. I’m going to make you change your tune.”

She bucked her hips and let out a snarling little laugh. “Never.”

He grinned at her, then gripped her hips to hold her still. He lowered his head once more, but instead of licking her, he nipped the skin of her inner thigh with his teeth.

She yelped and tried to buck her hips, but Samson firmly held her down and sucked the skin of her inner thigh between his teeth. 

“Fuck,” she gasped. “Fuck fuck — Maker’s fucking balls, ah!” She reached down and grabbed a fistful of his hair, but she didn’t pull him away, so Samson kept sucking at the tender patch of skin. A few seconds later, he released her and inspected her inner thigh.

Her skin was marred with a small purpling bruise in the shape of his teeth. He smirked, then looked up at her. “I left toothmarks,” he said. “Now what are you going to do?”

She sneered at him, and he noted the wildness of her eyes with a surge of heated satisfaction. She pulled his hair and tried to buck her hips again. “Lick me, you asshole,” she commanded. 

He brushed his lips teasingly over her clit, but instead of licking her as she’d asked, he turned his head and bit the skin of her other thigh. She let out a sharp little gasp, and when he started sucking and nipping her skin, she moaned. 

“F-fuck…” Roman scratched his scalp and parted her legs even wider, and his cock started to stir once more at her obvious eagerness. He sucked on her skin, and when he eventually lifted his mouth, the sight before him was enough to straighten his cock completely. 

Roman was slick and soaking wet for him, and on her inner thighs were two matching hickeys in the shape of his mouth, like two perfects brands framing her sex.

He snickered, and Roman strained toward him with a moan. “Come on, Samson, don’t be such a fucking tease,” she whined. 

He lifted an eyebrow. “That almost sounded like begging.”

“It wasn’t,” she snapped. “I’m telling you what to do, you asshole. Put your mouth on me!”

He tsked. “All right, all right. Calm down, Bird.” He dragged his tongue roughly along the length of her folds to make her flinch, then gently traced his tongue around her clit. 

She shivered and widened her legs even more and arched her spine, and Samson focused on the dual pleasures of his throbbing cock and her swollen little clit against his mouth. He brushed the little bud with his lips and teased it with his tongue, and when Roman suddenly shuddered and cried out, he slid one finger inside of her.

She jolted and clenched her fingers in his hair. “Samson, fuck me!”

He lifted his mouth and pulled her hand away from his hair, then curled his finger inside of her. “Not until you beg me nicely, Bird,” he taunted.

She moaned and bucked her hips, then reached down and dragged her nails along his unwounded right arm, and he gasped as the pain rippled across his skin. Incensed by her scratch, he pulled his finger free from her body and stood up. 

He crawled onto the bed to join her, and she gasped excitedly as she shuffled back on the bed to accommodate him. “Come on, come on,” she panted, and she reached for his cock.

He knocked her hand away, then grabbed her hips and pulled her close before roughly looping her legs over his arms. A second later, he was looming over her, her body trapped and helpless beneath him with her knees hooked over his elbows. 

He rubbed his cock between her legs, and she jolted and dug her nails into his chest. “Samson, fuck me!” she cried.

“No,” he snapped. He slid his cock through the slickness of her folds and forced himself not to moan at how good she felt, then gave her a stern look. 

“Say ‘please’,” he said. 

She laughed in his face. “Never,” she snarled.

He sneered at her, then slid his cock more slowly through her wetness  — bloody Maker’s balls, she was so fucking wet that she made him want to beg. He pumped his hips slowly through her silky wetness, then pressed the very tip of his cock inside of her.

He groaned at the blissful heat of her pussy embraced the tip of cock. Roman gasped and tried to buck her hips, but she could barely move with her legs hooked over his arms. “Yes,” she yelped. “Yes yes, come on, come on...”

He clenched his jaw and forced himself not to move. “Not until you beg,” he gritted.

She mewled and wiggled her hips and clawed his chest, and he gasped as the pain pulsed through his cock as a flare of pleasure. “Come on, Bird, sing me a pretty song,” he coaxed. 

“No!” she yelled. 

With a huge effort of will, he pulled his cock out of her, and she sobbed. “Fine, fine, please!” she wailed. “Fuck me, please!”

Finally, he thought, and he slammed into her. 

A visceral cry burst from her lips, and Samson shuddered at the sound of her pleasure and the silken heat of her pussy. He pumped into her and gasped – Maker’s balls, she was so tight, tighter and wetter than he remembered, and he had been thinking about this a lot but it was still even better than he remembered… 

He pumped into her again and again, and then he was fucking her in a desperate blur, so aroused and so pleasured by her inimitable heat that he couldn’t control his pace. Her breathing was a sharp staccato gasp in his ear and her nails were digging into his biceps now instead of his chest, and fuck, fuck, it felt so fucking good.  

She scratched his arms. “You got me to beg, you asshole,” she gasped. “Are you happy now?”

Her voice was snarky but breathless with pleasure, and Samson couldn’t help but smile. “I am, yeah,” he said smugly. He lowered himself to his elbows, curling her pelvis even more, then thrust into her again.

She cried out sharply and dug her nails into his arms, and Samson fucked her for a second longer before kissing her. He pumped into her and blissfully licked her tongue and savoured the plumpness of her lips–

She bit his lower lip. He gasped and tried to pull away, but her teeth kept his lower lip for a second before releasing him. 

He glared down at her, and she raised her eyebrows knowingly. “Now what?” she taunted.

He sneered at her, then slammed into her hard, and she let out a wild cry. Samson fucked her in a fast and punishing blur, and the harder he fucked her, the more her face twisted with pleasure and the faster his own pleasure was building and roiling in the depths of his gut–

His climax suddenly burst, and his breath left him in a guttural groan. “Bloody fucking balls,” he blurted. 

Roman sobbed and scratched his arm. “Don’t stop, don’t stop!” 

He shuddered with bliss and kept fucking her, pounding into her as his climax pulsed through his limbs and his cock, and a few thrusts later, she cried out as well and slammed her head back into the pillows. Samson kept fucking her for as long as he could, and when he was finally too spent to continue, he slumped over her and studied her face as he tried to catch his breath.

Her eyes were closed and her cheeks were flushed. Strands of her raven-black hair were stuck to the sweat on her neck, and despite the heavy rise and fall of her ribs, she looked more at peace than he’d ever seen her. 

His heart did that stupid squeezing-twisting thing again. He gazed silently at her, dazed with pleasure and fatigue and the surreality of seeing Roman Hawke looking so relaxed. 

She opened her eyes and met his gaze. Samson tensed, ready for her to snap at him and push him away. 

Instead of pushing him away, she stared at him in silence, and his pulse started to rise. Her gaze was steady and serious, and her face was calm but neutral, and he had no idea what she was thinking. 

He met her eyes unflinchingly despite his pounding heart. Then she pursed her lips and pushed his shoulder. “Get off,” she said.

A pang of disappointment tugged at his belly, but he rolled off of her. She slid off of the bed and start unclipping her bra, and Samson watched dully as the evidence of his climax trickled down the inside of her thigh. 

She dropped her bra on the floor. “I’m taking a bath,” she said, and she padded away. 

He watched her in bemusement as she went into the en-suite washroom. He listened to the sound of the bath being filled and tried to decide what he was supposed to do now. Should he leave? She hadn’t told him to stay, and he wasn’t in the mood to have her snapping at him to get the fuck out. 

If he wasn’t in the mood to be snapped at, he really should just leave; she was always picking at him, and it was so fucking wearying. 

He slowly rose from the bed and put on some of Carver’s old clothes. Then he went into the washroom. 

Roman was in the bath, and she looked up at him with a frown as he came in. “What do you want?” she said. 

“Relax, Bird. I’m just getting my shoes,” he grumbled. He put on his shoes, then stood back and gestured at the rest of his clothes. “I guess you can throw those out.”

“I’ll wash them and get them back to you,” she said. “They’re not a total lost cause.” 

She wasn’t looking at him. She picked up the soap and started lathering a washcloth, and Samson watched her awkwardly for a second. 

Then he remembered the crimson scarf in the pocket of his dirty trousers – the trousers that Roman said she would wash. 

His heart stopped. Maker’s balls, he thought. Could he get the scarf out of the pocket of his trousers without her seeing it and accusing him of being a pervert?

He gritted his teeth. There was nothing for it; either he got the scarf back now and risked her seeing it, or she’d find it later while washing his trousers. 

He bent over and started picking up his dirty clothes, and Roman glanced at him. “Leave them,” she said. “I said I’ll deal with them.”

“I’ll fold them,” he said, and he rifled surreptitiously in the pocket of his trousers.

“Why bother?” she asked. “They’re just going to go in the laundry anyway.”

He gave her a scathing look. “Stop nagging me for one second, will you? Just let me fold the bloody clothes.”

Her face creased into a scowl, and she looked away from him. “Fine. Fold your dirty fucking clothes. See if I care.” She started washing herself aggressively. 

He’d pissed her off. A pang of regret plucked at his chest, but it was too late to fix it now. 

His fingers finally found the scarf in his pocket. He relaxed, then swiftly tucked her crimson scarf into the pocket of his new trousers before folding his dirty clothes and setting them on the wooden stool. He stepped back and tucked his hands in his pockets, feeling increasingly at a loss. He knew he should leave, but if he was perfectly honest, he didn’t want to. 

But Roman hadn’t invited him to stay, and he’d already taken so much charity from her today, and the last thing he wanted was for Roman Hawke to pity him…

He awkwardly scratched his stubbled neck. “I’ll be off, then.”

“Whatever,” she said without looking up. She pulled her wet hair over one shoulder and started washing her back. 

He watched her for a second longer. Then, before he could change his mind, he stepped over to the bathtub.

He placed his hand on her bare shoulder and turned her toward him, and she glared at him. “Hey, what–”

He bent over the bathtub and kissed her firmly on the lips, then pulled away before she could bite him. “Thanks for the fuck,” he said bluntly. “I’d do it again.”

Her cheeks turned pink, and she scowled. “Fuck you,” she muttered. 

“Anytime, Bird,” he said seriously. “I mean it.”

She harrumphed and splashed some water at him. “Go away.”

The water hit him in the eye, and he flinched. He straightened and wiped his face, then scowled at her. “Thanks for that,” he said flatly.

She shrugged and went back to washing her back. Samson studied the bony line of her spine for a second longer, then left the bathroom without another word.

She’s such a bloody bitch, he thought resentfully as he made his way down the stairs. Splashing him in the face and clawing his arms while he was fucking her and looking at him like he was some kind of animal before sucking his cock… She was a pain in the ass, and he didn’t know why he bothered with her. 

Monty was curled by the fire in the main room. As Samson made his way toward the door, the mabari stood up and followed him. 

Samson paused by the door and looked down at the mabari. “Guard the door, eh?” he murmured. “I can’t lock it after I leave.” 

Monty sat down attentively and let out a little woof. Samson reached for the doorknob, but just before he opened the door to let himself out, a memory crossed his mind: Roman’s peaceful face right after he finished fucking her.

Bloody Bird, he thought wistfully. He looked at Monty once more. “See you soon, maybe,” he said. Then he opened the door to the Amell mansion and left. 

[writemarvelousthings]

Notice | Part 2 |

PAIRING- Steve Rogers x reader

WORD COUNT- 2.7K

WARNINGS- ANGST, SMUT, FLUFF AND A HAPPY ENDING!!

A/N: Your girl has pulled through with the flu from hell, this actually went through two different versions but I was never happy with it but finally, finally I sat down and just wrote! The response to part one which you can read here! Has been phenomenal and I can’t thank you all enough it means the world to me, so here you are! Part 2 I hope you all enjoy it! 

Gif not mine! 

I don't think you know what I been doing

It had been the hardest two weeks of Steve life, but he needed time. He needed to think and plan this right. He wanted... No. He needed everything to be perfect, but maybe he had taken it too far. He watched as your figure retreated into the darkness of the apartment. Running his hands down his face he looked to his phone, sending a message to Tony.

I don’t think I can do this much longer.

Just hang in there Cap, a few more days I promise. Rome wasn’t built in a day.

Steve sighed tiredly but returned his attention to the laptop screen again, fueled by annoyance and determination. He had distanced himself because he couldn’t trust his own mouth to stay shut around you. And this plan needed watertight secrecy. What felt like an eternity later Steve shut the laptop closed and willed his feet to drag him to the warmth and comfort of his bed. Not noticing you weren’t laying beside him.

Empty, he notices how empty it was. Blinking his eyes awake turning to your side of the bed, expecting you to be sleeping peacefully next to him, rubbing his eyes he falls on his back.

She has weapons training in the mornings. He reminded himself, but still, he wished things had happened differently last night. Going through the motions of his own routine, walking to your shared kitchen he frowned. Noticing the sink was empty with no sign of your used empty coffee mug, the same mug he had bought you from their first trip to Disneyland. Steve merely shrugs, you were probably running late this morning. Grabbing his running jacket he made his way swiftly out of the door not having any second thoughts.

~~~~

“You know just once you could let me win” Steve grinned at Sam, the other man slightly wheezing as they walked into the communal kitchen.

“Now where would the fun be in that”

“It would make you a decent fuckin person” Steve rolled his eyes, switching the coffee pot on as Sam reached for the juice. Seeing his movements a mile away Steve swiped it from his hands.

“Use a glass or I’ll pour this all over you” Steve was sure Sam murmured something along the lines of ‘killjoy’ but something made him stop and look around. You’re weapons training schedule always ended when Steve finished his run, scanning the room he was slightly perturbed to find it empty with no trace of you. He could feel Sam’s eyes on him like a hawk.

“Looking for something Cap?” Steve turns, a tight-lipped smile on his face as he brushes his friend off.

“Nothing, it’s nothing. Just like we're gonna have to eat unless you start cooking something”

“Smart ass”

~~~~

Everything almost set up, told you it wouldn't be too long ;)

Steve sighed at the message from Tony, every fibre in his being was screaming at him that it was a bad idea. But, and he couldn't believe the words even floating around in his brain. He needed Tony for this, he was the only one that understood. Tapping at the screen he smiled at the image, the two of you had rented out a cabin over the Christmas holidays. You both had earned a much-needed break and one day you had gone out for a walk in the snow, Steve couldn’t resist taking a snap of you. Bundled up in a soft hat and scarf, you were half laughing half protesting at the photo being taken as snowflakes caught in your exposed hair and eyelashes. It was in that moment Steve had made his decision and also realised he hadn’t seen you for most of the day, his stomach lurched uncomfortably his heart racing before his head put him to rest.

She’s probably out with Nat or Pepper, there's no need to panic.

Stealing himself Steve reached out for the small pile of recent mission reports to read and sign, but there was a part of him. Deep down that twisted sharply.

That feeling only grew and grew as the day went on, dinner came and went and he didn't see you. There were no messages or voice calls telling him of your whereabouts, resting his palms on the kitchen counter he felt a sharp cold shiver travel down his spine. Looking at the clock it was almost a whole twenty-four hours since he had seen you and his rational thinking was thrown swiftly out of the window as he raced out of the apartment.  The tendrils of terror engulfed his soul, he noticed how put out you were last night, he almost broke at the sight of you in that black lace. He definitely gave himself blue balls for not vaulting over the desk to bend you back over it. But Tony had said to wait until everything was ready, he just wasn’t expecting it to take this long.  

“Bucky” Steve wastes no time in pounding on the door of his best friends apartment, terror has turned into full-fledged sickening fear at the thought of losing you after all of this. It doesn’t take long before Steve is faced with the even more terrifying thought of having to deal with the Winter Soldier. Steve breathes your name, his voice tight with panic.

“She’s missing, last night… she wasn’t in the apartment when I woke up and I haven’t seen..”

“Well, I’m glad you noticed that punk” Steve reels at the venom in Bucky’s words.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means asshole, that your girl has spent the last few days getting her cheese-dick of a boyfriend to notice her and you’ve done fuck all to make her feel wanted” Two voices cut through at the same time in the empty corridor.

“Cheese dick?/ Bucky stop” Natasha emerges from Bucky apartment, red hair flowing. Eyes blazing with fury as she steps in front of the two men

“I’m trying to fucking relax and I can’t do that when you’re both throwing testosterone around like teenagers cut it out” Natasha push both of them back before turning to Bucky.

“Go back inside before you really say something you regret James” Bucky looks from Natasha to Steve before taking a deep breath.

“You better fix this punk or you’re gonna lose her” Steve watched as his best friend disappeared into his apartment.

“I’m not gonna lie and say I don’t agree with what Bucky said, you’ve been a real dick Steve”

“I know Nat I know, just, please. Please tell me where I can find her”  

I'ma take off if you make me wait

Steve has never felt this afraid before, not even crashing an aeroplane into the frozen ocean. With a shaky hand, he knocks on the small apartment door on the outskirts of Brooklyn. His palms were sweating as he readjusted his leather jacket. It suddenly felt heavy and hot on his body. His heart leaps into his mouth as the door opens revealing you, your eyes were red and slightly swollen. An oversized shirt dwarfs your form and he realises its one of his Henley’s.

“Why did you leave last night?” Steve doesn't waste time, he gets straight too it. His hands are shaking with fear and anger.

“Hello to you too” He swallows thickly as you turn back into the apartment he waist’s no time in following you, closing the door swiftly behind him

“Why do you think Steve?” his eyebrows pinch together, placing his hands on his hips he keeps his gaze on you.

“Okay, fine yes. Maybe we’ve been drifting a little..”

“A little... Steve, we haven’t had sex in well over two weeks” Your voice raises slightly, Steve winces as the harshness of it.

“I know, I’ve just had other things on my mind” His excuse sounds pathetic, even he knows it. You shake your head, running your hand over your forehead.

“Maybe being together isn't the best idea Steve” Steve whips his head up towards you so fast he’s sure he felt his brain bounce around in his skull. Suddenly the room pitches forward as he grasps the armchair to steady himself.

“What..”

“You said it yourself Steve, we’ve been drifting. You don’t notice me anymore. Fuck sake Steve it took you a whole entire day to notice I was gone... Am I not good enough for you anymore?” the broken notes in your voice leave a painful hollow hole in his chest and he suddenly can’t breathe or think of anything else other than not losing you.

“Fuck, I’ve fucked this all up. I’m never listening to Tony ever again” Steve runs his hands through his hair, trying to desperately think about how to fix this.

“How does Tony have anything to do with this?” Steve can hear the tears in your voice and suddenly the world shifts into focus as he strides over to you, cupping your face in his hands.

“Please, please darling you have to believe me, not knowing where you were… it killed me. I’ve never been so scared in my life... I don’t know what I’d..” and then he sees it. The large suitcase in the corner of the room and his whole world stops. You’re eyes gaze at the suitcase too, a fresh wave of tears flows down your cheeks.

“Why should I stay Steve?” his tongue felt like it was two sizes too big for his mouth, he couldn't do anything but drop to his knees in front of you. Like a penitent man kneeling before God, his throat closed up, hands shaking.

“Please, please don’t leave me. I know I’ve been a complete and utter failure these past few weeks. There's nothing I can do or say that will make you forgive me, but please sweetheart tell me what can I do, I can’t lose you” Steve dare’s not look up, too afraid to see the disappointment and loathing in your eyes, the soft touch of your fingers in his hair makes him choke on a breath he didn't realise he was holding in. Raising his eyes to your he feels like the Hulk has kicked him in the gut. Love, pure love seeps from your pores, flowing into his soul as he kneels before you, bowing and offering himself to you.

There's sex in the air...

“Kiss me Steve” he doesn't need telling twice, surging upward he locks his lips over yours. His chest explodes, like fireworks on the fourth of July. The soft needy noises spilling from your lips into his mouth is all the encouragement he needs, blindly he lets you lead him to the bedroom. He can’t help pressing you up against the wall as he grinds his hips into your thigh, high pitch whines escape from your lips as you both finally burst into the bedroom making a beeline to the bed. Hands make quick work of clothing as they fly across the room. Lips kiss and bite skin, claiming familiar territory re-equating yourselves to each other. Steve groans as your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling his face from your neck to lock your eyes with his.

“Don’t ever do that to me again” Steve shakes his head, nuzzling into your palm as he kisses the centre of it pressing against you on the mattress.  

“Never”

He lunches for you, rolling his hips against yours. Relishing in the noises pouring from your mouth. He feels you fumble at his belt, pulling with a swift flourish removing the last few layers of clothing causing the barrier against the two of you to finally fall down.

“Steve please” looking down at you it was like Steve was a man reborn, not needed a second remind from you. With one long thrust, he was inside you. And it was glorious, you both moved in perfect harmony. Matching speed and tempo, lips kiss salty skin, fingers grasped at sheets and hair. Steve pressed his face into your neck, breathing your sent in deeply. Completely intoxicated with every inch of you. He could have kicked himself for putting you through hell.

“God doll, I’ve missed you so much. I’ve missed everything about you..” You fingers press against his lips as you wrap your legs around his waist.

“I’ve missed you too, now fuck me, Captain. I think you’ve made me wait long enough”

“Yes, Ma’am” your gasps and moans as he pistoned his hips faster, his cock sliding in and out of you effortlessly like you were both made for each other made Steve head spin. Leaning his weight on his forearms beside your head he rolled his hips leaning down to kiss you breathlessly. Your name spilling from his lips like a prayer as he felt your walls clamp down around him.

“Steve... I’m... I’m”

“Cum for me doll, I’m right.. behind.. you” he punctuates each word with a hard thrust of his hips causes you to meet your climax with a long high moan. The sight of you falling into ecstasy causes Steve hips to stutter, and moments later he cums hard biting down on your shoulder as he continues to fuck the both of you though your orgasms.

“Holy fuck” your breathless voice makes Steve laugh, nuzzling your neck he slips out of you causing the both of you to moan. Laying on his back he pulls you to him, the need to feel your skin on his is overwhelming and his heart sores as you snuggle into him. Sighing contently letting your fingers draw lazy patterns across his chest.

“You know I’d never leave you right” Steve looks down at you, your eyes full of remorse and regret. Taking your hand in his he presses soft kisses to each pad of your fingers.

“I know sweetheart”

“I love you, there’s no one else for me” with your other hand Steve smiles as you cup his jaw, leaning into your touch he closes his eyes briefly.

“I love you too” Satisfied with his answer you rest your head against his chest, basking in the comfortable silence. Steve was almost drifting off to sleep when suddenly you shot upwards making him grunt in surprise.

“Sweetheart?”  

Tell me you do, You notice

“You said I’m never listening to Tony, what did you mean?” There was a flash of anger in your eyes and Steve sits up facing you. He places a soft kiss on your forehead before moving off the bed.

“I asked Tony for a favour, my first mistake.. Where are my boxers?” Steve looks around the room, knowing that at this moment he definitely didn't want to be naked. He turns to have a dark mass thrown at his head which he catches easily. Smirking at your, he swiftly pulled them on before searching for his leather jacket.

“What kind of favour did you need that involved Tony, please tell me it doesn't have anything to do with the law” You pull the sheets up over your chest a sly smile on your lips as Steve spots his jacket in the corner of the room. Grasping a the soft material he feels for the pocket, fingers brushing up against the cause of all this mess.

“Steve?” Your soft voice pulls him back to the present as he turns around jacket still in hand as he walks to the bed.

“I asked Tony to help me with something because I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted it to be special and everything you deserve. But both Tony and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to keep my mouth shut around you”  a confused look comes over your face as you beckon him closer to the bed, he drops to your side of the bed as his hand trembles reaching into the pocket.

“But I’ve realised in trying to make the best thing happen for you I turned it into the worst and sweetheart I swear I’ll spend every waking moment for the rest of my life making that up to you. Because I can’t see my life without you anymore”

“Steve..” he knows you’ve seen the small velvet box by now, he holds it up. Placed in the palm of his hand as he props one leg up now kneeling on just one knee.

“I’m completely in love with you baby, you’re my world and I don’t think I can live another day without you. We can still do the big proposal I’m sure Tony is still planning but I can’t wait for another second to ask you... So will you darlin? Will you marry me?”

“Holy shit… Yes!”

Notice me, notice me

Tags! 

@bucky-plums-barnes @prettyyoungtragedy @lovesteverogersbaeworld @freckled-g0ddess @get-loki  @animegirlgeeky @imreallyweird @amor67figment-love @inmyworstlies @keepyourdreamsalive @ouncesofwhoopass @nadinissavage @catsandbooksinafarawayplace @officialmarvelwhore @rororo06 @notexactlythatgirl @omg-lexiloveyou @abovethesmokestacks @ikittiekat @the-fandom-ness @uniselamoose @sillydecoy @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @menalliha @sarahp879 @k-n-e @ucantknowmeyet @brewsthespirit-blog @nerdy-bookworm-1998

[thenixkat]

Animorphs notes 1

Book 1

Narrated by Jake, my least fav main from back in the day

Books are for people to learn the truth. Implies that Jake considered publishing this shit was a viable option

All this shit started on a Friday night

Marco’s good at analysing shit

Tobias just fucking latched onto the first person to stand up for him

There are ways to describe that yer cousin is good looking and well dressed that dont sound like that

Also this fuckin white boy doesnt capitalize Black in relation to the descriptor of a person

Just described this girl as mystical…

Sexism, but like Cassie will use that shit to her advantage

Marco is the responsible friend

The Andalite space ship is ‘cute’

Tobias is fuckin ready for aliens

Andalite description number 1 puts them as more humanoid upper part and smol ungulate lower bit,3 slits where a mouth should be on a human face, horn-like eyestalks, glittery eyes, blue and tan fur, scorpion tail-thick ends in sharp horn or stinger

Elfangor is set on the whole dying thing, these nice kids are tyring to help save him

An invasion force of maybe hundreds or more. That’s fucking pitifully small.

If I weren’t freaked out by snails I’d say the yeerks sound like good pet material for the folks who like slimey boneless pets. Grey-green as big as a rat

Elfangor thinks an invasion force of maybe more than a hundred could take over the Earth in about a year.

Elfangor is real dead set on dying, meanwhile Rachel throwing out ideas to maybe save him

Damn Cassie just fucking telling Jake he aint scared to have him volunteer to go into the alien spaceship

Andalite ships are Apple products

Why didn’t Jake take the picture too? Let Elfangor look at it one last time before he dies.

Marco is skeptical of superpowers while talking to a fucking alien

Tobi, then Rachel, then Cas all agreed to join the fight first

Cas keeps singling out Jake and pushing him into decisions

Elfangor just letting these kids feel all his feelings

Rachel still trying to save this man who’s dead set of dying

Cas is the first to fuckin cave under Visser 3’s aura and nearly gets them all killed

Elfangor is racist as fuck to taxxons

Elf projects a courage aura for the kids. They should try and learn that power

That hork-controller by the wall can definitely hear these fucking kids.

Visser 3 wastes a perfectly good infestible body. Get a yeerk in that bitch and make him morph and bam, another andalite controller.

Yeah no, the hork-controller by that wall def noticed Jake’s little stunt

Everyone is like wtf Jake are you trying to get us killed?

Vore count is 1

Visser 3 makes vore/bad office jokes

Marco throws up and thats what gets the attention of the nearest hor-controller, not Jake fucking jumping up and grabbing a pipe. Or the kids talking to eachother

Panic and run, and split up. Rachel and Jake independently come to the plan of distracting the controllers away from the slower members of the herd

Hork-controllers bounding like devil kangeroos? These bitches fuckin hoppin after yall?

Yeerks fuckin wasting perfictly infestible bodies

Jake got a person killed

Death count of like what 2?

Tobi is fuckin jazzed at his new furry powers

Tobi got scratched by his cat and it didn’t heal when he morphed. Interesting

Jake is trying not to have a nervous breakdown over this shit

Tobias can hear Jake’s thoughts. Interesting

Tobias has decided that Jake is the leader

Jake forshadows that something is gonna happen to Tobi

Knees reversing direction.

Jake has access to his morph’s memories. Interesting

Jake morphed into a neutered dog. Interesting, so they don’t morph into an exact dna duplicate but an actual copy of the creature

Dog!Jake can smell the yeerk or smells associated with yeerk. Interesting

Kids learn that they cant trust the police.

Marco has no intrest in getting killed to save the world

Ya know I’m wondering why child services never got involved with Marco’s family case. Cause a kid should not be taking care of his parent

The girls have already figured out the whole having clothes and morphing thing

Marco is very perceptive and a better fighter than Jake from the looks of it

I highly doubt that dna is much involved in morphing other than a blueprint of what should be the final result

Tobias morphed a healthy hawk from an injured hawk while Jake morphed a neutered dog from a neutered dog, and that’s very inconsistent for dna being important to the morphing process.

Tobias is one of those weak binches that overly anthropomorphize animals

So the yeerks are photosynthetic?

Tobi wants to blow up the yeerk pool and everyone in it

Tom, ‘Hey kids, wanna join a cult?’

Tom maneges to get something out to Jake

The girls are very good at people reading

Like some cult, it is a cult

Tobias would really rather be an animal with his furry ass

Jake’s gonna turn into Homer. At a party where his brother’s body is. Brilliant

Weak dog eyes that can’t see too well in darkness? Bullshit, dogs have much better night vision than humans.

Dogs dont know despair, bullshit.

There’s a lot of spelling and grammer errors in this pdf

Why is lizard Cas’s best guess for spying on someone who spends a lot of time inside buildings? Lizards are more noticeable than bugs.

Anoles are in the iguana suborder, not family

Jake is too big to fit in a locker well

Jake is a weak ass bitch who doesnt think lizards are cool

Jake doesnt practice shit before entering a life and death situation of his own volition

That … would also be smell. smell/taste, that’s what?

A spider with compound eyes…. What the fuck. That’s not a spider

Vore count at 2

Funky purple lighting in the yeerk pool

Cassie that’s some half assed animism yer going on about. Did you just make this some kinda holy mission?

Team gets a name

Tobi is a fucking idiot. The fuck are you gonna do with a medium sized predatory bird?

So why are they sneaking around durring business hours? Why not wait some hours?

Rachel likes dolphins

Marco is not good at driving

Marco is good at figuring out things.

Jake should pay more attention to his surroundings

Marco is a dark boy

So people saw Jake and Marco in the tiger exhibit

Jake is a weak ass bitch who doesnt like broccoli

Cassie’s missing

Huh, its a good thing that the kids decided to go in for a mission with no real plan and bad starting conditions. Elsewise Cassie woulda been made a controller and their asses woulda been forfeit.

Yeerks fucking zooming around in the pool

Tobias said that there were voluntary hork-bajir hosts and I know that’s bullshit.

The yeerk pool has very purple lighting

These kids better pray that the dude who was them is ded

This tiger feeling description is hilarious. Big cats are cowards who’d rather run that take on challenges.

Tobi manages to miss all of a hork-controller’s head blades in that swoop

Cas, like Tobias was a fucking idiot who chose not to get a battle morph. Also this chick owns horses, horses and stairs are not a great combination

Visser 3’s andalite eyes have vertical slits/eyes oriented in a way that the eyelids close verticly

Visser 3 morphed into a fire breathing 8 headed dragon

Tom decided to go out fist fighting taxxons

And Rachel should be having a terrible time with those stairs, oh she demorphed. Where people could see.

Tom fucking tries to fight Visser 3 the fire breathing dragon with his fists

So the animorphs managed to save one woman, that they know of

Cassie killed that police officer

Tobias got himself trapped in morph

[queerloquial]

FOR jasper hawke and tsurin (because squid is tellin me abt tsurin and i love her sm?!?!): 2, 6, 7, and 12! and for malcolm + maurevar: 15, 19, 24!

im lov u ;w;

String Bean and Princess

2. What was the first moment that they knew they were in love with their LI?

as far as tsurin goes, youd have to ask squid, but i would hazard a guess that it was some completely cheesy moment, because thats just who these nerds are: fuckin dorks

as for jasper, it was... probably some moment that would otherwise have been forgettable. the sr au is still on my mind, so. likely, out on a late-night drive around stilwater, probably decently buzzed at minimum. shes blatantly eating the takeout theyre bringing back to their current safehouse, hes trying to tell her off for it, she just tells him where he can shove his chopsticks. finds herself hilarious and just giggles, and glancing over as he drives under the streetlights he thinks to himself he wants this moment to last forever

6. Who is the big spoon?

jasper, but mostly bc hes literally twice her size. she can pretty comfortably lay completely on top of him without any issues

7. Favorite date activity?

well in saints row their dates are usually like. gas station robberies, n shit :P but just as often theyll get takeout or pizza or sth at like 2 am and find somewhere to have a picnic and share a cigarette while stargazing. sometimes the fore escape of her familys apartments, sometimes the park, anywhere the world can be reduced down to them and the moment

12. Do they have similar goals? If they clash, how do they deal?

for sr, theres. a bit of clash, yeah. especially later on in their time as saints, because the stress of it all is messing with his mental illnesses with high potential to seriously hurt him at best, but he cant bring himself to leave because the saints are historically connected to his family and he doesnt know what to do or think of himself if he doesnt have that to define himself by. and, he thinks that staying is the only way he can properly carry on malcolms memory (he’d led the saints for a while, and is in present-day their most famous member bc of how much their influence spread under his rule)

they deal with it with a lot of arguing, tbh. theyre both scared- he doesnt want to feel like hes lost himself or the family legacy, she hates watching him spiral further into self-destruction- and neither of them are terribly good at communicating at this point in their lives

in dragon age and fallout, neither of them really have very big goals. live comfortably, i guess, and although in fallout jasper Does want to try to find shaun hes accustomed to loss and doesnt make that his biggest focus because he doesnt want to be let down so hard if he fails

The Sad Dads

15. Does their view of themselves differ from their partner’s view?

they are both incredibly self-deprecating and see little value in themselves, while at the same time consider their partner a good person who tries his best and deserves every good thing that can be done for him

so, a Bit, yeah

19. Describe how they communicate

maurevar is a man of few words, and very tactile. a lot of his communication is through facial expressions, body language, and casual touching, so he says a lot with very little

malcolm on the other hand says very little with a lot, usually. hes the one to take over a conversation with words on top of words, finding some joke to make in nearly everything, especially when it twists the topic of conversation away from himself. he only rarely drops the cleverness act to be serious and genuine. every word in those instances is carefully picked, and a show of trust

24. Is there any moment that happens between them that you know happens and just makes you melt?

i picture a brief moment the night malcolm escapes from the circle. the last time they’ll see each other, and an exchange of gifts- both necklaces theyve had for most of their lives. maurevar gives a pendant he received as a child under chantry care, a small templar sword of mercy on a thin chain; malcolm gives a long dog tooth on a braided cord, a ward against the dread wolf and one of the only mementos of his clan he managed to keep safe during his time in the circle

[vvakarians]

Tagged by @goblin-deity to have my inquisitors companions describe them!! This is at the peak of all approval maxed out or lost.

Cassandra:

The Inquisitor? Well, at first I believed they were a monster; perhaps one easily struck down, but a monster all the same. Purely for the crimes I thought they had committed. Of course when that was disproven I was at a loss. I found myself needing to get closer to them to further understand who they were. In reality the Inquisitor is empathetic —often to a fault— which I cannot blame them for, even if it’s often frustrating when attempting to show them the logic of the situation. But even through their mistakes I have watched them grow and learn. The Lord Inquisitor is a gentle soul wrapped up in anger and doubt, yet it does not consume them. They are more than most think they are, even themself. I hope one day they learn to forgive, they deserve a happier life than the one the Maker seemingly planned for them. Perhaps they will show me they can break tradition one more time.

Cole

Calliope is big. They walk into a room and even if no one listens they are loud, frightening; they are heard. But they are also kind and sweeter than the honey from the kitchen, the one with lavender mixed in. Calliope is warmth when the snow has made your laugh brittle and your feet hurt. Hope and compassion follow them everywhere they go, even as darkness closes in behind them. There is sadness too; deep and dark within them, they are afraid of it. The wolf lingers in their shadow and is waiting, but I think he waited too long. Calliope is stronger than even the Iron Bull. Twice as much. And their fangs are larger.

Sera

Bit daft, but I like daft. They took a while to warm up to, what with all the pomp and shit. Not that it was their fault, it follows Callie like the Blight. Nasty shit they got messed up in. Good friend though. They listen real well and wipe away your tears even if they’re the real snotty ones. I like their smile, it’s nice and bright, scares the knickers off the nobles too.

Callie is good at coming up with pranks too. We once turned all of Curly’s smalls bright pink just to hear him squawk the next morning. Was the last time I saw ‘em smile, y’know. Wanna see them smile more. Solas was shit to them and he took their light, friggin’ elfy. They’re too pretty for him anyway, they deserve someone who will treat them like the greatest person in Thedas. Andraste knows they have bad taste though, we’ll see how it works out.

Iron Bull

A terror, but they’re my terror. Calliope’s got a good head on their shoulders, maybe a little too compassionate for a perfect leader, but they get the job done. Knows how to swing a sword and hit the right places to kill anything that breathes, which is great. Strong as a fuckin’ dragon that one and twice as fierce. I don’t always agree with them but that’s all in good fun, most of the time it’s on whether peppermint goes with hot chocolate or if Sera should pour elfroot tea in Solas’ wine from the windowsill or above him. We get along just fine. And we trust each other. That’s what friends do after all, we keep each other sane and happy. I learned that from them, we could all use that lesson. Wouldn’t want anyone else beside me in battle, or when the demons get a little too loud.

Dorian

A little more magial training would suit them, however I’m not complaining. Calliope is...a true warrior and friend, you don’t often come across both in one person. I don’t know how many times I’ve prattled on for hours about one piece of magical theory and they hadn’t even fallen asleep once! Not to mention they offered to punch my fathers lights out for me. Didn’t take them up on it but it was a kind gesture.

They’re the one person I would trust above all others here. Callie is fiercely protective and loyal, you’d never find a better confidant. Some have misused that privelege and they will suffer dearly for it. Not only do they have a massive army of close friends—Calliope is brutal when you’ve hurt them and it cannot be repaired. They wouldn’t get you killed mind you, but they will get angry and leave you to be a meal for a dragon. The Inquisitor is someone you want on your good side, never your bad. Of course, you don’t need to do much other than be a compassionate person for them to be your friend for life.

Vivienne

I will not speak ill of the Lord Inquisitor, it is indecent. We may not agree wholeheartedly on much but I think they are a fair, just leader for the Inquisition. Whether they were sent here by the Maker or simply bumbled into our arms no longer matters. They decide the fate of Thedas and I will follow so as long as they don’t turn into an Archdemon or a magister. The Inquisitor holds our hope, and I continue to believe in them. I feel that perhaps they’ve grown on me in such a way that I need to get a better tailor for them, and crush a few eggs into a certain mans smallclothes drawer.

Varric

Chompers is a good kid, no ifs ands or buts about it. They’re trying their best and people need to give them some slack about it. Callie has all the makings of a tragic hero and I’m done writing tragedies. I think they’re gonna do amazing just like they always have been. They’re loud enough, witty enough, and quick enough to outalk Grand Duke Gaspard let alone Empress Celene. Hell, they could talk Corypheus to death with all their facts on dragons. We get along just fine. Maybe they’re shit at Wicked Grace and have bad taste in apostates so far but they’re still...family, and a good friend. Honestly, they remind me of Hawke. I want them to have a good life. They’ve had enough shit done to them at this point. People want them to lead but I’ve seen the stress it causes. I just hope they can search around for some breathing room.

Solas

They are intriguing at best and frustrating at most. Endearing perhaps as well. The Inquisitor has fantastic ideas about the Fade and the spirits within it, however they lack the training to properly understand. In time I hope that they learn all that they desire, they deserve that much. As much as they are a good listener they can be infuriating at times, but such is the fate of many Dalish elves I’ve come across. Other than that there is not much to say about the Inquisitor. I’m sure you’ve all heard of our little spat a few weeks ago. That’s all you need to know. They are a strong and stubborn person, they will lead the Inquisition to greatness I’m sure.

Blackwall

Callie is...well, Calliope. They gave me my life back when I didn’t think I deserved it, for that I thank them. The Inquisitor says they’re no herald, no prophet for Andraste but I believe they were put here for a reason. Whether that was by the Maker or simply just because, it doesn’t matter. I will serve them well, as both a friend and a warrior in their ranks. Even when they learned of who I was they still gave me their trust, their unwavering loyalty. Which both overjoys and frightens me. The Inquisitor needs a strong hand alongside them, and I hope that I can provide that for them. Callie isn’t breakable but they can shatter, and they shouldn’t have to.