#his muscles are a sleeper agent

[wyrmwright]

disco elysium quick comic posting

[drabblesandimagines]

Scoot On Over

Leon Kennedy x female reader, established relationship, fluff with a tiny bit of suggestive spice at the end

Leon threw himself down onto the mattress with a relieved sigh – a cliché, but there was nothing like sleeping in your own bed after being away. It had been a mixture of questionable motel beds, a couple of nights in the backseat of the car, another night of no sleep at all and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t on the brink of exhaustion, running on adrenaline until he made it back home to you that evening.

He rubs his cheek against your pillow, inhaling the scent of your perfume and allows himself to close his eyes. Now, he just needs you in his arms for a perfect’s night sleep…

--

“Leon?”

Nothing – again. You’d worry he had stopped breathing entirely if he wasn’t letting out soft snores from where his face was pressed against your pillow. He’d been away on a mission for two long weeks and had arrived home early evening, duffel bag in hand, covered in fading bruises, kisses and wandering hands tinged with weariness despite his obvious excitement to be back home with you.

You made small talk as you’d made a light dinner – get him fed and then you could both have an early night. He didn’t like to talk much about his missions had entailed – he wanted to keep the two things as separate in his brain as he could – but he knew if he needed to talk about something, you’d be there and that was enough.

You’d sent him up to bed first whilst you finished up in the kitchen – you liked to start off each morning with a clean slate in there and it would only take you ten minutes tops to sort, you’d assured him, a cheeky pat to his backside as you encouraged him up the stairs.

He’d changed into a pair of plaid PJ bottoms and a plain white tee, so he must’ve brushed his teeth and then just… collapsed? You place a hand on the broad expanse of his back, giving him a light shake. “Sweetheart?”

The problem is, Leon is broad and tall and currently, somehow, taking up the whole of your double bed. You can’t even see a reasonable space you could try and curl up into against his side and be remotely comfortable, the way his limbs are spread out like a starfish.

“Leon,” you place another hand on his back and give a more vigorous shake. “I just need you to scooch on up a bit, sweetheart.”

Nothing.

You change tact and try and lift an arm, maybe you can get him to roll with a little encouragement, or he’ll wake up? Surely as an agent he’s a light sleeper anyway, what if you were an enemy or any sort of threat?

His arm is deadweight, all muscle - even if you try and lift it with both hands, embarrassingly, you can’t get it even an inch or so off the mattress.

You try and push it inwards so it’ll sit tight against his body, but it just won’t move.

“Leon?” You grab hold of his shoulder and shake it with all of your strength.

“Yeah, baby?” He mumbles.

A sign of life – hallelujah. “Can you move along a bit for me?”

“Sure.”

He doesn’t move.

“Just need you to scooch up a bit for me, handsome.” “Mm-hm…” And he snuggles his face further into your pillow, an adorable smile on his face as he does.

With a sigh, you try and wedge yourself into the space in defeat – maybe he’ll subconsciously feel you and lift his arm up for a cuddle, and then you’d be able to fit a little more comfortably? He did prefer to sleep with an arm wrapped around you, keeping you pressed close up against him, legs tangled together.

After trying out various positions in the hopes of coaxing him into a spoon, a few more vigorous shakes and, finally, a more than playful smack to his backside that achieved no more than a mumble – not proud of that one, but needs must - you admit defeat, kneel down beside the bed and stare at his slumbering face in thought.

He must be utterly exhausted and, despite the frustration of not being able to cuddle up against him after so many nights apart, it is flattering, you suppose, that he must feel safe within your company to allow himself to relax so completely and be out like a literal light.

You lean down to pick up his neglected pillow and press a kiss to his forehead, and grab the throw from the end of the bed – looks like it’s a night on the couch.

--

Leon wakes up slowly as light filters in through the curtains. His body had been aching from his time away, but it seems a night in his bed has set him right. He stretches his arms out, expecting for a hand to brush up against your warmth but is dismayed when he finds the bed empty.

He turns and sits up, cautiously, rubbing the back of his head with a loud yawn and takes in his surroundings, wondering if you’ve just nipped to the en-suite, but the door to it is ever so slightly ajar.

Your phone is plugged in on the bedside table, charging, which is odd – although not glued to the thing, it's strange for you not to have taken it with you if you’d gone downstairs to make breakfast…

There’s a sickening feeling in his stomach when he realizes he doesn’t remember you coming to bed at all, that he had been waiting for you to come join him and…

Hazy memories of you calling out to him?

Fuck.

He jumps up to his feet, dashes out the bedroom and takes the stairs down two at a time, trying to think. He’d left his gun in his duffel bag, hadn’t even taken it up with him, left it by the door when he arrived home last night. Had he been drugged? He had felt exhausted, but he’d put that down to the poor sleep over the last while. Could someone have followed him home last night, drugged him somehow, a tranquilizer, waited for him to be out for the count to swoop in and…?

His heart stops as he sees you lying on your side on the couch, the throw from the bed now twisted around your legs, arms wrapped around his pillow.

Safe and sound, and fast asleep.

He exhales, calming himself for a moment with a chuckle, before kneeling down besides you and tilting his head, awkwardly, so he can kiss you up the lips.

The sensation is enough for you to stir, blinking up at him with a dozy smile.

“Morning.”

“I don’t recall us having a fight last night, sweetheart.” He grins at his joke, but it’s one that falls flat.

“A fight?” You repeat, confused.

“You know, when couples fight, one of them ends up sleeping on the couch...”

“Oh, yeah,” you yawn, sitting up with the slightest wince. “You wouldn’t let me in the bed.”

“Huh?”

“When I came up to bed you were dead to the world, literally star-fished. I tried to get you to scoot up a little so I could get in but it was impossible, so I slept down here.”

“Seriously?”

“Mm-hm, you must’ve been exhausted.” You nod, shuffling around to place your feet flat on the ground. “Lemme make us some coffee… Ow!” You hiss as you stand, placing a hand on the small of your back.

Leon is quick to his feet, eyes wide in alarm. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m okay, it’s just my back,” you rub at the sore spot, the muscles feeling tender. It had been fine last night… “Maybe the couch isn’t the best for sleeping on.”

 You take another step forward, intent on heading to the kitchen, but there’s no hiding the wince from Leon’s gaze. “Oh, baby…”

“It’ll be fine, I just need to walk it off.”

“Uh-uh, come on,” and those muscular arms that were so impossible to move last night are suddenly scooping you up and holding you against his chest as he heads back towards the stairs. “Let’s get you to bed. It’s still early and a couple of hours on a proper, supportive mattress might work wonders.”

You wrap your arms around his neck in turn. “Oh, I know your game, Kennedy.”

“And what’s that?” He replies, nonchalantly as he begins to ascend the stairs, careful not to knock your legs against the banister.

“The other activity you like to conduct in bed, the one that’s not sleeping? I just…” You tense in his arms, looking a little hesitant. “I don’t know if my back’s gonna play ball...”

Leon reaches the top of the landing and smirks, “Trust me - stretches work wonders for back pain, sweetheart.”

He strides into the bedroom and kicks the door closed with his foot.

It doesn’t open again until late afternoon. -- AN: Inspired by my boyfriend actually star-fishing me outta the bed and me having to sleep on the couch x

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[okiedokrie]

Dress

Summary: Watching your best friend get hot was a struggle, him not fucking you was harder.

Characters/Pairing: Best Friend!Lee Chan (Dino) x Fem!Reader

Genre: smut, porn without plot there is some if you squint

AU/Trope Info: Best Friends to Fucking, College AU

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Jealousy, some threats of body harm to self and to others mentioned, smut warnings under the cut

A/N: tagging @bitchlessdino and @the-boy-meets-evil as the main enablers of chan porn, thank you to @wonuvs for beta-reading!

Smut Warnings: Unprotected sex, marking, overstimulation, lmk if I missed anything!

Silence. Patience, pining, and anticipation. You think you might be going insane with how hard you're holding back from exploding in his face. You watch your best friend, Chan, talk to a girl, who in your opinion is too into whatever he's saying.

Like, okay, he's funny. But he's not squeeze his arm and throw your head back funny.

You're convinced if you stare hard enough you'll be able to burn a hole through the skull of this- objectively pretty- girl. Yeah, you can't get too jealous because she's gorgeous and you would've probably hated Chan if he fumbled her.

Still, that doesn't quench the burning hot jealousy you feel. The fire burning in your stomach being the catalyst for the events that followed that party. The unmistakable, ugly, green head of pure jealousy.

Chan, with his stupidly sculpted face that you've watched mature over the years, his perfect long black hair, his muscles pressing against his shirt, leather jacket, sittable nose-

You just think it's unfair how hot Chan has gotten and he still hasn't thought of fucking you. This isn't fair at all.

Just as you were about to successfully finish off the poor girl in various different ways, Chan finally noticed you stewing in your own envy; hands almost shaking from how hard you were holding back from him.

Chan excuses himself from the girl, much to your relief, to finally join your side again.

“Hey babe, you holding good here?” He says, with that signature, annoyingly charming, dopey smile of his.

“Chan, not gonna lie, I'm gonna fucking kill myself if you don't fuck me right now.” 

If Chan was surprised at your sudden horny outburst, he didn't show it. Ever the giver he is, he gives you one last dopey grin before leaning in to catch your lips in a searing kiss.

The force of the kiss caused you to drop the cup you were nursing, the warm beer spilling and soaking into the carpet, but you didn’t care—that was going to be Soonyoung's problem.

Your hands snake up from his firm chest tothe back of his neck, using it as leverage to pull yourself up to his height while pressing him to you.

You both separate from the kiss after remembering that you are, in fact, in public.

“Fuck, get me upstairs now.” You almost said in a whine, desperately clinging onto Chan like your life depended on it—and franky, it actually does.

He just giggles while gently guiding you upstairs to his room, a hand on your lower back while he guides you up the stairs. Entering his room, he stops to call for you,

“Y/n.” 

Your name on his lips made the world stop for a second. It was something simple—he's said it a thousand times—yet, the way he says it now makes you not want him as a best friend. Your name felt like a sleeper agent phrase that awakened a different level of horny in you that you didn’t think was possible.

Instead of replying, you opted to keep kissing him: his lips, his cheeks, his jaw, his neck, everywhere your lips could reach.

He falls onto the bed with a soft rustling noise from the sheets, and climbing on top of him, you greedily grind your clothed cunt on his hardening cock under his jeans. 

“Oh fuck, don't do that, not in that dress. I'm gonna cum like in my pants like a loser.” He smiles at you, nose wrinkling in a light-hearted grimace. 

“Oh, Channie,” you started, “I only got this dress so you could take it off.” 

A pathetic moan leaves him, eyes rolling to the back of his head as his hips jump, his hard cock pressing onto you.

Your lips meet his again. He swallows your sighs of content when his bulge bumps against your throbbing clit, his hands running up your thighs, hot palms dragging up the length of them under the fabric of your dress.

Grabbing handfuls of your ass, Chan keeps the pace as you continue to grind on him, swallowing each other's noises of desperation. 

Chan holds you close to him as he flips you both over, rolling you on your back, his lips reluctantly detaching from yours to trail sloppy, wet kisses down the column of your throat, letting out quiet moans at the taste of it.

Sucking on a specific spot on your neck, Chan's fingers hook on the straps of your dress to shimmy it off of you,  causing a shiver to run down your spine. Now, almost naked in front of him, you paw at his clothes. He pants as he shrugs off his jacket and takes his shirt off, your bare chests pressing against each other's as your lips meet for another feverish kiss.

“Chan, get naked quicker, please- I– I need you inside me so badly.” You whimpered, not caring if you seemed too needy because soon after, Chan's jeans and boxers are on the floor, and his hard cock slaps on his abs, his tip red, angry, leaking for you. Just looking at it, you’re convinced that thing could easily reach up to your throat. 

Ripping your panties off, Chan gets on top of you. “Fuck, you're so wet, lemme hit, babe.” Laughing, you give him the go ahead. Then, his lips are on yours, kissing you as a very large cock tries to split you open.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, the satisfying burn of his cock occupying all of your thoughts, successfully dicknotizing you.

Chan wastes no time to set a brutal pace, his heavy balls slapping against your ass while his pelvis deliciously hits your clit. Clawing at his sheets, you let out loud, unashamed moans, not caring if someone at the relatively calm frat party downstairs heard you.

“Fuck, do you know how long I've dreamt of this? Finally getting to fuck this pussy like it's mine? Are you mine, babe?” Chan babbled, pussy drunk and distracted by your tits bouncing at the force of his thrusts.

You're no better than him, already so out of it that you can’t even process the filthy confessions leaving Chan's mouth. Licking your lips, you tilt your head up to suck marks into his skin, burgundy bruises soon blooming as his hips stutter. 

The desperate slapping sounds of your groins meeting shift to shallow ones as you both near your climaxes, Chan letting out precious little gasps and cut-off moans with every thrust.

Not doing any better than him, you whine, dragging your nails down his back, angry red lines appearing on his skin at their wake.

Then, your highs hit you at the same time, white hot pleasure seeping into your bones and boiling under your skin, ears ringing and vision blurring. With a gasp, Chan spills his load deep inside your gummy walls, making your cunt clench around him, sticking to him like a second skin.

Still in that post-orgasm bliss, Chan's hips don't stop moving. stretching your pussy with his cock over and over again, making you both dizzily cling to each other, bodies shivering, mouths drinking in the other's whimpers.

Chan was rutting his hips into yours like he'd perish if he stopped, both of you cringing from over stimulation, Chan sobbing about how good being inside of you felt. Even after just orgasming not 10 seconds ago, he's still hard and desperate to dump another load into you.

You're not sure if your night would end, even after the 4th time he made you cum.

[hardly-an-escape]

sola fide | Buck/Tommy | 1170 words | rated T

tags: Evan Buckley character study, sick fic, mentions of religion, dirty jokes, established relationship, lgbtq identity

“Hey, uh, Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you kind of a dumb question?”

“Of course.”

They’re posted up on Tommy’s couch, both with a weekend off at the same time for once. They’d planned to get out of the city, go for a long hike, maybe hit a winery somewhere. But Tommy’s been nursing a cold, so they’re taking it easy instead, and Buck likes that just as much as their adventures. So he’d made chicken noodle soup from scratch and brought over ginger ale and some of the violently red popsicles Tommy kept secretly stashed in the back of the freezer.

Buck’s quiet for another moment, gathering his thoughts.

“When did you know? That you were gay?” he says eventually.

Tommy looks up from the monster truck magazine he’s been leafing through.

“I don’t know that I can point to one particular moment,” he says, thoughtful. “On some level it was something I always knew about myself, even if I didn’t have the language to describe it yet. I guess… hitting puberty was kind of an awakening. Hearing other guys talk about girls we knew, or women in magazines, and realizing I just didn’t connect with what they were saying, like, at all. I guess there’s the fact that the first wet dream I had was about Brad Pitt in Thelma and Louise.” He snorts. “That was a pretty big clue.”

Buck smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He realizes he’s twisting his fingers together in his lap and untangles them, rubs self-consciously at the tops of his thighs.

Tommy tosses his magazine onto the coffee table and takes one of Buck’s hands in his own, rubbing gently at the muscle between his thumb and forefinger. “What makes you ask?” he says gently.

“I dunno. I just.” Buck sighs. “I guess I’ve been feeling weird about it lately. Not – not this,” he adds hastily, “not us, not even a little. This is seriously one of the best things that has ever happened to me – you are one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, Tommy, I mean that.”

Tommy gives him a sweet little smile, one of the ones that’s just for him, and squeezes his hand.

“I just mean… this feels like such a big thing t-to not know about myself. You know, how did I make it into my thirties before it ever occurred to me, oh, you like guys, you might fall in love with a guy.” His voice rises in pitch a little as he picks up speed. “It makes me feel stupid, and – and out of touch with my own self. Like, what else is really obvious about myself that I haven’t realized yet, you know? Am I actually left handed? Am I secretly an Olympic gymnast? Am I some kind of Russian sleeper agent?”

Tommy squeezes his hand again. “I don't think it's that absurd to come to an important realization about yourself in your thirties, sweetheart,” he says. “I think that's a pretty normal thing, actually.”

Buck deflates a little. “Yeah. I know. I just... I've told you about my brother. That whole situation. Not knowing why I was born, never knowing that he even existed. I think all of this –” he gestures between them “– in a way it kind of reminds me of that? Like, here you go, Buck, here’s another big hole in your life that you didn’t know was there until someone tried to fill it.”

He catches Tommy’s smirk out of the corner of his eye and untangles their hands so he can give him a shove. “I know what joke you’re about to make, dumbass. Don’t even go there.”

“Okay, I’ll ask about filling your hole later,” says Tommy, deadpan, and Buck shoves him again, and for a minute their serious conversation devolves into the kind of ridiculous, juvenile wrestling match that Buck secretly loves, that he knows Tommy knows he loves. That reminds him they’re both strong and okay and in tune with one another.

They settle, eventually, with Tommy lying back against the arm of the couch, and Buck cradled against him, grateful that Tommy’s couch is wide and deep enough for them to press together, side by side.

Buck sighs again. Can’t help it.

“I knew a guy in the army. Jake,” says Tommy out of nowhere. “Very nice guy, not one of the assholes who joined up because he thought the uniform would make his dick bigger, you know? When we were in Afghanistan, he made friends with one of our interpreters, guy named Irshad. Mostly we didn’t get close with the locals, but those two – they really hit it off. Stayed in touch after we got shipped home and everything.” He shifts Buck slightly and absently kisses his temple. “When I saw Jake again, maybe a year after we were discharged, he’d converted to Islam. He said his friendship with Irshad had opened his eyes to something. To this faith. He said he felt like that something had always been there – like on some level, he’d always had that faith – it had just taken a while for it to be revealed to him.”

“Huh,” Buck says. He thinks about this idea for a while, petting randomly over Tommy’s chest and belly with one hand while Tommy’s thumb rubs gentle, firm circles in the meat of his upper arm. He likes it, he decides. He’s not a religious person himself, but faith feels like something… important. Fundamental. Feels like a Big Thing, the way sexuality is. It does feel better, he thinks, just to know there are other people who’ve discovered one of those Big Things as a whole ass grownup. He’s not sure how to phrase it. But it does make it feel better.

“So what I hear you saying… is that realizing I like dudes and getting into your pants could be considered comparable to finding God,” is what comes out of his mouth.

He can feel Tommy try to maintain his composure and suppress the snort that wants to escape. He does his best, abdominal muscles contracting under Buck’s hand, but the laughter wins out and explodes in a kind of barking cough that sounds, frankly, a little alarming. Buck sits them up and thumps Tommy on the back a few times, handing him the mug of honeyed tea that’s been cooling on the coffee table.

“Evan,” Tommy wheezes eventually, “I’m going to need you to never say anything like that again.”

“Sure, babe,” Buck says. “But just to be clear, does that mean you don’t want me to get on my knees for you?”

And Tommy is laughing again, and Buck feels so much better. Feels warm inside, because somehow, Tommy always knows how to make him feel better. How to take the disparate anxious puzzle pieces of him and turn the picture right side up so he knows how to solve himself.

(“Oh, my God,” Tommy gasps between coughs.

“That’s my line,” Buck says.)

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[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for calling my husband baby doll in public?

Nsfw tw

I (29M) am married to my husband (30M). He's a sweetheart, and I love him so so so much. He's absolutely perfect.

I'm the kind of guy who uses a ton of pet names, especially with him. I'll call him darling, sweetheart, babe, pretty boy, stuff like that. I'll also call him baby doll, but for different reasons.

Basically, I only call him that in bed, and I've noticed that whenever I say it outside of that context, it gets a reaction out of him. I've accidentally installed a sleeper agent activation phrase in my husband, and it is inherently funny. But recently I've started saying it when we're out in public, usually right before we go home. It's become a bit of a code word for "I want to have sex with you when we get back." Nobody knows this but us, and to someone that isn't married to him, the fact that it turns him on wouldn't be noticeable. He'll chew his lip a little and maybe blush, stiffen up, but that's about it.

Recently we were at a party with a mutual friend G (34M) and I was sitting on the couch talking to him when my husband came in the room with his coat, clearly ready to go and hide under a blanket back home the way his introvert ass loves. I looked him up and down and said "you ready to go, baby doll? Maybe give me a few more minutes, you can head on to the car if you want." And tossed him the keys. He thanked me and said goodbye to G and left.

G shook his head after my husband left and said "ew... you call him that in public?" And for a second I was terrified he noticed our mild kink play, but when I asked "what do you mean?" He said "it's so emasculating, can't you just call him babe or something?" I shrugged and said he likes it, to which G said, "yeah, I'm sure he ran out the door because he loved you calling him that so much," which is funny because he literally did, but it still upset me. I said my goodbyes and went to the car where my husband was. We went home and had a very nice night.

The more I think about it though, the grosser it is. I feel like I'm engaging strangers in our kink, which doesn't feel good. And maybe the pet name is emasculating.

And before you accuse G of being homophobic, he's also gay. Just... snapbacks and wifebeaters muscle gay. Nobody would be able to clock him in a million years. He shotguns beer at every party even when it is not the vibe.

AITA for calling him this in public when I know it turns him on? I figure if I accidentally pavlov'd him, I might as well use it.

[inportant-spam-rsvp]

Nearly every noise drawing you have made has made its way into my noise collection the way you draw him makes me so happy I love him

WAITER! WAITER!! MORE NOISE PLEASEE

I am SO sorry it took me this long to answer this XD

But I FINALLY HAVE A DRAWING WORTH THE EFFORT

BEHOLD, the monster Noise's dad created nearly 20 years ago: Teodoro

When his father had bullied him into learning every performance his brothers did at 8 years old, it left a lasting impact on him. 28 years old, and Teodoro has a sleeper agent syndrome anytime there is this one genre of music playing. He doesn't even know he does this- he just goes through the muscle memory of a routine that no longer brings him joy...

[etherrreal]

"an ode to tendou's hands"

Pairing: tendou x fem!reader Genre: fluff, slight nsfw Summary: you want to be normal about your boyfriend, but how can you when he's flaunting his hands everywhere WC: 2,138 Warnings: references to you gushing, reader’s got enough hair to stick a hand in lol, reader wears a sundress A/N: dipping my toes further and further into nsfw so that maybe someday my ass will write some full-blown nsfw for y'all -Luna

When you hear people gush about their partners, they often talk about how kind they are when they bring them their favorite candy bar or buy their favorite smoothie "just because." Maybe how caring they are as they tuck them in when they're sick or detangle their hair for them in the shower. It’s always the little things that they do for them that matter the most. 

The few times they bring up their appearance, it's always the common stuff. Their hair is so fluffy and smooth, maybe their eyes are piercing, yet soft only for them. You hear them describe how their arms are so built that it makes them drool. Or they—and you’re specifically talking about your friend Eri—describe their significant other’s thigh muscles with such strange detail and precision that you’re left floating in a space between understanding and deep worry. 

But even their odd infatuations with their partner's features never compare to yours, because even when Eri gets going on her weird tangents about her boyfriend’s thighs and how she’d like for them to crush her skull like a watermelon, your other friends nod and laugh along. You’ve tested your answer on a crowd before and all you got was the loudest silence you’ve ever heard followed by someone too many moments later saying, “what?” They just didn’t get it.

You've always been embarrassed to share your real answer with your closest friends, not because they’d make you feel like a freak (derogatory), but because they’ll make you feel like a weirdo (affectionate). And while Eri can take the casual ribbing, you’re not so sure you have a thick enough skin to be able to last a quarter as long as she has. So you've settled with picking something a little more normal, like gushing about how, although your boyfriend Tendou is lean, he’s much stronger than he looks. 

They don't have to know that the real answer has you gushing elsewhere, though.

Tendou’s hands.

Two palms. Ten fingers—two of which are thumbs. Fourteen knuckles. 

They’re long. They’re slender. They reach places you can never reach with your own, like the bottom of the Pringles can.

Unlike a boyfriend’s thighs or abs, hands aren’t hidden in everyday life behind some piece of fabric. They’re constantly touching you or things around you which makes it nearly impossible to keep your focus. In previous relationships, or even in everyday life, a person’s hands didn’t catch your attention as they do now. But when you started dating Tendou, it was like a sleeper agent activated. 

The first time you took notice of his hands was at the end of your second date, after he walked you home. You both lingered in front of your apartment door, not quite ready to say goodbye to one another. He decided to take a risk, using his hand to brush some hair behind your ear—although, you’re pretty sure it wasn’t out of place to begin with—then letting his fingers trail down your jaw, sending shivers down your spine. His hand then came back up to cup your cheek, and it dawned on you that, with the way his hand stretched, he could palm your whole head like a volleyball based on length alone.

Then he sealed the deal by leaning down, his lips hovering just a hair over yours, and whispering, “Do you mind if I kiss you?” 

What always amazes you when you replay that moment in your mind is you hardly remember the kiss itself, but what you do remember is what it felt like to have his hand slip into your hair and grasp it at the roots in his excitement. How his other hand slid around your waist to pull you against his chest, fingers playing with the edge of your crop top and barely brushing against your bare skin. You had goosebumps from head to toe, leaving you with no choice but to lean on him to keep yourself upright. You were smitten from that day forward and would do anything to get him to touch you again like he did that day.

You're about 98% sure that Tendou has never noticed your infatuation—not once—because you're just that smooth. Like a fucking ninja. There's no other word to describe your actions besides subtle.

Except, if you asked Tendou, you're not even close. In fact, in his eyes, you're about as subtle as a gun.

Tendou lets you think you are because he enjoys seeing your poor attempts at hiding your obsession. The truth is he's noticed every single time your eyes drift from his face to his flailing hands as he tells you a story then snap back to his face once you feel like you've been distracted for too long. Or, when you decide to keep him company while he's testing new chocolate recipes and techniques in the kitchen, and, instead of ooh-ing and aah-ing as he pipes an intricate design on a truffle, you're more occupied with staring at his mouth as he licks the smeared chocolate on his fingertips.

God forbid he offers you a taste of chocolate he swipes from the edge of a bowl with his pointer finger—then he's the one who has to control himself when he notices your eyes gently flutter as you lick it off, the tip of your tongue flicking his fingertip. 

He doesn't really understand it, and initially, he took your distracted gaze as disinterest. He was afraid he was boring you when he was going off on tangents or when he suggested you sit by as a taste tester in the kitchen. But he soon caught on when he noticed that your eyes weren’t glazed over in boredom and staring forward with no focus at all. He could see them following his hands like a hawk, taking in every bend, twitch, or grasp. And while he did notice them glaze over occasionally, he had a feeling it wasn’t because you were bored. 

Tendou's been trying to find the right time to bring it up. He doesn't want you to think he's making fun of you or that you should be ashamed of your little fixation. Since he’s first noticed, he’s been trying to hint to you that he knows; brushing an imaginary eyelash off of your cheek, cupping your face whenever he gets the chance, trailing his fingers up your arm whenever he peers over your shoulder to look at what you're cooking. 

He’s not sure if it’s working or if it's had the opposite effect, but he has been enjoying watching you squirm in the meantime.

Then it all culminates one weekend in August.

He suggests taking a trip to Barcelona after a colleague of his recommended a little chocolate shop there that he’s been dying to try. With about an 8-hour drive from where you live, you suggest you make it a little vacation, taking off that Friday and Monday to properly enjoy it all.

The trip starts off as all of your trips do. Tendou decides to drive so you play DJ, quizzing him on certain songs and annoying him with others. You feed him some snacks so he can keep an eye on the road, purposefully playing "here comes the airplane" until he bites your fingertip like an overzealous toddler.

It dies off about 2 hours into the trip after you get back in the car from a short gas station trip. You play a more relaxed playlist, filled with instrumentals and some ballads. The only chatter from both of you is when either of you comments on the view. Otherwise, it's a comfortable silence, leaning your head on the window and watching the trees and other cars fly by. 

Your peace is disturbed when you feel Tendou’s hand slide onto your knee, giving what’s supposed to be a comforting squeeze, but feels more like a jolt to your system. Unintentionally, you jump in your seat, trying to play it off like you’re shifting to be more comfortable, but he notices. 

“You okay, baby?” Tendou asks, with a smirk you don’t see because you can’t meet his eyes. Let’s see you try to get yourself out of this one.

“Yeah, uh, your hands were just cold.”

“Oops. My bad, honey.” He squeezes your knee again as he says it, and you can only hope he doesn’t notice that you tense up. “They’ll get warm soon enough, I’m sure.”

You shoot him a quick smile, before turning to look out the passenger window, hoping that he doesn’t notice how nervous you actually are. You’re tempted to start bouncing your leg, but you can’t risk him asking any more questions. 

Eventually, you relax enough to rest your hand over his, stroking the back of his hand with your thumb. You’re so lost in thought that you don’t realize that your hand started acting on its own, tracing the veins on the back of his hand and over the pronounced knuckles of his fingers. 

Tendou, of course, notices immediately. “So you like my hands, huh?”

You freeze. This isn’t how you wanted him to find out, you think as you pull your hand towards your chest like it touched an open flame. If there was ever a perfect time for the ground to suddenly open up so it can swallow you whole, this would be it. In fact, you contemplate opening the car door and tucking and rolling onto the highway just to get yourself out of this situation. 

Your diabolical red-headed boyfriend glances over at you a few times during your prolonged silence, before clearing his throat and saying, “I’ve known about your… thing for ages, you know.”

Your panic shoots out of you all at once. “You knew?! When? How!? I’m so lowkey about it!”

“Well, you don’t exactly make it subtle,” he chuckles. “How else would you be able to explain why you either jump out of your skin or completely shut down whenever I touch you? Or when I can't even make eye contact with you during our conversations because you're so focused on my hands?"

"...Trauma and social awkwardness?"

Tendou shoots you an incredulous look before returning his eyes to the road. “First of all, if it was trauma, we probably would’ve talked about it during the years we’ve been together. Second, you? Socially awkward with me? You’re the one who has no problem pooping while I’m showering, so there’s no way.” 

Your mouth opens and shuts repeatedly, failing to produce a good enough excuse. Instead, you turn your head far enough that you can’t see him from the corner of your eye anymore, but you sure can hear him cackle because of his effect on you.

You still refuse to make eye contact when you feel his hand trail up your thigh, barely making it to the hem of your dress before making his way back down to your knees, his fingers leaving trails of heat in its wake.

“What do you like about them, hm?” His fingers trail back up, playing with the hem of your dress and inching it higher. “Is it how long my fingers are? How gentle they are when they caress the skin of your thigh? Probably giving you goosebumps, huh?” 

And they absolutely are, along with a shudder up your spine with how low his voice has dropped. 

“Or maybe how talented they are, like when they curl just right?” His hand finally dips under the fabric, brushing his pinky against the edge of your panties. "Oooh, no safety shorts today? How risque! What are you preparing for, honey?"

"Nothing, I just—”, you take in a shakey breath as you feel his pinky play with the edge of the lace,”—didn't want to sweat with the extra layer."

"That's what the AC is for, honey. Are ya sure there's no other reason?"

"No. I mean, yes, or—wait. Fuck." Your head feels like it’s full of cotton, your mouth too dry to speak. Your eyes are unable to focus on anything at the moment, the leg he’s not touching restlessly bouncing. You glance over at the time displayed on your phone that’s mounted to the dashboard and calculate that you’ve got about 4 hours left before you reach your destination, and that’s when you realize that you can’t wait until you reach your hotel.

You need him. Now.

“Can you— Over there— Just—” You stumble over your words, unable to form a coherent sentence as you point frantically over to the side of the highway.

“You want me to pull over onto the shoulder?” He says smugly, not even sparing you a glance.

“God, yes, please.” 

He steers the car abruptly to the right, and you’re in his lap before he can even properly put the car in park, hands all over each other.

Written by: Luna you've got an @; we've got a taglist~

[waffliesinyoface]

Akatsuki Ranked: which is the worst to just have randomly show up on your doorstep

As in, you may or may not be someone they are looking for, but this is worse than running into them in public because they are at your house and paying attention to you.

Itachi: He is. Well. He claims to be a pacifist, he's just bad at it. If he's there to kill you it will be quick and painless. If he is there to kidnap you you'll just get genjutsu'd. If he's there because he like. Needs to borrow your phone, or a cup of milk or something, he will be polite-ish. You could do worse. It will probably be uncomfortable because he is a tremendously awkward individual, but not that bad. He might even make you forget he was even there. How nice and definitely not slightly horrifying.

Kisame: as a large blue shark man with a giant sword he is very upsetting to come across unexpectedly. You... really don't want him to be there for you, specifically. His gameplan for preventing naruto escaping was "what if we cut off his legs". He's probably fine if he just needs a favor and you happened to be the closest person!

Konan: if Konan has personally come to your door it is because she is here to collect you, and disagreeing is really not an option. She's too important to need a favor from a random civilian so she MUST be here for you. If she was here to kill you she wouldn't have knocked. Presumably, the fact that she came herself and didn't delegate is because she wanted you alive. Come quietly and you might not die horribly. Hopefully.

Deidara: the best version of deidara to have show up on your doorstep is one that is missing both arms and dripping blood all over the carpet. It is perhaps the one version of Deidara who won't cause you to die in an explosion, and he needs you alive to dial the phone for him. The bad news is that he might call someone ELSE to come pick him up, and then just flop down on your couch, getting blood on that, too. And then you have to deal with whoever he called.

Pein: You open the door. There is an terrifying corpse with bright purple eyes staring at you unblinkingly. You hear a sound behind you of the back door, or perhaps several windows breaking. If you could manage to turn around you would see several other very similar corpses. This is all horribly dramatic, you think. No matter what he's there for, it is not going to be good.

Sasori: Him showing up with the goal of capturing or killing you is, uh, bad. Very painful death, and you'll probably be turned into a puppet. Or spare parts. If he's just there for a favor from a random civilian, he might just hit you with a paralyzing poison and take whatever he needs without asking. You know. If he's feeling nice. There is a non zero chance he might just puppetize you anyways, if you look interesting enough. There's a small chance he might hit you with a sleeper agent seal and that is one of the better outcomes.

Obito: He's not going to kill you. But he will do his level best to make you have a mental breakdown. He will raid your fridge. He will "accidentally" break things. He might "accidentally" set himself on fire and then flail around and break more things. If he is kidnapping you he will not drop the act the entire time, and it will be awful, because despite the fact that he acts like an immature idiot child, he is terrifyingly skilled, and there is no way of escaping, even though it really seems like there should be.

Kakuzu: he's not going to knock, he is simply going to break the door. One of the most likely to show up specifically to kill you, because someone else paid him to do it. If he isn't, he will still just blatantly take things that he wants/look valuable and you will be helpless to stop him, because he is a man composed of solid muscle and slightly less solid tentacles.

Hidan: Repent, sinner, for you shall know the name of the god of suffering. (You will die. Badly.)

Zetsu: He doesn't really have any needs, and he doesn't get sent on regular missions, so if he's there... yeah, he'll just show up through the floor and eat you. Why are you like this, Zetsu.

[thespiritssaidso]

some people do it by the book (but i prefer to go by feel)

Summary: Shawn and Lassiter are undercover at a high-end resort where all visitors get their own private cabin. All the two need to do now is settle in — and chop up some wood to make a fire, of course. 

Notes: okay, so I’m basing this place off of the Big Cedar Lodge (I went there one year with my family on a road trip). I’m not sure if there’s a resort like it in California, but oh well. Currently as I’m writing this, it is 3 in the afternoon and the internet at my job is crappy and won’t let me look at maps without taking forever and a half to load it up. And if anyone knows me then they know that my patience is extremely limited (part of the reason why I’m only good at writing one shots lmao) and I don’t really feel like taking longer than necessary to make sure the made-up place I am writing for the made-up people to stay at actually exists. 

TL;DR this place exists in Branson, Missouri, but I’m too lazy to make sure a place like it also exists in California. 

Anyways, enjoy!! I know we all love a good Shassie at a cabin au.

Flufftober day 8: Chopping and Piling Wood

—————

Lassiter grunted as he swung his ax into the block of wood, chopping it neatly in two. He leaned over and tossed the half still sitting on the block and tossed it onto a small pile that was slowly building up. After throwing the other half onto the pile right after the first, he reached up and wiped a line of sweat beading on his forehead. 

Currently, he and Shawn were undercover as a married couple to investigate a few disappearances that were happening at the Great Pine Lodge. 

The place was as fancy as a cabin in the woods could get. Full plumbing, air conditioning for when it got hot, heaters for when it got cold, a large king size plush mattress complete with expensive feeling sheets and covers. And that was just the cabin. 

About a stone’s throw from where they were staying was a large beautiful lake, with water so clear Lassiter could almost see the bottom. 

The other cabins people were staying at were a decent distance from their own, close enough to see but not close enough to hear the inhabitants if they were inside. 

A paved road — not a gravel road — sat in front of the cabins, shuttle buses on speed dial on the rotary phone sitting on the bedside table inside, so that visitors wouldn’t have to waste their own cars’ gas to go to the dining hall, or the gift shop, or even the arcade (yes, this place had an arcade). 

Lassiter had always dreamed of going here one day. It was the perfect vacation spot for him and Shawn; fine dining, a beautiful view, activities the both of them would enjoy. 

But now was not the time for dreaming of a perfect vacation (although hopefully there’d be some time left for them to do so). Now was time for investigation. Or more aptly, chopping firewood, in Lassiter’s case. 

Before chopping another log, Lassiter stopped to reroll his sleeves that were slowly unraveling themselves. At the moment, all he was wearing was the button up he normally had on under his jacket, the pants to match said jacket, and his work shoes. He probably should’ve put a little more thought into his wardrobe. 

Too late. He’d committed and now he had to stick with it. Lassiter was just glad that Shawn was still unpacking inside. He was always self-conscious about his arms, how much of a stick he looked when he wasn’t wearing something loose — like his suit jacket. 

He looked at his biceps with disdain. It wasn’t like he was weak and couldn’t lift anything. His muscles just never showed unless he flexed them, hiding like some kind of sleeper agent, or whatever they were calling it nowadays. 

Whatever. So long as no one was here to see him make an idiot of himself trying to chop wood. Lassiter was eventually able to cut them into halves once he figured out a comfortable rhythm, but the start was just godawful. His first swing into the first log didn’t have enough weight behind it and was at an awkward angle, so it had bounced away from the wood and left only a small dent. His second swing was too strong and split right between the log and lodged itself into the chopping block. 

But he was better now, after cutting for what felt like hours, though realistically it had probably been thirty minutes. 

After placing another log down, Lassiter prepared to swing the ax once more when-

“That is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” 

Lassiter nearly jumped out of his skin. There, leaning against the door was none other than his boyfriend. From what he could see, it looked like Shawn made himself a mug of something warm, judging by the faint steam emanating from it. Tea? Coffee? Hot cocoa? Probably the latter, knowing his boyfriend’s taste for sweet things. 

Lassiter felt the tips of his ears warm, and he knew they’d gone red. “How long were you standing there for?” 

“Ah, time is irrelevant-”

“Shawn.” 

“At least ten minutes.”

Ten minutes. Ten minutes of just watching him swing an ax at wood. Lassiter had no clue what he looked like when he was cutting wood, but he was probably ridiculous. Shawn had probably seen every mistake he’d made. 

Lassiter turned back around, doing his best to ignore the way Shawn was staring at him and lifted the ax once more. He swung with precision and split the log neatly. “Don’t lie, Shawn.” He said, referring to what Shawn had said that startled him. “You know I hate it-”

“What? No no no! Carly, I’m being serious! Look, this is my serious face.”

He didn’t look, not wanting to see his boyfriend who was most likely holding back laughter. He didn’t say anything either, simply returning to the task at hand. Although now he knew he had an audience, which somehow made swinging an ax ten times harder than it was originally. 

There was quiet, uncharacteristic for Shawn. Only the crunching of dead leaves and the swish of grass told Lassiter that he was walking over to him. 

“Back up. I don’t want to accidentally hit you with the-”

“Carlton, look at me. Lemme see those baby blues.” 

At the use of his name, Lassiter turned his head to Shawn. The lack of a nickname and his tone told the detective that he really was being serious. 

And he was right. Lassiter couldn’t remember the last time the otherwise childish man looked this serious about something. He said nothing as he looked into Shawn’s eyes, grass green grounding him. He dropped the ax, a dull thud breaking the quiet. 

“I love all of you, Carly. Doesn’t matter how much you hate it, I look and see you. I don’t see flaws, I see the sexiest body a man could ask for.”

Lassiter couldn’t help the grin, or the tiny laugh that bubbled out at the last thing Shawn said. “Alright, if you say so.” 

“I do say so, and my word is law. You should know this by now, Carlytown.” Shawn stated matter-of-factly. 

This time, Lassiter let out a snort at his boyfriend’s statement. “Is that right?”

“It is.” 

“Mhm. By the way, did you finish unpacking our stuff?” If his calculations were correct, Shawn had taken all of twenty minutes. And from past experience Lassiter knew that it took him at least an hour to get everything perfectly situated for the both of them. 

“We can do that later, I know you have a specific way you like to have your toothbrush set up. Right now there’s a suspect somewhere that’s begging to get caught.” 

“I’m not sure any criminal actually wants to get caught.”

“Really? Because I’m sensing they’re at the arcade right now, writing a secret message in morse code at the game where you have to shoot down those rubber ducks.” 

“Are they, or do you just want to go play games?” 

“That’s neither here nor there. Point is, I’ve already called a shuttle to pick us up and take us to the main building. They should be here in about… five minutes?” 

Lassiter stared at him incredulously. “Five- five minutes? And you’re only telling me this now because why?” That just barely left him with enough time to get out of his sweaty button up and into something clean. It was just the arcade, but he’d prefer to go out without smelling weird in public. 

“Well, I would have told you earlier, but I just couldn’t stop watching you chop that wood. Seriously, Carly, you have no idea how hot you looked swinging that ax.”

“I- alright, fine. Could’ve used more warning time, but it’s fine. Where’d you put my clothes?” 

“In the dresser on the left of the bed, everything’s in the top drawer.”

—————

Notes: yeah yeah yeah, the name of the place they’re staying at is just a rip from the place I based it off of. Sue me. 

oh and the title is a lyric in C'mon Girl by Red Hot Chili Peppers, i couldn't come up with an actual title by myself, sorry

ao3 link

[mrschristensen]

Kinktober Day 22 (10/22): Cockbulge starring Hayden Christensen

Kinktober Masterlist

WARNINGS: smut (READ AT YOUR OWN RISK), female photographer! s/o, dom Hayden/sub s/o, cockbulge, piv sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), sorta angry/rough sex (Hayden needing to blow off some steam), pet names/name calling (baby, slut, lovie), creampie, lmk if I missed anything!

synopsis: After dealing with an asshole of a talent agent for the entire day (he was really trying to find a new one), he decides to visit his lovely girlfriend after work; and it quickly turns into something way more than a long awaited return home.

WC: 891 words

Hayden was absolutely exhausted and pissed off all at the same time. He had a horrible agent, and he was desperately trying to find a replacement. Until then, though, he'd have to deal with the jackass of a man. It was normal to deal with snooty or rude people in the entertainment industry, but Hayden's patience was really slipping lately.

However, he was finally on his way home, and that meant seeing his girlfriend. The love of his life. He was so giddy, like he was a teenager all over again, and pretty much mentally begging to be back already.

As soon as he walked through the door, she knew she was in their shared office. It was completely silent; normally she'd drop everything she was doing to run and jump into his arms when he got home. However, he didn't mind the lack of that today; he knew she was working, and he knew that the room itself was soundproof to keep up focus.

He gently knocked on the door before opening it, taking in the sight of her adjusting her camera at her desk. She was a professional photographer, running her own business and he was trying to pull a few strings to hire her as his personal photographer. Oh, how a dream that would be. He fell in love with her work just as much as he did with her herself, always extremely impressed with what she did. It was even better since he was into photography and filmmaking, too, so sometimes she'd give him little pointers if he wanted to.

He could see it now: Not having to worry about meeting new photographers for different shoots (unless he desired once in a while), and having his girlfriend constantly by his side. It sounded euphoric, almost unreachable. But, if the right strings were pulled, it was definitely a possibility.

He snapped out of his trance when he felt her arms wrap around his neck in a tight embrace, one which he gladly reciprocated around her waist. "I missed you," she whispers, and he felt a bit bad since he was a bit late. She worked on her own hours, so he was at least happier to see that she was able to get in some sleep that she needed (since she wasn't really a good sleeper without him and he sometimes has to leave early).

"Missed y'too," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her temple and burying his face in her neck, inhaling her scent and engraving it in his memory. However, though it was a romantic moment, he couldn't help the ache in his loins that he needed to get rid of, and now.

Without any further thought, he pulled her along towards their bedroom, ignoring her questions and confusion. He pushed her onto the bed, quickly removing his clothes before pinning her underneath him. "I need you so fuckin' bad, baby."

She could tell he was off; the slight bead of sweat forming around his hairline, his somewhat heavy breaths, his tense muscles... something definitely happened at work. However, she didn't question it. She wasn't going to complain anyways; she always liked it when he was like this, even if she didn't admit it.

Since she didn't reply, Hayden took it as the initiative to kiss her passionately, then flipping her over so she was on his lap. He smirked as she instinctively wrapped her arms around her neck once more, his hands gripping her hips before making quick work of taking off her clothes. He took a moment to revel in the sight of her, the epitome of perfection and a goddess among mortals. She was so unbelievably beautiful, he was shocked she wasn't a model or anything. Maybe he could convince her, though. But that wasn't the point.

Without warning, the head of his cock invaded her entrance slowly, making her gasp as her walls fluttered around almost nothing. He couldn't help but chuckle a bit, his ego getting stroked a bit, and eventually he was bottomed out inside her. He looked down for just a second, and he noticed the outline of his dick near her lower abdomen, and it caused him to let out a low groan.

"Oh fuck," he grunted, and he couldn't help but rapidly thrust into her at the sight, making her let out loud noises of pleasure. She was pretty much used to his length (though she'd never get over it), so he knew he wasn't going to hurt her.

"You're so fuckin' perfect, my perfect little slut for me to use," he growled, his hips rutting into her at an unruly pace. He couldn't stop himself, not even a second, unable to slow down either. All he could do was speed up, reaching those deep parts inside her that he knew she loved.

"I'm close," she gasped, and he gripped her hips tighter, guiding her up and down with each roll of hips.

"C'mon, cum for me," he commanded, and they both orgasmed in unison, filling her up to the brim.

He rested her forehead against hers, panting, as they both descended from their peaks. "I love you s'much, lovie," he whispered to her, taking her into his arms and peppering gentle kisses all over her face as he brought the sheets up and tucked them in.

[sparklingcid3r]

more cherrycola hcs bc i saw them get mentioned like once and got activated like a sleeper agent

- they’re literally penny and johnny castle from dirty dancing during the first dance scene at the hotel. they can absolutely tear UP the floor. doesn’t matter if they’re going solo or partners, everyone might as well go home if they pull up to the function, they’ll dance like nobody’s watching

- when soda wants a kiss he’ll ask cherry what kind of lip gloss she has on, and because he’s a man of follow through he’ll actually guess what flavor

- cherry lovessss going over to the curtis house. compared to hers and her friends’, it’s the warmest place she’s ever been. she notices the way every floorboard, every wooden picture frame, every blanket draped over the couch is worn down with love, and she gets along really well with pony obviously

- meeting darry as soda’s gf was kind of awkward. the last time cherry saw him, he was high-strung, pressed down by anxiety, and the most emotional he’s ever been in his life. so meeting him on a regular day, she was a little startled to find that he really was as intimidating as pony described

- (she has no idea about the actual history between him and paul, so she doesn’t understand that darry’s wariness stems from fear of seeing soda hurt like he was and not hatred of cherry’s soc status)

- as good as cherry looks in pink, soda is head over heels seeing her in a forest green dress for the first time. he’s stumbling over his words, blushing hard, just so in love with her

- RODEO DATES‼️ cherry brings marcia so they can barrel race together and soda brings two-bit and they are the biggest hype men. they’re dripped out in cowboy hats and ringing cowbells and cheering for their gfs. soda sees cherry covered in dirt and mud with her hair up and he’s down bad

- bc coffee makes his adhd brain sleepy, he drinks it to mellow out while watching movies at the drive-in with cherry. she thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world when he falls asleep on her halfway thru a film. she’s just glad he came with bc she knows movies aren’t really his thing

- when her stingray needs a repair cherry is BEGGING her parents to let her take it to the dx on the east side and they look at her like she’s crazy, my girl ain’t subtle. but like who wouldn’t want to see their bf with mussed hair and oil spatters on his face leaning over the popped hood of a car, working those muscles to fix it. cherry’s got priorities alr

[starlit-crossing]

A Ghost of Yourself

Chapter 6 - A Day Out

Damian began his morning training like always. A sword in hand as he practiced katas at the break of dawn. Most of the family tended to be asleep at this hour if they weren’t just arriving home by this point. Though with a new house guest at the manor, Damian had been benched for the time being. Even Duke had his time out lowered to reduce the chances of suspicion of the Wayne family’s disappearances. Despite his annoyance, this “break” allowed Damian more time to train hence waking up at dawn to practice when others were least likely to bother him.

Though apparently, he was wrong, as he went through his forms a figure made its way around the side of the manor. The house guest in question, “Danny” appeared to be going on a morning jog. Still wearing the same ratty jeans and white t-shirt, his blue hoodie nowhere to be seen. The boy gave him a nod as he passed, continuing down the makeshift trail that snaked through the manor grounds. That was about all the two did when they ever saw one another, the last week being nothing but polite nods and quiet passings.

The whole thing had Damian on edge, the similarities in appearance had not gone unnoticed by him. Despite Danny’s lack of emotional expression, his other qualities were too hard to leave ignored. The teen was fit, the muscle he had seemed to come from experience in combat, and the few scars on his arms seemed to back this theory. He was also extremely quiet, beyond that of a regular person or even an assassin. When Danny had discovered the library, he had gone to ask his father if he had permission to take books to and from. Damian had nearly spat out his water when he saw his father jump from being tapped on the shoulder.

He was sure Danny hadn’t noticed the surprise as his father was excellent at hiding his emotions when he desired to. Damian, however, couldn’t remove the shock from his face as the teen had just returned to the library to collect the books he wished to read. He finally wrote it off as a fluke, sure he must have imagined it until Duke entered the kitchen not an hour later clutching his chest. Danny had apparently tried asking if Pennyworth kept any homemade snacks around the manor.

“That kid is going to be the death of me, this is the third time this week he’s scared the living daylights out of me just to ask a question.” Duke complained hand to his heart.

“I think he’s here as a test by my grandfather. He must be an assassin or a sleeper agent, he snuck up on father no more than an hour ago.” Damian responded, crushing his empty juice box.

“Are you jealous?” Duke laughed.

“Never! I’m simply suggesting we keep our guard up!” Damian sputtered, throwing away the cardboard container.

“I’m pretty sure he’s just a kid. Though there is something off, he could be a metahuman like me. The lights in a room always seem to dim slightly when he’s there, not enough to be noticed by the average person but with my abilities it’s hard not to notice.” Duke explained.

“Grayson must have learned something at this point, even with Drake’s help this seems to be taking too long.”  He complained, pulling out his phone.

“Good luck reaching him, he’s been on daylight duty to help out with the new schedule everyone is on.” Duke huffed, leaning on the counter.

“Well, something must be done, the Waynes never stay in the dark for long.” Damian boasted.

“Do you mind moving? You’re blocking the fridge.”  A voice broke in from next to Damian, Duke, and him to freeze. Turning their attention to the foster kid who somehow entered the room without either of them noticing. Damian gave a small nod before moving out of the way, watching Danny gather some ice for his cup and grab water from the sink. Finally leaving the room as quietly as he had entered.

“That kid is just creepy.” Duke whispered, breaking the silence.

“Agreed.” Damian’s eyes were still focused on the door.

- - -

Danny’s last week had been great aside from being stuck in another foster home. Of all the homes it definitely could’ve been worse. They let him wander the grounds as much as he wanted, not that his exploration had led to any promising escape routes. The home held a large library that Jazz would’ve been thrilled to see, a fully equipped gym with gymnastic equipment, a basketball court, and of course a large ballroom for parties. Danny had been tempted to ask if they had a pool, but his foster family seemed to be very jumpy. Whenever he went to ask a question, they seemed surprised to see him there. He didn’t take it personally, it was a very large home, and they probably weren’t used to having an extra person wandering the halls.

Sam and Tucker had made plenty of jokes that they should make him wear a bell. Jazz seconded this when he was almost hit in the head by a psychology textbook that she had thrown his way. Thinking of his friends and family back home was probably the hardest part of all this. Every time he looked at the computer in his new room, he thought about logging into Doomed to see if his friends were online or if he made a new email if he could reach out without the GIW taking notice. The risk outweighed the cost, unfortunately, even missing them was pushing the limits.

That fact was the only thing keeping him from dwelling on everything that happened. He knew if he thought back to his parents, every emotion he was trying to hold inside would rush out of him like a flood. He was fortunate no nightmares had come up while in Gotham, he wasn’t sure how well the Fenton Finder would track emotions brought on by sleep. Thinking on the subject, Danny was reminded that it was now 11 am in the Manor. He had spent most of that morning lying in bed reading, he was running out of things to do without school lingering over his head.

Dragging himself from the warmth of the queen-sized bed, he dressed for the day in his old jeans and a Wonder Woman t-shirt gifted to him from Duke. They apparently had a lot of old clothes left by the previous kids who had lived in the manor that either no longer fit them or had been forgotten. Danny didn’t mind and liked being able to learn a little about the heroes that the rest of the world seemed to enjoy. Not that he learned much aside from the hero’s name when Duke gave him the shirt.

As he made his way towards the kitchen for some food, a voice he was unfamiliar with echoed from a room ahead. This room was one of the many lounges that filled the first floor. Making his way over he peeked inside to see Duke, Damian, and two other teens. They were closer to Jazz’s age though a little older. One looked a little too similar to himself with tired icy blue eyes and a mop of black hair. Though unlike Danny’s own hair which was parted to the side, his was parted to the center. Next to him was a girl with long blonde hair wearing jeans and a purple shirt.

“So, things have been boring city side?” Duke asked the tired boy.

“Pretty much, ever since the Riddler’s attack last week, it has been quiet. Luckily no one had been hurt other than a few blocks of public property.” The boy went on, eyes glued to his phone.

“We’re more interested in what’s been happening here. It’s not every day the Manor gains someone new who spends most of their time at the Manor.” The girl chimed in.

“He’s pretty similar to what Dick mentioned; he’s quiet, keeps to himself, and doesn’t show any emotion. The no-emotion thing isn’t even that bad, it’s the other stuff that keeps us on our toes.” Duke explained, a tired sigh escaping at the end.

“What do mean?” the boy asked, looking up from his phone.

“He was able to surprise Father without trying.” Damian scowled. The other two mystery guests held looks of surprise. Guess they’ve never been able to scare their dad before, Danny thought to himself.

“Not to mention the thing with the lights—” “Hold on a second.” Duke was midsentence before the black-haired teen shushed him looking at the door. Danny moved back from the door as quietly as he could, walking further down the hall in case anyone spotted him. He didn’t back it more than 5 steps from the door.

“Hold it!” The girl from before called after him, he froze at her voice before turning to look at her.

“Yes?” Part of him felt guilty for eavesdropping but he couldn’t let that guilt show, so he had to just take a deep breath as he turned to face her.

“You’re the new foster kid, correct?” she asked, not waiting for his answer before dragging him by the arm back to the room.

“Yes, I am, but why am I being dragged in?” he questioned, sitting on one of the two couches in the room.  Now having a better look at the room, he could see the few bookshelves lining a wall filled with knick-knacks. The couches were a deep brown leather that matched the wooden floors, with a pale green rug between them. The coffee table between the couches held a bowl full of randomly shaped wooden balls.

“We’d like to ask you some questions, but first introductions. I’m assuming Duke and Damian didn’t really tell you much about the others.” She went on, plopping herself on the couch across from him.

“In our defense, it seemed rude to interrogate the new kid on his first day.” Duke refuted sitting next to the girl.

“Moving along, I’m Tim Drake and this is Stephanie Brown. While neither of us currently lives at the Manor we both tend to visit often. I work with Bruce at Wayne Industries and Steph lives on campus at Gotham University.” Tim answered, choosing to sit in a nearby armchair to the left and Damian stood to the right of the couches. Truly closing him in and leaving him with no normal escape routes.

“How many of you are there? Does Mr. Wayne just collect orphans or something?” Danny asked, he remembered seeing Tim’s name on the family tree on the first day. Damian had mentioned his father needed to expand the painting.

“Just about, it’s more like we find him.” Tim laughed. Sharing a look with Duke and Stephanie. “If we go by legal adoption there are five of us, if we go by who has rooms at the manor it’s around eight give or take a few friends.”

“Now it’s our turn! I’m guessing no questions on home or personal life?” Stephanie asked, Danny nodded yes. At least their being considerate of boundaries, he thought. “So, Danny, right? Anything you like to do or have an interest in? How do you like Gotham?”

“Well, I like video games and comic books. I’m really interested in space and spaceships, got to see a shuttle on vacation one summer. Gotham is okay though the smog is annoying, other than that I haven’t seen much of the city. I’m pretty sure you already know why I’m on a not-so-subtle house arrest.” Danny checked off; he didn’t see the harm in listing his interests, none of it would reveal his identity.

“Yeah, word spreads fast in this family.” Duke laughed, rubbing his arm nervously.

“It’s a shame though, other than the supervillains Gotham has some good spots to check out.” Stephanie sighed, then a smile crept onto her face. “Do you have a favorite superhero?”

Danny had to think for a moment, he couldn’t say himself obviously. No one outside of Amity Park knew who he was, but other than Batman and Superman Danny didn’t know any other supers.

“Not really? I know of Batman and Superman but other than them I don’t know anything about the heroes. I was usually too busy to look at the news and see what was going on. Oh! And Wonder Woman thanks to the shirt Duke gave me but that’s it.” Danny answered, everyone seemed to accept that answer except Stephanie.

“Wait, so you don’t know anything about Justice League? Any of the founding members?” she clarified.

“Not a thing.” Danny deadpanned. Stephanie gave him a look like she was going to make his world explode.

“So, you don’t know that Superman and Martian Manhunter are aliens and that we’re opening communications with Mars?” She blurted. Danny had to take a moment to process what she said, he knew Superman might be an alien but to have it confirmed.

Also, since when did the Earth have open communications with Mars? Since when did they know how to get to Mars? Did the requirements for astronauts change? He thought to himself, Do they let supers work with NASA? Can I go to space despite my grades because of my powers?

“Steph, I think you broke him.” Duke stated as they watched the foster kid seem to spiral into thought, he had rested into the couch, his hands together as he stared into space lost in thought. Like many times before the lights in the room had been slightly dimmed with the appearance of Danny but now, they seemed to brighten and sparkle. Despite his lack of emoting Duke could tell Danny was excited at the news, an aura of blue swirled and popped around him like fireworks in a blizzard. He had never seen anything like it with the others. He’d have to bring it up when alone with the rest of the Bats.

“I know we can’t leave the grounds, but do we have anything on the recent history of space exploration.” Danny quietly asked, coming back from his mental rave. The group all gave each other a look before Tim spoke up.

“We can do you one better, one of the perks of having one of the richest parents in Gotham.” He answered, “If you can prove you can handle going out on the town without trying to make a run for it, we can see if we can convince Bruce to pull some strings and get us a tour of STAR Labs in Metropolis.”

“Seriously? I thought you were going to say NASA for a second.” Danny said sitting up straighter.

“NASA is great if you go through the government, but STAR Labs is privately funded and though they don’t have a branch that specializes in space exploration I know that they have a few teams dedicated to it in Metropolis. It is the home of Superman after all.” Tim smiled.

 Danny looked between them all considering everything. Yes, it was a chance to escape, but he hadn’t had the time to explore his passions in so long. Could he really afford to stay longer? Keeping his emotions in check was getting easier, but was it because he was getting better or due to him being alone? Danny felt for the burner phone in his pocket, feeling reassured by its weight against his thigh. There was only one way to know for sure if this place was somewhere he could stay safely.

“Okay, so where do you want to go?” Danny asked.

- - -

“Welcome to Gotham Mall, imaginative we know.” Stephanie waved to the large glass door that led into a large mall center.

“Isn’t there a lot of crime here? How is this place still open?” Danny asked as they all exited the car.

“Well, this mall is located near the GCPD headquarters so if any crime does happen it tends to be on the small end. Gangs and thugs mostly, plus they opted for bulletproof glass and reinforced the walls so they’re less likely to collapse in the case of explosives.” Tim explained, leading the group inside. The inside was no different to any other mall Danny had been to, off-white tile covered the floor, and the walls were lined with shops. Mostly clothing and tech stores but a few novelty stores were sprinkled in, and he didn’t recognize a single store.

“Where to first?” Stephanie chirped, grabbing him by the arm, Duke following by his side as he was dragged into the first clothing store that caught their attention. The following hours were a dizzying whirlpool of clothing and shops. The group had decided that handy-downs and the whole two outfits he had brought were not enough.

They had him looking and trying on so many clothes that even if he wanted to there was no way he could have snuck away without using his powers. It eventually bled into everyone trying on clothes, Damian was even caught in the crossfire. The older teens mentioned he needed to dress less like a mini-Bruce more often and offered a variety of clothes. Steph won him over with a few animal-themed pieces though they were very subtle.

Danny was about to question how they were going to pay for everything at check out when he saw Steph holding a debit card with Bruce’s name. He had forgotten for a moment who his new foster family was. It was constantly thrown back into his face as they made their way through the mall. Slowly people began to recognize the small group, a few double takes at Tim and Damian and photos being snapped of the whole group. Danny pulled up the hood on his new hoodie that he’d bought at the last store. Trying his best to block his face from the onlookers.

The others shared a look before deciding to go to the food court for a late lunch. They found a table towards the back corner. Tucked away from the entrance with fake plant décor blocking their view. Duke and Tim went off to buy some pizza for the group leaving him with just Stephanie and Damian. The silence was daunting as Danny waited for the inevitable questions regarding his attempts to hide himself.

“Well, got to love the paparazzi making a family outing awkward.” Stephanie laughed trying to lighten the mood. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to having all of Gotham’s eyes on me.”

“Agreed, it’s even worse at the galas when the other socialites expect you to entertain the thought of enjoying their company.” Damian grumbled. Danny felt the tension in his shoulders dissipate, he hadn’t even considered they probably didn’t want the attention either. Vlad always basked in the attention of other powerful and influential people. Danny mentally face-palmed himself; he needed to stop assuming every rich person was like Vlad, it made him just as bad as his parents.

“Though the gossip the Gotham Gazette tries to start is hilarious, their social media threads couldn’t fool anyone,” Steph smirked pulling out her phone. “I remember when they covered Dick’s return to Gotham after he moved to Blüdhaven, all smears about a secret love child he had to be hiding there.”

“Wasn’t last week’s post about Drake’s most recent kidnapping? I remember him fuming over getting caught by those buffoons again.” Drake smiled.

“Let’s see what’s up now.” Steph went on scrolling through her feed. “Okay, we have the top ten photos of Bruce Wayne from the last charity ball, the best moments of the Wayne family caught on film… oh! We have a few from earlier up, though the only thing trending on them is the fact Tim and Damian are both here and not fighting.” She frowned as Damian looked at the phone.

“Tch, we haven’t fought in public for at least a year. You point a katana at someone one time!” Damian huffed. The two of them were still scrolling through the most recent posts with the others returned with the pizza. They called out the ones that were actually funny and were amazed at how quickly video edits had been made of them. To Danny’s relief, he was not mentioned in a single post and had been cut out of many of the photos. He finally was able to relax again and enjoy a normal afternoon.

Tim was happy Dick’s lost kid seemed to be enjoying himself, though unlike Stephanie he went searching for the photos about him. Only one or two posts seemed to be centered around him, people asking who he was and why he was there. None contained a clear photo or answer, it was like every time the camera was about to have a clear picture before something got in the way. The weirdest photo he was able to find contained no blurb above the photo and didn’t reference the Waynes at all.

The photo was of Danny with his hood up turning to look behind him, it was blurred leaving his face unclear even though everyone around him was unaltered. The lighting was strange, making it seem his eyes were green and glowing. It was getting little to no attention aside from a few comments talking about it being fake and edited. Still, he screenshots of the post and sent both the image and the link to Babs and Dick before rejoining the table’s conversation.

- - -

Pardon the delay in the chapter, if you follow my Tumblr you will know I took part in Invisobang this year! I got to create the cover art for the fic Kingdom Come by Bloggerspam, I highly recommend checking it out! I also started my first semester at my new college. I'm still figuring out the balance between homework and writing, but this fic is still a big goal for me. I'm thinking about the plot of this fic all the time and I'm very excited about future chapters! Speaking of future chapters, updates will be spread out once a month now to accommodate my new schedule and I will be applying small edits to previous chapters to fix spelling errors and formating so expect to see notifications about that. Thank you all for the support and enjoy the next chapter!

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[oliversrarebooks]

Augusnippets Day 8: Found Family

Masterlist

tw: sleeper agent, discussion of sensory deprivation torture

"Could you move any slower?"

"I'm trying to keep up. Being locked away for eight years didn't really help my physical endurance," grumbled Cassandra.

Bri was impatiently pacing around her. "I get that, but seriously, if you were walking any slower, you'd be going backwards."

"There's not really anything I can --" Cassandra jumped out of her skin as her phone rang, then again when she saw who it was.

She shouldn't pick up. She really shouldn't. But he might slip and offer her a clue about his pursuit. She swiped to answer.

"Hello, sunshine."

Cassandra glared at the phone, as though her handler -- former handler -- could see her. "That's not going to work on me over the phone. You know that."

"I do know that. But I bet it's got you on edge anyway," said that infuriatingly smug voice.

Her hand hovered over the disconnect button, wondering why she even picked it up in the first place.

"Listen, Cassie. We both know how this is going to end," he said. "You know you're not going to escape, not for very long. I'm already close to closing in on you. And every day you're away, I'm going to add another day of sensory dep to your punishment."

She only wavered for a second. She'd already been gone for five days. The longest she had ever been in sensory dep was a week, and she'd been a complete wreck for a long time afterwards.

But if she did manage to escape, she'd never have to do that again, and that would make this all worth it. It had to. She punched the disconnect button and fought the urge to fling the whole phone into the path of an oncoming car.

"Did he say sensory dep?" said Bri.

"Oh, you heard that?" said Cassandra. She really hadn't wanted to explain this to Bri, knowing that her unlikely bodyguard would find her pathetic for being so spooked by such a small thing. "It was part of my training, locking me in sensory deprivation for days on end to develop my psychic powers. But I hated it so much they started using it as punishment for me too." She shrugged, hoping her fear wasn't obvious. "It's not a big deal."

But Bri actually looked disturbed. "They locked you in sensory deprivation for days? How the hell did that not drive you out of your mind?"

"I mean… it was part of training, so I had ways to deal with it…"

"That's fucked up," she said, and seemed to mean it.

Before Cassandra could respond, Bri's phone rang. She looked at it, frowning.

"It's your handler."

Cassandra's eyes went wide. How did they know Bri? "Don't pick it up!"

But Bri had already answered. "Hello?"

"Hello, Bri," said her handler's smooth voice. "'Hello, sunshine' is Cassandra's trigger phrase. If you say it to her in person, she'll be under our control again, and come walking straight back to us."

Every muscle in Cassandra's body tensed as she prepared to run. She had nowhere to go, and Bri would easily catch up to her, but she had to try.

"Why are you telling me this?" asked Bri.

"Because I want dear Cassie back home unharmed, as soon as possible, and I'm sure you want that fugitive off your hands," he said. "I'm prepared to wire you fifty grand to your bank account and let you walk free. We really don't care about you at all, but if we catch you with Cassie, we can't promise mercy."

Bri was thinking, and Cassandra's mind flashed through every time she'd been a burden on Bri since she'd escaped. It was over, then. Bri would catch her easily and say her phrase and she'd be helpless. She'd be foolish not to take the deal.

Five days in sensory dep. She could do that.

"You seriously think I'm going to do that?" said Bri. "You think I dragged your little pet through hell and back just to turn her over to you? Fuck that and fuck you."

"Bri, be serious about --" Her handler's voice was cut off as Bri disconnected.

"Can you believe the fucking audacity?" said Bri. "You didn't tell me your handler was an idiot -- hey, what are doing with your face? Don't make that face at me."

"I'm sorry," said Cassandra, laughing and crying at the same time and sounding like a complete disaster. "I didn't think you'd defend me, after everything…"

"I said what I said," said Bri, crossing her arms and trying to look stern. "After everything we've been through, I'm not just going to fucking give up now."

Cassandra wiped at her face. "Thank you. You don't know how much that means to me."

"Whatever," said Bri, with an exaggerated eye roll. "We'd better get moving. If you don't start walking faster, I'm going to have to fucking carry you like a sack of potatoes."

Masterlist

@augusnippets

[kyuummie]

read about my sons NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!’!

recently ive taken it upon myself to turn glitterduo (argbur and incelbur/simpbur) into my ocs, allen (he him) and salem (he she they) after realizing how much i was attached to them and might go as far as reclaiming even more relevant burs

theyre kind of like a gag anime with a broad plot that has only 50% to do with the actual episode youre watching. They just kind of exist and go through day to day things together because theyre buds. maybe you will like them too if you liked bur sonas…i just wanted to share something that gave me joy. theyre like if triple baka was double baka mesmerizer if it was awesome

who should be the third baka or the yellow one that wasnt in mesmerizer vote down below /hj

more random stuff about them under the cut

no salem is not an incel. Thought i should preface that LMFAO (i still think its crazy how much the fandom (using that term lightly cause of how fan driven the concept of burs were) “woobified” incelbur/simpbur seeing how much of a creep he apparently is. its ok i was a part of it and i never do anything wrong ^_^)

i originally had a really hard time trying to figure out a plotline for these two, my first draft “salmon alley” was about them being platonic soulmates and having to figure out how to live together. one, i didnt like the name cause it sounded to much like salmonella. Second, i didnt really know where to go with the soulmate thing and i didnt even know if i wanted to have a story for them

then, i wanted to go the unconventional route and make them little magical girls (“1-chance duet”) with the point of them being tied together as two magical girls who were destined to save, well, mentally unstable people 😭, before they could save themselves, and i gave salem a bunny hood which is where his current hat comes from

i might use some of this as au ideas or their general “plot”. but i kind of like them just being there and only serving as comfort and a source of joy? these two just Happened to both be my faves and also be created by some douche. so, if you were also a bur sona liker, youre like a sleeper agent 🕵️ maybe theyll go ghost hunting and find blue (gb). Travel back in time to find an old timey president at a bar (lmanbr). go a couple months forward to find him depressed, and deceased the next day (pogbr). maybe theyll be taken by the mad scientist who sent them back in time(malpractice). maybe theyll meet god himself (100p??). Hey allen why do all these guys look vaguely like us and all have brown shoulder length hair

i remember i had my designs for og glitterduo memorized like muscle memory, i have no idea how i got over them so quickly but when i was reminded of them i couldnt keep the demons inside…i drew arg all the time in class and i love edgy characters so he was my perfect little guy. i might still refer to them (especially allen) as arg/incel/simp. Maybe this is another 2 week phase but i love them

also, i dont know what to call their “series”. i have two in mind: amygdala’s resonance/just amygdala, or hatena (as in question mark) but i think amygdala seems way too dark and edgy for what im thinking

[owl-with-a-pen]

From the second Brainy had turned up to the DEO that morning, he’d been in one hell of a bad mood. Confrontational didn’t even cut it – to Alex, it was like he was on a goddamn war path.

It had started out tame enough, maybe that was why she’d let it get as far as it had, but as well trained as her agents were against interrogation scenarios or an alien threat, no one was invulnerable to the inescapable pain of workplace microaggressions. Brainy had been subject to them himself in the past, but today he was the all-out perpetrator. It seemed he had something negative to say about everyone; mostly degrading remarks on their various intellects, going as far in some cases to mark them out on a scale from one to one-point-three. That was hardly news to Alex, although she hadn’t seen this kind of behaviour out of him in a very long time.

It had all come to a head not even a couple hours into Brainy’s shift. All it had taken was one too many poorly veiled insults targeted at one of her newer agents. By then, Alex could tell the difference between Brainy’s unintentional habit of being improperly blunt and whatever the hell he was seeking to achieve here.

It wasn’t like Brainy to act so purposely cruel, even on some of his darker days. He’d often experienced difficulties navigating his own intellect against his regular-minded co-workers, especially since the inhibitors had come off, but he’d never been openly hostile to them. Not like this. This was something else, like he was itching for a fight.

He got his wish when his goading finally hit the mark and the new hire stood from his chair. Alex knew the signs, but when their bickering exploded into a full-on argument, her voice was lost beyond the commotion.

Things escalated far too quickly, and she was much too late to stop the first punch from being thrown. Expectedly, Brainy dodged expertly out of the way, but the fire in his eyes was unmistakeably one of challenge, enough that Alex realised he had absolutely no intention of sticking to his usual evasive manoeuvres.

Shit. He wasn’t on the defence at all. And, when Brainy stepped into the agent’s space, ring-hand closed into a tight fist, she knew she couldn’t let it get any further.

Before Brainy could make his move, Alex shot into the fray, grabbing for his shoulder. The second she touched him, he tensed all over. Alex could feel the muscles in Brainy’s arm grow taut beneath her fingers, a strength building inside of him that scared her more than she would have ever admitted.

Kara’s powers had been a part of her life for so long that Alex often believed herself immune to the kind of fear seeing that sort of raw ability might inspire. Brainy wasn’t on a Kryptonian’s level by any means, but there was something unnerving about his strength that didn’t hit quite like Kara’s. It was a quiet sort of power, one he mostly kept hidden. A formidable ability that crept like a sleeper cell inside his implants and every shred of data that he had stored within his AI core.

She could feel all that and more brewing inside of him now, and when Alex tried to pull him back, he didn’t budge. She might as well have been trying to move a ten-ton statue.

Despite the panic pounding in her chest, Alex kept her cool. She waited a beat, measuring her movements, before trying again. This time, thankfully, Brainy relented. Although his body was still coiled tight, he let himself move with her momentum, stumbling a half step towards her.

Alex disguised her relief with anger, hissing into Brainy’s ear, “What the hell has gotten into you today?”

Brainy rolled his shoulder easily from her grip, righting himself in the process. “I’m fine,” he muttered tersely, his voice so rigid that she could barely see his jaw move.

Alex eyed him sharply. “I’ll be the judge of that,” she said, before raising her voice so that everyone could hear, “Agent Dox, with me!”

Any agent caught gawking at the scene quickly turned back to their work. Alex dismissed the string of apologies coming from her new hire, instead instructing him to cool off before returning to duty.

A senior agent like Brainy wouldn’t be getting off quite as lightly.

As Alex marched Brainy down the corridors of the new DEO building, she could feel him crackling at her heel like a storm cloud ready to strike. She bristled, preparing herself for the worst at every turn.

“Where are we going?” Brainy asked instead, his tone indifferent. As though he hadn’t tried to incite a war at 9 in the freaking morning.

“Somewhere private,” Alex returned, pushing open the door to one of the medical science labs. Today was her lucky day, it seemed, because the room was totally deserted.

She ushered Brainy in behind her before he could argue, directing him to the closest chair. He followed her instructions begrudgingly, taking the chair and swivelling it backwards before collapsing into it, folding his arms across the backrest with a scowl.

Now they were alone, Alex allowed herself to relax just a little, shedding some of the status that came with her rank. Her team had always been like a family to her, but Brainy was family, and now that she had him in a controlled environment, she could see his anger for what it really was. A tumultuous cover-up that was starting to crumble from the moment he’d sat down.

His frustration was plain in his body language, the way he wrung out his ring finger with his other hand like it was his only lifeline. She’d seen this behaviour before; it wasn’t hard to guess where it had come from. The why, though? That was a lot harder to pinpoint.

“What’s going on, Brainy?” Alex asked gently, folding her arms. When he glanced at the floor, twisting his ring even harder, she sighed. “You know you can’t just explode on your co-workers like that. I really thought we were past this.”

Brainy ruffled in affront, his mood souring even further. He glared up at her. “Past this?”

“You know what I mean,” Alex snapped, rubbing the bridge of her nose in frustration. “The point is, I haven’t seen you this riled up since—well, since ever. Something’s going on with you.” She narrowed her eyes, pressing her hip against the workbench at her side. “How have your talks with Kelly been going?”

Brainy leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across one another with a definitively neutral expression. “Confidentially.”

Alex could already feel her jaw begin to tense. It was times like these she really wished Kelly wasn’t so damn good at her job. She took her clients’ privacy incredibly seriously, even when it came to her friends. Especially when it came to her friends. Even as her wife, Alex was none the wiser on what she and Brainy discussed behind closed doors, other than the few small updates like he did well this session or I think we went back more steps than we took forward today.

“Alright,” Alex decided, lifting her chin. “We’ll do this the hard way, then. Stand up. I need to perform a full body scan.”

Brainy’s mouth fell open in outrage. He scoffed indignantly. “I’m fine,” he repeated through clenched teeth, an air of superiority creeping into his voice. He held his shoulders high. “Do you really think I wouldn’t be aware if something was impairing me?”

“Stand up,” Alex repeated. “Now.”

Brainy rolled his eyes but stood on her instruction. He remained still while Alex ran her equipment over him; too still, she thought. Whatever he was trying to hide from her was starting to surface, they both knew it.   

Alex’s worry only grew stronger for him.

Once the tests were done, Alex watched the results roll through on her tablet. His temperature was fine – his implants checked out, too. In fact, according to her equipment, nothing was running abnormally where the techno aspect of his physiology was concerned at all.

When her focus shifted to organic functions, however, Alex’s eyes widened in surprise.

Brainy’s heart rate wasn’t just through the roof, it might as well have been hanging out in another galaxy.

Alex hefted the tablet in her arm, throwing it out for Brainy to see. “You call this fine?”

Brainy scanned the results, shying in on himself defensively as he absorbed their meaning. He shrugged, folding his arms. “Kelly tells me that fluctuations in heart rate are normal for the emotional stressors I have experienced.”

“Well, yeah,” Alex nearly laughed, “but not all the time, Brainy! Something triggered this.”

When he refused to meet her eye, Alex bit her lip, carefully placing the tablet back on the counter. “Brainy,” she tried again, hesitating before taking a step closer. “Paired with what I know about your biology, this has all the tells of an anxiety attack.” She smiled sadly. “I don’t need to be a therapist to know that’s why you lashed out today.”

Brainy scoffed again, but his fingers tightened around his biceps. Alex had a feeling that if he’d been squeezing anything else in the room, it might’ve just snapped in half.

She scanned his face again. He didn’t wear his image inducer as often since the installation of the new DEO, but Alex wondered if he sometimes used it covertly to alter certain smaller features. Like the tell-tale bruising of someone who’d been avoiding their bed one too many nights in a row.

She frowned. “Have you been sleeping?”

Brainy froze. “O-of course.”

For a twelfth-level intellect, his lying game was about on par with Kara’s. Alex tried not to smile at his expense. Instead, she not-so innocently tugged at her jacket pocket. “So, if I texted Nia right now, she’d tell me the same thing?”

“It’s not that,” Brainy hastened, straightening his back. “My functions are running within normal parameters; my sleep is… is fine. Nia would corroborate.”

“Right,” Alex said slowly, raising a brow. “So, just today, then?”

“Why is this so important to you?” Brainy muttered. He was clearly tiring of their little back and forth. Maybe that was her way in.

Alex took another step forward. “Because you’re important to me,” she said, before glancing at the ceiling, “and because you’ve kind of pissed everyone on the day shift off so far. And it’s not even ten o’clock. That might be a new record.” She took his arm again, smiling when he reluctantly met her eye. “This matters, Brainy. I can’t put you back on duty like this. In fact, I think I have enough justification from these readings alone to put you on a mental health day. Even if your sleep is fine, it might be a good idea to take it easy.”

Brainy practically baulked at the suggestion, staggering out from under her hand. He shook his head vigorously, turning away. “Alex, that isn’t necessary. I don’t need to take it easy. I-I can’t.”

His voice nearly broke on that last word, enough to make Alex’s heart twist. “Why not?”

Brainy ducked away from her, and though she could only see half of his face, she knew he was trying to shut her out. She reached for him again, catching his elbow. “Brainy—hey, please.”

Maybe she’d broken through, or maybe he’d run the calculations on the likelihood of being let out of this room without telling her something. Either way, he finally relented.

“I can’t take it easy,” he told her through his teeth, his voice dangerously low. “Because… because, today is difficult for me.”

Alex’s brows knitted together worriedly. She squeezed his arm without thinking, trying instead to remember what day it was today. Had she missed some kind of anniversary? Naturally, she thought of the first day Brainy had arrived in this century, but that date had been and gone with nothing close to this sort of an emotional upheaval.  

Worse, then.

Then, Alex caught it. Brainy’s free arm shifted as his hand passed across his forehead, knocking a few blond strands away from his eyes. His fingers lingered for just a second, agitating across invisible surface scars.

Alex’s heart plummeted into her stomach. She felt nauseous. “Brainy,” she asked slowly. “Is—is today the day your father…?”

Brainy’s eyes were far away, reviewing the lab’s floor tile by tile. He didn’t say anything for a while; his chest was locked tight, as though he’d forgone the need for oxygen at all. Alex held her breath along with him, long enough that her lungs started to burn.

“Time,” Brainy muttered eventually, “dates… they’re all different on this planet, in this century.” He bared his teeth into a pained smile, his arm winding around his centre. “And yet, no matter what changes, I always know that day. I can feel it.” He shrugged, biting the inside of his cheek. “Call it a burden of a Coluan’s physiology.”

Alex squeezed him again. “Oh—Brainy…”

“Don’t,” he said tersely, wrenching his arm from hers. His eyes were wide, his expression open. “Don’t treat me like I’m… wounded. I—I only wish to keep my mind busy. And-and ever since my inhibitors came off I-I find that there’s never enough to occupy it. There are always spaces that are left empty, where-where those memories, those emotions resurface.”

Alex sighed. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but that’s exactly why I can’t let you work today. You understand that, right?”

Brainy gritted his teeth, lowering his head into a tight nod.

“Have you told Nia about this?”

“She knows,” Brainy croaked, looking sheepish. “I told her I-I needed space.”

“And then you came here.” Alex’s smile felt strained. “She doesn’t know you went to work today, does she?”

“I thought it would be easier.” Brainy sniffed, swiping at his face. “To be somewhere that no one knew. But that doesn’t matter if I can’t control this—”

“Hey,” Alex said gently, taking his hand. “Anniversaries can be tough. You know, when we were kids, Kara could never stomach her Earth birthday, either.”

Brainy’s breath stuttered past his lips, and he looked at her in confusion, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. His hand clenched uneasily around hers, willing her to continue.

Alex smiled. “She hated it, actually – her words, not mine - because it reminded her of everything she’d lost. My mom… she tried to turn it into a sort of celebration, to make it a happy day, but focusing on it in any way just sent her over the edge.” She winced. “You should’ve heard the screaming matches.”

Brainy huffed out a surprised laugh.

Alex grinned. “So, one day, I told Kara, suck it up for a second, you’re coming with me. And…” she chuckled, the memory flooding back all too easily, “I made her walk. For hours. Through the woods. No flying allowed. And we kept going and going until eventually, we came across this little creek. I told her to listen to the water. Just— put every one of her senses into that one thing. The bubbling of the water, the fish whipping their little tails, the smell. It wasn’t a magic cure-all, but for that moment, it helped.” Alex wound her hand tighter around Brainy’s, drawing them closer together. “You don’t have to put your focus into work, Brainy, you can pick something simpler. One sound, or one thing that makes you feel at peace.”

Brainy narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Yes…” he considered slowly, “that does sound pleasant.” He cleared his throat, shifting his tone. “Running water is one of numerous nature-specific sounds that are utilised for relaxation of the human mind. Nia has several of the ocean’s waves on her white noise app, although, I had never considered using it myself.” The furrow to his brow deepened. “But if I were to draw all of my processing power into one singular stimulus, it may be… beneficial.”

“What were you thinking?” Alex prompted.

Brainy glanced at her quickly before looking away again, a private smile twitching the corners of his mouth. “Flying… often clears my head. Perhaps I should try to find something up there. Above the noise, as Kara once put it.”

Alex nodded her encouragement. “That sounds like a really good place to start.”

Brainy returned her nod confidently, letting go of her hand as he made to leave. No hesitation, no debate. Just one direct thought leading onto the next action. Alex couldn’t help but smile.

Before he could make it out the door, she called out to him: “And, Brainy?”

Brainy paused, turning back to look at her.

“Thank you for sharing this with me.”

Something passed through Brainy’s expression before he lowered his head into a dutiful nod.

Fondly, Alex watched him go. He was certainly less tightly wound than he’d been before, though she knew he still had a way to go yet. At least this was a step in the right direction.

She supposed, in quite the literal sense, it was only up from here.

[guav]

ᥫ᭡ for sanzu haruchiyo,

⠀⠀⠀⠀DISCIPLINE

what is sanzu to do when his waging rampage is met with a boot to the face? answer's simple: wag his tail.

⠀⠀⚠︎⠀⠀bordering on dark! graphic descriptions of blood, violence, suggestive themes, like one sex scene if u squint, y'know how it goes. ooc sanzu because idfk either. like 4.8k words.

“i’m not your superior, haruchiyo,” tensions rise with a simple roll of the tongue. the waters have been tested, they seem to be riddled with piranhas. “yet, i can’t say im loving this death stare of yours.”

if you’re not careful, he might just eat you alive. sanzu is not above murder, if your forerunner is anything to go by. his stare is cold, calculating, mapping out your body of weak points. 

“manjiro tasked me with you, but i’m not a babysitter.” that got half his attention, the mention of mikey piquing his interest. “my job is to make sure you’re useful to him.” 

like food thrown to a starving animal, his full focus now preys on you.

sanzu has beautiful eyes, you notice. they widen at your words in utter disbelief. perhaps he’s a sleeper agent, ‘sano manjiro’ being the only whisper necessary to kick him into overdrive.

sanzu is an exquisite asset, isn’t he?

ever the shrewd character, you’re quick to notice his change of nature isn’t desperate. sanzu haruchiyo is not some helpless schoolgirl chasing after manjiro. there’s layers, a bond that transcends time itself. 

he is loyal, just not valuable enough; and that breeds desperation.

“useful—” sanzu clears his throat, “useful how?”

he can’t remember the next minute very well.

the first two seconds he wastes time blinking, the fourth is spent in a panic—you’re no longer within his field of vision. mark the fifteenth second, you reappear. one moment you were staring him down, sitting on piled up boxes, the next you’re beside him.

at the twentieth, his instincts go into overdrive. there’s no escaping the inevitable now.

sanzu is agile. sufficiently lithe to brace for impact before you slam him into the wall. his ears ring, and there’s warm liquid seeping out of his ear. he’s agile enough to survive a hit from you, perhaps that’s better than most. 

the alleway starts to spin, and the remainder of the minute is spent trying to stay afloat. it’s useless though, soon enough his legs give out and he kisses the ground hello.

there’s a sizeable dent in the concrete where you absolutely smashed him into. it reeks of danger—thrill.

“am i gonna have to teach you manners, too?” you click your tongue. “you live up to the fame, aren’t you the cutest rabid mutt?”

sanzu feels your fingers on his chin. he can’t fight back against the grip, not when he can’t tell if there’s really two of you or if that’s the work of a concussion. “rule number one, haruchiyo. you only speak when it’s something worth wasting breath on.”

he’s going limp. “is that clear?”

in all the two minutes he’s known you for, sanzu’s learned better than to go against your word. or words, he’s starting to hear double.

“yes.”

you make a mental note of his impeccable survival instinct. “good.”

RULE NO. 2: do as you’re told.

“you’ve already ditched the mask once, i don’t know why you backtracked on it.” 

sanzu remains motionless. your voice may as well have been a specter the way it goes ignored. and yet, his actions (or lack thereof) are not countered with another pummel on the drywall.

your line of work dictates a healthy dose of studying enigmas. speech, actions—none speak louder than the subconscious fidgets that compose body language. sanzu’s straightened back, clasped hands behind, and distant, firm gaze communicate enough.

he’s awaiting approval to voice his thoughts.

and that earns him another mouthful of dirt.

“i’m not your superior, haruchiyo. did i really need to repeat myself?” he looks helpless on the ground, breathing a string of curses into existence at the strain of his muscles.

his hands curl into the ground below, nearly pulling out the grass within his grip in frustration.“no, there was no need.”

sanzu does try to get up, overworking the already-sore body left from your strenuous training. (why you were expecting him in his kitchen first thing in the morning, only to drag him out to do fucking burpees, he’ll never know). 

however, once again, his efforts are fruitless. muscles fail to respond, and sanzu is left to lay on the ground. pathetic. the sudden pressure on the back of his head doesn’t allow for much struggle either. it’s heavy, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that’s your boot on him.

“it appears you’re misunderstanding our relationship.”

there’s not much left for sanzu than to succumb to your weight. it’s not pleasant, not in the slightest. nothing about impotence is.

“i’m going to make you into the best right-hand man. you’ll follow some rules, but you’re free to act however you wish. i’m not-”

“my superior.”

that seems to please you.  

sanzu breathes a sigh of relief when your footing no longer uses him as floor. he dares peek at the sky, but your figure blocks the sun from blinding his eyes. so why does he squint, still? your sole presence burns just as fiery.

“this is the second rule. if you plan to become useful,” suddenly he’s listening closely, attentive. “then you best honor commands, right now they’ll come from me, soon they’ll be your precious king’s own.”

sanzu bites back a scoff, draws blood from his cheek to cut any rash thoughts short. he could do this all by himself. obedience runs deep within his veins, preaches every demand as a devoted knight would to a throne; no different than a sunflower in pursuit of sustenance light years away.

he doesn’t need you.

“i understand.” so why does he follow you, no second questions asked?

a smile blesses him from the depths of hell, though your eyes don’t squint in the slightest. scary. you raise a finger to your cheek, tapping the skin twice.

sanzu proceeds to discard the black face mask without a single word of protest. it makes your lips stretch farther up.

the same boot crushing his head mere minutes ago nudges his body, sanzu now lies on his back. there’s no escape from your words, stare ever so omnipotent. “the difference between mucho and i is simple.”

is it? you’re both equally sliceable, nothing more than cartilage and bone. maybe next time you make an appearance he’ll cut you into pieces.

regardless, you’re slippery (maybe the polarity lies in that, sanzu muses). you stood proud one second, the next make of his abdomen a seat, cold hands cupping his face like he’s fine china and you, an avid collector.

“i love my hounds as they come,” you get closer, dangerously so. “snarly, scarred—they’re all the same to me.”

turquoise eyes are left to watch his destiny play before him. snap his neck, take a bite out his neck and tear the skin apart, anything could go with you.

“let’s change the second rule, haruchiyo.”

sanzu‘s breathing rags, your hands increase the pressure, and you might go for the alternative of crushing his head like a can. effortlessly.

“rule number two, you do as you’re told, but my word comes above everyone else's.”

your fingers travel north past his cheekbones, resting just below his eyes. he’s alert. you wonder what kind of canine would quiver the same way he does right now.

“is that understood?”

woof. “yes.”

RULE NO. 17: if you’re not useful, you’re out.

“don’t you get fuckin’ tired?” sanzu all but groans, drop of sweat joining the hundreds more pooling down his shirt. “surely sittin’ around while i do all the damn work wears you out.”

his words are poison, the katana in his hands is deadly, and yet, you giggle. “nah, keep doing your thing.”

there’s a fleeting thought to ditch this fight and have your head instead. although admittedly, he’d rather learn some spanish before fleeing to nicaragua with your body in five different plastic bags.

another nameless thug lunges, and it makes for another squirming body on the ground. “when you said we’d be taking care of business i thought you meant toman business.”

you know, mikey business?

sanzu bites his tongue after the sentence rolls out his mouth. as much as you’d grown accustomed to his character, he’d be sure to join the rest of motionless, bleeding goons if he disrespects you.

“toman’s dead, lost cause.”

that makes him stop the slashing. “fuck’s that mean?”

you’re satisfied with the fight for the evening, glock in hand shooting the last of targets. one bullet per head, not a single wasted. “we’re here on business to make sure there’s a place for you in the close future. bills are also due this week, two birds, one stone, yeah?”

“elaborate, “ sanzu actually growls.

“haruchiyo.”

the calling of his name makes sanzu’s shoulders roll back, back straightening out. it’s reflex now, really.

“tokyo manji is child’s play, you can’t possibly think i’m training you for them, right?”

“no, of course not,” what are you hiding? what do you really know?

your boot steps on too many limbs to reach his position, fresh blood joins the old on your sole. “correct! you’re so smart!”

sanzu misses his face mask. with it, you would be oblivious to his sneer when your hand comes up to ruffle his hair. it’s demeaning, probably intentional on your end. makes him seriously reconsider whether you’d look best with a sword through your chest.

“if you complete your training well-enough you could rule tokyo.” your eyes bore holes into his own. “wouldn’t you say all of kantou is more appealing?”

“sure?” 

you turn away from him. sanzu can finally stop holding his breath. 

“you don’t sound too convinced, haruchiyo.” only a fool would fall for your fake distress and pouty face. you’ve lost your stoic facade—deep down you’re but a childish merc with enough brute force to rival an elephant.

two fingers are raised over your shoulder, follow.

“i’m only interested in-”

“manjiro, i know.” you’d heard this story a thousand times. mikey, mikey, mikey. “and what’s gonna happen when he starts going for bigger fish? delinquency is a slippery slope into the world of crime—a rich one, too.”

sanzu can hardly picture mikey, in all his glory, waving a gun around. “you don’t know anything about him.”

you stop in your tracks.

he stops too, a good meter from you. 

“this isn’t about tokyo manji, it’s about sano manjiro.”

“they’re one in the same,” sanzu bites back. you’re not his superior, he can do as he wishes.

“haruchiyo,” your gaze is cold. “sit.”

he kneels, swallows his pride for the hundredth time.

the abandoned warehouse breathes death and rot. there’s barely moonlight dropping from the ceiling to light his path of carnage. whatever job this was had nothing to do with mikey. it makes sanzu boil over with rage. you’re wasting his time.

“what good are you to toman if there’s no mikey?” you step closer, sanzu leans forward to meet your hands. they’re cold, caressing the diamonds carved by the latter. “how are you going to serve if you’re useless?”

he avoids your stare. “i am useful.”

one of your hands moves from his cheek to stroke his hair, gently freeing the locks from his ponytail. “you are, look around.”

sanzu can distinguish around four men crawling for their life, the rest a mess of broken bones and mangled slashes. “if mikey needs to take a life, you’ll be more than prepared to strike.”

he thinks back on mucho. the thrill that kill brought him made it hard to function the rest of the day. now it’s second nature; sanzu bites and rips apart with no hesitation, takes life as if it was never there to begin with.

“listen, haruchiyo,” your hands are clean from all ichor, and he hates how good they feel on his scalp. “think of it like a mechanism.”

eyelashes flutter prior to closing, isolating his sense of sight to fully indulge in the rest. the smell of blood, sound of your analogy, a gentle caress on his face making him wish he didn’t enjoy it as much. sanzu wishes you were dead.

“a machine with bolts, springs and wheels, synced together, with purpose.”

he pictures a shrine, lost in the midst of a sea of faceless pawns. fifth farthest from commander, or founder. he pictures kids playing; a toy plane; the first command he’s ever received—he knows things are meant to be. 

“those who can't be a cog in our wheels are just scraps.”

as with any commandment you dictate, sanzu engraves the saying in his mind. carves each letter, memorizes every syllable, savors all implications.

“are you scrap, haruchiyo?”

“never.”

“good,” you coo, leaning down to graze his forehead with a kiss. the devil’s touch. “good.”

RULE NO. 99: know your place.

sanzu has come to the conclusion you’re a fucking parasite.

autumn witnessed development from cowering at our very presence, winter tied a ribbon to the unlikely friendship, and spring arrived with you at his doorstep every other day. 

you’ve become the first thing he sees in the mornings (somehow you’re always dressed by the time his eyes flutter open, janking his blankets to drag him to train: “let’s go for a walk, haruchiyo!”)

every single evening would be devoid of any personal space. whether it’s his couch being invaded, to his kitchen becoming an absolute mess with whatever recipe you’re trying to put together. no, it’s not the thought that counts, even if the heart-shaped burnt cookies were for him anyway.

the nights were probably the worst.

sanzu had long-forgotten his closet being only halfway full, nor does he know when you had practically moved your entire wardrobe into his. there’s not enough space for the two of you, and he absolutely despises how everything smells like you now.

“haruchiyo, bathtub’s ready.”

you’ve somehow achieved the impossible by making bubble baths the worst thing he can come to think of. hates the thought of getting dragged to it, absolutely detests how he tosses and turns in bed whenever he doesn't have one with you.

there's a nice scented candle on the counter serving as the lone light source within his bathroom. an obscene amount of foam clings to your hand as you test the temperature. save for the swoosh of the water, it seems sanzu might be granted the miracle of having a relaxing moment of silence in his bubble bath.

you stand, "turn around, 'm taking these off."

never fucking mind.

begrudgingly, sanzu complies. he starts to discard of his own clothes, too. his hands barely make it to the hem of his shirt before a piece of fabric lands perfectly on his head. god, you're gonna make him pop a vein.

"i'd love for you to not throw your underwear at me," sanzu has half the mind not to throw them back at you, opting for hooking a finger in the undergarment and throwing it as far away as possible.

"my bad," you're not in the least sorry. the water is too perfect to dwell on past mistakes. "c'mon, chop chop."

soon his body enters the water too, bubbles parting way as his skin kisses the still water. sanzu leans back on your body, not minding in the slightest the feel of your naked skin against his own; your body warmth rivaling the water's own.

(okay, maybe he minds a little)

"isn't this nice?"

"no," sanzu doesn't miss a beat. "have i ever told you how much i hate you?"

a good amount of shampoo is combed through his scalp by your fingers, gently massaging the area. "a couple times, yes."

let's make it thrice then: "well, i really fuckin' hate you."

what's most thrilling about sanzu haruchiyo is the double-edged blade his persona holds. failure comes with crystal clear dangers of getting diced alive, success offers a never ending supply of amusement. 

you push his head further into the water to rinse the shampoo off. there's no struggle from sanzu, you could very well drown him right now and there'd probably be no fight coming from him.

"you're seriously useless, i don't need you tellin' me what to do to appease mikey."

"close your eyes for me."

he follows your demand without missing a beat, basking in the water you pour on his face to rid the last bits of foam. "i want you dead."

early are the mornings your movement would be restricted by a pair of arms, late are the nights you'd walk home from a hit only to see his room's lights go off as soon as you enter the building. 

"you gonna leave me to shrivel like i’m raisins? get on with it."

you reach for the soap, "aren't you needy, haruchiyo?"

sanzu groans, this would seem like the perfect moment for a meteor to strike his building. rather than feeding into your delusion he keeps quiet. it’s better than talking to the wall you are. teasing, threading the rope that is his patience for you. 

hands travel across his skin, tending to it with soap that’s gonna leave sanzu reeking of your strawberry soap. “you’re funny, haruchiyo.”

it’s a shame there’s no sharp objects within his reach. “can’t wait for the day you slip and die.”

his half-empty threat procures a giggle from you. “see!”

“or the long fuckin’ awaited night you get stabbed and dumped in an alleyway.”

your laughter reverberates and bounces off the walls, and yet sanzu can’t tell if it’s sincere or genuine. 

banter ends at that, and soon he is clean. though there’s no change in position to allow for sanzu to even attempt to wash you, too. strange as it is, the peace and quiet are both rare enough, perhaps the universe has been kind enough to grant him this one moment of silence.

“but really, you are funny — i get the impression you’re all bite no bark,” enough instances of carnage and gargling on metal could easily refute this observation. you don’t care. “you whine, cry, complain, and yet you never ask for anything.”

just this morning he asked you to do the dishes (which you never did: “can’t make me”). perhaps dementia was knocking on your door a good thirty years too early. however, it’s implied you're not referring to such superficial instances.

“haruchiyo,” your body draws him impossibly closer, “what is it you wish most for?”

he tilts his head back, leaning on your shoulder. the new position allows for a better view of your face. momentarily, perchance a slip of character, his eyes wander. glance at your lips, the bubbles hugging your body from his view, squint to see what the water hides. “hell if i know.”

a hum is enough reassurance that you won’t contest his blatant lie. “okay.”

a splish, splash, and overflowing water hitting the tile, sanzu is now the one kneading at your hair, soap lathering and cleaning. intimacy at its finest. delectable sweetness as you lean back, and take a nibble of his jugular. it earns you a pinch on your hip.

“say, you in the mood for a new addition to the rulebook?”

“not in the slightest.”

his honesty is met with a splash of water to his face, “too bad, take note.”

sanzu rolls his eyes, cost of opportunity heavy with regret since, of course, he forgot to carry a toaster into the bathroom to finally take you out.

“know your part wherever you are—learn when to be the hanged, and when to be executioner.”

it’s random. it’s ironic. “if we’re playin’ like that, then your authority’s worth jack shit to me.”

“is that so?”

once again, the question is left unanswered. hung and forgotten.

“i think your act and place should always be by my side” you muse. it’s custom you add a rule to the list and immediately reform it.

a phantom feeling tugs at his throat, like a collar being yanked. hands that operate under your every order move to rest on your thighs. underwater, there’s no hierarchy; nudity knows no ruler from subject. “and if i say no?”

“you won’t.”

a horrifying realization dawns on sanzu haruchiyo that night. as his fingers inch dangerously higher, and higher, as the water turns cold, carelessly splashing outside the bathtub. as his teeth sink everywhere and two become one, sanzu haruchiyo comes to a gut wrenching conclusion.

‘you won’t.’

it’s true. maybe words can’t ever describe what he wishes for, but it’s easy to cross out what he doesn’t want.

sanzu knows he doesn’t want to stop. doesn’t wish for your hand to ever release his bicep from that deathly grip, or for you to stop making those noises, nor does he want anything but your warmth once it’s all said and done.

sanzu knows he doesn’t wish for you to ever leave, and maybe that’s enough.

RULE NO. 275: forget everything i've taught you.

"..what?" sanzu is beyond confused.

"yeah, you're good to go, no need to follow anything i've said anymore."

the room was empty. manjiro had long since left, the eldest haitani had grown bored of your mongrel staring him down with every flirt he shot your way, and the rest of kantou manji had simply shown themselves out for their own various reasons that no one truly cares for.

the gears are still turning on his head, cerebrum working overtime to decipher the new mandate, or lack thereof? schrodinger's rulebook, perhaps?

“you look good in white, you know.” as if you hadn’t just nuked everything he’s ever known, you lean forward to adjust his collar. your favorite pretty boy, dearest psychopath. “let me tie your hair for you.”

“what the fuck do you mean?”

he hates the feigned confusion you present him with. hates the tilt of your head so much he actually unsheathes his katana, blade steady and barely a few inches from your neck. it further irritates him your obvious lack of response, not even a flinch.

any other day you’d play the clueless game, but there’s really no one paying you the hour anymore. “it was fun while it lasted, wasn’t it?”

“why are you acting like you’re,” sanzu bares his teeth, disgusted at just the thought of the word, “like you’re ditching?”

interesting phrasing. not ‘leaving,’ that would imply abandonment, a cry of weakness. ‘ditching’ pins blame from the moment it is vocalized, like whatever you’re doing, actions sanzu is still trying to decode, is irrevocably your fault.

steel kisses your neck, close enough to feel the cold, and the lack of wavering. you’re proud of haruchiyo, really. “gonna miss me?”

“you don’t leave a gang.” there’s the helpless child in disguise. 

“manjiro took you in as vice,” you don’t bother with swatting the katana away, instead moving close enough to feel his hitched breath on your lips. arms thrown over his shoulders, fingers combing and threading to jail his locks into a ponytail. “i’d say my work is done.”

triads of protest die in his throat. shackles finally dissipate into thin air, long were the solstices he prayed for this day to come. yet sanzu feels himself floating away at the lack of grounding. he’s gonna be sick. 

for once the silence is suffocating. overwhelming. unwelcome. the katana slowly scurries back into hiding, desperately like an animal rolling over to flaunt it’s belly; a last ditch effort of submission.

“aren’t you excited?”

he can finally kill you. he can finally roll over in bed and not find you there. he can finally return to being alone, and the strongest, and-

sanzu doesn’t do as he’s told. 

“you finally have what you want.”

sanzu isn’t useful.

“you’ve been acknowledged.”

sanzu doesn’t know his place.

“you’re finally free.”

sanzu shoves you with enough force to stumble back onto the wide table in the meeting room, it’s surprising how it doesn’t shatter. there’s not enough time in a second to allow a reaction, not when he overpowers you for the second time, back slamming against the wood, sanzu’s body nestling between your legs. you can let him have this.

sanzu is stiff. he’s not used to being the one to leap first when it comes down to your dynamics. it feels unnatural to cage you like this, for your legs to wrap and pull him closer, like you’re mocking him. “you’re not my superior.”

one of your hands trail up his arm. “that’s correct.”

“then you’re my enemy.”

you tug him down, lips finding themselves naturally drawn right under his jaw. there’s no verbal answer to his introspection. 

“then i’ve beat you — i’m stronger than you.”

sanzu most certainly did not miss the floating sensation your attacks give him. by all means, physically, he should be stronger. so, physically too, it’s odd when your hand pushes his weight effortlessly, and your leg locks on to successfully beat his ass and pin him down. it sucks feeling a concussion in the brewing. 

he’s always looked prettier under you. “now that you’re on your own, haruchiyo, prepare to make mistakes.” his hands instinctively fly to your waist, “learn from them.”

sanzu groans, he himself doesn’t know if it’s the pain speaking or the built up frustration, “‘s that a new rule?”

the juxtaposition of slamming sanzu on the table and the gentle hands that come to tilt his head is a little funny. his skin smells of strawberries as you ghost your lips across it. “they’re parting words.”

it’s by no means a new position he’s found himself in. and yet he feels stumped. helplessly watching as the fire crackles its last sparks, as the last train starts to close its doors. even your body starts to feel like a distant whisper.

"haruchiyo, i want you to remember me." you're positive even the idea is far-fetched. the way his muscles tense and eyes narrow at your every call is automatic now. "memorize how my fingers feel on your jaw."

sanzu nearly purrs at the contact, and it's pathetic. he could never forget the grip, your hand looks best when it's on his face. 

"memorize my voice, you must."

it goes without saying he already has. plenty were the nights he woke up in cold sweat, hallucinating you in every shadow and crevice; many more he’s coped by turning in bed and found the warmest embrace in your arms.

he can't live without you.

"haruchiyo, what else can i do for you to remember me, forever and always?"

'what is it you wish most for?'

he remembers the seventeenth rule, remembers the day you promised him a reward far beyond being an asset to mikey. sanzu had reflected on it far too long. what could he possibly ask from you?

power is all he ever wants. being of importance, too. both are things he could never have from you. 

you have it all. you best him in every way possible. 

maybe, in just one thing, he can overthrow you. "a kiss."

sanzu has come to the conclusion there's no healthy middle when it comes to you. his mind splits between wanting your head on a stick and fighting urges to leap and bite at your lip until blood is drawn. 

perhaps an impulse to prove himself useful so you stay. a test of courage, his mouth wherever you need it most, whatever it is that will make you forever forget the thought of leaving him to fend for himself like a mutt.

"a kiss?" you've never looked more inviting than now, leaning back to stare him down, slowly blinking, a stray lock of hair falling out of place.

you’re making him feel real stupid. a small fraction cringing at his request, as if he had been reading the mood wrong and just completely ruined the moment (as if you straddling and leaving a mark or two on his neck could mean anything else). 

eyes never once stray from his stare. sanzu really is funny.

you lean back down, unamused with the shit-eating grin that’s stretching across his face. first comes the corner of his lips, a fleeting brush of your lips, a ghost to acknowledge his diamonds. sanzu’s fingers dig onto your hips as, painfully slowly, you align with his lips. 

sanzu haruchiyo, akaashi haruchiyo, your pride and joy. only way to commemorate would be by taking a bite out of him, how could you not?

your teeth sink mercilessly on his bottom lip. sanzu fights a choked cry, it hurts, and you don’t pull away until he’s left bleeding, panting, and so very dissatisfied. unfulfilled. bested again. 

“find me again,” as a treat, you kiss the half of his lips, stealing the red drops for yourself.

“money,” you kiss his cheek. “power,” he seeks your lips again, struggling for his wish. “influence,” you pull back.

sanzu grumbles a protest or two, flailing in a last ditch effort to claim what was his. your hand on his neck kills any hope of that. 

a finger swipes his bottom lip, teasing the lack of prize right in his face. “become someone with all three under his sleeve and you’ll find me again.”

the frustration is building back up. murderous desires. the need to fight you for control.

“is that understood?”

nevertheless, you’ve disciplined him well. “yes.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀navi.⠀＆⠀m.list.⠀＆⠀send me an ask!

⠀⠀also hbd to my least favorite person @k9wa