#i need it to start off innocuously too. like he puts off a date or two claiming that he has homework. he's clumsier now. like he doesn't

[introspectivememories]

well now that we know the cult is back, imma need some heavy bernard angst from the comic. the panic attacks, relapses into unhealthy behavior, pushing people away, imma need all of it.

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 9, Unselfish - Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, Jade Carthage (now officially a warning!), petty behavior on both sides, oblivious!Bucky, jealousy, insecurity.

Word Count: 2.1k

Previously On...: While on a cute little coffee date, you gave Bucky your seal of approval to start training Jade. You trust him and his love for you. This is definitely not the worst decision you've ever made in your entire life that will probably end up haunting your nightmares. Nope, not at all.

A/N: If I was Pocket, and this was real life (ah, if only!), I don't think I would have made it this far with Bucky (let's be real, though, no one in my real life is that good looking, or that seductively tragic). I would have washed my hands of him all the way back in Chapter Six, but! this is fiction, and fiction needs drama. Welcome to The Drama. We're glad to have you here. Mainly so that we don't have to suffer alone. All that to say, I definitely don't advocate for putting up with the kind of behavior Bucky will be displaying from this point forward. Toxic behavior is acceptable only in fiction, and only when we can recognize that it's toxic, and not something to emulate in real life.

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @jmeelee @cazellen @blackhawkfanatic @les-sel @marcswife21 @buckybarnessimpp @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @erelierraceala @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @jupiter-107 @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready

You weren’t going to admit it, but you regretted giving your okay to Bucky training Jade almost immediately. If she wasn’t asking him for extra training sessions, she was calling him with some stupid request or another.

First, it was that the lights in her room weren’t working:

“It was weird,” said Bucky when he’d come back from looking at them. “All the bulbs in her room were loose. Only thing I needed to do was tighten them.”

You kept your mouth shut, simply arching an eyebrow at him and hoping he genuinely believed that.

Next, she was constantly wanting to eat with him. “She’s lonely,” Bucky had told you when he’d left to have breakfast with her for the fourth morning in a row. “She hasn’t made many friends here yet. I’m just keeping her company.”

You let it slide; it was just breakfast following training, after all, and you were usually already at work by then. You still had lunch and dinner with him everyday.

Until she started sitting next to him at dinner, as well. At first, it wasn’t that big of deal; she was just a body at the table, and you could ignore her with no problems. But she slowly began monopolizing Bucky’s attention throughout the meals, asking him questions about combat training, protocols, any and everything innocuous and Avengers-related that made you feel like you couldn’t speak up against it without coming off as irrationally jealous.

After three evenings of being completely iced out of their conversation, you started engaging solely with Steve. It wasn’t your classiest move, knowing how Steve felt about you (and how Bucky felt about the way Steve felt about you) and using it for your own advantage, but he was still your friend, your family; it would have been weirder if you hadn’t spoken to him, at all. Of course, Bucky noticed this, and in seemingly no time at all, dinner returned to its normal dynamic, though you felt guilty about your behavior and tried to include Steve more than you had before.

But soon, she took lunches, too, and you couldn’t really find away around that.

Then she was complaining that the Tower was so boring and could he show her around the city? At least Bucky always insisted that you accompany him if he was going to go somewhere with Jade. It wasn’t your ideal way of spending the diminishing amount of time you had with Bucky, but you tried to make the best of it, though she went out of her way to make jabs and backhanded comments at your expense.

“It was so generous for Stark to have paid for your college education,” she cooed when you were all walking around Central Park together. “I can’t imagine what you must have done to warrant such generosity.”

“I’ve paid him back tenfold by working for him,” you told her through clenched teeth. You were usually able to brush off these disguised accusations with ease, but there was something about Jade’s insinuation that your relationship with Tony had some sort of seedy beginning that filled you with white hot rage.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ve worked very hard to get where you are today,” she oozed. “I bet Stark had you practically crawling on all fours to get you in your position.”

You felt the blood rising to your cheeks as anger flowed through you. You shot Bucky a glance, looking for him to tell her off, to defend you, something, but if he noticed the hidden barb in her words, he gave no indication of it.

“Pocket’s a genius,” he said instead, beaming at you and kissing the crown of your head. “Stark knew she was the best of the best, so it makes perfect sense that he would do whatever he needed to do to get her on his team. What was it you said, sweets? He got a good return on his investment in you.”

From outside of Bucky’s line of sight, Jade rolled her eyes, not pleased that her subtle attack hadn’t had its desired effect.

“Oh, Sarge,” she cried, grabbing on to his arm and tugging him away toward the pond, “look at the ducklings! Let’s go see them!” Now it was your turn to roll your eyes as Bucky turned to you with a shrug, as if to say “what can I do?” as he let Jade drag him away.

Annoyed, you chose not to follow, instead, walking along the path to buy yourself a hot pretzel from a nearby vendor.

“Hard being the third wheel when your friends are on a date, huh?” the vendor asked with a chuckle as he handed you your drink order.

“Excuse me?” you asked, pausing in the process of putting mustard on your pretzel. “That’s actually my boyfriend.”

The vendor looked taken aback. “You sure about that, honey?” He nudged his chin in the direction of the pond, where Jade was hanging onto Bucky’s arm as though he were a life preserver and pointing enthusiastically at the ducklings.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you snapped, grabbing your items and turning away from the rude man. You found yourself a bench where you could observe the two of them from a distance.

You had finished your pretzel and your iced tea before Bucky seemed to notice you weren’t alongside him. You crossed your arms over your chest and watched as he looked around for you, his face beginning to show panic when he couldn’t find you right away. Jade seemed to try to calm him down, but he wasn’t having any of it.

There was a small part of you, not so deep inside, that you weren’t proud of, that was glad to see him freak out at not being able to find you. Serves him right for ignoring you for her. You watched as Bucky jogged back to where he had last seen you on the path, calling your name, Jade following behind him.

“She probably just went back to the Tower,” you heard her say to him. “Why don’t we just enjoy the rest of our day, and you can meet up with her later? No point in letting her ruin our fun,” she added.

“Absolutely not,” Bucky snapped at her. “She wouldn’t do that! Fuck. I shouldn’t have gotten distracted.” He pulled out his phone and you knew he was going to call you.

You answered the phone before your ringtone could even begin. “Yes?” you asked, your voice cold.

“Baby! God, where are you?! I turned around and you were gone! I was worried sick.”

“I’m exactly where you left me half an hour ago, Barnes,” you said. “The two of you looked so fucking cozy; I didn’t want to interrupt your little date.”

You watched as his head shot up, scanning the path until he saw you sitting on your bench. When your eyes met, the relief on his face was unmistakable. You disconnected the call and sat waiting for him to make the next move.

He ran toward you, getting down on his knees in front of you before throwing his arms around you and pulling you into him.

“God, doll,” he murmured into your hair. “You were right behind us, and when I turned around after a second, you weren’t there, all I could think was that something terrible had happened to you.”

You glanced behind his shoulder to see Jade, hip cocked and arms across her chest, looking annoyed. “I didn’t mean to make you worry; I just got a pretzel. But that’s the thing, Buck,” you said as you pulled back from him, “I didn’t follow you at all and it took you thirty fucking minutes to notice.”

His face fell as the realization hit him. “Thirty minutes? Fuck. ‘m so sorry, Pocket,” he said, sincerity lacing his voice as he ran a hand through his hair. “That was shit of me. I don’t have an excuse.” He took your hands in his.

“See,” Jade said as she came up behind him, “she’s fine. Just being dramatic. I told you not to worry about her.”

“Vix,” Bucky said without looking at her, “go back to the Tower.” His voice was low and gruff as he spoke to her.

“What, like, by myself?” she asked, shocked that he would suggest such a thing.

“Yes. Alone.” Bucky said. When she made no motion to leave, he turned to look at her. “Now!” he growled before turning back to you.

“Fine, I’m going,” she said as she started to walk away, but not before sneering at you and flipping you the bird.

Once he was confident she was out of earshot, Bucky stood up and came to sit next to you on the bench. “This is the kinda shit you’ve been worrying about, isn’t it?" he asked you.

You didn’t respond for a while, just looked at him, trying to get your words in order. “I told you that I’m not going to control who can or can’t be friends with, Bucky,” you said eventually. “And I do still mean that. I don’t control you– no one controls you. But no girl is going to love seeing their boyfriend go off with someone else and completely forget about them.” You took a deep, sad sigh. “It hurts, Buck. It makes me feel like… like you only brought me with you out of some kind of obligation, and you’d rather I wasn’t here.” He tried to say something, but you kept talking. “I’m not saying that was your intention; I know it wasn’t. That’s just what it feels like. And maybe I’m being irrational, overly jealous. Maybe I’m being selfish. I don’t know. I’ve never done this before, this relationship thing. Ever. I’m just kinda… flying blind here.” You blinked away some tears that were threatening to fall. “Maybe I am too dependent on you. Maybe you’d be better off with someone who has their shit together and doesn’t freak out whenever another girl gets near you.” You shrugged your shoulders, feeling defeated.

Bucky fiercely wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you to his chest. “Stop,” he said, his voice almost a sob. “Stop saying things like that. It’s not true. I am begging you, never think that’s true. Pozhaluysta, lyubov' moya.” Please, my love. Bucky’s voice was raspy, as though he were choking back tears of his own. “Ty — vse, chto ya kogda-libo khotel. Vse, chto mne nado.” You are everything I ever wanted. Everything I need. “You make me so damned grateful that I fell off that train,” he whispered.

You pulled your head back, studying him in surprise. “Buck, you don’t mean that. You can’t mean that, not after everything—”

“It’s the truth,” he told you, hands coming up to cup your face, making sure you were looking at him, really looking at him. “If I hadn’t fallen, I’d have probably died in a German trench long before you’d ever been born, and the idea of it makes me sick. And everything—everything-that happened after, all of that led me to you. I can’t resent a single second of it, because it brought me here, now. Do you understand how fucking precious that makes you? How fucking special you are?”

You stared at him, stunned at his revelation. Bucky took your silence as an opportunity to pull you into him in a bruising, desperate kiss. If you’d been more self-aware, you’d have pulled back, embarrassed at being so brazen with your affection in public, but all you could do was kiss him back with every ounce of love you felt for him. And it felt so absolutely right.

Far too soon for your liking, you both had to come up for breath. Pressing your foreheads together, Bucky sighed contentedly. “What do you need me to do? I’ll do anything you need, you know that, right?”

You nodded, the movement of your head bringing his along with it and you both giggled. “I know,” you said. “Maybe no more outside-the-Tower excursions?” you asked timidly, hoping it wasn’t too big a request. “Or, if you still want to do them, maybe I don’t come with you? Being around her sets me off. It’s too much ”

“Consider them ended,” he said, without hesitation or pause. “Not even a question. I wouldn’t even consider going out of the Tower with her without you with me, and I’m not going to force you to spend time with her.”

“I’m so sorry,” you said softly. “I feel like such a controlling bitch.”

“No, baby, no.” He tucked your head under his chin as he held you to him. “That is the exact opposite of what you are.” You believed him, you really did, but it did nothing to quell the disgust you felt with yourself.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

[dotchi18]

hello to my favorite obey me writer :3

i saw you reblogged the flower writing prompts so im here!!!!

when you have time (and you're able to lollll) could you please do mammon and rose?

i hope your day has been great, your week even better,a nd your month fantastic!!

*Heart explodes and scatters to the wind* Thanks Cup ;~;

You're one of my favorite writers too, Obey Me and not ;w;

R - Rose (love at first sight): “The first time my eyes grazed your form, I knew what it meant to be utterly and ardently in love.”

Yandere!Mammon x Reader

College!AU, just like the last one <3

Warnings: References of Tampering, References to Hacking, Reader referred to as 'Treasure'

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Usually when it came to doing work for college, you were perfectly fine with holing yourself in your room and keeping yourself contained from the rest of the world, save for brief periods of time between classes where you would set yourself up in the library for any work you had.

It was on an innocuous day when your computer started to glitch.

The screen would fritz, and if it got really bad the computer would crash.

You had tried to push through at the start, as you didn't have spare money laying around to just up and buy a new laptop.

But it was starting to get out of hand, and losing two hours worth of work after you had been in the zone had lead you to biting your lower lip so you didn't scream amidst all these people, hurriedly jabbing at the power button in hopes to bring it back up, tears pressing at the back of your eyes when you had seen all that had been lost.

" You okay Treasure? Ya look like yer gonna cry."

Your eyes shifted over instead of anything else despite your surprise, and you looked to see Mammon.

He went to the college with you, you thought pretty highly of him actually.

His feelings for you were impossible to miss, especially when he tried to flirt with his little nicknames, but you weren't yet dating, as he had yet to truly ask, and you were waiting on him to tell you what he wanted.

" I just... There was..." You didn't really know how to reply to that before you gestured to the laptop as it came on fine enough, " My computer just seems to be having a... a bit of a glitch."

" Oh yeah?" He leaned over and glanced at your screen, taking in your documents and your screensaver as if he could do anything about it.

Mammon was a sweet guy, but you honestly had your doubts if he knew how to work a computer over anything but the basics.

In fact, it was really surprising he was even in the library.

" Yeah... By the way, what are you doing here Mammon?"

The white-haired man gave a small frustrated sigh and looked to the book you hadn't noticed he had slid onto the table in his transition to being beside you.

It wasn't a textbook, but the dull accounting-based title was so dull that even your brain couldn't fully process the title, sliding off it like oil on water.

" Just some stupid bullshit for class, don't worry 'bout it.

Also, I know someone who could help with this."

You looked back to him in surprise that he would volunteer something like that, " Really?"

" Yeah, my little brother Levi deals with this shit all the time. I can take it to him and he can figure it out, free of charge fer ya Treasure."

Free? Getting cheap help was one thing, but free?

" Really??"

" Yeah, don't worry about it. Ya just give him some time to work on it."

You paused.

A big paper was needed to be turned in, and you had only ever seen his brother Levi in passing, so giving up your computer was a very daunting prospect...

But ultimately your computer just kicked out 2 hours of your work just for the hell of it, so it would probably be for the best.

" ... Alright. Is there anything you need?"

" We need yer password just in case anything happens, but that's about all I know." The tanned man shrugged, but his smile was easy and warm.

The way he was putting it made it seem impossible to say no to him, or distrust his intentions, so you wrote down your password, placed it into your laptop and slid it into the bag.

" Thank you."

" Heh, don't worry about it Treasure." Mammon grinned as he grabbed the handle to the bag, slinging it over his shoulder with a blinding grin, " Just let me treat ya ta dinner after ya finish the paper, alright?"

" How could I say no to that?" You jokingly smiled to him as he winked to you, turning with a spring in his step.

-.-.-

Seems like his good luck charm worked.

He reached into his shirt, pulling on the chord around his neck, bringing out the hard drive he had plugged into your laptop a few weeks ago.

He unlooped it from his neck, whistling as he spun it around.

The second oldest Morningstar had always been known for his quick fingers and double motives.

But you always trusted him, didn't you Treasure?

He knew from the second he had looked at you that this feeling inside him was what it meant to be completely and utterly in love with someone.

And you just loved to prove him right, didn't you?

Now he even had a date with you, causing him to practically walk on air all the way home.

" Got the laptop?" Levi asked as he leaned back from his desk, pulling down his lit up headphones, bags under his eyes from the all-nighter he had been pulling.

" Yep. Don't think they even logged outta their email."

Levi scoffed and pushed away from his desk, " Too easy. Well, let's hook you up."

Don't worry Treasure, he's definitely going to solve all your problems.

So what if he gets a few... additives, from it?

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

In honour of finally getting a date for the new Taskmaster season, here's a clip of John Robins' approach to pointless games.

It's from a radio show feature called Made Up Games, which they started doing a few years into their radio show. At first they did Winner Plays On, a competitive quiz feature that was my favourite thing about the first 150 episodes, but they did eventually have to retire it as they were running out of topics. They replaced it with Beta Bet, a word game that I found great fun while it lasted, but they had to retire that because Elis was so bad at it (and John was quite good at it, but mostly Elis was bad at it) that John kept winning so easily. So because every good show needs some kind of competition, they replaced that with a feature called Made Up Games, which is a direct rip off of the Bored Games feature from the Russell Howard + Jon Richardson radio show, though those features were played nine years apart and I guess no one has a patent on the concept of inventing games so it's fine.

Basically, listeners write in with the little games they've made up, John and Elis play one per episode. In this episode, the game is to put a pile of coins on a receipt, and try to pull out the receipt without moving any coins. Most of the games they feature are less visual and therefore better radio than this one, but I cut this one out because it seemed so much like the sort of thing they do on Taskmaster (it's almost exactly the same as one of the season 6 tasks), and the way John handled it is so much the way I'm hoping he'll approach every task on Taskmaster.

I don't know what John Robins will show up on Taskmaster. I am currently immersed in the radio show circa 2018, and I realize I am familiarizing myself with the John Robins of the past, whom I hear is quite different than the current John Robins, a man who has quit drinking and maybe got his shit together. I have also expressed that I quite like the John Robins who was bitter and annoying, so I hope he hasn't changed too much, and we still get a bit of that on Taskmaster.

Having now tried to spend some time not drinking alcohol myself (and... not perfectly succeeding, but mostly succeeding, still keeping it up), I've got to say I'm pretty sure that not drinking alcohol doesn't necessarily make a person less miserable or less annoying. Quite the opposite in my personal experience. You can stop drinking alcohol and still be really really annoying.

And the level of annoying in the clip I posted above is really quite tame. I know it's too much to hope that Taskmaster John Robins will reach Winner Plays On-Brian May-gate levels of annoying. He'll probably have more restraint than that, being older and wiser. But I'd still be happy with the lower, more manageable "I beat you at this pointless game and need to make sure everyone noticed that I stared right at you while I did it" levels of annoying. I think that's a reasonable level of annoying to expect him to reach on Taskmaster.

This is actually an episode in which later on we got a very rare instance of Elis James slightly losing patience with the levels of annoying to which he's subjected on a regular basis, which I found quite funny, and I cut out and uploaded the clip before realizing it's not funny out of context. It's only funny if you've listened to Elis be unbothered by a million little annoying Robins comments over several years (Elis James is a saint, by the way, he's an all right comedian but deserves to win a Chortle Award in the category of Extreme Patience), and then this one fairly innocuous little gripe gets him to finally push back. But here it is anyway since I've already uploaded it.

I actually find it a bit weird that I'll be watching John Robins circa 2023 in a couple of weeks - I've been carefully going through all his stuff in chronological order (not just the radio show, but trying to listen to his other podcast appearances and watch his few TV things alongside the radio chronology), and I'll suddenly jump forward in time by five years. I just hope he's still competitive and snippy and annoying. Overly, pointlessly competitive, to the point of sacrificing making entertaining TV. I want everyone on the special secret little internet forums to fucking hate him. That's the kind of Taskmaster I like to see.

[haroldtea]

For the fic title ask game: leading threats

hmmmMMMmmMmMmm

ok first off, apologies for such a late response. i had a hard time coming up w something for this one! and then i got completely carried away. hope you enjoy!

it’s an au where the war ended early and everyone’s aged up a bit. sokka is the highest ranking representative of the SWT other than hakoda and he goes on a diplomatic mission w yue and arnook to the fire nation where they are to meet with fire lord iroh and work out something fairly innocuous like naval trade routes.

the reason they’re having a fancy in-person summit for something innocuous is because it’s been awhile since leaders of the water tribe met w that of the fire nation and it just looks better diplomatically to have personal meetings like this from time to time. although the war ended early and there is peace, the nations do not necessarily feel the warm n fuzzies about each other yet. they decide on the fire nation rather than one of the tribes because the dates they agreed upon coincide with a fire nation holiday the fire lord can’t miss - and the holiday gives the opportunity for a public appearance of the two nations’ leaders together.

sokka has never actually been to the fn before and it’s not like he’s heard the most amazing things about it back home, but he’s gonna be with yue, and katara and aang are going to meet up with them in time for the holiday after aang is finished with his pre-planned visit with the earth king. he’s there as a representative of the SWT, yes, but this visit is mainly business between the NWT and the fire nation (cuz of where the waters they’re discussing are, idk) so he’s essentially just here to keep up appearances, and to offer his input when needed, which is why hakoda felt it appropriate to send him in his stead. so… some political stuff, but this is mostly just going to be a vacation for him. (there probably already is some kind of au like this out there tbf)

they arrive and are welcomed by fire lord iroh and his family. son and crown prince lu ten, as well as iroh’s brother prince ozai and his wife and children. the overall first impressions are…colorful…but iroh receives them warmly and lu ten seems cool enough for a crown prince.

they’re not to start negotiations until the next day, so iroh tasks his nephew zuko with giving yue and sokka a tour of the palace. he thinks it’s a wonderful idea because zuko is around the same age as yue and sokka, but it becomes apparent very quickly that tour-guiding is not one of zuko’s strengths (although sokka wagers he’d still rather have him as the tour guide than his sister azula, who clearly did not have the warm and fuzzies for any of them). he tries to make jokes in such a dry tone that yue and sokka can’t tell that they’re jokes. he’s prickly when sokka offers his own sarcastic commentary and then when he realizes sokka was being just that, sarcastic, tries to make up for it by overcompensating with another terribly timed joke.

he relaxes a little when yue starts to ask light, but thoughtful questions that get thoughtful answers out of him. they have being royal children in common and find out they share a distaste for the same things that come with the title. by the end of the tour, he’s wearing an easy smile as he asks some palace staff to see yue and sokka to their rooms to rest before dinner.

sokka does not retain much from the tour (seriously, there’s only so many times one can say “and this room is the ___” with no other details as the 3 of you just stare into an empty room before moving on) other than being totally smitten with zuko.

yue clocks this immediately and sneakily arranges them to sit together at dinner. and by “arranges” i mean “pretends the cushion on her seat is too soft for her liking and asks sokka to switch seats with her loud enough that sokka can’t refuse without everyone noticing and thinking he’s being rude to the princess, which puts him right next to zuko.” the cushion is fine. what does “too soft” even mean? he grumbles as much to himself, which zuko overhears and lets out a surprised little laugh at, and that interests sokka much more than the cushion. “you know, i’m something of a prince myself back home…”

they continue to talk and laugh throughout dinner, zuko having relaxed that much more since the Tour That Shall Not Be Named, and later sokka feels eyes burning into the side of his head. he turns, expecting to catch yue being not subtle at all, but instead finds prince ozai, zuko’s dad, leering at him from down the other end of the table. sokka assumes that he’ll glance away once he knows he’s been caught, but ozai’s eyes just grow darker as he holds his stare.

unnerved, sokka turns his attention back towards zuko, who doesn’t seem to have noticed the interaction as he continues telling sokka about something called the ember island players while he pokes at his food. (i do think zuko is burned before this but i can’t think of a way to have that be true and have iroh be fire lord without ozai being dead or banished so… just let that be a plot hole in this fake fic. maybe it happened while azulon was still alive so iroh couldn’t do anything about it at the time. sure idk)

the negotiations begin the next day and sokka sits dutifully at yue’s side during the meetings, but zuko’s there too sitting next to lu ten and they quite literally can’t stop glancing at each other with furtive smiles, so much so that lu ten even elbows zuko to get him to pay attention. yue hides a laugh in her sleeve and disguises it as a cough.

they break for the day and zuko sidles up to sokka on their way out and asks if he’d like to see the palace gardens, which he didn’t get the chance to show him and yue yesterday. yue’s already gone off somewhere with arnook and iroh, and although sokka reallyyyyyy doesn’t want to relive any more of Zuko the Tour Guide, he won’t pass up the chance to spend time with zuko one on one. it ends up not exactly being one on one, and not really a tour either, as they end up at the turtleduck pond and find zuko’s mother already there. they spend some time with her, ursa teaching sokka how to get a turtleduck to come to him (a work in progress) and then lending him a scroll of old fire nation poems he might like. eventually zuko invites sokka back to his quarters for tea and they leave the pond.

finally alone, sokka thinks to himself when they reach zuko’s rooms. zuko brews them some tea, making small talk about how his uncle taught him the best way how, and pours some for sokka and then himself before sitting down at the table.

they sip their tea for a little while, chatting aimlessly, and sokka tries to act cool and collected while feeling anything but. eventually there’s a pause, and zuko gently places his teacup down and says, casually, “i actually don’t really like tea.”

sokka’s heart rate picks up as he places his own teacup down and says, “me neither.”

their eyes meet, another pause, and then the two of them scramble out of their seats to create their own meaning of diplomatic relations rather enthusiastically.

the week continues on like this, daytime political negotiations followed by a deeply satisfying rendezvous in whatever secret corner of the palace zuko brings him to next. or one of their rooms. beds are usually a good fallback. sokka is very much enjoying his first visit to the fire nation. he will absolutely be recommending it on trip advisor.

the vibes from ozai get increasingly whack, though, as the days pass. there’s a tension coming from his end of the table at dinner every night that only sokka seems to notice, although he does catch zuko minutely shrinking under his gaze once or twice. he’s not going to ask zuko about his dad issues, but something tells him there’s something bigger going on with ozai.

so in between his meetings of the political kind and his meetings of the… carnal kind, sokka snoops.

this is where the “leading threats” part comes in (finally, you’re thinking). sokka finds out in ways i do not feel like figuring out or describing that ozai is planning a coup to overthrow both iroh and lu ten so he can take over. he’s planning on using the visit from the water tribe officials as a cover — he plans to frame iroh and lu ten’s deaths as murders by the water tribe, then kill the water tribe officials themselves so they can’t clear their names. not only will this get ozai to the throne, it’ll give him a clear cut motive to restart the war that his brother ended.

sokka also discovers that ozai is not acting alone — he’s roped azula into masterminding much of the logistics of the coup, but also he’s coerced ursa into being involved with the actual murders (she poisoned azulon in canon right? or something? whatever it is, ozai is having her do that to iroh and lu ten) under threat of zuko’s death.

so yeah, sokka’s secret boyfriend does not have a chill family.

i think sokka would not immediately tell zuko (or anyone else) because 1) he doesn’t want to risk the consequences of being wrong and 2) he’s not sure if he 100% trusts that zuko isn’t also involved, even if it is coercion like ursa. not wanting to risk the consequences of being wrong is also why he doesn’t alert the rest of the water tribe or iroh & lu ten. this is a hugely serious accusation against ozai and by association, the fire nation, and if sokka’s wrong the diplomatic fallout would be catastrophic. beyond repair.

so he decides to try and usurp ozai himself and catch him red-handed. it does not go well. he’s quickly apprehended by azula and ends up becoming ozai’s hostage. ozai probably says some mean shit about zuko and their relationship. i think it’d be really evil if he told sokka that he’s gonna kill him and make it look like zuko did it. etc. (this would also confirm for sokka that zuko is definitely not involved)

not sure exactly how we get from point a to point b but i imagine sokka either finds a creative way to escape and alerts the others, and/or this is when aang and katara arrive and aang swoops in and takes care of business (this is, let’s say, the day before the holiday i mentioned), and/or ozai is intercepted by zuko, lu ten, and iroh because sokka is not as subtle as he thinks (the bar is low, okay? his best friend is yue) and zuko picked up on something being off. maybe it’s a big fight scene combining all of these things. let your imagination run wild!

“dude, your family is kinda…” sokka would shout to zuko while they’re fighting side by side (idk i imagine ozai has some other buff lackeys working for him too, guards he turned to his side, what have you).

“yeah, i know,” zuko would respond sheepishly.

“it’s okay, i still think you’re hot!” sokka would reassure him.

it ends with ozai being imprisoned. i think because this coup was a more short-term plan than ozai’s whole plot in canon, his claws aren’t sunk so deep into azula that she has the same mental break that she has in canon. i say she and ursa are sent to ember island for awhile on “house arrest” as like, diet banishment. not full banishment. azula is a child and ursa was clearly under extreme duress and truly believed ozai would kill zuko if she did not comply (he would have). azula and ursa can work on their shit while they’re away.

the next day is the fire nation holiday, and the royals & officials make a lovely public appearance as iroh formally begins the festivities. the trade negotiations are settled, so all there’s left to do is party. aang, katara, sokka, yue and zuko hang out around the festival, checking out performances and trying new foods.

eventually zuko pulls sokka away from the rest of the group and they hide behind a larger tent. “you know, i don’t actually care if people know. i just figured it wasn’t the best thing to advertise during the, y’know. diplomacy stuff,” sokka says, taking zuko’s hands.

“me too,” zuko replies. “but also, it’s kinda fun?”

“definitely,” sokka agrees and then pulls zuko into a kiss.

later (much later), sokka and zuko are meandering through the festival stalls, swinging their clasped hands between them, when zuko sees a stall selling messenger hawks. “do they receive mail in the southern water tribe?” he jokes, reaching up to stroke under the chin of the closest hawk.

“you know, i’ll have to get back to you on that one,” sokka says, rubbing his chin and pretending to look unsure. zuko elbows him. “you’d better write me. i know where you live, you know,” sokka adds.

“and you’d better write back. i don’t know where you live, but i’m told i’m pretty good at tracking.”

“tempting,” sokka hums. “that would be one way to get you down to the southern water tribe, i guess.”

“you know, my uncle has mentioned recently that i should probably do more traveling. get to know more about the other nations so i can help lu ten when he’s fire lord,” zuko says casually as they pass by another stall.

“he has, huh?” sokka tugs zuko into his side.

zuko smiles. “yep.”

“he has a point. international diplomacy is invaluable. just ask aang.”

“right,” zuko says, staring at sokka’s mouth. “international diplomacy.”

sokka thinks he says something like mhmm or uh huh in response but he quickly loses track of anything that isn’t zuko kissing him, so he lets it go.

the next day, zuko grabs a sheet of paper and goes to his desk with a fresh well of ink before sokka’s ship has even dipped from the horizon.

-

[if you can stand me writing more insanely long shit like this, weeks late, send me a title and i’ll tell you what kind of fic i’d write for it!]

[bengiyo]

The Eclipse Ep 9 Stray Thoughts

Back to the slow burn romance due to homophobia in high school show. This is in competition with Takara-kun & Amagi-kun for Best Use of High School for the BL Summer '22 High School Extravaganza Awards Show.

Fuck Chadok so much, bro.

I am convinced Thua took the notebook originally.

Khaotung performing a panic attack is convincing. Good job to First with a very believable reaction.

Damn, and here I was hoping Ayan would that Dika was his uncle.

Requesting a sponge bath?? Oh, BL.

I half-expected Akk to find lube, condoms, and dildos in that drawer alongside the pills.

Man, the softness in Khaotung's voice when Ayan talked about how much he liked seeing Akk's family took me all the way back to Make The Yuletide Gay (2009) when Nathan lamented missing the way his mom used to talk to him. I'm not okay, y'all. Send some juice.

Ayan starts to feel just a little bit better and immediately resumes flirting.

Oh lord the return of the building code violation stairs. I need someone to die on those stairs in a drama.

It's such a relief to see Akk being mischievous when Ayan's mom asks about his life at school.

Ayan is not going to lose a trolling battle, of course. Akk is definitely dating someone.

I have no notes for this dinner. That was fun. BL is way more fun when the parents aren't homophobic and genuinely love their kids. I love watching parents troll their kids with pointed questions in front of their crushes.

I do like that the boys are diligent and clean the dishes after someone else cooks for them. And of course Ayan must flirt.

I say this often, but there is a special bond between gay boys and their moms. I'm glad she approves of Akk.

Again, I have no notes for this car conversation between Ayan's mom and Akk. She isn't meddling in their affairs beyond assuring Akk that she is grateful for his presence in her son's life. Her only request being that he not hurt himself takes me back to Until We Meet Again and Pharm's first meet with Dean's grandmother.

How deep does this go with Chadok?

I do love the way the World Remembers is toeing the line.

Wat's love of film being used against people must hurt him.

And now Namo has definitely decided to take initiative. I hope Nian is okay.

Ayan is launching a phishing attack. Amazing.

I do like that no matter what is going on, Ayan will choose to be a know-it-all and a flirt.

For once a sandwich is just a sandwich, and not product placement.

It's interesting in this conversation with Namo that the most common aspect of toxic masculinity resurfaces: the ability of any other man to question your manhood (or in this case, loyalty).

Thua is so careful that I ache sometimes. Leading Kan along with a series of innocuous inquiries before stating that he's fond of Bruce Wayne, and wants him to speak to him openly. He's even careful enough not to look at Kan's reactions because he already knows.

LOL did Kan really run to Ayan and tell him everything? I love how much Kan wants to come out that he's accelerating his reliance on Ayan.

Ayan asks a super romantic question, which allows Neo and Khaotung to show off that they can act with their eyes. Incredibly refreshing. I want more of them.

Ayan giving voice to how Kan feels, and his smile in response? My heart.

I love Ayan insisting that they're dating. First is also so funny with the way he plays Akk pout-eating.

Khaotung and First are a great pair. This wasabi sequence is a real treat.

I really hope we get to see a film from Wat at some point.

Why is First swimming like this?? Is he okay?? Baby boy, you gotta put that head in the water and stretch more. Don't bend your knees so much and keep those legs straight. Did they make him do this so we would see his face? This is a disaster!

Ayan is so right. Akk has such a nice face when he smiles.

The water they're in must be cold, and they must have been filming for a while. First is shivering. I noticed this in Minato's Laundromat too on Nishigaki Sho.

It's interesting that Akk has never once denied his attraction to Ayan. Even here his rejection of the kiss is location.

The underwater kiss still belongs to the gays!!!!! We stay winning!!!!

First can also act with his face.

Oh my next week looks like things still don't come to a head. Gah, where are we headed??

[plsimsuchasimp]

gone (cheating ft. kenma)

an anon asked me to write another version of this post, so here it is. i’m sorry about this, it’s definitely not my best work.

request: “Can you do another cheating fic but with kenma since he is my favorite character”

genre: angst

ft: kenma kozume x gn reader, a little bit of kuroo tetsuro

wc: 1.8k

warnings: fainting, angst, implied cheating

Flopping down on your bed, you picked up your phone and shot off a quick text message to your boyfriend, Kenma.

“hey babe, can we call? it’s been a really long week and I haven’t seen you in forever,” you wrote, pressing the send button with only a moment’s hesitation. 

Sighing, you scrolled upwards a bit, reading through the message history. Recently, his texts had been getting shorter and more abrupt, often making excuses when you asked to see him or talk to him.

1 new message. Distracted, you scrolled down to see Kenma’s text. 

“sorry can’t i was just about to sleep”

Frowning, you glanced at the top of the screen. 10:53 pm. He never went to bed this early, let alone slept. Your throat constricted, but you tried to brush it off, the thoughts whispering at the back of your head like malicious pixies, insecurities and harsh words. You stared at the simple string of words, wondering what to say. Are you okay? you’ve seemed off recently. No, you were probably just overthinking it.

“okay, have a good night! ily” Read 10:57 pm. No response.

Putting the phone down, you tried to push it to the back of your thoughts, but it nagged at you. Turning on your PC, you logged onto discord and noticed Kenma’s status. He was playing a multiplayer game, in a VC with one other person. Right-clicking, you ignored the feeling of distrust and clicked on the other player’s profile. 

You knew her- she was a friend of Kenma’s from school. Kenma had promised you they were just friends, that you had nothing to worry about, but the insecurities crept in again as you realized he’d been spending a lot more time with her instead of you. Biting your lip, you looked back at your phone, the accusing text glaring at you. It seemed innocuous, seemed like you were overreacting. Kenma didn’t really get why you were insecure- he always told you he only had eyes for you, but lately, it didn’t really feel like it.

The last time you two had hung out, he’d laughed at something on his phone, then turned away when you asked to see what it was, muttering something vague about a funny tiktok. You didn’t think much of it at the time, but with thoughts crowding your head, you wondered if it really had been just a video. Kozume had always been distant- you understood that when you started dating him, but was it too much to ask for a scrap of his attention? 

You were torn. On one hand, you wanted to trust Kenma, believe that everything he told you was true and he still loved you like he used to. On the other, your gut was telling you there was something off. Praying that he wasn’t hiding anything, you entered a different browser and logged into his Discord account. You’d given each other the passwords to your socials a while ago, your way of showing that you had nothing to hide.

Incorrect login information. The words appeared in red on the screen, the password field outlined in red. You tried again, ensuring that there were no typos, and it still registered as wrong. Your stomach sank, staring at the message on the screen. He changed his password and didn’t tell you. At this point, you knew something was wrong, but you didn’t want to ask him in fear of seeming insecure or clingy, both traits Kenma disliked. Before you could lose yourself further in the swirling tornado of your thoughts, your phone dinged with a new message. It was from Kuroo.

“hey y/n, are you up? we need to talk.”

Brow furrowing, you responded with “yeah, is everything okay?” He read the text, and then the call icon rang at the top of the screen, red and green buttons buzzing gently. You accepted the call, answering with “Hi Kuroo.”

“Hey y/n,” he said, his voice quieter than normal. 

“Are you okay?” He sounded off, sad somehow.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine. There’s something I need to tell you, though.” You paused for a second, hoping it wasn’t what you thought it was, before he continued. “Kenma- Kenma cheated on you.”

“W-what?” Time seemed to stop. you couldn’t, didn’t want to believe your ears. Your breath caught in your throat, shock freezing your body in place.

“Shit, y/n, I’m so sorry. I just found out.” Kuroo was still talking, but you weren’t hearing him. It seemed impossible, even though you’d seen it coming. “Y/n? Are you okay?” 

Startled, you choked out, “Yeah, I’m okay, just a little shocked.” a little was an understatement. “H-how did you find out?”

“Well,” he sighed, “I saw him kiss her behind the cafe yesterday. I wanted to tell you sooner, but I was still figuring out what to do.” Guilt laced his words, and you got the feeling there was still something he hadn’t said.

“What else?” From his slight intake of breath, you could tell you’d caught him off guard. He was silent for a moment.

“He’s been texting her on Discord for the past month or so. I think you know her, (f/n)?” You felt your heart crash into your stomach, and your worst fears were confirmed. Switching back onto your computer, you saw that Kenma was still playing the game with the girl, and your stomach clenched. 

“Yeah, I know her.” He noticed that your voice was quiet, subdued, and he swallowed.

“Y/n, I’m- I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.” He was silent then, waiting for you to speak.

“No, no, it’s fine,” You said, your voice oddly calm. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Of course. Hey, are you going to be okay?” He asked, unsure what was really happening inside your head.

“Yeah. I’ll be fine.” Before he had a chance to say anything else, you hung up, mind spinning.

Oddly enough, you didn’t feel anything. You knew in the back of your head that this was your way of coping, that the hurt and anger and sadness would come later, but for now you didn’t care. Methodically, you went to all of your socials and blocked Kenma, hesitating only slightly to block his number in your phone.

You shut off your computer and turned your phone to silent, sitting in silence on your bed. Slowly, your eyes filled with tears that spilled down your cheeks, expressionless besides the gleaming tear streaks staining your face. Your shoulders shook, and everything seemed to crash down at once. 

Your body couldn’t keep up, the sobs overtaking you until you were lightheaded. The room was spinning and the shining moonlight was glinting through the blinds at odd angles, seeming to distort your vision. You couldn’t breathe, and then everything faded to black.

You woke up a few seconds later with your head on the pillow, dazed and hearing the blood pound through your head. You groaned and lay there for a couple of minutes, letting your breathing slow. 

You got up and brushed your teeth, staring at your puffy eyes in the mirror. It hurt, to know the man you loved didn’t feel the same anymore. What did you do wrong? Were you too clingy, not good enough, not there for him enough? Why would he cheat on you? 

Guilt vibrated around you, and it brought back the memories of every other time. It must have been your fault- it always was. 

Sleep took you uneasily that night, creeping in around your obsessive, painful thoughts and lulling you to distraction.

The next morning at school, you wiped the pain from your face and moved through the day in a haze. You saw Kenma in the hallway, leaning against the lockers on his phone, and avoided eye contact. When you saw her, (f/n), anger and hurt swelled up in your stomach, and you tried to swallow it and avoid lashing out. 

Later, Kenma stared at his phone as an error message popped up when he tried to text you. We’re sorry, the number you’re trying to reach is unavailable. A pit formed in his stomach, and he went to his other socials, reaching the same conclusions in other places. 

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, amber eyes scanning the hallway. You were already gone, though, and he moved through the swarm of people, eyes focused on the exit. Where would you have gone? 

When he showed up at your house that afternoon, you were surprised. He doesn’t waste time, showing you his phone and bluntly asking “Why did you block me?” Your eyes widened to see him slouching there, clearly uncomfortable with going out of his way to do this. “Are you angry at me?”

“Kozume, I don’t really want to talk to you right now.” His face twisted at your use of his last name.

“Why not?” 

At this point, you sighed, tired of everything. “You cheated on me. That’s why.” Your voice cracks in the last sentence, and the world stops.

His stomach drops as you turn away, the weight of the world on your shoulders. “N-no. Y/n. Please don’t go!” 

Kenma’s not good with words, and you understand that. Sometimes, though, it feels like he’s not trying. As he shook his head frantically, chin-length hair swaying around his beautiful face, you could tell he wanted to say something, but he can’t.

“What is there to say, Kozume?” Your eyes were brimming with tears, your heart squeezing at the sight of him.

“I didn’t- I didn’t mean to.” Even he knows how weak this sounds, how pathetic of him, and when he looks back up at you, his eyes are shiny. “I love you.”

His words ring hollow, and you scoff. “Where was that love when you kissed her behind the cafe? Where was it when you were constantly texting her on discord? Where was it when I needed you and you weren’t there?” You shake your head, heartbreak written all over your features. It’s then that he remembers the declined calls, the unanswered texts, the neglect he subjected you to as he pushed you away.

“I hope you’re happy with her, because we’re done.”

He didn’t even have a good reason this time. All he knew was that he wanted you to stay, but he knew he didn’t deserve a second chance. Against his will, a tear slid down his cheek and dropped to the floor, making him sniffle. 

There was nothing you wanted more than to pull him into your arms, cry into his shoulder, but you couldn’t. It hurt too much. You stepped back and slammed the door on him for the final time.

Leaning your head against the door, all of your emotions spilled out. You were silently crying, the ache in your chest almost too much to bear. You thought you heard your name outside the door, whispered just loud enough for you to hear, but you just sank down to the floor and let the tears fall.

On the other side of the door, Kenma’s phone buzzed. It was a text from her, and the disgust and anger that filled his stomach at the sight was enough for him to know he’d never forgive himself for hurting you like this.

“I love you.”

a/n: srry for the anticlimatic ending i was just feeling super bad and not in the mood to write but i wanted to get this out here, hope you like it.

[jackrrabbit]

cuffing season /// Ushijima x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: [Shiratorizawa fanweek day 5—Firsts] You convince your boyfriend to try something new in the bedroom, but as it turns out, old habits die hard.

A/N: Heard it was Shiratorizawa week 👀 technically I did originally post this on day 5, but I had to repost bc of tag issues, whoops :P Let’s pray it works this time!! edit: apparently it’s still not listed in the tags :<

The song that I mention is Bruno Major’s Old Fashioned (although it doesn’t fit the tone of this fic in the least).

Tags/warnings: mild bondage, size kink, rough sex!!!, marking (bruises/hickeys/etc.), power play/power exchange, reader tries & fails to dom Mr. Ushijima 😳, all characters are adults

Look, Ushijima’s a great boyfriend. Perfect, almost. Sure, he may not be the most expressive guy, but you’ve been dating him long enough that you’re able to pick up on the little gestures that tell you that he cares about you—the way he presses his face into your hair when you hug him after you’ve been apart for a while; his hands stroking circles into your skin when you fall asleep in bed next to him; all of it. He’s everything you could possibly look for in a man, except for one not-so-little issue:

The sex.

Because Ushijima, your sweet, wonderful boyfriend, who kisses you so gently it’s like he thinks you’ll fall apart if he’s not infinitely careful with you, is for some reason incapable of exercising the same degree of restraint (or any restraint at all) when you’re in bed together. When it comes to sex, your boyfriend is a fucking animal. And you’re not really sure how much more you can handle.

Maybe your concerns would seem petty from an outsider’s perspective. It’s not like Ushijima doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer, and it’s not like you don’t want to have sex. You’re attracted to him, of course you are! Almost 76 inches and 190 pounds of pure muscle, a body that looks like Michelangelo could have carved it from marble, and that beautifully solemn expression that had you salivating over him from the stands before you even knew his name? You want to have sex with him, you’re just fairly certain you can’t, not when it always ends up with you completely and utterly wrecked, so spent you don’t even have the strength to lift your hips off the mattress so he can wipe his cum off your thighs.

Look, anyone in your position would feel the same way. It’s awful and you’ll never admit it to him, but you almost broke up with him after the first time you two fucked. You knew going in that it wouldn’t be easy—the man radiates big dick energy and boy did he deliver—but it was just too much.

That first time had started off so innocuously, with you inviting him to your place for a nightcap after your sixth date. You’d set candles and put on your romantic sex playlist for a nice backdrop to let him hold you in his lap and make out—how the hell had you gone from that to having him rut you into the mattress, your belly pressed into the sheets and ass arched up so he could pound into you so forcefully that your rickety bed smacked into the wall hard enough to rattle the furniture with every movement, and you couldn’t even hear it over the sound of your own moaning? You hadn’t changed the playlist, and it felt downright obscene to listen to Bruno Major croon about love and courtship while Ushijima fucked into you like he was trying to carve the shape of his cock into your pussy.

You’d had to call in sick the next day because you could barely walk. The bruises from where he held your hips had taken weeks to fade, and by that time he’d already given you new ones. To his credit, Ushijima felt bad when he saw the evidence of how rough he’d been and he promised to take it easy on you next time…but after a few more rounds of mind-numbingly savage sex you learned that the man apparently doesn’t know what ‘take it easy’ means.

To be fair, at least some of it is your fault. You really shouldn’t have offered to go on the pill as a three-month anniversary present to him. At least before, he had to give you a break while he changed condoms after he came; now he has no reason to hesitate, instead going for round two (and sometimes round three) without pulling out. You never thought you’d see superhuman stamina as a bad thing, but…

“You don’t get it! It’s like getting fucked by a stallion. I need to plan to have three days to recover whenever I take him home with me,” you whined to your friends over cocktails when they told you you shouldn’t complain about a good thing—after all, Ushijima is just as committed to your pleasure as he is to his own, and there’s never been an occasion where he didn’t get you off before fucking you himself (probably at least a little because there’s no way in hell you’d be relaxed enough to take him otherwise).

“Can’t you just tell him to go slower?” one of your friends asked. “If he doesn’t listen to you, then that’s fucked up and you need to dump him.”

“It’s not that he doesn’t listen. If I tell him to stop, he stops,” you sighed, stirring your drink with the straw and watching the decorative sprig of mint fall under the surface to be overtaken by a chip of ice. “It’s like he can’t go slower. He’s not adjustable—it’s either crazy brutal or nothing, and then neither of us get what we want. Like a vibrator you can’t turn off the highest level. I don’t even think he realizes in the moment how intense it is for me.”

“Aren’t you ever on top? You can set the pace.”

“I’ve tried, but Ushi just—“ you made a gripping motion with your hands and mimicked raising something up and setting it down vigorously— “like, bounces me.”

One of them raised an eyebrow and then her eyes widened. She turned to your other friend and the two of them whispered to each other for a bit, then shifted back to you. “Tie him up,” she said with the air of an elder imparting sage knowledge, and your other friend nodded.

“Oh, come on.” You rolled your eyes.

“I’m serious. Guys usually love it when girls are in control, you just need to take the initiative. Get him tied down and then you can show him exactly how you like it. Let him feel like he’s at your mercy for once.”

The idea had seemed unthinkable at the time, but you hadn’t been able to forget it—which is why after weeks of contemplation, hours of research, and a single extremely awkward trip to a sex shop, you’re now crouching over Ushijima’s naked chest, wrapping a leather cuff around one of his wrists.

“Are you sure that this is something you want to do?” Ushijima asks in that weighty baritone that makes you shiver with need. He doesn’t pull away, but he eyes your actions warily as you thread the chain of the cuffs around a rung in the center of your headboard and reach over to do the other side.

“…Yes,” you tell him, a little less firmly than you would have liked, and you lick your lips to try to make up for how suddenly dry your mouth is. “Anyway, isn’t that my line? We don’t have to do the cuffs if you don’t want to. I won’t force you.”

“It’s alright. You and I both know you couldn’t force me, (Y/N).” Dark eyes pin you down and it’s incredibly unfair how much power he has over you even when he’s the one chained to the bed.

Ushijima’s right, obviously—if he didn’t want to be exactly where he is right now, he wouldn’t be. You’re sure as hell not strong enough to force him to do anything he doesn’t want to, but he didn’t have to say it like that.

“Okay then…good,” you reply, adjusting the straps of the cuffs to accommodate for how stupidly thick his wrists are. When you’re satisfied that they won’t chafe but he can’t get out of them without your help, you sit back next to his chest and admire your handiwork. Ushijima lays on his back, naked, relaxed, even with his arms stretched up to your headboard and cuffed there. He looks good, mouthwateringly good, and you’re ready to get your hands on him when you remember there’s something you need to get straight first. “Wait, before we—before I do anything, remember— what do you say if you want me to stop?”

“…Vanilla,” Ushijima says, reciting the safeword you decided on when you were hammering out details, although the look in his half-lidded eyes is telling you very clearly that he has no intention of needing to use it.

Privately you agree, but everything you’ve read on the kink blogs you’ve been trolling for research tells you that a responsible adult doesn’t put cuffs on their partner without deciding on a safeword first, and you’re determined to do this by the book. “Good boy,” you say, and the diminutive feels awkward in your mouth until you see Ushijima’s reaction—the flash in his eyes, a minuscule hitch in his breathing next to you, and the scrape of metal against wood as he gives a light pull at the cuffs.

With everything safe and accounted for, you give a final tug to the chain to ensure it’s secure, then inch back and swing one leg over the broad expanse of his chest so you’re straddling his abdomen (and he’s so damn big that there’s a twinge of soreness in your thighs just from sitting on top of him). Fuck, he looks good like this, all spread out and pinned underneath you, so masculine and bulky that you’re feeling your pussy get wet just from watching him watching you.

It’s not often you get to appreciate him like this—usually you’re too focused on not losing your mind from how deeply he’s fucking you—so you savor it, massaging his shoulders and sliding your fingers down his sides, tracing the smooth skin with a feather-light touch and then dipping to kiss under his jaw. Feeling more than a little devious, you let your teeth graze over the thin skin at the base of his neck and with your chest pressed into his, it’s not hard to feel his sharp intake of breath.

“The marks...my teammates will notice.”

“Maybe I should stop, then,” you murmur against his skin, lifting up just enough to brush over his nipples. He stiffens, and once again you hear him tugging at the cuffs.

“…Don’t. I want them to see,” Ushijima says, and once you have his permission you don’t waste any time in latching your mouth to his skin and sucking. It’s been ages since you’ve given anyone a hickey. Usually you’re the one marked up like a teenager after Ushijima has his way with you, so this is a nice change of pace, especially when you can feel him flexing underneath you.

Well, kissing is nice…but you’re getting impatient and you know he is too. Once you’re satisfied that your hickeys are going to show up nice and bright red around his neck like a collar, you sit back, walking your hands back on his chest, stroking over his abdomen and giving a little roll of your ass on top of him. Ushijima’s hips twitch—unconsciously, you wonder?—and he glares at you in a way that tells you in no uncertain terms to hurry up and let him fuck you.

And damn it, something about that look has you feeling weak. Needy. Obedient. But this time you’re supposed to be in charge, so you smirk and lift your hips, pulling your body back so his cock is nestled between your legs, not quite touching your pussy. He’s already hard—no surprises there, considering how intently he’s watching you as you mess with him—but you only take a second to stroke his cock up and down before shifting up so he can see you slick your fingers up in your own pussy.

“(Y/N)…” Ushijima’s voice is low, annoyed, and he looks hungry. But you’re so amazed at how wet you are under your own fingers that you don’t bother to pay attention to him shifting his position under you to try to get stimulation. Your juices are literally slicking up your own thighs, just from chaining up your boyfriend and teasing him a little? You should have done this a long time ago.

You push two fingers into your pussy and pump them a few times, making sure to angle your hips so Ushijima can see them go in and out. The stretch is almost uncomfortable for a second and you wince a little before schooling your expression, knowing you’re about to have something a lot bigger than two fingers stretching you open. Ushijima catches it though, and he frowns, trying to sit up before remembering the cuffs that are holding him back. “Let me—let me do it for you—“

“No, stay down,” you say quickly, using your other hand to push him back into the mattress while you continue to touch yourself. Ushijima lets you (and there’s no doubt in your mind that he is letting you), but his eyes narrow as he zeroes in on the way your fingers are glistening with your own pussy juices.

God, you’re—you’re supposed to be in control, aren’t you? So then you shouldn’t be feeling like this, eyes drifting closed as you fuck yourself on your fingers, letting your lower knuckles rub against your clit while you try to curl them to rub against your g-spot. Ushijima’s been spoiling you…you can’t remember the last time you’ve had to do this yourself, and as you feel the tension building up slowly you catch yourself wishing it were him fingering you instead.

His fingers are just so thick. And long, and so rough. You bite your lip thinking about the way he does it when he preps you to take his cock, mashing his palm into your clit, petting along inside you and scissoring his fingers and… “Mmh,” you hum, holding back a real moan for Ushijima’s sake.

There’s another click of the chain sliding over the headboard wood and it reminds you that he’s right there, you could just uncuff him and he could touch you and fill you up with those thick fingers, make you cum, make you cry. But the urge to seek your own pleasure is outweighed by the image he’s making as he looks at you, his expression almost angry in its intensity now that he’s watching you do this to yourself and he has no way to get his hands on you.

“Ahh—“ you whine, letting a real whimper out at the thought of what you’re doing to him. “Ushi, Ushi, do you wanna touch? Wanna touch me?”

His head ducks into a hasty nod and his jaw clenches at the strain of having to ask for what he wants instead of just taking it like usual.

The longer you touch yourself, the closer you’re getting…but you don’t want to cum, not just yet. You draw your fingers out of your dripping cunt and open them up in a V, showing off the juices that connect them, the evidence of how wet you are for him. “Mmm, I don’t think so. I think there’s something else I want in me instead.”

And then you’re reaching to the side for the lube, squeezing a healthy dollop into your palm and then wrapping your hand around Ushiijma’s cock. And—fuck, he’s big. Sure, you’ve had sex with him plenty, but no matter how often you take him, you never stop feeling absolutely torn up after. A tingle of trepidation races up your spine at the thought of riding him like this—can you even put it in by yourself?

Even just looking at it is intimidating. He’s painfully hard, cock flushed red and bobbing up against his lower stomach every time you let it go, and, Jesus, how is it even possible that this thing would fit inside you? When you wrap your hand around him your fingers don’t touch; he must be thicker around than your own wrist.

Halfway. That’ll going to be your goal tonight, to take him halfway. And even that…is going to be a stretch.

The anxiety must show on your face because once again you’ve got Ushijima straining at the cuffs. “(Y/N)—“ he spits as you stroke him up, nudging your palm against the tip. “(Y/N), you need to finish first. Let me make you cum.”

“No, this time I want to—I’m gonna cum on your cock,” you say, adjusting your position so you’re kneeling above him, the head of his cock sliding between your lips. “Gonna cum on your big cock, Ushi, okay?”

His cock jumps in your hand at the provocation. He’s glaring at you, but he’s also leaking precum, the sticky fluid mixing with the lubricant. You give Ushijima a moment to say the safeword if he really doesn’t want you to, and when he stays quiet you raise yourself up a little more and line the head of his cock up with your weeping slit. You hold your pussy lips open with your fingers, easing your thighs down and pressing the head into you and—

“Oh—oh—oh, fuck, oh fuck, Ushi—“ you stutter out helplessly.

It’s been almost two weeks since he last fucked you. One week, six days and about three hours, and at the moment this measure of time seems unreasonably important because it’s been almost two weeks since you last let Ushijima split you in half with his ridiculously huge cock.

You’re not ready, should’ve prepped more, should’ve let him make you cum like he said—fuck, it feels like you’re losing your virginity—and the mixture of dismay and relief that spills over you when the thick swell of his head pushes past that tight ring of muscle is almost nauseating.

The tip? Seriously, just the fucking tip, and you’re already delirious, shaking, your thighs quivering on either side of his. It’s taking all of your strength to keep from going slack—but you know if you do, his whole cock is going to slide up into you and even thinking about that has your cunt clenching and unclenching around what you’re able to fit inside.

“Do you need help?” Despite the strain in Ushijima’s voice at being teased like this, there’s an undercurrent of amusement. He clearly doesn’t have faith in your ability to take him deeper by yourself.

It’s this—this quiet arrogance, this belief that he knows what’s best for you and he’s the only one who can give it to you—that gives you the guts to convince yourself to lower yourself down onto his his cock until you’re literally gasping for air. It fucking hurts, but you’re not going to give him the satisfaction of hearing you say it; instead, you brace your hands against the stiff muscle of his chest and try to focus on the way his cockhead is pressing into your g-spot.

Halfway…he’s gotta be at least halfway in, right? You sneak a glance up at him and bite back a curse at the look on his face, serious as ever, so focused on the place where your pussy is reluctantly eating up his cock that you feel your insides tense up around him again.

You don’t even know how it’s possible for you to get tighter around him but somehow you must be able to, because you hear Ushijima grunt underneath you, and his muscles contract under your palms as he tries again to sit up. When he can’t, he hisses in frustration. “Move…now. Or I won’t be able to control myself.”

Funny, aren’t you supposed to be the one controlling him? But it sure as hell doesn’t feel that way when you’re barely able to stay upright just from trying to ride his cock. You nod desperately, chin jutting up and down like a bobblehead, and lift your hips up off his cock until just the tip is left inside. When you push yourself back down you can’t help whimpering at the feeling of him stretching you, sliding up into you, that stiff, wet cockhead dragging over your g-spot.

By now the pain has faded into an uncomfortable stretch, like leaning too heavily into a foreign pose in yoga, enough that you’re able to feel the arousal building in the pit of your belly and hold onto it as you rock your hips up and down him. The pace is slow—almost too slow; you marvel at yourself for wanting it faster—and there’s a fair amount of Ushijima’s cock that you’re not able to take, but this is really all you can handle.

“Mmm, Ushi, fuck, you’re so big, so big and hard inside me, feels so good on your cock—“ you moan, knowing you sound less like the dominant partner in this position and more like you’re teasing him, pushing his limits.

Ushijima’s breathing is heavy. Labored. He’s trying to hold himself back. “(Y/N), deeper—take me deeper, now.”

Part of your brain vaguely recognizes that he isn’t supposed to be giving the orders here, but you’re too drunk on the feeling of fucking yourself on his cock to complain, so you lower your hips and try, but it feels like you’re just too weak to do it yourself. “Ushi please, it’s too much, too big, I can’t, please—“

And your pleading must sound like an invitation, because his eyes flash and you feel him shifting the position of his legs behind you—and then he bucks his hips up and his cock sinks into your cunt, pushing up into your gooey insides until the head is pressing into the tight opening of your cervix.

“Ahn—?” you squeal, startled. What? He—what? Fuck, it’s deep, it’s so deep, you can’t hold yourself up so you flop downward, holding onto his shoulders for dear life, “ohhh Ushi pleasepleaseplease” and you barely hear yourself over the lubed-up slap of his pelvis against your skin.

Fuck, it feels like he’s knocking the breath out of you. Feels like you can’t fucking breathe like his cock isn’t just pushing against your stomach but your lungs too, can’t breathe so you bear down on his shoulders try to hold yourself up try to let yourself adjust but—

Ushijima’s in control now.

Not that he ever wasn’t, you’d think if you were capable of thinking except you’re not because as you try to situate yourself make yourself relax around that monster cock filling you up, he’s not giving you a moment to catch your breath, instead thrusting up into you at his usual breakneck pace. Apparently he doesn’t need to use his hands to make you bounce—you’re not even moving yourself now, just trying to hold still as his hips slam his cock inside you again and again and again, and again, rubbing up against that sweet spot in your pussy so quickly that you think you might go crazy from it.

“Nngh, so tight,” he growls, and you can tell from the way the words are choked out that he’s gritting his teeth. You almost want to roll your eyes—of course you’re tight, anyone would feel tight around him—but it feels like if you do your eyes might roll back in your head so you don’t.

Jesus fuck, you can’t even understand how long it’s been but you do know that it’s absurd for you to want to cum already, only the thick mass of his cock pushing into you is somehow hitting all the right buttons, just like it always does. Even if it’s rough you want more. By now you’re trying to meet his thrusts, rolling your hips in time with him fucking you open, doing your best to participate but really it’s all you can do to even stay still with how roughly he’s fucking you. “Ushi, fuck, so deep, wanna cum I wanna cum please let me cum—“

“Touch yourself,” he commands breathlessly because he’s still tied to the headboard and he can’t do it, and you barely have the strength to pick one of your hands up off of where you’re scratching into his shoulder and pull it down to rub at your clit.

It’s not enough and you whimper desperately, you don’t want your own fingers, you want Ushijima’s, you want him to touch you. You’re probably saying it out loud by now, begging him to put his hands on you—his eyes widen and then the sound of the metal cuff chain grating over wood reaches you—you can see the skin of his wrists get lighter from lack of blood flow, he’s pulling at the cuffs, pulling too hard, he’s going to hurt himself, you have to stop him—and then you hear a snap.

Aw, shit. The bed.

The thought comes in a singular moment of clarity as you watch the rung Ushijima’s chained to separate itself from the rest of the headboard, splintering, the nail that held it in place looking pathetically flimsy next to the veins bulging in his arms as he slides the chain away from it. He flexes his hands, forming fists and then unclenching them to restore the interrupted blood flow, and then you’ve only got a second to prepare yourself before he’s upright, dragging your hips up to meet his.

“Ushi, Ushi, Ushi, I want, please, I want you,” you beg, but you didn’t really have to because you’re pretty sure there’s no force on Earth that could stop him from holding you up so he can fuck down into you with a ferocity that could be mistaken for anger if you weren’t certain it was really lust.

The entire bed is creaking and rocking against the force of his movement, but you don’t really have the headspace to worry about more property damage considering he’s got you supporting yourself on the mattress on your back and shoulders, your spine curled up so he can kneel and still have your hips aligned with his, your legs dangling bonelessly on either side of him.

Fuck. Holy fuck. You open your mouth but words don’t come out, only a choked whimper, but if you could speak you’d be saying yesyesyesyesyes, touch me.

Despite your inability to speak, Ushijima picks up on what you need and then along with his cock carving its way in and out of you you’re getting the feeling of his fingers padding over your clit. Rough and callused, not gentle, nothing like the way you touched yourself earlier, but you’re starting to realize you don’t mind the aggression. In fact, it’s good, it’s so good, so good you’re gonna cum.

You’re gonna cum.

A long, drawn-out whine is spilling out of your lips before you can stop it; you wrap your hand over your own mouth out of shame or maybe courtesy to your neighbors (although by now they’ve probably invested in earplugs after listening to you squeal like a pig on Ushijima’s cock dozens of times in the past). Still, as your climax rocks through you shove your thumb between your teeth to bite down on it, but the sharp pain is nothing compared to the pleasure.

“Ushiiiii—“ you sob around your own fingers. Your spine arches—or rather, you try to arch your back but you can’t, not with Ushijima’s full body weight pressing into you and keeping you pinned to the mattress.

It hurts, it feels good, you’re seeing stars, you’re hearing Ushijima snarl as your pussy tightens up and convulses on his cock. His one-handed grip on your ass gets painfully tight as he abandons whatever pretense of restraint he had left and pumps his cock into you so hard and fast you’re pretty sure the headboard isn’t going to be the only thing broken, but you don’t fucking care because you’re cumming, you’re cumming, you’re cumming so hard you think you black out for a second, holy fuck.

It’s only when you hear Ushijima’s panting breath and feel him pulling your hand away from your mouth that you regain your grip on reality. “You’re bleeding,” he says, holding your hand up and inspecting the shallow indentations your teeth made on your thumb.

“…You broke my bed,” you reply tiredly once you’ve gotten in a lungful of air, what feels like the first full breath you’ve been able to take since he put his cock inside you.

“I’m sorry,” Ushijima tells you, although he doesn’t look particularly sorry.

You roll your eyes. “Did you cum?”

“Yes. When you did.” Without him holding you up there’s nothing to prevent you from sliding down off his softening (but still unfairly impressive) cock. You’re certainly not strong enough to keep yourself in position.

Even if he hadn’t confirmed it, you’d still be able to feel the familiar heat of his semen plastering your insides, and once your still-sensitive pussy is exposed to the cool air your inner muscles squeeze involuntarily but hard enough to force some of his cum out—you sense it, hot and thick, dripping out of your pussy to smear against your thighs. “Can we take a bath?” you ask, knowing you’ll barely be able to walk over to the bathroom, much less stand under the shower unassisted.

Ushijima nods and moves off the bed. “I can carry you,” he adds when you try to stand up and your knees almost give out before you flop back onto the mattress.

At this angle, with you sitting and him standing in front, it’s difficult not to see that despite cumming literally less than two minutes ago, he’s already getting stiff again. Jesus, is he even human? After how hard you just came, the thought of letting him fuck you again is giving you something stronger than butterflies, but you look up at him and offer anyway. “Wait, do you…um, want to go for another round?”

Ushijima’s gaze meets yours and then travels over your body underneath him. You must look like a mess—sweaty, hair all fucked up and tangled, body still shaking with the aftershocks of your climax and barely able to sit comfortably on your aching pussy—and you guess he sees how jittery (nervous?) you feel because for the first time since your relationship started, he shakes his head to turn down an offer of sex. “No, I’ll take care of it. Let’s clean up first.”

“Okay,” you sigh, releasing a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and raising your arms to let him pick you up.

“(Y/N).”

When Ushijima doesn’t move to carry you, you frown. “Hm?”

“The cuffs.”

Oh, right. The black leather is wrapped around both of his wrists, chain still intact. Apparently these cuffs are stronger than your headboard. Good quality. Too bad they’re going in the trash. You make quick work of the release and then undo the straps carefully, massaging over the light pink marks on your boyfriend’s wrists once they’re free.

“Sorry, did it hurt you? I didn’t mean to—I mean, I just wanted…” You trail off, feeling infinitely embarrassed that despite all your claims of dominating him, he still ended up with the upper hand, cuffs or no cuffs. And you liked submitting to him. There’s no denying that.

“It didn’t. And…I enjoyed having you on top,” Ushijima tells you, lifting you effortlessly into a princess-carry now that his arms are free.

“Yeah right. We’re never using those again,” you scoff, tucking your head into his chest as he carries you to the bathroom. “My boss is going to get mad that I keep taking sick days every time I have sex with you. I’m just going to throw the cuffs out.”

From your position, so close to him, you can barely see the upward quirk of his mouth that would be as good as laughter for anyone else. “Don’t get rid of them. I think…next time, I would like to have you wearing them, (Y/N).”

Well, fuck.

[darkacademicfrom2021]

Moving day

Based on @lucywrites02's writing challenge, with the prompts "1. You're family" and "8. I have a surprise for you". I wish you a very happy birthday, Lucy!

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader (Tony Stark's daughter, not Morgan)

Word count: 3.2 K

Warnings: fluff and pregnancy :) This was very adorable to write.

Taglist: @lucywrites02, @louieboo87,@jesuswasnotawhiteman, @geekwritersworld, @whatafuckingdumbass, @mysticunicorn7, @toe-vind-ek-jou, @t00-pi, @selfship-mishaps, @sallymagnoliaposts, @deadgirl88, @enderslove

Gif: @moonrainbow

It had surprised Thor greatly how quickly and intensely his brother had fallen for you. He was as committed and truthful as he has never been in his long, long life. He looked at you softly, in comparison with everyone else. As soon as you walked in a room, he followed you with his gaze and invited you to his conversation. It wasn’t a surprise that after a few months of this very silent flirting (that very few noticed, because it mainly consisted in batting eyelashes and repressing subtle smiles when the other was around) you’d come out of the shell and admit you started dating. Thor was ecstatic.

Tony, on the other hand, was not amused. Not amused at all; in fact, he hated the idea of you going around with that God. He said, explicitly “if you ever get in trouble because of him, you solve it yourself. Nothing of coming for daddy to help, clear?”. Pepper had told him to cut some slack, and observe at how happy you were together, but he, stubborn to the bone, had to take a few months more before accepting the fact that his little girl was in love with the God of Mischief.

But the months passed by; almost a year, and you grew closer and closer. You hated to sneak into his room every night, and get interrupted all the time by every single soul in the compound, or mocked to death every time you cuddled on the sofa, watched a movie or read a book together. So, it all boiled down to the same conversation:

“I don’t think he’s ready”, you said while pouring some milk on your cereal. Nat rolled her eyes.

“He’s even readier than you”, insisted Wanda. They were exhausted from having the same conversation over and over, but you couldn’t bring yourself to actually do something about it. “He’s lived much longer, if any of you two were to be unready, that’d be you”.

“Do you think I’m not ready?”, you doubted yourself.

“God, Wanda. You’re planting unnecessary seeds here. The girl’s already anxious enough”.

“I just think… I want him to be with me for the rest of my life. I don’t know if he feels the same”.

“He totally does”.

“Yeah. No doubt about that. Just look at how he looks at you. What are you even waiting for?”.

“I don’t know, a signal?”.

“Of what? You’re impossible. Unless God themself comes down the sky and tells you textually just move in with him, you wouldn’t consider it a ‘signal’”, bitched Nat. But she was right. Commitment was not exactly your thing, even though you were as in love as you could be.

You heard an oncoming scream approaching the room. In silence, you three observed cautiously, and moved away from the middle. The screaming increased its loudness, until a body shattered the roof and fell to the floor violently. Loki laid still among the dusted debris until a second screaming started sounding from the sky.

“Oh, fuck”, he said, managing to get up quickly and making himself as a shield for you three. Thor landed on his feet over the same spot Loki had fallen. Dust flew everywhere and the floor cracked a bit more. “Don’t”, he alerted, pointing at his brother menacingly.

“I’m tired of your whinings, brother. Do something or I’ll do it myself”, spat Thor, grabbing Mjölnir and leaving the room. Loki sighed and sat on the couch, cleaning the remains with his magic. Wanda sighed and put it all back together.

“And what was that about?”, asked Nat, eating a candybar, still on the same spot as earlier. It wasn’t an unusual scene.

“I…”, said Loki, but desisted. You sat on the couch by his side and he laid, using your lap as a pillow. You took out a tissue and started carefully cleaning the blood off his cuts. He smiled softly. “We just had a fight”.

“I can see that. What did you fight about?”.

“He wants me to… well, talk to you”, he struggled to say.

“Well, we’re talking now”.

“Yes. No, wait, no. Like, talk talk”, he clarified, and Nat and Wanda nodded, leaving the room. You could still hear their chattery from the door.

Loki sat up and grabbed both of your hands, making direct eye contact. He was nervous, which only made you even more unsettled. He was never nervous. He was always calm, even in life or death situations. He was unfazed in everything and with almost everyone. Almost.

“What do you want to talk talk about?”, you joked, and he chuckled, releasing some tension.

“I want you to move in with me”.

“Oh. Wait. What?”.

“Like, move out. But with me”.

“To your room?”.

“Out of the Compound”.

“To an apartment?”.

“Yes”.

“Here?”.

“In Midgard, yes”.

“But like, in New York?”.

“Wherever you want, actually”.

You stayed silent for a few seconds, and Loki grew nervous again. You couldn’t help but laugh. He looked at you quizzically, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that… a God just fell down the sky and told me to move in with you”, you clarified, which didn’t actually clarify anything.

“You… what?”.

“Yes, I’d love to move in with you, love”.

And in no time you were already packing things up and going together on apartment huntings.

Tony insisted on helping you out himself, which was hilarious, given the repulsion he had for the idea in the first place. So, you’d go to an apartment by yourself, check it out and talk to the owner for a bit; Loki would arrive later, tensing things up (the owners would usually recognize him, but after a little chat they’d find out he’s a fine man), and then, just after you’d be all calm and good, the owners would see in the papers you’re a Stark, and tense up even more. Easier to say, it wasn’t a normal neighborhood chat.

You had finally decided on a small but very cozy apartment near Central Park; far enough from the Stark Tower, but you could get there pretty quickly for every mission.

You found the place advertised on the papers, and when you showed it to Loki, in sickness and all, you insisted on going to visit it that same day.

“My love, my dearest… you need to rest. I’m afraid you might faint again”, he cooed, trying to get you back to bed.

“A little fever won’t do anything to me, really, I’m f…”, you said, but you felt like vomiting, so you stopped your words and sat on the floor. Loki sat by your side and rubbed your back.

“If you feel better tomorrow, we go, yes? Now, come on, I’m gonna call Banner and you wait on your bed”.

“No, but they might take it, we need to go to make sure…”.

“What about I go, call you on one of those animated images, and you can see it from here?”, he proposed, helping you up. He meant a video call.

“That… sounds about right”.

But you had no actual time to have that video call, for when he was in the apartment, Banner was delivering some more important news.

You’ve been to the examination’s room of the compound before. But this time it seemed brighter. The lights shone so strongly, you had to close your eyes a little.

“What would you like to do about it?”, asked Banner. You were sobbing and trembling.

“I… I don’t know, I’m sure Loki will leave me”.

“What? No, don’t base your decision on that guy’s opinion”.

“Well, I don’t want the kid to not have a father, you know?”, you said as he gave you a tissue. “I want to have it, I’ve always wanted a kid. I think I’m… ready? I’m probably not. Not by myself, and I can’t do this alone. He’ll leave me, won’t he? Why would he want to have a kid with a mortal? We’d die as fast as he blinks”.

“Look, I’m no one to talk about it, but this sounds more like your anxiety and less like something he would do. He really loves you, he has for like at least a year, and I don’t see that going away anytime soon”.

“I know. You might be right”.

“You’re allowed to doubt everything. This is a huge thing, y/n. Think this through, talk to people, talk to your friends, or your parents. Don’t let this eat you”.

“Thanks, Bruce. You’re really… you’re being really nice, I appreciate it”, you sobbed. He handed you another tissue as he rubbed your shoulder.

“This is your call, okay? You have time to think. Text me later how you’re feeling, and have bed rest now. And if you feel too bad, take this”, he handed you some pills, “it should be innocuous for the baby”.

One of those days, that same week, you had decided to make it the official moving day. So, you put every box in the van and drove through the city, to your new home. You haven’t told Loki yet what you knew, and you were terrified he’d get even more upset because you didn’t tell him before the moving. But, to be fair, you didn’t think he’d actually leave.

You had told no one about it, despite Banner’s indications. But it wasn’t eating you. You were enjoying it silently. You were glad; you had your doubts, fears… Hell, you were terrified. But you knew, if Loki wasn’t going to be a part of that, you could do it yourself. You hoped he’d wanted to, though.

Loki and you had started taking the boxes inside, all by hand (to be honest, he was a little scared of the neighbours watching him do things with magic and kicking you two out). You laughed through it, and played races to see who’d finish their boxes first. He was wearing one of those midgardians shirts and pants that melted you completely. He wore that for your anniversary dinner the week before that day, and he noticed how much you loved it on him, so he started wearing fancy casual clothes more often than not.

After about two hours, you were done and completely exhausted. You laid in the middle of the wooden floor, surrounded by boxes and a strong smell of floorwax and fresh paint, and looked at each other fondly.

“Welcome home”, you said, and he showed you the biggest smile he’s ever done.

“I think this place is perfect. It’s away, but not exactly far from your family for whenever you’d want to be with them”.

“Yes, it’s perfect”, you said, getting up and helping him up. “You know, I have a surprise for you”.

“Really? What is it?”.

“Tonight at dinner, shall we? In the meantime, what about we get something to drink before unpacking?”.

“Can’t wait for tonight, then. Would you like some tea?”, he said, surrounding your waist with his arms. You played gently with his hair.

“Yes”.

“I love you”, he said, giving you a small peck over your smile.

“And I love…”, you started saying, but the entrance got filled with noisy people, interrupting you. Four of your friends were already filling the place, giving you an idea of how a small party would fit in there. “... you”.

“Oh my God! This place is so well illuminated!”, said Wanda, marveled.

“And what’s that smell? Have you been cooking something weird?”, said Nat, less enthusiastic, but equally curious. Sam and Bucky were still on the door, and Sam seemed to have brought food. Like a cake, or something similar. Wanda and Natasha were quick to invade the place without further notice.

“Oh, you got one of those hidden drawers! What are you hiding in there?”.

“Probably sex toys”, guessed Nat.

“I’d say drugs. But, like, alien drugs. You know, from his town”, apported Bucky, now making his way in and leaving the cake over the counter.

“I thought drawers were supposed to be for clothes”, said Sam, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but hidden drawers? Sexy clothes”.

“Actually, I’m saving my daggers in there”, finally said Loki, kissing your cheek before pulling away from you, and appearing a cup of tea in each guest with a movement of his wrist.

“Boring”.

“So, guys, what do you think?”, you said as you started opening one of the boxes.

“I think it’s small”, said Tony, as he walked in. Pepper rolled her eyes behind him.

“Don’t listen to him, you guys chose perfectly. This place will look very nice once you paint it and decorate it”.

“It’s already painted”.

“Oh. Well, it… it looks nice”.

“Thanks mom”, you chuckled. “It’s small but we don’t need it to be big”.

“You better be actually saving daggers in here”, Tony peeped inside the hidden drawer. “Now that is not so hidden. I wouldn’t like to open it up someday and find a…”.

“Dad, please”, you rolled your eyes and went to Loki’s side. “Don’t worry, you won’t find anything weird. Just the daggers and knives of my very innocent boyfriend”.

“Well, you’ll have to think further about having knives so close to the floor, you know”, he muttered. Loki furrowed his eyebrows.

“Why?”.

Tony ignored him and walked to you earnestly, with the most serious face expression you’ve ever seen, and everyone observed quietly. He grabbed you by the shoulders, and inhaled a deep breath. All of the sudden, his eyes got watery, and you realized Banner had told him about the pregnancy. Your heart beat so fast you thought you’d faint again, right there. The corners of his lips formed a tiny smile, and he hugged you tightly. Loki was certainly confused now. As far as he knew, Tony didn’t like him, and why would he be so happy about you moving out? It’s not like you were his only child, either.

“I’m so proud of you”, he whispered, and then Loki had the feeling he wasn’t talking about the new apartment, but didn’t ask any further.

That night you managed to cook something special, even though you still hadn’t gotten the gas installed. You cooked together, and laughed at every minor inconvenience the house could give you. The doors of the countertop cabinets were the perfect height for Loki’s 6’4” ass to stump his head every time he tried to open it.

After some time of silent cooking, absorbed on each’s thoughts, Loki asked about your dad’s pride.

“Oh, he’s… well, he just, gets very emotional with these things”. He chuckled at your very obvious lie.

“No, he doesn’t. Certainly not with me”.

“Come on, he likes you now. He likes anyone I love, because you make me happy, and because he has no other choice”.

“Well… I thought he’d be less amused”, he admitted. “Hasn’t he? Other choice, I mean”.

“I don’t think so. He’d have to deal. Family is family”.

“Oh, do I know about that”, he said, cutting a carrot more strongly than before. You laughed.

“I meant it in a good way”.

“Well, your family is one thing, mine is another… I can’t push yours to like me, as much as I would like to. They’re very nice, and I wish I had a family like that, but I don’t”.

“Love, family is built”, you said, this time a little more serious. He repressed a smile, still looking at the vegetables. “You’re part of this, too, you know?”.

“Of this?”.

“You’re family”.

He didn’t repress the smile this time.

“You’re right. You’re my family, too, my love”.

“You…”, you took a deep breath. It was the perfect moment. “Do you ever imagine us in the future?”.

“Why yes, of course”.

“Really?”.

“I want to spend all your life with you. I didn’t want to rush into things because… I don’t know, scaring you out of anything, but I…”, he said, and the alarm on your phone went off, to take the rice from the fridge. You two laughed at how mundane this conversation seemed. “But I love you, and I want you by my side”.

“Okay. Well I do too. That’s good, right? That’s good”.

“Yes, of course it’s good, why so doubtful?”, he laughed, grabbing a tomato and stabbing it.

“Because I’m pregnant”.

“Yeah”, he chuckled, without actually realizing what you just said. And then, he fell. “Hold on, what did you just say?”.

“I’m… I’m having a baby. Yours, of course”, you clarified. You felt like you had to, but it wasn’t actually necessary. Silence filled the kitchen.

“Oh dear” he paused. He left the knife over the counter and looked at you, looking for any trace of a joke. You weren’t joking, and you grew nervous as he let time pass by without saying a word. “How could you not tell me this before moving in?”, he muttered, still in a bit of a shock.

“Oh. Well… I…”.

“I wouldn’t have let you carry those heavy boxes, love, I’m so sorry”, he said, and cupped your cheeks. “Are you really…?”. You sighed in relief. For a moment you thought of the worse.

“Yes, I am”.

His arms embraced you completely, hugging you as tight as he allowed himself to. He muttered how much he loved you, and how happy you had just made him, for the rest of his life.

Later that night, as you laid in bed, he cuddled you from behind with his hands on your tummy and his lips on your bare shoulder. You could feel his soft breathing grazing your skin, and his warmth keeping you safe.

“Loki”, you whispered, checking if he was still awake. You couldn’t sleep.

“Yes, love?”, he whispered back.

“Are you sure you want to be a daddy? With me?”.

He turned you around, and lowered his head to your abdomen. He sank his face and kissed all around your stomach and hips, leaving a trace of kisses up to your neck, and then your lips.

“How could I not?”, he whispered in a low voice. Burying his nose in the crook of your neck, teased “besides, the word daddy comes out so well from your lips”.

You laughed softly, and after some more silence that was fairly filled with loving stares, a thought crossed his head and you saw the light of his eyes turn to dark.

“What is it, love?”, you put a strand of his hair behind an ear.

“I… I’m just realizing something bad”, he said, and you nodded. “I’m a Frost Giant”.

“Why is it bad?”.

“My actual form is bigger than this. And… colder. And if the baby were Jötun too...”.

“You think the baby might hurt me?”.

“They might. I don’t know. Oh no, what if they hurts you?”, he began to panic, and you shushed him, kissing his temples.

“Don’t worry, Lokes. If that’s the case, we’ll figure it out”, you reassured him. “And maybe it’s not. And we’ll have a little and very healthy half-Jötun running around this small apartment. When have we not solved our issues? We’re good at that bit”.

“You’re right. You’re right, my dear”. He sighed, and then chuckled. “Should we have gotten a bigger place?”.

“We’ll be a very close family”, you laughed.

“We already are”, he whispered, cuddling back to you. “We are a very close family”.

[sweetestlamb]

Lighting Up Your Life- A teaser

A/N: I won't say sorry because I really needed a mental break from writing and I hope you all understand that but I'm back now with a lil teaser for the IOTNBO present I'd promised. Full story coming soon, this is part of the Lightning Up Your World storyline. Thanks for your patience. Sorry for typos I wrote this at a party lmao it got boring so my mind started wandering oops.

BMTL coming soon too for those waiting that just takes longer because it's a chapter fic I need certain things to connect so I'm rereading old chapters and slowly getting it together❤️

Contrary to what he's seen in idyllic movies, marriage is not the serene happy ending that's depicted. They fight, her screaming and him walking away; his defense mechanism since young and he's changed plenty since meeting her but some habits are hard to break. He doesn't get far though because at her first cry, with shiny tears running down her pretty face he crumbles, "Don't walk away from me, you're my husband!" She's always been possessive and since they met on that faithful bloody day she has considered him hers. But hearing that title, one that he hasn't shouldered for too long wipes away almost all of his annoyance with her.

He loves being her husband, adores calling her his wife. After all these years of loneliness he finally has someone who waits for him and waves him off in the morning, his person. He'd once called her a firecracker spitefully- stupidly- but he's learned that she's actually a volcano, once it erupts it changes everything in its wake. His very fiber has been enriched by her presence.

"I love you."

It depletes the flames in her eyes, another fight about him not being home enough. Between work and school he can barely find time to breathe much less entertain a certain author and she does not hide her dissatisfaction with him. No, she's never been one to hide her anger. But this time he's said the right thing and she scoffs before slinking across the distance they placed between each other, melting into his arms her small face disappearing into his chest. He snuggles her closer, planting a soft kiss on her dark head which is longer now, flowing down her back. Her mother no longer having a hold on her. He'd been proud of every inch.

"You're just trying to stop me from arguing," she whines, but he takes it as a silent victory when she doesn't push him away.

"I don't want to fight. I'm sorry I fell asleep yesterday, I'll give you more attention." He'd taken a day off tomorrow to take her on a date, but that's a surprise. Despite their fiery rows he has never grown tired of her wanting him around all the time, he feels the same but it's harder to express that. Expressing himself in general still an uphill battle.

"Mmmm what to you mean by attention?" She replies coyly, tongue in cheek.

That innocuous sentence is all it takes to make all the blood in his head rush downwards. She's not the only one who has missed that.

He groans into her dark jasmine scented hair, louder when she chuckles deeply scratching manicured nails against the sliver of skin exposed by his hip.

"I'm hungry. Feed me first before you suck me dry."

He spaced out for a second imagining just that, him sucking her dry and her squirming under him squeals and breathy moans drowning the room. It's a beautiful image. His blood boils to a simmer.

His voice is thick when he responds, "What do you want to eat?"

Deja vu hits him recalling the last time he asked that question and her raunchy reply, you. He'd almost crashed the car on that day, clamping his legs together in order to hide her affect on him with those straightforward words.

She smirks as if remembering the same moment. Damn minx.

"I want noodles."

He takes a deep breath, calming his body before releasing her. Rearranging the hardnes digging into his denim, he purposely ignores her satisfied grin. He's not ashamed of her affect on him, he's just a man. Or so he tries to tell himself.

"Okay that sounds easy enough-"

"And curry. Oh and those eggs I like and do we have brownies I want that too! And two bowls of rice."

He stands mouth gaping taking in all the food his very petite girlfriend has requested.

But in the end, he doesn't question her appetite feeding her everything she demanded to not do so would only lead to another unnecessary argument and little Gang-tae whimpers in frustration when she promptly passes out on the couch after devouring it all, barely chewing in between. He had to force her to drink water lest she choke.

It's not completely unusual he has seen her put away more food than her body weight before, yet she remains as slim as ever. It's quite the mystery.

He's able to easily lift her slight body off the couch and barely contain his coo when she automatically snuggles into him with a sigh, she can be cute when she's not raising hell. So about forty-five percent of the time give or take.

He undresses her, forcing himself to look away from the lace and silk adorning her seductive figure noting a slight bump in a belly. Maybe the food is going somewhere, finally. He pats her little belly, it's adorable.

His beautiful wife.

He strips himself down to his boxers and slides into their bed, dragging her into his arms before letting the fatigue of the day wash over him and knock him into a peaceful slumber.

When he is later jolted from his sleep, he has no idea why at first a quick check of the clock reveals that it's far too early to be awake, 5:45 the numbers flash. Pushing his hair off his face he finally realizes that he's alone in bed left with only a small indent of where his wife should be.

Then the grogginess begins to wear off and a gut wrenching sound reaches his ears. Instinctively he leaps out of bed, following the sound and winding up in the doorway of the bathroom peering through the darkness at Mun-yeong squatting on the cold tile floor retching into the toilet.

His heart instantly drops shattering into pieces.

Please no. She can't be sick. I can't lose her.

[coldshrugs]

vacation, had to get away

featuring: rook and rebecca greene + baby alma word count: 2k note: a @wayhavensummer entry for the 7/11 prompt vacation. warnings for suspense/dark tones and imagery/the feeling of being watched. this isn't what i usually write, but it was a lot of fun!

--- ☀ --- ☀ --- ☀ --- ☀ --- ☀ ---

When Rebecca tells Rook she doesn't want to go on this vacation, she doesn't tell him why. The car is mostly packed. The beachfront hotel has been booked for months. They bought the baby a swimsuit, for god's sake.

No, she doesn't tell him why. It isn't tangible enough to be convincing.

"Let's call it off. There are so many things I could get done at work this week."

"Becks, I say this with love: you're a workaholic. We're going to the beach for the week." He punctuates it with a kiss. Rebecca doesn't miss the unmarked beige envelope Rook slips into one of the last minute bags; she's not the only one with work in mind.

The following morning, they pile into the car with a few more duffles and that horribly itchy feeling on the back of Rebecca's neck.

She asks Rook to wait while she double (triple) checks the front door is locked. Of course it is.

The itch lingers as they pull out of the driveway. It sticks with her all the way to the edge of town.

"Tell me something I don't know about you," she beams once they're on the highway, once she can breathe.

Bare feet on the dashboard and sunglasses covering her eyes. The sun hasn't even peaked, but it's scorching already. They roll the windows down, and her hair, free from the usual oppressive bun, whips around her face. She feels like Becks for once. Not Rebecca.

"You know everything about me, B."

"C'mon, there's gotta be something." Her mind spins to the envelope in his bag. "One single thing."

"Okay," Rook begins. Full lips part into a hypnotic smile as he chews on the story. "I had a friend in college, Zack, that taught this contemporary dance class a couple weekends each month. It was a few extra bucks in his pocket and he got a couple dates out of it; a pretty sweet gig, right? One weekend he overdid it the night before his class. He shows up at my dorm, looking like death and practically begging me—" his voice rises— "'Otis, please man. I can't lose this job, can you just go down to the rec center and sub for me?'"

"You?" Rebecca recoils, silent laughter shaking her shoulders. "You can't dance to save your life."

"I know this. You know this. Zack should've known this, but apparently he didn't."

"What did you do?"

"I went down to the rec center, put on some Grandmaster Flash, and did the worst interpretive dance you can imagine."

Rebecca shoves the sunglasses into her hair, helplessly wiping at the tears running down her cheeks.

"Zack still owes me," Rook sighs. "Wonder what he's up to now."

Rebecca forgets, for a moment, the nagging in her gut that tells her this is a terrible idea. This is what they need; a week away from Wayhaven, from the Agency, from whatever is... watching.

A week to be normal.

Yeah, this is good.

They stop for gas about halfway to the coast. Rook fills the tank, while Rebecca throws Alma on her hip and heads into the store.

She and the baby jabber back and forth about snacks, and she holds up packages of fruit gummies and crackers for Alma to choose with tiny hands. It's then that her stomach lurches. The unwelcome fingers of dread, cold and sick, squirm against her scalp. She drops both packages, almost drops Alma too. The doorbell chimes, and her grip tightens around her daughter as she turns toward the entrance.

It's only Rook.

And a man in the corner.

She didn't notice him before. He wears a dark suit, and his face is like a knife, and he rushes toward Rook. His sharp features are unsettling even in his haste. He knocks against Rook's shoulder with a rough thud. Rook, transfixed by the sudden touch, watches the man leave. As soon as he's out of the store, the knot of Rebecca's anxiety untangles.

"Rook?" She calls across the store. He doesn't budge. She picks up the small mess she made and calls for him again. "Rook."

Only when she touches his arm does he snap out of the trance with a heaving gasp. And then... he's back to normal.

"What are we munching?"

"What the hell was that, Rook? Do you know that guy?" Her voice is a harsh whisper as she tries to keep Alma from hearing her fear.

His gaze pans slowly, vacantly, from the door to Rebecca. "What guy?"

Like a thick, dry pill, apprehension sits heavy in her throat. She swallows it, along with her growing list of questions. She pays for their snacks and leads Rook outside. Every muscle in her body is tense, prepared for a fight until they're in the car again.

--- ☀ --- ☀ --- ☀ --- ☀ --- ☀ ---

The week rips past them like a tornado through a small town. Their hotel room (a ground floor double-bed setup complete with the usual washed out pastel textiles and white wicker furniture) looks the part. Alma's scattered collection of shells too beautiful to part with, tacky airbrushed t-shirts draped over the chairs, and a healthy sprinkling of sand being ground into the carpet are evidence of that.

They spend the days exploring the aquarium, strolling the worn and salty boardwalk for unusual shops, dipping into local eateries for fresh seafood. Every other moment is spent on the beach; building sandcastles or running into waves with the baby between them and swinging her up at the last second. Salt spray in her bouncing mass of curls and her squealing laugh stolen by the wind.

Between the clutter and sightseeing, even under the blazing coastal sun, there's always something dark shifting just at the edge of Rebecca's vision. Faint shadows twisting out of view at the last second. The wound-wet itch of unease prickling her skin.

Someone is watching—of that, she's certain.

And then there's the envelope.

Rook's made an excuse or two to be alone. Just running out to grab more sunscreen, or picking up takeout because Alma's too fussy for a restaurant tonight. Innocuous things, but each time he goes, the envelope seems to follow.

Rebecca is sure it holds an answer, or at least a lead.

On the last night of their vacation, he leaves again. But this time, it's a trip for ice-cream with Alma in tow.

Rebecca watches them through the blinds, and once she's sure they're not turning back, she goes for his luggage.

It's not well-hidden. It's nestled under his dirty clothes, sealed with twisted thread that takes a few seconds to unwind. God, he's so unorganized, and for once she's thankful for it.

Carefully, she empties the contents onto the bed: hastily folded, handwritten notes; a few polaroids; and Agency documents? The documents are completely uncensored, not one black bar, not a single covered word. That tells Rebecca everything she needs to know—whatever Rook's doing, it's beyond either of their clearance levels. This is dangerous.

Shit.

That knowledge only nudges her curiosity over the edge. She skims over the pages, drinking in the information as quickly as possible. ...modern supernaturals seek reparations... inhumane treatment... would lose valuable specimens... Agency officials refuse to negotiate.

His notes list locations all over the east coast, some underlined, including the beach they're visiting. The photos show imprisoned supernaturals, each noxious gas cloud above them and their faces distorted in silent, exhausted screams. She recognizes some of them, though she's never been allowed to view them outside a transport situation.

But what's he doing with this? How on earth did he get all this?

A pounding knock shakes the door. Rebecca, torn away from this unplanned investigation, loses hold of the papers in her hands. They flutter to the floor.

"Shit, shit, shit." She scrambles to collect the documents and put them in order.

The knock booms through the room again, more impatiently this time.

Rebecca stalks to the door, dipping into her handbag for the Agency-standard volt gun as she goes. No one's there when she presses her eye to the peephole, but a third thunderous knock sends her stumbling backward with a choked scream.

"Agent Rebecca Greene." The voice is icy, hollow, and this isn't a question. They know her. "I would like to speak with you. Now."

The words are more instruction than threat. Rebecca expects any inaction on her part to change that, so she scampers to the door and twists it open.

It's him.

The man from the gas station. She knew it would be, but knowing and seeing—feeling, because every cell in her body tells her that being so close to this man... this creature... is unsafe—are very different things.

His skin (pale, and tight, and plastic-smooth) lacks definition, as if he's bloodless, and his blue irises are just a little too small, mouth a little too wide. He doesn't look real, and she's grateful the shadow of his hat obscures some of his face.

It doesn't hide the jagged line of his pointed teeth when he speaks though.

"That's better. May I come in?"

Against her instinct, she steps aside to let him pass. Careful not to touch her, he strolls across the room as if he's been here before. She wonders if he has, while they've been out.

His eyes fall to the half-opened envelope.

"What do you want?" Rebecca backs up until her legs bump against the bed.

He sucks in a breath and looks toward the ceiling. "I want to know why your husband is meddling . I want to know why he is watching a Watcher, badly. And—" he points to the documents Rook seems to keep with him at all times— "I have been waiting for this."

Without saying another word, he picks them up and starts reading.

Rebecca's presence is inconsequential. She waits in silence, the volt gun half raised. She tries to keep an eye out for sudden movements from the Watcher (and what the hell is a Watcher? Her mind swings through random bits of mythology and something between angel-but-not and urban legend seems to stick), but it's tough to look at him.

Finally, he exhales and, in a whisper Rebecca is sure isn't meant for her, says, "Friend and not foe, then." Louder, to her this time, "You read this. You witnessed."

"Y-yes," she croaks.

"And what did you make of it? What do you think?" His voice is cold, even, judging.

She doesn't know how to answer. A couple minutes is hardly enough time to sort out the ethics of this situation, much less her own standing. She's done no research, but she's never had reason to doubt the Agency. The only truth she knows right now is this man feels like death walking.

"I don't know what to think. I need to speak to my husband. If he's in trouble, I can help. The Agency can help—"

"If you so readily walk the line between advocate and adversary after witnessing an injustice, then you have made a decision, Rebecca. We cannot use you."

He pulls a pen from his pocket and gives it a sharp click (the movement and sound almost make her pull the trigger of her volt gun, almost) and scribbles something on the back of Rook's notes. Then, he neatly returns the contents to the envelope and tucks everything back into the luggage.

He turns to Rebecca, and his mouth, his smile is wide enough that the corners of her own throb. Phantom cracks that make her wince. Impossibly sharp. "I mean you no harm, and you will not remember."

In a blurred rush, he squeezes her shoulder. Her knees buckle as the door slams.

--- ☀ --- ☀ --- ☀ --- ☀ --- ☀ ---

"Becks? Hey. Hey, Rebecca, are you okay?"

It's Rook. An echo of him, anyway.

His voice is caught between the song she's humming and another unnamed voice that floods her mind like ice water. She doesn't want to touch that, so she focuses on the song.

And on Rook's warmth.

Dappled morning light across his rich brown skin. Rook softly snoring, softly singing, softly whispering the ways he loves her. She could stretch those small undeserved moments into infinity, the ones in which Rook smooths the roughest of her edges, turns her in his hands and makes her soft too.

He is the quiet thrill of crawling into already warm blankets, the taste of strawberry pie, the sun and the wind on her skin on a long car ride.

He is endless joy, and he is hers.

Right?

Then the warmth is a real pressure against her cheek.

Her eyes are already open but she sees him, both of them, for what feels like the first time. Rook, chaotically charming even through a cloud of worry. Alma, plump and curious, their brightest star.

"How was the ice-cream? Did you guys bring one back for me?" She leans up for a kiss.

Rook meets her lips, brows knitting in confusion. "You okay? You were really zoned-out for a second—and why is the volt gun out?"

She shakes her head. Not a thing in the world could be wrong. They're on their first family vacation. It's been a wonderful trip.

She doesn't understand why he looks so concerned.

"I'm not sure," Rebecca smiles, "but this vacation was exactly what we needed."

[deniigi]

So @petrichordiam and I are menaces and giggled over our ideal dinluke flower shop AU for like 4 hrs and then I wrote this.

Title: murderer next door

Summary: Din works as a florist and Luke works as a bookseller and they’re both assassins trying to keep the other off their turf.

-------------

Two times now, Luke had crashed past that flower shop, and two times now, the fucker inside had taken out his mark. Now all Luke had to say about the whole thing was that it was too bad that he was going to have to kill the guy.

Han told him not to turn back. The mark was dead; the mark was gone. They weren’t fast enough this time, but there would be others.

Luke just couldn’t let it go, though. He had rent to pay, and McFloristApron over there was smashing through all his targets and making that nigh impossible—regardless of how many marks there were in the area.

Luke waited until Han had closed up shop for the night and remained there in the dark with his arm slung over the back of the chair in the backroom, surrounded by books. He rolled his shot of whiskey in its tumbler. The sound against the old wood table offered no comfort.

He stood up and left the glass to get his laptop.

He wasn’t losing to some florist, Han, sorry. Only one family could take innocuous cover on this street, and it was them.

 ---

McFlorist’s name wasn’t listed on the florist’s staff page, but then again, none of the people on that page had names. In fact, the website’s whole vibe was all wedding-chic until you clicked on the ‘staff and contacts’ tab. Then, it may as well have been a line of mugshots.

Luke squinted along the row of increasingly involved headgear until he got to someone with a reasonably-sized neck with no tats. The ladies on either side of him appeared to have sapped all the ink out of McFloristApron. He wore a mask over the lower half of his face and gave a stoic thumbs up to the camera.

Under his picture was the number fifteen.

Damn.

Luke was only making eight per pop. Who the hell was this guy eating up all the feeder fish, huh? Them lower division folks had to eat too, you know.

Well.

‘Lower division’ in a sense of the word. Being two times undercover wasn’t super glamorous, Luke had to say. But when your dad fucked it up for the first family, sometimes you had to take what you could get.

Luke pointed at Fifteen on the screen.

“You and me, pal,” he said. “You and me.”

 --

 Step one was to get paid first.

Luke chased down three marks on the other side of town to pay the rent and the medical bills for now. His hand’s new sleeve felt like a dream. It didn’t overheat like the nylon black one did, and the hand was far less shiny now as a bonus. That had certainly reduced the number of people catching something move out of the corner of their eye.

Was it worth fifty grand?

No.

Was it worth the last nine that Luke had left to pay on it?

Yeah. It was definitely worth the nine.

 ------

 Step two was to go make it clear to Fifteen McFlorist that he and his folks needed to back down in the face of the established guard.

Luke put on his biggest sweater and the thickest glasses he could find. He stole Chewie’s messenger bag with all the pins on it. He slung it over his shoulder and rolled the hems of his jeans up just a smidge too much, then scurried over to the florist’s across the way.

Fifteen was off to the side of the register, fucking around with something in the refrigerator. Luke busily and noisily looked through the wall of foliage on the side of the shop nearest the window. He hummed. He hawed. He made anxious nerd-sounds until a voice asked, “Hi, can I help you?”

Luke glanced out of the corner of his eye and found that Fifteen was standing facing his way now. His mask was gray this time. His apron was orange. His boots were too heavy-looking for florist work.

“I’d love that,” Luke gushed breathlessly. “See, my mom just got engaged and I’m on the way to her house.”

Fifteen lifted his chin slightly.

“What’re her favorites?” he asked tonelessly.

Terrible customer service skills, dude.

“Roses,” Luke said.

“Ours are shit today,” Fifteen said. “How about dahlias?”

Luke didn’t know what those were but sure.

“That sounds great,” he said. “You have any in pink?”

 --------

 He watched Fifteen brutalize some pink, orange, and white flowers into a bouquet wrapped with a silver bow and was sure to smile every time the guy looked up.

“That’ll be $37.59.”

Sir, these are dead flowers. There is no need for that price.

“Can I put it on card?” Luke asked. “How long have you worked here, if you don’t mind me asking? I work just across the way is all.”

Fifteen’s dark gaze flicked up. His hair was covered by a gray beanie two shades darker than the mask.

“At the club?” he asked.

“The bookshop,” Luke corrected him with a shy, but widening smile.

Please be gay. Please be gay. Please be gay. Leia wasn’t going to want to cooperate. She thought it was beneath her to establish boundaries like this.

“Blue paint,” Fifteen said. “Yeah, that place. How long have you been there?”

“My brother-in-law’s place, actually,” Luke said. “I started there last year after I finished college.”

Or, you know, maybe even eight years ago when he’d finished college. No one had to know. Baby faces don’t kiss and tell after all.

“Huh. You must like it there,” Fifteen said.

“It’s fine,” Luke hummed. “You like it here?”

“The kid does.”

“Oh, you’re a father?” Luke asked. “How old?”

“He’s three,” Fifteen said. “Godson. His folks were in an accident; didn’t make it.”

“That’s terrible, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Luke said. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Fifteen handed him his card back. Luke’s hand didn’t close in time to catch it and it fell onto to the wooden counter.

“Sorry about that,” Luke said, reaching for it with the other hand. His knuckles bumped into Fifteen’s when he went for the card at the same time. They both paused and went for the card again with the same result. Luke laughed.

“Slippery, am I right?” he asked, flattening his fingers on top of the piece of plastic and snatching it away.

“Very,” Fifteen said. “I hope your mom likes them.”

“Me too,” Luke smiled. “I’ll see you around—What was your name?”

“You can call me Armando,” Fifteen said.

“Armando,” Luke sounded out. “It suits you.”

It was a falsie.

“And yours?”

“James.”

“It suits you.”

It didn’t.

“Bye now,” Luke said. “Thanks for your help.”

He let the door fall closed behind him with the tinkle of the bell.

 --------

 He informed Han that “Armando” had a toddler and received only a warning look and a scolding for all his effort. Han told him not to get jealous. If there was a kid in the balance, then Fifteen, for better or worse, was going to have to see each day after the next until there was no longer a kid in the balance.

Luke offered to call CPS and report “Armando” as an assassin.

“You do that and those folks across the street are gonna call the VA and tell them I’m an assassin,” Han said. “Lay low, Luke. Lay low.”

Never.

“Christ. At least until that thing’s yours then.”

Luke glared at his right hand.

“Gimme a double,” he told Han without looking away from it.

 ------------

 It was never easy to hunt in the daylight, but Luke wasn’t here to do easy things. He needed to get Mark No. 1 alone. The man took the train once a week to a gentleman’s club on his lunch break. Luke needed a change of clothes.

He had a rainbow windbreaker, white boots, and fishnets all ready to go.

He got on the same train as the mark and dropped his phone nearby. It clattered loudly and the case came off. Luke swore and squatted to drop it at the same time that two girls next to him decided to become good Samaritans. They crouched with him and one of them caught the phone first. They handed it back with a smile.

“I like your jacket,” she said.

Luke let his face struggle to find a smile at her kindness to him, a sweet little twink trying to find the pride parade that happened two weeks ago.

“Thanks,” he said. “I like your bracelet.”

He stood up. The girls were pleased with themselves. Luke glanced back to find Mark No. 1 turn his head abruptly away.

Come here, Markie.

Do you like what you see?

  Mark No. 1 didn’t make it out of his hotel room. A pity. Luke took the elevator down and huffed and puffed about a cheap date when he passed the front desk. He stopped abruptly and went back to ask the receptionist what the cross street was. She judged his go-go boots.

He told her she wasn’t his type. Her manager gave him the cross street.

Mark No. 2 had different parameters.

 ----------

 Mark No. 2’s parameters involved chasing him through a maze of boiler rooms and dumpsters. He was chump change towards a hand that Luke hadn’t wanted in the first place, but alas. The anger still roared.

Luke cornered him, still in go-go boots—no need to sacrifice style for speed—and watched those pale eyes look every which way as Mark No. 2 realized that there was no getting out of this.

“You got options, friend,” Luke said. “I can bring you in hot or I can bring you in—”

“—cold.”

His head snapped up and he lurched out of the way just as the crack of a bullet exploded in the alley. A car backfired around the corner in a sympathetic cough. Luke stared at the body then twisted around just in time for a thick glove to latch onto the back of his neck.

“Well, look who it is,” Fifteen drawled.

Luke glared out of the corner of his eye.

“Hands off, Armando,” he warned.

“I like your boots.”

“You’re gonna love ‘em when they’re on your dick,” Luke warned.

“Back off, Nayberry.”

Fucking hell, Han. This is why they should have set up boundaries weeks ago.

“I prefer ‘James,’” Luke said sweetly.

The glock levelled at his face didn’t care.

“You took my mark,” Fifteen said.

“Aw, poor baby,” Luke pouted. “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you took mine.”

Fifteen’s orange apron was gone. He’d swapped it for an old leather jacket—something he could more easily wipe clean. He should’ve gone for patent leather. The brown really wasn’t working with his grey mask-beanie situation.

“Stay in your lane,” Fifteen warned.

“Only if you stay in yours,” Luke beamed.

Fifteen huffed.

“Bookstore,” he scoffed. “Who’d you give the flowers to?”

Luke tsked.

“Myself, jackass,” he said.

“Do you even have a mom?”

“What the fuck business is that of yours? You even got a kid?”

Fifteen’s stare was deadly—the cooling body before them notwithstanding.

“Take one step near him and we won’t be talkin’ so friendly, yeah?”

Mm. Yeah.

“You owe me four grand,” Luke informed Fifteen as the glock went down and Fifteen left him to go take a pulse.

The man’s back stiffened.

“Four?” he asked. “You took this job for four?”

Luke rolled his eyes.

“I got bills, Armando,” he drawled.

“How do you keep that shed open? Have you sold even one book?”

Rude. Luke was a great sales associate. If he actually cared to put his mind to it, he’d be worthy of a promotion to manager.

He pulled the rising legs of his shorts down and adjusted the weapon in his windbreaker. He couldn’t leave the alley the way he’d gone into it. Someone might have seen. He was going to have to take a side street. Hmmm, which one? Choices, choices.

“I’ll give you a Dad’s discount. Gimme two grand, and you can have him,” Luke negotiated as he thought.

“Two.”

Hey, no need for that tone. This was a great deal.

“What’re you gonna do with two?” Fifteen asked, already knelling down to heft the body over his shoulder as proof for payment.

“Buy some more tights,” Luke deadpanned. “Two, final offer.”

Fifteen stood up all the way and gave him a weird look. A long look. His beanie was pulled down low, but Luke got the impression that he was frowning at him.

“Take the four,” he said out of nowhere. “I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

Luke recoiled a step at first, then recoiled another when the reality of the situation hit him full in the chest.

“Forget it,” he snapped.

He spun around and started to leave.

“Wh—hey. HEY. Where are you goin’?”

“I don’t need your fuckin’ pity,” Luke called ahead of him as he set to climbing the chainlink fence separating him from the adjacent dead-end alley.

“You what?”

“You heard me,” Luke said.

He jumped down. His left hand found his right wrist and squeezed as he walked.

 -------

 The phantom pains kept him up all night, and it was definitely that and not the humiliation that made him call in sick. Han told him to answer his therapist’s emails. Luke told him to go do something useful and hung up. He rolled onto his back on his bed and focused on letting his body relax, his jaw unclench, his joints go limp.

There was sunlight finally streaming through his apartment windows again. It had been months.

Spring was almost here. He just had to hold out a little longer.

 --------

 He came in to work the next day and found an envelope on his chair in the backroom. It was thick.

“McFlorist dropped it off,” he said between aggravated sounds at his spreadsheets.

“Is it tax season already?” Luke asked him as he tried to burn a whole in the center of the envelope with his mind.

“Sure fuckin’ is.”

He stepped forward and snatched up the envelope, then deposited it squarely in Han’s lap. He made an unattractive noise of confusion and alarm.

“For the taxes,” Luke called as he went out to grab his lanyard and name tag. “Gotta keep this place open for another six months at least.”

 ------------

 There were new books in. A new shipment to shelve. Two kids’ displays to set up. And Luke was actually good at this stuff, thanks; he started stacking.

He got peace until he nearly got to the end of the second display, and then what he had was a heart attack. Two liquid brown eyes surrounded by an ocean of ringlets stared up at him from between his knees. The child curled a hand in and out in hello.

Luke jerked himself up to locate the thing’s parents immediately, and promptly found himself in deadly eye-contact with Fifteen.

Armando.

“You were gone yesterday,” Fifteen said flatly.

Luke looked between him and the kid. He was pinned between two enemy parties. How to escape, how to escape.

“Are you sick?”

How to escape. How to escape. How to escape.

“Are you hurt?”

H—what?

“I’m fine, stalker,” Luke snapped with more heat than this present cover allowed. He caught himself and pulled it back. “I’m fine,” he repeated. “Thank you for asking. Is this…?”

Fifteen blinked once. The child blinked once as well. It was creepy.

“He’s mine,” Fifteen said. “And apparently the only thing that will get us through the next two hours is a book.”

Dude.

“Kids are kids,” Fifteen said. “You got any books?”

Luke stared at him, then checked the shelves to make sure he hadn’t teleported into another dimension.

You always had to check.

“We’re in a bookstore,” he said.

“He can’t read,” Fifteen said, pointing.

The kid grinned. His teeth were gapped in that toddler sort of way. He was kind of cute.

“You can’t read?” Luke asked him.

“Hi,” Baby said.

Oh no.

Luke loved him.

“How much?” he asked Fifteen.

“Touch him and you’ll be permanently comatose,” Fifteen said.

“Not if I died out of spite,” Luke said.

There was a long pause. Then Fifteen started laughing? Kind of hard?

“Oh my god, that was so unprofessional. I am so sorry,” Luke blurted out.

Fifteen collected himself and shook his head. His little one giggled and reached for Luke’s fingers.

“Boo,” he said.

Luke couldn’t feel the hand, but he could feel all the heart.

“Book?” he asked, crouching down. “Do you want a story?”

“Mmmm.”

“I have the perfect one,” Luke told him. “It’s about a caterpillar. Do you know what a caterpillar is?”

He got a slow, exaggerated head shake back and forth, back and forth. He stood up straight.

“I’m conducting a temporary kidnapping,” he informed Fifteen. “Do I have consent?”

Fifteen looked from him towards the front entrance and mulled over the merits of leaving his kid with his rival assassin. Then he shrugged.

“Consent granted,” he said. “Luke.”

Luke’s heart stopped.

“James,” he said.

“Your name tag says ‘Luke.’”

Well, fuck.

“Luke Nayberry. It suits you.”

Hhhhhhh. This was karma, wasn’t it.

“Thanks,” he gritted out. “And yourself, Armando?”

“Din.”

Woah, look out. Mr. One-Syllable-Cool-Man had entered the building.

“Din, what?” Luke asked as his arm registered tension. Din’s kid had latched onto his fingers and started pulling incessantly with a chubby hand gesturing in the direction of the wall of children’s books.

“Don’t you worry about it,” Din said.

“Fine, go trip then,” Luke said.

He swore that there was a smile under that mask.

 ----------

[yespolkadotkitty]

i think it’s fair to say that i’ve fallen far too in love with your zach one shots — not only do you capture his persona so well, it genuinely feels like i’m watching an episode of brothers & sisters

also, your ricky one shot was also so so so good!! you have no idea how grateful we all are that you pluck these characters from obscurity and portray their defining characteristics so accurately while also adding the loveliest fluffiest fluff of all time

i was wondering if you would consider writing a jealous!zach one shot? ngl, the (mutual) pining mixed with jealousy trope is my guilty pleasure and i feel like jealous zach would be 11/10

anyway, just wanted to say you’re fucking amazing and i adore your writing — i hope you’re having a great day!!

THANK YOU FOR THIS LOVELY ASK

(NB: Ok I know this is not Zach but it COULD be. It’s the right year. There are SO FEW pics of Zach so let’s just go with it).

Words: 1700 ~ Warnings: jealousy, pining, angst, fluff, one awesome kiss

Pairing: Zach Wellison x gn!reader

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

YOU: Is it wrong to be attracted to the super in my building?

BFF: Why would it be wrong? Use it to curry favour! Get stuff fixed faster! What is he/she like?

YOU: Tall. Tanned. Dark blond. Has a tattoo - military maybe? Sexiest voice ever.

BFF: If you don’t get him, I will.

You set your phone down and smiled.

Maybe I should say something.

Zach had been the building super of your apartment block for the last three months. He was a massive improvement on the last guy, who spent his days playing Zelda and smoking weed and very occasionally getting off his ass to fix stuff.

He’d been to your place - conveniently next door to his, he had a live-in type gig - four times. The garbage disposal, the leaky faucet, the faucet again, and then the window.

Notes could be left in his mailbox downstairs by tenants who needed assistance. He always responded the same day, the next day at the very latest, and he always tried to arrange a time with the occupant that suited them.

He’d gotten all greasy and wet fixing the faucet, his plaid button-down clinging to him, and eventually he’d stripped it off, revealing a tattoo you hadn’t been brave enough to try and examine properly, and some serious biceps.

Next time I see him, you promise yourself.

BFF: Btw, what’s happening with the dude at no 16?

YOU: Nothing.

You’d engaged in a mild flirtation with the well-built guy across the hall. Sometimes he got your mail in his box by mistake and he dropped it off, but lately he hadn’t engaged with you, and you began to think he was just being friendly.

The next day, before you could properly think of what to write down for Zach, the washing machine that came with your place started to leak. You noticed when trying to take your clothes out of it.

“Crap!”

Rather than put a note in his box, you knocked on Zach’s door.

He opened it after a minute, surprise sketched on his handsome face, hair ruffled, sweat beading at the neck of his t-shirt. Past him, you could see weight lifting equipment on the floor, along with a small speaker playing 70s rock.

“Fleetwood Mac?” You ask, smiling. “They’re my favourite.”

“No kidding?” A smile tipped up one corner of his mouth. “So... “ His brown eyes met yours, warm, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“I hate to bother you directly, but my washer’s busted - leaking.”

“It’s no bother.” He glanced behind him. “Give me five, okay? I’ll be right there.”

“Thanks so much, Zach.”

He nods and closes the door. You’re about to turn back to your apartment when Well Built Guy - Damon, you think his name is - comes out of his own apartment.

“Hey,” he greets you.

“Oh, hey. How are you?”

He pushes a hand through his short, black hair. His single earring glints in the daylight; gives him a pleasingly piratical look. “I’m good. How are you?”

“Yeah, good - thanks.” You move again.

“Wait.” He takes a step closer in the small hall. “I was wondering if you - if you wanted to get coffee sometime? This place two blocks over does an amazing dark roast.”

“Oh, well-”

You’re cut off when Zach’s door swings open. He’s changed into a clean shirt, a forest-green henley, and he carries a faded red toolbox. His gaze darts between you and Damon, wary, and for a second, his mouth turns down.

As quickly as you see it, it’s gone.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he mutters, to you. “Can I go in?”

“I’ll let you in, Zach.” You turn your attention to Damon.”Catch you later?”

“Sure, sweet thing.”

He’s called you the nickname before but it’s never chafed until today.

Zach doesn’t react as you come to the door and let him in.

“Thanks for coming by so quickly.”

He doesn’t look at you. “You didn’t have to cut your time with your boyfriend short.” He sets his toolbox down by the washer and kneels, unbothered by the pool of water that begins to leech into the pale denim of his jeans.

“He isn’t my boyfriend.”

Zach sets about exploring the washer. “Okay.”

“He isn’t.” You stuff your hands in your pockets. “You want some coffee?”

For the first time, he looks up at you, and the expression in his honey-brown eyes is scraped bare, and then he looks away and the connection is lost. “Sure. Thanks. Black, one sugar.”

You busy yourself, just a few feet away - your kitchen is not big by any stretch of the imagination.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks.” He’s absorbed, only his waist and ass sticking out from the drum of the washer.

You potter off to do some work.

An half hour later, Zach knocks on the door of your tiny office - the only other “room” of your studio aside from the bathroom. 

“All fixed.”

“Thank you so much, Zach.”

He swipes the back of his hand over his forehead, leaving a smear of grease. “No problem.”

“You’ve got a-” You reach up, every nerve on end, wanting to touch him.

A knock sounds at your door.

Dammit.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

You swing the door open and Damon is there with two coffees.

“I was on my way back from the office,” he says. “I thought you might like to - oh, the super’s still there. Not fixed yet, pal?”

Damon says it innocuously but you see Zach’s shoulders tense.

“Nope, all good.” He rubs the palms of his hands together in a “that’s done” gesture. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“... Place next door is this amazing Italian,” Damon is saying, oblivious. “It’s pretty pricey but I’d love to take you there.”

Zach pushes between you and out of the door, but you see the crestfallen set of his shoulders as he goes.

The door swings shut behind him and you turn back to Damon, resigned to see this conversation out, and to make it clear that he’s kind, but you aren’t interested.

*******

That evening, you take the stairs down to the communal gym in your building. Well. Gym is stretching it. There’s one ancient rowing machine, one treadmill, a barbell that has seen much better days, and a CRT TV that only shows Judge Judy. But, you don’t have to pay for it, so it beats a gym contract elsewhere in the city.

When you push through the door, Zach is on the treadmill, earphones in. He’s wearing a sleeveless vest and your gaze is drawn to his intricate tattoo - an eagle perched on a world, an anchor hugging the globe. Marines.

Wow, you think - wow.

Sweat trickles down the back of his neck, and his thick, dark gold hair curls around his nape.

Now or never.

You walk over to the treadmill and drop your gym bag to announce your presence.

Zach turns, does a double take, and then presses a button on the treadmill to slow it down. He pulls his earphones out.

“Hey.”

“Hey, Zach.”

Curiosity flits across his features. “Something you need?”

You swallow. He looks so good, his pale gold skin slick with clean sweat, his breath coming in soft pants, his chest rising and falling, lean muscles delineated by the clinging vest.

“No. I mean, yes.”

“And you can’t get the guy at 16 to help?” he snarks.

You step back.

“Sorry,” Zach says, immediately. “I just…”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you assure Zach.

Above his head, on the TV, Judge Judy silently reprimands a woman with six face piercings.

“He could be. Guy like him. Good job. He’d take you to fancy Italian places.”

You curl your hand around the arm of the treadmill. “Maybe I don’t want to go to fancy Italian places.”

Zach huffs out a breath, but you have his interest.

“Maybe I’d just like to hang out with you.”

Suspicion narrows his eyes. “Why?”

“Maybe I like you? Did you consider that? Maybe, for some bizarre reason, I think you’re nice and attractive?” you wave your arms, frustrated.

Zach folds his arms across his chest, pursing his lips. “I used to be a Marine, but I had to resign my commission because I got hit hard with PTSD. I lived on the street for two years.”

You hold his gaze as he speaks. 

“Why are you telling me this?”

But then you know. He’s telling you so you’ll turn tail and go back to Damon, with his suits and fancy haircut and ability to take you out for $100 dinners.

He expects you to turn him down.

Because that’s what happens. What has happened and what he thinks will happen now.

Zach firms his lips and shakes his head slightly.

“Just go,” he says, so softly, mistaking your silence for pity, rather than resolve.

“No.” Instead, you lean up on your toes and touch your lips to his.

He starts, and then holds perfectly still. You break the kiss, and look up into his face, and he’s gazing at you like you hung the moon and all the stars.

“I like you, Zach,” you whisper. “And I don’t care if our first date is a picnic in the park.”

He blinks, turning away from you for a second, and then he ducks under the arm of the treadmill, and he’s so close that you breath catches. 

“I’ve thought about this,” he murmurs, and then he cups your face in his hands and kisses you like he means it, lips and teeth and tongue, and it’s everything.

You spear your fingers into his hair and breathe him in, press yourself against the hard wall of his chest, sigh his name against his lips.

“I gotta shower,” he says, with clear reluctance, his voice half an octave lower, unsteady from a kiss that has rocked both your worlds. “Then, let’s see about that picnic.”

**********

Zach Pit & permanent taglist: @mrschiltoncat @astroboots @songsformonkeys @biblioworm @aeryntheofficial @thirstworldproblemss @wheresarizona @pedropascalito @knittingqueen13 @alwaysbethewest @agirllovespancakes @f0rever15elf @heatherbel @frannyzooey @lannister-slings-and-arrows @sarahjkl82-blog @thedazeinmylife @holographic-carmen @idreamofboobear @fromthedeskoftheraven @disgruntledspacedad @chicken-nugget-puta @miulola @nelba @alienprincesspoop @tardisfangurl @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @mylonelylittleappreciation @filthybookworm @absurdthirst @thestrawberry-thief @lilangeldevil006 @marydjarin @jedi-mando @havenforafrazzledmind @myoxisbroken @10-96dispatcher @stormtrooperofficerbrowneyes @mrsparknuts @roxypeanut

[13atoms]

Deep Focus: Chapter 1 [Tom Hiddleston x Reader]

Summary: Tom’s a successful porn director with a romantic streak which proves very popular with his female audience. His resident porn actress and business partner has been with him through thick and thin, the two of them growing completely inseparable, even as her own career starts taking off.

But working in such close proximity is intense, and burgeoning feelings threaten to complicate their professional relationship.

Mature, smut, porn director!AU, ethical porn production discussion, porn-star-and-coworker!reader. Friends to lovers, slow-ish burn. [7.7k]

________________________________________________________

There was such a style to everything Tom wrote, everything he directed. A sincere passion that you suspected was always meant to be used elsewhere. You wondered if his craftsmanship was ever appreciated, on the other side of the screen, as strangers got hot and bothered watching each meticulously designed frame of his vision come to life.

Sure, it was porn. But Tom directed it like he could win an Oscar for ‘hot lifeguard pounded poolside’. This was his livelihood, his passion, and it was a damn shame he wasn’t award-season eligible.

The names would make you wince, as you saw them uploaded to the site, thumbnails and previews drawing in viewers by the million with their shots of heaving bodies and glistening sweat. Tom never called the videos such crass things. Not in his scripts. You would get copies titled ‘Romantic Night In’ or ‘Office Love Affair.’ He was a fan of sugar-coating what would be inside those innocuous white pages, a veneer of respectability which Tom insisted upon, regardless of how obvious the true nature of the videos was. But once the videos were sold, it was out of his hands. Your face contorted mid-faux-orgasm would be plastered across the site, and everyone involved would try and forget what happened.

Ignore the comments.

Keep moving.

You often wondered how Tom wound up in this place, with his sharply tailored suits and polished shoes, eloquent and educated, his words almost poetic as he directed mid-budget porn in hotel rooms and his studio day-in, day-out.

Then again, he never seemed particularly bothered by it. He gave each shoot his full attention, his full boundless enthusiasm and all the professionalism he could muster. You wondered how he balanced it, sometimes, the creative drive to press on with trying to be creative and shoehorn romance into films knowing that, ultimately, it was porn.

He had interviewed you like a real director might, talking about your life and experience and ambitions, almost apologetic when he had finally choked out ‘could you undress’, barely glancing at your naked form before he hired you as his first employee.

You asked him early on, while watching him try and assemble a fake restaurant-date set in the studio, complete with faux windows and an extra playing a waiter, why he bothered when three-minutes of good quality fucking footage would make him the same amount of money. He’d given you a strange smile, the wrinkles beginning to appear at the corners of his eyes, and shrugged.

“I make what I’d like to see.”

The words haunted you later, as your rather attractive co-star bent you over the white-cloth covered dining table and you allowed mewls and groans to escape your mouth without a second thought. Trying to avoid the muted blue of Tom’s eyes behind the cameraman.

Despite your reservations when you first started to work for him, Tom had won you over. His gentler, more romantic approach to pornography had a loyal following. Both of your pseudonyms garnered huge numbers of views across various platforms, and Tom was keen to cultivate a collection of female-friendly porn. Against all the odds, it was working.

And you loved working with him. He was a great director, and inspired writer, and a genuinely brilliant boss. He made sure you saw royalties, good pay, that everyone you worked with was screened and tested, always keeping you safe. Always.

Each time he called a wrap, passing you a robe and offering a meek congratulations on your performance, you found yourself more and more pleased you had wound up working with him.

“You really do have a talent,” he’d told you one day, distracting you as you discussed a new script in his office.

You were sat opposite him, Tom’s glasses perched on his head as he watched you read, your feet resting against the leg of his desk. You’d come in to your shared workspace to try some costumes out, to discuss new scenes, still recovering from a thoroughly exhausting shoot the day before. There were still light bruises around your wrists, and you caught Tom glancing at them worriedly each time your long-sleeved shirt slipped.

“I love that you’re such an actor,” he continued, hands tapping the desk as he spoke, “like, a real actor.”

Your eyes drifted across the script, scanning it with your bottom lip between your teeth. He always appreciated your input, wanting the ‘female fantasy’ in a lot of his work, and he’d timidly shown you some ‘student-professor’ script he’d been working on. He was like that, embarrassed in a way which you wouldn’t expect from a man with his considerable experience in adult entertainment. He was assertive, certain, even stern where it counted. But with just the two of you together, dancing around what was sexy and what wasn’t, he seemed desperate to avoid saying anything you might perceive as too ‘crude’.

“What do you mean?” you’d chuckled, still flicking through the first draft.

He only entrusted you with such early versions of his work – but that made sense. Your careers were symbiotic, tied to one another with an unspoken pact. He directed everything you were in, and you were in everything he directed.

It made sense.

“You don’t just… I don’t know. You never make my scripts seem silly. Or cheesy. You… you really try and make them feel real. I could write anything, and you’ll deliver the lines well. I was overseeing auditions earlier and... I just kept thinking none of them were you. I think you might be the best in the business.”

You rolled your eyes, offering him a disbelieving smirk, and he scoffed.

“I’m serious! I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The weight of his words settled heavy in your chest, and you turned back to the script, frowning as you flicked through the loose-leaf pages. Tom fidgeted behind his desk, unhappy with losing your attention, but you ignored him.

“Here. If you want the fantasy to be believable, I think he needs to lock the office door. Make a show of it, you know. Cover my mouth,” you comment dismissively. Tom already has as pen in his hand, making notes. “It could be hot, maybe ‘Don’t make a sound or you can’t cum’, something like that. As if there’s other students in the corridor outside.”

Nodding, Tom dutifully wrote down your words, mouth slightly open in realisation as he listened.

“Don’t make a sound…” Tom repeated, and you felt yourself blush.

“Not… not that exactly,” you backtracked, “you’re the real writer! I just think, there needs to be some build up. A remind of the power dynamic. Him going straight to oral is a bit… fast. That could happen in any old plot, you know?”

You felt his eyes on you, looking up from the paper to spot Tom leaning back in his chair, a distant smile on his face.

“You really are the best,” he praised, “that’s great. I’ll do rewrites tonight.”

For a moment, you let his words hang heavy in the air. Then you blinked back at him, a slight frown pinching your forehead at his strange mood. He was calm, for once. Tom was usually a ball of enthusiasm, and you wondered if your dismissal of his words earlier had done something to hamper his spirit.

“It’s always easier to critique,” you dismissed, “I love the script, it’s great. I really think it’ll be good. Hot. Maybe I can wear a Britneyschool girl costume, or something?”

He frowned a little, pinching the bridge of his nose at the thought.

“No, weird. We’re going for University student, just… a nice pair of jeans or something.”

“Don’t they wear suits where you went, posh boy?” you teased, loving how it riled him up. “I’ll try and dress like a smart person.”

“You are smart, don’t give me that.”

You rolled your eyes, loving how you managed to fluster him, putting the script back on his cluttered desk as you reached for your bag. This was how your meetings always went, a few hours of notes, some teasing, and a hasty retreat once Tom told you the next shoot day you had to attend. You still had a few hours of social media to do for the last video you’d shot together, notes from Tom, and you lamented the sight of the sun setting outside of your shared office. You’d hoped for at least a bit of natural light today.

“I’m serious, you are!” Tom asserted, and you ignored him purposely as you shut down your laptop, preparing to take it home.

“Yeah, I know, whatever. Don’t work too late!”

“Rich coming from you,” he sighed, “it really doesn’t matter if we send that last edit late.”

“It matters to me! I’d quite like to get paid this week, you know?”

Tom sighed. The two of you tried to produce a couple of videos a week – one for Tom’s site and another to sell to a third party. It didn’t leave either of you with much free time, both of you left in the tiny office at all hours as you worked to keep up with demand.

“Very true. But I’d rather you got some sleep, you know I can help if you’re short on money,” he offered, shuffling papers on his own desk.

He was always quick to jump to an offer to help, and you tried to ignore the fondness spreading through your chest at his eagerness to look out for you. That gentle protectiveness which coursed through Tom was enough to make you melt.

He was one in a million, that was for sure.

“I’m fine, Tom. Thank you though, I’ll ask, if, y’know –”

“Do! Any time. Actually…”

Tom cut himself off, typing something into his phone, and your pocket buzzed with a notification.

“Get yourself a nice dinner.”

You checked your phone to see a transfer from Tom. It wasn’t a crazy amount, but too much for just dinner, and you huffed performatively as he grinned at you.

“No! Don’t be ridiculous –”

He barely made more than you, and you were certainly doing perfectly comfortably.

“Royalties are really good this month. That old break-up sex video is trending again, apparently.”

You smothered a smile. It was hate-fucking, as you’d told Tom a hundred times. That was the title. You could still remember the look on his face the day you’d filmed it, his twitchiness, the unknown male actor who had slightly scared both of you with his sheer size as he stepped into the studio. The male star had fucked you like you’d broken his heart, hands on your neck and hips bruising yours as he pounded into you, and you’d be a little alarmed at how little you had needed to act in his domineering presence. He’d been muscular and tall and assertive, almost injuring you with his enthusiasm, and the shoot had ended with you a sweaty mess, struggling to walk, eyes watery.

You had ached from the moment Tom helped you up from the bed, a protective body between you and your costar as you watched the man collect his clothes and his paycheck. The footage had been great, you’d watched Tom edit it, but it had been your first taste of Tom’s protectiveness. The actor had never returned, and Tom had bought a hot water bottle for the office, pressing it into your lap as he brought tea for the pair of you, loathing how you winced as you moved.

He’d taken you out for dinner that night to celebrate a good edit, but you knew the real reason. That neither of you wanted the other to be alone. It had been a lovely evening, a restaurant then a bar, without a break in laughing conversation the entire night. It hadn’t been a date, but if it had been a date, it would’ve been the nicest date you’d ever been on. In those moments, you wondered if Tom was really cut out for the industry. If you were.

As much as Tom hated the film, it was hot. It had propelled your studio into the spotlight, and it paid a significant chunk of your rent.

“Thank you,” you smiled to him, wracking your mind for anything else that needed discussing before you headed home.

Maybe you’d get takeaway. That would be nice.

Tom cleared his throat.

“What are we shooting tomorrow, by the way?”

You looked up at his words, frowning a little at the realisation you hadn’t been given a script yet. It was unlike him, to be so unprepared. Usually everything was organised weeks in advance. With a glance at the shadows under his eyes, you decided not to tease him about it.

“We’re shooting tomorrow?”

“This week… we’ve only got one video. I was just thinking something simple, I haven’t called a costar yet, but we don’t have to if you don’t want to –”

It was your paycheck on the line as much as Tom’s, and you wondered how the hell you’d forgotten.

“Do we have a camera crew?” you frowned.

“No, not yet. I can call though. Or I could just do it myself, if we’re not doing anything too complicated?”

You thought for a moment, leaning against the open doorframe as Tom started to pack up his own desk, nimble fingers tapping across his keyboard.

“Solo?” you suggested, stifling a laugh as Tom blinked and tilted his head to face you.

“I missed that, love?”

“Solo. Like ‘hot female solo’ or something?”

He smiled slightly, closing his laptop lid.

“That’ll do well, I’m sure. Do we need anything costume-wise? Props?”

Toys. He meant toys. You smiled at his refusal to call a spade a damn spade.

“I’m sure we can find everything here. It’ll be nice to do a simple shoot for a change,” you enthused, holding the door for Tom as he moved to turn off the lights, lingering nearby as he locked up the office.

“Yeah. Single-shot, no camera-man either.”

“Cheap,” you sighed, as though it was the sexiest thing in the world.

You did the books, and avoiding having any more costs this month sounded great.

“Yeah,” Tom smiled, falling into step beside you as the two of you left the warehouse studio.

He looked ready to say something else, but changed his mind. For a second the two you stood by the exit, words trapped beneath your closed lips as the early evening air enveloped you.

“Do you need a lift home?” Tom finally offered.

“No. No, I’m good. Thank you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, yeah. Usual time. Twelve?”

“Perfect.”

He reached an arm out, ready for you to walk into his embrace, and you froze. The moment was over as soon as it started, his arm retracted, and you could only stare. His hand found the curls at the back of his head, scratching there, a blush dusting his cheeks in the harsh fluorescent lights of the car park. You could kick yourself as you watched the bob of his Adam’s apple, the clench of his jaw. He felt awkward. You contemplated hugging him, but the moment had passed. Instead you rocked on your heels for a second, before turning to leave.

“Bye, Tom!”

“‘Night! Look after yourself, don’t forget dinner. I’ll see you – ”

He cut himself off as you walked too far away, and you could have kicked yourself for the sadness in his final syllable. You sighed as your feet fell against the pavement, your whole walk home haunted by the awkward shuffle of Tom’s hands as he went to hug you goodbye.

*

You were surprised by how difficult it was to brush off that awkward memory. As you ordered and ate dinner, you were reminded of Tom with every bite, that he’d snuck aside part of the company’s petty cash budget to give you dinner. That both of you had gone home, separately, to separate empty houses and empty beds.

Had he wanted to go for drinks? Wanted company? You had come to accept a long time ago that the man was your closest friend. He would be the person you called in an emergency, a shoulder to cry on. You liked to think he’d lean on you the same way.

Despite that, you spent limited time together outside of a professional context. You never met up on weekends, or casually called. Of course you didn’t. He made a career out of seeing you naked, watching you fake orgasms for other men. As you readied yourself for the day, you reminded yourself that of course, he would be nice to his only full-time, very lucrative actress. To his business partner.

As you’d queued up the company’s social media posts the night before, you could only think of Tom behind the camera, orchestrating each photo and clip you uploaded.

You couldn’t help the grin which split your face as you walked into the studio, bag flung over your shoulder, overpacked with everything you thought you could possibly need. Tom greeted you, emerging from his office with a smile.

Before you could overthink it, you walked into his arms, giving him very little choice in the matter as you greeted him with a hug. In his surprise you felt his body stiffen, his arms slowly wrapping around you, and you were momentarily gobsmacked by the muscular form he seemed to hide behind those suits.

He was a little more dressed down today, smart black jeans and a button-up white shirt, unruly hair sticking up like it did when he forgot to brush it. He looked better than yesterday, like he’d had a good night’s sleep.

“Good morning,” he chuckled, bemusement clear in his voice.

You pulled back from the hug, a little embarrassed at the affection until you saw the smile stretching across his face, reaching his eyes. Suddenly the previous night, worrying you had inadvertently rejected him, seemed to be erased.

“Morning! What have you got for me?”

The studio space was cleaned, but empty. The camera stood in the corner as Tom lead you further into the room, his office door open to the side of it, and you frowned at the emptiness of the space.

There were tape marks on the floor where sets were usually assembled, conspicuous without the usual hive of activity buzzing around some piece of furniture you would be thrown onto or fucked against. There was nothing.

“I didn’t know what you wanted to do,” Tom was saying, his gentle voice booming in the empty space, “we don’t have a script or anything so… I’ll leave it to you.”

You bit your lip.

It was more freedom than you were used to, less direction, less to build the fantasy where you could forget you were ultimately in a warehouse with just your business partner. It was… nothing. Tom said your name quietly, and you nodded, stepping back to assess the space.

“I’m just thinking,” you reassured him.

Had the studio always been this quiet? You tried to remember a shoot day where it had been this silent, this calm, without the stress of lighting people or cameramen or scripts being thrown around. You could hear every step Tom took as he walked towards the camera, the wheel-mounted tripod creaking as he moved it across the floor, checking batteries and SD cards while you stood in place, your bag still hanging from one shoulder.

Noticing your frozen stance Tom frowned across at you, nothing but gentle concern in his blue eyes and the fine lines around them.

“I was thinking something kind of minimal, maybe cosy?” he offered, “Maybe an armchair? Something like that?”

You thought about it for a moment, crossing to the corner of the room to finally set down your bag.

He was finally getting into ‘director mode’, growing more energetic by the second.

“I’m thinking we just frame it on you, no distraction. Single take, if we can.”

You nodded silently as he crossed to the storage cupboard he’s overeagerly labelled a ‘props department’. It was stacked high with fabric and furniture and lingerie, tubs of various exotic sex toys near the door. Tom stepped straight past them.

There was a mattress in the props room, materials to build a bed, and you pondered on the idea for a moment.

“We could keep it really simple, maybe?” you suggested, “Find a warm background. Or just use white. Try and get one twenty minute shot, or something.”

You reached for lube without thought, collecting the near-empty bottle of body oil beside it too, as you perused the options in front of you.

“Remind me to buy more of that,” Tom mused, sparing a glance to the bottles in your arms before standing beside you to peruse the options.

You nodded silently, your free hand rifling through bagged silicone toys, slightly in a daze as you picked out a few options. There was a slight blush dusted across Tom’s high cheekbones as he turned to see your arms full of dildos. You smiled as it took him a second to find words, and wondered how the hell he’d chosen to start a porn studio in the first place.

“Colour co-ordinated,” he commented, and you smiled, picking out yet another pink toy from the pile.

“Naturally,” you smiled, “I think that’s everything? Could we drag a mattress and pillows out?”

He nodded silently, already moving to manoeuvre the double mattress leaning against a wall in the props room. You rolled your eyes before helping, knowing he was being a gentleman, or whatever he called it. You called it putting his back out.

He rejected your help, so you grabbed as many pillows as you could, following him back into the main studio, privately smiling at the dramatic grunts he made trying to move the mattress. He tossed it to the ground with a grunt, shoving it into the corner of the room, before pausing again.

You dropped everything down on to it, toys, lube, pillows and all.

And then both of you waited.

It was so strangely intimate, just the two of you in the room, the strange nature of your relationship weighing heavy after last night’s miscommunication. Suddenly there was nothing you wanted to do less than take your clothes off.

“White sheets?”

“Hm?” you hadn’t processed what Tom said, too wrapped up in your own world, frowning down at the bare mattress.

“I was thinking white sheets.”

“Oh, uh, yeah.”

He was off, assigned another task, and you almost envied his distraction as you slowly sorted the pillows how you wanted, gathered the toys absentmindedly. Before Tom came back from the props closet you made yourself scarce, catching sight of his slim outline through the doorway. Facing away from you as he rummaged.

In the single bathroom of the studio you cleaned anything that would be going inside of you, avoiding your reflection, trying to shake off the odd nervousness coursing through your veins.

Why? It had been years since you felt this way before a shoot. Before you’d met Tom, even. Sure, shoots could be exciting, exhilarating, intimidating, but this self-consciousness, this self-doubt… it had come from nowhere.

You pressed your forehead to the mirror, closing your eyes, breathing deeply. The tap running sounded like a waterfall, the silicone under your fingers felt alien, the air almost claustrophobic as you wondered what the hell was wrong with you.

Tom was done making the bed when you got back, frowning at his phone until he heard you re-enter the studio space, quick to look up and see if you were happy with his set. You felt hyper-aware of him, of every movement he made, a clean towel and toys cradled in one arm as you took in the space. It was a simple premise, just a clean fitted sheet pillows in a corner, a clear space for you in the middle. You knew it would look good on screen. You knew this was an easy job.

You felt sick to your stomach.

“Do you want to face the camera? Or kind of, not acknowledge it?” Tom asked, speaking again as you forgot to reply, too caught up in your own mind. “Maybe if you ignore it that’s more… voyeuristic?”

“Sounds good,” you responded, kneeling to prepare your space. This was autopilot, your day job. You could do this.

“Right.”

He sounded a little put out by your response, but moved the camera anyway, switching to a knee-height tripod. You stood, stepped back to give him space, and frowning at the sudden headrush. You blinked, catching yourself staring at the flex of his arms as he moved the heavy equipment. You didn’t realise how long you had been staring into space until Tom called your name a second time, crossing into your personal space.

“Are you okay?”

Tom’s voice was so soft you wanted to cry, fingers hovering beside your bicep, his gentle eyes demanding for you to meet them, daring for you to lie while his face is so close to yours.

Somehow, the guilt of his worry made you feel worse.

“No, I’m…I’m being stupid. Sorry, just tired.”

“Did you not sleep well?”

“No, I, uh, I slept fine. I’m not sure. Just not really feeling it.”

His face fell, but you knew he wasn’t disappointed in you. He thought he’d done something wrong. Immediately you were talking, doing anything you could to soften his guilt.

“It’s my job, though. I can do it. This is great Tom, I think it’ll be a good shoot.”

“Sweetheart –”

You sighed, eyes falling to the mattress, before forcing a smile.

“Let’s get this over with!”

He looked like he wanted to argue with you, but you forced yourself to move, pulled your feet from the floor with far more effort than it ought to take. There was some comfort in rummaging through your own bag, that piece of home, something private from the studio. You found the vibrator you’d brought, a pink bullet you used almost exclusively at home, fully charged that morning. Behind you, Tom snorted in amusement.

“Nothing here is ever charged,” you shrugged off his stare, knowing damn well you didn’t have to explain yourself.

You wanted to explain anyway though. Just in case, Tom thought anything he did wasn’t enough. He seemed perfectly fine with the criticism, though you knew he was making a mental note. He always did, then you had something to say.

Trying not to make a big deal out of it, you stripped to your underwear, folding your clothes neatly and being careful not to show any self-consciousness in your posture. You’d never been ashamed or embarrassed before now, and you weren’t about to start. Even if it was just you, and a very well, fully dressed Tom. Vibrator clutched in your fingers, you finally sat on the damn mattress.

He was the other side of the camera now, somehow both distant and a few feet away. You found yourself staring at your body in the monitor, just watching. Tom’s voice broke you out of yet another daze, and you wanted to pinch yourself. Why couldn’t you do it today?

“We don’t have to do this today, if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s okay I just… I forget it’s just us sometimes, you know? There’s such a production and so many people and at the end of the day…”

Tom smiled, a relief on his face that told you he had been feeling it too. That this was weird.

“I know what you mean. If you’re uncomfortable…”

“Just give me a second to warm up, we need to make something, after all.”

You stretched, not really sure why, moving a little around the nook Tom had created, shuffling pillows and practicing where you wanted to lie back, watching a monitor as Tom played with a soft lighting, twisting and turning to find the most flattering angles you could.

As he shuffled things around, Tom nodded to the spread of toys you’d set out. You’d added your vibrator to the pink line up, perfectly organised on the white towel.

“Do you want those in shot?”

You shrugged.

“Might be hot?”

He nodded silently. You moved the toys in to the frame, trying to blink away the cloud which had settled in your mind. The world felt foggy, your arms like they were moving through treacle, and you knew Tom had noticed.

As he prepared two directional microphones, you tried not to feel claustrophobic. The audio from the microphone he was pointing towards your pussy would be almost grotesque, and you fought not to shuffle further from it as you imagined Tom listening later, headphones in, as he balanced the levels between your moans and the wet sounds of you fucking yourself.

Fuck.

Why was this so different to a regular shoot?

You’d done solo shoots before. With Tom. And half-a-dozen other crew, you reminded yourself.

You caught sight of his curls above the monitor, face serious as he set everything up.

“Speak?”

“Testing, testing,” you spouted off nonsense until he offered you a thumbs up, happy with the audio.

Then there was nothing else to do.

He stood, looming over the equipment. And you looming over you.

“What’s the plan?” he asked, smiling at your frown. “You’re in charge here, I’m just the camera guy.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing he was trying to put you at ease.

“You’re the director,” you reminded him, knowing how he preened himself under the title.

You were impressed that his eyes had only roamed down your body once as he took in the shoot, glancing at the indulgent layout of toys, double checking the monitor, one headphone in. He had that stance he always adopted when he was directing, and you knew it was his favourite moment in any of this. The moment everything was pinned on him.

It happened so quickly you almost missed the moment he knelt down, blinking in surprise as his face remerged at your level beside the camera.

“Then my direction is: enjoy yourself. Forget I’m here. Let’s show them something real.”

He must have seen your shock, because it made him smile.

“Real?” you questioned, and he nodded firmly.

“I’m serious.”

For a beat, both of you were silent, his eyes meeting yours over the body of the camera.

“If you can,” he offered, “I understand it’s not always…”

You interrupted him with a hand, smiling your understanding of what he was saying, and dismissing it in one motion. The silence dragged on, and you decided to push this forwards. If you were done by lunch, Tom would probably insist on taking you somewhere nice.

“I don’t know if I should use – ” you ghosted a finger across the biggest toy, worrying a bottom lip between your teeth, “Simplicity might be key.”

“Do what you want, darling. What feels good.”

You nodded mutely, and for just a second you saw doubt flicker across his face. This was new territory, and even you weren’t sure if this was a step too far.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah. If I’m… actually… it might take a while. Let me know if I’m taking too long.”

“Take as long as you need, darling. I’ve got nowhere to be.”

Tilting your head at him a little, you realised abruptly just how intimate this was. Moreover, that you wanted it anyway. That you were about to make him watch you cum. Make him hear you, smell you. He couldn’t touch, but he could watch.

And that was enough for you to perform.

Tom gave you a countdown, red lights peppered your field of view, and he was recording. He had taken a seat on the floor behind the camera set up, one headphone in to monitor audio, waiting.

You stayed sat up, back arched a little as your hands began to caress you own body, keeping on eye on the monitor while your face was out of the shot. You rubbed along your thighs, across your stomach, teasing at the lace of your bra and the elastic of your underwear each time you passed them, trailing your fingertips. It didn’t really feel like anything, doing this to yourself, but you knew to tease the camera. Tom would cut out anything too slow.

Your gaze remained firmly on the screen as you began to make your touches firmer, more deliberate, dragging lines into your skin and flirting with the camera. You admired the soft skin of your breasts as you started to shift your bra, enjoying the stiffening of your nipples in the monitor until –

The screen went black, and you immediately glanced at Tom, frowning as you lost the visual of yourself. He met your questioning gaze sternly, eyebrows furrowed, and you remembered his direction.

“Enjoy yourself.”

With nothing left to look at you closed your eyes, feeling the blood rushing to the surface of your skin, the sensitivity of your breasts as your fingers idly danced across them. You shoved your bra down unthinkingly, wanting to feel more, rubbing at the heaviness of your breasts and wincing as you enjoyed the pleasure and pain of pinching at your nipples, teasing them to attention. You glanced your nails across them, feeling it in your core. You didn’t want to wait anymore. Fuck the cameras.

It was hard to let to, to stop the delicious feeling of your fingers on your own breasts, but you forced yourself to free one hand, shoving off the bra, desperate to feel yourself without it. You knew you were grimacing, it wouldn’t be sexy, but you didn’t care. That was Tom’s problem.

You needed to touch yourself.

One hand reached below the waistband of your underwear, seeking out your clit, guided by a familiar ache. It was all you could focus on, your other hand forgotten, cupping your breast, the sensation vague and lost as your fingers found your clit. The sensation overwhelmed you as you shifted the hood, your body beginning to produce wetness. The room was a little cold, the air relieving against the heat of your bare skin, making your nipples peak as you leant back into the nest of pillows behind you.

You felt your stomach tense, a bolt of electricity tensing the muscles up and down your body as you brushed across your clit a little too hard. Your middle finger probed your pussy experimentally, slipping inside of you, quickly joined by a second as you played with the wetness there.

One, two, three pumps of your fingers inside you was enough for you to gasp, your eyes still closed against the bright lights as focused on nothing but feeling. No more fucking around.

You reached for your vibrator, hand knocking against the thick silicone toy lined up beside it, writhing as you pressed it against the fabric covering your clit. You cycled through the settings as fast as you could, still desperate for more stimulation.

More. It was on the highest setting. You wanted more.

Without moving the vibrator you shoved your underwear off, huffing as you kicked them away, not caring where they landed. The tip of the toy nudged against your clit exquisitely, and you froze.

There.

There.

You thought about Tom watching you. The hot blood coursing through your body, the line up of toys just waiting to be shoved inside of you. The sensitivity of you clit as you held it against that perfect point. The air against your dripping, aching pussy. The muscles starting to clench, the rhythm of your body. Building, building, you didn’t fight the feeling.

This was what you wanted.

That warm familiarity of the vibrator on your clit, the runaway train of your thoughts, it was enough to drive you over the edge. You hadn’t realised the keening, groaning noises you were making until you heard them, pleasure leaving your lips as an afterthought.

You felt empty.

Blindly you reached out, sticky fingers finding the shaft of a toy you wanted, a smaller one you could take right now. A dollop of lube in the palm of your hand was all it would take, a few pumps of the toy enough to coat it, the excess lubricant smeared on the sheets. You didn’t care. Not your problem.

Without conscious thought, you were still rubbing yourself, two fingers absently making circles against your clit as you fidgeted to be able to take the dildo. You didn’t bother preparing yourself anymore. You were wet enough, and you wanted the stretch.

Needed it.

Needed to feel full.

You shoved the toy into yourself, gritted teeth and your spare hand grasping at your breast, giving the nipple a sharp pinch to interrupt the overwhelming feeling of that silicone pushing inside of you. Your walls were stretched open, a gasp reaching your ears as you felt a nudge against your cervix.

It wasn’t enough. You felt wild, desperate, as you sloppily pulled the toy from yourself and shoved it back in, clenching down and still needing more.

Your fingers found a larger toy, arousal and lubricant smearing across your body as you discarded the dildo which you had just been fucking yourself with, leaving it somewhere on the mattress, forgotten in favour of the bigger option. It was thick. Maybe, in your right mind, you wouldn’t have considered it. But instead you coated it in lube, squirting the clear liquid on to the tip and rubbing it down the toy, focusing on nothing but the need pulsing through your pelvis.

On the emptiness inside you, begging, pleading to be filled. It hurt, how much you wanted to be stretched out, to feel something pounding into you. You felt animalistic, desperate for anything. The last of your conscious thought was occupied by the need in your clit, the demand for friction, and you just didn’t have enough hands. It was impossible to think. When you finally sank down on the fake cock, leaning back, legs apart, gaze focused on nothing but your own swollen pussy, it was a relief. You gasped, then sighed, pushing another inch of the toy inside you. You felt stretched already, split in half, but you kept going. With each thrust, you took the silicone further inside of you until you felt the dull ache of the toy going too far.

Finally, that emptiness felt sated, and you stayed still, too stuffed to risk moving and too blissed out to care.

But you needed more.

Each bear down made the toy threaten to shift, and you didn’t have the brain power to thrust and pay attention to your aching clit. You moved gingerly, grabbing a pillow to straddle, holding the toy inside you as you hunted for your vibrator.

You couldn’t even lean too far to reach it, you were so full it ached. And it was delicious.

With the smooth plastic finally in your hand you leant back, ready to bring yourself to another orgasm. With a blink, you realised there was a tear tracking its way down your cheek, and you smiled to yourself.

And then you accidentally looked forwards. Your eyes met Tom’s. The camera. The lights. The switched off monitor.

You wanted to cry.

He was watching you directly, with those sharp blue eyes, one finger resting along his jawline, his usual calculating, wide stance replaced with one knee hugged to his chest as he sat on the concrete floor. He was watching you.

You. Stuffed full, straddling a pillow on the bed Tom had fucking made, covered in a mix of lube and your own arousal. That strange feeling from earlier came back full force.

God. He had seen you actually come. Without acting or cheesy lines or clever angles to hide the worst of your O-face. You could pretend to come, tell your male co-stars what a good time you’d had, follow direction, anything. But this was too real. And it was just you and Tom. In the corner of a huge studio, bright lights and cameras and –

Had he called cut? You wouldn’t have heard. Did he realise you’d lost control? That you had forgotten you were supposed to be acting and been so desperate and –

“You’re doing amazing.”

You smiled at him weakly, gasping as the toy inside you nudged your cervix as you fidgeted. You didn’t realise that you were awaiting direction until he spoke.

“Another one?”

His voice was a little throatier than usual, though you supposed he’d been quiet for a while. His eyes kept drifting from your face, and you wondered if he felt as uncomfortable as you did.

You nodded silently, closing your eyes, listening to the increasing pitch of the vibrator as you turned it up to its maximum setting.

The minutes stretched on as your orgasm built, little raises and falls of your hips accompanying that insistent buzz of your favourite vibrator, the toy inside you starting to ache as it stretched you apart. It was impossible to forget that Tom was watching you now. That his piercing gaze was on you. As a matter of professionalism, you tried to avoid looking up. You ignored the camera, fucked your body in the way you knew it would respond to, only half-faking it as you came a second time.

You moaned and groaned and gave the camera an indulgent few seconds of overstimulation, the vibrator pushed against your clit to make you writhe and shake. You pulled yourself off the dildo in a mess of arousal, played with yourself, showing off how stretched out you were.

Fingers swirling in the arousal inside of you, you sighed in relief when Tom called, “cut.”

Dropping the toy, you pulled your legs together, ignoring him for a second as you took deep breaths. Taking stock of your body, the residual pleasure and pain and stickiness. A lot of stickiness.

Tom took pity on you, shifting a softbox so you had a clear path out of the corner you were hemmed into.

“Go and have a shower,” he told you, the most softly-spoken command you’d ever heard.

Nonetheless, you followed orders. On weak legs, you indulged in as long as shower as you dared, cleaning up and then just… waiting. Trying to avoid the real world. When you finally opened the door, wrapped in a robe, you found your clothes folded outside. Tom was nowhere to be seen, but you thanked the universe for him anyway.

When you re-emerged you were fully dressed and feeling a lot more like yourself again. And, actually, quite proud of yourself. Tom’s busyness told you everything had been recorded properly, equipment moved and the mattress bare, leant against the wall.

“All good?” you asked, more to announce your presence than anything. He stopped moving, offering you a gentle smile.

“Perfect! I think it’ll be great. Do you want to go get lunch somewhere? To celebrate?”

Predictable as anything. The thought made your heart swell with fondness for him, his head tilt and excitement, his strange place here.

“I think I’ll just go home,” you tried to smile apologetically, but you could still feel the ache inside you, the dull oversensitivity of your clit against your underwear.

The embarrassment and excitement fighting in the fit of your stomach.

Tom nodded, clear understanding on his face. He held the door for you on the way out.

“Are you coming in tomorrow?” he asked, quietly, like you might run off if he asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you then.”

*

Your bedroom fell silent as the vibrator stopped, the battery finally flat. You whined in disappointment, desperate for another orgasm. Your fingers replaced it instantly, rubbing, desperately pulling more wetness from the arousal weeping from you, but you were too oversensitive.

Panting, vision blurry, your thighs aching, you blinked away tears. You glanced at the nightstand. Tom hadn’t text you.

*

When you woke up the next morning your phone was dead. You’d forgotten to charge it last night, and leaving it in your room to charge offered a strangely peaceful morning. You had a few hours before you would be expected at the studio, and no work to do before then.

You indulged in spending time getting ready for the day, making a decent breakfast, doing a few chores you’d been putting off.

Processing what had happened yesterday.

In the clear light of day, you wondered if you ought to be embarrassed for the way you’d completely lost yourself at the shoot. The more you thought about it, the more you thought about it, the more you rationalised at you’d just followed Tom’s direction. Done what he’d asked. It had been intense, for sure, but you’d done what he’d asked. If anything you regretted the moment he’d had to speak, losing your nerve. You hoped he didn’t want pick-up shots today, you weren’t sure your body could take any more.

You thought about the night before, clearing up the scattered clothes and charging the vibrator you’d left strewn beside your bed, more ashamed of the images which had been conjured by your overactive imagination in the late-night privacy of your bedroom. You hated that everything you imagined was involved blue eyes. Distinctive curls. Pulling buttons from smart shirts and kissing along sharp cheekbones. Poor Tom. He didn’t need you overstepping that mark. And yet when you had closed your eyes, imagined you were under those lights again, all you could imagine was Tom. His creative gaze. Listening to the smoothness his voice leant to everything he said as he instructed you even more intimately than usual.

As you switched your phone back on, you forced the thoughts from your mind. They couldn’t follow you to the studio. The two of you had built something good. Something successful. The studio was doing well, you were both saving money away for the future, building your brands. You couldn’t screw that up now by imagining him like that. He trusted you. You trusted each other. Relied on one another.

You wondered if he ever fucked other actresses.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 144

After much demand, Kink Night at the Undine has arrived. This chapter is really fun, was informative to write, but if you need to skip it, you won’t miss out on the overall story. So, trigger warnings on this chapter for:

- Bondage (mentions of)

- Pegging (possible mention of?)

- Impact play (discussed, both done wrongly and demonstrated correctly)

- Topping and bottoming

To be clear: These are all mentioned from the perspective of a non-participant, non-voyeur. I would probably overall rate this chapter appropriate for 14 years and older, but your mileage may vary. However, kink in general can be very healthy if done correctly, and this chapter was double beta-read, not only by @baelpenrose but also by @charlylimph-blog for accuracy of the scene.  This actually prevented a PROFOUND mistake from making it to queueing, so I am super grateful for their help.

Once I was released from medical after an unnecessarily long lecture from Noah, I found I had a message waiting from Charly with a date and time to meet at the Undine.  Right below that was a message from Sebastian with a uniform-slash-dresscode of sorts.

Aw nuggets. I had forgotten what night it was. 

There wasn’t time to grab clothes from my quarters, but my office was on the way to the bar, so I stopped by to change.  Socks and shoes were a bit of a challenge, since I generally didn’t wear either, so I had to find a vendor to help me fill in the gaps.  Granted, shoes weren’t specified in Sebastian’s list.  However, there was exactly a zero percent chance that I was going to lend a hand at a kink party while barefoot. Just… no. Nope. Not happening.

I wiped my palms nervously against my slacks when I arrived, not sure exactly what to expect.  Charly and I had talked about it, but none of that knowledge wanted to make its presence known at the moment, apparently.  Instead, my mind kept drifting to what in the actual hell she had roped Arthur into doing.  The door opened entirely too soon to reveal a smiling Charly, who grabbed my arm and dragged me behind her to the small group already gathered.

All of my nerves were forced from my body by the sputtering laughter I fell victim to when I saw Arthur - I still had no idea what he would be doing, but he looked like someone took a post-apocalyptic movie hero and hit a button labelled ‘make him a villain’ a few too many times.  The leather jacket and motorcycle pants were fairly innocuous, since I knew he actually owned both and neither were terribly uncommon on the Ark.  Same thing held for the boots - they were just practical in the After and several people held on to that preference with a death grip.

“Cloak’s a nice touch,” I snorted, trying desperately to ignore the campier bits of his outfit.

I was dangerously close to losing it when he scowled and adjusted the laurel crown - I mean, really? - resting on his head. “I knew I shouldn’t have cut my hair this morning,” he muttered. “Damned thing won’t sit right anymore.”

Charly clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, one more run through of what everyone will be doing!”

Sebastian nodded seriously and flicked a towel over his shoulder before handing me an apron. “Sophia has kindly agreed to prep the snacks, while I serve and clean behind people. She’ll clear any dishes in between batches, and one or the other of us will do a lap of the floor every fifteen minutes to ensure everyone is hydrated and there’s no need for medical attention.” He winked at the relief on my face.

Cooking, clearing plates, and momming people into staying hydrated. I could do that.

Arthur brushed off his pauldrons, only forcing me to confront the fact that they were shaped like skulls again, before straightening with aplomb. “I will be Dungeon Master, keeping an eye on everything from there,” he pointed to a scaffold that had been put into place over the bartop, “And intervening as needed if things get out of hand.” Without so much as a twitch of question from me, he explained. “Charly and Coffey can’t be everywhere at once, so I get to perch on high, look ridiculous, and play bouncer if Coffey can’t get there first.”

“Yep,” Charly nodded seriously. For all that she normally seemed built out of chaos and energy, this was Boss Lady Charly. “Let’s keep it safe, sane, and consensual across the board. Speaking of!” She pulled two badges from seemingly nowhere. “Soph, Bash, these are for you.” I took one and immediately grinned when I read it. Staff Only - I Do Not Consent. “If either of you want to play, go for it, but otherwise, probably wear those.  Sexy librarian and millionaire CEO are tropes that exist, so ya know - no confusion for anyone.  Any questions, concerns, cries for help?” When we all shook our heads, she clapped again. “Okay, off you go! Thanks everyone.”

Sebastian tilted his head toward the kitchen and I followed, wiping my hands on my legs again. “Thank you for agreeing to help with snacks.  I know Charly already told you, but I am not the greatest at finger foods that don’t make a mess or won’t be too heavy.”

I hummed for a second before making a few suggestions. “Macaroni and cheese bites, they’re about this big.” I made a circle about an inch and a half across with my fingers. “Just pop and go. Pigs in blankets, the kind with cocktail sausages… meatballs, but probably with lamb instead of beef.  Dumplings.” I shrugged. “Charly swears people actually bring food to these, so once that stuff starts coming in, it would just be portioning it and sending it back out.  We shouldn’t have too much actual cooking to do.”

He nodded and started grabbing ingredients. “So that leaves drinks, plates, and utensils.” When I reached for a rack of glasses, he stopped me. “No.  If one of us drops anything that can break, people can get injured.  I’ve been stocking up on fiber-based plates, forks, and spoons.  Drinks are going to be in those corn-starch gel pouches.”

“Dude,” I groaned. “Those things get so gummy.”

“Straws are real and do exist.”

“Besides, I can already tell someone is going to find alternative uses for those,” Arthur called from behind us. I swear, I could hear him smirking. “You can’t put humans, sex, and flavored liquid in the same room and not expect that.”

I shook my head with a smile, but he had a point. Once we shooed him away, work on the snacks went pretty quick.  Judging by the sounds coming from the main room, it was a good thing, too - furniture being dragged, then Arthur’s voice ringing out to welcome everyone.  Soon, Sebastian was swinging out of the kitchen door with the first trays, and true to Charly’s word, he came back carrying a plate of neatly stacked fudge, followed by Arthur carrying a covered container.

“Scratch the meatballs, someone brought an actual mountain of sausage balls,” Arthur grunted as he slammed the container on a flat surface before retreating.

“Not even a joke?” I mused.

“Must be slipping,” Sebastian grinned. “I mean, he said ‘balls’ twice…”

“Low hanging fruit!” a voice called from the main room.  It must have seemed entirely out of context to the crowd, but Sebastian and I were laughing as we started plating so he could carry more food out to the spots Charly had designated.

A timer went off, so I took the mac and cheese bites out of the oven, snagged a tray of drink-blobs, shoved a fistful of straws into my apron and took off to do my lap of the event.  There were already people taking a break, reaching gratefully for hydration.  Several times, someone would reach for one and pour it in a partner’s  mouth, and on one occasion, a woman offered it up like a gift to a bound man, both biting into it and drinking greedily.

I almost stepped on someone before I realized there was an actual pile of people on the floor. I diverted my eyes quickly from what I thought was an all-out orgy before my brain registered that I wasn’t hearing sex noises - just whispers.  Snapping my eyes back up, it took a moment to figure out that I had nearly stepped on the largest cuddle pile I had seen since my apartment on Insert Winter Holiday.  Crouching, I balanced what was left of the drink blobs on one hand while holding out the straws with another.  In no time at all, the tray was empty and I was heading back for more.

This time, food on one hand, drinks on the other, I exited the kitchen to see Charly wrapping up her rope-bondage safety lecture before starting to demonstrate different knots on a volunteer, with Charly in the role of the top for this scenario. Watching her calmly contort and restrain another human being while calmly explaining the psychology behind it was… kind of terrifying.  I had to constantly remind myself that this person volunteered and that Charly was experienced on both ends of the rope.  

One more sweep of the room landed me with only a dozen or so drinks left on top of a pile of empty trays.  I backed into the kitchen to sanitize and re-load the trays, only to hear Sebastian swearing. “Who the hell brought chili!?”

“Apparently someone thought it was a good idea,” I shrugged, baffled. I mean, it didn’t seem like a good idea to me, but this wasn’t exactly my area of expertise.  “Maybe we put it in bowls, set up a little station in one of the break areas, with toppings? Let people help themselves?”

“Bondage potlucks and chili…” He shook his head. “Trying to remind myself that I’ve seen weirder things, but…”

“I can promise you, they are having fun. And they’re hydrated!” I shook my mostly empty platter of blobs at him.

Sebastian went out to retrieve more food from the people who brought it, and I kept rolling sausages in dough.  “More fudge!” he crowed. “I snagged a piece of the first batch, and it was amazing.”

“You clearly do not see the irony,” I muttered where he couldn’t hear me. “Oh, heavens, no chili! But fudge… fudge is fine…”

The next time I was able to break free and take my designated lap, a slight bit more chaos had descended as everyone had gotten more comfortable.  Several of the more experienced were examining and complimenting each other on their knots and arrangements of their subs. Ivan and Jokul were doing…. Something… that involved Ivan in a gorgeous evening gown and Jokul with a gag in his mouth.  I was almost done with my circuit when a thud reverberated behind me and a black cloak whipped by.

“For the love of…” Arthur growled. I thought he was going to dribble the cowering man he was glaring at like a basketball, but instead he brandished a marker and made two quick X’s on a bare pair of buttocks. “Here and here. Only here and here.” With an irritated flourish, he wrote NOT HERE across the small of the attached back. “This will give someone kidney damage.  Specifically you if I catch you doing it again.” Ducking around to the face of the person he had just used as a whiteboard, he shook his finger. “And I’m not even going to apologize, because you have a safeword and you need to use it. First, last, and only warning, you two. If that hit had been any more than a nervous first tap, you wouldn’t even be getting that.”  Without a word, he snagged the cane sitting on the table nearby and took it with him. “They aren’t getting anywhere near the cane, fucking idiots. Gotta talk to Charly about those two…” he muttered as he blew back past me, so angry he didn’t even acknowledge that I was standing there.

I almost dropped the stack of empty platters when the Imperial March started playing while Arthur stomped back into his position over the bar. “Attention, Deviants!  Courtesy of some poor practices I’ve seen, I would like to invite Sir Coffey and his pet fae Charly to give us a tutorial on safe and proper impact play!”  Applause started as he beckoned them forward, Sebastian theatrically adjusting the lights to center in front of the stage.

I ducked back into the kitchen as Coffey’s voice rang out over the crowd, explaining yet again safewords and consent before launching into what toys were used how and where.  A little public humiliation never hurt anyone, I joked with myself. At least not for some of the people out there.

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[kuroopaisen]

like breathing. (bokuto koutarou)

➵ you’d never really thought of getting a partner. not when bokuto was around. 

wc: 2.6k

warnings: none!

a/n: this one’s dedicated to chia and @jupiturde! you’re both so cute, and thank you for being so kind to me :( and for tolerating my endless ramblings hhh 

“Finally!” Bokuto’s groan rattled through the small apartment as he rushed towards you. “I’m hungry!”

You laughed as he threw his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. “It’s not my fault they were busy,” you mumbled, holding the takeout bag away from your bodies in a bid to stop it from getting crushed.

He grunts, but he pulls back and gives you a brilliant smile.

“What?” you laughed, reaching a hand up to ruffle his hair.

“I haven’t seen you in ages,” he pouted, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how expressive his face was. You’d missed it.

“I’m sorry,” you frowned, the brief shot of energy seeing him gave you crumbling away. Truth be told, you were just exhausted. It was Friday, and you’d just dragged yourself through the worst three weeks of your life. University had whacked you in the ass with a baseball bat, and what little structure you’d set up for yourself had collapsed inwards. On top of that, work had been merciless.

Worst of all, you hadn’t been able to find time to see Bokuto. So, you’d texted him only a few hours ago to tell him that you were coming over. You couldn’t wait any longer. You just had to see him. 

“What’s wrong?” He tilted his head at you, golden eyes round and sad, with a hint of panic. He’d read your emotions effortlessly. Like always.

“It’s just… been a tough month,” you offered him a smile. But you knew it was weak. But, you had to be honest with him. He wouldn’t stop pestering you otherwise.  

The takeout bag was whipped out of your hand, tossed onto the counter. Bokuto was gone, dashing down his hall. You took the opportunity to take off your boots.

He was back in a flash. You weren’t quite sure what happened next, but you didn’t fight it. Everything went dark for a second as a blanket was thrown over you, and you a pair of strong arms lifted you into the air.

A few steps, and he damn near suplexes you onto the couch with a ‘hmph.’ You snort, tugging at the blankets in an attempt to find the light.

By the time you manage to wriggle your head out of your swaddle, he’s already got Netflix up on the Xbox. His brow was creased, and the tip of his tongue peeking out of his mouth as he concentrated on the menu.  

Whoops, you thought, still unwrapping yourself. I’ve sent him into overdrive.

He always got like this whenever you were down. It’s why he was your first port of call whenever you were feeling down. The easiest way to pick up your spirits was to go to his place, put a shitty movie on, and lie in his arms.

There wasn’t much point in getting a partner. Not when Bokuto was around.

Bokuto had always been the very best friend you could’ve asked for. Loving him was like breathing; so easy, so natural. You’d met in the first year of high school, and you’d been damn near inseparable ever since. You’d never been as comfortable with anyone as you had been with Bokuto. And he felt the same way about you. And thankfully, your friendship had survived graduation. If anything, you were closer than ever, even if you didn’t see each other every day anymore.  

But in all those years, the two of you had never even thought about dating. Each other or anyone else.

You’d thought that would change after graduation. A lot of your friends had taken university as an opportunity to find a partner. You’d wanted to try something similar, at first. There was more time for that sort of thing now. You hadn’t really dated anyone in high school; you’d spent so much of your time trying to get into university, and none of the boys at Fukurodani had taken your fancy.

But, as the semesters ran on, the whole thing just sounded taxing. Getting a partner meant dating. Dating meant meeting people and trying to navigate your way through that excruciating introductory phase. Would you get along with this person? Were they normal? Were the two of you going to find each other dreadfully boring? Besides, you wanted to focus on your studies. Some people could juggle their studies, a partner and a fulfilling social life with grace, but you felt like you weren’t capable of that. And you didn’t want to risk it. Especially not after you’d finally gotten a job.

Bokuto had been far too busy to even think about having a proper relationship. Life had been a complete whirlwind for him these past few years. And he loved it. He was doing the only thing he’d ever wanted to do, and he was thriving. He was part of a V-League team, for goodness sake.

It was easier – and far more comfortable – to fill your spare time with each other.

You couldn’t quite remember how the affection had begun. You’d always been quite affectionate with each other; enough to have confused some people in high school, at least. The Black Jackals gave you shit for it too. Well, Atsumu gave you shit for it; but he was very good at rallying the team and getting them all the look at you two with sly smiles while Bokuto’s back was turned. It was embarrassing, but you didn’t go to practices enough to let it get to you.

But, ever since you’d moved into adulthood, more and more evenings were spent in each other’s arms. Had it been the late nights, where in your drowsiness you’d sought each other out? Was it because you were both starved for that kind of contact? Whatever the reason, it had become the natural order things. And frankly, you had no desire to change that. It was too convenient of an arrangement.

Why risk going on out with someone you didn’t like when you could just pop over to Bokuto’s place and get all the cuddling you needed?

“Alright!” He turned and beamed at you as the movie began to play. The Mummy Returns. A solid choice.

You smiled, tossing a corner of the blanket over him. He tugged it with enough force to pull you – still more or less wrapped up in it – towards him. He didn’t flinch, slipping his free arm around your waist and tugging you over to sit between his legs. You melted into his chest, curling towards him. You could’ve swore you heard him hum, but you were too preoccupied with calming the thrumming of your own heart to be sure.

“Hey Bokuto?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you tell me about your day?” You murmured.

“Sure!” You could hear the smile in his voice.

He launched into his story without a moment’s hesitation, actually starting from the moment he woke up. You smiled, closing your eyes.

God, you loved being like this. His toned arms wrapped around your waist as you lay against his chest, which was rapidly rising and falling as he rambled on. The sound of his voice, loud and dynamic as it was, gave you more comfort than anything else.

Being with him felt comfortable. It felt like home.

You could feel every part of him pressed against you. And as usual, you were trying to ignore it. Trying to ignore that little feeling that’d been nagging you for the last year or so. Since that morning you’d woken up in his arms, terrified by how unashamed you felt. Terrified that if you weren’t careful, you would ruin everything.

Bokuto was affectionate with you, yes. Maybe more affectionate than the average friend would be. But, that was him. What if he didn’t feel the same way? How would he feel, if he found out what was going on inside your head?

You were sure he would fight through the awkwardness for the sake of your friendship. But having to go a few months where things were unbearable? Having to adjust to that distance being between the two of you? No. You didn’t want to go through that.

He was still talking.

“And then,” he huffed, “the blockers were too fast, so I was gonna glance the ball of their hands. But the ball was too low, so it…” He was pouting, his cheeks puffed up a little. “So it rebounded right into my face.”

You laughed. You threw your head back, and you laughed.

Bokuto’s heart stuttered in his chest. He’d seen you laugh plenty of times, sure. Hell, you’d laughed at things he said more times than he could count.

But he knew he’d never quite get used to what that did to his heart.

And, he realised, this was the first time he’d seen like this in a long while.

Those last three weeks had been damn near unbearable. Usually, you two managed to see each other at least once a week. That alone was too long of a wait. But three weeks? Three whole weeks of not seeing you? That had been agony. He’d never had to go that long without seeing you before. You’d even moved to Tokyo within a week of each other.

He needed you around. He needed to hold you like this, to spend time talking about nothing of consequence while watching stupid movies. He needed to see you or else his motivation would be off all week.

But there you were, back in his arms as you laughed at something he said. And that look on your face? Seeing you happy like that? Nothing made his heart feel so full, so fond. He didn’t quite understand it, but you always managed to make him feel so, so... 

He leant forward and kissed your cheek.

You froze.

The gesture alone would’ve been innocuous in any other setting. Any other circumstance. But kissing of any kind was a boundary you’d never breached. You personally had been too afraid of them, and he’d never done anything like that himself. Until now.

You forced yourself to look up at him, shifting your entire body to face him.

He was red. His hair looked even stiffer than usual. If you were freaking out, the poor boy looked like he was collapsing from the inside.

“I—Uh—” His body was taut, eyes looking everywhere but you. “I didn’t mean to—I just felt—It seemed—”

Fuck it. You pushed upwards and placed a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose.

He froze. You froze. What the fuck were you going to do next? You didn’t know. The only certainty was the pounding in your ears.

Sure, you’d thought about this before. But you’d never acted on it. Not even after practice, when he stood there looking so hot. Or when you lay on his bed, close enough to feel his breath on your face when he laughed. Not even then.

But now?

He was staring at you, eyes wide and mouth formed in a little ‘o’.

You bit the inside of your cheek, in some weak attempt to hold yourself back. Even your palms felt all fuzzy. Was that normal? God, all you wanted to do was wrap your arms around his neck and--

“Can I-I kiss you?”

Had you imagined those words? Had he really just said that?

No time to think. You surged up and kissed him.

Fuck, he was good.

His hands were now gripping your waist as yours found their way into his hair, pressing yourself against him. His lips moved against yours, hot and soft and desperate. All hesitation was gone. And the sheer intensity of it all was starting to go to your head.

The blanket slipped off the two of you, and you shivered as the cool air hit your skin. His fingers grasped at your waist, and you sighed.

Something snapped. Bokuto flipped you over, laying you out on the couch as he propped himself up with his elbows. He didn’t break the kiss as he hovered over you, one of his legs pressed between yours. Your hands are gripping his shoulders, and you feel like your entire body is burning up.

You don’t know how he’s so good, but he’s giving it his all. Without thinking, your hands trace their way down his torso – you’d always known he was muscular, but shit. Next thing you know, he’s shirtless. And you’re losing your damn mind.

Why did it take you so long? You should’ve done this ages ago--

“Disgusting.” Oh shit. Sakusa.

“Called it.” Fucking Atsumu. You didn’t need to look at him to know his face was a little too smug.

You braved a glance at the door; a door that you hadn’t even heard open.

Fuck, even Hinata was there. He was just gasping, his mouth hanging open and takeout bag in hand.

Bokuto’s head snapped up, and you covered your burning face with your hands. Of course this was how it was going to go.

“Aw, come on, guys!” All things considered, Bokuto was remarkably unphased.  

“What are you doing here?” You managed to whine out, hands still clamped firmly over your face.

“Well, we thought today was games night at Bokuto’s,” Atsumu smirked. “But I see he’s found other ways to entertain himself.”

You peeked up at Bokuto from between your fingers. He was still positioned over you, but at least his face, neck and chest were starting to blush. And there was no word to accurately describe the look on his face.

“Oh,” he swallowed, seemingly at a loss of where to look, “we did agree to do that, didn’t we…”

“Koutarou, I’m going to kill you.”

He looked down at you again, expression caught between the sheer joy at hearing you call him by his first name and the absolute mortification of the situation at hand.

“Ooh, Koutarou,” Atsumu laughed. He was second on your hit-list, and you were going to make him suffer. “We’ll leave you to it!”

The door closed with a resounding thud. Were they… gone? Oh, yep – that was the sound of Hinata’s yell fading down the hallway.

Your hands fell from your face, a rush of relief hitting you. You’d really been through it tonight, huh?

You looked up at Bokuto. He was looking… somewhere.

“Koutarou.”

His gaze snapped to you immediately, eyes bright and hopeful.

“How did you forget?”

“You told me you were coming over,” He pouted. “I was so excited to see you that

“You are… unbelievably stupid,” you groaned. But you couldn’t ignore that feeling of lightness in your chest.

“But you still love me, right?” He’s pouting. And then he realises what he’s just said. So do you.

It’s not a word you would’ve thought about, in any other context. You’d made your love for each other quite clear. But there were so many ways in which you could love someone. In which you could love him.

You simply rolled your eyes, tilting your head up and pressing another kiss to his lips.

He melts.

“I love you, you dumbass,” you mumbled. But you couldn’t quite contain your smile.

You could feel his entire body perk up. He propped himself up, looking down at you with the brightest eyes in the world. You could get used to him looking at you like that.

“I love you!” With that, he peppered kisses on every inch of your face he could reach.

You ran your hand through his hair as he traced his way along your jaw.

Wait.

“Hey Koutarou?”

“Yeah babe?”

“We should probably reheat our food, huh?”

He groaned, burying his head in your shoulder. You laughed, your head lolling back.

Maybe this whole relationship thing is less work than you thought.

After all, loving him was like breathing.