#if he's awake he's a goddamn menace

[youngpettyqueen]

I think if you asked Julian who the worst patient on DS9 is his answer would change depending on the day but if you asked literally any other member of the medical staff they would all say "Doctor Bashir" with absolutely no hesitation

[godmadeaterribleerror]

As Much As I Do - No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist

Read on A03

Author's Note: One-shot request from my love lordofthunderthr! Extra thanks because I've been waiting for the genuine smallest reason to use this gif because it's in no way going to fit into the actual story. Title from Bob Dylan by Fall Out Boy (you guys can pry my Fall Out Boy song titles from my cold, dead hands)

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary/Warnings: Takes place after Chapter 14 and around Chapter 15. It's fluff. Horny fluff.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, fluff

Ben felt like a fucking cat. She was touching him casually while he “slept” and he was pretty sure he was fucking purring. The Thing was definitely making some sort of goddamn low sound, and Ben couldn’t blame it. She was touching him like it was simple, his head was buried in Her neck, and one arm wrapped was between her body and the mattress while one splayed out across the bed because it goddamn could. He was in their fucking bed and Ben could do whatever the hell he wanted on it. 

Except fuck Her. 

Ben wasn’t allowed to fuck Her. 

He wasn’t allowed to make Her moan and scream and feel fucking good. Fuck Her until she said his name and smiled at him and looked so fucking perfect, undone below him. Or above him. Or against him or in front of him or clinging to his body. He didn’t give a single shit, as long as it was Her. Wanting Ben, touching him, letting him touch her. Like this—where Ben’s breath was in time with her heartbeat and her perfect hands were running through his hair—but until She’d been ruined. Until her beautiful face was flushed and her hands were clawing at his back and her pretty eyes were blown out and lustful and all of it was for Ben. For how he was making Her feel, how she was gasping and begging for him to do it again and again until the only words She knew were Ben and please and everything else was just moans and whines. Until she felt half as damn good as Ben did now, resting on top of Her as she fucking pet him and he had to fight the Thing’s urge to just stay here for the rest of goddamn time. 

“I know you’re awake, Benjamin.” Her voice was so perfect, humming everywhere around him and soothing the Thing, that Ben almost missed her actual fucking words. “I can feel you.” 

He didn’t answer. Maybe She’d just give up, and keep him right fucking here—where they both belonged—forever. 

He should’ve known better. Ben knew Her too fucking well to think she’d ever just let anything go. 

“You’re heavy,” She said, and one hand dropped to the base of Ben’s neck. “And you smell like shit.” 

“Shut the fuck up. I smell fucking fantastic.” Ben didn’t move as he grunted the words against Her skin. He wouldn’t move, not until she damn made him. 

“I knew it.” 

Clever, impossible, perfect fucking woman. With Her happy giggle when Ben squeezed her closer and her gasp when he nipped the skin of her neck.

“That’s a goddamn underhanded move, Sunshine.” He muttered, and when he looked up at Her it was like he’d been struck by lightning. She was smiling at him so gently, eyes still heavy with sleep, and so fucking beautiful. Just looking at him, watching Ben like she’d never want to look anywhere else. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Pretty Boy.” She kept smiling at him, voice smug. “I didn’t do anything.” 

Ben rolled his eyes. “You didn’t know I was awake,” he said Her name, and her smile widened. “You fucking baited me.” 

She shrugged, body shifting under Ben’s and making a small sound that sent a rush of pure fucking hunger through him. “Prove it.” 

Ben had a lot of favorite sounds She made. The small squeak when he flipped her body over his—sitting up with his back against the headboard and sliding her down his chest—was certainly on the damn list. 

“You’re a fucking menace, beautiful.” Ben pulled Her forward slightly, leaning down to growl in her ear. “I don’t think I’ll have to prove it. I think I’ll ask you again and you’ll just tell me.”

When Ben moved back, meeting Her eyes, he could feel her heartbeat under his hands. Resting right at the line of her shirt, never higher. Holding her right where he fucking wanted her. Against him, so when she squirmed he’d feel it. 

“Fuck yo-“ 

He didn’t wait to make a teasing remark or dirty joke. Ben just leaned forwards and touched Her. Kissed her pretty mouth until she opened for him, pushing his tongue in—almost down her throat—and just trying to get closer. As close as he was allowed to be, while still touching her more, making her feel good. Make Her hands pull at his hair, make her whimper a fucking perfect sound from her throat that Ben got to devour. He’d lost sight of his original plan, but he didn’t really fucking care. Not when he bit her lower lip and could revere in the way she leaned further into him, or when he had to try not to lose his fucking mind when she started to grind down on him. Started to practically fucking climb up his body. 

When Ben sucked on her tongue and she made maybe the best sound he’d ever heard in his life—unintelligible and breathless—he had to wrap his arms around Her and pull her into his chest. Hold Her there until he could get goddamn control of himself and not have to explain why he’d fucking cum in his pants. 

“Ben,” She whispered, head in his chest. “You really do smell terrible.”

He chuckled. “Brat.”

“Cunt. Can you please shower so we can train?” 

“I told you last night, we’re not fucking training-“ 

“And I told you, Benjamin, that I do not care what you told me.” She glared up at him, so fucking beautiful, and now Ben had to goddamn pretend he hadn’t already given in. “I am training, with or without you.” 

“You’re a pain in my fucking ass.” 

She smiled at him. “But…?”

Ben rolled his eyes, leaning his head back, forcing himself to stop staring at Her perfect face. “Fine.” 

“Fine?” 

“We’ll train.” 

“Thank you,” She kissed his neck, near his jaw, and hummed against his skin. “Now go shower. You smell like balls.” 

The only thing that kept Ben from taking a year in the shower—letting the Thing grab him and show him all the ways he could’ve just fucked her on the bed, buried himself in her and made her scream—was that sometimes, when they trained her singing, his doppelgänger would appear. It would make Her face flush, make her eyes wide and heartbeat quicken, and Ben would get to taunt her until one of them moved and he was kissing the air out of her lungs. It was something to look forward to. Something that made Ben fucking haul ass, getting in and out of the shower in four minutes flat. 

Ben hadn’t left the room when he realized that She was already singing. She’d gotten more comfortable with it, the longer they practiced, and sometimes would hum softly during movies or while doing normal things. Normal, easy things like laundry or dishes or cooking, simple fucking things that Ben got to share with Her. Got to watch how Her humming would send the world into a spiral of her, all the perfect fucking parts of her cast across the room for Ben to exist in. Colors and lights that he got to watch her sway in. 

This wasn’t that. This was singing. 

With words and instruments and a beat that ran through Ben’s body and bones. With the room turned into a dark club, with lights that flashed and changed in time with the bass. 

And She was dancing. She was singing and dancing and moving with the music like it had been made for Her. Like the rhythm had been designed to follow her legs, and the guitar had been made to move her hips. Like the whole fucking song had been perfectly tailored to her voice and how she moved through it. How she didn’t stop for even a second, never losing a breath, performing for no one like her life depended on it. 

It didn’t, but Ben’s life might. Everything in the world might hinge on letting her just dance like that forever. The Thing wanted all of this. All of Her, forever, like this, or it would fucking explode. Ben had no will to push against it. Not when She was dropping down and twisting and turning her body and so lost in it that she didn’t even see Ben. Falling to her knees and leaning back while her hands gestured with the lyrics. Trailed down her body and up again. Wrapping around her throat before falling to the side. Her whole fucking voice saying every word like it had been written for her, the whole face twisting with the emotions of the song, smiling and dropping into a pout and so fucking perfect. 

She only saw Ben when the song ended. When the club disappeared and they were back in the apartment, leaving Ben no longer hidden in the shadows of her illusion. He should probably feel like a goddamn creep, but Her mouth fell open and her heart picked up, so he couldn’t really bring himself to give a fuck.

“Hi,” She whispered, and Ben grinned at Her.

“Hello.”

“How long-“ 

“About three minutes,” he crossed the room until he was standing above Her. “Almost the whole fucking show.” 

“You, um, you showered fast.” 

Ben winked at Her. “I’d have showered faster if I’d known I was missing something. You do dance like a fucking slut.” 

She scoffed, wrinkling her nose at him. “That’s pretty high and mighty for the manwhore to say.” 

“It was fucking hot,” he lowered himself down until his nose was bumping hers. “I think I prefer your slut dancing, Sunshine. It’s more you.” 

“More me?” She gave him a flat look. “Fucking rude.” 

“How the hell is that-“ 

“You just called me a slut, Benjamin. That’s not very nice.” She whacked his chest, and Ben caught her hand. Held it there. 

“It’s more you because it’s fucking loud. Because it’s fucking captivating and hot. So fucking beautiful and good.”

Because it’s fucking perfect, the Thing rumbled. Because you’re fucking perfect. 

She was watching Ben with wide eyes. Opening and closing her mouth like she was going to say something. 

Instead, she fucking tackled him. Rammed Her body forward, crashed her mouth against his, and let Ben pick her up and carry to the couch. Training could fucking wait. Everything could fucking wait. She was making that same perfect sound from before, and her hands in his hair were making him groan, and when his hand started to kneed at her skin she made such a happy fucking sigh and Ben knew everything could wait. This was just Her. Making the Thing content and goddamn purr in his chest. Making Ben grin against Her neck when he sucked that one spot and she moaned his name. 

The whole world could go fuck itself. This was Her.

End Note: Let's all say thank you to @lordofthunderthr for some easy fluff in these dark times (Chapter 16 to Chapter 19).

I'm going to start a separate tag list for one-shots, so lemme know if you want to be added!

If you like this story, reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Guilty as Sin? — Chapter Nine

pairing: professor!javier peña x f!reader

rating: series is 18+ only, minors DNI, professor/student dynamic, the gurls (Steve and Javi) are catty in this one but Steve deserves it, Javi has a filthy mouth, we get him to beg, unprotected piv, oral (m!rec), secret relationship/age difference mention, angst at the end but it's resolved

word count: 5.6k

series masterlist

Something was burning. 

The smell hit you in your sleep, causing you to stir awake with a sour face. You looked over at Javi’s side of the bed, but it was empty. You rushed to your feet, grabbing Javi’s robe and hastily wrapping yourself in it as you rushed to the bedroom door. You expected the apartment to be engulfed in flames from the foul, bitter smell, but were greeted with a far more amusing sight when you whipped the door open. 

Running around the kitchen with the urgency of a contestant on a cooking show, Javi and Steve tried their best to air out the smoke coming from the stove. 

“What the hell happened?” you asked, pinching your nose. Javi’s wide eyes met yours, a frown already etched onto his face. 

“We were trying to surprise you,” he said, almost bashfully. “But Steve took his eyes off the bacon—“

“I wasn’t in charge of the goddamn bacon,” Steve interjected. “I was in charge of the pancakes and look—“ He gestured to the stack of golden brown pancakes on the kitchen island. “Perfect.”

“I told you to watch it while I—“

“The hell you did—“

“I know I did,” Javi replied, rubbing his eyes as he walked over to where you stood in the doorway of the bedroom. He dropped his hands to your face, cradling your jaw as he leaned in for a gentle peck. “Sorry for the rude awakening, cariño.”

You smiled, tugging him closer by the belt loops of his jeans just to kiss him again. “S’okay.”

“We could go out to eat,” he mumbled against your lips. 

“We can’t,” you sighed, tilting your head back to look into his eyes. “Or did you forget about the whole secret relationship thing?”

“No, smartass.” He gave your ass a small tap. “I was thinking we could get something on the road.”

You raised a brow. “The road?” 

“Yeah, Steve wants to go visit my dad,” he said, suddenly looking shy. “Thought you could come along and…meet him, I guess.”

“You…want me to meet your dad?” you asked, stifling your shock. 

“Yeah, I mean…if you want,” he said, shrugging. “I want you to meet him, but not if it’s too much or too soon for you.”

“No,” you said, lifting a hand to rest against his chest, his heartbeat wild beneath your palm. “I want to, as long as your dad doesn’t mind?”

“He’s kind of been asking to meet you for a while now,” Javi said, biting his lip. 

“You told him about me?” 

“Yeah,” he smiled. “After our weekend together.”

“Javier Peña,” you crooned, running your hand over his heart. “A softie underneath it all.”

“For you,” he said, lifting your hand to his lips. “So is that a yes?”

“Mmhm,” you hummed. “Just need to go home and shower first.” 

“I’ll drive you,” he said. “Just let me help Steve destroy the evidence of his failure first.”

 After battling Steve for the passenger seat, the three of you headed out for Laredo. Javier stopped at his favorite burrito place and got the three of you breakfast for the road with the condition that Steve doesn’t, in Javi’s words, eat like a fucking animal in the backseat.

The two of them carried on like siblings, bickering and teasing one another with a playful undertone that showed the deep-rooted fondness underneath all that masculinity. You stayed relatively silent, enjoying their chatter while you finished a paper for Dr. Brown’s class that was due at the end of the week. Javi’s hand made itself at home on your knee, his thumb brushing soothing strokes against the ribbed fabric that sent a throbbing ache between your legs. He seemed clueless to the fact that all it took for you to want him was a single glance, that all it took for you to need him was one simple, innocuous touch. The fucking menace had no clue just how badly your body craved his, and if he did, he certainly refused to show you any mercy. 

When you stopped at a gas station in a small town off the highway you were offered a moment of alone time with Javier as Steve went inside to “handle business” in the restroom—you didn’t ask him to elaborate. 

“How’s the paper coming?” Javi’s head was tilted back against the headrest, the hand that was on your knee now resting against the back of your seat. 

You shut your laptop and set it on the dashboard before tugging Javier over the center console for a kiss. You held onto the curve of his jaw, your thumbs stroking over stubble as he parted his lips to move with yours, a dark rumble slipping straight from his mouth into yours. You let out a soft whine at the sound that only spurred Javi on, one hand coming to rest on your hip with a needy squeeze. 

“Need you so bad,” you confessed, nibbling on his bottom lip. Javier’s hand slid from your hip to the apex of your thighs, a soft sigh slipping from his lips as he let his palm cover your heated core. “Take me into the bathroom and fuck me, Jav.” 

“Jesus,” he groaned, letting you get your fill of him as you trailed your kisses down the line of his neck to his thumping pulse. “Not enough time to make you come, hermosa.” 

“I don’t care,” you said. “I just want to feel you.”

Javier let his head fall back against the headrest as your hand wandered up his thigh to cup him through his jeans. “Baby, shit—“

The backseat door opened, abruptly ending the heated moment. You both straightened yourselves in your seats as Steve climbed in with a bag of snacks in hand. 

“Got y’all some water,” he said, handing the cold bottles to both of you. “Since you’re so goddamn thirsty for each other.” 

“You saw that?” you laughed, covering your face with your hands. Javi pried them away with a smirk, bringing them up to his lips to kiss your knuckles. 

“This could be you if you, I don’t know, talked to your wife?” he said, shooting a glance back at Steve. “Jealous ass.”

“Just wait,” Steve said. “Eventually it’ll all wear off and then you’ll be flyin’ out to Florida to sleep on my couch.”

“I prefer my bed and the woman keeping it warm,” Javi said, lacing your fingers together as he pulled out of the parking lot. “And unlike you, I don’t let pride get in the way of that.”

“Javi,” you said, giving him a lighthearted scolding. “Don’t need to kick him while he’s down.”

“He’s kicking me while I’m up,” he argued with a smile. “Besides, Steve could use some tough love.”

“I’m right here, jackass,” Steve said. “And this argument ain’t my issue. Connie needs to understand that I’m allowed to make my own decisions about my career.”

“And she’s allowed to divorce your ass for not taking her and Olivia into consideration.”

“Who’s Olivia?” you asked, turning in your seat to look at Steve. You watched as his look of pride shifted to one of guilt. 

“It’s his three year old,” Javi said. “Who he left at home all because he doesn’t want to own up to his shit.”

“Jav, you’re treadin’ on thin ice,” Steve warned. “Keep my daughter outta this.”

“She’s affected by this, you fucking idiot,” Javi said, refusing to back down. “I don’t give a shit if you’re pissed at me. Whatever it takes to get you back to your family so you can keep them, I’ll do it.” 

“And what the fuck do you know about family, Javi?” Steve asked, his tone so calm it was unnerving. “Hm? All those years fuckin’ prostitutes teach you a lot about the family dynamic?”

Javier shook his head, his jaw clenching as he watched the road. You wanted to turn around and tell Steve to shut the fuck up, even if only for your own comfort. It wasn’t as though Javi had kept his past a secret—he’d told you all about the activities he got up to during the DEA and you didn’t judge him for it or the women he slept with—but the thought of Javier fucking someone else always soured your stomach to the point of genuine nausea. 

“I’ll drop the subject, Steve,” Javi said, his tone flat and sharp at the same time. “But you’re the one that’s going to have to deal with the consequences of your actions, not me. Try to put the blame on me, try to discredit me to my girlfriend, do whatever you think you have to do to feel better about putting yourself above your family. But when Connie and Olivia decide they’re done with you, don’t come to me asking why I wasn’t there. I’m here now, telling you to own up to your shit. Do it or don't.”

The rest of the ride was silent and tense. You busied yourself with your paper, Javi busied himself with focusing on the road, his hands tight on the steering wheel, and Steve busied himself with sulking in the back seat. 

It wasn’t until the three of you arrived at Javi’s dad’s ranch that the air between them lightened. 

Javi kept close to your side, his hand wrapped around yours as he walked you up the gravel path to the front porch of his father’s two-story farmhouse. 

“You nervous?” he asked in a whisper as he led you up the steps of the front porch. 

“A little,” you admitted, glancing back at Steve who was smoking a cigarette by the car. “You alright? Things seemed a little tense back there.”

“That’s just us,” he said, raising his hand to the front door and knocking. “Steve needs to hear the truth from someone. I don’t really give a shit if he hates me, just as long as he makes shit right with his family.”

“I don’t know what I’d do if we got into a fight and you just left,” you said, shaking your head. “I probably wouldn’t let you come back. Especially if we had a kid to worry about.”

“That’s not my style,” he said, lifting a hand up to lovingly pinch your chin. “I meant what I said. I like my bed and I love having you in it. I’m not going to fuck that up for anything.”

“Because you love me,” you mused, stepping closer. 

“Mmhm,” he smiled, wrapping an arm around the small of your back to pull you into his side. “First woman I ever loved.” 

“Shut up,” you laughed, giving his chest a playful swat. 

“I’m dead serious,” he said, leaning down to brush his nose against yours. “You’re the only woman who’s had me this way. Try and remember that the next time Steve brings up my past.”

“The next time he brings up your past, I’ll just remind him that I don’t view those women as competition,” you said, pecking his lips. “They all taught you different shit. In fact, remind me to send a thank you card to the woman who taught you how to eat—“

“Mijo,” an older, rougher, voice with a slightly heavier accent than Javier interrupted the filth you were about to say, causing you to turn towards the man with a wide eyed look of embarrassment. 

“Pops,” Javi greeted, chuckling at your expression as he let you go to pull his father in for a hug. 

“Chucho!” Steve called as he stomped his cigarette out into the dirt. “How the hell are ya, old man?” 

“I’ll deal with you in a minute,” he said, fixing his attention on you. “You must be the woman my son won’t shut up about.”

You gave Javi a smile, squeezing his hand. “I hope so, Mr. Peña, otherwise he’ll be in trouble.”

His father laughed, extending his hand. “Call me Chucho, mija.”

You nodded, letting him go off down the stairs to Steve with a finger wagging. “That wife of yours should kick your ass.” 

Javi let out a deep breath, relief washing over his face. “I haven’t brought anyone home since I was a teenager. Thought I was gonna pass out for a second.”

You laughed, hugging his arm. “Your dad’s cool.”

“Until you piss him off,” he added. “But I can’t imagine you’ll ever see that side of him. Now, Steve on the other hand…”

“He doesn’t like Steve?” you asked, furrowing your brows. 

“He likes him, but he’s big on family,” Javi explained. “And right now, Steve’s being a dick to his family.”

“Well, since they’re busy, why don’t you take me on a little tour?” you asked, biting your lip as you nudged your head towards the open front door. “Show me your old bedroom and all that.”

“Do you want to see my bedroom, or do you want to see my bed?” Javi asked, lowering his voice in a way that made you throb with need. 

“Like you’d actually fuck me with your dad and Steve here,” you whispered, licking your lips as you stared at his. So tempting, so full, so capable of making you feel good. God, you hoped he wasn’t bluffing. 

“Is that a challenge, cariño?” he rasped, brushing his lips over yours. You slid your hands up to his chest, anchoring yourself with your hands gripping the leather labels of his jacket. “I love a challenge.” 

“Javi,” you sighed, forcing your head to turn towards the men still locked into their passionate conversation. “Don’t play with me right now, I must be ovulating or something. I’m…needy.”

“Me too,” he husked, bringing his lips to the hinge of your jaw. Your breath hitched as he placed an open mouthed kiss there before skimming his teeth along the line of your neck, punctuating it with a lovebite. 

“Your dad’s twenty feet away,” you whispered, swatting at his chest. 

“He can’t see anything this far even if he was paying attention,” he mumbled, lathing his tongue over where he’d nipped at your sensitive skin. 

“Take me somewhere else,” you managed, half up in the clouds from the feeling of Javi’s lips on your skin. “Say we’re going to pick up lunch or something.”

“And then what?” he asked, pulling back to look at you with lust glazed eyes. 

“Then I want you to fuck me in the backseat of your car,” you said, gathering what remained of your wits. “I’m sure you know a backroad or two where we won’t get caught.”

Javier grinned, nodding his head before lacing your fingers together. He walked you down the porch steps, your feet crunching over the gravel as the two of you reached where Steve and Chucho stood talking. “Pops, we’re gonna go grab some lunch to bring back.”

“Mmhm,” Chucho hummed, a smile tugging at his lips as he looked down at your joined hands. “Take your time. I’m going to take Steve out to the field and put him to work with the cows.”

“I didn’t agree t’all that,” Steve said, holding his hands up. 

“Well, your wife didn’t agree to you re-signing, but you had no problem doing that.”

Javier’s hand never left the inside of your thigh as he drove you through a seemingly never ending labyrinth of dirt roads before finding a spot nestled in a line of trees, not a soul around for acres. 

“Get back there,” he ordered as he climbed out of the car. You bit your lip, scrambling to undo your seatbelt so that you could climb over the center console into the backseat. Javier opened the door on his side and slid in beside you, his hands already reaching for your face as you swung your leg over his lap to straddle him. He laid his head back against the head rest, studying you as you sat breathless and needy on top of him. “So fucking beautiful.”

“I need you so bad,” you whined, reaching for his belt to undo it. Javier sat back in his seat to give you more room, both of you watching as you took him out of his jeans and gave him a long, languid stroke. “Look at you…” You licked your lips as a droplet of his arousal spilled down his head and onto your fist. “You need me, Javi? Hm? Want me to sit on it?”

Javier groaned, his hands flexing on your thighs as you continued to stroke him slowly, his cock twitching in your palm with each pass. “Baby, fuck.”

“That’s not a yes,” you purred, cunt throbbing at the sight of him coming undone over your teasing. 

“Yes, baby,” he panted, his eyes lifting to meet yours. “Sit on my dick, cariño.”

“Ask nicely,” you said, leaning forward to ghost your lips over his. 

“Please,” he begged, filling the gap between you with a kiss to your jaw. “Want to watch you ride me out here in the open.”

You let out a sigh, tipping your head back to give him better access to your neck as you tilted your hips forward to grind your clothed center against his bare cock. “Feels so good, Javi.”

“Yeah?” he murmured beneath your ear. “You wanna come like this first? Get that pussy nice and wet for me?”

“Fuck,” you whined, resting your head on his shoulder as your rocked your hips, angling your clit to brush against the ridge of his tip with every thrust forward. 

“Just like that,” he murmured, hands settled on your hips to guide your rhythm. “Use me, baby. Doing so fucking good.” 

The only sounds to be heard beyond the birdsong in the distance were your breathy moans and Javi’s deliciously filthy praise in your ear as you chased your orgasm. Your hands gripped the top of the seat behind Javi’s head for leverage as your movements grew erratic and uncontrolled, your high within arms reach. 

“Come on, hermosa,” he breathed, his lips brushing against your ear. “So close, baby. Just keep going.”

“Javi,” you whined as your climax took hold, turning you into a crumpled mess of ecstasy on his lap. Javier held you tight, kissing your temple as you recovered. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful when you come,” he rasped, his hands sliding down the small of your back to slip underneath the band of your leggings, grabbing the globes of your ass to pull you closer. “Can you feel how hard you make me, cariño? I’m always like this around you. During class, when we pass each other on campus, when you’re in my living room building Legos with me at all hours of the night, when I bring you home to meet my fucking dad—you’re driving me crazy and I don’t want it to stop for a single fucking minute.” 

With furrowed brows and a pounding heart, you pulled him close, crashing your lips against his in response to his filthy confession. Pulling away breathless and dizzy, you lifted your hand to his face, dragging your thumb over his stubble. “I love you, Javier.” 

“I love you,” he murmured, turning his face to kiss the inside of your palm. “But if I’m not inside you in the next thirty seconds, I think I might die.” 

You laughed, sliding off his lap to tug your leggings and underwear down to your knees while he shoved his jeans down to his ankles and took his angry, leaking cock in his fist. You couldn’t help but let out a soft hum at the sight of him stroking himself, bathed in mid-afternoon sunlight that pooled in from over the treeline. “You’re a sight, Dr. Peña.” 

Javier grinned, his dimple emerging as he watched you climb back onto his lap, this time facing away from him. He let out a soft hiss as you wrapped your hand around his cock, dragging it across your wet seam. 

“I want to hear you beg again,” you demanded, your eyes locking with his over your shoulder. “Beg me to sit on your dick, Javi.”

Javier looked to be in agony, his eyes squeezing shut and head rolling back against the seat while his palms squeezed the soft flesh of your hips. “Please, baby.”

“Please what?” 

“Please sit on my dick, baby,” he managed, his voice teetering on a whimper as you slipped the very tip of him in and out of your slippery entrance. 

“You want it, baby?” you purred, thighs shaking from the build-up. Javi groaned, lifting his hips up to press into yours just an inch more than you’d been allowing. 

“I fucking need it,” he rasped, leaning forward to press a kiss against your clothed shoulder. “I need to feel your pussy. So fucking wet. Bet I could just slip right in.”

“Do it,” you urged, leaning forward to hug the back of the driver’s seat, your ass on full display as you turned back to look at him. “Fuck me how you need to, Javi.”

He let out a full whimper that time, taking himself in hand and lining himself up with your cunt before bringing your hips down to meet his lap in a hard slam. You cried out, the sound lost the wind, and held on tight to the leather of the seat as he guided your hips to meet the sharp snap of his thrusts. He let out a low growl at the vulgar squelch of your cunt with each thrust, your arousal only growing with every pass of his head against that deliciously destructive spot inside of you. 

“Listen to that,” he said, silencing your moans with soft shush. You obeyed, biting your lip to quiet yourself as he forced you to listen to the sound of your bodies joining. Your cunt throbbed at the filthy sound, Javi’s soft moans only adding to the jolts of pleasure cascading down your thighs to your toes. 

“Javi, shit,” you whined, reaching down between your thighs to rub some of the tension away. “Fuck, I’m gonna come like this. Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

“Never,” he rasped, doubling his efforts. The sound of his pleasure blended with yours in perfect, sinful harmony, his low groans and growls pairing with your soft cries, the breathy sound of his name slipping free from your lips each time he hit the perfect spot. “Come for me, baby. Come all over my dick. It’s yours, you know that? You can get it as messy as you want. Come all over it, every single day, whenever you want.”

You let out a strangled moan, your eyes clamped shut as you took over the pace, riding him with the sole goal of making him come with you. “Javi, you feel so fucking good, I can’t—“

“Yeah you can,” he urged, leaning forward to press his chest to your back, his hand snaking over your hip to replace yours between your thighs. You shuddered, something between a sob and a moan slipping free as he swirled his fingers over your swollen clit in time with deep, calculated strokes against your favorite spot. “Your thighs are shaking, cariño. Do I make you feel good?”

He knew the answer—he could feel it in the way your cunt squeezed him every time he moved inside of you—but it didn’t stop him from wanting to hear you say it. Just like you couldn’t help but want to hear him beg for you. 

“You make me feel so fucking good,” you moaned, teetering on the edge now. “I—fuck—I’m coming, Javi. Fuck. Please. Come—come inside me.”

“Ah, shit,” he dragged the words out, slowing my hips into a languid bounce as my walls threatened to choke him. “I’m gonna come, baby. Gonna come inside you and fuck it deep.”

Your only response was another cry of his name, your mind lost to bliss as he bounced you over his cock once, twice, before pulling you down to the hilt and filling you with a long string of curses and praise. 

“You fucking own my soul,” he said after a beat, the two of you still locked into place. He smoothed his hands over your hips before gripping them, guiding you into a deep, pleasure-wet grind. “We just stopped and I want to go again.”

You laughed, leaning back against his chest, his arms wrapping around you. “I think you’ll give me a stroke if we go again.” 

“We’ll save it for back home then,” he said, kissing your cheek. “Until then, I think we should probably hurry up and grab food before my dad works Steve to death.”

“He deserves a little punishment for talking to you like that,” you said, climbing off Javi’s lap before pulling your leggings over your hips, careful to keep the mess between your thighs from spilling onto the seat. Javi climbed out of the backseat with a stretch to his lower back, his dick hanging free and proud in the sunlight. You laughed at the sight of him rubbing his lower back without a single worry in the world for his state. “Put that thing away or the birds might confuse it for a worm.”

Javier snorted out a laugh, giving you a look of amused shock. “How dare you.”

“I dare,” you smirked, climbing out of the car to stand in front of him. You kept your eyes locked on his as you lowered to the ground in front of him, your palm wrapped around his half-hard shaft. “Guess it would have to be a big worm.”

“An anaconda.” 

You snorted. “Someone’s confident.”

“And someone likes to tease,” he said, fitting his hand to your chin as you brushed your lips over the head of his cock. “We don’t have time for you to seduce me again.” 

“No, but I want to,” you said, laying out your tongue to lick a stripe up his cock. Javier groaned, watching himself swell in your fist. “Just to clean up my mess.”

“Fuck me,” he cursed, reaching forward to grip the car for stability as you licked him clean, pursing your lips across his shaft before letting him slip between your swollen lips. Javi let out a soft hiss as you took him in as far as you could, sputtering on his length before slowly dragging him out, your fist stroking him as you wiped a tear free from your waterline. He gently pulled himself out of your grasp, guiding you onto your feet so that he could kiss your messy lips like it was the only thing he ever wanted to do. “You’re the love of my life, cariño.”

You smiled into the kiss, combing your fingers through his hair. “You’re just saying that because I just had your dick down my throat.”

Javier pulled back with a stern look. “I’m saying that because it’s true. You’re the love of my life.”

Your lips quivered into a tender smile, your hand cradling his face. “You’re the love of mine, too.”

Back at the ranch, you found yourself sitting across from Javier’s dad in the dining room, his eyes locked on his plate as he gathered a generous spoonful of refried beans and rice. Javier’s presence was a soothing anchor amidst the nervousness that was your first meal with Javier’s remaining family. Thankfully, between the thrill of Javier’s warm hand on your thigh and Steve’s rambling about his plan for making things right with his wife, you were too distracted to worry about what Chucho might think of you. 

“So I’ll fly out tonight, grab flowers or somethin’ on the way home, and walk in hopin’ for the best,” Steve said, clapping his hands together “Sorted.”

Javier chuckled as he chewed his food, shaking his head while tearing a piece of his tortilla to dip into his beans. “You’re an idiot.” 

“What the hell else am I supposed to do?” 

“You should probably call her and ask if you’re even welcome,” Chucho said, chuckling along with Javier. “She might not want you back.”

“Don’t listen to them,” you interjected with a small laugh. “But yeah, a phone call wouldn’t hurt.”

“I guess I’ll go call her, then,” he said, wiping his face with a napkin before excusing himself from the table. 

Now alone with both Peña’s, it was harder to ignore the fact that his father was sitting in front of you, taking careful glances your way as if he noticed something strange. 

“How old are you, Mija?” he asked, raising a brow at his son. “Javi told me he met you at work. I assume that means you’re a professor, but you look awfully young.”

You turned to Javier, finding him looking everywhere but at you. “I, uh, yeah. I work at the university.”

“Teaching?”

You shook your head, your tongue going dry under interrogation. “No, just an assistant.”

“Ah,” Chucho nodded, clasping his hands together. “That explains the age thing, then.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, or rather, you attempted to. Javier’s hand gave your thigh a squeeze, a silent apology for going along with the white lie he’d given his father to cover up the scandalous nature of your relationship, no doubt. Though you knew the lie was likely just because he wanted to avoid the potential judgment and interrogation, the more childish, untrusting, scarred part of you couldn’t help but feel it like a knife to your gut. You selfishly yearned for him to claim you and every part of your relationship, rather than force you to lie to his father’s face about who you were.

Subtly reaching down, you shoved his hand away from your thigh, earning a puppy-eyed glance from him. 

“Excuse me for a minute,” Chucho said, clearing his throat as he stood up from his chair and left the room without further explanation. 

“Cariño,” Javier whispered, turning in his chair to face you as you pushed the remnants of your lunch around your plate, sulking. “Baby, can you look at me?”

You turned your eyes to meet his in an icy glare. 

“I’m aware that there’s a certain amount of lying involved in our relationship, but I didn’t realize that extended to your fucking dad,” you whispered back, the sound as passionate as if you’d shouted. “And you just sat there, letting me figure it the fuck out on my own.”

“I know,” he sighed, letting his eyes shut for a moment. “I panicked, and left you to fend for yourself like a dick. I’m sorry. I just…I told him that lie at the beginning because I wasn’t sure where this was going. God knows I never expected to introduce you to the fucking guy. But I’m sorry. For making you lie to him, for leaving you hanging, for all of it.”

“Does Steve know, at least?” you asked, still not quite won over. 

“No,” Javi said, frowning. “I told him the same thing.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “It’s hard to not think you’re ashamed of me, or my position in life, or our age gap, or what people might think of you if they knew the real story, you know? Am I just going to have to lie to your dad and best friend forever? What happens when I graduate, or when I pass the bar? Do I just have to hide that from the people closest to you?”

“Cariño, I didn’t think that far ahead,” he admitted, his brows furrowed with guilt. “But you’re right. A part of me will always be a little ashamed that I crossed that line with a student, and that I fell in love with that student in the process. It’s not something a good man would do, and my dad and Steve know that as well as I do. I just…I don’t know. I didn’t want to give them anything else to judge me for. Steve holds my past with women over me every chance he gets, and all my dad sees me as is the man who ran from home, from the fiancé I didn’t love, to find myself.”

You let out a sigh, scooting closer to him to drape your arm over his neck while your hand coaxed his chin up, forcing his eyes to meet yours. “Your job is to tell me about this shit before it blows up like this, alright? Because if you’d just told me that, I would’ve gladly lied to your dad. And sold it better.”

Javier chuckled, turning to muzzle his face into your palm. “Understood.”

“Now tell me you love me,” you ordered, a smile tugging at your lips as he glanced up at you with those irresistibly beautiful brown eyes. 

“I love you,” he said, kissing your palm. “I love you, and I love all of you.”

You rested both hands on his cheeks, guiding his lips to meet yours in a deep, mending kiss. “Promise me we’ll tell them the truth one day.”

“I’ll tell them on our wedding day,” he murmured, kissing you deeper. “How’s that sound?”

You grinned, pulling away from him to look down at your left hand. You held it up, wiggling your bare ring finger at him. “I don’t see a ring, nor do I happen to remember you getting down on one knee.”

“Not yet,” he chuckled, taking that hand in his and bringing it up to his lips so that he could place a lingering kiss on your ring finger. “But one day.”

[chvoswxtch]

☾ romcom- headcannons (request a director’s cut to make it spicy)

i am in desperate need of some slutty thoughts about matt crawling through your window late at night (aka the dream)

you didn't ask for it but the wardrobe department has decided to put matthew in the black suit of sin for this scene for reasons

andddddd ACTION!

as a reminder, director's cut means it's spicy ! (minors dni)

headcannon below the cut

late night with the devil starring matt murdock

matt can't tell if it's an unusually slow night in hell's kitchen, or if he just can't seem to focus on blind justice tonight bc your sent is still all over him from having you tangled up in his sheets last night

he'd worn the very tie this morning he'd used to blindfold you with last night (let your imagination run wild with that one) which was a mistake on his part bc it meant your scent was right under his nose all day long

the longer he's perched on the roof like a fucking gargoyle, trying and failing to concentrate on the sounds of the city, he gets more and more restless, and eventually his desires win out over his self imposed duty

the window to the fire escape by your living room was always left unlocked for him so he could pay you a visit anytime he wanted while he was out on patrol. he could hear your even breathing, steady heartbeat, and the sound of pages being turned, which indicated that you were awake to his delight and excitement

matt lifted the window and slipped inside without making a sound, closing it just as quietly, his booted footsteps mute against the worn wooden floor

you hated it when he snuck around like a ninja and scared the shit out of you, threatening to haunt him if he ever sent you into cardiac arrest, but matt was a little shit and loved making you jump and scream. he especially liked making you scream ;)

he stalks towards you like a predator, and then without warning, he yanked the book out of your hands. before you even had a chance to react, he pounced on top of you, making you squeal loud enough to wake your neighbors

"matthew michael murdock! you fucking-"

a rumble of amused laugher sounded deep from within matt's chest, and he grinned as he bent down to capture your lips, cutting off your string of irritated curses. he nuzzled his nose against your neck, purposefully using his sexy daredevil voice bc he knows what it does to you

"well, hello to you too, sweetheart."

your anger swiftly evaporates bc how can it not when matt has you trapped beneath him, your wrists pinned above your head, those sinful lips teasingly brushing against that spot on your neck that drives you wild and that sultry voice in your ear

"you're a goddamn menace."

matt lets out another hearty chuckle, and you can feel the vibrating rumble against your own chest, and his callused hand stroking your bare thigh before squeezing the soft pliant flesh eagerly

"so i've been told."

a shaky breath left your parted lips feeling the coarseness of his facial hair brush against your neck, the ghost of his breath making your skin prickle, and the warm weight of his hips between your thighs

"sorry for scaring you, honey. let me make it up to you."

matt was already kissing his way down your chest and pushing the hem of your nightgown upwards

"I want a sincere apology, murdock."

matt grinned against your skin as he lifted the nightgown up to your hips, dragging his tongue slowly along your lower stomach, making your back arch slightly and a shudder run through you to his delight

"of course, angel. why don't I get on my knees and beg, hm?"

it amazed you how he could move so quickly while being such a tease. he kept his touches featherlight and barely granted your needy skin any contact from his lips, and your brain barely registered the feeling of your panties being slipped down your thighs, but you did feel matt's hands gripping your hips and dragging you towards the edge of the bed

you don't know who moaned louder after that first swipe of his eager tongue through your soaked cunt, you or matt

he didn't hesitate, diving right in with his greedy mouth. he captured your hands and intertwined your fingers, holding your hands tightly against your hips, groaning as he allowed you to rock your hips against his face as he devoured you

the burn of his facial hair rubbing your inner thighs raw was a problem for tomorrow bc all you could focus on was the way he alternated between teasingly tracing the tip of his tongue around your sensitive clit and then flicking his tongue over it repeatedly

he moaned when he wrapped his lips around your clit and began to suckle, and both the sensation and the vibration had your thighs trembling, making you squeeze his hands so tightly the skin went taut over your knuckles

even when he made you come, hard, he wasn't done. while you were lost in the buzzing blissful haze of an orgasm that made you feel boneless, matt had stripped down completely and rejoined you on the bed, flipping you over onto your stomach and pulling you up onto your knees

his firm warm chest was pressed against your back as he leaned over you and gruffly whispered in your ear

"now it's your turn to beg."

the urge to write 137 pages of this akjsdhlksjklf

[shares-a-vest]

@steddielovemonth Day 10: Love is... Missing each other (Prompt by @lihhelsing)

wc: 723 | Rated: T for suggestive language & flirtacious banter | cw: None

Tags: Phone Calls, Rockstar!Eddie, Homesick, Eddie Misses Steve

Stevie, what are you wearing?

Eddie flips onto his stomach once he finally hears a dial tone. He didn’t think it would take this long, calling the concierge to transfer him to an international call, confirming his credit card and then waiting eons for a connection.

But fuck it, he misses his not-legally-binding husband.

It’s only been a week and the band has been killing it so far but…

Call him selfish, but Eddie misses the hell out of Steve, he is desperately resiting the urge to flee back to the airport and fly home. And he feels like a pathetic sap about it.

Maybe next time he should force the boys, their management and basically everyone around Corroded Coffin to set their touring to fit in with Steve’s school schedule. Yes, that could work – certainly much better than admitting how much he wants to be snuggled up in his comfy bed with Steve, drifting off to sleep together, hopefully without their cats bothering them too much.

The ringing continues and he worries that it is going to run out entirely. He bites at his thumb nail in anticipation – it’s not like he pre-organised this phone call and god knows what time it is in Hawkins.

“Hello?” Steve grumbles on the other end.

He sounds groggy with sleep, his voice a little far away as he likely fumbles for his glasses. Eddie grins and crosses his ankles, giddy like a goddamn schoolgirl calling her crush.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he beams, earning a whine at his equitable lack of volume control.

“S’early,” Steve mumbles, “Miss you.”

“I miss you more,” Eddie coos down the line. 

Steve huffs a laugh and echoes, “Miss you so much…”

There’s a rustling sound that follows and Steve hums.

“What are you doing?” Eddie wonders aloud.

“Getting comfy again,” Steve replies, “Closin’ my eyes and pretending you are next to me.”

“That so?”

Steve hums in the affirmative.

“Stevie…” Eddie purrs as he flips onto his back, “What are you wearing?”

“Sweatpants,” Steve replies, a smile evident in his voice.

“Nothing else...” he wonders.

“Nope!” Steve sounds a little more awake now.

“The barest chest,” Eddie continues, squirming around, feeling a teasing tingle at the thought – 

– Until the phone cord almost cuts off his air supply.

He palms around (though if anyone were to see him, it would probably be better described as a full-bodied flail) and tugs at the cord enough that something topples off the nightstand.

Whatever. As long as he can still hear Steve’s quiet and even breathing on the other end.

“What about you, Elvis?” Steve soon teases.

Eddie grimaces but responds nonetheless.

“I’m in my jeans,” he supplies, trying to remain at least a little coy, “And a t-shirt.”

“So, you aren’t ready for bed?” Steve teases, giggling out a little tee-hee that makes Eddie’s heart flutter – god he loves this silly man.

“Not until after I speak to you, precious,” he deadpans.

There’s another sound – like Steve is moving around amongst the bedsheets again. Eddie wiggles his brows and hastily hooks a finger under his waistband. But he soon scrunches his nose. He probably should have removed his belt and unzipped his fly during the never-ending dial tone.

“Shit,” Steve curses before groaning in a very unfun manner, “Oh no, buddy, c’mon!”

“What is it?” Eddie asks, propping himself up on his elbow.

“Go on, scram!” Steve commands, ignoring the question before whining again – one that sounds like whatever he is doing is an exercise in futility, “The cat won’t get off the bed.”

Eddie sinks back down.

Goddamn it.

“Which menace is bothering you, my darling?” he sighs, scrubbing his free hand over his face.

“Freddy.”

Eddie stifles a whimper as his heart swells. Of course, it’s the most adorable, scruffiest, wide-eyed and mischievous cat that’s annoying the heck out of Steve. A cat Steve himself only barely tolerates. Eddie can only imagine what Freddy must get up to when he touring.

“Fredrick?” he can’t help but beam, “Put him on the phone!”

“Eddie!”

“Please?” he begs, “I want to talk to him.”

“But what about…” Steve says, “Well, y’know?”

Eddie waves Steve’s worry away (even if he can’t see him).

“Keep it in your pants, Big Boy. We’ll get to that. Now put my son on the phone this instant!”

[whalesforhands]

Nvyyyyyyyyy! WelcomebackImissedyousm

if you weren’t a stsg writer, who else would you write for? ♪(๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)

(p.s. if you want….. only if you want…. could you please show us what that character’s writing would be like?)

toji (ft. baby megumi)

“Megumi, what the fu—“ Fushiguro Toji has to bite his tongue, has to fight back against the twitch of his eye and the horde of vulgarities he was just about to spill in front of his beloved toddler.

Because who the fuck would have thought taking care of one would be so goddamn hard? He had just watched you change the babbling baby’s diaper not too long ago, cooing sweet words and stroking his plump cheek as you hummed.

Yet, this warm sensation against his palm, the slightly drenched feeling upon his arm and the way Megumi looked at him—

Fuck.

So he can only take a deep breath, staring down into the innocent eyes of the pacified child, sparkling blue against clashing green that makes him fight against his own reasoning.

(He can change a diaper, can’t he? He’s not that much of a hands-off parent. Plus, he’s seen you do it before.)

So he only quietly looks over at you, cuddling against his side with a tired smile, your arm outstretched across his stomach as you cuddle up into his pecs, a hand squishing against the soft muscle as you practically almost drooled over him.

(Fuck. There’s no way he’s getting rid of this cute sight.)

So it’s up to him, he supposes. With only a slightly grumpy stare and a quiet sigh, Fushiguro Toji thinks he definitely can change a diaper.

——

The quiet sounds of pacifier suckling, the way a small weight was upon his back and the incessant hair pulling that felt like his hair was going to be uprooted from his scalp—

Fushiguro Toji has to wonder why his own goddamn kid has more interest in climbing him like a tree instead of the dozens of baby toys he’s bought for him.

“Gumi,” He’s reaching around, grabbing the toddler’s onesie and pulling him off before he had reached the peak of the mountain named Toji. “You can’t play there.”

It was like a lion holding his cub by the scruff— With a gruff stare and unimpressed eyes; yet the child knew no better, simply staring back as he chewed on his pacifier, full cheeks red and puffy—

(Cute.)

“Ya understand?”

“…”

(Babies are so stupid.)

“Y’er mama thinks you look like me, ya know?” He makes the toddler settle down, big hands clumsily fixing the onesie in place and hoping it hadn’t stretched.

(Megumi was quite the hefty baby.)

“So why’s she so mean to me,” A poke into the little boy’s cheek that has little fingers coming up to wrap around it. “But so sweet to ya?”

(It’s not exactly true, but Toji has had advances of a more… Intimate nature rejected a lot more after this little blessing had been born.)

“Y’er a little menace.” His words don’t match his actions, don’t match the unknowing smile on his face and softness in his eyes.

(“Make sure to grow up well.”)

And it wasn’t that long after that you missed the feel of your burly husband’s warmth, the far too quiet state of your house pushing you awake as you call out for your husband and child through your sleep-riddled state.

“Toji…? Where’s Gumi— Oh.”

It’s quite a funny sight, honestly. With your husband’s loud snores, his arm tucked behind his head as a makeshift pillow— And one hand dedicated to patting the sleeping baby that had starfished himself onto his father’s chest, small head making himself comfortable with the softness of your husband’s pectorals.

It seems that both you and your child have a lot in common.

[raineandsky]

#127

The lock on the door is an easy pick, and with one final touch the door clicks open and allows the villain inside.

Now, the villain is usually well above petty crime. He’s done his fair share of thieving. He’s pick-pocketed, he’s robbed, and yeah, sure, he’s broken into places here and there. But his life is actually fun now, thanks to a villainous promotion and some less of the dirty work, and so stealing ended up rather low on his list of fun weekend activities.

It’s not a weekend, though, and it sure as hell isn’t fun either. This is business, and goddamn if the villain isn’t a professional.

He glances at the screen of the phone in his hand, checking and rechecking the picture he took of the supervillain’s instructions. If only the supervillain wasn’t trained to be a doctor, his handwriting might be somewhat legible. He is though, unfortunately, and the villain is wishing he’d just typed up the words when he had the time before.

I’ve had a ‘tip’ on [Hero]’s address. The villain can just about make the words out. It’s like a word puzzle, which he is notoriously bad at already. I have reason to believe she’s got some important documents in there. Infiltrate, find her stash of secrets, and bring it in.

Easy enough. The fun part of stealing was usually finding the most expensive object, though, and the villain has an inkling that some paperwork won’t exactly make him a millionaire. He tucks the phone into his pocket, taking a moment to adjust his eyes to the darkness before shutting the door behind him and exploring.

He finds a living room, a bathroom, a kitchen, the fridge, ooh she has good taste. The villain plucks a punnet of grapes from the fridge and tosses one into his mouth. The supervillain has him on late nights—he doesn’t have time for dinner at the moment. The hero will have to survive without her grapes.

The office feels like stumbling across a mine of incredibly boring, inexpensive gold. The villain takes to rooting through the piles of papers mounting on the desk. All plain, civilian problems—bills, taxes, a newsletter from the mayor. Nothing exactly incriminating.

“What are you doing in my house?”

Who the hell is awake at three in the morning? The villain wasn’t that loud coming in. He turns dramatically, expecting to make his first introduction to the hero, but he isn’t faced with the hero. He isn’t faced with a hero at all.

An old lady is standing in the doorway, her glasses perched wonkily on her nose and a baseball bat in her hands. The bat is kind of menacing, at first, but then she has to awkwardly adjust her glasses and the illusion is gone.

The villain’s mind is short-circuiting. That’s not a goddamn hero. What the hell has the superhero gotten him into? What the hell is he meant to do with a bat-wielding civilian?

“You’re deaf as well as unlawful,” she adds drily.

“No, no.” The villain's cool demeanour is slipping too fast. “No, I can hear just fine, thank you.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“What question?”

The bat taps pointedly against the woman’s palm. She’d probably injure herself trying to swing it at him. That thought alone is vaguely comforting. Only vaguely, though—she’s still wielding a baseball bat.

“What are you doing in my house?”

“I am here,” the villain starts slowly, “to rob you blind.”

He doesn’t know what else to say. He didn’t expect to run into anyone, much less a civilian, much much less a little old lady. He’s running on a bank of prewritten sentences he used in his thieving days, and for some reason the least helpful one is the one that wants to be said.

The woman’s face scrunches up in an emotion the villain can’t read. At first he thinks it might be distress, or perhaps fear, but then she raises the bat and he realises that, oh, no, that’s actually unbridled rage.

She brings it down in an arc and the villain just about dodges to the side. She doesn’t seem to mind the fact the bat absolutely annihilates her desk in his stead. Jesus Christ, is that thing made of steel?

He may be a villain, and villainy may require a certain amount of balls, but this is where he draws the line. The old lady swings again, crashing into the glass cabinet a hair’s width away from the villain’s face, and he decides that no, he’s not dealing with this shit tonight.

He scrambles for the window, throwing himself out onto the fire escape stairs with his new nemesis in tow. She makes one last swipe at him as he takes the stairs down two at a time.

“I’ll bash your head in next time!” she shrieks after him.

It’s only when the villain is safely on the other side of the building that he slows down. He pulls his phone out, sucking in a deep breath, and unlocks it to look at the superhero’s note again. Really scrutinises it. Then it clicks. He sees the problem.

That’s not a 6. It’s an 8. He was on the wrong goddamn floor.

He stares blankly at the screen for a moment. He’s too old to be putting up with this shit.

He shoves his phone back in his pocket, heaves a age-old sigh, and lets himself back into the building for round two.

[to-thelakes]

escape artist

pairing; frank castle x fem!reader

summary; your orange cat was a menace but at least your gorgeous neighbour - Frank - got to help you out.

warnings; fluff, reader has an orange cat, slight au

notes; okay so this is day 5 of my fluffbruary fics! I'm currently working on day 6 so that should be out later tonight! this fic was so sweet and it makes me wanna write a friends to lovers frank castle suburbia au fic. like especially with this reader?? i feel like it'd be so cute so please let me know if any of you would like more of these two! but enjoy <3

ao3

The neighbourhood was quiet when you woke up. The sun was filtering through your sheer curtains as you blinked awake. The familiar warmth of your cat sitting at your feet on the bed was gone and there were none of the usual yowls for food that woke you. You turned over, rubbing your face with your hand but when you looked across the dimly lit room, there was no evidence of your menace of an orange kitty.

It was just you. No cat. Your eyebrows furrowed and you shoved your sheets back, checking under the bed. There was nothing and then you realised. Your window. You had left it open. The screen had been loose and when you pulled the curtains back, you saw it. Sugarpuff had pulled the screen back and escaped.

“That goddamn escape artist,” You cursed under your breath as you stepped back from the window. It wasn’t the first time she had done this. You were told that orange cats were trouble but Sugarpuff was worse than any you had come across. You loved her despite it all but she was an absolute menace. You grabbed your crocs on the way to the front door, snatching the treats up from the side table. This was a routine now.

That was the one good thing about living in suburbia, early mornings didn’t mean hellish traffic. When you had lived in the city, there would be cars rushing by and Sugarpuff would - to put it bluntly - be dead by now. But in suburbia, she usually came running to the sound of you shaking the bag of treats.

“Sugarpuff!” You called from your front porch. The early morning sun had you wincing, your eyes hadn’t expected the sudden change in light but making sure Sugarpuff got back to you safe was worth any pain. You shook the bag of treats and waited. But there was no sound of familiar pawsteps. No Sugarpuff. You frowned, “Sugarpuff! Where are you?” You called again, stepping down off the porch and looking around. You shook the bag of treats again, “I have treats for you, baby. Just come here.” If it was any other time of day, you would have rather died than call out like that but it was early. Everyone was likely still asleep, having a lazy Sunday in.

Then you heard it. A whiny meow and you recognised it instantly.

“Where are you, baby? Sugarpuff, come on. I’ll give you a treat,” You called as you walked across the pathway of your front lawn. Then you spotted her. Your insane orange cat was perched on top of one of the trees. Her paws were pressed forward and it seemed like she kept trying to climb down but she was too scared. You stared at Sugarpuff, completely baffled by her.

“What are you doing up there, huh?” You said as you walked up to the bottom of the tree. Sugarpuff meowed out pitifully towards you again and you sighed. You ran your fingers through your hair before glancing around, “Stay right there, baby. I’ll get you down.” Sugarpuff meowed again and you pocketed the bag of treats before heading back towards the house. You had stepladders under the stairs which would hopefully reach you to her and she could come safely into your arms.

“You okay, ma’am?” The gruff voice of Frank Castle made you jump. He had moved in a few houses down and although you’d welcomed him with some cookies, that was the extent of your interactions. He seemed sweet enough and he had been helping Mrs Klein, an elderly woman in the neighbourhood, with tasks around the house. She had lost her husband last year and he seemed more than happy to give her support. It was sweet but you didn’t know much about him other than the small snippets from Mrs Klein. 

You certainly hadn’t expected him to be up at this time on a Sunday morning and you whirled back around, he was dressed in running gear. His hair was sticking to his forehead, sweating dripping down the side of his face. He looked exhausted yet there was a soft look on his face.

“Yeah, yeah, just my cat. The orange menace got stuck in the tree,” You gestured vaguely towards the oak tree. Frank chuckled and glanced over, spotting the orange furball.

“Do ya need help?” He asked. You shook your head.

“I’m just gonna grab the stepladders and then I should be able to reach her. She’s a fucking idiot,” You explained as you stepped backwards, an amused smile spreading across your face. He nodded and you headed into the house. 

When you came back with stepladders in hand, you hadn’t expected Frank to still be outside but that’s where he was. Instead, you found him standing at the bottom of the tree and he was talking to Sugarpuff in a soft, sweet tone; you honestly hadn’t even thought he was capable of it.

“Ya pretty lady is gonna get you down but ya gotta stop running out on her,” He said. Sugarpuff meowed back in response, clearly unimpressed by Frank’s assertion. You cleared your throat and Frank’s head snapped back, “Thought I’d keep her company while ya got the ladder,” He explained. You smiled and gently placed the stepladder down.

“She’ll appreciate it more than me,” You said as you adjusted the ladder so that it was firmly pressed into the dirt. The last thing you needed was to fall over in your pyjamas and crocs. You stepped up onto it and stood up on your tiptoes, just about able to reach Sugarpuff. But she didn’t seem like she wanted to be picked up and shied away, stepping backwards away from the edge, “Are you shitting me, Sugarpuff? Come here.” Frank chuckled below you, one hand resting on the ladder and keeping it steady as you stood on your tiptoes, desperately trying to reach out for her.

“Want me to try?” He asked curiously when he noticed that your attempts were futile. You sighed and tried to lure Sugarpuff forward but she didn’t seem to respond to any of it. You let out a huff of annoyance before getting down from the stepladder.

“Be my guest. She’s a fucking menace,” You said, exasperated. Frank chuckled and you switched places. Within seconds, Sugarpuff had let him pick her up and he stepped down from the stepladder. She settled against his chest and you watched in utter disbelief, “Fucking traitor,” You whispered towards the orange menace. Frank was grinning as he stroked Sugarpuff.

“D’you want her?” He asked, meeting your gaze. You sighed and rubbed your face.

“Could you take her inside while I bring the stepladder in? Don’t want her trying another fucking escape act,” You requested. Frank nodded and he gestured for you to go first. You carried the stepladders in and put them under the stairs again while Frank continued to stroke Sugarpuff, “Can you keep a hold of her a sec?” You asked. Frank let out a noise of agreement while you headed to your bedroom and closed the window. That menace was not going to escape again.

When you returned to the hallway, your screen door had been pushed to and Frank was sitting on the floor, stroking Sugarpuff as she rolled over. It was clear that she was loving the new attention and you were honestly in disbelief. Sugarpuff usually hated anyone that wasn’t you and she hated men the most. She constantly hissed at the mailman and any delivery drivers who dared to get too close to the windows. But it was different with Frank, it seemed

“Thank you for rescuing her. She’s a menace,” You said as you leant against the side table by the front door. You put the treats back on the side and he shrugged.

“S’all good.�� The tension that had been in your shoulders since you woke up seemed to release as you took in the sight of Frank. He was so calm, stroking Sugarpuff like she hadn’t just nearly given you a heart attack at half 5 in the morning.

“Can I offer you breakfast?” You asked curiously. Sugarpuff seemed to recognise that word and she rolled away from Frank and got up on her paws again, “She definitely wants it. So, you wanna join us?” Frank looked at Sugarpuff and then at you, his face stoic. From that look alone, you had a guess what his answer would be.

“I would love to but I gotta finish my run and get back to Amy,” Frank explained as he clambered back up to his feet. You nodded your head, trying to brush off the sting of rejection. You knew that it wasn’t serious, it didn’t mean anything.

“Of course, thank you again. If she ever runs away again, I know who to call,” You said, forcing a smile onto your face, “I’m gonna go and give her some food so you can escape. Thank you, really. It means a lot.” Frank didn’t know what to say so he simply nodded and sent you a warm smile. That smile soothed the rejection a little as you headed into the kitchen. 

Sugarpuff followed you in and when you put the wet food in a bowl, she happily began to munch down on it; while you washed your hands. It was a couple more moments of sorting out her supply of dry food and refilling her water fountain before you heard the front door close.

You found yourself frowning as you returned back to the fridge to pick up your breakfast supplies. You knew it was ridiculous to be upset at something so simple but Frank was endearing and Sugarpuff was usually avoidant of men. If even Sugarpuff liked him then she knew that he was a good one which made you want to know him. 

It wasn’t until after breakfast that you wandered back into the hallway and on the side table there was a note. You had abandoned some scraps of paper that you used to make a quick shopping list. But among the blank scraps, one of the pieces of paper had a note scribbled across it. The handwriting was scraggly but you were pretty sure it said ‘Can’t call me if you don’t have my number’ followed by a string of numbers. Your jaw dropped slightly before you glanced at Sugarpuff.

“Thanks, buddy,” You mumbled before picking up the note and heading back into your room to put it into your phone.

<3

[sixeyescurseuser]

Thinking about Geto who wakes up in the middle of the night to Gojo murmuring, “Suguruuuu.”

Geto is about to be pissed because what could Gojo possibly want at two in the goddamn morning?

Geto: “Satoru, what the fuck?“

Gojo: [snores] “-hmm hungy”

Geto realizing this fool isn’t even awake, yet woke Geto up from his peaceful slumber by sleep-talking. 

The menace currently hogs half of Geto’s pillow, so Geto rolls him over with a not-so-delicate push. 

Gojo, sleep-talking: “Gah! I’m fallingg!?”

Gojo looks so dumb asleep, Geto actually lets out a quiet laugh.  

Unfortunately, Geto seems to have picked up on Gojo’s sleep-talking habit. It’s more like eepy rambling for him.

Based on the evidence provided from a locked folder on Gojo’s phone, a sleeping Geto can hold a full conversation with an awake Gojo- conversations that make zero sense. 

Geto, asleep: “Satoruuu, the oven…”

Gojo: “Don’t worry, love, I am keeping an eye on those burning children.”

Geto: “The kids…what about the salt?”

Gojo: “No salt here, but I can give you some sugar!”

Gojo leans down to pepper Geto’s cheeks with kisses. He can’t help it!

Rip to Shoko deals with her friend's sleeptalk every time they sleepover together. She supposes gaining deeper eye bags comes with the territory of being their friends. 

Geto is apparently studying for their exam tomorrow in his dreams. He occasionally recites passages Yaga-sensei had written on the board. 

Meanwhile, Gojo fights curses in his dreams, narrating all his strategies and kills. He ends up trying to horizontal run in the bed, consequently kicking Shoko and Geto in their stomachs. 

After Geto kicks Gojo back, effectively waking him up, Shoko tells Gojo what happened - but he refuses believe her!

[oliversrarebooks]

fuck you, I'm a goddamn menace part 2: you can't be fucking serious

Masterlist > Next

TW: abuse, injuries, concussion, sedation, medical whump

Morgan awoke slowly, the sting of antiseptic in his nose. The only thing he could hear past the painful ringing in his ears was the soft beep of medical equipment. His body ached, especially his knee and upper back, and his head was pounding. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He knew exactly where he must be -- in the medbay at his boss's lair -- and the longer they thought he was unconscious, the longer he could relax and heal before the punishments began.

His memories were vague. Lights overhead. Voices. The beeping of medical equipment. A rubber mask on his face.

He lay there, drifting in and out. The pain felt so fuzzy and indistinct. Painkillers? That was new. Salcedo never gave him painkillers. He loved to watch Morgan suffer way too much for that. You wouldn't make it far among the crime lords of the city if you didn't enjoy your work, after all. 

Maybe there was some trick to the fact that he was being allowed this pleasant buzz. Let him relax and let his guard down so it'd hurt more later. He could figure that out when his head felt better.

"...awake..."

Fuck. It was starting. Morgan tried not to react.

"Morgan, are you awake? We just need you to respond to make sure you've woken up from the anesthetics, and then you can go back to sleep, promise."

Morgan couldn't help his face twitching as he recognized that absolutely infuriating voice. Arthur. His blasted nemesis.

Oh, that's right, he had been captured. Lucky fucking him. He got to be completely at the mercy of the hero he'd been tormenting for years. And at the end of it, he might get the wonderful experience of his boss busting him out of captivity only to punish him for his failures.

"Morgan, please, wake up."

Begrudgingly, Morgan opened his eyes, and immediately wished he hadn't. Even the dim light of the room was like an icepick to the brain. He looked over to see the smug fucking face of Arthur, and that was even worse.

"I'm awake. What do you want?" he said, his voice weak and slurred. He was definitely drugged, he could tell, because he could barely even muster up the strength to be scared of what was going to happen to him.

"Good. That's very good," said Arthur. He sounded kind. No, he sounded like he pitied Morgan. Oh, fuck that. "You gave us all quite a scare. It was a little touch-and-go for a bit there, but the surgery went well, and you should make a full recovery, as long as you get lots of rest."

Morgan swallowed hard, trying to comprehend this. He'd been given surgery? What the fuck had they done to him? He was in pain all over, but he certainly didn't feel like he'd been turned into a mantis-man hybrid or anything like that. Or been lobotomized.

...Had they seriously just patched him up? After everything he'd done? If there was anyone naive and soft-hearted enough to do that, it was his fucking nemesis.

"How are you feeling?" said Arthur, his voice too gentle.

"Like your whole team shoved me into a woodchipper and danced on the mulch."

"Yes... Julie went a little too hard with the energy blasts. She's still learning how to control it," said Arthur. "But you know, you were..."

"None of this would've happened if I weren't trying to install a zombification device inside city hall? Yeah, got it, lesson learned, next time I install it in your stupid fucking hero lair."

Arthur scowled. "Was the plan your idea or your boss's?"

"As though my boss could build something like that. Did you even notice the craftsmanship, or were you too busy punching it apart?"

Arthur sat back in his chair, looking as if something was on his mind.

The room was filled with medical equipment, the kind Morgan could control with his technomancy. He reached out slowly, feeling like he was fighting through a wall of cotton, and got no response. The familiar, tell-tale feel of power suppressors. They were probably in the restraints. 

"You know, Morgan," Arthur said after a long moment, "when we had you under for surgery, our medic, Laurel, performed an examination."

Morgan turned away. He could tell where this was going.

"There were a lot of injuries there. Injuries that didn't seem like ones you got while fighting us."

"Training."

"It looked like you'd been kicked in the ribs repeatedly without proper healing," Arthur said. "And there were marks that looked like they'd been left by a taser, and a lot of electrical burns."

"Heavy training."

"That's not training, Morgan!" Arthur actually sounded angry, now, and it took all of Morgan's willpower not to flinch away. "I'm not even discussing the massive amount of nasty bruises or that infected cut on your shoulder. Those could've been sustained while fighting heroes. But not all of that. And even if they were, everything looked like it had healed wrong or been left to scar. There's no way that's normal. I know your usual activities. I see the reports of all of your fights. No hero did those things to you. Certainly not my team."

Ugh. What was the point of all this? To humiliate him? Now his nemesis probably knew all about his poor condition, his chronic pain and his trick elbow and the scars littering his back. And it wasn't like it was going to get any better when his boss got him back. Fucking wonderful.

But Arthur didn't sound humiliating or mocking. He sounded concerned, which was almost even worse. "Morgan, did your boss do those things to you?"

Morgan rolled his eyes and turned away. Or he would've turned away if he weren't so heavily restrained he couldn't roll over.

"Morgan, I'm serious. Did your boss --"

"No, of course not," said Morgan, packing his voice with as much sarcasm as he could muster. "You know how Salcedo is. Every time you defeat me, he gives me a nice pat on the head and a participation trophy, and he tells me that it's okay I failed, because I tried and had fun."

Arthur sighed. "He's abusing you."

"He's giving me my quarterly performance reviews. You're abusing my patience."

"While you were sedated, you kept fighting us off, saying you weren't allowed to sleep. Does he prevent you from sleeping?"

Fucking drugs. Morgan barely remembered what had happened, much less what he'd said. He remembered hitting the wall, pain, pain, pain, and then the most beautiful and relaxing feeling in the world, and finally oblivion. 

"...It's been obvious to me for a long time that your health is deteriorating."

"Shut the fuck up," said Morgan, his sarcasm dissolving with his frustration. "You don't understand a goddamn thing about my life, so don't pretend like you do."

"I understand that you're being abused!"

"I'm being trained to fight your team," said Morgan through gritted teeth. "Rich of you to go on about being abused when it was Julie who gave me a sixty mile per hour impact with a concrete fucking wall."

"That was an accident and you know it. And there's a huge difference between thwarting your plans and casually abusing you."

Morgan looked down at his hands. Like he hadn't noticed how the hero team always pulled their punches to avoid injuring him too much, even when he was scheming something really nasty. Like he wasn't so much more afraid of his boss than his nemesis. Like he really needed his nemesis's smug pity.

Why couldn't Arthur just fucking take revenge or whatever? It wouldn't even be that bad while he was hopped up on drugs. Hell, Arthur was probably too soft a heart to pull half the shit Salcedo liked to, even though he had far more reason. Just get it the fuck over with.

"Could you spare me your fucking after school special bullshit and just tell me what you're going to do with me?" With any luck, they would throw him in ordinary jail and not that awful psychiatric hospital. Either way, it wouldn't stop his boss from finding him and pulling him out again whenever he decided Morgan was needed. Or needed to be punished.

"Well, we can't let you go free, obviously," said Arthur. "But if we put you in jail, you're just going to get captured by Salcedo again."

Oh, Morgan hated the way he phrased that. Captured. Like he was a civilian being taken hostage and not Salcedo's right hand man and a terrifying villain in his own right.

Arthur was leaning in closer. "You don't have to work for Salcedo, you know."

Morgan's eyes went wide with shock as he realized the turn this conversation was taking. He laughed sharply, a little maniacally. "Are you serious? Are you fucking serious, Arthur?" he said. "Did you also hit your head on a wall? Did you forget who you're talking to?"

"I think I know you quite well by now, yes."

"And you're seriously trying to get me to go straight? Join your merry little band of idiot heroes?"

"...it would take a lot of work, and a lot of trust, but yes, eventually. It's something I've thought about on more than one occasion," said Nemesis, who, against all odds, seemed to be completely serious. "Look, let's cut the bullshit. Salcedo is abusing you. Don't even try to deny it, because I've seen more than enough evidence. He's beating you, burning you, god knows what else. He's working you to the bone on ridiculous plans that will never work, and makes you the fall guy for them while he escapes unscathed."

Every word of that was true, and hearing it from Arthur made him want to punch him in the face.

"You're a smart guy. Ridiculously smart. And despite what you claim, you have ethical standards. Remember the time the two of us teamed up to get those kids out of the burning school?"

"They were kindergartners, c'mon --"

"You have ethical standards, no matter how shaky they can be. And you have courage and talent," said Arthur. 

"You think I can be won over with cheap flattery, seriously, Arthur?"

"How about cheap flattery and a cool costume?" he said. "But seriously consider what I'm telling you. You're a smart guy. We pay well, maybe not as well as Salcedo, but enough, and you'd get overtime when you have to work late. We have health insurance. Most importantly, nobody is going to beat you to within an inch of your life if you screw up."

"Oh, yeah, sure thing, I'll just do that," said Morgan. "And I'm sure that, after everything I've done to you, you're all just going to protect me when Salcedo shows up to get me back."

"Yes. I will. I absolutely will," he said. "...Because he's going to kill you. We both know that. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but someday. And you don't deserve that."

Fuck. He sounded so serious. He was using his superhero voice. The one he used to tell terrified hostages that he was going to save them and that nobody was getting hurt. The one that was usually directed at the civilians Morgan was menacing.

 "I don't expect you to make this decision overnight," said Arthur, standing up. "You've got a lot of healing to do. A lot of time to think over where your life is headed."

"And you're just gonna let me heal?" said Morgan skeptically. "You've got me totally at your mercy in what I assume is your underground secret lair, and you're just going to let me lay here and heal up my injuries?"

"Yes. I mean it. I know you don't believe me, but it's true. As long as you don't try to cause harm to any of us, no harm will come to you while you're here. I swear it." Arthur turned as he was about to walk out the door. "All I'm asking is that you think about what I said to you. We'll talk again. The nurse is here to see you."

And he was gone, and Morgan felt utterly exhausted.

An older woman wearing scrubs with pride-flag-colored fish on them entered the room. She looked tired and a little scared. "Well, uh, Arthur tells me you're awake and lucid, Mr.... uh... Mr. Morgan," she said. "That's good. You were in pretty bad shape."

"Hmph."

"Can I look in your eyes with this penlight, please? You had a really nasty concussion, so you're probably going to be very tired and disoriented for a while as you recover."

Great. It was super great to be concussed and useless in the hero's lair. Still, he submitted to Laurel's eye exam without a fuss. It was one thing to sass his nemesis -- putting up a fuss for the medic was pointless when she was just trying to do her job.

"The only thing you can really do right now is get some rest," she said. "I can give you some painkillers, and some sedation if you think you'll have trouble sleeping. Would that be okay?"

Morgan let out a sharp laugh. "Oh, sure, yeah, I really want to be drugged up and helpless in the hero's lair."

"Well, you're not going anywhere," she pointed out. "You'll heal a lot faster if you get some rest."

Morgan scowled. He couldn't afford to be lounging on a bed in a drugged haze. He had to work on finding a way to escape, preferably with some valuable information or a hostage, in the hopes he could catch Salcedo in a good mood. 

But no matter how he looked at it, he was already exhausted, concussed, power-repressed, and in restraints. He wasn't successfully escaping a team of heroes in this condition, sedated or not. And if they wanted him at their mercy, they could come knock him out whenever they felt like it. 

So what difference would it make if he were drugged again? God knows his life was going to fucking suck enough once Salcedo came to drag him back. Might as well feel artificially good for a few hours.

"Yeah, I'll take it. Give me the good shit," said Morgan. 

"Right away," she said with a laugh. She pulled a few bottles of clear liquid from her pocket, and, consulting a chart attached to his bed, began to measure out doses. "You know, it's really interesting to finally get to meet you, Mr. Morgan."

"Scared?" he said, attempting his most menacing grin.

"...well, I haven't forgotten the things you've done," she said, which really wasn't what you wanted to hear when someone was preparing a syringe for you. "But the team thinks you deserve a chance, and it's a medical professional's responsibility to provide care for anyone, no matter their past. So I'll treat you like I would any innocent person. You have my word." The look in her eyes was distant. "You're not so frightening now, anyway."

Morgan tried to push down his unease. "Fuck you, I'm a goddamn menace."

"Of course you are," she said, injecting the drugs into Morgan's IV line. "This should kick in in a few minutes. It's going to make you very drowsy. I suggest actually getting some sleep and not fighting it. We'll be monitoring you, but if you have any complications, hit this button."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," said Morgan, smarting from the fact that he couldn't even intimidate the medic. He was at her mercy. He didn't like being at anyone else's mercy. He knew how he treated people he had at his mercy. How his boss treated people.

He hated being on the receiving end, when he was normally such a fearsome and threatening...

Fearsome and threatening...

Ohhh.

Whatever Laurel had injected hit him like a truck, because suddenly he was feeling real fucking good. It was like all of his anxiety melted away, his tight muscles loosening, the pounding in his head finally lightening up. He felt like he were being wrapped up into a wool blanket and carried off on a soft cloud to slumberland. 

Any thoughts of trying to scheme his way out of the hero's stronghold evaporated from his mind. He didn't even bother fighting as his eyelids grew heavy and threatened to close. He was so tired and felt so good. Sleep would feel amazing.

You're a smart guy. Just think about it. Arthur's words echoed in his mind as he began to drift.

Fuck you, Arthur. Like it was all so fucking simple.

Arthur probably knew him better than just about anyone. He must know that it would never work. Why even bother?

Morgan couldn't help but picture himself laughing and joking with Toshiro and Satomi and Julie, dressed in one of their ridiculous bright uniforms, working on gadgetry to help people instead of constantly getting his beautiful machines smashed to bits. 

Ridiculous. The fact that he was even thinking about it was the drugs talking. And now, the drugs were whispering to him that he should really just get some sleep. When would he ever get to sleep this well? Certainly not when his boss came to pick him up.

Part 1 >> Masterlist > Next

@cardboardarsonist @zeiniszein @crystallizedme @mistythedritten @pigeonwhumps @whumpshaped @sparrowsage

[lovelywingsart]

Overcoming my sickness for like 2 seconds to post this yeehaw

Anyway

Post-ME1 Saren for Cams timeline! 💙

I got tired of going back and forth between like... 5 different things I've done when drawing him so he got the OC treatment like Karl before him and now has his own quick reference sheet before I lose my goddamn mind. It was mostly for the scarring and armor colors, but I decided to add a few small things here and there just to save myself some look-up time.

My pale bastard man I LOVE HIM

Uhhh yeah! I guess here's some notes about him lmao

- Was remade by Cerberus in a similar way to Shepard, but moreso as a 'prototype' to see if it could be done so fully instead of wanting perfection. It was held over his head quite a bit, both because of Cerberus being Cerberus and also because of his history with Illusive Man, who he developed a healthy fear of in the first few months he was 'awake' before it switched to hatred of the most BURNING passion.

- The prosthetic was absolutely a Cerberus implanted mechanism that connects to the nervous system and behaves like a normal arm, so much so that he can't even tell the difference sometimes unless he's looking at it directly- the only drawback is that Cerberus was a fuck and implemented a bug in the system that prevented him from using too much of his biotic powers, which they found out the hard way after a burst of them caused it to essentially short circuit and knock him out for a short while. Cam was not pleased and about 5 people had to hold them back from shooting Illusive Man through the hologram. (They ordered that the 'bug' be removed, which is was, but he was still hesitant on using biotics for a bit after that- understandably so)

- VERY much a cracked biotics user. Even with the prosthetic incident, once he knew he was able to, it was a primary focus instead of guns. //mostly to prevent Garrus from bitching about his sniper skills lmao//

- Lost ALOT of his confident charisma he was shown to have in ME1, and doesn't fully get it back. It was a struggle for him to even speak once he was brought on the Normandy. If anything, people avoid him now for obvious reasons instead of following his word, and the only reason he's spoken to in general most times is because of Cam.

- Just a little more actually feral now- i.e. using alot of sounds instead of speaking, as well as more primal power behind his movements once he's able to do so freely. Its suspected that its because of the whole 'recreation' thing kinda clicking his brain back into that predatory nature like a wild animal, but the only thing it seems to 'affect' is interactions with others, which there is minimal of in the first place. He fights just fine, and if anything those heightened senses make him even more of a menace on the battlefield than he used to be. But, even so, the only person he seems to communicate in his full chirp-trill-purring glory with is Cam- even if he's hissed at people a few times.

- The scarring along his carapace/plating is extremely sensitive, moreso than the scarring along his actual skin. Despite genuine best combined efforts, the most Chakwas and Mordin could do was lessen the sensitivity and ghost pains. Whatever Cerberus did when 'rebuilding' him, they made it so the scars couldn't fully heal over like Shepards could.

- He is rather small for a turian despite being 6'9", and his armor absolutely gives him more size to distract from it. The only one close to being as thin as he is is Garrus, but even then he's smaller both in size and height with Garrus being 7' (except for his thighs- he does beat out Garrus in thigh size). And, more notable design-wise, a smaller carapace and less defined keel and hip spurs. He also has more padding in his armor on his left side to make up for the missing plating.

- Yes, the tongue split is natural, because I cannot and will not be stopped.

- Cam is the one who scratched out the Cerberus logo on his arm and painted N7! It was after the prosthetic biotics incident, and it was pretty obvious that the sight of the logo on his own body upset him greatly. So they grabbed tools, sanded it down, and even painted the N7 logo on there to try and cover up the scratching. They offered to get the paint done professionally because it wasn't the best, but he declined because the gesture alone made it more important than simply going to a general application expert who didn't know the meaning.

- Do not let his 'pathetic wet cat of an old man' appearance fool you, he can and will still tear you to shreds, and very much still remembers how to... 'interrogate' people.

And I think that's it for now...! I'll add more if I think about it.

I love my old albino twig of a twink so much he is wonderful

[higuchisora]

The idea of characters from other stories winding up in SVSSS has been stuck in my head for a while but I'm not gonna write abt it lmao so here's what's been rattling around in the ole noggin:

Toph:

Toph would be a genuine menace

Specifically on poor Liu Qingge, who hasn't the slightest clue how he wound up with yet another student

Earthbending should not be possible here. Earthbending is NOT possible here.

Toph invents earthbending here.

In fact, she only gets stronger. Because the cultivation aspects of the world means she's got even more qi and knows more about how to use it beyond earthbending.

She can now use qi itself to "see" (sensing others' qi, using it to sense movement, etc.) Not just earthbending

Lqg wants nothing to do with any more disciples. Especially not ones as annoying as yang yixuan

He gets a gremlin even more annoying than yang yixuan

He lies awake at night, regretting saving her life that one time on a hunt and kickstarting her path of being a Problem

Specifically, he saves her life one night while she's out trying to remaster earthbending, inspiring her to become a cultivator

She runs away from her noble family and their arranged marriage and stifling life that they've planned out for her and heads straight to Cang Qiong's Bai Zhan peak the first chance she gets

Refuses to take no for an answer, thus growing to become lqg's #1 menace

He both blesses and curses the day she was born

Lqg would sooner die than admit she's basically his other baby sister/daughter figure

Will outright refuse to fly on her sword When asked how she'll get around, the earth goddamn MOVES UNDER HER FEET and she causes several earthquake/mole monster sightings with these shenanigans

Is banned from this move

Begins to tunnel underground instead

She could arguably fly on her sword just fine, sensing the qi around her to navigate and shit, but it's harder and definitely uncomfortable and brings back bad memories of that one time in the volcano with Aang and Sokka

Luo Binghe wants her dead

She probably never gets strong enough to 1v1 him and win but she's definitely strong enough to become a genuine challenge

Especially when she reinvents metalbending

Rides for her shizun ong

Would probably fight lbh for lqg's honor after the SQQ corpse situation (he did not ask her to do this)

Aang:

The angel of Qing Jing peak fr

Or that monastery but we don't hear enough about them tbh

Has legitimately no idea how he got here, maybe too scared to question it actually

Like, did he really fuck up and end up getting ripped out of the avatar cycle orrrr????

Decides some things are better left unknown

The only struggle he really has is not being bald anymore

Honestly???? Might still shave his head and just stick to a wig

Would inevitably get caught or ALMOST caught and eventually gets used to growing it out (would probably become the inventor of extensions or wig glue though lmao)

Would make the spoiled qing jing disciples better just by being around them tbh

Star student probably, would be a menace in a cute way

One of the few men allowed on Xian Shu (for visits/messages)

Would probably befriend demons ngl

Loves flying on his sword

Prefers his staff though, and eventually figures out how to make/get someone to make one for him

No one knows how he does the air scooter. They are scared.

No one asks about the tattoos either.

Or how he's controlling all these fucking elements.

He doesn't have an avatar state anymore, but that doesn't seem to stop him from being wildly more dangerous than anyone expected

Possibly unlocks permanent cultivation-blocking? Like sealing off your core

Demons don't take note

Until he learns how to do the same for demonic cores

Exorcist Aang

Possibly becomes a rogue/wandering cultivator

Wandering rogue exorcist Aang????

He's either a god descended upon the earth or a heavenly demon in disguise, according to critics

He thinks it's all silly

Until he meditates too hard and communes with a god or something who tells him they may or may not have bargained to snatch his corner of the avatars soul for a reason

Uh oh

Sokka:

Does not know how he managed to get spiritual energy or cultivate

Actively chooses not to think too much about it

The head disciple of An Ding 😭

Absolutely salty about it

Shang Qinghua is endlessly grateful though

Does not know what to make of the long hair thing; probably tries to keep his hair in a half-pony still, as an ode to the water tribe

I've seen some fics where Qiong Ding is headcannoned as the bureaucratic peak; in this case, he might be able to sweet talk his way in if fate and Yue Qingyuan is kind enough

Either way he's grateful he gets to do sword stuff again

Especially now that he can FLY on them?!

He hasn't completely forgotten his skills, so he's got a whole different style no one's seen before and it's Weirdly Good Actually

He finally works his cultivation up enough to get his personal sword

Then he finally gets to summon his and he cries

It's space sword

No one knows what the fuck to make of this weird ass sword but he doesn't care, it's his and he loves it

Known as the best ever manager of An Ding peak

Katara:

Would have one (1) argument with her brother and march up to Xian Shu

Frequent visitor of Qing Jing and Qian Cao

Mu Qingfang mourns every day that she didn't choose the medicine peak

Katara maintains that she's too ready to beat some ass to ever be a full doctor and vow to do no harm

Never quite learns to be comfy with a sword but can still handle her own

During the demon invasion on Cang Qiong (assuming she's there at the time), she bloodbends Hualing right off the mountain

The demons do NOT stick around

The cultivators are too scared to ask her what the fuck that was but they're nicer to her than before

The xian shu peak gains a fearsome reputation of possibly teaching blood magic

No One gets how she does the waterbending stuff. Outsiders assume it's some Xian Shu ancient secret technique. Or she's related to Mobei Jun. Real members know Kataras just Like This.

Keeps the hair loopies. No matter what people say.

Wears a blue necklace similar to her mother's heirloom; a gift from her shizun probably

Genuinely enjoys the sisterhood on Xian Shu. It reminds her of the better days of her home, before the southern raiders came back

Zuko:

Could've chosen from several peaks, but chooses Bai Zhan

Something about the bamboo on Qing Jing reminds him of his uncle though, so he likes to visit. But not for too long. It hurts.

Isn't really bothered by the long hair thing; while cutting hair isn't forbidden in the fire nation, long hair is common practice, especially for nobles

Keeps the standard topknot until Toph calls it ugly

And then he remembers toph cannot see his topknot

Starts doing ponytails anyway

Also a star student of Bai Zhan, especially after he busts out the firebending forms

Yet another nuisance for poor lqg

He and Toph are the only two that can keep up with each other

Known as the Twin Stars of Bai Zhan

Aka the Twin Headaches of Liu Qingge

Has a small red birthmark near his eye, on the side that used to be burned

The fact that there isn't a massive burn is mildly uncomfortable to him at first. Doesn't feel like himself

Again, No One knows how all these kids with weird qi abilities are coming from

They're beginning to suspect they're all part demon

Neither he nor Toph ever defeat the demon heritage allegations

Especially not with the way they fight. And allegedly have a Past that no one else knows about

Would also fight Binghe for his Shizuns honor

Weirdly chill for Bai Zhan actually

Has probably made leaps and bounds from his avatar hunting days already

Most expect him to have gone to a quieter peak, it's baffling

Until he beats the shit outta somebody

And then goes back to being gentle and chill and forgiving

He wonders if uncle Iroh is watching over him here too

He can only hope his uncle is still proud of him, wherever he might be

Lqg isn't his uncle, but he's still a kind presence that Zuko looks up to a little, even if the guy is a little too punchy

Thus takes it upon himself to ride or die for him

One of the few dual wielders around

His curved blades are also a source of curiosity for the others

But he's good with them so no one complains

In a bingliushen situation, Zuko, Toph, and YYX are feral protective gremlins that somehow make things better AND worse for the development of the bingliushen courtship process lmao

I'll probably make more at some point but that's all for now. If someone wants to make a fic of these PLEASE let me know, link me I'm desperate

[yurislotusgarden]

Menaces in Love

ʚїɞ Nakahara Chuuya x Reader

ʚїɞ Keep in mind English is not my first language, so there may be mistakes!

ʚїɞ word count: 825

ʚїɞ Tw's: None! Just pure fluff, probably ooc Chuuya, you and Chuuya are married in this one loves, pet names used: doll, reader's gender is not specified in any way (hopefully), you both are goddamn menaces but in this one, it's mostly reader

It’s 3:07 am, a normal hour for the both of you to be awake. Chuuya was trying to fall asleep as he had to go out early in the morning, but goddammit are you not letting him do that. You’ve been asking dumb questions for the past half an hour, and surprisingly been quiet for the past 5 minutes. The ginger’s savoring it, to say the least.

Such a sad fact is that his dumbass of a spouse can’t stay quiet.

“Chuu?” A murmur came from behind, Your arms around his waist, a nice position, only if he could sleep.

“What is it this time?” The tone used by Chuuya is with no questions, showing being done.

“...I’m just thinking… what if aliens think that we are the aliens?” The [h/c]ette said with a for some reason serious tone, which caused questions in the gingers head, looking at the question asked.

Chuuya turned around, confused to hell and back “The fuck you talking about?”

Let’s just say there was a debate on that for over an hour and Chuuya indeed didn’t get his beauty sleep.

/////////////////////

It isn’t you.

The only thing on Chuuya’s mind were those simple 3 words.

Your dear husband has gotten sent on a longer mission, one that can take up to a week, and mind you, but our beloved short stack would want his routine cuddles right now. If there’s one thing he hates to miss, it’s those goddamn cuddles.

At the moment it was 4 am, and the short figure of his could be seen laying widely awake on the hotel bed, hugging a pillow, wishing and trying to imagine it was his beloved spouse.

“Goddammit, maybe they’re right, maybe I’m the clingy one”

///////////////////

5 am, that’s how late, or perhaps early, Chuuya came back to the apartment. He tried to be quiet, in case that you were asleep.

Wishful thinking.

The moment the ginger came relatively close to the bed, he was pulled down into a pair of arms.

“Missed you” A murmur from under him.

“I know, I missed you too” A quiet answer. A hand on your head, running though your hair.

The short figure chuckled, completely expecting something like this but still amused. A similar situation happens every time he’s on a mission longer than 3 days. 

“Have you slept lately?” Came the question from him, brown eyes looking at your face as much as he can in this position.

“Of course”

Chuuya knew it’s a lie, after all, you always had problems with sleeping if you were unsure of whether the ginger’s safe or not. The distance didn’t help for sure, but there’s no sense in pointing it out.

“I have free today if that helps, we can sleep in” Chuuya indeed does, Mori gave him a day off. For what reasons? The male doesn't know, and he thinks he’d rather stay in the dark on this one.

“Perfect, because there’s no way in hell we're getting out of this bed until 12”

//////////////////

“Alright alright alright but what about this?”

The ginger groans, he just wants to sleep. “Go to sleep”

“Do you think that we would still be together in an alternate universe?” A teasing whisper, where the ginger can practically hear your smile.

“Go to sleep” “What if Chuuya’s a girl there?” “Go to sleep” An excited gasp could be heard. “What if we have kids there by now-”

“you’re about to sleep on the couch-”

//////////////////

“I have a serious question” 

Chuuya looked over to the doorway from where he was sitting. “An actual serious question or is it serious in your eyes only?”

A  frown could be seen on your face. “An actual serious question Chuu Chuu” 

The ginger head only scowled at the nickname and stopped himself from making a comeback. He really doesnt know where you got the nickname from. “Then shoot”

“... Why me?” You answered in a quiet soft voice, making Chuuya confused. If there’s one thing he knows from all these years of knowing you, it’s that you don’t act like this unless you’re actually serious or truthful, just generally this kind of moments.

“Dumbass, it’s obvious” He couldn't stop himself from a small teasing while turning back around, just how dumb can his spouse get?

You groan. “Chuu! C’mon just answer my question!” Chuuya softly chuckles.

“Are you gonna answer or am I gonna stay in the dark?”

“...When I saw you, everyone else seemed to disappear”

////////////

“Listen Chuu. I can get your cereal-soup argument, but there’s absolutely nothing you can say or do in this universe  to convince me that a hot dog is a fucking sandwich”

“Wha- What do you mean?” The ginger was confused, why do you not get it? “Doll, it’s simple! Imagine the bread around as normal bread and the inside-”

“No!”

Both of you sometimes wonder why you’re married to each other of all people.

Notes, comments, reblogs and anything else is greatly appreciated <3

[estellan0vella]

Inheritance of Love│Han Jisung

Chapter Three: Chaotic Boyfriend Energy Word Count: 2.5K & 2 SS Content Warnings: Jisung being a menace, discussions of underwear

Previous Next Masterlist

Emma's bedroom is a complete disaster, a battlefield of half-folded clothes, mismatched socks, and abandoned outfit ideas scattered across the floor. Her suitcase sits on the bed, one side packed with military precision. Neatly folded blouses, travel-sized toiletries, and perfectly aligned socks.

The other half is chaos: a tangle of scarves, skirts, and an oversized sweater she keeps tossing in and pulling out. On the floor, a heap of shoes looks like they've been through an intense deliberation process, though Emma still hasn't decided which pairs are coming.

Her phone is propped up against a stack of books and Minho's familiar, groggy face fills the screen. His hair sticks up at odd angles, and he looks deeply unimpressed, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders like he's a sulky king.

"Fucking what, Emma?" Minho grumbles, rubbing his eyes with a fist. "Do you know what time it is here? The sun isn't even awake, and neither should I be."

Emma holds up a sundress, squinting at it before tossing it onto the growing reject pile. "Quit whining. I have news."

Minho narrows his eyes, his irritation replaced by a flicker of curiosity. "Okay, what is it? Did you dump your boyfriend? Win the lottery? Find out you're secretly a chaebol heir?"

Emma rolls her eyes. "No, dumbass. I'm coming to South Korea."

Minho freezes, blinking like she's just told him the world is ending. Then his mouth drops open, and he lets out an ear-splitting whoop that makes her wince. He punches the air like he's just won a championship. "No fucking way! It's about goddamn time, bitch! I thought I'd have to die before you showed your ass here."

Emma laughs, leaning her hip against the dresser. "Jisung's friend is getting married, so we're going for the wedding."

Minho waves dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, wedding, blah blah. Who gives a shit. You're coming. Do you have any idea how long I've waited for this? Do you know how many times my eomma's asked about you? It's like, 'Oh, Minho, Emma is so smart and pretty and successful. Why aren't you more like her?'"

Emma smirks, tossing a scarf into her suitcase. "Sounds like you should try harder."

"Fuck off," Minho says, grinning despite himself. "So, are you meeting Jisung's family?"

Emma pauses, fiddling with the edge of a folded sweater. "Yeah. His eomma, his halmeoni, and probably like, his entire extended family."

Minho whistles, his eyes wide. "Oh shit. That's intense. Sounds like you're gonna come back with extra weight on your left hand."

Emma groans, flopping onto the edge of the bed. "You sound just like my mom."

Minho snickers. "Your mom's not wrong, though. I mean, come on. You're smart as fuck and you're beautiful. They're gonna love you."

Emma huffs, crossing her arms. "What if I fuck it up? Like, what if they expect me to be all polite and perfect and use honorifics, and I just... don't?"

Minho gives her a look, propping himself up on one elbow. "Emma. Listen to me. You're Korean, but you're also American. Their expectations are probably already in the toilet."

"Wow, thanks," Emma deadpans.

"No, no, I mean it in a good way!" Minho insists, gesturing wildly. "Like, they're gonna think you're clueless as shit, and anything remotely respectful you do will blow their minds. Just say Annyeonghaseyo and Gamsahamnida and look cute. You'll be fine."

Emma groans, dragging a hand down her face. "You're so fucking unhelpful."

"And yet, here you are, calling me for advice," Minho says smugly. "Anyway, are you visiting me while you're here, or are you just gonna ditch me for your boyfriend's family drama?"

Emma leans toward her phone, narrowing her eyes. "Obviously, I'm visiting you. Jisung sold the whole trip by saying I'd get to see my favourite asshole."

Minho clutches his chest like he's been shot. "Aw, bitch, you're making me blush."

She rolls her eyes, chuckling as she grabs a pair of heels from the floor and sets them beside her suitcase. "Your parents better have kimchi jjigae ready for me."

"They fucking will," Minho says, pointing a finger at the camera. "My eomma's been waiting to feed you for years. You show up, and she'll practically adopt you on the spot. I'll be chopped liver."

"Sounds like a dream," Emma says with a grin. "Your mom loves me."

"Of course she does. You're her dream daughter-in-law," Minho says, shaking his head dramatically. "She's always like, Minho, why don't you marry someone like Emma? and I'm like, because she's a woman and dating a straight man and I'm gay, you lunatic."

Emma laughs so hard she nearly drops her phone. "Oh my god, stop."

Minho snickers, flopping onto his back. "Anyway, don't forget to bring me some American snacks. I'm sick of eating the same shit every day."

"Fine," Emma says, rolling her eyes. "But only if you promise not to kidnap me."

Minho smirks. "No promises. I might just snatch you right off the street."

"Noted," Emma says, tossing another shirt into her suitcase. "I'll be on high alert."

"Good. I'll see you soon, bitch."

"Bye, Min," Emma says, still laughing as the call ends.

She stares at her suitcase for a moment, the reality of the trip sinking in. She takes a deep breath and dives back into packing, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves.

Emma is folding a blouse neatly into her suitcase when she hears the sound of the door unlocking. She glances up just as Jisung steps inside, his hair slightly windswept and a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

"Wow," he says, taking in the organized chaos of clothes, shoes, and random toiletries strewn across the room. "Uh, need a hand?"

"Please," Emma says, sighing dramatically as she gestures to the growing pile of clothes she hasn't tackled yet.

Jisung drops his bag near the door and strides over, rolling up his sleeves. "Alright, what's the system here? Or are we just chucking shit in and hoping for the best?"

Emma laughs, handing him a small pile of folded tops. "There's a vague system. Tops, bottoms, shoes. Oh, and I've already done toiletries."

"Got it," Jisung says, carefully adding the tops to her suitcase. "Have you called Minho yet? Told him the big news?"

"Just missed him, actually," Emma says, folding another shirt. "He's pretty excited."

"Good," Jisung says, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside her. "I know you've missed him a lot."

"Yeah," Emma says softly, her expression turning nostalgic. "God, it's been like three years. But honestly, we call so much it doesn't even feel that long."

Jisung nods, fiddling with the strap of a sandal he's picked up. "I'm the same with Chan and Changbin. I talk to them nearly every day, but then it hits me, I've been in the States for six years and haven't seen them once. It's insane."

Emma pauses, glancing at him. "That's a long time. Aren't you nervous to see everyone again?"

"A little," Jisung admits, shrugging. "But it's Chan and Changbin, you know? It's not like they'll treat me any differently. Plus, I've got you, so I feel like I'm winning already."

Emma smiles at him, her heart warming at the sincerity in his voice. "You're such a sap."

"Don't tell anyone," Jisung teases, grinning as he moves to help fold another pile of clothes. His hand brushes against her underwear drawer, and he glances at her with a raised brow before pulling it open. "Oh, what do we have here?"

Emma doesn't notice until Jisung holds up a black lace bra, dangling it from one finger. "This," he says, his voice dropping dramatically, "is coming with us."

Emma's face turns bright red. "Jisung, you little shit! Put that back!"

"No way," Jisung says, laughing as he holds the bra to his chest. "This is classy as hell. I'm helping you pack. You should be thanking me."

"By stealing my lingerie?" Emma grabs for the bra, but Jisung pulls it away, grabbing the matching panties and striking a ridiculous pose. "What do you think? Sexy, right?"

Emma collapses into laughter, burying her face in her hands. "Oh my god, you're the worst."

"Worst at being the best," Jisung quips, twirling dramatically. "Come on, admit it. You love me."

Emma lunges forward, snatching the lingerie out of his hands. "I'm rethinking that right now."

"You're lying," Jisung says smugly, flopping onto his back on the floor. "I'm your favourite person in the world."

"Debatable," Emma says, tossing the lingerie into the suitcase before he can grab it again. "Now behave, or I'm leaving you behind."

Jisung sits up, giving her an exaggerated pout. "Rude. I'm literally here folding your clothes. Who's the real victim?"

Emma shakes her head, still laughing. "You're such a pain in the ass."

"And yet," Jisung says, leaning over to kiss her cheek, "here we are. Now, are we packing this ridiculous scarf or what?"

Emma looks at the scarf in his hands and groans. "I don't even know anymore. Just throw it in. At this point, I'm bringing everything."

"That's the spirit," Jisung says, tossing it into the suitcase with a flourish. "Now let's finish this shit so we can eat."

Emma smiles, settling back into the rhythm of packing as Jisung hums a random tune under his breath. The room still looks like a disaster, but with him there, it feels a little less overwhelming.

Emma hears the telltale scrape of her underwear drawer opening again and her head snaps up. “Jisung,” she says, narrowing her eyes as she spots him holding up a pink lace bralette like it’s a trophy.

“Okay, hear me out,” Jisung begins, his grin wide and unapologetic. He spins the bralette on one finger, the lace catching the light. “This one absolutely has to come with us. It says, ‘I’m elegant but also down to fuck.’ The hotel room is gonna be spicy.”

Emma groans, dropping her hands into her lap. “Oh my fucking god. Why are you like this?”

“Because life’s more fun when you’re chaotic,” Jisung quips, tossing the bralette into the suitcase with a flourish. “You’re welcome.”

“Stop messing with my underwear, or so help me-”

“I am helping,” Jisung insists, grabbing another set, a plain white cotton bra and matching panties. He holds them up with mock disdain. “But this? This screams, ‘I’m boring as shit and only drink room-temperature water.’ So, no.”

“Stop judging my underwear!” Emma whines, making a grab for the pile in his hands. Jisung, always quick on his feet, leaps back like a kid avoiding a lecture, his laugh echoing through the room.

“This is important,” he argues, holding up a black lace thong with exaggerated reverence. “Like, what if we suddenly have a moment at the wedding? You gotta be prepared for anything.”

Emma looks at him, utterly exasperated. “A moment? What does that even mean? We’re going to watch two people get married, not film a softcore porno.”

Jisung wiggles his eyebrows. “You never know. Weddings are romantic as fuck. What if we get all swept up in the atmosphere? Better safe than sorry.”

She hurls a folded sock at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me for it,” Jisung says smugly, tossing the thong into the suitcase like it’s the most logical thing in the world. “Okay, lace next. This one screams confidence.”

Emma collapses back onto the bed, burying her face in her hands. “You’re fucking impossible. I quit. Packing is now your problem.”

“Finally!” Jisung declares, sitting cross-legged on the floor like he’s just been given the world’s greatest privilege. He grabs a random pile of her clothes and tosses them unceremoniously into the suitcase. “We’re bringing everything. Easy.”

Emma sits up and watches him, torn between laughter and the urge to murder him. “You are the worst helper in the history of helpers.”

“And yet,” Jisung says, tossing a scarf over his shoulder dramatically, “you’re still letting me hang out in your room and you're dating me. So, who’s the real fool here?”

Emma grabs a pillow and flings it at him, laughing when it hits him square in the chest. “You’re such a child.”

“A child with excellent taste,” Jisung counters, tossing the scarf into the suitcase. He stretches his arms over his head, grinning. “Okay, let’s take a break. Cheesecake?”

Emma raises an eyebrow. “You’re just trying to get out of packing.”

“I’m multitasking,” Jisung says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Besides, I’m hungry. Dessert first. Always dessert first.”

“Fine,” Emma relents, shaking her head but smiling as she watches him scroll. “What are you ordering?”

“Cheesecake,” he says with the confidence of someone solving world hunger. “A fuck-ton of cheesecake. Classic, chocolate, strawberry... Oh, shit, they have matcha.”

Emma’s eyes light up. “I love matcha.”

“Noted,” Jisung says. “Two matcha slices for you, classic for me, and an Oreo one we can fight over.”

“Sounds perfect,” Emma says, her mouth already watering.

“And churros,” Jisung adds, nodding as if he’s cracked the code to happiness.

Emma snatches his phone. “No churros. You’re already ordering half the menu.”

“Fine,” Jisung grumbles, taking his phone back and finalizing the order. He tosses it onto the bed and grabs the remote. “Movie time. You’re not allowed to say no.”

Emma smirks, already knowing where this is headed. “Let me guess. Howl’s Moving Castle?”

“Duh,” Jisung says, plopping onto the couch and pulling her along. “It’s the best. And you better stay awake this time, or I’m divorcing you before we’re even married.”

Emma settles beside him, curling into his side. “You’ve got big dreams for someone who jas been critiquing my underwear.”

Jisung grins, pulling her closer. “All part of my charm.”

As the opening notes of Howl’s Moving Castle play, Emma glances at Jisung, who’s humming along to the music like he’s in a concert hall. He’s annoyingly cute when he’s focused like this, even when he’s being an absolute menace.

“Seriously,” he says, pointing at the screen as Howl makes his grand entrance. “Tell me this isn’t peak hotness. Dude’s mysterious, dramatic, and has great hair. He’s basically me.”

Emma chokes on a laugh. “You? You think you’re Howl?”

“Obviously,” Jisung says, nodding. “I don’t have a moving castle, but I’ve got the drama down. And the hair.”

“First of all,” Emma says, sitting up to look at him. “You’re a gremlin, not a wizard. Second, Howl would never waste his time digging through someone’s underwear drawer.”

“Wrong,” Jisung argues. “He’d totally do it. Dude’s got chaotic boyfriend energy just like me.”

Their bickering is interrupted by the buzz of Jisung’s phone. “That’s the cheesecake!” he announces, leaping off the couch like a kid on Christmas morning.

When he returns, he’s balancing a box stacked with cheesecake slices, his grin wider than it has any right to be. “Feast your eyes.”

Emma sits up, clapping her hands together. “Holy shit. That’s... a lot.”

“Only the best for you,” Jisung says, opening the box with a dramatic flourish. “Matcha, classic, chocolate, strawberry, and one Oreo. Prepare to be amazed.”

Emma grabs a fork, already digging into the matcha slice. “This is the best decision you’ve ever made.”

Jisung leans back, shoving a forkful of classic cheesecake into his mouth. “I know. I’m a genius. Now shut up and watch. We’re at the part where Howl loses his shit.”

Emma laughs around a bite of cheesecake, leaning against him. The room is still a mess, her suitcase half-packed, but she doesn’t care. Right now, everything feels chaotic and perfect all at once.

Taglist: @ot8girlfie @fackeraccount @sellomaybe @nightmarenyxx

@rhonnie23 @reimaybeidk

[befuddledcinnamonroll]

15 Day BL Challenge

Day 7: Favorite Villain

I do like me a good villain. But good villains can also be hard to find. There's a lot of one-dimensional villains out there, or they're so horribly abusive & homophobic that you just want them to die.

I much prefer villains with some dimension and complexity, though I can be won over by a villain who's just clearly having a ton of fun.

So who to pick...

I do like Vegas a lot, but I kinda don't see him as a villain? He's an antagonist for sure, and does some dark stuff, but he's clearly a victim in a lot of ways, and gets the secondary romance in the story. Not that that's mutually exclusive from villainy, but it's just not how my brain categorizes him.

I looooved Heng's portrayal of Chalothon; he did so much to add dimension to a fairly thinly-written character, but we didn't get to see Chalothon's change of heart, or the incredible acting Heng would have brought to it, so that makes him slip down overall for me. (Can you just imagine the scene of Chalothon giving his Naga soul to Tharn? We get so few good villain turns in BL. I'm so pained at the deprivation).

I do have a soft spot for Aoey in Lovely Writer, largely due to Bruce's acting. He's a very interesting character in terms of a person who had a chance for his own beautiful real love story, and just made all the wrong choices, time after time. (I mean who in their right mind would say no to Chap?)

Oh who are we kidding, y'all know I am a fanatic for Not Me. I'm going to have to go with my boy Todd.

Sing is such a versatile actor, I don't think he gets nearly enough credit for what a chameleon he is. He's really good at fluffy roles for sure, but when he had to turn on the menace as Todd, he absolutely delivered.

He plays Todd's turn from "helpful friend" to "rich bastard" perfectly and in such a believable way. He's chillingly realistic in his belief that the only way to change the world is to buy it, and make it his.

And of course we can't talk about Todd without talking about his relationship with Black, how fucking thrilled Todd is when he realizes Black is awake from his coma (that Todd is responsible for), and how these two consistently try to kill one another, but can't, because of their deep fucked up love (they bone in between fights, you can never convince me otherwise).

Also, the scenes between Gun & Sing are goddamn acting masterclasses.

If we ever get our Joong Archen serial killer show, Sing needs to be his accomplice.

@negrowhat's full challenge here

[shares-a-vest]

@steddie-week Day 4: Trade | Body Swap | Wouldn't It Be Good by Nik Kershaw

wc: 1.4k | Rated: M for Steve and Eddie being naked this entire ficlet, Suggestive Language, Eddie simply relishing in waking up in Steve’s body hehe | cw: None

Tags: Body Swap, Humour, Idiot4Idiot, Crack, Eddie Munson is a Menace, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington (and everything about him, wink wonk), Masturbation

Some Freaky Friday Shit | Read on ao3

Steve blinks awake to a feeling of warmth pressed flush against the front of his bare body. He snuggles close, despite that warmth bordering on being a little too hot.

But his sleepy brain figures it’s just the Munson’s trailer, stuffy now that summer has peaked, even if every window in the place is opened. It might even be a lingering reminder of the heated night before, Steve thinks, humming as he recalls Eddie’s body moving in sync with his own, their skin growing tacky with sweat as they careened towards bliss.

Steve kisses Eddie’s shoulder and smiles against warmed skin, breathing in the scent of his own shampoo. He skims his hand up his boyfriend’s front to place his hand over Eddie’s heart when the tips of his fingers hit coarse hair.

… Wait.

Steve’s eyes snap open and he recoils, moving back far enough that he hits his head against the wall the bed backs onto. He yelps, reaching for the back of his noggin, this time feeling thin, frizzed, long hair brush against his fingers.

He thinks his eyes might bulge out of his – or Eddie’s, it seems – eye sockets as he stares down at the sleeping figure in Eddie’s bed and finds himself face-to-face with his own bare shoulder.

“Eddie!” Steve screams, launching himself over the figure to jump clean out of the single bed.

He coughs away and Eddie crumbles, distracted now as whispy, curling bangs blink into his eyes.

Steve shakes his head, the hair bouncing out of his field of vision enough to reveal the (now less sleepy) figure and yep – that’s himself he’s looking at.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” he – the other person – screams with Eddie’s shrill tone.

Eddie-as-himself scrambles out of bed too –

And that’s when Steve realises they are both naked, their clothes from last night scattered about beneath their feet.

He pinches his nose – but not before one of Eddie’s cumbersome rings scratches him on the cheek.

“Shit,” he mutters, wincing at the sting of it.

Steve balls up his – Eddie’s – fists, clenching too hard as he overestimates the size of his hands. He looks over at himself, panicked by the sound of Eddie’s mischievous giggling and sure enough, his kinda-double is swaying from side to side, looking down at his, well…

Goddamnit! Why did they decide to take full advantage of Wayne being on night shift last night?

Eddie tsks between giggles.

“This thing is heavy, ain’t it?”

At least with some clothes on, Eddie might not have gotten to this scene so goddamn fast!

He continues waving from side to side, thoroughly inspecting himself-Steve’s-self. Eddie then cups his balls one at a time, before smoothing his hands over his inner thighs, humming as he visibly shudders, relishing in Steve’s own hairy upper thighs. Steve grimaces at the moment he knows Eddie’s pea-brain clicks and remembers the thick thatch of hair on his chest. His double-slash-boyfriend reaches up and runs his fingers through it.

Eddie closes his eyes, all blissed out as he fondles his not-self.

Steve screws his eyes shut, both offended and queasy over the very-real-and-completely-weird situation before him. A conundrum Eddie doesn’t seem to care about all that much beyond groping himself.

“Eddie,” Steve whines, “What are we gonna do?”

“Idunnoknow,” Eddie oh-so-helpfully offers, “Some Freaky Friday shit?”

His eyes snap open.

“Some Freaking Friday shit?” Steve exclaims, “Eddie, we need to figure this out!”

“No, we don’t,” Eddie argues. He makes a face, as if like such a suggestion is the dumbest thing Steve could possibly say, “I mean, at least… Not… right now…”

He drifts off absentmindedly, looking over at the bedroom door. Steve recoils at the wicked flash that soon crosses his own face, an unsettling mix of his own features somehow capturing the very essence of Eddie.

Eddie, who now takes a suspicious step towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Steve shrieks, both sceptical of what has now turned into a cheeky bottom lip bite and also terrified of being left alone like this.

He reaches for Eddie, but a large hand waves him away.

“I’m just going to the bathroom,” Eddie says, avoiding Steve’s (his own) eye and pouts, “Have I ever told you that you have horrendous morning breath?”

He shudders and opens the door, continuing on to the bathroom, where Steve gets an eyeful of his own bare ass jiggling with each step as Eddie-as-himself walks in and closes the door without another word. Steve can’t help but smirk at the sight – confirmation that he does indeed, have a fantastic ass.

But his (slightly bizarre, given the context) self-absorption dissipates when Steve hears the lock on the bathroom door click with all the clarity in the world.

Oh, no!

Steve stumbles forward, off-kilter like he’s a baby deer finding its footing. He stops and stands upright, steadying his hand on the corner of Eddie’s desk as he gathers himself.

He attempts to tread lightly in this new (hopefully temporary) body. His torso feels solid and Steve knows that Eddie possesses a deceptive level of core strength. But his legs feel far too light and are in fact, as gangly as they look.

Worst of all, however, is how cold Steve feels now that his initial panic and the warmth of Eddie’s – no, his own – body has subsided. Even with a head of long hair that Steve remembers made them both all hot and sweaty last night, inhabiting Eddie’s typical body temperature makes him shiver.

By the time he shuffles to the bathroom (a distance that is usually a mere three paces), Steve is distracted by the jangling of Eddie’s necklace – a new guitar pic alongside a series of charms the kids made with Robin back when he was in the hospital. Steve reaches to clasp his hand over it, but a ring snags a rogue strand of hair this time and he tugs before he can stop himself.

He yelps and shakes his head – only to send wild tendrils of long, dark hair every which way.

Steve spits like a cat on the attack, blinded with hair in his eyes and in his mouth and catching on his lashes –

Seriously, how does Eddie live like this?

“F-fuck,” he coughs, swatting at his face, “Eddie?”

“Eh – umphf. Oh, uh...” Eddie hums in reply before spluttering, “Jesus C-Christ, sweetheart! I know I always say it, but your hands are so b-big.”

There’s a choked-off garbled noise – a sound that sends Steve’s heart racing. He yanks at the doorknob and violently shakes it.

“Eddie!” he shrieks, “Get your hands off-a me!”

“Can’t – eh – ohhh…” Eddie moans before stage-whisper-whining, “That v-vein! … Sure is sensitive.”

“Shut the fuck up and open the door.”

Eddie clears his throat.

“Just a second!” he chimes, his voice echoing behind the door.

There’s a series of fumbling noises and little eh-sounds, all of which seem ridiculous to Steve considering Eddie is already undressed. He grumbles at a brief sound of the faucet and it all sounds like Eddie is feigning brushing his teeth. Steve isn’t sure if he should start worrying about how things like toothbrushes and underwear will work in their current predicament –

And he doesn’t have time to gripe about it either as Eddie opens the door.

Steve yelps at the sight of himself and Eddie-as-himself pouts, his lips downturning at the corners as his brows knit together and he sighs.

“And here I was thinking I was such a phenomenal lover. That it was my expertise working you up so quick,” Eddie laments, shoulders sagging, “Turns out you can get a hard-on with any touch below the belt – oh, and did I mention your balls are kind of itchy? It must be the weather...”

He tilts his head to the side, lost in his own thoughts.

But Steve looks down and gasps.

Eddie has worked himself (himself?) up to a decent semi already and Steve feels his stomach lurch at the warmth and definitely-primal-and-totally-uncontrollable little quickening of his heart. A sensation that heads south at a rapid pace.

He gulps and looks back up to find Eddie biting his bottom lip, reaching up to twirl the longest length of Steve’s own bed hair between his fingers.

Steve frowns, “Stop talking about my balls.”

Eddie wiggles his brows now in a way Steve knows he could never recreate himself – and it’s spooky, really.

“But they’re mine now,” Eddie grins, his – Steve’s – previously non-existent dimples dotting his cheeks with devilsh glee. It makes Steve want to scream as Eddie reaches for his (own) hand, “Come on, precious. Let’s have fun. I wanna take this baby for a spin.”

“My body isn’t a car!”

“But Stevie!”

“Eddie!”