#if you picked up on it yes desire's line at the end is meant to be a reference to 'sayonara you weaboo shits' XD

[cuubism]

"Ooh, Kinky"

Hob enjoys doing small, nice things for Dream. Dream... really likes it. A lot. Explicit. Acts of service Hob. Horny-for-kindness Dream. Smut, light angst, fluff, and simple pleasures.

Dream is about to reach his fucking limit with this social event. Hob knows, because he's seen it happen more than a few times before. It doesn't help that Dream's limit is... easily reached.

Unfortunately, this is a political event critical to the peaceful relations of the Dreaming, so they can't just fuck off whenever they like. Well, Hob could, probably, but he won't leave Dream stranded surrounded by his greatest enemies. Those enemies being small talk and attempting to smile, of course.

Dream is perfectly savage in a conversation when he’s allowed to use words as clever and cutting as he likes, but this event has been mostly petty, mundane topics and people trying to see just how rude they can get away with being before Dream breaks his composure. He never does, because he’s trying to reaffirm the strength of the Dreaming after his long absence, but his glares are icy and his annoyance visible in the patina of stardust dancing over his skin. Hob’s never seen someone say Your company has been a pleasure with quite so much venom, and he spent a not-insignificant amount of time as a knight in the Queen’s court.

He watches Dream grit his teeth and visibly restrain himself from dissolving into sand at the end of yet another mundane conversation, his fingers clenching at nothing. Once the person’s retreated, Hob leans against his side, murmuring in his ear, “Just a little while longer, hm?” and rubs a hand up and down Dream’s back. “Then I’ll take you home, run you a bath, get you those biscuits you like. Sound good?”

All Hob is expecting to get is a hum of acknowledgment, maybe a smile if he’s really lucky. Instead, Dream stares at him, eyes wide.

“What?” Hob says. He hadn’t even said anything bad. He’d been trying to offer a little encouragement, not make Dream more frustrated, after all.

“I—” Dream says, and swallows hard. Hob watches his throat bob. “That. Would be nice. Thank you.”

Odd.

Hob offers him a small smile, but doesn’t get to ask about it further as somebody else comes up looking for the Dream Lord’s attention. Hob leaves him to it for now, mulling on that reaction as he wanders in search of another conversation partner. He’ll just have to ask about it later.

****

Hob does not get to ask about it later. Nor does he get to run Dream a bath, or even get the biscuits out of the cabinet, because the moment they return to the Waking, Dream is climbing on top of him in bed and pulling down his pajama pants.

Hob just watches him do it for several long moments, half of his brain still asleep and the other half not comprehending things much better. “That all got you really pent up, huh?”

Instead of answering, Dream licks a stripe up Hob’s cock.

Hob yelps. “Jesus fuck!”

Dream merely hums, already hyper-focused on his self-appointed task of driving Hob round the bend. He leans in low, takes Hob’s dick in his mouth, sucks on it like it’s the only thing he’s been thinking of for the past eight hours, or whatever amount of time in the Dreaming, and, well, if Hob wasn’t hard when he woke up, he will be in about three seconds.

What a wakeup call.

“Dream—” Hob flails in his general direction and manages to find his hair, tangles his fingers in it. He has no idea what in the bloody fuck is going on, though it’s hardly a situation he’ll protest. “What—?”

“I appreciated,” Dream says, pulling off Hob’s rapidly hardening cock, “your company at that wretched event.”

Hob pets his hair, cradles his cheek. "My love, you don't have to pay me back for these things. You know I would do anything for you."

"You misunderstand." Dream leans his forehead into Hob's hip, breathing hard. Breathing. He really is worked up. "It is not. Obligation. I simply. Was thinking of you. All night."

"Oh. Alright then. Really?"

"There was nothing that could hold my thoughts more than you, my lover."

Hob sighs. "You say such pretty things."

"As do you."

The sight of Dream looking up at him with his face still pressed to Hob’s pelvis is not sanity-inspiring, but Hob still manages to ask, “What did I say, exactly?”

Dream hums as he presses his closed lips to Hob’s dick again, and the vibration travels all the way through Hob’s body. “Taking me home. Baths.” He kisses the head of Hob’s cock, tongue darting out just briefly to wet it. “Biscuits.”

It takes Hob so long to comprehend this he wonders if he’s actually still been asleep this whole time. “That’s what got you worked up?”

“It was sweet.” His long fingers sneak up to Hob’s hips. “Alluring.”

Hob is going to have to unpack this at a later time. “You sure you don’t just want the bath and biscuits?” he asks, and then immediately wants to hit himself.

“Later,” says Dream, and returns to his task of waking Hob up in the most startling way possible.

Later, they do indeed have that bath, which Dream takes as another opportunity to show his apparent appreciation, then rests, purring, against Hob’s chest as the water cools. Hob still has no bloody idea exactly what he’s done to inspire this, but he’s definitely going to have to do it again.

****

Apparently, he does it again not a week later.

Hob’s finally managed to get Dream in the habit of taking the occasional, proper night off from his work in the Dreaming, and so tonight Hob’s made them dinner (more for the familiar experience of sharing a meal than with the expectation that Dream will actually eat), with plans to have a relaxing night in watching a movie afterwards, and then even later, as they usually do, winding up in bed for something even more ‘relaxing’.

It doesn’t go that way. Or rather, it does go that way, but a hell of a lot faster than Hob had intended, and a lot weirder, too.

It starts with dinner, although ‘dinner’ is a bit of an optimistic way to speak of it—it’s actually ice cream, because if there’s one thing Dream will sometimes eat, it’s sweets. There’s never a bad time to eat ice cream, though, in Hob’s opinion. If you have regular access to ice, and freezers, why the hell wouldn’t you make use of it?

And Dream likes sweets. And florals. Hob has attempted to combine these into lavender-flavored ice cream—not something he’d been certain would work, when he started it, but he thinks it’s turned out pretty well.

He places a dish of it on the coffee table in front of Dream, a tiny spoon already stuck into the ice cream. Dream touches the condensation on the cold dish. “Did you make this?”

“Yup.” Hob takes a tiny spoonful of his own, and, yes, it is good, thank God. “It’s actually not as hard as I might have thought.”

Instead of using his spoon, Dream just dips a delicate fingertip in and brings a tiny smear of ice cream to his mouth. Licks his finger clean. Does he actually, truly, have to do those kinds of things to Hob’s sanity? “Lavender?”

“Mmhmm. Was going to try for dandelion, actually? I remember how much you liked the wine the other day. But I wasn’t sure the flavor would come through.”

“Because I liked it?” Dream says, looking down at the dish again. He sounds lost in thought.

“Yeah, of course I made it because you liked it.” Frankly, a large, and continually growing, percentage of Hob’s behavior is driven by what Dream might like.

“You do not have to go through such effort,” Dream says.

“Don’t have to,” Hob agrees. “I want to. Go on. Eat it.” He taps at Dream’s bowl with his spoon. Dream takes another tentative spoonful—actually using the spoon this time—and hums in appreciation.

“It is… very good,” he admits, and Hob can’t help his smile. He sits beside Dream on the couch, tucks into his own bowl—but quickly becomes aware that Dream is more so watching him than he is eating his ice cream, though he does occasionally lift some to his mouth and take a slow bite, lips lingering on the spoon.

“Have I got it on my face?” Hob asks, but instead of responding, as soon as he turns Dream leans in to kiss him.

Hob lets out an involuntary startled sound, but quickly gets with the program, putting down his bowl and taking Dream’s face between his hands instead. Dream tastes, of course, of lavender, with the static charge that sometimes jumps to his lips when he’s worked up. He licks into Hob’s mouth, pushing closer, leaving aside his bowl and spoon to half-crawl into Hob’s lap, whines when Hob runs his hands through his hair.

Hob chuckles as Dream starts tugging at his shirt. “Easy, love. No rush.”

“Is that truly what you wish?” Dream asks, pulling away just far enough to speak against Hob’s lips. His voice is heavy with want. “For me to go… slower?”

Deep down, Hob is really not a very strong man.

So he lets Dream push him down onto the couch, pulls him in with a smile as Dream kisses him hungrily. Hob’s back will regret this later, but for now he just spins into this moment with Dream, forgets about the subtle strangeness of Dream’s pivot to sex because Dream seems so happy and that’s all Hob wants, for him to be happy.

Dream undresses them both and straddles his lap and rides him like he lives to do it, and that successfully wipes any lingering thoughts from Hob’s head. All he knows is the blessed touch of Dream’s skin and the euphoria of having him. And knowing that, some way or another, he did make Dream happy.

****

Every once in a while, Dream brings his work to the Waking world so he can sit beside Hob while he grades without falling behind on his duties in the Dreaming. Hob’s not sure… exactly how he does that. He can’t properly create dreams in the Waking world, of course, but he seems to be able to… sketch. Drawing patterns in his sand on the tabletop, or molding it in the air before him, then whisking the designs back to the Dreaming for later fulfillment. It’s fascinating and highly distracting when Hob is trying to grade, but he certainly won’t tell Dream to stop.

Now, Dream has been spinning the same amorphous shape before him for nearly an hour, frowning. Stuck. His shoulders are tight, arms held aloft in the same position for far longer than a human would be able to manage.

Hob nudges his calf with his toes from where they’re sitting across from each other on the couch, legs outstretched. “You want to take a break, love?”

“A break,” Dream mutters, greatly affronted. “I think not.”

Oh, Hob can play this game. “What if I make it worth your while? Little massage, maybe? You must be sore after sculpting for that long.”

“I don’t get sore,” Dream, the proud idiot, says instantly — before pausing and taking in the rest of Hob’s statement. He finally meets Hob’s eyes, the swirling sand collapsing back into a cube in his palms. “You would… do that?”

“What, a massage? Yeah, I mean, it’s nice, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Dream agrees, staring off into the distance over Hob’s shoulder. “Nice.”

Hob scoots over on the couch to push up next to him, takes Dream’s hand between both of his own and starts rubbing at the meat of his palm. “Yeah, isn’t it? Something the matter?”

“Not as such.” Dream contemplates for a long moment; Hob waits patiently. “I suppose I am not used to it. It affects me, when you say such things.”

The fact that a simple offer of a massage to make him feel better is confusing to Dream hurts Hob’s heart, but fortunately it’s a problem he can fix. Or at least, something he can make Dream get used to. Eventually.

He kisses Dream’s palm. “Well? How about it, then? Let me make you feel good?”

“You make me feel good,” Dream says, with a little smirk that suggests exactly what he means. “Often.”

“Not what I meant, but we can do that, too.”

“Very well, Hob,” Dream concedes, with a heaving sigh, as if this is quite a concession indeed. “Do your worst.”

****

Hob does not get very far into “his worst.”

He supposes it was only inevitable. Straddling Dream’s thighs, rubbing warm oil in soothing patterns over his lithe back and upper arms, is not really a position conducive to reason. Hob didn’t start it, though. He was determined to show Dream an actual, nice, mostly innocent massage.

Then he’d pressed his thumbs into Dream’s neck, rubbing out the undeniable knots that were there despite Dream’s insistence that he did not have a physical body, and Dream had let out a very not innocent moan. And had pushed his ass up against Hob’s clothed dick.

“Stay still,” Hob had said, and Dream had subsided immediately, but not in true understanding or acquiescence. No, it was the quick obedience he played at because he knew obeying Hob’s commands like that turned Hob on.

Hob had recognized the ploy, but that did not change that fact that his self-control in the face of an obedient, wanting, moaning Dream was exactly zero.

That’s how they’ve ended up here. With Hob pressing Dream into the sheets, fucking him hard and fast, hands still slick with massage oil.

“You are incapable of just having a good fucking time,” he complains, not slowing in the slightest.

When Dream replies, Hob can hear his smirk even through the muffling of the pillow. “I am having a good time now.”

“There’s more than one type of a good time,” Hob says, and bites the back of Dream’s neck.

Dream shudders. “Why change a good thing?”

“More than one type of good thing,” Hob repeats. He doesn’t really know why he’s attempting to convince Dream not to have sex. How incredibly self-sabotaging. Only it feels important that Dream gets to experience simple nice things as well. Not only sex.

Though of course, Hob is always in favor of sex.

He tables that conversation for later. “Hush, now,” he says, and mouths over the bite mark he’d made on the back of Dream’s neck, deepening the bruise. “We’ll talk about that later, after I make you come.”

“Oh, we will?” Dream says, petulantly, and Hob leans back, pulling Dream with him by the hips so he’s balanced precariously on his elbows and knees, spine arched, as Hob keeps fucking into him. Which, admittedly, is probably exactly the kind of reaction Dream wanted to get out of him.

Dream lets out a pleased groan at the new angle, confirming Hob’s suspicions. Hob loves to get those sounds out of him, though, even if by Dream’s design. His own breath is loud in the quiet bedroom, the quick slap of their bodies together too, but Dream’s moan as Hob takes him in hand is louder.

His hand is slick with oil still, and Dream slides easily through his grip, pushed by the force of Hob’s movement. Each thrust punches a broken ha-h! sound from him, and his hands are fisted in the sheets, and Hob knows from experience his eyes are squeezed shut tight. Braced against overwhelm.

Lord does Hob love to overwhelm him.

“Do you think you’ll be sore tomorrow?” he asks, false casual. “More than when you were working? Do you think you’ll still feel me in you?”

“Yes,” Dream pants. “Yes.”

“Will you keep it, even if it hurts?” Dream could easily wash these small human remnants from his form, but sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he comes back to Hob joints still aching from being fucked. God it makes Hob sick with want.

“Pain is good,” Dream says. “I will take it.” He clenches around Hob as if to emphasize the point, body spasming. Held open and full.

‘Pain is good’ is not exactly what Hob meant, but Dream is overdramatic like that and he does like a little pain, sometimes.

In the morning Hob will take him in his mouth, bring him off with easy heat and agonizing slow pleasure. Then he’ll roll on top of him, fuck him through the afterglow, erase that soreness with a slow, easy stretch that melds right into him. Kiss him and move in him until Dream comes twice, at least.

Now, he twists his grip around Dream and thumbs over his slit in the way he knows will make him come, and grips his hip hard enough to leave bruises, and Dream cries out at the force, spilling over his hand.

Hob doesn’t slow. He takes Dream’s hips in both hands again, holds him there as he fucks into his tight, oversensitive body. So tight after, always, as if whatever arousal unlocked gets timid again in the aftermath. Hob would feel like more of a dick for loving it if Dream didn’t seem to get off on it, too.

“So fucking tense, baby,” he says, pressing Dream to the sheets again, mouthing at the back of his neck. His skin tastes like oil. Dream trembles under him. “Should I stay in you longer? Maybe I should make you wait. Keep you on my cock until you get used to it.”

“Yes,” Dream says. “Mold me to you.”

Hob fucks him harder, down into the bed, and Dream gasps at each stretch. Hob won’t last much longer like this. He’s surprised he lasted this long.

“Come back to me in the morning,” he says, “and we’ll keep practicing.”

And Dream moans, and that’s enough for Hob. With several quick stutters of his hips, he spills in him, Dream’s muscles going all tense under him at the feeling. Then he falls boneless over Dream’s back, and stays like that, in him, keeping a promise, or perhaps a threat, for a time.

“I love when you get like that,” Dream murmurs, eyes heavy-lidded. Shifting against where Hob is going soft inside him.

“How?”

“Wanting me,” Dream says.

“I always want you,” Hob says.

“You know what I mean.”

Yeah, Hob does, and it’s not really what he intended for an easy, relaxing evening, though Dream has relaxed under him. But this intensity, this roughness, no matter how much they both love it, hadn’t been what he had been aiming for at the start. He hadn’t even been angling for sex at all at the start.

And now Hob is picking up on the pattern that he’s been pushing aside each time it comes up. The way Hob will try to do something nice for him and Dream will spin it around into sex. After that event in the Dreaming. After Hob had fed him. He had been attributing it just to passion, but… maybe that’s not the whole truth.

He finally pulls out, trying not to relish too much in Dream’s groan at the feeling, and goes to clean him up with quick, practiced motions. Dream just hums, still sprawled out, loose and spoiled. Hob cuddles back up to him, turning him on his side and pulling Dream flush to his body, Dream’s back to his chest. He knows from experience that it’s the best position if he wants to get real, personal answers out of him, because Dream won’t have to look him in the eye as he says them.

“Do you not like,” he starts, thinking it through as he speaks, lips to the back of Dream’s neck, “when we do just… simple things other than sex?”

Dream stiffens immediately, which perhaps was inevitable. Hob holds him tight so he won’t slip away. “If you are dissatisfied with our lovemaking—”

“Not what I said.” He kisses under Dream’s ear. “Don’t jump to conclusions, eh?”

But jumping is how Dream’s mind works, Hob knows. It’s not for dreams to be linear, but to create zigzag webs of meaning, clouds of abstraction. Feelings layered and refracted.

“Are—” he starts, a thought occurring. “Are you unsatisfied?”

“No,” says Dream, but Hob isn’t convinced by it. He doubts Dream would let him do something he didn’t like—Hob hadn’t even gotten away with calling him a friend the first time without getting a reaction—but that doesn’t mean he would speak up about what he does want.

“I do enjoy such things you speak of,” Dream says before Hob can push. “‘Simple things.’ Nice… things.”

“Well. I’m glad, then. Only you… do turn it into sex. A lot. And I’m not doing ‘nice things’ just to get you into bed, you know.”

“Such temptations are not necessary for that, historically,” Dream says, with some of his rare humor. Hob can imagine the tiny smirk on his lips, and leans over to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Temptations, huh?” he says, still close to Dream’s cheek, and Dream blushes. Just the barest amount, but any flush is easily visible on his pale skin. “My attempts at strange ice cream flavors really did it for you?”

“You made it for me,” Dream says. His voice is quiet like the hush of light rain.

Hob squeezes him to his chest. “You talk like no one’s ever done something just nice for you in a relationship.”

“Do not jump to conclusions,” Dream says, echoing him with a twitch of the lips. “But such small signs of care… it is a human thing. I am unused to that. I am… a medium through which fantasies are spun. Not a creature to be made tea and ice cream.”

“What if my fantasy is making you tea and ice cream?” Hob says. His heart hurts at the thought of it being foreign to Dream, even if he knows some of it is just his nature as an Endless, that Dream has had some good relationships, at least for the time that they lasted, and that supernatural creatures can have different ways of showing care—hell, he’s seen it with Dream himself—but still—

“You are turning my words upon themselves,” Dream says, but seems to find it humorous. “I suppose that because I am unused to it, such things unduly affect me. Is it a surprise, then, that I should want you so when you do them?”

“Are you saying those things make you horny?” Hob’s voice pitches up several notches. Dream actually squirms in his arms, as if to wiggle away back into stardust.

“I do not care for that word to be applied to me,” he says.

“You are, though,” Hob says. God, the fact that he seems to get turned on by simple care and kindness in a relationship is both sweet, hot, and terribly sad all at once. But with Dream naked in his arms he’s leaning more towards hot.

Dream doesn’t answer, and Hob leans over to catch his eye. “Hey, Dream. Look at me?” Dream still doesn’t, so Hob takes his chin and tugs until Dream finally turns his gaze to him. He looks almost… ashamed.

“Hey.” Hob lets his hand fall to a gentler hold, cradling Dream’s cheek. “None of that. Would think you were talking about tentacle porn, the way you look.”

Hob does not actually think Dream would be ashamed of tentacle porn. No, it’s only this.

“Humans only see tentacle sex as ‘kinky’ because you do not know any sentient beings with tentacles,” Dream says.

Hob stares at him for several long moments. Has to shake himself hard to reset. “That’s another conversation,” he says, and Dream gives half a smile, enough that it breaks that look on his face. Laughing at Hob’s meager human experience. He’ll take it.

“What I’m saying is,” he continues, “you don’t have to be ashamed. It’s sweet, really.”

Dream finally turns over properly on his back so Hob no longer has to lean over his shoulder. Hob takes advantage of it to lean in and kiss him, slow and lingering, and when he pulls away Dream is looking at him with his pupils wide and his mouth wet and parted, a look that begs another kiss and another of anything Hob’s willing to give him. Which is much.

“You can have whatever you want,” Hob murmurs. “Any other desires you’ve been keeping close to the chest?”

Dream shakes his head. “It is not about elaborate fantasy. I can make any sexual fantasy a reality in the Dreaming. But.” His gaze slants down. “I cannot make someone love me.”

“Oh, darling.” Hob kisses him again, soft and sweet this time. “I want to give that to you, don’t you know? All the time.”

“I am coming to that awareness,” says Dream, softly. “And perhaps we might… do more. Of these ‘simple nice things’ that you speak of.”

“Because it turns you on?” Hob says, but it’s just teasing now.

“Among other reasons,” murmurs Dream, and leans his head against Hob’s.

There’s nothing Hob wants more than to give him those things. The chance to see Dream happy is the sweetest gift he can imagine. His own ‘nice thing,’ perhaps, though nothing about it feels simple.

For now, he cuddles Dream close, rubbing his hand up and down his spine. Dream makes a rumbling, purring sound of pleasure, and presses into him, nose tucked against Hob’s throat. Hob loves him so much it makes his chest hurt, a sweeter version of the wound he’d felt during all of Dream’s long absence.

I’ll make you so used to nice mundane things you’ll get fucking bored, Hob thinks. Though there are a lot of nice, ordinary things—life’s made up of them—so it might take a long time.

Fortunately, Hob has a long time.

****

The next time Hob makes Dream dinner—actual dinner this time, not just ice cream, partly because he’s too weak to handle the image of Dream licking ice cream off his fingertips again—he just pulls Dream to the bedroom afterwards to cuddle. He wants to show Dream a quiet evening, to let him feel good without plan or expectation. And by the way Dream slides into bed beside him, presses up against Hob’s body, skin to skin, just his underwear on, and then rests there like it’s where he belongs, Hob thinks he gets the message.

Dream’s form is warm and alluring against him, but Hob doesn’t feel the need to push it further towards sex. The contented hum of Dream’s body at his side is its own form of satisfaction. The pleasure he can draw in him just by holding him close. Dream is calm and pleased and happy, and while they’ll surely slide into sex later, or maybe just tomorrow morning, if Dream stays that long, for now this is more than enough.

The slow build of pleasure as he strokes his hand through Dream’s hair and down over his back. The brush of Dream’s feathery hair against his jaw as he tucks his head further into Hob’s throat with a sigh. Dream is clearly pleased, Hob can feel that he’s hard against his thigh, but he seems content to just let it be for now, to relish in those early, warm moments of arousal. He really just wanted to be petted and spoiled and adored all along, Hob thinks with a smile. And how long has Hob wanted to spoil and adore him?

Hob’s just about to fall asleep, still lightly stroking Dream’s hair, when Dream’s head snaps up in the direction of the hallway, like a cat that’s spotted a fly buzzing around in the dark. “Sibling,” he calls, “I can sense your irritating presence. Reveal yourself, or suffer the consequences.”

“Ooh, consequences. I’m just shaking in my Louboutins,” says Desire, swanning out of the shadows, eyes glinting. Hob, properly awake now, gets the sense that they’re about to have a very odd conversation, here in his bedroom, in the middle of the night. Never a normal fucking tea in this family.

“What are you doing here,” Dream says flatly. “You aren’t welcome.”

He hasn’t moved from where he’s still curled against Hob, Hob notes with a little thrill.

“The level of horny wafting off this flat is revolting, I simply had to come see what you were getting up to.” Desire leans in the doorway, head in their hand, and looks the two of them up and down, face falling in what looks like genuine disappointment. “Are you fucking… cuddling? Are you— are you petting his disgusting hair?”

“Fuck off, Desire,” Hob says mildly, and Dream smiles smugly.

"Unbelievable," complains Desire. "The utter disrespect upon my realm."

"You are simply jealous that my lover is the most alluring in all the land," says Dream, and kisses Hob on the nose, then on his closed eye, then on the cheek. "Isn't he a sweetheart?”

Desire blinks at them several times in disbelief. Rubs their eyes. Looks again. "Nope, turns out I really did just witness that."

They manifest a cigarette, and take a long pull, leaning their forehead against the doorframe like the weight of the world is upon their shoulders. Then they straighten up, shaking it off.

“Well, I see you've done a swan dive off the deep end. I'll leave you to your demise. Don't call me unless you've decided to try some pet play or something else even marginally respectable."

"I shan't be inviting you to that," says Dream.

"Didn't invite you this time," mutters Hob.

"Lies. Foul lies. I know all. I see—” they point at them ominously— “all. Even though I'm wishing more and more that I did not. Sayonara, you puritan fucks."

And they disappear.

Hob breaks down laughing, tucking his face into Dream's shoulder.

Dream caresses his cheek. “What is it?”

"Oh, just. Kink-shamed by the embodiment of Desire itself. That's all."

Dream pouts. “It is not like Desire to kink shame. I assure you, I could have taken the form of a human and engaged in some real human fucking and they would still have taken issue because it was me.”

“Is that— uh,” Hob frowns. “Is that considered— kinky?”

Dream looks at him seriously. “Very.”

“Huh.” Hob ponders this strange little tidbit about immortal creatures’ lives. “Oh, is that right?”

Dream casts him a warning glance. “Do not do anything untoward with that knowledge.”

“Oh, I’m definitely going to do something untoward with that. You kinky bastard, you.”

Dream sighs as if exhausted, yet unsurprised by Hob’s antics. “Many do seem to think so,” he admits.

“This is the best information I have ever learned,” Hob decides. “You know, darling, if you wanted to have terribly spicy human sex, you only had to ask.”

“You may come to regret that offer,” Dream warns, but he settles back against Hob’s side with a satisfied hum.

“Nah.” Hob already has far too many ideas for that. Many more things to add to the list of human experiences he can show Dream. Not all of them quite so wholesome as dinner and cuddling. Indeed, there are many different types of ‘nice things’ to be had, and more than one fun way to spoil him. “I don’t think so.”

And while he’s at it… maybe he’ll ask Dream about that whole tentacles thing, too. If they’re in the process of exchanging kinks, and all.

[mgparker]

Come Back to Me

Marc Spector/Steven Grant x F!Reader

Summary: Mark leaves on a mission for Khonshu while you deal with a confrontation of your own. Unfortunately, this particular foe is aware of your specific skill set and uses your weakest spot to deliver a fatal wound. Laying there defenseless and abandoned, your final desire is to speak to the love of your life one last time.

warnings: ANGSTTTT!! (the fav), character backstory, flashbacks, character death, reader wound, sadness, despair etc etc, cliffhanger

masterlist!

“M-Mark?” Fuck. Fuck. Your voice was wobblier than you had expected.

“Baby?” You heard some shuffling. “What’s wrong?”

You pulled the phone away to clear your throat. “Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Despite your assurances, he wouldn’t be fooled. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Yeah, I just wanted to talk.”

The pain was spreading from your side, crawling through your torso like deadly vines. It was nearly blinding. Pulling the phone away from your mouth, you tried to steady your breathing.

This isn’t how you wanted to go. Whimpering in pain and regretting every decision that got you here.

No. What you wanted was to hear your lover’s voice one last time. The warm timbre of his essence. Your favorite sound in the entire world.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He pressed. “Where are you?”

Your man was nothing if not stubborn. “Yes, baby. I’m okay—“ you really weren’t. “What—what did you do today?”

Marc sucked in air through his clenched teeth, gripping his phone with white knuckles. “It was meant to be a surprise, but I’m coming home for a few days… our leads haven’t gotten us anywhere and Khonshu believes we just need a comfortable place to think.”

You would’ve scoffed at that if your chest and throat weren’t on fire. Khonshu believes?

The big bird knew what Marc would be returning to. He knew you were lying in a pool of your own blood.

The thought sent a surge of panic through your body, even as the pain was beginning to overwhelm you. “No! Uh—um you— you’re already so close. W-what are you stuck on?”

Tears welled in your eyes, it felt like a blazing iron rod was being shoved into your chest and dragged up slowly until every organ could feel the flame.

It was silent on the other end for a heavy moment, before Marc’s deep voice hesitantly spoke your name. His tone lifted, suspended in question.

A shake courses through you, fear beginning to blossom in the pit of your stomach. The last thing you wanted was for him to panic… and now you’re beginning to panic as well.

You weren’t ready.

A sob broke through your lips before you could stop it. As if you even had the strength to.

“Marc,” you sobbed, turning your head to gaze at the phone beside you. As if it would give you one last glimpse at the love of your life.

His breathing picks up frantically. “Where are you? Tell me now.”

On his end, fabric is wrapping around his body at a faster rate than it ever had before. He could feel the strength of Khonshu enter him, the god’s presence filling the void.

The corners of your vision darkened and just when you thought you’d scream from the pain— it was gone. Miraculously, you felt nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Your heart dropped.

“I’m sorry,” a daze washed over you. There was nothing else to do but wait. A forlorn smile graced your paling face. “I’m so sorry, baby. There isn’t much time left.”

“What time?! Stop this shit, where are you? I can make it there as soon as you tell me.”

“There’s not enough time,” you pressed. You were coming to terms with the distant bright light that was supposed to be illuminating your vision.

You would’ve wished that that was what you were seeing as you drifted off, but one wish stood above all the others—

Your desire to be with Marc and Steven.

You barely notice the frantic yelling on the other end of the line before you’re cutting it off weakly.

“I—“ you go to clear your throat but the numbness had spread too far now. “I love you. Every part of you, baby. I just— I just wanted to hear your s—sweet voice one last t-time. Okay? I love you…”

The last word died on your tongue. And the darkness had taken over before you could hear Marc’s broken response.

A strangled yell left Marc’s lips. His stomach was knotted. The shadow of Khonshu appeared in his peripheral vision.

But Marc was rooted in his own grief. His lips were quivering, snot mixing with salty tears as he bared his teeth, shaking from the pure emotion of it all.

Why wasn’t he home? He had vowed to protect you, shield you from the horrors of the world— his world— but it wasn’t enough.

He couldn’t be there all the time, and you’d always reassured him that it’d be okay. That you didn’t feel like you constantly had to look over your shoulder, you didn’t want Marc or Steven to spend every second of their life protecting yours.

It’s his fault. God, the thought made him choke. Hands flying up to grasp at his throat as if he could stop it from tightening. It’s all his fault.

Maybe—maybe it’s not too late. Maybe, just maybe, you’re alive.

He could still feel Khonshu’s presence over his shoulder. “Take me to her.”

It’s silent. The wind breezing past his ears, the serenity of the night sky brazenly mocking his wild panic.

“Now, Khonshu!” He spun around quickly, voice wavering in rage.

If it hadn’t been for the God’s power over him, Marc would’ve been with you. The only person who truly matters to him in this world.

By some beautiful twist of fate, Khonshu unexpectedly relents, nodding his giant head in the direction of a portal.

Marc couldn’t find it in himself to thank him, everything else had faded away until all he saw was your mangled body on the other side of it.

His feet took him across the rooftop at an immeasurable feet, practically flying over the distance, until his surroundings had changed completely.

“No,” he cried, dropping to his knees painfully. Shards of glass pierced his skin as if he weren’t already bleeding out with you. “Baby? Baby, wake up. Wake up!”

Your body was lifeless in his arms, and the embrace felt strange, nothing like how you’d lay in his arms at night. Fingers gripping his necklace loosely, head tucked into the crook of his neck… legs tangled with his as if your bodies were one.

Blood left a trail from your nose to your chin and shaky hands went to wipe it away before pausing in midair to hover over your face…

“Love?”

Bewildered, Steven nearly gave himself whiplash as he snapped his head away from the sight of your bloodied body.

And despite wanting to run away, his hands tightened around your frame, his lungs failing.

Everything burned, his chest, his stomach. God, his arms and legs were going numb.

And where Marc couldn’t go, Steven went.

Denial.

“Love, come on,” his head has turned to you again but his eyes were squeezed shut. “Wake up. The gag has gone long enough.”

No response. Your laughter wasn’t shaking your frame, your voice wasn’t reassuring him that it’d all been a silly, cruel joke.

“Lovie…” he knew how much you hated the name and despite it, absolutely nothing.

Weren’t you going to argue? Playfully punch him in the shoulder as you giggled at him to never call you that again. Weren’t you going to put on that half-assed angry frown that you always did before smiling and pulling him to your lips?

Weren’t you going to kiss him and tell him everything would be alright?

His heart dropped with the realization that you already had.

You already spoken those words sweetly and he’d dismissed them, twisted them into something rageful when all he should’ve done was pulled you into his arms and never let you go.

“Steven,” you tried, grabbing onto his hands with an unusual hint of desperation. Almost as if you knew something he didn’t. “Sweetheart, it’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be alright.”

The sincerity in your eyes practically sparkled or maybe that was just the pure love that you felt for him. But it didn’t get through to him this time, instead his panic and anxiety twisting his words and actions into something else.

“How can you say that?” Steven stressed. “How can you be so positive all time?! Consider the possibility that maybe sometimes you’re just wrong!”

His soul shattered when he realized… it was the last time he’d ever hear those words.

He hadn’t believed in them and now this happened.

Steven forced his eyes to open slowly.

In the pale moonlight, your face was still as beautiful as the first time he ever saw you.

It was early in the morning; the sun was barely over the horizon and the streets of London were not all too busy for this hour. 

Thankfully for Marc, the little coffee house that was nestled in the array of buildings on Russell Street was practically empty. Save for the steady stream of customers who would fly in and out with a streaming cup of coffee or tea in their hands.

But tucked in the corner of the large window seat was you. 

Exactly as he’d seen you in his numerous hours of laborious research. Hair tucked behind your ears, oversized round glasses slipping off the tip of your nose, lips tucked in concentration, a loose sweater hanging off your shoulders. 

There was a sense of tranquility about you. A stillness despite the bustling customers mere feet from you. 

A girl immersed in her own world; a utopia all within the threads of your pale green sweater, the gentle sway of your feet under the table, the hint of a smile at the corner of your lips.

How odd it was to find such astounding beauty in someone you knew everything and nothing about. 

Because in your little world, you may have been closed off from the reality around you, but an open book to anyone who cared to look. 

And Marc couldn’t see why anyone wouldn’t.

He just hated that he had to be the one to shatter your universe.

“Excuse me,” Marc said when he finally worked up the courage to enter the shop. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

Then you looked up at him and he knew it was a sight he’d remember for the rest of his life, an image that would flash behind his eyelids whenever he closed his eyes.

Your eyes piercingly studied his through your eyelashes for a long moment. The hint of a smile was gone. 

“Sure,” you eventually smiled brightly. 

A dazzling smile that kept him rooted to the spot a little longer than necessary. 

Thankfully, you didn’t seem to mind it. “You’re American?”

Marc finally sat down next to you, gripping his chocolate muffin tightly. “Actually, I’m from Chicago.”

If your chuckle was charming, he couldn’t imagine your laugh. 

“Which is in America, if I recall correctly.”

“You do, it is... in America.” God he needed to work on his social skills. He felt like a bug under a microscope. Partly because of your particular line of work, mostly because you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. 

You shut your book softly. “What brings you to London?”

Marc was sure you would’ve shut him down by now, questioned his intentions or tried to put his ass down. But you were graceful, serene... Seemingly not worried at all about his intentions.

If he’d asked, you would’ve told him that you had a keen eye for vibrant souls. His being one of the brightest you’d stumbled upon. 

“Uh, work,” he replied unconvincingly. “What about you? You’re a fellow American yourself, aren’t you?”

“What gave it away?” You were teasing him.

Maybe he could hear that laugh again after all. “Your accent and the whole sweater thing you’ve got going on? Practically screams California.”

Your laugh was surprisingly booming, genuine. He found himself smiling at the sound of it.

It can’t be this easy to fall in love with someone you just met. 

“It’s New York actually,” you corrected between fading giggles. “Close enough.”

Embarrassment tinted his ears red. “It’s not.”

Smiling widely, you shook your head in agreement. “It’s really not.”

It’s silent for a few moments and just when Marc thinks you’re going to open your book again, you speak softer than before. 

“I’m assuming you sat in my little corner for a reason, Mr. Spector.”

The gravity of your simple statement uncharacteristically flew past his head. Instead, he was a little more focused on trying to hear that twinkling laugh again. 

“What’re you doing?” You rose an eyebrow, watching as the man wildly looked around the space you were occupying. From the two adjoining walls to the wooden round table. 

“Looking for any indication that this is in fact entirely your corner. So far I see nothing except...” There was no way he wasn’t making a fool out of himself but he was in too deep to stop--

The pin suddenly dropped.  

“I didn’t tell you my name.”

A nonchalant expression adorned your face. “People like you don’t seek people like me unless they need something.”

His brain short-circuits. 

“People like me...” Marc repeated, his voice lifting slightly as if almost in question. 

“I’m aware of every single entity within my range whom fit the qualifications of a very secure database. Yelena Belova, Alexei Shostakov, Spider-Man who happens to be around on a school trip...” you listed idly, twirling the little stick that was stained with your hazelnut coffee. “... Marc Spector.”

The rose-colored glasses were slowly slipping off. His years of servitude under Khonshu’s hand began to harden his exterior until he could finally look at you as a threat. Just to be sure. 

“Why would I be on that list?”

You motioned toward the untouched muffin. “Are you gonna eat that?”

“Why would I be on that list?” His jaw clenched.

“Well, why wouldn’t you?” You take a sip. “Moon Knight is an incredibly promising prospect in the eyes of those who protect our world. You’re incredibly powerful.”

Marc scoffed. Is that what he was to you? A potential business deal, a recruit?

“But it doesn’t really matter to me anyway.”

His eyes shot up in interest. The corner of your lips had turned up again.

“I don’t work for any agency anymore,” you explained. “I’m just a girl with an incredible skill set and impressive resume.”

“Humble much?”

There was a knowing twinkle in your eye. “Only when I need to be.” 

Your stares met with a shared interest. As if you two were really seeing each other for the first time. 

To Marc, your beauty was astounding, ethereal. He could only hope that you’d choose to stay in his life.

“I did come for a reason... I have a mission and I could use someone with your specific skill set.”

“You need help.”

“Well, I didn’t say that exactly--”

“It’s what you meant,” you narrowed your eyes playfully. “Thankfully, I’m a woman of the people. But why should I help you?”

“I’m backed into a corner. I’m just trying to do things right in the best way I can. But I need you to trust me.”

“Trust is gained, Spector.”

“Then allow me to earn it.” The mercenary countered.

You allowed your eyes to look over him. At his open grey button up, his ironed white shirt and black pants. His ebony hair, brushed away from his face, sprinkled with a hint of grey. The scruff on his jaw and the brown of his eyes. 

Falling in love with someone you just met can’t be this easy.

Your resolve crumbled and you knew he was going to be in your life for the unforeseeable future. The fluttering in your abdomen pulled you in before you could stop it. 

Not that you wanted to. 

“So what does this mission entail?”

Slowly, a genuine smile curved Marc Spector’s lips, one that you reciprocated with a blinding beauty that made his heart nearly stop.

And as he walked out of the coffee shop that morning, your number scribbled on a note that was neatly folded in his pocket, there was a sudden change... brief but enough for Steven Grant to suddenly find himself on Russell Street. Confused and a bit frightened, but only for a quick moment-- 

Until he turned his head and gazed into the large coffeehouse window...

To see you for the first time, with eyes that had adoringly gazed upon yours for hours. 

And the sight was like a breath of fresh air, filling his lungs with something he didn’t quite know he needed. 

The close-lipped smile that spread from cheek to cheek behind the fist of your closed hand, idle strands of hair that fell to cover your joyous expression, the simple rise and fall of your chest...

And between the moment that he saw you and Marc reemerged to front, Steven Grant couldn’t help but wonder who had made your eyes light up in that way. 

Steven Grant wondered if he had the chance, could he make you happy?

But he couldn’t see the light in your eyes anymore. Eyelids rested over those effervescent eyes and a part of him finally shattered. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered brokenly. Bringing your forehead close to his, his lips tenderly touched your warm skin. “I’m so sorry, love. I’m sorry.”

Softly, as if to not disturb you, he reached for your hand, catching a glimpse of the fading paint job he’d done on your nails before he left last week. 

“I-I-I can’t, I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He couldn’t breathe anymore, gasping against your body as he tightened his embrace. 

Acceptance. 

With a shudder, Marc kept his eyes closed despite the sudden switch. 

This way he could imagine that you weren’t dead, you weren’t cold and lifeless. No, you were alive. Finally squeezing in a nap between your tireless research, hours upon hours at the computer, hacking databases and trying everything you could to help the boys. 

Yes, yes, he could take a moment to indulge in that fantasy. 

Because once he opened his eyes, it was finally over. Marc Spector would have to live without you. 

“How wasteful...”

That pent-up anger reared its ugly head. “What?”

If he wasn’t holding onto you, Marc would’ve committed violence against the god. 

“To let such a valuable asset go would be a pitiful waste,” Khonshu drawled from behind his avatar. 

Marc shook his head at the audacity. “I don’t want to hear this. I--I don’t want to hear this.”

“Perhaps you do, Spector,” the god insinuated. “Feel the warmth of her skin... look at the color beneath her skin...”

This was cruel. “No...”

“Your grief may be premature--” what? “-- her fate lies in no one’s hands but her own.”

He finally looked up. “Stop with the riddles. What the hell are you talking about?”

“Just as I once appeared before you, the goddess Isis requires an avatar. Your lover is still in the fight between life and death.”

Deception was a skill Marc was certain Khonshu had mastered but yet, he found nothing but the truth in his tone. He felt the god’s sincerity. 

Shock stilled his body, mouth slightly open as he stared into the night sky and then slowly back at you.

Despite his aversion to serving a god, the only thought running through his mind was the desire for you to come back to him.

In any way, he’d have you. 

Otherwise, neither he nor Steven would make it. 

“This is up to you, baby,” Marc whispered into your hair. “But fight. Please... fight. Come back to me.”

Please.

Come back to me.

The voice bounced off the walls of the chamber, echoing until it faded away.

It was the voice that would always bring you back. 

“You have a choice to make,” a different voice reminded you, sweet and smooth. “Be my apprentice and help me restore the world to what it once was.”

You were on the tip of the iceberg, held back from what you’d seen Marc and Steven deal with for years but itching to get back to the broken man that was begging for you. 

“What does that even mean?” You groaned. 

Isis gave you no further explanation than what she’d told you before. You glared at her for another moment before feeling a phantom pain shoot across your body. Well, metaphysical body.

You realized you’re running out of time.

“So I do this or what? Die? I love how you all deal in absolutes,” your snark was still intact. “Any room for negotiation?”

The Goddess of Magic and Fertility towered over you, mighty with large wings that spanned the length of the golden chamber. Eyes that pierced into your soul, quite literally, and a beauty that wasn’t made to be seen by mortal eyes.

It was easy to tell why. Such beauty was captivating, breath-stealing and enough to send any man or woman to their knees.

But yet here you stood, slightly annoyed and about three feet under. 

Unamused, Isis blinked expectantly. 

Please... Air caught in your throat. Baby...

The decision suddenly wasn’t hard at all. 

And it seemed as if Isis knew it as well. 

“Will you be my apprentice and help me restore the world to what it once was?” She repeated.

The other half of your soul was missing and you knew how to soothe the agonizing pain for the both of you…

“Yes.”

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Third Imposter: Nagito Komaeda

Dressed in the green or white space suit

Nagito is the ever-fanatic believer in the hope the crew of the Skeld brings in exploring the vastness of space

Unafraid to gush obsessively about the future that rests on their shoulders

But in the end, the future is in jeopardy as there seems to be an alien imposter

For a while Nagito moves with the majority, searching to find the ones trying to impede their hope

But a new discovery of information puts the imposter’s actions into perspective

Which pit the hope of humanity’s hope and a world that needs to remain hidden for their survival

And suddenly Nagito becomes the two-faced wild card, we all love+ know him to be

Of course, you as a crewmate are naturally put off by this development 

for whatever reason he hones in on you, stalking you while babbling about his happiness for both sides

It's aggravating, so aggravating you’re completely distracted by his behavior to pick up on the underlying intention

The way he and you become alibis for the imposter 

How you’re always able to corroborate Nagito’s testimony

The truth is he’s keeping you close an integral part of humanity’s hope 

the kind of hope intertwined with one another+ with the imposters

Its an honor!

But he knows you might not see it that way

naturally you’re hope is birthed in your ignorance

Now on the other hand, if you’re the imposter 

Suddenly hope in humanity isn’t all that important to him

Or rather he works to save humanity by mixing his hope with yours

More than happy to make little alien babies with you

But there's a problem, since he’s started helping your mission

Apparently you’ve been planning to make your fellow imposter you’re new mate

And while he may have promised not to oust either one of you, he also needs to preserve the hope you’ll have with him

By any means necessary:

You slammed the white-haired human into the wall, easily denting it with your grip around his pale little neck. Fighting the urge to hiss at him in your mother tongue as you released the illusionay colors in your optics. He may know the truth but that doesn’t mean he’s trust worthy. You wish you would’ve thought of this sooner.

“What’s you’re aim, Komaeda!? Why did you let this happen!?”

He continued to smile, unperturbed by the sheer pressure your curled fist had on his throat, More so excitedly enduring it + With simply a look you knew he couldn’t speak, you begrudgingly untightened your hold on him giving him just enough space to struggled to speak for himself. 

“I-if I’m meant to-protect your our+ hope it’s important that one of you not be suspected. T-the last trial r-relied one of your testimonies to be false.”

“Yes. I’m aware but we’ve already prepared the alibi of the automated message. Why didn’t you rely on that!?”

“Then it forces them to look into our testimony even more. One of you would have been discovered eventually and as we discussed it would be him.”

“As we discussed?! We never-”

“It was without you, it was decided you’d be the one to survive.”

At this revelation you dropped him, turning away as he coughed and lovingly caressed the marks left on his neck. Facing the opposite wall with wide eyes full of horrified disbelief. Surely this was another lie…but would you’re partner truly make such a sacrifice. With your heat coming you two had prepared to build your nest on the corpses of this ship; slowly building a pack specialized in hunting the invasive species. Naturally fulfilling your innate desires and serving the people you swore to protect. Would they really make such a sacrifice? And even without the promise of conception? Were they more sentimental in there proposition before?

You felt completely blindsided–a rare thing to feel in your line of work.

“W-what a true sacrifice for hope! As promised I will be the tool for you to birth a new generation of hope!”

You turned back to him, raising your eyebrow at his declaration. He smiled to you a blush overtaking his entire face and ears, eyes swirling with a madness for hope your hope. Nagito spoke, eager to answer the silent question.

“They made me promise it! That I’d satisfy your heat and protect you and the brood that is to come.”

“R-right…”

Thats exactly what happened as Nagito reported it. Now many could say that Nagito is a liar, but he doesn’t think that word used against him is quite accurate. Failing to offer his discoveries to the symbols of hope is simply giving them an alternative guide on their journey for hope. Which is all he’s done now.

“You will reveal yourself to be the imposter.”

It was after the official meeting, where it was decided that Nagito would be their aid. The agreed upon terms specified that with every whole-having alibi, Nagito would take the fall or he would commit obvious sabotages to further distract the crewmates. It was the call of another meeting that had you running off before Nagito and your partner. 

“You will be the stepping stone for the hope of me and (Y/n)’s future as mates.”

“...mates?”

“Our kind have seasons of heightened fertility, we plan to complete our mission by then.”

“I…see…”

“What?! Having second thoughts about helping? Is your desire for hope so weak, you buckle at its glory?”

“Never! I’m ecstatic to be of service to (Y/n) a true giver of hope!”

“Right.”

Your partner had thought his palpable infatuation would ensure his loyalty to you both only to realize as the votes were casted that his future filled with hope was only filled with you. Cursing him and those insipid humans as they doomed him to a death of starvation and darkness. Constantly replaying the madness in Nagito’s eyes as he ushered you from the window, maintaining that wild-card crewmate character. 

If anything Nagito Komaeda was a true imposter. Third, intent on being more than a fellow imposter.

[explosionkatsu]

"Age doesn't matter" 4

Dad!Bakugou x F!Babysitter!Teacher!Reader

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

After his shift, Eijirou headed towards his office and changed into his casual attire. It's an uneventful shift which Eijirou was glad about since it meant no one got hurt. But he couldn't stop thinking about Katsuki and his well-being.

Being a hero means helping as much as you can even if it costs you to offer up your life. So if it takes him eternally to find the person who caused this misery to his friend, he will.

Thinking about this made Eijirou's blood boil. It makes him think back to the day Katsuki introduced her to them. At first, he thought she was a fine woman who doesn't care about Katsuki's status, and wealth. But as the day goes by, he started noticing the changes in his friend. It even got to the point that Katsuki had to miss work just for him to buy her desires. Materialistic desires.

How dare she manipulate his best friend.

How dare she steal his wealth.

How dare she fool around while Katsuki's working his ass off.

How dare she leave him and their child behind.

Thinking about this made Eijirou desperate and arrest her right away. But that isn't logical thinking. He knew he needed to know her side first. He needed to know why she does that.

After Eijirou wrapped up, he put his suit where the agency will cleanse it. He bid everyone goodbye with a smile before departing the building. His smile suddenly slips as he fishes his phone from his pocket. Grasping it firmly, he doubled taps the screen seeing his phone lit up. His finger dances on the screen as he dials a familiar number before placing the phone near his ear and waiting for the other line to answer.

"Hello?"

"Ah hey! How are you doing?" Eijirou smiled as he began walking.

"Kirishima. I didn't expect you to call.”

"Haha, yeah. Today's uneventful so my shift ended quite early." Eijirou said scratching his head.

"So, what's up?"

Eijirou's smile disappears again, "I'll get frankly to the topic." He said with a serious voice, "I hope you have useful news."

The person at the other line raised an eyebrow before smiling. "Ah. Yes actually. You'll be shocked."

"What is it?" Eijirou asked making him stop walking.

"She's actually still in the city."

..

"Okay, class. It’s already 4 pm. That's all for today. You may only leave when your parents showed up to pick you up." Ms. Y/n smiled as she started assembling her items.

One by one, the parents show up greeting her before they took their child and leave. The only one left is Kazui who's busily sketching random stuff on a piece of paper.

The fact that Kazui knew someone would pick him up but probably late made Ms. Y/n feel sad. He’s too young to experience this kind of thing. That is also why she mentioned to Mr. Bakugou that she used to be a babysitter so that she can officially take care of Kazui.

Taking a huge breath, Ms. Y/n made her way to Kazui who hasn't noticed her yet. Once she reached his side, she knelt down and tap him on his shoulder trying to get his attention which worked.

“Ms. Y/n?” Kazuo looked at her curiously as he stopped doodling.

“Will anyone pick you up?” Ms. Y/n asked. She ought to know if someone will pick him up so that she’ll know if they had to wait or she’ll take him with her.

Kazuo looked down at his paper sadly. “Papa didn't mention he’ll pick me up, not grandma.” He mumbled.

His tone of voice causes Ms. Y/n’s heart to ache. So without further ado, she gathers her things, as well as Kazui’s, and motioned him to follow her.

“Ms. Y/n, where are we going?” Kazui asked as he watches his teacher locking their classroom door.

“I’ll take you to my apartment again. But I need to message your grandparents first, or your papa to let them know you’re with me.” Ms. Y/n smiled down at Kazui who smiled at her excitedly.

“Really!? Do I get to watch you cook again?!” Kazui beamed and followed Ms. Y/n way to the teacher’s office where she has her things.

“Of course.” Ms. Y/n giggled seeing Kazui's eyes sparkling.

Once Ms. Y/n finished packing the things she needed to work on her home and messaging Kazui’s guardian, she wave to her co-teachers, telling them she’ll take her leave.

Ms. Y/n felt Kazui’s hand grasp her skirt making her look down. This must be how Kazui is to Mr. Bakugou. So she took his hand and held it giving Kazui a gentle smile.

“What do you want for dinner, dear?” Ms. Y/n asked as they both headed to the exit door.

Kazui released a humming sound as if thinking, making Ms. Y/n chuckle as she watches him.

“Can we have Hamburger Steak?” Kazui looked up at her showing his beautiful velvet eyes as he waited for her to answer.

“Mhhmm.” Ms. Y/n pretended to think, placing her pointer finger on her pouting lips. “Alright.” She smiled.

“Yay!!”

..

It was now 6 pm in the evening and Katsuki just finished his shift. He's glad and pissed at the same time that today was slow. No villain attacks or what so ever.

As he made his way to his agency, Katsuki took this chance to check his phone. Seeing a lot of notifications from his old mentor, his parents, and Kazui’s school. Of course, he clicked the one concerning his child.

When the message showed on his screen, he reads it carefully. Although, the content of the message made him facepalm. He forgot to inform Kazui’s teacher he’ll pick him up late. Boy, he was glad Kazui’s teacher is considerate enough to look after Kazui while he was on duty.

She’s been taking care of his child for a while now since they both got closer and she even bring his child to her apartment, waiting for someone to pick him up. He was glad someone was giving him a helping hand.

When Katsuki reached his office, he kept reminding himself to bring a gift as a thank you to Ms. Y/n for taking care of his child.

..

After they both went to the supermarket to get the ingredients needed for their dinner, Ms. Y/n went to the beverage area and added a small bottle of sparkling grape juice for herself and a pair of orange juice boxes for Kazui. She paid everything to the cashier and walk their way to her apartment which isn't that far from the school.

When they entered her apartment, Kazui took the bags from Ms. Y/n, helping her to place them on the counter which he could barely reach.

Ms. Y/n giggled at this and thanked Kazui before going to her bedroom and changing into comfortable clothes. After changing, she made her way to her kitchen and started preparing.

“Ms. Y/n?” Kazuo called out while he sat on the counter top where he could watch Ms. Y/n cook. But of course, away from the stove.

“Yes, sweetie?” Ms. Y/n answered while she focuses on mixing the contents needed for the burger steak.

“Are you single?”

Ms. Y/n halt her movement, blinking confusedly before turning her head to look at Kazui. “Where did this come from?”

“Well, I don't see any other pictures in here. Only your picture and a family picture right there.” Kazui said raising his hand to point where he saw the picture.

Observant. The word that came up in Ms. Y/n's mind. She knew Kazui’s smart. She witnessed how he can effortlessly solve any problem written on the blackboard. Especially when it's a situational problem. No, she didn't teach these kinds of problems to her students. But when she saw Kazui’s ability, she decided to test it out. That's where she found out about Kazui’s sharp thinking. Maybe it was because he was the child of the number 2 hero? Was he teaching his child these things? She’ll never know.

“Haha. I am single. And why are you asking this, huh?” Ms. Y/n eyes Kazui suspiciously and is playful at the same time. “Are you going to ask me out?”

Kazui’s face turns red and seeing this reaction made Ms. Y/n laugh.

“I’m kidding.” Ms. Y/n said giggling and continue preparing their dinner.

“C-can I ask you a question?” Kazui was looking at his feet when he said this.

“Go ahead, sweetie.” Ms. Y/n spoke out gently as she started shaping the burger steak.

“Can you be my mama?”

[thewillofdeez]

A Very AkaTaka Birthday

18+! Minors DNI!!!

Summary: It's Mihawk's birthday. His girlfriend gets him a very special surprise......a visit from his boyfriend, Shanks.

Characters: Mihawk, Shanks, Fem Reader

Warnings: Smut, smut, and more smut. Some plot at the beginning, established relationships. Threesome, polyamory, shibari, cum play, oral sex, 69, anal sex, straight sex......

Note: Started this almost a year ago, dropped it for a while, then scrambled to finish it in time to post today, on Shanks and Mihawk's birthday. This is the dirtiest, most foul, nasty, pornographic thing I've ever written in my life. Hope you enjoy! ^_^

It was Mihawk’s birthday, which meant it was Shanks’s birthday too. Mihawk had never been a big fan of his birthday and never actively celebrated it when given the choice, but every March 9th he found himself wondering if that choice would be taken away from him by his long-term partner…or as Shanks liked to say, his “birthday buddy.” Mihawk hated the term, and hated how most people didn’t respect his desire to not celebrate, but he did love Shanks very much and found it hard to say no to the man, who always, he had to admit, made it worth his while. Regardless, Shanks wasn’t here, and he was spending the day hiding in his room on Karai Barai Island. Just to be safe.

For a couple that had been together for over a decade, the two couldn’t have been more different. Mihawk was thoughtful, reticent, and careful. Shanks was fun-loving, boisterous, and pretty much an open-book. And yet, somehow, they worked well together. Sometimes Mihawk found himself wondering if the reason that they worked was because of their unique arrangement. Mihawk enjoyed living his life in a mostly solitary manner, while Shanks was the captain of one of the most powerful pirate crews in the world. They met up a few times a year, and perhaps it was this absence that made their hearts grow fonder. Sure, Mihawk missed his partner when he was away, but it just made the time they got together all the more special.

On top of that, their relationship was ethically non-monogamous. Shanks had a mix of casual encounters and long-term partners (none of whom had outlasted Mihawk yet for a variety of reasons), while Mihawk preferred to keep his sex life casual…well, he had anyway. That was before he met Y/N.

Y/N was the fourth member of the Cross Guild, and an old friend of Buggy’s. Buggy had asked her to join to manage some areas of the business that neither Mihawk, Crocodile, nor himself were adept at, and she jumped at the opportunity. Mihawk started falling for her when they first met….it was rather terrifying for him. His whole adult life he’d never carried such feelings for anyone besides Shanks. And yet, here she was….beautiful, skilled and – beyond his wildest dreams – falling for him too, and completely okay with his existing relationship.

Mihawk thought back to when he’d told Shanks about the new person in his life.

He’d stood before the transponder snail nervously for several minutes. Why the hell was he so nervous? He’d been on the receiving end of this call a dozen times, and it was always fine….but he’d never been the one making it. He’d never had a problem with Shanks sharing his heart in addition to his bed, but he wondered how his lover would handle being on the other side for the first time.

Taking a deep breath, he’d picked up the receiver, listening to the familiar ‘badabadabada.’

“Well hey there, Hawk-eyes,” Shanks drawled over the phone, his smirk visible through the snail. “How’s the business going?”

Mihawk couldn’t help but smile a little. He always forgot how much he enjoyed hearing Shanks’s voice.

“It’s fine, I suppose. It’s certainly lucrative. Shanks, I…I’d like to talk to you about something.”

Shanks’s brow furrowed in concern. “Of course, ‘Hawk….everything okay?”

“Yes, everything is fine….” Mihawk replied nervously. “Shanks…I met someone here. A woman. I….think I love her.”

The line was silent for a moment, then Shanks’s boisterous laughter came over the line. “Mihawk! That’s awesome! Holy shit, man, I thought you were gonna break up with me for a second there.”

Mihawk let out a nervous chuckle, “No, we’ve already established that I’m stuck with you for life. I’m just nervous…I’ve never felt like this about anyone except you. It’s strange. And scary. And…I wanted to make sure you were okay with it.”

Shanks grinned broadly. “I’d be a hell of a hypocrite if I wasn’t okay with you having a relationship while I’m over here having three including you. ‘Hawk, you deserve love too, since I can’t be around to give it to you all the time. It’s more than okay. Tell me about her.”

Mihawk smiled softly and told him about Y/N…how they met, how they got together, what he loved about her, everything. He also assured Shanks that she was aware of the situation, and that everything was consensual and she was fine with it.

Shanks chuckled. “You’ve got it bad, man. She sounds perfect. Can I meet her? Or at least talk to her? If you’re both okay with it, that is.”“She’d love that, actually, she’s asked me the same thing. I’ll arrange with her some time where you two can talk in private.”

“Perfect. I can’t wait. I love you, Mihawk.”

“I love you too.”

That was just a few weeks ago. True to his word, Mihawk had arranged for Y/N and Shanks to speak, and he was surprised when the conversation lasted well into the night. It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning that she’d snuck into his bed.

Mihawk had groggily rolled over to capture her in his arms when he felt the bed shift beside him.

“I take it the call went well?” he’d said, his voice heavy with sleep.

Y/N let out a soft chuckle and curled up next to him. “It did. He’s fun. And he obviously loves you a lot. I can’t wait to meet him.”

Mihawk planted a soft kiss on her head, holding her close. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.” And with that, they both drifted off into sleep.

A knock on the door broke Mihawk from his thoughts. He looked up to see Y/N’s head peek in.

“Are you hiding?” she said, her voice teasing. She walked over to the large armchair where Mihawk sat and crawled onto his lap, bringing him in for a kiss. He paid little mind to the bag she was carrying.

“Until it’s tomorrow, yes,” he replied, wrapping his arms around her. “How did things go without me today?”

Y/N shrugged. “Business as usual, nothing too exciting. Buggy’s crew made you a cake.”

Mihawk rolled his eyes. “They would.”

She giggled and began kissing his neck. “You’re more likable than you think, you know. They love you.”

“That’s because we’re cult leaders, they don’t have a choice,” he deadpanned. She laughed in response.

“There you go, saying the quiet part out loud again.” She smiled and kissed his lips, placing a hand on his chest. “So….I know your birthday isn’t your thing…”

“Ugh, not you too, Y/N…” he said with a scoff.

“No, no, listen!” she said quickly. “I have a surprise for you. I promise you it’s something you’ll like, and you don’t have to leave this room for it. You don’t even have to think of it as something for your birthday, you can just think of it as…..something special that happens to occur on March 9th. Will you trust me?”

Mihawk narrowed his eyes at her. “It’d better be a sexy surprise.”

“Oh it is,” she smirked, her voice getting lower and she kissed along his neck and jaw. “Very sexy. But when I say I need you to trust me…I need you to trust me . Okay? If you want to stop at any point, it’s fine, I promise…but let me at least get started?”

Mihawk wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. It was still the early weeks of their relationship, and while they had certainly explored things each other liked and knew about what they didn’t like, he was a little cautious to be working off of no information. But he did trust her, entirely.

Mihawk nodded. “I trust you, Y/N, completely. Do I get to know anything about what we’ll be doing?”

“Nope,” she replied with a mischievous grin. “You’re going in blind. Now, I need you to strip down to your boxers.” She began unbuttoning his shirt, kissing along his neck and collarbone. When it was fully unbuttoned, she removed herself from his lap.

Mihawk chuckled. “As you wish,” he replied, obeying her request. He removed the shirt, then his pants and socks, leaving him in only his tight black boxer briefs. Y/N grinned, seeing how he was already becoming excited.

“Perfect,” she replied. “Now come over here.” She picked up the bag with one hand and with the other guided him to the large bed. “I want you to kneel on the bed for me.” Mihawk obeyed without a word, kneeling by the headboard and resting back on his calves, curious as to where this was going. He watched as she pulled out a long silk scarf from the bag.

“And where exactly will that be going?” he asked curiously.

Y/N crawled onto the bed and knelt before him, kissing him deeply. “Over those pretty eyes of yours, of course. Is that okay?” He nodded slowly, and she folded the scarf and wrapped it around his head, tying it tightly but not too much so. “Is that comfortable enough? Can you see anything?”

“It’s fine,” he responded, “And no, I can’t.”

“Good,” she said, running her fingers down his chest. “And no Observation Haki either. That will spoil the fun. Promise me?”

“I promise…” he said in a shuddering breath as he felt her fingers along his skin, the sensation already becoming heightened.

He heard her chuckle, then felt the bed shift, and heard her rummage through the bag. He desperately wanted to know what else she had in there. He got his answer when he felt thick, silky material being dragged across his skin: rope.

“I know you usually prefer to be the one doing the tying….is it alright if I tie you up?”

He smiled, appreciating that she was asking him at every step along the way. It made him feel more comfortable with being in a vulnerable position. “You know mere ropes can’t restrain me….but you can certainly try.”

“That’s all I needed to hear…” she said. He felt her move around him as she began tying him up, using some of the more simplistic shibari knots he had taught her. When she was done, his legs were completely free and still in a kneeling position, but his arms were bound completely behind his back and to his torso. He struggled a little, testing the strength of the ropes. Yes, he could certainly break them into strings if he really wanted, but he wouldn’t….not unless she asked him to anyway.

He felt the mattress shift as she removed herself from the bed. He could feel her eyes on him. “You look so good like this,” she said as she ran her fingers through his hair. “Now, I’ll be right back. I need to prepare your surprise….and remember: no Observation Haki. You promised.”

Mihawk smirked. “I did indeed. Do what you need to….I’m not going anywhere.”

He heard her giggle and walk away. Mihawk knew that she knew that Observation Haki wasn’t so easy to just turn on and off like a lightswitch. It was basically second nature. So in order to obey her request, Mihawk relaxed his body and focused on breathing, trying to bring himself into a slightly meditative state - enough that he wouldn’t instinctively focus on his Haki, but not enough that he wouldn’t be ready when she returned.

Mihawk’s reverie was broken when he felt the bed shift again and soft lips meet his. He grinned. “Welcome back,” he said, his tone sultry.

He was surprised when he felt another set of lips on his immediately after - rougher, and surrounded by coarse hair. He felt his breath catch in his throat. “Shanks?”

Mihawk felt the blindfold being untied from behind his head. He shook it off, desperate to see if he was right. Opening his eyes, Shanks was before him, the younger man already stripped down to his burgundy boxer briefs and a crooked smirk on his face.

“Hey there, Hawk-eyes,” he said with a grin. Y/N came up behind the red head and draped her arms around his shoulders, kissing his neck softly.

Mihawk couldn’t suppress a smile. “Well if this isn’t the most welcome sight I’ve ever seen. I can’t say I haven’t dreamed of this happening….it’s just a shame I can’t touch you,” he said, struggling against his restraints halfheartedly.

Shanks chuckled. “We’re in charge of your pleasure tonight. All you have to do,” he began, pushing Mihawk’s body back against the pillows and headboard,”....is relax.” Shanks straddled Mihawk and began to rub his clothed cock against the dark-haired man’s. They both groaned in pleasure at the feeling as Shanks moved his hips in slow waves. Shanks leaned into Mihawk’s ear and whispered, “Let the people you love take care of you…”

Mihawk and Shanks looked into each other’s eyes, then shared a deep, passionate kiss. Y/N sat at the edge of the bed, enjoying watching them. When the kiss broke, Shanks turned to her. “I didn’t come all this way just so you can watch,” he said with a grin. “Come here.”

Y/N obeyed and joined the two men, the three of them kissing passionately, licking, biting, and exploring each other’s bodies. Well…exploring each other’s and Mihawk’s body, as Mihawk was still bound, much to his frustration. But they made it worth his while, their hands roaming over his body, their lips on his skin all over…it was almost overwhelming. Eventually the three broke apart, panting and catching their breath. Shanks looked at Y/N mischievously and moved to the other end of the bed.

“Come here, pretty lady,” he said, beckoning her to him with a curled finger. She crawled across the bed to him and they embraced each other, kneeling on the soft mattress and kissing passionately. Mihawk couldn’t deny he loved the site, both on a sexual level and as something deeper…he couldn’t wait to see where this night would take them, but he had a good feeling.

Mihawk watched as his lovers kissed and touched all over, shivers shooting through his body as Shanks latched onto her neck and caused her to moan, after which he lowered his body onto hers, pushing her down on the bed.

Shanks looked up at him with a smirk. “It may be your birthday, Taka no Me,” he said, “But it’s mine too. And if it’s okay with you….I’d like to fuck your girlfriend.”

Mihawk huffed out a laugh, his heart pounding in his chest. “Do it. I want to see you fuck her. I want you to make her scream the way I do.”

Shanks smiled widely, then turned his attention to the woman under him. Mihawk watched as they kissed passionately, their hands roaming. With a smirk, Y/N helped Shanks remove his underwear, leaving him completely naked. She reached down to stroke him a few times, and Mihawk could feel his mouth beginning to water. It had been far too long since he’d felt Shanks’s cock in his mouth….but that would have to wait.

He watched as Y/N stripped herself of her remaining clothes until they were both naked together. Shanks knelt between her knees and ran his fingers along her hips and thighs, and Mihawk could see the goosebumps forming on her skin. Her body arched as Shanks inserted a finger into her dripping core, then another, slowly moving them in and out.

Shanks chuckled. “She’s so wet, ‘Hawk. Does she taste as good as she looks?”

Mihawk grinned devilishly. “Why don’t you find out?”

With permission given, Shanks sunk down and buried his face in her core, causing her to arch her body against him, craving his touch. His tongue was relentless, swirling around her clitoris and running up and down along her folds, dipping ever so slightly into her dripping hole. He worked her with his tongue and fingers, and her moans filled the room. Mihawk knew, at this point in their relationship, exactly what to touch and lick in order to send Y/N over the edge, but Shanks didn’t. From this vantage point he could see Shanks trying all of his tricks, trying to find what made her react in the ways he wanted.

“Fuck, Shanks!” she cried as his tongue flicked her clitoris just right, letting him know that that was the spot, right there. His fingers worked harder, the pressure just right. “Please keep going, please don’t stop…..”

But Shanks was, if nothing else, a tease, and nothing turned him on more than having his partner begging and pleading for him. He pulled away, licking his lips and smirking as she looked up at him with wide eyes.

Shanks looked over to Mihawk, his brown eyes sparkling. “Fucking delicious.”

“Mind coming over here and giving me a taste?” Mihawk replied. Shanks grinned and went to where Mihawk was still kneeling, his body tied, his erection pushing the elastic of his boxer briefs to the limit. He leaned in and kissed Mihawk, his tongue going deep into the other man’s mouth, allowing him to taste what Y/N gave him.

Y/N watched as the two men shared her release. She flipped herself onto her front, watching and waiting for Shanks to join her again, eager for the red-haired pirate to finish what he started. When they separated, she wiggled her ass playfully, letting him know she was ready. Shanks returned to her and knelt behind her, lining his cock up with her pink, puffy lips. He sunk into her quickly, all in one thrust, and began to move.

It was almost animalistic, Mihawk thought, as he watched Shanks fuck Y/N. Her back arched like a cat in heat as Shanks pounded into her rapidly, his hand gripping her hip tightly. Shanks and Mihawk locked eyes as the younger man moved, a look that said ‘ Patience…this will be you soon enough .’ Mihawk’s eyes watched hungrily as his boyfriend fucked his girlfriend, so hard and fast the bed shook until they both came. Y/N collapsed, clearly in need of a break. Shanks pulled out and watched as his release dripped out of her core and down her thighs. He placed two fingers at her core, gathering their mixed releases on them and then sticking them in his mouth, sucking them dry as Mihawk watched hungrily. He then grabbed a small towel and helped her clean up, kissing her softly.

“You take a break, get some water,” he said. “I think our man has waited long enough. Come join us when you’re ready.” Y/N could only nod and give a quiet uh huh , retreating to the other side of the room to catch her breath.

With Y/N in recovery, Shanks turned his attention to his bound partner, a playful grin on his face as he leaned in and kissed Mihawk again, his hand wandering down along the soft black ropes and Mihawk’s pale skin until his hand grasped his cock through his underwear. Mihawk let out a groan, his head rolling back.

“You’ve been so patient while I have my fun,” Shanks drawled, running his hand along Mihawk’s erection. “You deserve to be rewarded.” Shanks began tugging down the fabric, and Mihawk’s cock popped out, fully at attention and dripping with precum. Shanks mindlessly licked his lips before lowering his head and tasting the liquid that leaked from Mihawk’s cock. “Goddamn, Hawk-eyes, I missed you….” Mihawk tried to respond but the words were ripped from his throat and replaced with a moan as Shanks’s lips wrapped around the head of his cock and began sucking, his tongue swirling around the tip and flicking at the frenulum.

“Fuck, Shanks…” Mihawk could only gasp out. The sensation was like electricity in his veins, he could feel every nerve in his body igniting at once as Shanks’s mouth worked him. Shanks’s head sunk down, taking all of Mihawk’s length in his mouth with barely a gag, a skill Shanks was incredibly proud of. His hand reached below to play with Mihawk’s balls as his head moved up and down, bringing his lips all the way up to just kiss his tip before taking him entirely again.

“Shanks…” Mihawk rasped. “Shanks, let me suck you. Want your cock in my mouth. Missed it so much.”

Shanks released Mihawk’s cock with a soft popping sound. “Now, now, Mihawk, it’s my turn to pleasure you.”

Mihawk shook his head, the need to feel Shanks’s cock against his tongue making him feel almost desperate. “Please. Shanks…please.”

Shanks chucked. “Aww ‘Hawk, baby, you know I have trouble saying no to you.” Shanks positioned Mihawk so he was laying down flat on the bed.

“Can…can you untie me? Please?” Shanks looked over to Y/N who was sipping on some water and watching the scene before her with interest. She only shrugged.

“He’s the birthday boy too. We should give him what he wants.”

Shanks nodded. “All right then. Y/N, give me a hand? I only have one,” he quipped with a wink.

She came over and helped Shanks undo the shibari knots, taking her time and enjoying how red and full their cocks were in anticipation. Eventually she removed the ropes entirely, discarding them on the ground. His hands now freed, Mihawk pounced on Shanks, kissing him deeply, his fingers running through his partner’s red hair. Shanks was just as eager, and they fell back on the bed, their bodies entwined. Y/N returned to her chair to continue enjoying the show, allowing her partner and her new friend to enjoy each other some more.

Mihawk was almost frantic in his movements as he pushed Shanks back on the bed and latched onto his cock. Shanks threw his head back as Mihawk swallowed him in one swift movement, his nose buried in the coarse auburn hair surrounding it.

“‘Hawk, fuck …..,” he rasped. “Come here, I wanna take care of you too.” Mihawk quickly removed his mouth from Shanks and rotated his body so Shanks could pleasure him as well before sucking him down again. The two men found a comfortable position on their sides, their mouths latched onto each other’s cocks as they sucked and licked at each other. Mihawk groaned at the feeling; Shanks always did fit perfectly inside of him. He relished the remaining traces of Y/N’s release and swirled his tongue around Shanks, trying to get every remaining drop.

Y/N watched the two men tangled together, Mihawk’s arms wrapped around Shanks’s legs, pulling him so close they looked like they could be absorbed into each other, and Shanks doing the same. This dance was so intimate, so loving, and she smiled at how much they clearly loved each other.

Mihawk came first, his body tensing as he shot his load down Shank’s throat. Shanks came just a few seconds later, Mihawk swallowing every drop with ease. The two men separated, rolling onto their backs, and panting at the exertion.

Y/N sauntered back over to the bed. She sat down by Mihawk, leaning down and giving him a soft, gentle kiss, then giving Shanks the same.

Mihawk, for his part, was feeling a little overwhelmed, but in a good way. The desire, the passion, the sheer fucking love he felt for these two people beside him. He wanted them both desperately, wanted to hold tightly to them and never let them go.

“Shanks, Y/N…” he rasped. “I need you. Both of you.”

Y/N and Shanks exchanged a look, understanding what their lover was asking for. She kissed Mihawk one more time, and he kissed her back, his tongue snaking its way into her mouth.

“How do you want to do this?” she asked.

Shanks grinned. “You lay down, Y/N. Near the edge of the bed but not at it.” Y/N obeyed, taking her position, her legs spread wide before them. He then turned to Mihawk, his hand running slowly down the swordsman’s chest, both of their hearts beating with anticipation. They had never done this particular act before with a third person, but it was certainly something Mihawk had always dreamed of doing - and tonight that dream appeared to be coming true.

Shanks and Mihawk shared one more, deep kiss before breaking apart. Mihawk opened a drawer on the side table, pulling out a tube of lubricant and unscrewing the top, handing it to Shanks. Mihawk then knelt on the bed and positioned himself between Y/N’s legs, his cock once again hard and dark red, and eager to be buried deep in her warmth. He looked down at the woman before him, her skin freckled with love marks on her neck and shoulders, and it occurred to him that he must look much the same way. Capturing her lips in a kiss, he entered her slowly, groaning at the sensation of her tight pussy engulfing him entirely. When he was fully seated inside of her, he waited, fighting back the urge to move and start fucking her; as difficult as it was, he knew his patience would be rewarded. Y/N, for her part, was squirming below him, desperate for friction. Mihawk gave her a sultry look and a short, reprimanding bite on his shoulder.

“Patience, darling,” he said softly, “It’ll be worth the wait….for both of us.”

Just then, Mihawk felt Shank’s lips on his shoulder, and craned his neck to the side to allow the other man access. “You two ready?” Shanks asked.

Y/N nodded. “Ready.”

Mihawk sat up and captured Shanks’s lips with his own before returning to his position. “There’s nothing I want more.”

He broke the kiss and adjusted his position so Shanks could enter him from behind. Mihawk was positioned on his knees near the edge of the bed, his cock buried inside Y/N. He splayed his legs out wider to allow Shanks the best access, and Y/N wrapped her legs around Mihawk’s torso. His breath shuddered when he felt Shanks behind him, the tip of his lover’s cock prodding gently at his entrance. Mihawk took a deep breath and Shanks entered him, the pain and pleasure so familiar and so overwhelming he felt like his body was on fire. He moved his hands to take both of Y/N’s in his, pinning them above her head and squeezing them tightly as his back arched.

What felt like ages was only a few seconds - and the three of them were joined together, Mihawk buried deep inside Y/N, and Shanks buried in Mihawk. For a moment, Mihawk and his two lovers remained still, enjoying the feeling of being connected in this way. Mihawk looked down at Y/N, and she smiled up at him, brushing a damp lock of black hair from his face. Behind him, Shanks was running his fingers gently down Mihawk’s back. And then, Mihawk began moving.

He pulled his hips back slowly first, feeling Shanks filling him completely, then, thrusted forward roughly, causing Y/N to let out a loud moan. With every pull back Shanks filled him more, and with every thrust he filled Y/N, and it wasn’t long before the three found a perfect rhythm, a chorus of moans and whimpers filling the room. Mihawk’s hips rolled with abandon as he enjoyed both of his lovers in the most intimate possible way.

Shanks’s hand gripped Mihawk’s hip, as he met each of Mihawk’s thrusts with one of his own, his lover’s ass gripping his cock tightly. On Mihawk’s other side, below him, Y/N could feel everything, not only the cock of the man inside of her, but every thrust Shanks offered from behind him as well, making it all the more forceful.

Mihawk’s mind was a haze of pleasure. He’d never felt this, both filling and being filled, and what’s more, by the two people he loves more than anything in the world. The people he’d kill for and die for, the people with whom he sometimes allowed himself to fantasize about a life after piracy together. The feeling of love, the feeling of Y/N’s core sucking his cock in, the feeling of Shanks ramming in and out of him, it was so much, it was too much it—

Mihawk roared as he came, a sound that surely must have been heard by everyone on the island. Y/N followed almost immediately after, her fingernails leaving deep red marks down his back, and then Shanks, whose thrusts shuddered erratically and then stilled entirely.

They were a mess of sweat and cum and blissful, ridiculous love. Shanks pulled out first, cleaning himself and Mihawk off gently with a towel. Mihawk felt like his heart would never stop beating this fast, his ears wouldn’t stop ringing, and his mind would be eternally this blank - surely, a sacrifice that would have been worth it. It was only when he heard Y/N giggle below him that he started to come back down to earth.

“Hey. You can’t stay like this all night, you know,” she said with a playful grin.

“Can’t I though?” The words were barely more than a whisper. She kissed him softly and lifted herself up onto her elbows. With a begrudging sigh, Mihawk pulled out of her, almost losing his balance as he tried to stand. Shanks was quick to catch him, his arm wrapping around the swordsman’s torso.”

“Come on, ‘Hawk. Let’s get you some water and get cleaned up.”

Y/N poured Mihawk a glass of water, then headed towards the bathroom. “I feel like we could all use a bath right about now.”

Shanks collapsed on the bed with a grunt, the only sound of affirmation he could make. Mihawk then handed him the remaining water in the glass, and he drank it down. Shanks then turned to his partner with a crooked smile.

“Happy birthday, Hawkeyes. I love you.”

Mihawk smiled, the kind of gentle, genuine smile so few ever got to see. “I love you too, Shanks. Thank you. For everything.”

The two men kissed as the ambient sound of running water from the bathroom created a relaxing sound like white noise, and they once again lost themselves in each other.

Shanks broke the kiss. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Mihawk replied, his voice low. “Anything.”

“How would you feel if you and me and Y/N were…a thing? A closed thing? Just…the three of us?”

Mihawk’s eyes widened in surprise, then he laughed. “Is this your idea of settling down?”

Shanks grinned and rolled onto his back. “I dunno, maybe? I…broke things off with my other two relationships. They were fine, but….I guess I’m at an age where I’m kinda craving some sort of stability. And with the way things are going…..I have a feeling that it won’t be long before my duty to protect the One Piece is fulfilled. And then…..”

“And then we can do whatever we want. Together.” Mihawk smiled, taking Shanks’s hand and kissing it gently. “I would like that, Shanks. I really would. I don’t know what that life will look like, but if it means I can be with you and with Y/N for the rest of my days….I’d like that. And I think she might too….but I’ll let you broach that topic with her on your own. We’ll figure it out, all of us together.”

Shanks nodded, “I hope so. I like her, Mihawk. Just talking to her on the transponder….I feel like we really clicked. And in person? Wow...” He sighed. “You got yourself a good one there. I think we all could be really happy together, for a really long time, if that’s something she wants too.”

“Guys, come on!” Y/N’s voice rang from the bathroom. “This tub is far too big for just one person!”

Shanks chuckled. “Sounds like our girl needs us.”

Mihawk smiled. Our girl. “Then let us not keep her waiting.”

[writingsfromhome]

Impossibly Real II

Y’all loved Part 1 and honestly were so sweet about it. I had to wrap up their story in return 💗

——————————————————

Harry knocks on my door and I open it before he's even done. I was excited for this date, I really think this was going to be a good one.

That didn’t stop me, however, from having mad jitters while getting ready. In the end I settled on wearing a silky pink skirt and with a fuzzy pastel pink sweater that was my favourite go-to. I paired it with white boots (still heeled) and some gold accessories. I was feeling myself.

As soon as Harry sees me in the doorway he takes a step back. “Wow. You look…stunning.”

I feel my cheeks heat, unused to this kind of attention from Harry. And I could tell he meant it—it wasn’t just a cheap compliment to get in my pants. I try not to show my internal squirming. “Thank you. You look very handsome!”

“Ah,” he waves the compliment away. “You see me wear this sort of thing to work all the time.”

“I know but you shaved,” I reach out to touch his face and then think better of it. We hadn’t even gone further than my door yet.

“I did,” he rubs his face like I wanted to.

“I like the smell of your aftershave,” I say as we get onto the lift and the smell bounces off the four walls.

He leans all the way down so that his neck is beside my face. I giggle—god, I actually giggle. I feel an overwhelming desire to rub my nose against the heat of his skin but I keep my freak hidden and fake an exaggerated whiff instead.

“C’mon,” Harry holds his hand out and we head out to the tube, my hand securely wrapped in his; I feel giddy just holding his hand.

This was going to be the best date ever.

I mean, it was still weird going on a date with my neighbour. For one, he had to only close the door to his home, turn around, and knock on my door to pick me up. For another, I'd seen Harry a million times since I moved in last year and not once did I ever think we would be doing this.

Harry and I talk all the way to the place about a new Netflix show we were both watching. It's light conversation, we don't acknowledge the fact that we're actually doing a proper date. That we were both mega into each other. It's almost like we were simply traveling into work and casually chatting 'til we reached our destination.

The restaurant—Harry’s pick, is tucked onto a street corner near Soho, the window shades are blackened except for a fancy script. Island X.

“I’ve never heard of the place.”

“It just opened a couple months ago,” Harry holds the door open for me; who said chivalry was dead.

“Wow,” I marvel at the interiors. It’s like someone took the Great Gatsby and worked it with wood tones and orange lighting. And monstera plants.

“That’s a lot of monsteras.”

“What?” Harry asks.

“Monsteras?” I wave my hand at all the ginormous planters but Harry’s attention is to the front of the line.

“Monsteras?” He asks, eyes still forward. “Like. The Lil Nas x song?”

“What?” I crinkle my brow. But then it clicks and I can’t help but laugh. “Oh my god you think I’m talking about-“

“Hiya!” The hostess interrupts me and I cover my mouth.

“Are you laughing at me?” Harry whispers as we follow to our table.

“Yes,” I wipe my tears as we’re lead to a cozy corner. I’m even tucked into my seat!

“Wow I’ve never been to someplace as fancy as this?”

“Really?” Harry’s face flits with a microsecond of an emotion I can’t read. “I thought maybe this was your scene.”

“Oh no,” I shake my head. “This is very fancy. I’m kinda low brow.”

“Oh,” his eyebrows knit together and he fiddles with his napkin. “Some woman at work suggested it.”

“Oh who?” I ask. Harry’s spoken to me about work before, I thought maybe it was a coworker I knew.

“Just someone that works on the same floor.” He pulls his glass of water close to him. “She’s just a friend.”

“Oh I didn’t mean it like…” I trail off. Why would he think I was being jealous?

Suddenly the awkwardness of the situation washes over me. I was on a date. With my neighbour. If this didn't end well we were screwed. I would lose my only friend in the entire neighbourhood! It would be painful to live next door to each other! At least until one of us found a partner or one of us moved out of the complex.

The pressure of it all makes my ears ring.

“Right,” Harry clears his throat as the waiter approaches and starts to scan the wines. “Any of the wines look good to you?”

I stare at Harry while he buries his nose in the menu. Somehow I felt like I already messed up. Maybe all of these bad dates had one thing in common: me.

God, I couldn’t even make it work with a friend.

Harry glances up. I guess I forgot to respond. Before he could notice I’d been too busy staring I start to scan the menu.

“D’you mind red?” I ask.

“Sure. Which red do you recommend?” Harry asks the waiter. I think it’s cute he asks. Dates in the past have pretended to know the difference between all the names and then ordered something that usually tasted like dog shite.

They discuss the wine and I pretend to nod here and there while I browse the dinner menu. Obviously I had studied it after getting dressed tonight. I knew what was safe for me to get (pasta or seafood) and what would cause a big mess (burgers).

“I’m gonna guess what you’ll order.” Harry says once we’re alone again.

“You really think you know me well enough?”

“Yeah. I think I know you well enough.”

“I don’t think so.” He might have a lucky guess but we hadn’t eaten out together enough for him to know my taste. Plus what I wanted and what I was going to order tonight would be two different things.

“I bet you I know. I’m so confident I’m not even going to say it right now. I’ll just order for you when the waiter comes back.”

“Are we confident or cocky?” I tease.

“Confident,” he says but he drapes his arms back against his chair and relaxes, giving an f-boy cocky pose. I laugh, grateful for the reprieve of living in my thoughts.

“Ready to order?” The waiter asks after pouring our wine. It was a nice balanced wine that was helping me relax.

Harry orders his meal and then looks up at me, “She’ll get the Organic Highland Prime Burg-“

“Actually,” I cut him off. Harry looks at me with his sure smile but I shake my head. It falls immediately.

I feel bad but I just couldn’t eat a burger at a fancy place like this on a first date. I’d done it before and it had not gone over well. Think White Chicks but instead of a Terry Crews it was a Ben Shapiro.

“Sorry,” I point to the safe item. “I’ll do the Blackened Lobster Lasagna.”

“Great choice.” The waiter says something else but I’m too preoccupied with how much worse I was making the date.

“Really?” Harry asks. The waiter pauses as he looks between Harry and I and I start to flush.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” It comes out more curt than I intended and Harry just nods.

“Sorry.” I apologize to Harry again once the waiter leaves. “I didn’t really want something messy.”

“Oh. Yeah it’s alright.” He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. "The lasagna does sound really good.”

“Right? I think it'll be really good.” I hear myself talking and want to stab myself. Really. Because this king of small talk was what I fell back on talking about when a date was going bad.

I had to redeem this. This couldn’t be a bad date. This was just Harry.

“This wine’s good too,” Harry says as he puts his glass down on the edge just as I yank my foot out from under the table to show him my shoes, yanking the table cloth in the process.

“So my shoes-“

“Shit!”

His wine tips over onto my white boots and we stare at them as the stain spreads.

“Napkin-“ Harry’s voice snaps me out of the spiral I’d found myself in as I watched wine seep into my coveted shoes.

Harry’s leaning over patting it down but I yank my foot away. This was incredibly embarrassing; everyone around us was watching the scene we were making.

“We need water-“

“I’m going to the toilet,” I announce. Harry looks up sharply, his face is panicked.

“I’m sorry yn I-“

“S’cuse,” I don’t mean to brush him away but with all the eyes on me and the fact that I kept finding ways to ruin this date—this date that was supposed to be perfect, my eyes were pricking with tears. I needed a breather.

“Shite,” I sigh as I balance on one foot in the toilets and try to wipe the stain in the sink. But red wine stained badly just like my performance on every date I’ve ever been on.

“Get yourself together,” I say to myself in the mirror. “Harry is amazing and you’re fucking all this up! Shoes are temporary, finding a good man can take forever! Snap! Out! Of! It!”

I do some deep breaths and one last attempt at cleaning my shoe before I make my way out.

“Yn I’m so sorry,” Harry stands as I return. “I’m so clumsy tonight I didn’t mean to-“

“Harry it’s fine,” I put my hand on his arm. “Honestly.”

“The stain didn’t come out!” He notices the shoes. “I’ll replace them—send me a bill or…”

I don’t have the heart to tell them he couldn’t replace my £400 Acne boots that easily. I’d bought them a couple seasons ago to celebrate the fact that I’d finally gone out with a guy, and hadn’t thought about my ex once. They were I’m-officially-over-my-ex boots.

Now that I thought about it though, it was stupid to wear them on a date with Harry. They were soaked in the bad luck of all the dates they’d been on since.

Agh!

“I’m serious Har,” I cut him off from his plans to replace them. I take a deep breath and motion he should do the same. “Look, it’s really fine. Plus they’re my favourite colour now. They’ll go with the rest of my wardrobe.”

He stops apologizing and looks down at the splotch of pink on the white. “In that case. We’ll have to take the bottle home and stain the other one.”

“Deal,” I say and he smiles at me softly and it feels like things might go better now. Maybe we really had a chance.

When our food arrives Harry’s steak isn’t done how he asked, and they take it back. I awkwardly push around the food on my plate, not wanting to eat until he had his food too.

“You can eat,” Harry reminds me. “I’m sure it’ll be out any minute.”

“We can share for no-“

“Just eat,” Harry says but now all the focus is on me eating and I feel tense and awkward and quite frankly, frustrated.

I shouldn’t have piled so much hope on this date going perfectly.

We wave the waiter over when too much time has passed by, and he seems confused about the steak.

“D’you think they forgot?” I ask Harry.

“Maybe,” he looks frustrated, two spots of pink have taken residence on his cheeks. I feel bad. This date wasn’t turning out for both of us.

It takes another 10 minutes for his plate to come back out. By then my plate looks like I hated it but tried to eat it to be polite. Harry tries to ask if it can be heated but I’m way too non-confrontational in restaurants to let that happen so I shovel a mouthful of room temperature food and give the waiter a thumbs up.

I just wanted to go home.

By the time Harry pays the bill (it was expensive, even though we agreed to skip dessert. He insisted on paying) I was ready to call an uber to whiz us home. But he suggests we walk off the food to another station and it sounds like a good idea so I follow along. Maybe now we could have a nice time.

The walk was supposed to help clear our heads and be romantic but somehow the mood had soured beyond repair. We don’t talk the whole time, both of us lost in our own heads. Neither of us holds hands, or even loop arms.

And somehow it gets worse when we arrive at my door.

"Well this is me," Harry points to his door beside mine in an attempt at a joke. I throw a polite smile.

"Thanks for the date," I say. I feel like it's a little curt but I didn't really know how to act. Did we hug? Shake hands? We liked each other but clearly this date was proving we didn't belong together. Kissing each other goodnight felt like the opposite direction of tonight's vibe.

"No, thank you. And sorry. Again." Harry looks embarrassed as he glances down at my shoes.

"Harry, honestly it's okay," I try to reassure him. I would take walking ten miles in heels I had yet to break in than this awkward air that stifled us. It was never supposed to be like this!

"No it's not," Harry huffs. "I ruined your shoes."

"They're shoes. Just shoes."

"It's a first date, I don't want you thinking I'm a clumsy mess."

"Harry," I lean my back against my door. He looked so good tonight, I was so excited when I opened my door to him a few hours ago and everything had gone tits up. I didn't want him to feel this way. It was my fault, not his.

"I just," he rubs his face and then sighs.

"It wasn't that bad," I lie. The night had gone so badly.

"Yes it is!" He throws his hands up and the movement makes me flinch. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. God, everything's just..."

I blink and my eyes start to sting. It was the end of the night and we'd officially decided this wasn't going anywhere. It wasn't a shock, but still it was upsetting. I really liked him. I really thought things would work out between us, especially after that night with my heels in his bathroom. I had to call it.

"I should go in. I'll see you later Harry."

His brows scrunch up, he opens his mouth and then closes it. "G'night yn."

"G'night." I whisper. He stays there like he always does as I go into my flat. I peek through the peephole and catch him mouth a fuck before opening his own door.

Still in my outfit, my shoes kicked off to the side, I start to pace. I can't do anything except go over the date in my head.

Was there a particular moment I fucked up? Should I have said something differently? How did Harry and I go from having amazing chemistry and an honest friendship to this?

Maybe I was trying too hard. I should have just ordered the burger like he’d guessed, should have gone along with what he talked about. I should have been a better date.

That was it. I couldn't go to bed like this.

The fact that every time I had a shot at a date, a real chance, something had to go wrong and it was always me. I had to fix this.

I grab the doorknob, and pause. I was about to march right into Harry's flat and ask why the date went so terribly. But what was the point? It would just make things even more awkward.

I think about the last time we hung out. There was beer. Maybe we just need beer—no hundred pound dish or fancy red wine. We just needed to be us. Lowbrow beers and a relaxed environment.

I grab a jacket to throw over my outfit and slip into my Stan Smiths. I head downstairs and in the direction of the local shop for a 6-pack. We would drink beer in our flat and get over this awful date. This couldn't be the last of us.

As I cash out a familiar head of hair in the closest aisle catches my attention.

"Harry?"

"Yn?" He's dressed down in joggers and a jumper.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"Grabbing dessert," he shakes the plastic container with donuts inside. "What are you doing here?"

I hold my box up. His eyes widen slightly, a frown touches his lips for a mere second before he arranges his face into a neutral expression.

"All for yourself?" He asks.

"No actually-“ I'm about to launch into what I was going to do but the cashier clears his throat and stares pointedly at Harry. He was holding up the line now.

"Oh sorry," he walks up to the counter and pays for his items. I stand off to the side and we walk out together.

"So you were saying?" He asks.

"Well. I was coming to your place with these."

"You were?" He stops in the middle of the sidewalk to ask.

"Yeah!"

"You're not joking?"

"No!" I laugh. "Why?"

"I..." he looks down at his box and swallows what he was saying. "Let me guess, was it a bad date?"

When he looks at me it's a cheeky look. I almost want to kiss him there.

"Another bad date yep," I tell him and we start to walk towards home.

"Was it the bloke?"

"Not exactly, I think a lot of it had to do with me."

"You sure the date wasn't an arse?"

"No he was sweet. He was very chivalrous, I really thought it was just going to go smoother."

"What do you reckon happened?" He asks. We were both enjoying playing this game. Quite frankly it was combing out the awkwardness.

"I dunno. For one I really wanted a burger but I got in my head and got lasagna instead. When do I ever eat lasagna!?” Harry laughs unexpectedly and it makes me feel good so I continue. “I started thinking about all of my failed dates and almost-relationship. I tried not to make this one date turn out like them but that was my mistake.”

“Sounds like it’s tough being you,” he teases. I push him lightly.

“Well if you could put yourself in our shoes what do you think happened?"

"I think your date got a bit nervous." He responds. By now we've reached our lobby and we take the lift up. "He's not used to going on dates—didn’t he have a steady girlfriend for 3 years? That's 3 years with 0 first dates. He didn’t want to screw things up and he was so in his head about the fact that he took her to an overly fancy place when that wasn’t her scene-“

“It’s not. But it was a cute place. Just poor service.”

“Yeah it was shite service—or I heard it was.” We glance at each other and grin. "I heard he split wine on your shoes."

"Psh," I laugh. “The pink stains were on the outside this time not the inside.”

The lift lands on our floor and we hover outside our doors. "Yours or mine?"

"Mine?" Harry opens his door and I follow the familiar hall to the couch I'd sat on just a week ago. I pull my legs up and we crack open beers, each biting into the sugary pillows he'd bought.

“I actually bought dessert so I could have an excuse to knock on your door and talk to you after that date.” Harry confesses after we’ve each had our moment with our donuts.

I feel warm inside, we’d both wanted an epilogue after the date. We were determined, and ended up in the same place. I hold my drink up. “Cheers.”

Harry tilts his head and smiles. He’s gonna be the death of me whether this works out or not, the thought pops into my head.

"I feel like I need to apologize," Harry continues. "I didn't want to mess things up and I think I just overthought it all and-"

"Please." I cut him off. "I totally made everything awkward and I think I'm just cursed."

"I don't know why I thought you would like such a fancy place. As soon as you said you're not into it I felt like I was doomed-"

"I didn't mind it! I just wasn't expecting it from you!"

"You don't think I'm a classy man?"

I laugh, "Just not that uppity on a first date."

"I was trying to pull out all the stops."

"Instead we just full stopped."

That gets a laugh from Harry. It dies down as he asks, "So what do you reckon? Is this a sign we're only meant to be neighborly friends?"

I bite my donut, mulling his question over. The beer and donuts were helping. I felt like I was thinking clearer than I had all night.

"I wouldn't say no."

We sit in silence as we think about it until he moves down the couch and rests his knee against mine.

"I really like you.”

"I like you too," I agree with my heart quickening.

"Then why don't we stop dating and just do this. No dates. Just hanging out."

"I don't know," I say. "I don't mind being wined and dined occasionally. Don’t you?”

"Okay, how about we just hang out. And when hanging out gets boring we put on our going out clothes and wine and dine each other. Think about it," he says and I nod, agreeing.

“Only if when we put on our going out clothes you keep wearing that aftershave.”

“Deal. And you wear your favourite colour each time.”

“Done.” I grin.

"So you wanna watch a movie or something?" He asks.

“Is that a euphemism?” I tease. He turns his TV on and turns to me with a disappointed look. I try not to laugh.

“No yn get your head out of the gutter. A movie. An actual movie.”

I stick my tongue out. "Can we just not watch anything romantic or sad though?”

"Toy Story it is," Harry puts on the film and we lean back against his couch, cuddled into each other. His fingers play with my hair in slow movements that feel comforting.

I wake up a few hours later, the movie long over. Harry's snoring softly, his arm wrapped around me.

I smile to myself. Even after the disaster of a date we were alright.

I nuzzle myself into the crook of his neck, feeling the musky heat of his skin, and drift back off.

***

A knock wakes me.

I open my eyes slowly and look around the room. I wasn't in my room. I was still on the couch, the cushions had done wonders for my back but my neck was stiff.

Harry was still fast asleep, his lips parted, and his arm thrown across his face. He looked so kissable then.

There was another knock, and Harry's arm slips off his face. He sits up, and the knocking resumes.

"Coming!" He shouts as he runs his hands over his face and hair.

He stands and looks back at me, and smiles. He's still sleepy but he's smiling at me.

"Morning." He says.

"Good morning."

He stays there with a dazed smile until I point behind him.

"Door?"

He nods and makes his way over to answer the door.

"Harry Sty-?" a voice asks.

“Yep,” Harry mumbles something I can’t hear. He’s asked to sign whatever it was.

"Thanks," his voice is rough and he clears it.

Closing the door behind him, he throws whatever package he'd received to the floor and walks over to me. "We fell asleep."

"I guess so. I'm still in last night's clothing." My skirt was now wrinkled and my top was half untucked and ridden up my midriff. "What time is it?"

Harry glances at his watch. "Half past 8."

"Shit! I've got work in half hour!"

"Work from here," Harry leans over me on the couch and offers his simple solution.

"I'll have to shower."

"You live next door. Just do your business and come back with your work things. It'll be like old times."

He's inches closer to me, and I really want to kiss him. It's funny we'd done none of that on our first date but now I want a re-do.

"Okay," I whisper.

"Okay," Harry whispers and he closes the distance and kisses me. It was better than our first kiss.

When I pull away I have a stupid smile on my face.

"Go get ready love," Harry laughs and pushes me off the couch. "You'll be late."

"See you later," I wave and walk out the door, smiling because he’d called me love again. And he hadn’t even hesitated.

Harry was right, it was a lot like the old days. In between work meetings, and Harry's calls, we had a lot of time to spend together. We chatted shit, snuck in some kisses, and talked about work.

We don’t go on a second date, instead we order pizza and watch Toy Story 2 (even though we'd fallen asleep in the first one).

Our days together are fun, and the nights were even more fun.

It was a Wednesday, a week and a half after the disastrous date. Harry and I had taken most of the week off and we'd spent it together, and tonight we'd gone out.

It was a great date, nothing fancy or high brow. Just a lowkey pub with a bunch of beers and greasy messy food and tons of laughter.

"So," Harry says as we're walking hand in hand back to our flat. "How many more days of leave do you have?"

"I have four and a half weeks total."

"Woah. That’s a lot."

"Why? You're not regretting this are you? Getting bored of me?" I tease him.

"I've had 29 years to prepare for you," he teases back.

"That's a good one. But I don't think you can handle 4.5 weeks.”

"Try me."

"Fine," I bump my hip into his.

We're silent for the rest of the walk. But it’s a good silence. When we reach the building, Harry takes his time unlocking his door.

"What are you doing?"

"Just waiting," he shrugs and I laugh.

"Do you want me to stay the night?"

"Yes," he answers without any hesitation; in the last week I'd slept in my bed once.

He opens the door pretty quickly after that and I follow inside—tomorrow, tomorrow I would sleep in mine. Harry could join me if he wanted.

Tonight I watch him close the door, the second the lock clicks I'm taking his jacket off for him and he's laughing at my eagerness.

"Someone's impatient."

"I'm not," I lie and drop his jacket.

"No?" He wraps his arms around me, pulling me flush against him. He kisses my jaw, and then the corner of my lips. You'd think I'd be used to this by now but it's just as dizzying as the times before.

I shake my head and his mouth hovers over mine, his hot breath tickling me.

"What about now?" He whispers.

"Nope," I breathe out and I push onto my tippy toes to kiss him. What can I say, I was denying it with him but I'd never been good at the slow and steady stuff. Harry's mouth was a drug, and I couldn't help myself.

He's not slow and steady either.

He's quick to lift me up and set me on the island in his kitchen, his fingers trailing over the edge of my skirt, his mouth working against mine.

His hand cups my ass and his fingers inch closer to my heat.

"Yn," his voice is soft and he pulls away.

"Yes?"

"Did I tell you how radiant you looked tonight? I can’t take my eyes off of you any time I see you, especially when you’re so loudly and comfortably you in your coordinated outfits and elaborate hairstyles. I feel like the luckiest guy out there. I think I am the luckiest guy in the whole city. I catch sight of you in public and…you just take my breath away."

"Aw Har. I’m already yours. You don't have to butter me up," I tease him as I pull him back to me but his words make me weaker than any kiss could. I know my eyes are growing watery at all of the nice things he’s saying and I’m grateful when he pretends not to see.

This was the nicest thing a guy has said to me, he was really telling me that he liked me for me. He felt lucky. Well I must have won the lottery if he felt lucky.

"I know I don't have," he doesn't pull back again but whispers this into my neck. A shiver runs up my spine. "But I just want to tell you that you're so beautiful."

His mouth trails over my jaw, and back to the corner of my mouth, he doesn't kiss me and I want him to.

"So beautiful," he whispers and I tilt my head back to invite him to continue the trail his lips were making. "So sweet."

He kisses my collar bone and the strap of my top. "So lovely."

His hands trail over my thighs and I want him so badly.

"You're making me melt," I tell him.

"Good thing we're in the kitchen," he hums.

"You're the worst," I giggle and his hands cup my cheeks and he presses his lips against mine. His tongue swipes over my lips and I allow him entry.

We're a tangle of limbs as we kiss and kiss, until I can't breathe. When we move to the bedroom I hardly have time to catch my breath there too.

"Yn," his voice is rough, his hair wild. His body is hot against mine and the way he says my name is enough to make me transcend this dimension.

"I like you. A lot."

"I like you too. A lot too." I can barely get the words out as I try to worm my way into his skin.

He chuckles at my growing impatience but he’s too far in to hold back again. He gives in to every one of my needs--even ones I didn't realize I had.

I'm a goner.

As we fall asleep, his arm wrapped tightly around me, I know we did the right thing. Despite being neighbours or the awful first date. The fact that we bumped into each other at the shop later that night meant we were supposed to have a second chance.

We worked best like this: warm and tucked away, whispering confessions into each other’s skin, seeing each other and not caring what we aren’t.

He pulls me closer in his sleep, sighing into my hair. This felt impossible before but it was so real now. And I think I really won the lottery; I’d dated a million toads before but I think I finally found my prince.

TAGLIST:

@kuntxrgraudunkelbunt @mellamolayla

[artficlly]

a dish served cold (mini series - part six)

Wild West Marvel AU

outlaw!bucky x reader

after the murder of your pa, you go on a journey to find justice. fate brings you to crimson junction for a reason, and that reason is bucky barnes. 

Warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, guns, violence, kidnapping, mentions of murder/death, sexual tension, death of parent, verbal fighting/argument, outlaw bucky, protective bucky, betrayal, animal death, hunting, mention of bounty hunters, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 4.9k

A/N: part six!! we're in the end game now, let me know your thoughts sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist | series masterlist

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky transformed into a canvas of deep purples and fiery oranges, casting the landscape in a warm, otherworldly glow before darkness took hold. You and Bucky watch the transition silently, feeling the cool evening breeze ruffle your hair and send shivers down your spine. The crackling flames of the campfire provided a comforting warmth, but you couldn't help but notice the biting chill that seemed to seep into your very bones.

Setting up camp near the winding river had advantages; the proximity to water made it easier to replenish your supplies, and you planned to follow said river to an eventual civilisation, but it also meant lower temperatures. In the distance, the silhouettes of deer and rabbits darted across the plains, their movements accompanied by the gentle rustling of bushes. The haunting sound of coyotes filled the air, their distant howls echoing through the stillness of the night, a constant reminder of the untamed wilderness that surrounded you.

You had cooked up the last food, two cans of beans. One for you, one for Barnes. You were both starving after days of travel, so you did not bother to scrunch your nose at the food. A comfortable silence had fallen over both of you, but you couldn’t help but notice how Bucky’s eyes often drifted over to you. You wondered if he was sizing you up. The fire crackled and cast a warm glow on his rugged features, accentuating his intense gaze. You found his silent scrutiny both unnerving and intriguing, wondering what thoughts ran through his mind as he observed you.

Exhaustion weighed heavy in your bones, and you hoped the outlaw would fall asleep soon. It was unsafe to be the first, in case he slipped his binds and ambushed you. You can feel the weight of your eyelids as your head bobs slightly, trying to keep yourself awake. You scan the surroundings, the flickering light of the campfire casting eerie shadows across the clearing. Every rustle of the leaves or crack of a branch made your heart skip a beat. The thought of being murdered in your sleep undoubtedly motivated you to remain vigilant. You didn’t take Bucky for the cruel type. He was violent, yes, but not sadistic. At least you hoped. 

“How’d you get into this business?” The outlaw's voice breaks the silence, and your head jolts upward to meet his steady gaze.

“Why?” You ask, voice tinged with suspicion. Did he still think you were just a bounty hunter after everything he'd seen?

“Just curious, that’s all.” It was as though the quiet unsettled him too, and he was anxious to fill it.

You consider his words, sucking on your teeth thoughtfully. Your mission wasn't driven by money; it was fueled by revenge. Vigilante was a more fitting title for you. Many had asked you the same questions along your journey. You'd stroll into ramshackle saloons and bars, ensuring to unbutton your bodice or blouse and wear a coy smile. Men, often foolish and drunk, rarely thought beyond their desires. It was easy to pick up a breadcrumb trail, piecing together murmurs and rumours circulating through the small trading towns. Each time, you spun elaborate lies; the truth was more mundane than any story you could fabricate. You'd tell them you were a descendant of a long line of bounty hunters, seeking revenge on the man who killed your one true love, or trying to impress a hardy gentleman back east.

Maybe tonight you could tell the truth. The two of you are alone now. His quickly approaching date with death warranted some honesty between the both of you. He didn’t even know half the story; at least, he hadn't picked it up. He had taken one look at your attire and fluttering eyelashes and dismissed you as harmless. Not a threat. He didn’t even know why, out of all the outlaws in the country, you had chosen him.

“‘Cause of my Pa,” you hum. Your voice is a soft melody in the stillness. You pick at some softer grass that protrudes from the earth. “He’s dead now.”

“I remember. You told me back in Crimson Junction.”

A genuine smile emerges on your face at his words. So he had remembered. “He was a hard-workin’ man, a blacksmith. He worked hard to keep me and my Ma fed. We were close, ‘least I was closer with him than I was my Ma. She always took it kind of hard, I think. Called us thick as thieves. One day, he and my Ma went a couple of towns over on the train for their wedding anniversary and left me alone at the house.” 

You pause, taking a deep breath, before continuing. Your smile falters. “The day they were supposed to come back, they were late. I waited up all night, sick to my stomach. I went over all these terrible things that could’ve happened to them. Until my Ma returned home early in the mornin’, covered in blood, cryin’ her eyes out.”

Your face tightens, the muscles around your mouth drawing into a grimace. “There had been some holdup on the train, some robbery gone wrong. He was killed. Shot in the back of the head like some animal. My Ma, she watched the whole thing. She couldn’t do anything. Just screamed.” 

​​You lift your gaze, meeting Bucky’s eyes with a hard stare. “They never caught the guy.”

The blood drains from Bucky’s face as he listens. You continue to fidget with the grass, your brows scrunching in thought, the memories as vivid as the day they occurred.

“Every day I would go down to the sheriff station and look at the bounty posters. I would look at the faces of the men. My Ma pointed out the poster of the man who she claimed was responsible. And I would stand there, and I would stare, wonderin’ if we would get the justice we deserved.”

“Where was this robbery?” Bucky questions, his voice strained. You ignore him. 

“The law lost interest, some rich stagecoach was robbed, and all their eyes turned away.” You continue, a bitter edge creeping into your tone. “It made me sick that those men, the men who swore they would bring justice, abandoned us so quickly, all for a few more dollars.”

Bucky’s face twists with horror and guilt as the weight of your words settles over him. You watch him for a moment, your expression cold. 

“Me and my Ma had some money, but we were gonna starve without my Pa’s work. We couldn’t work the forge or have a bank account… so we sold it. The best I could do was marry and send money back to my Ma but… but all I could do was stare at those posters. So I bought a horse with what little we had left, took my Pa’s rifle, and rode out. I followed hints and leads until I found a trail.”

“Ya don’t understand—” Bucky speaks up again, near-begging. Your eyes snap upward, and you lift your chin high, your mouth set in a firm line.

“That trail led me to Crimson Junction. It led me to you.”

The silence returns, thicker and uncomfortable. Bucky’s eyes are downcast in shame, like a scolded dog. Your stomach twists, a nauseating frustration gnawing at your gut. You rise to your knees, your knuckles white as you aim your rifle over his heart.

“And to think, I spent weeks or months staring at your picture on a poster," you continue, your voice akin to a snarl. "I thought when I found you that you’d be some monster. I knew in my heart that you were evil because you shot my Pa. In the back of the head, no less, like a coward. You couldn’t even shoot a man who was lookin’ you in the eyes."

You pause, a mix of exasperation and disbelief in your tone. “I wondered if you’d have horns like a devil or hooved feet. But when I saw you… you were normal. And instead of this wickedness I had prepared myself for, you showed me kindness. In that saloon. You didn’t know me, yet you protected me.”

You lock eyes with Bucky, demanding an answer. “Why?” 

Bucky remains silent. You lurch forward, still aiming the gun. 

“Why?!” You scream at him, your voice echoing through the quiet of the night. The outlaw doesn’t even flinch. 

“Because it was the right thing to do.” Bucky replies quietly, his eyes casting down again for a moment before meeting yours again.

You sneer at him. 

“The right thing? The right thing to do?” You scoff, your tone laced with utter disbelief. You let out a sharp, almost delirious laugh. “You killed my father. You. You killed him. He turned his back, and you, like a coward, shot him. You pulled that trigger.” 

Bucky sucks in a sharp breath. “Ya left your home, marched out into this desert… all because of yer father?”

“Yes.” You say, chest heaving with each breath. “My mother is still in mourning, you know. Dressed in black each day, that’s if she even gets out of bed. It was never about the bounty money, but justice. It was about revenge. I would bring you back to Aramiah and I would watch you swing. You’d take your last breath, and the last thing you’d see would be me and my Ma smilin’ up at you.”

“That’s why you’re draggin’ us all the way to Aramiah? For revenge?” Bucky barks.

“I’m beginnin’ to think I should’ve shot you out here and put you down like the animal you are. ‘Least I’d have the guts to look you in the eye while I did it.” You hiss.

Bucky rises to his knees, his movements slow and deliberate as he shuffles towards you. Your shoulders tense involuntarily, and your hands are steady on the rifle as you watch him pause before you.

“Then do it,” he challenges. 

The pounding of your heart reverberates in your chest, feeling as if it might leap out of your throat. The sound was as deafening as the rushing flood waters that had devastated Crimson Junction. You could do it. You could end the journey that you had foolishly started. You could end this cycle of violence and suffering. 

Your breath caught in your throat, and your arms began to tremble under the strain. Bucky did not move an inch; his eyes were locked with yours. Silent acceptance. It made you sick. 

Would killing him really end the cycle? Or would the wheel spin once more, creating a new path of destruction through your actions? Your head ached with the weight of the decision, and your palms were slick with sweat. Was this the path of righteousness, or was it wickedness in disguise?

You could kill him; you could end it. But it still meant your Ma would starve. It still meant you’d have to return the same as you left. You’d still have to marry and carry the weight of all you had been through and all that was to come. Even if you were not the one to pull the trigger, even if he swung… would you feel better? Would there still be a pit in your chest that seemed to deepen with each passing day?

It would pass. 

It will pass.

You threw the rifle to the ground with a grunt, sitting back on your haunches. Bucky observed you with a grim expression, mirroring your actions as he lowered himself to the ground across from you.

“I will watch them hang you.” You tell him, hands shaking. “I will watch you die, and the world will be better for it.”

—

A fine, ethereal mist lay over the landscape in the early morning, casting a dreamy veil over the terrain. Dew clung to every surface, tiny beads of moisture coating the grass and bushes like delicate jewels. Even your hair and clothes were damp, the moisture seeping into your skin and leaving a slight ache in your bones when you awoke.

Both you and Bucky were quick to rise. There was no need for words; you both understood the urgency of covering as much ground as possible before the midday sun turned the desert into a scorching furnace.

This wordless routine continued for several days. Each morning, you would wake early, drink from the river, and follow its current through the arid landscape. Bucky, his hands bound, trailed behind you on the horse. By midday, you would seek out any available shelter—a rock, a tree—anything to provide respite from the relentless heat. As the sun dipped below the horizon, you would resume your journey, travelling until darkness enveloped the land. Then, you would light a fire, rest, and prepare to repeat the cycle the next day.

The two of you did not speak again until the third day.

The river's water kept you both hydrated, but the cool liquid did little to sate your hunger. The two of you sat under a sparse tree, its leaves rustling in the gentle breeze as shadows and light danced across your skin. The patch of shade was so small that your shoulders were pressed against each other, despite your mutual disdain.

Bucky leant his head back against the trunk, loose strands of hair tickling his forehead, his eyes closed. You, meanwhile, eye him cautiously, your arms hugging the rifle in your lap. Despite his constant nonchalance, you never let your guard down around the outlaw.

Just as you thought he had drifted asleep, Bucky’s eyes crack open as your stomach growls. It has been grumbling for the past two days, the lack of food and constant exertion were wearing you down to exhaustion.

“Ya know, we see animals all the time while we’re walkin’. Why don’t you shoot one and feed yerself so we both don’t have to listen to yer stomach wailin’ all the time?” He asks with a sigh.

You swore he was asleep. You had counted his breaths and listened as they grew slow and deep. Now he was peering across at you. His tone didn’t sound hostile, but it certainly wasn’t concern laced. He was rather frustrated, like he had discovered the solution to the mystery, but you were still struggling to solve the first clue. 

“You really think I haven’t already thought about that?” You snip back, your voice sharp. Bucky’s eyebrow twitches, a flash of irritation crossing his face as he leans back against the rough bark of the tree.

“Ya know how to hunt, right?” He asks, his tone flat and expectant.

You remain silent, tilting your head away so you don’t have to look at him, staring instead at the distant horizon where the distant, blue mountains stood ever vigilant.

“Yer Pa taught you how to shoot, but he didn’t teach ya how to hunt?” He questions again, astounded. 

“He taught me how to protect myself from other people. People like you. His lessons were usually of the ‘wherever you shoot you’re bound to hit something important enough’ variety.” You retort, bitterness creeping into your voice as you clench your fists in your lap.

“That don’t answer my question.” He presses, eyes narrowing.

“People are big, usually runnin’ towards you. So we would line up bottles and cans… I never had movin’ targets.” 

Bucky sighs in disbelief, his bound hands raising to rub his face in exasperation. “So yer gonna let yerself starve? On account of what—pride?” 

“And what do you suggest I do? I’m not wastin’ bullets teachin’ myself out here.” You snap, turning your head to finally glare at him.

“Well, I know how to hunt.” He offers, his voice calmer now, almost coaxing, his blue eyes locking onto yours.

“You don’t seriously think I would give you the gun?” You scoff.

“It was worth a try.” 

“Unbelievable.” You mutter under your breath. 

“I could teach you. Tell you how hunt… how to aim right—” Bucky starts, his voice more earnest now, leaning slightly forward.

“I’m not givin’ you this gun Barnes—” You cut him off.

“I weren’t sayin that—”

“Then what are you sayin’?!”

Maybe it was the relentless heat bearing down on you both, making the air thick and maddening, but you wanted to wring his neck out of sheer frustration. 

“I can tell you what to do. You hold the gun and I can guide you.” 

You pause. The sweltering sun seemed to amplify every irritation, yet you couldn't deny the practicality of his offer. You study his face, searching for any trace of deceit. The hard lines of his jaw and the determined set of his eyes all speak to his desperation—a desperation that mirrors your own. 

“Would that really work?” 

“I don’t know,” he admits, his gaze unwavering, the honesty in his voice catching you off guard. “But it sounds better than starvin’.”

You narrow your eyes at him, weighing the risks, your fingers digging into the coarse fabric of your skirt. The memory of your father, of what Bucky had done, gnaws at you, but so does the gnawing emptiness in your stomach, the fear of dying out here alone.

“Alright,” you finally concede. 

A reluctant truce.

—

When the overhead sun slowly began to dip across the blue skies and the late afternoon heat started to sizzle out, you and Bucky emerged from your shade. The heat of the day gave way to a more bearable warmth, and the sky began to change colours as the sun descended. Bucky had explained to you earlier that rabbits were most active at dusk or dawn, which worked well for you since your skin already felt burned to a crisp. 

The two of you lay parallel to each other, downwind from an active burrow the outlaw had spotted during your short scouting mission away from the riverbed. Tall grass tickled your skin as you settled into position, the skies blooming in beautiful oranges and pinks as the sun sank below the horizon. 

You lay close to one another so that Bucky could whisper instructions to you without alerting your prey. Your forearms and shoulders knocked against each other occasionally as both of you leaned on your elbows, scanning the environment for any signs of movement. The proximity was necessary, but it also brought an unexpected sense of intimacy that neither of you acknowledged.

It was strangely peaceful, as if the tension between you had been cut. You had spent so many days boiling over, caught up in your terrible thoughts that repeated in circles in your head. Having a moment to focus on something other than your misery was weirdly pleasant, even if the company wasn’t. 

“There. By that bush,” Bucky hisses beside you, his voice barely a whisper. His body is tense, every muscle coiled in anticipation. You follow his gaze, your own limbs frozen, acutely aware of the need for stillness. “Ya see it?”

“Yes,” you replied, your voice equally low and hushed. Your fingers tightened around the metal of the rifle, the surface warm and slippery from your sweaty touch. 

“Aim up yer shot like you would normally.” The outlaw instructed, his head dipping slightly as he remained locked onto the rabbit through the tall grass.

You follow his instructions, moving slowly and deliberately. Using the sights, you guide the barrel to the left, aligning it with the small, delicate form of the rabbit. Your heart pounds in your chest as you rest your aim over the rabbit's shoulder, sucking in a slow, steady breath. Through the sights, you can see its twitchy little nose sniffing cautiously and its beady eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of danger.

“Good.” Bucky’s voice was low and grumbling. The praise left a heat in your gut. “Aim over the head if ya can. Better to save as much meat as possible.”

You follow his guiding words once more, adjusting your aim and lifting the barrel slightly. The rabbit moves forward a step, its ears twisting, still unaware of the danger.

“Now, deep breath. Squeeze the trigger nice and slow,” he instructs, his voice a low, calming murmur. You can feel his warm breath ghosting across your cheek. 

You follow his words, your fingers hovering over the trigger as you breathe in deeply. The rabbit's whiskers twitch and its nose sniffs the air cautiously. You exhale slowly, centring yourself, your finger now steady on the trigger.

The shot rings out—a sharp, deafening crack that echoes across the empty plains, momentarily drowning out all other sounds. Around you, wildlife scatters in a flurry of motion; birds take flight in panicked flocks, and deer bound deeper into the desert, their white tails flashing in the fading light. You grit your teeth, a frustrated sigh escaping your lips as the rabbit's white tail disappears into its burrow, unharmed.

“I told you this wouldn’t work.” You grumble, pushing the rifle away with a rough shove. 

It was not like you to be quick to give up. You had always been fiercely determined your entire life; that’s how you ended up in this mess in the first place. You did not falter when faced with difficult or even seemingly impossible tasks. But this journey, this desert, had worn you down. Maybe it was the hunger and heatstroke talking, but you felt as though holes had been worn into your very being, draining you of the strength that had always defined you.

With a groan, you roll onto your back, your arm draped over your brow as you stare upward at the sky. The deep blue was darkening, and the warm light of the sunset was casting the world into a purple haze as the twilight hours descended. The stars began to peek through, tiny pinpricks of light in the vast expanse above, indifferent to your struggles.

Bucky was silent beside you, but when you glance over, you realise he was watching you with an uncharacteristically soft and unguarded expression. The usual brooding edge of his expression seem to soften in the fading light, his eyes reflecting a quiet concern.

“We still have time. Sun’s not set yet,” he says, his voice gentle, almost coaxing. 

You consider his words, your empty stomach clenching so hard it was nauseating. “This isn’t working,” you repeat yourself. The outlaw frowned, his brow furrowing in thought.

“It’s not that it’s just—” He sighs, tilting his head slightly as if searching for the right words. “Yer too tense, you need to relax a bit, yer shot jerked up.” 

“Barnes—” You begin with a grumble and he cuts you off. 

“One more try. I think I might go mad if I have to listen to yer stomach wailin’ any longer. If ya untied me, I could guide ya better,” he says, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes remained serious.

You scowl at him, the idea of untying him again makes you uneasy. There was an unspoken truce between the two of you. You had untied the man before, and he had not moved to attack you. He had kept his word, proving to be more useful than you ever wanted to admit. Maybe his help would get you this rabbit... but you certainly would not be giving him the gun.

As you mull over the decision, you can't ignore the twisting hunger that makes every second feel like an eternity. The analytical side of you recognised the sense in his suggestion. With a reluctant sigh, you reach over and begin to untie the ropes binding his hands. Bucky remains still, his eyes never leaving your face.

Once freed, he flexes his wrists, rubbing at the raw skin before turning his attention back to you. “Alright, let’s do this proper.” He says, his tone more focused now. 

Once again, you find yourself in position, stomach flat against the ground, shoulder-to-shoulder with Bucky. The earthy scent of the soil mixed with the faint fragrance of prairie grass fills your senses, grounding you. It didn’t take long for the rabbits to reemerge, their eager movements a testament to their obliviousness to the two of you tucked between blades of grass downwind.

Your sights rest on a clear shot, a rabbit out in the open, less obscured by foliage. You watch it as it sniffs around.

“You need to breathe, sweetheart,” Bucky hums from beside you, his voice a low, calming murmur. You fought the urge to roll your eyes, your mouth set in a determined line, and your shoulders tense. Bucky shifts beside you, his movements are deliberate and slow. Your head swivels away from your prey to look over at him in disbelief. 

“What’re you doin’—” you protest, only to cut yourself short. The outlaw had pushed himself up on his elbows, his hands coming to rest on your shoulder blades. The warmth of his touch sends a jolt through you, locking you in place. 

“Relax,” he mutters, his voice soft yet firm, as he applies gentle pressure with his palms against your upper back. The word was more of a command than a suggestion, and it resonates deep within you.

Brows drawn together, you face forward again, focusing on the rabbit. You’d have to process the outlaw nearly being on top of you later. His palms smooth across your shirt, the rough texture of his calloused hands against the soft fabric. He gently guides your pose until your shoulders are relaxed, and the tension gradually dissipates under his touch. 

You try to focus on your breathing, each inhale and exhale is measured and slow. Bucky continues to adjust your arms, indicating small movements with the slightest nudge of his hands. His touch is careful, almost tender, as he directs you, his fingers brushing against your skin. Then, his hands sweep down until they rest on your lower back, the warmth of his palms seeping through your shirt. His chin comes to rest over your shoulder, his breath warm against your ear. 

Much to your annoyance, you find that his silent suggestions were indeed helpful. Your body feels strangely at ease, even with him practically perched atop you. Your skin burns under his touch, heat flooding your cheeks as you try to focus on the task at hand.

“There you go, darlin’.” He whispers into your ear, his breath warm and his voice a low, soothing rumble. You can feel the vibrations of his tone through your back. Turning your focus to the rabbit once more, you breathe as he instructs, the rise and fall of your ribcage pressing against his chest with each inhale and exhale. 

You pull the trigger.

To your disbelief, the rabbit drops dead instantly.

A profound silence envelops both of you as the final echo of the gunshot fades into the distance. Bucky straightens up and offers a lopsided grin. You finally turn your head to stare at him in astonishment.

"Unbelievable," you mutter, but a smile begins to tug at your lips.

The tension that had coiled tight in your chest unravels all at once, replaced by a surge of elation. Laughter, raw and unfiltered, bubbles up from deep within you. It's a mixture of disbelief and relief.

Bucky shares in your joy. His chuckle is a deep, rumbling sound that mingles with your laughter, a genuine grin spreading across his rugged features. "Hell of a shot." 

Overcome with emotion, you surprise yourself by throwing your arms around him in a tight hug. His body stiffens momentarily, caught off guard by the sudden intimacy. Then, as if suddenly remembering he had control over his own body, he relaxes into your embrace. His hand finds its place gently on your back. You feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest, mirroring your rapid pulse.

Then, as quickly as it surfaced, you jerk away with flushed cheeks.

His gaze flickers, darkening with a primal intensity. 

You remain shoulder-to-shoulder in the grass, the warmth of his body lingering where your shoulders, arms, and hips meet. A gentle breeze sweeps through the prairie, causing his dark hair to flutter. You swallow hard, but you can't bring yourself to look away from him.

The brief moment of triumph from shooting the rabbit—a moment of success after days—begins to fade. Bucky reaches forward, wordlessly and tenderly tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Hunger still bites at you, but alongside the physical ache, there’s another hunger—an unsettling, confusing desire for the man beside you. 

Your heart pounds wildly in your chest. A part of you craves more. You want him to trace his fingers down your cheek, across your collarbone, and down to the swell of your breasts. You want his touch desperately, painfully. You're starving for him, your entire body trembling with need as you imagine his hands roaming lower, his lips searing against your skin. You long to feel his sculpted muscles beneath your fingertips, to draw unimaginable sounds from him with just your hands and mouth.

Maybe it's the madness of being under the sun for days on end, a blend of starvation and lunacy. Food is just meters away, yet you can't tear your gaze from him. Not as you lean into his touch, not even as your lips part.

Not even as you foolishly reach out, running your fingers through his hair.

And maybe he is just as foolish and hungry as you, because the outlaw grasps your face gently between his palms. His calloused hands are warm against your skin. He hesitates for a heartbeat, searching your eyes for any sign of resistance. When he finds none, he leans in and kisses you.

[laurfilijames]

🍭 - Ask a creator about one of their favorite creations.

I apologize in advance if you have to do some digging 🥹

In Breathe, you beautifully capture Will’s relationship with himself, his connection to the Reader, and the significance he holds for the Reader through heartfelt lines. What are your top 5 favorite lines that you’ve written?

Rayyyyyyy 💗💗💗💗

Please forgive me for not answering this before the Halloween, trick-or-treating season was over 😬 and also for not listening to the fact that you asked for 5 lines.... because I picked 12 🥴 (I'm so cringe)

I definitely had to do some digging, and I'm so thankful for it because going back and reading through each chapter was the boost I needed to remember how much I love this story and that it's something worth working so hard on and pouring every part of myself into.

So, here are my favourite lines below the cut (to spare everyone else from having to roll their eyes at this) from each chapter 💗

And yes, I chose 2 from chapter 4 🙈

Thank you endlessly for asking this, continuously being so interested in this little world I've created, and being so wonderfully supportive 🫂💗

Chapter 11

“I want you to be my wife,” he spoke carefully and purposefully, his eyes locked on yours.

Chapter 10

...realizing more than ever what it meant to have someone to love you with their whole heart but knowing that if there was such a thing as luck in this world, he had taken it all.

Chapter 9

It was almost thrilling in a way, acting as if you weren’t head over heels in love with each other and were strangers instead, sharing loaded glances across the tables that separated you that gave a hint of the types of fantasies playing out in your minds that were in fact very real and recent memories, feeling like every song that played was about you.

Chapter 8

You were completely alive, breathing and writhing with life in his arms, your blood flowing in every part he touched, his hands awakening every fiber in you.

There was no questioning the falsity of his dream now, your euphoria solidifying your vitality, your body full of life as it shuddered with vigor because of him, the devastation of being the reason you wouldn’t breathe again leaving him with each second he was encased in you.

Chapter 7

Breathe, your mind begged, but kissing him was better than breathing.

Chapter 6

Will couldn’t bring himself to look at you again as he made his way over to the door, knowing damn well that he was yours as much as you were his, his entire heart left behind with you as he walked out.

Chapter 5

“Then use me until you’ve had your fill,” you offered, knowing you would never regret falling hard and fast for him even if it ended in disaster.

Chapter 4

It was unclear what had woken you up; the feel of a heavy body cast across yours that you weren't used to, the foreign sounds of a different house creaking as it settled into the subtly cooler temperature of the night, or simply every part of you rousing to tell you it needed more of him.

You smiled when you opened the door to see him in the exact position as when you had left, flat out on his stomach with one leg hooked up, the moon highlighting the perfect curve of his ass and capturing the soft fuzz covering it, turning the tousled hair on his head silvery.

Chapter 3

No one else had ever made him feel like this, making him want to lose control, and everything in him knew you would be his undoing the moment he laid eyes on you.

Chapter 2

You watched faithfully as he stood and walked away, admiring how his jeans fit over his ass just as you did with his shorts or track pants at the gym, finding your senseless desire growing for him in a way you were sure you could no longer handle.

Chapter 1

Will leaned against the side of his truck as he waited, sighing to himself while he attempted to sort out everything he was feeling; the mix of wanting to lean in and trust you overpowering his usual go-to of staying distant and playing it safe, all of which was confirmed when you walked out the doors and instantly brought an easy smile to his face.

[jellyfishloveletterghosts]

👀👀One Kings Pawn Is Another Kings Treasure

This is an omegavers where Steve who's spent his whole life posing as a beta to avoid being a pawn still ends up being sent off to a neighboring King Billy to be his consort with demands that he's to spy.

A lil snip from when Steve and Billy first meet. Warning for a little ordered self harm.

-

Steve examines the table where the candles are as he stands next to it, a few books are laid out, nothing he is familiar with, next to a bowl of plump grapes and a goblet of wine.  His stomach grumbles, he should have eaten more this morning, or brought something with him. There are herbs being burned somewhere in the room, muddying the scents making it impossible for Steve to pick up if anyone else is here. It is an old practice that many use when assessing if someone is friend or foe.

Steve stands there waiting, sharing a weary glance with Tommy when it feels like it has been too long. Steve eyes the grapes with desire, edging closer, fingers skimming the gilded table edge. Before he can give into the urge to pop one of those tempting grapes into his mouth a voice speaks from the shadows, “you’re mine to do with as I please.”

Steve frowns at the lack of manors, feeling an introduction would have been a better start as Tommy tenses hand on his hilt, eyes scanning the room looking for the owner of that voice. Steve has no doubt about who is speaking to him even if the heavy incense make it impossible to sniff him out, “yes.”

“How do you feel about that?” Steve thinks the voice has gotten closer but it is hard to say with the acoustics in the room making it echo.

Steve turns toward where he thinks the voice is coming from, frown deepening, what an odd question. “I’ll do my duty.”

There is a touch of growl in the king’s voice, “that isn’t what I asked.”

“I-” Before Steve can offer up another bland polite answer the king cuts in again.

“Speak truthfully, I won’t punish you for it.” 

Steve doesn't exactly believe him but he has never enjoyed holding his tongue, still he keeps his words polite as he offers up the truth, "I’m not fond of the arrangement. It would not have been my choice.”

"Yet here you are," there is a soft hum, the sound of clicking like nails drumming on a hard surface, “and you’ll do anything I say?”

Steve sucks his teeth, “yes.”

A knife clatters across the polished marble floor, skidding to a stop as it bumps into Steve’s shoes, it is made of gold, the inlaid gems catching the fire light and casting spots of color. Steve glances at Tommy when he takes a step forward, sword pulled from its sheath a few inches, ready to defend. Steve shakes his head with a firm look, if Tommy tries to do something foolish like kill the king the situation they find themselves in will be far worse than a little bloodshed.

“Cut yourself.” Steve picks up the knife and unsheathes it, it is undeniably sharp, reflecting his uncertain face back at him as he holds the tip against his finger. “No your face," the growl has him pulling the knife from his finger tip where a bead of blood is already well, "cut your face.”

Steve feels queasy, can smell Tommy's distress and desire to intervene even over the cloud of incense. He does his best to remind himself that this is for the people of his kingdom, if Billy is happy he won't go to war and that will be a little less stress on those sent to do the dirty work of the royal family. He shakes his head again, hand unsteady for a long moment. Steve takes a breath steeling himself as he raises the dagger up to his face until the sharp dangerous tip is at his hair line an inch above his eyes. He pushes it in before pulling it toward more skin, the sting making itself known as the sharp edge moves onto new flesh.

It is not pleasant but he keeps moving the knife, lessening the pressure as he goes, making the cut more shallow to eases his discomfort. He is nearly at his eyebrow, after a slow shifting angel, he hadn't meant to follow but occasionally the shaking won and shifted his destination. He is contemplating lifting the blade and starting in a new location to keep his eyes from any damage, hesitating wondering if this man will be angered if he does.

Suddenly out of the shadow comes a man, rushing forward before either of them can react. Steve expects pain but the beautiful blond man in fine furs and intricate fabric knocks the dagger from his hand, callused fingers rubbing under the sting. The bluest eyes Steve has ever seen bore into him, “such dutiful dedication, I don’t think they know what they've given up." The man moves away as suddenly as he came into Steve's space, the warmth of his touch lingering long after he disappears out the door.

Steve sits there, staring at the shadows, perplexed, annoyance growing in his belly at the man’s dramatics. Tommy moves from his post, pushing into Steve's space, hand on his face tipping his chin up to get look at the damage, "are you okay?"

"I'm fine," and he is but, "what the fuck was that?" He doesn’t know how to feel about this new king he has been bound to.

-

Thank you for the ask 👑💜

[joys-of-everyday]

SJ Bonus Notes

Some miscellaneous things following on from this post and subsequent discussions. A lot of it is my own opinion, just some random drabble.

He Only Killed The Men

Something that I’ve seen not that often but with enough frequency that it bothers me is arguments along the lines of ‘SJ only killed men in the Qiu manor, so that means it was fine’.

To which my reaction is ‘what is it about killing only men that makes it fine???’

The subtext here feels like: ‘SJ only killed the people involved in his abuse – it was for revenge, not indiscriminate killing’, which contains the implicit assumption that all the men were perpetrators, and all the women weren’t. And while there’s a bunch of complicated issues underlying this and I’m sure it’s not always meant in the overly generalised way I read it as… I get the feeling it’s sometimes just grossly oversimplified??

(This links to a feeling I have that SJ’s view on women is actually quite problematic, which I might elaborate on a later date.)

Murder bunny SJ

On that note, in the Qiu manor, yes SJ killed quite a few out of self-defence, but beyond that its heavily implied he was just going around stabbing people. Also he was taught to ‘how to commit murder and arson, how to steal, how to reap benefit from confusion’ by WYZ, and possibly killed a bunch of CQM disciples at the Immortal Alliance Conference (although, as has been pointed out, this is refutable!). All in all, this suggests that SJ was not an innocent white sheep. (But my point is that this does not imply he is a villain, or even at all bad.)

SJ and Cang Qiong

Interpretations of SJ and his friendship situation on Qing Jing usually lie in one of two buckets: ‘all the peak lords were bullies and SJ did nothing wrong’ or ‘SJ was awful and nobody cared that he died, good for him’. I think at the time of the original post I had misremembered the canon quite a bit, and was reminded of this by slytherinzidian (thank you!). Anyway, we like Nuance ofc ofc, so I’ve picked out a selection of quotes that might be useful references:  

SJ didn’t act in a way that made it easy to like him.

Shen Qingqiu had a habit of keeping his chin slightly raised, so whenever he looked at people it often appeared as if he was looking askance at them.

Airplane’s adventure log

And the other peak lords don’t really like his attitude (to the point they’re pretty happy about him losing all his memories, which is disturbing if you think about it too deeply):

Another peak lord spoke up, puzzled: “In the past he’d never give a proper greeting when meeting Zhangmen shixiong or his fellows, he never paid any of us a visit, the way he spoke was like a needle hidden in silk, his attitude was eccentric, there wasn’t anything good about him. The way he is now is much better.”

Airplane’s adventure log

Of course we have Shen Yuan’s scathing review of SJ’s character. He spent a lot of his narration attacking SJ’s attitude.

Shen Qingqiu’s character settings were stuck on “shady hypocrite.” Since on the surface he looked pure-hearted, free of desire, and immune to wicked temptations, then beneath that surface he had to be immoral, shameless, scummy, and despicable.

Vol 1, Chapter 1

That being said, SJ’s peers didn’t make it easy for SJ to act nice either. YQY had an unfortunate thing of trying to be nice and ending up off-handedly insulting SJ. For example, SJ had a genuine reason to suspect SQH (he was colluding with demons!) and YQY follows up with this:

“Qingqiu-shidi, the ways of demons have never followed any rhyme or reason, and Shang-shidi went through great difficulty to escape catastrophe; even if you have questions to ask, it wouldn’t be remiss to allow him time to recover first.”

Airplane’s adventure log

During his disciple age, Bai Zhan disciples hated SJ, mocking him, staging ambushes, going as far as to try and tear down his home. Now this might be a reaction to SJ provoking LQG, but also the An Ding peak disciples seem to hate the Bai Zhan disciples too, so equally they could just be bullying everyone (and/or SJ particularly badly).  

Everyone across Baizhan Peak was just like Liu Qingge, not holding any goodwill towards Shen Qingqiu. Unwilling to let this opportunity slip by, the disciple had immediately followed him in and begun mocking Shen Qingqiu, saying that he had a faked sense of morality and was only pretending to be noble and virtuous; for him to show up in a place like this was really causing his own sect to lose all face.

Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu

Btw, SJ’s relationship with the Qing Jing disciples appears to be better, and it says that SJ was well liked by his Shizun.

Yue Qingyuan’s assumption wasn’t without reason, but this time it really was wrong. Although Shen Qingqiu wasn’t liked by his peers, they didn’t dislike him so much that they wouldn’t make space for him to sleep.

Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu

Now LQG and SJ’s rivalry looks pretty complicated. LQG consistently manages to say some pretty insensitive things towards SJ, mocking his ability, which SJ takes badly because of his past traumas. But also, SJ is consistently threatening to kill LQG, and seemingly attacks him out of the blue (although this is a misunderstanding).

The phrase Shen Qingqiu most often said to Liu Qingge was: “One of these days I’ll kill you, Liu Qingge!” The lovely young pipa-carrying woman had long since thrown on her thin garments and rushed out the door in fear. Liu Qingge gave him a look: “With your ability?”

Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu

Also there’s some implication by YQY that SJ started the rivalry with LQG, but YQY probably doesn’t have the full picture. And coupled with YQY’s ability be nice and end up accidently demeaning SJ as a result, should definitely take with a pinch of salt.

With him being thick-skinned to this degree, it was difficult for Yue Qingyuan to speak up again. He naturally couldn’t just say, if after the martial arts tournament you hadn’t kept thinking up tricks to trip him up and mounting sneak attacks to embarrass him, you wouldn’t currently have such a vitriolic relationship with Liu Qingge that the two of you can’t even bear to look at each other.

Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu

On that note, YQY does say something along the lines of ‘LQG’s like this to everyone, and if you were nice to him, he would be nice to you back’. This is at least half true, because SY was nice to LQG and we know where that ended up. Also, SJ does sort of goes out of his way to make their relationship worse.

[Shang Qinghua] sat up to weakly shout: “Don’t fight, you guys. Liu-shidi, you’ve got it all wrong, just now Shen-shixiong was actually…” Shen Qingqiu threw out a hand, and a series of deep cracks exploded in the wall next to Shang Qinghua’s head, dust and rocks showering down around him. Shen Qingqiu said in a chilly voice: “If you want to die then do a thorough job of it, don’t get back up midway.”

Airplane’s adventure log

Bonus on rumours: we don’t know who was spreading rumours, but the An Ding disciples were talking about SJ and complaining that he looked down on them.

Another outer disciple who, like him, had joined Cangqiong Mountain at a late age, spoke up with a sour voice: “I don’t know how that Shen Qingqiu managed to get picked as head disciple anyway, what with him having joined up so late. Everyone says he’s on friendly terms with Yue-shixiong, but I’ve never once seen him visit Qiongding Peak, and whenever he meets Yue-shixiong it’s always with a fake aloof look that’s stiff as a corpse; but it doesn’t seem like they’re on bad terms with each other, either.”

Airplane’s adventure log

Anyway, what are people’s opinions on SJ’s relationship to his martial siblings? Any headcanons?

Virgin Pee and Brothel Visits

So here is a great thread discussing SJ canons/fanons. I find it really interesting how interpreting the source material in different ways can lead to different canons, and how the added difficulty of translating throws more confusion into the mix. Anyway, to summarise some of the discussions, we know a lot of what we hear from SY about SJ’s character is inaccurate and one of the big things SY liked the rant on about was how lecherous SJ was. In fact, SJ disliked the company of men, and went to brothels to seek comfort:

It was just that he hated being crowded together with other people of the same sex. … Once upon a time, a girl like this had been their big sister. But after she grew older, she was sold to a shriveled old widower as his second wife; afterwards they left that city, and never saw her again. Liking women wasn’t shameful in the least, but treating a woman as your savior, shrinking into her embrace in search of self-confidence—Shen Qingqiu needed no one to tell him how incredibly shameful that was. So he would rather die than tell anyone, particularly not Yue Qingyuan.

Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan

Now this doesn’t exclude the possibility of SJ sleeping with women (I don’t think he was, but I wouldn’t be able to say with certainty). There are some indications of skinship with prostitutes:

In this particular instance, the tender young lady carrying the pipa had long since thrown on her thin robes and dashed out in terror. This left only the two of them inside the Warm Red Pavilion. One person’s clothes were mussed and dishevelled, while the other had not a thread out of place. The contrast couldn’t have been clearer.

Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu

But the pipa player might have taken some of her clothing off just to get comfortable, and SJ had just come from a fight, so his clothes being out of place isn’t unexpected. Also the young lady was carrying a pipa, so probably she was you know… playing the pipa before being kicked out?

There’s also indications of SJ being a virgin:

“And where am I supposed to find a male virgin’s pee out in the middle of nowhere?” Once these words left his mouth, he realized that Shang Qinghua was gazing intently at him. “Why are you looking at me?! As for my former self—let’s not talk about that for now. You wrote Shen Qingqiu’s original character yourself.”

Vol 1, Chapter 5

This is still ambiguous - SQH doesn’t answer the question and theoretically could have been staring at SY for any number of reasons. (Maybe he thinks SY is the virgin?) + there are probably things about SJ’s life that SQH doesn’t know.

On a thematic note, it makes sense if SJ is virgin. Lechery is used a lot by SY to illustrate SJ’s moral depravity and the twist is that a lot of it is based on unfortunate misunderstandings (e.g. he didn’t actually kill LQG).

(I also headcanon SJ as gay so another reason he wouldn’t be sleeping with women.)

On the other hand, I honestly believe there is nothing wrong with having sex. Virginity = moral purity is a narrative that annoys me. (Really annoys me. I’ll say it twice just to make it hit home. Virginity != moral purity.) Equally, I like to think there is a parallel universe (aka. some fanfic maybe) in which SJ is a straight, cis male sleeping with women, and still have all of the complexity that he would if he were a gay virgin.

QJL, SJ, LBH

Someone has pointed out parallels. I love parallels.

… This is separate post worthy.  

[goldenempyrean]

Empyrean’s Advent: Day 6

Prompt: “Should I pick up some tissues on the way home?”

Pairing: Sick Lizzie Olsen x Reader

Wordcount: 680

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‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵︵  

You loved driving. It was one of the many things that brought you comfort, something about how the world flew by as you processed any thoughts whilst listening to music at any desirable volume brought you such enjoyment.

Especially when you were driving back home to see Lizzie, that was possibly one of your all time favourite feelings, you just couldn’t get enough of the warm excitement and anticipation it brought you.

You loved your job, however being an actor, it often meant working at less then desirable times of the year and filming the week leading up to Christmas was certainly less then ideal. Luckily you for you would be home the day of Christmas Eve, you’d even sweet talked you’ve director into letting you leave early that morning.So as you drove home at 8AM, the last thing you expected was a phone call from Lizzie.

“Goodmorning my love.” You pressed the small button on your steering wheel to answer and spoke in your usual cheery tone, “How’d you sleep baby?”

What came next was a symphony of sniffles and afew muffled sobs, “Hi baby.” Through the speakers cane the almost unrecognisable voice of your wife, her voice distorted by thick blatant congestion.

“Jesus Lizzie!” You exclaimed, the quality of her voice began to worry you, “Are you okay? You sound terrible.”

You heard the sound of Lizzie trying desperately to muffle of several sneezes on the other end of the line before she spoke, her voice was weaker this time, “How long till you get home?”

Looking down, you glanced at your GPS to check, “Just a couple of hours baby, I’ll be there soon.” You replied, trying your best to sound assuring but the following sound of wet sniffling only caused you to worry more, “Whats wrong sweetie?”

The following sounds of sobs made your heart break into pieces and you knew Lizzie had tears flowing down her cheeks, “Im really sick Y/N and everythings all woozy.” She began , the pace of her breathing rapidly increasing, “And tomorrows Christmas which means that if Im sick everythings going to be ruined and you’ve been working all week so you need to relax and you wont be able to do that and- and-“

“No.” You cut her off from her feverish rambles, the stern tone of your voice shocking her, “Baby, I need you to take some big deep breaths for me okay?”

You took big exaggerated inhales and exhales as you waited for Lizzie to do the same and eventually her cries grew quieter and quieter, “Good job sweetie, now listen here okay? Theres some NyQuil in the bathroom cupboard I think, can you get it for me sweetie?”

You sighed, she really did sound awful. Lizzie hardly got sick but when she did, it usually hit her pretty hard and you hated the fact that you weren’t there to be able to hold and comfort her, and judging by the sound of her voice alone it was obvious she’d been feeling ill long since before this morning.

The sound of shuffling echoed down the phone as you waited patiently, “I have it.” She eventually spoke before breaking off into a cough.

“Okay good, can you take some for me? I’ll be home as soon as I can, the medicine is gonna help you fall back asleep okay?

Lizzie sniffled, she set the phone down on the counter to pour herself a doze of the liquid. “I took it.” She answered a moment later, chasing the medicine down with some water.

“Good girl, now go and yourself back into bed, you’re in no condition to be up. I’ll be there for when you wake up.” You replied before asking, “Should I pick up some tissues on the way home too?”

Your wife mumbled something inaudible in response and you took it for meaning ‘yes’, you listened closely hearing the sounds of her climbing back into bed.

“You gonna be okay?”

“I’ll be okay, you’ll be here when I wake up?”

“Yes baby, I’ll be waiting for you when you wake up.”

✧*̥˚ Taglist! *̥˚✧ @somber-sapphic @lyak12 @natashamyl0ve @scrambled-brain-eggs @ceiestiaie @santana1437 @lovethewhumps @likefirenrain

[taintedevesayori]

Sayo's Route: Maniac 06

Sayo's Route Masterlist

-Sayo is sitting on her bed, reading in her room. Her mind wanders to when she snuck out to visit Kou at his home a few days ago

(In the end, Reiji didn’t tell me what he was talking about…I continued to pester him the whole way home but he didn’t say a word…I haven’t been able to figure out what he meant either.)

*Flashback*

Reiji: Haah…You are an oblivious idiot, Sayori. Sayo: …huh?! You’ve never said anything like that to me before! Reiji: That is because I did not realize how true it is. I am sure Laito, and possibly even Kou, agree with me. Sayo: Why would they agree with you?! Reiji: This only solidifies my statement. We have returned to the mansion. Unless you desire a whipping, do not sneak out again.

Sayo: Haah…I’m tired of theorizing with no answers…

-Ayato suddenly throws open her bedroom door 

Ayato: Oi! Sayo! 

Sayo: Haah…Knocking. Knocking is a thing you can do. 

-Laito enters the room as well

Laito: Sorry, Sayo-chan…I wasn’t fast enough to stop him. 

Ayato: You’ve spent way too much time hiding away in your room. Come entertain Ore-sama. 

Sayo: I’m not a very good source of entertainment. 

Ayato: Not true. I’ve been playing with this guy and it’s gotten boring. Come play billiards with us to liven things up. 

Sayo: Billiards…? Do I have to? 

Ayato: Yes! Now hurry up! 

-He grabs her hand, pulling her off her bed

Sayo: Alright, alright. Stop pulling, Ayato. 

-Sayo follows Ayato and Laito down to the game room

Laito: Nfu~ I have a great idea. If you lose, you have to let both of us suck your blood, Sayo-chan~

Ayato: Hehe…Yeah, I think that’s a good idea. 

Sayo: No way, I’m not agreeing to that. 

Laito: Isn’t it fine? You just have to focus on winning. 

Sayo: I don’t trust you guys not to cheat to make sure I lose. 

Ayato: We would never do anything like that.

Sayo: Bullshit. 

Laito: You really don’t trust us, Sayo-chan? How mean~

Sayo: Fufu…I have absolutely no reason to trust you. You’ve cheated before, you’ll cheat again. Especially if my blood is on the line. 

Ayato: Hmph…Come on, take a chance, Sayo. What do you want if you win? 

Sayo: Oh? You’re giving me the option to pick a reward? 

Ayato: If it will get you motivated to agree, why not?

(I know I shouldn’t agree to making bets with them but I am a little intrigued…It’s not often I get this chance from them.)

Sayo: Fine, I give. If I win, you two are taking me out on the town and paying for whatever I want. 

-The two exchange glances before smirking

Laito: Alright, Sayo-chan. Let’s play, then~

Sayo: Game on. You guys better not cheat or this bet is off.

Ayato: Fine, no cheating. We’ll still win. 

*Timeskip*

-Sayo is walking down the street in town with Ayato and Laito

Sayo: Fufu…Didn’t expect me to actually win, did ya?

Ayato: No, not really…

Laito: I am disappointed I can’t have your blood, but going out with you like this isn’t so bad. 

Sayo: At least you’ve got a good attitude. 

Ayato: So where are we even going?

Sayo: Who knows? I didn’t think this far ahead.

-She stops, looking around for any ideas

Sayo: There’s a crepe truck at the park over there. Let’s go get some. 

Laito: Nfu~ Your wish is my command, Sayo-chan~

Ayato: Haah…You have Laito here. Do you really need me?

Sayo: We made a bet. Are you really backing out, Ayato? Besides, is it really that bad to do this kind of thing for once?

-His cheeks flush pink

Ayato: …I guess it’s fine…

Sayo: Fufu…Good, let’s go then!

-Sayo leads the way to the park and over to the crepe cart

Sayo: What do you guys want?

Ayato: Guess I’ll have chocolate. 

Laito: I’ll take chocolate strawberry~

Sayo: And I’ll have a cinnamon apple, please.

Shopkeep: Coming right up. 

-Sayo steps aside so Laito can pay. Once they have their crepes, they find a place to sit so they can eat

Sayo: Thanks, Laito.

Laito: No problem, Sayo-chan. This almost feels like a date~

Sayo: Pfft…A date with both of you? 

Ayato: Hehe…Yeah, why not?

Sayo: Ah, jeez, I don’t recall agreeing to a date, just that this was an outing. 

Laito: Well, now we’re making this a date. 

Sayo: Haah…Whatever you want to call it, I guess. As long as you’re enjoying yourselves.

Laito: I know a way we can enjoy ourselves even more-

-Sayo lightly slaps him upside the head

Sayo: Stop that. 

Laito: Awe~ So mean, Sayo-chan…

Sayo: Fufu…Are you guys done eating? Let’s go find something else to do. There’s a shopping center nearby. We can walk around that. 

-Ayato shrugs

Ayato: Sure, let’s go.

-The three head in the direction of the shopping center. Laito takes one of Sayo’s hands in his

Sayo: You don’t need to hold my hand, Laito. 

Laito: But I want to~ This is a date, after all. 

Sayo: I agreed to call it that for your sake, not mine.

Ayato: Well, in that case…

-Ayato takes her other hand

Sayo: Oh, come on…You’ve got to be kidding me, Ayato. 

Ayato: Like Laito said, this is a date. Be a better sport about it, Sayo. 

-Sayo rolls her eyes

Sayo: I’m going to find a way to make you regret this somehow…

Ayato: Hehe…Not likely. Now shut up and enjoy the attention. 

Sayo: Haah…

-To be continued

[deandoesthingstome]

Ohh... Sweet Holiday Angel

What a ride that was! 🥵

Seriously though. It's always especially fascinating to me when you guys came up with very long one-shots, or series that amount to thousand and thousand of words! What you're doing is basically giving me a portion of a novel, so i'm beyond grateful for the great escape that it presents, and your hard work --no matter the length.

Ok. So, first things first, i absolutely love your version of August! Still tough but not as much, commanding at times but not often, a cocky cheeky bastard but with a playful side, still troubled, still dominant but not as hard, definitely a player, and with a tender side of him that i find quite therapeutic in a character. I still love reading the often portrayed hard version of him (let's call it like that but you know what i mean) at times, but i guess this is my kind of romantic, and he's definitely my kind of August.

What's more is that he's a dad! 😍 To a young-adult daughter! Love this!

The smut, you absolutely nailed it! Again! I'm bad at articulating my thoughts for the juicy parts accurately, but my rapid heart beat could tell you something ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I feel like i could comment on every scene and every interaction and every word, but that just would be a long-ass (longer than this?) comment. Instead, i'm gonna say what a delightful, enjoyable reading this was! Yes, it is awkward when it's reader and her besties' dad, but him essentially helping her realize she can experience the passion she wants in her life, and not being a total dick along the way and treat her right, makes it not as awkward and uncomfortable as to make me stop reading, idk. I also might be trying to justify sth here, but anyway :D

“Is that what you meant by passion?” he asked. “It’s a start.”

This here, made me "IS IT??", but i'm glad where you left them at the end. It's more realistic, though it's fiction so i guess we can always get some more? (pun definitely not intended lol) Especially when you further attacked me with the thought of Professor Marshall, a man that is so fine to look at that it's distracting, you know 🥰

Thank you again for this beautiful work you've done. I'll be waiting very patiently for the next wonder you'll come up with!

Have a lovely day 💐

Flower Bouquet Anon!

I'm so glad you got a chance to power through Holiday Angel! I see it was everything for you I hoped it would be!

Yes, being inspired to basically write a novelette is amazing. (I sometimes wish I had the guts to do it for real, but self promotion is not my forte and breaking into that world feels especially daunting.)

I, too, love my August, and you're also right: the other versions of August floating around out there are all just as hot and desirable. But I wanted him a little sweet for this adventure. I'm glad it worked for you. 😘 (And I see you picked up on my hints that he's a player. For real. No one is tying that man down.)

If I could hook my readers up to a heart monitor when they get to the smut, I hope it all looks like this:

Ahhhhh, It's a start! That line was meant to lead into the rest of the night's pleasure, but I can appreciate wanting more of that relationship. But yes, as you saw, one night only. August Walker is an extremely intelligent man and not interested in ruining his daughter's life or friendship.

Thank you again for all your lovely encouragement! It means the world to me!

[squirrelno2]

Jesse Lives AU, pt 5

(learned my lesson, wrote this on Google docs even though I hate it. This experience of course will still not get me to take my computer in to the repair shop because executive dysfunction is Real)

For real this time, Jesse and Jale get the hell away from the Venator wreck, and it's the last time for a while I milk the image of the clone graves for angst. In this series anyway.

Previous: 1, 2, 3, 4

Next

"I still need that monitor," Jale said. Jesse once again wondered why he'd gone along with the crazy theelin.

"You can't reach it," he pointed out, not sure why he was bothering.

"It's grab that or go raid the medbay," Jale said. Jesse had been avoiding medical since Kix disappeared, and he certainly wasn't going to go in there now with the bodies of vode Maul had attacked lying there, dead in the midst of recovery. He was having a hard enough time not thinking things like "Kix would have saved them" as it was.

"Fine. Just… stay there for a second. Don't do anything stupid, if you can manage it."

He knelt to untie the rope from around the walkway, then put it around Jale's waist. He pulled it tight with more effort than he needed, and ended up tugging Jale closer. Jesse stepped back; he was not at all struck by the fact that Jale's eyes were brown when the rest of them was so brightly colored.

"Keep one hand on that," he commanded. Jale almost immediately ignored him as they turned back to the monitor they wanted, leaning out once more with one hand on the equipment to steady it as they worked. Jesse gritted his teeth and wrapped the rope around his hands another time, bracing himself for Jale's next dumb move.

Amazingly, the scavenger managed to finish the job this time, and they threw themself backwards with the monitor clutched to their chest. The walkway shuddered under them. Jesse, having no desire to die for this bottom-feeder, tugged Jale up.

"Let's go before your bullshit brings the whole place down." He got to work untying the rope once more, then resecured it to the walkway.

The descent was more painful than Jesse wanted to admit. His head was pounding, and all the activity was reminding him just how many cuts and bruises he'd picked up in the crash. Normally, he'd already have gotten looked at by a medic. Even with Kix gone Jesse couldn't bring himself to ignore his brother's advice, and the medics in the 332nd were willing to come to him instead of forcing him into the medbay. They all remembered Kix, too.

But now Jesse was really, fully alone, and when he staggered upon reaching the floor he realised again what that meant.

Rather than dwell, he looked at Jale.

"Tell me that's the last of it."

For a second, he thought the scavenger would protest. Then, strangely, Jale nodded.

"We can go," they said.

The wind had picked up. As they reached the place where Jale left the speeder, Jesse heard a rattling - helmets knocking against the sticks on which they were mounted. He lifted his gaze to the sky and tried not to listen.

Jale made him sit in front, though they were also emphatic about Jesse not being the one to drive.

"Can you even see over my head?"

"Your bloody head? Yes. Good thing you don't have hair. If you wanna drive, stand up and walk in a straight line for me."

Jesse had thought his unsteadiness had gone unnoticed. He scowled as Jale finished securing the fuel to the speeder and sat down behind him.

"Was there anything else you needed?" Jale asked awkwardly. Jesse tensed.

Clones didn't have much. Armour, blasters, whatever contraband they picked up over the years. Jesse's small collection of the latter had been passed over to Kix when he became an ARC trooper, and subsequently disappeared with Kix. The blasters were technically the property of the Republic, which no longer existed and also had ordered Jesse to point them at his two Commanders for reasons he didn't understand.

As for his armour…

He turned to look at the place where his helmet was mounted. Jale turned, too, and sucked in a sharp breath that told Jesse they'd figured out what he was looking at.

"I'm good," he said. He passed Jale the helmet he'd borrowed. "Let's go."

[classicsubliminalbo]

Lacey's Story Part 2

Originally published Jun 9, 2015 This chapter has been revised

Dr. Lange was dead, and he'd left Lacey behind. She had been his slave for three months, she'd accepted new truths for him, done things that she never would have if he hadn't asked her to. She was madly in love with him, madly in love with the desire to serve him. It was a weird feeling for Lacey, knowing that her entire existence was meaningless now. The old Lacey might have accepted this with celebration; if she had known what Dr. Lange was going to do to her, going to turn her into, she might have never gotten herself into this mess. But that was the nature of the young woman, always thinking she was a step ahead of everyone else. She thought she had Lange on a leash up until the very moment that she tried on that pair of lingerie for him. She had once wanted to be so much, but now she just wanted to be his pet.

It had been two days since the professor died, and Lacey hadn't left his home. She wanted to be close to him, she could still smell him on the sheets. She laid there for hours on the bed, her nose buried in his sweaty pillow, sobbing. Was it going to be like this forever? Was she going to spend the rest of her life alone without a man to call her master? She wasn't even sure if it was Dr. Lange she was upset about, or the fact that she had no one around to order her. There was no greater feeling than the stimulation the bra sent through her nipples and her vagina when she obeyed a command. It was an addictive feeling, made her yearn for more orders, more orders meant more pleasure. She had tried masturbating, but it was nothing compared to the jolt of pleasure the lingerie fulfilled, and Dr. Lange had conditioned her only to orgasm on command. "Please," Lacey begged, stroking herself with hopeless optimism. "Please, Professor, please let me cum..." The professor didn't answer. Lacey didn't cum.

After a disappointing shower, Lacey slipped on her panties and picked up her bra. Returning to the mindless shackles of Obedience by Victoria was the only pleasure she could feel now. Her head felt so clogged up when she wasn't wearing the lingerie. But the joys of being a mindless shell hardly seemed to matter without a master to issue commands. Reading the tag on her bra, Lacey found that she wasn't completely out of ideas.

"Victoria's Secret customer service, my name is Charlie, how may I direct your call?" "Master?" Lacey asked. "Uhh..." The man on the other line stalled. "I need to cum," she began to beg. "The Professor is gone and I cannot cum without him, please, you have to help me, I'm so lost without my Master Professor..." "Uhh...I'll just...I'll direct you to the Obedience line..."

Lacey was connected with another customer service representative specializing in the Obedience line. Her name was Abbey. Unlike Charlie, Abbey had been fitted with her own Obedience by Victoria set. She was conditioned to receive stimulation from the lingerie every time she successfully resolved a customer's issue. It made Abbey a surprisingly productive worker. "Alright, Lacey," when Abbey spoke, Lacey could hear her smile on the other end of the phone. It was a familiar sort of blind happiness that she envied now. "I've found you in our system. Stafford, Lacey, for initiated thirteen weeks ago, does that sound right?" "Yes," Lacey moaned, recalling that evening in front of the mirror, Dr. Lange's hands massaging her breasts as she fell deeper under the lingerie's spell. Her free hand had fount its way to her breast as she imaged Lange's touch. On the other end of the line, she heard an unexpected whine from Abbey who was anticipating her reward. "But you say you're handler is deceased?" "Yes," Lacey's hand dropped back down to the bed as Abbey's voice pulled her back from her daydream. "Unfortunately Victoria's Secret has no protocol for this sort of incident. I recommend removing the lingerie immediately and returning to every day operation." "But...I can't do that. Obedience is my life, it is the only thing I know."

Abbey frowned. She understood that feeling—she felt it every day when she left work. "I guess," she paused. "Well, I guess if you found a new handler, you could continue receiving pleasure from the Obedience line as you did under your previous handler's power." "Would...would that work?" "I don't see why not." "I just need to find a new handler..." Lacey repeated. "I think I can do that." "Lacey," Abbey said. "Did you find this call helpful?" "Very," Lacey smiled. "You've given a slave hope again!"

Abbey's nipples were beginning to harden under the fabric of her bra, and the juices from her pussy told her that she had done a good job. "W-we don't s-say slave," even while cumming she maintained enough professionalism to correct Lacey. "The preferred nomenclature is user or s-subject or..." Professionalism could only take Abbey so far. "Oh...oh my god...Oooohhhhh yeeessss..."

After her custom service call, Lacey felt like a whole new slave or user or subject or whatever she was supposed to call herself. Lacey was a clean slate, she could still feel the complete pleasure of obedience, but she was in the unique position of being able to select her own master. The old Lacey would have preferred being the one called mistress, but now that she understood the joy of being submissive, she couldn't wait to fall under her new master's orders. The only matter was who she was going to get to be her new master. She figured that many lonely men out there would do anything to have a cute young girl like theirs under her control, but there was one specific guy that came to her mind.

Brad had been Lacey's best friend in high school, her moral compass to guide her out of the wicked waters she was prone to stray into. In high school he had confessed his feelings for her, and it was with Brad that she lost her virginity, though Lacey had always preferred seeing it as taking Brad's virginity. They remained friends in college, but Lacey's ambition stunted any hopes that Brad had of a future with her. He had long accepted his position as her friend, but he cared about her too much to let her go. When Lacey told Brad about her plan to seduce Dr. Lange, he tried to talk her out of it, just as he had a thousand other terrible things in the past. But Lacey had never been this desperate. Brad couldn't watch his best friend whore herself for good grades, it was the final straw.

Looking back on all of it, now that Lacey had forgotten her political ambitions, now that all Lacey cared about was submission, Brad was the only person she really wanted in control of her. She never said it, not even to herself, but she loved Brad. He was the ultimate good guy, the only person who never expected anything from her. He deserved a good slave like Lacey.

It was late in the evening when Brad returned to his apartment from work. A long day of taking orders and carrying large trays of food, busing tables, being yelled at by customers who were incensed that the restaurant supported Coke beverages instead of Pepsi, had left Brad exhausted beyond belief. He couldn't wait for the day when he graduated, and he could finally get away from all this college life bullshit. Brad's eyes were half closed as he slid into his bed, and he was nearly asleep when he felt the warmth of Lacey's breasts as she curled up next to him. For a moment he smiled and pulled her close, but when Lacey placed a kiss on Brad's cheek, his eyes sprung up and he leaped out of bed.

With the lights on, he saw clearly his former best friend lying half naked on his bed. "Hey, Brad," she giggled. "Come back to bed, baby."

[trlblzd]

️ ️️ @astrxlfinale sent : There's a moment of conflict within his eyes as Caelus gleans across the multiple fruit options. All holding their ranges of sweetness, history, and Aeons know what else at this point. So here was good ol' Stelle demanding him to pick one out of the bounty!?

On top of each of these just being tied to some line of questioning!? He bites his lip in a stir of thought. "Huh. So the fruit I stuff in your face, it'll just ignite a question in the brain for you to go n' answer. Not sure how to tell you this, but Stelle, aren't these things too damn conscious?"

Thus, he'd pluck the basket of delights, pointing towards them. "Let me review these one by one." And by review, he means eating them. This is why he was scurrying out the door in breakneck speeds. Isn't that couch they're laying on comfy? There's definitely no need to track him down. / 🍒, 🍐 Gimme the Stelle deets.

     THEY  ARE  SEVERELY   ENGROSSED  WITH  THE  WAY     that he seems to examining the selection laid out before him.    a lot of the questions are none that they truly mind    -    yes, it pries into their      PERSONAL     information but it is not like the person that they are facing is just anyone.    no, it is caelus.     as silly as he may be at times, he is one of the people that stelle trusts most.     they know that he is      TRUSTWORTHY,    therefore fine which is why they hold no qualms     &     merely wave off the concerns tossed out.     

funnily enough, they expect him to come back anyway.     closely inspecting the questions just means that he wants to know very     IMPORTANT     intel.     they possess no need to hold anything back from him.      so as his presence comes back, there is mostly a look of anticipation.     the fruits that are    HELD     up to face gets them to grab it, willing themselves to the queries that the cherries    &    pears hold. 

🍒  :    how much does my muse value companionship?  do they constantly keep people around them,  or do they prefer to be alone often?  do they have or desire to have many friends?  do they see every meeting as an opportunity to make a new friend?  

stelle cannot function in solitude.    while they may prefer to face personal    CHALLENGES    on their own, they are well aware that they cannot solve problems all by themselves.     they value independence but     CRAVE     companionship.     bonds     &     relations are very important if not absolutely dear to their person that they end up sentimental of the time that is     LOST     with those that they have bonded with.     they are grateful to be a part of the nameless, often choosing to be with others rather than cooped up on their own     -      the warm environment has helped them ease up and try to connect with     NEW      people every time.     for every planet, they will always choose to forge a new bond rather than be cold     &    distant for everyone's tales and stories are meant to be heard.     even if interactions are curt and fall into mere acquaintanceship  ;    they deeply treasure the time that was spent.

🍐  :    how intelligent is my muse overall?  are they smarter than the average person,  or less than?  are they primarily self-taught,  or did they acquire most of their knowledge in school?  are they more street smart or book smart?  

despite the fact that they do     STUPID     things, stelle is far from a dimwit.    they hold a modicum of great emotional intelligence that separates them from those who merely deal with things through    LOGIC.     whilst their solutions and methods are not of those that are gathered from books     &    statistics, they are smart when it comes to dire situations and extracting information.    they will not best those who are in the intelligentsia guild or the genius society     -    marketing and     NUMBERS    are not their strongsuits as they lack interest in that field but they are good at deciphering and using logical reasoning.    they are the smartest when it comes to combat, oddly calculative of the role that they play in terms of physical confrontrations    &     understand when to play offense or defense.     all in all, you will beat them at     MATH     and     SCIENCE      but you can hardly ever best them in situationals and battles.