#it just frustrates me because they set it up perfectly and then dropped the ball

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER FIVE ━━ I Get You

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 4.9K

❀ ━ warnings: mentions of injury, angst

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: these hoes are gay

PAIGE SITS on the sidelines, her crutches propped up against the wall, the weight of her brace a constant reminder. The gym smells like it always does��sweat, pine-scented floor cleaner, and faintly of old rubber. It’s familiar, almost comforting, but today it just feels hollow. Every bounce of the ball, every squeak of sneakers against polished wood, every shout of her teammates feels like a sharp stab. She should be out there. She should be running those plays, setting up the assists, pushing the pace, and taking those impossible shots. Instead, she’s stuck here, immobile and useless.

Her hands grip the edge of the chair, the cool metal biting into her palms as she leans forward to watch the scrimmage. Jo’s running point, calling out a play with that calm, sure voice Paige has come to admire. Jo makes it look easy, like she’s been apart of this team forever, and the rest of the girls respond to her without hesitation. It’s the kind of command Paige used to have, the kind she oddly always thought no one could replicate.

But between Jo and Nika, they’re doing fine without her.

And she thinks that’s the hardest part.

Every pass, every cut, every layup feels like a slap to Paige’s pride. The team doesn’t crumble without her; they adapt. Jo steps into the role Paige left vacant, and Paige can’t even dislike her for it because she’s so damn good at it. She runs the offense and with precision, directing the team perfectly. And, of course, it’s not like Paige wants her team to fail without her. It’s just a reminder of what she can’t do anymore—or, at least not for a long time.

Her stomach twists as she watches the scrimmage play out. She’s never been good at sitting still, and now, that’s all she can do. Sit and watch. She used to be the one lifting everyone’s spirits, the one pushing them through tough practices. Now she’s just another body on the sidelines, invisible and irrelevant. She feels like a ghost of herself, haunting the gym where she uses to thrive.

The ache in her knee is dull but persistent, a constant undercurrent to her frustration. The brace is still and cumbersome, and the crutches are a pain in the ass to deal with. Even getting to this chair had felt like a marathon. She hates every second of this—the injury, the recovery, the helplessness. It’s not just the physical pain; it’s the way it chips away at her identity. She doesn’t know who she is without basketball.

She glances down at the clipboard balanced on her lap, a half-hearted attempt to stay engaged. Geno had given it to her, suggesting she could help track plays and stats during practice, but it feels like a consolation prize. Like something he made up to keep her busy, to make her feel less like dead weight. The truth is, she doesn’t know what the hell her role is anymore. She doesn’t know how to help when she can’t be on the court.

Paige forced herself to focus back on the scrimmage, her eyes narrowing as Jo drives toward the basket. Jo’s quick, her movements sharp and meaningful, and instead of finishing with the layup, she does a no-look, dishing it out to Azzi on the perimeter, who buries a three. Paige catches Jo’s eyes as she jogs back up the court, and Jo flashes her that smile—warm, reassuring, effortless. It’s the kind of smile that should make Paige feel better, but—for once—it doesn’t.

Paige doesn’t have the energy to smile back. She knows Jo means well, knows she’s trying to be supportive, but it just makes Paige feel worse. She’s not in the mood for reassurance. She doesn’t want to be told it’s going to be okay, because it doesn’t feel like it ever will be.

Jo looks away and gets back into the flow of the game, and Paige’s gaze drops to the clipboard again. She scribbles something down, not because it matters, but because she needs something to do with her hands. She feels the tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and she bites the inside of her cheek hard enough to hurt.

The gym fades into background noise as her mind races. She thinks about the months ahead, the endless rehab sessions, the games she’ll have to watch from the bench. She thinks about how everyone else will move on, how the media will forget her name, how the team will find rhythm without her. She wonders if she’ll ever get that rhythm back, if she’ll ever feel like herself again.

She thinks she will. She has enough trust in God to hope he’ll at least give her that. But, here, right now, that feels so far ahead that it’s almost just wishful at this point.

Paige closes her eyes, breathing deeply. She can’t do this here, not in front of everyone. She pushes herself up from the chair, fumbling for her crutches. The awkward motion makes her wince, but she swallows the ache and glances at Geno.

“Gotta go to the bathroom,” she says, her voice too clipped to be convincing.

Geno narrows his eyes slightly, the way he always does when he’s trying to figure someone out. He nods once, and Paige feels the weight of his gaze as she turns away. She knows he can see right through her excuse, but he doesn’t call her out on it. She doesn’t need another lecture about staying engaged.

The moment she’s out of the gym, the air feels different—quieter, cooler, easier to breathe. The hallway stretches ahead of her, lined with murals of UConn legends. Paige’s crutches thud against the floor as she hobbles forward, her eyes skimming over the faces and names that loom on the walls. Maya Moore. Breanna Stewart. Diana Tayrasi. Sue Bird.

Her chest tightens.

She’s supposed to be part of this legacy. She’s supposed to be one of the names people remember, one of the faces immortalized in paint and pride. But now? Now she’s a girl with a busted knee and a brace that feels like a goddamn prison. The thought makes her stomach twist with equal parts anxiety and frustration, a bitter cocktail she’s been choking down since the surgery.

As she continues down the hall, trying to push those thoughts out of her head, she nearly collides with someone rounding the corner.

“Paige!”

Celeste Sinclair’s voice is bright and warm, and Paige immediately regrets leaving the gym. The grin that spreads across the redhead’s face feels too familiar, too personal, like an inside joke Paige isn’t in on.

“Hey,” Paige mutters, gripping the crutches tighter.

She hasn’t seen Celeste since before her ACL tear, and that’s probably for the best. The girls Paige hooks up with always have a way of getting too attached. Paige doesn’t blame them, not really. She knows she’s charming, knows how to make people feel like they’re the only one in the world when they’re with her. But that’s all it’s ever been: a moment.

Celeste is nice. Pretty. Accomplished. Good in bed. But Paige has never wanted anything more, never even given it a thought. Relationships aren’t for her. They never have been. Basketball has always been her first and only love, the one thing she’s willing to give herself to completely. And now that’s gone—at least for now. The last thing she needs is another reminder of how much she’s failed.

“I haven’t seen you since…” Celeste trails off, gesturing vaguely toward Paige’s knee, her voice tinged with sympathy. “How’re you holding up?”

Paige forces herself to smile, though it feels more like a grimace. “I’m good. Just takin’ it one day at a time.”

Celeste beams at her like she’s just said something profound, and Paige wants to die a little inside.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Celeste replies. “I wasn’t sure—did you get my card? I gave it to Jo to pass along before your surgery. Um, but you haven’t really said anything.”

Oh, right. The card. The one Paige didn’t even read. The one that’s now resting in a hospital trash can. Paige rubs a hand over her face, buying time to piece together an answer. “Yeah—uh, yeah, I got it. Sorry I said nothin’. Thanks, though.”

Celeste’s smile widens, and her eyes soften in that way that makes Paige want to shuffle awkwardly away. Celeste always looks at her like that, like there’s something more between them, something Paige knows she’ll never be able to—or want—to give.

“You’re welcome,” Celeste says gently. “I just wanted you to know I was thinking about you.”

Paige more, hoping that’s the end of it, but of course, it’s not.

“Hey,” Celeste starts, her tone shifting to something more professional, “any chance you’d be up for, like, a TikTok? Just something to show the fans you’re healing. They’d love to see you.”

It’s times like these that Paige understands why Jo thought it was so funny she was fucking their media girl. Paige stares at Celeste for a long second, feeling a spark of irritation flare in her chest, because, seriously, why would she even ask that? “No, Celeste. I don’t wanna do any media.”

The words come out sharper than she intends, but she doesn’t care enough to soften them. She adjusts her grip on her crutches, already turning to leave.

“Right,” Celeste says quickly, falling into step beside her. “I get that. Totally. Just… heal up, okay? Call or text, if you want to. You know where to find me.”

Paige doesn’t respond, just gives her a brief nod before hobbling down the hall. Her pace is slow, each step a frustrating reminder of how far she is from where she wants to be. Celeste finally stops following, and Paige exhales in relief as she rounds another corner, desperate for some space, some air, anything that doesn’t feel like pressure or pity.

AFTER PRACTICE, Jo walks into the locker room with the rest of the team, the chatter and laughter bouncing off the walls as everyone unwinds from the session. She’s still buzzing with the energy of the scrimmage (and the sprints they were forced to do after because of one-too-many missed layups), but as she rounds the corner to the lockers, she notices a familiar figure slouched on the bench.

Paige had disappeared halfway through practice, and though Geno didn’t make a big deal out of it, Jo had been aware of her absence like a missing puzzle piece. Now here she is, sitting in front of their side-by-side lockers, her crutches leaning against the bench and her gaze a little unfocused. Her brace sticks out awkwardly from her bent leg, and Jo feels a pant of sympathy tighten her chest.

“Hey,” Jo says as she tosses her bag in the cubby of her locker. She sits down beside Paige, close enough to make her presence known but not enough to crowd her. “You okay?”

Paige shrugs, her lips pulling into a vague shape that might be a smile but doesn’t come close. “Yeah. ‘M fine.”

Jo doesn’t buy it. It’s not that Paige is necessarily a bad liar; she’s just too proud, too stubborn to admit when she’s not. Jo watches her for a beat, the slump of her shoulders, the way her fingers fight with the hem of her T-shirt. She knows this posture, this energy. It’s the same one she’s seen in teammates who’ve been sidelined by injures, the same one she’s seen in herself on the bad days.

But Jo doesn’t push. She knows how that can feel—suffocating, like someone prying open a door you’re not ready to unlock. Instead, she plants her hands on the bench and leans back a little, changing the subject.

“Did you see Lou get me with that spin move earlier?” Jo asks, keeping her tone light. “Literally cooked me.”

Paige lets out a small, breathy laugh, almost imperceptible, but Jo catches it. It’s the first sign of life she’s seen in her all day.

“Didn’t even look like she was trying,” Paige mutters, her voice flat but laced with the ghost of a smirk.

“Right?” Jo exclaims, throwing up her hands in mock indignation. “It’s like, leave some dignity for the rest of us, y’know?”

She continues on, telling some half-dramatic story of when Nika picked her pocket after Paige left, weaving in jokes at her own expanse. She avoids anything too basketball-heavy, keeping the focus on the absurdity of her own experiences instead of the game itself. It’s a careful balance—Jo knows that bringing up basketball might sting, but it’s also a thread that ties them together, a shared language Paige can’t—and Jo knows she doesn’t want to—escape from.

Paige hums in response now and then, her focus flickering like a weak signal. Jo can tell she’s only half-listening, her mind somewhere else entirely. Still, she keeps going, hoping that her presence, if nothing else, might pull Paige out of her head a little.

After a while, as everyone’s getting up to go, Jo shifts the conversation again, tilting her head toward Paige. “Y’know, we could hang out later—maybe watch a movie or something?”

Paige looks at her, and for a split second, Jo thinks she might say no outright. Instead, Paige forces a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes and says, “Maybe.”

The hesitation is there, sharp and obvious, but Jo doesn’t call it out. She knows better than to push. She lets the word hang in the air for a moment before nodding, as if “maybe” is a real plan.

“Okay,” Jo says, keeping her tone casual.

Paige turns back to her hands, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the bench. Jo watches her out of the corner of her eye, thinking of something that might reach her. She’s learned that Paige is pretty independent, something that stems from her childhood if Jo had to guess, and Jo respects that. She does. But there’s a difference between being independent and shutting everyone out, and Jo worries that Paige is tipping too far into the latter.

She tries to think of something—anything—that might help. She doesn’t need to cheer Paige up, necessarily. She’s learned by now that joy isn’t always the right goal. What Paige needs isn’t sunshine and rainbows (though Jo would probably be better at giving her that). What she needs is something steadier, quieter. A reminder that she’s not alone, even if she feels like she is.

She’ll figure something out.

PAIGE LIES sprawled across her bed, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of the string lights draped along the wall. Her eyes are fixed on her crutches, propped up against the wall next to her like a taunt she can’t escape. They stand there, silent and unmoving, mocking her with their stillness while the rest of the world seems to keep spinning without her.

Today has been one of the most frustrating days she’s had since the injury. The hours feel heavier, pressing against her chest, leaving no room to breathe. Practice was a disaster, even though she wasn’t really in it. She hates watching from the sidelines, hates feeling so useless. She’d escaped halfway through, hobbling out of the gym under the guise of needing air, only to run into Celeste, of all people. That interaction still churns in her stomach—awkward and uncomfortable, like a bruise pressed too hard.

Jo had asked her earlier if she wanted to hang out tonight. Just a movie, something simple. Paige had said “maybe” at the time. But an hour or so ago, when Jo knocked softly on her door, her voice east and unassuming as she asked if Paige wanted to make good on the plan, Paige had thrown out some half-baked excuse about being tired.

Jo didn’t push, of course. She never does. She just nodded, smiled a little, and closed the door, before Paige heard her leave the apartment—probably to go upstairs and hangout with their teammates. Her stomach twisted with guilt as she listened because Jo is Jo—kind and patient and the only person who seems to understand that Paige doesn’t want to talk about any of this. She doesn’t want to be asked how she’s doing, doesn’t want to be told it’ll get better, doesn’t want to be smothered in sympathy that feels more like pity.

But Jo’s absence now feels louder than her presence earlier. Paige stares at the ceiling, trying to will herself into a calmer state, trying to shake off the weight of the day, the week, the last month. It doesn’t work.

She sits up abruptly, shoving the blankets off her legs and swinging them over the side of the bed. Her knee twinges at the movement, the brace digging into her skin, and she lets out a frustrated huff. Her eyes land on the crutches again, the sharp lines of their edges casting long shadows in the dim light. She feels a bubbling in her chest—an anger she doesn’t know how to direct, a helplessness she doesn’t know how to contain.

Before she even realizes what she’s doing, Paige grabs one of the crutches from beside the bed and hurls it across the room. It crashes against the wall with a dull thud, sliding to the floor in a defeated heap. The sound echoes in the silence, and for a moment, she just stares at the aftermath, her chest heaving.

And then the tears come.

It’s not the first time she’s cried since the injury, but it feels different tonight—uglier, rawer, like the dam has finally burst. She curls in on herself, her hands tangling in her hair as sobs wrack her body. She doesn’t bother trying to quiet them. There’s no one here to hear her, no one to ask if she’s okay, no one to offer meaningless reassurances she doesn’t want to hear.

Except, there is.

A soft, hesitant knock at Paige’s bedroom door jolts her out of her spiraling thoughts. She freezes, her hands instinctively wiping at her face, smearing away the tears that have already begun to dry against her skin. Confusion threads through her—she thought Jo had left. She hadn’t even heard her come back.

The door creaks open, and there Jo is, standing in the sun light spilling from the hallway. Her brows are furrowed, her mouth pulled into a concerned line. She takes a step inside, her eyes scanning the room. Paige knows what she sees—the red puffiness of her face, the dampness of her cheeks, and the crutch lying discarded by the wall like a casualty of war.

“Sorry,” Paige blurts out, her voice cracking as the word tumbles out in a rush. She feels a fresh wave of shame rise up. She’s been awful to Jo, she knows that. First brushing her off earlier, and now this—disturbing her peace with her mess, her ability to just hold it together for once.

Jo doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stands there, her eyes roving over Paige’s face, taking in every detail. Paige hates how exposed she feels, like Jo can see right through the flimsy walls she’s been trying to keep up all day. Finally, Jo sighs and steps fully into the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

“Paige,” Jo says gently, “you don’t have to be sorry.”

There’s something in Jo’s voice that makes Paige want to believe her. Something so simple, yet so genuine, that it threatens to unravel the last bit of control she has. She doesn’t respond, just watches as Jo walks closer. She sets something—a bag, Paige thinks—on the floor next to the bed, but Paige doesn’t even bother to look at it. Jo sits down on the edge of the mattress, close enough that Paige can smell the faint traces of strawberry body wash on her skin. She hates that it makes her stomach do that weird fluttery thing, hates that it makes her feel anything at all.

“I’m just—” Jo pauses, and Paige looks up at her. Jo’s eyes are soft but unwavering, and the way she’s looking at Paige, like she’s trying to will her to understand something without saying it outright, makes her heart squeeze. “I’m really worried about you, P.”

The flutter in Paige’s stomach turns into something heavier, like a weight pressing down on her stomach. Jo’s worried about her. Paige knows that other people have probably been worried about her too—her parents, her teammates, her coaches—but it feels different coming from Jo. It feels too much. She shifts uncomfortably, trying to ignore the way Jo’s gaze feels like it’s peeling back all her layers.

“I’m fine,” Paige says automatically. The word sound hollow even to her, like a tired script she’s forced herself to memorize.

Jo shakes her head, her expressing softening even more. “No, you’re not. And it’s okay not to be.”

Paige doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to put into words what’s been clawing at her chest since the injury.

“But you’re shutting everyone out,” Jo continues, her voice steady but not accusatory. “It’s like you won’t even look at me some days, let alone talk to me. And I get it. I do. But I just—I want you to know that I’m here. That you can talk to me, because I’ve been there.”

Paige stares at her, the words catching her slightly off guard. I’m here. It’s such a simple thing to say, but the way Jo says it, low and earnest, makes something in Paige’s chest twist. She doesn’t know what to do with that—doesn’t know how to accept it without feeling like she’s admitting defeat.

“Azzi already tried,” Paige says finally, sounding shaky. “She tore her ACL in high school, and she tried to talk to me about it. But it’s just—she still didn’t seem to get it. No one does—I don’t know—” Her voice cracks on the last few words, and she feels the tears welling up again, hot and relentless.

Jo studies her for a long moment, her head tilting slightly. “You think nobody gets you?” she asks softly.

Paige nods, the movement slow and heavy, her throat too tight to speak.

Jo nods too, as if she’s been expecting that. “It’s not true,” she says simply. “I get you. I do.”

Paige shakes her head, a weak protest already forking. “Jo—”

“No, really,” Jo interrupts, leaning forward slightly. “You feel like everyone expects you to be perfect, all the time. You feel like if you’re not the Paige Bueckers everyone knows—the player, the leader, the star—that you’re letting everyone down. Your team, your coaches, your fans, your family—yourself. You feel like you don’t even know who you are without basketball, because it’s been your whole life for as long as you can remember. And now that it’s been taken away from you, you don’t know how to exist. You feel lost, like a piece of you is missing, and you’re scared—terrified, actually—that you’ll never get it back And you’re so used to dealing with everything on your own, to putting on a brave face and pretending you’re fine, that the thought of letting anyone in feels basically impossible. Like if you let even one crack show, then the whole thing will just come crashing down.”

The words hit Paige like a tidal wave. Every sentence is a punch to the gut, not because it hurts, but because it’s true. Jo’s right—about all of it. About the fear, the pressure, the suffocating wright of it all. And the way Jo says it, calm and matter-of-fact, makes it even harder to ignore.

“Was I right?” Jo asks softly, her eyes searching Paige’s face.

Paige swallows hard, her chest tight as she stares at Jo. There’s something about the way Jo’s looking at her—steady and unwavering, like she’ll wait forever if she has to—that makes Paige feel like the room is tilting. She wants to run from it, but she also doesn’t want Jo to stop.

Finally, she nods, her voice barely a whisper. “Yeah,” she says, her throat dry. “You were.”

Paige doesn’t know how to process the way Jo’s smile hits her. It’s small, soft, and knowing, but it wraps around Paige like a hug. Jo leans a little closer, her voice warm and teasing when she says, “See? I told you.”

There’s something about those words, about the certainty in Jo’s tone. She doesn’t want to cry anymore—God, she doesn’t want to—but something about Jo makes her feel like it would be okay if she did.

Jo’s voice interrupts her thoughts. “Scoot over.”

Paige blinks at her, furrowing her brows. “What?”

Jo doesn’t elaborate, just gestures for Paige to move. Paige hesitates, unsure of where this is going, but she shuffled over, making room on the bed. Jo grabs the bag she set down earlier and pulls herself up onto the bed. Paige watches as Jo leans back, settling against the wall, her shoulder brushing Paige’s, her other side cuddling into Sunny, the stuffed animal she gave Paige.

“What’s that?” the blonde asks, gesturing toward the bag with a slight sniffle. Her voice is still shaky from earlier, and she hates how small she sounds.

Jo pulls the bag into her lap, her voice lighter now, almost back to her usual bright, less-serious self. “Oh, this?” She opens it and pulls out a little tub of ice cream. “I went out and got us ice cream. I got your disgusting mint chip.”

Paige blinks, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth despite herself. That’s where Jo had gone, even after she’d bailed on their plans. Paige takes the ice cream Jo offers, along with a spoon, feeling a warmth spread through her chest that has nothing to do with the food.

Jo retrieves her own tub—still cotton candy, still gross—and balances it in her lap.

They sit in silence for a moment, and Paige lets herself watch Jo as she digs into her ice cream. There’s something so effortless about her, the way she fits into Paige’s space like she belongs here.

Jo suddenly looks around, frowning a little as if searching for something. “Where’s your—?” she starts but doesn’t finish before her eyes lick on something and she leans over Paige, reaching toward the nightstand.

It happens so quickly that all Paige can do is freeze. Jo’s arm brushes her side, her hair falls near Paige’s face, and Paige can smell her shampoo, something sweet and faintly strawberry. Paige’s heart starts racing, and she doesn’t understand why.

Jo grabs the TV remote and sits back, settling into her spot again like nothing happened. Paige feels ridiculous for how flustered she is, but she can’t help it.

Jo turns on the TV, flipping through the streaming apps before looking over at Paige. “You ready to finally start The Vampire Diaries?”

The blonde groans, leaning her head back against the wall. “No, I don’t wanna watch that.”

Jo’s been pestering her about this show for what feels like forever, insisting Paige would love it if she just gave it a chance. Paige, naturally, has resisted every time.

The younger girl shrugs, clearly unfazed. “Well, I don’t care. You’re already a little too depressed to keep watching Grey’s, sorry. It’s more fun to watch vampires eat people. Besides, the Salvatores are hot.”

Paige deadpans, “I’m gay.”

Jo doesn’t miss a beat. “Okay, Nina Dobrev’s hot.”

And, yeah, Paige supposes she can’t argue with that. She sighs, defeated, and waves a hand toward the TV. “Fine. Put it on.”

Jo grins like she’s won a battle, which she kind of has, and presses play. Paige doesn’t know what to expect, but she lets herself settle in as the first episode begins. Part of her wonders why this show is Jo’s favorite. Because, really, what is it about brooding vampires and dumbass love triangles that she loves so much? Maybe, Paige thinks, if she watches closely, she’ll learn something about Jo.

They eat their ice cream in comfortable silence as the show plays, the room filled with the sounds of dramatic dialogue and overly intense music.

After a while, Paige’s appetite fades. She sets her ice cream tub on the nightstand, not in grow her arm brushes Jo’s when she moves. Her heart stutters again, and she tries to ignore it, sliding back into her spot.

Without really thinking, she leans her head on Jo’s shoulder. It’s a small gesture, but it feels huge for some reason. Paige tells herself it’s just because she’s tired, that she needs comfort after everything that’s happened today. But the way her heart races says otherwise.

“Thanks, Joey,” she murmurs quietly.

Jo shifts slightly, and then Paige feels it—the warmth of Jo’s hand as it settles over her own. Paige’s breath catches, her stomach doing something weird and unfamiliar.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Jo says softly, certain.

But Paige does want to thank her, even if she doesn’t know how to put it into words. She doesn’t know how to explain what this means—Jo showing up, staying, not letting her spiral alone. All she knows is that her hand seems to fit perfectly under Jo’s slightly smaller one, and she doesn’t want to move.

The episode plays on, but Paige isn’t really watching anymore. She’s too focused on the warmth of Jo’s shoulder against her cheek, the quiet rise and fall of her breathing, the way her hand hasn’t moved from Paige’s. And in the back of her mind, Paige knows there’s something here—something bigger than she’s ready to admit.

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Hey! Thinking post Regina apology, a few moments where Regina realizes that under all of the layers and baggy clothes Janis is actually ripped and curvy. Towards the end they end up talking about talking about the baggy clothes and why/ how Janis is pure muscle. Please and thank you!

Kiss Patched Wounds

|| Regina George x Janis Imi'ike

|| Warnings; swearing, Janis talking about her insecurities, Regina being soft and trying to make a change, mentions of bullying and Regina's past actions

|| Summary; when Regina realized that Janis has muscles, she wonders why her girlfriend keeps them covered.

Requests open!

Started; November 3rd

Finished; November 4th

~~~

The first time it happened, they were in gym class. Janis had worn what she always did. Long knee shorts with a baggy hoodie over top. The class was playing a game of basketball and Janis had managed to get the ball; lining it up to the net and taking a shot. She missed, but Regina could hardly care about that. She found herself staring at the girl's... abs? Janis has abs? Like, Janis Imi'ike? Are you for real?

She couldn't believe what she saw when her girlfriend's hoodie rode up a bit over her midriff, just enough to reveal what looked like a set of abs. They were still so fresh as a couple, so they hadn't gotten to the point of seeing each other naked yet. To say Regina was floored... would be an understatement. To the point where now, Regina was chalking it up as just her imagination. Because there was simply no way.

The second time it happened, Regina had gotten a glimpse when they were in science together. Janis had reached across the table to grab an ingredient, only for her hoodie to lift up and reveal her midriff to Regina. The blonde's eyes widened. So it was there? What the fuck?! She decided to hold off on talking about it. Considering they were in class and anyone could over hear.

She waited until after school. Which ended up being perfectly timed as Janis took off her hoodie, tossing it in the back of Regina's jeep while she sat passenger side. Regina stared at her toned arms, just taking in the sight. She never really saw Janis without some long sleeve on before. It was... wow.

"Fuck." Regina murmured, getting Janis' attention.

"What?" Janis looked at the blonde, eyebrow raised and eyes full of confusion. Why was she staring at her like that? What did she do?

"You have fucking muscles? Bitch, since when?" Regina replied, still looking rather stunned as her eyes just trailed over her girlfriend's arms.

Janis' cheeks went red. Honestly, she completely forgets that she does sometimes. She spends so much time trying to cover herself that she forgets what's underneath. "Oh.. yeah, I guess." She murmured, folding her arms across her chest out of habit.

Regina frowned at that. Why was that her reaction? She decided to wait on starting up the jeep, at least until she knew why Janis was acting weird. Well, weirder than usual anyway." Hey, what was that? Why'd you cover yourself?"

"I just.. I dunno." She muttered, jaw clenched and whole body tensed. She never liked talking about how she felt. Not to mention with Regina George. It felt... weird. Talking about shit like that with your ex bully now girlfriend. Their dynamic was certainly something. "Don't wanna talk about it."

"Bullshit, you never shut up and now you're going silent on me?" Regina rolled her eyes, more than a little frustrated with that response.

Now Janis rolled her eyes. She scoffed and folded her arms a little tighter, trying to make herself smaller. If she stays silent maybe Regina won't push on it. She really doesn't feel like discussing her insecurities.

Unlucky for her, Regina didn't stay quiet. She pushed on about the topic, she would get Janis to break her walls down whether she wanted to or not. "Janis. I'm not pushing this aside." Regina was stubborn as hell, even more so than Janis. She wouldn't back away that easily.

"Ugh, fine." Janis really just wanted to drop the conversation, but she realized the only way for that to happen was for her to say something. "I.. don't really like my body." She put it simply, not diving into too much detail. She didn't want to make things weird or awkward.

Regina relaxed at that. She knew what that was like, remembering the time she was hooked on those stupid bars. She sighed and fully faced Janis, her hand coming up and gripping her chin. Nails digging into her skin as she made her look at her," be honest with me. Does this have anything to do with what I.. did back then?" She asked, picking her words carefully. When Janis was quiet again, she knew her guess was right. She felt guilt creep up her spine and frowned. She decided to do something. They've only shared small kisses, but she was going to change that. Regina wasn't great at comforting, but kisses could help- right? She moved herself from her seat before straddling Janis' lap. The girl tensed up and looked at the blonde.

"What are you..?" Janis was quiet when she spoke, Regina gently shushed her and kissed her deep. Trying to put all her emotions into the kiss. Really letting Janis know how she felt about her, about what she did back then. This was her trying to patch those wounds with a kiss.

"I'm sorry," She murmured after the kiss broke. "I was an idiot back then. I was struggling with my own feelings and took it out on you. You didn't deserve that. I'm sorry. You're so beautiful and perfect and-" Regina just let it spew out of her, not knowing when to stop her ramble. Janis looked into her eyes again and shushed the blonde with another kiss.

Regina relaxed against her lips, moving in perfect sync with her as though they'd done this 100 times. When Janis ended the kiss, she rested her hands to Regina's shoulders. Keeping her eyes closed as she let herself take in what just happened. She got her apology. A genuine one. It's all she's wanted over the last few years since it happened. "..thank you."

[zorosimpclub]

coffee shop – Zoro SFW

characters: zoro roronoa x fem!reader

Zoro is a grumpy regular at the coffee shop | fluff | SFW

word count: 2.5k

She tapped away at the coffee machine absentmindedly and sighed. She knew it was only matter of time before the rude regular came in. He’s been frequenting her coffee shop for the past year, all she knew about him was his name and that’s only because sometimes when it was busy, she had to take his name for the order.

He would order Americanos throughout the day and sit in the corner of the coffee shop, typing away at his laptop. She didn't mind this had it not been for the fact that he mostly ignored her or when he did acknowledge her, he would be really, really rude.

The door chime brought her daydreaming to a halt and she was met with the very man she was dreading to see.

"Good morning, the regular?" She asked chirpily, as much as she wasn't his biggest fan, she had to keep up appearances as she owned the damn coffee shop. Plus he was a regular customer who actually spent a great deal of his money here.

Zoro gave a nod in acknowledgment but his face soured by the second. He walked up to the counter, standing to his full height of 6'2. He was much taller and stronger than her, she knew he could just crush her with one finger if he wanted to. She shook herself out of her train of thoughts and smiled brightly at him.

"Give me the usual." He spoke, his voice monotone as he looked down at her.

"Americano, coming right up!" The coffee grinder started whirring and she quickly set his coffee down in front of him.

"Cash or card?"

"Card." Taking his card he swiped it at the terminal, making the transaction. The terminal made a beep and he picked up his card, placing it back in his wallet.

"Thanks." His serious, expression came to his face again as he grabbed his drink, taking a sip.

Zoro didn't say anything else, he took his drink and sat down at the corner table, which was facing her, and opened his laptop to work away at it. He grumbled something about how the coffee was never made right, even though he knew it was perfectly fine.

She felt her smile drop as soon as he went away from the counter. She hated this man with a passion... would it hurt him to be a little nicer?

The next few hours passed by and soon it was just her and him in the coffee shop. The silence made the shop a little awkward, she knew this man would be a pain to get along with. He wasn't really talkative and when they did briefly speak, he seemed bored all the time.

He leaned back in the plush chair and stared at her.

She wasn't an idiot, she felt the stare and as much as she tried to avoid eye contact with him, it pissed her off too much to ignore it.

She forced a smile and turned to him, "Can I help you?"

Zoro had a blank, emotionless expression as he looked at her. Before he answered, he took two quick gulps of his coffee. A sigh came out of his mouth as he set the cup on his table.

"No."

He spoke, his tone was still as cold as ever. He didn't like anything and he especially didn't like how her coffee tasted. Though, she was unsure about why he keeps coming back, maybe he enjoys seeing her pissed off. She balled up her fist by her side and forced another smile.

"Okay, well I'll be here if you need me.”

–

The silence made her feel a little off. The blank expression and quietness made him feel a little unsettled. She hated seeing him when he was so serious (which was most of the time) she couldn't stand how rude he was. And she certainly didn't understand why this man never smiled. Like ever. He leaned back in his chair again, not saying anything and typed away at his laptop.

She watched him from behind the counter, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. As the minutes ticked by, the tension in the coffee shop became palpable. Determined not to let this man ruin her day, she took a deep breath and decided to break the silence.

"So, any exciting plans for the day?" she asked, attempting to strike up a casual conversation.

Zoro glanced at her, his expression unchanging. The silence lingered for a moment before he finally responded.

"No plans. Just work," he replied curtly, his eyes returning to the laptop screen.

She couldn't help but feel a pang of emotion for him; he seemed trapped in his own world of monotony. Despite his abrasive demeanour, there was an air of loneliness around him that she couldn't ignore.

"Well, if you ever want a change of pace, we do have some new pastries in the display. Freshly baked this morning." she offered with a friendly smile, hoping to thaw the icy atmosphere between them.

As soon as she made the offer, his eyes lit up slightly – a brief look of interest appeared in his blank expressionless face. He thought about her proposal for a moment.

"I'll take one." He replied with a bored tone.

Zoro didn't really have an interest in talking to her, but perhaps this could be a good ice breaker.

She hid her surprise well, managing a smile as she grabbed a small plate for the pastry. With a fluid movement, she placed a perfect almond croissant in front of him, its flaky layers promising a delightful experience. Zoro eyed it for a moment before taking a cautious bite, his expression unchanging.

"Freshly baked, right?" he asked, a hint of genuine curiosity breaking through his monotone voice.

"Absolutely," she replied, her grin widening. "Straight from the oven this morning."

To her surprise, he hummed in acknowledgment, seeming to appreciate the authenticity of the treat. As he continued to eat, she couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. It was a small victory, but she had managed to crack the tough exterior of the grumpy regular.

Zoro didn't smile, but he seemed more relaxed than he was previously. Though, he didn't speak, he ate his pastry to the last crumb. He looked up with a serious, expression and spoke.

"This is good."

Her heart skipped a beat as those simple words left Zoro's lips. The acknowledgment, albeit delivered in his usual monotone, felt like another victory.

She beamed with pride, "I'm glad you liked it! We've got more treats if you ever want to try something new."

Zoro's emotionless expression stayed on his face but his eyebrow slightly perked up in interest. The curiosity in him grew as she spoke. What if they offered other delicious things? He had to try them.

"What else do you have?"

"Well, we have a new seasonal latte?”

Zoro's ears twitched slightly, the mention of a seasonal latte had got him curious. He didn't like any of the lattes normally – he thought it was just coffee dressed up in unnecessary frills. But seeing her so excited made him want to try it.

"I'll try it." He said bluntly – it wasn't like him to even be somewhat into trying something so different, it was a little suspicious.

"Great! I think you'll really enjoy this one." she said, her enthusiasm shining through as she began preparing the special drink.

As she skilfully crafted the latte, adding a personal touch – a delicate heart art with steamed milk on the creamy surface. Placing it in front of Zoro, she couldn't hide her excitement to see his reaction – she was really hoping he would at least somewhat enjoy it.

"A heart huh?" His lips twitched into a little smirk.

Zoro's smirk caught her off guard, for a moment she was speechless. Was he actually somewhat smiling at her?

"Yeah, a heart."

She said back jokingly, she was shocked that he was even smiling in the first place. She couldn't take her attention away from his smirk, it gave her second thoughts about him. His smile, his smile was charming but intimidating at the same time

Zoro's smirk lingered, and a glint of amusement sparkled in his eyes. The air between them crackled with an unexpected energy, and she found herself captivated by him. The playful banter, so unlike their usual interactions, felt like a breath of fresh air.

"Well, aren't you getting fancy with the latte art?" he teased, his smirk widening into a grin that sent a subtle shiver down her spine. She couldn't deny the charm in that half-smile, a side of him she hadn't anticipated.

"I aim to impress." she retorted, a playful glint in her eyes matching his teasing tone.

Zoro took another sip of the seasonal latte, his gaze never leaving hers. The atmosphere was charged with unspoken words, a magnetic pull that neither could ignore. As they stood there, amidst the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and the warmth of shared laughter, it became evident that something extraordinary was unfolding.

The chemistry between the two of them was undeniable. His teasing smile was irresistible as it left her cheeks red with blush. She had never expected this to happen between them. She usually thought he was a total jerk to her, but now there was an odd, but amazing tension between them. She couldn't take her eyes away from his, the two of their gazes became locked.

Zoro's smirk was getting wider, he was amused by how red her cheeks were. The blush on her cheeks was adorable, it couldn't get any cuter.

"You always this flustered?" he had a look on his face she couldn't describe. Was it amusement or was it something else?

"No! I'm just..." She trailed off not knowing how to finish that sentence.

Zoro's smirk finally faded away and he chuckled, breaking the tension that was between them.

"Don't worry, I know you're flustered." He teased, his tone was joking but his face was emotionless.

Something about him was...so intriguing, she couldn't take her eyes away from him. That little smirk on his lips, the way his eyes looked at her, his deep voice… now that she looked at him properly, he was actually extremely attractive. The whole package about him was just alluring.

He was teasing her but she didn't mind, his smirk and charming personality gave off a feeling of warmth.

"You're annoying." She said jokingly with a laugh. She noticed how the air between the two of them was very different than before, this whole tension between the two was making it a little hard for her to think straight.

Zoro remained silent for a few moments, just staring at her. She was so adorable – there was this look of admiration that crossed her face. He made no attempt to break his gaze away from her, it was almost like she was drawing him in, like he couldn't look away even if he wanted to.

"It's rude to stare. You can look away any day now, or am I that mesmerising?"

She sat down next to him and rested her head on her hand, smirking at him slightly. "Huh, seems that you are.”

Zoro was taken aback for a moment, but he kept his cool. She was challenging him? She wasn't looking away? They were both playing a game now, she wouldn't be the one to back down or look away first.

"Oh, so, you're implying I'm mesmerising? And you're not going to look away?" He teased, leaning slightly towards her.

She tilted her head and leaned in closer, her half-smile still lingering, still intrigued by the unexpected turn of events.

"Yep and yep.”

Zoro raised an eyebrow as she leaned in closer. The two of them were now dangerously close, so close he could feel her breath on his face as she spoke. She smelt exactly how he imagined she would smell like – sweet.

"I see, so...you're serious about this game? You want to keep going?" His tone was a little more flirty but still had an air of seriousness.

"Oh, absolutely serious," she replied, her lips curving into a playful smile. "Unless, of course, you're afraid you might lose.”

"Hm? I'm far from scared."

He said confidently, leaning in towards her more. It felt like the tension between the two of them was getting higher and higher. His eyes stared into hers, it felt like he was trying to look into her soul. His tone was still confident, he wasn't even slightly nervous about how close him and her were. He was unshakable. Just then, he brought his face even closer.

Her eyes dropped to his lips and back to his eyes again, she whispered, "Are you sure?”

Zoro smirked as he brought his face even closer. The space between them was so small there was hardly an inch of space between them.

"Positive." He whispered back, their lips were only inches away from each other, was it that time he would finally kiss her? The tension felt like it was about to burst, she could feel the heat building up in her body.

"So...are you going to kiss me or what?”

Zoro smirked at her question, it was only a matter of seconds before he took the lead. He wanted to tease her a little more, the anticipation was building. She really wanted this. He felt the heat building up in his body as he saw her looking at him with those gorgeous eyes and that sultry smirk on her face. He was going to play with her a little bit more before he finally gave in.

"Maybe I will." He said, his voice was full of a playful tone, he was enjoying their little game.

"Might want to hurry, heard the barista is closing shop in a bit.”

Zoro grinned and laughed at her comment. The anticipation and the tension between them was building and building, she must've been feeling it too. He finally leaned in and brushed his lips against her sweetly.

"Do you know if the barista is free for a date tomorrow?"

She blushed a little and smiled softly, "I think for you, she is."

He closed the distance between them and kissed her gently. As soon as her lips met his, she melted. His whole body felt like it was bursting with warmth, it felt so amazing. After all those days of back and forth between them, they finally closed that distance between them. A soft and tender kiss, it was something neither of them expected to happen today or ever really. As she pulled away for breath, she could see him smiling a little – she loved how handsome it made him seem.

"Great, tell her I'll pick her up after closing time tomorrow then.”

----

here's a fluffy one shot I wrote, I tried to keep him in character – hope you enjoyed and as always, please feel free to request a fanfic! <3

[etapereine]

the game is on again

@cycleprompttuesday: "play"

also on ao3.

“it’s really not fair, you know? how you are good at everything.”

there’s a whine in remco’s voice now, one that’s been building for the last half hour with every stroke matteo takes on him. without looking, matteo can picture the wrinkle of his nose, the narrowing of his eyes, the grip of his hand around the rubber -

plop. the golf ball sinks satisfyingly into the hole.

matteo bends to pick it up, fingers closing around the bright purple ball, the exact shade of remco’s anderlecht hoodie. it’s why he picked the color from the basket at the start. maybe he’ll tell remco that later, when they’re back at remco’s house and the hoodie is long forgotten on the floor.

“what can i say? i’m just…naturally gifted.” he turns to flash remco a wink and a grin, but remco is intently focused on his own swing, eyeing up his yellow golf ball with an intensity matteo’s more used to seeing on a bike, or in bed.

he edges his way closer, trying to sneak around to come up behind remco, eyes on the spot behind remco’s ear that matteo knows from recent experience is particularly ticklish. his sheared-sheep haircut looks a bit silly, still, but it does provide convenient access to -

“will you move, please? i am trying to hit.” a pause, then remco groans a little, nose wrinkling up again. it’s cute, matteo thinks, and tells him so, making sure his voice is nice and low in remco’s ear.

remco huffs in frustration and makes his swing, sending the ball careening off the bricks around the edge of the green and missing the hole by a good two feet. matteo just barely manages to get his foot out of the way before remco stomps on it as he takes off down the little slope.

“cheater. made me miss,” remco is grumbling when matteo catches up to him. his shoulders are tense and his hands are gripped too tightly around the handle of his club. on the next hole over, two little kids are screeching in victory - or possibly in defeat. matteo runs a hand along remco’s shoulders, and remco swivels his head around to glare.

“sorry,” matteo chuckles, although he isn’t, really. “it’s just - you seem kind of tense. thought i could help you out.” remco narrows his eyes, and matteo does his best to look perfectly innocent. it clearly doesn’t work, but he’s yet to meet anyone as stubborn as remco evenepoel, who just huffs again and turns back around.

“i will just ignore you,”he says, and matteo honestly deserves some kind of medal for not making a very suggestive retort to that statement. anyway, challenge accepted. he lets remco set up his stance, feet firmly planted and eyes tracking from the ball to the hole.

“that’s it,” matteo drawls, mouth as close to remco’s ear as he can without a actually touching him. he can be that generous, at least.  remco doesn’t say anything, but matteo thinks he detects a slight shiver in those tense shoulders.

“that’s a good position, but it could be better if you widen your stance a bit. spread your legs just a little farther.” he keeps his voice low, both to stay out of earshot of any passing mini golfers and also because he knows that remco likes it that way, how his voice gets rough and gravelly. the twitch in remco’s jaw is amusing, but the way he shuffles his feet reflexively is even more gratifying. it had been a revelation, discovering that sometimes remco evenepoel likes being ordered around a bit.

“shut up,” remco grumbles, taking his swing.  this time, the ball rolls in a steady line to drop right into the hole.

“just like that,” matteo says, voice still low in remco’s ear. “right into the hole, nice and steady.” remco whirls around to glare at him, but matteo detects a light flush that makes him want to dump their clubs and golf balls where they are and get back to remco’s house as fast as humanly possible.

he pulls the little scorecard from his back pocket and carefully marks down their scores with the stubby little pencil. when he flips the card around to show remco the final totals, remco groans.

“can’t believe you made me agree to this,” he whines, half-heartedly shoving matteo away when he goes to sling an arm around remco’s shoulders. they gather up their things and make their way back to the front, dropping their clubs and golf balls off at the desk and heading out to the parking lot. when remco finally relents, letting himself fit into matteo’s side as perfectly as he always does, matteo just chuckles and brings his mouth close to remco’s ear again.

“how about i make it worth your while huh? after all, i hear i’m good at everything.”

[whisker-biscuit]

The Lines We Cross: Chapter 1

A Rocky Start

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

So I mimicked a game that meant nothing to me now…and then it looked as if what I was doing had a purpose

But it did not.

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

“FOX!”

In any other job setting, the sound of the head honcho yelling an employee’s name at full volume would be enough to make everyone jump straight out of their skin. At Interpol HQ in Paris, France, the most that people did was glance up momentarily from their computers. Working under James Barkley, Head of Criminal Investigation, made such things more of an occupational hazard than anything else. It was as common an occurrence as the daily lunch break.

Even more so with the particular name being yelled across the entire floor.

Inspector Carmelita Montoya Fox leapt out of her chair and flew out of her office. She practically sprinted to her superior’s open door, where the badger was standing with his arms folded and a downright thunderous expression on his face. He met her eyes very briefly before stomping inside his office, and she followed like a wounded animal.

“Y-Yes, sir? What is it?”

Barkley didn’t respond. He sat down heavily behind his desk, then pointed one stiff, angry finger at the chair opposite it. The fox immediately did as instructed, folding her hands nervously together in her lap as her boss glared at her. Finally, he spoke.

“What is the meaning of this?”

He slid an open file across his desk, making it all too easy for her to see the name in bold at the very top.

Firestone of India, Bombay

Carmelita inhaled slowly through her nose, knowing exactly which case this was and why it was staring treacherously up at her.

“Sir, I can explain -”

“Oh, by all means, explain,” the badger cut her off. He crossed his arms back over his chest so tightly she could see veins popping under his fur. “Explain how you had five out of six criminals attempting that heist apprehended, only to lose all of them when you blindly charged after the sixth without fully securing the rest!”

She had to fight the powerful urge to sink in her chair. “Sir, I - the last perp couldn’t be allowed to get away. She had the Firestone! If my team had shown up at the scene on time like they were supposed to -”

“Do not push your part of the blame elsewhere, Fox. This entire fiasco was just as much your fault as it was theirs. All you had to do was wait an extra ten minutes for your back up to arrive and secure those thieves before running after the last one!”

“But sir, ten minutes would have been too long! She would have escaped by the time I left!”

“She escaped anyway!” He roared, slamming a fist down onto the file and making her jump in her chair. “You had an entire group of criminals in your grasp and you let all of them get away because you wanted to play hero!”

The inspector shut her jaw with an audible click. There was nothing she could say that would calm her boss down, and even if there was, she couldn’t find it in herself to come up with the excuses. She had dropped the ball on a case she was supposed to be leading and came out with not even one arrest to show for it. He had every right to be furious.

“I…I’m sorry, sir,” she eventually mumbled, head bowed and face burning with shame. “It won’t happen again.”

“That’s what you always say, Fox,” Barkley replied with a frustrated shake of his head. “How many times has it happened where you have a perfectly reasonable chance to cut your losses and take what you’ve already got on a case, but instead you blow it all up because you can’t just let that last perp go?”

Her chest swelled in offense. “I can’t just watch and do nothing while a criminal gets away scot-free!”

“That’s not the point! The point is that you’re so narrow-minded that you get tunnel vision. You’re so caught up in the small details that you lose the bigger picture.” He gestured to the Firestone of India file. “I can think of four other cases in the last two months that are like this, Fox. It’s becoming more of a pattern for you to lose more criminals than you catch them. Do you realize what kind of reputation that creates? For you, for me? For Interpol?”

Carmelita stared at the photos in front of her. The giant red gemstone glittered mockingly back.

“Do you understand what I’m saying, Fox?”

“...Yes, sir, I do.”

“Good.” The badger looked her up and down with a gruff, critical eye. “I’m not doing this because I want to, you know. You’re one of the best detectives we have when it comes to finding who we need to find. But if you keep losing them once we find them…well, there’s a few others who don’t think you were ready for this promotion to Inspector yet.”

It wasn’t quite a threat, but it still hung heavily in the air. She swallowed and clenched her hands into fists.

“I won’t let your trust in me be all for naught. I’ll show I have what it takes to wear this title proudly.”

Barkley nodded, then closed the case file and pointed towards the door. “You’re dismissed.”

Carmelita didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she was back out in the hallway. She exhaled slowly, trying to release all the stress that had created a tight ball in her chest. Her coworkers moved around her with sympathetic glances. As much as they were used to their boss’ temper, no one liked being on the receiving end of it.

Brushing her bangs out of her face, the inspector began heading back to her office, and nearly ran right into someone carrying a huge stack of paperwork as she turned the corner. She caught the perilous stack before it could topple, then peered around it to see who she had just rescued.

A tiny purple otter looked up at her with an anxious smile.

“Hi, Inspector Fox!”

“Oh. Hi, Winthorp.”

Winthorp was…nice, she supposed. Technically an Interpol detective, but not one who worked in the field. His job consisted of record-keeping and following paper trails, and the closest he got to criminals was during bookings. Not someone who she could really relate to on any level.

He also had a massive, obvious crush on her, which was a pain, but at least he was respectful about it - more than she could say about a few other coworkers.

“Sorry about almost knocking you over,” she said, swerving around him and his paperwork tower with the intention of ending the interaction right there. The red door of her office was in sight, and she wanted very badly to hole herself up in there for the next hour at least.

“That’s okay!” He chirped, moving in tandem with her to maintain eye contact. “You seemed to be in an awfully big hurry - is it because of whatever the Chief wanted you for?”

The first retort on Carmelita’s tongue was admittedly not a very professional one. She bit it down and managed a thin, awkward smile instead, inching away towards the other end of the hall.

“Sort of. I’m just, uh, on the lookout for a new case.”

Wrong thing to say. His eyes lit up and he waddled after her despite how much she very obviously wanted to be left alone.

“Oh! I bet I could help with that!” Winthorp held up his stack of papers as high as he could, which wasn’t very high. “I’ve got a whole list of stuff that hasn’t been assigned yet. Would you like to take a look?”

The only reason the fox hesitated was the earnestness with which he asked. What would have been easily ignorable any other day was now something she couldn’t quite say no to after the harrowing experience with Barkley, when all her mental steeliness had been blown apart.

Again.

“...Sure.”

“Great!” He beamed, following her the rest of the way into her office. “Anything specific you’re looking for? There’s a lot of different kinds of cases here.”

Carmelita watched him place everything on her desk. She pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming on. “I’ll take anything at this point.”

Winthorp nodded and began flipping through files. “Okay. How about this – rumors of art forgery here in Paris?”

“Not big enough.”

“Alright, then…illegal spice smuggling rings in India?”

“There’s no way Barkley will let me back on a case in India anytime soon,” she said, more than a little bitter because that did seem like something right up her alley. “Give me something else.”

“Unusual rates of pollution in Venice, Italy?”

“That sounds more like a city ordinance issue than a police issue.”

“Okay, uh…” The otter looked up at her. “Do you want some coffee? You look a little tired.”

“No, I’m fine. Keep going.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Ten minutes later, they’d gone through the entire pile with not a single one grabbing Carmelita’s attention. She had started pacing somewhere around the four-minute mark and hadn’t stopped.

“Well, that’s all I got from this list,” he said, somehow managing to sound both discouraged and chipper at the exact same time. “Would you like me to go grab another stack?”

“No. It’s just going to be more of the same. Nng…” The inspector rubbed her temples. Her headache was still going just as strong as when they’d started. “There’s got to be something I can use. I need a case, a big one, and I have to do it perfectly or else my promotion might not be worth anything.”

It was probably unwise to vent about this subject to Winthorp of all people, but he was also the most likely to keep it a secret out of respect for her. Respect or reverence. Whatever kept his mouth shut.

“Oh no, they can’t demote you!” The otter said in shock. “You’re one of the most valued officers on our force! Valedictorian at the police academy! Youngest graduate and youngest ever Detective Inspector! You’re the living embodiment of law enforcement and all that it stands for!”

“Thanks,” she replied, annoyed more than anything at the pedestal he was putting her on. Her tone flew right over his head, as always. “But none of those things are going to matter if I can’t catch a break, and soon.”

“Hm…” Winthorp put his hand to his chin as if in deep thought. Then his face lit up in epiphany. “What about the Contessa? I’ve heard she’s willing to help out Interpol officers from time to time.”

“Ugh, pass. The last time I asked her for help, she made me do a whole day of ‘motivational speeches’ to the criminals in her rehabilitation program in return. I’m not owing that woman any favors unless I’m really desperate.”

He nodded his head emphatically like he had any clue what that was like. He’d never had to take any risks or make split decisions to save his life. He’d never have his job on the line like she did. The train of thought irritated Carmelita more than she cared to admit.

“Actually, Winthorp, I changed my mind. Coffee sounds great right now. Do you mind…?”

“Oh! Not at all!” The otter headed for the hall. “I’ll be back in a jiffy!”

As soon as he was gone, Inspector Fox quickly strode to the door, closed it, and locked it with a quiet click. A small part of her felt bad for it, but the rest of her was drained and disheartened and didn’t want an additional write-up for accidentally “creating a hostile work environment.” Her patience was too thin to risk snapping at Winthorp for something he really didn’t deserve.

With an exhausted sigh, the fox collapsed in her chair, staring vacantly at her desk and the lack of casefiles on it. One big break was all she needed. One case to prove herself to her superiors; to show everyone that Barkley’s faith in her wasn’t unfounded.

Carmelita closed her eyes and prayed to whatever was there that something would finally come her way.

For her sake.

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

An ocean and several time zones away, the Mesa City Police Precinct was having a busier than average evening. There had been a concerning uptick in crime over the last two weeks; robberies, break-ins and many, many calls about public disturbances. Only a few of these incidents had actually resulted in the perps being caught - all canines, coincidentally - and the fact that it still hadn’t been enough to slow down the sudden surge of misdeeds had put most of the officers on edge.

Even worse, there were rumblings among their informant circles that a particularly dangerous presence had made itself known in the city’s underbelly, but no one could or would give any clues as to who it was.

As a result, almost half of Mesa’s force was out on patrol tonight, hoping to catch more unlawful acts before they could be completed, or at least find any hint of the so-called big bad that had so many of their criminal turncoats quaking in their shoes. It left the precinct itself running on what was essentially a skeleton crew, although one wouldn’t be able to tell from how many people were running around in an attempt to keep up appearances.

A raccoon sat in the front lobby, a few seats away from every other civilian around him. He drummed his fingers on a red backpack sitting on his lap, waiting patiently like everyone else, and his leg bounced idly as he glanced at the wall clock every minute or so. The fingers went still when a pacing officer made eye contact with him and decided to approach.

“Can I help you?” They asked in a voice already rife with impatience.

The raccoon smiled up at them, easy-going and relaxed. His leg didn't stop bouncing. “I’m just waiting for someone. Once he's done in here then I'll be out of your hair.”

His expression didn't change as the cop squinted at him. After a moment they pursed their lips and crossed their arms.

“Fine,” they said grumpily, “but I want you out of here immediately after. We don’t have time to deal with loiterers.”

“On my honor, you won't see me again after tonight. Oh! Hang on just a sec!”

He stood up abruptly, suddenly and accidentally in the officer's space.

“Is there a restroom here open to the public? I don't know how much longer I'm going to be here and -”

“Over that way,” they pointed down a separate hallway with a huff, taking a few steps back so that they weren't almost touching him.

“Thanks.”

The raccoon sauntered off, mindful of the cop's eyes staring down the back of his head. As soon as the bathroom door closed behind him, he hurried to check every stall to make sure he was alone before locking himself in the one closest to the exit. One hand came up to a tiny earpiece barely visible in his ear. The other reached into his pocket to pull out the ring of keys he had just lifted off the impatient cop.

“Got the keys and in position,” he whispered into the static of the earpiece. “Ready when you are.”

There was no response, but the raccoon didn’t expect one. He flipped his jacket hoodie over his head and pulled a black mask out of his backpack to place over his nose and mouth. Then he leaned back against the stall wall, closed his eyes, and began to wait. He’d have his answer soon enough.

Out in the lobby, the front doors swung open and in strode a large group of canines all armed to the teeth. The hustle and bustle of the station stopped entirely as cops, criminals, and civilians alike all caught sight of it. In particular, as they caught sight of the leader of that group.

“Greetings, troglodytes!”

Muggshot - infamous gangster, world-wanted criminal, and member of the Fiendish Five - sauntered into the room as if it was a perfectly normal thing for him to do so. Everyone in the precinct stared in slack-jawed shock as the bulldog walked right up to the counter and leaned against it like he wasn’t in every police database from here to Timbuktu.

“A little birdy told me you’ve got some of my boys locked up back here,” he said to the stunned uniformed receptionist, checking his nails for dirt and gunpowder in total nonchalance. “Now, I like ta give people the benefit of the doubt, but it seems to me there was some old-fashioned profilin’ involved here. You mind lettin’ them all out on account of they haven’t done nothin’ to warrant arrest?”

One of the officers began slowly reaching for the gun at his holster. In response, three of Muggshot’s dogs clicked off the safety of their own weapons with teeth bared in warning. The mobster watched it out of the corner of his eye, remaining completely relaxed.

“I - I’m sorry,” stammered the officer behind the desk, “but I’m not at liberty to -”

“You hear that, fellas?” Muggshot cut him off with a loud bark of laughter. “This jerk is claimin’ that liberty’s involved. Do any ‘a you see any liberty in a place like this?”

A chorus of raucous “no”s was his answer. The bulldog swiveled back around to tower over the receptionist who was trying very hard not to shake in his seat.

“Lemme spell it out nice and slow for ya since ya seem to have trouble understanding - you’re gonna release all of my men in the clink, and in return, I won’t fill you full ‘a holes. Capiche?”

The officer stared up at him and the entire gang behind him. For a single, tense moment, it seemed like he would comply. But then he leapt to his feet, reaching for his gun.

That was the most he had the chance to do.

“Wrong answer!” Muggshot grabbed him by the head and smashed him face-first into the desk, cracking the wood with the force of the slam.

All hell broke loose in an instant. Cops started shouting and shooting, civilians screamed and ducked and hid, and the canine criminals fired right back in a frenzied bloodlust. The bulldog himself threw the unconscious cop straight into the closest one of his comrades, then tore the desk itself right out of its floor attachments to use as cover.

Amid the chaos and noise and flying bullets, no one noticed the raccoon slip silently out of the bathroom and through the back doors marked “police personnel only”.

He flattened himself into a crouch between the wall and a set of chairs at the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. Three officers thundered past without noticing or caring that he was there, with guns drawn and orders being barked into their radios. As soon as they disappeared into the front lobby to join the firefight, the raccoon jumped up and started running in the opposite direction.

Around corners, through hallways, stopping only to avoid the sight of frantic cops rushing to help their comrades, he finally found his destination - a set of holding cells containing nearly a dozen agitated dogs. They all flocked to the front as he pulled the key ring out of his pocket and began unlocking doors.

“You didn’t bring our guns?” Asked a burly doberman who flexed his hands in anticipation.

“You think I’d be here right now if I had tried walking into a cop den armed from head to toe?” He asked sarcastically as the first door came open.

The doberman’s lips curled into a snarl and he took a swipe at the raccoon as he stepped into the outer room, who swerved easily out of the way and to the next cell.

“I don’t need no damn gun to take out a bunch of pigs in uniform,” growled another dog as he hefted a ball and chain in his hands. His eyes were manic with murderous excitement. “Which way?”

A second door opened; he made a beeline for the final one, sensing their impatience for violence and not wanting to catch the brunt of it.

“Down the hall, take the first left turn, then a right, then the second next right after that.”

The final lock came open, bringing the number of freed thugs to eleven.

“Muggshot and his other men are blocking off the front doors, so you’ll come out right behind the cops.”

Every dog grinned at that, and the raccoon suddenly found himself swept up in the frenzy of the full pack as they all went running for the front lobby.

None of the officers looked back when the doors swung open behind them, assuming it was more of their own. It was the last mistake they’d ever make.

Eleven burly dogs bum-rushed the group, swinging furniture and balls-and-chains and their own fists. What had been a stalemate very quickly became a one-sided fight as the officers were overwhelmed from two different sides. It didn’t take long for every blue uniform to fall, and a disturbing quiet fell over the room the moment the bullets stopped.

The civilians who had been caught in the middle of everything cowered under their chairs, absolutely terrified now that their defenders had all been laid to waste. Muggshot only seemed to realize they were there as he holstered his machine gun and scanned the room for any survivors in blue.

“Whaddya all gawking for?” He growled, pointing towards the exit. “Scram!”

They did not need to be told twice. His men all moved out of the way for the terror-stricken group to flee without incident. No one noticed or cared that the raccoon who had once been part of that group did not follow.

Instead, he meandered over to the bulldog, who celebrated the victory by flinging the upended counter clear across the room.

“Now that’s what a city takeover looks like, boys!” Muggshot whooped. “As the new top dog of this joint, I give all of ya’s permission to loot whatever ain’t nailed down - and then some!”

The gangsters all howled in excited response, then wasted no time running out of the lobby and into the rest of the building. The raccoon watched them all leave impassively, half checked-out, until there was suddenly a giant hand coming down on top of his head.

“Not bad, runt,” Muggshot said with a grin, patting him roughly but with just enough gentleness to keep from actually hurting him. “Keep this up and you might actually become part of the pack.”

“My greatest goal in life,” he muttered sarcastically, stiff under the touch.

The mobster growled and smacked him upside the head, knocking his hood down over his eyes. “Don’t get smart with me or you’re joinin’ the pigs on the floor.”

“Sorry.” The raccoon avoided his gaze as he pulled it back so he could see again.

“That mouth is gonna get you into trouble one ‘a these days, y’know. Yer lucky I’ve got the patience of a saint.”

“I already said I was -”

The front doors slammed open.

Police officers swarmed inside, shooting without aiming as they tried one last desperate attempt to take back their station.

“You wanna play hardball, chumps?!” The bulldog roared, firing back just as indiscriminately and mowing down uniforms left and right. “Let’s play!”

A bullet whizzed past the racoon’s head, whistling by his ear way too close for comfort. Before he had the chance to duck, that same meaty hand grabbed him at the nape of the neck and practically slammed him to the ground.

“Keep yer head down! You tryin’ to get shot or what?” Muggshot growled above him while he unloaded a stream of bullets into the cop who had dared shoot at his favorite runt.

The raccoon laid flat against the ground under the mobster, arms covering his head as gunfire deafened his senses. He kept his breathing as controlled as possible, ears ringing and face stinging, while Muggshot took down the entire surprise wave without any back–up.

It was over in minutes.

He was hauled back up to his feet by the back of his shirt just as the rest of the gang came rushing back into the lobby in alarm, having missed the fight by mere seconds.

“I took care of it,” the bulldog said gruffly. He wiped away the blood on his forearm where he’d been nicked by a stray bullet - the only injury he had. “Cops on patrol must’ve finally come back, but none ‘a them could aim for squat. I’d say that was the last line of Mesa City’s defense. City belongs to us now, no question about it.”

As that declaration sank in among his dogs with excited murmuring, the raccoon carefully touched his nose, still throbbing painfully from his impact with the floor. His gloved hand came back red. Muggshot eyed him.

“Broken?”

“No.”

“Then I better not hear any whining about it.” He turned back to the rest of the mobsters, who were waiting for new orders with slobbering jaws. “Alright, boys, it’s time to take things up a notch. We got a lotta ground to cover if we’re gonna secure our new turf. I want you goin’ door to door to ‘persuade’ the fine folk of Mesa that it’s in their best interest to clear out till my operation’s done bein’ built.”

His men all began to head out, brandishing the weapons they’d ransacked from the station or pulled straight off cop corpses. The raccoon started trailing after one of the groups only to be stopped by a powerful grip on his shirt collar.

“Ah, ah, ah.” The bulldog leader glared suspiciously down at him. “Where do you think you’re goin’?”

“Out with everyone else – or do your orders not apply to me all of a sudden?”

He flinched when Muggshot pulled him close enough that he could feel hot breath on his face. The few remaining dogs all stopped just inside the doors, sensing the shift in their boss and watching the interaction carefully.

“You’re on thin ice today, pally. Don’t forget yer place.”

The raccoon’s ears flattened against his head. He didn’t dare meet the mobster’s eyes. “I haven’t.”

“Good.” He let go and motioned for him to follow. “Now come on, somethin’ tells me this cop building is just full of locks beggin’ to be busted open. What are the rest of you still doin’ here? I said, get goin’!”

The last of his men went running outside, although one dog’s gaze lingered on the raccoon just a beat too long to be comfortable.  He pretended he didn’t notice it and began following Muggshot deeper into the empty police precinct.

Then he stopped when he caught sight of the officer who had confronted him just half an hour before. They were slumped up against a wall, eyes wide and empty with their gun still gripped tightly in their hands. The raccoon looked at them for a long moment.

“Cooper!”

He shook his head and kept walking, and did not look back again.

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

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

A/N: I've thought a lot about what Muggshot's takeover of Mesa must've been like, and no matter what way you look at it, it couldn't have been pretty. Honestly, a LOT of stuff in the Sly series is awfully terrible if you really consider it - part of the reason I love it so much.

The stage is set. The pieces are in place. Carmelita may have gotten her wish, unwittingly as it is, but you know the old saying -

Be careful what you wish for.

Prologue

Chapter 2

[awkwarddystopianwarlord]

The Hobbit Trilogy Will Always Disappoint Me

Remember the Lord of the Rings movies? Remember how impeccable and nearly perfect they were? Remember how many people fell in love with Tolkien’s world brought to life? Do we even need to remember, when that strong love for those movies is still around to this day? Apparently so.

The Hobbit trilogy was a cash grab and it didn’t need to be and I’m angry about it. I finally read the book all the way through some months ago but it was read to my class almost to the end when I was in seventh grade and I had almost read the whole thing around then too. I have a good grasp on the story. The trio of movies did not have a good grasp at all. There is already a huge fan base for everything Tolkien, yet it seemed that the movies forgot about that and tried desperately to garner people’s attention. They butchered the plot in favor of poor action scenes and nonsensical romantic relationships. They took an incredibly simple story and mutilated it.

There were ways to make the slow pace and quiet chapters screen worthy. Honestly, the book would be rather easy to condense with proper transitions. The change of seasons, the wear and tear of the characters, the loss of supplies, a montage or two of various sceneries from multiple angles. Showing the Battle of Five Armies would make for good cinema, and they did that, they just did it bad. Which is so frustrating because the LOTR trilogy has beautiful battle scenes and those could have inspired so much. I’ve watched over and over again compilations of those battles because they leave me in awe every time. If they wanted reasonable pacing, this could have been a duology of movies, the first one “There”, the second “Back Again”. Not saying those should be the titles, but in terms of story they contain, the first covers the first half of the journey and the second covers the way back home. Not everything has to be a trio. 

I’m just so mad about these stupid movies because I’m such a LOTR lover, I have the dvd extended edition box set. I spent forty dollars on Amazon to get the Two Towers extended version in that form because one of my discs died. Those movies were made so long ago all things considered but they look a thousand times better! The quality, the effects, the costuming, the filmography, stunt work, writing, everything! The Hobbit trio looked so cheap for no reason. The CGI was insulting, the dialog weak, the characters butchered. They fucked up the timeline just so they could get fan service over characters that weren’t even born yet and to tie in plotlines from the original movies that made no sense. The whole thing sucks so much because they would have had a huge audience regardless since there are so many fans out there. We didn’t need cardboard romances from thin air or video game physics fights. We needed to see the love and appreciation and passion for these movies the same way we did before. We needed authenticity and care and we got an empty husk instead. The casting wasn’t even an issue in my opinion, save for the extra characters that shouldn’t have been there, but they had so little to work with. 

The same director from the LOTR trilogy was not enough to save the accursed Hobbit trilogy. It was a flop and it makes me sad. I’m not the biggest fan of remakes but I love expanding worlds and stories and the Hobbit was a perfect opportunity for that but they dropped the ball hard. I hate money and executives. They always ruin perfectly good products and ideas and everything for greed. Money needs to no longer continue to be the main purpose for creation, it fouls everything that comes from that. We deserve better. Stories deserve better. Tolkien deserves better.

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

I feel like I would have appreciated Tony’s stance on the Sokovia Accords so much more had they shown us a single instance of accountability on screen.

Like, it makes total sense that he’s the character calling for accountability. It’s the natural progression of his arc. He said it himself in the first Iron Man—he had become a part of a system that was comfortable with zero accountability. It was a huge function of the weapons business he was a leader of the industry in, and he was just realizing that it was wrong. Then, with Ultron, the mess happened because he didn’t consult anyone else. It was almost heavy-handed, how clear they made it—when he’s convincing Banner, and he says that he doesn’t want a town hall discussion. He doesn’t want to be told that man isn’t supposed to meddle. He sees a suit of armor around the world. And they can’t make Ultron without the staff and they only have three days with it… so they hide it from everyone else, rush to complete Ultron, something that has the potential to affect the entire world in three days, and they make the intentional decision to do so unilaterally because the others might disagree. Which is a shame, because maybe in that town hall meeting, someone might have brought up hey what if it goes evil and tries to kill everyone like every AI in every scifi movie ever.

(Probably Clint. I feel like Clint would have said it.)

Tony saying I fucked up and want to make sure it never happens again is a fantastic progression of his arc. It makes perfect sense. And it is great for his character, who started out as the war profiteer, who didn’t face any consequences for his actions to say, “actually no. I benefitted from the lack of consequences, but I’m the one saying we need them. We need to do better for everyone. I have been the direct beneficiary of this system and it was wrong.” That is fantastic development. 

But then the writers failed to actually back it up with the Accords themselves, and it made the entire arc fall flat.

Like, the Accords don’t even apply to him. Granted, he signed them, but the provisions themselves? He doesn’t fall in any of the categories. Let’s evaluate based on known clauses of the Accords:

He’s not enhanced. He won’t have to give up his biometric data, wear a tracking bracelet, be evaluated as a potential threat on something as basic as biology. Wanda will, and she landed in a shock collar. Peter Parker will, but he wasn’t even told ahead of time what it was about. 

All Avengers have to sign and be bound, enhanced or not, but as he says in the movie, he isn’t an Avenger. He’s retired at this point in the narrative. He’s not active duty. He doesn’t have to sign or act in an Avenger’s capacity, even though he does. 

He has the Iron Man suits, but that’s not covered by the Accords—there’s an exception in place for prosthetics, including ones that advance you beyond the capacity of human limits, and it was established in Iron Man II that that was what Tony had classified the suit as. 

The only provision that actively applies to Tony is the absolute prohibition against any Artificial Intelligence—which, honestly, fair, the last one went 2001 space odyssey on everyone—but we know he doesn’t follow that one either, because he gives Karen to Peter like, ten minutes after signing and makes E.D.I.T.H. somewhere down the line. Even though it’s supposed to apply, it doesn’t apply, because it isn’t followed and he is never shown to have consequences for breaking this provision.

Even if he agrees to only be Iron Man at the behest of the UN panel, we know he doesn’t keep that promise, because he breaks it in the same movie—just like legitimately every single person on Team Iron Man eventually did, only none of them land on the Raft. So we know again that ultimately, whether or not this is supposed to apply, it doesn’t apply. 

Who does the Accords apply to? Team Cap. None of whom signed. For a medley of legal reasons, the Accords haven’t been passed into law yet--treaties aren’t laws, they’re treaties, we sign treaties all the time but it doesn’t become binding on US law until 2/3rds of the Senate advises and consents. Even if it’s passed, it can’t actively violate the Constitution, which the Accords do. In. So many ways. So, at the time of the airport battle, it’s not actually law yet. At best, it can be considered a contract binding on the parties who signed. Which. Is not Team Cap. It’s Team Iron Man. Who also break them. But don’t. They don’t ever. Face. Consequences. Or accountability. For breaking them. Yeah. 

Like, setting aside the practical, legal problems with the Accords, once you take away any actual showing of accountability, all you’re left with is… guilt over Ultron and the bandaid slapped on it. They said the word accountability a lot and then failed to show any change in behavior. That’s not actual accountability. That’s pandering, and it does a huge disservice to his character.

You want the town hall meeting. You want Tony to look at a power like the power Ultron would have wielded, and actually say “no thanks. I don’t think we should have that. I don’t think we should be trusted with that. It could go wrong. It could hurt innocent people.” You want him to decide to never make an AI again, because even if this one doesn’t go wrong, it could. You want him to face consequences for actions, for breaking the Accords, because it shows that he helped build a system where everyone, regardless of their power and influence, face consequences for their actions. It is a good thing if he has to face ramifications for the Accords, because it shows that he actually meant it when he asked for accountability.  

That is the natural culmination of his arc. It is having the man who made weapons that killed a lot of innocent people, with or without his knowledge, say “no, I don’t trust that this weapon will be used properly. I think we need to discuss if it even should be made.” Having the man who thought that he was the one who got to decide Ultron for the world say, “I can’t make this decision. Nobody may be able to make this decision. We need to consider all of the people who might be hurt if it goes wrong, because we owe it to them.”

E.D.I.T.H. is probably the biggest showing in the MCU that Tony never learned accountability. An artificial tactical intelligence system that can execute someone via (an illegal, under international law, weaponizing space has been nominally illegal since the cold war) weaponized satellite with no oversight, no warrant, no trial, with so few safeguards it can be done by accident… sounds a hell of a lot like Project Insight. Like Ultron. No one, no matter how good they are, should get to call out a drone strike on someone so... casually. Especially if they’re a private individual, and not even an elected official. (Not to say that elected officials should, just that private individuals definitely shouldn’t.)  Even the access of electronic communications is a huge power violation. 

If the government wanted to access Flash Thompson’s embarrassing text messages, do you know what they would have had to do? Get a warrant. Show cause. Go to a judge and get them to sign off on it, after Flash had done something to show that it was legally permissible within the bounds of preexisting law. That is what accountability is. A structure of preexisting rules and people making sure you are allowed to do what you are doing, and penalizing you if aren’t doing what you’re allowed to do,

If Tony Stark, prominent but technically private individual wanted to access Flash Thompson’s embarrassing text messages, do you know what he would have had to do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Because there is nothing he could have done to legally get those. He isn’t the police. He can’t get a warrant. Being able to access all private communication without any sort of hesitation, consideration, or permission is a massive abuse of power. 

E.D.I.T.H itself a huge fucking red flag, and I wouldn’t trust anyone with that power, no matter who they were.

But instead of making this point, instead of stating that the E.D.I.T.H. system was a power too easily abused, the MCU slapped a cutesy acronym on it, turned it into a gag, and turned the conversation towards who would be worthy of it, not whether anyone would be worthy of it. The problem with the E.D.I.T.H. glasses is not that they were able to unilaterally cause such destruction with no oversight and no due process and no safeguards—the problem is Beck. The evil evil man who got them by trickery. If Tony Stark had them, if Peter Parker had them, if the right person had them, it never would have happened. We need to ask who wields powers, not if the powers should even exist.

I honestly don’t think the MCU is interested in depicting accountability, not really. It’s a fun time, I love the movies and the characters, but it’s still military propaganda. The Pentagon funds these movies. They are never going to have an antiestablishment message. They are never going to say that there are powers that no one should have, not the military, not the government, not anyone. They’ll use the buzzword accountability, show devastating powers, and then ask who should have them? Who are the best people to hold others accountable, to be the guiding force behind these abilities?

And despite all the corruption that the movies depict, despite Hydra and Ross and all the messed up abuses that are in each movie, the MCU still implicitly answers, the government. The guy we actually see at the head of the Accords was Ross. “Lead it to Harlem” Ross. “Bruce Banner is the property of the US military” Ross. Human experimentation, war crimes, and effective enslavement Ross, who hunted Bruce Banner across the globe because he saw him as a weapon instead of a person. Funnily enough, no one ever examines if he will responsibly wield the power the Accords gives him. It’s a necessary deal with a necessary devil, and ultimately, it’s for the greater good. 

In the end, the people running the Accords are people in the same position as the ones Tony sold weapons to for years, the same ones who cut deals with HYDRA scientists and led them to infiltrate, the same ones that okay’d Project Insight and nearly nuked New York. 

Don’t get me wrong--accountability was not the only facet of Tony’s character arc, and I actually really enjoy his character. He grew so much in the course of the movies, in a lot of different ways. Tony Stark was a hero, and he was a man who tried to do the right thing. But part of doing the right thing is accepting that some powers are not yours to have, and that if you take certain actions, you need to accept the consequences that come from it. The Accords had the potential to actualize this. It would have been a fulfillment of an arc they set up from the beginning. Instead, he left the MCU the same way he entered: making weapons, empowering government officials, and having little to no accountability or oversight for his actions. 

[starshipsofstarlord]

Win

stiles stilinski x reader / masterlist

summary; a little pre game warm up never hurt anyone / warnings; smut, handjob, orgasm denial, fantasies, dirty talk, swearing

His cock leaked in you palm, as you ran your skilled hand over it, your thumb swiping over the tip as he released a desperate whine, burrowing his head back into the head rest of his driver’s seat. Stiles was at your mercy, ruining his bottom lip with the prying of his teeth, as he desperately tried to buck his hips up into your grip.

Each of his hands were sternly wrapped around the circumference of the wheel, his knuckles turning white as he relentlessly held onto it. It served as a source of relief, he was able to take his prominent frustration out on the battled steering device as he breathily sighed, his amber orbs screwing shut as he mumbled your name.

“Fuck. Shit. Don’t stop.” You had not intention of doing so, and thus you sped up your pace, watching him as he inhaled heavily through his nose, his dark brows furrowing as he felt close. And then, you stopped, denying him of such an end to the pleasure. “Fuck.” The syllable was elongated, drenched in disappointment as he hit his forehead against the top of the steering wheel.

“Something wrong baby?” You smiled, tenderly running your precum slathered hand over his tense shoulder, him slightly shivering from the soft contact, that poised strongly against the treatment that he had just gotten from you.

“No.” He steadied his breathing pattern, pulling his flushed face back, and hollowing his cheeks in dismissal of thought. He knew your intent, he knew it was well, but it still wasn’t good enough. Not when he wanted nothing more than to fuck you in the backseat of his jeep, until the windows were pent up with steam, and the vehicle was having trouble remaining stiff on its wheels.

“You’re going to win that game, aren’t you? If you do, then you’ll get your surprise.” Clasping your fingers in the sides of your shirt, your heaved the fabric gently up, watching as his eyes ogled, filled with supple desire, and some drool leaking out of the corner of his chapped lips.

“Yeah, imma win.” He was certain of it, you were giving him all the control that he needed. From the leather bra that resembled the outfit that catwoman often adorned herself in, messy stitching purposely running up the seams, it was full reassurance that the competing team was going down.

And then he would go down on you, and discover the matching underwear, that was surely loose around your hips, with various strings hanging from the sides, to make an appearance of disarray upon the sultry and figure hugging component.

“Good. Because I wouldn’t want to have to spent all this money on this little treat for nothing. I could reuse the cat ears that are in my bag for halloween, but this set, well I’d never get a refund. And you wouldn’t deserve to see them, now would you?”

“No.” He firmly spoke, feeling himself grow hard in his lacrosse shorts once more, as his feet tapped frustratedly on the floor of the jeep. You dropped your shirt down, leaning over the console and kissing his cheek.

“Win baby, then we can ditch the after party. Might even let you fuck me in the locker room.” Winking at him, he felt his mouth gape at the half filled promise. His tongue swirled in his mouth at the thought, as his eyes flickered over your whole demeanour, attempting to read the supposition and how it ran over your form.

“The girl’s locker room?” He asked hopefully, being met with you flirtatiously batting your eyelashes, nodding with a prominent grin contorting your face. “Fuck yes.”

“I know you’ve never been in there, but it’s a fantasy of yours. But imagine being allowed to come in there, huh. Sounds good, doesn’t it?” There was a teasing edge locked onto your words, and Stiles wasn’t sure that he would last until after the game.

“Better than good y/n/n.” He sighed, leaning his head back. “I’m gonna go out there and bust, I can’t fucking stop thinking about fucking you in the little girl’s room.”

“So I’m a little girl now?” You contemptibly asked, grazing your hand upon his thigh, until you grabbed his cock, rolling the girth around in your grip.

“No. Definitely not.” His face was flushed as he painted prolifically. “Just wanna see your tight cunt, feel it wrapped around me, squeezing me til I explode. All that’s on my mind now.”

“That’s a shame, cause your dad is gonna be watching your game. It wouldn’t be fair would it, if I allowed you to go out on the pitch all hot and hard, would it?” Wildly, Stiles shook his head, surveying you through half lidded eyes as you tucked your hair out your face, and ducked your head, pressing a kiss onto the pale skin of his thigh.

Your teeth pinched the flesh, extracting a gasp from the lacrosse player, your tongue darting out to lap at his balls. His lips pursed together as he tried to stifle his moans, his hands flying to the dash before him, as he endured the texture of your tongue swiping upon him.

With your right hand, you found purchase on his cock, tugging once more at his length. As you did so, he sputtered out praised, though that was usually not his forfeit, but you allowed his mistake to slip, this once at least.

“Do you want to cum before the match Sti?” He whined, allowing you to continue pleasuring him, unaware of what the consequences would be if he accepted your offer. It was not you just being gracious, it was practically vandalism of his body.

Stiles wasn’t sure he’d survive in Beacon Hills much longer if you were to treat him so vigorously. He felt like a bomb, prepared to convert damage in his surroundings all for one goal, and that was to find some bliss within all this madness.

“Yes. Please. Baby I need to- uh. Shit, shit, shit baby, I can’t-“ you ran your tongue over his spilt milk, lapping it up with kitten licks, as your y/e/c eyes stared ruthlessly up at him. His seed coated your tongue like molten gold, and with such greed, you gulped every shovel of the substance down, holding your smirk at bay until you were finished cleaning him up.

“Too bad, you’re not gonna get any release later tonight though. Guess painting the walls of my locker room white is no longer on the table, you’ll just have me purring instead. Good thing I know where they keep the canes for the bad boys.” Stiles froze, instantly regretting ever considering you would gift him out of mercy.

Before he could retaliate with wet eyes, or blubbery responses, your eyes drifted away, and to the lock screen of your phone, your tongue swiping over your lip, as you contently put it back away. “If you wanna win for me, you’re gonna have to go now babes. I’ll see you on the field, m’kay?”

He couldn’t refuse your kiss, not as you leant towards him, and pressed your lips upon his own. The taste of himself wasn’t so horrific, he rather enjoyed having the affects of what you did to him dancing on his tongue. One thing was on his mind, and that was the only priority he had; it didn’t matter if there was a darach in the local premises, carrying out sacrifices.

It was his aim to win, either way, he couldn’t be an example of a virgin sacrifice, not considering you had so blatantly offered to take the weight on his shoulders with a shrug, and proceeded to do much more than just that. Even if he wasn’t allowed to cum again tonight, he was still eager to claim his prize, after all, it was one of his hormonal dreams, that could play out into reality, so perfectly, and filthily.

[sukirichi]

total opposites

You and Toge swap bodies after encountering a fairytale curse, and similar to its origin, it also takes a fairytale method to break it.

REQUEST. body swap au + best friends to lovers

CONTENT/WARNINGS. slight crack fic, some cursing, implications of nsfw but nothing explicit, just Toge being a not-so closet pervert, usual best friend bickering, reader is fem bodied, unedited story (I should stop saying this, everyone knows I don’t edit my stuff)

NOTES. I enjoyed writing this, tysm for the request anon, this was really cute! definitely this is shooting up in one of my fav works ever (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

You stretched your arms overhead, feeling great after sleeping in. It wasn’t common of you to sleep this late, but you and Toge had gone stargazing the night before. A smile made its way to your face as you reminisced him reciting rice ball ingredients, signing that he was telling poetry to ‘match the mood’ until you’d both fallen asleep on the soft blanket atop a hill.

You don’t remember how you made it back to your room, but figured that Toge had carried you back home before the sun rose. Making a mental note to thank your best friend later, you yawned as you padded out to your room, hands rubbing in circles at your stomach.

Hopefully breakfast would be amazing today.

The door next to you opened, revealing your younger classmate, and you frowned, because wasn’t Kugisaki your next door neighbour? Well, whatever, he, Yuuji, and Kugisaki might’ve taken advantage of the rare, peaceful weekend that they probably had a movie marathon the night before.

“Morning, Megumi!” you greeted, coughing a bit when you sounded off, throat a little horse and itchy. At the sound of your voice, Megumi stilled in his tracks, eyes wide at you. His comical expression had you barking in laughter, shooting finger guns his way as you wiggled your eyebrows. “Ey, be a good dog and bark for me, will you?”

Semi-visible sonic waves drifted like waves after one another out your mouth. Megumi scowled before he froze the next second, ears perked up and backside wagging in replacement of a tail. “Woof woof!”

“What the hell?” you reeled back in slight disgust, your underclassman’s cheeks burning red. Then, your lips grazed against a soft cloth, making you look down.

You blinked back once. Twice. You were definitely...built different today. Curiously, you tugged at the zipper peaking out from your black collar, the familiar zhoop sound of the zipper burned into your memory after hearing your best friend do it countless times before.

In front of you, Megumi screeched – the most noise he’d made ever since you met him – his jaw dropped open while you – or rather Toge stood at the end of the hallway, his hands squeezing at your breasts that were still under last night’s pyjamas. You blinked back once. Then twice, steam pouring from your nose when Toge, in your body, pointed at his body. 

“Oh, oh!” your scream bounced off the hallways hard enough that Panda slammed his door open, about to tell everyone to shut up when your voice let out a high-pitched scream.

“What are you doing in my body?!”

Looking down at where Toge was pointing, you were greeted by the sight of his dark uniform and sock clad feet, your chest replaced with hard muscles instead of the soft flesh. You turned to Toge with a stupefied look that mirrored his, both of you falling on the ground with fists pounding on the hardwood floor.

“I’m a fucking girl!” he cried out, whether out of happiness or frustration, it was hard to tell.

Meanwhile, you zipped his collar back up, tugging at his off-white hair as you forced yourself to remember his limited vocabulary. “BONITO FLAKES!”

Now you understood Toge’s frustration of being a cursed speech user. 

“Bonito Flakes” definitely did not hold the same fury as “FUCK” did.

“You and I need to set down some boundaries,” you signed to him, brows pulled together. Toge seemed to be enjoying this sudden body swap a lot more than you did since he hadn’t stopped posing in the mirror the moment you pushed him back to your room, locking it shut to get some privacy. “You are not, under any circumstances, allowed to shower, do you understand?”

Toge scowled at your words, sassy as ever with his hands placed on his hips, buttocks jutted out. You hated, absolutely hated that he used your body this way because this time you couldn’t even laugh – not when seeing your body felt this awkward.

“You would really rather me stink?”

“You can’t undress too! Ever! Or if you will, your eyes better be closed. No peeking too!”

“Y/N, you and I grew up together. I’ve already seen everything,” he rolled his eyes, earning him a hard slap from the arm. Considering he was a lot more muscular than you were, your hit came a lot harder. “Ow!” he protested, rubbing the sore spot that ached, only to laugh at the sounds emitting from his lips. “Wow, I have to admit that this is really fun though. I’m actually talking,” he announced, “Hey, say salmon for me.”

“Bonito flakes!” you shook your head, “The moment Principal Yaga is back, we’re going to talk to him, okay? I don’t want to be stuck in your body any longer!”

“Please, you’re lucky you get to feel me up,” he winked at you, taking your (his) hands to flatten it on his stomach. “Come on, come on, feel my abs!” Whack. “Would you please stop slapping me? Your body is a lot more delicate than mine and my hands are – stop slapping me!”

Feeling bad for your friend and not wanting to abuse your body too much, you raised your hands in surrender with a roll of your eyes. “I can’t take you seriously with that voice. You’re too cute.”

“Complimenting ourselves now, aren’t we?” he scoffed, “Well, whatever, you are cute, especially when you’re angry. Such a shame I can’t see you do that right now because my handsome face is looking back at me.”

“I won’t hesitate to choke you, my friend.”

“You wouldn’t. You adore your body too much,” contrary to his words, Toge pulled a defensive stance. You threw a pillow at him, to which he easily dodged, clutching at the hem of your pyjamas afterwards. “Speaking of bodies, I really need to pee.”

“Hold it!”

“Are you insane? I’m not holding it, you’re going to kill us both!”

“Fine, I’ll take you to the rest room then,” you tugged at the hood of your shirt, pushing him inside the communal female restroom. Toge stood in the middle shock still, evidently flustered at the stalls and lack of urinals. You flicked a finger on his forehead, finger pointed to a stall. “Go pee. That’s my body – I need to make sure you’re not going to do anything weird with it.”

“I thought you trusted me, friend. Why would you think I’d touch you that way?”

You gave him an ‘are you serious?’ look. “You jack off every fucking night, Toge. I can hear you even from the next hallway. Plus, you’re a horny teenage male, who’s to say you wouldn’t be curious and try to see what female masturbation feels like?”

His eyes lit up at the idea, fist coming down to bounce at the palm of his hand as he nodded. “That’s actually a good idea—”

“Don’t you even dare.”

“What?!” you and Toge both exclaimed. He faced you with utter horror written on his face and you gasped, slapping both palms over your lips.

“It is true,” Principal Yaga affirmed with a grim look on his face. He’d recently got back to fetch your troublesome Gojo-Sensei who’d been caught starting a ruckus in Roponggi while women flocked around him, leading to your principal to haul his ass back to the school grounds. “Some curses are manifested through daily objects, and sometimes even through nature. That shooting star you saw was an example of that.”

“But is kissing really necessary?” Toge queried with a wary gaze sent your way.

“It’s a fairytale curse. It can only be broken through a true love’s kiss.”

“But sir, Toge and I have never dated anyone before. How can we miraculously fall in love with someone to break this curse overnight?”

“It doesn’t have to happen overnight. Sometimes, a simple crush will do,” Principal Yaga sighed, scratching his bald head with his face pulled deep in thought. “Y/N, you have a crush on Gojo-Sensei right? I’m going to kill him if he actually kisses you – and knowing that damn brat he might if you ask him – but I think a kiss on the cheek will suffice. For now, you both just have to...broaden your relationships. Maybe go out on dates.”

“I don’t mind that. In fact, I’m going to have the time of my life,” Toge cheered, his mood dampening once he saw you stiffen. “But my body is...”

Knowing full well that he’d get insecure over his lack of speech again, you glared at him hard enough that your best friend straightened up, lips puckered out in a pout as if you hadn’t just caught him talking badly about himself again when you’ve told him countless times he was perfectly fine the way he was.

It made you sigh, feeling slightly bad that until now he still couldn’t see himself the way you saw him – not that you’d ever vocalize this; Toge would never shut up (in the best way he could) if he had the slightest idea what went inside your head.

“You’re lucky you have a pretty face. Otherwise, it’s going to be impossible for anyone to like you,” you teased instead, somewhat flustered at your indirect compliment.

Toge merely scoffed at you, his gaze burning and hard, contrasting the teasing little shit grin he wore. “Oh, please, if I wasn’t the cursed speech user, I would’ve banged—”

“Kids!” Principal Yaga threw his dolls at you hard, the both of you clutching at your heads in pain. How were those dolls as heavy as rocks? “Take your bickering back to your rooms please. No more of this mess and noise. It’s late.”

You frowned at the old man, face pleading as you signed, “Principal Yaga, can’t we really do anything else? Aren’t there any techniques to undo this?”

You and Toge knew that combination so well – pitch black eyes, jaw clenched, lips pursed and palms interlaced under his chin – one that meant his words were final and irrevocable. None of you could argue or suggest more solutions the moment the words left his lips like an ultimate decree. “The technique is the kiss. Now leave.”

You and Toge tried, you both really did. 

But following Principal Yaga’s suggestion of dating others had turned out to be a complete fail – even with your normal body and Toge’s physical charisma. 

It simply didn’t work; not when Megumi ran away from you every time you tried to get him to kiss you with your arms wide open, and Toge wasn’t helping either by pushing Gojo-Sensei away from you every time the cheeky eyed teacher announced his willingness to help.

Eventually, you and your best friend had retired in his room, the scent of him coated all over his pillows and his shirt that you wore. That felt comforting, at least, and you buried yourself in the crook of your body’s neck, bodies tangled with one another.

Who knew dating could be so tiring?

A wave of irritation flashed over you from today’s events, knowing full well that this could’ve been avoided long ago. Scowling, you cuddled Toge closer, lightly flicking your fingers on your body’s chest. “This is your damn fault, Toge.”

“You were the one who asked me to stargaze with you.”

“You don’t always have to say no to everything I ask of you, you know.”

“You’re really dumber than I thought if you think I could easily say no to you,” he snorted above you, his chin resting atop your head. “I don’t have a lot of weakness because I’m a strong sorcerer—” another flick, a harsher one this time around. “Okay, okay, I’m just kidding! But I mean it though – you’re my best friend and my weakness. Of course I’d do anything to make you happy, even if it’s something as stupid as stargazing.”

“Hey!” you made a sound of protest in your throat, looking back at him with a frown. “It wasn’t stupid, it was romantic.”

Hell yeah, it was romantic indeed – your heart still skipped a beat every time you remembered Toge’s starry eyes matching the night sky’s beauty, the words salmon and mustard leaf surprisingly sexy every time it came from him. It was stupid – so fucking stupid – that you groaned into his chest to hide your flushed face.

“Yeah, I suppose it was.”

The room fell silent, your syncopated breathing soothing during this stressful times. Taking advantage of your voice, Toge began to hum, singing the songs you both had always listened to in the privacy of your room during lazy days. It brought a smile to your face as you clutched to him tighter, heart pounding in your chest as you gazed up at him, tapping his chin to get his attention. “Toge, can I say something weird?”

“Please, nothing you say surprises me anymore. Shoot.”

Your mouth began to dry as you cleared your throat in an attempt to hide your awkwardness, gaze pointedly averted from his prying ones. “You and I...we’ve known each other for a long time and we love each other. As best friends, of course.”

“Sheesh, friendzone much?”

“Would you please shut up and listen to me seriously for once?” you huffed, making him snicker, but nodded at you anyway to continue. “As I was saying – why don’t we kiss? It could be true love’s kiss.”

Toge didn’t speak for a good minute, the pregnant pause filling in the gap filled with tension. You taped his cheek, waving his hand in front of his eyes when he dazed out. When his gaze focussed back on you, Toge was surprisingly calm – although beneath that composed exterior, his mind had simply short-circuited. “If this is your way to get to make out with me, I’m going to sock you in the face.”

“Toge, I’m serious! Let’s kiss!”

“I don’t want to!” he shook his head indignantly, hiding his face by hugging you close to his chest instead.

“Why not? Don’t you want to swap back to your original body? Both of us haven’t showered in two days and I’m sick of the way you smell. You’re lucky I love you though, otherwise I’m going to cry. Come on, Toge, what’s holding you back?” you tried to fight back from his grip, but he’d surprised you both when he only squeezed you tighter, both your erratic heart rates matching the other.

“I said no.”

“Toge, it’s just a damn kiss, what’re you so afraid of?”

“I’m afraid that if we don’t swap back, then that means you don’t love me the way I love you!” he finally admitted, breathing hard before continuing. “Principal Yaga said it must be a kiss between lovers and not just platonic friends okay?” you attempted to scramble away from his arms again, and this time he let you, though he’d closed his eyes, cheek squished on the pillows as he murmured, “I don’t want you to reject me... even though I messed up already.”

“Wait,” you snapped your fingers to make him open his eyes, hesitant as you signed, “You...you love me that way?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why not?”

“Because my face is staring back at me and it’s fucking awkward – I wanted to see your face when I confessed!” he sat up with a frustrated groan, childishly kicking off the sheets of the bed as he clutched his head in his hands. “I had everything planned, okay? Nobara and Yuuji helped me think of everything because Megumi is shit when it comes to love. Listen, I was going to ask you on a candlelit date and then maybe kiss the life out of you – if you feel the same way—”

“Kiss me.” The body he possessed a victim of his own powers, Toge was left with no choice but to grab your face before his mouth pressed against yours, fingers entangled into the other’s hair. You were smiling into the kiss the whole time, barely able to recognize when Toge had shifted your bodies until you were under him, his hands running down your sides lovingly the whole time. 

Pulling away to get some air, you opened your eyes, unsurprised when Toge laid above you, his strong arms planted beside your head.

Both of you were breathing hard from the passionate kiss filled with so much sexual tension and longing, your tongue darting out to swipe at his taste on your lips. The laughter that bubbled out of you was pure, wholesome and swollen like your heart. “I love you too, idiot.”

“Salmon!” Toge peppered your cheeks with kisses, pulling out more gleeful laughter from you, his playful and loving attacks more of a gift than a punishment. Once you’d recovered from your happiness – although really, who could recover after that? – Toge unzipped his collar, his smile nothing but wicked when he commanded, “Kiss me again.”

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

Out of the Woods P.5 | Peter Parker

Part 5 | Right Where You Left Me

P.1 | P.2 | P.3 | P.4 | P.5 | P.6 | P.7 | P.8

Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Genre: Angst

Words: ~6k

Summary: Life moved on after you mysteriously found yourself at the Statue of Liberty, yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing; more so that you were missing someone.

Note: Okay okay okay, so maybe we didn't get to meet the second character this chapter, I thought it best to cut the chapters in half as to not have it be so bogged down. But Bucky!

“I can see the end just as it begins, my one condition is…”

The music loudly played in your ears. It was quiet in your apartment, unbearably so. The silence made your skin crawl, making you very aware of just how alone you were. And every time you closed your eyes, you were haunted by brown eyes that would’ve loved you for a lifetime.

So to cope you blasted music at every second, doing anything and everything to stay distracted so you don’t have to be alone with your thoughts. Your thoughts and the never ending silence. And you couldn’t remember it always being this way. You’d just woken up, right around the time you found yourself at the Statue of Liberty, and couldn’t stand to be alone.

That was the frustrating thing though, you didn’t just want company. Because you’d surround yourself with people, mindlessly chattering to your heart's content, but that never fixed it. It was like there was a hole in your chest and no matter what you did, it wouldn’t be filled.

You sat on your wooden floor, right by the large window in your bedroom. It had the best lighting in the apartment. And it was the only place you could think clearly enough to write. A journal rested on your lap, a ball point pen in the center. Dozens upon dozens of papers were scattered in front of you, each one less comprehensible than the last. The edges were unevenly torn from when you had aggressively ripped them out of the notebook. Frustration plagued every sentence, the determination to write the perfect sentence falling short. They were scribbles of all the emotions and thoughts you’ve had the past five months. That coincidentally also suddenly appeared after you woke up at the Statue of Liberty.

And if someone from the outside found your notebooks and papers, they’d think you were trying to cope after a tragic love story. A tale of two lovers who were doomed from the beginning. But you weren’t some star-crossed lover, you’d remember something like that.

“None of this makes sense,” you muttered, shutting your journal with a resounding smack. You sighed and rubbed your eyes. You were exhausted, mentally and physically. And as the current song playing ended, a feeling that you were forgetting something ate at you, only to disappear once the next song started.

You stood from your spot, the floor quietly creaking under the weight. You lazily walked across the room, tossing your journal on your desk. Cold feet padded from the bedroom and into the kitchen, desperate for another cup of coffee. And as you prepared it, you did everything in your power to not look at your couch. You used to spend hours of your free time lounging on it; mindlessly fiddling with anything you could find. But now that portion of your apartment was a ghost town. It was just another mystery to the pile of ever growing ones.

Buzz

Buzz

You paused, staring at the screen of your phone that rested atop the kitchen counter.

Happy (Grumpy)

You pressed the answer button, setting the phone to speaker.

“What’s up, old man?” you said, dropping a cinnamon stick into your mug, a quiet ding filling the room.

“Hey kid, I -- wait, who are you calling old?” he asked. You could perfectly picture his scrunched up face, phone firmly pressed to his ear. There would be a deep line across his forehead. He was too easy to bait, falling for it every single time. It was one of the few things that still felt normal to you.

“You. I’m calling you old,” you said, pouring a spoonful of vanilla syrups into the mug.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say, you know, I’m your elder. You should respect me,” he said, indignation flooded his voice.

“Pass,” you said. You turned around and opened your refrigerator, grabbing the oat milk and shutting the door behind you.

“I’m serious. What are you gonna do if I die huh? This could be our last conversation. You gonna be able to live with that huh?” Happy said. You rolled your eyes, a small smirk on your face.

“Oh sure. I’ll even go up to the stand at your funeral and tell everyone just how much you hated when people made you acknowledge your age. I’d even bring up that black hair dye you’ll use, and claim innocence when people point out you dyed your hair,” you said.

“That’s disrespectful, you little shit. Who needs DNA tests with you Starks, you’re just like your dad,” Happy grumbled, annoyance covering every word spoken.

“So did you call me just to guilt me into being nice, or did you actually need something?” you asked. You shook the carton of milk and then poured it into your cup. He began to mutter under his breath and then sighed.

“Actually it was you who needed me.”

“Oh?” You raised a single brow.

“I did some digging into that picture of yours, you know, the polaroid one with the boy with the brown hair--”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I know which picture you're talking about. It’s the only one you're looking into,” you interrupted him.

“Hey, just making sure we’re on the same page. I don’t know how many strangers’ pictures you have,” Happy said, any of the previous aggravation cleaned from his tone.

“Just the one. But continue,” you said, pouring the hot coffee over everything else in the cup.

“Right anyways. I didn’t find anything. There’s no system in this world that has a person matching the photo. I even triple checked every Peter P. with brown hair, I even checked blondes just in case he bleached it - but nada,” Happy said.

You continued to stare at the wall as you brought your mug up to your lips. A heavy sigh blew from your mouth, a bit of condensation hitting yours face, then you took a quick sip and set it down.

“It was worth a shot I guess. Thanks for looking into it, Happy,” you said.

“Anytime kid. Hey, you still coming to dinner this Sunday? Pep says that Morgan wants to show you her latest project,” he said.

A small smile appeared on your face as you gently set your glass down.

“Yeah I’ll be there. Talk to you later, Happy.”

“Bye kid.”

And then it was quiet again.

And a hopeless feeling washed over you.

You abandoned your coffee and walked back into your room. Heading straight to your bed, you got down on all fours and reached under your bed. The cool metal of the box touched your hand and you pulled it into the light. Reverently, you clicked it open and took off the top. Carefully, you pulled out two polaroid pictures. The first was of a man, with messy brown hair and brown eyes that were wide in shock, clearly not anticipating the picture. He was attractive, a small part of you fluttering whenever you looked at the photo. The second one had you and the mystery brunette boy in it; both of you smiling brightly. And written on the back of the second picture, with messy handwriting was a short message. You didn’t understand the context, but every time you read it, you felt like you’d been hit by a bus.

“The rest of the world is black and white, but you are in screaming colors.” - Peter P.

Tears fell from your eyes, droplets of water distorting the sharpied message. You sniffled and quickly wiped them away. You set the photo back into the box and clicked it shut. Back under your bed was where it went as you stood from the ground. In the blink of an eye you vanished from the room, the music in your ears playing extra loud, as you tried to busy your mind and hands.

This was all too much.

OoO

Sleep was always elusive to you. Your mind was always working, and no matter how much you tried to shut it off, it wouldn’t. Which led to many sleepless nights, fiddling with your next big project until you finally passed out at 4am. You’d wake up and swear it wouldn’t happen again while drinking copious amounts of coffee, only to repeat that cycle the very same night. But instead of fiddling with a new invention or perfecting a sourdough bread recipe, you were staring at your ceiling.

Another dream that felt like heaven, only to turn into a nightmare when you woke. It was the same man from the polaroid pictures. It was always him. Every. Single. Night. You’d never remember the dream when you woke, every memory eluding your mind the second you were conscious. The residual feelings and emotions however would linger. You wanted to scream and cry, the urge to toss a chair out the window growing with every second.

It was muddling and confusing and infuriating. You were painted every shade of blue; mourning something you don’t even remember losing. And you couldn’t tell if you prefer that or spending every waking moment thinking of your dad and Nat. Their deaths were painful, more so than this empty feeling you had, but at least you knew why you were upset. You understood where every single emotion was coming from.

This though, you didn’t understand any of this.

It was like trying to finish a puzzle when you’d long since lost the final piece. You’d find different ones collected from other puzzles and try to force them to fit in the spot. But it would never work. Everything around you was in hues of grays and you desperately wanted to see color again. And once again, you found yourself trying to remember if life was always like this. Maybe it really was this never ending blue, but you just never noticed it.

Your phone buzzed two consecutive times, blue light faintly illuminating a corner of your room. You rolled over, eyes squinting from the sudden light. You looked at the text, reading it once and then a second time to make sure what you read was right.

“We can talk now if you’re up. I know this 24 hour cafe by where I live.” - Bucky

You didn’t expect an answer, never mind one so soon. But you were thankful, desperate to escape this lonely silence.

The next message was the cafe’s name so you could punch it into your map app. You exhaled a breath. If anyone would understand the feeling of missing something but not knowing what, it’d be an ex brainwashed Russian assassin.

A frustrated groan dissipated the silence. Covers thrown on the ground, you got out of bed. You threw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. Brisk footsteps padded from one end of the apartment to the other. Car keys dangling in your hands, you slipped on shoes and grabbed a jacket.

Before you could think you were out the door. The cold air smacked against your face as you left the heated building. Normally the cold air would unravel your muddled thoughts, but not this time. Determination filled every step as you stormed through the parking garage.

Beep.

Headlights flashed in the dark. You opened the car door and slid onto the cool leather seat. You pressed the On button for the car and connected the Bluetooth, then you were off, disappearing into the night. The roads were busy, as was usual for New York, but you paid no attention. Your mind was a million miles away.

It only took thirty minutes before you reached the small, run down looking cafe. You parked your car, and locked it as you walked to the entrance. The air was freezing, biting at your skin, leaving icy stings behind. Every breath taken was visible in the short walk from the side walk to the door.

Ding.

The small bell attached to the front entrance rang as you entered the building. It was almost entirely empty, except for an older woman who was working behind the counter. She was wiping the counter down, paying no attention to your entrance. A radio played jazz music, too quiet for you to discern the exact song. It smelled like black coffee and burnt toast mixed with sickly-sweet floral air freshener.

Eyes scanned the room, pausing on the large man sitting at a table in the farthest corner. He was wearing a black leather jacket, a dark t-shirt and jeans. One hand wore a black glove, the other hand wrapped around a dingy white ceramic mug that had faint black spider web marks. His face was blank as he stared into his drink. Previously long and unruly hair was cut short with slight stubble on his face.

Your sneakers squeaked against the floor as you crossed the room. His gaze didn’t move from the drink. It wasn’t until you were pulling out the chair in front of him that he acknowledged your presence.

“Hey,” he said. His tone was awkward, he tightened his grip around his mug just a tiny bit. He looked at your face, but wouldn’t look directly into your eyes.

“Hi,” you said and simply stared at him. Both of you waited for the other to speak.

“You want some coffee?” he asked, shoving a second cup of black coffee towards you. Steam rose from the mug and onto your face as you breathed it in. You extended your arms to the end of the table, grabbing exactly two packets of sugar. You dumped them in the cup, taking a spoon and stirring it exactly three times.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

You tapped the excess liquid off the spoon then set it down. The bitter burnt coffee was sour on your taste buds the moment it passed your lips. But you drank it anyway, needing a momentary distraction.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” Bucky asked. You looked at him and his eyes finally met yours. “I didn’t even know you had my contact information.”

“I didn’t,” you said. He raised a single brow. “But Sam did.”

He nodded, a quiet ‘Ah’ leaving his mouth.

“Figures,” he muttered, scratching the back of his head.

“You cut your hair, it looks nice,” you said. The corner of his mouth lifted into a small smirk, muted amusement in his blue eyes. “The whole homeless man thing wasn’t really the vibe.”

“I appreciate the grooming tips, but I don't think that’s why you wanted to talk,” he said. You cleared your throat and took a deep breath. You set down the cup and folded your arms across the table. “What do you need?”

No point in prolonging it anymore.

“After you escaped Hydra, before you remembered everything, what was that like?”

He sputtered, some of the coffee he was drinking falling back into his cup. His eyes were wide, lips downturned, not expecting the question.

“What?” he asked.

“What was it like? Trying to remember everything,” you asked again. You leaned forward, face set in a serious expression. He searched for a hint of a joke, but there was none there. Your eyes were steel, determination outlining your face.

“I uh -- I don’t know. Can you be more specific?” he asked, using a napkin to wipe his face and the spilled coffee on the table.

“How did it feel when you still had those gaps in your memories? Because you’d known there were memories there you just couldn’t…remember them,” you said, hoping the clarification would be enough. He nodded, chewing his bottom lip as he mulled over your question.

A few moments of silence passed.

You simply watched Bucky, anxiously awaiting his answer. Finally, your anticipation came to an end as he opened his mouth.

“It was like… when you have a dream, right. You wake up, and you know something happened, but you can’t remember what it was. And no matter how hard you try, it’s just…blank.”

You nodded, attention locked onto the tiled flooring you could see out of the corner of your eyes. The anxiety in your chest returned, hands mildly shaking. And you weren’t sure why. You swallowed, thickly, mouth suddenly dry.

He put into words everything you’d been feeling.

“Why?” he asked. Your attention snapped back to his face, brows raised. “Why do you ask?”

“I just--” you looked around the room, unsure of what to say. He’d understand, better than anyone, what you were feeling. Plus you owed him an honest explanation for dragging him out of his apartment at 3am. It might feel nice to get it off your chest, to verbalize just how you’ve felt this past year.

“You know last year, how the Statue of Liberty was destroyed and they’ve been doing construction on it?” you asked. He nodded his head.

“Yeah, it was all over the news. They still never found out what happened. Why?”

“Well I was there the day it was destroyed. Except I don't remember what happened. It was like, I blinked and then suddenly, I was on the ground at the statue,” you said.

“Like you were sleeping?” he asked. You shook your head, fingers tapping on the side of your glass.

“No, it was like I’d been in a daydream and finally came to with no recollection of even leaving my house the night before.” He nodded, motioning for you to continue.

“I don’t remember how I got there or why I was even there. And ever since then I’ve felt like I’m missing something. And when I got home, I found these on my counter,” you said. You reached into your pocket, and pulled out the two polaroids. You set them on the table and slid them to Bucky.

His attention was zeroed in on you, gaze flickering to the photos. He picked them up, carefully inspecting every corner of each of them. He flipped them over, scanning over the message that was written on the back.

“And you’ve never met this guy?” he asked. You shook your head and shrugged.

“Not that I can remember. But get this. I had Happy do some digging for me. And he couldn’t find any trace of this guy existing. He’s not in any systems anywhere,” you said.

Bucky raised a brow and set the photos down.

“Maybe he’s an agent?” he proposed.

“No, there’d be some trace of him. Even if it was from years ago, there’d have been something,” you said, tone confident. “He went deep in the search.”

“Hmm.”

“Plus,” you reached your hand across the table, pointing at the bottom of one of the pictures. “The pictures were taken the night before all the weird stuff happened.”

“So you think he’s involved?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah I do.”

“And that he either wiped your memory or had a part in your memory being wiped?” he asked.

“Also yes,” you said, firmly nodding once.

Bucky sighed, slouching into his seat. “There’s always something,” he muttered, rubbing his hand across his face. He was exhausted, you could see it in his eyes that were outlined with heavy bags. A pang of guilt hit your gut, you shouldn’t have pulled him into this mess. And you wanted to laugh, tell him it was all a big joke and leave. But it was too late to take it back now. There was a sharpness in his gaze, deep creases on his forehead from concentrating too hard. He wouldn’t let it go even if you tried to force it.

“Either that or I just really really need to start paying more attention to my surroundings.”

He smirked, hiding his face in his mug. He took a sip, then set it on the table.

“Have you tried going back to the Statue of Liberty?” he asked. You sighed and shut your eyes. Embarrassment hit you like a train. As per usual, you over complicated everything, when the solution could’ve been so simple. “I’ll take that as a no,” he said, subtle mirth slipping into his words.

“No, I didn’t even think of that,” you said. He nodded, a small smile appearing on his worn face.

“Anytime,” he said.

You gave him one last smile, delicately placing the pictures back in your pocket. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your wallet, setting some money on the table. Then you left.

Tomorrow, you decided, tomorrow you’ll go back to where this all started.

OoO

Stepping out of your apartment at 10am, you were invigorated. You finally felt like you might get somewhere with this whole mystery. The past year had been nothing but dead ends, it would be nice for some success. It was chilly, but not unbearably so, your jacket and jeans warm enough to stave it off.

With your car keys in hand, phone in the other, you turned around to lock your door.

“Took you long enough.”

The voice was sudden, breaking you from the trance you were in. You jumped, whipping around, instinctively falling into a defensive stance. It quickly relaxed however, when you saw the source of the voice.

Bucky stood at your front door, leaned casually against the wall directly across from your front door. He wore similar attire to last night, fewer bags around his eyes however, and with a black cap on his head. He smirked, eyes flickering down the empty hall before returning his gaze to you.

“Did you follow me home?” you asked, eyes narrowing, a suspicious glint reflecting in your eyes.

“No,” he said, offense lingering in his voice.

You raised a single eyebrow at him, placing a hand on your hip.

“Then how did you find my apartment,” you asked. He nonchalantly shrugged, turning his gaze away from you, suddenly interested in the paint on the wall.

“I looked it up on the Google,” he said, trying to feign innocence, but failed miserably.

“My address isn’t on Google.” Your voice was deadpan.

“Then I got it from Sam,” You raised your eyebrows, creases forming on your forehead. A mixture between a scoff and a laugh passed your lips.

“Sam doesn’t know where I live either,” you said, mindlessly fiddling with your keys, the quiet jangle echoing in the empty hall. It was amusing to watch him struggle to come up with a simple lie. This man is a trained assassin, he should at least be able to come up with a quick lie on the spot.

“Then he asked someone who does,” he said. He looked back at you and sighed. “Look, that's not the point. I’m here, don’t ask how.” He straightened his posture, pushing off the wall he was leaning against.

“Well can I ask why? Should I be concerned?” you asked, hands falling to your sides, shifting most of your weight to your left foot. The tips of your right toes delicately tapped on the hard, glossy flooring.

“I’m coming with you,” he said.

Your brows went higher, nearly touching your hairline, and motioned with a hand for him to continue.

“To the Statue of Liberty.”

“Why?” you asked, your brows relaxed and eyes narrowed.

“Because, something is clearly going on, and I want to help solve it,” he said.

“Why,” you repeated.

“To be a good person,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

You scoffed and crossed your arms.

“Or you just want to get out of your court mandated therapy,” you said.

“How did you--”

“Oh so you get to follow me home, but I don’t get to know about your therapy?” you asked.

“I didn’t--”

“Yeah yeah yeah, you Googled it, I know,” you said, rolling your eyes, interrupting whatever he was about to say in defense of himself. “Does your therapist know?”

He sighed and looked around the hall. It was still empty.

“Already did my session for the day,” he muttered.

“Good, I don’t want my Memory Tour to be ruined by police coming to arrest you,” you said. You swung your keys upward, catching them in a fist and began to walk down the hall to the elevator. The sound of every step was magnified by the empty hall, echoing in the depths of your mind. Bucky stood there for a moment, before running to catch up with you.

“So I can come?” he asked.

“Well, you didn’t give me much of a choice,” you replied, a slight grin on the corner of your lips.

“Sorry about that,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, an awkward air surrounding him. A light laugh left your mouth, the two of you reaching the elevator. You pressed the down button, a quiet ding signifying its arrival. Bucky motioned for you to enter first and then followed behind. You pressed the lobby button, the doors closing, and the elevator descended.

“It’s fine. The company might be nice,” you told him and shrugged. He nodded, faint laughter leaving his mouth.

The silence filled the elevator.

Ding.

It reached the lobby. The two of you stepped out, a small group of people entering afterward. Quickly, you exited the lobby into the attached parking garage. You found your car and then you were off.

Music softly played in the background, but the car ride was mostly silent. You stopped to get coffee on the way, Bucky only talking to inform you that your latte with vanilla was in fact, not real coffee. Yet those few words were all he uttered, black coffee mostly untouched in your cup holder.

“Not a fan of Taylor Swift,” you asked, taking your eyes off the road for a second as you glanced at him before promptly returning them frontwards.

“No, this is fine. I’m just curious,” he said.

“Oh, about what?” you asked, curiosity starting to eat away at your mind.

“I didn’t think you of all people would ever reach out to me,” he said, looking out the window, watching the city flash before his eyes.

You laughed, eyes bright with amusement. “And why’s that?”

“I killed your grandparents,” he muttered.

Your grin fell, eyes dimming ever so slightly. Your posture melted as your grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“That--that wasn’t you. You didn’t want to,” you muttered. Countless birthdays and Christmas’ during your childhood were spent wondering just why you didn’t have grandparents like all the other kids. You never got extra gifts, homemade treats, or any of the other stuff that came with them. You moved on, at some point accepting that sometimes life happens and there’s nothing you could do. But the pain still lingered some days, your seven year old self with tears streaming down her face.

“But I did.”

“No, you idiot, Hydra did. You were just the gun they decided to use,” you said, keeping your voice firm and steady.

“But--”

“One more word about it Barnes, and I’m kicking you out of the car. Now shut it, we’re almost to the ferry,” you interrupted. He simply nodded, taking a drink of his coffee.

“This is really bad, by the way,” he said, face contorting into a grimace as soon as the liquid touched his tongue.

“Oh and the coffee from last night was gourmet,” you said. He chuckled and you mimicked the sound.

“Yeah you’ve got me there.”

OoO

The early morning sun barely managed to peek through the heavy clouds that littered the sky. There was a cold wind in the air, the chill creating shivers all over your body. You pulled your jacket closer to your body, desperate to stave away the cold.

You stared up at the large statue, still in the final process of being rebuilt after it’d been severely damaged. How could you be there when that much damage happened, and you don’t even remember what happened? Now more than ever, the explanation of memory wiping was the only one that made sense.

Your heart was racing, anxiety tightening its grip on you with every breath taken. You needed to move forward, to at least try and see if coming to the spot would give you a flicker of an idea about what happened. But it was terrifying, fear locking you into place. This was your only lead, what would happen if it didn’t tell you anything?

Or what if it told you everything?

And somehow the thought of receiving answers was terrifying. You’d no longer be able to hide behind blind ignorance. You’d have to face the metaphorical music, and you were never good at dealing with your problems.

In; you took a breath.

One step forward.

Out; you exhaled deeply through your nose and took a second step forward.

“You ready?” Bucky asked, standing beside you, posture rigid as his hawk-like eyes darted around the surroundings. His hands were stuffed in his jacket pockets, feigning an air of nonchalance. But you knew better, he was on edge, prepared for anything and everything. It was comforting.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you muttered, hands also resting in your pocket. You took another breath, and then moved forward. Bucky followed behind, allowing you to lead. You weren’t thinking, just allowing your body to guide you to where it needed to be. It was almost as if you knew exactly where to go.

That was how you two ended up a little ways away from the statue, closer to the water than anything. There was a small bench that wasn’t always there, built during the restoration process. Your hands lightly traced the edge of the wood.

“So now what,” you asked, turning to face Bucky. He simply shrugged his shoulders. You sighed, shoulders slouching.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“What do you mean, ‘I don’t know’ this was your idea,” you said.

“It was a suggestion, I didn’t claim to be an expert at regaining memory,” you said.

“Then what jogged your memory?” you asked.

“Steve hit me a few times,” Bucky said, a chagrin grin on his face.

“Great,” you sighed and rolled your eyes. “Let me just find mysterious Peter and let him hit me.”

“Not what I was suggesting,” Bucky said in a monotonous voice. No humor was glinting in his eyes.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Look, just try closing your eyes and concentrating,” he said, pulling his hands out of his pockets, forcibly turning you to face the water.

“On what?” you asked, allowing Bucky to move you like a ragdoll.

“I don’t know, just something,” he said, annoyance mildly seeping into his voice.

“So helpful.” But you closed your eyes anyways, arms crossed like a petulant child.

“Stop being a brat,” he muttered.

“No.”

Bucky merely snorted, falling silent after.

Eyes shut, you took a deep breath through your nose, holding it for a moment, then releasing it.

You did it again; in and out you continued to breathe. Concentration solely on keeping any thoughts out of your mind. Blank, empty, blackness was all you focused on. Your eyes twitched, fingers tapping against your legs.

Nothing.

“It’s not working,” you said in a sing-song tone.

“Then keep trying until it does,” Bucky muttered.

You sighed, and repeated the process all over again. Deep breath in, then out. Then another one in, and out again. Still nothing happened. You grew frustrated, nostrils flaring as a scowl began to etch itself onto your lips.

And just when you had almost given up, a sarcastic remark on the tip of your tongue, a tingle surged through your body. Your body stiffened, anticipation building inside of you. You tried to replicate the feeling, the hone in on the sensations.

And…

“Still nothing,” you opened your eyes, a small pout resting on your lips.

“Well, I’m all out of ideas,” Bucky muttered, rubbing his hand over his face. “I thought for sure that would work.”

“Whatever, let's just go back to my place.”

The two of you left, no light banter and sarcastic quips exchanged. Not even the silent hum of the radio echoed in your car as you drove back to your apartment. You were dejected and frustrated. That was all you had, and it led to nothing. Like everything else.

OoO

As you entered your empty apartment, you slipped off your shoes, tossing the keys into the small bowl that sat near the entrance.

“You can just put your shoes there,” you muttered to Bucky, who followed behind you. Light footsteps echoed in the room, a small frown resting on your normally chipper face. This thing was draining you, the contrast questions leaving you empty.

Like clockwork, you walked into your kitchen, opening the refrigerator to get out the ingredients to throw together an iced coffee. Your body was already jittery, a slight shake in your hands from the excess caffeine. That didn’t stop the overwhelming desire to drink another cup.

Bucky stood in the center of your living room, looking around like a lost puppy, jacket in hand. He was quiet, careful to not break the silent aura you’d curated. He didn’t ask, because he knew better than anyone. Trying to remember something that’d been erased from your mind was a losing game.

“Want anything?” you asked.

“I’m good,” he said.

You shut the refrigerator door.

“You can take a seat anywhere,” you said, setting everything on the counter, and pulling out a spoon and a cup. You began mixing everything together, having the process down to a science. Within a few seconds, with a mug in hand, you were sitting on the couch - Bucky exactly three spaces away from you.

Neither of you spoke, the minutes ticking by. Your coffee was halfway gone as you fidgeted in your spot.

“Well on the bright side--” Bucky muttered. You looked away from the ground, eyes boring into him. “At least we can rule out brainwashing.”

You scoffed, looking away from him. You stared at the blank screen of your tv. Mindlessly, you stirred the metal straw in your cup.

“What makes you say that?” you asked, tone low and even.

“If it was similar to me, you would’ve gotten at least something, but there was nothing,” Bucky began to say.

“So that only leaves magical influence,” you finished. “Well Strange was there,” you mused.

“What?” Bucky said. “You never mentioned that the wizard was there.” He looked at you, eyes wide and a frown resting on his face.

“You never asked!” you exclaimed. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, glancing to his side and muttering to himself.

“I didn’t know I needed to!” Bucky said.

“Well I’m not a mind reader! Plus, it just didn’t seem important,” you said, nonchalantly shrugging, immediately taking a large sip of your coffee. Bucky narrowed his eyes, a single brow raised at you.

“Have you talked to Strange?” Bucky asked. You rolled your eyes, an exasperated sigh escaping your mouth.

“Of course I did! He didn’t know what happened either,” you said, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Jesus kid, still would’ve been nice to know,” Bucky said, leaning his head back to rest on the top of the sofa.

“Whatever.”

It fell silent again.

Your eyes moved to a photo that hung on the wall. It was all the Avengers huddled together to all fit in one photo, you in middle with a wide grin on your face. You carefully looked at each and every face. Melancholic thoughts filled your mind as you momentarily reminiscence on when everything seemed so much simpler.

Your eyes locked on Wanda, smile wide and eyes bright as Vision awkwardly stood beside her. While her start with Avengers had been rough, you immediately took a liking to her and the two of you became fast friends. Her unique magic mesmerized you, the way she could control reality on a whim, getting into people heads and--

“Mind control,” you whispered. Bucky looked over at you, brows slightly furrowed.

“What’d you say?”

“Wanda, we need to find Wanda,” you stood from the couch, walking over to your phone and car keys that were resting on the countertop.

“Why?”

“When I first met her, she’d used her magic to go into the minds of each Avenger, making them see something,” you said, turning to face him. He was nodding along, then suddenly he shot out of his seat.

“And you think she could maybe recover the lost memories!” he said.

“Exactly!” you yelled. “Come on, let's go.”

“Wait to where?” Bucky asked.

“Sokovia.”

OoO

Tags: @todaywasafairytale07 | @utterly-in-like | @silverwindptv | @redgetawaycar | @ssophiebirkas | @parknochuism | @lover1307 | @hellothereobi | @droopywrites | @lendeluxe | @lydeebugz | @gnarly272 | @captaindanvxrs | @celestialdusk101 | @captainwanderlust78 | @itzagothamcitysiren | @xdezaraex | @lokisel | @xoxoloverb | @lvsickhyuck | @whataprettyshadeofred | @mssbridgerton | @warlock--protection | @lazysheepperfection | @taina-eny | @timelesstay | @not-main-blog-anymore | @the-winter-queen | @beetea38 | @queernami | @vi0letblu3s | @goldeneaglearmor | @idli-dosa | @xuxialling | @utterly-in-like | @knightofreaders@crankynfancy |

[8bitscarlet]

Witchcraft

Summary: You've found yourself falling deeper into a certain witch's spell. But no matter how strong the magic is, it seems that the two of you just keep missing each other.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Angst/Fluff (minor cussing)

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: This is a fic for @marvelxreaderfanfictionfest writing exchange. This one is for @mrsromanoff and the prompt: "I can't keep kissing strangers and thinking they're you." Hope you like it!

*please do not repost or translate my material or claim as yours.*

________________

You never thought your three month assignment with the Avengers would've extended as long as it has. Missions went by with minimal injuries and maximum wins. You found yourself settling well into the chaos of the compound; the echoing boasts of Thor, the competitive edge of Danvers and the snark between Romanoff and Stark. When your three months were up, it wasn't a surprise to anyone that you immediately signed the contract from Stark, an official placement on the team.

Despite all of the alien blasters, Hydra experiments and Tony's benefit parties, nothing could've prepared you for a single person to rock your world. It started innocently enough; stolen glances at meals and ensuring you two were on the same mission team. As time continued, things turned less innocent; sneaking off during charity balls to suck face in the broom closet, you could recall a few times you were nearly caught in the back of the Quinjet. There was something about this woman. The way her fingers slithered through your hair, how those green eyes made your heart say yes, she stripped you bare.

You had convinced yourself it was witchcraft. It had to be.

Sitting with your cheek pressed against your fist, you find yourself doodling as Steve drones on in the background. Someone nudges you and as you turn, Wanda raises her brows when your eyes connect. With a groan, you raise the pen in your hand. Steve notices, stopping his spiel to look at you with a clenched jaw.

"With all due respect, Cap, we all got in at four this morning. Do we need a recap of the mission right now?"

Steve sighs, glancing at everyone and seeing them agreeing with you. You all had barely had time to unpack, let alone write your after action reports.

"Alright, Y/N. We'll go over how your pants tore mid-fight on Monday."

You point your pen at him, warning him as you watch his stupid smile fill his face. Bucky slaps your shoulders in gratitude, picking up Alpine onto his shoulders as he strides out to find Sam. Wanda's fingers gently brush yours as you walk side by side, sending an electric charge through your body.

"You know, when someone says 'with all due respect,' they really mean, 'kiss my ass'." Wanda glances at you with a sly smile.

Walking backwards towards the couch, you outstretch your arms with a grin, "Because that's what I meant, darling."

Chuckling, you roll over the back of the couch and plop down onto the cushions, your head landing perfectly on a pillow. Wanda lets out a scoff, knowing how many times it's taken you to actually land on the cushion and not the floor.

Flipping through the pages of her book, you watch her through half-closed eyes. A year ago you'd be asking what she was reading. A year ago, she'd curl up with you and explain it all. A year ago, you didn't have guilt eating at you.

Things a year ago were more than good between you. There might have even been a chance beyond friends with benefits. You knew you wanted that. Every time you looked at her, you couldn't stop your pounding heart or the warmth that grew in your stomach.

But you were stupid.

Chickening out every chance you had to ask her on an actual date rather than sneaking around to make her moan. You both had set ground rules, no strings attached. If it got too messy, you both had to call it quits. So, you convinced yourself it was better to quietly love her and keep her, than to tell the truth and lose her.

That was before the year long mission with Carol and Bucky. Before you realized how big of a mistake it was two months in. Before every day texts and video chats diminished to every other week, then every other month. Before you got back to the compound and saw her kissing up on some random benefactor at the Welcome Home Party. It was definitely before she started dating that walking toaster, Vision.

Luckily, he hadn't been around much the past month so watching them kiss and stare into each other's eyes was doable, mostly because you turned whenever you saw that stupid spark plug.

Four months since coming home, you've tried to fill the void the witch had created in your body, your soul. You went out with Carol and Bucky, prowling the town and the bar. Matching shot for shot some nights, waking up in random apartments other nights. Eventually Bucky did what you never did.

He asked Sam on a date and that left you and Carol. Until she started hooking up with Maria and dragged her along so you wouldn't be hitting the bars alone. You had made yourself a pity case.

"Do you need something?" Wanda cocks a brow at you, making a face at your prolonged staring.

You clear your throat, feeling the heat rush through your face, "You look a little sunburnt."

With a shrug and a chuckle, Wanda bookmarks her page as she places it down on the coffee table. Standing, she sits down on the couch, your body automatically scooting over to accommodate her. Holding out her red and glowing hand, you watch her pull off her rings, displaying the radiating tan lines running up and down her fingers. A laugh escapes you as you feel her hand slap against your chest.

"I didn't have anyone to put sunscreen on me!" She groans, "It burns!"

You guide your finger gently down her exposed arm, pressing in slightly to her warm skin. As you lift, you see the true color of her skin before it's bombarded with the glowing red of her burn. Glancing up, her green eyes watch you carefully, both of you not acknowledging the weight of her hand still on your chest.

"An aloe vera massage would do wonders," You whisper, "And I'm all out."

With a roll of her eyes, she leans back into your legs, "You really are a pain in my ass, y'know? When I tell people about you, that's the first thing I say."

Watching her float the remote to her awaiting hand, you grin, "Oho, so you're telling people about me, huh?"

"Please, check the ego there."

For the next moment, the two of you sit peacefully in each other's silence. Wanda was one who clung to those she trusted. When you came back, it was like she had superglued herself to you any time you walked into the room. It didn't help that you were still madly in love and she was taken.

Right now though, you watch her delicate fingers play with yours. Her eyes squinting with laughter as she watches her sitcoms, glancing to see if you're laughing as well.

A commercial echoes through the living room and Wanda lets out a sigh for attention, patting your thigh as she drops your hand. You don't move it as it lands atop her thigh, only gently stroke your thumb against the silky skin you wish could press against yours. Letting out a noise that you're both awake and paying attention to her, she glances over at you.

"Since you got Captain America to actually give us a free weekend, what's your plan tonight, casanova?"

You shrug, "I have early training with Bucky and-."

Wanda moves her whole body to face you, your hand slipping from her thigh as confusion spreads across her face. She lets out an unbelieving scoff,

"You're joking. You used to show up half drunk to training and still kick ass."

She's watching you carefully and you try to keep a neutral look on your face, she knows all of your quirks. Glancing up at her with a small grin, you pull your legs into you. Shifting yourself, you sit properly on the couch and run your hands through your hair.

"Just don't want to go out tonight. It's boring." You chuckle, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

Wanda rolls her eyes, "Why, no one catches your eye anymore?"

Another playful nudge and you sigh. All this playful teasing, these light touches. She has to know what she's doing.

Trying to keep a steady and nonchalant shrug, you shake your head,

"No one out there."

And you might've gotten away with it. Instead, you fell into the magnetic pull of those green eyes that cause you so much trouble. As your eyes land on hers, you can see the dilation within her pupils. Then the realization across her face. Her playful grin falls as she stares at you, blinking slowly.

"Y/N," She says slowly, "If you're doing what I think-."

You stand up quickly, your feet taking you to the other end of the coffee table. In two days you'll be gone and you'll be back in the place you hate being in right now. Placing your hands on your waist, you look up from your tapping foot.

"Wanda, I can't keep kissing strangers and thinking they're you."

Silence meets your face. You watch her as she slowly nods at you, "That's exactly what you're doing."

Groaning, she slides her fingers through her hair, pinning it from her face. Wanda lets out a careful breath before looking up at you, "What happened to no strings?"

Slapping your hands against your thighs in frustration, you let out a scornful chuckle, "Come on, Wanda. You know those rules were bullshit! No strings means not going on exclusive trips to museums and restaurants!" You watch her eyes flicker around the room, trying to find a way to disprove what you're saying. "It means not staying up all night when the other is sick!"

Wanda stands up quickly and you can see the look on her face, she knows what you're getting to. Waving her hand to get you to shut up, she tries to get to the stairs but your words blurt from your mouth,

"It means not falling in love!"

Her feet stop carrying her towards the stairs, her body frozen in the middle of the compound. Carefully, you step towards her, leaning ever so slightly to try and catch her eyes. They're glazed over from your confession, trying to understand the implications.

"I left. I..." You suck in a shaky breath, "I thought it would be easier if I wasn't here. You were so adamant about no strings, Wands. I broke the only rule, why would I stay?"

Her head jerks back at your words, her brows furrowing deeply down her face. Without another second to keep talking, Wanda's feet pivot as she shoots a finger into your face. You jerk away from her advance, seeing the growing mist within her eyes as she shouts,

"That's why you left?"

The crack in her voice sends one through your heart.

She turns quickly, her hands violently wiping at the tears that have broken free. You clench your brows. She's angry at you? You're the one who's had to watch her prance around with Vision, you just a memory of romance. Just before she can grab her bag and leave, you call out,

"Well, you seem to have fared better than me!"

As the words leave your lips, you bite down hard and shut your eyes. A surprised choke exits Wanda's throat as she throws her purse back onto the side table, knocking over the decorative bowl of rocks. They scatter across the ground but she doesn't notice, all of her rage is pointing at you. Her fingers run violently through her auburn hair, looking like she wants to rip it out.

"You are infuriating!" She jabs a fingers at you, "Why think that?! Because I'm dating Vision? He's filling a void, dumbass!"

Her words stab into you as her stomps draw nearer, you can feel the heat of her anger. She's not done, she's not letting you off easy.

"Every time he touches me, every time he kisses me. God, Y/N! All I can see is your dumb face."

Wanda's heavy breath washes over you as she finally stops her assault, so close you can see the blue in her green eyes. Her body radiates out to you and you have to force your hands into your pocket to not grab her and kiss her. Your eyes dip to her lips but you see sadness that has quickly replaced the facade of anger. Making a small fist, she slams it into your chest as her head bows. Her arm slides down your body, hanging limply at her side as she looks to you.

"Why didn't you talk to me?"

Wanda's fingers twitch forward, wanting to grab onto you. You sigh, taking your hands from your pockets and resting them on your waist. Your confession was supposed to be more romantic than this. Instead, you brought up issues you both were trying to ignore. You were angry now at yourself, taking it all out on the person you loved. You'd spent too long with all of this pent up emotion though, and it was all pouring out in waves.

"I have to finish my requisition forms. Get my gear ready."

You don't have to look up to know what face Wanda is making at you. It's the same face she had when you left the first time. The way her brows clenched together in disbelief, the pain behind her reddened eyes that threatened to spill more tears, how her chin trembled as she tried to breathe.

Her voice barely passes a whisper but standing so close, you hear every broken syllable, "You're leaving again."

You sigh, rubbing your throbbing temples as you feel your nose stuff up.

"You drop all of that on me and you're just going to turn around and leave?"

Shaking your head, you want this conversation to end. It's obvious where she is and it's not next to you.

"Don't you have a date or something?" You ask.

Wanda's been around you too long to not see exactly what you're doing. She lets out a chuckle, a lethal look in her eyes.

"No, you're right. And that date seems a hell of a lot better than this." Without another word, she snatches her purse from the table and starts to climb the stairs, leaving your feet frozen. Just as she reaches the middle of the staircase, she stops. You can feel her stare burning into you and as you look her way, you wish you hadn't.

"You're a coward."

Those words burn into your brain, rising through your ears and torture you for the rest of the day. The only thing you could think to do was slam your fists into the closest thing. The punching bags. People came and went, eyeing you try and punch away your frustrations to no avail. When the sun finally had sunk below the horizon, one Avenger had enough of your pity party.

"You know she's right." A voice comes from behind you.

You don't respond to them, just dodge the swaying bag. They walk into the room, stopping just inside of your peripheral.

"You're an idiot, you know."

With a chuckle, you sidestep the bag, "You need to be a little more specific."

"You're losing her again."

Another punch, "Uh huh."

Carol sighs next to you, "And you sent her away on her date."

"Yup."

She steps in front of the bag, stopping its movement and stares at you with determination in her eyes, "And you're not going after her?"

Avoiding her stare, you start to unwrap your hands, wiping at the sweat that pours down your face. Stopping, you can feel the cramp in your side and the throbbing of your knuckles. Chucking the wrap, you let out a shrug,

"Is there a point?"

Carol shoves the bag into you, grabbing your attention, "I am not going on another mission with you while you sulk. Do you know you talk in your sleep? Yeah. Guess what name I heard that whole year?"

You shake you head, licking your chapped lips as you search for water, "She didn't say it back."

You hear an exasperated chuckle from Carol, "Y'know Y/N, I'm going to go on a limb and say she wasn't expecting all of that to be thrown in her face."

Shooting her a glare, she keeps talking, "I'm saying this once. If you think this is going to be some cheesy Rom-Com where she bursts through those doors and confesses her love, you're more of an idiot than I thought." A finger jabs hard into your chest as you grimace, "You need to fix this."

Carol leaves you there with your head filled with more thoughts than before. Wanda was happy with Vision wasn't she? She hadn't talked about him much but you knew she had to be. Who were you to go and screw that up?

Night turned into morning and after staring up at your ceiling, you knew you weren't getting any sleep.

Sneaking down the stairs, you see everyone is still asleep. You take the opportunity to sit in more silence and wait for the coffee machine to finish steaming. The sun was just beginning to shine its red hues into the kitchen as you stood at the counter, twirling your empty mug. Lost in thought, you failed to hear the padding of feet coming down the stairs.

"I thought you had early training."

With a quiet chuckle, you lean into the counter, "You caught me."

In silence, you watch the witch pour in her coffee. The same amount of creamer and sugar every time, the same motions every morning since you've noticed her. Turning, she sees your mindless fingers twisting and turning your empty mug. Wanda raises her brows and holds out her hand,

"Refill?"

You hand over the mug and watch her work her magic on the black liquid, turning it into the caramel drink you love. Breathing in deeply, you watch the bubbles swirl around the liquid. You furrow your brows,

"I can never make mine taste-."

"We broke up."

Her words slam into you, your breath catching inside of your throat. Looking up, Wanda stands there in the middle of the kitchen, unsure if she had truly spoken or not. She looks up at you, her mouth closing as she realizes she doesn't know what she's doing.

"What? Wands, are you okay?" You start to stand to go and comfort her, you know they had a date yesterday. Did the son of a microwave hurt her?

Wanda's hand rises, stopping you in your tracks before she takes a quiet breath, "We broke up almost a month ago, Y/N."

Nodding at your obliviousness, you knock your knuckles against the counter as you press your lips into a thin line, "We're both liars then."

"Tell me you lied about the mission," She whispers, leaning into the counter. Her fingers laying gently across yours.

Your chest constricts as you sigh, "I didn't."

You watch her sullen nod, curling hair falling out of her messy bun as you gently graze your thumb across her knuckles. She quietly chuckles,

"We just missed each other."

Stopping your thumb, you clench your jaw. This isn't going to happen again.

"Wanda," You whisper, listening to the sad hum she gives you as she glances up with bloodshot eyes, "I'm sorry. I was scared and... I was an idiot."

Wanda pats your hand with a loud sniff, "I appreciate it, but-."

She doesn't continue. She doesn't want to believe that you're leaving. The love you feel wouldn't be strong enough to survive that time apart again. There's broken support beams and one thing will send it falling down. A far away mission isn't the nurturing this budding feeling needs.

Wanda tries her best to flash you a grin, "Let me teach you how to make coffee."

Before she can turn, you grab her hand quickly, "I'd prefer if you made it."

As you walk around the counter, you gently rest a hand on her waist, watching her carefully. Her handgrips your arm tightly, words stuttering from her lips as she tries to remind you that she's not going. You're leaving her again.

Without hesitation, you press your lips against hers, feeling her breath wash over you in a sigh. You pull her in tighter, leaning your head back to speak,

"Sam's going stir crazy. He can have it."

A smile tugs at your lips as you see her furrowed brows on her face, you place a kiss at the center of the wrinkles, pulling back to see the scrunching of her nose. A scrunch just for you.

"Wanda Maximoff. I love you. And I'm not losing you twice."

Without warning, her lips smash against your as she wraps her arms around your shoulders as you hoist her up. Wanda's legs wrap around you as both of you are smiling so wide that you can't kiss properly. Feeling her cold hands press gently against your face, you look into those green eyes that complete you life.

"I love you." Wanda whispers as her witchcraft wraps around you once more.

[theleftovertaco]

Petty Rivalry- Fred Weasley x Reader

I got an ask maybe 4 months ago asking me to write a fic where reader and fred are rivals and then they fuck but life's a bitch so I'm just getting to it now. Here u go lol. Made some changes so now the reader is a gryffindor chaser tho.

Warnings: smut, sub!fred, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kiddos)

"Weasley, you cunt!"

"Hey!"

"Not you, George. Sorry!" You shouted above the whooshing noises of the brooms around you. Fred zoomed past you.

"Not my fault you were in the way of a bludger!"

"It literally is your fault! Your job as a beater is to keep us safe, dipshit!"

"Oi! You two. Get your shit together before we lose!" Angelina shouted as she flew past.

You set one more glare Fred's way before flying off. Between bickering, dodging, and passing, Ravenclaw was catching up and close to winning as both seekers raced around the pitch in search for the Golden snitch.

As Potter seemed to spot the small golden ball, he flew past the two of you, and within a few minutes, the game was over.

Angelina pulled you aside after your team had celebrated, shoving a finger in your face.

“You and Fred need to get it together. If you kept arguing you could have distracted the other players and cost us our win.”

You rolled your eyes and batted her hand away.

"He's the one whos always being difficult, not me!"

Angelina scoffed, "You're both arseholes to each other. Get over yourselves. Either learn to cooperate or I'll be looking for a replacement chaser and beater." She turned away and walked off, you trailing frantically behind her.

"Ange!"

"Look," she turned back, "I love you both, but quidditch is important to me, and it could help me get an internship with the Montrose Magpies, I need to secure a win, or at least a well run team."

You paused for a second, then nodded.

"Yeah, alright, I'll talk to him later today after our celebration in the common room."

Angelina seemed to relax at that, clapping you on the shoulder than walking off to join the rest of the team.

You sighed, and made your way to Gryffindor common room.

..........................

Gryffindor's common room raged about with laughter, as food and shots of firewhiskey were shared (no one asked where that came from).

You took a deep breath, and walked quickly over to where Fred was standing.

"Hey."

He glanced over at you in distrust. "Hello?"

"How are you?"

"Fine, why?"

"No reason."

"Great."

"What's great?"

"You can leave me alone now is what's great."

You rolled your eyes.

"Look, Weasley, I was trying to be nice. Work things out so we could both stay on the team together."

"We wouldn't have anything to work out if you would get your head out of your arse for five minutes during our matches."

"Me? You're the one who keeps aiming bludgers at my head, you know you're supposed to aim them away, right? Or at least towards the other team, not someone on your own."

"They wouldn't nearly hit you if you weren't in the way!"

You barked out a laugh, "That's bullshit, I am perfectly fine with my job, or I would be if you weren't out to get me all the damn time!"

By this point, you were both attracting some attention, and Angelina dragged you away while Katie did the same with Fred.

"Both of you, knock it off."

You whipped your head around to look at her, "But I tried to make amends like you said, I even-"

"Leave it alone, plus, there's an issue in the main hallway we need you to come look at."

"Why do you need me?"

Angelina just dragged you further along.

"Ange, what kind of damn issue is so important that, aaGH-" You exclaimed as you were shoved into a closet, and a very tall figure.

"Who the fuck- ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME ANGE!" You saw Fred's equally pissed off face in the dim light hanging from the top of the closet.

"You two work your shit out, we aren't letting you out until you do."

Fred yelled out in frustration, banging on the door.

"KATIE, ANGIE, LET US OUT RIGHT FUCKING NOW!"

There was only light giggling in response, and you knew there was no way you were leaving that broom closet any time soon.

You spent the next ten minutes pacing the room, trying to find a way out of the closet.

"Can you stop pacing for five seconds? It's driving me insane."

"I wouldn't have to if you hadn't gotten us locked up in here in the first place!"

"How did I get us here? Last I checked we both hated each other, so they wanted us both in here!"

"I was trying to be nice to you back there! To make amends!"

Fred threw his hands in the air.

"Well look where that got the both of us."

You stood face to face with him, eyes locking.

"Why do you hate me so much?" You asked him.

"Why do you hate me so much?"

You scoffed, "You can't just answer a question with the exact same question."

"Like hell I can. And you never answered!"

"Because I asked you first! I mean I just don't understand why it's so hard for you to just not be a dick." You turned your back and resumed your pacing.

"Y/N, it's not that, it's just-"

"Just what, because I am sick and tired of you acting as if I am the worst thing to ever happen to you, why do you hate me so goddamn much, I mean-"

"I DON'T HATE YOU DAMMIT! I LOVE YOU!"

You paused for a second, and turned back.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I've been attracted to you since second year!"

You took a second to process this information.

"So why are you such an arsehole then? For the past 5 years you have been!”

You rolled you eyes.

“Nope. Absolutely not. Liking me was not an excuse to be a dick. And don’t try some ‘I didn’t know how to express my feelings’ bullshit!”

Fred looked at you shocked.

“But… I told you that I liked you. And now I’m getting the feeling you might like me.”

“Thats… besides the point, and even if I did, that still doesn’t excuse you from being a dick, I only responded to you in the same way you always treated me!”

“Right, and I’m sorry for that, Y/N. Please allow me to make it up to you.”

Fred held you face in his hands, and you fought an instinct to jerk away.

“How the hell do you plan on making up for five years of assholery?”

Suddenly you were shoved back into the wall. Fred dropped to his knees, unbuckling your jeans.

“Please, let me make it up to you.”

He dragged your jeans down.

“Fred, what are you doing!?”

“Say the word, and I’ll stop. Please, let me make it up to you.”

Fred looked up at you with wide eyes, and you paused for a moment before nodding. He resumed, pulling you underwear past your legs, and lifted up one of your legs before diving into you.

“Fred, I- fuck!”

He dragged his tongue along your folds and nosed at your clit.

“Want you. Want your cunt, your lips, your body, please.”

You carded your fingers through his hair, dragging him closer to you.

“Fuck, want you too.”

Fred continued until you pulled him back up by his hair to meet you. You hastily unbuckled his belt and undid his trousers to take out his cock. Spitting in your hand, you ran your hand up and down his dick, causing him to let out a series of curses and moans.

He lifted you up by your thighs, and you placed his cock at your entrance, and Fred let out a whine as he pushed in.

“Fuck, love, you feel good.” He readjusted you in his arms and began fucking up into you, his thrusts making him hit that spot inside you.

“Fuck, Fred!”

The two of you continued for what seemed like forever until Fred hooked an arm under your leg and his hand wrapped around you so he could play with your clit.

“Fred, I’m gonna come.”

“I am too, love.” You felt your orgasm arrive and as you did you clenched down on his cock, causing him to release inside of you.

A few moments passed before he set you down, both of you breathing heavily.

“Your partially forgiven.”

“Partially? I just fucked your brains out, how am I partially forgiven?”

You let out a giggle.

“You take me out on a date, and I’ll consider you forgiven.”

Fred brought you into his arms, and laid a kiss on the top of your head.

“Deal.”

A moment passed, and after you both were dressed and had collected yourselves, you banged on the door to be let out.

“Angie? Kate, we’ve resolved our issues, you can let us out now!”

They opened the door, and as you both left you could hear them snickering.

Angelina shouted out from behind you, “Yeah, we heard you both resolving your issues from the other side of the door.”

Fred threw his head back half in laughter and half in exasperation while you stood there, red faced with your head in your hands.

“Next time, maybe resolve your issues in a bedroom?” Katie practically howled out.

“Shove off, Bell!”

[yoichichi]

Phone Sex

18+ MINORS DNI

jean, armin, & eren (sep) x reader

warning(s): slight dom reader, male masturbation, humiliation, degradation, edging, phone sex, crying ig?, self-masturbation mentioned in Jeans but I tried to make it gender neutral, eren calls reader mommy in his but it’s like slightly a joke ,, at first🧍‍���️

a/n: ANON YOU.... you have a mind of gold. This was a request for reading guiding the boys while they masturbate so this is that! I hope this was what you were looking for anon! :) <3 and as always I love to hear your thoughts so pls send them in 😭 i also did my best to keep the reader neutral when it mentions the reader masturbating !

Jean

When you were woke up at 2 in the morning by a call from Jean, you definitely thought you’d be racing over to his place for some kind of emergency. But when you slid your thumb across the screen and held your phone up to ear, grumbling out a ,“hello?”, instead you were met with whiny, breathy moans, pleading for a different kind of help.

“Baby? You up?” You could barely hear him over his heavy panting.

“Well, I am now.”

It was silent for a few moments while you heard him shuffling around in his bed.

“Do ya need something babe? What’d you call me so late for?” You took an innocent tone to your voice, but you knew exactly what he needed from you.

“Hnng- ah- um, yeah. I - are you - ah - busy?”

You sighed and grumbled for him to give you a second as you moved to lay on your back and put your headphones on,

“You’re sitting there with that pretty cock of yours in your hands, aren’t you? So needy and desperate to cum that you had to wake me up at 2 in the morning just to hear my voice? Aw, I never knew you were such a little slut, Jean.”

Your hands reached down between your legs to slide your bottoms off at the sound of a hoarse whimper from the other end of the phone call, clearly he was caught off guard by your sudden crude words.

“You like that? Being reminded how much of a slut you are for me?”

“Ah - mhm.” You could hear the speed of his hand increasing, and judging by his moans you could tell he was getting close.

“Look at you, all worked up and already about to make a mess of yourself. Wanna cum baby? Tell me how bad you want it.” You hummed as you brought your fingers down to play with yourself, now throbbing with need from the sound of Jeans moans; which were filled with the obvious longing to be fucking you or your dirty mouth instead of his fist.

“Oh god, I want it so bad, only you - fuck - only - oh god, baby please lemme cum.” You could see him now, a panting sweaty mess with his large hand wrapped around his cock. He was probably bucking up into his hand, the other one fisting the sheet while he tried to ground himself and wait for your permission, wanting so bad to be good for you. The head of his cock slightly swollen with need and his pretty face all scrunched up with focus.

“Yeah? You wanna cum?”

“Fuck, yes. Please?”

“Awww, what a good boy. Go on and lemme hear you cum then.”

His pretty groan filled your ears before it came out strangled and separated with gasps.

You let him ride out his high a bit longer until he spoke.

“Thank you, babe. Sorry to wake you up.” He had a sense of bashfulness to his voice - not matching the confidence he had earlier to dial you in the first place.

“Mmm, don’t worry about it. You can make it up to me by staying on the line until I cum this time.”

Armin

You’d be lying if you said Armins sniffling coming through the phone didn’t make you smile. You love when he listens to you, even when it’s killing him to do so.

“C-can I, can I keep going?” His voice was so soft and meek you could barely hear him.

He sat with his hand resting at the base of his cock, not squeezing or moving an inch. Every so often he’d run his hand through his hair or let it slide down his chest, brushing past his nipples, desperate for some kind of stimulation.

Every twitch of his cock made the tears resting on his lash line spill and stream down his red cheeks, god you could just imagine it. What you wouldn’t give to be in front of him now and see it for yourself.

“Mhm, but I want you to go nice ‘n slow. You think you can do that for me?” You did your best to keep your tone calm and unwavering, luring him into doing what you wanted, knowing he’s a sucker for receiving your praise.

“Of course I can.” He said it matter of factly, almost appalled that you’d assume he couldn’t do anything you ask of him.

“Well, go on then.”

He hissed at the sensation of his cold, tough hands dragging slowly up his cock, squeezing slightly at the head just to tease himself further - making sure to let an erotic moan slip past his lips to let you know he was going above and beyond for you. Even fondling his balls just to make the desire to cum all that more excruciating, and showing you just how much he could take if it meant being good for you.

“You sound so pretty baby, think you can hold out just a little bit longer for me? You know how much I love listening to you touch yourself, such an angel.”

“Y-yes.” He swallowed thickly - loud enough that you could hear it - knowing how proud of him you were gonna be.

“Good boy.”

Eren

Eren rarely enjoyed phone sex, too needy and demanding to think it was worth it; especially when he could pick you up or come over at any time. So why the hell would he choose to be separated and touch himself while he listened to you over the phone?

But I guess it’s different when he’s at work and only has 30 minutes to ease the strain in his pants and get you off his mind. Which is exactly why he’s calling your contact with a shaky hand as he sits in his car, making sure to park where no one would come to bother him, with the other hand busy pulling out his fat cock previously stuffed and feeling claustrophobic in his jeans - he’s lucky his work apron kept his appearance decent.

He hissed at the way it sprang up against his abdomen, his cock head already angry and swollen. God he hated you, getting him all worked up at work just because he couldn’t stop thinking about bending you over and slamming you so hard you couldn’t do anything but whine and whimper, not even able to get out a coherent sentence about how good he filled you up.

But the moment he heard the ringing falter and your sweet voice greet him , “Hey babe what’s up? Aren’t you at work right now?”, all animosity left his body. A low whimper leaving his lips instead, so desperately wanting your lips wrapped around his cock it was almost agonizing.

“Fuck babe, I need you - oh fuck - I need you to make me cum quick, ah hnngh god -“ he spoke so fast and quiet you almost thought he was in trouble, but judging by the way his voice was getting raspy, and the way it cracked at the end of his sentence, you knew he was perfectly fine.

You sighed and set your highlighter down, knowing you wouldn’t be getting back to your studying any time soon.

“Babe? You there? I -“

“Mhmm, ‘m right here.” You cut him off quickly, gnawing at your bottom lip to the sounds of his quiet pants, knowing he was quickly fisting his cock and probably on his lunch break, needing to finish fast, doing his best to cum as quick as he could, and yet he still needed to call you to help him do that? God what an ego boost.

But, you were busy studying. And rarely do you have him in such a powerless position, why not have some fun with him?

“Okay, I’ll help.” You smiled coyly at his sigh of relief.

“Really babe? Oh my g-“

“But promise you’ll do what I say?”

He was silent for a moment, but he knew he didn’t have much time to protest and really, he was putty in your hands right now. He agreed before he could change his mind, and that’s what led him to the position he was in now.

His cock sensitive to the touch and his hair falling out of his bun, his face flushed and looking slightly a mess with the sweat that was beginning to collect on his forehead.

He probably had but two minutes left on his break and he needed to come, bad.

“Please, Jesus fuck I’ve been listening but god I need to cum. I’m -“

“Okay Eren I hear you,” you giggled for a moment and he felt his stomach drop, you were up to something, “why don’t you ask mommy for permission?”

“What?”

You giggled again at his exclamation and knew he was getting frustrated by the groan he let out, but you were having too much fun, and you wanted to see how far you could push him.

“You heard me, you wanna cum so bad? Call me mommy and beg for it.” You sighed and sat back in your chair. He should’ve expected you to do something to get back at him for bothering you while you were busy, what either of you weren’t expecting though was how quickly he caved.

“Mommy, please.” His voice cracked from the dryness of his throat as he whimpered out his plea, not expecting it to send your stomach into a frenzy.

“God please let me cum, please mommy, please.”

“Y-yeah okay, go on and finish.” You sat in shock as you heard his sweet moans come through the phone, an octave higher than they’d usually be.

“I-, fuck, I gotta go back to work. You really cut it close babe. See you when I get home.” He hung up quickly, hoping it didn’t come off as rude - he just had little to no time to clean himself up before he had to clock back in.

But it didn’t matter cause you were still reeling from the way he so freely whimpered out mommy, and how enticing it sounded coming from him.

Hmm, you had a lot to think about.

———————

THIS IS MY FIRST KINDA DOM READER THING SO PLS GIVE ME YOUR THOUGHTS YOU KNOW I LOVE THEM and ily it’s been a while since I posted :) <3

taglist: @plutowrites @armins-futon @peachysimp @semisgroupie (I hope it’s ok to tag you it’s kinda subby boys so I thought you might be interested 🧍‍♀️)

[zodiakuroo]

Pretty Things Don’t Need To Think

Kuroo decides he's had enough of his smart, independent girlfriend. He wants her to be his good little housewife instead.

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x Fem!Reader

Contains: 18+ oh boy... dubcon, big dick kuroo, dumbifciation, misogyny, manhandling, oral sex (deepthroating), pee in vee sex, degradation, manipulation, pwp, breath play, mouth spitting, creampie, thigh riding, slapping, spit, porn watching, crybaby reader but kuroo is a meanie so :3

Word count: 4.6k

Notes: my first time writing smut n it’s mindlessly self-indulgent i just had this weirdly specific fantasy that i need to get out byeee

Kuroo loved the fact that you were smart. He loved the fact that you could debate and argue with him for hours on the most obscure topics. He love that you were always interested in his nerdy rambles and he found it adorable that you would sometimes go off on your own nerdy rambles. When he met you, he was so used to fucking brainless bimbos that he was surprised to find a girl that he both wanted to sleep with and have a conversation with. Your intellect was one of the many reasons he wanted to pursue a relationship with you beyond sex. One of the many reasons why he planned on marrying you.

Kuroo also loathed the fact that you were smart. Not loathed exactly. He just hated your stupid fucking degree. He hated the fact that it demanded so much of your time and energy that you sometimes had to put your studies before him. You wanted to be doctor, always wanted to apparently. You wanted it so bad he felt a little ashamed for how much it annoyed him.

But he didn’t understand it. You were going to be the wife of Kuroo Tetsurou, President of the Japan Volleyball Association. Is that not enough of an achievement?

 You didn’t seem to think so.

Now Kuroo’s not a misogynist by any means. If he were, he wouldn’t even let you get this stupid degree. He doesn’t want you to be some mindless Stepford Wife who only cooks and cleans and says “Yes, dear” “No, dear.” Of course he believes in equal rights and all that bullshit but he just doesn’t see any reason for you to work. Financially, there’s no need. More importantly, as his wife you would be too busy taking care of him, his home and his children for you to even thinking about having a job. He would let you get this degree purely for you to soothe your own ego, so you could feel like you’ve accomplished something.

And this is the fucking thanks he gets.

Coming home every day to see you hunched over the dining room table, 4 different textbooks open, papers scattered everywhere. He works hard every day to make a comfortable life for the two of you but asking to come home to a clean apartment and dinner on the stove is too much to ask apparently.

You don’t even register that he’s in the room until he places two large warm hands on your shoulders, causing you to jump, quickly soothed with a kiss to the top of your head.

“Hi baby” he mutters against your scalp, gently massaging your shoulders.

“Hmm. Hi Tetsurou.” you turn your head to look at him, eyes bloodshot and bleary from staring at your computer all day.  “How was your day?”

“Same old.” He places a chaste kiss on your lips. “How’s it going here? Are we winning?” He glances at your notes, Intercranial mass lesions. Subarachnoid Haemorrhage. Spontaneous Intracerebral Haemorrhage. He wonders why you do this to yourself. Pretty things like you shouldn’t have to think.

You groan. “Not at all. This neuro final is gonna kick my ass.”

He chuckles, hands gently massaging your shoulders. “You say that every time and every time you ace it baby.”  Instead of asking you where his dinner is, he asks “Have you eaten today? What do you want for dinner?”

“ I’m not hungry Tetsu. You can order whatever you like.” He clenches his jaw in irritation. You can’t even be bothered to give him your full attention for 10 minutes? The man who works so hard so that you can afford to sit at home and study the whole day?

No.

He’ll get your attention one way or another.

“Angel,” he drops his voice an octave or two, leaning down so his mouth is pressed right against the shell of your ear. “How about you take a break yeah? Wanna help you relax.” He starts to kiss your neck. He hears your breath hitch. He’s got you. “You worked so hard today plus I reaaaaally miss you.”

With that he begins to leave wet kisses on your neck, feeling you melt into him. His hands move away from your shoulders, gently groping at your chest.

You suddenly go rigid. “Tetsu, not right now.” He doesn’t want you to know how pissed he is but he can’t help it, he groans in frustration. “I’m sorry,” you mutter weakly “I really need to get through these last 3 chapters.”

“Yeah right. Got it.” He storms off with a huff. He’s furious. Your little studious shtick has been nothing more than an irritation for him. But this is too far. He hasn’t come in a month, since you started prep for finals. You’ve been too busy to take care of him. You suggested porn and he laughed in your face. Why would he jerk off when you have a perfectly good pussy? Don’t be ridiculous.

“Tetsurou don’t be mad please.”

“Not mad baby. Keep studying. That’s important to you right?” He’s not convincing anyone but you don’t have the time or energy to engage.

You let out a heavy sigh before turning back to your laptop, falling back into studying like the whole interaction never happened. It made him even angrier. How you couldn’t care less about him right now.

“Just gonna watch some TV. That okay with you, love?” He says sounding sickly sweet, almost sarcastic. If you notice, you don’t make any mention of it.

“Mmhm. Just keep it down please.” You don’t even bother to fucking look at him. 

You don’t wanna pay attention to him? You want him to just jerk off? Fine then, have it your way. Kuroo throws himself down on the couch as he rips off his tie with a little more force than necessary.

This is petty.

He makes quick work of the buttons of his dress shirt.

This is childish.

He quickly unbuckles his belt and pulls his slacks down just far enough to take his soft dick out of his boxers.

 This is your fault.

 You pushed him to do this.

He takes his phone and uses his internet browser to take him to the first porn site he can think of. He doesn’t really care about the kind of video so “Busty blonde slut gets destroyed” seems like a good a choice as any. He clicks on the video and sets up his phone to mirror on the TV screen. With the volume about as loud as it can go, he presses play.

The loud exaggerated moans and gagging startle you. Your head shoots up and you see your boyfriend, lidded gaze fixed on the flat screen TV in front of him. He’s panting, letting out little moans. You crane your neck to see what he’s watching and you see on the TV a bleach blonde girl with massive tits being an absolute trooper as she gets facefucked relentlessly.

“Kuroo, what the fuck?” God he hates when you call him by his last name mostly because you only do that when you’re really annoyed at him.

“Hm? What is it baby?” Now it’s his turn to not even glance in your direction. He’s too focused on the way the girl on screen’s throat is bulging as the man thrusts into her mouth. Maybe he should watch porn more often.

“What are you doing?” He can hear the irritation building in your voice. He hears the chair scrape along the hardwood floor as you stand up to get a better look at him. He knows you can see exactly what he’s doing now.

He smirks, turning to look at you for just a split second before his attention is back to being on screen. “Watching ah fuck watching TV”. He starts to stroke himself faster now, knowing you’re watching him. He’s a little embarrassed by how turned on he is. Cock already rock hard, his tip bright red and shiny from leaking so much pre-cum.

“Do you have to do… that… here? I can’t concentrate.” You clench your fists and your sides.

Oh you’re pissed. But this isn’t exactly the reaction he wants from. He’ll make it work though.

“Not my problem babe. Shit.” He takes his free hand down to play with his swollen balls and god, if he weren’t so determined to dump this load inside you he might have come right then and there.

“Kuroo!” You shout. He’s still not looking at you. How could he when the girl on the screen is getting absolutely railed. He only hears the sound of your barefeet on the hardwood floor as you storm over to the couch. He’s not sure what your plan was when you decided to come over here, but it doesn’t even matter anymore because the second you’re close enough he yanks you by your wrist and forces you into his lap.

“Tetsu!” You thrash and struggle in his hold but it’s no use. He’s bigger and stronger than you.

He wraps his arm around your neck, pulling you into a chokehold. “Oh I’m Tetsu now?” he laughs bitterly

“Let me go! Please!” You still haven’t given up getting out of this, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

“Shut up. I want you to watch this.” He’s forcing you to look at the screen now. “Look at that yeah? Look at how she’s taking that big cock.”

A hard palm strikes you across your cheek. “Stop squirming and watch.”

The blonde woman is bent over a coffee table while the man behind her rams his dick into her without abandon. Kuroo can’t decide if he finds her whining hot or annoying.

“Looks like it feels good huh babe?” His head is buried in the crook of your neck. “Wanna make you feel good like that.” He places a quick kiss to your temple before pulling your t-shirt over your head, your bare chest now exposed to the cool air.

“Tetsu please.”

“Please what baby?”

Please let me go.

But the way he’s hands are gripping at your breasts, pulling and twisting your nipples, you can’t form any words. Only whimpers.

“Please make you feel good? That what you want baby?” He whispers as he slots his thigh between your legs.

“Yeah yeah please Tetsu.”

Kuroo has turned his focus onto your neck. Harsh sucks, leaving bruises and bite marks in his wake. He wants to laugh at how pathetic you are. Just a few minutes ago, you were adamant on ignoring his presence and now you’re writhing in his lap begging you to touch him.

“Really? I thought you needed to study.”

“No no no Tetsu, only need you.” Just a quickie. You’re both pent up. 10… 15 minutes tops. Then you’ll go back to studying. That’s what you tell yourself.

“That’s right baby.” He grips your hips and grinds you down on to his thigh. “I know exactly what you need.” You take your cue from him and begin riding his thigh, neurology notes long forgotten as he goes back to assaulting your neck. The combination of the sensation of your clothed clit rubbing against his thigh and visual stimulation of the explicit content on your TV makes you dizzy with pleasure.

Your movements become frantic. You’re practically humping his leg at this point. He knows you’re close which is why he wraps one arm around your torso, pulling you back into his chest.

“Baby please.” You whine. Oh, you’re really crying now.

“Oh angel, you were gonna come just from that? Just from humping my thigh and watching some other bitch get eaten out? My angel must be so pent up huh?”

You can’t do anything except whimper and nod.

“Mmhm yeah my baby has been working too hard. Thinking too much. You’re too cute for that you know baby.”

You keep nodding, no idea what you’re actually agreeing to, too busy keening at the praise. You keep trying to move your hips but he just tightens his hold.

“It’s okay though baby I know how to take care of you. Your man knows how to turn off that little brain of yours.”

His hand slides into you shorts, fingers pressing on to your clit over the top of your soaked panties. The moan you let out might rival the porn star on screen, who now by the way, is riding the face of her co-star while she sucks his cock.

He slips his other hand into your panties and starts rubbing quick “Yeah that’s it. Feel good babe?” You melt into his chest. “Yes Tetsu! So good!”

Kuroo pushes his long middle finger into your dripping hole. So tight and warm, he has to bite back a moan of his own. A few slow pumps, before he lets his index finger enter you as well. He’s done going slow now, he starts fucking you with his fingers, thumb brushing over your clit every now and then.

You were so close before, it takes almost no effort on Kuroo’s part to get you there again. You throw your head back on to his shoulder, muscles tensing in anticipation of your impending release. “Tets- gonna cum, gonna cu-“ The second you feel the waves of your orgasm crash on to you, Kuroo has his hands off you entirely, reaching for the remote and turning off the explicit movie.

Ruined. He ruined your orgasm.

You open your eyes and you see Kuroo looking every bit the smug bastard and your own teary eyed reflection in the black screen. “Tetsurou… Why? Why would you-“ You can’t even get the sentence out before he delivers a harsh smack to your clit.

“You think you deserve to come?” A large hand wraps tight around your throat as he lets out a humourless laugh. “You’re stupider than I thought.”

“No Tetsu ‘m not stupid” You manage to rasp out but that just makes him squeeze even tighter.

“What was that? I thought I heard a stupid bitch say something.”

You claw at his had trying to get air into your lungs but Kuroo doesn’t budge.

“Please! Sorry! Please!” is all you can manage to get out. Just as you start to see spots, Kuroo lets go.

Airways burning, you sputter out a “thank you” but your boyfriend doesn’t seem to care. “You’re sorry? Show me how fucking sorry you are.” He’s shoves you on to the floor unceremoniously.

While Kuroo removes his slacks and boxers, you try to compose yourself. You know what’s coming but first you need to stop coughing and stop crying. After a minute of deep breathing, you open your eyes and find yourself face to face with Kuroo’s monster cock.

And you’re not exaggerating. The thing is terrifying. Long and girthy, the biggest you’ve ever seen.  He’s unbelievably hard with bulging veins, the tip almost purple with arousal. You’re mesmerised by it. 

Perhaps the only thing scarier than his dick right now is the man attached to it. He’s staring down at you with so much condescension, small smirk playing on his lips. He wraps his hand around his thick base. “You good princess? Get to it.” He tuts.

You place one of your hands on his throbbing member as you tentatively stick out your tongue to lick at his tip where pre-cum is dribbling out. You slowly start to stroke him up and down as you swirl your tongue around the head. Kuroo is being kind, letting you go slow. If you think he’s doing this for your benefit, you’re mistaken. He wants to take his time with this. More importantly, he’s got about a month’s worth of cum stored up in his balls and he wants to make sure that every single drop goes inside your little cunt.

You take what you can fit (just less than half) into your mouth, lips stretched wide around his dick, the head is poking at the back of your throat while your hands work the rest of his shaft. You look up at him with wide, apologetic eyes. He can tell by the way you’re looking at him you want him to know how sorry you are.

It’s cute.

He grabs you by your hair and pulls you off of him. ”Aw baby, that’s it? I thought you were sorry.” 

A mixture of saliva and pre-cum dribbles down your chin. “Tetsu I am sorry. I’m so sorry!” You whimper.

“Yeah?” Kuroo whispers. His grip on your hair tightens as he tilts your head up to look at him. You stare up at your boyfriend, as he bends down to kiss you. Again, it’s surprisingly gentle but is quickly contrasted with the way he uses the other hand to grab your face, squeezing harshly to make you pucker your lips and keep your mouth open.

He smiles down at you, almost lovingly before he puckers his lips as well, letting a fat glob of spit drop from his mouth into yours.

It’s gross. It’s degrading. It’s cruel.

And that’s why you swallow it down almost immediately, without being asked. 

“Good girl” He whispers and gives you a kiss on the nose as a reward. The simple praise shoots straight to your pussy and now you’re greedy for more.

Kuroo leans back and assumes his previous position but this time flexing his elbows and putting his hands behind his head. He’s still wearing his dress shirt, unbuttoned so you can admire his delicious torso. Toned and tanned with the trail of dark hair running all the way to his groin. He looks completely relaxed with his eyes closed and for a moment you find yourself enamored by how stunning he is. How stunning your man is. You want to please him now more than ever. You want him to call you his good girl again. You steady yourself on your knees and prepare for the task at hand

You start off with a few shallow bobs on his cock. Then you take a deep breath through your nose before taking as much of him in your throat as you can. “Holy shit.”  He breathes out. His hips thrust up reflexively while you try to suppress your own reflex, trying to keep him has deep as possible for as long as possible. You’ve had lots of practice deepthroating your boyfriend’s dick but somehow it hasn’t gotten any easier.

You pull off of him but not completely, just enough to open up your airway to let much needed air into your burning lungs. You twist your hands around the exposed part of him. You look up at him and he’s giving you that fond smile again and it makes your heart swell in your chest. It’s all the motivation you need to take him back into your throat. Again you take him as far as you can but there’s still a good inch or so that you can’t take no matter how hard you try.

“Aw baby you need some help?” Kuroo coos from above you. You look up at him with big watery eyes and nod as best you can with his dick lodged in your oesophagus. He lets out a hum. “Anything for my baby.” He places one of his large hands on the back of your head and pushes you down until your nose meets his pelvis.

Your throat muscles are spasming around the impossibly large, impossibly deep intrusion but Kuroo keeps you there, seemingly reveling in your gags. Your drool dribbles from your lips, down his balls on to the black leather of the couch. You try breathing through your nose but you struggle. However, your discomfort is completely eclipsed by Kuroo’s moans and grunts. If it makes him feel good you’ll keep him in there as long as he wants. You’ll let him thrust into your mouth until he comes if he so choses.

Lucky for you, that’s not what he wants tonight.

You pulls you off his dick by once again but slowly this time. He watches the string of drool that connects your lips and drags you away until it snaps. He take his heavy shaft and slaps it against your right cheek. You let out a gasp and a smirk starts to play on his lips. Before you know it he’s smacking and dragging his cock all over your face, covering you in a mixture of your saliva and his pre-cum. “God damn. Prettiest fuckin’ girl in the world right here on her knees for me.” He says as he leans back to admire his handiwork.  “Open” he says. You obey without hesitation and he spits in your mouth again.

You swallow eagerly. “Thank you Tetsuro.” Your throat feels raw but you smile at him, absolutely giddy, nonetheless.

“Get up here, pretty girl.” Kuroo helps you to your feet and shimmy out of your bottoms before guiding you on to his lap so you’re straddling him. Immediately two of his fingers are inside you again, your slick cunt offering no resistance whatsoever. “You know angel, I’m still not sure how sorry you actually are.” He’s scissoring his fingers, stretching out your walls. If he were a different man, he’d thrust into you right now without any prep but he sees how fucked out you already are, there’s no need to punish you any further. His fingers move at a tortuous pace, squelching as he thrusts them in and out of you.

You’re panting. “Anything, I’ll do anything.”

The slow drag of his fingers grazing that spot inside you as he pulls out makes your eyes flutter shut. When you open them again, Kuroo is holding the same fingers in front of your face. Your boyfriend keeps is hazel eyes locked on yours as he sticks out his tongue to lick up the arousal soaking his digits.

“Hmm ‘course you will.” He slaps his fat cockhead on your sensitive clit making you squeal.

He drags his tip from your clit to your dripping slit over and over again getting it nice and wet.

You chant “Tetsu please” like some twisted prayer. You desperately want to make up for your earlier ruined orgasm.

“Wanna see you bounce on my cock, angel.”

You oblige him wordlessly, taking hold of his shaft and lining in him up with your entrance. You slowly lower yourself on to him wincing at the way he stretches you out. The prep was minimal and his fingers are no match for the size of his cock. You have to stop to breathe and blink away tears. You lift up your hips and lower yourself down slowly again, taking a little more of him inside you. You repeat the process a couple more times.

As much as watching your struggle to take his cock strokes his ego, Kuroo is growing bored. It’s time to take matters into his own hands.

Kuroo grips your hips and takes you by surprise as he thrusts up into you, making you take the whole thing. You let out a shrill cry as the tip of his cock nudges at your cervix. A heavy smack lands on your ass. “I said bounce angel.”

“So big Tetsu fuck. So big.” You whine as he pulls you up, before he sheaths his dick fully inside you, making you shriek for a second time.

God you could be such a crybaby sometimes. You were starting to piss him off again.  He pulls out of you completely and says “Turn around.”

“Tetsu no please! Wanna see you.” You pout, your eyes welling up with tears.

Another smack. This time across your face. You reach up to touch the sore skin on your cheek, it feels hot. “Don’t talk back to me you stupid slut.”

You whimper but obey his command. You don’t want Kuroo to be angry at you.

“Now sit on it.” He spanks you another time before gripping your ass and guiding his cock into you until your ass meets his groin.

Playtime is over.

Kuroo slips his hands under your thighs, grabbing the back of your knees and folding your body in half. Now he’s really fucking you. His thrusts are rough, cock knocking against your cervix repeatedly as he sinks himself into your sopping cunt over and over again. The sound of his balls slapping against your ass and the squelching of your dripping pussy make for the lewdest symphony you’ve ever heard. 

“Tetsurou ‘m close. Please” you cry. The way his dick is rubbing against your sweet spot means you won’t last long.

“No.”

Despite his denial, he doesn’t ease up on his thrusts. You’re trying to concentrate on holding back your orgasm but honestly you can’t concentrate on anything except Kuroo pistoning his fat cock in and out of you.

“Look at you.” You see your reflection in the black TV screen. “You see that?” He gives one particularly hard thrust to emphasise his point. “Fucked stupid huh?”

“Yeah Tetsu Yeah.” It’s no mirror but you can see all that you need to. You see your boyfriend using your body like a fleshlight, thrusting up into you at a relentless pace. You see your cunt split open on his cock. You see yourself being completely and utterly owned by him.

“My girl is such a fucking whore huh? My own personal porn star.”

“Need to cum nnggh let me cum please.” You’re teetering so close to the edge and Kuroo’s filthy mouth is not helping your situation in the slightest.

“Why should I let you cum hm? You’re so good when you’re desperate. Think I should keep you like this.”

“Please Tetsu. Please. Wanna be good! Wanna be your good girl Testu! Wanna take care of you! Please.”

He likes the way that sounds.

His good girl. His wife. His. His. His.

“Cum for me angel. Cum. Right now.” He says, lips pressed against your ear.

He doesn’t need to tell you twice. With the way he’s pounding his dick into your tight little pussy you have no choice but to spiral into orgasm. Your pussy spasms around his cock, pulling him deeper inside you. The hot coil in your tummy that’s been building unravels and the bliss hits you so hard you see starts. Kuroo keeps fucking up into you as you cream around him. As you come down, you go limp in his arms. That doesn’t stop him from using you though.

His grip around your thighs tightens and that’s how you know he’s getting close. “You gonna be a good girl for me? You gonna take this fat fucking load? Yeah? Take all of it deep in your cunt?” He growls right into your ear.

“Tetsu gimme pleasepleaseplease” You beg him as you cry from overstimulation, barely able to form the words.

“Take it. Take it. Fuck!” He growls as he shoots his load right into your tight, gooey pussy. You feel his hot cum fill up your womb and the sensation is so overwhelming it makes you go cross-eyed, tongue lolling out of your mouth. He grunts, still rutting into you through his orgasm. When he’s done he pulls out of you, smiling as he watches his cum leak out of your spent hole.

Kuroo loves the fact that you’re smart. But when you’re like this? Absolutely cum drunk, eyes glazed, body covered in bruises and willing to do anything he asks you to? He fucking adores you like this.

“Go take care of dinner princess, then your man is gonna take care of you some more.” He swats you on your ass.

You giggle and let your wobbly legs carry you to the kitchen with your boyfriend’s cum running down between your thighs, thoughts of your upcoming final completely fucked out of your head.

Along with every other thought not revolving around your future husband.

Kuroo reaches for his phone to text his assistant and tell her to cancel all his meetings for tomorrow. He has to go ring shopping.

[egg-on-the-run]

Massage

The turtle's s/o is exhausted, they help make things better with a massage.

(she/her pronouns used)

Leonardo

She's already asleep in his bed when he comes home from patrol. Usually she waits for him on the couch, even when she was tired, but Splinter had specifically told him she was already asleep, warned him to do his best not to wake her up.

She must be exhausted.

He tiptoes in as quietly as he could after his shower, spots her lying flat on his bed: not tucked in, just lying atop his blankets on her stomach. She had been too tired to lift the sheets.

He can see how tense she is, can see the way how even in her sleep her shoulders still rise to her ears, how her finger twitches with an anxious need to keep moving. Her face scrunched up slightly, adorable, but he would rather it be relaxed and soft.

He's careful and slow moving her onto the bed properly, still not setting her under the covers just yet. He's even more careful when he straddles her legs, keeps his weight off them almost entirely. His hands start at her lower back, kneading into her very softly.

She jolts and eyes snap open, "What are you doing?"

"I uh, I was giving you a massage, you look tense, even in your sleep."

"Oh," She relaxes, "You're an angel, just scared me a little." Her head hits the pillow again, already drifting off.

He tries once more, hands softly pressing into her lower back. She lets out a breath of air, sinking further into the mattress. He continues, travelling further up her spine. Usually he hates the sound of bones cracking (all of his brothers teased him constantly about it), but tonight he was quite happy to hear little pops coming from her spine. He especially didn't mind when she gave a little moan afterwards.

His hands travel further up towards her shoulders, kneading and rolling his wrists into the dozens of knots in her back. Her shoulders were so tense that she whined whenever he was too rough. He had to be gentle, working them out slowly.

By the time he was finished, she was sleepily trying to reach his hand with her eyes closed.

"Cuddle me," She mumbled as she found his hand, "Pretty please? I've got tomorrow off."

"Of course," He replied, moving to help her under the sheets, "That was the plan anyway."

He pulled her tight against his chest, hearing her bones crack once more as she melted like putty in his hands. He kissed her forehead.

"Thank god you've got tomorrow off, I'll let you sleep in as long as you want." He sighed, relaxing himself, "I'll make sure the lair is quiet."

She didn't hear a word of what he said, she was already fast asleep.

Raphael

Raphael was the king of tension. He wasn't like Michelangelo where little bothered him, or like Donatello who had those random self care days, or even like Leonardo who learned to de-stress through meditation. Oh no, Raphael carried tension like a mother with a clingy child: pulling on his shoulders, weighing him down and making him irritated.

It came with the whole anger thing.

So there have been countless times where she has used her knuckles to work the knots out of his shoulders. It was no easy task, especially when she had to use most of her body weight to actually get through each and every knot.

But she'd do it a hundred times more if he needed her to, and Raphael knew that, knew it all to well.

So when he sees her already grumbling to herself at the latest email that just came through to her laptop, when he see her shoulders rising to her ears in frustration and hands balling into fists, he knew he had to do the same thing for her as she had done countless times for him.

She jumps when he first puts his hands on her shoulders, but recognises the warm touch shortly after.

"What are you doing?" She asked, one hand reaching up to rest on top of his, she kept her attention glued to her screen, "I have a lot of work to do, Raphie."

"I know," He said, beginning to knead into her shoulders, "Just a massage, you look stressed."

"Oh with that lovely email, I am more than stressed."

She's always had a sharp tongue, never directed it to him (never intentionally) but he knows her patience is wearing thin and work certainly wasn't helping. He thought about taking his hands away entirely, not wanting to pester her; but she ran her thumb across his hand, typed with only one set of fingers, and Raphael remembered how often she did this for him when his patience was thinner than a piece of paper.

He pressed his hands into her shoulders again, watched as her head leaned back and body moved with his hands. He knew the feeling, when the knots were so tight they just hurt. He continued to work his hands into her shoulders, and slowly it seemed to stop hurting and the tension started to melt away. She closed her eyes, pushed her laptop away from her and just let herself be for a moment.

"Those big ol' hands of yours," She said, voice more like a breath, "So gentle with me."

"Not like you, using your damn elbows to get the knots out."

"But does it work?" She laughed.

He chuckled, "Of course it works, you're the best at this."

"Oh I dunno, you might give me a run for my money, this feels like heaven right now." Her head rolled to the side, turning slightly to kiss his hand, "Take me to bed Raphie, please."

With one final squeeze he let go, moving his arms to wrap around her waist and carry her to bed. Work wasn't important, this was.

Donatello

The lair was far too noisy, Donatello's lab was far too bright. Everything was just too much, all at once. Even as she sat on his desk, the reflection of his computer in his glasses from behind her was glaring into her eyes. He sat between her legs, arms around her waist and rambling about — god, she didn't even know at this point. She'd spaced out long ago, too overwhelmed to even try and catch up.

He moved his head at he spoke, Donatello was always an expressive fellow, and the light bounced off his glasses right into her eyes. She squinted, scrunched her entire face up and groaned.

"You have a migraine," He said plainly, "I have some painkillers in my drawer—"

"I took some earlier, they just haven't kicked in yet." She frowned.

She looked in pain, Donatello hated to see her like this, hated when there wasn't anything he could do.

He reached up and cupped her face, "Have you had enough water today?"

"Yeah," She mumbled, "Been using that new water bottle I got."

"When did you last eat?"

"Went out for dinner with some coworkers."

Donnie hummed, not knowing what else could cause her such a migraine. They usually had a reason behind them, she didn't usually just get them randomly. He wondered if she'd be on her phone too much, not to sound like Splinter, but she's been talking to him for the past hour or so, her eyes should have rested by now.

She pushed her cheek into his hand, letting his hand squish the chub on her face. Donatello squeezed gently, rubbing her cheeks in a circular motion.

"What are you doing?" She asked, voice muffled by his hands.

"Massaging your face," He replied, moving to knead her cheekbones with his thumbs, "Maybe it's tension that's brought this on."

"Maybe..."

He moved his thumbs over the bridge of her nose and followed the shape of her eyebrows, he repeated the action a few times before gently rubbing her temples.

"You're really good at this..." She murmured, eyes closed and jaw slack. Her face was no long scrunched up, but instead so completely relaxed she looked as though she was already asleep. Donatello persisted, using his thumbs to move the tension away from her face. His hands moved to her hair, grasping tightly and then releasing, he tickled his fingers through her locks: slowly so as not to pull on any tangles.

By the time he'd moved back to her jaw, he was pretty sure she'd fallen asleep where she sat. He smiled softly at her, kissed her forehead, and carried her off to bed.

He needed an early night as well.

Michelangelo

She had been on her feet all day, running errands for a coworker who had recently hurt their leg. Said coworker was fine, and would be perfectly capable of putting of such errands until their leg was better (really, Mikey huffed, using his girlfriend like a servant). But she could never just say no, and even after she'd ran around the city collecting bits and bops, dropping off items and buying groceries, her coworker hadn't even offered her so much as a sit down before he not-so-subtly led her out of his apartment.

So she came stumbling to the lair, exhausted and drained beyond compare and ready to collapse but still so eager to see her darling Mikey. He was in the shower when she arrived, she knew because Raphael told her, and because she could hear his singing before she'd even arrived.

She dragged herself to his bed, kicking her shoes off and not even caring where she left them. She collapsed to her knees before she could crawl under the blankets, lying surprisingly comfortably on the floor.

"Hey, hey angel! What are you doing down here?" Mikey's cheerful voice woke her up, along with a little shake of her shoulder. "We snoozing on the floor now?"

"So tired..." She mumbled, eyes fluttering closed, "Carry me to bed."

"No problem, the whole five feet distance it is." Mikey chuckled. He picked her up, sliding her onto his bed, careful not to bump her head on Raphael's top bunk. "All those errands huh? Guy owes you a thanks at least."

"Jackass kicked me out before I could even sit down at his place," She glared at the mattress above her, "So rude."

"Uh, totes rude? My girl did all that for him and he doesn't even let you sit down? Jackass is a very nice way to describe him." Mikey smiled at her, "Your poor little feet must be sore after all that running around."

"I think my ankles are swollen."

"Just a little." He teased, moving to sit between her legs. He took one of her legs and squeezed firmly along her calves. His hands slid down to her ankles and he frowned: they were slightly swollen, he had only been joking but turns out he was right. He rolled her ankle for her, moved her foot so that it pointed and then helped stretch her heel. He squeezed her calf one more time before moving on to her other leg.

"You're so sweet," She babbled, "Thank you for taking care of me."

"No problem babe, somebody has to," He laughed, "And it's not hard work."

She smiled at him, eyes struggling to stay open. He smiled back at her, not that she could see him, and softly told her to go to sleep; he'd take care of her.

[elizabeethan]

The Swan and her Handler

Emma Swan was cursed, and the only way to break it is with True Love's Kiss. Try breaking a curse with True Love's Kiss when you're a damn swan.

Yes, it's true, I've written a CS AU based on Walnut the Crane, a crane who fell in love with her handler. I'm ashamed at how idiotic this is. It’s by far the dumbest thing I've ever written in all my life. It’s nothing more than crack written in about an hour, un-betaed and barely edited. Sorry, and you’re welcome.

Rated T for language

~2000 words

Read my other stuff

Read on Ao3

These damn idiots can’t get anything right. It was bad enough when Emma showed up on their doorstep with perfectly clear care instructions that were completely ignored, but now they keep trying to get her to reproduce as if she’s some kind of zoo animal. 

  Of course, given her current living situation, it does make at least a tiny bit of sense. 

  Ever since the curse, Emma has been stuck in a wildlife refuge and has been unable to get any of her stupid caretakers to figure out how to help her. She knows exactly what she needs, but unfortunately, no one here speaks swan and she can’t exactly hold a pen. Her care instructions were translated upon her transformation, so the one thing that could have helped her now looks like chicken-- er, swan scratch. 

  “She needs a mate,” one of the jack asses points out. “She’ll probably want to mate for life.”

  True, she thinks, although, not with any of the stinky fluff balls you have sent my way.  

  First it was Neal. He tried to mate with her, so she killed him. Last week, they put Walsh in her enclosure, and she pecked at him violently until they took pity on him and sent him to the medical unit. 

  Although today seems different, because her newest caretaker has shown up, and she realizes that he just might be exactly what she’s been looking for. 

Emma Swan, unfortunately very appropriately named, requires a mate who can break her curse, True Loves Kiss the only thing that can bring her back to her truest form as a human adult woman. And when the new dark haired, stunning eyed veterinarian comes strutting into her enclosure, she hurries towards him to get a closer look at his name tag. 

  He jumps away, making some comment about her being fiery , and she blushes, squawking at him as she tries to get closer. Killian , it reads, and if she had lips and not a bill, she would smile. 

  “We think she’s depressed,” the stupid one with the big eyes says. “She’s killed every mate we’ve tried to pair her with.” 

  Good, she thinks. I must have done more damage on Walsh than I initially thought.  

  “You’re just misunderstood, aren’t you, love?” the angel-man asks, making her squawk in agreement. She thinks she could make this quick, this man obviously understanding her horrible twist of fate, so she lunges for him once more, trying hard to kiss his hand and hoping beyond hope that it will transform her back into the woman she's supposed to be. No more feathers, she prays. 

  He exclaims again, jumping and complaining of his hand hurting as she pecks him, so she rolls her eyes and squawks angrily. “Alright, darling,” he says with his hands up, his smooth, accented voice making her heart flutter inside her chest. Her breast? She knows very little about swan anatomy, despite having been turned into one. “Perhaps she’s stressed about her environment. Have you tried giving her a dark, quiet place to nest?” 

  “Not yet,” the dumbass admits. 

  The handsome one, Killian, a name she could get used to rolling off of her tongue, steps away from her, so she hurriedly follows. “Perhaps here in this corner will do.” 

  I would love to spend time in a dark corner with you, she thinks, giving the man what she hopes is a salacious smirk. She watches appreciatively as he sits down, crossing his legs as he starts to fiddle with some sticks as if she would be interested in them. Rather than helping him to make a nest out of the twigs and leaves, she plops herself right in his lap, nestling herself into his crossed legs and gazing up at his beautiful features, earning a smile from him. 

  “There we are, love,” he says happily, clearly surprised that she chose to plant herself upon him, although he shouldn't be. Just look at him, for god’s sake. “Comfortable?” 

  She squawks loudly, making him cringe, then fluffs her feathers in an attempt to gussy herself up for him. If she’s going to earn True Love’s Kiss from this perfect specimen, she’s going to have to work for it. The man chuckles as he looks down at her-- is he gazing? -- and lifts his hand slowly, placing a finger gently upon the top of her head and petting back down her neck, sending a chill down her spine, at least she thinks it’s her spine. She pushes her head towards him again, demanding more attention in an effort to get him to fall for her. It shouldn’t take long; she’s very enchanting. 

  “She’s never been this calm,” the dumb one says, making her snap her head towards him with a glare, shouting at him in disapproval. Killian shushes her soothingly, his finger softly stroking along her stupid feathers once more and making her shut her eyes. 

  “She just needed a bit of attention, it seems.” 

  “We’d best be careful,” someone else says, the bookworm who always thinks she knows everything about swan science. Of course, she probably knows more than Swan Emma. “We wouldn’t want her to imprint on you ,” she seems to joke. 

  “That’s quite alright, isn’t it love?” he asks her, essentially giving her permission to fall in love with this handsome bastard. 

  He comes by a few times a week for the next several months, each time sitting with her in her tiny, dirty nest and not seeming to care that his pants get soiled. She’s always careful to do her business elsewhere, making sure that her prince can sit in comfort when he arrives. She gets angry with him when he brings someone new, a sickly looking male named Graham who she assures is not welcome, so Killian gives up trying to get her to mate with someone. For some reason, they're concerned about her procreating, but she can assure everyone that she will not be giving birth to a damn swan baby while she’s under this curse. 

  One day, when Killian visits near the end of his shift, he’s finally alone, leaving behind the dumb one and the book worm and giving her all of the attention she desires as his strong hand softly pets along her soft feathers. She can’t wait to get rid of these stupid feathers. 

  “You’re quite funny,” he remarks as the sun starts to set. “Unlike any swan I’ve ever met.”

  She squawks at him-- I’m not a damn swan-- and he smiles. “Quire the personality. It always seems like you’re trying to communicate with me.” 

  Yes, you stupid handsome man, that’s exactly right! She tries to nod, lifting and dropping her head in quick succession and making the beauty laugh. She nudges her head against his hand in demand of more pets. 

  “What is it you want me to know, darling?” he asks gently, his voice soft and soothing and deep. 

  She groans, a sound that comes out like a pained cry, and his face shifts. “Are you alright, love?” 

  In pure frustration, Emma drops her head against the man’s chest, likely assaulting him with how badly she smells like bird shit, and he chuckles again, letting his hand run along her feathers some more. “There, there. I know life as a swan must be difficult. All you seem to want is for someone to listen.” 

  She looks up, hoping that her expression conveys her complete and utter irritation at the fact that he’s literally hitting the nail on the head and yet he has no idea. 

  “Such a personality,” he says again. “I’ve got to head home now, love. I’m looking forward to having Chinese for dinner. Perhaps I'll bring you an eggroll tomorrow, or is that insensitive?” 

  She squawks, half because she’s laughing, and half because she would quite literally kill another potential mate for an eggroll. Wanting to beg him not to go, she gives him her best sad face through her inability to emote, and nestles her head against his palm one more time. 

  “I’ll sneak you one, love,” he laughs, and as he does, he finally, finally , leans down towards her, and plants his stupid, dumb, lucious lips upon the top of her stinky bird head. 

  Cramps start to run through her whole stupid bird body, the same ones she felt when she was cursed on Halloween decades ago. He stands, not seeming to notice her pain and discomfort until he’s a few steps away, and he turns back around. “Swan, are you alright?” he asks, as if she could answer, and she shouts back at him wordlessly. 

  She praises whatever gods might be listening as she feels things start to change, her feathers shedding as her skin is exposed to the chilly fall air. The webbing between her toes retracts, her legs turning flesh colored rather than that horrifying orange. Her bill turns back into her nose and mouth, preparing her to smooch her savior rather than peck at him. Finally, she’s back!

  “Bloody fucking hell,” Killian breathes as he stares on, Emma transforming back into her old self, laying in a heap on the ground as she brushes off the dirt and twigs and leaves. 

  “You did it,” she praises before clearing her throat, raw from misuse after all these years. She grins at him as she’s been wanting to since they met, and is met with a horrified, shocked look on his face. His jaw is gaping, his eyes wide as they catch the light of the setting sun. “I knew you would.” 

  “What the fuck?” 

  “You broke the curse,” she says happily, standing up and exposing her nude form to him, cursing the lack of feathers although she vowed she never would. Immediately, he removes his jacket, despite his shock still clearly running through him, and hands it to her. 

  “I did what now?”

  “I was cursed. Why do you think I was such a miserable swan?” 

  He’s looking around, his mouth snapping shut and dropping open in succession as he tries to process the fact that there was a swan in the enclosure just a second ago, and now there’s a frankly beautiful, naked woman standing before him. “You were cursed,” he says doubtfully. 

  “Yes, I was. An evil witch cursed me on Halloween decades ago and I've been stuck in that infernal bird form ever since. All I needed was True Love’s Kiss to break it, but imaging trying to fall in love with someone as a damn bird.” 

  “So you… you fell in love… with me…?” 

  “Obviously,” she smiles, taking a step towards him on shaky legs, tripping and falling into his waiting arms as he catches her, careful not to grope her, although she isn’t sure she would mind. “And you broke the curse, so… Do I have to tell you what that means?”

  “I-- I’m having a lot of trouble processing the fact that I've evidently been in love with a swan for months.” 

  “Well, my name is Emma Swan, so you can be in love with a Swan for the rest of your life, if you’d like.” 

  “Emma,” he murmurs, staring into her eyes and smiling when he seems to recognize her. She’s never been able to see herself in the mirror, because the book worm was worried she would attack it, but based on the way he’s staring, she would guess that the evil witch let her keep her eyes. “Do you know it just happens to be Halloween tonight?”

  “Kismet,” she says softly, gazing up at him. He lifts his hand like he did while she was planted in his lap, and she’s finally able to feel his calloused finger along the skin of her cheek, then of her neck, just as he had done before. 

  “Aye,” he agrees. “The spirit of the holiday does make this whole thing a bit easier to accept.” 

  “Yeah,” she says dismissively. “Now take me home. I was promised an eggroll and I haven't eaten anything but grass and stale bread in almost thirty years.”

~~~~

Tagging (with apologies):

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