#love them. Funky guys *holds them in the palms of my hands*

[catocappuccino]

Silly-beings

[fredwkong]

The Boxers

Sometimes, the perfect life just finds you, bruh.

I used to be a pretty normal guy. Wait, scratch that, I was a total fuckin’ nerd. I spent all my time playin’ video games and readin’ fantasy books and shit. I was getting a degree in computer science, so I spent all my time alone, coding shitty apps and nerding out on Reddit.

I had, like, no sex life, lmao. I was a weedy little Indian geek, bro, you know the type, right? I had negative game. Every weekend, I’d spend all night playing WoW or whatever, then go to bed and fantasise about how many bros I’d get once I was, like, CEO of a multibillion dollar startup.

I guess the universe looked at me one day and said, “Why wait, bro?”

I got back to my dorm one night and these, like, gross boxers were sitting right on my floor. I remember I thought they were totally lame, because they had the Sriracha logo all over them. “Who wears those but nasty frat boys?” I thought to myself. Huhuhu, little did the old me know.

Anyway, these boxers were totally messing up the vibes of my dorm. I used to be such a neat freak, bro. A place for everything, and everything in its place. A smelly, used pair of boxers made my skin crawl. So, obvi, I went to pick them up with two of my slim little fingers and toss them in the trash. I figured it was some kind of gross prank on me.

Once I’d picked ‘em up, I could see exactly how dirty those boxers were. The legs were stiff with layers of musky sweat, the smell wafting off them strong enough to make my eyes water. There were a couple of grease stains on them, like some dude had eaten dinner in just his undies. The crotch was crusty, too. Someone, maybe multiple someones, had cum in these boxers.

I remember wondering why the thought got me hard.

Rather than taking the Sriracha boxers to the trash like I’d planned, I found myself giving them a second sniff, and then a third. Goddamn, they were fuckin’ gross, bro. I thought it was just my disgust making me smell them over and over again. Like I was trying to figure out exactly what had gotten on them.

Before long, I was palming my lil cock through my slacks, holding the boxers close to my face with my other hand. It was, like, a total head rush every time I took another sniff. Like I could feel my brain blanking out as I took more and more of the musky stench into me. Not that I knew that was what was actually happening, huhuhu.

When I stripped off my pants and undies to jerk off better, I suddenly had an awesome idea. I could, like, wear the Sriracha boxers and jerk off in them. My brain was already at least halfway transformed by then, lol. I was definitely no nerd at that point. The idea of wearing another guy’s musky boxers got me so fuckin’ turned on.

I pulled the boxers up my skinny brown legs. They hung on my hip bones, barely able to stay on. I laid down on my bed and felt my rock hard cock through the crusty fabric. It was like I could feel the cum and sweat of everyone who’d ever worn that underwear seeping into my skin as I massaged drops of precum out of my balls.

As I writhed on my sheets, lost in pleasure, my skinny Indian body started to change. It started with my feet, which cracked and stretched as they grew big and thick. They started to sweat, a funky foot musk joining the renewed stench of the Sriracha boxers, which were getting super wet with my precum. It was like the brown leached out of my skin with my musky foot sweat, too, as my big feet got all pale.

The change continued up my bare calves, which got super hairy as the muscles flexed and swelled. My legs lengthened as huge quads and hammies swelled up under my whitening skin. God, said my musk-addled mind, I love leg day. I started to flex and wiggle my bulky thighs, feeling the muscles stimulate my growing prostate.

I let out a high pitched little bitchboy moan as my ass inflated with juicy muscle and fat, but I knew that my voice wouldn’t sound like that for much longer. I’d totally embraced the transformation as my cock and balls filled out the pouch of the boxers. They were no longer, like, loose and shit. My fat ass and big bro cock were stretching the sweaty fabric to its limits, bro!

My chest followed, going from slim to bulky so fast that all the buttons on my nerd shirt hit the ceiling. Sweat instantly started to roll off my furry new pecs, and I ran my soft little hand up and down my thick, firm belly and flexed the solid abs I knew were underneath the fat. More than the boxers and the smell, my body was starting to turn me on, bruh. I was becoming, like, a total frat god.

The curly brown hair that grew in my armpits smelled sooooo good as sweat started to drip off it. I totally buried my little nerd face in my own pits and licked up my sweat as I watched my arms bulk up and get all pale and hairy. It was so hot flexing my bicep and watching it bulk up before my eyes, dude! I felt my hand grow as I tugged my big jock cock in the Sriracha boxers, thickening up and getting some hard-earned weightlifting calluses.

The last thing to change was my head. My moans got deeper, slower, and totally dumb-sounding as my neck thickened. A thick brown beard grew on my cheeks, framing my cheesy dumb smile perfectly. My nose cracked and grew into a big ol’ sniffer, even more sensitive than my old nose so I can really take in my bros’ musk.

My old black buzzcut grew out into a curly brown mane, totally greasy from all the sweat I soak it with when I work out, huhuhu. As my forehead got all pale and my eyes turned blue, I felt my cock go over the edge, and I came right into the Sriracha boxers. Pump after pump of musky frat bro cream, taking my old self with it to impregnate the boxers with even more fratty juice. As the room filled with the smell of my thick load, I totally passed out.

The next morning, I woke up in an unfamiliar room. I was in a big bed with musky, sweat-stained sheets, a bunch of stale, unwashed gym gear all over the floor. I was still wearing the Sriracha boxers, my cum caked into the stain along with all the other bros’, along with a cap that I turned backwards as I sat up. I pulled on a tank without too many sweat stains on it and went to explore.

Turned out I lived at the Mu Upsilon Sigma frat house now. The whole place smelled like a sweaty armpit, and it was full of musky bros who were more than happy for me to get all up in their smelly pits and cracks.

I wore the Sriracha boxers for a couple days. Honestly, I dunno how long, I usually only change my boxers like once a month, huhuhu. I worked out, jerked off, got drunk, got fucked, and jerked off some more, all while wearing those boxers. Then I left ‘em in some nerd’s dorm as a prank, huhu.

It was so hot to watch the lil Japanese guy get as zonked out on the musky boxers like I had, bro. We hid in his closet and watched while he jerked off and turned into another musky white frat boy like us, then carried him to the MYS house once he passed out.

It’s been a couple weeks since then, and MYS membership has only grown, bruh! Each bro wears the Sriracha boxers for a few days, adds his personal touch to the, like, seasoning, and then we pass ‘em on to another nerd and induct him into frat life! Maybe some night soon, you’ll see these bad boys in your dorm, huhuhu. Life's perfect in the frat, bro!

[lyneira]

♡ cloud nine ♡

-> having the genshin men lay their head on your lap

Their heart would be racing

Thoma, Gorou, Scaramouche, Xiao

They'll keep their eyes closed the entire time, attempting to act asleep. It's not that they don't want to look up at you, it's just that their heart will implode if they do.

For the moment he looks up at you, face radiant and gazing tenderly down at him with that smile he adores, his heart will be racing, overwhelmed with love and he'll realize just how far he's fallen for you.

So when you put a hand to his cheek, his instinctive reaction would be to place his own atop of yours and nuzzle his cheek further into your palm, enjoying the warmth you provide him and never wanting to let go of it.

This will earn a chuckle from you as you've caught him red-handed. It'll force him to open his eyes to gaze into yours, and GOSH he's down bad, cheeks flushed red as he takes your hand and uses his other in attempt to cover it.

(OKAY I know Scaramouche doesn't technically have a heart, but y'all know what I mean!!)

Finds true peace

Dainsleif, Diluc, Alhaitham, Kaveh, Ayato, Cyno

Despite all of the worries and troubles that constantly invade his mind, all of them would soon disappear when he's laying on your lap. Feeling your hands gently massaging his temples and feeling your fingers run through his hair, he'll let his head further sink into your thighs and the only thing occupying his mind would be you.

After all, you are his happy place and at this point, he'd be like putty in your hands: so vulnerable as he gives himself to you. He'd wish that moments like this could last forever, and in the time that he spends with you, you give him that glimmer of hope, which is why he adores you so.

Sleeps immediately

Itto, Heizou, Venti, Childe

Can you blame him? Your lap is the most comfortable and soothing pillow he's ever slept on, so of course he would easily knock out the moment you let him rest his head on it.

You can expect him to move around a lot in his sleep, and he'll occasionally flip onto his belly attempting to hug your thighs or hug your waist like the best teddybear and pillow that you are to him. He's going to act like a big baby on your lap, and with the amount of times he'd beg and whine to sleep on your lap, indeed he was.

Anyway, you can take this opportunity to do something funky with his hair or draw on his face as payment for making your legs sore from the hours of holding the weight of his head, haha

Enjoys conversations in this position

Zhongli, Kazuha, Albedo, Tighnari, Kaeya, Baizhu

Unlike the previous category, these guys wouldn't let the comfort of your lap lull them to sleep. Instead, they'll truly savor this moment they have with you by talking to you like this. He'll want to hear about your day, what's on your mind, anything really. He'll enjoy watching your face, feeling your assuring warmth, and will reach up to caress your cheek, happy that he's able to rest on the lap of his beloved.

a/n: took a little break from the spicy stuff I've been posting! I wanted to make them as disgustingly fluffy so some of them honestly feel a bit ooc, LOL

© 2023 lyneira. PLEASE DO NOT COPY, PLAGIARIZE, OR REPOST MY WRITING ONTO OTHER PLATFORMS

[leftneb]

Curiositas aka sirens!AU

in which Lando is a siren with species dysphoria and Oscar is the defintion of Just Some Guy, who happens to get caught up in Lando's mess. and obviously they fall in love along the way etc etc

I first posted about this idea over 2 months ago and I'm happy to announce that there is now a fic in the works!!! which will likely take at least another 2 months because goddamn the concept outgrew itself (as you can tell by the fact charles and max also, like, exist now) it's sitting at ~8k words rn, which is by far the longest thing I've ever written in my life already, but story isn't even close to being finished, so yeah it'll take a while lmao

for now though I have some character designs and lots of thoughts, which I'd like to share :3

ramblings about their individual designs and details below the cut!!

and massive thank you to my dear partner @lailau7904 for not only holding my hand through writing the fic so far but somehow being even more insane about this whole AU than I am???

LANDO

main character (and POV holder) his design isn't based on any real fish, closest resemblance is to a fake fishing lure (reference provided)

very little scarring despite sirens' hunting culture, some tiny cuts and scratches around the top of his tail from smuggling pretty stones and shards of glass

absurdly bright green scales (I really could've made him fluorescent but I think that would be overkill) which is absurdly shit for stealth purposes but good for catching the attention of potential victims

vague triangle shape language but in a semi-elegant way

doesn't eat fish and would rather not eat human either

MAX

fills the position of a leader in his and Lando's colony, inherited the role in his late teens but grew up to it pretty quickly

shark motif, all sharp and angular shapes, visibly intimidating

lots of scars collected during hunts, wounds covered over by red scales from Charles

his scales are pretty dark but they shine blue when the light hits them just right (plus Charles' scales are a bright red lmao, which is a bit suboptimal for stealth but he thinks it's worth it)

CHARLES

koi fish motif, soft and round shapes

no scarring at all

has known Max since they were kids but actually didn't meet Lando until their 20s despite Max and Lando being childhood best friends

considered legally dead by monegasque officials (this has lore reasons which I'm not about to spoil)

GENERAL NOTES

the AU plays in a modern setting, altough sirens are very behind on human technology

their gills are on the side of their ribs! they can also all breathe with their lungs above water

funky scales patterns on their torsos around "modified" areas such as their gills and back fin

they have no hands but don't let that fool you! I was simply too lazy to draw any, what you would see if I did draw them tho would include:

webbing between fingers!! matches the colour of fins

longer, and more solid, claw-like nails

wrinkled palms and fingertips

I really wanted to make Max and Charles' torsos more life accurate but could not be arsed, they all have Lando's body type, aka I've accidentally twinkified Charles and Max lmao

by now you might have noticed that there's no design for Oscar, and as much as I really want to make a siren design for him that would have some pretty heavy lore implications so I'm... hesitant to do so

other people on my sirenification waiting list are:

George Russell and Alex Albon (for the 2019 rookies circle to be complete)

Franco Colapinto (based purely off vibes)

the whole grid really god I'm so ill

for the record Logan is a human in this AU but he IS present fuck you James Vowles

you may have also noticed the papaya version I labeled as McLaren themed (this one is also the highest quality image I have in this thread if you're gonna do any zooming in please do it on this one,,,,)

all throughout writing and drawing I couldn't help but think about another banger siren!Lando fic: Salt Skin by @strawberry-daiquiris! in which Lando has orange slash papaya scales, which I just had to draw honestly

a lot of my design process was also inspired by a piece by @dumbf1sketches (it's somewhere in the pile of other gorgeous art in that post)

bonus underwater version of all of them because it wasn't bright enough for me to feel good about it being at the top but it's still like, the main colour example to my brain

TAGLIST(S)

AU @mintraindrop @cx-boxbox (I know the og post is from actual ages ago but you two were interested so I humbly offer you these crumbs)

ART @santongkabayo @cyclonixi @alto-the-avocado @loquarocoeur

people that put up with my ramblings on dc @lyslsstuff @peppysinc @girlrussell

[f1nalboys]

I heard SOMEONE didn’t have a Bo request and honestly thats criminal, so I’m here to request sumn for my baby daddy

ummm.. may I have some Bo angst and fluff ?? 👉🏽👈🏽 Bos having a horrible week and reader tries to help him, maybe homie got triggered by something that made him relive something from his childhood (bonus points if Bo drunk cries) ily brooks<333 mwah mwah mwah (this is me kissing you for being such a great writer)

ALMOND MY BELOVED!!! thank you for sending in a bo req i love that funky guy. i rlly hope u love this!!! and stop im kissing YOU for being a great writer wth

do you enjoy my work? consider donating to my ko-fi :-)

Hold Me ; Bo Sinclair

Bo Sinclair x GN!Reader

WORD COUNT: 983

WARNINGS: sfw, childhood abuse mention, brief descriptions of abuse, drunk bo, unhealthy coping mechanisms, drunk bo cries, bo needs a hug and i want to give him one :(, not proofread per usual

Bo came into the house loudly. He wasn’t yelling or cursing. No, it was his movements that were loud, his footsteps landing heavy on the wooden floor and you can hear him stumble into furniture. You slip out of bed, walking downstairs and pausing on the steps. Bo hadn’t seen you yet and was in the kitchen, half-empty whiskey bottle in hand, leaning over the counter. His shoulders were shaking. He was crying.

He turns, walking to the living room, still oblivious to your presence. He had started drinking back at the garage, trying desperately to drown out the memories that began to flood his system, but they wouldn’t. He can hear his mothers voice in his head. He can feel the sting of her palm as she slaps him and he swears he can see her twisted face just in front of him.

Bo falls onto the couch with a huff, putting the liquor bottle down beside him and puts his head in his hand. “Stop fuckin’ crying’,” He says under his breath, voice catching in his throat. “Fuckin’ bitch, stop crying. Pathetic,” He’s crying harder now, his words mixing with his mother and fathers inside his head. At an early age Bo learned quickly that tears were worse than anger. Anger was for men, tears were for little girls, and there was nothing his father hated more than a boy acting like a girl.

“Bo?” You were standing in the doorway of the living room and Bo jumped, head snapping up and looking at you. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Nothing. Go back to bed, Y/N.” His voice is hoarse from crying and he clears his throat, turning away from you. All he wanted was to tell you how he felt, explain why he was crying in the middle of the night, but he couldn’t. He just fucking couldn’t. He can hear you begin to walk over to him and he snaps. “I fuckin’ said go back to sleep!”

You don’t respond, just continue to walk towards him. You sit down beside him on the couch and wrap your arm around his shoulder. He attempts to pull away but you hold on and he suddenly feels fucking exhausted. Bo sinks into you and you lean back against the couch and he buries his head into your chest, sobbing. They’re loud, gut-wrenching sobs, deep from within him, built up from years of holding them back.

Bo had half a mind to be embarrassed but the alcohol flowing through his system and the way you were holding him was enough for him to push it aside for now. “M’sorry,” He says through shaky breaths, desperate to calm himself down. “Yelled at you for nothin’, I’m an ass, I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, Bo.” Though your words are soft he can feel the seriousness behind them. “You’re alright, I promise. Just sit here and get it out ‘till you’re ready to talk, alright?” He nods and for the next hour the two of you sit there in complete and utter silence. Your grip around him never loosened, and you soon began to rock against him, humming into his ear. Your chin was resting on his head and he could feel your heartbeat through your chest.

Finally he was calm. His sobs had slowed, the occasional hiccup and shaky breath being the only indicator of what he had gone through. “Thank you.” He says softly, still tucked into your side. He felt so small like this but in a good way. He felt safe, comforted. Loved. It was a strange feeling. Vincent loved him, and so did Lester, but a small part of him felt like they had to. They were brothers. They had gone through the same thing as Bo did and were going through the same thing now, but you were different. You chose to love him. You saw the entirety of him, the good, the bad, the downright disgusting, and you stayed.

He had bared himself for you and you stuck your heels in the dirt and proved that you loved him. “Wanna talk about it now?” You whisper and he sighs, attempting to sit up. You don’t let go of him. “No, stay right there. Lemme hold you while you talk, alright? Tell me whatever you want to.”

And so he does. He tells you about what had caused this all to happen; he was in the garage when he had accidentally cut himself. It was just a nick on his wrist, but when he watched the small droplet of blood rise up from his scarred wrist, all of the memories he had managed to suppress came rushing back. He had a panic attack then and there, curled up on the floor of the garage rocking back and forth feeling like his heart was constricting in his chest. When he was able to move, that’s when he had grabbed the whiskey.

It was nearly full when he had started drinking but the thoughts and memories never went away no matter how many swigs he took from the bottle. “Can still hear her voice, even now,” He says and suddenly feels exhausted. His body loosens and he lets his rigidness go, melting into you even further. “It’s quieter now, though. Cuz of you,” He looks up at you and blinks slowly, eyelids heavy. “I love you. You’re the best damn thing to have happened to me.”

“And I love you, Bo. So much. I can’t go back and change the past, no matter how much I want to, but I can promise one thing.” You kiss the top of his head. He was asleep, snoring and nuzzling into you, arm wrapped around your waist and head on your chest. “I’m never leaving you.”

When he woke up that next morning to feel you against him, still on the couch, he knew you meant it.

[evafrechette]

Superstar Glow

↠ seokjin x jimin | smut | pornstar!au, 1970s!au | 21+ | 4k

↠ Summary: “H-hello, I'd like to order a pizza please, with extra sausage. Mmmm I do enjoy a good ol' sausage." Jimin’s voice soft and seductive. He placed the phone on the ground and began to grind down on the mattress, head thrown back in ecstasy while his fingers twisted the nipples that peaked out of the top of his bustier. Seokjin was getting hard watching the scene unfold in front of him. . .

“Superstar Glow is a brilliant new porn film. Fantastic debut by actor Kim Seokjin. It simply is the best film of 1975.” - Jeon Jungkook, Playguy Magazine.

(Aka Seokjin films his very first Porno)

↠ Warnings: anal sex, anal fingering, anal fisting, blowjobs, swearing, drug use, come shot, come eating, seokjin has a huge cock, porn films, terrible pizza related pick up lines, jimin in lingerie, 70s slang, drinking, casual mention of cheating, filming a porn video.

Seokjin confidently strode into the warehouse. It smelled strongly of cigarette smoke mixed with patchoulli incense which tickled his throat when he breathed in. Right in the center of the room was a circular shaped bed sitting on top of a large brown shag mat, partitions surrounded the afghan blanket covered bed which had 3 spotlights shining brightly in it’s direction. A funky bass line and rhythmic drums reverberated around the large room as people walked on by, cigarettes lazily hanging from their mouths as they carried long thick cables wrapped around their arms and bulky cameras perched on their shoulders.

In the far corner of the space sat a dressing table, the mirror lined with bright lights. A small man with thick thighs was currently perched on top of a fur covered stool, brushing his blond hair back gently. He was wearing a black and red lace bustier which brought attention to his muscular chest, garter belt with nude coloured stockings and silky black panties which showed off a rather impressive bulge. He was a very pretty man and Seokjin was pleased to be staring alongside someone so gorgeous.

Today was Seokjin's porno debut. He had been scouted at an adult movie theatre during a late night session of ‘Boys in the Sand’ by a director who happened to be sitting in the same row as him.

As with all adult theaters once the movie started, the dicks came out and his large size had garnered the attention of the man a few seats away. Seokjin was naturally skeptical, thinking it was a lame pick up line to get him back to his apartment to fuck. But when the man handed over a very professional business card and told him to "think about it" Seokjin realised the offer was legit.

Seokjin's watched the director Yoongi and his fantastic bushy chevron mustache adjusting the lighting on the set and walked over to say Hi. He was an quite the character, he wore a burnt orange turtleneck jumper underneath a brown, orange and pale yellow checkered leisure suit, his jet black hair was pushed off his face which allowed you to focus on his beautiful feline shaped eyes and strong eyebrows. A thick gold chain draped around his neck and several clunky (fake) gold rings sat on his fingers. His voice was deep, barking orders at the crew to get everything ready in time. He was also a short man, which would explain the very high brown and cream platform shoes he was wearing. Seokjin's ankles hurt just looking at them.

"Uh hey, what's crackin'." He asked once he had reached the man, holding out his hand for a handshake.

"Ahhh the star of today's shoot." A large hand shot out and slapped against Seokjin's, pulling him in for a hug. "How are you feeling today? Nervous? We have some cocaine if you wanna take a bump, loosen yourself up a bit? One of the guys can take you out back and suck your dick if that will help?" The man turned back to adjusting the light, mumbling about how you can't trust dope heads to get anything done right.

"Oh no, that won't be necessary. Once I'm in front of the camera I'll be groovy baby." His eyes continued to dart around the room taking everything in.

"Have you met your co-star yet?" Yoongi asked over his shoulder. "The cute little blond in the lingerie. He may look delicate and sweet, but he's a huge whore. Loves being stuffed with big cocks. Ah fuck yeah, that's perfect!" Satisfied with the lighting set up he turned his attention back to Seokjin dusting his hands on his polyester trousers. "Though, I've never had a cock as big as yours on my set, so this will be interesting."

Seokjin blushed at hearing this, he was truly blessed by the Penis Gods when it came to his manhood. Twelve inches of thick, tan cock. Even the vein that ran up the underside looked as though it was designed by a specialist penis sculptor. Yoongi had told him the night they met that his cock was made for pornography and it was a shame he wasn't showing the world his gifts.

The blond must have sensed he was being spoken about and made his way over to where Seokjin stood, swaying his hips deliberately with every step. He was a beautiful sight, a sharp straight nose that complimented his angled jawline, sultry monolids dusted with a shimmering brown eyeshadow, and a full, sumptuous pout that screamed "blow job lips"Seokjin licked his lips as he watched the way the mans long legs moved in the soft, silky stockings that enclosed his smooth legs.

"Yoongi, is this the Jive Turkey I'm filming with today?" The man cocked a hand on his hip, eyes roaming over Seokjin's body.

"Hey! I ain't no Jive Turkey, what the fuck?" Seokjin exclaimed, shocked that for the first time in his life he'd been insulted in such a way.

"Jimin mellow out huh? This is Seokjin, yes he is filming with you today, I hope they prepped you well earlier 'cause this man is gonna be a star baby!" Yoongi wrapped his arm around Seokjin's wide shoulders squeezing tight, "The biggest cock I've ever seen! He's gonna have you squealing like a little bitch, you're gonna love it."

"I was only joshin' you know me. I'm Jimin by the way." The blond made no attempt at a handshake, instead looking off seemingly disinterested in the conversation.

"See that door on your right? Head in there to get your threads for the shoot and when you're done get back here and we'll start, we're ready when you are." Yoongi clapped his hand against Seokjin's shoulder before letting go.

Once inside the small room he stripped off and dressed in the clothes that were hanging on the clothes rack. Crisp white trousers that fit like a glove, letting everyone see just what he was packing down below and a matching shirt that he made sure to leave partially unbuttoned. His hand brushed over the jewelry selection, deciding on a thin silver chain and matching ring. He looked at himself in the mirror and winked. He looked fantastic and he was truly feeling himself. He also couldn't wait to get out there and choke that sassy little twunk with his cock. The thought of his pink plush lips struggling to stretch around his girth had Seokjin twitching in his pants.

Once back on set the mood had changed, the loud stereo system had been turned off and the crew were in place ready to start filming. Jimin was sprawled out on the bed, hand lazily palming the bulge through his panties while he and Yoongi spoke in hushed tones.

"Seokjin! You look bitchin', that outfit is great. What's underneath is even better, oh Jiminie you are in for a treat," Yoongi clapped his hands gleefully, "Alright here's the skinny, Jimin is a horny slut who has ordered a pizza, Seokjin you are the pizza delivery guy. You come in and fuck his brains out. You both got it? It's porn, not rocket science. Think with your dicks not your brains. Can you dig it?"

"Right on." Seokjin nodded, walking to the prop table to pick up the pizza box before standing on the x marked with duct tape on the ground, just out of the way of the cameras. He unzipped his trousers and pushed his semi hard cock through the hole on the bottom of the pizza box. The only thing Jimin would be putting in his mouth today would be his cock. The loud wurring of the camera let everyone know that tape was rolling and it was showtime.

Yoongi slowly moved the camera towards the bed as Jimin's soft moans filled the room, his small fingers tracing up and down his stocking clad legs. Jimin picked up the prop phone pretending to dial a number.

"H-hello, I'd like to order a pizza please, with extra sausage. Mmmm I do enjoy a good ol' sausage." His voice soft and seductive. He placed the phone on the ground and began to grind down on the mattress, head thrown back in ecstasy while his fingers twisted the nipples that peaked out of the top of his bustier. Seokjin was getting hard watching the scene unfold in front of him. He really wanted his dick sucked immediately, but took a deep breath to calm himself down. Yoongi pulled the camera back and motioned towards Seokjin. One of the sound crew knocked against a piece of wood to replicate a door being knocked on and he quickly stood straight ready to make his grand entrance.

"Oh." Jimin crawled across the bed and skipped to near where Seokjin stood. One of the camera men, a tall man that went by the name Namjoon followed Jimin and stood directly in front of him, camera lowering to shoot a close up of his cock trapped behind the silk fabric, then making it's way to his face again. "Come on in." Jimin pursed his plump lips, before returning to the bed to sit, legs daintly crossed over one another. "Are you the pizza man? Because you sure look like you could deliver." He purred, stroking his length over the silk.

Seokjin walked into the shot, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He wasn't nervous before, but once he was under the heat of the lights, camera zooming in on his handsome face, well he was starting to feel like maybe he had fucked up on coming here today. Seconds ticked on by before he gained his composure, "Are you craving pizza? Because I'll gladly give you a pizz-a this dick." He pulled the top of the pizza box open, cock springing to life. Jimin's eyes nearly bulged out of his head which made Seokjin smirk.

He moved to stand in front of Jimin who was still sitting on the bed, using his free hand to run his fingers through the blonds perfectly styled hair.

"You're the only topping I need on my pizza." Jimin whispered loud enough for the sound boom to pick up, smooth as butter he dropped down onto his knees and took Seokjin into his hand, small fingers struggling to wrap around his thickness. He pumped Seokjin a few times before taking him into his wet hot mouth. Seokjin let out a gasp, he was surprised, he really thought the smaller man would struggle to suck his cock, but as he looked down he saw a blond head bop up and down expertly on his length.

Seokjin grabbed a fist full of bottle blond hair and moved his hips, shallow and slow to begin with then a little faster and harder, allowing his cock to slip further down Jimin's throat. The man hummed around his length, spit drooling down the sides of his mouth as he took Seokjin nearly to the base. Seokjin groaned at the feeling of Jimin's throat constricting tight around his cock. The sounds of crew footsteps and the glare of the hot lights above fading into the background as he lost himself to the pleasure of Jimin's mouth.

"Look at you, what a good boy you are, throat so full of my cock." He tightened his grip on Jimin's hair, "So pretty."

Tears ran down Jimin's cheeks, mixing into the spit that was dripping down his chin and neck. He pulled his cock free and slammed it back in without warning, fucking Jimin's pretty mouth with vigor. The camera men had moved closer to the action, a camera focused on Seokjin's cock while another filmed his reactions, the way his eyebrows furrowed whenever he felt himself getting close to his release and the quiet whimpers when he locked eyes with the man below him.

"Your mouth is too good at this pretty boy, I'm about to come." He groaned between gritted teeth, hips stilling as his hot release spilled down Jimin's throat. The blond swallowed Seokjin's load like the professional he was, falling back onto his ass, absolutely exhausted once he was done.

"Aaannd CUT!" Yoongi yelled from behind his camera, he pulled a joint from his pants pocket and motioned for one of the crew to light it for him. He took a big toke, holding the smoke in before exhaling. "Right on, right on. That was good. Shit, Jimin you are freaky deaky. Damn! This might just be my most successful film to date." He took another deep drag of the good Mary Jane and pointed at Seokjin, "Go have a drink, there is whiskey and beer on the table, or water if you're a square. If you think you'll have trouble getting hard again go and ask Hoseok for a little blue pill, that'll help. He's the jelly brain over there in the red shirt and fake Gucci belt."

Seokjin slowly removed his cock from the pizza box and threw it to the side as someone from wardrobe dashed over and cleaned him up with a warm hand towel. He tucked himself back into his pants and strolled over to the drinks table, deciding on a bottle of Rheingold beer, he nursed the red and white labelled bottle as he watched the crew change the film in the cameras. The tight knit all male crew made lewd remarks and joked around, while Yoongi the director sat in his chair getting stoned.

"How are you enjoying your first shoot?"  Jimin asked, face no longer a tear stained mess.

"It's pretty rad, not quite what I expected but it's all gravy." He replied taking another sip of the yeasty and fruit flavoured liquid.

"Yoongi was right, your cock is magnificent. I can't wait for you to fuck my ass. Don't be gentle, I like a bit of pain." The sweet voice next to him explained.

Seokjin nearly choked on his drink, everyone here was so open and had absolutely no filter.

"No fake?" He turned to ask the man.

"No fake handsome. They prepped me so well earlier you could probably fist me if you wanted. Don't want to scare you off on your first day though." He laughed, hand shooting up to cover his plump lips.

"I-I'll keep that in mind, thanks."

-----

Jimin and Seokjin strolled back onto set once the film had been changed and Yoongi returned from taking a piss. Now it was time for the fucking. Seokjin took a deep breath and looked down at his crotch, "Make me proud big boy." He whispered.

"Alright places people, let's get this thing done so I can go home and fuck my girlfriend before my bitch of a wife gets back from work." Yoongi called out, shifting to sit behind his Ikegami 3-tube colour camera.

Seokjin made his way over to Jimin, who was standing in front of the bed. He gave the smaller man a shy smile before turning his head towards Yoongi waiting for the signal to begin.

"3, 2, 1 Now Fuck!"

"I know this is pretty cheesy, but I think you're saucy." Jimin curled his hand around the lapel of Seokjin's shirt, pulling him so close he could smell the star anise and blackcurrent hints of his cologne. Seokjin leaned down and slowly pressed his pillowy lips against Jimin's, who slightly parted his own when he let out a quiet sigh. Seokjin flicked his tongue against the soft fullness of Jimin's pink tinged lips and deepened the embrace, tongue meeting with the other as he placed his big hands on either side of the mans soft face, tilting his head upwards for easier access.

He nipped at Jimin's bottom lip before pulling away to breathe. He dived back in, kiss messy and wet, their mouths wide open so the camera could film their tongues flicking against one another's. Seokjin nudged Jimin backwards towards the bed and helped lower him down onto the firm mattress, caging his lingerie clad body with his own. He rocked his already hard cock against Jimin, grinding hard against the silk, desperate to feel some friction. They continued to messily make out until Yoongi called out "Cut!"

Seokjin concentrated on getting his breathing under control. He was already so hard again and it was beginning to hurt. The man Yoongi had earlier identified as Hoseok came over and handed Seokjin a bottle of KY Jelly, "He's been prepped, but lube up anyway, we don't film that pain shit some people are into. Finger him a few times, slowly so they can get some close ups, then fuck him like you've never fucked before. Come wherever you like, just make sure to let us know so they can get in close and film it."

Jimin was on his hands and knees, silk panties long gone, as he spread his cheeks wide for Seokjin. His hole was stretched open, pink and glistening. Seokjin coated his fingers in the clear liquid and crawled behind the blond.

"Alright, no stopping this time. Let's get this cumshot in one go. Action!" Yoongi murmured, cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth.

Seokjin brought two fingers to Jimin's entrance and remembering Hoseok's words, slowly pushed in until he was knuckle deep. He pulled his fingers out, before pushing back in enjoying the sound of soft moans underneath him. Seokjin took his time to add another, and another, making sure to press down on Jimin's sensitive spot when he withdrew his fingers with each thrust. He watched in awe as Jimin's hole stretched perfectly around his knobbly fingers, clenching and fluttering due to his touch. He pulled out gently, coating his entire hand with more lubricant before lining up once more, tucking his thumb into the palm of his hand and steadily worked his entire fist into the blonds ass.

Jimin let out a long whine, teeth digging into his bottom lip. "Jimin don't do that, let it all out." Yoongi yelled unimpressed at his attempts to quiet himself.

Seokjin couldn't believe his eyes as he pushed in further, his whole hand disappearing inside Jimin's ass. He nearly came right then and there. He moved his hand shallowly inside Jimin's warm hole, cock throbbing as Jimin's pants and whimpers filled the room. "Fuck, you are amazing." Seokjin choked, enjoying the depravity of performing an act like this on someone. The camera men moved around the studio, positioning themselves awkwardly close to Seokjin to film what would no doubt be the highlight of the film. He looked over his shoulder and asked, "Can I fuck him now?"

"Yes, YES." Smoke puffed out between Yoongi's lips as he replied.

Seokjin withdrew his hand and quickly jumped off the bed to remove his clothes, flinging his trousers off to the side. Using the hand still coated in lubricant, he jerked himself off a few times coating his length in the sticky cool liquid.

"Do you like Pizza Hut pretty boy? Because I want to stuff your crust." He looked at the camera and raised his eyebrow before he slipped his thick cock into Jimin's gaping hole, balls snapping against the blonds supple ass when he bottomed out. His hole was surprisingly still tight and Seokjin couldn't help but let out a filthy groan.

"O-oh your cock is so big, it feels soooo good. Keep fucking my ass just like that." Jimin cried out mouth hanging open as he pushed back onto Seokjin's length. Seokjin slammed his cock back in again and Jimin fell face forward into the pillows due to the force. He spread Jimin's ass cheeks with his hands, watching as his massive cock stretched out the man below him. His grip was tight on the soft skin of Jimin's hips, leaving marks that would bruise by the evening. He leaned himself over the smaller mans body, chest pressed against his muscular back and rammed into him. They were both a whining, moaning mess, his cock brushing up against Jimin's prostate with every thrust. Seokjin placed his head against Jimin's shoulders, sweat making their skin stick to one another. He reached between his legs and took Jimin's cock into his hand and pumped him in time with his own thrusts.

"I'm gonna come soon, how far away are you?" He whispered into Jimin's ear, voice barely picked up by the sound boom. "Mmm keep doing that with your hand and I'll be coming pretty soon too, shit."

Seokjin faced the camera and seductively licked his lips, a hungry noise escaping his throat. The camera crew changed positions making sure to capture all the action from different angles. Namjoon climbed onto the bed, legs planted on either side of Seokjin as he filmed from above.

"Oh-oh shit, I'm gonna come." Jimin cried into the pillows, cock throbbing as his release spurted out onto the mattress underneath him. His hole squeezed around Seokjin's cock, so he picked up the pace and fucked his ass fast, desperate to reach his orgasm too. Jimin was becoming overstimulated, squirming his body under Seokjin's firm grip. He held on tight, thrusting so deep Jimin was seeing stars. The sounds of skin slapping against skin echoed in his ears triggering him to squeeze his eyes shut as he focused on reaching his high. The tell tale sign of his approaching orgasm began, tingling starting in his crotch and slowly spreading out to his arms and legs.

Seokjin managed to pull out just as he came, hot cum landing all over Jimin's soft ass cheeks, slowly dripping down onto the back of his thighs. The camera moved in close focusing on Jimin's stretched hole and his cum covered ass, Seokjin leaned down into the shot and dragged his tongue over the smooth skin of Jimin's perky rear and began cleaning up his mess. He hummed as he licked away his salty release, eyes focused on the blinking light of the camera, corner of his mouth turning up into a small smirk.

"CUT! That was great you dirty whores! All right, let's get this set cleaned and get the fuck out of here." Yoongi passed his camera to his assistant and walked over to Seokjin, he pulled out an envelope and handed it over, "Here's ya mulah for the day. If you want more of that let me know and I'll book you in for another film. I think this one is going to do really well. Pretty face, huge cock, how could it not?"

Seokjin jogged back to the small room to get changed, he could shower at home, adrenaline was coursing through his body right now and he was excited to catch up with his closest friends and tell them about his amazing experience. Once he was back to looking like normal everyday Seokjin and not burgeoning Porn star Seokjin he made his way around the room, saying thanks to all the staff, especially Jimin who had given him a sweet kiss on the cheek.

Seokjin reached the exit pausing to take a look back at the porn set. He smiled as he watched crew dissemble lights and pack away furniture and props. Yoongi had said he could do this again, an offer he would take up for sure. Working at the local grocers didn't have as much appeal as having sweet, tight assholes begging for his cock, maybe this was the start of a new career for Seokjin? He pushed his sunglasses up onto his nose and stepped out into the bright summers day, he entered the building a porn actor virgin and left with that superstar glow, he was a (porn) star in the making.

[nobloodneeded]

I would love if Mar’i were brought into canon for so many reasons.

- I would love to see positive co-parent relationships between Dick and Kori and Babs. Times when Dick is off doing his Nightwing duties and Kori drops Mar’i off with Babs, transferring the child seamlessly from one hip to the other and chatting away. Dick doing the drop-off and endearingly kissing Kori’s cheek and nuzzling noses with his daughter as he hands her off. Dinners with all four of them some nights, going to future gymnastics events as a family.

- With that exact thing in mind, I would love to see a passing comment between Bruce and Dick about how the hell he managed to work out that situation to which Dick would shrug and go unlike him, “Kori is not an assassin daughter of a demon and I ended up with two good guys, instead of villainesses (no...well, maybe some offense), I guess.”

- Moments at Wayne Manor like:

- Bruce, rigid and stoic as always, yet completely doting upon her in his own way. Mar’i casually sitting on his lap all the time, holding his hand as she toddles or floats through the hallways, Bruce checking in on the family in the kitchen with Mar’i on his shoulders, commissioning an abundance of portraits for her, all the latest toys and her own dedicated playroom at the manor (more of Alfred’s doing, admittedly, but completely sanctioned by Bruce). 

- Mar’i being obsessed with her uncle Damian who in turn whines begrudgingly about being followed by a child, yet the second anyone tries to take her away all but hisses with his hackles raised, especially Tim.

- Speaking of, I imagine Tim being initially awkward, holding her like a sack of wet potatoes, but pretty immediately after being really great with her. Playfighting and allowing her to win every time with over-exaggerated actions she would giggle at. 

- Jason threatening to kidnap her then sending selfies of Mar’i sleeping, tucked into his side, with the caption “See? Kid nap. What did you think I meant?”

- Mar’i accidentally learns curse words from Stephanie who keeps trying to curb her foul language, but will accidentally replace one curse with one of less strength, apologizing in frustration. Dick glaring suspiciously at Stephanie whenever he hears his daughter utter an expletive. 

- Harper improving baby tech gear for Mar’i’s room, creating links from baby monitor to earpiece when Dick is away on patrol, and crafting funky little gadget toys for her to play with. 

- Cass being an incredible hide and seek partner.

- Duke playing peekaboo with her, but after a few rounds when he removes his palms she’s no longer there and he freaks out before looking up where she’s floating and feels a brief relief before realizing he has no idea how to get her down and oh my god what if she falls. He then proceeds to trail beneath her with a couch cushion until she finally makes her way down. 

- Alfred sneaking her all manner of sweets and treats. Dick asks him to stop doing that for fear of her growing sweettooth, to which Alfred admonishes him for denying his daughter the same treatment he received as a child. 

- Selina playing with her while Bruce watches, casually leaning against the doorframe, eyeing her in a particular way. Selina catching his eye and, completely dead-pan, preemptively saying, “No.” He continues looking at her and she responds, “The answer is no. I know what you’re thinking - no... She is really cute, though.” He would tease, “Ours would be cuter.” She would respond, “I don’t think that’s possible, look at these cheeks.” He would repeat, “Ours would be cuter.” She would smile and agree, “Yeah, fine, ours would be cuter. The answer is no. No. No, Bat, you stay over there.” 

[haikyu-hoe]

Love From Abroad

Tendou Satori x reader

one shot, fluff

this is one of my first times writing, so feedback is appreciated! dm for requests :)

hope you like it!

———————————————————————

You’re an exchange student in Japan and today is your first day at Shiratorizawa Academy. You’re a second year. You’re quite nervous but you’re confident that you’ll make friends.

When you get to class, the teacher asks you to introduce yourself to the class.

“Hi i’m y/k, i’m from [your country] and i’ll be joining for the rest of the year”, you say with a shy wave.

You sit on an empty seat beside a black haired girl with cute chubby cheeks.

“Hi i’m Elen”, she says with a timid smile.

You smile back at her and the lesson begins. This is harder than the classes you had at your previous school but you think you’ll get used to it. After all, you’ve always been pretty smart.

At lunch you sit with Elen and a few of her friends from your class and they’re all super nice to you and even offer to give you a tout after classes end. You of course accept this offer gladly since you kinda got lost this morning...

During the tour, they show you many things.

“Here we have the library, over there is a place where you can study and there’s 3rd years to help you and over here is the sports wing”, explains Lin, one of Elen’s friends, a short girl with brown, wavy hair.

“Thanks for the tour! I really appreciate it”, you thank them with a big smile.

They then leave to walk home but you decide to stick around a bit more. As you wander in the corridors you get to the sports wing Lin talked about. Curious about how big it might be, you walk down the main corridor. You can hear balls thudding and smashing on the walls inside one of the gym. You push the door shyly and go sit on a bench with other spectators.

“Their volleyball team is pretty good... Well i did hear it was what they call a powerhouse school so...”, you think, kinda zoning out.

One of the players, Ushijima, seems to be the star of the team. But he’s not the one you’re looking at. A red haired funky boy caught your eyes. He’s so charismatic and his bandaged fingers just look so hot...

You listen closely and finally catch his name: Tendou Satori.

After practice ends, you get up to leave but someone shouts behind you. You turn around to see a black haired boy with a choppy haircut and... TENDOU?!

“OI!!”, they say enthusiastically.

“h- hi?”, you ask, unsure if they’re really talking to you (even though there’s no one around anymore).

“I’m Goshiki and he’s Tendou”, says the black haired boy. “That over there is Shirabu and that, of course, is Ushijima. Are you new around here? I don’t think we’ve ever seen you around before.”, he says with a bright smile.

“Yeah i’m new I just transferred from [your country]. I’m y/k by the way!”, you reply, holding out your hand.

Goshiki shakes it while Tendou just looks at you with some weird smile that is somehow so attractive?

“Y/k huh... want me to walk you home?”, Tendou says while getting extremely close to you.

“Sureee”, you say. “But aren’t you tired from practice?”

“Don’t worry, it’ll replace my stretching!”, he says happily. He then grabs his bag, puts his arms around your shoulders and guides you to the exit.

“He sure is a people person huh”, you think. You’re kinda lost in your thought but you catch a few things he’s saying. He’s a 3rd year in class 2, and he’s a middle blocker. He then goes on about the other team members and fun facts about the school.

“Soooo tell me about yourself nowwww”, he says with that weird smile again.

You blush a bit and scratch the back of your neck and reply “Well i’m new to everything here, but i made a few friends in my class. I’m in second year, class one. The team was really amazing today by the way”, you try to be nice to him.

His smile widens at those last words and you walk in a comfortable silence back home. You thank him and walk inside.

“fuck...”, you mutter to yourself. It didn’t even take a full day for you to be completely in love with this strange volleyball player.

[time skip]

The next morning, you hurry up to school so you can look at the gyms before going to class. You catch a glimpse of Tendou, but of course he doesn’t see you.

At lunch, you tell Elen and the others all about last night. Lin is especially excited and Akira even lets out a little squeal. They convince you to go to practice again tonight.

When you get to practice, you quietly sits on the spectator’s bench but Tendou still notices you and smirks at you with a slight wink.

Luckily he quickly turns back to the game so he doesn’t see you blushing like a tomato. Watching him is fun but you can’t wait till practice is over and you can talk to him.

At about 5 pm, he finally gets out of the boy’s changing room and walks up to you.

“Heyyyy~ were you waiting for me?”, he says in a teasing tone while raising one eyebrow.

You blush a bit and lightly punch his arm.

“Why would i wait for such an idiot” , you say with a smirk. He pretends that your words are breaking his heart and then laughs. You had heard him laugh before but never that way... it was so carefree, so... adorable...

On the way home, he catches you staring at him, lost in the admiration of his perfect self.

“you ok y/k?”, he asks.

“ye- yeah sorry”, you reply quickly and start looking in front of you.

“soooo are you free tomorrow” he suddenly asks. You most certainly didn’t expect this. Does he mean as a date?? Maybe he juste want to hang out, i mean you barely know each other right?

He looks at you amused by the confused look on your face and his grin gets wider. He lets out a little chuckle before adding “yes, as a date y/k”

You blush heavily. It’s no use trying to hide it, you’re like a volcano about to erupt.

“yes! I mean um of course”, you reply nervously. You scratch the back of your neck, something you do each time you’re nervous.

“Great” he says happily, in a sing-song voice. “I’ll pick you up at 11 alright?” he adds.

You nod your head. God what will you wear?? Will you hold hands? Kiss even? What will you guys even do? All these questions keep you awake that night but you still fall asleep after a while, so happy about that date.

[at 10 the next morning]

You wake up, grab some quick breakfast and jump in the shower. You have to look perfect for this. After carefully planning an outfit and doing your hair and makeup, you hear the doorbell ring. Your heart starts beating faster.

You open the door to see a casually dressed Tendou grinning widly at you. He’s wearing black ripped jeans, adidas shoes and a hoodie that matches his hair colour. It’s so weird seeing him without his school or volleyball uniform.

“hey y/k~ you look...” he looks you up and down while blushing before continuing. “...great. You look great.”

You just blush as he takes your hand and drags you along with him.

“where are we going, Tendou-kun?”, you ask in a shy voice.

As a reply, he simply smiles at you and whispers “you’ll see”.

Impatient to know where you’re going, you try to get him to walk faster. But Tendou is not in a hurry at all, and since he’s stronger than you, you have to follow his pace. No matter how much you whine, insist and plead, the red-haired noodle boy refuses to reveal where you’re going.

After about 20 minutes you get to a 50’s themed restaurant. The inside is amazing with its vintage jukebox, checkered floor, coca cola adds and Marylin Monroe posters on the walls, retro booths and milkshakes on the menu.

You sit down on a booth by the window and order a milkshake. You share it with two straws, and when you both lean in to take a sip, your faces get so close they almost touch... Tendou’s breath feels warm close to your lips.

He then leans back and crosses his arms behind his head and just stares at you.

“Why did you agree to come today, y/k-chan?”, asks Tendou. He looks eager to receive an answer but he also looks like he’d rather not know in fear of being disappointed.

You give out a light chuckle before answering.

“because i wanted to, of course! You’re the nicest guy i’ve met and ever since I first saw you play i knew you were special.” you reply calmly before taking another sip.

He blushes like mad but then leans in to take a sip too. As you both let go of the straws, he lifts your chin with one finger and lightly kisses your lips. You’re chocked at first but you kiss back after a few instants.

He suddenly breaks the kiss and leans back. He looks out the window, nervously scratching his crimson hair. You start to wonder if maybe he regrets it...

“y/k i’m sorry that was so sudden i should’ve asked please forgive me i didn’t mean to-” Tendou starts talking saying quickly but you cut him off.

“tendou.” He finally dares to glance at you. “i’m glad you did. And i hope you’ll do it again” you whisper the last part but he still hears you. It’s enough to put a gigantic grin on his face. He leans in closer to you over the table and rests his chin on his hands.

“Then would you mind if we did something next weekend?” he asks while raising an eyebrow.

“i’d love that, Tendou-kun”, you reply.

For the following week, he walks you home each night but nothing really happens. You just talk and laugh, realizing how much you love him.

When the weekend comes, you get butterflies in your stomach as you get ready in the morning. Tendou should arrive soon, so you have to hurry.

When the doorbell rings, your heart does a loophole. Tendou is standing on your porch, in his cute casual clothes. He winks at you after saying a sexy “hey” and grabs your hand to bring you to another mystery place.

As you walk, you can only focus on his hand in yours... his fingers are so long, his palm so huge... but it’s their perfect temperature that makes them so wonderful. And god let’s not get started on his eyes and hair...

Time goes by so quickly when you’re with him, so before you know it you’ve reached your destination.

“we’re heeeereeee!” sings Tendou.

It’s a wonderful park with a small pond in which several koi fishes are swimming. A few ducks also swim around them and there’s lovely benches all around.

You sit on one of them and rest your head on Tendou’s shoulder. You can’t see it but his whole face lights up at this gesture.

“say, y/k-chan” starts Tendou. You turn your face to look up to his. He takes both your hands in his before continuing. “would you let me be your boyfriend?”

Your cheeks flush bright pink as you reply “of- of course Tendou-chan!!”

He smirks before kissing you softly. As seconds pass, he kisses you more and more roughly until you both run out of breath.

He looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world while you’re both trying to catch your breath.

He cups your face softly and puts his forehead on yours. You look tenderly in each other’s eyes, before Tendou finally speaks.

“thank you y/k-chan... i feel so comfortable around you, you make me feel so lucky, so... so... so happy. I hope i’ll feel like this forever and that it’ll be reciprocated” he says as his eyes fill with water.

You raise a hand to wipe his tears as you reply “I’ll stay as long as you need me, Satori. You’re so dear to me, i’ve never felt this way before” you sweetly replying.

He blushes at the fact you used his first name and closes his eyes to appreciate the moment. When he opens them again, he leans in close to hug you tightly and as he does so, he kisses your neck.

When you part, he kisses your lips tenderly and you can feel him grin slightly. You stay in the park until the sun starts going down. He then walks you home like a true gentleman, putting one last kiss on your soft lips.

~the end~

[incorrect-mha-bnha]

Headcannon/Au Drabble

Kirishima is standing too close to a villain when Bakugou detonates a viscous blast, not taking into consideration that he couldn’t harden everything immediately without fair warning. Kirishima ends up going deaf because of the close proximity.

Nitroglycerin is addtictive, therefore? Midoriya has been around Bakugou the longest (excluding his parents which would have been warned by a doctor awhile ago) and is probably addicted to it despite Bakugou’s many attempts to keep their distance. Midoriya is just a crackhead.

Shigaraki was never able to play patty cake as a kid and that’s depressing in itself.

Ship hc: Person A plays video games with friends and wears a headset. Person B doesn’t play but likes wearing a pair and sitting in their S/O’s lap while talking with everyone.

The Joker/Harley Q trope for a couple dynamic is really valid in many BNHA ships. Person A and B are very capable heroes/people that know how to defend themselves but like to call their S/O in times of trouble. Person A is stopped by a bad guy and calls out for Person B with pure enjoyment for what is about to go down. All the villain hears is loud banging as B gets closer.

Bakugou is actually really amazing at doing makeup and hairstyles, along with doing nails. I’m going to say he learned most of that from self taught occasions, his mom, maybe some aunts and Best Jeanist. ANYWAY, all the class girls love to ask Bakugou for some pampering whenever they can. They always win him over after the fifth or sixth time they beg or give some sort of puppy eyes but Bakugou would never admit to actually liking doing those things.

Kirishima is the type of guy friend to carry pads/tampons in his bag at all times just incase any of the girls may need emergency supplies. He may go as far as bringing Tylenol or even an extra hoodie.

Bakugou owns a lot of house plants, and for many reasons. He’s the best and pretty smart which means he’s eco friendly. What does eco friendly entail? Going green! I hc that he probably refused to show his room because it’s completely jungled out (or full of cute plants and fancy pots). Based on his personality and my own projection, he’d like a plant that isn’t too demanding on care but I doubt he’d mind a challenge. Maybe a handful of succulents and a good amount of cacti- throwing in some Devil’s Ivy and a cute palm tree. Bakugou could spend hours tending to them, watering and building a nice ledge to rest them on just before his window. Indulging in new pots and fancy equipment for the sake of being extra. It’s all about the principle really. Plants produce oxygen, not to mention that some are really good for health as well.

BAKUGOU IS TRANS (but I would never press that on anyone)

Deaf Bakugou?? At a young age when Bakugou was first starting to learn about his quirk, he unleashed a very large, uncontrolled explosion way too close to his ears. That resulted in him becoming completely deaf in one ear and partially in the other.

Shouto is partially blind/visually impaired/completely blind in his right (left??) eye thanks to the BOILING HOT WATER being poured on his EYE. You can’t tell me homeboy didn’t get some sort of damage done from that besides some gnarly burns.

Kaminari has ADHD

Kirishima is extremely roudy and wild, also gay. Very gay.

Kirishima is trans (there are many things that point to this conclusion). Such as: If a transmasc got top surgery, he wouldn’t wear a fucking shirt again either. Talking manly and wanting to be manly is like the basis of what trans guy are working on. And the whole thing about him being gay? Is he really attracted to them or does he want to be them????

They aren’t allowed to have animals in the dorms despite a lot of begging done by all. However, Bakugou decided to say fuck you to the rule and has a bunch of animals in his room. Now. He gets away with it for a few reasons. 1) He isn’t loud about it, doesn’t go around showing them off or boasting like usual. Won’t bring them out of the dorm or let anyone see when he brings supplies back. 2) No one would suspect Bakugou to be such an animal lover or one to break that rule. Sad to say, he does. Many times over the course of high school, in fact. What animals could he possibly have? HMmMm let’s think, shall we? No doubt a hamster, a real grumpy one though. It has to have personality. A Bearded Dragon, Ball Python, a few Corn snakes. Maybe a gecko. But you have to believe he has a cat too. There is no way he wouldn’t. A furry brat that keeps him company while he studies and works out? Jumping on his back as he does yoga and sleeps on his face at night. There is no way. The best part is that the cat is deaf, which is why he adopted it. He went in looking for another lizard and came out with a sassy feline with no hearing. So what? He went soft.

Midoriya would be the first to go to jail between him and Bakugou. Hands down. Think about it... He broke numerous laws just to get a friend back and had no guilt for it. He was just all ‘Ehh, what you gonna do about it?’ when the fuzz pulled up to press charges. Bakugou is just crass and volatile, he threatens to kill people... but has he ever been seen killing someone? In conclusion, Midoriya is a delinquent covered up by his positive cinnamon bun nature.

Alright, personal projection time!! Kirishima bites and chews ice cream. Denki eats soup with a straw. Shouto eats cereal with a fork, “What? I don’t like too much milk. It strains out this way.”. Bakugou is just as bad, he’s a teenager and will do shit just because. Aka, he will go down to the kitchen in the middle of the night for some milk n cookies. When he realizes there is no more milk, he will throw a silent fit because he wanted those damn cookies. Begrudgingly though, he will pour a glass of water and dunk his Oreos in then eat em like that. I don’t make the rules, it’s just what happens.

Bakugou needs constant love and constant positive reinforcement along with help on his anxiety. Give that boy a service dog. A big fluffy golden service dog. A really large, extremely fluffy service down he can hug and hide his face in whenever something is bothering him. A real big puppy that makes him feel secure and makes him laugh. Damn it! Give him a dog now!

Kirishima is rowdy and wild. Baby boy is a teenager. Not to mention is invisible and hyped up on manly shit. THERE IS NO BOUNDS FOR WHAT HE WOULD DO. Think about it. He’d literally card Todoroki into setting him on fire just to see how long he can hold his hardening for. He would have Inasa drop him from the FUCKING SKY just for the hell of it. Hello? Is this thing even on? Kirishima is wild.

Dabi is afraid of spiders. Don’t ask me to elaborate. He just seems like a man with that primal fear.

BAKUGOU IS A FUCKING FASHION ICON OUTSIDE OF SCHOOL. SO FUCKING HELP ME I WILL SCREAM THIS LOUD N PROUD—

Bakugou and Midoriya don’t know how to tie a tie. Midoriya learned that weird funky napkin trick shit from just giving the fuck up and saying “Oh, hey! That looks sorts similar!” And went with it. Bakugou just can’t. He can’t. The only reason his ID shows him with a tie is because Mitsuki tied it for him before hand, and he never let it happen since. They are hopeless. That is all.

[honeycocopuffs]

Um!! Hi!!! I'm bee and uh,,,,here are my stim toys that I think are really neato! (Please don't mind my mousepad! It's super messy because I paint on my desk 🥺)

First up are these little spikey guys Coco had given me in a care package!! They are good to hold, and rub my thumb against! I use them when I wanna go to the store, or when I'm in a zoom meeting.

Local goblin man likes galaxies and infinity cubes! This is probably my favorite stim toy! It's so smooth, and really really really fun to mess with. I use this one the most when I'm just sitting around or drawing.

Homemade stim toys are good for the soul!!!! My mom actually made two of them, the rest I made for myself!! These are just fun to rub against the palm of my hand, or to shake aggressively to get that snazzy sound.

Water wiggler I found at five below! It's my favorite color!!! Favorite texture/feeling!!! It's so wonderful, and I would most recommend getting it if you like this kinda stuff! ❤️❤️

Ah yes, my tangle who is appropriately named Bob Ross!! I love this little fella so so so much!!! It's my favorite stim toy hands down!!! I keep it this little mint box because I like the sound of opening and closing it! I don't remember where I got it exactly, but it's really really fun to shake around!

Empty thingy of chapstick I mess around with. Plus actual chapstick!! I really love the feeling of doing the little pop thing with my lips after putting some on! Plus the scent and feeling of them are better than most I have gotten in the past! (This is just me though!! The EOS does get a bit grainy after time, and the coca cola one has a funky tacky texture)

And lastly!! This is kimchi the sloth!! He is most definitely a comfort item and one of my favorite stim toys. Coco also gave me this little fella and I carry him almost everywhere! His fur is so soft, and really light!

I already have passed the amount of images I can put on here! But some honorable mentions are these glitter water bottles I made. My bat chewie (stimtasic ILY❤️❤️❤️) Coco got me. Some keychain squishmallows, and my scented Eevee plush!)

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

What Do We Have?

Based on the word: Onsra: n., the bittersweet feeling that occurs in those who know their love won't last.

What happens when what you have with someone isn't quite what you wanted it to be?

***No one has my permission to repost this fic, including translation***

Reader Insert, No specific gender, race, or sexuality!

Is lovers to friends a trope? Because, I think I want it to be a trope.

Enjoy my masterlist

____________________________________________

Calum’s not sure when he first noticed it. It might’ve been somewhere between all the nights sitting out in his backyard as you both sip from sweating glasses and all the afternoons at your place where you’d show him some recipe you wanted to try and he agreed to be sous chef. Some of those dishes turned out better than others. But somewhere in between all that, Calum knows. Call it a self-fulfilling prophecy or call it intuition. After making his mistakes, having his wild youth, Calum was ready to set his life on cruise control and take the bumps and lumps but enjoy the ride. 

It was different for you. He saw that. You took every opportunity by the horns and if it blew up in your face, there was hell to pay for it. Every blue was more vibrant. Every spark shined ten times brighter. Calum would be a liar if he said he didn’t like that. If that didn’t tickle his fancy to see the passion in you. But it made him ponder. It made him wonder would you leave at the first hitch. Would you cut ties when he had to go? That’s the inevitable truth. He would have to leave eventually, with touring and promotion. 

“You’re thinking too much.”

Calum looks to his left, where you are curled up with Duke on your lap. The afternoon sun is just cresting its peak. It’s warm out, a breeze blowing through the privacy shrubbery every so often that helps the both of you forget that sweat is pooling down your backs and on your foreheads. “It’s not a crime to think.”

“But it might be a crime to think too much.”

“And what do you suggest that I do instead hm?” You had come over, just to hang out. Your latest binge together on Netflix had been fully consumed. The two of you sat on Calum’s couch scrolling endlessly through the suggestions but there wasn’t anything that caught either of your eyes. That’s when you suggested just taking a dip in the pool, or at least just stepping outside for some fresh air. 

Now, you grow restless. Wanting to do something, go somewhere, see something, taste something new. It doesn’t really matter the specifics. “The new arcade place just opened up near the mall. We can go there.”

Calum nods. There’s no shock that he feels at your suggestion. He sees the twinkle even behind the way you bite down on your lower lip. There it is, the insatiable urge to take on something. “The least I can do is kick your ass in skee ball since you took today off.”

Fixing Calum with a glare, you stand, Duke safely tucked in your arms. “You’re on, Hood.” 

He watches you, feet silent over the concrete as you saunter back into the house. His fingertips don’t ache like they used too. He should’ve run after you, tickled your sides, or pinched your ass and made you laugh. But instead, he sits, watches you go and wonders if he’s actually going to beat you or not. He wonders if his skills can handle his own trash talk. It wouldn’t hurt his pride if his skills were lackluster. 

In the car, he lets you control the radio. You fiddle for a moment before your phone connects and softly through his speaker he hears an old school funky bassline. You watch the cut of Calum’s jaw and the way he reclines into the driver seat. The sight makes your chest warm but you wonder if Calum really wants to go to the arcade. You worry he’s only going because you want to go, because you can’t sit still. Would he ever grow tired of you? Would he ever try to tie you down, make you into something that you weren’t? 

It would wear him thin eventually, you figured. He had a much slower pace that he liked to consume life at. You chalk it up to the fact that he’s life can be so jammed packed for months if not a year at a time with touring that when he can get a moment to relax, he savors it like children and ice cream before dinner. You didn’t truly think he would try to make you into something you’re not. Though the thought and worry never fully escapes you. It seems like no one would ever fully escape their fears, just enough to let the delusion settle in. Everyone would escape just enough to let their hair down and not look over their shoulder at every moment, just every once and awhile. 

In bright red and pink neon lights, Arcadeocity blinks in front of them. Calum pulls into a parking spot. It’s not terribly business given it’s the middle of the week and the summer hasn’t officially hit just yet. “Ready to get your ass kicked?” he teases, one hand guiding the seatbelt as it slides back against the inner frame. 

“The question is are you ready to pay for drinks after I kick your ass?”

“I was born ready.”

Inside, it’s dim and there are some kids running about. But it’s quiet. Calum heads to the counter, gathering the quarters. You look over, seeing the racing games, the ones where you sit and the ones with the bikes. A machine goes off, lots of buzzing and high zings. You look over to see one of the machines lighting up, the conditioned response for any winner. Two small boys are cheering, arms raising above their heads as the machine spits out the tickets in return. 

There are tables off to the sides, for parents to sit, sip at their drinks and pray their children can keep occupied enough to not worry them for a small blimp of time. Though their gazes never leave their children for too long. One mother raises her hand, calling out the child’s name. “You’re going too far.”

“Oh, it’s not going to hurt them,” the father counters. “You remember the code right?” he calls outs. 

You spot the small child, dressed in blue overalls and high top sneakers. “I remember Dad.” They’re no older than eight or so, you figure. 

He waves them on. “Go head. Just make sure to check in after every game, alright?” 

The child nods, a grin on their face. “Thanks, Dad!” 

“Should we work our way up to the main event?” Calum asks, rejoining you now. His pockets jiggle a little. 

You turn your attention to him, thinking for the slightest moment that Calum would be that kind of dad, if he ever wanted to be. That would let his kid go and be free. But the second they needed him he’d swoop in. That’s what he did. Calum kind of swooped in it seemed to be his MO especially since that’s how the two of you met. You’d be lying if you said otherwise. You hadn’t even seen him in the aisle, preoccupied with trying to avoid the kids that had just cut the corner. You stumbled, managing to avoid them and right when you thought you’d wind up smacking into the shelves holding up rice and pasta, strong arms wound around your arm to keep your balance. 

“Racing game first?”

He nods. The dimness cut by the lights and glitz of the games, his eyes look like blackholes. Or maybe more like tunnels with a light at the end of them with the shiny reflection right in the middle of his pupil. 

Calum wins the first race and nearly beats you for third in the second race. As you both slip off the motorcycles, you collect the tickets from your machines. “I’m better with four wheels,” you laugh.

With a thumb over his shoulder, he grins. “I’ve got a pocket full of change. Prove it, sweets.”

You do. Pulling ahead of Calum in both races. You come in third while he comes in fifth in the first. You manage a dirty fourth place, leaving Calum in seventh. It shouldn’t have been fourth but somehow you landed on a shortcut that saved you from eighth up to fifth. It was a fight for fourth but you managed it as you downshifted into fifth gear in the game and took the straightaway with ease.  

“What the actual hell?” Calum laughs, after seeing you actually using the clutch and stick shift. “I didn’t think any of that actually mattered?”

“Dad taught me how to drive stick shift and now it’s just a habit now, I guess.” 

It’s with a click of his tongue that Calum nods but admits his defeat. The both of you are observing, wondering where to go next. He asks you, if there’s anything that interests you. You could spend hours here, playing every game in sight. But you let him choose. You let him set the pace. Maybe it’s in the hopes that you can keep hold onto Calum for just a little bit longer. “You wanted to come here. I’m sure you’re dying to play something,” he concedes. 

“Let’s shoot some hoops,” you suggest. 

“You don’t--you sure?” It’s a silent nod and a gentle grasp of his wrist before you lead him to the basketball hoops. You two don’t even need to make it a competition. Just for fun. Just something to laugh while you do, attempting to throw him off his rhythm by flattering but never being successful. In the end, you don’t read the red numbers at the screen, just take the tickets it does give you. 

“Skee ball?” he asks, folding his tickets. It seems to go on forever, the end hitting the floor and somehow crawling over it too just a little. 

“Sure. If you’re ready to cry of course.”

Calum’s ears are full of the sounds of the game, taunting them, praising them, lighting up and shouting at every ball that sinks into a hole. But right below that is your laughter, your shriek, “You’re supposed to let me win!”

He has no rebuttal, just a feeling. Something like amusement and a tiny bit of guilt. Like maybe he should be more mindful, like maybe he should be toying more carefully. But at the same time, his chest flutters, when you shove at his shoulder and let out an indignant squawk that turns up into a laugh. He won by 100 points. “Round two?”

“Of fucking course,” you huff. Calum drops the quarters into your upturn palm and you guys feed them into their slots simultaneously. He wins again. 75 points as the lead, which stings less, but still. “It’s just an off day,” you say. There’s a smirk on your face and you can accept the defeat but not without a little bit of stink about it. 

Over the course of an hour, you two play more games, stopping for a quick snack break. At the end, you go up to the counter first, Calum excusing himself for a moment to the restroom. There’s a small stuffed dog hanging on the second most top shelf. His ticket cost is high but after some successful rounds on the racetrack, you manage to squeak just enough to get him.  When Calum returns, you’re standing with your arms behind your back. “You hiding something.” It’s more of a question but it comes out factual. 

“Me? No, never.”

He laughs. At the counter, Calum looks over the possibilities. Part of him knows he should go the extravagant route. He’s done it before, with the stuffed animals and big ticket items. But he spies some alien trinkets instead and grabs two for you. He still has a stack left, so he grabs the small bean bag toy in the shape of a soccer ball. “You’ve still got quite the haul left,” the attendant states. 

“Save ‘em for the next kid.”

“If you’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. They’ll need them more than me.” Before Calum can reach you, you hold the stuff toy in front of your chest. “Very cute.”

“For you.” 

His brow twitches, pulling down like he can’t quite believe it. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” You urge him to take it and swallow down the urge to tell him he can give it to Duke. You want him to know it’s for him. No matter what. You did it for him. 

“Thank you.” Almost sheepishly he exchanges the stuffed toy for alien trinkets. One’s a keychain and you smile. “Perfect for the collection?”

“Of course.” It is perfect. It’s thoughtful. And part of you wants to kick yourself for not getting the inflatable soccer ball, or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Because clearly those are more Calum, those are more thoughtful than just a stuffed animal. Calum makes a show though, buckling the dog into the backseat, after shifting the towel that Duke usually rests on and maybe, it’s not such a bad gift after all. 

It’s in the car as Calum ponders aloud choices for dinner that you asked to be taken back to your place. You do have an early morning and Calum doesn’t think too much of it. It’s not until that gets back home and settles the stuffed dog onto his bed that he remembers the recipe the both of you were going to try. He had gone to the grocery store and everything. It feels wrong to try it without you. He can’t let it go to waste though. 

I’m going to drop you off a plate. That’s the text from him not even ten minutes after he drops you off. You remember all at once the dinner plans. How could you have forgotten that? Truth be told, you had fun. Arcadeocity scratched that itch to get out. But you didn’t want to intrude too much on Calum’s free time. Which, when the hell did that start being a concern? Calum was pretty direct and honest if he needed time to himself. 

Maybe it was just a time thing. You were starting to understand Calum more and even though he would be vocal about needing space, you knew how much he valued it. And you valued your own space too. Truth be told, you were starting to want more of it. Or maybe it was more time to do whatever by yourself. Or maybe the reason really didn’t matter because now, sitting on your own couch, you feel a little less like you’ve been stuffed into a box. 

Calum arrives at your door with a reusable bag full. “I just made the whole recipe and split it in half. You can take it into work tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” 

It’s a quick brush, his lips pressing into the flesh of your forehead. “Of course.” 

___________________

Of course that feeling comes back. When Calum calls and hears the rattle of music in the background, he knows you’re out. It’s the second weekend in a row you’ve walked out on the town. The second weekend in the row you’ve made those plans without really consulting Calum, just going. Not that you thought you’d be out again. But when your coworker mentioned wanting to go out, you didn’t want the opportunity to pass you by. Letting Calum didn’t quite cross your mind either. 

Part of Calum feels like he should be fighting more against that, fighting to maybe get more time. But he doesn’t. “Have fun. Let me know if you need a ride,” he says, unsure if he needs to shout to be heard over the receiver. 

“Okay, will do!” The call ends and he drops into his sofa. Part of him is relieved, strangely. He doesn’t have to worry about having to do something. He doesn’t have to muster up the energy. He had it. If you weren’t out and about, he wouldn’t have minded doing something but he’d rather sit at home. 

Was he wrong for that? Was it wrong to thank the high heavens you had already preoccupied yourself without him?  Was it wrong to know something wasn’t going to make it all the way to the end but just wanting to take the ride while it was still offered? He enjoys his time with you. He enjoys the laughs and the crazy adventures. But god, did he like doing nothing too. There was nothing wrong with that. Right?

His phone shakes again, later in the night with a text from you. Made it home safely. Am buzzed and I should never wear clothes with buttons ever again when drinking. 

He calls in response. “What happened with said buttons?”

“Fly was open,” you sigh in return, sinking into your own mattress. “Embarrassing.” His giggles cut through the slight fog of alcohol. “Don’t laugh.”

“Sorry, that’s a laughable offense, sweets.”

“Humph!” 

“Need me to come over?”

“Nah, not that drunk. Have-have you got no faith in me?”

“No, I have all the faith in you. Drink some water, okay?” You hum in your agreement, mumbling a good night to him. 

______________

“How long’s the tour?”

“Just shy of seven months. There are breaks, of course.”

You nod. “Of course.” They needed them for their own sanity and health. “I’ll watch Duke. You know I don’t mind.” He hasn’t asked. And Calum doesn’t really need to ask. You’ve always taken the chance to watch over the old man when Calum’s gone. You think you should’ve noticed Calum’s stubble before now. It’s not quite stubble really any more, on the cusp of being the start to a true beard. He usually doesn’t let it get this long. 

How long has it been? You’ve texted and called. But somehow in the catalog of your mind you can’t place the last time you saw him in person for longer than a few minutes. It doesn’t feel wrong, in the sense that you’re worried that things are falling apart. But it is strange. It’s almost like air between you--something that you know is there but can’t quite put a finger on it. It’s somehow distance but not distant. The strange new normal the two of you have created. And you want to be sad. It’s a strange guilt to see now more than ever what’s been expanding between the two of you, but not being upset that it’s happening. 

“I scheduled his appointments already,” Calum says, sliding a couple sheets of paper over to you. “Well, the major ones. I know your summer schedule’s a little different so I tried to keep that in mind too. Thanks again.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” 

Calum’s sure this will be the start of the end. And you are too. But that doesn’t stop you from messaging him just shy of three weeks from the start of the tour. Rehearsals are getting longer and more tiresome. His answers to text and calls are coming later in the night.  I’m dropping off a plate for you.  You send it on your lunch break, hoping that by the time you get off, Calum’s replied. 

And he has: Only if it’s not too much of a bother. Thankyou. 

It’s not long after returning home that you’re back in your car, Calum’s food resting on the floor to keep it from tipping over. At the gate, you worry it’ll take you too long to reach Calum to get inside, but thankfully, Luke and Michael are just ahead of you and let you in. The three of you wander back into the studio space. Michael explains at length the mechanics of a game to Luke. You’re not sure if he’s convincing the taller man, but Luke takes in each detail with a thoughtful face. 

“Please tell me you’re teaching any of this,” Luke teases, glancing at you.

“Dude, I’m just dropping off food. I’ve got nothing.” 

He laughs but agrees ultimately to give a test to Michael’s latest video game obsession. As the door to the space opens, you can’t help but let the soft smile crest your face at Calum’s stretched out figure on the floor. You’re not sure if he’s sleeping, but you know from experience if he gets too relaxed in any position anywhere he can and will fall asleep. “It would be such a shame,” you start, voice bouncing off the walls. Calum cracks a smile even though his eyes are still closed. “If this bowl of pad see ew just happened to take a bad stumble. 

“You wouldn’t dare,” he calls out from the floor. He’s slow to look up at you. But when he does, it’s a long gander. You’re still in your work clothes, though the shoes tell him you definitely did go home first. 

“Home cooked,” you offer, lifting the glass container and setting it on the table where Luke, Ashton, and Michael have gathered. 

“Really, thanks. It means a lot.” 

“Of course.”

Calum thinks about that phrase for long after you’re gone and long after he’s consumed the sweet and yet savory noodles. Like, of course--like you wouldn’t be doing anything else but helping him out majorly. Of course, you’d go from a crazy day at work to fixing him dinner. Like of course he shouldn’t have to worry constantly. Like of course this is normal. And it is normal, in some ways. But it’s not normal in others. It’s not normal, he thinks, to go weeks without seeing you and not feeling a super deep ache. There was the missing he felt when he wanted to see his mum, or his sister. But they had always kind of been away from him, ever since he moved out. Calum did miss you, but it never fully consumed him. Never made him mope, or be too down. Or maybe it was normal? Maybe it showed how much the two of you were secure with each other. 

____________________

Did you want to spend a few days together? Rehearsals are pretty much done. I know you’re still working though. 

Calum can’t seem to hit send. 

That last sentence is his out. It’s a way for you to say no without having to feel like an asshole. He knows that. He knows you’ll know that the second you read the text. But he can’t bring himself to delete it. 

With a swift kick of boldness, Calum taps the up arrow. The text lifts and then settles and Delivered sits right underneath the blue text in gray. It’s only an extra ten minutes from your place to work. I don’t mind. 

Most mornings, of the four that you spend with Calum right before the shuttle bus comes to get him, he whines as your alarm goes off. “You can spare five more minutes,” he mumbles into his pillow, one arm raised, not fully like the limbs much too heavy for his body to carry. And at this time in the morning, half past 6, it probably is too heavy to carry. 

“Only five,” you laugh before sliding back into bed, but not under the covers. 

Calum always curls back up into your side, arm thrown across your torso. “Can’t believe you’d leave this nice, warm bed.” 

He almost never mentions leaving him. He doesn't mention leaving you. It’s always the nice, warm bed you’d be leaving, that he’d be leaving. This nestle of comfort and known territory being the only thing tying the two of you together. 

You have to stop yourself from saying it’s just a bed. That any old bed can be nice and warm. Because it always could be any old bed that can be nice and warm. But do you want any old bed or do you want Calum’s? Do you want somebody else? Do you want to fly across skies? Or do you want Calum? 

“It is a nice, warm bed,” you say instead. It’s an agreement that whatever it is between you is nice. Though, you’re not convinced it’ll last. 

The first week of Calum on tour turns into a second. That second one turns into a third. And by the third week rolls around, the most your phone buzzes or chimes with anything related to Calum is a quick picture attached with a few lines about what’s going on in his world. You’re not even sure besides keeping him updated on Duke when you’ve talked about your life if you told Calum about the impromptu trip to Vegas. Or if you told him about your promotion at work. 

Somehow all of that just seems so mundane and so not the thing he’d care to hear about until he calls. It’s an early morning for you. “I see your end of the globe hasn’t gone up in flames yet.”

You shake your head with a tuft of laughter. “No, it’s still thriving. Just adjusting to this new job.”

“You quit your old one? Do you need anything to tide you over?”

“No, no, just a new position.” You almost start to say that you had to have told him. But if he’s asking, if he’s concerned, then you must have forgotten.

“Tell me about it.” 

“My job is not exciting,” you call out, grabbing your clothes from inside the closet. 

“Doesn’t matter. Bore me with the details.” You do. Enough so that, when you’re finally dressed and sitting down to eat breakfast, you can see him with his eyes drooping. “Bored him literally to sleep,” you laugh. 

“I am not asleep,” he responds with a sleepy mumble. 

“Sure you’re not.”

A month into the tour, Calum works it to have you flown out. Calum’s greet you in the car from the airport, the two of you laughing, falling into each other’s side, but ultimately always shifting back into place, resting into the back of the seat instead of each other. Calum’s not phased, not when you run ahead up to the historic hotel. He’s not phased when you run ahead of him at the museums are long the streets during your visit. But he knows it’s killing you. When the bands backstage, and you stare out of the windows, he knows it’s killing you not to get out there. Not to see the country, the cities, the people. 

“Tomorrow we can go adventuring,” he tells you, leaning up against the wall as you’ve curled yourself up into the window sill. 

“You’ve got another show tomorrow.”

He just winks at you, leaning forward to kiss the top of your head. And then he’s gone, back to the sofa, laughing as someone shows him something on their phone. The guys fall instantly back into their chaos. You watch, knowing you could fall into it too. You know their antics and their sense of humor. But yet, you sit in the window sill. You watch the birds fly pass. You watch people wander. You hear the slight cry of fans waiting for them and you know this isn’t really meant for you. 

This isn’t something that would saitatee you in the long run. 

You find out later after the show and he’s had a chance for a quick shower, that in the wee hours of the morning, just eeking pass one, Calum and you wander through nightlife. Arm in arm, you meander down streets, up city blocks, stopping at storefronts just to oogle over their displays. The skies are a little clearer. You can stop, leaning up against some random fence to watch the stars for a little it.

“It’s weird to think that I’m watching some stars last breathe. Like we’re so close, but so far away from the heavens. And they really just go on forever,” you whisper. 

Calum hums, sliding his hands into the pocket of the hoodie draped over your body. His fingers wrap around yours in the pocket. “But it’s almost like they are giving us their last wish, maybe. Giving us one last guiding light.”

 It’s almost four am when you find yourselves back at the front doors of the hotel. You’re laughing at Calum’s slurred speech due to drowsiness. He’s going to regret this in the morning maybe and you can only hope that there’s a pot of coffee big enough to help. His slumber is heavy next to you. Your brain is wired. You can feel it buzzing in your fingertips. How do you tell Calum that you don’t want to lose him but maybe the romanticism between the two of you isn’t there anymore? Was it ever really there to begin with?

With three days left on this trip, you don’t say anything at first. How do you even verbalize that? What are the right words? You don’t sleep that night either. When Calum reaches out for you, his arm feels like hot steel. Like it’s burning you for feeling any different. On the second night, you slip further into the seats in the back of the bus--there’s no stopping at a hotel this time--, your blanket pulled up to your chin, nothing plays on the TV in front of you. You know you can’t avoid him. Not at a time like this. But you’re still not sure if you can mention is just yet, if you have the nerves to do it. 

The door slides open and Calum is there, leaning against the faux frame and his body moves with ease at the jostle of the bus. “Mind if I pop a seat next to you?”

“Of course not.” It’s an automatic reply. And really you don’t mind. But you can tell by the way he nods, biting his lips and settles next to you but not into you that he’s aware of something too. But you’re aware now you can’t duck out of this conversation. There’s no turning back now. 

“You say ‘of course’ a lot, you know?”

“Something tells me that now isn’t the right time to say ‘of course, I know’ so I’ll refrain from using it.” 

His laughter is a quick exhalation, facing the blank screen too. “Are you--” he starts and then stops. He fiddles with his thumb nail for a second and then turns, bringing one leg up under the other and his hoodie cladded arm rests on the back of the sofa. “If it’s not--I’m not sure if our relationship is what it was before.”

You exhale. Your shoulders straighten under the blanket and you shift, sitting to face Calum more. There’s no sadness. Not even the clench of his jaw which he does when he’s trying to hold something back, when he doesn’t want to say what’s fully on his mind. “I-I don’t think so either.”

He gives a thoughtful nod, resting a hand on your leg, over the fuzzy black fabric. “And it’s not that I don’t have love for you. Nothing has happened, like nothing you did or said, or anything bad but.”

“It’s just different between us.”  Different doesn’t feel quite whole, so you unfurl finally from the mass and out of habit, pick at the fuzz on the end of his sleeves. “Well, more like, I’ve realized maybe what we wanted wasn’t what we needed? If that makes sense?”

“It makes sense.” Calum watches your fingers, pinching and rolling at the small balls of cotton. “I-I won’t mind if you stay or go. I’d like you to stay. There’s the museum you always wanted to go to in our next city, but if it’s too weird or anything, I totally understand.”

You shake your head, gaze lifting to his. He’s still chewing over his lip but he looks mostly calm. The nerves are obvious but this conversation is going better than you could’ve anticipated. “I don’t feel pressured to leave at all. I just, do you need space? If you need me to go, I’ll take the next flight out. You’ve got a job to do and I don’t want you to be in a weird headspace with me around. And I would hate--,”

He cuts you off with a squeeze of your hand. “You’re rambling. And no, I don’t want you to leave. I haven’t properly seen you in a few weeks. I still really enjoy your company. But it’s just, not like before, you know. Besides, you still owe drinks from when I kicked your ass in skee ball.”

His grin is small at first but it grows when you flap, releasing your hand from his hold and fold your arms across your chest. “The way I remember it, you would owe drinks if I beat you. Not that I owed drinks for losing.” 

When Calum giggles, you have to laugh. In all the previous breakups, you know laughing immediately after shouldn’t be happening. But everything’s different with Calum. All along the two of you were shifting, settling into the version of the bond you needed with each other, not necessarily the prescribed one from society, or the one that you wanted. 

“Would you be, like, upset if I took a separate bunk?” you asks. 

“Of course not,” Calum returns with a grin. 

Honestly, you feel relieved waking up the next day, for the most part. It should be awkward, but there’s something between you and Calum. There’s something you both get about each other that even in the face of change this bond doesn’t feel broken. It feels mended, finally and completely free too. No guilts, no second thoughts and what you should be doing or what you think Calum expects of you. 

It definitely carries a small sting. There’s no lying, a small bit of your routine and your normal is now gone and that worries you for when you go back home. Like, is it still acceptable that you steal his Santa Cruz hoodie? And when Calum catches your gaze from the otherside of the dressing room, he wonders if he can still kiss your forehead, still hold your hand? Or is that crossing the line? He airs on the side of caution for now, just smiles at you and you smile in return. 

Just before leaving, you fold his hoodie up, placing it on his bunk next to the not fully folded blanket that reveals his iPad. 

When Calum goes to his bunk he sees the hoodie. His heart drops, he won’t lie. When he picks it up, it feels heavy. Not physically, but he kinda wanted you to keep it. Something crinkles. He unfurls it. Nothing falls out but he can hear something. So he continues until he finds the hoodie pocket. 

I know, I know. I wanted to give you this back. Just for the moment. We’re still good like we said before. But I know it’s your favorite right behind the Empathy one. Kick ass on stage. Rock out. 

Calum smiles, neatly folding the note and slips into his bag that he takes into the venues. When the months slip by, show after show mildly interrupted with Duke updates and occasionally things about yourself, Calum finally finds himself able to sit on his own couch. Kick his feet up on his own coffee table. He’s able to decompress. He decompresses enough to fall asleep. A knock at the door jolts him awake. Wiping at the corner of his eyes and his mouth, he jumps from his couch. 

“You were totally asleep,” you grin when the door swings open. 

“Was not,” he retorts. Duke bars from below, jumping at Calum’s leg. “Oh, bubba. How are you?” 

“Good, just missed his pops.” 

Collecting Duke into his arms, Calum stands. “How are you? How’s life?”

“I’m good. Life’s good.” You lift the bag on your arm. “I brought you a plate. Or maybe like four.”

“You--you didn’t have to,” Calum returns. “But of course you did anyway.”

“Of course I did,” you laugh. “Mind if I come in? You can just love on Duke. I’ll reheat the spaghetti.”

He nods, allowing you inside. It’s much more than a plate as you unload the dish and a few other sides. It’s enough for him to eat dinner for a week almost. You always fixed more than he could ever eat. “How’s the move going?” The last time the two of you talked you mentioned needing a new place. Something a little bit bigger to accommodate your needs and the potential of housing your own dog or cat. You’re not entirely sure right now.  

“It’s going slow. But it’s going. Trying to sort out what to toss.”

“I can help, if you want.” Calum watches as you set the plate down in front of him. “Be the voice of reason when you know you really should toss the thing, but can’t do it without a nudge.”

“Or be the nagging voice that tells me to keep it. You know how this goes.”

Calum nods, setting Duke in the seat. “I know.”

“What are you doing? Sit. Eat.”

Two scoops of spaghetti or heaped onto a second plate. You manage to keep Duke away from Calum’s food. The plate hits the table with a muted thud. “If it’s not too much too soon, eat with me? ”

“Of course.” 

“There it is again,” he laughs. 

“What? I’ll leave. Don’t think I won’t.”

“Whoa, slow down. Eat. Then you can huff and puff and blow my house down.”

With a click of your tongue, fork posed in hand, you watch Calum return to his seat. Duke in his lap, just like you knew would happen. “That sounds like a good idea.”

[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (39/40)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch. 

But then he came back and won the World Series. 

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now. 

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

a/n: thank you to @resident-of-storybrooke​ for literally everything, to @imagnifika​ for this banner, and to all of you for all of your support on this story and on others. I never expected to get quite so attached to this one, so I like that you guys are too. Misery loves company and all that. lol. 

I hope you enjoy the last real chapter. The epilogue will be coming soon! ❤️⚾️

(If there’s any weird formatting, hop on over and read on AO3. Tumblr is being funky with my formatting.)

AO3: Beginning | Current

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-/-

Outside, thunder rolls, quickly followed by a flash of lightning that illuminates the bedroom.

It’s raining.

Raining.

On the final day of the World Series.

Fuck.

Emma jolts up in bed so quickly that her head gets a little dizzy, all of the blood that’s supposed to be in other parts of her body very obviously in the wrong space, and she has to shut her eyes to keep from throwing up while the sound of rain continues to pitter outside, a continual drip that she doesn’t want to be hearing.

It cannot rain today.

After a few seconds, when Emma’s head feels normal again and not like she’s about to feel dizzy enough to fall down even without standing, she opens her eyes and twists to the side to make sure that Killian is still sleeping.

He isn’t.

In fact, he’s not even in bed.

For a moment, Emma wonders if she should bother to go and find him or let him be by himself wherever he is in the apartment. He was understandably quiet on the entire way home and through dinner last night, and she could practically see all of the gears turning in his head. There’s an unwritten list up there of how he wants to pitch to each and every batter on the Dodgers today, and Emma is almost positive that Killian is currently going through it and changing his game plan over and over again until he perfects it.

Considering the fact that her phone says it’s three in the morning, Emma is thinking that she needs to drag Killian back to bed. He may not fall asleep, but he can at least stay in bed so that his body gets a little bit of rest. Maybe he’ll fall asleep. Maybe he won’t. But it’s worth the effort.

Sighing, Emma pulls the thick covers off of her legs and adjusts her pajama pants so that they’re not hanging below her ass from where they shifted in her sleep. She doesn’t bother turning any lights on, the city and the storm bringing in enough that she can see without it, and after walking out into the hallway, Emma doesn’t even have to look in the spare bedroom or the gym to find Killian.

He’s sitting on the window seat in the living room, his legs pulled up to his chest and his cheek resting against the window as he looks outside, very obviously awake.

Killian is going to stress himself out far too much.

Quietly, she makes her away over to him, and while he doesn’t say anything to acknowledge her presence, he does let his legs fall open in obvious invitation for her to join him on the seat. She does, slowly adjusting herself to make herself comfortable while Killian wraps his arms around her stomach so that the warmth of his palms permeates over her skin to warm her from the chill of the apartment. It’s November in two days, but New York is already cold.

There’s a brush of scruff against her cheek followed by the soft press of lips against the underside of her jaw before Emma sees the reflection in the window of Killian resting his chin on the top of her head.

His fingers tap against her stomach in a pattern that she doesn’t recognize, but she doesn’t mind. She may have come out here to convince Killian to come back to bed, to get some rest so he won’t be like a zombie out on the field today, but there’s something almost soothing about watching the rain fall down to the ground to cover the street under the florescent lighting of the street lamps. Even with the thunder, the sound of rain is relaxing, and Emma can understand why Killian was out here being consumed by it.

(She’d still prefer the rain to stop.)

“What are you thinking about?” Emma whispers.

“You.”

“Liar.”

Killian chuckles, something deep in his belly, and she can feel it reverberate throughout her back from where he’s pressed up into her. “I mean, at this particular moment I was legitimately thinking about how good you smell, but no, I haven’t been thinking about you and the softness of your hair the entire time.”

“Damn. I thought our deal was that you always had to think of me and nothing else. Don’t you love me?”

Killian squeezes her stomach. “It’s too early in the morning for you to be so cheeky.”

“Says the man who probably never even went to sleep.”

“I did go to sleep,” he sighs, and Emma watches his eyes flutter closed in the window. “I maybe woke up an hour or so ago to use the restroom, and my mind just…it didn’t bloody turn off. I have changed mine and Al’s game plan at least seven times.”

Wow. She knows him so well. It’s almost a little ridiculous. Not that she’s complaining.

“Let’s…” Emma hesitates, not sure what exactly what to say that she hasn’t already said. “Let’s talk about something other than baseball, okay? We will talk about it after we’ve gone back to sleep and gotten some rest, but for now, this apartment is a no baseball zone. So, talk to me about literally anything else.”

His fingers keep tapping against her stomach, and Emma moves to place her hands over his, a silent reminder that she’s right here and not going anywhere. She may have run before, may have not known what to do when he lied about his shoulder and his accident and everything that came with that, but she’s not going to run now.

This entire relationship has been terrifying, but she’s glad that she took the leap. They’ve conquered some big freaking mountains.

“I’ve emailed someone to see what I need to do to finish my degree.”

Emma almost jolts forward so that she can turn to look at him, but Killian doesn’t let her, holding onto her that slightest bit tighter so that she loses a little bit of her breath.

“When did you decide to do that?”

“A couple weeks ago.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Wasn’t sure if I was going to go through with it. I’m…I’m still not sure when exactly I’ll go back. The woman said they could arrange online classes for me, and they can help arrange a different schedule. I don’t know if I’d start during the off season and see how many credits I can finish before next season starts up. Or maybe I’ll go all year round even while playing. I could always wait until I’m retired, but I don’t exactly want to do that.”

Emma tries to take it all in and figure out the best way to respond to him. This is obviously something Killian has thought about a lot. There’s not a reason in the world for Killian to have to go back to school. He’s not going to be a physics teacher or professor any time soon, if at all, so this is obviously something he’s decided to do for himself just to have as an accomplishment.

Killian deserves to get to do things for himself.

“I think you’ll figure out exactly how you want to do it, babe. I’m really proud of you for doing that.”

“It’s nothing to be proud of.”

“Too bad.” She pats his hand again and shifts her head back so that she can kiss the underside of his jaw. “I’m proud of you. Unless this is some kind of long con to actually become professor Jones so that Will can’t say it mockingly anymore.”

He chuckles, and she kisses his jaw again. “Damn. You’ve foiled my plan.”

“I knew it,” she yawns, unable to cover her mouth with her hands. “You know, when I graduated from college, I got some kind of fancy ink pen that I never used. They gave them to all of the journalism majors. What do you think they’d give physics majors? Calculators?”

“No, because we’d already own a hell of a lot of those. I might need to get some new ones, though. And possibly find some old books and go through them. It’s been almost a decade. I’m not sure I even remember anything.”

“We can go back to school shopping for you. We’ll have to take a picture of you in your cute little outfit with your backpack on your shoulders. I’ll put it on the fridge and everything.”

“You realize I’m doing this online so I’ll just be wearing my regular clothes sitting on my ass in here. I may not even wear clothes while I’m doing it.”

“Well, I can still put that picture on the fridge, but we’ll have to take it down every time someone comes over. No one needs to see that much of you.”

Killian practically purrs in her ear as he trails hot kisses down the side of her neck, and it sends chills down her spine and up over her skin. “You certainly do. You could see it now if you want to.”

Emma brings her bottom lip between her teeth and tries to rein in any budding arousal. “As tempting as that sounds, you and I are both deliriously tired, and I really only came out here to get you to come back to bed…to sleep. We should go do that.”

Teeth bite down onto her neck. “Fine. That seems like the sensible thing to do, and as an almost college man, I have to be sensible, right?”

“Or binge drink and then study all night for a test at the last minute even though you had weeks to study for it?”

“Do people still do that?”

“I think so.”

“We’re really old, Swan.”

“Yeah,” she sighs as she stands from the bench and pulls Killian up with her, “but I think we’ve still got it.”

Emma easily falls back asleep, especially when Killian closes the curtains and turns on the box fan to drown out the sound of the storm outside, and while she doesn’t really know when Killian fell asleep, he’s slumbering away when she wakes up, his breath coming out in small puffs and his hair falling over his forehead. The weight of the world isn’t on his shoulders right now. He’s not thinking about what he’s got to do today or not do today, and Emma hopes that he sleeps as long as he can.

Hopefully right up until he needs to eat breakfast and go to practice.

But hopes are not always reality, and in reality, Killian wakes up a little past nine and all of the tenseness in his body returns. She can see it in the set of his shoulders and the way that he carries himself as he does some stretches to loosen his body up before making breakfast and getting on with his morning routine. She’s terrified, her stomach absolutely in knots, but she’s not going to tell him that. Emma is sure that he’s aware that she’s in this and wants this for both herself and for him, but she’s not going to tell him and put any extra pressure on them.

It’s more than just one man out there. It’s more than just Killian, but Emma understands how Killian works. If they win, he won’t take any credit for it. If they lose, it’ll be entirely his fault. She’s sure he’s talked himself into thinking otherwise, but his brain will revert back to that.

The storm in the night seems to have disappeared, the streets beginning to dry even if large puddles of rain water are left in dips in the cement, and according to all forecasts, it should be dry enough for them to play today. There are supposed to be light sprinkles, maybe a scattered storm or two, but it’s all sunshine when the game is scheduled to start. If there are any delays, Emma hopes that they aren’t long.

Killian may very well lose his mind.

(She may too.)

He’s currently showering, and while she hasn’t been keeping track of how long he’s been in there, it’s been long enough for her to curl her hair. She’s entirely sure that the humidity is going to cause it to frizz and fall flat, and the network will probably have her hair constantly attached to a curling iron and hair spray until her hair is like a bird’s nest of tangles and product.

Whatever it takes to look good on TV today, right?

She’s supposed to wear a dress or a skirt, something form flattering and attractive for television, but since there are no technical rules as long as she stays dressed, Emma completely ignores that suggestion in favor or her favorite jeans, a pair of trusty boots, and one of Killian’s jerseys, buttoning it up and tucking the front into her jeans. She’ll have to put on a sweater later to combat the cold, but she doesn’t want to do that just yet.

It’s ridiculous, but putting on the sweater means it’s time to go and she’s just…she’s not ready. They need a little more time.

“Are you wearing my jersey?”

Emma jumps and clutches her hand against the chain around her neck that’s visible with the way the jersey is buttoned up. She did not hear the shower turn off or hear Killian open the bathroom door. But considering he’s standing in the doorway with a towel wrapped low around his waist, he obviously did.

“Yeah?”

“What about – ”

Emma shrugs, a smile stretching across her lips. “Fuck them. I don’t give a damn about what anyone has to say. I can do my job while also dating you. It’s not a mutually exclusive thing, and today is a big day. If I want to wear the jersey, I can wear it now.”

Both of Killian’s brows rise high on his forehead, but he’s smiling too as his arms cross over his chest so that his muscles bulge the slightest bit. “I think this is the most attractive you’ve ever been.”

“Because I’m wearing your jersey? I thought we’d gone over that before. I – ”

“No,” he laughs with a shake of his head. “Because you’re saying fuck ‘em to all of the people who we both know will say shit about you wearing that. I personally think they should all pull the sticks out of their asses, but then what would they have to talk about?”

“Happy things?”

“Nah, that’s too boring for them.” Killian walks toward her, a definite swagger in his stride, and the cool tips of his fingers come up to touch her cheeks as he cups her face and brings his lips down to move over hers, slowly and thoroughly kissing her until she can’t breathe. It’s the good kind of breathless, though. “I don’t know if I’m going to kick ass today, but I know that you are. It’s pretty much undeniable.”

“You’re going to kick ass. Think it into existence, twenty-nine.”

“Yeah, but I don’t…I don’t know. I – ”

Emma sighs, and she swears it goes all the way down to her bones. There’s only so much she can say. At the end of the day, Killian has to be the one to believe in himself.

“You know,” she starts as her hand reaches up to her neck so that her fingertips ghost over the cool metal again, “about two months ago I had this really big thing happen to me, and I don’t think I’d ever been that nervous. Well, that was until my idiot boyfriend decided to play with an injured rotator cuff because he was too dumb to say something to anyone.”

Killian playfully rolls his eyes, but she sees his jaw tick. Still such a stubborn ass.

“Anyways,” Emma continues as she reaches up to unclasp the necklace, grabbing onto it and the ring before guiding her hand up to his where they’re still resting on her cheeks. Killian’s blue eyes widen so that she can see every color in them, and they get the slightest bit bluer when she places the ring in his palm and closes his fingers over it. “I was given this really beautiful, special ring so that I had a reminder that someone was cheering me on even when I couldn’t hear the cheers. You had this for a lot of years. I think you might need it back.

Killian’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down before he starts shaking his head from side to side, his eyes closed so that black lashes land against his cheeks.

“No, no, no. I’m just…no, Swan. I’m not taking it back.”

“It’s your mom’s ring.”

He opens his eyes then so that she’s consumed by the blue even as he steps away so that they’re no longer touching each other. Has she done something wrong?

“Aye, my love,” he mumbles even as he opens up the chain and wraps it around her, easily clasping it back so that it hangs around her neck once more. “It was my mom’s, but I gave it to you. I’m not taking it back. It’s yours now.” Killian smiles at her, the soft one that makes his eyes crinkle that she’s come to know as her own, before bringing his closed fist to his chest and tapping right over his heart. “I know right here that people are cheering for me. I know that my mom, my family – I know that you are cheering for me no matter what happens out there today.”

Emma’s not crying. She swears that she’s not crying and that the tears in her eyes are allergies or something, but that would be a lie. It would because she loves him a ridiculous amount, and she’s proud of him over everything that he’s done and been working toward lately.

He’s a good man with a good heart, and he deserves all of the world.

Stepping forward, Emma reaches up to tuck his wet hair behind his ear as her thumb traches over the apple of his cheekbone. “I love you, and I don’t care what Liam or Elsa or Addy says. I’m your biggest fan in that stadium today, and I promise I’ll be cheering you on no matter what happens. Tonight, win or lose, you and I are celebrating, okay? We’re going to sit in our pajamas stuffing our face with all of the food that you’ve been stress baking, and we’re going to drink copious amounts of alcohol.”

He arches his brow. “This sounds unhealthy.”

“You’ll have either won or lost the freaking World Series. I think we deserve a little unhealthy.”

“I think you might be right,” Killian chuckles, dipping his head down to slant his lips over hers. “I love you too, by the way. I’m probably going to tell you that a lot today.”

“You won’t hear any complaints from me.”

“I don’t believe that at all.” He winks, and Emma swears that her heart flutters. “I’m going to get dressed, and then we can go to the stadium, okay? I want to get my practice in early in case it does rain again.”

“Yeah, sounds perfect.”

-/-

The stadium is nothing like it was yesterday morning. There’s no empty field that’s covered in morning dew with a quiet air around it that allows someone to simply sit out there and think about the history of this place that’s happened before and the history that’s still to come both for the team and for each individual player and for those who love them. People are bustling everywhere. Vendors are already in their stalls, executives are walking up and down the hallways in their suits, heels clacking along the tile, and players are seemingly everywhere. Emma wasn’t quite expecting anyone to be in the clubhouse, maybe just a few people, but they’re all watching old tapes, eating food, stretching, and bouncing strategy back and forth.

It’s like being thrown into chaos with no hope of getting out, but Emma manages to when Ariel pops up out of nowhere with a bright smile on her face that only broadens the moment she sees Emma.

“Perfect.” Ariel claps together her hands. “Just the couple I was looking for.”

Emma points to herself. “Us?”

“Yep. Things are about to get really crazy today, and I need the two of you to pose for a picture before we forget. It’s just perfect that you’re wearing his jersey.”

“Why do you need a – ”

“Just go with it, Swan,” Killian laughs as he wraps his arm around her waist and tugs her closer so that Emma can rest her hand on Killian’s chest. “When it comes to A, it’s best to obey.”

“That sounds like a great motto.”

“Kind of like a cult, though.”

“Just a little bit.”

“Shut up,” Ariel groans as she lifts her phone in the air. “And smile, I mean. Don’t look like I’m forcing you to do this.”

“But you – ”

Emma doesn’t get to finish her sentence before Killian is squeezing her hip and making her squeal as he brushes his lips against her cheek so that his scruff scratches at her skin like the asshole that he is.

But at least he’s an asshole in a good mood.

“Perfect,” Ariel sighs. “Now, Emma, I need you to come with me.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s about to get even crazier in here, and I’m saving you from the madness.”

Emma doesn’t even get a chance to tell Killian goodbye or good luck before Ariel is dragging her by her forearm out of the clubhouse and down the hallways of the stadium going on and on about everything that’s going to happen today like Emma doesn’t already know. Of course, there are several things that Emma didn’t know. Apparently, her plan for she and Killian to go home and eat junk food and get drunk isn’t really going to happen. He’s got press obligations that far exceed anything that she does, and then there’s usually some kind of team celebration that they all do together. It could be moved to the next day, but that’s usually reserved as an off day before the city does a parade and other celebrations and…

This is only if they win.

Emma points that out, and Ariel immediately corrects her and says “when.” She’s convinced that they’re going to win, and she will not take any other kind of thinking around her. Positive vibes only.

Emma and Killian are totally going home and eating junk food and possibly getting drunk before falling in bed. To sleep. Everything else can wait. And if it can’t, fine. They’ll deal with that and do all of the celebrations and be happy about it because it’s a really big deal, but at some point in the next week, they’re both locking the door, turning off their phones, and then not letting anyone or anything bother them.

Unless it’s the food delivery guy. He can bother them.

But that’s it.

She’s gained approximately ten new wrinkles on her face in the past two weeks, none of them coming from being a year older, and Emma very much needs the season to be over for her own sanity.

Without a doubt, she’ll start to miss baseball in no less than two weeks.

Ariel Fisher, however, lives and breathes baseball and managing baseball players and quite possibly being the most supportive woman on the planet – and that includes Mary Margaret Nolan and her continual positivity – and even if the Yankees sucked, she would somehow cause them to win by her willpower alone.

Emma has known her in a personal capacity for over half a year now, and she’s still not used to all of the never-ending energy. Ariel probably had a full night’s sleep last night. Or maybe she didn’t sleep at all, and she’s in that stage of sleep deprivation where everything is heightened and you’re hyperactive.

Emma would bet on the latter of the two.

But Ariel does eventually finish talking once they’ve made it far away from offices and weight rooms and restaurants up to the suites that Emma is so familiar with now. She’s also familiar with all of the people waiting inside. Killian’s family doesn’t joke around when it comes to baseball. There is no reason for them to be here this early, and yet here they are.

And suddenly Ariel has disappeared, probably off to talk someone else’s ears off.

“That isn’t rain.”

“That most definitely is rain.”

“Anna,” Kris sighs as he and Anna stand at the windows looking out to the field, “that’s rain. It’s this thing that happens when – ”

“I don’t need a science lesson. I need it to stop.”

“I’m pretty sure the entire team is doing some kind of rain prevention dance downstairs because I think we all need it to stop.”

Everyone turns to look at her like they didn’t hear she and Ariel come in.

“Emma,” Lucy shouts, scrambling up from the couch to run toward her and tackle Emma in a hug that’s quickly joined by Addy.

“Hey, girls. Are you guys excited?”

“I’m bored,” Addy sighs out, which is not at all what Emma was expecting.

“Bored? How can you be bored?”

“Because I want the game to start! It’s taking too long, and we’ve been in here forever.”

“It’s been fifteen minutes,” Liam tells Emma as he walks over to her and scoops up his daughter while bending to kiss Emma on the cheek. “But we’ve been very impatient with waiting even though whining isn’t going to speed up the game time.”

“So it’s been a fun morning in your house then?” Emma asks.

Liam rolls his eyes, and even though he and Killian don’t look too much alike, she can see the resemblance there. “Joyous. And from my chat with Killian this morning, I can tell it was about the same at yours with the sleepless night.”

“Well, it is a big day today.”

“Just look up the weather forecast, Anna,” Elsa groans as she moves to rest her head against the countertop. “It’s supposed to rain in the middle of the game. We have known that the entire time, but the sun is literally coming out. It will be dry enough to start play on time.”

Emma arches her brow. “Was Elsa the one not sleeping?”

“Yeah,” Liam mumbles as he adjusts Lucy on his hip, “yeah, she was. She and Addy sat in the living room all night because they couldn’t sleep. I expect them to crash soon.”

“I’m fine,” Elsa promises even as she takes a sip of coffee out of the largest mug Emma has ever seen. “I’m exhausted, but I’m fine. Where in the world did Ariel go?”

“I have no idea. She was here and then she wasn’t. I’m not even sure why she pulled me away from the clubhouse. It’s all been a bit of a blur.”

“Her nickname could be The Blur or something ridiculous like that. She’s always zooming in and out of rooms.”

“How’s Killian?” Anna asks as she steps away from the windows. “Is he freaking out? Has he tried to run away yet?”

Emma’s hand reaches up to toy with her necklace, moving the ring from side to side and choosing not to worry about the weather any more than she already has. “He’s fine. He’s freaking out, but he’s fine. All he needs is for the game to start so he can stop psyching himself out.”

“I want the game to start too,” Addy whines once more as she falls out on the couch and throws her arm over her eyes.

“Darling,” Liam laughs, “have we ever considered that we made her too big of a fan?”

Elsa shrugs. “I don’t think we ever even had a choice.”

Emma stays up in the suite talking and eating cheeseburger sliders and drinking hot chocolate for the next hour, and it’s enough distraction that she doesn’t really think about what’s going on and the nerves radiating deep from her stomach and out to every inch of her. That only really begins when she has to officially start working, leaving the suite to walk to the ESPN booth and get her microphone hooked up to her and prepped for the start of the game. They have her hair curled again, just like she thought, and Isaac and James most definitely eye the jersey she has on. Emma ignores them, even if she does put on her sweater and take the raincoat the network offers her, and leaves the booth to go find the spot they have saved for her behind home plate.

People are filling the stands, a hushed murmur covering the stadium as the sun continues to peek through dark clouds, and Emma’s eyes are stuck on Killian as he continues the last of his pre-game warm-ups.

This exact day last year was one of the craziest days of her life, and she doesn’t think any of it could compare to this.

“You look like you’re going to vomit,” Jeff murmurs as he sets up the protective cover over his camera.

“I kind of feel like I am. Don’t date someone on the team. It’s too much.”

“I think I’m safe in that department.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he laughs, and Emma doesn’t miss the rare smile on Jeff’s face. “You ready to go?”

Emma adjusts her earpiece. “Yeah, I’m ready to go.”

-/-

The Dodgers score on Killian’s first pitch.

A home run right off the bat – literally – and Emma feels the collective groan around the stadium in her bones. That is not what was supposed to happen. It was supposed to be a strike, then two more, and an out. Easy as pie, right?

(Killian would tell her pie isn’t actually easy.)

But that’s obviously not how things are going to go today.

Sports have really got to be a little less dramatic. Her nerves can’t take it. Can’t things just be simple? Can’t they have gone back to the beginning and have won in four straight games instead of losing enough so that they’re in game seven of the World Series?

“If” doesn’t exist, especially in sport, Emma reminds herself. That’s what Killian would tell her, and that’s what she has to remind herself.

It only works a little bit.

One pitch at a time. It’s how Killian is going to be out there, and it’s how Emma is going to be sitting in the stands talking back and forth with the guys up in the booth thinking the same thing. It’s kind of hard to think that, though, when there’s a continual string of near hits and misses and Isaac and James up in the booth won’t stop being so damn negative that it makes Emma want to scream.

The score is 1-0 in the top of the third inning. It’s not the end of the world.

The looming dark sky overhead is kind of making her think that way.

“I’m too nervous, Rubes,” she mumbles while Killian winds up his arm to throw a pitch. There’s two men on base, both due to errors from King. She’d feel petty and a little glad if she didn’t need him to play well for the team. “Tell me about wedding stuff. Distract me.”

There’s static in her earpiece before Ruby’s voice comes in. “We’re getting married on a beach with no clothes on. Don’t worry. We can get waxed on the bachelorette weekend, so we’ll all be as smooth as babies.”

Emma huffs. “You’re not funny.”

“I’m hysterical,” Ruby corrects, and a part of Emma knows that Ruby and Graham might legitimately get married like that. “We haven’t planned any more than what we talked about last week. Small, intimate, and then a killer party with good food and drinks. Finding a location is hard. Everything is so expensive.”

“Destination wedding?”

“How is that cheaper?”

“I’m sure you can find a really inexpensive place in Nebraska or something.”

“You can get married in Central Park for one hundred dollars,” Jeff adds in, and Emma snaps her head away from the game to look at him. He shrugs his shoulders. “What? I know things.”

“I think the one hundred dollars is only if you want to get married in a certain spot, though,” Ruby sighs. “We’re going to keep looking. Graham said that he’d ask some of his buddies at the precinct if they knew of any spaces. It doesn’t have to be pretty since I know Mary Margaret will work her magic to make it that way no matter what.”

Killian’s pitch lands right in Will’s glove, and the umpire calls the batter out. Thank goodness. She doesn’t know what she’d do if someone else got on base. Then they’d be loaded with no outs, and things would pretty much be screwed from here on out.

Emma reaches over into her bucket of popcorn (she bought the jumbo size because she is stress eating) and stuffs a handful into her mouth instead of eating one or two at a time. One piece falls out of her mouth and down her shirt, landing somewhere in her bra so that she has to pick it out.

“You’re on the jumbotron right now, Emma,” Ruby giggles.

“Ah, fuck,” Emma mumbles as she looks up to see there be a replay of her digging in her shirt. “I hate everything.”

“That’s a little dramatic.”

“Me eating is like a running joke this season. I don’t get it.”

And she doesn’t really have time to get it before there’s the thwack of a ball against a bat straight past first base and away from everyone.

Shit.

It’s not good. Not at all. The two runners already on base get home, and the batter manages to make it to second.

It’s 3-0, and this is not at all how today was supposed to go.

Emma’s lungs are doing that thing again where they’re not taking in air, and there’s not enough popcorn in the world to make any of this better. If the tick in Killian’s jaw is any indication, she knows that there’s no one in the world more pissed at what’s happening than him. They don’t have anything together, and if they don’t get it together soon, they’re going to run out of time.

And then the sky opens up, little droplets of rain falling and landing on Emma’s nose, and that saying “when it rains, it pours” seems oddly appropriate right now. Her sadistic sense of humor is about to get worse.

They can’t lose. They can’t. she won’t allow it.

The rain keeps falling, a steady downpour of water, but it’s not enough to call for the rain delay. Not yet. And Killian is able to strike out the next guy and then get the third out of the inning with Eric catching the hit.

And just like the rain, the play stays steady. It’s not spectacular baseball by any means, mostly just a sludge match as everyone tries to keep their hands dry and the water out of their eyes, and the score slowly improves. Lance hits a good ball to get two RBIs, making it 3-2, and they manage not to allow any runs in the top of the fourth inning.

Good.

They’re creating chances. That’s what matters. They’re creating chances, and Emma can continue to eat her soggy popcorn while she freaks the hell out about what’s happening and continues to try to act like she’s a professional and not overly invested in the outcome of this game like she’s got money on it.

It’s the bottom of the fourth inning now, a chant of August’s name moving across the stadium so that it shakes in anticipation, and the bases are loaded. There are also two outs. Emma’s not saying that this could be the thing that changes the momentum of the game, but if the way that she’s gripping onto Jeff’s arm is any indication, she knows that this could change the momentum of the entire World Series.

“Come on, Booth,” Emma yells out as her free hand hits against her thigh, the wet denim clinging to her skin. “Be smart. Watch the ball.”

August obviously doesn’t know how to follow instructions because then it’s a swing and a miss.

Strike one.

There’s no chance for a strike two because while the rain has been sprinkling for the past hour, it’s pouring now. Jeff is mumbling about his camera and the cover not doing enough, but all Emma can focus on is all of the players running inside to the dugouts and fans shuffling inside while an announcement comes over the speakers that there’s an official rain delay.

An hour ago, she would have welcomed it. They didn’t have any of the momentum then. They do now.

This isn’t how things are supposed to be going.

Fuck.

-/-

“So how long is the rain delay going to be?”

“I don’t know.”

“But can you find out?”

“I can’t control the weather, Emma.”

“But you know things that we don’t, David,” Emma groans as she paces back and forth in a tunnel in the stadium, her hair frizzing around her face and her jeans completely soaked through. “It’s been an hour. Are they going to call the game? Are they going to continue it? This is agony.”

“You need to calm down.” Emma looks over to David with raised brows, and he holds his hands up in the air. “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to say that to you, but you’re going to give yourself a heart attack if you keep worrying like this.”

Everyone they know is going to give themselves a heart attack, apparently.

“I know, I know,” she sighs, reaching up to hold onto her necklace and quieting down as some people pass by the two of them, probably looking at her like she’s a crazy person. “I’m nervous. This is really hard. I just…I want to be allowed into the clubhouse so that I can see him. He’s going to be freaking out. I just know, and I – ”

David walks toward her and places his hands on her shoulders while he looks down at her with a soft, reassuring smile on his face. She’s sure that he would hug her right now if she wasn’t soaking wet.

“Killian is fine, sweetheart. You are fine. We’re in the fourth inning. There’s still five more to go, whether it’s finished today or tomorrow or a week from now. They have time to come back. You, however, need to be back in hair and makeup because you’re supposed to be doing a clip on SportsCenter in fifteen minutes to fill the dead air time.”

“Shit. Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“I couldn’t get a word in. You were kind of having a meltdown.”

Emma practically has to run down the hallways, which doesn’t help her appearance at all, and she’s sure that here makeup is streaky and her hair a wild mess that can’t be tamed, and the entire world can probably see her bra underneath her jersey right now. There’s not a hell of a lot that the makeup department can do, especially without a change of clothes besides a dry raincoat to replace the one that got soaked through, but they try their best before she’s standing in front of a plain backdrop inside the stadium talking back and forth about what’s going on in the game, breaking it down inning by inning in a way that she hasn’t had to do quite some time.

Considering she does it all with last minute notice and no notes in front of her, she thinks that she does a damn good job.

None of that really matters, though, because right as they’re wrapping up the segment, they get the announcement that play will resume in the next twenty minutes.

It’s time to play some more baseball.

Emma shouldn’t have eaten all of that popcorn because her stomach is most definitely churning with nerves.

They can do this. They have to. They will.

-/-

August immediately gets struck out, and the fourth inning ends with the Yankees still down 3-2.

The next two innings are scoreless for both teams, and Killian wraps up his game after that. He played well. It wasn’t his best, the weather and the nerves probably impacting him, but she’s proud of him.

She’ll be proud of him no matter what.

And she really wishes that the network wanted her to do a mid-game interview or let her go into the dugout just so that she could see him and tell him that in person, but they seem to be determined to only allow her to stay on the sidelines by herself.

Emma: I love you, I love you, I love you.

Emma: You’re my favorite player (and person) no matter what, and I can’t wait to see you when this game is over and you’re holding that trophy.

He texts back almost immediately, and he must have his phone out on the massage table.

Killian: Will you go out with me if we win? Or if we lose?

Laughter bubbles up inside of her, and it’s the first time all afternoon that she’s felt this light.

Emma: Only if you ask me out on live television like the asshole you were when you did that last year.

Killian: I think I can do that.

Her stomach flutters again, and even though this is kind of the biggest game that Emma has ever watched in her entire life, her eyes keep switching between her phone and the game. It’s pretty much the only way that she can stay calm and keep getting air into her lungs without one of them collapsing and her having to go to the hospital.

This game is going on forever. Literally. Each inning is longer than the last, and the sun is beginning to set over the horizon so that the remaining gray clouds disappear into the dark of night. Florescent lights fill the stadium, lighting up the crowd and the players, and Emma can’t stop shivering, especially with the remaining dampness of her clothes and the chill that’s whirling around. It’s got to be forty degrees out here at the most, and if it weren’t for Mary Margaret brining down her coat for Emma to use, she’d turn into an icicle by the end of the game.

Probably before the end of the game.

Today is obviously going very well.

It’s not just Emma, though. The crowd is starting to get a little delusional now too. The game has been going on for over six hours now, the last three completely scoreless, and everyone is getting restless and antsy and probably very, very drunk.

Some rum or whiskey or several shots of tequila is sounding really good right now.

She can’t have any of it.

And she’s moved on from popcorn to copious amounts of hot chocolate to keep her warm.

It’s now the bottom of the ninth in what could possibly be the last inning of the game and the end of the season, and they’re still down by one run. It’s almost exactly what happened last night, and Emma’s dentist is going to hate her for how much she’s grinding her teeth.

Just one run to tie it up. One more to win the whole damn thing.

Easy, right? Right.

“Fuck,” Emma mutters underneath her breath, unable to keep the thoughts inside. This cannot end up like last night. They’re so damn close. They can do this.

Eric settles into his position in the batter’s box, his hands moving up and down his bat until they’re in the right spots, and Emma would probably give up her entire salary to know just what Ariel is doing right now up in the suite. She’s got to be losing her mind.

Emma is kind of losing hers.

One. Two. Three.

The ball flies off of Eric’s bat, straight down past third base so that it practically paints the line, and Eric is off like a cheetah, quickly passing over first base and turning so quickly that he nearly falls on his way to second base. Emma stands, unable to stay sitting down, and she can’t even hear herself yell over the roar of the crowd as Eric slides against the dirt to mark up his uniform and have his fingers touch second base right before the ball gets to him.

Safe.

Holy shit. They have a man on base.

And August is up next. God, she hopes that he doesn’t choke again. There’s been a hell of a lot of pressure on his shoulders in the past two days, and he’s crumbled underneath it after having some really big opportunities to close things out. As good as these guys are at playing in the moment, the past does have the ability to creep up around them and wrap around their neck to pull them back to the past so that they can’t move on.

August has to move on.

One. Two. Three.

Strike.

Shit.

One. Two. Three.

Ball.

Okay.

One. Two. Three.

Strike.

Fuck.

Emma cannot do this. She absolutely can’t. It’s too much. It’s all too much, and she has to bend down to put her head between her legs. She knows that her phone is going off, that she’s got texts and calls and emails, but she can’t look at any of them. If it’s something for work, Ruby will speak into her earpiece or Jeff will say something.

This is the worst. Who likes sports? This is just the worst.

One. Two. Three.

The ball thwacks against August’s bat, and it flies toward left field. Emma is positive that it’s going to go over, absolutely positive that it’s going to be a home run and that they’re about to win this game. But then it hits against the wall, and suddenly it’s back in play. It’s not a home run, not quite, but it’s enough to have Eric round third and run toward home, his body barreling as quickly as possible before he’s sliding through the dirt once more so that it flies up around him.

Safe.

3-3.

Holy fucking shit.

Emma can’t hear. She can’t. The crowd is that deafening, and while Emma isn’t jumping up and down, her knuckles are going white as they grip onto the sides of her seat. All she can focus on is the way that Eric runs straight into Killian just outside the dugout, the two of them jumping up and down and hitting each other’s backs and asses as every other member of the team surrounds them in a celebration that sends chills down her spine.

Her cheeks are warm for the first time all night, and Emma has to force down the emotion in her throat.

It’s not over.

But that’s a good thing. They have the chance to do this, to win this now, and Emma’s heart is pumping blood faster than it ever has in the entirety of her life. It may very well beat out of her chest.

She doesn’t even care.

The high comes down five minutes later when King is easily struck out, putting their first out of the inning on the board, and even Emma isn’t petty enough to want Arthur King to do poorly when him doing well is good for the team. She’s petty. Just not petty enough.

Will Scarlet, though, deserves the entire world, and all of the organs in Emma’s stomach shift again when he steps into the box and adjusts his helmet. Sprinkles of rain are falling down from the clouds and spitting against Emma’s skin, but it’s not enough to stop the game. Not yet. The momentum is with them again, the game and the championship on their bats, and Emma has never known Will to be scared of a little rain.

One. Two. Three.

A swing and a miss.

Strike One.

One. Two. Three.

No movement. Deep breath inhaled.

Ball.

One. Two. Three.

No movement.

Strike Two.

“Damn,” Emma mumbles under her breath as she tightens the jacket a little further over her arms, her legs shaking and tapping enough to power the electricity in all of the Bronx. She’s going to break the chain around her neck for how tightly she’s tugging on it. It’s fine. It’s all fine.

It’s got to be all fine.

The water is spitting a little harder now, Emma’s vision getting a little bit blurred, and it’s taking everything in her not to stand up right now so that she blocks the people behind her. Ruby is chattering in her ear cursing or hoping or something, her phone is still going off, and Jeff has to be complaining about how much Emma is crushing his forearm.

She doesn’t care.

Because Will is standing in position again, and he’s ready.

One. Two. Three.

There’s a sharp blow when the ball makes contact with the bat, and while the rain and the stadium lights make it hard to see, Emma already knows that the ball is going over the back wall and into the crowd.

Gone. It’s gone.

It’s freaking gone.

Will Scarlet is an absolute legend.

The Yankees just won the World Series.

Killian just won the World Series.

Everything is so loud around her, cheers reverberating and shaking the stands so that Emma can literally feel sounds, but she has trouble focusing on any of that over the sound of her heart pounding in between her ears and Ruby yelling in her earpiece that Emma has to get down to the field.

The field.

She has to get down to the field, and somehow, she does. Jeff must have carried her there or pushed her or something. It’s a madhouse, one Emma can’t navigate, and she knows that she’s supposed to be doing some kind of interview, preferably with Will, but there’s no way for her to find anyone. It’s a mass of players all huddled together and jumping up and down as coaches and wives and children all join in, the rain coming down even harder than earlier.

All Emma really wants is to find Killian and kiss him like she’s never kissed him before.

That’s saying something.

Emma sees him standing ten feet away from her on the outskirts of a pile of men embracing each other in happiness, his hair a mess like he’s been running his hands through it for the past two hours and his smile so large that it reaches his ears. He looks beautiful, ethereal almost, and Emma can scarcely breathe looking at him after pushing through so many people to find him.

That’s when he sees her through the people and the rain and the unending joy.

Killian pulls his arm up to tap his closed fist over his heart, and Emma’s heart stutters at the movement before a slow grin stretches across her lips while she reaches up to tap her fist over the ring and her heart.

She was cheering him on the entire time.

One. Two. Three.

Emma takes off toward him, ignoring Ruby in her ear and Jeff behind her with the camera, and in six strides, she’s pressing up onto her toes and wrapping her arms around his neck, holding onto him so tightly that her feet come off the ground and Killian’s hands scramble for her ass, barely holding onto her as he lifts her in the air and swings her back and forth as they both get covered in the continual downpour of rain.

She can hardly see, the water far too much, and when she cups Killian’s cheeks and slams her mouth into his, he tastes like water and spearmint gum and quite possibly all of the happiness in the world bottled up into one human being.

Kissing him and being here with him is everything she ever wanted and everything she never allowed herself to dream.

“Fancy seeing you here, Swan,” Killian laughs, his mouth still pressing against hers.

“What are you talking about, Jones? I was right here last year.”

“Yeah,” he smiles, the grin the most infectious thing she has ever seen, “but I think I like this year a hell of a lot better.”

“Can’t wait to see how you try to top this next year.”

Killian throws his head back in in laughter, his skin covered in rain, and he finally puts her down on the ground so that her feet sink into the soft grass below her, arms still wrapped around Killian’s neck so that she’s close enough to see the sparkle in his eyes and the smile on his lips.

“You know what, my love? I think I’m good staying right here in this moment for now. We can figure out the rest later.”

-/-

-/-

Tag list: @dorisquinn​ @onepunintendid​ @authorarsinoe​ @stunningswan​ @eala-captian @galaxyzxstark @xellewoods @mariakov81 @ultraluckycatnd @royalswan @shey-starsfury​ @superchocovian​ @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @karenfrommisthaven @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @notoriouscs @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog​ @cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @qualitycoffeethings​ @carpedzem​ @tornadoamy​ @397bartonstreet​

[httpfandoms]

Make a Move (Yancy x Female!Reader)

So, hey! I decided to start writing this year actually so take this small little Yancy thing I’ve been thinking about because I love my boy <3

This idea was inspired by a fic (Kiss the Girl, I think?) that I can’t really find anymore with the same concept of the inmates singing to Yancy and Y/N for him to confess his love to her. I’m using Make a Move (hence the title :3 ) from Shrek the Musical But I’ll be making some adjustments and remove some parts that don’t really make sense. I recommend listening to it while reading this to set the mood~~ (play it right before the bold/italic letters) I also recommend listening to the whole album and watching the musical, it’s up on Netflix I believe! So without further ado 💕

~Color Coded for Lyrics~

(Jimmy the Pickle is only the sound guy, y’know those beatbox people with the deep voice and all so he doesn’t really sing ;3)

BamBam

Sparkles McGee

Tiny

Everyone else singing/Joining in/ Background

——

“It’s almost disgusting...in a cute way of course.”

Tiny let out a small huff, blowing hair out of her face as her and the gang sat at a nearby table in the courtyard. Their eyes were fixed on the sight of their leader, Yancy sitting right beside you. Yancy didn’t seem to notice his friends glancing their way as his eyes were fixed on you and you only.

The two of you had come out from the cafeteria, holding your plates of food the cooks had fixed up for dinner. Bright smiles crossed both your faces, cheeks growing pink every once in awhile that your shoulders brushed together. Poor Yancy had to hold himself back from just taking your hand or getting any form of physical contact from you. He understood boundaries, of course. Ever since you got here, the tough guy trope the rest of the inmates were used to from him seemed to disappear anytime you were near. Of course, Yancy denied it but they all noticed it.

“It’s driving me mad! Why don’t we do anything?”

“Well what can we do, Sparkles? Any suggestions?”

BamBam threw his hands up in the air and questioned his friend, Sparkles McGee, who now wore a frown as the group seemed to grunt at a loss for any ideas. They looked to the oblivious, totally in-love inmates sitting side by side at a bench.

You were munching on your sandwich as Yancy went on telling you about his new musical number he was practicing with his little group. The two of you were just lost in a trance of eachothers eyes. It drove crazy the inmates and guards— hell, even MurderSlaughter could see something going on between the two and he got quite a kick of it, teasing Yancy over it anytime he got the chance.

“I’ve got it.”

The group turned to Jimmy the Pickle, a determined look on his face while they wore a shocked one.

“I’m sorry, you? You have an idea?”

“Can it, Bam.”

Jimmy pointed a stern finger to BamBam who flinched slightly as he held his hands up in defense.

“What Yancy needs is some help. I’m sure we can cook up a nice number for him to...make a move on the lil’ lady of his.”

He hummed as the others seemed to catch on, Tiny and Sparkles hopping off the table they sat on as BamBam seemed to smile at the thought. Sparkles let out a small whistle, getting a few of their friends attention. Jimmy started to whistle a small, funky tune as the gang started to slowly approach the unsuspecting ‘couple.’

“There’s something going on around here.

We’ve been watching and the signals are clear.

A nervous laugh when she brushes his skin,

The sweaty palms, the big dopey grin.”

Yancy seemed to flinch at the sudden beginning of a song, seeing BamBam start singing. He was trying to stay calm like you who didn’t quite seem to notice for some reason. He glanced over your shoulder to look at his friends approach you from behind, their small number clearly directed towards him.

“Is something wrong, Yancy?”

“What? O-Oh! No! Um...no, everything’s fine! Youse just...have a little something here, ‘s all...!”

Yancy was quick to reply to your question, a little distracted over his friend’s movements. He reached a hand to fix your hair behind your ears and get the ‘little something’ off of you. The light of the setting sun hit your skin just oh so perfectly. You seemed to tense at the touch of his fingertips gracing your cheek before he quickly pulled away, taking a large bite off his sandwich.

The gang let out a hum and BamBam kept singing, joined soon by Sparkles.

“Mmm-mmm~

With a giggle and a flip of her hair,

We smell the pheromones in the air!

Making goo-goo eyes over their food,

They need our help here in setting mood.”

Yancy seemed to glare at them, rolling his eyes as you went back to eating your slice.

BamBam was quick to jump behind Yancy who was almost startled but remained his cool, trying to ignore him. The gang’s humming and movements seemed to stop before quickly continuing, snapping their fingers.

“You gotta turn up the heat,

You gotta butter the pan. You gotta—

(Make a move, and don’t be afraid!)

Reach for her hand, maybe give her a kiss?

(She’s waiting for a move to be made!)

You gotta— (gotta)

Gotta— (gotta)

Gotta— (gotta, yeah!)

You gotta make a move!

(You gotta make a move!)”

BamBam, Sparkles, Tiny, And Jimmy shock their bodies in sync to the chorus. To be completely honest, Yancy was impressed but he denied on realizing the lyrics were real events happening just now. He just couldn’t comprehend how he got weak at the knees seeing your hair flow away from your face, his palms growing sweaty each time she spoke of looked to him. That smile of yours would make him do anything for it to always be because of him.

Man, he hated how right they were he cursed himself for being this much of a coward to do something over his little crush.

You on the other hand...god, your thoughts about him basically muted anything else going on around you. Probably the reason you couldn’t hear the show number going on. Too focused on the goofy inmate in front of you to even notice his friends singing.

Yancy could feel his friends rise from behind him, a slow, gentle tune coming from them as they moved slowly.

“Boss...we know you can’t hear us right now,

But if you could,

We’d wanna say a few things to ya’.

We are in your corner sir—

But you have go to tell this girl

What you are really feelin’ deep down!”

BamBam and Tiny switched between each other. Yancy’s leg started to bounce slightly before he furrowed his brows, a stern and determined look on him before turning to you as he gripped his fist above his knee.

“You may not get another chance,

So just go on now.

Just open your heart and...”

“Uh, (Y/N)?”

“Here we go!”

“Yes, Yancy?”

“Oh, he’s gonna tell her!”

“I uh,”

“I can’t take this...!”

“Well, I was...”

“Uh-Huh?”

“I was wondering...”

“Okay!”

“I was wondering...”

“Spit it out!!”

The whole yard went silent, his friends leaning over the bench as the inmates leaned in to listen carefully to his next words.

Yancy faltered in his speech as you gave him a bright, hopeful smile.

“A-Are you g-gonna eat that...?”

You looked down as he pointed to your sandwich. Yancy saw you furrow his brows before you handed him the second piece of your lunch with a smile. The others groaned in annoyance, their heads thrown back or facepalming at their love sick leader.

“Man, What is WRONG with you?!”

“You! Gotta—

Make a move, you gotta shift into gear!

You gotta (buckle down and give it it a whirl!)

The scene is set right out of a book,

With a sunset, and a beautiful girl!

So you gotta— (Gotta)

Gotta— (Gotta)

Gotta— (Gotta, Yeah!)

You gotta make a move! (You gotta make a move!)”

“You gotta use the sunset!

What a beautiful sunset, baby!

Woah, oh yeah~!”

You perked up at the sound of a loud bell ringing, signifying the end of the dinner as guards shouted for everyone to head inside for curfew. Yancy looked to you as you threw your plate away, his eyes longing to tell you how he felt. He could feel his heart thumping like crazy in his ears!

His friends and inmates still sang and danced as they went to their designated buildings, piling up inside. Some prisoners from inside watched the two of you still side by side. Without a word, Yancy took your wrist making you gasp before being spun around.

“You gotta reach for the ring,

You gotta give it a shot.”

Your bright, surprised eyes looked up to him as you held onto his biceps for support. Oh my god, his biceps could crush a watermelon...

His hands...His gentle hands rested at your waist and it almost made you putty in his hands.

You took a good look at his features.

“Yancy...?”

“Grab the bull by the horns, or give up the pot!!”

Warm, soft lips crashed into yours as you were dipped down, this time having to wrap your arms around his neck. His lips were on yours...Yancy was kissing you in front of everyone for all the prisoners and guards to see. Your eyelids fell shut as you savored the moment and kissed back.

“Woo! And make a move!”

BamBam managed out his last sentence before being tugged into their building by Sparkles. He let out another cheer from the window, muffled to the others from the noise being canceled out.

Yancy pulled away slowly, his eyes fluttering open as he looked down to you. Your eyes had stars in them over what you had just experienced. Too caught up in the moment, you failed to see some inmates obviously amused at the show provided and some guards being handed a few bucks from other guards after making a bet.

A bright smile formed across your face as you were lifted up slightly.

“Hmm...creative...”

You nodded as Yancy grinned from ear to ear, holding you close.

“Well...youse Uh, deserve the very best. I knows I ain’t that but...I love you, (Y/N).”

Yancy rubbed the back of his neck as he glanced to the side before your hands cupped his cheeks. Your thumb graced over his lips.

“Yeah...I kind of figured after that kiss.”

You giggled, shoulders rising from the motion as Yancy gently took your wrist.

“And I love you too, Yancy...I’ll love you more if you kiss me again...?”

A blush formed on your cheeks as his eyes widened, a low chuckle leaving him before taking your waist and pulling you close.

“Oh, I can arrange tha—“

“BACK TO YOUR CELLS! ALL OF YOU! I DON’T WANT ANYONE UP AFTER CURFEW OR YOU’LL BE SENT TO THE DITCH!”

They jumped back from each other at MurderSlaughter’s cries before seeing him come over to the two, adjusting his suit tie. Without knowing until he looked down between the two, their hands were interlocked together.

“Ah, I see we got two lovebirds in here, huh? Get to your cell, the both of ya.”

He scolded as Yancy was quick to drag you and himself out of the courtyard. You smiled softly at the sight of your hands together.

“I better not have noise complaints or any funny business happening from you two!”

MurderSlaughter laughed time himself seeing the deep red blush creep up on your faces as the lights flicked on in the courtyard.

—

Ugh, I know terrible. It’s my first time writing something like...Ego related that isn’t theories! Heh! But I hope some of you liked it, there may be mistakes since I was in a rush since that’s why the ending was a bit abrupt but I apologize! Anyways, I may cook up something else in the future for Illinois or something, who knows! ;) But for now, buh-bye! 👋🏻

[xoruffitup]

Flip Ficlets (Part III?)

Since the first time I saw BlacKkKlansman, I wondered what was going on in Flip’s head when Ron asks why he’s not taking the investigation more personally, and Flip answers “Rookie, that’s my fuckin’ business.” My brain supplied...

What if Flip had a girlfriend of color during the investigation?

Pt ii: This wouldn’t leave me alone

All it took was some nice Flip gifsets on my dash, and suddenly I wrote more of this. Here we’ve got the flashback scene to when Sarah first found out Flip was a cop, Flip getting dragged (somewhat) against his will to a disco, and Sarah’s feelings a few years in on being with a white guy.

Not beta’d or anything, just had fun. 

Flip has no idea how he got talked into this.

“Hell no. No way,” had been his gruff reply when Sarah leaned away from the telephone to excitedly call, “Patrice and Ron are going to a disco tonight!”

It was a Friday evening after a long day and an even longer week. Apparently Ron had other ways he liked to recover, but Flip’s ideal Friday night usually involved reclining in a horizontal position. Definitely not dancing.

“You’re such a drag,” Sarah drawled, clicking her tongue disapprovingly. “Well, I’m going. You can either come along, or accept that I’ll spend all night dancing with other guys. And you never know, some of them might be hotter than you.”

Well, that was how right there.

Flip had just stared for a long second, then blinked slowly when Sarah twirled out of the bedroom in a spangly dress that flashed plenty of shoulders and thighs. His mouth suddenly very dry around the urge to march her straight back into the bedroom, he managed, “Sarah, I have nothing to wear.”

She’d just grinned, the glitter on her dark eyelids shimmering phosphorescent.  

“Just wear my favorite shirt. The red one. I’ll be satisfied.”

Flip made a passing attempt to tame his hair before pulling his boots on. (Boots to a disco. There was no hope for him at all.) Before Sarah could pull her coat on at the front door, he’d drawn her close enough to kiss her mostly-bare shoulder appreciatively. She breathed out fast and gave his hair a brief, playful tug.

“No time for that, babe. Let’s go, let’s go!”

Flip released something between a sigh and a grumble of acceptance as he grabbed his own coat and followed her out the door. The sooner they left, the sooner they’d be home when there would be time for that.

“Brother!” Ron crowed as Flip and Sarah approached him and Patrice outside the club entrance. Flip dutifully extended his hand for his and Ron’s customary handshake-slide.

“Your glitter! You look dynamite,” Patrice greeted Sarah, immediately enveloping her in a hug.

Ron’s grin – beneath an afro boasting fresh volume – could only be described as shit-eating.

“I didn’t think there was a chance in hell she’d get you to come out.”

Flip sighed, his gaze sliding indulgently towards his girlfriend. “Looks like hell hasn’t frozen over yet.”

The moment they passed inside, Ron noticed Flip’s demeanor shift and stiffen a bit. He seemed to hunch his shoulders a bit, in a mostly futile bid to make his towering frame less conspicuous.

Not that he needed height to draw looks.

Sarah, while making it look perfectly natural and effortless, made sure to always be touching Flip. Whether linking her hand with his or staying pressed to his side, she made it clear he’s with me – he’s no trouble.

Ron navigated them to the bar and secured the first round of drinks. Just before Patrice dragged her off to the neon-light dance floor, Sarah tucked a kiss against Flip’s cheek and made the vaguely threatening promise, “Don’t get too cozy at the bar here, I’m coming back for you.”

Once the girls slid off into the dancing crowd, Ron raised his glass for Flip to toast.

“I always did want to see your moves, soul brother,” Flip joked, even as his gaze compulsively jumped from each set of potentially hostile eyes to the next. Without Sarah right there pressed against him, he couldn’t quite suppress the instinct.

“I’ll only show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Hate to break it to you, but even after all your tutelage I still don’t have a funky bone in my body. Probably a lost cause.”

Flip took a long sip and spotted Sarah over the rim of the glass, dancing at the center of the floor. Immediately, he found himself soothed.

Ron nudged his elbow into Flip’s side. “It’s all about the woman, partner.”

With some difficulty, Flip tore his gaze from Sarah to peer at Ron.

“What now?”

“All you gotta do is let your woman lead. The rest comes naturally, trust me.”

“I don’t know. Trusting you has landed me in some pretty deep shit once or twice.”

“Flip. It pains me that you don’t trust me as a reliable authority on disco.”

“Well. More of an authority than me, I’ll give you that. Though that ain’t saying much.”

“Sure as hell isn’t. Nice boots, by the way.”

“Fuck off.”

Ron just grins, looking to be having an absolute delight of a time.

When the girls rejoin them, and Sarah – all laughter and heaving heartbeat and smudged glitter around her eyes – shimmies in against his side again, Flip feels like a whole new kind of interloper.

She glows, the most enticing star that’s ever burned in the night sky, and no matter whether in a club frequented by whites or blacks, he’d still look utterly out of place with her.

Sarah loops her arms up around his neck and pulls playfully. “Time to face your fate.”

Flip tries to shoot a beseeching appeal to Ron, but only catches his back as Patrice tows him towards the flashing lights of the dance floor.

There’s no hope for him now.

“Honey – I’m gonna make you look a fool.”

He already looked the fool the second he stepped in here in his boots and worn flannel – even if it is Sarah’s favorite. But Sarah – her sashaying hips, hair flips, and light feet could put this whole place in the palm of her hand.

“Not with me, you won’t,” she promises brightly, seeming to have full confidence in the same power of the leading lady espoused by Ron.

Flip hates it, he really does. Never in his life has he been a dancer. Especially not in places where he’s a magnet for attention.

This is her night. It’s for her.

So he says nothing, and lets her slight, small hands pull him deep into the crowd of people on the dance floor.

In desperation, he recalls what Ron meant as advice: Let your woman lead. The rest comes naturally.

And somehow – his miraculous goddess of a woman makes it so easy. Her back to his front, Sarah holds his hands against either side of her hips, letting him feel the sway and dip of her movements. She presses back against him just enough to nudge him into the rhythm. Over her shoulder, Flip can see her smile as he gradually matches her pace. And it… isn’t so bad, moving where she moves, savoring the weaving of her body against his and just letting himself sink into equilibrium with her.

After almost three years together, the familiar yet no less spectacular shape of her small body pressed to his carries all the sure-footed reassurance of a bright blue, sunny sky.

She lets her head tip back against his shoulder, grinning between songs.

“Like I keep telling you, you’re not so bad, babe. Even for a white boy.”

Apparently not everyone agrees. Before Flip can make a joke in return, a young man detaches from the crowd with an impeccably styled afro almost to compete with Ron, armed with a charming smile all for Sarah.

Smoothly managing to avoid even a glance at Flip, the guy offers, “I couldn’t help but notice this gorgeous sister dancing near me, who looked like she might be in need of a proper partner. Might I be of service?”

Flip almost admires the guy’s nerve. He knows Sarah well enough to stay quiet and let her handle this herself.

Sarah just tucks herself closer to Flip, smiling sweetly at the guy. “Nice of you to offer, but I’m perfectly fine with my boyfriend here.”

The guy’s mouth opens in abrupt surprise. He finally looks at Flip now, reassessing.

Flip stays silent, but can’t help himself resting a possessive hand at Sarah’s shoulder. He looks somewhere other than the guy’s face, and makes every effort to temper his glare. While Flip concertedly doesn’t watch, the guy finally gets lost.

“What a presumptuous jerk, right?” Sarah looks up at Flip through her lashes, indulging him.

Flip keeps looking out into the crowd, a slight frown clinging to his lips despite his full knowledge that the guy was no threat.

Sarah is just about to poke him into dancing again when he mumbles only just audibly over the music, “If you want to have a few dances with a partner who knows what he’s doing… I won’t mind.”

Sarah just stares up at him for a long moment, before cracking an amused smile.

“How much did that hurt to choke out?”

“Nearly stuck in my throat.”

Smiling to herself and the happiest she’s been all night, Sarah draws herself closer against him and hooks her arms up around his neck, making Flip meet her eyes.

“You came out with me tonight. You’re the only one I want to dance with.”

The music slows into a gentle, easy beat and this – this Flip can handle just fine. He rests his hands at her waist, before sliding his arms around her and drawing her all the way in. Her breath is warm and soothing against his neck, as she hums in approval near his ear and settles into a slow, pleasant sway to the music.

This, Flip doesn’t mind one bit.

“Then I’m the luckiest son of a bitch here tonight.”

He wonders if the glitter on her face is rubbing off against his neck and shirt right now. He finds he really doesn’t care.

Sarah twirls her fingers in the hair along the back of his neck. She always loves when he lets his hair get long. She nestles in closer as Flip keeps them rocking back and forth. It’s her favorite place – wrapped in his arms and nearly enveloped in the breadth of his body.

Times like right now, Flip still can’t believe that, somehow, he’s to her taste. She’s the most beautiful woman in the place, and she’s spent the last three years with a lug like him. There are a hundred good reasons why she might never have given him the time of day – not the least being his job and the fact that her clubs, discos, and bars aren’t meant for him.

And yet – way back when, she was the one to kiss him first. She’s the one who keeps a hard line with her parents, who keep prodding her to “dump the pig already.” Three years and she’s still immovable.

Flip will never quite understand; he’ll just keep doing his best to treat her right and not tempt his good fortune.

The sweeping droplets reflecting off the disco ball dapple across her dark skin. Her long weave of braided hair is a bit mussed, and she’s warm and sweaty in his arms.

He dips his head, resting his lips near her ear.

“I can’t wait to get home and make love with you.”

She goes onto her toes, stretching up towards him in a way that’s simply sacred.

“You’ve been working late this week. I think you owe me an all-nighter.”

“’till dawn, at least.”

“Maybe straight through breakfast. We’ve got no plans tomorrow.”

And Flip wouldn’t even be surprised if she means it. She’s the tiniest woman he’s ever shared a bed with, but by far the most voracious. Keeping her satisfied is his supreme joy.

They only last another two songs. They find Ron and Patrice to say their goodbyes, before Sarah leads their way out with Flip’s hand gripped tight in hers.

He doesn’t plan on letting her go for the rest of the night.

Maybe not ever.

~~~~~

Flip had wondered when to broach it. Dreaded it.

On their third date, he thought it improper to put it off any longer.

“You haven’t asked me what I do for a living.”

Sarah had sat back in her seat across the diner booth. She knew that it had perhaps been intentional. She liked him so much so far. Perhaps she was scared of thinking of him separate from this – out doing things other than holding doors for her, waiting for her to initiate reaching for his hand before he so much as kissed her goodnight, smiling his crinkly smile and laughing his deep laugh at her jokes.

“I suppose I haven’t.”

Flip pushed fries around his plate, simultaneously relieved and deeply regretting steering the conversation this way.

Still. He knew putting it off any longer would only make it worse.

“I’m a detective. I… work down at the station.”

Her body stiffened. Her hands, which had been laid on the table as if in consideration of touching him, withdrew to her lap. Her jaw went rigid, mouth drawn tight.

“So you’re a cop.”

He only barely had the heart to look at her. Still, he nodded.

“You could say that.”

She crossed her arms, shifted on the seat. He wondered if she was weighing the option to walk out right then and there.

Instead, she asked in a voice deceptively light and difficult to parse, “You do fancy undercover work?”

“Sometimes. It’s not so fancy though, usually just listening to wire taps all day.”

She stared at him – gaze assessing and harder than usual, but not entirely closed off. Not yet, at least.

“You ever arrested people?”

“It’s in the line of work.”

“People like me? Who never done anything wrong but live in a world where others don’t want us to?”

Flip took a deep breath. He was already jonesing for a cigarette.

“I have arrested two black men, yes. But two who’d done quite a bit wrong and only after we had reliable evidence against them.”

Her eyes took on a fierce glint now.

“You ever been the type to flash your lights and pull over a black driver just to rough them up a bit?”

Flip’s mouth twitches into a frown, his tone turning a shade less gentle. “Do I seem the type?”

Sarah doesn’t give an inch of ground. “No, you’ve gotta tell me. Because you could be a very different person when you walk out that door than the one sitting here with me. For all I know, you may be the type who thinks it’s fine to bag a black woman, but wouldn’t blink an eye if you saw one of my brothers beaten on the streets.”

Flip sat back, all thought of food gone along with any trace of resistance. He kept fitting together then discarding answers – each more deficient than the last. Whatever he says, he knows it can’t entirely quell her misgivings. Only his actions and time can do that.

He doesn’t say that the barber who cuts his hair is black. He doesn’t say that he mows the lawn for the elderly woman across the street from him, who happens to be black. He understands that just like his presence here across the table from her, that doesn’t prove anything.

“I can tell you that no, I’ve never pulled over anyone of any color if they weren’t speeding. But I know that’s not enough. All I can do is ask for the chance to take you out again and start proving it.”

She took him in for a long time, simply assessing the sincerity in his expression – weighing the future burden of inevitably navigating the chasms between their experiences and views of the world. Would he understand that some of those chasms could never be crossed; but it was his responsibility to see them anyway?

“I should just warn you - I’m difficult to please,” she said, the hint of a smile returning in just the corners of her lips. “But I’ll give you that chance. From what I know of you so far, I think you’ll make it count.”

She rested her hands up on the table again, leaning in again over her seat.

On the other side of the booth, Flip relaxed. She was still there. He realized part of him hadn’t expected anything after this conversation. He’d thought it wasn’t even worth hoping for – that she’d still be comfortable spending time with him once she knew everything.

But she’d given him a chance, and Flip intended to earn and treasure her trust.

He slid his hand across the table, just so his fingertips could brush across the back of her hand. He waited, but she didn’t pull away. She just gave him a small, budding smile.

“Let’s go get a drink.”

~~~~~~~~

Since the day she first met him in the bar where she used to mix drinks, Sarah has always felt completely and utterly safe with Flip. He’d come over and interposed himself between her and three guys who’d been harassing her as she tried to leave from a shift. He’d walked her out to the parking lot, offered to drive her home, and she’d never wanted to be parted from him since. It was more than simply trusting him – more than knowing with absolute certainty that he was a good, honorable man who respected and provided for her.

It was his size, when they were out together and a pair of hostile eyes fled in the opposite direction when they caught sight of him at her side. It was his carrying license and shoulder holsters – the only weapons she’d ever known with certainty would never turn against her, but would only ever be used in her protection. It was the way his presence beside her at the grocery store made the checkout person smile at her with a brightness she’d never known before. It was the way no white man sneered or smirked at her across a crowded room anymore, ever since Flip became a permanent fixture.

For a long time, she never told him these things – afraid he would feel she was using him. Sarah never troubled herself with such qualms. She knew she loved Flip for the right reasons. All the advantages to being with him had only made themselves known after she chose his company, after all.

Of course, not all her friends and family would call them “advantages.”

“How could you?” her now ex-friend had hissed. “Racist cops are out there running us down like dogs, and you’re fucking one.”

Sarah had just fixed her hair, unperturbed. This was nothing she hadn’t already considered.

“If you respect me as a woman and friend, you’d trust me to never betray my people like that.”

“But that’s what it sure sounds like.”

“Know what I think? I think it sounds like you’re doing the same thing as those racist cops. Which – I’d care to note – Flip isn’t.”

“How could you even compare-“

“It sounds like you’re trying to tell me they’re all the same, but I thought we were more evolved than that.”

Sarah doesn’t shrink from her black pride. For a while, she wondered if it was a type of passing – enjoying the freedom from harassment thanks to her intimacy with a white man. Wondered if she had crossed some invisible line without realizing, and was now separated from her brothers and sisters.

But then she’d get groceries or go to the butcher on her own, and nothing had changed. Not really. Except she’d go home and be even more grateful for the warmth of Flip’s arms and the soft scrape of his beard when she kissed him.

Home was safe. Home was where he was. And so she stopped worrying about any of it.

Then he finally asked.

She’d been out late with some friends – a little tipsy when she rung him at the station to come pick her up from the club.

It wasn’t one of the clubs they usually frequented – one that was a bit more mixed. She and her two friends had only been outside for all of a few minutes before two burly white men started jeering from across the street. They crossed the street, but were only just approaching the girls when Flip pulled up. But they’d been close enough, and Flip was trained to read violence in body language.

He’d swung a sloppy park job, jumped from the truck, and blocked their approach. He’d flashed his badge in case the contempt in his glare wasn’t loud enough. Maybe it’d be enough to scare them off such behavior for good.

He’d had Sarah’s friends squeeze into the truck and dropped them off before bringing Sarah home. She remained silent – mostly because she wasn’t a talkative drunk, but Flip perceived different reasons entirely.

They were in the kitchen – Sarah chugging water, Flip hovering in the doorway, unsure if the comfort he wanted to give would be welcome – when he asked.

“Is it ever… too hard?”

Sarah needed a moment to focus on him. The kitchen lights were so bright. The concern and anxiety in his expression was a lot to take in.

“Is what?”

He huffed a slow sigh, lifting a hand to rub across his mouth for a moment as if feeling the shape of each word as he considers them.

“Being with someone who looks like me. Who looks like…. That.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

Sarah had filled and downed a second glass of water, willing herself sober.

When she looked at him again, she knew he hadn’t asked for any reassurance for his own sake. He wasn’t asking for her validation or forgiveness, nor was he trying to indirectly make some ‘we’re not all like that’ statement. The question had been solely for her sake – the rest of the world be damned.

And that… that makes her answer for him; with an answer no less true.

She comes to stand near him in the entryway to the kitchen, watching him look between her face and scanning her body, as if still reassuring himself nothing happened. She waits until he relaxes slightly, until she has his attention completely in the present moment.

“Flip. Baby. You don’t look like them. Not to me.”

She reached up to touch his cheek, to trace she shape of his mouth as he pressed a small, hesitant smile against her fingers. His hand on her hip was gentle and warm.

They got ready for bed in silence. Flip helped with undoing the back of her dress and sliding her head and arms into her pajama shirt – her coordination not quite at peak performance.

In bed, the lights out, Flip pulled her close and wrapped her up more tightly than usual. He kissed her ear until she’d gone utterly relaxed and content. At first, she burrowed her face in close against his chest, breathing in all the comfort he offered. She luxuriated in the strength she could feel at rest in his arms – alongside the tender circling of his fingertips along her back.

Suddenly, she had more to say. She lifted up just enough to find his eyes in the dim bedroom. She stroked his hair back from his face, leaning close.

“You look like the guy I don’t bitch about cooking dinner for. Who picks me up without a single complaint when it’s the middle of the night and I’m drunk. Who can fuck real good but love even better. The guy who doesn’t think he’s noble for treating me well – it’s just what anyone should do. You look like the guy who doesn’t ask if it’s a place for whites or colors, when we go out. The guy who says my hair’s beautiful, even though you’ll never understand why it takes so long to get it done.”

She leans a little closer now, her hands coming up cup his jaw, fingers gently stroking over his beard.

“You look like the guy I trust to keep me safe. The only guy I’ve ever known where it actually makes me feel better, knowing you keep a handgun in the closet. That’s what I see, Flip - the guy who gave me what means the most. A home where I know I’ll always be safe.”

As much as it enrages him, tonight had hardly been an isolated incident. Sarah had plenty of stories of experiencing such threats – some of which Flip had witnessed firsthand. But he has no power over people’s cruelty or small-mindedness. Neither of them do. All he can do is look out for her. And the whole time, part of him had just waited until it became too much for her. Until all his skin color represents became too burdensome to keep in her life any longer.

So this – it means something to him. She doesn’t see him as a turncoat or defector from enemy lines; still hovering in her line of vision. To her, he has always been behind her own line – on her own side, in private from the rest of the world.

“Sarah, I swear I’ll always protect you. Until the day when this world is less fucked up and you don’t need it anymore.”

“Mm…. but what if I still need you?”

Flip nuzzles the top of her head, draws her in a little tighter.

“Then I’ll still be there.”

She’s half asleep, head pillowed against his chest and his arms still twined around her, when she murmurs, “Flip?”

He rumbles out, “Hm?”

“Tell me you love me.”

Truth be told, he’d been thinking it. Just nervous to say the words – as he perpetually was, no matter that it wasn’t anything near the first time.  

Flip opened his eyes to press a kiss to her forehead, then three more down the side of her half-asleep face. Warmth bloomed in him at her contented sigh.

“I love you. More than I know the words for.”

She rumbled a sigh, her head nodding sleepily against his chest as her lips curled in a smile.

“Good.”

[supersoldiersruined-me]

Sinful Dance

A/N: This is my very belated challenge entry for @siren-kitten-his 2k followers challenge! Congrats again love! My prompt was the Lust sin. I took a different approach to my normal writing. The whole text is the same story, but cut into the five senses. Every other part changes pov between Bucky and reader.  Warnings: Pining? Dirty talk, swearing, implied sexual situations Word count: 3.7k Additional prompt: “Your lips are getting really close to mine.” from an ask.

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- Sight -

A squeaky door slides in front of him, indicating his arrival, fifteen minutes late to the monthly meeting. He grunts as he takes his place between Steve and Nat. A grumpy Tony sits at the end of the oval table, flipping through his binder, not paying any mind to the impatient crew around him. Neither Steve’s pen tapping nor Pepper’s shoulder nudge take him out of his focus. Focus that has the cold room feeling even more tense, and the people in it even more fed up of the eventful week behind them.

It’s a shy Peter Parker who breaks the silence, “Guys, I just really want to, um…”

“Queens, don’t sweat it.” With a captainesque smile, Steve proceeds to reassure him.

“We always have your back,” adds Carol over the hologram.

After a shared laugh over the poor boy’s mishap, the meeting goes on accordingly without too many interruptions. Notes over the new weapons and tech are handed, along with old-men jokes from Nat towards Steve and Bucky’s ever-so-astonished faces. The plans and maps from their regular intel seem to satisfy everyone; Bucky is the first up, ready to leave for a much needed shower and sleep. He stops short before Pepper can even begin to introduce what has a cold shiver running up his spine.

Standing there behind the glass doors, a young woman clothed of the prettiest silk blouse, tucked in a pencil skirt waits for her cue. She walks in, keeping her eyes on the ground as she takes a deep breath. He looks at her, at the way her hair waves over her shoulders. Preppy glasses frame her face and he’s ashamed to admit he wants to paint them with arousal. Weak in the knees, he retreats to his seat, the room suddenly closing on itself, becoming warmer by the second. Her shaking hands set a pile of paperwork in front of Tony for him to sign, then she straightens herself, hopeful eyes finally daring to look around the room. His insides shake; he wishes someone would strap him to the chair because he’s not sure how long he can handle himself before he’s gotta get his mouth on her. It’s grotesque. It’s new. He has no clue what took hold of him.

“This here is Y/N Y/L/N. Thank you, miss.” Tony nods her way as he flicks his pen open, his gaze running through the contracts. “If you have any orders to make for outfits, gear, what ever really, you go through her. And no funky shenanigans, please.” She smiles shyly and scans the room, brushing her nerves aside to make a good first impression. Bucky watches her wipe the palm of her hands over the jersey material of the skirt that’s so tightly hugging her bubbly behind. He wants them on his chest, his stomach, his thighs. He wants them around his d-

“James Barnes!” Nat whisper-screams into his ear, eyes shooting arrows at him. He has the nerve to look at her in wonder. Not concerned by the nature of her accusation. A chuckle on his left, the usual that comes before a snarky remark, finally has him realising something is genuinely wrong. 

“Thought your arm was the stiffest thing you owned. But dude,” Sam jokes around, his hand on his teammate’s shoulder as he slowly exits the room, saluting the young lady with a military wave.

Her eyes meet Bucky’s then, and she lets them fall down his features, until they grow wide at the bulge in his sweats. He’s ashamed, caught red handed as he flattens himself the best he can. He wants to run. But there’s a rope tying them together he just doesn’t know how to rip; doesn’t want to anyway. So he stays there in his chair, rolling so he’s at least facing the other way, and waits for everyone to leave before he can make a move.

- Smell -

The sun is down, enabling Y/N to relax and get ready for bed. She was given her room before they had finished renovating it, so apart from her bed sitting in a corner, she has to use the common facilities for another week or two. She walks out in nothing but a thick robe - a neat embroidery of her name sits over her left breast - and heads towards the gym’s bathroom with her toiletry bag. Her sleepiness has her walking through the wrong door and into the men’s room, which she only notices once she walks by the row of urinals against the left wall. She shrugs with a soft sigh, but proceeds. It’s late and who’d be around anyway?

The stalls are made of tall, expensive ceramic walls that even the supersoldiers can’t top. They have actual doors rather than cheap curtains. The only thing joining them is the small gap on the ground where the water runs to a single drain, and another about a foot down from the ceiling to allow the steam to dissipate. 

She turns the water on from the separate cubicle before taking off the robe and stepping in, letting the warmth soothe her tense muscles; she hadn’t thought this day would be as stressful as it has. She’s halfway through rinsing her hair when the door slams shut behind hurried footsteps. Her breath hitches in her throat. She freezes. It’s quiet for a minute until the water from the neighbour stall starts running. She stays under the stream, not saying a word and hopes she doesn’t get in trouble.

“Lavender?” His voice is deep and raspy. She’s not sure she heard this one yet. “Guess you forgot your stuff and had to take the samples, huh.” He adds a chuckle to his remark. She scuffs, thinking it would give her away if she laughed with him. 

The cap of his shampoo bottle snaps, and slowly the scent rushes through the room, through her senses, to finish its journey between her legs. It’s rich and spicy. A hint of teakwood lets her know this isn’t regular drugstore shampoo. He had it made for him. To fit his needs, to smell like the woods with a faint vintage charm. Only one man in the room earlier could enjoy such details.

Bucky. The man she had read about and researched. Twisted things about him she never understood seemed to be what fed her hunger. He had a je-ne-sais-quoi that drew her in. She’d managed to put it aside; closing books and web browsers was an easy task. Unlike her current situation.

Her body trembles at the scent. Her slick fingers begin to knead into her skin with a mighty need. He’d be the death of her if she didn’t leave the room quickly, but with her head resting on the wall between them, she lets her hand succumb to the craving. She focuses on the sound of his hands rubbing over his hard body. Of the soft hum of satisfaction when he passes over a sore spot. The image of his hard cock in his sweats surfaces. She had never seen something so big, never owned a toy that looked like him in the least. He’d be a new sensation she’d have to have once in her boring life.

She has to bite her cheek to stifle the moans that threaten to give her sinful actions away. Her fingers - now clean - squeeze into her core, pumping in sync with the motions of his hand on his dick that she pictures in her mind. She’s quickly building her orgasm; the inevitable cry of betrayal turning her on even more. She holds on as he turns the water off. As he ambles out of the room and she swears he’s trailing on purpose. When her thumb flicks over her clit just right, Bucky walks out (finally) and she falls to her knees, sitting on her feet with her forearm on the cold wall - her head rests on top of it as she bites down her climax. The soap makes it hard for her weak legs to keep steady as she attempts to get back up. Her hand reaches for the robe, too out of this world to care about drying first. She brings the thick material to her face, hiding her blush from herself as if it was going to erase what had just happened. She wouldn’t handle this much longer. What ever had her feeling this way needed to stop. Or did it?

- Hearing -

His heavy body drops to his bed, making the headboard smash onto the wall. A rather thin wall he shares with Steve - the poor boy. His mind fails to recall the last time he kept his friend from sleeping. Too long, he thinks. Much too long. Y/N comes to his mind then; her soft features and the faint darkening of her eyes at the sight of his appendage. The way her hair would feel between his fingers, bunched up as he had his way with her until they matted on her face. He knows he’ll never get a second chance with her. He’d blown it. So it’s him and his imagination against the odds, but tonight exhaustion has the best of him before he can venture his hand down his pants. He’d have a hard time rushing his blood to where he needs it anyway.

He’s up in a heartbeat the next morning, refreshed and feeling dapper. He walks out of his room covered in nothing but another pair of sinful sweatpants - commando, of course - and one of his tight sparring t-shirts. The smell of fresh coffee and burnt toast welcomes him into the kitchen area, where everyone seems to have settled for brunch. As usual, he’s the last to show up, but his serving along with his double mimosa wait in front of his assigned seat. Placed on its right is another flute of liquid sunshine, a small plate with a half-eaten croissant and a notebook stretched to its limit with notes and clippings and whatnot. He steps towards the table and sits. Y/N fills the seat beside him a minute later, acting casual with a little nod hello.

From the corner of his eye, Bucky notices the oversized white t-shirt she most likely wore to bed. He’s sure she’s wearing shorts but most of them are covered by her top, leaving her smooth legs on display. He’s salivating, and it has nothing to do with the thought of ravaging the pile of bacon. He dares turn around slightly. Just enough so to see her licking the excess chocolate that’s dribbling from the croissant onto her fingers. He forces his eyes shut, his fingers soon digging holes into the fabric of the chair. Then when he thinks he’s gained control, a whisper of a moan escapes her lips when the sweetness hits her tongue, proving once more his infuriating vulnerability. He grabs his plate and he’s up in a flash before his body betrays him again, almost knocking Wanda to the ground as he shuffles around the island. With a lamentable excuse, he disappears into the hall towards the living quarters.

The smell of barbeque lingers in the air as he steps onto the rooftop a couple hours later. He sets the yoga mat down by Bruce’s experimental garden; he had grown fond of this hideout over his healing process. He’s slowly winding down, breathing in and out like Nat had taught him. With a new draft of wind comes the scent of the flower pots that bathe in the sun next to him. He remembers the sweet smell of the flowers his mom kept around the yard; magnolia, lilac, lavender… Lavender?

His eyes scan the surroundings. Lavender doesn’t grow in pots, he reminds himself. He has a look around the yard, as if he didn’t know the place like the back of his hand. Curiosity has him on his feet and roaming around to find the source. He feels a pang to his guts when his sight falls onto Y/N. She’s sitting on a lounge chair, alone. Over the back of the chair he sees one of her legs folded over the armrest, the other is bent at the knee towards her chest. The same white shirt covers her top but her hair is now loose from the messy bun she sported earlier. He watches it dance as the wind carries through. He closes his eyes and it hits him; she was the mysterious man in the shower the night before.

His mind runs wild at the thought of her naked body. At the water running over her skin, tickling her every inch. Or the fact that she must have heard him relieve himself, the squishing of his movements unusually fast for someone who’s cleaning up. 

“Fuck,” he hears her clear as day; she just moaned the word out in the open. He’d walk closer if he didn’t have enhanced hearing. There’s another soft moan following and he’s going wild.

“B-Bu,” he shivers. “James, ah, please!” He stands there unable to move as he listens to her calling out his name. Her head falls back onto the chair and her other leg spreads out, mirroring the other. He curses himself because he can hear just how wet she is. He has to bite his lip to prevent his own begs from spilling out.

“So good,” she continues. Another finger slides by the others. He could tell she’s pumping fast with his eyes closed if he wanted, but seeing her shoulder bounce seems to prove he’s not so wicked after all. There is no mirage here and he’s on the verge of snapping his restraint. His sweats allow him extra room for his arousal but there’s no hiding it. His back rests on the brick wall of the staircase now. It’s cold and he needs it. Bad.

“I’m gonna,” No. Please don’t. “I’m gonna come Bucky,” she whimpers. It would be a lie to say he didn’t want her to. He also doesn’t want this to end. Until one of them makes the jump, they’d be dancing this agonizing dance and those little moments are all he’s going to get. She’s right there though, he hears her gush. He rushes into the stairwell. He doesn’t want to know. Doesn’t want to break the perfect bubble he’s put around her. There’s one way he’d let himself hear that and it’s if he’d be the cause of it. Literally.

- Touch -

She pulls her leggings up, hips swaying with the music on her TV. It’s late and she needs the extra motivation to get her ass to the gym. So she struts down the hall, waits for the elevator and makes her way to the basement. The gym’s door is ajar when she gets there, a stripe of light colours the linoleum floor at her feet. She shrugs it off; she made it this far, might as well go through with it. 

A tall, square figure gets up from a bench on the far end of the room. Hair well sorted in a bun. White tank-top snug against his back. He turns around and their eyes meet. Her hand reaches for the handle on her way to desertion; a reflex she would have later regretted.

But, “Wait!” He calls after her. The muscles in her arm become frail making her hand fall to her side. She looks at him again, taking longer this time. Allowing herself to indulge and he’s letting her. He wants to take a step forward but she waves him off.

“Bucky, I can’t…” Her words are weak.

“It’s okay. I’m not sure I can either,” he confesses. They sigh in sync. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She watches his expression of defeat and swallows the lump in her throat. She walks over to the mirror, keeping a safe distance between them. Her eyes meet themselves as she scans her face. They close with another sigh - her forehead leans against the mirror. Fists clench.

“I don’t know either, Bucky. All I know is whatever happens next scares the shit out of me. It’s like Schrodinger’s cat. Open the box. Taste the fruit, and you’ll know. But there’s an outcome I don’t want to face...” She hears Bucky’s shuffle. He’s right by her when she opens her eyes, startling her. She looks at his reflection now. Both of them silent as they go through each other’s doubled features. A wave of spice hits her nose just as she manages to steady her breathing. She bites her lip, eyes looking at his in the mirror. Her finger lifts until it reaches the image of his bicep. She slides it down, the soft squeak of her fingertip against the hard surface makes them shiver. He mimics her action and draws along the line of her hip. He’s bending so low she can feel his breath on her shoulder.

She grants herself to turn around, tired of faking. Tired of hiding her desire and whatever comes with it. He’s right there and accessible and she’s spiraling down a panic attack until he steps up and breaks the tension. His warm hands grab onto her forearms, effortlessly pulling her close to his chest. She’s putty. She’s everything but the confident and sexy woman she wants to be right at this moment. The speed of his heartbeat under her palm lets her know he’s not at his best either. The depth of his eyes sucks her in and heat travels through her, blushing her cheeks.

“Your lips are getting really close to mine,” he says with a cocky grin. It would be impossible to slide a sheet of paper between them. 

“Bucky, please,” she whimpers albeit the uncertainty of the moment. She smiles when the weight of her words makes him shiver.

“It’ll change everything.” His hands are on her cheeks now, ready.

“I damn well hope so.”

- Taste -

“I’m sorry Mr. Barnes. Mr. Stark has asked me to inform you that public facilities of the compound are secured with cameras. High definition cameras.” The AI blurts out through the intercom, and it’s as if it, too, doesn’t want to see the following scene unfold.

“Fucking kidding me,” Bucky grunts, eyes shooting to the ceiling.

He feels her giggle onto his chest. The proximity should be firing up his arousal, but the cute gesture hits a whole other cord. Maybe this is what she meant by ‘unbearable outcome’, he thinks. He shakes the thought away, not wanting to break his one and only chance.

“You know, there is one public place that definitely isn’t monitored,” she mentions, wiggling her brows at him. His furrow for a second before he catches her intention. He picks up an elastic band from the rack in the gym before they amble down the hall and back up into the living quarters. He’s first to peek around the corner that leads towards the bathrooms, her body following with a hand on his shoulder for balance. Once the coast is clear, he finds the back of her thighs and picks her up. With a sharp kick, the door opens before them, and to their benefit, the room seems deserted. He sets her down before securing the doors with the elastic; an extra security measure that he knows isn’t the strongest, but it eases his mind nonetheless.

“Go start the showers on the left, I’ll take care of the lights,” he asks. When he turns back around, she’s standing at the other end of the room, five meters or so, but it feels like the world. He looks at her. The tight material of her leggings against her legs. How it delicately rises into her lips. The tank top she sports lets him see the bumps of her breasts perfectly. He palms himself through his sweats, bead of precum already setting a visible round spot at the tip. She’s biting her lip and he wishes he had mind reading abilities. He’d know what she wanted. How she wanted it. He damn well knows what he wants, and he feels nauseous at the idea of finally obtaining it.

“What’s with the staring,” she jokes. He grunts and she smirks.

“You’ve had control over me ever since I laid eyes on you. This has never happened. You’re so fucking hot and I don’t want to ruin this,” he admits.

“Talking will get you nowhere, Barnes.” There’s a wink, followed by her hands reaching for the hem of her tank top - it’s on the ground as fast as Bucky can blink. He takes his own top off, the movement of his muscles making her whimper and he quivers through the steam that’s slowly filling the room. She takes her bra off as he begins to walk closer, only spurring his intentions.

“Jump,” he commands when he’s within reach, grabbing her legs and pushing her against the cold wall. Her legs fit perfectly around him, her short arms hold her steady onto his neck. Her moan when their groans grind together almost has him finishing in his pants.

“God the things you do to me,” he adds between pants. His eyes roam her face and land on her parted lips. He catches her doing the same when his eyes look into hers before giving in. They crash lips in a passionate kiss, making the world stop around them. The showers become distant waterfalls and the steam is nothing but a tropical weather. It’s as if he had just bitten into the sweetest peach. Soft and subtle. Her lips dance with his and it’s the best thing he’s ever lived. They part shortly, only to allow him to take her carefully into a stall.

“Bucky, our clothes,” she whines.

“Don’t fucking care sweetheart.” His lips are back on hers and she’s safely stuck between his broad chest and another ceramic wall. The stream of water glides over his body, matting his chest hair and making his skin glimmer. His tongue travels onto her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. It’s salty from her ever lasting arousal and he hums at the contrast. 

Before she can even understand the new dynamic, he’s got his fingers on her pussy through her leggings. It clings deliciously to her body and he needs it. Needs the taste, needs the feel. He has to hear the soft cries he can pull from her.

“You’re a sin, baby. You know that?” he adds in a growl.

[futurewriter2000]

Opposite numbers ~ pt. 1

A/N: Welcome, to my torture for you. Cuz this is gonna get good.

xx

There was a privilege of having another student for a neighbor. The two of you could talk about school, study together, go on adventures and have some good memories to reminisce about later in life.

Well, yeah, you definitely didn’t have that with James Potter. The two of you HATED each other.

It started as soon as you moved into the house next door and he threw an egg as a welcome to the neighborhood gift. He was an evil delinquent to who you lived for the last 10 years.

Here is the story. His way of getting on your nerves was pulling pranks, your way on getting on his nerves was blasting music. Your windows were right the opposite of each other. The two of you grew up next to each other in hate and resentment. In school, the two of you pretended not to know each other at all.

Simple. It was simple until one night you decided to drink two cups of coffee.

Coffee. How could you not love a drink like that? It was delicious and it sent all kind of emotions through your body, especially adrenalin.

---

James held his pillow around his head, pushing them against his ears and trying to muffle the music coming from the window opposite his. He was so irritated by your taste in music. And why on earth would you be listening to The Jacksons at 11pm?

If you haven’t played the same song for the last hour than he might as well know all the lyrics to it.

It was coming to end right now...so if you play it one more time, ONE MORE TIME, he is going to lose it.

He closed his eyes as the music finally stopped and he squeezed the pillow tighter. “ Please don’t. Oh, God please just let her go to sleep and stop with the music. Please, please I beg you-”

‘ My baby's always dancin' and it wouldn't be a bad thing  But I don't get no lovin' and that's no lie  We spent the night in Frisco at every kinda disco '

“ ARGGGHH! “ he jumped from his bed and opened his window, throwing one of his pencils towards it. “ OI! Jackson the 6th! “

Here’s the thing. When you drink two cups of coffee, blast music and feel endorphins in your body, you don’t hear the pencil hitting your window. You feel the rhythm in your bones and the music in your ears. Dancing, whether you were good at it or not, when it came to funky music, there was no denying you weren’t shimmying or doing the boogey.

Having neighbors didn’t matter, nor anything in that matter. What mattered was that all the energy went somewhere and at this point, you were dancing and holding your microphone in your hand which in this case was a hairspray.

Oh, how James didn’t believe his eyes when he saw a girl with who he grew up with in resentment, dancing to Blame it on the boogey in only her messy bun and an oversized shirt. He laughed and he watched because that was something he couldn’t let go as another way of you annoying him.

That was until the music changed and you finally stopped dancing. The heat finally washed over your body and you felt your cheeks burn as well as every single body part started to sweat.

You threw yourself on the bed but that didn’t help. So completely blind to the boy watching you from the other side, you slipped out of your shirt and pulled on a tight top.

James froze where he stood and he couldn’t help himself but feel another, different kind of heat wash over him. And as if seeing you in only a top and lacy red panties weren’t enough, Careless Whisper by George Michael started playing on your stereo.

Oh, how funny the universe worked.

“ Should've known better than to cheat a friend  And waste the chance that I've been given  So I'm never gonna dance again  The way I danced with you… “ you started to sing along the song, calming your heart rate and starting to fix your messy bun that was falling apart.

Your voice was different. When you usually sang it annoyed him, as if he was listening to a suffocating hijena, but now your singing seemed to be the perfect music to his ears. The way you let your hair down and brushed them on one side seemed to be a perfect turn on.

Though it seemed perfect for James at the very moment, the music seemed to bore you. Jumping over to the stereo, you switched the song and grabbed half empty water bottle next to it.

‘Somewhere after midnight in my wildest fantasy  Somewhere just beyond my reach, there's someone reaching back for me  Racing on the thunder and rising with the heat It's gonna take a Superman to sweep me off my feet I need a hero I'm holding out for a hero till the end of the night He's gotta be strong, and he's gotta be fast And he's gotta be fresh from the fight I need a hero I'm holding out for a hero till the morning light... "

You jumped, did everything you could with your body. The song was taking over you and to be honest you had no idea what you were doing at the moment, especially to the boy next door. What you did know the song got you on your knees and you couldn’t help yourself but sing your lungs out until your throat started to ache.

Opening your eyes and looking over to the mirror, you saw a familiar face leaning over their window and watching you. It was obvious that you saw him and he couldn’t help himself but to blush and duck under his window.

Grabbing your sweatpants and pulling them on you ran to your window and smirked. “ Hiding, Potter, are we now? ”

He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that this might as well be a nightmare he can’t wake up from. What kind of guy hides away? What was he thinking?

“ I know you’re there, you might as well show yourself.” you put your head on your palms and watched innocently at his window. “ I have all night. “

He let his heart rate calm down first. He couldn’t get even more embarrassed than he already did. He crawled his way behind a wall and spun his body to the window with a mischievous grin plastered on his smug face. “ Some dance moves you’ve got there. Might showing me some?” he winked at you and your grin only grew.

“ OH? “ you scoffed surprised, crossing your arms over your chest before leaning forwards again. “ So now you like me or what? “

He chuckled and licked his lips as your cleavage was exposed and your hair seemed to block that perfect neck. “ I don’t know what you mean. I have always liked my best neighbor. “

“ You threw me off the tree house when we were seven.”

“ I said my best neighbor, I didn’t say that was you.” he winked and couldn’t help himself but to feel the heat strengthen in his body as you started to put your hair in a high ponytail.

“ Whatever, Potter. I’m going to sleep anyway so don’t worry about the music.” you rolled your eyes, closed the window and wiping his smirk off his face.

He couldn’t help himself but stare at the dark window, so instead of going to sleep himself, he decided to do something else for a change.

----

Your parents were out with Potters that was why you could blast music today. It was those adult gatherings everybody attended and let kids like yourself and James be home alone for once in your life.

You saw him today at how he looked at you. He observed your features, drolled over your body but he hated you. He has always hated you just as you always hated him. It was always like that and it will always be like that.

It seemed to upset you how the two of you could have been close. Around his friends he seemed to be relaxed and fun, always laughing. With you, all he did was smirk or pull some kind of prank. It always happened at home and not during school.

Here, the two of you were practically at each other's throats and in school it was like you have never met the guy.

You didn’t go to sleep because it was barely 11pm. It was summer and what kind of teenager would you be if you went to bed at 11pm during the summer. Instead, you walked your way towards the kitchen, turned on the radio at a low volume and opened the refrigerator.

Your eyes set on the leftovers in the back but before you could reach them somebody knocked on your door. You pulled your head away and slowly closed the refrigerator.

‘Who could be at your door at this hour?’ you thought to yourself and slowly walked to the door.

Three knocks and a kick. That’s what you heard and it didn’t take you a second longer to figure out who it was. It was James because since the two of you were kids, that was his secret knock.

“Seriously, James.” you opened the door as fast as you could and before your thoughts could even manage to process anything else, he was kissing you.

Pinning you against the wall and trying to close the door with his leg, he kissed you passionately and with hunger. “ James-” you pulled away and feel his heart rate racing as he was pressed against your body. “ What-”

He shut you up with another deep kiss before pulling away again. “ I want you. Right here, right now. I want you.” he practically begged and you couldn’t help yourself but to smirk at his desperation.

“Than take me.” you let his grin spread wider and he pulled you into another kiss.

It started with a kiss. A deep, passionate kiss which revolved teeth clashing and tongues fighting for dominance. Of course, he won. He was definitely more eager to taste you, the whole you.

His hands slid up your body and to your breast but before he could take off your bra you pushed them away. “ I think it’s better to take this elsewhere,” you smirked and glanced to the stairs on your left.

You grabbed his hand and pulled him upstairs with you. He was so impatient about it, it was so damn hard to stay away from you, to not touch you at those 30 seconds where you led him to your room. He craved your kisses, your touch,...

Entering your room and you were back at the beginning. Against the wall and being covered with his kisses. He wasn’t patient enough. He ripped your top off your body, exposing you and your red lacy bra. It took him a moment, a moment to take in the image in front of him but for you, he took too long because you were hungry as well and impatient just like him. Grabbing his shirt, you pulled it over his head and was immediately pushed back against the wall. His hands slid down your thighs, under your sweatpants, and to your bare skin. He gripped your ass harshly and you wrapped your legs around his waist.

Your lips were locked, your lungs running out of air and he...he didn’t stop. As soon as you two reached your bed, he hovered over you and let his eyes wander on your body. He smelled like vanilla, spice and strong scent of sandalwood and it drove you insane. You craved for his kisses but he only roamed your body with his rough hands as well with his flaming hazel eyes.

He kissed your neck, softly. He brushed his mouth down your collarbone and slowly, teasingly, he left soft and gentle kisses on your body.

But then there was a sound.

“Why is the door open?” you heard your father say down-stairs and you immediately pushed James off you.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” you say as you quickly grabbed the shirt from your wardrobe.

“Well, apparently not.” James rolled his eyes and grinned at you.

“James! Hide!” you whispered at him.

“It’s just your pare-”

“I see you repainted the walls.” Mrs. Potter’s voice came down as well while your father's footsteps kept approaching.

“Oh, shit!” he got on his feet and grabbed his shirt from the ground and ran into the wardrobe.

“(y/n):” he burst into your room and you just kept putting your pants on.

“Daaaaaad!!” you closed the door. “I’m changing!” you lied. Well, technically you weren’t lying but-

“Sorry, honey. I was just worried since the doors were opened.”

“Yeah. Umm...James was here.”

“The Potter’s boy?” he furrowed his eyes and came in the room.

You leaned on the chair casually and crossed your arms, shrugging. “Yeah.”

“What did he want?”

“He- um- he just rushed his arse in and started yelling at me to turn my music down. You know. The usual.”

“Did you blast it again?”

“Maybe.”

“(Y/n).” he sighed.

“ I turned it off, okay.”

“Or you turned it up?” he quirked an eyebrow, a smirk appearing on both of your lips.

“Maybe.” you smiled.

“You two used to be so close once.” he sat on the sitting bag in front of your closet, making you tense up. “Thick as thieves.”

“When?” you scoffed, glancing from the wardrobe to your father.

“When the two of you were kids. Both of you always played tag and had these cute fights.”

“Dad.” you looked seriously at him. “We weren’t playing tag. Or had cute fights.”

“Yeah, I know.” he chuckled. “But the two of you were the most adorable rivals.”

“Were?” you quirked an eyebrow at your father. “We still are.”

“Maybe he likes you.” your father continued, unaware that the boy he was talking about was right behind him, hearing every single word. “You know boys would do anything to get a girls attention.”

“Really?” you moved closer to your father and sat on the bed, glancing at the wardrobe and though you couldn’t see James at the moment, you just knew the roll of his eyes.

“Don’t know why you hate him so much though?”

“Dad. He ruined my auntie’s dolls.”

“Those dolls were horrible, to begin with. He did you a favor.” he continued to chuckle.

“Well...That only made auntie make more of them, which was worse. “ you stood back up and walked away. “He hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you, honey.” your father stood up as well.

“Why else would he do those things he did and continues to do?” you looked up at your father though the question was directed to the boy in your closet.

“Maybe because he likes-”

“He likes the redhead Gryffindor. I thought the whole of Britain would know this by now. He just likes torturing me.” you moved around your father and started pushing him through your door. “Now you’ve got guests. Shoo.”

“You can say hi as well. “your father took your hand and pulled you with him.

“I’m not dressed properly.” you tried to find an excuse.

“They have known you since you were a seven and it’s midnight, so it’s acceptable.”

“Uh-yeah-okay.”

---

After the whole parents’ interrogation, you were put through, you excused yourself and went back up to your room.

He was still there.

“James, the hell?” you rushed over to him and slapped his arm. “Get out of here!”

“You really think I hate you?” he asked seriously.

“James, this is really not the time to discuss it.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Bet your arse you are. Or you’ll accidentally get thrown through the window.” you pushed him through the door. “Use the back door and be careful for them not see you.”

“(y/n).” he tried to come back in.

“James. Another time, please.” you pushed him back but he grabbed your hand from his chest and pulled you into a kiss. A deep, hell of a fiery kiss before he pulled away and smiled.

“I don’t hate you, (y/n).” and he left.