#me gain a few inches in height challenge please

[simplyghosting]

Saw someone say that normal dogs should be added as a character class to D&D and that regardless of breed they would always be classified as small and I was going to say “well clearly they haven’t encountered a Great Dane or a Newfoundland” and then had to remind myself that just because a dog is bigger than me does not mean it is necessarily big compared to the rest of the fauna.

[assaily]

I thought about saving this one, but i’ve been sharing it around for a while, so i may as well share it here, too.

Context: Allison and Diego borrow some empathy powers and use them to try and gain some insight on Five

Allison sipped her coffee for lack of anything better to do. She dallied for a time, unsure how to proceed, suddenly aware of the heavy weight that clung to them, and wondered if this was normal. It could have been exhaustion, considering the dark shadows beneath Five’s eyes. It felt deeper than just a bad night of sleep. This was what she’d been afraid of, what she was fully expecting to find and now found herself feeling diminished beneath.

“You hungry?” she asked when Five finished his coffee.

“No,” Five answered, the question hardly a blip on his radar.

“I could eat,” Diego said. Five usually said no to the offer of food unless it was put in front of him. He couldn’t resist once it was there, thankfully, so this little dance of two siblings pretending to cook for each other and secretly cooking for Five was not new. If Five himself noticed, he never said anything about it.

Allison got up from the table, snatching Five’s mug from beneath his fingers. He had been mindlessly tracing the rim and was genuinely startled from his thoughts when Allison took it from him. He said nothing, attention suddenly on her like a scalpel. She wasn’t sure if it was the power or her own imagination that made his scrutiny feel sharper than usual. She set a skillet to heat and refilled Five’s cup before taking it back to the table for him.

Suspicion burned at the hairs on her arms and she took a step back to meet Five’s piercing gaze. “What?” she asked.

“You’re being nice,” he muttered, an observation and a question rolled into one. He wanted to know why, he wanted to know what she wanted.

“Nothing,” she reassured without thinking. “I mean,” she corrected quickly when Diego gave her a sharp look. “I’m just feeling weird and you look tired. I miss my daughter,” she admitted, feeling suddenly vulnerable.

Five blinked, something swirling around them at her admittance, a little like irritation, a lot like muted affection. “I’m not your kid, Allison, you don’t need to dote on me.”

She smiled around the confusing mix dusting the room. “Refilling your coffee is hardly doting,” she replied in a daze.

He shrugged, eyes falling down from her, the sharp focus softening at last. He took a sip of the coffee and it tasted like acceptance. She turned back to the fridge, fighting a smile as she pulled the sausages from the top shelf and added them to the pan. Soon the kitchen was filled with the sounds of sizzling and the smell of food; the anxiety had eased into something quiet and tired and easy to ignore.

She whisked eggs in a bowl, added milk and cheese and cooked it in the same pan as the sausage drippings once they’d finished. She divvied the food up on three plates and set them on the table. The whole meal took her less than twenty minutes, hardly any trouble at all but it felt good to do something for them. It soured when a flood of dread and disgust spilled across the table the moment she put the plate in front of Five. Her movements stuttered, taken by surprise, hesitating to watch him spear a sausage with the fork and nibble on one end like he hadn’t felt anything.

She exchanged a look with Diego, who’d paused mid-bite to watch Five as well.

Irritation suddenly simmered between them, a striking indecisiveness between anger and the urge to flee, anxiety washing over them again. It happened so fast, her and Diego nearly drowned in it. She put her own plate down before she dropped it, and moved to sit. The scrape of the chair on the floor was like someone physically hitting her.

“Five,” she said, her voice swimming.

Diego put down his fork, food untouched, and reached across the table to put a hand on Five’s shoulder. The old man vanished in a pop of light and reappeared by the counter next to the coffee pot. He poured himself another cup, his body lax and his movements smooth in sharp contrast to swirl of indignant rage pounding at the walls.

“I don’t know what the hell is going on with you too, but I don’t want to be involved.” He took a long slurp from the coffee, turning to regard them over the rim of it. “Play your games with someone else.” And with that he disappeared in a pop of light, leaving behind the traces of bitter irritation.

-

“Maybe it was breakfast?”

“What was wrong with eggs and sausage?” Diego asked.

Allison had no idea. Five was a bit weird about food, but she supposed surviving a few decades in an apocalypse could mess with someone’s ability to have a healthy relationship with eating. He was so skinny, and seemed to get skinnier every day. It was a challenge getting him to eat.

“Maybe he doesn’t like them.”

“Does Five like anything?” Diego asked. “Besides coffee.”

“Fluffernutters,” Allison said. It was the only thing she’d ever seen him choose for himself, besides the time he pilfered all the canned peaches from the cupboards and Klaus found them stashed under his bed. “Fruit?”

For lunch Allison asked Mom to chop up a fruit salad. Five emerged from his room around eleven a.m. like clockwork, usually for coffee. He arrived in the kitchen through one his rips, immediately splashing the room with an emotion that tasted like gunmetal. Allison couldn’t describe it other than dark, sardonic, and irritable. It twisted with the bleeding rawness she had felt earlier. 

Five stopped in the doorway, dread spilling forth when he saw her and Diego waiting for him. And he knew they’d been waiting, she could feel him realize it, suspicion mixing with the dread. He scowled at them, a classically abrasive Five expression that she wouldn’t have blinked twice at yesterday.

It was surreal feeling the tumult underneath it.

Five went for the coffee. “Is there a reason you two are still here?”

“We live here,” Diego said.

“Don’t you have a job?” He said to Diego, voice and intonation both sharp and accusing.

“It’s my day off.”

“So you spend it sitting around the kitchen? What a productive use of your time.”

“Oh yeah?” Diego asked, temper flaring predictably. “What do you do around here all day? Huh?”

A bitterness, dark and sharp, encased the room like tar, bubbling with frustration and a delicately muted rage that felt utterly ancient. There was something there Allison wasn’t quite seeing, something deeper than whatever foul mood he was in.

“Why are you mad, Five?” Allison cut the tension like a knife, going against the grain.

“I’m not angry,” Five said, most definitely defending himself.

“You came down here and immediately started picking a fight,” she pointed out, watching his eyes dart from her to Diego and back again, caught out. 

He scoffed, glancing down at the coffee cup in his hand, and she felt him switch at the realization. “Oh,” he said, folding inward on himself. Anger still shimmered off him, but it felt like he was trying to pull it back in, drink it down with the bitter burn of coffee in his throat. “The math is being uncooperative,” he gestured above his head in the general direction of his room several floors above them.

“Well you don’t have to take it out on us, you ass,” Diego said, his voice forgiving despite his words.

Shame descended like a fog, settling like an ache against her breast bone. She gestured at the table, desperate to dissipate that cloud. “Mom made fruit.”

Five glanced at her from beneath his bangs but latched onto the change in subject. “Made, huh?”

“She didn’t ‘make’ the fruit, she cut it up though. Do you want some?”

There was a bubble of emotions that came up in the form of hesitation, it was old and complicated and Allison didn’t know how to sift through it fast enough to make any sense of it. Five pursed his lips, shrugged one shoulder and stepped over, holding his coffee in one hand casually. He considered the medley, genuinely perusing the selection, which was more than she could say for breakfast. He chose a pitted peach, cut in half, pulling it from the mix with slender fingers.

“That’s all?”

“Hmm?” he paused, dropping the peach-half back into the salad.

“You can take more,” she felt compelled to inform him.

“I know,” he said, which struck her for the lie it was. She had to swallow that quickly lest it show on her face.

“Get a bowl, take as much as you want.” He could take the whole damn thing, if it pleased him, and none of them would stop him or even admonish him.

The prickle of suspicion resurfaced, and he withdrew his hand away from the bowl, staring at her. His eyes flicked to Diego, mistrust wafting up like a foul smell. He leaned back, straightening to his full height and it was like a veil descended over him, and him alone. A muting of everything, like a layer of cloud, fog, or smoke that socked him in, pushing them out. He took a sip of his coffee, still watching them, before vanishing again in a pop of light.

Diego sighed, deflating next to her. “You can’t push directly, you keep spooking him.”

She groaned in frustration, pillowing her face on her arms on the table. “And here I thought this would be easier than trying to guess.”

She startled up when a returning pop announced Five’s re-arrival. He landed inches from the table wielding a knife from god knows where, which he used to spear several large pieces of fruit. He vanished again without pretense, leaving her stunned and blinking. 

From somewhere upstairs, peach flavored delight bloomed on her tongue.

[implexedactions]

Hello, Little One - Shoto Todoroki

So, do any of you like microphilia? No? Didn’t think so, but here it is anyway! A yandere giant Shoto Todoroki

Shoto is aged up and a pro hero!

Warning for Yandere Content and Microphilia

Beta’d by best person: @patchworkpiper​

---

“Hello, little one.”

You shudder at the sound of his voice as he steps through the door. What had been a nice nap to escape from reality was pulled away as you found yourself once again in this prison. You move off of the small bed, and to the bars of the metal cage you’re trapped in.

You barely knew why you were bothering to respond at this point, but he was the only human you had seen in…however long you have been here. The room you were in seemed to have the singular purpose of housing you, with very little else here. Your cage was in the north of the rectangular room on a table, with the door at the south, and the couch along the west wall. There was a large window (deadbolted with curtains, of course) in the east wall.

As his colossal form walks through the room towards you, his footsteps shake your cage. Shoto Todoroki, one of the city’s most well-known hero’s strolls over to you. He crouches down, his cold eyes peering through the bars at your tiny 2-inch form.

“How is my favourite little pet doing?” He questions, as you hide behind blankets and pillows. He is standing at his full height, making you eye level with his crotch. Looking down from his nose at you.

“Terribly. I hate it here. I want to go home. I wish you would die.” You state listlessly back to him.

His eyes thin as he sighs, exasperated.

“We have already gone over this, MULTIPLE times… If I let you out, you won’t be mine. You won’t be safe anymore. That would be unacceptable.” You feel the room get warmer as he grows more tired of your antics. You guess today wasn’t a good day at work.

“I’m not yours! You just stole me and shrank me!” You shout back at him, voice rising as you get angrier and angrier.

“…Pet, disrespect is not welcome here. I’m willing to overlook the odd comment here and there, but you know what will happen if you fight back…” His threat hangs in the air, as you reminisce about…that day.

--

“Little one, stop struggling, I NEED to wash you.” Probing hands prodded at your form as you moved backwards in the small basin, huddling in a corner, treading water, and using your nails to try and dig into his skin whenever it came close.

“Fine then. I hope you learn your lesson, brat.” His fingers grabbed you and shoved you underwater. You tried with all your might to pry them off, but they wouldn’t budge. Your breath was running out, lungs burning as your brain tried to force you to take a breath.

--

“…Sorry…” You avoid his eyes and look at the ground, hiding your face.

“Now little one, I have a surprise for you. I’m SURE you’ll appreciate it, right?”

He opens the cage door, reaching his hand in and grabbing you. His fingers close forcefully around you as he stands and strolls to the couch. Sitting upon it, he places you on his lap. You try not to think of which organ you're standing on as he continues speaking.

“Close your eyes for me, okay? I’m sure you’ll love it. I’ll have to touch you to put it on, but I promise I’ll be gentle.”

You close your eyes. You’ve already been disrespectful, and there’s only so far you can push Shoto before he’ll push back.

As he touches your neck, a bell is heard. Something coarse gets wrapped around your shaking neck with gentle precision. You open your eyes and your hand touches what you assume to be a collar. He brings a mirror up, so you’re able to see it in better detail. You see a red collar, sturdy and utilitarian. It carries with it a small gold bell, which jingles when shaken. It also has a nametag at the front.

“It says ‘pet’, in case you were wondering. I’m unsure if you can still read to be honest…It HAS been a while since you were intellectually challenged; living this life of luxury and whatnot.”

“I can still read!”

“Now THAT is a shock.”

“I don’t want to wear this! I hate it! It’s so uncomfortable!” All you're able to do is mess around with it helplessly and hope he doesn't choose to tighten it.

“Pet. Stop fussing. It was custom made, and if you break it, there WILL be consequences.”

“Why should I care?!” Punishment be damned, you can’t take him anymore.

“Hmm?” He raises an eyebrow, and peers down at you.

“I HATE it here! I hate you! What gives you the right to do this to me! I'd rather live out my days in that godforsaken cage than have you touch me again!” You scream the ugly words at him, you’re sick of him, sick of your life. He pinches the bridge of his nose and growls in frustration.

“Just give up already! We both know you’re not getting out of this! Why are you so disobedient?!” He glares at you, roughly grabbing you off his crotch and bringing you up to his face.  His fist encapsulates you, only letting your head move around.

“I want my old life back! I’m sick of YOUR hideous face being the only face I see!” As you shout the words at him, he drops you as he recoils in shock and hurt. 

Oh no. You cower, knowing you’ve fucked up. NEVER talk about his scar. 

He drops you back on his lap and brings the mirror to his face, his other hand touching the scar in a forlorn expression. His eyes scrunch up a bit, mouth wavering. This is the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him. That vulnerability quickly dissipates into rage. Letting out a roar, he throws the mirror against the wall, shattering it into a thousand pieces. 

“Wait! I didn’t mean it like that! I’m sorry!”

He angrily glares at you as you feel less confident in your words. You can feel his hot breath hitting you as he seems to be thinking. He pulls out his phone with and starts typing furiously, before a few chimes emit from the phone. He hasn’t said anything for a good while, and your heart is pounding. His face returns to a more self-satisfied expression as he looks back to you.

“Hmmm. Okay. That’s possible.” He says, a hint of malice in his voice.

“Wait, what?” Your eyes widen as you fear his sudden change in attitude.

“I said that is possible. I can arrange for you to see someone else for a while.”

“Are you letting me go?” You aren’t that hopeful, but maybe?

“That isn’t what you said, pet. You said that you wanted to see a new face. THAT I can provide.” You don’t like the sound of that.

“This is going to be someone worse than you, isn’t it? You’re not that slick, Todoroki. You’re basic.” A grin overtakes the face of your captor as your stomach sinks. It appears you forgot your place again.

“Oh, getting cocky now, are we? Let’s see if you feel that way after a week with my old man.” Your blood runs cold. His father, Enji Todoroki?! You’ve seen the man before, on TV and whatnot. Shoto speaks of him sometimes, seemingly trying to use his trauma as a bonding tool. It mainly just instilled the fact that Enji Todoroki was someone to be feared, someone who wouldn’t give a second thought to anyone he didn’t think was worth the time. You highly doubt he’d even give you a first thought.

“W-wait, w-what?”

“He's a bastard. A lot less forgiving, if you catch my drift. He hates distractions, and I don’t think he’d be all that fond of you, pet. I do not envision dealing with him to be all that nice. He is a cruel person, and I think having a pet to torture would be right up his alley.”  

“I thought you hated him?”

“True, but he’s really been trying to gain my trust. And he’ll do basically anything I ask. Even looking after a pet for a week.” Your blood is pumping, you can hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“I-I-I-” You stammer, trying to find any solid ground in this argument. Shoto just grins and continues.

“Of course, he’s quite forgetful and dismissive. So, I wouldn’t expect him to remember to feed you or really care for you-”

“Why- why would you-”

“-or maybe he’ll just drop you on the ground and expect you to fend for yourself for the week. Surviving his day to day life. His footsteps, workouts, and daily routines, surviving off crumbs, stolen food, and the like.” You can’t take this, your sassy front has crumbled away. Shoto’s threats are too much for you to push back against. 

You can’t imagine surviving a week with Enji, him burning you if you don’t do exactly what he asks. You can only be so defiant against the person who rules your life. Shoto has won this argument. You can only give in and pray that he doesn’t go through with it.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to say what I said!” Shoto just looks at you, looking smug, and continues.

“After all, he doesn’t have much time for arrogant, stupid, tiny pests.”

“Please! I’m sorry! I don’t want that!” You are shaking now, on your knees in his palm, head sagging.

“Oh, am I scaring you, pet? I mean, there are other possibilities...” You jump at this chance to be good again. Anything to keep you away from Enji.

“Like if I behave, or make it up to you?” You’ll do anything he asks, you just need to not end up with Enji.

“I was meaning my father. He doesn’t have anyone in the house anymore and he seems quite lonely, he might take a liking to you. Constantly being around you, or demanding things of you. He might really take a fancy to you.” 

Wait, what?

“W-what do you mean, exactly?”

“Well. My old man doesn’t have anyone in the house, he’d probably latch onto anyone new he could care for…or train. I think it’d be cute, no? A huge, strong man like him, fawning and fussing over my pet. He might view himself as a grandfather.” Shoto chuckled to himself lightly. 

“Imagine a man like Endeavour, constantly wanting to be around you, hold you, feed you, bathe you, sleep with you. It’s not impossible to think that he’d be loving towards you.” It sounds better than Shoto’s treatment of you. Enji might be kinder, if he was like what was just described?

“Is…that meant to be a threat? He’d treat me better than you presumably.”

“Well, no, he wouldn’t. See, my old man is the type of man to get frustrated easily. His quirk is fire, and he has a VERY short fuse. If you don’t act like the PERFECT little pet, he’ll get mad, fast. And let’s face it, you’re a brat.”  You regret ever waking up from that nap. You also regret all the actions you’ve made since that nap.

“Think about it, burning large manly hands grabbing for you, or giving a downright villainous glare because you DARED deny his affection.” Okay, staying with Shoto was the better choice again. The idea of being around either version of Enji shook you to your core.

“I-I…Please don’t make me go with your father! I’m sorry for what I said! I really am! Please, don’t make me spend a week with him!” He seemed to stop and consider it, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.

“Hmm. Will you stop being such a brat?”

“Yes! Of course, I’ll do anything!”

“Kiss me, on the lips.” 

You step back, legs shaking, eyes darting to his lips in terror. He’s requested this before, but you always denied it. It’s too close, too personal, too intimate. It’s an act that would seal the corrupted relationship you two share.

“W-what?”

He brings his palm, with you on it, closer to his lips.

“Come now, little one. You said you’d do anything to prove to me you won’t be such a brat.”

Hesitantly, you move closer, wrapping your arms around yourself. Swallowing thickly, you slowly lean forward and place your tiny lips on his, sealing the deal. He’s holding his breath, waiting anxiously for you to prove your loyalty to him.

As you lean back from the kiss, he breathes out, warm breath washing over you. 

“Thank you for that my pet. You truly have established your loyalty to me. I just have one more thing to ask of you.”

“What is it? I’ll do anything, I swear!” You just don’t want to end up with the devil. You know how much ‘fun’ Shoto could have with the word ‘anything’, you’re not an idiot. But anything is preferable to Enji.

“In a couple of days, I’ll be going away for a week or so. International hero conference, you know the deal. You will have to stay with my old man for that period.” 

Your stomach drops as you start crying. He...he lied to you! He betrayed you!

“B-but…you…you promised!”

“I said nothing of the sort. I simply asked if you’d stop being such a brat, to which you responded enthusiastically. Not my fault you misinterpreted what I said.” A wicked grin overtakes his face, as his hand cocoons your body, leaving only your head.

“I HATE YOU! You’re a villain! What makes you think you can do this?! You’re just like your father! I hope you both rot in hell together! I hate you!” You’re past the point of caring with Shoto, he can burn in hell for all you care. Although considering he is giving you to Todoroki Senior, the feeling might be mutual.

“Hahaha, little one, ferocious as ever. I DO hope you’ll survive the week with my father, it’d be such a shame otherwise.”

[sunarintalkstoomuch]

Shooting Hoops

Pairing: Kuroo x GN!Reader

Words: 663

Kuroo stands at 187.7 cm or almost 6'2" tall. You, on the other hand, could stand to gain a few inches. Unfortunately, puberty did not bless you with such luck. As such, the rooster-haired boy loves to tease you about your height and challenges you to a contest of your choosing. It's too bad he doesn't know that height really isn't everything... or a cute story about how our favourite Nekoma captain really sucks at basketball.

“What like it’s supposed to be hard?” you turn to him with a smirk.

Kuroo’s eyes nearly pop out of its sockets. “Y/N’s got you there,” Kenma remarks before his attention swiftly returns to his phone.

“Kenma!” he scolds, turning towards the other boy. “You’re supposed to have my back here.”

“Maybe you should learn not to underestimate Y/N,” he states simply causing you to let out a vicious cackle.

The rooster-haired boy groans. “How was I to know that shorty over here has got killer aim with a basketball?”

You immediately stop laughing at his statement. Truly, you know that you are undeniably short. It was just a fact of life. You’ve always stood well below average height; however, you weren’t about to let Kuroo’s statement slide. Consider it revenge for all those times he’s made a smart remark in regards to your diminutive stature and forced you to practically crane your neck up to look at him.

“Well this shorty currently has more points than you, rooster-head. Height isn’t everything you know,” you tease.

The boy in question now turns to you. “Y/N!” he whines.

You simply click your tongue and bounce the ball to him. “Quit your complaining and shoot the damn ball.”

He dribbles the ball and takes a deep breath. He then holds the basketball out in front of his body with both arms extended.

He wouldn’t.

Oh but he would.

He bends his knees. “Kobe!” he shouts and lets the ball loose.

Now it’s your turn to look on in astonishment as the middle blocker throws up a granny shot. You didn’t know you were holding your breath until the ball hits the rim and bounces out.

You rub your eyes to make sure that you didn’t just imagine that sequence of events. Kenma, to his credit, rolls his eyes at his friend. At this point, you would be shocked if anything Kuroo did managed to surprise Kenma anymore.

“Damn!” he exclaims. “I really thought I had it that time.”

You look at him in exasperation. If this was an anime, then you would have done the sweat drop expression; at present, you were doing a damn good imitation of one.

“You’re hopeless, you do know that right?” This time you weren’t even teasing. This was the complete honest truth out of your mouth.

He scowls. “Hey! That time I actually hit the basket.”

“Well, I guess that’s an improvement from hitting the backboard,” you say.

“I’m a volleyball player not a basketball-hoops-dribble-dribble guy!” he protests. “We have totally different goals! In volleyball, we’re supposed to aim over the net not get it through the net.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re still going to lose.”

“Tch,” he mutters before sending the basketball over your way.

“Y/N’s right, Kuro,” Kenma states. “And when you do lose, I would like a watermelon popsicle.”

Kuroo throws up his arms in exasperation. “I still can’t believe my own best friend would bet against me!”

“It was easy to do. You’re pretty bad at sports other than volleyball,” the quiet boy states causing you to giggle.

“I’d like a cherry popsicle and an ice cream cone please,” you say sweetly.

“Ooh. If Y/N’s getting two, then I’d like to get an ice cream cone too,” Kenma adds.

Kuroo shakes his head at the both of you. “You act like me losing is a sure thing.”

One side of your mouth quirks up in response and without hesitation, you turn your back to him before throwing your shot up. The ball arcs perfectly from your outstretched fingers.

Swish.

“And the crowd goes wild!” you cheer.

The rooster-haired boy hangs his head in dejection knowing that his wallet would inevitably be lighter by the end of the evening. You skip over to him and tiptoe to ruffle his bedhead. He looks up to see your smug grin of self-satisfaction, joy practically radiating off of you. It was definitely worth botching that last shot to see you so happy.

[random-mha-thoughts]

Small Things (Bakugou x Reader)

Pairing: Bakugou x Fem!Reader

Anon requested: “I have a request! BakugoxFemale Reader. Fluff please! Ok bit o context first, the reader has like a size manipulation quirk but cant really control it. Alrighty here’s the basic idea: so Baku picks a fight with her, The reader is very self conscious and stuff and tries to stop this because she knows its not a good idea. She ends up shrinking herself to 2 inches tall for a few days and has to stay with Baku. He ends up finding out that she likes him, and hijinks ensue, cuz he also likes her uwu.”

Genre: Fluff, slight angst

Word count: 1,959

Tags:  @yuki-osaki​ @liviitehe​ @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog​ @bunnythepipsqueak​

a/n: I’m really sorry this came out this late anon 😭 Please forgive me!  Passover started this week and I was helping my parents clean house between my online classes, and I had no energy or time to be doing anything, so I’m sorry.  I hope you still like this and you’ve been waiting patiently for it!  I ended up changing the last part so Bakugou confesses first because that’s the logic that felt right with the characters, and I kept it a little shorter than I intended since I wanted to get this out asap, so I hope that’s okay.

Participate in my 1K followers event!

I want to die of embarrassment, I feel so small.  No, seriously, I'm like two inches tall, I'd rather die.

As the rest of the class watches in horror, Denki had to be the idiot who breaks the silence into a fit of laughter.  "(Y/n)'s a real midget now!"  He's having himself a good time, doubled over like it's the first joke he's heard in his entire life, Sero and Mineta chuckling right next to him.  If I hadn't messed up, I would've stormed over and punched them all out.

Unfortunately, mistakes have been made, mistakes I have no control over.

Bakugou had walked into the class in the morning while I was talking with the girls and challenged me to a fight in his cocky, brash manner.  I, of course, refused because there's no way I'm facing someone like Bakugou and winning in a fight.  My size manipulation quirk could be pretty useful and effective, but I don't have the best control over it.  When it comes to shrinking and expanding other objects, I've already mastered it, and I'm great at manipulating my size to be bigger, but I've always refused to practice shrinking myself.

As I stepped backwards, shaking my head violently against his request, he gained each step back on me.  "Whaddya mean 'no'?!  You're telling me you're afraid?!" Bakugou bellowed.

I finally bumped into the back wall and screwed my eyes shut.  "No, I don't want to, just leave me alone," I pleaded feebly.

Bakugou towered over me like a thug, his signature scowl morphed into his face.  "Look at you.  When you train and you're big, you're such a big baddie!  Only when you're in your tiny, normal size, you act like a coward!  You're nothing unless you're bigger, is that what you're telling me?!  That you're useless and unconfident when you're this height, tiny?!"

I was so embarrassed by his insults.  I was hearing exactly everything my thoughts say in silence, but said out loud so I had to face them, and everyone in the room heard them.  They all probably think the same thing he does.  I felt like crying as I curled into myself against the wall.

When I blinked my eyes open to wipe my tears, the first thing I saw was Bakugou's shoes.  That's when I knew I'd messed up.

This is so much worse than being just shy of five feet.

After Kaminari's little chide, my face heats up in shame and a new set of tears starts to form.

"(Y/n)-chan!" Uraraka bends down, shock and sympathy mixed into her eyes.  "Are you okay?  I can't believe you finally shrank like this!"

I try using my quirk to grow back to normal size, but I can't.  "I-I'm stuck," my voice shakes out, more high pitch than before.

She holds out her hand to the ground.  I get on and curl up.  "Just get me out of here, I've embarrassed myself enough."

"What's going on now?" Aizawa stands at the front of the classroom, arms crossed and aloof as ever.  He's one hundred percent done with us at this point.

"(Y/n)-chan shrunk and she can't grow back to normal size, ribbit," Tsuyu explains.

Aizawa locks eyes with the fuming Bakugou in the back.  "And I'm guessing you had something to do with that?"

The boy snorts.  "How was I supposed to know she would freak out like that?!"

"Well, she's your responsibility now," our teacher orders.  "You're gonna have to help her grow back to normal since you made her shrink.  In the meantime, you'll have to take care of her needs."

Both of us are less than thrilled about that.  Balugou shoots a death glare at me in Uraraka's hand.  "Teme..."

Aizawa bristles, his scarf starting to levitate around his shoulders.  He doesn't even have to do anything but stare down the boy so he snorts and sits at his desk, grumbling about his fate.

"It's okay, (Y/n)-chan, you can sit at my desk for now," Uraraka beams at me, setting me down on her desk for me to sit.

I bury my face in my hands.  How did I get so misfortunate?

Aizawa wasn't kidding when he said Bakugou would take responsibility for me.  The boy was forced to copy notes into my notebook after class, study with me, carry my bag, get my lunch, and other things I take for granted being normal size.  However, even through all that, I still stayed two inches tall.  As such Aizawa used his silent glare to pressure the unruly kid into keeping me in his room for the night just so we can hopefully talk over our differences.

"You better not pull anything weird, you hear me?" Bakugou warns me with a growl.

I'm perched on his shoulder as he walks us to his dorm room.  I can't say I'm not nervous being alone with the boy for the first time, I'm not sure if he'll squish me like a bug or throw me out the window first chance he gets.  As soon as we enter his room, he puts me down on his bed.

"Don't touch anything until I come back, stay right there," he points an accusing finger at me before grabbing some lounge clothes and heading into his bathroom to change.

I nod my head quickly, scared out of my mind and already on edge.  I swing my legs off the end of the bed as I wait, my heart hammering in my small chest.  I'm afraid that he'll start throwing more insults at me once we get to talking again, and then I'll end up disappearing into the size of an eyelash.  Burying my head in my hands, I quietly groan to myself.  I'll never be good at my quirk, will I?

"Why are you crying again?"

I jerk my head up and compose myself, avoiding his eyes.  "No reason."

Bakugou rolls his eyes and sighs exasperatedly, kneeling down in front of me to stay level.  "If we're gonna talk, you have to look at me at least."

Clasping my hands together on top of my lap, I tap my thumbs together nervously.  "I can listen to you fine even if I'm not looking at you," I retort, too soft and unsure for me to sound convincing.  If anything, it gives away how nervous I am.

Another annoyed sigh leaves his lips and he aggressively scratch his head.  "Fine, I'll just talk then," he grumbles before taking a breath.

I steel myself for his potential yelling, squeezing my eyes closed again like the coward I am.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you, dumbass.  I'm sorry I even asked you to fight me in the first place if it made you that nervous."

I relax all my face muscles and ease open my eyes.  Bakugou's not looking at me, but I can tell that he means it, even if he still sound aggressive about it.

"I don't know why you'd feel nervous about fighting me when you'd probably kick my ass no question, all you'd really have to do is make yourself bigger and crush me or make an object twice my size and knock me over the head with it, but whatever.  I didn't ask you to fight me just to pick on you.  I don't pick fights with people I know aren't worth my time.

My stomach stirs.  He believes in me?  He thinks I can stand against him?

"You're always so confident in your quirk during practice that I didn't think it would be a big deal, so when you were backing down like you were scared, it wasn't right.  I thought you were just holding back from me.  Until I realized you're actually scared.  And then I tried taunting you because I know you're capable of doing better, I thought I could somehow get you to open up and get you fired up to show me otherwise, but I guess it had the opposite effect."  He finally looks me hard in the eyes, making me gulp at the intensity they burn with.  "I know you need to hear someone say this.  You're not weak, you're strong and you can kick anyone ass if you wanted to, whether you're small or big, and I admire that about you."

My breath catches in my throat.

"Yeah, it's better to look all scary when you're bigger, but being smaller has advantages in a fight.  You can maneuver better, you have the element of surprise, you can reach places no one else can.  You're not nothing without being big, you still have a lot going for you.  You don't need to cower in fear just because you're smaller than most people.  I know you're self-conscious about your height the way you are, and that's what makes you lean into expanding yourself, but..."  His face turns slightly pink and he struggles to get his next words out, finally saying them quickly like he's ripping off a bandage, "I like your height just the way you are."

My heart skips a beat at that.  I'm already touched and rendered sheepish by the amount of praise he's showering me with, but the last one is a nail in the coffin.  He likes my height.

Before I know it, I'm no longer looking up at him, instead looking down.  Holding my hands out in front of me to confirm it's not an illusion, I dart back and forth between them and Bakugou's blank face.  It took that kind of sentence from him to put me back to normal, how embarrassing!

"Huh, so that's all it took."  I'm more frightened of the smirk growing on his face as he stands and leans over me sitting down on his bed.

I clench my fists and prepare for a world of teasing only for him to place his hand on my head.  Instinctively, I look up only for him to lean down and place his lips on my forehead.  If my cheeks were pink before, they're certainly rose red now.  "It's very hard to kiss your forehead when you're only two inches tall," is the smooth line that rolls off his tongue.  "That's another thing I like about your height, it's perfect for me to plant surprise kisses on your head whenever I want."

"B-Bakugou?"  I finally summon words, only for them to be this dumb.

His hand slides down from the top of my head to my cheek.  "I like you, stupid."

Another throb in my chest.

"I was gonna confess to you somehow at the end of our fight, but you freaked out and ended up the size of Tinker Bell, which was actually cute the way you sat on my shoulder around school for the past few days."  His smirk briefly softens into a genuine smile, one that takes me a moment to process in case I was hallucinating it.  "Well, I'd rather you give me an answer quickly before you end up shrinking yourself for another week.  What's it gonna be?"

My mind still reels over everything he's just admitted to me, overwhelming myself to the point where tears well up in my eyes again.  "I don't think you'll like how emotional I am," I rub my face and try to play it off.  "It might annoy you after a while."

Bakugou sits down next to me and wipes my eyes with his thumbs gently.  "Did I also mention you're the perfect height for to also wipe your tears away like this?  I don't believe in that destiny crap, but I think it means something."

With that, I collapse my small body into his chest, my embrace around him providing my answer to his proposal.

[imagineddworld]

Unexpected day (Part 2)

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: Neither of you went to Hogsmeade, so this was a great opportunity to spend the day together

Word count: 3,5 K (3540)

Author’s note: Felt too bad about not uploading in so long, so I kept writing till 4 Am. Hope you like it. It probably has a cheesy ending, but that happens when I am sleep deprived.

You sighed in contentment. You had a good book to deepen yourself into, and a beautiful view. The sun made Hogwarts’ courtyard look even more magical. Also Draco’s swimming figure was quite a treat to look at. You felt at peace, until you decided to look back up from your book. To your surprise you were met with an empty lake, and no sign of the platinum blond. As if he suddenly had vanished. In an instance worry pumped through your veins. You started to think over the possibilities of what had happened to him. They varied from mild outcomes to extreme, nearly impossible scenario’s. Making you gasp at the thought of it. You quickly placed your book next to you, with the open pages facing downwards to the grass. “Draco?”, you called out softly, while making your way over to the shore. Your eyes scanned over every inch, hoping to see a glimpse of the platinum haired boy. But unfortunately not even the slightest movement could be detected. “This isn’t funny”, you added as you got no reply. Even if you were worried, part of you grew suspicious. He just had gained information about one of your biggest fear, the unknowns of the depths of the ocean. Maybe he was trying to use this against you. If so, you would kill that bastard. 

A minute had already passed. Your heart slowly picked up its pace while worry started to flood your mind. You looked at the water, hesitating if you should go in or not. Lakes, seas and oceans in the muggle world were already scary. Who knows what would be hiding in them in the wizard world. You had to ease your mind, before you could make your way into the water. Immediately regretting your decision. The lake’s floor was covered in little stones and underwater plants, what made you unsure of where to place your feet. Every time something faintly brushed against your skin, you jumped. You needed to fight off the urge to run back to the grass. You were terrified, but also determined to find Draco. “Come on.. Come on.. Draco, please.. quite playing”, you pleaded with an unstable voice due to your emotions. Your eyes scanned over the water, that seemed to reach further than you had expected. The distance between you and the shore had grew with each step you had taken. Your anxiety started to take over all your senses. Your hands were trembling, while unpleasant shivers crept over your spine. Your arms wrapped around yourself, in hopes to calm your panicked state. The water had reached above mid tight, making you even more anxious. “Draco, please”, you begged quietly, as a shake made its way into your voice. You were on the verge of crying. But continued to step in deeper, soaking your shorts. You took deep breathes in, while soft pleads fell from your lips. With each movement you made, more plants brushed against your skin. You bit down on your bottom lip to stop yourself from screaming, as your body became a trembling mess. Draco was still nowhere to be seen.  A soft yelp escaped your lip as a bigger object touched your skin. Probably a fish or something. But when the touch became stronger, you let out a loud scream. It was a hand. A hand gripping onto your calve. You started to kick frantically at the owner fo the hand. It was no succeed. Two strong arms wrapped around your thighs. Before any sound could leave your mouth, you got thrown deeper into the lake. Your head went underwater, while your arms desperately scrawled towards the surface. Due to your panicked state, you had gasped in some water. Which you coughed up once you reappeared above the surface. Soon you found a stable place to stand, as you tried to take in your surroundings. Your hair stuck to your face, and your clothing clung on your body. Water droplets ran over your skin, that slowly started to heat up again due to the burning sun. At least the parts that were above the water. Everything from your belly button and down was still in the cold water. 

A delightful laugh started to fill your ears, but you weren’t amused. Your head shot towards the source, seeing Draco only a meter or two away from you. Even in your furious state, you had to admit how good looking he was. His hair clung to his forehead, water droplets ran down his attractive body and a huge toothy smile was plastered against his face. His angel like appearance softened your mood, but none the less you still shot him an angry glare. You stomped towards him, while he met you halfway there. “What the hell, Draco. What is wrong with you?”, while talking you slapped him on the chest, to make your point clear. Only making him smile lovingly at you. “Sorry, love”, he said, as his hands softly rubbed on your arms. “You knew how scared water made me”, you said, while splashing some water into his face. He laughed at your childish behavior, adoring the sight of in front of him. His hand found your waist, as he pulled you in closer. His body towered a bit over yours due to your height difference. “I really didn’t meant to scare you like that. I had forgotten about your fear, truly”, Draco replied sincere, holding your gaze the whole time. You raised your eyebrow at him, challenging his honesty. “I just wanted to get you in the water”, he added with an innocent smile. “Seems like it worked, didn’t it?”, you giggled, splashing him once again. Before he could do anything, you pushed him backwards into the water. “Revenge will be waiting for you”, you smirked over your shoulder, as you quickly swam away. 

You playfully started to chase each other, occasionally splashing each other with water. Later on you started a tickling war, which resulted in you getting trapped in Draco’s arms. As your adoring laughter filled his ears, a smirk appeared on his face while his eyes twinkled. He adored the sound of your laughter, but you didn’t noticed that. You two just goofed around like two little children, until your stomaches started to growl. “Let’s get something to eat”, you yelled at him, as you made your way to the shore. He nodded while holding his thumbs up in agreement. You quickly ran out of the water, relieved that you were on safe ground again. As you gathered your shoes and book, you glanced back at Draco to only see him a few meters behind you. It gave you enough time to take his shirt as well, before running away. You giggled to yourself. It was childish, but you were in a playful mood. “Come back, you thief”, you heard him yell amused. His laughter followed soon. 

You both rushed through the halls, leaving a trail of water. Your feet making loud noises as you ran up the stone stairs. Unfortunately you stumbled over the last stair tread, giving Draco the opportunity to catch up with you. His arms wrapped around your body in a playful way to keep you from running. His chest heaved against your back, as you both caught your breath. “Not so fast, are we now?”, he teasingly whispered in your ear, as his hands reached for his shirt. His breath fanned against your neck, making your hairs stand straight as goosebumps appeared. To suppress a shiver from going down your spine, you turned around in his arms. You were met with Draco’s beautiful smile and sparkling eyes. His beauty mesmerized you. You stared lovingly at each other, holding intense eye contact. But neither of you seemed to mind just staring. It made you gravitate closer to him, seemingly it had the same effect on him. You both stopped when you realized how close your faces were. Only a few centimeters apart. A light pink shade dusted your cheeks, while a similar shade made its way onto Draco’s face as well. You shook your head a little in hopes to get rid of your fazed state. You awkwardly stared at the ground, afraid to meet his eyes. Nerves overflowed you, as you desperately tried to find your usual playful personality. “Let’s both freshen up. We can meet each other at the Great hall”, Draco suggested questioningly. The sudden sound of his voice, made you look back up. As you did, you saw an equally nervous Draco. His hands were behind his back, while he slightly shifted his weight from his tippy toes to his heels. “Yeah.. sounds good”, you mumbled with a small smile on your heated face. 

You walked in silence, a rather awkward silence. All you heard were your wet feet on the hard floor and the dripping of your clothes. The heavy tension could be felt in the air, weighting down on your shoulders. You were contemplating over something to say, until Draco beat you to it. “So, I see you there”, he smiled at you, as he rubbed the back of his neck. You hadn’t even noticed that you had reached your dorm. He had walked you there with out any hesitation, how sweet. “Yeah, I will. Don’t be late”, you joked before stepping in you common room. You heard his light chuckle in the hall, making you smile brightly. But you soon shook off your emotions. You had a challenge to fulfill. You hurried off to the bathrooms to shower. The water was a nice lukewarm temperature. The aroma of your shampoo made the bathroom smell like a soft flowery sent. Not overwhelmingly sweet, but just right enough to be noticeable. As you were done, you wrapped a towel around your body and hurried off to your room. Now came the real challenge, deciding what to wear. You wanted to look good, but not make it obvious that you were trying. You went through plenty variations of outfits, until you finally found something good enough. It was a flowy spring dress that hugged your body in the right places. It wasn’t uncomfortably tight, just enough to show off your curves. Once you looked at the clock, you realized you were running late. Even if you had showered quickly, the outfit picking had took a long time. 

As you were running through the halls, you got lost in your thoughts. Many questions came to your mind, filtering out all your surroundings. This made you run into a hard body. But before you could fall back two big hands gripped your arms to stabilize you. Those hands were owned by no other than Draco Malfoy. “In a hurry”, he smirked teasingly. He wore a slightly similar outfit as before, still making him look attractive. His hair was halfway dry, curling in a soft wavy pattern. You just pulled a mocking face, sticking your tongue out at him. “Let’s just grab something to eat, shall we?”, he chuckled at your response. He intertwined your hands, before he lead you to the kitchen. Bright smiles covered both your faces, as the affection slowly felt more normal. He lead you to the basement underneath the Great hall. One of the house-elves noticed you, immediately making his ways over to ask what you wanted. His tone wasn’t the most polite, but he seemed stressed out what explained his behavior. You politely asked for a few sandwiches. Before the house-elf could go, Draco pulled him back to whisper something in his ear. He nodded rapidly, before disappearing in the chaos of the kitchen. 

After a short wait, the elf returned back with a basket full of food and a red checkered blanket. You immediately knew what was about to happen. You loved picnics. You had forgotten about telling Draco. It was during a short conversation you had when you bumped in each other at the library. You had wanted to go on one so badly, but your parents had been busy. You understood though. Their work could be very stressful and draining. Each time they wanted to plan one, the weather didn’t cooperate. You were surprised he had remembered, or was it just a coincidence.  Draco took the blanket and basket out of the elf’s hands, refusing any of your help to carry anything. You walked next to him, grinning to yourself. You couldn’t keep your curiosity in any longer. You bumped his shoulder: “What is this about? Gone soft huh?”, you teased him, instead of just asking the question you truly wanted to get answered. For some reason teasing and sarcasm was your first reaction to go to. As a sort of coping mechanism whenever you felt any emotion. Draco just shrugged his shoulders, looking at the floor in front of him. You weren’t sure if you saw it right, but he had a soft pink glow on his cheeks. “I don’t know. I just remembered how much you wanted to go on a picnic. So I thought, I couldn’t let this perfect opportunity go to waste”, he mumbled quietly, making you smile brightly. Even brighter than he had ever seen before. The corners of your mouth nearly reached your eyes. A huge feeling of joy and warmth overcame you. He had remembered, it wasn’t just a coincidence. 

The two of you returned to your previous spot at the Great lake. Only this time a bit farther back, so a beautiful tree could cover you. It casted a soft shadow, with here and there the sun peaking through. The tree branches swayed from side to side once in a while, its shadows following its lead. It calmed you down, making you feel at peace. You helped Draco lay out the blanket, struggling a bit against the soft breeze. His face grew a bit frustrated, as you chuckled at the failed attempts. You set the basket down onto the blanket to keep it in place, quickly sitting next to it before any wind could blow it up again. Draco came to sit on the other side of you, smiling when you gave him his food.  You ate in a comfortable silence, just enjoying the view and peace. “Thank you”, you said after taking a sip from your drink. He looked confused at you, cocking his eyebrow up. “Yeah, you know.. For doing this”, you mumbled a bit shy, feeling your face heat up for the umpteenth time. “Well, it would have been a shame if we didn’t”, he answered casually, before he went back to eating his sandwich. 

Once again, you fell in a comfortable conversation with him.  You got to know even more about one another, exploring deeper topics. It was really nice. Most things people had told you about him, weren’t true. He was more caring than he let others believe. He also had a very interesting way of how he viewed the world. You easily could share your different perspectives of subjects with one another, guaranteeing in a long interesting conversation. This day really had given you a new perspective of him. You got to see his softer and caring side, where he could be sincere and open. 

It was so comfortable to be around him, that you lost track of time. Only when the sun started to lower, giving a nice evening glow to the area, you realized how late it actually was. You just had missed out on dinner. But luckily Draco had asked the house-elves to pack some extra food and water. After eating those, you laid close to one another. You kept your conversation going, while adoring the beautiful evening sun that was nearing its setting time. That also meant, curfew was getting closer. “We should probably head back”, Draco interrupted the short silence. He leaned up onto his elbows so he could look more properly at you. “But I don’t want to”, you whined like a little child, “It’s so beautiful out here”. He smirked, nearing your face: “Well, I know a place were it is even more beautiful”. Your eyes sparkled at his sentence, sharing the same grin as him. You didn’t mind getting in trouble, surely not when it was to explore something wonderful. You helped him clean up, taking the basket and blanket out of his hands. It was only fair that you would carry them now. He had done it before. On your way to the kitchen, you had to carefully snuck past some people. As the previous time, one of the elves rushed to you in a stressed state. “Thank you so much for the lovely food”, you thanked the elf, while handing him the basket and blanket back. 

After that, Draco dragged you up a lot of stairs. You didn’t exactly knew where he was taking you, but you had a speculation. When you reached the top, you were exhausted. But it was all worth it. The view got you dumbstruck. You saw the last part of the sunset. The sky’s pastel colours changed into a darker blue. “Wow”, you breathed out, staring in awe at the sky. You were almost unaware of Draco shuffling closer to you. He enjoyed the view as well, but often glanced down at you. Which made you blush the faintest shade of pink. You stood next to each other, breathing in the chilly spring air. A small shiver went up your body, as the wind had found its way under your clothes. This caused Draco to stand even closer, wrapping his arm around you. A nice warmth radiated from his body, making you a little warmer. His lovely scent filled your nose, as you hummed in contentment. A comfortable silence fell over you, as you adored he changing sky. Little stars made their way into the dark blue sky, accompanying the moon. It only was first quarter yet, but it still was a breathtaking sight. 

“Thank you for showing me this.. It’s so beautiful”, you said with shimmering eyes that were glued on the sky. Draco looked down at you, grinning to himself:“But not as beautiful as you”. Your head snapped to look at him. You were blushing furiously, while your eyes went wide. Had you heard him right? His body was completely turned to you, while an unusual sparkle shone in his icy blue eyes. He straightened out his back as he gained some confidence from your reaction. “And while I have some courage left, I’d like to tell you the real reason why i didn’t went to Hogsmeade”. You were still to taken back by his previous compliment to fully register what he was saying. “When I found out you weren’t going, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to finally spend the day with you”, Draco finished up. You looked dumbfounded at him, questioning if you ears weren’t playing a trick on you. But as the words sank in your brain, an idiotically large smile took over your face. “Aww, that is so sweet”, You spoke, as you shyly brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, “But if that was your confession about liking me, then it may be a little lame”. Of course, even in this particular situation your coping mechanism had to jump in with a stupid teasing remark. His smile had fallen a little, which made your heart ache. “But you’re in luck, because I like you too”, you stammered out a little too fast and too eager. His smile quickly grew, as he wound his arms around your waist to pull you against his chest. He placed a soft kiss to your forehead, as one of his hands came to stroke the soft skin of your cheek. You leaned into it, enjoying his warm and soft touch. Your hands came to rest on his chest, awkwardly fiddling with the collar of his shirt. But it didn’t matter. You both were too lost in each others eyes. Too lost in the dream that had become a truth. 

After a longingly gazing in each others eyes, you decided you had enough of the tension that had hung in the air throughout the whole day. It only had grown as time went by. You pulled him down by the collar, capturing his soft lips in a sweet kiss. It was odd to be this bold. But when his grip tightened on your waist, you felt more confident. You pulled him closer deepening the kiss. The had that had caressed your cheek, found its way to your neck. He kept you as close as possibly. You slowly let your hands travel over each others clothed bodies, exploring new places to touch. It only added more fuel to the fire. Your deepened kiss became a make out session. Your tongues battled for dominance. A bit awkwardly at first, but hunger hormones took over. As the kiss went on, your lips became lightly swollen. But it his lips were addicting, making you crave more. Luckily for you did Draco not seem to end this sweet moment any time soon. After this whole day, he finally had you. Even if he needed to break some rules, it was all worth it.

[jessica-read]

Jess walked up from the beach after an afternoon of swimming and enjoying the sun on a spectacular and secluded beach in Sa Coma, on the east coast of Majorca. She was proud of her looks and the stunning English woman on holiday had gotten her share of cat-calls in the town and decidedly favorable looks from the men who walked past as she read her book and occasionally checked her email to be sure all was well back home. She also garnered friendly smiles from several women and decidedly frostier looks from women who seemed nonplussed at their men's obvious attraction to her sensual curves.

She arrived at her hotel after a 5 minute walk along the perfectly white sand, made herself a reservation for dinner at a nearby restaurant and then headed up to her room to wash away sunscreen in a luxurious sunken bathtub and make herself up before going out. Jess remembered the days when makeup was really not an option if she cared to be accepted in the world. Jess's flawlessly feminine face had come only after significant effort, for years, full makeup had been mandatory to cover her beard, and then with time, dozens of appointments for laser and electrolysis hair removal.

This evening however, she loved that she could apply those skills she'd learned for hiding an unwelcome part of herself, to rather lightly brighten and accentuate her feminine features. If Jess's work kept her from being as social as she would like, she had learned to be far more confident than in her past that her looks eased the path of the social time she did have.

In just a couple of minutes she had applied a translucent foundation, accentuated her eyes, opening them up, applied minimal blush and a brilliant shade of red for a classic, simple look. Satisfied, she adjusted her lingerie, a brand new white bridal set from Aubade, checked that her stockings were set just right and then donned a designer white dress covered with black polka dots, the skirt met the bodice a bit high, making for an appearance of even longer legs than she'd been blessed with. The tops of her white stockings were never at risk of exposure, her pretty bust was displayed to good effect, the dress's scoop neckline showed no hint of her balconette brassiere, which accentuated her bust beautifully without offering provocation.

Jess's hair had a natural wave, her hair fell about her shoulders, framing her face in shimmering golden brunette lock. Jess put in her brilliant pearl solitare earrings, clipped on a matching neclace and finished her outfit, picking up her small black clutch and stepping from her flats into 4" Louboutin heels. The red of the soles was a nice contrast to the red of her satin lipstick. She applied a touch of Coco Mademoiselle to her pulse points and enjoyed the sharp citrus oriental which blended well with her feminine scent.

Jess walked into the beautiful hotel lobby, built in solid stone with Venetian glass accents and the lingering scent of rich coffee over the waxed hardwood floors. Her heels clicked subtly against the dark wood and as she exited the front doors, she passed by a strikingly handsome man who was entering. Jess smiled shyly and then blushed prettily as the man briefly made eye contact and then took in her whole appearance, head to toe, failing to hide his obvious interest. He wore a dark blue suit over a brilliant white shirt. He was just shy of 6 feet tall, just an inch over Jess's height in her stilettos.

Walking the short distance to her restaurant, Jess wondered about her fellow guest at the luxury hotel. Clearly he was some sort of executive, however he must also be on holiday, as there is no industry on Majorca. She expected he must have noticed her flush, the flustered hitch in her stride as they passed. Jess had little experience of men. As a young girl who didn't understand how she came to be trapped in a boy's body, she had always been repulsed by the boys in her school talking crudely about girls. As she grew older and the boys conjectures and boasts turned to experience, Jess turned to books, school and music. She had begun to understand that she could not continue to live as a man and that it was possible to find another way. Those were some desperate years.

Jess's family wasn't accepting at first. In time, the slightly built girl did get to know a sensitive friend, Sadie, who shared her interest in history and the young woman was open to Jess's gender and she eventually asked Jess if she might think she was a girl? Initially shocked, and yet inwardly she felt an immediate relief that fir the first time she could remember, Jess felt seen, and no less by a woman as pretty as she hoped to be someday. They quickly became and remained fast friends and over the years as Sadie helped Jess gain a little understanding of the romance that happened between men and women. Sadie had a small crush on Jess, and accepted that as Jess came into her own, it was clear that she was attracted to men.

Jess did learn a little about romance from Sadie, the first thing was how it felt to have someone see you and care and she cherished that. As she confessed to Sadie that she was beginning to be attracted to a boy in their Junior year of high school, Jess realized a new thing in her young life. She had a strong desire to be cared for and her first crush was as strong as any young girl's. Jess and Sadie talked about what they might enjoy in a relationship, Sadie taught Jess how to kiss and they fumbled a little through the mechanics of how Jess might submit to her crush's attention if only he would notice her. Jess was flushed after their "lessons" and she realized that Sadie's attentions went a bit beyond teaching and she had to ask Sadie to stop as she knew she could never reciprocate the more experienced girl's affections. Sadie was crushed and yet each knowing the other had an entirely unrequited affection for someone unavailable, their friendship was not lessened.

As they went off to university, Jess had begun to occupy herself with plans to transition. They wound up at different schools, and their friendship remained strong and they would write to each other weekly. Jess did well in school and the summer after her senior year she had been on feminizing hormones for 3 years, she was now finally ready for her gender confirmation surgery. Because she'd been so fully occupied between studies and the demands of transition, she had had no time to explore relationships or casual romance. She had frequent enough suitors, and never the desire for reciprocating a man's interest. Remembering this past, Jess walked slowly and reflected that finally she felt fully ready for love and romance and realized that even more than her busy career, her shyness and inexperience kept her from seeking that.

What she had learned was to be intimate with herself. After so many years of feeling mostly disassociated from her body, a few months after her surgery, Jess had been laying in bed after watching a new romantic comedy, ready for sleep. That night she'd chosen one of her prettier nightgowns, a babydoll in silky taffeta and rolling to her stomach, her breasts feeling heavy under the weight of her body, still fresh from an earlier bath, she felt her nipples harden. The film had been silly, yet a few of it's moments had touched her more deeply and she'd felt both a slight tearing in her eyes and warmth in her vagina.

Now, laying in bed, feeling aroused again, she had rolled a bit to her side, lifted her hand to her breast and immediately felt a flood of warmth and a new tightness centered on her clitoris. She had reached down at first tentatively and touched herself there and in that moment, she'd felt something completely new. Jess proceeded to lay prone, her head tucked like a small bird's into her shoulder stroking herself through her silken underwear, then reaching inside to feel her wetness flowing.

After that night, she continued to explore. She did not find release, when she got to a certain excitement, she always found she began to lose control of her hands. She also didn't mind. What she had discovered was a deeper, more lasting pleasure than anything she'd even imagined and a small voice told her that what she craved most was to experience orgasm at the hands of a lover. She did, in any case, begin to understand her body, treasure her response and another part of her wondered how would she ever come to share this with a lover?

Arriving at her restaurant, Jess, was asked to sit at the bar as her table was ready. She sipped a celebratory glass of sharp, flinty sancerre. Her mood a bit wistful, wishing her first big holiday could be spent with a special beau. Just as that thought crossed her mind, the handsome gentleman from her hotel sat just down the bar from her. Surprised, she smiled and her smile was returned. Jess's heart skipped several beats ash she slightly panicked as the man stood and walked over to introduce himself, "Hello miss, I'm so glad to run across you so soon after seeing you in the hotel foyer!, I'm John Michaels, may I ask your name and maybe join you for a glass of wine?".

Once again surprised, Jess found herself nodding and she simply said "I'm Jess, I'd love to sit with you while they prepare my table". He ordered a chardonnay and asked what brought her to Majorca. Of course they were both taking solo holidays, both were early into challenging careers and celebrating important projects just finished. Jess was in a sense terrified and yet this also felt like the culmination of a long journey. Almost completely inexperienced, nonetheless here she was, enjoying a conversation with John; she felt attracted to him and was amazed that conversation just seemed to flow, and even the silences in their conversation felt comfortable.

The Maitre d’ approached and told Jess her table was ready. She looked to John and asked “would you like to join me for dinner?”. John replied enthusiastically “Yes, please.” and the Maitre d’ nodded and lead them to a table set for two.

Looking over their menus, they talked about the Spanish menu and quickly agreed on what to order and what they wanted to share in. That done and wine ordered, the settled in and John asked her “Would you tell me a bit about yourself?”

Jess sighed, smiled and replied “Sure, there’s not a whole lot to tell”, thinking to herself “and maybe more than he’ll want to hear”. She proceeded to relate her schooling, talked about her bookish tendencies, her hobbies and her new and satisfying career. They traded some thoughts on work life in the new millennium, John being easily 10 years older than Jess, had seen a bit more change in his professional life. They found a lot in common in their tastes for food, art and other leisure time and continued to talk over their first course.

As that was cleared, Jess decided it was time to let her companion know up front that she was not a cisgender woman. She knew too many men and women who’d been rejected for being trans and indirectly of the dangers of a romantic partner finding out someone was trans after the fact. With a gulp and a small frown she said “I should tell you something”. John was a perceptive guy and caught the change in her demeanor, wondering what news this beautiful woman was going to drop.

Jess started “Because I’m attracted to you, and you’ve been fairly clear in your interest in me, I feel I should share this up front. I’m quite flattered you like me and this can be a deal breaker for a lot of men so I want you to know that I’m a transgender woman. I don’t know if that is something I need to explain and I’m glad to if you want”.

John replied “Thank you for telling me and I can easily be clear, I’m completely enraptured already in who you are. I’m glad you told me and I’d like to assure you, you didn’t need to. I am not ambivalent to transition status, in that I’ve already decided I like you and that’s all I need to know. I hope you’ll feel free to share as little or as much additionally about transition as you wish.”

Jess felt an amazing wave of relief, worry over the need to navigate these disclosures wasn’t a small part of why she’d long avoided dating and she was deeply relieved that on her first time, it seemed to have gone so easily. She said “Ok, wow, I’m relieved and thank you for understanding, I have to say at the very least I was expecting to have to do some explaining. Let’s leave it at that for now and when and if we get more intimate, I’ll certainly want to share how my path got me to where we are today.”

The proceeded to eat a marvelous meal and talked about their lives, a little about families, a lot about university and work. They didn’t share a lot of exact interests or activities, and yet there were overlaps and Jess felt that they shared a certain sympatico which had warmed considerably after her disclosure. She was glad that he clearly didn’t warm to her the way she had seen some men had, clearly fantasizing about an exotic body. Perhaps even more, she was glad he hadn’t asked if she had had gender confirmation surgery. Jess was entirely surprised it had gone so smoothly. She’d talked to so many sexually active trans friends who’d had nightmarish experiences, she felt happy and a bit lucky tonight.

Having finished their dinner, John asked if he could walk Jess back to their hotel. Elated, she inclined her head, and smiled, assenting. They walked slowly, listening to the music ringing out from a nearby nightclub, the soft rhythm of small waves finding the white beach and the occasional night bird singing out. Pausing to call Jess's attention to the blanket of stars a-shimmer over their heads, John took her hand in his and said "Jessica, you are an amazing woman and I'm so glad we've met". Jess smiled, nodded her head and replied "Thank You kind sir, I have rarely felt much special except in negative ways, I feel you're too kind?".

At that, John gently pulled her to him, leaned down and slowly wrapping his arm behind her, pulled her close enough that her breasts touched his chest. He moved slowly and with deliberation, allowing her many slow moments to pull away. Jess's heart was racing and much as she could not believe this was happening, it also felt like finally turning the corner on a path encompassing a couple of decades. She met his eyes, nervously parted her lips and then looked down as he leaned over to kiss her.

Jess was shocked at the electricity she felt throughout her body as their lips met. A warmth built in her abdomen. John's tongue sought hers and she responded to her first kiss since experimenting with Sadie and the first time ever that she truly wanted the overture she was receiving. Their kiss lasted and developed more passion and soon Jess began to feel that warmth in her core expand both to a flush across her chest and a distinct throbbing and flow of weness under her lacy underthings.

Her new beaux's hands moved smoothly to her thigh and to cradle the back of her head, pulling her hps to him and gently easing her head back, he began to kiss all over her face and neck, gentle yet also firm and assertive. Just as Jess was certain she was ready to give in to this moment, John felt that in her response and now lifted his hand up her torso, feeling her curves, Jess realized he must be noting the outlines of her fancy knickers, suspender and brassiere. Johns hand stopped at the swell of her breasts and closed, controlling her body through the soft fabric and firm yielding flesh.

Jess gasped and sought his mouth with hers, her reservations swept aside, she craved being taken by this calmly assertive man, now it was her pelvis that sought out his, feeling his hardness, she mewed and turned her lips towards his, mewling a little as she did and reading her desire he returned his mouth to hers and began a kiss more passionate than the last. Now John's hand shifted from her head down her body to lift the hem of her dress where he caressed her over the top of her stocking and slowly moved up toward her center. Now Jess was completely overwhelmed, throwing caution to the wind she welcomed submission to this attractive, sensitive man.

And just as quickly they slowed as they heard a group of voices, both men and women approaching on the other side of a line of trees. Gently, John slowed and afraid for a moment, Jess found herself glad of the interruption. For all the desire she felt to give in to the moment, she didn't want others to see her in dishabille, even on a romantic dark night in the Spanish Med. Their passion momentarily cooled, Jess met John's eyes, pulling away a fraction, she also leaned in to kiss him affirmatively. She knew she was ready to submit to what this man wanted for them this evening. As they kissed, John took her hand again and then said to her "Can I take you back to your room, or mine?".

Jess hesitated a fraction as the butterflies moved up from her belly to her chest, and then hesitantly answered "Yes, let's go to mine, please". Still holding hands they walked back to the road and along it under brass lamps and palm trees and a deep black Mediteranean sky, studded with stars.

Crossing back through the entrance where they'd met, Jess felt yet another small realization, she'd already had so many firsts tonight, a first kiss in passion, a first romantic date, her first experience of someone taking her to a place of pleasure. Now she was walking into a hotel with a man she'd met that very evening, past the desk staff and concierge, almost unbearably conscious that these were witnesses to her crossing a threshold with a significance only she knew -- was likely to be the loss of her virginity.

Jess was conscious of blushing and had a moment of fear that all those people would see her redness. And then, as quickly, she let go. Jess was 24, an adult and had worked diligently for a dozen years to make this reality possible. Still, feeling the butterflies, she was determined to own this moment.

In the elevator, she pressed the button for her floor, the fifth and then moved closer to John and lifted her lips for another kiss. She certainly didn't feel fully confident, however she had learned in university and her career that when she knew she'd put in the work to be ready for a thing, then doubts were best dispelled by taking the single step.

At her floor, they stepped out together and she turned toward her room, slipped the key into the old door and turned the lock. John gently pushed the door open and let her lead the way where she turned on one light dim by the bed, then turned off all the others and stepped to him. John said "are you OK, do you want to make love tonight?". Jess nodded her head emphatically and said quietly yet firmly "Yes, I am, please".

John now sat on the bed and motioned for her to come to him, she slipped off her heels and offered her mouth to his which he took passionately. Once again, his tongue sought out hers, she now turned her hands to his strong shoulders, down over his body, steadying herself as she felt anything but steady inside. It was as if her usually steady center had been replaced by an uncertain landscape and she enjoyed using him as a new center for her gravity.

John now reached to Jess's back and found the zipper to her dress. Gently opening the fastening, he caressed her back and she again felt her core go liquid hot and held him tight to steady herself. As the field of black dots over white slid down her body to crumple about her legs, John gasped as if he had never seen as lovely a sight. Jess was aware also that against her lightly tanned skin, the pearls, the bridal-white lace lingerie was brilliant and framed her curves so well, she had no doubt she was desirable.

Once again he took her firmly in his hands, one on her left breast, another on her waist and felt her quiver at his touch, then gently guided her to sit beside him on the bed. John stoold and began to disrobe himself. His body was barely tanned as he removed his shirt. His physique was beautiful, reasonably chiseled and yet he did not look like a gym addict. Next he removed his shoes and socks, set them carefully away from the bed and then, unfastening his belt, stripped off his trousers and underwear togther.

Jess took in his body and was glad he was so handsome. She didn't require this, and at the same time, didn't mind, she also immediately took in that his penis was not small and was semi-erect, a little intimidated, she was also drawn to it, aching to discover what it would be like as they made love. She pulled back the coverlet and sheets and moved herself to lay on the bed on her side, making it clear she wanted him to now take the lead. He now moved beside her, moved her hand to her hip, kissed her hard and urged her to lay back for him.

Jess melted into the bed as she felt her first man move over her, his manhood hanging down to graze her hip as he placed a leg between hers to nudge her to slightly part them, making way for him. He traced his lips down to her breasts and kissed, taking them in his hands to let her know he considered the sensitive flesh to be his property and then pulled his thumbs up to lightly roll her already hard nipples, electrifying them and sending a jolt down to her pussy. Rubbing his now fully erect shaft aginst the mound between her legs, he returned to her mouth and took his ownership, penetrating her lips with his tongue. Jess's pelvis now rocked to meet his motions and for a while they simply kissed like that as she became more aroused by the moment. John brought her hand to his shaft now and let her feel its silken covered hardness, its weight and told her to stroke him. She complied eagerly and she realized that right then what she wanted most was for him to penetrate her.

John had a different plan. slowly pulling away he now knelt between her legs slipped his fingers under her lace white underwear, and, urging her to lift her hips, pulled the high waisted garment off and down her legs. He then brought his face to her mound and used his tongue and lips to begin teasing her into a place she had wanted and yet not fully imagined. John wandered over her flesh, nibbling here, probing there, seeking for her clitoris and finding it caressing her body with his hands as he drove her towards ecstasy with his mouth. He traced her suspender belt, up and down her stocking clad leg as Jess began to writhe and again, rock her hips to meet him. Now he added first one and then two fingers inside her, lightly exploring her wetness, learning her response before taking her the way they both knew she wanted and now urgently needed.

Jess could feel an orgasm was close. and wanting it, she also now wanted her lover to make her his by taking her as she had always imagined being taken by a lover. As if by command, he now rose and sat up to caress her breasts and look into her eyes. "Are you ready for me Jess?, may I take your virginity?". "Yes, please John" she said, "I can't believe this is happening and yes it's what I want". He took her head in his left hand, holding her by her long hair and then taking his shaft in his other hand, brought it to her entrance, which was slick with her arousal, he rubbed the head slowly into her, lubricating himself and a the same time bringing a gasp from her, followed by a quiet moan "Yes, oh John, please take me now" she said.

leaning forward, he now ran himself up and down over Jess's clitoris, making them both even more ready and then let himself slowly into her. He held himself back a bit, watching her closely as he filled her a little at a time and seeing that she winced a little and then moaned again in deep pleasure, he finished filling her. Now John slowly stroked inside Jess, taking pleasure as she parted her legs farther and made room for him to take her more deeply, her white stockings against his skin and then her breasts being lightly crushed as he lowered himself to embrace her tightly and began to thrust harder. Jess moaned and was vaguely aware of her gladness that the walls were stone and anyone in an adjacent room would be unlikely to hear her ecstacy. As he felt her arousal build, he continued to penetrate her deeply, faster, slower, more or less deeply yet always insistent on seeking pleasure for both of them.

Soon Jess felt an inevitable climax upon her. Lost from any sense of control, completely wrapped up in this beautiful man taking her for both his pleasure and hers, she now began to quiver and then her orgasm exploded from her core and out to her whole body. She was a goddess, clad in virginal lace being driven to a height she could only experience. Oblivious to all around her, she held this man to her as he took her forcefully. She nearly lost consciousness and, feeling her slow and relax, for the moment spent, he now slowed and simply rested inside her as she rode out the after-shocks of her first orgasm.

John now wanted to take his weight off of his beautiful new lover and he easily rolled over, still filling her and handily flipped her astride himself. Already rousing from her bliss Jess knew she wanted one more thing, to see him finish and to take him into herself again as he did. She smiled and said "Oh my, that was amazing and I don't think you have come yet, can we continue?".

Smiling back, John nodded. He held her by her waist and began to thrust again. Jess immediately felt her pleasure rise again and sensed that now John was ready to take his own from her. Indeed, his hands now roamed down over her suspender belt and stockings, yet again tracing the curves of the lingerie, her broad hips and then back to hold her breasts. She was amazed to now find her new lover was fully suspending her weight in his strong arms. While she was astride, there was no doubt that he was in control and he now entered her at the pace he wanted, caressing where he would and taking his pleasure in her body. Jess felt deliciously used, wanted and above all controlled, now she was a plaything for his pleasure. Again, she moaned without control and while she could feel his climax was coming, in her rapture at being so completely controlled, she now orasmed again.

Jess now went virtually limp as John continued to penetrate her and lowered her down to him to kiss her deeply as he finished their coupling. She was little more than a rag doll now, her second orgasm released and now echoing in after-shocks receding as he finally built to his finish. Jess felt him explode inside her and the shred of consciousness she kept hold of now coalesced in a sense of pride that she was strong enough to allow herself to be used for a lover's pleasure.

Now they collapsed together. Jess had 5 days left to her holiday and she knew she would spend much of that with John. She drifted off thinking to herself: "my lover".

Written by @sadies-musings

[howardpotts]

hi! may you please write a Bucky Barnes one with prompt 93? take your time :)

So… This almost took me a literal year. But here it is! Haha! Get ready for some cute clumsy Bucky! But I made it pretty long, so enjoy!

(OHMYGOD AFTER I WAS DONE, I REALISED I DID THE WRONG PROMPT!!!!! IM SO SORRY!!!!! but this prompt is too long to ditch and idk there’s a little teasing in it so i guess its a bit like???? the??? prompt????)

93. “It was so worth the injury, though!”

It was a lazy sunday for the both of you. After an intense week of training and excersizing, this sunday was well-deserved. Your muscles were a bit sore and stretchy, so a day of rest felt like heaven. 

“What d’ya wanna watch?”, Bucky asks. You’re both laying on the couch; you’re on the left side while he is on the right. Your feet are in his lap and he’s softly massaging; both feet getting equal attention from him.

“Dunno, maybe a romantic comedy?”, you ask as you watch his reaction. 

“Ugh, no. I’m really not in the mood for that. What about an older movie?”, he suggests. You sigh and shake your head, not feeling that kind of genre at all.

“We could also get to Disney+ and watch-” 

“You and your disney addiction. Rather watch one of those romantic ones”, he smirks, unconsiously pulling your feet a little bit closer to him to get a better grip. 

“Okay, so a romcom it is”, you state as you start scrolling through the feed towards the right section.

“Hey, that’s not what I said! I want to watch something exciting - like a thriller or a horror”, he responds as he gives your left foot a little swat. 

“Yeah? Why don’t you try stop me?”, you challenge with a little smirk on your face. 

“Oh darling, you know you shouldn’t push these buttons”, he warns as he gets a smile on his face as well; throwing your feet off his lap on the ground. Within a split second his body is on yours, his head on the same height as your breasts. His hand reaching for the remote in your free hand.

You’re quicker, though. Your arm goes up, out of his reach. Even though you could predict his next move, you still didn’t move your arm, not sure what other option you have of keeping the remote to yourself. Meanwhile you’ve found the right section and are about to start some random movie that’s first in row. 

“Oh, hell no, baby”, Bucky grins and he pokes in your armpit, making you retract your arm, just before you start the movie. He gets the remote from you and removes himself from you. 

“Babe, are you kidding me?”, you sigh as he gets comfortable again in his spot. He starts zapping through the sections, so now you get into action. You, however, know you’re not going to win it by strength. You need to use your brains.

How do you outsmart a guy like Bucky? Simple. You get him to not think with his brain anymore, but with his dick. 

“James”, you say with a sultry voice. For a second he stops and looks at you before focussing on the screen again with a big smirk on his face.

“You’re going to use your body for this?”, he asks playfully. You know he doesn’t mean it in any way insulting, so you just bite your lip and nod, knowing he’s still watching you from the corner of his eye. 

“Oh baby”, you say as you crawl to him like a tiger. “Oh, James.”

You press your chest to his arm, your hand going through his rough beard. Fingers slowly pushing his head to your direction. His eyes don’t leave the screen, though. 

“Baby, you’re so sexy”, you breath as you start giving him quick kisses on his lips. 

“I know”, he says to your annoyance. You desperately want to roll your eyes, but keep yourself from doing it. Your kisses start going from his lips to his neck, your hand wandering from his chest to his lower parts. 

“Hm, what do you think about The Conjuring?”, he asks, knowingly stretching time to keep this little game going. 

“I’d rather see you fuck my brains out right now”, you respond. He loves direct dirty talk and you know it; so you use it as an advantage. 

“It isn’t working, darling”, he says with a cute little smile on his face. You pout a little, but refuse to give up. Your hand strokes a little over his clothed member as your teeth sink into his neck. 

You can feel the impact your having, as his cock is slowly growing erect right under your hand. You can’t help but smirk at that. 

“Insideous sounds good”, he keeps going. You don’t even respond to that, but you proceed to unbutton and unzip his jeans. 

You sink through your knees in front of him, looking at him. He can’t resist to look at you. He loves looking at you when you’re on your knees in front of him. It makes you vulnerable and submissive. 

You get his cock out, which is still half soft. It still needs a bit of work before you can get the real action going. And so, you get rid of your shirt and throw it to the other side of the sofa. Your hand strokes his cock a no more than two times before it’s hard. 

“Isn’t Slenderman a game too?”, he then says, still searching for a god damn horrormovie. Now, you openly roll your eyes but focus on his cock after that. You pump it a few times more before you spit on it, gaining his attention immediately. 

You lick it from it’s shaft up to his tip and do it two more times. Not just to get it wet, but you know he enjoys those licks too. The foreplay to the foreplay, as he calls it. Two more kittylicks on his tip before you take his cock into your mouth. Slowly you start sucking and bobbing up and down with your head. You look up at him, as seductive as possible.

A sigh leaves his mouth, his eyes flutter shut for a brief second and then watch you. You start to really get into it, and you’re moving faster and faster. Your left hand is now also masssaging his balls, your right hand digging into his leg. A few little moans to strengthen your enthusiasm. 

You see how he closes his eyes again and how he lays his head against the back of the sofa. Your eyes go to the hand where the remote is at and you see it relax a bit. 

Fuck yes. 

Your right hand lets go of his leg and steals the remote in a flash, he didn’t even notice what was going on until you were already owner of the remote again. 

“Didn’t even use my full body”, you say as you get back on the sofa, leaving him hungry for more but irritated to the bone. 

“Oh, but I’m about to use it.” He moves to you - mind you, with his dick still sticking out - and kisses you harshly.

Even though you had fun with this little game, you knew it was over. The remote falls out of your hand, but you don’t even mind for the slightest since his hair is way more fun anyway. You tug is lightly as he greedily squeezes your breast.

Shit, you love hungry Bucky. 

Things went quickly from there on and in no time, neither of you had any clothes on and you were moaning from the magic his finger were providing on your clit. 

“James”, you sigh, now obviously more turned on than the first time. He takes it as a sign to start pumping his fingers in you. Two fingers are getting in and out of you in a fast pace, while you keep on moaning and sighing; the edge is not far from sight anymore. 

“What do you want, baby?”, he sighs. The two fingers stop pumping, but he keeps them in and they start going in circled. God, how you love it when he does that. 

“I want”, you sigh, not able to finish the sentence. “I want your cock.”

A little smirk gets on his face as he removes his fingers and gets himself in position to fuck you. 

A little satisifying hiss leaves his teeth when he gets in you and slowly starts pumping. God, it feels good to have him in you.

He starts pounding harder and harder, both of your breaths are getting heavier. Your moans are getting more obscene, but you don’t really give a shit. He’s is hitting you good and hard, you’re on your way to your orga-

“OH FUCK”, Bucky yells as he slides out of you and back onto the couch. “Cramps. In my leg.”

“Oh, babe, are you okay?”, you ask worriedly.

He nods, but smirks at the same time. “Wanna ride me, baby?”

“A-are you sure?”, you ask a little dumbfounded. Isn’t he in pain? Instead, he nods and grabs your waist to pull you over his lap. 

You let him guide you and get a leg on each side of his hip. He positions his cock for you to sink down on, which you eagerly do. If he says he’s not in so much pain, then you’re willing to go back to having a very good time.

Within seconds you’re back to where you were; very fucking turned on and an inch away from cumming. His hands help you get to a fast but steady rythm, his hips now jerking up to meet yours. 

He squeezes his eyes shut. “Fuck, I’m about to cum. Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck.”

Your own orgams floods over you at that moment. Legs going limp, pace not steady anymore. His hips keep pushing up, hitting you just right. You loudly exclaim his name as you let yourself fall on him, chest to chest. In your mind, you’re taking a note to steal the remote more often if it gets you this kind of pleasure. 

When you get off him, he immediately stretches his leg. 

“Babe, are you okay?”, you ask worriedly. He just smirks and nods.

__________________________

You’re in the compound, waiting for your boyfriend to be done with the workouts with Steve. You planned to go out for diner, so you’re tugging at your dress a bit impatiently. 

Steve comes out of the gym alone, though. A little grin is on his face. 

“I think you’ll be late to the restaurant”, he announces. 

“Oh, god. What did he do this time?”, you ask with a sigh.

“Check out yourself”, Steve chuckles as he gestures to the door he just walked out of. 

As you go through the door, you find Bucky sitting on a bench. Sam was looking at his leg; the same leg he had cramps in yesterday.

“...it was definitely worth the injury though”, he grinned. 

“James. Buchanan. Barnes.” You put your hands on your hips. Both men stiffen at the hearing of your voice. Oh how fun it is to have two super soldiers grow silent when you enter a room. You’re definitely going to take advantage of this.

[lailannajacobs]

Call it What it is

Pairing: Loki x reader 

Summary: You and Loki never got along. Yet it doesn’t seem to change the way these missions always end. 

Warnings: Just a whole lotta fluff coming your way! 

Word Count: 2.6k 

A/N: This is my entry for the lovely @wkemeup​ 4k challenge! Congrats love you deserve all the love and more, thank you for letting me participate! Was a blast to write Loki again! Hope you enjoy! <3 

You stumbled, heart racing, but forced yourself to keep running. A shot zinged by your head, missing you by millimetres as it splintered into the brick wall to your left, spitting bits of rock across the alley. You ducked, shielding your face with your with your arm, refusing to slow as you were pelted with the debris. There wasn’t time. If you stopped now, you were dead. Or worse.

Your heart was a hammer in your chest trying to pound its way out, and your whole body screamed at you to stop, your mouth filling with the coppery tang of blood. Only your adrenaline kept you going, each breath harder than the last. So much for taking it easy on your first mission back.

Another blast obliterated all your thoughts and you moved on instinct, swerving to narrowly avoid the bullet aimed at your head. If your leg hadn’t been in a world of pain, you would have turned and fired off a few shots of your own, but you couldn’t risk your leg giving out. Your limp meant that they were gaining on you, and you couldn’t afford to slow down, even if it was to potentially kill one of the Hydra agents on your tail.

You skidded around the corner, praying that the alley wouldn’t lead to a dead end, dooming you to a shootout where the odds would be in their favour, six to one. It was nothing more than a fluke that you could keep going. You had no plan anymore, relying on instinct and luck from the moment your mission had been blown to bits twenty minutes ago. Someone had sold you out. You had walked into a trap, thinking the Hydra buyers had no clue you were really S.H.I.E.L.D. It was a miracle you had made it out, an explosive having gone off that wasn’t one of your own, providing just enough cover to make an escape. You had no idea who the hell had sold you out, but you couldn’t worry about it now. Not as you pushed over trash cans, hoping to create some sort of obstacle, no matter how pathetic.

Whirling around the next corner, you stumbled to a stop at the ten-foot chainlink fence blocking your escape. You swore. Your luck had run out. There was no way you could make it up and over with your leg in the state it was in. You scanned the alley, desperate for an escape that didn’t involve a shootout. Other than the large garbage container, the only other thing around was a beat up Tercel that was too far from the fence to use as an easy way over. You forced yourself to stay calm even if their echoing footsteps were getting closer. Then you noticed him. Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, one ankle crossed over the other, shrouded in the shadows as if he controlled them.

You whipped your dagger at him, knowing there was no faster way of knowing if what you saw was an illusion or if it was real. The chances of him actually being here were high enough that it was worth the risk of losing one of the many knives you had tucked into the folds of your combat suit.

With ease that wasn’t human, his hand snapped up, snatching the dagger from burying itself in his chest.

“You weren’t cleared for duty,” Loki remarked, his eyes dropping to your leg.

You ignored the pointed look, grabbing your gun and aiming it at the corner where the Hydra agents were mere seconds away from turning, “What? Annoyed you got called in on your day off?”

He twirled your dagger between his fingers, pushing off the wall without a word. You didn’t spare him more than a glance as you approached him, only needing to know he was by your side.

You sucked in a breath of surprise when his hand slid along your thigh, placing the dagger into your thigh holster.

“You’ll need it more than I will,” He crooned.

“That’s only because I can’t conjure more every time I lose one. Like some people I know,” You retorted, firing two shots as the first Hydra agent rounded the corner.

He crumpled to the ground, no longer moving, and you waited for the others, knowing they’d now be smarter about how they approached.

“There are five others.” You warned.

You didn’t have to tear your eyes away from the alley to know he had rolled his eyes, “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Just do your job and make sure we don’t die.”

“Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?” He drawled, “Dying doesn’t take with me, darling.”

You adjusted your grip on the gun, “Fine. Then make sure I don’t die.”

“I thought you were capable of doing that yourself.”

A rain of fire came down on the two of you, and you dove behind the dumpster, dragging the God of Mischief with you. You leaned your back against the bin, the alley deafening with the blasts of gun shots.

“You’re hit.”

“What?” You fired around the corner, a cry letting you know you’d hit something you’d been hoping to.

You were about to fire off another round when Loki stopped you, the pressure of his fingers hurting far more than it should have, “Your arm.”

“What?” You looked down. Your combat suit was soaked with blood, but it looked like the shot hadn’t done more than graze you, “That’s what happens when you spend more time sassing me than watching my back.”

“You mortals don’t move fast enough,” He snatched your gun from your hands and fired a few shots of his own.

“Take that into consideration the next time you’re watching my back,” You answered, your voice dripping with venom.

You grabbed your gun back, but he shook his head and motioned toward the middle of the alley.

“Let’s not make things more complicated than they have to be, darling.”

Another series of shots seized your attention and you whirled to see what they were now shooting at. An image of Loki stood in the middle of the alley, a machine gun in its hands, pretending to fire at the three Hydra agents that were left. They had unleashed half of their ammo into the open air when someone yelled to cease fire.

Loki cocked his head in a daring gesture that seemed to ask if you ready.

The final shots echoed when you said, “I’m always ready, asshole.”

The two of you sprung from behind the dumpster, taking them by surprise. Your shots were quick and precise, providing cover for the god as he sprinted forward, knives in each of his hands. With predatory grace, he was death in emerald and black as he moved between the agents, finish the job with terrifying speed.

Loki ripped the dagger from the agent’s body and whirled to face you, “You should not have been on this mission.”

“The medic and Steve cleared me for duty,” You growled, “And this wouldn’t have been a problem if someone hadn’t sold me out. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

He strode towards you, stopping only when he was inches away, “What are you implying, mortal?”

You jutted your chin up, doing your best to look down at him despite the height difference, “Don’t ‘mortal’ me you arrogant witch. I’m asking because you have a penchant for chaos and have ears everywhere.

“Even if that were so,” He refused to confirm anything, darkened eyes searching your face, “Why wouldn’t I have said anything?”

You crossed your arms, brushing against his chest as you did, “I don’t know, Mischief, you have been bored lately.”

“This isn’t my idea of fun,” His voice was a dangerous whisper, void of all emotion, “But I will gladly kill whoever it was.”

You shivered involuntarily, “You can do that later. Right now, we need to get out of here.”

“You’re hurt,” He said to your back as you tried not to limp over to inspect the car for damage.

“Doesn’t matter,” You waved a hand. You were pleased when you saw there were only a few superficial bullet holes, “I’ll take care of it when we get out of here. There’ll be cops within minutes and there might be more of Hydra on their way here right now. There’s a safe house about a half hour drive from here, we can assess what to do from there.”

He said nothing, so you figured he agreed with your plan. With nothing to jimmy the lock, your only solution was to break the window. You were walking over to the driver’s side when the glass shattered. Your gun was out, ready for the threat, but it wasn’t necessary.

“What the hell are you doing?” You yelled over the sound of the alarm.

He raised a brow, his expression pure boredom, “Making sure you don’t break your mortal hand,”

“You didn’t have to be an ass about it,” You smacked him on the shoulder, “Give me a heads up next time.”

He stepped aside and you shot him a confused look, “What are you doing?”

“Giving you the chance to prove yourself, mortal.”

You swore and got in, your leg and arm feeling like an old elastic being stretched too far. You shouldn’t have been the one to do this. But the pain from the crouched position and the sound of sirens made it that you hotwired the car faster than you ever had and you tore out of the alley. A cop car raced down in the opposite direction as you pulled onto the street, and your heart lodged itself in your throat. You didn’t need the police on your tail as well as Hydra. Cops didn’t take kindly to dead bodies, even if they were Hydra and had been trying to kill you. Steve was already going to be pissed about such public murders, you didn’t need cops added to the equation.

“Mask the licence plate with a different set of numbers” You ordered, “When go through the tunnel, mask it again with a different set.”

Loki didn’t answer but you knew he would do it. The rest of the ride was silent until you made it far enough out of the city that your adrenaline had made way for anger.

“Can you explain to me why the hell you thought it was necessary to break that window if you weren’t planning on starting the car yourself?” You snarled, “And don’t you dare give me that mortal bullshit. I know you don’t actually care about my hand.”

You had cut it too close getting out of that alley. Setting off that alarm early hadn’t done anything other than alert the cops. Nothing about what had happened made any sense to you and the only thing you could think was that his stupidity could have had far more serious consequences.

“It adds a little excitement,” He chuckled.

“Dammit, Loki,” Your fingers tightened around the steering wheel, “Was it your plan to get me killed?”

He waved a hand, “Stop complaining. You’re fine, darling.”

“You should have hotwired the car yourself.”  

“I preferred not to.”

You sucked in a few deep breaths, counting down your inhales and exhales until all you felt was something that might have been disappointment, “I knew you were reckless and dangerous, but for christ’s sake Loki, you’re not supposed to be a danger to me.”  

There was a long pause, the soft drone of the weather update on the radio filling the silence.

“I can’t,” He muttered, his voice barely audible.

You tore your eyes from the road to spare him a glance, but all you saw was the emotionless mask he wore more often than not, “You can’t what?”

Another long pause, “Hot wire the car.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, “What do you mean you can’t hotwire a car?”

He clenched his jaw and shook his head.

“You can’t be serious?” Despite trying your hardest, you couldn’t fight the smile on your face. Didn’t want to, and a laugh bubbled out. This was the best news you’d had all day. “I’ve seen you do stuff ten times more complicated, but this? Really?”

“Midgaridan transport is crude,” He scowled, “Ask me to hot wire a ship instead.”

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time we’re in space,” You said, laughing.

The rest of the ride was silent, though you were in a much better mood. And although your arm and leg were throbbing, the knowledge that Loki couldn’t hot wire a car, made it easier to ignore.

You pulled into the driveway, thankful that the drive to the safe house had gone off without a hitch. At least one part of your day hadn’t been a complete bust. You knew if there was anyone you could relay the intel from your mission to it was the Avengers, but the safe house was a better place to lay low, considering you were now someone’s loose end. Walking into the compound could be like walking into a death trap. And there were so many safe houses, and only so many people who knew all of the locations, that being here instead bought you more time to think.

You shut the car door behind you, trying to shut away the million worries running through your mind. You’d take care of your injuries, eat and then figure it all out.

Following Loki up the stairs to the cabin, you couldn’t help but smile once again and try your best not to burst out laughing. When he turned to let you unlock the door - to use the keypad he didn’t have clearance for - he noticed your grin and his eyes darkened.

“I don’t appreciate being laughed at, mortal.”

You groaned, “Again with this mortal crap. Get over it.”

“It is what you are”

You shoved past him to punch in the code, “Doesn’t mean I can’t still put you in your place.”

He put a hand on the doorframe, boxing you in, “Choose your next words very carefully,”

“Why should I?” Turning, you looked up at him with a raised brow, “What are you going to do about it, Loki?”

He stepped forward and you backed up into the door, nowhere else to go.

“Do you want to risk finding out, darling?” He purred.

Tilting your head back, you held his stare, “Try me.”

His emerald eyes darkened, boring into yours. The tension between your bodies was electric and you refused to back down first. He leaned even closer in response to the wordless dare, and your breathing shallowed.

“My point exactly,” You rasped when nothing happened.  

As if your words had broken the spell, his lips smashed against yours, pushing your further into the door as he pressed his body up against yours. You buried your hands in his hair pulling him even closer. He answered with a moan, hands sliding from your jaw, down your neck and all the way down until to your waist. His mouth was rough on yours, taking what he wanted. But you were no gentler on him, demanding entrance with your tongue. He immediately took the lead, a battle of wills neither of you was winning.

A high pitch trill and the vibration in your pocket let you know that someone was calling you.

You pushed him away and pulled out your phone, Steve’s number flashing across the screen.

“We have to stop doing this,” You snapped, ripping open the door and answering the call.

“I can, darling,” Loki crooned with a wolfish grin, just loud enough for you to hear over the sound of Steve’s voice in your ear, “Can you?”

[elexica]

Second Chance Christmas  {{ December 21 }}

Christmas tree shopping, ornament making, and decorating reveal some unresolved feelings...

The rest of the chapter after the break:

The door slammed open, clattering against the wall harshly.  Kaiba blinked in the bright light from the hallway, headache blooming at his forehead.

“Atticus wants you to come shopping for a Christmas tree.”  Joey announced, slamming a thermos of coffee and a small bottle of Tylenol on the side table.  The clattering noise was calibrated to exacerbate Kaiba’s hangover, and from the way his eyes squeezed shut, it worked.  “You left some stuff, I stuck it in the guest room closet, so help yourself.”

Joey tried to lower his voice as deeply as possible, make it sound as truly menacing as he could, but the follow up sentence, “Waffles are ready,” just didn’t sound very scary.

For his part, Kaiba just rubbed at his eyes.

When Kaiba rolled into the kitchen forty-five minutes later, he looked completely put together.  The picture of a man who could compartmentalize absolutely everything that had ever happened to him.

As he wandered toward the plate of waffles, Joey could feel the ghost of years past.  Of Seto wandering over, pecking a kiss to his cheek on his way to the coffee machine.

Instead he watched his ex-husband greet the kids and collect the plate set out for him at the counter.  Just the waffle and a bit of butter—no syrup, nothing sweet.  Kaiba sliced into the waffle surgically, and swallowed a small bite of it.  From the look on his face, he was too hungover and sick to really eat.

“Tell your Oto-san to eat his breakfast,” Joey said, pouring a glass of orange juice on the corner of the counter.

Kaiba sent Joey a death glare as Atticus announced that he had just the song.  As Atticus launched into the highly repetitive “Breakfast Song”—an independent composition—Kaiba winced as if he had taken a thousand life points of damage in a shadow game.

The thermos of coffee stayed in Kaiba’s hand as he wove through the driveway.  One of his cars had been left at the house—a black Mercedes that he had no real attachment to.  Kaiba must have tracked down the spare key from the hooks on the wall of the garage.  Kaiba was looking back towards the garage, as if he had a say in the matter.

Joey honked the horn of the minivan, startling his ex-husband and drawing another full body flinch from the man.

“I’m not movin’ Alexis’ car seat! Get in.”  Joey shouted out the window.  Kaiba revived his glare, only to lose it to a frustrated wince as Joey slammed on the horn again.

Kaiba froze, coffee “I swear,” Kaiba said, his voice menacing.  “She’s six, she doesn’t need a car seat.”

“Look, it’s a height thing now.  Ya can’t fire me, Kaiba, so unless ya got other plans, get in the car.”  He punctuated this demand with another ear-scorching honk.

Grasping at the last threads of his dignity, Kaiba straightened his back, schooled his face with as much focus as he could bear, and strode over to the minivan door.

Kaiba flung it open with a theatrical flair that would be more appropriate on a blimp than a minivan.

Joey opened his mouth to deliver an admittedly tepid comment—he was thinking “look who decided to join us”—but he was silenced by the kids cheering when Kaiba sat down in the car.

“Oto-san, can we listen to the Chipmunks Christmas?!” Atticus pleaded from the backseat.  

Joey didn’t bother holding back laughter and Kaiba clenched his jaw and nodded.

. . .

The adventure at the Christmas Tree farm started relatively smooth and uneventful.  Atticus and Alexis were good kids, even if Atticus could be a little loud and demanded a lot of attention, and Alexis was a bit shy.

For his part, Kaiba did an excellent job of standing and observing the process.  With stoicism, he posed at the back of the family and watched as Joey picked a tree, earned the approval of the kids, and tried to chop it down with the farm-provided axe on his own.

Tree chopping was harder than anticipated, and Joey’s struggles were equal parts frustrating and humiliating.

Kaiba couldn’t hold back a snicker, about 15 minutes into Joey’s battle with the tree.   But that was his miscalculation: the perfect opening for Joey to shoot back, “You think yer so strong, pretty boy?  Give it a go.”  And Joey all but tossed the axe in his ex’s direction.  Joey could have used a better, safer and more careful form when he handed his ex-husband the axe, but he was trying to catch his breath, and the haughty bastard had goaded him with that laugh.  Kaiba caught it easily anyway.

“Step back,” Seto announced, as if he was about to perform a magic trick.  The rest of the family formed a slightly more distant semi-circle.

Kaiba posed, axe high behind his back.  He made brief eye-contact with Joey before hefting a massive swing. The arc was long and graceful, and bit into the tree-bark savagely.  It took Joey’s four-inch indent and turned it into eight-inches, fully three-quarters of the way through the tree.

Kaiba smiled, pleased with his work.

“Alright,” Joey offered after a few seconds.  “Now, you pull it out.”  Joey resisted making any further innuendoes in front of the kids.

Kaiba nodded and reached for the axe.  It didn’t budge.  He adjusted his feet in the snow to gain more purchase—to no avail.  He lodged one foot against the tree, and still the leverage was insufficient.  It was as if the tree had accepted the axe as a new branch, and wouldn’t let go.

Kaiba pulled out his phone and started tapping.

“You lookin’ up how to get an axe out of a tree?” Joey challenged.

“No.”

“Oh my god are you trying to buy a better axe? And have it air dropped or something?”

Kaiba’s clever, snarky glance up from his phone told Joey exactly everything he didn’t need to know.  “Would the children have any interest in owning a Christmas tree farm?”

“No!” Joey jumped over, moving to try and steal back Kaiba’s phone before he could pull whatever insane business move required to buy out the family-owned farm.

Kaiba had been a capable “keep-away” player for decades, and hadn’t seemed to allow his skills to get rusty in the intervening period.

Joey still had some signature moves—and certainly could have brought the taller man to his knees if he had a yo-yo on him.

As it stood, the side tackle that Joey settled on was perfectly effective.  They rolled in the snow a bit, Kaiba able to twirl and pass the phone between his hands deftly and Joey ready to brute force the situation.  He had no qualms with getting snow in his ex-husband’s hair or up his nose.

What was surprising was when Kaiba stopped fighting.  He had been pinned down pretty well, back digging into snow, wrists held by Joey’s determined fingers as if handcuffed over his head, flakes stuck to his eyelashes and drenching his scarf.  Joey had one knee jamming Kaiba’s thighs into the ground.

Joey paused with those hands in his vice grip, feeling Kaiba’s muscles relax under his hands. The palms were facing him, and they were empty.  The only metal that Joey could see was the one thing he had longed to forget—Kaiba was still wearing his wedding ring.

“Is that?” Joey asked softly.

Kaiba had been baring a smug smile at Joey, confident in his plan to abscond with the phone—even in the compromised position.  That smile vanished at Joey’s question.

“I didn’t want to field any questions as to whether we were… I wanted it to be clear that we’re both their dads.”  Kaiba should have blushed, but he didn’t.  Instead he looked wild and scared, like he had been caught in a terrible lie.

Joey drew a slow breath, processing the information as the ice melted on Kaiba’s face.

“Oto-san!  I got the phone!” Atticus cheered, waving the slim black device in the air, instantly breaking the tension.

“Excellent execution,” Kaiba said, moving one powerful thigh to dislodge Joey’s entire hold.  He went tumbling back into the snow, and Kaiba stood up and straightened himself.  He held out his hand expectantly, and Atticus handed him the phone.

“How attached are you to this specific tree?” Kaiba asked Alexis, with the same intensity he would levy a question at a board meeting.

With the same seriousness that Kaiba had summoned, Alexis responded ,“I have no attachment to this tree.”

“Atticus?”

The boy shrugged.  Kaiba nodded.  “Then we will acquire another tree by alternative means.”  Kaiba tapped at the screen a few times.  “Any objections?”

This question was directed at Joey who also shrugged.  Joey eyed the axe, buried deep in the trunk of the tree.  It was not promising.

“What’s next on the holiday itinerary?” Kaiba asked, as if he was going to complete the Christmas activity list with the same ruthless efficiency he took to the business world.

“Decorating ornaments.”

. . .

It’s not just that it was fun to watch Kaiba struggle with things—though Joey thought it usually was—but his ex-husband, eyes narrowed in concentration, brows strung in frustration, long fingers dripping golden glitter glue…

Joey could have laughed the entire time.

Atticus had nicely decorated a music note.  He had diligently written the year and his name and his age on the thin piece of wood, and then doodled colorful lines around it.  Alexis had decorated a ballet slipper with surprisingly delicate shading and the same information.

Joey was relatively pleased with his own decoration: a nicely colored-in icon of the Time Wizard, with the same information.  He had hesitated to put his age, but it was tradition, and Alexis would surely bust him for breaking the rules.

But Kaiba had to be ambitious.  Usually his abilities could keep up with his formidable plans.  But this year’s image of the Thousand Dragon had not gone according to plan.  He had foolishly done the Blue Eyes White Dragon for the first year, and burned through it’s permutations by the time they finalized the divorce.

The underlying coloring wasn’t terrible—and the silhouette of a dragon was distinct enough that he couldn’t quite make it unrecognizable.  But the glitter glue gambit hadn’t paid off.  Instead of an extra level of pizazz, the glue had chemically interacted with the ink of the pens underneath.

Like a craft drawer Icarus that had flown too close to the sun, the careful coloring underneath melted into an absolute mess, blurring the relevant information, as well as the face of the dragon.  The whole work turned into a muddled, blotchy, glittering thing.  Yellows and marigolds combining to look more like a splotchy watercolor, but it lacked intention or grace.

Joey’s smile was wide and his jaw was clenched from the effort of not laughing at Kaiba’s very sad ornament.  “You can go back to the craft store and get a new blank one,” Joey managed to eek out, with only minimal giggles spilling into his speech.

“It’s…” Kaiba pushed at the glue with a sticky fingertip, as if he could reset the colors by sheer force of will.  “I will… write the information the back.”  Kaiba flipped the ugly ornament directly on the disposable plastic table cover, glitter glue oozing out.  He wrote his name in Japanese characters, and the date.

“It doesn’t look like a dragon, Oto-san,” Atticus protested.  “You have to try again!”

Kaiba nodded, and affixed two googly eyes to the head.

Joey completely lost it at the plain wooden outline of a dragon, wings stretched, blank except for the name, date, and age on it’s belly, glitter glue leaking from under it, as if wounded, and two plastic google eyes quivering as the table shook with his laughter.

Joey thought he spotted a soft smile on Kaiba’s face, but by the time he caught his breath again, it was gone.

. . .

Joey tried to push down the warmth in his chest that swelled when he saw Kaiba wrapped around the tree, diligently stringing holiday lights.  True to his word, he had an assistant from Kaiba Corp. USA’s New York branch sent out on an emergency hunt for the perfect tree.  Without much thought, by the time the family had made it home from the Upstate adventure and trip to the craft store, a tree was already staged in their house—perfectly conical and even.  As flawless as plastic, but full of that distinct pine scent.

Putting lights on the tree had been an intuitively “Kaiba” sort of activity.  He was taller, more electrically inclined, and better suited to the less nostalgic Christmas elements.  Although Joey had handled the task just fine, Kaiba’s persnickety nature did contribute to him spreading the lights evenly and nicely.  It was sort of frustrating for Joey to see the lights look so smooth and flawlessly distributed.  Especially when two years ago they had looked so uneven.

The off-year, when Kaiba had the kids for the winter holiday, Joey hadn’t bothered with any of his own decorations.  He had just visited his sister’s place, skyped with the kids, and moped.  He’d fallen asleep watching “Elf” alone on the couch.  It ranked high on his list of worst Christmases ever.  

Joey wondered a little, while Seto fought with the fragrant pine-needle branches, whether this would top the list of worst holidays.  Somehow, already, it didn’t feel like a bad holiday at all.

Joey held out a warm mug to Seto, once his task was finished.  It was one of the older ones, white with that navy-blue KC logo imprinted, but faded over the years.  

Kaiba raised his hand to reject the offering.  “I’m avoiding processed sugars. Last night was an exception, not the rule.”

Joey rolled his eyes.  “Trust me, if you’re going to sit through any of tonight’s concert, you’ll appreciate the… heh… innovation.”

With a skeptical look at the hot chocolate and half-melted marshmallows, Kaiba reluctantly accepted the mug.  He took a slow sip, before his eyebrows raised, recognizing the heroic volume of Baileys that had been surreptitiously mixed in.  Kaiba nodded in approval.  “I stand corrected.”

Indeed, the adulterated cocoa was fully drained over the course of Atticus’s hour long performance of every Christmas song he knew, plus a few piano remixes of various children’s show theme songs, and an original composition which was actually just smashing on the keys and smiling.

Kaiba remained steadfastly bound to the couch while Joey and Alexis actually placed all of the ornaments, whispering about what should go where.  A few times, Joey looked over, just to see if Kaiba had left.  Instead, he stayed, eyes darkened by some unknowable emotion.  When the concert was over, and Joey and Alexis’s task was finally complete, the three stepped back to turn off the overhead lights and bask in the eclectic glory of the tree.

Only then had Kaiba vanished.

. . .

Joey wandered into Kaiba’s study.  After the last night’s stunt, he expected to see the decanter open on the coffee table.

Instead, Kaiba was illuminated by his laptop, the rhythm of his typing on the keyboard sounding just a little like music.  “What do you want?” Kaiba asked, not looking up from his computer.

“I—” Joey shrugged, flopping down on the chair opposite Kaiba.  “I want to talk, I guess.”  

“About what?” Kaiba asked, though it didn’t quite come out like a question.  There was not a hint of curiosity in his voice.

“Us.”  Joey looked over at Kaiba.  “You’re wearing the ring, Kaiba.” Kaiba looked down at his own hand, as if he had forgotten that he’d put it on and failed to take it off.

“Yeah.  And we were outside: there’s no blizzard anymore, Kaiba.  It blew over last night.  I’m no meteorologist, but you’re definitely cleared to fly.”  Joey placed his hands on his hips, pleased with his own argument.

“The ring was unrelated,” Kaiba said, emotionless, glued to the computer screen.  Joey rolled his eyes.  “And the children have expressed that they’d like me to stay for the holiday.  If you will not allow me to, that is a different matter.”

“Of course you can stay, but we need to talk about us.  What’s going on here, Kaiba?”

“You’ve made it clear, enough times, that you don’t want me, not in the way that I want you,” Kaiba added, typing speed not diminished in the slightest.  “None of that has changed, like you said.  And so I don’t know why you are bothering me, now.”

Jou shifted slightly in his chair, his stomach tuning over.  Sitting next to Kaiba hadn’t given him this sort of anxiety for so long, maybe ever.  He was used to hot anger, coursing through his veins, pooling in his fists.  This uneasy détente felt simultaneously unsustainable and like the exact tar pit they’d been drowning in for the last three years.

“I don’t know that I meant that.  I mean, yeah, in the moment, I meant it.  But,” Joey leaned back, trying to reposition himself so that he might be more comfortable.  There didn’t seem to be any decent way to sit in his own damn chair.  “But it doesn’t mean, you really didn’t change at all.  A little.  Or that you couldn’t change… enough.”

Kaiba’s typing speed finally slowed, acquiescing to the intensity of the conversation.  Frankly, as Kaiba drew one hand to seal the lid of his laptop, Joey was willing to call that a change.  He hadn’t even had to literally ask Kaiba to stop working.  “Jounouchi.  Tell me what you want to hear.”

“Fine.” Joey straightened his shoulders.  “I want to know what happened when you went back to Domino.”

There was a long pause.

“I stayed on Mokuba’s couch for three months.” Kaiba crossed his arms defensively.

Joey burst out with warm laughter.  Kaiba didn’t blush, but he raised an eyebrow, as if to signal his ex-husband was not being the image of social grace.  Maybe he’d forgotten to whom he was married.

“And how’d he like that?” Joey said as his breathing steadied.

“He liked it fine.  He has always appreciated my cooking.  His fiancé did not.”

And like that, Joey was lost in another cacophony of giggles.  “Why didn’t you go back to the manor?”

Kaiba looked away, suddenly fascinated by the crystal decanter that had returned to the end table.  “It was… uncomfortable, after all this time.  After Mokuba’s partner made her opinion clear—”

“God, I can only imagine what the arguments were like,” Joey smiled again, bright as sunshine.

“It was not pleasant.  Obviously, my brother and I are still very close, but there were certain problems that arose—”

Joey leaned back in the chair, and balanced his feet on the coffee table.  To the untrained observer, it could have been mistaken for casual.  But all of the muscles of his legs were tense, the tendons that collided with the table strung like the strong of a bow.  “I bet I can guess: you show up at 2 am, you make whatever noise you’re gonna make with no regard for anyone sleeping, you sleep in all day after a couple of all-nighters unpredictably—”

“Yes,” Kaiba said, his voice somewhat soured.  “Everything that you hate about me, unsurprisingly was also loathsome to Yui.”

“That’s not… Kaiba its not things I hate about you,” Joey shifted again in the chair, picking at his nailbeds.  He looked as if he had been called into the principal’s office again after a fight.  “It’s shit that you do, that you choose to do, that’s disrespectful to the people around you.  I’m glad to hear that Yui didn’t take it.”

“After a time, you didn’t either, right?”  Kaiba responded, the sadness seeping in a little.  From the longing glance he shot at the whiskey, the allure of the crystal decanter was strong; the urge to not deal with his ex-husband in this mood, fully sober, was perhaps stronger.

But there was something about Joey’s words that seemed to put up a forcefield around the bottle.  “But it doesn’t mean, you really didn’t change at all.  A little.  Or that you couldn’t change… enough.”

Joey rolled his eyes, pressing fast-forward on the tired argument.  “That wasn’t all of it, and we both know that you know better.  But just tell me what else happened.”

Kaiba’s sour expression and defensive posture continued.  “After that, I got an apartment near the office.  I only used the manor in the Summer, when the children came to visit.”  Kaiba eyed that bottle once more.  “It was disconcerting to be there alone.  I thought… that this is what he must have… felt like.”

As if saying his name would have brought him into their life, awakened some other dormant form of him trapped between this world and the Hell he so surely belonged in.

They sat there, soaking in the ghosts of the past a little longer.  Joey wasn’t going to say anything to break the silence—he knew from experience that with enough stubbornness, Seto would eventually be forced to say something to change the subject or actually talk about his feelings.

After just a couple of minutes, Joey was proven right.

“Are you really happy working at the daycare?” Kaiba asked.

“How did you—” It was only natural that Kaiba would have Joey at a loss again.

“Yugi is a game developer, you know that he collaborates with Kaiba Corp.  We talk… sometimes,” Kaiba said, feigning nonchalance.  It was not persuasive.  Kaiba’s intensity for everything was too strong.  Joey was quite certain he’d never had a casual interest in his entire life.

“Yeah.  Things are good,” Joey answered the original question.

Kaiba nodded at the input and reopened the laptop.  The glare illuminated the wire framed lenses, hiding any expression within his eyes.  “I’m getting back to work.”

Joey considered putting up a fight.  But it had been a long enough day.  In a move reminiscent of his ex, he rose from his seat wordlessly and went his own way.

[pangtasias-atelier]

Ferdinand left the Empire after what happened to his family and when he found out about Hubert's off-the-book executions and assassinations. Even still, Dimitri doesn't trust him, so he keeps a close eye on him. But instead, he notices Ferd gradually getting fatter. One day, he sees Ferd pop a button after eating and it's just too much. Dimitri decides to bring Ferd to his room, forcefeed him until he's ready to burst, then claim that plump Empire butt all for himself (NSFW Drabble)

Sooo, I had a lot of fun with this one ajdnshsms. It may have been just being able to write some simple chub stuff or also just finally getting to write on my laptop but here ya go!

I'm really proud of how this one came out so I hope you enjoy it!!

And the cheesecake portion was a bit based on how I felt eating half a cheesecake sjdkskns

All smut will be tagged #risque

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Strands of golden hair mar Dimitri’s face as his reflection stares back at him. His soft light blue irises of his reflection peer away from Dimitri, the edge of his eyes crinkling as he splashes some more cold water on his face. Nearly deigning the thought of waterboarding himself, the thought tumbles out of his disoriented brain as another crazed and ridiculous scene takes hold of his imagination.

Long rich orange lock cascading down, the seamlessly flawless hair swishes behind its owner as they delicately step forward. Cape forgone, the once well-tailored coat now seems far too tight. The hint of a curvaceous ass bounces under the tight oppression of the mid-knee length coat, each movement and ripple only tempting Dimitri. A dark blue belt embroidered with gold, the obvious intent upon the outfit’s inception had been to elongate and slim its wearer. Now, it only does the opposite, their bulging midsection forced into two, the soft warm pudge from his upper abdomen and lower abdomen squishing to conceal most of the belt altogether. The puff of his enlarged chest makes the opening of his coat seem larger, bulging out further to give it depth. His red cravat rests on top of his chest, as if puffing his chest out. The outline of his adipose filled body rests under it, his arms making the sleeves bulge as well. New folds and wrinkles on his clothes where there once was none, the extra weight the clear culprit, its owner seems unbothered, no upsize or let out seams done to it. Armor unneeded, their blue pants constrict and hold back his squished, compressed legs, overhanging folds of flab visible. The figure turns to Dimitri, Ferdinand smiling and waving at him. Their filled out face only adds to their idiotic charm, their bright eyes and smile illuminating the cold darkness further. A sea of blue washes them away quickly enough.

Grunting, Dimitri’s soaking face heaves. Gripping the edge of the sink, his knuckles turn white, the delicate porcelain emitting a dangerous sharp crack before he lets go. Coughing, Dimitri yanks the nearest towel. Roughly blotting his drenched face, the low sting of the fabric scratching at his face is unnoticeable, the rise and fall of his chest more important. Rising to his full height, Dimitri shifts his efforts on drying his hair. Thin strands eventually fall back into place as they dry, Dimitri tossing the towel away. Taking a deep breath, he exhales, his broad shoulders sagging.

His stomach grumbling, Dimitri heads to the dining room. No sense of taste or smell really left, grabbing something to munch on then leave, sounds ideal.

Finding Ferdinand seated, the idea suddenly feels far less than ideal. The notion of slinking away unnoticed poofs away as Ferdinand spots.

“Ah, Prince Dimitri. A pleasure to see you!” Ferdinand jovially calls from his seat before rising.

Dimitri hopes imagining the cool splash of water helps calm down the heat rushing to his face, Ferdinand’s plump figure just as ripe as his vivid imaginations. In fact, the realization of his own thoughts underselling Ferdinand's figure only makes the rising heat worse.

“Prince Dimitri, are you perhaps unwell?” A delicate yet chubby hand rests against Dimitri’s forehead.

“I’m not your prince, you needn’t worry about me,” Dimitri gently extricates Ferdinand’s hand from his forehead.

“Nonsense, I swore my absolute fealty to one deserving of it,” Ferdinand doesn’t catch the hint, wrapping his arm around Dimitri. “While I must admit, my father may have tarnished our name, I, Ferdinand Von Aegir swear that the name till holds some decency to it,” Pressing an open palm to his soft moobs, Ferdinand bows, his long flowing hair suffering the effects of gravity, the same as his stomach.

To most others, Ferdinand’s words of bravado would sound none other than those of a pathetic socialite wishing to worm their way into whichever upper echelon of society. But to everyone else, Ferdinand’s manner of bearing his entire heart on his sleeve is his charm, the overly enthusiastic noble meaning well.

Originally a part of the Black Eagles house, Ferdinand had quickly become a fixture of the Blue Lions after a few months of Byleth’s cajoling. Upon Edelgard’s declaration of war, he had left for Adestria upon Byleth’s disappearance only to quickly come back upon hearing news of their return. The reunion with his former classmates had been moderately well received, Mercedes and Ashe no strangers to kindness, until Dimitri’s sighting of Ferdinand had nearly left the former Adrestian noble with a spear in his abdomen. With Byleth’s insistence, Dimitri had tsked but ultimately skulked away, his dreadful lumbering footsteps etching their way into everyone’s mind.

Dimitri still partially not all quite there, he had thankfully resigned ignoring Ferdinand just the same as everyone else, a tense uneasy partnership occurring between Dimitri and everyone else. It hadn’t been until much later that Dimitri snapped out of it, slowly easing himself back into the human emotions that he had casted away. And upon gaining focus on his fellow members, Dimitri’s eyes found that removing focus from Ferdinand was proving to be rather challenging.

And while a part of it had to do with his infectious cheerful nature, the other part of his clearly had to do with Ferdinand’s body. Lithe muscle nowhere to be found, the initial realization of enjoying the view of Ferdinand’s heft had led to some confusion before that strayed to wondering how it must feel, so warm and soft.

Which made it increasingly harder for Dimitri to speak to Ferdinand.

“Thank you,” Dimitri clears his suddenly parched throat. “Ferdinand,” Even speaking his name brings a trickle of warmth in his chest, the thought of whispering it to him, the two huddled together, clothes strewn about as-

“Of course. Well, I’m sure you must be famished after our sparring session earlier, you nearly rushed out after we finished,” Hand encapsulating Dimitri’s Ferdinand leads him back to his table, half his plate left uneaten.

The servers immediately bringing, a plate to Dimitri, the serving of chicken with vegetables is barely a spoonful more than Ferdinand’s remnants. Only a couple of bites into the meal, Dimitri’s fork hangs still, midway to his mouth, upon the sound of a dull ping hitting the floor. Reflexively looking around, Dimitri spots the culprit. Careful to not keep his mouth agape, a button on Ferdinand’s coat had popped off, his vest showing.

Ferdinand’s eyes wide, his hands scramble to cover the mishap.

Unable to process anything else, Dimitri stands up and grabs Ferdinand’s hand. Leading him away, Ferdinand’s puffs of complaints and questions draw some attention from the few people littered around the monastery at this semi-late hour. Upon reaching his room, the two step in, Ferdinand highly confused as he stutters out half-baked apologies, too focused on trying to hide the noticeable gap in his coat from his popped button.

Dimitri absorbing the situation, he balks at himself for being so rash. To drag Ferdinand to his room, all for what? For the unlikely chance of something more. And the far more likely chance of making things impossibly awkward between the two. Yet glancing back at the other man, Dimitri finds his worries washing away, Ferdinand staring at him with a sudden shyness.

“I…” Dimitri clamps his mouth, the trapdoor of awkwardness closing and opening. “I think you’re handsome,” His eye shut tight, the ensuing silence drives him mad, the silence unable to be stabbed like most other things.

“You truly believe so?” Ferdinand’s eyes already misting at the edge, his amber eyes remain in tentative shock. He reaches a shaky hand downward. “Despite all this?” Grabbing his stomach, the pile of supple fat only seems larger so up close.

“Because of all this,” Gently laying a hand on Ferdinand’s love handle, Dimtri brings him closer. One arm wrapped around him, the tight embrace allows him to feel nearly every inch of Ferdinand, everything so soft. Leaning down, Dimitri holds up Ferdinand’s chin, his thumb gently rubbing the edge of his lips. With bated breath, his lips crash into Ferdinand’s. The excessive force makes him stumble, Dimitri’s rough hand on his lower back keeping him steady. Huffing, Dimitri pulls back. His face a red shade, the tint is nothing but a red ant to the sun in comparison to Ferdinand’s blazing face.

“I have something I need to prepare. Don’t leave,” Turning around, Dimitri stumbles back at the awkward exit. Professing his love only to leave. Turning back around, he grabs Ferdinand’s hand with his own once more. “Please,” Gently squeezing it, Ferdinand nods, his face not losing a single tint to his radiant red hue.

Slowly making his way back into the hall, the instant Dimitri feels he’s out of ears reach, he rushes. Taking long strides, he scares the poor merchants in the marketplace with his sudden appearance. Knowing the time, the leftover selection from the bakery’s goods for the day are surprisingly still abundant. Nearly reaching for enough money to buy the entire selection, he calms his overactive brain. Setting on a somewhat more reasonable selection, he instead purchases an entire cheesecake.

The cake in hand, it takes all his nerves of dropping the cake to not rush back. Not even having been gone for what can possibly be more than a few minutes, the fear of Ferdinand leaving keeps his pace quick, Dimitri finding himself back in front of his door in no time.

The door nearly slamming open, Ferdinand jumps up. His stomach sloshing about, he gingerly places a hand on it. His eyes avert themselves from the cake in Dimitri’s hands, Ferdinand’s face flushed.

Wordlessly, Dimitri cuts a slice, the huge chunk a quarter of the entire cake. Ferdinand ready to accept, an insistent hand from Dimitri stops him. Grabbing a bit with a fork, Dimitri expectantly brings it to Ferdinand’s mouth, his good eye agape.

“Oh,” Letting out a chuckle, Ferdinand takes a gulp before taking a bite of the cake. His face alighting from the taste, Ferdinand happily accepts the second bite. And then the third. And then each ensuing bite until the slice is finished. Enough leverage allowed from one button already destroyed, the rest remain snugly but securely on his bulging stomach. Dimitri immediately cuts another slice. Ferdinand’s eyes widen, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. “I didn’t know you were into…” Ferdinand pauses, considering his words. “Such things,”

Dimitri nearly nods, bringing another bite to Ferdinand.

“If you insist,” Shakily taking another bite, the sweet cool creamy texture of the cake lulls him back to his enjoyment of the delicacy. Unfastening his belt, Ferdinand lets out a sigh before he sits upright, Dimitri’s free hand rubbing it. Another bite offered, Ferdinand keeps at, only slowing down near the end of the slice, both his hands on his own engorged stomach along with Dimitris. “Dimitri,” Ferdinand groans, huffing as he lies down. “I can’t anymore,” Pawing at his own belly, the mass of fat and food rises into the air with each strained breath.

A hand caressing his cheek, Ferdinand lets out an ‘oof’ as Dimitri helps him sit. His gut resting on his plump thighs, Ferdinand merely groans. A hand on his coat, he yelps as Dimitri tears it, the buttons flying across the room. A hand on his waistline, his suddenly unbuttoned pants give him some breathing room. His vest grabbed, Ferdinand obligingly lifts up his arms, the sense of freedom for his aching gut relieving. His undershirt goes next, both tossed into a heap on the floor. A hand tugging at his pants, Ferdinand pauses, resting his hand on top of Dimitri’s. Dimitri’s calm face staring at his, Ferdinand lets him continue, Ferdinand left in nothing but the tight fabric of his boxers.

Resting his back against the wall. Ferdinand continues to groan. Some more shuffling fabric, he keeps his eyes closed until more cake is pressed against his lips. He does, however, ignore the noticeable erection in Dimitri’s pants, Ferdinand somehow redder than before.

Dimitri shirtless, he holds the last half of the cheesecake.Ferdinand huffs. “You love cheesecake,” Dimitri whispers.

“Sometimes there are limits,” Dimitri’s hands not moving, Ferdinand scoffs. “You beast,” But that doesn’t stop Ferdinand smiling as he accepts the heaping bite of cake.

Wishing to get on it, patience not one of Dimitri’s stongsuits, he spears the cake with his fork, heaping portions offered each time Ferdinand almost finishes one bite. His chewing slows down, his swallowing slows down, the smack of his squirrel cheeks slow down, Ferdinand reaching dangerous levels of full.

Bits of cream on his lips, remnants from his dozes of prior bits still remain in his mouth, willing himself to eat more. Swallowing, the bits feel like lead slowly dropping down only to punch his gut on the way there. “Dimitri. I don’t think I can,” Groaning, he smears the frosting with his arm, the pale flesh on his arm jiggling. “Truly,”

“You can,” Dimitri rubs slow circles on Ferdinand’s gut. “Just a few more bites, I know you can do it,” Bringing the second to last bite, Dimitri forcefully shoves it in, Ferdinand struggling to chew it. His heavy breathing coming from his nose now, before he can swallow the last bits, Dimitri shoves the last heaping forkful in his mouth, Ferdinand painfully smacking his tired lips in an attempt to finish it all.

Wasting no time, Dimitri helps Ferdinad rest his back against his bed. Ferdinand’s labored chewing and groans egging him, he quickly disrobes, his slim yet built body glistening in anticipation. Gripping Ferdinand’s boxers, he tugs them off to reveal his own chubbed up dick, the thick shaft of it slowly engorging. Climbing onto the bed, Dimitri rests his knees right in front of Ferdinand’s dick.

Ferdinand finally finishes the cake, his mouth so dry and tired. “I…. ugghhh,” Clinging the bedsheets, his hands go to his bulging midsection as Dimitri lifts up his legs. His moobs squishing into his double chin, his overtaxed stomach rests heavily as the overfilled lump falls down.

Dimitri placing his arms under Ferdinand’s legs, he slowly aligns himself. His dick slick with precum, he slowly enters. Dimitri groans as the warmth of Ferdinand’s hole envelops his dick. Ferdinand right underneath him, his breath turns labored as Ferdinand squirms, rubbing his stomach.

“I’ll take care of that in a bit,” Leaning forward, Dimitri kisses Ferdinand, a trail of saliva sticking as they part. Ferdinand grimaces as his legs bend a bit more than they’re used to at this weight, nodding his head instead.

Unable to wait much longer, Dimitri thrusts into Ferdinand, Ferdinand’s hands now reaching for Dimitri’s back. Ferdinand’s noises sounding under him, the always chipper, bright man simply huffs under Dimitri, biting his lips as he tries to hold back his moans.

Wishing to get closer, Dimitri wraps his arms under Ferdinand, embracing him as he humps him. Digging his head into the crevice of Ferdinand’s neck, Dimitri huffs.

“D-dimitri,” Ferdinand gutturally moans, right into his ear. Cum sticking against his warm body, Dimitri nearly chuckles as Ferdinand cums so early. His body reprimanding him, his knees buckle as he feels himself so dangerously close, his throbbing dick begging for a release. Giving in, Dimitri crushes Ferdinand in his embrace, his soft supple body digging into his muscles.

"Tired,” Dimitri's arms shake. Huffing, he ignores his own seed slowly spilling out of Ferdinand's ass, as he pulls out. Ferdinand exhausted, his belly rises with each tired labored breath he takes. No important task required of him tomorrow, Dimitri reserves the task of cleaning themselves up tomorrow with a warm shared shower. Crawling beside Ferdinand, Ferdinand leans back into Dimitri as his body is cradled in Dimitri's built arms. Spooning Ferdinand, he breathes in his scent, his dreams knowing peace as he dreams of fattening Ferdinand further.

[terrifying-testicles]

Sugar Daddy!Bakugou x Reader Ch. 1

Okay soooo I had this written weeks ago but just needed to get it typed up and wasn’t sure if I wanted to post it without part two ready. I’m impatient though! So, here it is! This is more of an introduction into why our gremlin would be a sugar daddy, so hold tight guys, the second part gets into the actual sugar daddy nonsense. I also have plans to get saucy as the series continues, since I wasn’t originally planning on it turning into such a m o n s t e r. Also, the line I put in near the end is an actual thing someone has sent me before. Go figure. 

Btw, the reader’s quirk is based on my OC’s quirk, Energy Manipulation and Absorption, which she will explain in the second chapter, I promissssse. Enjoy!

Words: 6.3k

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“Well how am I supposed to help you if you won’t even tell me your type?” “I don’t want your fucking help!” Bakugou huffs and increases his pace to avoid Kirishima’s persistent pout. Kirishima jutts his bottom lip out further. He honestly didn’t understand how his partner could be so fast and agile in such baggy pants. The two heroes continue walking through the city, on their usual patrol. It had been a relatively quiet day, only having calmed (threatened) a rather rowdy group they had strolled upon earlier in the day. Given how little there was to hold their attention, Kirishima filled the gaps with conversation. However, recently the topic had been circling back to Bakugou’s love life, which was, in Kirishima’s words, “almost more depressing than Denki’s.” The red head had been trying to goad Bakugou into giving him something to go off of so that he could help set him up with somebody. Of course, Bakugou objected. Kirishima was beside Bakugou in three long strides, silently thanking the Gods for the few inches over his friend in height. “Oh, c’mon man! You and I both know how lonely you are—” “I’m not lonely! I don’t need annoying people to fill my time. You do that enough,” Bakugou snapps harshly, refusing to meet Kirishima’s eyes. “Bro, listen,” Kirishima steps out to block Bakugou’s path, left hand raised in a placating gesture. Bakugou’s fists clench at his sides as he levels Kirishima with a ferocious glare, teeth clenched. Despite his hostile posture, he makes no move to push his partner out of the way. “The last time you tried to date someone it didn’t go that well,” Bakugou growls.

“But! I think you’ve let that discourage you! You should try getting back out there, man. You don’t know who you could be missing out on.” Kirishima gave a small, reassuring smile. Bakugou scoffs and crosses his arms. He casts his glare aside and notices a few people around them. Already tired eyes catch a couple of women who were watching the two of them from across the street, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. “You really aren’t going to leave me alone about this, are you shitty hair?” he rumbles lowly. Kirishima shakes his head vigorously, not unlike a 5 year old denying that they broke their toy. Bakugou sighs dramatically. “I’m not about to have this conversation here.” He accentuates his statement by glancing back to the women across the street, who now scurry off at the heated look he sends their way. Kirishima’s carmine eyes light up. “You mean you’ll actually talk to me ab—” “Yes, alright?” Bakugou hisses. “Just— later. And you can’t keep bugging me about it after that!” The ash blond punctuates his statement with a gloved finger shoved into Kirishima’s broad chest. He only grins, nodding his head before stepping to Bakugou’s side and throwing a hand across his shoulders. “Excellent! I have this idea…” “Shitty hair—” Bakugou’s warning tone is interrupted by the shrill whine of an alarm. Both men snap their heads up to see a storefront about two blocks down blow out in a spray of glass, three figures jumping out and bolting away from the now wailing alarm. “Fucking finally!” Bakugou roars, feet already carrying him in a spring, Kirishima hot on his heels.

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“I’m sorry, I know this isn’t the last thing you want to do today but he’s too new. If he ruins another experiment I’ll throw him in the pressure chamber.” You sigh through your nose, setting your coffee on the cafe table. “I’m in town right now, so it’ll be at least fifteen minutes before I could get there.” You press your shoulder against the phone so that you can shake the two sugar packets, ripping the tops and pouring them into the black coffee while your coworker continues to grumble on the other line. “You’ve got to give him a chance, Aki, he’s only an undergrad. He doesn’t know just how serious our work is.” A sound between a laugh and something offended has you pulling the phone away from your ear quickly. “Why not have him do some observation, keep him busy with recording data or something?” you suggest, smiling to the barista as you shoulder open the door. “What, and have him mess up the numbers? I don’t think so!” Aki yells. You roll your eyes. You thoroughly enjoyed your days away from the lab, but always felt anxious for the disaster group that were your coworkers, worried about what they were up to while you were gone. Too many times had you come back to a poorly hidden disaster or a professor greeting you to explain what new things your lab had been banned from doing or using. “It’s just reading numbers and writing it down. He can’t be any worse than you and that radiologist from Ikeda’s lab.” You sipped your coffee to hide the smug smile spreading across your face in response to your coworker’s sputtered response. “That was only once and we paid for the damage!” You laugh. “Still. Why do I need to go in anyway? I’m not coming in on my day off just to babysit the intern.” You really put up with far too much, more than a supervisor should without bringing in your bosses, but it was never anything you couldn’t handle yourself. You would likely die trying to fix your lab partners’ mistakes before getting the Dean involved. They may run you ragged but you’d never put the lab and your chance to conduct research in jeopardy. “It took three of us to set this experiment up, and not counting the shit inter there’s only one other person in the lab.” “I don’t get paid enough for this,” you grumble into your coffee. “I’ll owe you!” Aki singsongs. With another eyeroll, you hum into the speaker. “Fine, fine, I should be on the train in li—” A loud rumbling draws your attention away from your phone. You and the pedestrians around you look down the street, where the sound of explosions and screeching metal grew louder. You ignore your coworker’s yelling, stepping off of the sidewalk to get a glimpse around the street corner. Another explosion shakes the ground beneath your feet, almost throwing you off balance. You watch people run away from the right side of the street but being 10 meters away you were unable to see the actual force behind the tremors. Your curiosity had always posed a problem for you. Plenty of broken bones and burns and disciplinary action growing up has only proven how dangerous the depths of your inquisitive nature can be. Most people in this situation would follow the crowd and put self-preservation first. You couldn’t be most people if you actually made an effort. So, as bodies brushed past you and orange light flickers across the glass of the office buildings across the intersection, you push forward. Just to see, you tell yourself. You had only moved forward a few steps before a loud crack shocks her into stillness. Glancing up, your (e/c) eyes go wide, the skyscraper on the corner beginning to bow out at the 10th floor, glass cracking and bursting from the pressure, two floors above and below the point of tension suddenly bared to the open sky. The corner beam of the building rips away, split at the place where it bowed out. The piece that meets the ground whips out and down, arching and then reaching around the side where all of the commotion seems to come from, and effectively out of sight. A strong impulse tells you to get just a little closer, to watch whatever mayhem was unfolding so near, but before you can take a step, you hear a scream above you. On the 11th floor, the room that was once a corner office is now destroyed, the floor falling. The floor flaps down, desk sliding with gravity until it tumbles out, landing with a loud crash on the pavement. You, however, only see the person clutching onto the disconnected floor, legs kicking around in panic. You look around to find the street fairly empty. Not only of people, but of heroes. “Please don’t get caught,” you mutter under your breath, slipping your phone into your back pocket before dashing forward.

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“Stay still, you bastard!” Bakugou propels himself forward in the air, heat blanketing the exposed skin of his neck and the back of his shoulders and forearms. After giving chase, he and Kirishima had taken two bank robbers down with ease. The third, however, proved to be a challenge. His quirk had something to do with manipulating metal, and Bakugou was absolutely fed up with being smacked by lampposts and narrowly avoiding cars. The fucker had even managed to throw a manhole cover at the explosive hero and Bakugou really wasn’t looking forward to the resulting bruise on his shin. The criminal kept dipping between different streets to throw him off, but Bakugou was locked on, refusing to lose him. Bakugou shoots forward with another blast from palms open to the world whipping past him. Like this, he was easily gaining on his target, who ran on foot. The man checks behind him at the rapidly approaching blasts, panic in his eyes and the set of his jaw. Swiftly, he throws his left arm out and his hand shakes, but he never slows his pace. Bakugou was so close. Another blast and he brings his knees up closer to his chest, a wicked grin curling at his limps as he aims his body at the criminal. Creaking and shattering drew Bakugou’s eyes up, barely catching the steel beam swinging out from a building and right at him. His eyes widen and his palms shoot out, detonating just in time to push him back from the beam. He lands harshly but keeps his footing and is running in a matter of seconds. He sees the criminal pushing himself up, likely having been thrown over from the blast. He’s almost to his feet when Bakugou comes up behind him and slams one gauntlet-clad arm across his back. The man grunts as he goes down. Bakugou grabs the man’s hands and keeps them in a vice grip in one hand, the other reaching back for the quirk-nullifying cuffs. “You’re gonna regret running.” He barely has them out of his belt when there’s a loud scream. Bakugou looks up to see a desk fall through the air to the left of him. A shoulder bag follows, and his vermilion eyes shoot up to catch legs dangling from the corner of the building the villain destroyed. “Shit!” he yells, slapping the cuffs onto the villain, harshly in his haste. He takes two steps away from the man with a threat to stay put, palms aimed at the ground and ready to blast him into the air, but before he can even get a spark going, he sees [h/c] hair just to the right. It takes him a moment to realize it’s a person. A person jumping through the air. Is that a civilian?! He watches her gaining altitude, knees curling up to her chest, arms aimed out, and she lands, ungracefully, on the floor below the person dangling. Now that Bakugou has moved he can see the floor falling out and the person’s failing hold on the edge of it. Bakugou blinks, realizing that he’s just standing there watching this. He’s a hero for fuck’s suck! He runs closer to the mess of glass and office decoration. Bakugou get a better look at their position: from the way the floor sags down if the civilian feel they’d clip the edge of the floor below them, but it would be likely it would also fall in with the force of their fall. There was also a chance of them tumbling over the side with the momentum. The woman stands straight and reaches up to the person with both arms, speaking to them, but Bakugou can’t hear her from this distance. The person turns their head to look at her and he’s sure they respond before the woman bends her knees as if bracing herself. Bakugou’s hear pounds in his chest, and then the person lets go and tumbles into the woman’s awaiting arms.

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You hadn’t thought farther than making it onto the 10th floor. Your landing had been met with an unsteady surface, the floor beneath your very feet warning of impending collapse. Anxiety inflates in your chest, wind whipping at the hem of your shirt, hair brushing your shoulders and you are distantly thankful you put your hair up on the way out of your apartment this morning. The person before you whimpers, clutching as tight as they can to the carpet, fingers drained of color with the strain. You step closer to them. “Hey,” you try not to yell and startle them, but the wind whistling past the maw of destroyed glass makes it harder to hear anything. The person tenses. “Oh my Gods, please help me.” It comes out as a sob and your chest tightens. You take a deep breath and take another step closer, arms spread out before you in an almost welcoming gesture. You quickly eye the space behind you from your peripheral, where the floor begins to bow in at the point where it once met a corner and now meets the city air. “Listen, I’m right behind you. You’re going to have to let go and fall back into my arms. I promise, I will catch you.” Promise? You purse your lips at your own choice of words. The person turns their head as much as they can to see you, eyebrows furrowed, tear tracks obvious on their cheek now. “O-okay. Please don’t drop me…” They turn their head back and tighten the grip of their aching hands momentarily. You bend your knees, ready to brace yourself for the weight. You hate your impulsive nature but remain thankful for the nature of your quirk. “Ready.” She yells. When you feels the person’s weight hit you, you absorb the force of them throwing themselves backwards, but still stumble back somewhat, right foot sliding and lodging itself in the gap between the floor and the steel frame, which gives a low groan at the force you unknowingly put out in your panic. Arms securely around the person’s waist, you glance back to check your foot placement. The floor that had been dislodge from the frame is sagging in more with the pressure of your weight pressing right into its weakest point. “Now what?” the person asks, sounding winded. “HEY!” You startle, craning your neck further to find the source of the shouting. Your breath catches in your throat as you spot a hero. Not just any hero, but Ground fucking Zero. You let go of the person and turn to fully face him, brushing away the hair that blows into your eyes. Below, Ground Zero is walking up, kicking glass aside. “What the fuck are you doing?” he yells. His arms hang at his sides as best they can with the gauntlets he wears, shoulders bunched up and what you know to be his signature scowl pulling at his lips. “Uh, well, I –“ you try fishing for an excuse, but are cut short by the jolt of the floor under your feet. The added weight of another person and support of the building’s frame quickly disconnecting have you struggling to think fast. You hear Ground Zero curse but can’t decipher it, not that you’re focusing much on it. “Jump!” You look back at the hero as he walks closer. The person grips your arm tightly. “W-what?!” they squawk at him. “Fucking jump! You did it before, didn’t you?” His tone is impatient, but you feel the anxiety hidden behind it, mirrored in the way your knees tremble slightly. “But that’s t-ten stories!” You bite your lip and glance to the person holding to your arm deathly tight, a tremor running through their body. “Hey,” you start softly. Their wide eyes cut over to you. “Don’t worry. I caught you. That man down there is a pro hero, so if I can catch you then you have nothing to worry about.” The frenzied look does not leave their eyes. “Come on!” Ground Zero barks. You look at him, then back to the person. “It’s okay,” you say before reaching one foot forward and bracing it on the empty frame. You push slightly to test its strength and hear the slightest protest from the floor beneath you. “Step up here, I’ll keep you steady.” The person lets out a sound somewhere close to a sob, shakily moving after a moment’s hesitation. They step up, both hands holding yours so tight you feel your bones creak. You keep your other foot on the increasingly unstable floor to provide yourself balance as you keep the terrified person steady. Ground Zero holds out his arms, and he looks ready to dash whatever way he needs to receive the civilian safely. You nod to them, and it’s still another minute before they let go of your hands and leap out. Ground Zero moves forward and locks his knees as they land in open arms. He ends up falling back onto his ass, but the person scurries to their feet and offer to help him up. The blond hero brushes them aside and hops to his feet. “Your turn, lady.” Ground Zero rolls his shoulders, possibly to prepare himself for the next impact. You puff out a laugh. “I’m good.” As his face morphs into confused rage, you remove your foot from the floor, swing it out, and use the one on the frame to push off. You ignore the ‘what the fuck’ screamed at you and focus on your landing. Blacktop comes at you fast, and a breath away from landing you flex your toes out, energy dispersing through the movement and the pavement cracks shallowly beneath the front of your feet. Rolling to the heels, you gaze up to your right, only to find vermilion eyes boring down at your. Ground Zero must have gone to catch you but didn’t make it to you first. He’s less than an arm’s reach from you, heat rolling off of him, and you wonder if it’s from his exertion or his anger. “Are you fucking crazy?” he spits. You frown and cross your arms. “No,” you’ve barely turned to face him when he’s suddenly right in your face, teeth bared at you in a snarl. “You could’ve died up there. What kind of dumbass are you?” “Well, they could have died, and you weren’t here.” You snap back, angry at his scolding. Was he right? Of course. Were you going to admit that and roll over? Fuck no! You didn’t respond well to most authority unless you were paid to. Ground Zero growls, a retort heavy on his tongue. “Zero!” His head snaps to look over his shoulder, murder in his eyes. Red Riot now stands beside the villain Ground Zero had been chasing, holding him by a cuffed arm. The ash blond grumbles and turns back to the newest source of his annoyance, only to find the space in front of him empty. He frantically looks around. You have already made it to the end of the street, eager to avoid whatever the explosive man had to say. You look back, seeing the stunned and furious look on his face, and hive a wide smile and a waggle of your fingers before darting around the corner. Hopefully he wouldn’t give chase. You pull out your phone, dialing your coworker as you slip into the curious crowd of onlookers and flee the scene of your impromptu rescue.

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Bakugou slumps into the booth, arms crossed against his chest and a scowl hard-set on his features. After the fight, they’d talked to reporters, did the necessary paperwork, and all Bakugou had wanted after showering at the agency was to go home to his cat and zone out to nighttime television. Instead, Kirishima had talked him into (“harassed” as Bakugou had put it) going out and grabbing a drink. He had to admit that a drink would help ease the irritation from being shown up by some wannabe civilian. Of course, Kirishima had steered him to a bar near their apartments and when they approached a table the redhead had seemed set on, Bakugou was met with the familiar cackling of two of their friends. “Oi, what the fuck, shitty hair? I thought you said this was ‘winding down’?” Bakugou huffed as Kirishima slapped Sero on the back in greeting. “What? We know how to wind down,” Kaminari feigned offense, scooting further into the semi-circle booth and patting the now open seat beside him. “And it involves shots!” the blond cheered, Sero laughing in response. “He’s already two in.” Sero took a sip of his drink, obvious in his refusal to down it in one go. “You guys better catch up.” The challenge wasn’t subtle, Kirishima laughing and looking over to Bakugou. On any other day, he would have put up a fight, or made a bigger deal out of it than necessary before partaking. Instead, he reached out, snatched Sero’s glass and knocked it all back. Tequila was not on of his go-to’s, but he should’ve expected the tequila-based cocktail to be the ravenet’s choice. Not that it really mattered now that it was burning down his throat and putting a different kind of heat in his chest. Sero made a noise of complaint. Kirishima laughed and stood up from the booth while Bakugou finally dropped into his own and slumped into the seat. “Why don’t we grab some drinks for the table?” he grinned at Sero, who just sighed and waved his hand at the other two dismissively as he got up to join his muscly friend. Once out of sight, Kaminari leans across the table to squint at Bakugou. “What’s got your panties in a twist?” Bakugou slumps further into the seat. “Fuck off.” “You’re mighty grumpy.” “I’m always grumpy.” “But not like this.” Bakugou kicks his leg at Kaminari under the table, but the shorter man had anticipated it and pulls his legs up to sit cross-legged. “This is more like…like ‘someone wronged me and I’m pouting’ kind of grumpy.” Bakugou growls half-heartedly. “I don’t fucking pout.” Kaminari hums a disagreeing noise. “Sounds fake but okay. You didn’t deny the first part, though!” He smiles brightly, pressing his palms flat on the table and folds himself almost in half to lean closer. “So~ who kicked your cat, huh? “No one fu—” “Some woman from patrol.” Bakugou snaps his teeth at his partner as he and Sero approach the table with a tray of shot glasses. “Shut your damn mouth,” he hisses. “What’s this about a woman?” Sero quips cheekily, sliding in and pressing his shoulder to Kaminari’s, smile wide and sly. “Nothing.” “A civilian saved someone and totally blew him off.” Bakugou lets out an undignified sound. Kaminari leans back when Bakugou slaps his hand on the table. “Shut your shitty fucking mouth before I do for you.” He growls low at Kirishima. Said man pops down beside Sero after setting down the tray, laughing all the while like he hadn’t just been threatened. “Speaking of women,” Kaminari sets down an empty shot. Bakugou’s glare was almost exhausted. “how’s your shitty love life going?” “No, nope. I told you cocksuckers I wasn’t gonna tell you shit.” “Actually…” Bakugou looks over to Kirishima’s devilish smirk. “You said you would.” He sounds far too pleased with himself, Bakugou decides, and he has not drunk nearly enough to have this conversation with these idiots. “Not with dunce face and horse mouth.” With a sweeping gesture to them, both men frowning harshly. “We’re a delight!” Kaminari snaps, taking another shot and pushing one to Sero. The latter nods sagely before downing his. Bakugou swayed his bothered gaze over to his best friend. His resolve wavers at those puppy dog eyes. He grumbles and snatches a shot, knocking it back, followed by another. The ash blond slumps back into his seat and releases a heavy sigh. The three eager men watch Bakugou expectantly. After a long beat of silence, he snaps, “Well, I’m not starting this shit! If you want to know, you fuckers gotta ask.” He eyes another shot, debating how inebriated he could be without this conversation going all kinds of sideways. Kaminari immediately goes to speak, questions ready to burst forth, when Sero holds a hand out and looks pointedly to Kirishima. The redhead purses his lips and holds his chin, contemplation creasing his brow. Bakugou avoids the scrutinizing look and reaches for the drink Kaminari had set out for, enjoying the offended scoff he gets in return. Kirishima hums. “Okay, how about” why are you so scared to try dating again?” Bakugou scrunches his nose. “I’m not scared, you moron.” “Then what is it?” Kirishima looks as if this subject honestly concerned him, that empathetic shine in his eyes that Bakugou claims to hate so much. The other two merely raise their eyebrows at their grouchy friend. Bakugou crosses his arms over his chest and huffs, looking at the dried water ring on the table. It wasn’t that he just refused to think about it. It was quite the opposite, actually. He knew why he couldn’t date someone, what he regretted in his last relationship, what he missed, what he, dare he say it, feared about getting into something that he’d only ruin again. “I can’t,” Bakugou growls and clenches his fist. “I don’t have the time. I’m gonna be number one and I won’t date someone just to leave them alone all the time.” He purses his lips, feeling the warmth of the liquor hitting him and trying to puke his feelings out in front of this many people. “If I’m gonna be someone’s boyfriend then I’m gonna be the best, and I can’t do that with the way I’m working now.” Kaminari leans forward, face scrunched in an expression of disbelief. Bakugou briefly wonders how many of the empty glasses belong to the loudmouth beside him. “Dude, that’s way less irrational than I thought that would be.” Kaminari sits back to avoid the half-hearted swat from Bakugou. He leans on the table again and says, “Why not just find a friend with benefits or something?” Bakugou sneers. “I’m not looking for a quick fuck. I can take care of myself; I don’t need to rope somebody else in just to satisfy me. Or to spread rumors about my sex life.” “I think you actually offended him,” Sero looks from one blond to the other. “Okay well, what do you want from a relationship? Like, if you could have it without the commitment?” Kaminari asks. Bakugou curls his lip and jabs an accusing finger in his direction. “Are you saying I can’t do commitment?” Kaminari raises his hands in surrender. “What? No! Bro, now way I just—” “Katsuki,” said man turns to Kirishima, shoulders tense. “what were your favorite things about having a girlfriend?” He gives a soft smile, genuine, a weapon more efficient than any other when bargaining with the gremlin. Bakugou holds his glare, then exhales, whole body deflating and sinking into the booth. Kirishima remembers talking vaguely with his friend about this when Bakugou had initially started dating his now-ex. He’d been so much more relaxed an open (as much as he could be). Kirishima knew first hand that Bakugou took his role as boyfriend very seriously and enjoyed many aspects that came with it. He shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess,” he scratches the back of his head. “I liked getting to spoil her. Seeing her light up when I bought her gifts or taking her out to dinner and showing her off.” Bakugou frowns, suddenly thinking back to all of the dates he planned, the trips he planned and endless effort he put into making her happy. “I liked getting to treat her like a queen and making her feel good.” He gives a half smirk at the multiple meanings behind that last bit. “Just wish it hadn’t turned one sided…” it’s under his breath, but the three of them catch it. Before he can spiral any further through memories, Sero snaps his fingers. “Holy shit, Bakubro, you should be a Sugar Daddy!” Kaminari, mid-shot, snorts and coughs as the liquor comes out of his nose. Kirishima dissolves into laughter, wheezing and smacking his hand on the table. Bakugou goes from a look of pure shock to absolute fury. “Ex-fucking-scuse you, Tape Face?!” Sero waves his hand around as if remorseful, though the shit-eating grin says otherwise. “Hear me out!” Bakugou glares him down while the other two try pulling themselves together. Once Kirishima gets his breathing under control and Kaminari is wiping up the liquor from the table’s surface, Sero speaks again. “I have a friend, another pro, and he’s on this sugar daddy site. Don’t give me that look, just listen!” Bakugou rolls his eyes and tries to keep his features as neutral as he can manage. “He found a sugar baby and he says it works well for him. She’s his date to galas, she does all that publicity shit with him, and he pays for outfits, lets her buy shit, I think he even pays her rent.” “Do they sleep together?” Kaminari asks with a look of bewilderment. “I didn’t ask.” Sero holds his hands up in a shrug. “My point is, if you want to treat some girl like a queen but don’t want to date her, there’s women out there who would be beside themselves if THE Ground Zero said he wanted to spoil them.” He wants to yell at him. Tell him how stupid it is, how low it is, how he’d never do something so…sleazy. “Don’t people like that expect sex? It’s the same as paying for a prostitute and playin’ ‘Pretty Woman’.” Bakugou crosses his arms again. “I mean, some sugar daddies do. A lot, actually.” Sero says the last part under his breath. “But! Not everyone does, and not every sugar baby does, either. Each person has different needs, I guess.” Bakugou scoffs, willing another refusal to come to mind. “I don’t know, man. It might be worth it to check out.” Kirishima says, picking out a shot. Bakugou grumbles and looks at his phone to take his attention away. After a couple of minutes, the rest of the group catches on that he’s done with this conversation, and move along to other topics, laughing and yelling like drunken idiots in no time.

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You crouch down, pouring the cup of food into a ceramic bowl next to the fridge. The cup wasn’t even empty before you feel a wet nose against your elbow, then the weight of your dog leaning against your left side. You laugh and turn to pet the red heeler. He shoves you over, losing your balance and tumbling over, almost knocking into the water bowl. “Rōrupan, you naughty boy! You’re such a bully, you know that?” You scratch his scruff while the brindle dog scarfs down his kibble. You stand and walk to the dining table, opening up your laptop and typing in a webpage. You walk around the kitchen, pulling out leftovers and assembling some sort of meal before throwing it into the toaster oven. Once the timer was set, you sit down in front of your laptop and sigh. “What do we have today?” you ask aloud, briefly glancing at Rōrupan, who could care less. You scroll through four new messages and grumble at each of them. All were from men with no tact in their greetings, coming on way too strong, one even saying: “Any chance you’re interested in a tall, attractive, and well hung married man?” You snap your computer shut, not even bothering to browse tonight. You would put more effort into your search if you hadn’t gotten home only mere minutes ago. You had originally joined the site as a joke, not really putting any stock in sugar daddies and that sort of lifestyle. Browsing through your options, you laughed at half of the men, coming off as try-hards facing a mid-life crisis and wanting to splurge on someone other than themselves – or their wives. You expressly ignored anyone who made their married status known, having no desire to be some rich fuck’s side piece when he had a loving wife at home. In the few months you’d been on, though, you had managed to go on a few dates, completely paid for. One man had bought you a beautiful silver evening gown for the dinner date with him. A couple of men offered to give you an allowance, which you politely declined at the realization that you didn’t want to be a reoccurring presence with these men. You weren’t a materialistic person, by any means. Your apartment was a simple one bedroom with decent amenities. It was well decorated but most of it consisted of gifts from family or absolute steals you found while browsing thrift stores. You spent more money on your dog than yourself, most times. That didn’t mean you didn’t enjoy gifts, though. Treating yourself was hard, but you absolutely lived for others tending to your needs and treating you better than most. You never looked too deep into that, ignoring the psychological implications of what led you here. Browsing may have sounded more enticing had your mind not been so occupied by one of your favorite heroes. You had dreamt so long of getting to meet the hothead, and this is not how you imagined it going down. You cursed your impulsive nature. This took the cake for “Dumbest Thing I’ve Done Because of My Cool Quirk”, which had previously been held by “The Tree Incident”, aka “The Reason I Can’t Bend My Left Leg All The Way”. You pull yourself from the table, grabbing your food and wandering into the living room. Setting the food down on the coffee table, you throw yourself onto the couch face first with a groan. He was so much dreamier up close, even when enraged. You turned your body to face away from the couch. Rōrupan trotted over, tongue lolling out of a perfect smile. You grab the throw pillow at your head and hug it to your chest. “You should have seen his eyes,” you complained to your pet. “Rōru, they could pin you in place all on their own.” Rōrupan plopped onto his rear and gave a dramatic yawn followed by a whiny rumble. “Don’t be rude,” you grumbled into the pillow. “If I see him again, I’ll DIE. He probably wants to kick my ass. Right now, I want to kick my OWN ass.” Your dog set you with a bored look. “I pulled some real vigilante shit today. You would be proud of me, bud.” You pull your head up and reach out for the still steaming plate. Sitting up, you furrow your brows and give a worried frown. “What if he tells a cop or something and they come looking for me? You’d starve without me, y’know.” At that Rōrupan leaves the room and retreats to his owner’s. You pout and huff loudly. “Let’s hope that doesn’t actually happen.”

[yukayjei]

Linked Universe FanFic: No Courage Without Fear, Part 3

Please enjoy this next part of this @linkeduniverse story!

Our Heroes confront their wicked foe at last! As with all master magicians, this dark Wizzrobe has a few tricks up its sleeve, some nastier than others...

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

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The hooded sorcerer controlled fire and darkness. It controlled the very forest the Heroes stood in. So many unpredictable elements had been thrown their way in one night, they were not sure how to react or what to expect next.

But they had dealt with the unexpected. Today, yesterday, and in their adventures from long ago.

To the Hero of Hyrule, the Wizzrobe itself was the most unexpected element. In the past, they had always proved challenging, but the one standing just a few yards before him was on a whole different level. The common evil that infected the Bokoblins, the Moblins, the Lizalfos, and countless other monsters also afflicted this Wizzrobe.

And instinct told Hyrule he had only gotten a taste of this malefic creature’s powers.

He also knew he was ready to give it the fight of a lifetime. He reached for his sword; beside him, Sky copied.

They rushed forward at the same time. Magic and Master Swords sliced through the air so fast their movement blurred. The blows would have killed, but the Wizzrobe vanished before they connected.

“Not again,” Hyrule groaned as the shrill, maniacal laughter echoed through the trees. “This is getting old.”

“You can say that again,” Sky agreed, eyes and ears straining for any sign of their foe. Both hands tightened their grip around the Master Sword.

Without warning, it reappeared behind them. Before the Heroes could turn, a huge, dark wave slammed them to the ground. The Wizzrobe disappeared once again.

Though winded, the Heroes rose to their feet. The Wizzrobe appeared again, this time beside them, but at a greater distance. It fired the same black wave, but Hyrule’s shield reflected it. Clearly anticipating this, the Wizzrobe simply warped out of harm’s way.

So, it’s learned from before, Hyrule thought.

The foe’s movements sped up. It teleported every second, firing a magic attack each time. Hyrule was having a hard time keeping up, even with Sky parrying just as many waves with his sword.

But then, the Wizzrobe grew eerily silent. Now, it simply watched the Heroes. It might have exhausted itself, were it not for those deep crimson eyes betraying a more sinister motive. Deep in the hood’s shadows, the centers of its eyes now glowed a brilliant yellow. The wind picked up speed, and dark clouds moved to cover the moon— all-too-familiar signs of an oncoming storm.

The Heroes watched the Wizzrobe ascend, the power of its magic lifting it out of their swords’ reach.

“Maybe I can pull out my bow and shoot it down!” Sky gripped his pouch.

“Too late!” Hyrule yelled. “It summoned a thunderstorm!” As if on cue, an enormous lightning bolt struck the ground in front of them with a deafening crash.

The clearing was now a minefield. Scores of jagged white spears streaked from cloud to ground, leaving little room for movement.

The Heroes sprang back as one missed them by a hair’s breadth. Above them, the Wizzrobe’s entire form began to shine with electric light. In response, the storm intensified, if that was even possible. The wind felt like a hurricane. The boys’ ears rang from the constant, earsplitting thunder.

Hyrule brandished the Magic Sword. “I’m going for it!”

“What?” Even in his own ears, Sky’s voice was barely audible.

The Hero of Hyrule charged like he had absolutely nothing to lose. The last reserves of the Jump Spell coursed through his legs like a flood. He sprang up, his height equaling the Wizzrobe’s, and stabbed upward. The wicked sorcerer screeched as the blade tore cloth and skin. It reeled back, falling towards the earth.

As gravity reclaimed Hyrule, the Wizzrobe’s arm lashed out like a striking cobra and seized his left wrist. The young hero struggled, but the skinny, withered hand had a ridiculous vice grip.

From his position on the ground, Sky realized, with a surge of frustration, he could not attack the foe without risking injury to Hyrule. As he paced frantically, searching for an opening, lightning danced around him, dividing his attention and keeping him at bay.

The Wizzrobe, dangling Hyrule like a fish on a hook, pulled the boy closer until their faces were inches apart. Despite this, Hyrule still couldn’t see into the black void of its hood. It was deeply unsettling, to say the least.

He stiffened as the Wizzrobe leaned in even further. From the maw of nothingness, pointed yellow teeth unveiled themselves in a malicious grin. Earth-brown eyes met blood-colored pools as the demon hissed, “Remember me?”

His blood froze like a river in winter. That voice…it’s unfamiliar, and yet—! his mind raced, but it was like pulling a wagon with the rear wheels missing. Thoughts kept starting and stopping. Then why…? No! How? Could it—?

He didn’t get to finish. The Wizzrobe threw him to the ground with a force many times greater than should have been possible. Hyrule did not react, did not even try to break his fall. He may as well have been turned to stone.

In what felt like slow motion, the Chosen Hero watched in horror as his friend hit the ground with a sickening crunch and did not get up.

“No!” he shouted. Facing the Wizzrobe, blood boiling, he finally spotted his opening. Quick as a blink, he thrust the Master Sword skyward. The sharp steel conducted lightning like a magnet. Instead of electrocuting its holder, the sword instead absorbed the charge. Sparks arced up and down the blade.

Without hesitation, he swung down. The stored energy released in a spiraling blue disc.

It hit dead on the mark. The Wizzrobe wasn’t laughing now; it shrieked and writhed in agony before crumpling to the ground like a sack of bricks.

Casting his focus off the monster for the moment, Sky rushed to his friend’s side. The Hero of Hyrule lay still— too still. Sky feared the worst. Then, he groaned weakly and opened his eyes.

“Thank Hylia!” Sky exclaimed. “Can you stand?”

“I’m f-fine,” Hyrule gulped in air and it felt like swallowing thorns. He struggled to his feet, feeling lightheaded and ignoring the invisible sledgehammer pounding his skull. He gingerly touched his side and winced. Unlike Sky, he was definitely going to have a huge, nasty bruise after this. He was lucky nothing was broken.

The Wizzrobe’s breathing came in ragged gasps. Despite its heavy injuries, it still managed to wheeze out a few giggles like the whole situation, even from its perspective, was somehow funny.

Slowly, it rose. Head bowed, its snorts transformed into snarls. Darkness gathered around it, dimming the atmosphere even further. “You…”

Sky reached back and unslung his Goddess Shield. Hyrule tensed, trying to ignore his trembling limbs.

“YOU!!” the creature screeched. Its head snapped up, bloodred eyes swirling like twin maelstroms. “You will die!”

And darkness enveloped the demon like a tornado, twisting and surging until its form was unrecognizable in the vortex. For a heartbeat, a humanoid figure could be made out. Then it swelled up, gaining mass and muscle. Extra limbs grew out of its body, as did horns, hair, and a weapon.

The vortex dispersed. The Heroes, shell-shocked, could only gape.

Before them towered a giant; a black Lynel easily four times their size, carrying a gleaming Great Flameblade nearly six feet in length. Its right hand held a cruel bladed shield. Its mane and stripes were the color of smoke, and its eyes were the same hellish crimson that had been haunting the Heroes since the stroke of midnight. It bared its long, sharp teeth in a menacing snarl.

Hyrule’s voice was failing him. “By the Triforce,” he whispered hoarsely, “it can’t be.”

“Hyrule?” Sky shot him a concerned glance. “You all right?”

But Hyrule said no more. He was rooted to the spot, eyes wide and face whiter than a ghost. The Magic Sword dangled loosely in his left hand.

Sky had seen this before, in the Hero of the Wild. Hyrule was having a flashback. A bad one, from the looks of it; it had him utterly petrified.

Sky glanced furtively at his friend, not wanting to take his eyes off the Lynel, which crouched low to the ground and growled. It stared at Hyrule in an almost hungry sort of way.

It senses his fear! Sky realized with a jolt. And some instinct told him the Lynel also sensed why.

Determination surged through the Chosen Hero’s blood. He stepped forward and planted himself right between Hyrule and the Lynel. Pointing his sword directly at its chest, he said, “I won’t let you hurt my friend. But if you insist, you’ll have to go through me first.”

“Fool,” the beast snarled. Its voice had grown scarily deep. “You have no idea whom you’re dealing with. Stand aside. I will face the one who knows to fear me.”

Without flinching, Sky met its ominous gaze. “No. You won’t.”

All too eager to accept the challenge, the Lynel sprang high off the ground. It aimed the Flameblade’s tip straight down, at his skull.

The familiarity of the move surprised the Hero. Hyrule often executed it against tough enemies, a more recent example being the infected Moblin.

Being a straightforward attack, it could be easily avoided. But Sky realized he had no choice but to take it. The Lynel had him pinned. He couldn’t dodge without exposing Hyrule.

So the Chosen Hero gritted his teeth and, just before the Flameblade skewered him, parried with his Goddess Shield with all his might.

The impact created a clean ringing sound. Sky and the Lynel broke apart, but only for a moment. Sky rushed in close. Sacred steel clashed with metal forged in hellfire.

The Lynel lashed out not only with its Flameblade, but also with its shield and fists. But Sky was ready. He ducked and dodged every mighty swing, every blow that could crush his bones to dust. Every swipe that could cut him to ribbons. All the while, the Master Sword flashed like lightning as Sky slashed and cut. A hit landed every time; the Lynel would have more scars than stripes by the time this duel ended.

He’d cornered the Lynel right up against the trees’ edge. Its breathing was labored. Saliva and blood dripped from its fangs. Still, the sheer hatred in its scarlet eyes glowed ever stronger, as if that was all it needed to sustain itself.

It charged like a bull. Several hundred pounds of pure muscle barreled towards him. Sky jumped to the side only just in time. He thrust the Master Sword forward, but the Lynel evaded with supernatural speed. It slammed its shield into Sky, sending him hurtling into a tree. The Master Sword spun out of his hand like a boomerang and skidded out of reach. Trapped between a demon and a hard place, he had no room to move. Letting loose a triumphant roar, the beast raised its blade and plunged it into its foe.

Across the clearing, the Hero of Hyrule woke from his daze to see Sky pinned to the ground, struggling desperately against a ruthless barrage of attacks with his Goddess Shield as his sole defense. The shield was cracked, and it widened with every blow; it wouldn’t last much longer. Sky cried out as a mighty blow nearly shattered his left arm.

Hyrule yelled as loud as he could and charged.

Maybe he should have stopped and thought a moment. Maybe he could have drawn his bow and shot the creature instead of rushing in like an idiot, which is the absolute worst thing someone could do while fighting a monster as fearsome as a Lynel.

But Hyrule didn’t think. All he knew is that Sky needed just a few seconds to grab the Master Sword and get back into the fight, and by the Triforce, Hyrule was going to give him those seconds.

So he did something the Hero of the Wild would be proud of— he rushed up behind the Lynel, jumped on its back, and hacked and slashed like a man possessed.

In his rush to crawl away and reclaim the Master Sword, Sky paid no attention to the commotion. Relief swelled in when he at last held it again, but it changed to shock as he turned and saw Hyrule, clinging to the Lynel as it shook him like a squirrel.

“What in Hylia’s name are you doing?” he shouted.

“S-s-saving y-your life!” Hyrule gasped out, way too close to biting his tongue off. He couldn’t hold on anymore. Utilizing the Lynel’s frantic energy, he launched himself clear away from it and landed on his feet beside Sky.

Having shaken itself free of one pesky Hero, the Lynel sprang backwards, as far across the clearing as it could. Black blood poured out from many large and small wounds. Although it was weakened, a deafening roar, the loudest one yet, tore from its throat. Its eyes flashed like red lightning. The wind howled like a hurricane, shaking the cursed forest to its roots.

Taking a deep breath, Hyrule readied his sword and shield. “This is it,” he said. “If we attack it from both sides, this should be manageable.” He glanced at Sky. “Ready?”

Sky nodded, a steely glint in his eye.

But before either party could make a move, an arrow zipped between the trees and pierced the Lynel’s right foreleg. It staggered dangerously before losing its balance. Leaning awkwardly on its knees, it was down for the moment.

The Hero of Legend strode out with bow in hand, jaw clenched, and a face dark as thunder. “Trap me in a nightmare, will you?” he spat at the Lynel. “Consider that arrow your first and last warning.”

As he spoke, the rest of the Heroes emerged from all sides, eyes sharp and swords unsheathed. Each wore the same determined expression.

Surrounded by nine men and boys, each one skilled in swordplay, archery, magic, and a whole host of other strange powers and devices, the Lynel’s victory seemed uncertain. As it finally rose up, was that a glimmer of fear Sky detected behind its eyes?

The Hero of Warriors flashed a dazzling smile at Sky and Hyrule, who stood agape. “You two have been through quite the ordeal tonight! Still up for more?” He offered a hand to Sky, who still knelt on the ground.

The two exchanged glances. The sudden appearance of their friends had given them a tiny moment’s respite, allowing their exhaustion to pounce like a lion. If he were being honest, Sky wasn’t sure if he had any energy left. But one look at Hyrule’s resolute face, and he knew he had to finish this.

“You know it,” he said. He clasped Warriors’ hand and was pulled to his feet. “From dealing with this guy all night, I know it’ll take every single one of us to win.”

“Yeah,” Hyrule agreed. “Besides, we can’t let you have all the glory.”

Warriors’ grin widened. “Glad to hear it.”

Sounding a battle cry, the Heroes charged the Lynel.

[imyourbuddie]

Even When I Break Your Heart

Somehow, he's back to being Buck one point o.

It's a bitter thought, that even his "best friend" wants nothing more to do with him than his body.

"No." 

"No?" Eddie repeats angrily, taking a step forward.

It’s a tiny bit terrifying, Buck has to admit, glancing at Eddie's already bruised and clenched fists. Will Eddie hit him? What will Buck do if he does? It's definitely not a thought Buck would have considered before all this started.

"Whatever I did to deserve your anger, I've paid for it,” Buck says, glaring right back at Eddie. “But it's not even that, is it? Whatever's going on with you isn't getting better Eddie."

He swallows as Eddie's face darkens, but doesn't back away when he takes another step closer. Refuses to flinch when Eddie's hands come up to grip his arms.

"I want to help you, but not like this.” Buck ignores the nails digging into his skin. “Not where you ambush me with great sex and we don't talk about anything."

When Eddie doesn’t respond, Buck closes the distance between them and cups Eddie’s face in both hands. He stares into those Hazel brown eyes, remembering their shifting colours as Buck and Eddie lay together under lazy sunbeams. There’s no light dancing in them now, just a void filled with rage and fear. 

Buck’s heart aches, and he brushes his lips across the corner of Eddie’s mouth. He’s desperate. He wants to help Eddie so damn much. "Please, Eddie?" he mumbles. "I care about you. Let me help."

The sob is hardly audible, and before Buck can process what’s happening, Eddie’s mouth crashes into his. Demanding tongue prods at the seam of Buck’s lips, and Buck opens on autopilot, his body always willing to take whatever Eddie wants to give. Fingers rake across Buck’s scalp, gripping Buck’s hair and yanking until Buck’s moaning in pained pleasure. Eddie attacks his mouth with a ferocity that’s both exhilarating and terrifying. It’s a challenge, and Buck’s never been one to back away from a good fight. 

Reaching one hand between them, Buck grips the base of Eddie’s jaw, forcing Eddie’s head up and breaking the kiss. Their eyes clash in heated passion. Buck shoves, and Eddie resists for a moment before relenting, shuffling until his back hits the living room wall.

“Where’s Christopher?” Buck asks, glad his voice is steadier than his nerves. 

“With Carla,” Eddie replies and looks away, his cheeks gaining a little colour. “Didn’t want him seeing me like this.” 

Hope flickers in the pit of Buck’s stomach. The old Eddie is still in there, even if he’s buried under all that anger. “What do you really want from me?” 

Eddie swallows, and his body tenses. Buck tightens his grip, and Eddie sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Want you. All of you.” 

All of you. 

Buck swallows the lump in his throat and ignores the rapid onset of tears. Not just his body, then. Not just Buck one point o. The thought sends a tendril of warmth through Buck and wraps around his heart, melting the ice that’s formed there since he found out Eddie’s been street fighting.

Eddie looks up at him, his body still tense, the corners of his eyes tight. He’s still a ball of wild energy contained by sinewy muscle and taut skin. It looks to Buck like Eddie’s about to burst at the seams. 

Usually, Eddie’s the one in charge. The one with a level head, cool as a cucumber, whether they’re out on a nasty call or in bed. Usually, Buck is happy to let Eddie lead, happy to hand over the reins because he knows Eddie will take good care of him. And Eddie always just knows when Buck’s having a bad day. Knows what Buck needs to find equilibrium again after a bad call. 

Now it’s Buck’s turn to figure Eddie out. Buck’s turn to flip through the pages of Eddie’s manual until he can find that reset button. 

“Promise we’ll talk after?” 

Eddie pauses, wide eyes narrowing as they bore into Buck’s face. Buck’s not sure what Eddie’s searching for, but he must have found it because his shoulders slump. He tries to nod, but Buck’s hand around his throat turns it into a small jerk of his head, and it’s enough. 

Their mouths clash once more, only this time Buck’s the one pushing his tongue past Eddie’s lips. Buck’s the one licking into Eddie’s mouth, stroking with every breath as he licks and nips and drinks Eddie in. Eddie moans, and Buck claims that too as he presses a thigh between Eddie’s legs. 

Eddie gasps, his eyes fly open wide and wild. Buck’s heart stops for a chilling second until he feels the press of Eddie’s hardening cock. Buck grinds his thigh a little harder, using his two inches of height to their full advantage, and grins when Eddie hisses with dark delight. 

“You like that?” 

Eddie gasps when Buck latches onto the soft spot behind Eddie’s ear and sucks. “Christ, Buck.”

Buck growls and pulls back. Eddie’s skin is flushed, his pupils lust-blown. His parted lips are glistening and plump, and Buck groans at the thought of those lips wrapped around his cock.

As if reading his mind, Eddie drops to his knees and makes short work of Buck’s button and zipper. He yanks Buck’s jeans and boxers down in one swift motion and licks his lips, his darkening eyes stormy. 

Molten heat and velvet. That’s how good Eddie’s mouth feels as he swallows Buck’s cock. Buck sways, but Eddie’s steadying hands hold him upright as he works Buck’s cock with long, hungry strokes. Tongue lapping, lips stretched obscenely wide, eyes never leaving Buck’s. 

Buck can’t decide what’s more intoxicating—the feel of Eddie’s throat clamping around the head of his cock or the look in Eddie’s eyes. So desperate. So full of rage. “Eddie—” 

“I need you,” Eddie cuts in before diving back down. 

Buck hisses and yanks Eddie off the floor and his cock. 

“Whatever it is you need, come get it. Just, please, stop fighting.”

Eddie blinks, and that haunted look is back in his eyes. He fists the front of Buck’s shirt, yanking him close. “I need—fuck—”

Buck fights the urge to stroke Eddie’s face and pull him in for a gentle kiss. That’s not what Eddie needs right now. Instead, Buck growls and spins Eddie around, one hand on the back of his neck, pinning him against the wall, his other hand yanking down Eddie’s sweatpants and boxer briefs. 

“This what you need?” Buck husks in Eddie’s ear, his grip on Eddie’s neck tightening until he knows it’ll bruise later. 

Eddie whimpers and nods, his hands balled into fists as they brace against the wall. Fuck, Buck swallows and takes a few deep breaths. If Eddie’s looking for bruises, then they might as well come from him. 

“Hurt me, Evan,” Eddie rasps, “por dios.” 

Maybe it’s the Spanish, or maybe it’s the way he uttered Buck’s name, so broken and vulnerable. Buck doesn’t know why Eddie needs to be hurt, doesn’t know why Eddie’s seeking this sort of punishment, but he doesn’t want Eddie going out to those street fights anymore. No one there cares. All they want is some bloody entertainment at the expense of guys like Eddie.    

But Buck cares, and Buck will hurt Eddie in every way that Eddie needs to be hurt, then pick up the pieces and mend Eddie whole again. He’s not good at much, but he’s good at saving people, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do everything in his power to save his best friend and lover. 

“Where’s the lube?” 

“Don’t need it,” Eddie grits as he pushes his hips back and grinds his ass on Buck’s cock.

Buck’s heart breaks a little more, but he doesn’t question. Instead, he jams two fingers into Eddie’s mouth and coats them with saliva before reaching for Eddie’s hole. Eddie shudders, but the look he gives Buck over his shoulder grounds him. Eddie wants this, and beneath all that heat and pain and desire is a silent thank-you. 

Buck massages the puckered ring of muscle, then slips a finger into Eddie’s tense body. The heat is incredible, and he gets a little lightheaded at the thought of sinking his cock into that inferno. Eddie hisses and relaxes a touch, but it’s still a tight fit when Buck pushes a second finger in. He presses into Eddie, his chest to Eddie’s back, and opens Eddie up roughly as he sucks bruises along Eddie’s shoulder and neck. 

When Buck thinks Eddie’s prepared enough, he pulls back and smears pre-come down the length of his cock before lining it up at Eddie’s hole. Eddie is practically vibrating, his back arched as he tries to impale himself. Buck grips Eddie’s hip with one hand, his other pressing into the small of Eddie’s back, and pushes his cock into Eddie’s waiting heat. 

Eddie hisses, his body tensing, and it nearly chokes Buck’s dick off. They hang in limbo, and Buck holds his breath as he waits for Eddie to open up. Eventually, the tension bleeds from Eddie’s shoulders, and he relaxes enough for Buck to push the rest of the way in.  

Buck sets a brutal pace, and Eddie matches him thrust for thrust until they’re both panting and slick with sweat. With every thrust, a little more tension fades from the tight muscles of Eddie’s back, and Buck breathes a little easier. 

Buck reaches a hand around Eddie’s hip and grips Eddie’s cock, drawing a high pitched keen out of Eddie. “That’s it,” Buck grunts. “Come, Eddie. I need you to come on my dick.” 

Eddie moans, and his hips stutter as he jams himself onto Buck’s dick then thrusts into Buck’s fist. “Fuck, B-Buck, voy a—Evan—”  

Hot, sticky ropes of come cover Buck’s fingers. Eddie’s raspy cries bounce off the living room walls, his body turning into a vise as his orgasm punches through him. Buck jerks him through it, squeezing the head of Eddie’s cock to milk him of every drop. Eddie’s body softens, and tense muscles become pliant as he shudders with the aftershocks of his release. 

Buck drapes himself over Eddie’s back and wraps both arms around Eddie, pinning him in place as he pistons into Eddie like a man possessed. He loses his rhythm, and all finesse is gone from his movements as he chases his own white rabbit. Pressure coils low in his gut, and it builds and builds until Buck’s vision goes white. He sinks his teeth into Eddie’s shoulder, his muffled shout joined by Eddie’s shocked gasp, before emptying himself into Eddie. 

Buck’s legs grow weak, and Eddie’s knees give out at that exact moment. They sink to the floor, Buck slipping out of Eddie in the process, and Eddie snuggles into Buck’s lap. Buck gathers Eddie into his arms and leans back against the wall, his heart still beating a drum solo against his ribcage. 

The bruises along Eddie’s shoulder are already darkening, and Buck’s afraid to check where he’s grabbed Eddie during their wild love making. Afraid that he’s only adding to the plethora of yellow and green bruises that are finally starting to fade on his torso. 

They sit like this until their breathing calms and the sweat has chilled their skin. Buck rouses Eddie from their cuddle pile on the floor and moves them to the bathroom. The shower they share is muted and chaste, but the silence between them is comfortable. Eddie’s movements are languid and relaxed, and that haunted shadow is gone from his beautiful eyes. 

Showered, sated, and still as naked as they day they were born, Buck and Eddie slip under the covers in Eddie’s bed, their faces a hair’s breadth apart. Buttery sunbeams filter through the window and splash across Eddie’s face, highlighting the flecks of gold in his eyes. 

“Evan,” Eddie murmurs. His eyelids droop, but he flutters them open. 

“Shh,” Buck slips his arms around Eddie and pulls him close. “Talk later. Sleep first.”

He can feel Eddie’s smile spread along his skin. “Okay. And Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“Te amo.” 

[darklesmylove]

Pull Me Under ch 1 | alarkling

sequel type au for king of scars, check it out on ao3 as well!

For the first time, they were alone.

Nikolai watched the Darkling with a caution that was thinly veiled, his hazel eyes hard and troubled and haunted with fear as he casually sat on the edge of his bedroom desk, his arms lazily folded over his chest. The Darkling mirrored his body language, arms loosely crossed as he leaned against the bedpost, regarding Nikolai with those infuriatingly amused silver eyes. It seemed with every subsequent passing second he was becoming more and more... himself, his appearance growing more beautiful, muscles hardening his lean frame, his skin paling to ivory, the lines of his features softening and sharpening to graceful, effortless beauty.

A strange thought, that someone so beautiful could harbor so much darkness.

Nikolai shifted. They hadn't spoken a word, a strange challenge in the air as they stared at each other. Who could be more relaxed, more unbothered, more nonchalant. More strategic. More cunning.

Uncomfortableness pricked across his skin as he was maddeningly aware of every single one of his movements being carefully analyzed by one of the most powerful grisha to ever exist. More likely than not the man was cataloguing some gleaned information away to use against him later.

"I admit your survival was not in my top ten list of things I wanted to see happen." Nikolai spoke first, careful to keep his words even, a hint of the playful sarcasm present that he used with everyone. Now it seemed fundamentally wrong in the face of this ancient power.

"I'm sure many would agree with you." The Darkling hummed in return, the picture of ease as he quirked an eyebrow in some mild semblance of challenge.

Nikolai felt his cool crumbling significantly faster than he had initially hoped. He needed answers, he needed to get this demon out of him and he was more than willing to sacrifice his pride to do so.

"What did you do to me." His words carried the echo of surety, but was not quite convincing enough to either set of ears.

The Darkling canted his head, a mockingly thoughtful expression passing over his graceful lips. Silence hung in the air; the Darkling knew he had a handle on control and he was savoring it to the very fullest.

"Tell me about Alina and maybe I'll consider helping you, otkazats'ya king," he responded breezily, though Nikolai didn't miss the flicker of something in his quartz eyes. Longing, maybe?

A weakness then.

A faint inner voice angrily chided him. That weakness was Alina, and he would never exploit her for his own gain again. That much he had promised himself.

"Alina Starkov," Nikolai tapped his lips, words light, "Short, spunky little thing, has a strange aversion to power, immune to my charms. Ghost white hair and perpetually dark bags underneath her eyes that somehow make her beauty even more glorious. Married to a quite irksome tracker." The Darkling's jaw tightened quite obviously with something between jealousy and irritation. He stared at Nikolai with calm, cool anger, expectant.

They both knew that hadn't been what the Darkling meant.

A hollow sigh escaped Nikolai's lips.

"Still powerless, so she is of no use to you anymore. She's happy. We don't speak often."

The Darkling's gaze averted, something soft passing over his features. "Usefulness. Something I have had much time to contemplate on."

Nikolai had no reply to that.

Had that just been some sort of twisted admission of how he truly felt about her? Or was this more of his infamous manipulation?

He had known there was something powerful that had bound the Darkling and Alina together, but maybe Nikolai had underestimated the depth of their emotional connection.

The Darkling straightened his shoulders, suddenly all cold, hard edges. The sight was almost a relief; now this was the Darkling that Nikolai knew and loathed.

"Merzost is not within the natural order, I trust you have at least come to that basic conclusion by now," he cooly murmured, "It lives on once it has been brought into this world, it cannot be expunged any more than the air or the sea or the sky. But it can be dispersed, it can be... transferred." His gaze flickered down to Nikolai's hands, something satisfied present underneath his impassive demeanor. It didn't matter. Hope had already rooted deep in Nikolai's heart, dangerous in its strength.

"What do you want?" Nikolai questioned, pausing before adding a sarcastic, "I wouldn't suppose you'd be interested in my hand in marriage. That's quite a popular commodity currently." He instantly felt the urge to cringe as the Darkling flashed him the blankest, emptiest stare he could have possibly fathomed. A beat of his silent contemplation ensued.

Nikolai braced himself for what he would demand. The throne? The heads of the people he deemed traitors? All of Ravka?

"Alina. And a spot on the council to oversee the protection of Grisha. That is all I require, and I will rid you of the darkness running through your veins and rooted deep within your soul."

Nikolai sputtered. "I-I can't give you Alina, are you insane?"

The Darkling flashed him a look of mirth. "I know she cannot be given or claimed anymore than you or me. That much I have come to realize. No, merely request that she comes to Os Alta so that I may speak to her and that will suffice. That and a seat on the council. That is my price."

Protectiveness immediately clouded Nikolai's thoughts, he forced the irrational response to the back of his mind. Alina would want to know that the Darkling had survived, and she would be perfectly safe within the walls of the palace. As far as a seat on the council, he most definitely couldn't trust the man, but had he ever really trusted anyone in politics?

"How do I know you'll uphold your end of the deal?" Nikolai asked with feigned casualness. He had the wild urge to claw at his chest, to desperately scrape at the black veins crawling along his hands. This dark power had been inside of him for too long, they both knew it.

The Darkling arched a brow, his lips pressing together as if to stifle an amused laugh. "My word is good enough. You can lock me up if you please until it's done."

Nikolai resisted the instinctive temptation to say something inappropriately suggestive.

"Tolya and Tamar will escort you to temporary chambers for you to sleep in, which will be locked and patrolled on a 24 hour watch," he pushed himself up off the desk so he was standing at his full height, still an irritating few inches shorter than the Darkling. The man merely nodded in an unbothered manner, as if he wasn't a prisoner here. It was disconcerting, to say the very least.

That night, as Zoya chained Nikolai to his bed, he speculated that, in fact, he was more of a prisoner than the Darkling ever would be.

Irony, perhaps, was even wittier than he was.

***

It hadn't taken long for Nikolai to get in contact with Alina, and in doing so he had purposefully left his summons ambiguous at best. A coach had been sent for her safe passage; she was to arrive in Os Alta today. Soon, in fact. The thought of seeing her again sent a pang of something bittersweet through the very depths of his heart. Alina Starkov, the only person to see him for the man he truly was, the first woman to ever reject him so profoundly, the friend he hadn't spoken to in months due to his own shame.

His hands wrung together, clothed in black leather gloves that dimly reminded him of a certain master thief back in Ketterdam.

Zoya was nowhere to be found, having previously denounced him rather poisonously for so quickly giving in to the Darkling's demands. In fact, all of his council had been varying levels of furious with him.

But none of them were living with a demon inside of them. None of them had to endure that constant, harrowing terror and excruciating pain. And none of them had the promise of a cure dangling over their heads.

Genya stood beside him currently, and though she had undoubtedly suffered the worst at the Darkling's hand, she had also been the most forgiving of his quick surrender. She knew the horrors of merzost almost as well as he did. But today her amber eye was sparkling with nothing but excitement, her fiery red hair glowing in the pool warm daylight casting down from the expansive window. They hadn't seen Alina in a significant while, none of them visited Alina often upon her request to live a normal life, which had undoubtedly made the sting of losing her even worse. She had made it painfully clear she didn't want to be apart of their world any longer.

Nikolai grimaced. She might not have a choice anymore.

Without warning, the palace doors were drug open rather ceremoniously to reveal a figure clad in dull gray, hood falling back to expose a shock of white hair. In a flash, the two best friends were tangled in an embrace, leaving Nikolai to look on nervously as they exchanged laughs and tears, mournful giggles and happy cries filling the expansive room. When they finally broke away, Alina's golden eyes immediately went to Nikolai.

It felt as if someone had slammed a particularly hard fist into his gut. Suddenly he was three years younger, looking down at her with a carefree grin and a heavy emerald ring clutched tightly in his hand.

"Nikolai," she smiled gently, tears still shining in her eyes as she rushed into his embrace. He held her close, savoring the gentle, soothing scent of her, like a summer breeze twisting through a field of freshly bloomed flowers. She clutched at the rough fabric of his olive green uniform, he felt it bunch briefly as her grip tightened before releasing slowly, almost painfully so. He wanted to protest as she pulled away but, rather reluctantly, he held his tongue. Her golden eyes were no longer threatened with tears, a curious suspicion cautiously held about her. "Not that I'm not happy to see you, but why did you ask me here, Nikolai?" she questioned, raising a brow a calculated measure.

The look made him entirely too uneasy, it mirrored an expression that the Darkling wore all too often.

"I-" he hesitated, resisting the urge to take her hands in his. He looked to Genya for help, meeting her eye with an air of helplessness.

No one would want to be the one to admit it to her.

"Just come with us, Alina," Genya grimly determined, hooking her arm around Alina's and promptly tugging her towards the grand staircase. Nikolai trailed behind, feeling much less than a king as they ignored him in favor of murmuring softly to one another, Alina growing increasingly agitated with every passing second. Their steps echoed through the empty hallways as they drew nearer to the chambers they had found for the Darkling, an entirely new room seeing as Zoya had taken over his. Nikolai couldn't hear what Genya was saying, but as they stopped in front of the closed door, he registered Alina's gasp of horror, the anger flashing in her golden eyes.

And yet, there was no fear to her demeanor as she shook her head, her hands clenching tightly at her sides.

"Leave us be, this needs to be done alone," she snapped with a heated glare directed at neither of them. Genya reached forward, squeezing her hand in comfort before she retreated. Nikolai's heart ached to do the same, though he knew he would never dare. "You too, Nikolai," Alina harshly spoke, not sparing him a second glance and she threw the door open, immediately snarling something unintelligible at the inhabitant.

Nikolai turned, but hesitated, morbid curiosity prickling at his fingertips.

Quietly, he approached the door, which remained open a small crack, thankfully a large enough gap for him to peer through. Alina was gesticulating wildly, a storm of beautiful, wild anger as she punctuated each furious remark with increasingly hard smacks against the man's chest.

It was shocking, to say the least, to see the Darkling look almost remorseful under her gaze, taking every verbal and physical blow in somber silence. Nikolai shifted closer, his ears straining to hear what she could possibly be saying to him.

"... you have got to be fucking kidding me, Aleksander, you shouldn't be alive. You shouldn't be alive. You should have fucking stayed dead, saints, I mourned you, I cried for you. And you'd best believe if I still had my powers I would cut you in half right here..."

Nikolai's breath had hitched at hearing her address him by a name, not his title. Jealousy and disbelief grew thick at the back of his throat.

Just how close had they been?

"Alina..." The soft hum of the Darkling's voice, gentle as a caress, was almost jarring.

She visibly ground her teeth together. "You are not going to interfere in my life, Aleksander. I will not allow it. I dare you to try me, look me in the eye and tell me I'm playing around right now you stupid fucking idiot."

He took a step closer to her. Nikolai had to restrain himself from slamming open the door and beating him to the ground.

Alina tilted her chin up in defiance, meeting his gaze with a ferocity. The Darkling gazed at her with a startling reverence. "You can control the shadows Alina, do not act as if you don't know. As much as you wish it so, you will never be a normal otkazats'ya with a normal otkazats'ya life."

Her body visibly shuddered. "No."

He nodded, seemingly hesitating before lifting his hand. To Nikolai's utter surprise, a soft glow ignited in his palms, soothingly captivating. Dread pooled in the pits of Nikolai's stomach as, after a tense moment, Alina lifted her hand level with his, palm up.

Shadows collected at her slender fingertips.

The look they shared was devastating.

Alina's hand dropped, her expression shuttering. "I love Mal, Aleksander, and I swear if you try anything with him I will stab you a hundred more times until you are dead for good. I don't..." she paused, clearing her throat. "Say you know that there will never be anything between us again," she spoke more firmly than before. The Darkling stilled, falling silent. Slowly, cautiously, his hand reached out for hers, tugging at her fingers and intertwining them as he murmured, "I know." To Nikolai's dismay, she didn't resist the intimate gesture.

"You can still be a better man, Aleksander, but it can't be for my sake anymore," she said so quietly Nikolai almost missed the words. Then she pulled her hand away, turning and heading for the door.

Nikolai scrambled backwards, hastily darting a healthy distance away before leaning back against the wall with a charade of boredom. His heart was pounding in his throat as the door eased open. She shut it gently behind her, immediately startling at the sight of Nikolai a ways down the hallway.

"I thought I told you to leave, Nikolai," she frowned just slightly, though seemingly no actual anger backed the expression.

"I just decided to wait in case he tried to steal away my lovely bride to be," he grinned with his familiar air of confidence, though an insistent, hollow ache thrummed against his sternum in protest.

Alina had never looked at Nikolai the way she had just looked at the Darkling. He gave a slight, imperceptible shake of his head to dispel the gloomy thoughts as she made her way over to him. He was not in love with Alina anymore, and furthermore, neither him or the Darkling had managed to capture her heart. He offered his arm in a grand, overly dramatic gesture, making her snort, though she took it anyway without hesitation. "I hate men," she muttered, though a couple seconds later she matched his grin with an equally bright smile.

As they walked, making light, teasing conversation, he desperately tried to push away the haunting thought of shadows in her hands.

***

The atmosphere at the table was tense, to say the least, everyone finally reunited with the exclusion of Mal. There would always be an unspoken understanding between all of them after all they had been through, but for some reason now it felt like everyone was worlds apart. Alina was, quite surprisingly, the first person to speak, her voice ringing with an unusual authority.

"What the fuck happened. Why the hell is he here, alive. Furthermore, why are you dragging me back into all of this shit?"

Her golden eyes seemed ancient, haunted with unspoken knowledge. It made Nikolai's skin crawl.

"We just bumped into him on a lovely stroll on the Fold, I thought a reunion might be fun," Nikolai smiled wanly, canting his head as Alina shot him a look of irritation.

Zoya's features were pulled into a less than pleased scowl, her lips curling slightly. "We should have killed him already. Nikolai just seems to think that we should bow down to all of the Darkling's demands and let him waltz right back into power. Isn't that right, moi tsar?"

Her words dripped an acetic bitterness that rubbed at Nikolai's already frayed nerves. "I would prefer to not have a demon living in my roguishly handsome body for another second, but that's just me." He flashed her a smile across the table, she glowered in response.

Alina's gaze trailed over his body with an aura of thoughtfulness, lingering on his ungloved hands. When they had informed her of Nikolai's... friend, she hadn't seemed surprised in the slightest, murmuring something about the wound on her shoulder itching in the depths of the night, a silent answer to the call of merzost.

"I have no doubt the Darkling is the only one that can fix you, Nikolai," she let out a sigh that was impossibly heavy, "Merzost is a secret of the world that only he has unlocked. I won't risk tampering with it. If you want answers, he has them."

Genya's head tipped forward in a reluctant nod of agreement. "I think Alina is right."

Murmurs of unrest rippled across the table.

A throbbing sensation formed at Nikolai's temples. "He wants a spot on the council, is that really so horrible to accept? It will allow us to keep track of him even more easily if he's within the palace walls."

Zoya scoffed. "Yes, Nikolai, you'll keep track of him up until he kills you in your sleep."

"Zoya." Alina's voice was soft, but firm with warning. To the room's surprise, Zoya fell to silence. Brooding silence, but even so.

In fact the whole room remained quiet in favor of waiting for her to speak, as if she held all the answers in the palm of her graceful hand.

"I think it would be best for me to move back to Os Alta," she sighed, her words laced with dim irritation, as if the situation of their biggest, most powerful enemy coming back to life was a nothing more than a minor nuisance.

Nikolai's knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the table, not doing well at hiding the jolt of surprise that traveled through his body. "Really, Alina? What about Mal? I don't think he'll-"

Her words were sharp as she cut him off. "Mal and I are no longer together. And furthermore, no man speaks for me. You need my help to fix this mess and to deal with him, and even if I don't want to come back I'm not going to abandon Ravka." Everyone was shocked to silence, staring at her with wide eyes. Nikolai's thoughts more than likely mirrored everyone else's.

Who was this new Alina? She was the same and yet somehow startlingly different. More confident, more sure of herself than she had ever been. Though it seemed that her sarcastic, irritable streak had remained.

She stood up, her hands braced against the wood of the table. "No objections? Great. I'll see you all tomorrow."

With that, she twirled on her heels, striding from the room and leaving them all in collectively stunned silence.

[inactiive-shit]

Blood In My Mouth

Title from ‘Country Song’ by Seether

Warnings: Violence, crime, bruises, fighting

Pairings: platonic lamp, romantic analogical

Words: 4,910

Summary: A win brings him a friend, a loss brings him a friend, and an illegal fighting group can bring. . .love?

The next fighter that steps into the fighting arena - a rather extravagant term for the slightly raised circle that the fights were held in - is not as tall as Virgil; maybe seven or eight inches shorter. Virgil himself is six foot four, and it was not often someone that he fought someone his height or taller. Once or twice, he definitely had. And he’d won because he’s the best fighter they’ve ever seen. He wins most of his fights, but not all of them.

No, no one in this hell hole can boast a perfect record. When the rules are so lax and rarely enforced, it’s a challenge to know what you’re walking into. If they pull a knife, you have to know how to disarm them. If they pull a gun, they’ll never be allowed back.

But you’ll probably die.

Virgil knows this. He also knows that this is a shitty way to get extra money, and he’s a lot more likely to die from a rage-induced attack in this arena, or because somebody hit him just so and they have no medical personnel, than he is to die in any other aspect of his life.

In his fake life, Virgil is an accountant who can barely do the math his job depends on.

People think that accountants have to be smart. Virgil can say with absolute certainty that they don’t. You just have to be crafty, and good at lying.

This opponent has hair that’s dyed red at the front, and Virgil is pretty sure the rest is a rainbow. He snorts. Having pride is one thing, but just wearing yourself so obviously like that is asking for trouble.

Then again, maybe this man likes asking for trouble. He looks the strike-first kind.

“V. Black versus R. Red!” the announcer shouts. “Place your bets.” He smirks slyly at Virgil. “Have fun, V. Black. This is his first fight in these parts.”

“Poor pup,” Virgil mutters. He knows the other man can’t hear him, but his face pulls down in a low snarl. Is he trying to intimidate Virgil? He’ll have to try a hell of a lot harder than that.

Virgil finds Remy in the crowd and nods subtly at them. Remy will bet on Virgil, and they’ll split the winnings.

“Are your bets placed?” The crowd cheers. The announcer roars, “Fight!”

The man lunges at Virgil, and Virgil chooses to let the blow land. It slams into his shoulder, and he twists back with it. The man follows with a few kicks, and he gets another punch to the ribs. The crowd screams. Then, Virgil kicks him in the calf. The man stumbles some, and somebody throws something into the edge of the arena. It’s quickly swept away by one of their ‘refs.’

Virgil is sort of pissed. He’d been aiming for the knee.

Virgil knows that just because a hit isn’t perfect doesn’t mean you lose. He also knows that a blocked, dodged, or partially dodged hit all tell him something about his opponent.

This does not make Virgil any less mad.

Virgil forces his rage into something more useful to him, and lets it hone his focus. This man is fast. This man is probably a little younger than Virgil. This man is agile, but so is Virgil. Far more than people expect. This man is arrogant, and expects to win against Virgil.

Now that is good. Very, very good.

And it will make beating him taste that much better.

Virgil slams a fist into the man’s ribs. He coughs and spins away, barely righting himself before the fall. Virgil tries for a kick, but the man is too fast for it to land. He punches, and it hits Virgil square in the face. The angle is awkward because of the height difference. This does not lessen the pain at all. The taste of blood fills Virgil’s mouth and he spits some of it out. He glares at the man, and quickly glances over his physique.

Virgil suddenly realizes just how big this man’s arms are.

He almost falls.

The crowd is screaming wildly, and this is far more people than usually show up to these fights. Virgil decides the man probably brought his entire posse from wherever he used to fight.

Virgil knows he used to fight, because there is no way this is the first time he’s been in the ring. He’s far better than a novice.

Virgil would bet that he’s the champion from wherever he came from.

Well, he’s about to be introduced to second place.

Virgil swings, hard, and the punch connects with the other side of the man’s chest. His leg swings out impossibly quick after, and he hits the man’s thigh so hard that he gasps and almost falls.

Now that the man is limping badly, Virgil smirks at him.

The man rages at Virgil. His leg lashes out and catches Virgil in the stomach. He stumbles back, and the man advances, punching in a precise way that has Virgil stepping back again. The edge of the circle is two steps behind him. If he is knocked out of it, the crowd will not be pleased. People don’t like a win on technicalities. They like blood and pain and giving up or passing out.

But it’s still losing, and that is not something Virgil does lightly. Or easily.

Virgil dodges the next punch, and he goes for the jaw. It’s a bit of a hack, but there’s no cheating when your reputation’s on the line.

The hit isn’t perfect, but now the man’s nose is bleeding. He stumbles back, one hand immediately covering his nose, and Virgil takes the opportunity he’s so graciously been gifted. One long leg sweeps the man’s out from under him. Virgil pounces like a cat, landing blows left and right as the man tries to dislodge him. Finally, when it’s looking like Virgil is going to give him brain damage before he’ll give, he taps the ground.

“I give! You win!” Virgil immediately rolls off the man. A pretty, blue-eyed man rushes into the circle, gathering the other and helping him off out of the circle. His wide eyes are stuck on Virgil, who grins like a spider. They disappear into the crowd.

Virgil slips out himself, pulling a hoodie on despite the uncomfortable heat, and heads to the bar. He gets a water, with ice, just like he always does. Remy comes out of the crowd, smiling like a fiend, and passes Virgil’s half of their loot.

“You did good, gurl,” Remy says. “Though, for a second there, I was losing my faith.”

“I was giving the crowd what they wanted.” Virgil shrugs and takes a drink.

“Well, next time don’t give your only friend a heart attack. Ain’t neither one of us getting our money if I die.”

Virgil smiles, nasty and amused. “Actually, if the better dies, all the money they bet goes to the winner. So, I’d be better off if you croaked.”

Remy squaks indignantly, a hand carefully covering their pronoun necklace. Virgil snorts and takes another drink.

“Okay, I see how much you love me,” Remy says. “I’ve never seen your opponent before.” Their eyes go glassy for a second. “Did you see his arms? I would let him punch me.”

“You would die,” Virgil says. He barely contains the laughter that threatens to bubble out when Remy lightly slaps his shoulder.

“For shame, Virgil. For shame.” Remy begins to leave.

“You were the one who thought I was going to lose!” Virgil calls at Remy’s back. Remy flips him off without turning around, and then they’re gone into the crowd. Virgil chuckles and goes back to his drink. He’d never admit it, but everything hurts.

Halfway through his third glass of water, R. Red collapses into the seat beside Virgil and orders a drink. Virgil doesn’t pay attention to what it is specifically because he couldn’t give a shit less about the man, but he can tell the beverage is alcoholic.

“So. V. Black,” the man says. He’s turned toward Virgil now, which is not something Virgil is a fan of. He wishes the man would just fuck off.

When Virgil doesn’t even face him, he huffs dramatically and then winces. His face is bandaged up, and it looks professional. Virgil wonders who did it. “My name is Roman. We fought in the ring not so long ago.” Virgil still doesn’t move, hoping the man will leave. “I said my name is Roman,” he says louder.

Virgil slowly looks at him. “Yes, and?” The man gasps, and slaps a hand over his chest. Virgil is immediately reminded of Remy, and he thinks these two would definitely hate each other. They have repellant personalities.

“Rude!” the man exclaims. He looks so honestly outraged that Virgil laughs.

“Listen, man. I don’t know you. I don’t care about you. We fought, you lost, get over it. If you have a problem, come back another night. I’ll keep beating your ass until you learn the lesson.” Virgil sips his water, finally starting to cool down. “Now leave.”

“No no no,” the man says, eyes flashing in the poor bar light. “I don’t have any sort of problem. You won, fair and square. I don’t dispute that.” Virgil stares at him for a second, not really believing him. He gets the feeling he’s going to get stabbed any second now because of a sore loser. “I want you to train me.”

Virgil chokes. “Excuse me?” he exclaims, reverting back to his polite ways. The man nods enthusiastically, and Virgil thinks he’s probably hallucinating.

“Yeah! Obviously! That’s how you improve, right? You find someone better than you, and have them teach you until you can beat them.”

“No. Fuck off,” Virgil snaps. The man does not look the least bit deterred.

“C’mon, dark and dreary! There’s no bad blood between us. Why not teach an aspiring god?”

“God?” Virgil repeats, choking on his water again. He can’t believe the audacity of this man, and now he feels like he should find out where he came from and avoid it like the plague.

“Obviously. If you’re not the best, what’s the point?”

“Income?” Virgil suggests. The man shakes his head. Before he can speak, Virgil does. “Listen, kid, the answer’s no. I’m not training you and if I never see you again, it’ll be too soon. Do you understand? Now go before I punch you again. If there’s no monetary gain for me, I won’t stop.” Roman stares at Virgil before he smiles brightly, blood on his teeth, and leaves. Virgil has a terrible sinking feeling.

Roman shows up at every fight that Virgil is at for the next month, studying him when he fights, and begging to study under him when he’s done. He gets to know Remy, even, and Virgil has never been more wrong about two people getting along. They work as a tag-team, Roman advocating for himself at the fights, and Remy advocating at all other times.

Virgil gets to know far more about Roman than he wants to, and Roman finds out his name, and somehow, Virgil agrees to teach him. They spar, they talk, but most surprisingly of all, they become friends. Virgil has never regretted making a friend so much.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The man Virgil is fighting is called G. Bald. Virgil thought it was funny at first, because anybody who is bald has an absolutely ridiculous name in the ring, and while Virgil knows that it doesn’t affect their fighting ability at all, he can’t help but laugh at them. This seemed to be a mistake, however, because this man is built like a brick wall, and he seems to be as about as wide as he is tall - meaning he is five foot nine, and his shoulders almost look just that far across.

And now, because Virgil laughed at him, he is raging mad. Virgil had at first expected this to make him sloppy, but it seemed he was actually a very focused man. Despite this, Virgil had been winning, and enough to make the crowd crazy.

But then the man had drawn a knife.

That changed things.

Virgil goes on defense. His main priority is to get the knife away from the man so that he can beat his ass properly, and with few reservations. The man lunges and Virgil dodges, trying to grab his arm. The man is no expert with a knife, but he is very quick and Virgil knows that one stab in just the right place makes him dead. He can hear Roman’s voice rising above the crowd, screaming his name. Remy is yelling for him to leave, but Virgil knows he can’t. If he backs out, he’ll never be allowed to fight here again, and they’ll lose a ton of money.

That’s not to mention that the circle of people would be pissed if he tried to cheat them of the fight they wanted, and they’d push him back into the fight. Likely right onto the knife that the other man was holding.

Virgil does not try to leave.

Then the man moves far more quickly than should be possible and he slices into Virgil’s arm. Blood is immediately rushing out and Virgil knows he is on a time limit now. The crowd screams as Virgil ducks away from the next few stabs and finally manages to kick the knife hand so hard the knife is thrown into the crowd. The noise ramps up, and Virgil stumbles back from the man. The fight only goes on for a few seconds after that, because the man lunges forward and a well-placed blow to the jaw brings Virgil down hard.

The next thing Virgil sees is his own apartment, and Roman sitting by his bed. There is no light coming in the window, but he can feel the anxious bouncing that Roman’s leg is doing.

“Virgil? Are you awake? Holy shit, I thought you’d died,” Roman exclaims. He is kneeling, leaning toward Virgil before he can respond, and his face looks worried.

“‘M fine, Roman.” Virgil forces himself up, and immediately knows something is wrong. There is nowhere near the amount of pain in his arm that there should be. He shifts the arm in front of him, twisting it to see the bandage. It’s a lot better than anything either of his friends can do.

“What the fuck?” he says, and begins to pick at the bandage. Roman grabs his hand and pulls it away.

“Hey, Brad Pitiful, why don’t you think for a fucking second?” Roman demands. “That’s on your arm for a reason.”

Virgil snorts. “I had no idea.” Roman shakes his head in defeat. “Who the fuck put this on my arm, anyway? You’re about as gentle as a raging bull and Remy’s caffeine intake makes his hands shake like a bastard.”

Roman grimaces. “Well, you got cut Virgil, and Remy and I didn’t know how to take care of it, and Remy told me we couldn’t take you to a hospital because you’d wind up dead.” Roman hesitates, and he steps back behind his chair. “So I called a friend.”

“A friend?” Virgil asks quietly. “Who?”

“He’s a good friend of mine. A doctor, actually, which is how he had access to the pain medication and he knew how to sew your arm up.” Roman’s rambling does nothing to stop Virgil’s inherent suspicion and growing anger.

“Who, Roman?”

“His name is Patton. He’s not going to tell the cops or anything, okay? He helps me when I get into shit at the fights, and he said he’d be more than happy to help a friend of mine.” Roman takes an extra step toward the door.

“Is he here?” Virgil asks.

“Yeah. He wanted to make sure that you didn’t have an adverse-” Virgil is out of the bed and shoving past Roman. His apartment is shitty, a one bedroom and one bathroom monstrosity with a kitchen-living room combo. It is in the bad part of town, and people have tried to rob Virgil more than once. They don’t make the mistake again.

Virgil stumbles out of his room, shirtless and still smelling like sweat, and sees an unfamiliar man on his couch with Remy. Remy jumps up, blue flashing at his collar.

“Virge!” The relief is evident is his voice. “Gurl, do you know how much money we lost? You’re insane.” He doesn’t ask why Virgil didn’t leave the ring. He already knows the rules.

“Who’re you?” Virgil directs this question at the unfamiliar man, despite knowing exactly who the man is. There’s only one person he can be.

“I’m Patton Hahn,” he says. There’s a slight german accent underlying his words. “Ro called me when you got hurt.” He smiles and waves at Virgil. Virgil leans against the wall, minding his arm, and nods.

“Okay. Sure.” Virgil nods, and then decides that he’s probably telling the truth and even if he’s not, Remy will protect all his stuff. “I’m taking a shower. Thanks for the help.” Virgil stumbles for the bathroom, and Patton calls after him to watch the bandage. Virgil waves him off.

When he gets out of the shower, Patton has made eggs at a stove Virgil is fairly sure was broken before. Virgil is also fairly sure he didn’t have eggs or pepper or any of the other things that are laid out on the counter. He looks confusedly between the kitchen and his couch, where the other two are, and then decides to accept it. If god decided to fix his arm and give him the first real meal he’s eaten in weeks, then Virgil wouldn’t question it. He’d take what he could get.

“Hey, Virgil!” Patton calls cheerfully from the stove. Virgil looks at him, and sees the clock. It’s three a.m. Don’t any of these people have jobs to go to in the morning?

“You bet,” Virgil mutters. He has a shirt on, and his recently dyed hair is turning the white shoulder black.The pants he’s wearing are baggy sweats he’d never be caught dead in outside his house, but he figures these three can deal with them because it’s his house.

“I made eggs for you. Well, for everyone, actually,” Patton says. “And some sausage, but Remy told me you were a vegetarian, so I found some vegetarian bacon at the store for you. I don’t know how it tastes, but it had good reviews.” He smiles widely, and Virgil thinks that’s a lot more than most would do for a shitty stranger.

“Thanks,” Virgil mutters. He limps to the couch and throws himself on the floor in front of it, not at all paying any attention to the injuries throbbing on his body. Roman laughs at the dramatization, and Remy lays a foot on Virgil’s side. It’s quiet for a few moments, a cartoon Virgil’s never seen before playing on a T.V. that doesn’t have cable or any channels. In fact, Virgil doesn’t have a VCR or a DVD or a Blu-ray player. Virgil has just about nothing like that in his apartment, period. But somehow there’s a show playing, and from the way it goes, he bets Patton brought it over, as well as a means of playing it.

Virgil feels this is a suspicious amount of kindness in this part of town.

“Here you are,” Patton sings, passing plates around to all of them. Virgil’s food is gone is a matter of minutes. As soon as Patton sees it’s gone, he whisks the plate away and returns it with more food. Virgil wonders how much food this doctor made.

“So, Virgil, you’re the guy who beat Roman about six months ago, right?” he asks. Virgil nods. “And you’re training him now?” There’s excitement in Patton’s eyes, and Virgil admits to himself that’s it’s kind of adorable. He nods again. “That’s really neat of you, kiddo! Not everybody would be willing to help somebody out like that, and I’m really glad Roman has a friend like that.”

“Padre, be quiet,” Roman hisses, a blush dusting his cheeks. Remy leans down and takes a piece of Virgil’s bacon.

“Not bad,” he whispers. “Could be better.”

“Now Roman, are you getting embarrassed by your dear old dad?” Patton asks, and he wiggles his shoulders a bit. Roman covers his face, groaning, and Virgil bursts into laughter.

“Virgil, I think you and I are going to be really good friends,” Patton says. Virgil shrugs which is as good as outright agreement to Patton. Virgil doesn’t talk for the rest of the night, and in the morning all of them leave for their jobs. Patton makes Virgil promise to call if anything else happens, or if he just wants to hang out. Virgil nods his head like he has plans of following through on that even though he doesn’t. Somehow, he ends up doing it anyway.

Patton becomes another of Virgil’s few friends, and his ability to annoy Virgil is on par with Roman. Their friendship is strong, though, and, well, there’s not much Virgil could do about it if he wanted to.

He doesn’t really want to do anything about it, anyway.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Three months after Virgil’s sliced arm, he’s back at the ring. The first person to step up is a tall man. A man about two inches taller than Virgil, in fact. Virgil smirks, because this will definitely be fun.

The man is more obviously muscular than Virgil is, too. He is lumbering when he walks, though, and Virgil figures that speed will be his greatest asset in this fight. The man also looks sort of dumb, like he doesn’t really understand much. Virgil doesn’t put much stock in that, but the observation sticks in the back of his head.

“V. Black versus H. Red!” the announcer calls. Virgil sticks his tongue out at the man, and the man squints at him. “Place your bets!”

Virgil nods at Remy.  He’s sure they stand to gain a lot more from this fight than most because people will look at them and think size is the most important aspect. Virgil’s trained for years, though, and he isn’t very worried about how big the opponent is.

The much more important characteristic of fighters is their intelligence. And while Virgil isn’t smart, he’s observant and that’s close enough.

“Last call for bets!” the announcer calls. He lowers his voice and looks between the two before looking to Virgil. “Sorry, V. Black, but he’s got my vote.”

Virgil smiles. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

“Fight!”

Virgil slides forward and punches the man in the nose once. His head cracks back, but his feet stay planted firmly on the ground. Virgil dances back, and the man doesn’t move. Instead, he smiles at Virgil.

“You’re going down,” the man says. And then he lunges.

He gets his arms around Virgil’s waist and they both his the floor, sending up a puff of something that Virgil wishes he wasn’t laying in. The man pins both of Virgil’s legs, and begins raining punches on whatever bit of Virgil is exposed. Virgil blocks what he can, and writhes on the floor, looking for an out.

Virgil’s not a wrestler, and grappling is not something he ever found in any joy in. But he did have to know how to disengage a hold. The memories are dusty, but they are present and Virgil twists.

The man loses his grip for a moment, and Virgil uses the reprieve to buck off the ground and throw the man free. Virgil’s up before his opponent, and he throws himself forward before either of them have a chance to recover. Now Virgil is on top, punch after punch slamming home.

Except, the man seems to know much more about on-the-floor fighting than Virgil does, and Virgil is thrown off in five seconds. He rolls across the floor and springs to his feet just in time to receive a kick to the stomach that almost brings him back down. He growls and bares his teeth, bloody as they are, and he puts his hands up again.

The man laughs, and swings his leg for Virgil’s face. Virgil ducks and spins, and he can feel his ribs threatening to break, but it doesn’t matter. They can complain all they want. The goal is winning, and Virgil will.

Virgil upper-cuts the man as he rises, and his jaw clacks together. The crowd roars as he stumbles back trying to find his balance. Virgil advances again and kicks him in the ribs. When he bends over, Virgil knees him in the face. The man has lost.

Over at the bar, Roman stares at Virgil in awe, and Patton begs to give him medical attention. Virgil waves them off.

“Maybe later, Pat. For now, I get to cool off and revel in my victory.”

“Yeah, sweetcheeks,” Remy says to Patton. She split the money she has between them all and nods at Virgil. “This little baby just took down goliath, although he is no David himself.” Remy casts a scrutinizing eye over Virgil as though she were interested in him. Virgil lightly punches her arm.

“You’re talking a bunch of nonsense, Rem,” he says. Virgil takes another glass of water from the bartender and begins to sip at it.

“I thought you were going to lose,” Roman says quietly. He’s still staring at Virgil like he can’t quite believe it. “That dude was huge.”

“Roman, that would be like you fighting someone who was five foot ten.” He sips his water again. “Now, all of you get. I just want to sit here and not think about anything for a while. Go have fun.” His three friends disperse, and Virgil dumps some of the water on his sweat-soaked hair.

“Hello, V. Black.” The man who sits next to Virgil is kind of tall, and he’s dressed in an all black suit. The shirt underneath is dark blue. The tie is black. Virgil wonders what a man dressed like that is doing in a place so illegal as this. “Or should I call you Virgil?”

Virgil doesn’t look at the man directly, but he peers out of the corner of his eye. No gun, no badge, nothing suspicious except everything about him. Interesting.

“If you’re trying to guess my name, you’ll have to try a bit harder than that,” Virgil says. He takes another sip of his water.

“That is no guess, Virgil. I know your name because I did my research. I have been watching your fights for a year, and you have made me a very happy man.” He smirks at Virgil. “I am no fighter myself, but I can calculate the odds better than most. I only made the mistake of betting on your adversary once. “

“Who the fuck are you?” Virgil’s spine is rigid, and while he could definitely take this man in a fight, he doesn’t want to hurt someone who can't defend himself.

“I am an investor, if you will.”

“And what, exactly, are you investing in?”

“The odds, Virgil. I see them, and I place my money accordingly.” One piece of the man’s slicked back hair falls into his face. “I am very good at what I do.”

“And what were the odds that I didn’t punch you out right here?” Virgil asks. He faces the man full on, and he catalogs his face. Blue eyes darker than Patton’s, black hair that isn't dyed the color like Virgil’s, a straight nose that's never been broken. It paints a pretty picture that Virgil would hate to damage.

“They were about fifty-fifty. I usually don't bet on such unsure odds but,” he smirks, “sometimes you have to take the chance.” He extends a hand to Virgil. “My name is Logan Qorey. It’s a pleasure to formally make your acquaintance.”

“Virgil Taylor,” Virgil says. He shakes Logan’s hand. “You’re an interesting man, Logan.”

“And you're quite mysterious,” Logan says. “How about we talk more about that over dinner?”

“It’s actually way closer to breakfast.”

“Food is food and a meal is a meal, Virgil. So, what do you say? Would like to accompany me?” Logan stands from his stool and raised a brow at Virgil. Virgil follows him up and leans in close. Logan flushes.

“Of course, specs,” Virgil breathes in his ear. “Just one question first: how’d you know my name?”

“I heard one of your friends say it,” Logan says, and he is impossibly redder. Virgil laughs lightly.

“Come on, then, little investor. I know just the place to eat.” Virgil begins to walk away.

“Damn tall man,” Logan says under his breath. He straightens his tie, turns on his heel, and follows Virgil out the door.

If one breakfast turns to two and two turns to dinner, Virgil’s not upset about it. If he stops going to as many fights and Logan stops betting on as many fights, neither of them are particularly bothered. If Logan helps Virgil find a job that makes it so that he doesn't have to fight, Logan won't apologize for it. And if their friends see how much happier both of them are, nobody says anything. And if both of them find something they hadn't quite believed in, well, you’ll find no complaints with them.