#ones that I owned and they snapped ‘actually they’re my fucking shoes’ at me

[lesbianworlock]

Didn’t get any sleep last night because I had a migraine and I was still awake when my wife got up for work, which is fine. Except they lost their wallet and I was trying to help look and offering suggestions to where it may be even though my head hurts so horribly bad and they just kept getting more frustrated, because they couldn’t find it, not with me, and being mean and now I’m upset

Like bro I haven’t slept all night after an eight hour shift and I’m in severe pain can you please be nice to me for five seconds while I’m trying to help you

[bless-my-demons]

Redamancy: Chapter Twenty-Two

Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: cuss words and recreational cliff diving

Notes: The moment you’ve been waiting for! Just don’t kill me pls🫣 sorry this one is short, but the next chapter is twice as long so buckle up lol

Word Count: 1290

Series Masterlist

Reader

Quil has been… tricky since I found out about the wolves. Now I know why his best friends have ditched him and I can’t even tell him.

How would I even phrase it?

Hey man, so you know how your best buds kinda cut all their hair off, got insanely ripped, tattooed these tribal pieces on their arms, and seclude themselves? Well, they’re actually these supernatural protectors of the reservation and turn into huge fucking wolves.

Yeah that’d go over real well. Not to mention said wolves would rip me a fucking new one. I mean, they protect humans, but is the line drawn at exposure? Would they even vote or would Sam just slam his own gavel? Make a spectacle in front of the tribe? What would they even tell my mom?

I can’t help the direction of my thoughts, desperation for my friend - to cure the source of his pain, gnaws at me from the inside.

So I unintentionally start hanging out with him less. Not completely - no, my heart would never allow it, but less. Less means I can stop pretending so much - I lie to my mom and I live with her. I lie to Bella because two friends falling apart in the same way helps no one. I lie to Quil so the wolves can continue to exist without a spotlight. I lie to Embry and say I’m fine so he can have someone to not be fine with. More often than not it feels like the smile on my face and the words in my mouth are just lies, lies, lies.

So I have to do less. Because less is how I stay afloat.

Less is what I wish I’d feel.

•March 16th, 2006 • Quileute Indian Reservation•

Reader

“Are you sure about this?” The roaring of the water below almost drowns me out, but Bella’s shoulder is brushing mine and I can tell she heard my question in the way her own shoulders sink as we stare down at the turning water.

“Look, if you don’t want to, you don’t have to-”

“Oh I’m going to, just thought I’d offer an out.” I’m not even looking at her and I can feel the tension leak away from her.

“You’ve always been down for some crazy stuff.” She tells me, stepping away to shed her backpack, bracelets, shoes and anything else she doesn’t want to get wet.

“Believe me, I fucking know.” I whisper to myself.

Are we really about to jump from a cliff just to feel something?

I’ll do anything to feel something besides this gaping hole in my chest and apparently that starts with cliff jumping.

I turn to check on her and catch her mumbling something under her breath before she steps off and disappears from view.

I copy her actions and shed myself of my extra clothing items until I’m in just my jeans and t-shirt. A thundering rumble from deep in the trees pulls my attention for half a second from the dark water below as I wait for Bella’s head to surface. A storm, maybe? Has to be-but the snapping of twigs, that’s something inside the forest.

The wolves? We picked a day they were occupied, they’ve been chasing Victoria ever since Laraunt showed up and Bella explained to Jacob what they were after - us. And Charlie, along with some trigger-happy townspeople, have been hunting the wolves.

Which leaves us free to do things like this, stupid shit without the overbearing men in our lives watching our every move.

I take a step forward into nothing before whatever that is makes an appearance and stops us.

Time might as well be standing still.

I mean, I feel the rumple of my shirt across my stomach as I fall, but the way my heart is in my throat and my lungs squeeze-

Ice. The water is pure ice.

I’m stunned at the brutality of the water, not only in temperature, but also in the way it ebbs and rolls. I’m not entirely sure which way is up, but I catch a glimpse of a jean-clad leg drifting away into the darkness - Bella! I’m too slow, the water is zapping my warmth and my strength with it.

Lungs screaming at me to give up, a tan blur of muscles dives right past me at an incredible pace. A few seconds later, another tan and muscled arm wraps around my torso and our rapid ascent to the surface begins.

My last thought - the last image in my brain before darkness drowns me out is Bella, dragged completely limp by Jacob.

• March 16th, 2005 • Ithaca, New York •

Jasper

A choking gasp so loud it startles everyone lounging in the house-horror, disbelief, terror courses through my sister in the fraction of a second.

The next fraction I’m at her side.

“Alice-Alice!” I grip the tops of her arms as I stare into her eyes, begging her to answer me immediately, “What is it?”

Her eyes are flicking around, far away from here and searching-panic begins overtaking her and I can do nothing to stop its rampant escalation. My power retaliates, I try to grasp her slippery hysteria but it’s like smoke - filling the room rapidly, choking me, but I’m unable to grasp it-to tame it. There’s only three people not in this room that would elicit such reaction and one is immortal-

“Bella and-” but she cuts herself off before she could finish as she meets my eyes.

“Bella. And. What. Alice?” My tone is deadly and the words are clipped - I already know the answer, but it can’t be.

Instead of answering me, she spins from my grip.

“Carlisle! I need keys!” I follow her as she grabs everything she needs for a day trip, apparently.

“Alice answer me, what’s going on?” I’m desperate at this point for any information.

“I’m driving to Forks.” Her words are stern, mind set. “I have to check on them, I can’t see-”

“You can’t see them?”

“They jumped off a fucking cliff and I can’t see them!” Her breath is tearing in and out as she spins to look at me, panic and inadequacy pinging off of her.

They… jumped off a cliff?

For the first time in a very long time, I can’t breathe.

“My-my girl j-jumped?” The small voice passing through my lips doesn’t sound like me.

“I need to check on them-”

“I’m coming.” The heart in my chest has long since ceased to work, but now it feels as though it’s turning rotten and black.

“If you can’t handle it-” She starts, but I stop her again.

“If she’s gone, nothing matters anymore.”

• March 16th, 2006 • Home •

Reader

I rinsed off in the shower after Embry dropped me off, not much energy left to fully shower. Thank whatever other-worldly force looking out for me that he didn’t take me to the hospital so my mom could get involved. The woman would hover no doubt non-stop and then proceed to give me the lecture of the century, something I don’t have the capacity for at the moment.

Plopping down onto the sofa, I settle back into the soft cushions, my body absolutely tired.

Hurried knocking on the front door not-so-softly wakes me up, I must’ve drifted off after laying down.

“Embry, I’m fine - you didn’t need to check on me-”

But as the door swings open it isn’t Embry.

Panting like he had just run a marathon, hair slightly wet and eyes wide with panic, stood someone I thought I’d never see again.

Someone I thought had to be a figment of my imagination.

Jasper?

Next

Teaser

Taglist Part 1:

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[amywritesthings]

SILVER UNDERGROUND / deleted scene 01.

levi's pov #1. :: a deleted scene from chapter one. this is an alternate pov of levi's first conversation with james in the trost hospital.

happy silver underground eve! i thought i could give you all a little treat for the very first edition of additional SU content. this is a special levi-only drabble covering his pov when james first wakes up. i wrote it to better understand his own head while writing james' pov, but it wasn't necessary for the final draft. apologies for the pain, my dears. xo this is unedited. 1.8k words / angst, language, mentions of self hatred. :: please remember: this is additional content. nothing in the deleted drabbles are tied to the main content/overall final storyline.

He doesn’t bother knocking.

Levi can’t, not when you’ve been awake for twenty minutes. Twenty whole minutes where he wasn’t there. Twenty fucking minutes where you were alone, lying in a hospital cot, confused and out of sorts and more than likely asking for him.

He was supposed to be there. 

He just didn’t think today would be the day it finally happened.

As he rushes through the hallways of the Trost District hospital, he tries to keep his face neutral. You’re going to need one hell of a recovery period, so he’s going to need to be strong — to hold true to his twilight promises he made six months ago, come what may.

According to Hange, you’d already been gone for several minutes by that time. That didn’t stop him from talking to you through the entire surgery prep process like you could hear him anyway. They’re cutting your shirt now. They’re setting up the blood bag. I’ll sit here all damn day hooked up to it if you need more.

(For someone notorious for silence, he sure had a lot of promises ready on his tongue.)

The door of the medical wing swings wide, and he could fall to his knees then and there: you’re sitting. For fuck’s sake, you’re actually sitting.

You look sickly, disoriented, but your eyes dart across the room towards the sudden intrusion. Your chest rises and falls in your gown. Your fingers are moving just fine.

He can’t say anything — he’s a goddamn coward waiting for the other shoe to drop in this miraculous awakening. 

“Captain Levi!”

Doctor Rini’s voice calls to him, but the captain notices immediately that you don’t turn to the doctor. No. Your eyes never leave him, and it’s… 

Blank.

Maybe you’re just exhausted.

Maybe you’re not quite here in the present yet.

“Doctor,” he replies, clipped to avoid emotion.

“I sent Nurse Phillipa to find you,” Doctor Rini exhales with anxiety.

“I was found.” Levi locks onto sarcasm as a defense mechanism. If it wasn’t for the good doctor, he’d already have been at the foot of your bedside. Begging for forgiveness is hardly enough. I’m sorry. “So?” I’m so sorry. “Tired of sleeping yet, or are we looking at six more months of winter?”

If you’re James, then you’ll tell him that you’d take another six months to avoid him.

If you’re still you, then you’ll tease that his left hand is trembling.

But you stare.

That’s it — that’s all you do.

Stare, and stare, and stare.

“You only look like total shit,” he continues with a snort, “so I guess that’s a good thing.”

“Captain—”

“Apologies for Levi’s intrusion, Doctor Rini.” Your attention turns when Erwin enters the room. Levi almost wants to demand you keep your eyes on him — look at me, James — but the commander speaks for the both of you. “Nurse Phillipa was able to locate me in my office. I had to retrieve Captain Levi personally. Is it alright if we come in, or is she not yet lucid?”

Of course she’s fucking lucid. She’s right here.

Levi takes a few steps forward, tightening his trembling hand into a fist to keep it concealed.

“She is… lucid, Commander.” The doctor stops there. There’s a but coming — he can feel it.

Levi doesn’t like this, not one fucking bit.

“But?” he snaps, glaring the doctor’s way for the first time since he burst into the room.

The doctor sighs with sadness then gestures towards the fallen lieutenant.

“Lieutenant, state your name.”

What?

Levi can’t help how fast his attention whips towards you. His stomach drops to the floor, digging itself into the dirt. You look… scared?

You shouldn’t be scared. He’s here. He promised he’d be here.

“...you originally stated she suffered a major concussion,” Erwin says.

“Yes, I did,” the doctor agrees, “and I also stated on the report that the probability of temporary to permanent post-traumatic memory damage was high.”

You have to be fucking joking.

Erwin states it in plain terms: “In other words, sustained amnesia.”

The fist at his side painfully tightens, his trimmed nails pushing into calloused skin. He sets his jaw, forcing himself to breathe through his nose.

“It never said anything about permanent,” Levi growls, pushing forward away from the doctor, away from the commander, to talk to you himself. Erwin’s fingertips touch his shoulder as if to dissuade him, but there’s nothing — absolutely nothing — that will keep him from this.

There’s no way it’s sustained.

Confusion in the beginning, maybe, but you just needed to talk a little. He’d show them both.

The visitor’s chair screeches against the floor until it hits the edge of your bed. You’re still doe-eyed and lost, lips parted like you’re wanting to speak — he can help. You two practically grew up with the same half-baked brain cell.

“Where are we?” Levi asks, leaning forward in his seat. He stares up at you with a hidden layer of affection, willing for the James he knows — the James he’s always known — to see.

I’m here. Look at me, James, I promised I’d be here.

“Levi,” Erwin warns. He doesn’t get it.

Levi nods his chin, albeit barely. “Answer the question.”

You pause, fidgeting in that way when you’re nervous. “I… don’t know.”

“You do know,” he urges.

“I don’t.”

“Where — are — we?”

“Stohess District?” you guess. It’s not that far off. Maybe he’s not being forceful enough.

“Try again, dumbass.”

Wrong idea — your eyes widen like you’d never been more insulted in your life. He’s jokingly called you worse. “Excuse me?”

“Levi.” Erwin again.

Levi refuses. “What’s this building called?”

“I said I don’t know,” you plead, and your voice sounds so small that it breaks his heart. 

“Do you know what titans are?”

“Of course I know what the fuck titans are.”

His heart flutters at your swear. You’re not entirely lost. “Good. And do you know what the Survey Corps is?”

“Yes, why does this matter?”

“Do you know where you’re from?” If he wasn’t in control, then he’d reach out to your hand. Cup your cheek. Swear on heaven and Earth that you know this one — you just need a little more time. You need to try a little harder.

Yet your shoulders slack. “I don’t.”

Levi’s face drops, his voice taking a sharper edge by accident. “You do. You just aren’t trying hard enough.”

Maybe insults will work.

Maybe spilling his guts of all of his darkest secrets will help.

He’s a man falling through space and time itself, willing the past not to condemn him right now. He’s sinned a great deal in his life, but that doesn’t mean you should suffer for it, too.

Because you know. You know, you know, you know—

“I am trying, asshole,” you hiss, and his face lights up for just a moment.

There you are. There’s that fire. Fight — fight for this, fight with me, just fight.

“Levi,” Erwin interrupts, “that’s enough.”

Maybe it is enough.

Maybe you can rest and try tomorrow, to let you sit in this mental darkness for a little more time, but he’s waited six long months for this.

“So that’s it, then, huh?”

Levi dares to poke at the wound just one more time. You always worked best when adrenaline courses through your veins. That’s why you two were so perfect.

“You’re going to lay down and happily take being a nameless has-been after being stuck in a coma for months?”

But it was the wrong wound.

He regrets his strategy as soon as you look horrified, and he doesn’t have time to quell your fears. Your trust turns to Erwin for the truth. “It’s been months?!”

The fire dies. You’re terrified in this bed, one hiccup away from a panic attack, and Levi is powerless to fight it for you. Erwin takes over and the captain is glad for it — he’s a stone’s throw away from begging.

Come back to me. It was too much to ask of you, but he was selfish enough to ask on your near death bed anyway. Come back to me, James, or I’ll fucking drag you back myself.

But you’re not you.

You’re not you, and he’s the reason for it.

The captain chooses silence as he watches your face, memorizing the slopes of your face. His heart clenches with the hard decision in front of him: Erwin has a clearer head for this. He’s so blinded by his guilt that he’s already hurt you in the first hour of your revival.

Maybe this is his punishment for dragging you into all of this in the first place.

From the Underground City to Hell on Earth, he is the reckoning of your demise.

I think I’d remember the name of this piece of shit — in this case, you mean him.

You’re right. He is a piece of shit.

He is a danger to you.

You are in the middle of talking to Erwin when he abruptly stands from his chair, the wooden legs scraping sickeningly across the floor. Everything is underwater. He feels like his body is shutting down, so he does what he has to:

He turns to leave.

Facing the entrance, he drops his chin to his chest with a defeatist attitude. “This is a waste of time,” he urges the commander, relenting just one moment where he admits he’s fucked this up. 

He’s not the right person for this, even if he’s always been your person.

He’s not the right guide to help you, even if all he’s ever done is hold your hand.

Maybe this is fate.

Maybe this is the second chance he’s always wanted for you — one without the Scouts, without running from the law, without looking over your shoulder.

Maybe Erwin will give you an honorable discharge so you can spend your days in the warmth of the sun.

He could live with that, even if he never sees you again.

“You’re always so quick to walk the fuck away.”

Suddenly his boot scuffs the floor.

His eyes shoot wide, staring at the floor ahead. There’s a splintered floor panel at the frame of the door he’s never noticed in the hundreds of times he’s come here.

For a moment he’s fooled. This could all be an elaborate trick to punish him for the shit he’s done in his life.

(Maybe you do remember, deep down somewhere he cannot follow yet.)

But you were right back then and you were right now: he is quick to walk away—

—if it means that he can't hurt you from this distance.

“I… didn’t mean to say that,” you correct quietly, and his face scrunches to battle the overwhelming bout of grief that washes over him. “I don’t know why I said that, sir. Forgive me.”

Sir.

Not Captain.

Not Ackerman.

Not Levi.

Before he can cause anymore damage, he walks out the door.

Erwin can take it from here.

[starkstruck27]

Here's my first post for the @harringrove-flip-reverse-it event, and I can't wait to share more! I hope everyone enjoys. Prompt: Angst - Misunderstandings Title: Boys Keep Swinging Word Count: 1305 words TWs: None

Steve hated blind dates. Nine times out of ten, they ended in disaster, and on the one time that it didn’t, it typically was over by the end of the second date. It just never felt right being set up by somebody else, especially when that person had a completely different idea of what your type is than what it actually is. Still, Robin had insisted that he at least meet whoever it was she was setting him up with, apparently a friend of a friend that was supposed to be funny, smart, and above all, smokin’ hot.

“I swear Stevie, you’re gonna have the best time! You two are gonna hit it off immediately, I just know it!” She said as she proceeded to toss every item of clothing he owned onto the floor, “Heather and I would never steer you wrong, I promise.”

“You, maybe not, but Heather? She would set me up with a fucking chihuahua just for a laugh. So sorry if I’m a little hesitant to trust the two of you,” Steve rolled his eyes, putting his hands on his hips just in time to be hit in the face with one of his sweaters.

“Yeah, but we set you up with her friend, and they’re thick as thieves, so even if she might do that to you, she wouldn’t do it to Billie,” Robin said, now turning to examine his shoes.

“If you say so,” Steve shrugged, barely dodging it when Robin tossed a pair of sneakers at him. He grumbled about it, but finally he kicked her out of the room and focused on getting dressed. At least if this was gonna be a disaster, he could look hot while the chaos unfolded.

Steve showed up to the restaurant first, and another one of Heather’s friends led him to the table she and Robin had requested specifically. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes again as she set his menu in front of him and told him she’d send the girl over when she got there. Steve thanked her politely and then started to glance over the menu, deciding that he could at least make the best of the situation. Robin had made him promise to be nice, and anyway, he didn’t need to make it awkward for the girl, either.

Steve felt his phone buzz on the table beside him, so he picked it up and saw a text from Robin reminding him to be nice, and he heard someone walking over as he sent back a thumbs up emoji. He put his phone away quickly and smiled as he looked up, but his smile fell as he saw a man sitting down across from him.

“Hi, you must be Steve, Robin’s friend, right?” The guy said, smile bright as he waved from across the table. “I’m Billy, it’s really nice to meet you.”

Steve didn’t answer, instead he just stared at the guy across from him completely dumbfounded. Robin must have just forgotten to mention that ‘Billie’ was actually ‘Billy’. And it was no secret that Steve was bi, but he had only recently figured it out, and he’d never actually been out with a guy, at least not officially. He fooled around a bit back in high school, but he brushed it off most times as just guys being drunk and stupid. Now he knew that wasn’t the case, but he was still trying to wrap his head around everything, and he was not expecting Robin to set him up with a guy that quickly. Still,this guy seemed nice enough, and he was incredibly hot. Bright blue eyes, blonde hair, tanned skin, a couple tattoos, and even a little dagger earring dangling from his left lobe. 

Steve must have been staring for too long, because next thing he knew, the guy’s adorable smile faded a little, and he started tapping his fingers on the table awkwardly.

“Let me guess,” he said, snapping Steve out of his head a little, “You weren’t expecting a guy to show up, right?”

“N-no, I wasn’t,” Steve replied, swallowing a little. His heart was beating faster, which hardly ever happened when he first met someone like this. It was strange, but not necessarily in a bad way. For as much as he didn’t like blind dates, this one was different. It wasn’t as awkward, in a way, and Steve could actually see himself wanting to make an effort for this one. 

“Oh shit, I’m sorry, I thought Robin would’ve told you,” Billy said, scratching the back of his head nervously. “Look, uh, I knew from the get that you were a guy, but since you didn’t, if you don’t wanna do this, we don’t have to-”

“Who said I didn’t want to do this?” Steve smiled, his stomach feeling a little funny as he got his head together and leaned forward a bit. “I’ll be straight with you, I didn’t know at first, but honestly, I don’t give a shit. Besides, you’re, like, the most gorgeous person I think I’ve ever seen, so.”

“Thanks,” Billy said shyly, the smile coming back full force as he blushed a deep red. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

After that, it seemed easy. Billy was just as funny as Robin had said, and just as flirty, too. And Steve gave as good as he got, still making Billy blush like nobody’s business as he started playing footsie with him under the table. There was never once a lull in the conversation as they ate, and they walked out together when they finished, only parting after exchanging numbers and agreeing to meet up again soon. 

When Steve got home that night, he was still smiling so hard his face hurt as he walked in and sent Billy a text that he’d gotten home safely, just like he’d asked him to. Billy sent back a smile and said he was about to send the same text, then told him to have a good night. Steve laughed a little as he slipped his phone away and went to the kitchen for a drink, and nearly spit it out when Robin came out of nowhere behind him.

“So, did you have a good time?” She asked, practically tackling him into a hug and almost knocking them both to the floor.

“Jesus Christ, give a man a warning next time!” He said, but he smiled. “But yes, I did. Although you almost ruined it.”

“What?! How could I ruin your date when I wasn’t even there?!”

“Um, well for one, you neglected to tell me that he was a guy, so I ended up staring at him for like a solid minute before we actually started talking, and when we did he suggested we end it right there because of my reaction.”

“Oh my God, I didn’t tell you that?! I could’ve sworn I’d mentioned it at some point! Damn, I’m sorry!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve winked, “I was able to turn on the charm and by the time our drinks came, I had him eating out of the palm of my hand.”

“So are you gonna see him again?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Oh my God, I’m so glad! Now we can all double-date sometime!” Robin said, getting a sly grin on her face. “So, do you finally admit that blind dating isn’t as bad as you make it out to be, you big baby?”

“You wish, Robbie,” Steve said, making a face at her, “Just because I had one good date out of the, like, thirty you’ve sent me on in the past year doesn’t mean I like it any more.”

“Well, hopefully I won’t have to send you on any more if this one works out, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve smiled, “And I really think it might.”

[thebluestbluewords]

CYOA: Endurance Game 

(read the previous section here)

You swallow back a really, really inappropriate giggle. “Carefully.”

Over the roar of the crowd, Evie eyeballs you. “Carefully.” 

You let the sharp grin that’s been threatening to take over your face slip free. “Yeah. Really, really carefully.” 

“I trust you with my life, Mal, but you have the worst plans,” Evie hisses, before turning back to the crowd gathered below, the one made up of kids who aren’t going to have to grow up like you did. Kids who are going to have a future because of you. 

You’re not a perfect politician yet, (and oh, you can just hear Ben laughing about that understatement already), but you have half a plan and a hell of a lot of angry kids backing you up, and if you know one thing about the Auradon gossip chain, it’s that once something goes on TV, it’s out there forever. 

Good luck taking it back now, High Council. 

The kids are getting off. 

*

“You could have told me what you were planning, you know,” Ben says later, ensconced in the conference room where you’ve set up your crew. “I would have backed you up.” 

You lean back in your chair and throw another handful of blueberries into your mouth. “I didn’t know I was going to do it. It just sort of slipped out.” 

“You said you had a plan.” Evie points out. “Lying to us all isn’t the way to start your reign as queen, M. We all would’ve appreciated a little warning.” 

“I didn’t know.” you repeat. Again. It’s not like you’ve been having this conversation since you stepped off the Isle, or anything. “I meant to read the speech like we planned, I swear. I wasn’t planning on changing the whole plan. I just…” 

You saw the kids. You’re pouring all of the funding that the Bureau for Isle Affairs will give you into improving living conditions while Ben works with the high council to get programs set up to remove the kids safely, but you saw their faces all looking up at you, and the part of you that’s especially like Maleficent kicked in and screamed that these are your people. 

You’re not exactly a fairy godmother, but there’s something to be said for fairies and wish-based magic, and your current theory is that the force of all the wishes that the kids have never even had the opportunity to dream of before sort of took hold. A wicked fairy-godmother kind of thing. The Isle is your home for better or for worse, and the magic that runs in your blood likes to latch on to things. Places. Like the moorlands that you’ve technically inherited from your mother, and the island that you called home for most of your life, even though they’re both awful places to live. 

Actually, knowing the rules of magic now, (don’t breathe too deep when the pixie dust comes out, and always have faith in your own ability to not fuck things up) it wouldn’t surprise you if there’s some sort of ancient magic tying you to all the shitty, swampy places in the kingdoms. 

You’lll have to investigate that thought more. Moor. Swamps. 

Later. 

“I think it was magic,” you finish. “It didn’t feel like me saying it. It felt like something else was guiding me.” 

Your friends are staring like you’ve grown an extra head. 

“Um, Mal?” Carlos asks. “Did you know you’re sort of–?” 

“What?” 

He shrugs. 

“What?” you demand. “Tell me or I’ll fill all your shoes with glitter again.” 

Evie steps forward and lays a hand on your arm. “You’re glowing.” 

“I’m what? No I’m not. That’s ridiculous. I’m not a fucking pixie.” 

Evie holds out her mirror. “You are. Here, look.” 

“What the fuck.” you snap, pulling back reflexively. Glowing magical mirrors aren’t a good thing in your books, but Evie grabs your arm before you can recoil too hard and pushes her mirror in your face again. 

“Look! The mirror isn’t in magic mode, it’s just a regular mirror right now. You’re the one who’s glowing.” 

“Like you’re a lightning bug’s butt,” Carlos snickers. “Like you took a glowstick transfusion.” 

You look. He’s right, but that doesn’t mean you appreciate him saying it. You’re glowing from the inside out, a soft pink-y light that looks like your blood is lighting up under your skin. Like it’s been replaced with the juice from a glow stick, or like you took a bath in Evie’s glow paint experiments. 

“Evie?” 

Evie’s hand on your arm tightens just a fraction. “Yeah, babe?” 

“I’m not joking about that magic feeling. I think this is what my powers want me to do.”  

“I know.”

“It feels…” You make a grasping gesture. Your actions today felt right, in a deeply satisfying, completely intangible way that’s a little bit concerning and a lot more comforting in the way that you’ve learned comes along with using your magic for good.  “Good. It feels right. I think this might be why I’ve been here all along.” 

“To glow in one of the castle conference rooms,” Carlos says, nodding. “It all makes sense now.” 

“No, dumbass. To fix the isle. I think maybe the reason we were chosen–” you glance at Ben. He knows that you dreamed about him before you came over, and you know that he dreamed of you too, without knowing who you were. Magic, before you were supposed to be able to access any. In a very literal sense you’re here in Auradon because Ben chose you four, but in a larger universe sense, it would be fitting if you were brought here because an intangible magical sense drove Ben to pick your crew in particular to come to Auradon first. “I think we were chosen because the magic knows that we’re going to fix things.” 

You glance around the room. You’re pretty sure that this is right, but your crew seems less than certain. Evie’s still holding on to your arm like she thinks you’re a flight risk, and the boys are all staring at you with varying degrees of skepticism. Except Ben, but that’s only because he’s a sweetheart and his default expression when he’s concerned is a smile. He’s like Evie that way, in that they’ve both been taught to hide their feelings behind looking pretty for the public. 

“Not to ruin the moment,” Jay says slowly. “but should we maybe consult with FG about the whole glowing skin thing?”

You close your eyes, which thankfully aren’t glowing yet too. “No. We don’t have time for that right now. We have to make a plan for getting the kids off the isle.” 

“Well, we could start with four,” Evie suggests. “And maybe bring them over in batches. Just a few at a time. Like we planned?” 

You shake her off. You need to pace. “It’s not enough.” 

“Mal–”

“It’s not enough!” you say, because it’s not. “We need to get them out before our parents can retaliate. If we do this carefully, we can pull kids out in larger groups. I’m not saying we take everyone at once, but we can do more than four at a time. We’re better than that.” 

Evie pinches the bridge of her nose for one second, like she’s got a headache coming on. Only she’s been doing it intermittently since your announcement so… maybe she has a point with the whole logistical difficulty thing.  

“Okay. If we bring a van over instead of a limo, we can fit thirteen kids each trip. We have about two hundred applications, so if we divide that, we get sixteen trips, give or take. We don’t have the space to fit more kids in my castle, so we’ll need places for them to stay.” 

Ben raises his hand. “I can help with that. My parents have a summer castle they don’t use most of the time. We can send the kids there temporarily, until we can find different places for them to stay.” 

“Can we put them with Auradonian families?” Evie wonders out loud. “Some of them already have family here. Cousins, grandparents, we could push for quick kinship placements. Dizzy’s already agreed to meet her cousins.” 

“They don’t want us.” Carlos says, after they all digest the thought for a second. “They’re the ones who got rid of us in the first place. You think anybody wants a bunch of isle kids they’ve never met before living in their house?

He’s probably right. 

“I don’t care,” you growl. “They don’t get to throw us away again. We’re not a problem they can just ignore until we go away. If we bring over all the kids, they can’t just lock us up in boarding schools and ignore the root problem.” 

Your’re aware that your eyes are glowing, but it’s hard to care when you’re right and you know it. 

Jay leans over the table. “Woah there, killer. Not that I disagree with anything you just said, but you're doing the magic eyes thing again and the last time you did that we lost curtain privileges, remember?” 

The last time you had this much magic burning through your veins, you burned a hole in the curtains of your dorm room, set off every smoke alarm on the floor, and had to use a fire extinguisher to put out your hair. 

“I’m–” You take a deep breath. If you set another pair of curtains on fire, you’ll lose valuable planning time putting it out. You’ve gotta keep your cool. “Whatever. We can’t let the people of Auradon turn their backs on us again. The kids deserve better than that. We’re going to get them something better.” 

“A school.” 

You whirl around towards Ben. “What?” 

He lifts his hands. “I was just– thinking out loud. You guys don’t like going to school here because people are mean to you, right?” 

“We’re villains.” Evie says immediately. “We’re wicked. We’re not supposed to be likable.” 

“No, I know that. I just meant, you’re afraid the Auradon families will bully the new VKs, right?” 

Are you? Feelings aren’t your strong suit. 

“Sure,” you say anyway, because what the hell, maybe you are afraid. You’re reluctant to throw the new kids to the wolves, that’s for sure. Maybe wanting better for the kids coming after you is something you can use for emotional leverage. You didn’t have anyone but each other to watch your backs, so– 

Oh. You didn’t have anyone. 

That’s a thought you’re going to just shove down and unpack later. Or never. Never would be good. You’re totally, completely acclimated to Auradon now. No need to worry about the constant anxiety you feel about only having four people in your corner. You’ve got four whole people on your side now, and they’re conveniently all right here in this room! No need to remember what it was like to be sixteen and squinting into the sun for the first time as you lined up to meet a literal prince and move into a school with prissy princesses who were primed and ready to hate you for everything your parents did. No need to remember that at all. You didn’t need to protect yourself then, because you had each other, and you don’t need to worry about protecting the kids you’re bringing over now, because they won’t be walking into the same thing. You won’t let them walk out unprepared. 

Maybe this is the feeling that Ben’s talking about. 

“So we get around the problem by setting up a summer school!” Ben is saying. “A place where the VKs coming off the isle can stick together and all learn how to choose goodness. Sort of like a training camp, only we could make it fun. A place where you can support each other.” 

“Goodness camp,” Jay offers. “Like remedial goodness, but not shitty?” 

Ben flashes him a smile. “Yeah. And then as we find families, the kids will have had a chance to adjust with their friends already, so it’ll be less of a culture shock.” 

“It’s got potential,” Evie admits. “I think we could bring the kids over in batches, so long as we know they’ll all have a place to stay. We can rent the school vans, and do a convoy sort of thing. Get enough kids to have a cohort, so they can learn together before we set them loose on the larger public. I think we could make this work, you guys.” 

“And our parents don’t have to know when we’re picking them up.” Carlos adds. “Keeps us safer that way. We could use the message boards that Dragon Hall set up to send them coded pickup times, so the adults never know when we’ll be there. They can't retaliate at us directly for taking all their kid labor  if they don’t know when we’re in and out of the barrier.” 

Evie’s nodding. “We can leave messages with Facilier too. He wants his daughters out, he’d help us get there in secret.” 

“I’ll call the council,” Ben offers. “We have a location, and a plan, and if you four are all on board, I’ll vouch for you.” 

“You dad won’t flip out?” 

Ben shrugs. “He will. But it doesn’t matter,” he smiles, and it’s like the sun coming out. “He’s not the king.” 

*

You get the children out. 

It takes a slow start, but you get them out. You pull them off in vans and trucks and barges, at five in the morning while the rest of the isle is sleeping, and at noon when the bright cover of the sun on the water obscures your movements. You pick the first group up before dawn, and they stumble into the vans in the gray light of the isle, and tumble out into the pink dawn of Auradon morning. 

You bring Dizzy back to Evie’s house, because you built a place for her there and it seems like a shame to let it go to waste. 

You bring all the kids back to Evie’s house for dinner, and they demolish her beautiful white kitchen and leave it feeling more like home than the expensive interior design team ever could. 

You get the children out. 

You keep getting them out, day after day after day, until one day you get a message from your contact at Dragon Hall. 

Zero children waiting for pickup. 

You did it. The children of the Isle are free. 

The End 

[your-local-e-gorl]

Online Shopping

This is taken from a very self indulgent ff that I’m writing for a friend, taken after the relationship has been established for a while.

NSFW: Dacriphylia, age gap, bratty behavior, nothing too bad. Pure smut, breeding,mentions of smoking,read at your own risk. I wrote this while stoned a few months ago. YwThisIsProbsGonnaSuck

“Shouta, stop!” His hips stop slowly as he wears a shit eating smirk. “You’re not seriously considering what to wear, right?” I grip his thigh while trying to catch my breath. “I was, but someone is distracting me,” I snap. “I want to relax and pick out an outfit in peace!” Hips roll into mine again, friction pulling slowly through me. I gasp as he pulls me into his lap further, suddenly weak.

“That dress would look lovely on you. Maybe with a pair of heels?” I manage to view it and I instantly fall in love with the lace and the way it hangs from the model’s waist. “I actually do like it… maybe not in blue though.” His hand wraps around my thigh, grasping hard enough to bruise. Stubble brushes against my skin as he presses his nose to my neck. “See if they have it in black. That always looks good on you,” he instructs.

I scroll through the multiple hues, eyes blurring from his ministrations. Eventually, after flitting through blues and reds, I come across a jet black. “They do,” i sigh. His hips buck into mine effortlessly despite my added weight. “Add it to the cart. Now. “

The authority in his voice makes my body quiver. My hand reaches for the mouse yet he moves it out of reach. I look at him expectantly. Evil fuck. “Reach, baby. Go on.” I moan out as he presses against my sensitive walls. “Now shoes. You like pretty shoes. Right?” His tone shows how amused he is.

“Later. I t-think we should fin… finish first,” I chiose. “After all I have some nice ones-“ Fingers crawl up my leg and stop at my hip. “Did you forget that you’re being punished for your interruption? I said, pick out some shoes.” My chest palpitates as I write in his lap, his demanding words seeping into my thoughts.

“You’re being so-“ I gasp as he shifts a bit. “I’m being?” “Mean! If you’re gonna fuck me, then do it! I can’t take it,” I choke out. He stares at me blankly. “Aren’t you the one who wanted to see what I was doing?” I whimper with a nod. “I did. But now I want you to fuck me, Shouta. Please?”

Unexpectedly, he doesn’t cater to my request. Rather, he stops what he’s doing and pulls out his phone.

All I can do is stare in disbelief. There’s no way he’s going to leave me half satisfied. “Are you just trying to be a dick? Hurry up,” I urge.

“Not until you finish shopping. Continue.” I pout on top of his lap before clicking a random pair. “Done!” He glances over my desperate face before squeezing it. “Those aren’t your style, baby. How about we make a deal? I give you what you’ve been begging for, but if you stop scrolling then this-“ he gestures to his cock halfway in me. “Stops. ” I nod rapidly, pleased at the agreement. “Yes sir!”

He starts slowly grinding into me as I scroll, determined to waste his money. He’s got plenty of it anyways. I groan at the way he hits my cervix, the pain mixing with unadulterated pleasure. My fingers guide the mouse to the cheaper side of the site. I proudly look up at him with the ugliest choice of shoes. They’re even uglier than the first choice of mine.

His grip on my hips tighten, pulling me against his pelvis. Pleasure shocks my body as he suddenly thrusts up. I push his arm to squirm and face him, confused on the fleeting force, but with just one arm he restrains me.

“Aizawa! Zawa’ please! Just one kiss, please,” I ask sweetly while I struggle against his thrusts. He ignores me, clicking on the assortment of higher priced shoes. I guess he was serious about one thing.

“Shouta? Please- I. Just one. Please?” I bat my eyelids as his thrusts slow. He guides my hips up and fixes the posture, determination reflecting back for the screen.

My lips attack his with a hunger like never before. “T-thank you,” I whine. He clicks on a pair of beautiful gold pumps with red bottoms. “Baby, look. You’re a fan of this brand. Should I get it?” I groan and whine in frustration yet again before pulling myself off of him. “I don’t care! I just want you to ruin me. Please, Shou? Please. I’ll take everything you give me. I’ll be your perfect, pretty baby,” I coo in a voice that’s as thick and sweet as honey.

He doesn’t even spare me a glance. “Sit back down or we’re through for the night. Last warning. Do you understand?” With trembling legs and teary eyes, I hurry to occupy his lap once more, his hands dragging me closer.

We both let out various, desperate noises, each moment tugging us further into a sea of lust. “You want it bad too. I know you do, Shouta. Just give in and fuck me. Why hold yourself back?” I coax breathily into his ear, tits bouncing as I ride him.

His hands cup my breasts before taking one into his lips. “You keep this up and I’ll be the only one cumming, tonight. But you’d probably enjoy that. Goddamn slut.”

I clench tightly at his biting insult before changing my tactic. I release my tears from the pent up frustration of his teasing. “If you don’t want to fuck me, then just say that!” I huff. Tears trickle down my lashes, seemingly pulling a look of regret from his face. “Or let me find it somewhere e-“

My words are quickly stolen from my lips by a deep, shuddering whine. My hands push against his thigh and chest. “T-too much! Shouta, it hurts,” I sob. He stares at me with a stern look despite my protests. He’s bottomed out and pulling me into him even further, as if it’s possible.

“What were you saying? About finding it somewhere else, that is.” I continue to push against him, unable to breathe from the overwhelming feeling of being full. He chuckles in my ear before pulling me upwards. I’m slammed down on him, successfully impaling me on his cock.

My mouth drops open in a cry as he bullies my cervix. “Stop, please,” I moan. “ ‘M sorry. I didn’t mean it- just wanted you to f-fuck me. Thou-ght isn’t was a good ‘dea.” But ‘s too much. ‘M too full.” My words are breathy as I attempt to accommodate his size.

“You’re getting what you wanted, right,” he pants into my chest. “Now shut up and take it.” The squelching noises reverberate in my ears along with a weak moan. All I can do is wrap my arms around his neck and as he said, take it.

His lips fall onto my neck, hot kisses trailing the skin around it while apologies fall from my lips. “Keep babbling, baby. Fuck, apologies sound so good coming from you.”

...

“I love you,” I sigh. “I really do.” His sweaty chest leaves my back as he rises from the bed. “I know you do, baby. Now, get some rest, okay?” I feel the mattress dip as he sits down and brushes my hair. “Shouta?” My lips are taken in his. “I love you too.”

A tingle runs up my spine and curls my toes, the warmth swimming through my heart. “You leavin’,” I murmur in question. My hand grasps his wrist in desperation. “Stay.”

Aizawa stands as he searches for what I’m assuming is the towel. “Just gonna go get something to drink. Here.” To my surprise he hands me a pre roll from the dresser. “Inside?” “Eri isn’t home and I know you’re gonna be sore for a while. Go ahead.”

I hug him tightly, sweaty hair sticking to him like little snakes. “I have to most considerate boyfriend.” With a chuckle and giving a flick to my forehead, he walks off.

By the time he’s back, laptop and two bottles of water in his giant hands, I’m already high as a goddamn kite. “What are you smiling about?” he grunts. “You’re pretty.”

I tilt my head up as he presses against me. “You must be trying to get another round out of me. Are you?” I can’t help but to laugh in pure delight. He’s just so wonderful!

“I just love you. Okay?” The cynical look on his face slowly melts away, replaced by the softest look I’ve ever had the pleasure of receiving. It’s so tender and relaxed.

“I love you too, princess. Enough to marry ya’, ya’ know?” I don’t get the chance to say anything as his lips close against mine. In one swift movement he’s buried in me to the hilt, both arms trapped in his grip. I’m so full that it hurts.

“Z-Zawa, pull out,” I plead. He groans and shudders into my neck, his much larger body threatening to crush me. “I just fucked you… you’re still this tight?” I gasp and claw at the sheets in attempt to break free. I want to touch him. I want to feel him.

“Stop fighting baby. Let me just get you ready and then I’ll let you go, ‘kay?” He knows just what to say to get me weak in the knees. I nod with a whine as he shifts. My legs instinctively close across his back, allowing us to be closer.

My head swims as he pounds into my contrastingly smaller frame. “Sora, look at me. You okay?” I try to focus my eyes on him as his hand grips my cheeks. “G-gonna pass out,” I slur. He blinks rapidly. “What’s wrong?” I whine reluctantly. “Don’t stop. Almost there, I need to cum.”

“Baby- you’re going to-“ “Please? Fuck me through it. You gotta.” He’s the only one I could allow myself to be vulnerable to, in this way. The only one I could express this desire to.

Thousands of tingles crawl throughout my body as my orgasm crashes into effect. His fascinated gaze and subtle groans as he spills inside of me manage to finally pull me under, the black taking over.

[bitegore]

Drag Strip and 7; give me his shoes :)c

7. Describe the shoes they’re wearing. (This is a big catch all, gets into money, taste, practicality, level of wear, level of repair, literally what kind of shoes they require to live their life.)

I've mentioned in passing my androidformer Drag Strip's very stupid heelies before.

Thing is, Drag Strip has like two "dominant modes" of clothes-wearing; there's work clothes, and there's non-work clothes. Everyone's got this to some degree, but Drag Strip's job is (at least as I do it) to fight and kill people with guns and knives and stuff. So I'll split this one in half.

In terms of work clothes: Drag Strip has a pair of lace-up tactical boots. They were standard issue and all five of the Stunticons have the same kind of boots. Because the Decepticons manufacture their own supplies in-house when it comes to tactical armor and stuff like that, they did get to color-customize them to some degree. Drag Strip's are yellow with red accents. They're pretty worn, but not in any real state of disrepair because, again, in-house manufacturing means that if they're actually falling apart he can just requisition new ones and get them delivered.

He thinks of them as the ugliest fucking shoes ever and he hates them. He wears them exclusively when on-duty and even then, if he can get away with it, he wears something else instead. This is not actually because they're bad shoes but he can't stand looking just like everyone else. Even if his shoes are differently-colored than most other Decepticons, he's still not fond of being like a yellow version of the cookie-cutter Decepticon image (and this comes out in his other clothing choices as well; Drag Strip is constantly getting dress-coded because he shows up to fights with, say, earrings that can get yanked out of his ears, or not wearing body armor that will keep him from getting shot in the chest.)

In terms of non-work clothes...

so Drag Strip likes to go fast and Drag Strip likes to look cool. Obviously the Cool Shoes are high heels and the Fast Shoes are Heelys (with the little wheel in the heel) or roller blades. Walking around in roller blades is embarrassing and cringe and no one does it, so he's not doing that, but he still wants to be extra fast, and Heelys are like kind of normal, sort of. But also he wants to have the Cool Shoes.

Introducing: five-inch high-heel Heelys. This is not a good idea.

I've said in other places that I don't think Drag Strip can actually walk in these, but I do have to walk that back. I think he can walk in them, because otherwise the embarrassment of eating shit in front of people constantly would make him just stop wearing them entirely. Crucially I do still think he falls over in them on the regular but not, like, that often. He can function in them. He's not very good at wheeling around in them, but he can do that, too.

But like, if you shove him on the shoulder then he's going to flail and fall.

Which meaaaaans.... he's not wearing them around his teammates, and he needs different other stupid shoes to make him look "cool", since the Stunticons are basically incapable of keeping their hands off each other and I fully believe they enact stupid slapstick antics on each other constantly. High heels in general almost certainly aren't stable enough, but I don't think that'll actually stop Drag Strip; he'll sacrifice stability for Rule-of-Cool any day. They just have to be, like, slightly more stable.

And I don't think anyone but me actually only wears one pair of shoes, so he probably has a few- especially for someone as image-conscious as he is. All some variety of impractical and most some variety of yellow patent leather. He probably gets them from cheapass online shops or through actual robbery, so the quality varies significantly. He has aliexpress pleasers that he keeps having to get his ankle stabilizers replaced after wearing because they're so slippery and tread-free and he keeps accidentally snapping his ankles every time they slide sideways too fast on him, and he has five-hundred-dollar designer shoes he got at gunpoint that are scuffed to hell because he wears them to walk down to the seven eleven to get bubble gum.

His casualwear shoes are definitely in worse states of disrepair sa compared to his regular shoes. He is not keeping them maintained and he constantly wears them to places and events they shouldn't be worn in, like demolition derbies, or chasing Wildrider through the yard and down the block because he wants to hit Wildrider in the face over something. He can't just go out and replace them when they start to fall apart, and he is also a lot more attached to them, so while they last longer than the work boots on the whole, anything he's had too long is going to start looking shabby and falling-apart.

in conclusion: yellow

You can find the questions here :D

[lackyghost]

LOCAL ONSEN EMPLOYEE, MINETA MINORU, FOUND DEAD, NUMEROUS SUSPECTS BEING INVESTIGATED

—

Seated alone in his living room, lying across his faded black sofa, watching an overhyped and entirely lackluster horror movie is one Bakugou Katsuki.

His pale blonde hair is almost white against the dark of the sofa, flaring out around his head and face like an explosion of natural spikes.

His usually scowling face is neutral as he watches the woman on screen get brutally mauled by a chainsaw.

The blood is too bright, closer to the scarlet of Katsuki’s eyes than the deep crimson of actual blood. Just another mistake that makes Katsuki want to just shut it off and go to sleep.

Thoughts of moving to his bed are cut off by his phone buzzing on the coffee table. Katsuki lazily swipes for it and frowns at the unknown number. He ignores the call and drops his phone back down.

Almost as soon as his phone goes still again, it vibrates with another call from the same unknown number. Katsuki scowls as he grabs his phone, angrily swipes the answer button, and slaps the device to the side of his face.

“What the fuck d’you want?” Katsuki growls out, his usual deep, gruff voice even harsher than usual.

“Oh, so angry,” a deep, smooth voice says with a chuckle. “I’ve heard some interesting things about you, Bakugou Katsuki.”

“Big fucking deal,” Katsuki grouses. He’s certainly been in the news often enough, not in a few years though, but there is one type of person who still occasionally tracks down his phone number. “I’m not gonna give you a fucking interview, asshole.”

“An interview?” The voice asks, amused. “You’d want to confess your crimes to me?”

Katsuki groans loudly. “So, you’re one of those assholes, hah? You with Chisaki and his band of fuckwads? He didn’t get my goddamned message last time?”

Katsuki absentmindedly rubs his free hand over the old, faded scars hidden beneath his shirt, trying not to let his mind wander back to his time in the Yakuza’s ‘recruitment camp.’

The man on the other end of the line hums thoughtfully.

“No, I’m not part of his band of fuckwads,” the man finally says. “But you’re on my list.”

“Whoop-de-fucking-do,” Katsuki says dryly.

“It’s lots of fun, yes,” the man says, and lets out another deep, rumbling chuckle. “Don’t you want to know what list?”

Katsuki snorts derisively. “I don’t give a single fuck, asshole. I’ve been on shit lists for fucking years now, and you’re no fucking different from any of those other dumbfuck extras who start spewing shit without even knowing what they’re talking about.”

The man makes a curious huffing sound. “I think I—”

“What?” Katsuki snaps. He sits up angrily and shuts his television off. “Think you know how I refused to join the Shie Hassaikai? Think you know how even after that bastard Chisaki nearly killed me, I still fucking spat in his face and refused again? You think I give a single fuck about you and your goddamned list? News flash, dumbass, I fucking don’t! Pieces of shit like you have been adding me to lists like that for a long fucking time, and the answer will always be no! I’m not fucking interested in beating people up for money or kidnapping or what-the-fuck-ever. So, good-fucking-bye.”

Katsuki hangs up angrily. His chest is heaving with furious pants as he storms across his small one-bedroom apartment. He turns his phone off and plugs it in on his nightstand, and then he opts to take a long, hot shower to soothe his freshly tensed body.

—

‘TOUGH LOVE’ TEACHER TORINO SORAHIKO FOUND DEAD IN HIS APARTMENT

—

One thing many people don’t know about Katsuki is that he spends every Sunday deep-cleaning his apartment. Every nook and cranny, every item of clothing, every blanket and even his goddamn shoes get cleaned.

It’s a habit that started initially as part of his therapy when he’d been diagnosed with PTSD after his Yakuza incident back when he was a teenager. He finds it soothing now, and gets jittery any time he can’t complete his full regimen.

He loses himself easily in the ministrations, listening to music playing in his little Bluetooth speaker that he carries from room to room as he goes.

It’s been a week and a half since the strange phone call incident, and Katsuki has honestly forgotten about it. It wasn’t the first time he’s received a phone call from an assumed journalist, and he doubts it’ll be the last.

He gathers his full trash bag and leaves his apartment with just his keys in his pocket and the smelly bag carried at his side. He doesn’t bother locking his unit door, knowing he’ll be in and out.

It’s a bit chilly out, but summer is definitely approaching so he doesn’t whine too much about it as he takes the stairs down from the fourth floor to the sidewalk below.

He walks around the side of the building toward the dumpster and cocks a brow at the man standing there; tall and broad with black pants and a black hoodie that’s zipped up all the way and pulled over to hide his face in the shadow of the material.

The guy makes a soft, startled sound and jumps away from the apartment’s fire escape, but Katsuki just rolls his eyes and throws his bag in the dumpster. He’s about to turn around when he spots something unusual behind the man.

Katsuki starts walking forward and the guy holds his hand up, gesturing for him to stop. The blonde easily ignores him and walks past, squatting down in front of a little cardboard box. He frowns at the tiny orange kitten inside, shivering and looking absolutely pathetic.

“Hey, there,” Katsuki says gently as he lifts the tiny thing up. “Shit, you’re freezing.”

He cradles the kitten to his chest and wraps his unzipped hoodie around it securely. He stalks right back past the hooded figure, not really giving a shit what the guy is doing.

Once he’s back inside his apartment, he grabs a small bowl of water and sets it on the floor. He sets the kitten down next to it and tries to coax it to drink. After a few minutes, it finally does and Katsuki sighs in relief. The poor thing can’t be more than eight weeks old.

Katsuki gets back up and riffles through his cabinets for a can of unseasoned tuna in water. He always keeps some around, it's easier to season it himself and therefore more versatile.

He opens the can and dumps some of it into another little dish before setting it down next to the kitten. He squats down and strokes the tiny fluffball as it sniffs the food curiously. When it finally starts eating, he jogs to his room for his cellphone to look up the closest veterinarian.

—

CEO OF AFO CORPORATION MURDERED, STEP-SON IS TOP SUSPECT

—

Katsuki has owned ‘Dynamight Bowls & Curry’ for six years. He bought the food truck back when he was eighteen and spent two years working full time in a restaurant as an assistant chef while he attended culinary school. He also used that time to fix up the truck and save up for business startup costs.

He quit his job at the restaurant and started working on his truck full time when he was twenty years old, and he has never regretted it.

He works Monday through Saturday from 11am to 7pm, rotating on a set schedule of plaza venues that gets regularly updated on his social media.

Dynamight’s serves bowl meals, different choices of protein with various types of marinades and seasonings, sautéed vegetables, served over a bed of rice and sometimes pickled vegetables as well. All with their best matched added flavors and textures, extra sauces, and garnishes.

He also offers beef and chicken curry, served with a vegetable croquette and a side of rice, garnished with cilantro and pickled daikon.

His food is damn good, and he fucking knows it.

—

Katsuki has his apron tied tight around him, snug on his trim waist. He’s got several things cooking at once thanks to the lunch rush. He’s got a bit of a unique method of running his truck. People order using a digital touch screen outside and scan to pay for their meals, then the order shows up on a screen in front of him once it’s paid, and he gets to work. It’s unusual, but necessary since he runs the truck by himself.

“Grilled Salmon with Yuzu and Ponzu for Ashido!” Katsuki shouts as he pushes a steaming, covered to-go bowl onto the serving counter. Once it’s taken, he shoves another up and yells again. “Yakiniku Beef for Kaminari!”

“Thanks, Blasty!” Ashido and Kaminari say as they wave at him. Katsuki flips them off and they laugh at his antics.

“Teriyaki Chicken with extra soy sauce for Sero! Yakiniku Beef with extra meet for Kirishima!” Katsuki calls out as he pushes another two bowls to the edge.

“You’re the best, bro!” Kirishima says cheerfully.

“Yeah, thanks, man!” Sero says as he and Kirishima take their dishes and rush off to catch up with Ashido and Kaminari.

Those four have been religiously eating at Dynamight’s for over two years now, every single Friday they spend their hour lunch break at his truck. They’re not the first group to become regulars like that, but they are the first group who actually seem to like his prickly attitude and sometimes come by before he closes on Saturdays to hang out while he meticulously cleans and organizes his truck.

—

After the lunch shift has died down, Katsuki lets out a breath of relief at the short break. He turns away from the order screens and the open window so he can wash his knives and utensils quickly.

“Hey, I’m gonna try the ‘Death by Curry,’” a deep voice drawls from behind Katsuki, nearly making him drop his supplies.

Katsuki looks over his shoulder and takes in the man outside his truck. He’s tall and pale, nearly every inch of visible skin covered in black and deep purple tattoos, a face full of piercings, and almond shaped eyes that house vibrant turquoise irises.

His hair is snow white, spiky and untamed as it fans out around his head. He’s wearing a white t-shirt that clings to his broad shoulders and firm chest, the black leather jacket atop it only further accentuating the look.

Katsuki cocks a brow and moves to set his things in the drying rack before wiping his hands on his apron. He crosses his arms and steps over to the serving window. He leans his folded arms on the little serving platform and stares down at the man, who’s nearly at eye level even with Katsuki having the truck’s height at his advantage, putting him around 200cm, a full head taller than Katsuki.

Katsuki smirks at the guy. “You think you can handle it?”

The white-haired man returns the cocky expression. “I’m pretty sure I can handle some spicy food, doll.”

“Sure,” Katsuki says, too amused to even be bothered by the nickname. “Beef or chicken?”

“Beef,” the guy says.

Katsuki chuckles darkly as he pulls out the ingredients. No one has ever passed the ‘Death by Curry’ challenge. It’s Katsuki’s personal favorite; perfectly seasoned and spiced to levels that could arguably be considered lethal.

The white-haired man watches through the window curiously as Katsuki cooks his meal. When it’s done, the blonde dumps the contents into the take-out bowl and adds his usual garnishes. He snags a water bottle from the fridge and hands it to the guy.

“Good fucking luck,” Katsuki purrs as he hands the bowl over.

The tattooed man chuckles. “Don’t worry about me, doll, I can handle the heat.”

He heads over to one of the little tables of the plaza and Katsuki drops his elbow on the ledge and perches his chin on his open palm as he watches the white-haired man open the container and scoop up a good portion. He holds eye contact with the blonde as he blows on the spoonful and brings it to his mouth.

First, he looks pleased by the flavors.

And then Katsuki’s smirk widens into a grin as the man’s face flushes red and his eyes go glassy. The white-haired man gives him an incredulous look and cracks open the water bottle so he can chug half of it in one go.

“What the hell!” The man groans. “There’s no way anyone can eat that!”

Katsuki cracks up laughing. He pushes away from the window and shoves open the door of his truck. He locks it behind himself just to be extra safe, and stalks over to the table. He plucks the spoon from the guy’s bowl, scoops up a big serving, and pops it into his mouth. He hums appreciatively as he chews, thoroughly enjoying the mix of flavors and textures.

“You gonna finish it? Or is this my dinner now?” Katsuki grouses after swallowing his mouthful.

The tattooed man gawks at him for a moment and then pushes the bowl closer to Katsuki, who nods and picks it up. He chomps away at the meal, getting halfway through it before the white-haired man finds the ability to speak again.

“Damn, doll, you’re one hell of a spitfire,” the man says, sounding both impressed and mildly amused.

Katsuki cocks a brow and swallows. He holds his hand out for the water bottle still in the guy’s hands, and the man slowly hands it over. Katsuki takes a small sip before sighing and handing it back.

“It’s my favorite,” Katsuki says with a shrug. “Ain’t my fault no one else can handle my shit.”

The white-haired man gives Katsuki a once-over. “I think I could handle you.”

Katsuki snorts. “Sure, Patchwork.”

He turns away from the man, bowl in hand, and eats as he makes his way back to his food truck. When he gets back inside, he turns and finds the white-haired man already at the truck again, putting in an order on the digital pad. Katsuki chuckles and throws the now empty bowl away and drinks some water before checking the screen.

“Yakiniku Beef with spicy barbecue sauce?” Katsuki asks as he gives the white-haired man a skeptical look.

“Gotta work my way up to the ‘Death by Curry,’ I think,” the man says.

He winks at Katsuki, and the blonde rolls his eyes and turns to scrub his hands before getting to work on the man’s food.

—

EX-COP TAKAMI KEIGO CHARGED WITH MURDER OF BUBAIGAWARA JIN; FOUND DEAD IN CELL HOURS LATER

—

Katsuki doesn’t go out very often, it’s maybe once a month that he decides to head over to the nearby bar just to get tipsy and let off some steam.

He’s not interested in getting hit on, so he simply pulls on some loose jeans and an old black t-shirt with a white skull on the front. It’s tighter than it used to be and now hugs his muscles, but he pulls a black hoodie on over top and zips it half way up so he looks properly lazy.

The walk to the bar takes about fifteen minutes, but the night is decently warm. He kind of regrets bringing the hoodie already, but he’s not interested in turning around just to bring it back to his apartment, so he trudges his way into the bar.

It’s busy and half the patrons are already drunk, but he ignores them and stalks up to the counter. He plants himself on a stool and gestures for the bartender’s attention.

“Suntory Toki,” Katsuki says, and the bartender nods and reaches for the whiskey.

Katsuki sets the cash down and nods his thanks to the purple-haired man as he slides the glass over.

Katsuki is blissfully zoned out after two glasses of whiskey, just watching the boxing match on the television angled at the end of the bar, when someone taps on his shoulder.

With an agitated grunt, Katsuki looks up to see a tall man with black hair and brown eyes. Katsuki glares at him, already ready to refuse to get up from the bar.

“Wanna dance?” The man asks.

“The fuck,” Katsuki says. “No.”

He turns away from the man with a scoff and goes back to sipping his glass of water. It’s one of his drinking rules; one glass of water for each glass of alcohol.

Heat fans across his back as the man leans over his shoulder to whisper in his ear. “Come on, pretty boy. I’ll give you a night you won’t forget.”

Katsuki responds by slamming his elbow back into the man’s gut. The guy wheezes and stumbles back. Katsuki glares over his shoulder at the man for a long moment before going back to his water.

“You’re pretty feisty,” the man says, still breathless from the hit.

“And you’re pretty fucking stupid,” Katsuki grouses, still not looking back at the guy.

The man chuckles and walks back up to the blonde. He runs a hand down Katsuki’s arm as he speaks lowly. “Can’t wait to break that bad attitude.”

Katsuki sets his glass down with a sigh. He looks to the bartender, who is glowering at the black-haired man and looking absolutely done with his shit.

Katsuki clicks his tongue and turns around quickly, startling the man behind him. The guy smirks and opens his mouth to say something else, but he’s cut off by Katsuki punching him in the jaw. The man falls flat on his back and gapes up at Katsuki.

“Consent is key, asshole,” Katsuki growls out as he steps over the man’s prone body and stalks out the side door into the alley. His mind is fuzzy and he feels light, but he’s not stumbling, so he figures its safe to walk home.

He doesn’t even get halfway down the side alley before the bar door is slammed open and three furious men step out, all glaring at Katsuki.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” One of the men demands.

“How dare you punch Shindou like that!” The second yells.

“All you had to do was go with him and have some fun,” the third says as he cracks his knuckles. “But now ya gotta deal with us instead.”

Katsuki scoffs and crosses his arms as he turns to fully face the men. “You seriously think you assholes can take me?”

“Oh, we’ll take you down,” one says darkly.

“And then we’ll take you home so you can be Shindou’s new plaything,” another adds.

“Yeah, just keep repeating your boss’ name,” Katsuki says dryly. “Really fucking smart.”

All three men laugh and step closer to him. Two draw knives and then one retrieves a pair of glistening brass knuckledusters from his pocket. Katsuki scoffs derisively as he moves into a fighting stance.

“Cute,” one of the men says sarcastically.

“You assholes have no idea who you’re fucking talking to,” Katsuki snarls.

“Wait,” one says, squinting at Katsuki. He licks his lips nervously. “You’re not… you’re not that Bakugou guy, right? The Beast of UA?”

Katsuki’s lips turn up in a malicious smirk. “Oh good, you’ve heard of me.”

“Doesn’t matter who you are!” The knuckleduster man roars. “We’re going to fuck you up and drag you away so the boss can fuck you up!”

The back door slams open again, and all eyes shoot to the large, white-haired, tattooed man. He launches himself forward and Katsuki watches, fascinated, as the man knocks the largest man out with a single hit to the face. He then spins around with incredible speed and sweeps the feet out from under the second man, who’s head hits the ground with a sickening crack that renders him unconscious.

The third man rushes for Katsuki in a desperate attempt, clearly believing he’s the lesser of two fights. Unfortunately for him, Katsuki didn’t gain his title of ‘Beast’ by being the gentlest MMA fighter in his University.

Katsuki slams his hand down on the man’s wrist, spins around, and kicks his knee out of place. The man yelps in pain and Katsuki smashes him face first to the ground before karate-chopping the side of his neck in the perfect spot to knock him out. Katsuki straightens up and looks at the white-haired man, who is once again gaping at him.

“I fucking had that, Patches,” Katsuki grouses. “I ain’t some damsel in distress.”

“I see that, doll,” the man says, and then he grins broadly. “You’re really something, aren’t you, spitfire?”

“Fucking obviously,” Katsuki says with a scoff.

He can feel his face heating up, but he blames it on the alcohol and not on the obscenely attractive and obviously incredibly strong and well trained man in front of him.

“You heading home?” The white-haired man asks.

“That was the fucking plan,” Katsuki says with a shrug.

“Want to get something to eat first?” The man asks.

“No,” Katsuki says dryly.

The tattooed man pouts, and tilts his head in the most out-of-character puppy dog expression the blonde has ever seen.

It’s stupid—the guy is huge, and the back light in the alley shines off of his piercings and casts an ominous shadow across his tattooed skin, making him look like a demon.

Even his turquoise eyes seem to be glowing. He does not look like a cute, innocent little puppy and Katsuki absolutely should not give in.

But fuck if he doesn’t do just that.

Katsuki lets out a long sigh. “Fucking fine. But you’re buying.”

“Fuck yeah!” The man says cheerfully, a lopsided grin on his lips. He walks up to Katsuki and gestures for the blonde to walk with him. “There’s this ramen place close by. Not as good as your food, but they’ve got an extra spicy tonkatsu that you’d probably like.”

“Fair enough,” Katsuki says with a shrug.

“I’m Todoroki Touya, by the way,” the white-haired man says.

“Bakugou Katsuki,” the blonde says.

Touya chuckles. “I know who you are. I’ve watched your old matches. Guess you quit to focus on the food truck, huh?”

Katsuki shrugs. “Cooking’s better. I still go to the gym daily and train several times a week. Ain’t no chance of some fucking extras taking me on.”

“I believe you,” Touya says, looking pointedly to his shoulders. “What gym do you go to?”

Katsuki squints at the taller man. “Why? You stalking me?”

Touya scoffs loudly and waves his hand nonchalantly. “Wouldn’t dream of it, doll.”

“Fucking weird ass, patchwork fucker,” Katsuki grumbles. Touya laughs and Katsuki cocks a brow at the unexpected response to being outright insulted.

“I like you, Bakugou,” Touya says with a grin. “I think we’ll be really good friends.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Patches.”

—

DOCTOR UJIKO DARUMA FOUND DEAD IN HIS OFFICE, NO BIRTH RECORDS CAN BE LOCATED; WAS HE A FRAUD?

—

Katsuki opens his apartment door, fully intending to go down to the mailboxes.

He blinks in surprise at the massive box waiting just outside his door. With a furrowed brow, he reads the address on the label, and cocks a brow when he finds his name there.

He knows it isn’t from his parents, they haven’t contacted him since he moved out at eighteen and he prefers it that way.

It could possibly be from Deku, that asshole sends Katsuki random things for his birthday, but it’s June and his birthday was in April, so scratch that.

Katsuki shrugs and lifts the box up. It’s incredibly heavy and awkward to lift, but he manages to get it through his door with only one tiny scratch to the frame that he will easily pretend he doesn’t notice.

He sets the box down in his entryway and shuts and locks his front door before heading to the kitchen for a knife. He carefully cuts the box open and then sets the knife on the kitchen counter.

He pulls the box open and at the top is a piece of heavy cardstock paper with a border lined in various animals. It’s got a printed message on the front and Katsuki lifts the paper to read it curiously.

Doll, I volunteer at Kouda’s Veterinary Clinic, and when I saw that you have a kitten set for an appointment next week and read the note attached saying you rescued little ‘Queen Murder Mittens,’ I couldn’t help myself. – Patchwork PS, here’s my phone number, spitfire (xx-xxx-xxxx)

“Huh,” Katsuki says, for lack of a better response. He sets the note aside and starts pulling out the items.

There’s a five-pound bag of high-quality dry kitten food, a 24 pack of the same brand in different canned flavors, treats that claim to be good for dental health, a twenty-pound bag of cat litter, various cat toys, a scratching post, and a huge five-tiered cat tree.

Katsuki gapes at it all in absolute shock for a long minute before whipping out his phone and punching in Touya’s number.

Katsuki: What the fuck? Why’d you send me so much shit?

He’s barely pocketed his phone again before a response comes through, forcing him to pull the device right back out.

Patchwork: It’s not for you! It’s for Queen Murder Mittens!

Katsuki: …fuck.

Patchwork: Yeah, don’t argue, Spitfire. Just let me know if she likes it.

Katsuki sighs and puts his phone away. Queenie, as he calls the kitten for short, is already sniffing curiously at the new items.

Katsuki gets to work building the cat tree, and he only messes up once, thank-you-very-much. He sets the thing up by his large living room window, so the little hammock thing near the top will get plenty of sunlight.

He opens up the other toys, some are just loose mice and balls with bells and rattles inside, while others are sticks with a dangling toy and a suction cup on the end. He could easily stick them to windows so she could still play when he’s at work. It’s weirdly touching to know that the white-haired man’s gift is so considerate.

By the time he’s done getting things put up and the food stored away, Queenie has found her way up the cat tree and is snoozing away in the hammock. Katsuki kisses her head and strokes her back before snapping a picture to send off to Touya.

Katsuki: [Image attached.] She says thanks.

Patchwork: Adorable. She is very welcome. I haven’t even met her, and I would kill for her.

Katsuki snorts aloud and accidentally startles the poor kitten. He whispers an apology and kisses her head again before walking to his bedroom so he can get ready for work.

Katsuki: Riot Gym. I go every morning at 6am.

—

SMALL TIME GANGSTER SHINDOU YOU FOUND DEAD ALONG WITH THREE OF HIS MEN

—

Katsuki is only a little anxious about meeting Touya at the gym for the first time. The more he gets to know about the man, the more he likes him.

So, Katsuki devises a plan in his evil gremlin brain.

He pulls on his favorite compression outfit; black shorts with orange trim, and a black tank top with an orange ‘x’ across the front. It’s tight and hides absolutely nothing.

Katsuki secures his black sneakers and grabs his gym bag, swinging it over his shoulder before heading out. He’s got his clean clothes, water bottle, phone, and wallet shoved inside the bag along with his shower bag and towel.

He’s somewhat surprised to find Touya standing outside of Riot, scrolling aimlessly on his phone with his gym bag on the ground by his feet. Katsuki takes a moment to just look him over, clad in loose eggplant purple shorts and a low-cut black tank top with slits down the sides, giving a delightful view of the tattoos where they travel down his pecs and ribs.

“You ready for me to kick your ass?” Katsuki asks.

When Touya looks up, his eyes widen as he scans over the blonde’s body, which is as close to exposed as he can get without actually stripping down.

“Damn, doll,” Touya drawls. “You sure know how to taunt a guy.”

Katsuki snorts and scans his entry key, trying to hide his smug grin and light blush. “Whatever, Patchwork. We’re starting with stretches. You any good at yoga?”

Touya hums as he steps inside after the blonde. “I’ve never actually tried yoga.”

“S’ good shit,” Katsuki says. “Let’s put our shit away and I’ll show you some of the basics.”

“Lead the way, doll,” Touya says.

Katsuki just grunts his acknowledgment as they go to the locker rooms. He pulls his water bottle out before shoving the locker closed. He leads the white-haired man to the room usually reserved for instructor-led courses.

“Earliest class starts at eight, so we’re fine to just stretch in here,” Katsuki explains simply as he goes to the little shelf with mats and tugs two out. He hands one to Touya and leads the way to the center of the room. “Don’t hurt yourself trying to copy me.”

“Please, I’m limber enough for yoga,” Touya says with a scoff.

Katsuki smirks and starts in a basic standing pose before stretching up into upward hand. He holds it for a moment, ensuring that the white-haired man is watching, and then Katsuki folds forward into a perfect standing fold, arms curled around the backs of his calves as he bends completely in half. The man’s tattooed face flushes red, but he manages to grip his ankles.

Katsuki snickers and arches up into a half standing forward fold. Touya follows him, and Katsuki notes that he’s biting down hard on his tattooed lower lip, which contrasts heavily with his unblemished, pink upper lip.

Katsuki moves into a triangle pose, and holds before switching sides. He goes into a warrior A pose, then switches sides and repeats with warrior B pose. Then, deciding he’s given Touya enough of a break, he folds down into wide leg forward fold pose; hands flat on the ground and legs spread as his head brushes the ground.

Touya nearly falls over and Katsuki has to bite his inner cheek to hold in a laugh. While holding the pose, he stretches his arms out behind himself, and then moves into a half-bound lotus, holds, and then switches sides.

Then he adjusts himself into downward dog and holds before sliding into upward facing dog. He goes back up into downward dog and then sits back on his ass and grins at Touya as he extends his legs straight out and reaches forward to grip his toes, folded in half once again.

“You okay there, Patches?” Katsuki teases.

“You’re killing me here, doll,” Touya groans, face flushed as he does his best to copy the blonde. Katsuki cracks up laughing and Touya pulls his knees up as he looks at the ceiling, letting out a long breath. “It should be illegal to do that with shorts that tight.”

Katsuki snorts. “Glad you like ‘em.”

He stands up and walks to the wipes dispenser, grabbing two. He hands one to Touya before he wipes his mat clean. The tattooed man grumbles in mingled agitation and embarrassment as he wipes his mat down. Katsuki chuckles as he rolls his mat up and puts it back on the rack. Touya leans over his back as he puts his own mat away.

“I’m picking next,” the white-haired man says, voice deep and husky. The sound sends a shiver down Katsuki’s spine.

He looks over his shoulder at the man, nearly kissing him on accident from the unexpected closeness. He doesn’t back away, but he does let his breath fan over the man’s lips when he speaks lowly, “Whatever you want, Patches.”

“Fuck,” Touya groans as he pulls away. “Why are you so fucking hot? You’re playing dirty, Spitfire.”

Katsuki scoffs as he follows the white-haired man out. “You’re one to talk.”

Touya smirks mischievously back at him before looking around for his goal. With an ‘Aha!’ he leads the way to the bench press. He starts loading up plates and Katsuki cocks a brow when he only adds 90kg.

“Warm ups?” Katsuki guesses.

“Yup,” Touya confirms with a sharp nod. “We’re gonna see who can bench the most. You wanna go first?”

Katsuki shrugs and slides onto the bench and into position. He gets his grip and easily pushes out ten reps before racking it. He gives the other man a bored look, but Touya just shrugs and gestures for them to switch places.

They keep up the pattern, ten reps each, add 10kg, repeat.

Katsuki maxes out at 205kg, but the white-haired man just gives him a cocky smile and tells him to add more weight. Katsuki shrugs and adds ten more. Then ten more… and ten more…

When the bar has 230kg on it, Katsuki looks down uncertainly at the white-haired man. “You fuckin’ sure about this, Patchwork?”

“Aw, don’t worry about me, spitfire,” Touya says with a grin.

Katsuki clicks his tongue, but gets into spotting position as the other man finds his grip. He lifts the bar, and there’s definitely some straining, but he does ten slow reps. Katsuki quickly reaches in to help rack at after the tenth, and he just stares down at the smugly grinning white-haired man.

“What the fuck,” Katsuki says eloquently.

Touya laughs loudly and sits up. They work together to remove the weights, each taking one side so the bar doesn’t get upended. When they finish that, they move on to Katsuki’s next choice.

—

“I think we’re a good match, doll,” Touya says as they step out of the gym together, both freshly showered and in clean clothes. “You’ve got the flexibility and speed, and I’ve got strength.”

“You weren't the worst fucking person to work out with,” Katsuki says with a shrug. He’s really trying not to focus on how fucking hot the tattooed man is.

“We should do this more often,” Touya says. “I felt way more motivated today than I have in a long time.”

“Me too,” Katsuki admits.

“So, doll, you wanna go on a date with me?” Touya questions.

Katsuki looks up at him and blinks in surprise before his lips betray him with a small smile. “Yeah.”

“Hell yeah!” Touya says with a loud whoop. He beams down at Katsuki, smile wide and turquoise eyes glinting. “I’ll plan something for after seven, yeah? So it doesn’t mess with your work?”

Katsuki shrugs. “I can always take a day off. No boss to call in to, just have to update my social media.”

Touya gives him a surprised look. “You would take a day off… to spend it with me?”

“Fucking obviously,” Katsuki says with a scoff. He averts his eyes as heat rushes to his face. “I really fucking like you. ‘M not gonna bitch out of a date because of work.”

Heavy, hot hands land on his shoulders and Katsuki looks up in surprise at Touya, whose eyes are full of affection as he smiles down at the blonde.

“Next Saturday? We could start with dinner?” Touya suggests.

Katsuki nods. “Fine. But I’m cooking dinner. Use my stolen address to find your way.”

Touya huffs out a laugh and nods. “Absolutely.”

—

SHIE HASSAIKAI LEADER CHISAKI KAI FOUND DEAD AMONGST THE BODIES OF THE ‘EIGHT BULLETS’

—

Katsuki is going all out for his dinner date with Touya. They’d agreed on 6pm and Katsuki spent a good part of his afternoon grocery shopping for a killer meal.

He knows Touya likes meat and hates fish; something he’d learned over the past couple weeks of the guy going to Dynamight’s for lunch, which seems to happen more often than not since his first time there.

For tonight, Katsuki had settled on rice, clear soup, steamed vegetables, and pan-seared steaks cooked in his beloved cast iron pan.

He also has homemade strawberry mochi in the freezer, and he picked up two bottles of wine when he was out.

His little two-seater dining table is already set with plates and cutlery the way he was taught in culinary school, water glasses filled, wine glasses ready and one bottle of wine at the edge of the table. He even fan-folded the damn napkins, for fucks’ sake.

Okay, so he’s nervous.

He’s gotten to know the white-haired man pretty well over the past few weeks, especially after the damn bar fight, and more so after the unexpected gifts for Queenie.

They text every single day, and Katsuki is fairly certain that he’s falling for the bizarre tattooed man who sends funny pictures and sarcastic quips, flirts and snarks with equal ease. He’s kind, sarcastic, strong as fuck, and he finds Katsuki’s attitude endearing rather than something that should be kept away with a 50-foot pole.

A strange clatter from Katsuki’s bedroom makes him look up from the pan he’s heating up. Queenie is napping on the cat tree’s hammock, per usual. The blonde furrows his brow and walks to his bedroom.

Touya is climbing through his window from the fire escape, a single red rose held in his mouth.

Katsuki leans on the bedroom doorframe and watches him until the white-haired man suddenly freezes and looks up, one ankle still out the window. His turquoise eyes lock with Katsuki’s scarlet orbs, and they just stare at each other in stunned silence for several long moments.

“Go wash your hands before dinner,” Katsuki says and then turns, heading back into the kitchen.

Touya cheers loudly and the window slides shut. Katsuki snorts out a laugh and puts the first steak on the pan, swirling it to keep it coated with the butter and herbs.

He hears Touya walk to the bathroom and the man hums cheerfully as he scrubs his hands

Katsuki chuckles to himself as he flips the steak, just allowing himself to breathe and try to calm himself down.

Warm, thick arms wrap around his waist and a chin drops to his shoulder, totally enveloping Katsuki’s back in Touya’s broad, firm chest. The blonde finds himself leaning against the man without actively choosing to do so.

“That smells so good,” Touya says.

“It’ll taste even better,” Katsuki promises.

They stay like that, relaxed and warm as Katsuki transfers the first steak to a plate and covers it with foil to keep it hot as he cooks the second steak.

Touya inhales deeply, squeezing the blonde a little tighter, and Katsuki is definitely in love because he has never felt more content before in his entire goddamn life.

“So, tell me about your mortal enemies,” Touya says and Katsuki spurts out a laugh.

“Fuckin’ mortal enemies, seriously, Patches?” Katsuki questions, shaking his head lightly.

“Come on, tell me who you’ve secretly wished would just fuck off,” Touya says.

Katsuki hums thoughtfully. “Well, I’d say Chisaki, but seems like that fucker finally got what was coming to him.”

“Seems that way,” Touya says, hiding his pleased smirk in the man’s hair.

“Probably my old high school teacher,” Katsuki says after a minute.

“Oh?” Touya questions curiously.

“I won this competition in my first year, but it was a fuckin’ joke of a win and I didn’t wanna accept the award, so she fuckin’ chained me to the podium while the news broadcasted the fuckin’ thing live,” Katsuki says, sighing.

Touya’s grip tightens on him and he hums. “I’m sure karma will get her eventually.”

“Sure,” Katsuki says, snorting softly.

When Katsuki moves to place the first steak to a plate, he does his best to not dislodge Touya without being too obvious that’s what he’s doing. The rumbling chuckle through his spine suggests he’s not as coy as he’d hoped, but he just moves the second steak to the pan to repeat the process.

“You’d make such a nice house-husband,” Touya says teasingly.

“Fuck off,” Katsuki says, but the man just snickers. “I ain’t some fuckin’ bride to keep locked up in a damn tower.”

Touya hums what sounds like an agreement. “True, I would rather show off my pretty husband everywhere we go. Let everyone see what they can’t have.”

“Who the fuck says that shit on a first date?” Katsuki mumbles, and he can feel the shit-eating grin on the taller man’s face.

“Someone who knows what he wants,” Touya says, voice low and husky, hot breath fanning across Katsuki’s ear, and fuck, if it doesn’t have his cock swelling.

“Shut up and sit down,” Katsuki says, elbowing the man lightly.

“Fine, fine,” Touya says. He places a soft kiss to Katsuki’s neck before releasing him, leaving the blonde stunned and frozen for a moment.

He swallows thickly and plates the second steak, adding the rice and steamed vegetables to both before turning to carry them to the table. The red rose the man had carried inside is placed neatly at the center of the table, and Touya quickly picks it up.

Katsuki quirks a brow at him as he places the plates, but the man just moves the flower safely aside. Katsuki brings the miso soup over next, setting it at the middle of the table.

“Made with vegetable broth,” Katsuki says, and Touya grins.

“Aw, you remembered,” Touya says; his voice is teasing but his expression shows the genuine fondness he feels for the blonde.

“Shut up and eat,” Katsuki mutters as he grabs the bottle of wine.

Touya chuckles as he watches the man expertly spin the corkscrew and tug the cork out with a pop, dropping it to the table and swiftly filling both glasses with the red liquid.

Katsuki slices into his steak and Touya does the same. The blonde lifts the first bite to his lips and his eyes flick up to the tattooed man as his lips close around his own forkful.

His turquoise eyes flutter closed and a deep, satisfied groan comes from his chest. The sound has Katsuki’s cheeks pinkening and his pupils dilating.

“You’re perfect,” Touya says, eyes opening part way.

“Fuck off,” Katsuki says, scowling as he scoops up some of the steamed veggies.

Touya just hums; the sound is deep and delighted and it has Katsuki flushing darker without even looking at the man. He can feel the tattooed man’s gaze burning into him.

The rest of dinner is quiet, just the sounds of them eating, the scraping of utensils, and the occasional chirrup from Queenie whenever birds fly past the window.

The air is thick with tension between the two men; the kind that has their senses on overdrive.

Touya, finished with his meal, takes a sip of his wine and stands up, grabbing the red rose. He walks around the small table, placing one hand on the back of Katsuki’s chair, using the other to hold the delicate thing out for the blonde.

“The brightest I could find,” Touya explains, locking eyes with Katsuki when he finally raises his gaze. He slowly takes the flower, unsure of what to do with it.

“Thanks,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

Touya chuckles softly, leaning closer and licking his lips. His newly freed hand cups the blonde’s jaw and his whole face goes soft.

“Your eyes are a much more stunning shade of red,” Touya says.

Katsuki’s cheeks flush even as he narrows his gaze defiantly. Touya just grins at that, leaning closer and pressing his lips to Katsuki’s.

There is an immediate jolt through his entire system, and Katsuki drops the flower on the table so that he can bury both of his hands in the man’s silky white locks. Touya nips at his lower lip, then sucks on it, and Katsuki moans.

A feral growl rips from deep within Touya’s chest as a darker side of him breaks through the cracks in his self-control. He roughly wraps his arms around the blonde’s hips, shoving them down to his ass and lifting him up off the chair.

Katsuki gasps in surprise, but the show of strength is so fucking hot that he can’t even find it in himself to be angry. He lets out his own growl as he bites down on the side of the man’s neck, and Touya moans as he starts walking toward the blonde’s bedroom.

He falls onto the bed atop the blonde, making him grunt, but he refuses to move any further away than necessary as he crashes their lips together again.

Katsuki roughly grabs the hem of the man’s shirt and tugs on it, and Touya lets out a shaky chuckle as he pulls it off, then immediately rips Katsuki’s off as well.

Their mouths connect again as their hands roam down each other’s exposed flesh, both delighting in the muscles that move beneath their fingers. Katsuki reaches the man’s jeans and cups the obvious bulge, squeezing lightly and making Touya bite down on Katsuki’s lower lip.

The blonde moans again, squeezing his covered cock once more and making Touya snarl against his lips as he starts undoing the buttons for Katsuki’s pants, while the blonde does the same to his.

Their boxers go with the pants, shoved somewhere to the floor where neither of them gives a fuck.

Katsuki reaches over to his nightstand, growling when he has to move from Touya’s lips to rip the drawer open, making the few dildos inside clatter together. He shoves them aside, grasping the slick little bottle of lube.

Touya licks his lips as the blonde clicks the cap open and grabs Touya’s hand, drizzling the cool liquid over his fingers, some of it dripping down to his abdomen.

“You’d better fucking prep me well, your cock is fucking massive,” Katsuki snarls and Touya grins.

“And I’m sure you’ll scream so nicely on it,” Touya says, leaning in to kiss him as a distraction as he roughly shoves two of his long, thick fingers into the blonde’s hole.

Katsuki gasps and moans, precum leaking from his cock at the stinging from the stretch. He licks over Touya’s lips, shoving his tongue into the man’s mouth as soon as he opens up, dominating the kiss while the man thrusts his fingers in and out, scissoring and twisting them.

When Touya adds a third finger, he pulls back to pant for breath, both of their chests heaving, and he chuckles as he starts kissing and sucking down Katsuki’s neck.

“Fucking what?” Katsuki snaps, though he tilts his head for the man.

“Just didn’t think you’d be a pillow princess,” Touya says, snickering lightly. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind, Katsuki.”

The blonde just smirks, humming as the man continues kissing down him, knowing he’s going to surprise this fucker pretty goddamned soon.

“Condoms?” Touya questions.

“Nightstand,” Katsuki says.

Touya kisses his neck once more before leaning up, pulling his fingers free from Katsuki’s ass to lean over. He makes a curious sound when he spots the toys inside, but carefully tucks that information away for later and pulls out a large, heavily used box of condoms.

Jealousy soars through him and he rips one from the bundle. He grits his teeth as he rips it open, rolling it down his length before looming over the blonde.

“Get fucked often, doll?” Touya questions, obvious anger in his tone.

Katsuki smirks devilishly and leans up as he hooks a leg around the man’s hip, flipping their positions in a quick move that has Touya blinking in surprise and gripping the mans thighs.

“Hmm, jealous, hah?” Katsuki taunts, gripping Touya’s cock as he lines himself up.

“I don’t like to share,” Touya says, eyes locked on where the tip of his dick is kissing the blonde’s hole. He rolls his hips up, but the man doesn’t budge, and he growls.

“Good thing those condoms were for my dildos then, eh?” Katsuki says.

Touya’s jealousy simmers out and his eyes flick up to the blonde. “Wait, wha—fuck!”

His question is cut off by Katsuki dropping down, spearing himself on the man’s cock. The sudden envelopment of the tight heat around Touya’s dick has him moaning, fingers digging harshly into the blonde’s thick thighs.

“Ah, fuck, that’s good,” Katsuki says, leaning forward and planting his palms on the man’s tattooed pecs as he starts to rock slowly.

“God,” Touya groans, moving along with the man to smack their bodies together, feeling his cock move deeper with each thrust.

“Oh, fuck,” Katsuki moans as Touya’s cock drags along his prostate. He starts moving faster, grinding down harder. “Sh-shit, Touya.”

The man beneath him growls, flexing his grip on the man and waiting for the perfect moment to slam up, ramming his cock harshly up to meet his downward movement. Katsuki gasps, his own nails scraping along Touya’s chest as he fucks himself down.

Touya grits his teeth as he drills up into the man, making him bounce with each movement, but the grip on his thighs doesn’t let the man move far. He can feel the band of pleasure quickly approaching it’s peak and he pants as he forces his hips to move faster.

Katsuki reaches one hand down to grip his cock, stroking only a couple times before he cums with a keen, his ass clenching around Touya’s dick as his spend spills out over his hand.

Touya manages a few more thrusts up before he tugs the blonde down, burying himself as deep as possible as he fills the condom. His chest is heaving, but the pleasure is so fucking good that he just keeps rolling his hips, drawing it out, not stopping until the blonde flicks his nipple to gather his attention.

“Fuckin’ stop,” Katsuki says, his entire body shuddering.

Touya grunts, but complies, reaching up instead to grasp the back of the man’s neck, pulling him down for a kiss. The blonde kisses back, pressing his cum soaked hand to Touya’s abdomen as he pulls himself off the man’s dick.

He slumps down next to the man, too tired to move at the moment, and Touya lets out a breathless laugh as he wraps his arms around Katsuki, ignoring the sticky condom on his cock.

“I’m going to marry you someday,” Touya announces.

“Uh-huh,” Katsuki says with a snort.

“You wait, it’s gonna happen,” Touya says cheerfully, planting a smacking kiss to Katsuki’s temple.

“You’re a fucking sap after sex,” Katsuki mutters and the tattooed man laughs.

“You’d better get used to it,” Touya says, his eyes darkening as he leans his head against the blonde’s. “I’m not letting you go, Katsuki.”

—

UNFORTUNATE CAR CRASH CLAIMS THE LIFE OF NEMURI KAYAMA

[eristic-kaleidoscope]

Gripper Check | AIRika/Adrik | Trial 3.6 | Re: Arakiel, Kenshin, Eureka, Erisu | ATTN: Erik A, Eureka

Adrik wants to slam their head into a wall with the amount of time they've been accused by now, and they're visibly annoyed. However, they still don't snap, or yell, or doing anything that AIRika might've done previously.

"If I killed everyone important, I'd be killing the loved ones of people I actually care about here. You think I'd be able to forgive myself if I killed, say, Erik's mom? Or Erik A's sister? Hell, even Eureka's younger clone. I'm not a good person, but even I'm not that horribly fucked up.

Besides... yeah, my situation with my ex is bad. True. Erik A told me he was going to handle it, though. I don't know how, you'd have to ask him. I have a few ideas, though, considering what we had access to before all of this.

Also, I asked for a favor ticket for the sake of taking care of Ani just in case. Not in a deadly way, God no. I just was going to see if there was a way I could make it so she couldn't share what she learned. I still have it. I never used it. I was waiting to see what Erik A was going to do.

And besides... I've given up. I can't just go back to being AIRika after all this, can I? Not even if I was exposed or not. I just can't. It feels wrong. I know that's not a good defense, but it's true. I want to be real. I just wish it was on my own terms.

They sigh, shaking their head.

"I'm pretty sure I'm the only person who burned something today, and it was pretty bad. The room was smoky for a reason. I just can't cook, and I probably never will after today.

Either way, Eureka had a bowl that Kenshin spotted, and that's a bit too damn good of a coincidence."

They look at Erisu, and shake their head.

"Eureka doesn't know plants, yeah. But she also just contradicted herself. She just said everyone knows hemlock, and everyone knows it's poisonous. Is that not a confession she knew what the plant was? She even identified it for my group during the investigation. Sure, she might not be good at plants, but she absolutely knows this one.

You know what she does have, though? Just like Erisu said? Mechanical knowledge and medical knowledge. The device that was created was honestly creative, and used electrical tape from the workshop that were purchased before today. I know this because my group asked AION about it. That's totally an item she would have on her person, considering her past contraptions made here. The electrical tape and amount of needles also could prevent breaking the needles, right? If they're all bunched together, it'd be difficult to break. Either way, that point is void, since the trap still worked and the needles killed even if they're brittle.

Her medical knowledge also means she'd know how to administer the poison effectively, and how to even do hemlock poisoning. I didn't know what hemlock was until literally today, but I feel like most people would've probably defaulted to trying to get the other party to consume it. Injection? Especially only at the surface level? That's sure a lot of specialization.

And again, she had multiple chances to find the letter and create a plan to attack. The earliest I learned of any of this was when I was in the eatery with Erik, where Erika Chen told us she was going to play mermaids in the pool. That's all the knowledge I had, and seeing that I left at 5:10PM, just like Arakiel said, that would give me only, I don't know, maybe thirty minutes to create my plan and execute it. I also had no electrical tape, so I would've had to go to the store, which we know didn't happen, or get it elsewhere."

A feet check? They can agree to that. Their flexibility means they're able to easily lift their foot in the air, revealing white flats. Their feet are medium in size. They then take the shoe off and hold it out, showing the size marker inside: size 38 EU.

"I wore different shoes when I got caught in the rain and changed since they were soaked, but the size is obviously the same. My group also matched my feet to the footprints in the dorm hallway, which at least proves that.

Now, we just need to see Eureka's."

[likeastarstar]

Boredom, Disinterest, & Intimidation.

Summary: Jungkook's in that suit and he's bored and you're not impressed by much...except for him. and then you fuck him in a public restroom.

(A/N: WARNING! SMUT AHEAD! for the anon requesting striped suit jk...I got severely carried away this is so much longer than I intended...feedback is appreciated.)

masterlist.

You weren't impressed by much.

Men were too boring to be impressive most of the time. They watered their personalities down, made themselves too accessible to be deemed worth it for your effort. Basically, you thought you were better than most of them. Your friends said you should lower your standards or risk being forever alone, but you didn't really understand why that was such a bad thing. At least you liked your own company, preferring to fly solo most of the time.

That's what you were doing at the event you were at, a networking thing that your company sent you to in order to make connections in different industries your CEO was interested in. You were the go-to for this sort of thing, where you had to be coy and work a room with no commitment.

You stared at the glass in your hand, wondering how many flutes of champagne the woman standing next you had consumed. She swayed off beat to the instrumental music playing and you couldn't help but guess that it wasn't a lack of rhythm that was causing it. Someone called your name and you lifted your gaze, falling on a bulky looking man with a kind smile. You recognized him as the PR connection your company had, one who was in charge of not only your own company but several larger clients in the entertainment industry. You smiled at him easily, floating over to where he was.

"Let me introduce you to my friends, they're in the music industry." He said pleasantly, gesturing to the group of men standing beside him.

You scanned the group neutrally, recognizing them instantly. Of course you knew who they were. You wondered why you were being introduced to them but soon connected the dots when you heard they were looking to explore the possibility of expanding their tour set-ups, primarily in the technology area, an aspect your company could help with. The tallest man did most of the speaking, his warm smile and easy going humor making it easy to see why countless people were in love with him. Your eyes stuck on another member of the group however, one standing towards the back with an uninterested look on his face.

While the rest of the men looked towards you eagerly when you spoke about previous experiences with audio and performance oriented tech expansions, he stared off to the side with his hands in his pockets. You studied his figure- black and grey striped suit tailored to a tee, skimming the length of his lean body. Straight shoulders, thin waist, legs for days- his proportions were scientifically perfect. His hair was gelled and neatly parted, jet black matching the inky color of his eyes. Everything about him was unapproachable, from the bored purse of his lips to the eyebrow piercing that reflected the light in a sort of warning. Another one of the group began saying something, sparking his attention.

His eyes flickered to you, flying over you at first and then doubling back to study you more closely. He frowned slightly, blinking a couple times before realizing you were staring back at him, refusing to look away.

"Seems like they're about to start the dinner, where are you seated?" Someone asked you, causing you to tear your eyes from his.

You just happened to be seated across from the man in the striped suit, who's name you had heard a couple times but had forgotten since you didn't personally pay attention to things like that. You ignored him and the way he slouched over in his chair, pushing his hips forwards with his neck stretched to the side so his head could rest back on the chair, watching the rest of the room out of the corner of his eye as if he couldn't be bothered to interact with it himself. He was distractingly handsome, chiseled jaw cutting a sharp line through space.

You started a conversation with a woman to your left who ran a charity organization or something, the details weren't really sticking in your mind since a certain someone had decided instead of zoning out, he'd zero in on you with total focus. You turned your head slowly towards him when you couldn't take the tension you felt from seeing his gaze locked on you out of the corner of your eye anymore, the knot of anticipation only tightening when you noted his smirk.

"Do you normally stare at people?" You asked in a flat tone.

"No," He said simply. "I actually make it a point not to make eye contact with people at these sorts of things. I'm making an exception."

He leaned forward in his chair, face tilted slightly so he was looking up at you through his eyelashes. You resisted the urge to squirm in your chair- this wasn't you. You didn't get intimidated easily, you were the one doing the intimidation usually. He rolled his broad shoulders back, sitting up straight as if to let you get a better look at him.

"Don't bother," You quipped.

"Aren't you bored?" He asked, a slightly surprised expression breaking the air of neutrality around him. "Don't you want to do something fun?"

"I'm working, I don't worry about having fun while I'm on the clock." You said, rolling your eyes before refocusing on the conversation you were having before as the appetizers were served. He was right though, things like this were incredibly boring. Rarely did you ever have fun at company events. You thanked the waiter, words hitching slightly when you felt a stiff shoe glide by your heeled foot, an ankle hooking around yours brashly. You blinked and looked back towards the man in the striped suit, a neutral expression on his face other than slight lift of his eyebrow, the silver hardware of his piercing sparkling. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth to resist saying anything, trying to stop the heat pooling towards your lap.

You looked away quickly and he laughed, it's charming silvery tone ringing in your ears in a way that only distracted you further. You pushed your foot against his unconsciously, rolling your ankle around his as you carried on listening to the conversation around. It wasn't until he pulled away from you, touch ripped away that you realized you had been so forward with your actions. You watched him rise out of his chair, body limber and lean, looking down at you with a menacing intensity. He quirked his eyebrow again and you watched him stalk off towards were you knew the bathroom of the restaurant to be.

Even his walk was distracting, the way his shoulders rolled, hands swinging slightly, practically gliding across the room.

"What were you saying?" The woman next to you asked, tapping on your shoulder.

"I," You started, still staring off in the direction he disappeared to. "I was saying that...You know, I actually will be right back, I have to make a phone call."

You got up quickly before you really knew what you were doing, pushing through the waiters still trying to serve the large room full of VIPs. You passed the hallway to the bathroom when a hand snaked out and yanked you to the side, a now familiar pair of eyes staring down at you.

"I thought you didn't want to have fun?" He asked, a small smile on his face.

"I'm making an exception," You mocked, repeating his words from earlier before kissing him brashly.

His lips were soft on yours, tongue fighting against yours for control of the kiss almost instantly. His hands smoothed down your body and pushed you into the bathroom, ass pressing against the countertop. You matched his ferocity, biting down on his lip and wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him down closer to you. He lifted you onto the countertop, hands still kneading any part of you he could get his hands on. His hand settled on the jut of your hip, breath panting out as he moved down to your neck, kissing and sucking the skin there.

"Don't fucking leave a mark," You snapped, words venomous despite your hands pulling him between your knees. You hooked your legs around his figure, sighing as he pushed a sleeve of your dress off your shoulder and bit down on the space of your skin that was previously covered, laving over the spot with tongue.

"I'll be careful," he promised, "No one will see. My name's Jungkook, by the way."

You felt a lick of heat in the pit of your stomach, something animalistic that told you to keep going, ask for more, demand it from him. You didn't bother telling him your name and he didn't ask for it, pushing a hand up your dress instead. His hand rubbed circles on your skin and you realized he had rings on, cool metal pressing into the flesh of your thigh. Your brain felt like it was fizzing out, dial tones going off instead of coherent thoughts. God, why did his hands feel so good on your body? Why was he such a good kisser? What cologne was he wearing?

"Tell me to stop," He dared, pulling his lips off of you. He rested his forehead on the top of your shoulder, hand freezing in place. You said nothing, watching instead as he tilted his head back up to you with a surprised expression.

"Don't," You mumbled, voice so quiet you'd think he didn't hear you if he didn't smile at you. It wasn't a smirk this time, not a sly little expression, no cockiness in sight. He looked...sweet. Pretty. His eyes were sparkly and his cheeks fluffed up when he smiled like this, nose crinkling slightly. You felt your heart pang and wondered what the fuck was happening to you- who the hell was this guy?

"You wanna get fucked by a stranger in a random bathroom?" He grinned, going back to the cocky motherfucker you had known all night. He stood to his full height, hand still kneading into your skin as he gazed down at you, eyes catching on your parted lips. He tilted his head and leaned in, stopping just shy of contact. You skated a hand down his body, pressing fingertips against the firm abs you could outline under the silky material of his shirt, smiling slightly when you heard his breathing stop as you dragged your palm over the crotch of his pants, outlining his hard cock with your fingernail and wrapping your hand over it. You squeezed lightly, feeling Jungkook's fingers push up your leg and pull your panties to the side, "You're interesting." He mumbled, frowning slightly.

"No, I'm not," You said flatly, just before he dragged a finger through your folds. You breathed in sharply, feeling him brush past your clit and press down lightly, hips bucking up slightly. He thrust two fingers in you suddenly and you moaned. Jungkook kissed you, muffling your noises of need with his mouth on yours. Your back arched up to him, mind completely blank as he started pumping his fingers in and out of you. "Slow-"

"No, fast." He grunted, "Gotta open your tight little pussy up if you want my cock. You do want my cock, right baby?"

You kissed him desperately, feeling his fingers split and scissor inside of your pussy, his thumb rubbing into your clit in rough motions. Nothing about what he was doing to you was gentle or soft, pushing you, stretching your limits, teasing you where he could.

"Yeah," You nodded, "Yeah, I want you to fuck me."

Your breathing became labored and you felt your chest heave as he curled his fingers, looking for a certain spot until a jab of his fingers had you spasming. He kissed you still, smirking against your lips as he angled his fingers to hit the same spot over and over until he had you cumming around his hands, wrapped around his finger like a cute little bow, willing and able to do anything he wanted you to. He was staring at you again, inky eyes locked on your face, scanning your expression as you came like he was trying to memorize it. He pulled his hand away too quickly, taking your panties with him.

Jungkook tucked your now ruined lace panties in his suit pocket and gazed at you, grinning as he unzipped his pants, "Okay, I'm gonna fuck you now."

"Okay," You said weakly, feeling your pussy spasm around nothing.

He shuffled closer to you, standing in between your legs as he pumped his cock. You peered down, wanting to see what his cock looked like before it entered you. Shit- he was huge. Maybe he should've used another finger. You watched him reach in his wallet and pull out a condom, tearing it open quickly before rolling it over his cock. You bit down on your lip nervously, realizing how much this was about to sting.

"What? Nervous? Wanna stop?" Jungkook asked, tilting your head back up to look at him with a finger underneath your chin.

You locked eyes with him, eyes warm and inviting. His lips were flushed pink and had some of your lipgloss smudged on them, cheeks flushed and a glow on his skin. He was really pretty like this. He was just pretty in general. No, you definitely didn't want to stop.

"No," You said simply, "I want you."

He smiled and nodded shortly, lining himself up with your entrance and pushing in with one smooth motion, "What pretty girl wants, pretty girl gets."

You laughed shakily, leaning into the slight burn of his cock splitting you open, "Whatever I want?"

"Whatever you want," He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before starting to move his hips, cock pulling and pushing against your pussy walls. "Shit- you feel really fucking good around me."

You moaned at his words, feeling his hips snap back, pulling his cock almost completely out of you before slamming back in. You were glad you were sitting on the countertop, you weren't sure your legs were working at the moment, curled tightly around Jungkook's body. His hands gripped your thighs, pulling your dress up and out of the way so he could watch your pussy take him, liking the wet noises that came along with how turned on you were.

"So wet, you have a crush on me or something?" He joked, laughing in a dry sort of way. You rolled your eyes and gripped a hand over his bicep, digging your nails into the muscle there underneath his suit jacket.

His thrusts quickened and he released one of your hips to slip his fingers around where your pussy was stretched around his cock, rubbing the folds there, adding stimulation that ripped the air from your body, making your head spin, body beginning to float away to nothingness.

"You're so fucking sexy," You moaned, gazing at him and the look of total concentration on his face as he fucked you into the bathroom countertop. His brow furrowed, sweat dripping down his face, pink tongue sticking out between his lips slightly. There was no way there was another guy on the planet like him- no one was this attractive.

You saw him blush and look up towards you nervously, suddenly shy to make eye contact, "Yeah? Y-you are too."

It was your time to smirk, rolling your body onto his. You felt his fingers latch onto your clit, rubbing incessantly. You clenched your pussy around him and he groaned, keening over and smashing his face into the crook of your neck, breath stuttering. He changed his pace suddenly, rolling his hips onto yours with an even faster speed you didn't know was possible. He was precise, pushing on the sensitive spot in your pussy with his fingers on your clit matching, pulsing, squeezing, tugging sharply.

"Your pussy felt so good cumming around my fingers," He mumbled against your skin, "Wanna feel it around my cock too, can you do that for me?"

"Okay, only because you asked so nicely." You smiled, feeling his hand squeeze your side in response. He bit down on the same spot of your shoulder he did earlier and that was it- you were unraveling around him in an uncontrollable way. You whined out his name over and over, triggering his own release as his hips finally faltered, shoving against yours for the last time. He stilled in you, moaning against your skin in that silvery tone that rang out like a bell in your ears. You felt him empty into the condom that separated yourself from him, feeling oddly angry that he had worn one to begin with.

You had just gotten fucked hard and were already wondering what it would feel like to have him do it again without a condom, what it would feel like to be stuffed with his cum. You squeezed around him unintentionally, getting turned on again at the thought. He winced, feeling oversensitive and pulled out of you slowly. His hands were shaking slightly, pulling off the condom and tying it closed before throwing it away in the trashcan.

You pulled your dress down as you caught your breath, floating back down to earth. Your eyes fell on the clock- you had been gone for 20 minutes.

"I should've been back at the table already," You noted, staring at the clock.

Jungkook tucked himself back into his pants and fixed his appearance, frowning at the mirror, "I should've kept fucking you for longer."

You laughed and ran a hand through your hair, "Maybe I should just go home- it'll be suspicious if we both go back at this point and I've made enough conversation for the night."

Jungkook stood in front of you, looking too happy but otherwise rid of all evidence of being freshly fucked, "Give me your number at least, I want to see you again."

You pursed your lips and debated it for a moment, staring at the hopeful look on his face. Normally, you'd say no. But something about him...

"Fine," You said nonchalantly. "But don't expect anymore exceptions from me. I'm hard work."

"I'm okay with that," He grinned, pulling his phone out quickly.

You really hoped that he was because he officially impressed you.

[scarlettriot]

Stood Up

You (Y/N) get stood up from a date and Kaminari decides to do something about it.

Pairing: Kaminari/F!Reader

Contains: Fluff, Flirty Denki, Established BakuSquad Friendship

Warnings: 18+ Below the cut, Minors DNI! Swearing, Electro-Stim, Overstimulation, use of pet names (cuddle bug & cutie), oral (F receiving), consensual recording

A/N: Well, here we are with the third in my Stood Up series. There is also Bakugo & Kirishima if you're interested. This one took me way too long and it's also my first time writing Kaminari at length. I hope you all like it :)

Word Count Starting Below: 2,461

You slipped your foot into the silver heels you had picked out. Something a little fancier since this was a first date after all and you wanted to make a lasting impression. Not only that but this was your first first date in a while. Being a Pro Hero made life busy and dating difficult.

Practically the entire day leading up to this very moment revolved around you either getting ready or babbling with excitement to your closest friends.

An alert chimed on your phone with a text from your date, a smile sliding onto your face expecting to read some message about how they were on their way and that they'd see you soon, but that wasn't what you were met with.

Instead, it was a screenshot of your Instagram page, multiple of them actually, all of you and the ridiculous photos you took with your friends but mostly with one Denki Kaminari. The most recent of which was from a tea shop he met you at just earlier that day so you could show him the shoes for your date.

The message below was simple and more than enough to leave a sour taste in your mouth, this isn't what I want to see when I'm supposed to be taking you out tonight. What, one date a day isn't enough? Why are you even dating? Does your blonde boyfriend know?

You giggled at what they were implying, quick to explain how these were all your friends, they had been since high school! They are people you spent what little free time you had with. Especially Denki, your best friend since you were 15!

That joy you felt started dissipating within the next few messages. You hadn't even had a first date and they were already jealous, and that was something you didn't have room for in your life. So, you slipped the heels off your feet and put them directly back in the box to return when you had the time. Tight black jeans and fitted top were exchanged with a hoodie and sweats although your makeup and hair stayed done, you didn't have the energy to undo your hard work.

Instead, you slid back into your computer chair, your headset snuggly back on your ears and before you notified everyone you were back online, you took a moment listening to the chatter of your friends.

"Shitty Hair! Fuckin' pay attention!"

"Yeah, man! We're getting slaughtered over here!"

"Less yelling at Kiri! More shooty shooty!"

"All of you are hopeless..."

Eijiro chuckled out an apology that was accompanied by a lighter giggle also coming from his mic. "Think this is gonna be my last round for a bit, guys."

"You're so fuckin' whipped." Bakugo scoffed, before screaming profanities.

"Is it whipped if I'm the one who's wanting to get her into bed though?"

You clicked your mic back on then. "Hey, remember last week when Kats forgot his push to talk so we all heard him getting head and we party whipped because someone couldn't focus?"

"You better shut the hell up right fucking now!"

Everyone else roared with laughter. "Yeah! At least I have the decency to mute myself!"

"Hey, wait a sec, why are you online, Y/N!" Denki noted, "You should have already left!"

You screenshot your messages to the group chat because it was far easier than just explaining the ordeal.

"Cute shoes." Eijiro and Kyoka commented at the same time.

There was a lull as their game ended and the messages were read.

"Ya don't need 'em if they're gonna have their head so far up their ass like this."

"I agree." Hanta chimed in. "They're not worth your time."

"Still, sorry they turned out to be a shit." You could hear the frown on Kyoka's face, "I know how excited you were."

"Right, you doin' okay, Y/N? I can stick around and we can all shoot some things!"

"Thanks, Kiri but I'll be just fine! Go spend time with your girl!"

One by one, everyone signed off. You pulled up Spotify and Stardew Valley, something of a comfort for you to get lost in for the rest of the night.

Less than an hour later, you noticed your phone lighting up with your best friend's familiar smiling face. "What's up, Denki?"

"Open your door! I have my hands full and don't wanna put everything down to get my key!"

You sprang from your desk and rushed to your door. Sure enough, on the other side was Denki with bags in both hands and his phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. You grabbed it and a bag before he had a chance to drop anything like the klutz he was. "What's with all this?"

"I feel bad."

"Why? You didn't stand me up?"

He fiddled with the edge of a paper bag. "Yeah, but, we both read those messages and no one said anything but they didn't just call our group out, they called us out.

"Denks, it doesn't matter to me-"

"But, it does to me! You were so excited about this and I got in the way, unknowingly but, still! So, I gotta make it up to you now!"

He pulled out take-out boxes from your favorite restaurant. Two bottles of your favorite wine. Your top three favorite movies and video games, and a board game you both had been meaning to try. "I mean, if they think I'm your boyfriend I kinda gotta live up to the hype, right?"

You really wanted to insist that none of this was necessary. That just because some person that neither of you really knew that well, assumed something about your relationship that didn't mean he had to blame himself for it.

But, you had to admit, this was really sweet. It shouldn't have come as a surprise to you that he knew everything you liked but it was nice. Instead of sitting across from a stranger, making awkward small talk, and trying to learn about one another, you were barefoot in your kitchen, laughing with your best friend while he plated dinner and you poured the wine.

Formalities were out the window. Both you and Denki were eating dinner in your living room, laughing and drinking just as you'd done a million times before. You snapped a photo of the delicious food on paper plates, toasting good times with your cheap wine, ready to post them to your Instagram.

"Gonna make them more jealous..."

"I think they made it pretty clear they don't want to see me so why should I care?"

He shrugged. "I just thought they might, you know, come to their senses that they obviously lost."

"I don't really care either way." You wandered back into your kitchen, putting away the leftovers, "They can forget I exist or they can stalk my page like a creep. If someones' gonna try and tell me I can't be friends with my friends or just not listen to me, then I don't want them in my life. No matter how good-looking they are."

Denki watched you from the sofa, a bit of a lopsided grin on his face that had butterflies taking flight in your stomach. "What?" Laughing to hide the bit of a crush you always had on the man. It was unavoidable you told yourself. His personality was infectious and had 15 year old you head over heels.

He pushed back bright blonde hair back off his forehead and just shook his head. "Nothin'. Uh, what's next? Video game, board game, or movie?"

You peaked on the counter at the options. "Well, we probably should have checked this but the board game needs at least four people to play... guess we'll have to save that for our next game night. Is a movie okay?"

Of course, it was.

You brought over the DVD with a refill of wine and he pulled a blanket down off the back of your sofa.

It really didn't take long, just fifteen minutes or so, and you were curled up into Denki's side. You'd make grabby hands for your wine glass and he'd pass it over with that damn grin again.

And not long after that, he'd pulled out his phone, angling it to take a picture of the two of you. "What are you doing?" You could see him on his own Instagram, tagging you, with the caption, Check out my cute cuddle bug.

"I thought you didn't want to make them more jealous."

"I decided I don't care either. You're mine tonight, their loss. And since you're mine tonight, I get bragging rights." He snapped another quick picture of you rolling your eyes at him, and then he kept snapping them.

"Denki! Why!"

"Because you're cute, cuddle bug! I like having all the pictures of you that I can!"

Even as you tackled him back down on the sofa, pinning him below you, he still managed a photo. "Bet if I post this one, they'll really get the wrong idea."

You could have moved. You were the one on top of him and you had his arms above his head. You had the power here and yet you just lingered above him.

"Y/N? Not that I'm one to complain about having a beautiful person such as yourself pinning me down, like, it's kinda hot, but..." Looking down into half-lidded golden eyes, you wondered why you had to become best friends with such a damn flirt! "Are you gonna take advantage of this situation we're in or are we just gonna keep dancing around this for another decade or so?"

You couldn't have heard him right? No... no this was your brain playing tricks on you because he certainly hadn't had that much wine tonight. You sat upright on his lap. "Another decade then, Y/N?"

"You- ha- you should stop that, Denki."

He leaned up, moving his arms around you, "Gimme a good reason to and I will."

You didn't have one. And not just because you've been in love with him for ten years but also because he was your best friend. The only reason to not go through with it was the possibility of losing your friendship if something bad were to happen but, you really didn't think anything would.

Denki might have been a serial flirt but he was surprisingly loyal in all the relationships he'd been in, not that there had been all that many serious ones.

"I'm not hearing anything." He teased, his face getting closer to yours. You could count each and every one of the faint freckles that littered the balls of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. "But, I promise, if you tell me no, I'll stop, won't push this any further."

This whole thing seemed like a frickin' whirlwind, happening faster than your brain could really process the situation but you didn't want it to stop either. You wanted to take it further, didn't want to say no.

Which was why you coiled your arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. There was that small little buzz of electricity that tickled your lips when he'd kiss your nose or cheeks that was now playing on his lips, on his tongue when you welcomed him in.

He leaned back again, pulling you with him until you were both a pile of needy hands and breathy pleas. Everywhere his hands roamed you felt that faint trail of shock against your skin, making the little hairs on your body stand on end.

Clothes were shed, tossed haphazardly around your living room, both of you pausing to laugh when Denki managed to land your hoodie over a lamp. His attention was drawn back to you quickly though, still perched on top of him but now he had your chest on full display since you'd forgone a bra when your date canceled.

Electrifying tongue twirled around your nipples, sensitive normally, now it felt like you knew what it was like when he fried his damn brain. He was eager, relentless even, pulling and sucking, another hand giving your other breast a similar treatment. He had you so focused that you let out a broken moan when slender fingers found their way into your panties.

"Fuckin' hell, Denki."

The bastard winked up at you, nipple still between his lips and before you could retort, he sent another small jolt through you.

You were blatantly grinding down on his hand, reaching behind you, you found him completely solid, barely being contained in the tight black boxers he wore. You had enough sense to tug them down and wrap your hand around him making his teeth sink into your soft flesh, whining when you stroked him.

"Y/N..." He whimpered, his hand momentarily distracted from his ministrations gave you enough time to shift in his lap to scoot forward putting his cock in front of you. In one swift motion, you had his length between your slick. "Oh fuck, cutie!" Golden eyes were squeezed shut while you moved along him, feeling that pleasant curve he had, you could only imagine what it was gonna be like to have him inside you.

"You're being a little tease, ma-makes me wanna do all sorts of things to y-you."

He was kissing your neck, your chest, shoulders, and arms, anywhere on you that he could reach. His hips bucking up into you, just trying to hit that perfect angle.

Strength and agility were something most overlooked when it came to Denki Kaminari but when the man wanted something bad enough, he found a way to get it.

He had your ass rising up in the air with a harsh thrust of his hips and a small squeak from you, giving him exactly enough time to scoot down on the sofa so you were sat atop his face. If you complained, he didn't hear you. Denki already had your thighs around his head and his tongue devouring you completely.

Little shockwaves rocked you while you cried out his name, hands fisting blonde locks just trying to stay upright.

One orgasm from you apparently wasn't enough, neither was two but on the third, Denki finally relented, allowing your heartrate to come back down and your gasping breaths to come in more steadily.

You slid back down his body, his erection now smack against your ass. His hair was recked, face completely flush but he had the biggest grin on his face that you'd ever seen.

Denki kissed both your cheeks, "You are so amazing, cutie!" Kissed your lips, "You taste better than anything I've ever had!" And one more on the tip of your nose. "Doin' okay?"

You nodded, starting to really gather yourself again, and by this point, you really just wanted one thing.

"I wanna... Denks... can I take care of you now?"

"Sure, cutie! How do you want me?" The wiggling eyebrows had you rolling your eyes and pushing him on his back again.

It took little effort for you to position yourself above his cock, and with how slick you were, his bright pink head slipped right inside. He held your hands while you scrunched up your face, sliding all the way down him until he was completely sheathed within.

The curve was immaculate. Hitting in just the right way that had you moaning with just a couple thrusts from him. Before long, you were eagerly bouncing on his cock. Riding him hard so he filled you up each and every time.

You barely registered him reaching for the coffee table, his phone now in his hands. "What're you doin'?" You practically slurred, slowing only slightly. He tapped the camera lens with a wicked grin. "Seriously?"

"We could make 'em really jealous now..."

Somewhere in your brain, you knew your date wouldn't give two shits, in fact, this probably would have only validated their thoughts about your's and Denki's relationship but with his cock stuffed so deeply into you, kissing your cervix in the most beautiful way, you really didn't give a damn.

You and Denki put on the best possible show you could think of. You were overstimulated, sore, and completely elated! He balanced the phone against the wine bottle so neither of you had to try to hold it.

This way he could play with your breasts or squeeze your thighs while you dug half-moons into his chest. Shocked with the playful zaps he sent right to your core.

Your makeup you'd didn't feel like taking off now ran down your cheeks with tears. Your hair was a mess thanks to him pulling at it.

Denki had you howling through another two orgasms, telling you how perfect you were, how nice you felt squeezing him so tightly, your nails felt so good against his skin.

It was only when you collapsed against his chest did he hoist your hips up so he could ram into you, pulling out just at the last second with a strangled cry of your name.

He wiggled himself free, grabbing a towel from your bathroom and cleaning you both up before stopping the recording.

"You're, hey you're gonna send that to me right?" You asked when he handed back your hoodie off the lamp.

He dropped a kiss on your lips, plopping down beside you on the sofa again and you noticed your email already up and the video uploading. "Obviously, we share all our videos and photos. Why would this be different?"

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 24: OH...HI

after months and too much longing, you finally meet corpse in person.

─── corpse husband x reader ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 3.8k

author’s note: we did it joe.

ultimate masterlist.  ҉  myso masterlist   ҉   previous. ҉   next.

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You woke up. That’s a lie, you didn’t sleep. Too much to plan, too much can go wrong and you’re...Not nervous, no, that’s not quite accurate. Excited. Yes, excited, so excited that two Redbulls and three coffees (so far!) make you jitter around the apartment like a butterfly that can’t find a flower bed to rest on. 

Rae has almost had enough of your...random spurts of energy. So what if you ran a few laps, climbed a few tables, sang karaoke a bit too loud and yet another noise complaint had been issued? It arrived exactly an hour after your concert via your displeased landlord. Rae was, of course, the one to apologize because you were too busy trying on miniskirts. After that ordeal was taken care of, no sooner than Rae shut the front door with an exhausted sigh, you emerged from your room clad in your prettiest outfit. You present it to her with a bright smile and flourish. 

She is not impressed.

“Will you quit it?” She questions, arms crossed over her chest. Your grin does not damper -- you’re used to such harsh treatment, having accepted her backhanded way of showing love long ago. Instead, you flick your wrists, showing off an ungodly amount of rings. You’re not certain of the exact number because you can’t count, “Y/n.” Her voice gains an edge, but you persist. Show off your shoes that have cute lil’ charms that jingle jangle not unlike the spurs on a hot cowgirl’s boots, “Y/n.” Her eyes narrow in displeasure, her stern tone making you falter in your dramatic stride down the imaginary catwalk, “Just stop.”

Okay! So maybe you’re not as used to her coldness as you thought you were. Your expression sours, and you quit the act, even if a part of you - one you barely fight off, goodness, you almost perish in that battle - wants to continue but even more annoying. As if you could somehow block her rationality with manic energy. 

“What?” You ask, trying to keep the mood lighthearted despite her squared shoulders and tight frown, “I’m just having a bit of fun!” You say with a joyous little laugh, reaching for a glass of much needed water.

“No, you’re panicking.” Her words make the glass still, hoovering by your painted lips, but it’s short lived. You take a greedy gulp and it tastes fresh with a pinch of lipstick, “Look, I get it...” She shakes her head softly, “You’re meeting the guy you like for the first time, you jumped the gun straight to dating and now you’re...Anxious. It’s normal, you know.”

“But I’m not anxious.” You persist, and you really do mean it. You don’t like how she looks at you as if you’re the one that’s misunderstanding your own feelings. You set the glass down with a soft clink, heaving your own sigh, “I’m not, I’m really happy actually.” You explain softly, “It’s just...my way of dealing with it. I’m more... Worried about Corpse, to be honest.” You add, a tad quieter, “But, like, it’s all good!” You exclaim, strolling up to her and landing your hands on her shoulders, “I prepared.”

And it’s true! You had spent the night scouring the depths of the internet. Read every WikiHow article on how to deal with someone with extreme anxiety, how to not make things painfully awkward, and how to talk to boys (just in case. The last time you stumbled upon that particular article was way back in middle school when you had a crush on that one guy you saw in your school’s cafeteria every now and then. Naturally, that led you down the rabbit hole, and according to WikiHow’s How To Tell If A Boy Likes You guidebook, you found out that he was absolutely enamored with you because he glanced in your direction, like, two times. Safe to say that love story went nowhere. The point still stands). 

So you forward all of this information to Rae, nestled in her bed whilst she lazily folds her clothes; clarify that you know that nothing much can happen, and that this whole situation is delicate, and that you must tread carefully because you don’t want to overwhelm him. She pauses her actions, glancing behind her to watch you staring idly at the ceiling, so peaceful, so thoughtful. And it’s not the eerie calmness you had displayed during your murderous spree in the last Among Us game, no, it’s just...quiet understanding. 

“I’m actually impressed.” She says. You merely hum, counting the dust slowly descending in the cascading light, “You’re not as clueless as I thought.” Your lips quirk into a shy smile at the compliment- “Or as tactless.” - and turn downward just as quick.

“That implies that I’m always tactless.”

“You are.” She states and you sit up, a soft frown pinching your brows, “Not like, in a terrible way. You just...don’t think about your actions. Or the repercussions. You just know that you can get away with everything.”

“And I can!”

“That doesn’t actually mean you should do something just because you can. You know I’ll always support you. Literally everyone will always support you. But I’m not gonna coddle you. You’re just...a lot. Online and especially in person. But the fact that you’re actually taking this seriously and taking his feelings into consideration is...well, the bare minimum, but still, good job.”

...Much to think about. You don’t like thinking, it makes your head hurt. Though, that could just be the lack of sleep. You cross your legs and plop your head in your hand, tired eyes blinking owlishly, “Do you...think I should change what I’m wearing?”

Prompted by your question, she gives you a careful once over, “I mean, it’s signature you.”

“Signature me is a hoodie and some sweatpants.”

She smiles, “Then go change. Your outfit is a bit distracting for just...Hanging out indoors, no? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind either way, though.”

“I just...” You bite the inside of your cheek, mulling your words over. Truly, the last time you were so attentive was when you went Psycho Mode in Among Us, which, to be fair, wasn’t that long ago. Perhaps there wasn’t a chance to let your mind dull - it’s almost as sharp as your butterfly knife, “I figured that if, like,” You vaguely motion with your hands, “if I be, like, all over the place, and wearing something cute, he’d be, like, distracted? And less anxious? No...awkward silence?”

“First meetings are always awkward, it’s natural.” She chimes, “I mean, if you’re so nervous-”

“I’m not nervous!”

“-then just don’t overthink it. I know it’s easier said than done, but you’re you, and Corpse is Corpse, and he likes you for who you are, and even if it is a bit awkward, I’m sure it’ll, like, blow over in a second. It really doesn’t matter how you look, Y/n.” She grins, “Plus, it’s not like you’re greeting him in your underwear or something.”

You will not admit that that was your plan B, not when you just landed in her good graces. You nod, “...I’ll go change.” 

And so you do. Pick out your cutest hoodie and some sweatpants. Put away your jingle jangle shoes with a broken heart, instead of them donning your fluffiest socks; slip off some rings because they keep falling off of your fingers. It’s almost like all of those transformation scenes in rom-coms that are still popular for some reason, except you’re hot before and after, so there’s really no transformation at all. 

Now you wait. Just wait, all other activities are excluded from this. Rae comes back to find you sitting on the edge of your bed, back straight, hands neatly folded on your lap. She compares you to a Sim’s character and you allow her. After mercilessly mocking you and snapping a few pictures - for blackmail, you assume - she helpfully informs that she is leaving because she doesn’t want to get in the way, but your psychic abilities which you acquired just now tell you that she simply doesn’t want to witness this train wreck. Not that it’ll be a train wreck, it would be if you were nervous, but you aren’t. 

You just aren’t. You fidget with the rings adoring your hand; toy with the hem of your hoodie; bounce your leg up and down. It’s just caffeine, okay?! Fuck this, Twitter time.

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[ADDING A MUSICAL INTERMISSION, LISTEN TO THIS IF YOU WANT (I WROTE THIS CHAPTER WITH IT IN MIND)]

The waiting commences, only now it somehow feels more intense. The sun is setting, and you really want to be one of those cute girls that fill their camera roll with pictures of the sunset and the roseate sky, but your hands are trembling and holding up your phone feels like too much of a hassle. You’d rather just sit there, alone in the apartment, in the pin-drop silence, extremely uncomfy and tense, as if waiting for the end of the world. 

A notification sounds off and your life flashes before your eyes. Hastily, you check it, a sticky mixture of delight and something else, something unpleasant constricting, making your stomach churn. He’s here. Holy shit, it’s happening. You order your anime plushies to stop fucking panicking, they’re like, totally embarrassing you at the moment! You wonder if they have their own little group chat, but instead of Totally Spies it’s called Total Embarrassment. Yikes, okay, that was harsh. After a good scolding, and a heartfelt apology for getting so heated, you smooth down the non-existent wrinkles on your modest outfit, and quickly waddle over to the electronic apartment thingie something something... you unlock the main door, okay!? This is for some reason feeling very not cash money, so you break out in a little dance number.

The doorbell does not sing that shrill, unpleasant tune; rather, there’s a soft knock on the apartment’s door, and you pause your shuffling, your renegade, and perk up at the imposing future hidden behind a slab of wood. Your heart beats a melody all on it’s own, and it’s loud, uncoordinated, like a musician that’s still familiarizing themselves with their instrument. And there’s that knock again, as uncertain as you’re feeling, and your clammy fingers latch onto the lock and turn it and now there is no more hiding - such a possibility is no longer an option; no more sporadic dances or sitting in disheartening silence and letting your thoughts weight you down.

You’re not quite sure what you were thinking about before you saw him in the threshold, head tilted slightly, fluffy dark hair obscuring the bags under his eyes, hunched, one ringed hand clutching onto the strap of his duffel bag, the other frozen mid-air, ready to knock one more time lest you didn’t hear him the first two. No, truly, you can’t, for the life of you, remember what all the fuss was about. 

“...Oh.” It’s a soft sound, so quiet, but not surprised, rather...relieved. Faint shimmers of a smile reach you, hidden behind a black face mask - the panini chic! You must stan a respectful king - but there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes you question it’s sincerity. He fails to return your gaze, rather choosing to stare somewhere over your shoulder. His eyes seem unfocused. Apprehensive. A wild thought occurs to you that he expected you to trick him somehow, and wild thoughts invade the land of your mind often, but never in such a way. You clutch the handle just a bit tighter.

His hand retreats to his side, up to his mask and you think he’s about to unhook it but he stills, and there’s panic there, as if he had been moving unconsciously, as if he hadn’t realized what he’s doing. He plays it off by idly scratching his cheek, muttering an equally quiet, “Hi.” to fill the silence.

Finally, your WikiHow knowledge can come in handy, along with your common sense, “Hey, pretty boy.” You mutter, pulling away from the door, “Make yourself at home!” You slide to the kitchen, your socks acting not unlike ice-skates cutting through the Arctic frost covered ground. You hope that with you occupied and not watching him as closely he’ll feel slightly more at ease. 

You’d like to hug him. Kiss him, definitely. But if he’s so uncomfortable that he can’t bring himself to shed his mask in your presence, then there’s really nothing you can do. 

You hear the door shut and lock behind you as you pull out two glasses from the cupboard, humming a song you can’t quite recall the name of. You ask him if he’d like something to drink - it was a short flight, yet a flight still, and planes always make you thirsty, and there you go talking his ear off. You end abruptly, but smoothly, like a true diplomat; if he notices, you have no way of knowing - he doesn’t provide even a hint. He’s hard to read, and literature was never your best subject. But you’re trying.

He sets his duffel bag down on a nearby chair, “I, uhhh,” His voice is raspy and low, another indication of a pathetic lack of sleep, “I...got you something, uhh, I dunno-dunno if I should...give it now, or?” He sends you a questioning glance, but it doesn’t linger. Your offer of drinks is momentarily forgotten, though you hardly mind. 

You grin, “Sure! I love gifts, gimmie gimmie.” You make grabby hands, and he snorts, and it would’ve sounded endearing if he didn’t sound so fucking tired. He unzips the bag, and you pad your way to him, mindful of personal space (something you, in most social situations, chose to pretend does not exist). You note his hands quivering lightly, just like yours had in the agonizing wait, but he hides it well. You wish you could hold them. You’re afraid to try.

He pulls out a black hoodie and you recognize the custom art on it instantly - it’s his merch. He presents it in awkward flourish, murmuring a “Tadaaaa” under his breath; your heart skips a pleasant beat, and you have to bite down on your lower lip lest you smile appears too big. The fabric is soft under your fingers, and you accept his gift with a dramatic bow, and he turns his head away with another little laugh. You’re chipping away at the ice around him; it’s a slow process, but it’s worth the effort.

Truly, your own hoodie is shabby in comparison - icky, how could you have ever worn such a thing in the first place?! You’ll have to do extensive research in fashion magazines and Printerest so such a slip-up may never happen again. You discard it hastily and put his on instead; it smells like washing detergent with hints of cologne, one you instantly pin point belonging to him, “It’s, uhhh, it’s mine? I hope you, uhh, I didn’t have any spare ones, so-I hope you don’t...mind.”

He’s finally looking at you, but he’s still tense, still hesitant, and you shake your head softly, “No,” You admit, “I like it even more now.” You pull on the hood, toy with the strings and yank them quickly; your face is concealed, save for your nose, “Comfy.” Your commentary is unmatched, best of it’s kind - eloquent and effortless, much like yourself.

Another small laugh reaches your ears, and it sounds a bit livelier than the others had been. Success!

“Stop that.” He says gently, and you see moving shadows; his hands loosen the strings and your face is revealed to him once again. He’s close now, and he doesn’t move away; his hands come to rest on your shoulders, warm even through layers of fabric, “I came all this way to see you, don’t hide your face from me.” 

Your eyes narrow playfully, your finger rapidly tapping away on his clothed cheek, “What’s all this then? Hm? Hm?” Instead of swatting your hand away, which you figured he’d do, he complies and finally tugs that fucking mask off. Your breath catches in the back of your throat and you halt your ministrations - truly, seeing him smiling on screen is nothing compared to him smiling in person. You can’t quite contain yourself any longer - your excitement might burst out in another dance number otherwise - as you throw your arms over his shoulders and pull him flush against you. He’s quick to return the embrace. Maybe it was all the encouragement he needed.

“Wow,” He mumbles, only slightly offended, “so I finally show my face to you, in person, and you just-...you just look away?”

“I’m hugging you, dumbass.”

“...Touche.”

Things fall into place after that, like a dozen puzzle pieces fitting together. He won’t let you go - he doesn’t want to. You put on some music, something easy and indie and that doesn’t require too much effort to listen to, as the two of you contemplate what to eat. Cooking by yourselves was dismissed due to the unstable relationship between yourself and cooking utensils. The stove and you had had a falling out recently, but this feud had started long ago, back in pre-school, with only short intervals of friendship. He listened to your extensive explanation absolutely enraptured and only moderately confused. 

So you settled on ordering pizza from Domino’s. You have no trouble calling or receiving phone calls, because you have no trouble doing anything, and he admitted that he only really calls you because he gets too anxious to do more, so you’re tasked with ordering the food. You accept this mission with pride.

You stand tall, gazing out the window into the wild California domain: massive buildings and towering eucalyptus trees, bleeding skyline and the sun slowly getting swallowed up by the ocean. Corpse looms behind you, with his arms snaked around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder, looking at you through the corner of his eye. You wait patiently for the underpaid, overworked staff member to pick up, and once they do, you have the audacity to grin brightly and chirp, “Hi! I want pizza.”

Conversations flow smoothly, and you make hot chocolate - because you are hot and you crave chocolate - and he insists he wants one too, because you want one, and you don’t hesitate to overflow his cup with whipped cream and an ungodly amount of miniature marshmallows. A premature heart attack, just for him. Whoever said romance is dead has clearly never met you. When the doorbell chimes, you’re astounded that an hour flew by so quickly.

After the delicious meal, the movie night must commence. So what if you watched 10 Things I hate About You yesterday, you insist that you have already forgotten the plot. You lead him to your room and he tries not to stare, but can’t help himself. Pretty boy in a pretty girl’s room. His eyes linger on the massive posters of Chrollo on your walls, and you sense his displeasure rolling off of him in waves. 

“What?” You huff, fluffing the pillows, “You don’t like my husband?”

He jabs his finger into his chest, into the spot of his heart, “I’m your husband.”

“Side hoe, then-”

“-No.”

You didn’t lie when you said you love to cuddle, or that you’re clingy. It’s a good thing he’s just as clingy as you are, because when he lays down and you latch onto his side. He doesn’t complain, rather wraps his arm around pulls you close. His thumb draws lazy circles on your side; with your head resting on his chest, you feel each rhythmical rise and drop. 

The opening credits play on the projector, the room dark enough for your pile of plushies to look like a whole fucking human just standing in the corner. A ghost! Sucks for it, you’re not scared. You feel safe. Protected. So comfortable in Corpse’s hold that you’re honestly wondering how did you manage to be so long without him. To think all of this started when Sykkuno followed you on Twitter. What a lucky accident.

“Can I ask you something?” Your voice cuts through the bopping 90s soundtrack and Julia Stiles’ voice. He hums. You take it as a yes. Tilting your head upwards, you find his eyes again, a thorn of displeasure picking you as you note that that apprehension you had seen previously is still very much there, “...You really wouldn’t date me if I was a worm?”

His chest rumbles with a laugh and his lips split into a grin, “I would.” He presses your side for emphasis, “I really would.” He repeats, reassuringly. You, however, are not convinced.

“But I’d be a worm.”

“I know. We’d... roll around in the dirt together, or something.”

“But you’d be human.”

He frowns softly, “Why couldn’t I be a worm, too?”

“Those are the rules.”

“What kind of shitty fucking rules are those?”

“I dunno, it’s like the Thanos snap or something. I just turn into a worm. I’m the only one.”

“That’s fine.” He smiles, “I’d take you out on a fishing date or something.”

Shocked, offended, and heartbroken, you hit his chest and pointedly turn away with a pout, which he finds very funny for some reason, but you fail to see the humor anywhere except the movie. Despite the fact that he’d sacrifice you for a fish, you smile shyly and close your eyes. He did say you would take a nap together, and if he really thought you’d stay awake for movie night, well, then he’s just an idiot. You had decided you would fall asleep as soon as he was next to you. It’s a miracle you managed to stay awake for so long.

“...Sleeping already?” You don’t appreciate his teasing tone.

“’m not sleeping...” You murmur, “’m resting my eyes.”

“Sure.”

You’re not quite certain (of anything, really) how much time drifts by, but you’re nearly lost in unconsciousness, in the warm, nice feeling that comes along with him like a cloud. Perhaps he thinks you’re asleep, he has to, else he wouldn’t say anything at all, “You’re stuck with me now, you know.” It’s such a soft admission, riddled with the same notes of anxiety that always prevail in his speech; with the same hopeful sincerity he had been gazing at you the whole evening. 

Moving your lips is such a hassle, but you manage, “’m...stuck...” You mumble, “’m...stuck...what are you doing step-”

“No!” He laughs, and your lips quirk into a lazy smile, “No, no, no. Just no. Do you talk in your sleep?” You fake snore at that, loudly, “You’re like a little dragon.”

“...Fuck you.”

“Fine, a kitten, then.” That’s better. You feel something chapped, but soft, press onto your forehead, “Goodnight, Y/n.”

God, you’re so fucking happy. Does he know how happy you are? How happy he makes you? But you’re too tired for screaming and flailing around, too tired to even crack an eye open. You want him to know all the same, “...like you.” You whisper, but you don’t know if he hears you over the movie, “...I like you.”

His reply is instant, breathless, “I like you too.”

Good, you want to say, and maybe you do - can’t tell anymore. Sleep takes you too quickly.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury--moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

[bensolosbluesaber]

Returning a Favor (Zemo x Reader fic)

TFATWS Ep. 4 Spoilers!!

Summary: When your old friend, Sam Wilson, needs your help in Riga you drop everything and go. You knew they broke Baron Helmut Zemo out of jail, but you didn't expect to bond with the villain. (AKA: I thought getting hit in the face by the Shield would at least leave a bruise. Here's how that would go down with a fourth person.)

CW: Blood, wounds, some creepy behavior (not from Zemo), a few Y/N inserts

No smut yet, just cute cuddles and taking care of each other. Maybe smut in the future though! Let me know if you want a Part 2 or added to a tag list for potential future fics! I think the reader can be any gender; I tried to write it that way and be inclusive, but please tell me if I messed up!

If you know me in real life, no you don't:) I write most of my fics on @aurora521 and write on AO3 and fanfiction.net under the same name. Please don't come for me about finding Zemo attractive.

Hope you enjoy!

---

Returning a Favor

Meet me in Riga. -S

That was the text you received from Sam Wilson, your old military friend, yesterday. And now here you are, outside the Riga airport walking toward Sam in traditional undercover superhero attire- a baseball hat and sunglasses.

“Thanks for coming,” he greeted. “We have a little problem.”

“Is his name Baron Helmut Zemo by chance?” You asked, following him to a jet black sports car.

You were very aware of just what type of trouble Sam was getting himself into since you, a SWORD agent, still had access to all kinds of classified information.

“See for yourself,” Sam muttered, gesturing to the back door of the car and climbing in the driver's seat himself.

You hesitated for a moment, then opened the door and slid into the back. And yes, Zemo was there, lounging back with legs spread. He’s wearing a long coat with fur lining, a deep purple shirt, black pants, and shiny leather shoes. He nods to you and smirks ever so slightly. Bucky Barnes, who you had only heard about but recognized immediately, turns from his spot in the front seat and smiles at you.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Y/N,” he says.

“And I you,” you respond.

Sam pulls out of the parking lot with a screech of tires. The ride is mostly silent, Sam and Bucky bickering occasionally. That made you smile, knowing that as much as Bucky annoyed Sam, this was the type of relationship he craved. Zemo watched you the entire drive, sizing you up.

The home they’re staying at is obviously the Baron's. He’s comfortable there, leaning against the counters, rifling through cabinets, lounging on the couch.

“So what am I doing here?” You finally asked.

The three men interact easily, and either Sam or Bucky is always watching Zemo. There’s no real need for a fourth person to get involved, at least not in your mind.

“Someone needs to babysit the Baron,” Sam explained with an annoyed sigh.

Zemo shrugged with a smirk so innocent it’s sinister. He’s still wearing that ridiculous coat.

“The two Avengers can’t handle him?”

“I believe your friends find it challenging to be around me,” Zemo answered for Sam.

“You shot a man in the head yesterday!” Sam snapped. “You antagonize Bucky at every turn. Forgive us for needing a break from whatever is happening in your fucked up head.”

Zemo tilts his head as if agreeing with everything Sam had just said.

“Anyway,” Bucky interrupted. “We have a lead on Karli. You can sleep off some jet lag while we’re gone, but starting tonight it’s your turn to keep track of him.”

You settled into a small bedroom. The moment your head hit the pillow, you fell asleep. At home it’s nearly ten at night; here it’s midday.

The trio is back all too soon, heralded by a slam of a door, and you force yourself to wake up to adjust to the time change as rapidly and effectively as possible. As you open the door to the living room, Bucky is stalking toward Zemo. He grabs the teacup from Zemo’s hand and hurls it against the wall.

“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?” Bucky growled, staring at Zemo with an unnerving glint in his eyes.

“Take it easy. Don’t engage him,” Sam jumped up and grabbed Bucky’s arm. “He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.”

Bucky’s face softened slightly. Zemo stops tilting his head.

“Let me make a call,” Sam says and walks away.

“You want some cherry blossom tea?” Zemo offers Bucky with a mocking tone.

“No. You go ahead,” Bucky hissed, and after a moment of staring, he followed Sam out of the room.

You had watched Zemo for that entire exchange, noticed the slightest flinch and hint of fear when Bucky had grabbed that cup. The moment the other two men are gone and Zemo thinks he’s alone, he pours himself another cup. His hand is steady, but he draws a sharp, unsteady breath.

You move out of the room, and Zemo looks up at you from his spot on the couch. Without a word, you walk into the kitchen, taking a roll of paper towels and carefully picking up the shattered glass.

“I can do that,” Zemo says, speaking directly to you for the first time.

His voice is calm, accent thick.

“It’s alright,” you answer, then gasp sharply as a piece slices your pointer finger from tip to palm. “Fuck.”

You set the bloody piece with the pile of glass and hold a paper towel to your hand. You used the other hand to wipe tea off the wall and floor before picking up the glass piled on a paper towel and placing it in the trash, carefully tucked in other garbage.

“Let me.”

Zemo’s voice behind you makes you jump. You eye him for a moment wondering if there is some ulterior motive, some way he could hurt you or hold you hostage. Nothing comes to mind, not with Sam and Bucky so close, so you hold out your bleeding hand. He clicks his tongue at the wound.

When he takes your hand in his, his fingers are soft and warm. He moves your wound under a faucet and lets water run, rinsing the blood down the sink. He squeezes the wound a bit, and you wince as it begins to bleed more.

“We bleed to clean our wounds. It is the body’s way of protecting itself,” he says and presses a towel to your finger as he shuts off the water. “Ironic isn’t it. The very thing meant to protect us from future danger, often kills us first.”

“I’m not here to debate the ethics of superheroes with you.”

“Hold that,” he lets go of your hand and opens another cabinet. “I know how I feel about enhanced humans. There is nothing for me to debate.”

Zemo takes your hand back in his. You watch his face as he works. He uses his mouth to remove the wrapping from a butterfly bandage. The bleeding has slowed, and he uses the bandage to pull your torn skin back together. The cut isn’t terrible, certainly not the worst injury you’ve ever had, but it will scar. He adds two more strips, then places an absorbent pad over it and wraps it all in gauze.

“When we get back, I’ll change that for you.”

“I’ll hope you don’t get killed then,” you offer with a grateful smile.

He doesn’t respond but gestures to you to join on the couch. You do, keeping what you feel is a safe distance between the two of you. Zemo hands you a cup of warm tea, but as you grab it, he doesn’t let go. Your undamaged fingers brush his for a long moment and he chuckles.

“Promise not to take after your friend James? I quite like this tea set.”

Your eyebrows knit together as he smiles at his own joke and finally surrenders the cup to you. That’s the last words you two exchange, and when Bucky and Sam return ready for the next part of the mission, they find the two of you sitting in silence sharing a pot of tea.

___

When the three men returned, Sam and Bucky held an unconscious Zemo between them. You jumped off the couch, the book you had been reading discarded, and let them lay Zemo down.

“What happened?”

“John Walker,” the two men answered in the same disgusted tone.

You leaned over Zemo, finally seeing the blood and bruise on his right temple.

“This one disappeared for a few minutes, shot Karli-”

“Didn’t kill her,” Sam interrupted, sounding relieved.

Much like Sam, you sympathized with Karli’s motives if not her methods. And much like Sam, you were glad she hadn’t died.

“Then Walker knocked him out with the shield,” Bucky finished.

There was no jab at Sam this time for which you were grateful.

“Which is the only useful thing he did,” Sam added. “Zemo destroyed the rest of the serum, so right now he’s above Walker in my book.”

You looked down at Zemo, blood had dripped down his face and neck, though most of it was dried now. His eyelids twitched as he slept.

“Are you two okay?” You asked as you walked toward the bathroom.

“Fine. We ditched Walker, but we’ll need to get out of here as soon as we figure out what to do with Karli,” Sam answered, collapsing on the couch with a heavy sigh.

You dampened a washcloth in the bathroom and on your way back to the living room, grabbed the first aid kit Zemo had used on you earlier.

“What are you doing? He’ll be fine,” Bucky muttered.

He was sitting next to Sam now.

“Returning a favor,” you answered as you knelt at Zemo’s side.

You dabbed at the drying blood with the cloth, wiping it off his cheek, out of his hair. Somehow the coat came out unscathed. Sam and Bucky were talking about something behind you, but you were entirely focused on the unconscious man.

Zemo had a handsome, aristocratic face, and he walked like royalty, like he was untouchable. This was evidence he wasn’t.

You moved to the actual wound next. The cloth was soft, unreasonably so. A large hand wrapped around your wrist, squeezing tightly. You inhale sharply and shift your gaze to Zemo’s hand then his eyes. When your eyes met his, he seemed to relax, releasing you and letting his hand fall at his side.

“Apologies,” he grunted, mouth twitching with pain.

“It’s alright,” you answer calmly, very aware that the other men had stopped talking and were fixated on a potential threat. “Turn your head please.”

You put a hand on his cheek and turned him to face you to get a better look at the wound that was still seeping slowly.

“The new Captain America might force me to reconsider my stance on superheroes. I would enjoy seeing Sam and James have a go at him,” Zemo said as you prod the wound.

You wiped the cut with antiseptic, and Zemo hissed a bit at that but said nothing. Then, just like he had done to you, you placed three butterfly bandages on the cut. It wasn’t deep, just long and jagged.

“You’re my new favorite,” he joked with a little grin.

You laughed and walked to the kitchen for some ice. There were no packs, so you grabbed a bag of frozen peas, wrapped them in a towel and set it gently on Zemo’s temple.

“I can’t have you dying when I need this changed tonight,” you said, holding up a finger.

When you turned around, Sam and Bucky had both stretched out on the couch. They both wore annoyed expressions that Zemo got a whole couch and they got one to share. Bucky bumped Sam’s foot with his own, much to your amusement and Sam’s annoyance. He kicked his partner back, and you decided not to interrupt their little couples spat. Instead, you move to sit on the ground.

Zemo grabbed your wrist again, this time gently. He tucked his legs up, folding them into a V, and motioned you to share his couch. And you did, sitting in the same spot you had earlier, this time near his feet still clad in shiny black leather shoes.

“Hey, you two,” Sam called. “What’s this cozy little couch situation going on here?”

“You two could have a cozy little couch situation too if you’d just talk to each other,” Zemo shot back.

He didn’t even look at Sam, just held the frozen vegetables to his face, eyes closed.

“Y/N?” Zemo asked after a moment. “Can you get me an Advil? Or better yet, some sort of alcoholic beverage?”

“I’m not your servant, Zemo,” you sighed but stood and poured him a glass of some expensive alcohol from a bottle with Sokovian writing.

He sipped it, setting it on his chest between sips as he lounged on the couch with you. Bucky was watching you out the corner of his eye, and you were watching Zemo. Every few sips he would grimace, his lips pressing together and chest catching. Then he’d relax, exhale softly and shift the peas back into place. Eventually you picked up your book and began to read again.

Sam left the room to take a phone call a few hours later and came back shaking.

“Karli threatened Sarah, my nephews. I have to meet with her. Alone.”

“I’m coming with you,” Bucky jumped in, already on his feet. “Walker will be there, and you can’t handle the Super Soldiers and Captain Propaganda on your own.”

Zemo was either asleep or doing a good job pretending beside you. The pea bag had been returned to the freezer. He’d discarded his coat and was now wearing only his black pants and a deep purple shirt with shoulder holsters.

“You got him?” Sam pointed to the sleeping man.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you answered, setting the book aside and watching them prepare to leave.

Both men donned their costumes, Sam strapping his wings on, Bucky ripping the sleeve off of yet another jacket so his metal arm could move freely.

“Call me- us if you need backup,” you shouted after them, knowing full well they would do no such thing.

“If we aren’t back in two hours, take his ass back to jail,” Bucky called back.

Baron Zemo woke up the minute the door slammed shut, which made you doubt he’d been sleeping at all.

“And now it is only us,” he said in that thick Sokovian accent. “I will cook us something for dinner.”

He moved into the kitchen, boiling a pot of water while you watched. You perched yourself on the counter near him as he searched through cabinets. When he noticed you, he paused and chuckled before returning to the cooking. You watched in silence, keeping a close eye on him when he picked up a knife and began chopping tomatoes from a can.

He handed you a bowl of thin noodles with a thick red sauce. It smelled delicious.

“A traditional and simple Sokovian dish, a comfort food you might say,” he explained and joined you on the counter. “I made enough for Sam and James. Call me an optimist.”

Zemo didn’t talk much, you realized, as you enjoyed the food in silence. It was delicious, a bit like pasta. Suddenly, the back door clicked open. You glance around nervously, realizing just how wrong this felt.

“They shouldn’t be back yet,” you say quietly. “And they wouldn’t come in the back.”

“My old associates must have found me,” Zemo jumps off the table, and you notice the same nervousness as when Bucky threw the cup. He cannot know about James or Sam.”

You can hear a single person strolling toward the kitchen in heavy boots.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Zemo whispered, and before you could even process the words, he was standing between your legs and pressing his lips to yours.

His movements are slow and careful, trying not to be invasive as he moves his hands to your back, sliding one up to the back of your head. You wrap an arm around his waist and slide the other hand up the front of his purple shirt, splaying your fingers across his chest. His lips are soft and warm as they move against yours. His hand keeps you from pulling away, not that you’d want to.

“I heard you were back in Riga,” a new voice chuckled. “I had to see for myself.”

Zemo pulls back, feigning surprise, but kept an arm protectively around you.

“And as you have undoubtedly noticed, I am quite busy,” he replied. “Perhaps you could come back tomorrow? I’d prefer not to discuss our business in front of…”

Zemo nods to you. You were staring at the man who you recognized from work files. He was a former Shield agent. When Shield fell, he used the chaos for his own advantage, working for neither Shield nor Hydra and killing anyone who stood in his way. You suspected, but couldn’t be sure, that some of your best friends had been killed by him. Fortunately, you had enough self-control not to shoot him. His mere presence made you tense and uncomfortable.

“Of course, Baron,” he grinned and look at you in a way that made you shift closer to Zemo. “I’ll see you tomorrow, noon. The usual place.”

He gave the two of you one last look and left with a wink to Zemo. Even when the other man had gone, Zemo’s hands were still holding you against him.

“We will have to be gone before noon tomorrow,” he said looking down at you.

For some reason, you were both still wrapped around each other.

“You know who he is?” Zemo said, a statement masquerading as a question. “I am sorry.”

Your face was only inches from him, and you could smell his cologne. Zemo used the hand on your head to pull you against his shoulder. You set your head there, face turned into his neck, and inhaled deeply. And there he sat and you stood, hugging tightly for no real reason except that no one else was there.

Zemo pressed a soft kiss to your head, and rather than protest you let his lips linger. Finally, his head fell on your shoulder. After a moment, he slid you off the counter, took your hand, and led you back to the couch. Without asking, the two of you settled together on the couch, so close your sides pressed against each other. He pulled a gun out of his shoulder holster, and you froze until he set it down on the table, smirking a little.

“I don’t make a habit of shooting people I’ve just kissed,” he chuckled and raised an arm for you to lean against him.

You raised an eyebrow at him, surprised at the forwardness. You shouldn’t be, after all, he had just kissed you and held you on the counter of his kitchen. Helmut Zemo made no sense to you, but in the end, you curled against him. He shifted to lay on his back, head propped on the pillows he was laying on earlier while you tucked yourself beside him, head on his chest.

Zemo wrapped an arm around you. You put a hand on his chest, fingering the purple shirt. He was warm and soft, and you had to remind yourself that you could not fall asleep while you are supposed to be watching him.

“Why are we doing this?” You whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why are you?” Zemo turns his head toward you.

“I haven’t had someone to do this with in a long time,” you answer slowly, cautiously, knowing full well this was a man who could turn on you on an instant or hold onto information until the moment it was advantageous to him.

“Neither have I,” He replied. “German prisons don’t allow much physical contact. Besides, I hope that with enough time perhaps I may kiss you again.”

You tilted your head up to see a grin tugging at the side of his lips, lips that had been on yours a few minutes ago.

“Maybe with enough time,” you answer and brush a lose strand of hair out of his eyes, letting your hand trail over the bruise on his face.

He caged your hand in his, bringing your joined hands back to his chest and holding them there. You felt the rise and fall of his breaths and it soothed you. When they grew deep and steady and the tension seemed to fall from his body, you realized he was truly asleep, not faking like earlier. Soon and against your better judgment, you were dozing off in his arms tossing a leg over his so your limbs tangled together.

Your last thought before you fell asleep was how warm and comfortable you felt with Helmut Zemo, and how completely ludicrous such a thought was.

It wasn’t long before the door opening woke you, still secure in Zemo’s arms. You tried to move, sit up so Sam and Bucky wouldn’t see this little arrangement. You failed. Bucky came in first, stopping in his tracks as he saw the scene on the couch.

“What are you doing? Keep walk- what?” Sam ran right into Bucky’s back then froze.

Their eyes were wide as they stared. Zemo shifted awake beneath you, and you could imagine the smirk on his face. Bucky’s metal fist clenched, and Sam, ever the peacemaker grabbed his arm and opted for a more amicable approach.

“One of you better start talking.”

[nastybuckybarnes]

Training Wheels  -  One

Pairing: Dark!Step-Brother!Steve Rogers X Innocent!Reader

Summary: Your stepbrother would do anything for you. And he’s more than happy to prove that over and over and over again until you believe him. No matter what it takes. 

Warnings: Language, Sexual Harassment, Smut, Manipulation, Loss of Virginity, Sex between Step-siblings, bit of a size kink, 

Word Count: 3.7K

A/n: I have many parts of this planned but not written, and the taglist is open. Also, incase y’all forgot: I don’t talk politics on my blog. I’ve made it clear where I stand on certain things already and I want to keep my blog as an escape from reality for myself and others. 

A/n 2: I’m fucking tired so I’ll reply to asks and stuff probably tomorrow

!!!!THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH SEXUAL AND TRIGGERING CONTENT! 18+ READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!

~*~

“Hey, did (Y/n) get a new skirt?” At the sound of your name being mentioned, Steve snaps his head up, following his best friend’s gaze until it finally lands on you.

You’re walking across the campus courtyard towards the two of them, a smile on your face as you talk animatedly with Natasha and Wanda.

Sure enough, a new mini skirt is decorating your pretty legs. It flows with the breeze, almost getting blown up enough to see your panties.

“Jesus, that kid’s got some legs,” Bucky says, eyes roaming over your figure. Steve shoves his friend’s shoulder, giving him a hard glare.

“That’s my fucking sister you’re talking about. What would Nat think if she heard that?” Bucky rolls his eyes, grinning as his favourite redhead blows him a kiss.

“God, what I wouldn’t do to have those legs wrapped around my head.” You shudder in disgust, yelping as a hard hand comes down on your ass.

“Hey!” You exclaim, turning around and covering your butt while looking at the man.

“C’mon sweetheart. What’d you expect when you’re dressed like that?”

Steve’s on his feet, rushing over to you as you glare at your assailant.

“Maybe some fucking decency?! Leave me alone! I’m not a fucking object, dick-wad.”

“Rumlow!” Upon hearing your step-brother’s voice, Rumlow takes a step back.

“C’mon Rogers! There’s no harm in playful flirting. You of all people should know that.” Steve glares at him, his arm coming protectively over your shoulders, pulling you against his side and further away from the man.

“Yeah, but there’s shit wrong with touching people when they don’t want to be fucking touched.” Brock rolls his eyes and saunters away, shooting you a wink over his shoulder.

“I had it handled,” you grumble, walking with Steve’s arm over your shoulders towards the tree where he and Bucky were sitting.

“Yeah, really looked like it. A ‘thank you’ would be nice.” You roll your eyes and glare up at your step-brother.

“How do you expect me to defend myself if you jump in all the time?”

He shakes his head, a soft look on his face that has you dropping your guard for a moment.

“As long as I’m around, you shouldn’t have to defend yourself. That’s what I’m here for. I’m always gonna have your back, bunny. No matter what.” You smile at him, your heart warming at his words before Nat gets your attention.

You sit down next to her, Steve next to you with his arm still over your shoulders.

You and Wanda are quickly engaged in another conversation and Steve finds himself staring at you, a small smile on your face.

“You’re drooling, Steve,” Nat whispers, toes nudging his thigh. He glances over at the redhead and flips her off.

“C’mon. We should get going. I wanna beat the rush.” You nod at Steve, grabbing your bag and bidding your friends goodbye.

Bucky gives Steve a knowing look and the blond glares at his friend.

The two of you make your way to the parking lot together, him asking you about your day and you launching into a detailed description of everything you did.

As you’re heading to his car you pass by Brock and his group of friends. You quiet down immediately, slouching in on yourself.

Steve glares at the guys, his arm coming protectively around your waist as they ogle you.

You let out a big breath when you’re sitting in Steve’s car, groaning at the fact that you were harassed today.

“Why are guys stupid?” You ask, looking over at your step-brother as he starts driving.

“I wish I knew. You just gotta get lucky and find someone who’s mature and has respect for women, not a douchebag like Rumlow.” You nod, kicking your shoes off and putting your feet up on the dashboard.

“Hey, feet down.” You look over at him and stick your tongue out, keeping your feet up and wiggling your toes.

“What are you gonna do? You gonna make me?” He glances at you out of the corner of his eye and then one of his hands is on your thigh, squeezing the flesh hard and making you squirm, laughter bubbling out of you.

“Stop!” He doesn’t. If anything, it spurs him on and he tickles your thigh more.

“Feet down!” He shouts playfully, loving the sound of your laughter.

“Okay fine!” You finally pull your feet down and he smiles, fingers splaying on your bare thigh. He keeps his hand there for the rest of the drive, blood slowly moving south as he realizes what he's doing and the fact that you haven’t said anything about it.

It feels nice to have his hand on you. You hate that you like it but you do.

When you finally get home, your mom and his dad are pulling out of the driveway.

Steve rolls down his window and you unbuckle your seatbelt, climbing over his lap to stick your head out the window. Steve hits the brakes harder than intended and you fall forward, one hand bracing yourself on his thigh while your skirt flies up, your ass on full display.

“Jesus, Steve. You trying to kill me?” You ask before turning to the window.

“Where are you guys going?” You ask, confused. Your mom raises her eyebrows. “We’ve only been talking about our trip to Vegas for the past four months! We talked about it this morning too!” Realization hits you and you giggle. “Sorry! I hope you guys have fun! But not too much fun. One step-sibling is enough, I don’t need any more.” Steve’s dad laughs, shaking his head at you.

“You kids behave. Don’t throw any parties or anything. The neighbours know we’re gone so if you do anything we’ll know.”

“I don’t have enough friends to throw a party anyway. And Steve is a social outcast so you don’t need to worry about him.” Your mother gives you a look and you raise your eyebrows innocently.

“Be nice to your brother. We’ve gotta get going before we miss our flight. But I’ll talk to you when we land."

They start pulling away again and you stick your head further out the window, kneeling between Steve’s legs as he grabs your waist.

“He’s my Stepbrother!”

They drive off, your mom waving until they’re out of sight, and you sigh, climbing back into the car and looking at Steve.

His hands are still on your waist and he’s got a soft look in his eyes.

“Steve?” He hums, clenching his jaw as you shift on his lap to get comfortable, your thighs spreading as you straddle him.

“Do you think your dad’s gonna get my mom pregnant?” He groans, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

“God no. I don’t even wanna think about that but even if they... you know... my dad got a vasectomy a while ago.” You nod, hands on his shoulders as you purse your lips.

His eyes are focused so intently on them that he doesn’t notice when you open the door.

“First person inside picks dinner! Loser has to pay!” You jump out of the car and sprint inside, leaving Steve stunned and horny in his car.

~*~

The two of you sit on the couch watching movies, Steve with his arm thrown over the back of the couch.

“Hey Steve... can I ask you something?” He looks over at you, nodding and waiting for you to ask whatever’s on your mind.

“Is... do... does...” You groan, shaking your head, beyond embarrassed with yourself.

“C’mon bunny. You can ask me anything and I won’t judge you. You know that.” One of his hands comes to your knee, rubbing gently.

You nod, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“Do guys actually prefer when a girl is experienced? Does it... does it matter to them?” Whatever he thought you were going to ask... it certainly wasn’t this.

He raises his eyebrows and blows a breath out through his mouth.

“Some guys, yeah. I mean, it puts a lot of pressure on them to make sure your first time is good. Which is hard cause each girl cums differently and finds different things good so it’s hard to tell. Some guys like virgins but I think a lot like it if they aren’t a girl’s first just so they don’t have to live up to whatever expectations she may have.” He’s being honest with you and you value that, but it doesn’t exactly make you feel better about your situation.

You sit up and turn to him fully, a frown on your face.

“How do I find someone who’s willing to be my first so I can get it out of the way?” He inhales deeply, trying to take advantage of the situation in a way that won’t clue you into his true intentions. He wants you, but he wants you to think that he’s just helping you.

“You’ve gotta find someone you trust to do something like that, bunny. Someone who’s gonna be gentle with you because it’s gonna hurt a bit.” You frown, scooting closer and leaning your head against his shoulder.

“Where am I supposed to find someone who’s gonna be gentle with me like that? The only guys who even look at me are gross guys like Brock and I don't want someone like him to touch me.”

He brings one hand up to your head, smoothing your hair away from your face.

“I mean... I think I could find someone who would be willing to help you out. Show you the ropes just so you’re not totally inexperienced,” he murmurs, eyes focused on you as you look up at him slowly.

“Who?” His eyes flash down to your lips then back up to your eyes and you inhale sharply, realizing what he’s implying.

He doesn’t give you a second to object before he leans down and presses his lips against yours, making you gasp. He takes advantage of your parted lips and lets his tongue explore your mouth.

It takes a moment but you give in, kissing him back. One of your hands finds his hair, fingers tangling in the blond strands.

He shifts onto his side for a moment, hand grabbing your waist and pulling you forward until you’re straddling his lap.

The ball is in your court and you know you should stop but it feels so right. It’s something so unlike anything you’ve ever felt before and you wanna see where it will go. How it’ll feel to be touched by a man.

You finally pull away, panting hard with your eyes closed.

His hands grip your hips tightly and rock you forward, making you gasp as his hard length rubs against you through the material of your sweatpants.

“Steve wait,” you murmur, head falling back as he attacks your neck with kisses.

“Lemme teach you, Bunny. I’ll take good care of you, show you how it feels to be fucked properly. Please. I don’t wanna see you getting hurt by a guy who doesn’t care about your feelings. I’ll treat you so nice, Bunny, I swear.” His sweet words and the way he feels underneath you is enough to have you nodding.

He grins, one hand wrapping around your back as he quickly flips you onto your back. You gasp, arms wrapping around his shoulders to pull you tight against him.

He grinds against you for a moment longer before slowly pressing kisses down your neck and chest. He pulls away for a moment, just long enough to tear your shirt clean off your body, your bra following soon after.

His mouth kisses your breasts, giving each nipple far more attention than you thought he would. Your fingers are tangled in his hair, lips parted and heavy breaths falling from your mouth as a new type of pleasure builds inside of you.

“You like that?” He asks, eyes dark as he gazes up at you. You nod, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as he uses his thumb and index finger to tweak at your other nipple.

“Steve,” you whisper, arching your back and pushing your chest against his face. His kisses slowly move further down your body, lips leaving a wet trail over your stomach and past your navel.

His eyes are locked on yours as his fingers tug at the waistband of your sweatpants.

You raise your hips without hesitation, nervous but excited.

He’s your step-brother, and it’s wrong, but he’s so sweet to you. If there was one person on the planet who you trust to take your virginity and teach you about sex it’s him.

Your eyes fall closed, partly out of embarrassment as he lays between your naked legs, eyes on your centre.

He hoists your legs over his shoulders and, after making sure you’re eyes are closed, grabs your discarded panties and presses them to his nose. He takes a long inhale and groans, intoxicated by the scent of you.

He tucks them into his pocket then reaches over your hips.

His thumbs spread your folds and you want to close your legs, but he makes it impossible. His tongue darts out and licks a thick stripe from your entrance to your clit.

The sensation makes you jolt and Steve chuckles softly.

“Tell me what you like, Bunny. It won’t offend me. I wanna make you feel good.” You nod, grinding your teeth together and trying to clear the thoughts from your mind and focus on what he’s doing.

He finds your clit surprisingly easily, and you moan when he focuses his tongue on it.

“J-just like that... please...” He complies, working his tongue over the little bundle of nerves while two of his fingers slowly press into your heat.

You groan at the feeling, it being unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. His fingers fill you up more than ever, and he works them inside of you until he hits a spot that has you jolting up, right hand grabbing a handful of his hair.

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, eyes screwed shut as he massages that spot inside of you.

It’s all too much, and in a few moments, you’re cumming all over his face and his fingers.

“Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Oh my god.” Steve’s eyes find your face and he nearly cums in his pants.

The look of pure pleasure on your features is something he wishes he could take a picture of.

You look so fucking pretty when you cum.

He gently works you through your orgasm, pulling away only when your thighs start trembling. You open your eyes after a few more moments only to find him seated between your legs, pink lips glistening as he sucks your nectar off of his fingers.

“Holy fuck,” you repeat, one hand coming to your chest as you slowly catch your breath.

He chuckles softly, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

“C’mon. M’gonna fuck you on a bed, not on a couch.” He scoops you up in his arms and you wrap your legs around his waist, arms tightly wound around his neck as he carries you up the stairs to his bedroom.

It’s wrong. So fucking wrong, but it feels so good and you trust him so much.

You’re carefully laid on your back on his bed, the blankets cool against your hot skin. Steve kneels between your legs, hands resting on your hips while his eyes devour this image.

You bring your hands up to cover your chest, feeling nervous about being naked beneath him, but he shakes his head and gently takes your hands.

“Don’t hide from me, Bunny. You’re beautiful. Any man who gets to see you like this... is a fucking lucky one.” His eyes trace over your body, his words having lit a fire in his gut.

No other man is ever going to see you like this. He’ll make sure of that.

“C-can you take your clothes off? Please? I feel...” you trail off, embarrassed of both your nudity and your request.

“Of course, Bunny.” He leans back on his haunches and pulls his shirt over his head, giving you a glorious view of his rippling muscles.

Your stepbrother has an amazing body. That much you learned the very first time he took his shirt off to go swimming with you.

He climbs off the bed for a moment, just long enough to kick off his sweatpants and his boxers, and then he’s between your legs again.

You inhale sharply when your eyes find his cock, fear and arousal filling you.

“A-am I... do you want me to...” Your eyes don’t leave his length and he chuckles, one of his hands moving down to slowly stroke himself.

“I just want you to lay back and feel good, okay? It’s gonna hurt a bit, but you gotta relax. I’ll go slow.” You nod, hands instinctively coming to his shoulders as he scoots closer.

“If you’re really curious, I’ll teach you how to give head another day. But today is all about this.” The hot tip presses against your folds and you jump, wide eyes staring up at your step-brother.

“Now, when anyone else ever fucks you, make sure they wear a condom. But for your first time, I want you to get the full experience. It’ll feel better for you this way.” You nod, gripping his strong shoulders tightly as he leans down, hands pressing into the mattress on either side of your torso.

He slides his cock through your folds, watching intently as your eyelids drop and your mouth falls open.

“Feels nice, Bunny? Nice and warm?” You nod, a whimper falling from your lips as his cock rubs against your swollen clit.

He pulls back after a moment more to align himself, then slowly pushes his cock into you.

Your face scrunches up in pain and he stops immediately, pulling back and leaning down until his face is above your heat.

You hear him spit a moment before you feel the liquid splatter against you. He does it a few times and you feel slightly mortified.

“Don’t be shy, Bunny. I just gotta make sure you’re nice and wet. It’ll stop it from hurting as much.” You nod, keeping your eyes closed as he hovers over you again.

This time when he pushes in it doesn’t hurt nearly as much.

He pushes in slowly, his eyes focused on your face as he meets the band of resistance he was waiting for. He slowly pushes further, frowning when you wince and inhale sharply.

He doesn’t want to hurt you, but he has to.

When he’s finally bottomed out inside of you, you let out a big breath.

“Look, Bunny.” You open your eyes and follow his gaze down to where the two of you are connected, your pussy fluttering around him at the sight.

He’s fully sheathed inside of you, and your lower abdomen bulges slightly because of it.

“You’ve got all of my big cock in you. Your pretty pussy is taking me like a champ.” You stare down at where his cock disappears inside of you, a gasp falling from your lips when he pulls out a few inches, only to push it right back in.

“Once I start moving it’ll feel better. Whenever you’re ready, let me know.” You nod, closing your eyes and basking in the feeling of fulness. It’s like you’re finally getting something you didn’t know you needed.

He feels so hot and heavy inside of you, you want to keep him exactly where he is forever.

After a few more moments of adjusting to the intrusion, you open your eyes and lift one hand to cup his jaw.

His eyes snap to yours, a soft admiration clouding his beautiful blues.

You pucker your lips and he smiles, dropping his head and pressing a soft kiss to your lips while slowly starting to thrust.

His pace is slow and steady, pulling out nearly all the way then slowly pushing back in, each thrust stretching your walls further than the last.

“Fuck... you’re so fucking tight... feel so good, bunny.” Your nails dig into his shoulders as he gradually speeds up, each drag against your walls bringing you a type of pleasure you’ve only dreamed of.

“S-steve... feels... feels nice... so big...” You’re hardly making any sense but you speak anyway, toes curling as he speeds up even more.

His lips find your throat and you whine loudly, nails raking down his back.

“M’gonna go harder and faster, okay Bunny? You ready?” You nod, mouth dropping open as he hammers his hips forward, cock hitting places inside of you that make you see stars.

The noises coming from you nearly have him cumming hard, but he grinds his teeth together. He’s determined to make you cum first.

One of his hands darts between your legs, finding your clit and rubbing circles on it.

Your back arches hard, chest pressed tight against his as your eyes roll back into your head, an orgasm racing down your spine and exploding in your stomach.

Every nerve in your body is on fire, stars dance behind your eyes, and your cunt clamps down hard on Steve's cock.

The blond groans lowly, eyes squeezed shut as he falls into his own climax.

He fills you, white painting your walls and warming you from the inside.

The two of you stay like that, you trembling on the bed and Steve slowly starting to shake above you as his muscles threaten to give out.

After a moment he rolls onto his side, pulling you close to him to keep his cock locked inside of you.

His fingers trace along your spine, rubbing up and down so gently that it nearly lulls you to sleep.

“Fucking hell, bunny.” He presses his lips against your forehead, beyond satisfied with what just happened. You hum softly, nuzzling deeper against his chest.

He kicks the blankets up until they’re around his knees then pulls them up to cover the two of you.

You’re snuggled up against him, one of your legs tossed over his hip as his cock sits nice and snug inside of you.

“Thank you, Steve.” He’s quiet for a moment before hugging you tightly.

“Anything for you, Bunny.”

[shorkbrian]

Cottgecore

Prelude - This is all @dearestdynamight ‘s fault okay I take no responsibility for the horny..... or do I? aha Sorry I said I’d write a drabble but it turned into a one shot whoops

Pairing - Yandere Bakugou Katsuki X Fem Reader

Warnings - NSFW, noncon, predator/prey dynamics, unsafe sex, 

Music - https://open.spotify.com/track/3R8PKPTPgHApBhCt3NUJ0q?si=uLON1Rw_RHaEpH2WaCfYBA (This music has a great runnin tempo/ it made me think of heartbeats skippin like outta fear so)

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“Alright-” Bakugou has you by the arm, dragging you past the threshold of the cabin he keeps you in.

You’re scared. Sometimes he lets you outside, to feel the sunshine and the nice breeze, to go for a walk down to the creek, hiding his smile as you gawk at all the pretty flowers.

But he seems... agitated today. Restless.

“-Here’s how this is gonna go.” He shoves you down the front steps, and you barely catch yourself from falling, turning to look at the blonde while he sits himself down on the top step, legs stretching out. “I’ll give you hm, five minutes -  got that? You got five minutes to fuckin’ run, and then I let myself loose.”

“Wh-what?” You’re not understanding, hands anxiously twisting at each other. There’s a predatory look in Bakugou’s eyes.

“We’re gonna play tag. I’m fuckin’ bored and I wanna get a nice little workout in. Chasing your pretty little ass through the forest should be enough to get my blood pumping.” Is his simple explanation.

He’s letting you run?

You don’t dare to hope for a second that you’ll actually be able to get away, escape from the monster of a man that’s lounging on the steps in front of you. 

He’s hurt you, abused you, kept you locked away from society, far enough that no one’s able to hear when you scream every time Bakugou fucks you.  

“I..... I don’t want to play.” Your bottom lip quivers, but you can’t tell if you’re going to cry out of frustration or nervousness. You can’t believe that you’re nothing more than a toy to Bakugou, something he can play with when he’s bored, keep tucked away in the dark when he has better things to do.

Bakugou leans back, rests on an elbow, lets his crimson eyes rake up your form before they reach your gaze. “Yeah? You don’t wanna play? Is that cause you know you’ll fuckin’ lose? I bet you’ll cry like a little bitch when I catch you.”

There’s nothing that you want to say to him. He’s trying to egg you on, but you won’t fall for his mean tricks.

“Fucking fine.” He shifts, smug smile appearing. “Time starts now. I don’t care if you don’t run, but know that I don’t have any qualms about fuckin’ you right here after your five minutes are up.” His gaze his burning into you.

At least if you run, you won’t just be sitting here, waiting as Katsuki counts down the minutes.

You take off, down towards the creek behind the cabin, grateful that Bakugou let you keep your sneakers when he had first dragged you here, all those months ago.

They’re practically falling apart, squishing through the mud by the creek, and you almost lose your footing, scrambling to right yourself, splash across to the other side.

It doesn’t matter that your shoes are all wet now, that the bottom of your dress is dripping. Truthfully, you hate the dresses Katsuki brings home for you to wear. Hate that they’re clothes you’d love under normal circumstances, flowy dresses and cute patterns, fitting in so nicely to a cottage core aesthetic.

Branches snap underfoot as you crash through the brush, panting, focused on one thing and one thing only; getting as far away as you could, as fast as you can.

You don’t want to think about what’s going to happen when if Katsuki catches you, this twisted little game of tag he wants to play. You want to scream, this isn’t even how you play tag, he’s just using it as an excuse to hunt you down, to take pleasure out of your fear.

Moving too close to a tree had you yelping as your shoulder collided, the rough bark scratching up your skin, tearing your dress. No matter, you just needed to keep going, keep running, keep moving.

It was starting to hurt to breathe, lifting your legs was tiring, burning. You’d never been much of a runner, and being kept under lock and key at Bakugou’s cabin hadn’t exactly done wonders for your endurance.

You found yourself cursing that fact as a loud shout rang through the forest, words indiscernible. But you knew it was the blonde, could recognize raspy, manic voice that comprised the shout.

Five minutes was up.

Wheezing now, you pushed on. You briefly considered hiding, but quickly discarded that idea. Bakugou could track you, and you didn’t have enough time. You would have to worry that he’d be even rougher when if he caught you, hiding instead of running like he had wanted.

No time to rest, but you wanted to, lungs burning. You had a stitch in your side, your shoulder hurt from scraping against the tree, and your mouth was dry, throat parched.

It wasn’t long before you began to hear noises behind you, brush crashing, branches snapping, pleased laughter. You knew Bakugou was toying with you, knew that he could track you silently if he so chose. But no, he wanted you to know that he was coming, chasing you down, relentless.

It hurt to push your legs faster, muscles fatigued, cramping. Your left calf seized up, and you held in a shriek, pleading, begging your body to keep moving as you limped on, hurriedly dragging your cramping leg, refusing to stop.

“Keep on runnin’, I’ve almost fucking got you!” Bakugou crowed, and you spared a glance behind you, thankfully seeing nothing but an empty forest behind you. It meant you still had time.

But not enough time.

With a start, you realized the noises behind you had stopped, which meant that Katsuki was beginning to actually hunt, silent and ruthless.

You don’t know where he is now, nothing left to do but urge your body forward still, exhausted and terrified.

Then a weight’s pushing against your back, and you’re hitting the dirt, tackled by Bakugou, pinned down.

“I knew I’d fuckin’ get you.” He whispers to you, breath coming out in proud, ragged pants.

You whimper into the dirt, body already aching, your own breath knocked completely out of your chest because of the way the male had tackled you. You hurt all over, and now you were dirty, and Bakugou wouldn’t get off.

“Goddamn, you gave me a run for my money there. Didn’t think you’d be that fuckin’ fast, Jesus Christ.” You can tell he’s almost proud of you, proud of his ability to choose a partner.

He pushes his weight off of you, rising to his knees, and you quickly try to follow him, not fond of being splayed out on the ground underneath him.

But Bakugou doesn’t let you get far.

You’ve gathered your legs underneath you, pushing up off the ground, but the man curls a hand around your hip, the other gripping at your uninjured shoulder. You don’t even have time to draw in a breath to ask him what he was doing before he’s shoving your face back in the dirt, lifting your hips.

“Bakugou, wait!” You screeched, hands fumbling backwards as you try to grab at him, push him off you.

The man just laughs, loud and rough, shuffles closer so he can push his crotch against your ass, let you feel the sizable bulge he’s sporting. “What’s wrong princess? I won fair n’d square, now let me take my fuckin’ prize.”

A part of you knew, knew that this is how things would end. But you had wanted to believe, had hoped that it’d be different. 

“Please, wait, not here-not out here.” You choked, feeling him shift the fabric of your dress up over your ass, just enough so that he could tug at the fabric of your panties, snap the edges against your skin.

“N’d why the fuck not? ‘S not like anybody’ll hear you when you start screamin’.” The reality behind his words made your stomach curl, legs trembling as Katsuki snickered.

“Look at you, shakin’ like a scared little deer.”

Your panties get tugged down to your knees, and you hear the slight squish of Bakugou gathering his saliva in his mouth seconds before you hear him spit, seconds before you feel the glob of wet land on one of your cheeks.

Fingers swipe through the mess, before trailing down to your pussy, spreading Bakugou’s spit against your folds.

He apparently isn’t satisfied with that though, because you can feel him shifting, right before he grips a cheek in each hand and spreads you wide, pulls your hips backwards at the same time so you’re angled just right.

Just right for his spit to land directly on your cunt this time.

“S-stop it, please-” You shudder, giving up on trying to push him off. It’s never worked for you in the past, and you’re tired from running, sweaty body yearning to go limp.

A finger enters you, too soon, with not enough spit to ease its way. You yelp at the burning stretch, but Bakugou snarls at you too shut up, take what he’s given’ you as he slaps your ass.

You can feel the burn of his gaze as he watches your flesh jiggle from the force of his slap. 

He works fast, doesn’t have enough patience to go slow, to open you up properly for him. The mans riled up from the chase, full of adrenaline that has no where to go, and he wants to hammer away at your little body until you break. Bakugou knows he can build you back up again when you do.

It’s alarming when you feel fingers pull free, feel the hot, spongy head of a dick pressing up against your entrance. You aren’t ready, nowhere near wet enough. “Bakugou-Bakugou wait, wait! Bakug-oh!!” The scream that leaves your mouth is loud enough to startle birds, cause them to rise from their resting places in the trees.

Bakugou laughs a little at that, the sound quickly tapering off into a groan as he works his cock deeper into you, wiggling his hips from side to side so he can fully seat himself into your cunt, balls snug up against your clit.

“Yeah, go ahead and scream princess, lemme hear you.” He encourages, pulling out just an inch or two so he can slam back in, hear you sob, watch your shoulder shake. with each heaving breath.

He’s fucking you into the dirt like an animal, feral and uncontrolled, wild. You barely have the coordination to try and protect your face with your forearms, keep your sensitive skin from being scraped raw on the ground.

You can’t protect your knees though, or the places that Katsuki holds you from, his grip too tight, blunt nails pressing so deep into your flesh that they draw blood, the pressure biting.

It’s impossible to hold back your noises, tearful, fearful screams reverberating into the forest, choked off as you’re rocked back and forth by vicious thrusts.

The man moves easily, fucks you with the strength of a stallion, growling out your name, letting out throaty groans as he chases his release.

And it hurts, so much, your body battered and becoming scratched and bruised; it hurts so much. Until heat pools in your gut, Katsuki hitting a special spot inside you. It makes your toes curl in your sneakers, has the slide of his cock going just a bit easier as you get that much wetter.

“Unh, n-no-ooh, please, ah! Please, ohh, Bak-Bakug-” You can’t even finish your sentence, not with the blonde reaching around, hand creeping across your stomach, down to where his balls keep smacking against your skin so he can rub tight little circles around your clit.

“Fuck-fuck yeah princess, there we go. Feelin’ good now? Shit, you’re squeezing me so goddamn tight.”

You hated his voice, hated how deep and raspy it was, how his gruff moans of pleasure made your stomach jolt with arousal.

“You tryin’ t’ milk my cock or somethin’? You want my cum that fucking bad?” The man pounding you into the dirt laughed, changing his posture so that he was curled over you, chest pressed to your back.

His hips rabbited into you, and you sobbed freely at the sensation, at his horrible fingers that wouldn’t stop drawing shapes on your little clit, making you feel hot and too close to cumming.

“No, no, no-” You whimpered, trying to hold back your orgasm, but it was too little, too late.

Bakugou’s hips stuttered as you gushed around his cock, barely managing three more full thrusts before burying himself deep, cock twitching inside of you, spurting out his warm cum.

Disgusting.

You were too tired, too spent to care how long the two of you spent on the ground, regaining your breath.

When Bakugou peeled himself away from your body, soft cock slipping easily from your warmth, you couldn’t help but cringe at the wetness that spilled against your thigh, no longer plugged in your cunt.

“That was real fucking good.”

Yeah, maybe for him.

Your panties were pulled back up, Bakugou smoothing them down before flipping your dress back into place as he rose to his feet.

He urged you up, supporting most of your weight as he easily tugged you upright. “Knew you’d be too much of a baby to walk back.” He grouched as your knees trembled, almost sending you crashing back to the ground if not for his firm arm around your waist, holding you up.

The next second, you were being lifted into the air, easily swung up into Katsuki’s arms, carried bridal style.

You felt his eyes on you, scanning over your face, your arms, your legs. Cataloging the various scratches and bruises marring your form. “You look like shit.”

You didn’t have a smart retort, just rested your head against his chest, grateful that he wasn’t making you walk, legs weak and jelly-like.

Your throat hurt from screaming.

Bakugou took you home, back to his cabin, to the cottage core life that you’d think was perfect... if only he wasn’t in it.

[shurisneakers]

if you're taking ideas for harmless drabbles, i'd love to see one of bucky on one of those dates he mentioned and reader's shenanigans. if you aren't, feel free to ignore this!

a/n: are we really going to let a word limit define what a drabble is? is the vibe and spirit not enough? i say this bc this is 5.7k words long im so sorry. also hey thank you to everyone who piped in with their knowledge of violent geese and how apartment security works in new york!! also thanks to my bby @spiderrpcrker for reading this and telling me to publish this bc i wasnt going to fkjghfkj

warning: swearing, bad luck, dates, frustrated bucky, anxiety, mentions of gore but like only a sentence

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Catch up with the rest of the series here: Harmless Masterlist

Bucky returns only two weeks later. His mission lasted longer than expected and all he wants is to lie down and sleep for forty eight hours straight.

“FRIDAY?” he mumbles, kicking off his shoes. His jacket had already been discarded by his bedroom door when he walked in.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“How are ya?” He doesn’t miss a beat in asking, even though he’s exhausted.

“As good as ever. Did you have a successful mission?”

“If by successful you mean one sprained limb instead of two, then yeah.” He wasn’t really cribbing. His ankle was already starting to heal anyway and it was worth the roundhouse kick to a Nazi's face. “Do I have anything scheduled for this weekend?”

“You have a meeting on your calendar scheduled for this Saturday.”

“Could you send a text to Y/N and ask if we can push it to the next day?” His muscles feel sore and God, he could definitely use a hot shower but all of that becomes secondary the minute he feels the sheets under him.

“Would you like me to reschedule the other one as well?”

“What’s that?” He opens one eye in confusion. “There’s another one?”

“It’s on Sunday. You’ve labelled it ‘date’.”

Ah, fuck.

“Would you like me to change it?” FRIDAY never sounds like she’s judging him, which is nice. It also reminds him about how she, as an AI, can’t judge him, which is a rude wake-up call to how he doesn’t have friends.

“No,” his voice is muffled against the pillow, “no, let it be. Where is it again?”

“You’ve only specified diner, Sergeant Barnes.”

Public space, daytime, plenty of escape routes. Good on his less delirious self for selecting a diner.

“Thanks, FRIDAY.” Now that he’s a little more relaxed, he can feel himself slip in and out of consciousness.

“One last thing," her automated voice commands his attention again. "Y/N replied. She says sure and to take care.”

“Yay.” Not even a second later he’s out like a light.

____

“Did you bring me any souvenirs?” Is the first thing he hears as he marches into your lair.

“What could I possibly get you?”

“A postcard, a t-shirt.” You don’t look up from your tinkering.

“Decapitated finger, used bullets,” he continues, “cement blocks.”

“Ew.” You snap the lid shut on the thing you’re working on, spinning around on your chair. "That's not nearly romantic enough."

“That’s all you’re going to get from a Russian underground bunker.” He does a mini jog up the stairs of the platform to where you are.

“Does the finger have a ring at lea- oh hello?” You raise an eyebrow at the sight of him. “You look different.”

He peers down. The outfit was still all black. As always.

“Not your clothes, dummy,” you interrupt, making him look back at you. “Your face. What’d you do?”

He unconsciously raises a hand to his cheek.

“Did you wash your face? Is that it?” you squint at him. “Has it been a few months since the last time?”

“Wow, you’re so funny,” he drawls sarcastically.  “Top tier comedian right there.”

“No wait, it’s the beard.” You snap your fingers in realisation, completely ignoring his comment. “You trimmed it.”

“So what if I did?” He leans on your table.

“You going somewhere?” you ask, elastic snapping against your hands as you remove your gloves.

“It’s none of your busi-”

“Hold on a second.” A sly smile begins to make its way onto your face. “Are you going on a date, Bucky Barnes?”

His comeback dies down in his throat. That didn’t take you very long for you to figure out.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You look smug, to say the least.

“Shut up.” A ray of light glistening distracts him. He traces it to the thing you were working on earlier.

“Where are you guys going?” You cross your arm across your chest, a small smirk on your face.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” It’s a silver box, engraved intricately with swirls that, when he observes carefully, looks like a skull. Wow, terrifying.

“I’m literally asking you.”

“What are those?” He shifts the conversation towards a more productive angle instead.

“Evil in a box and some other stuff.” You shrug offhandedly. “Is it a lunch date or just coffee?”

“Like Pandora’s Box?”

“A discount version, sure,” you confirmed impatiently. “Stop changing the topic, listen to me.”

He tilts his head, waiting for you to continue.

“Do you need a chaperone?” The sincerity in your voice for such a bullshit question has him scoffing.

“Good God- no, I do not need a chaperone. I’m 106 years old, I can go out unsupervised.” He reaches over and plucks the box off your table.

“Sir, you’re a geriatric."

“What are those?” He points to a few ray odd ray guns.

“Minor stuff you don’t have to worry about right now.”

He shakes the box in his hand. “What’s gonna happen if I open this?”

“Very bad things,” you whispered ominously before your volume returns to normal. “How’d you meet this person? Online?”

“She’s Natasha’s friend.” He turns the box over, seeing a small latch at the side. “What bad things?”

“Bad luck and misery. Don’t play with it, it’s dangerous.” You pull the box away from him. “Aw, is it a blind date?”

“Why do you care so much?” he shoots back, tugging the box back towards him.

“Just lookin’ out for you, Bucko,” you huff, adjusting your grip on your device. “Need to keep my favourite senior citizen safe.”

“I have a vibranium arm.” Whose force he could use to grab the box once and for all, but wasn’t. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“What if she has one too, huh? Then what?”

“She doesn’t.” As far as he knows, he’s the only one alive with a metal appendage made out of the strongest metal in the world. That could very well change by tomorrow but he's keeping the title for now.

“But what if she does? I swear to- stop trying to take the box!” You pull a little more forcefully, but he doesn’t relent.

“I want this to get over before this evening.”

“What time’s your date?”

“Why do you care?” He’s sure anyone who saw the dumb tug-of-war you both were playing would just automatically assume he was an absolute manchild, not an Avenger.

“Because.” You don’t explain further. “Tell me what time your date is, you weirdo.”

“Five o’clock, now let go.”

“Fine,” you say, suddenly loosening your grip. Clearly, it doesn't make much of a difference since he isn't struggling to keep his balance from the sudden loss of force.

“Fine.” He clears his throat, straightening up. 

You don’t say anything. He doesn’t either.

A putrid smell creeps into his nose, one all too similar to spoiled milk and decaying seaweed. He has to physically stop himself from gagging.

“Have a good day.” You smile and lean far back. Too far. It looks like you're almost going to fall out of the chair.

Through the tears that are threatening to line his eyelids, he looks down at the box whose latch you somehow managed to lift, leaving the box open.

“What the fuck is this?” He coughs, swatting at the air in front of him to clear it.

“I told you; bad luck in a box.”

“You can’t scientifically create bad luck, that’s bullshit.” He tosses the box back onto your table. You watch it slide past you, not making any effort to stop it. “What is it really?”

“I’m not lying.” You pull open a drawer, brandishing a small table fan that you set down beside you. “If you open it, you’re going to have terrible luck for the day.”

He glowers at you when you turn the fan on, forcing the fumes back towards him.

“Besides, that’s all I was doing today.” You kick your feet up. “So you can leave now.”

He doesn’t care if you’re lying about not having anything else to do today. You could burn down the world if you wanted to but he needs to take a stupid shower. Again.

“You’re the fuckin’ worst.” He tries airing out his shirt, hoping that the smell would dissipate as soon as possible.

“Have fun on your date, sarge!” you encourage him as he stalks out of the lair. “Remember to wrap it befo-”

He turns it into a sprint before you can finish.

____

Six hours later and he’s absolutely convinced he fucked up.

He isn’t used to having his weekends free.

He realises that this is the first time in months that he’s actually stepped out of the Tower for something that wasn’t directly mission-related. He should probably get some air. Touch some grass. See the sun.

His shirt thankfully manages to rid itself of the odour from the dumb box so he didn’t have to go take a shower. With nothing much planned and a few hours to spare, he heads to the coffee shop instead.

It’s a small place, bustling and alive with a crowd of people. They have a little bookshelf that usually is full of books donated by patrons, free for anyone to read.

The barista smiles at him. The coffee costs more than his high school education. He awkwardly smiles back.

He’s not a regular, but they’ve seen him enough times to know that he usually asks for black coffee in a to-go cup, later adding a sugar or two according to his own taste. They're nice to him, occasionally throwing in a cookie or something on the house. He can't tell if it's because of the Avenger status or the sizeable tip he leaves.

He picks up a random book from the shelf, fully intending not to read it but to just sit there and think. The book acted as a shield for his resting bitch face, resting murder face and his resting rage face. More often than not, a good combination of the three.

He sets the coffee down at the corner table he manages to nab in a quick second, along with the two sachets of sugar.

“Is this seat taken?” Someone asks from beside him. He earnestly shakes his head in a ‘no’, gesturing for them to take it.

They give him a quick thanks and drag the chair away from his table.

He does a quick overlook of the book he picked up.

The Princess Diaries by Meg Cabot.

Well, now he’s too anxious to put it back. YA fiction it is.

He reaches for the sugar while glossing over the summary. He reaches a little further when it doesn’t come to his hand immediately, blindly running his fingers across the table.

Bucky peeks over the book, eyebrows knitting together when he notices that they’re missing.

He was sure he picked it up.

He looks underneath the table. It wasn’t there, neither under his seat. Strange, but okay. He picks up the book and the cup, walking back to the station to grab two sugars.

This time he makes sure to tuck it into his pocket, double-checking before going back to his table.

Which was now occupied. He wanted to groan.

His mind automatically reverts back to the box from that morning.

“Come on,” he scoffs quietly to himself. It was a coincidence. “Get yourself together.”

“A seat at the counter just cleared up,” the barista from earlier offers when she sees him standing in the middle of the store.

See? Good luck.

He shoots her a grateful look, venturing over to the barstool to take his place. It’s not the most comfortable, but then again, he wasn’t planning to stay there for very long.

He empties the sugar into the coffee, stirring slowly before opening a random page in the book.

He takes a long sip, ignoring how hot the drink was.

He chokes immediately. Because either he was losing his mind or his order had somehow got switched from ‘no sugar’ to ‘diabetes in a cup’.

He takes another small sip and his face immediately twists in disgust. Definitely too sweet. The sweetener he added only made it worse.

He catches the eye of the barista. She looks on in concern.

“Is everything okay?”

Fuck.

He’s not one to make a scene. He just wants to live as imperceptibly as he could.

“Yep.” The sweetness sticks to the back of his throat. “All good.”

He just closes his eyes and downs the rest of it without thinking twice, trying to hide the grimace in his face. He gives her a weak thumbs up. She doesn't look convinced.

He leaves the shop soon after, hands shoved in his pocket. Maybe he could go sit by the lake at Central Park, watch the clouds. It reminded Bucky of the lake in front of his hut in Wakanda and the hours he'd sit in front of it, feet dipped into the water as his goats fed. He misses it.

He makes a sharp turn at a corner, still thinking about his options when his ankle abruptly twists under him.

He stumbles rather ungracefully, almost hitting the ground, but manages to save himself through the newly built up immunity he has towards falling thanks to all his encounters with you.

His gaze lands on his hardcore combat boots. Their laces had come undone.

Now he just knew that was horseshit. He always double knots them; they had never loosened in the past before.

The box.

He shoves the thought out of his head, crouching down to tie them again. He tugs on them to make sure they’re secure before standing up again.

Central Park is a few blocks away but he’s glad he didn’t bring his bike. The weather was rather nice and the wind in his hair felt good.

He wanders around the park for a while, looking for the lake. He pauses at a board with a map of the park on it, assessing how far it was.

Once he's ascertained which path to go towards, he turns on his heel to go.

He fucking trips again.

“Are you serious?” he says furiously under his breath. “Cut it out.”

He’s half-convinced that he should tie it around his ankle like a sexy lace-up set of heels. He ties a triple knot this time, glares at it until he’s sure it’s fine and checks to see if anyone saw him humiliate himself.

Only a person on a nearby bench who looked like they were passed out drunk, given that their hoodie and sunglasses clad self was slumped over.

No witnesses. No 'You won't BELIEVE what the Winter Soldier did! Critics say it's his biggest blunder yet!' articles the next day on social media.

He manages to make it to the lake in one piece and no more falls, partly because he keeps his eyes fixed on his shoes to ensure no fuckery occurs.

There are a few people rowing and plenty of others lining the bank at scattered locations. There’s a mom and her kid at the place he ends up. She sends him a small smile in greeting and he returns the favour.

There’s a secluded bench that he takes a place on, letting out a small sigh. If he ignores the traffic and the skateboarders and the people in general, it’s actually kind of peaceful.

There are geese and their little goslings swimming around the water close to the shore. Maybe he should have brought some birdseed. Or kale.

The kid beside him is busy fashioning something out of leaves, only occasionally erupting into giggles when it doesn't pan out. His mom watches him fondly, pointing at twigs he could use. Everything seems kind of picture-perfect and his body automatically relaxes, easing further into the seat and closing his eyes for a second.

Until there's a large splash and loud distressed honking. He whips his head around to find the same kid staring straight ahead at the goose with a wide grin. His mother curses quietly, picking herself up off the ground and grabbing his hand, half chastising him for throwing something at an animal and half urging him to walk faster.

The goose turns to Bucky. With no one else to blame for the sudden attack, it logically launches itself at him. His smile drops.

He gets up in a rush. The dumb bird nearly comes for his head, but he deflects with his metal arm.

“I didn’t even do anything.” He swats at it swiftly, trying not to cause any real damage. The goose, understandably, does not speak English.

He flinches when one of them bites at his knee. He can punt it to the sun but he doesn’t want to.

“Stop that.” He sticks his hand out to shove the stupid thing away, retreating back to the road. “Jesus, why are you so aggressive?”

Among the barrage of feathers showering on him, he prays his damn shoelace doesn’t unravel as he shields his head with one arm, the other fending himself while he moves hurriedly away.

The goose honks angrily at him. He scowls at it, not exactly pleased with the reminder that these fucking overgrown ducks were constantly bloodthirsty.

It doesn’t leave him alone till he’s significantly away from where he was sitting. He wants to call it profanity but that’d probably piss it off more.

The box and its effects were definitely starting to feel real.

Fuck it, no more day out for him. The best plan he can think of is to just go to the diner he’s supposed to meet his date at.

The waiter greets him with a courteous nod, which Bucky can only imagine was the best he could muster when a dishevelled 200-pound man walks in covered in goose feathers and irritation.

He won't admit that he’s too scared to eat lunch at this point because he can’t rule out food poisoning. He spends the next two hours on his phone playing Fruit Ninja and plucking feathers that accented his all-black outfit.

Several glasses of water later and a second before he’s about to beat his high score, someone taps on his shoulder, breaking him out of his concentration.

Motherfu-

He clenches his eye shut, inhaling deeply before turning around.

“James?”

“Hey, yeah, that’s me.” Bucky almost falls over the table with how fast he stands up, clearly underestimating his size. “Leah?”

“Hi.” She smiles and he finds himself smiling nervously along with her.

“Hi.” He steps out to pull out her chair for her and she laughs. "Nice to meet you."

“How long have you been waiting here?” she asks while setting down her bag.

“Around ten minutes.” He clears his throat to hopefully hide the fact that he was lying through his teeth.

“Just give me a second, I need to tell my friend I reached,” Leah pulls out her phone and he nods.

“Another glass of water for you?” The waiter seems less enthusiastic about Bucky’s 8th refill.

“Yes,” he answers, hoping he doesn’t call him out on it, “please.”

“You must be really dehydrated."

Bucky turns to look at him slowly. “I like the taste.”

He can’t really blame the guy. Bucky’s been there for hours without ordering anything solid, just leaching off their free water and complimentary bread basket.

“So, James.” She tosses her phone back into her bag, leaning forward on her palms easily. “Tell me about yourself.”

He had rehearsed this a million times. He could do this.

“I, uh,-”

“Menu?” Okay, so someone clearly had a vendetta against him.

“Thank you.” She takes it with a smile.

His morning debacle with the coffee flashes through his mind. Suddenly the idea of a diner didn’t seem so smart.

However, she’s already placed her order and George is standing beside him expectantly, daring him to ask for another glass of water, so he places his usual order and hopes that your stupid bad luck thing wore off.

He quickly learns that his date is laid back, and it isn’t hard to fall into a rhythm with her even though she’s the one asking most of the questions.

“How’d you meet Nat?” Is his attempt at one.

“She used to come in for lunch every week at the place I work.” Leah leans back in her chair. “She can really handle her alcohol.”

He’d be worried about Nat day drinking if he didn’t know about her complete inability to get drunk. She might as well have been downing glasses of lemonade.

“Yeah, she’s-” Intimidating, scary, cool “-really something.”

“She mentioned that you like movies.”  He definitely spends a lot of time watching them. “You got any recommendations?”

It’s easier to figure out how different things are or how much he missed out over the years through them. He’s glad he sat out the early 2000s, judging by their fashion sense and hairstyles.

He's watched several movies over the past few months, a few of them critically acclaimed and others who were just there for the cult following.

But now everything goes blank and the only thing that he can remember are the biopics made about Steve that were somehow hilarious for gifting him the mental image of Freddie Prinze Jr. dressed in the stars and stripes, and highly distressing for the number of historical inaccuracies. Contrary to popular belief, Stevie did not, in fact, consider running for president after he took up the shield, nor did he start his own bar chain.

He can’t name Oh Captain, My Captain starring Channing Tatum as his favourite movie on his first date and hope to make a good first impression.

“Despicable Me was kinda fun.” He wants to kill himself. “I mean, it’s the last one I saw.”

Her face twists in mild disgust, but he can tell it isn't ill-intentioned. “It's a good movie, but God, that just gave me some intense flashbacks to my aunt’s Facebook page. Don’t think I can look at a minion ever again.”

He sniggers with her. He doesn’t know what the context is.

He’s a little awkward, and he can definitely tell he isn’t the most open book but she laughs at some of his attempts at jokes. There’s a distinct discomfort he has lingering at the back of his mind prodding at him, telling him over and over again that he isn’t ready for something like this. A warning bell, asking him to leave as soon as possible because he was in a dangerous situation.

He remembers what his therapist told him about breathing and remembering that the resources he had available were greater than his anxiety and he tries to get out of his head. It takes a few minutes of acting like he's fine but he manages to do it.

Other than the one time he scalds his tongue on the coffee but played it off with a pained smile, shoving down thoughts of your stupid invention, things actually went okay.

It was nice, even though they decided by the end that it was better if they both gelled together better as friends. It lifts the strange fear he feels and he can hear Dr. Mendoza say she's proud of him for taking this step before spending three hours psychoanalysing why they decided to stay platonic.

Bucky promises to visit her sushi shop with Nat soon and she says a bottle of sake awaits him for a drinking game. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that Nat and he share the same tolerance for alcohol.

He makes sure to leave George a tip. A big one. It’s the first time he sees the guy smile the entire evening.

He’s waving goodbye to Leah outside and he thinks that maybe it was a good end to the day and that things actually turned out fine.

Until he turns around to leave, only to have someone walk straight into him with an iced tea.

The cold comes as a bit of a shock, making him jump slightly. He stares at his shirt, using his fingertips to pull it away from his body.

The person melts into a series of apologies immediately, offering to dry clean his shirt but Bucky just forces a shake of his head and says it’s okay even though he can feel the sugar making the shirt stick to his chest. Goose feathers and iced tea. Was there anything else that would like to attach itself to him?

His fists clench and his teeth grit and he has to physically control himself from sprinting to your lair because God knows what else is in store for him and he didn't want to add in any way.

The door to the lair is locked. Fuckin’ brilliant.

When no one answers after minutes worth of waiting, he fishes for his phone and realises that maybe two hours of Fruit Ninja was not the best idea, especially on a phone known for having shitty battery life.

There’s roughly 2 percent left. By the time he opens his app to give you a call, his phone screen goes black.

He groans. He’s desperate at this point and under any other normal circumstances, he would have never, ever considered doing this.

But ten minutes later he’s outside your apartment building. You’re aware that he has your address; no doubt that it was in the SHIELD file he had gotten, and he knows that you know but it was still weird.

The buzzer has your last name listed next to it. He’s sure that he’ll break it if he keeps pressing it at this rate but he really needs you to let him in.

“Who the fu-” your voice comes through the intercom.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this, my phone died and I couldn’t reach you,” He breathes out as soon as he hears you. “But I need you to fix this.”

When he doesn’t hear a reply, he wonders if the thing actually worked. He’s about to start pressing it again-

“Bucky?” You sound a little surprised to hear him. “You’re at my house. Why are you at my house?”

“I need you to fix whatever this is.”

“What are you- fine, I’m buzzing you in,” your voice, initially confused soon trails off into something more dismissive.

There’s a soft click from the door, allowing him to push it open. The elevator is already on the same floor as him so he just uses that.

The elevator goes up a floor or two. His feet tap restlessly against the carpeted floor.

The lights turn off and everything comes to a standstill. His foot stops tapping.

He should have known. He should have fucking known.

Thirty seconds pass. He’s still in pitch darkness with the elevator showing no signs of moving.

In fact, he’s resigned to his fate. He sits down on the ground, only one step away from completely laying down and hoping someone finds his body here someday.

It’s six minutes of plain silence. He might as well get comfortable if he’s going to get stuck here for the rest of his life. Did he change his will? Does he even have a will?

There’s finally a whir. He thinks that maybe he’s going to plummet to his doom as the perfect end to this day, but then the light switches on and it starts moving upward.

It stops at the floor with a ding. He doesn’t get off the ground, only eyes the door wearily. With his luck, it wouldn’t open.

But it does and within a second he’s on his feet, scrambling to get out before it changes its mind.

He remembers your door number, basically charging down the hall to get to it.

The door is white and the paint is starting to chip off it. The handle itself is dented in a few places and he wonders if it was your fault or someone else's.

His knocks are rapid, agitated even. He doesn’t stop until he hears your loud shouts telling him to cut it out.

“What the hell were you doing, trying to break down my door?” It swings open, revealing you in your pajamas. “Haven’t you done that already? And where were you, I’ve been waiting for like, ten minutes.”

He honestly feels bad for showing up uninvited and highly flustered. He can’t imagine it’s a pretty sight either. "This bad luck shit- fix it. My whole day’s been fucked up.”

“What are you-” Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, taking in his appearance.

It takes you a second to realise what he’s talking about but when you do, your face settles.

“How was your date?” You lean against the door frame, arms crossed over your chest.

“Really,” He glowered at you, “that’s what you care about?”

“Yes.” You nod. “Did you have fun?”

He hesitates. “I guess?”

“Was she nice?”

“Yeah.” Where was this going.

“Good, I’m happy for you.” The smile on your face is genuine. “Look at you go, Casanova.”

“We agreed to be just friends, but that’s not the point here. Y/N,” he whines. “I have a mission next week, I can’t afford to fuck up. My whole day was off and I don’t want it to carry over.”

“Your whole day?” you questioned, standing up instead of leaning against the wall. “Buck-”

“Just fix it.”

“Okay.” You lift your hand up, extending it towards his face.

He waits for you to do something.

You flick him on the forehead.

“There,” you declare, going back to your previous position. “you’re cured.”

What.

He says exactly what he’s thinking.

You laugh. “Dude. I was fucking with you.”

Huh?

“Well, actually maybe just like, three things and then I got bored.”

He’s confused.

“You know,” you begin when he doesn’t reply, “taking the sugar packets, switching your coffee order when you were looking under the table, took your place when you left, the shoelaces.”

“The shoelaces?”

“Yeah.” You nod. “That’s the other ray gun you saw this morning. Unties your shoelaces. I stopped after that because I thought you figured it out.”

His face scrunches in puzzlement.

“I mean, you looked right at me and told me to cut it out.”

He racks his brain about what you could possibly be talking about before it hits him. The hungover person on the goddamn bench in the park.

“You were the one in the hoodie and sunglasses.”

“I just followed the Avengers’ code of disguise.” You shrug. “Turns out it kinda works. Also teleportation. So helpful.”

He forgot about the teleportation. That's why you could do all of it so fast without him noticing you were even there.

“What about the fucking geese?”

You pause for a second. “The geese?”

“And the elevator.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” The confusion on your face is apparent. “What geese and elevator? I have no idea what you’re saying right now.”

“Everything’s been a mess today,” he grumbles. “I don’t know what’s real or not.”

“I swear I had nothing to do with it other than what I mentioned.” There’s indignation on your features that quickly gives way to delight. “Holy shit, did I just accidentally invent portable bad luck?”

“Okay-” his palm finds its way to his forehead in exasperation, “-then what the hell was the smell?”

“What smell- oh, the one from the box?”

He nods briskly.

“Secretions Magnifique.” You snorted. “It’s a perfume. The worst rated one I could find.”

“Perfume?”

“With notes of milk, seaweed and sandalwood.”

“It wasn’t an inator?”

“No, it wasn- did you get vibe checked by a goose at the park?” You stifle a laugh when you notice a stray feather on his thigh.

“What does that even mean?” he asks in despair.

“I can see why it attacked you. You got bad juju.” You raise an eyebrow. “Maybe if you stop staring so much-”

“So I just have shit luck.” Is that a fucking relief or even worse?

“Well,” you begin but decide not to continue.

Even with all the irritability masking it, you could see that he genuinely was just not having a good time.

“Wait here a second.”

You leave him at the door. He shifts his balance and sighs, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He still had to walk back to the Tower. Maybe he could grab a slice of pizza along the way since he skipped lunch.

“Okay, here.” You return with a large glass of water. He only looks at it. “It’s just water, I promise. You look like you ran a marathon."

He takes it from you sceptically, pushing away the urge to sniff at it. It’s gone within a few gulps.

You wait until he’s finished to point at his arm. He draws his eyebrows together, but you only curl your index finger and beckon for him to give you his hand.

He reluctantly extends it towards you.

“Don’t laugh,” you warn him, taking his metal arm. “This usually helps me.”

You tie a small bracelet around his wrist. It has a few beads, which he realises represent the colours of the solar system.

“Keep that for good luck.” You pat it gently after securing it. “I think you just had a bad day; those don’t last very long. Do you want to charge your phone before you leave?”

“Uh-” The bracelet’s pretty, the colours shine against the dark vibranium. “-no, I’m good. I’ll just leave.”

“Okay. Anything else I can help you with or will you be fine?”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re being suspiciously nice.”

“I’m not evil all the time.” You huff. “My hours are in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he says again. “I’m gonna go then.”

“See you next week.” You give him a little wave. “I’d say break a leg on your mission but knowing your situation...”

He scoffs. “Thanks.”

You make a move to close the door when starts walking down the hallway towards the exit.

He adjusts the beads slightly so he can see them better. The Earth one has glitter in it. He thinks it’s cute.

“Bucky.”

He turns around.

There’s a hint of a smile on your face.

“Take the stairs.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

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