#right this very fucking second. and then suddenly its very stressful and my brain tries to reject it

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[domthedevil]

hihi!! may i ask for some sub lucifer? an afab reader always used to top the shit out of lucifer in the devildom, and now that she's gone, pridey mcprideface is being driven up the WALL with horniness. a package ends up on the doorstep of hol on his birthday housing a generously realistic adjustable fleshlight, and lucifer reads the note from her in ecstasy.

he doesn't realize there's an aggressive vibrator or a soggy lubricant function tied to pact magic yet..

Your brain:

I absolutely loved this, yes thank you please comeback again djdkkalc. Its a bit of a quickie and I did change some things but I hope you enjoy!

Sounds Like You Miss Me

Lucifer x afab!MC

Warnings: masturbation, sex toys,

Another long day at work, another long day at home, and another long night without you by his side. Lucifer’s stress was beginning to weigh on his shoulders. He missed the long nights of being dominated by you. The way you made him call you master, or when you teased him too far, he missed letting himself go after a long day. You going back to the human realm made him miserable.

Coming home late one night, he found a neglected Akuzon package sitting by the front door. Sighing, thinking it was something Levi was probably dying to have, the eldest brother picked up the box and made his way to his room. Everyone was already asleep so he’d keep the box in his room for now. Mammon hopefully wouldn’t feel bold enough to steal it while it remained in the eldest’s room.

Throwing his coat and tie to the side, Lucifer sat at his desk with a tired slump. A small buzz in his pocket startled him. Not sure what to expect at this hour, he slowly took out his phone. But his mood instantly improved when he saw a text from you.

“Did you get my gift?”

Gift?

Lucifer grabbed the package he’d brought in and read the shipping label. Addressed to him.

“I’m about to open it.” He messaged you back.

Using a letter opener, he cut the thin tape holding the box closed. Rummaging a moment Lucifer found your “gift”. His breath hitch in his throat as he pulled out a rather intimidating flesh light. Grabbing his DDD he frantically began typing.

“What is this exactly?”

“I had something made for us. I thought maybe my good boy missed me a little.”

“Hmph. Good boy? Never heard of him.”

He smiled as he texted with you. The exchange felt like you were right here with him. Like he was just waiting for you to come home and treat him how he deserves to be treated. What he really missed was holding you. Kissing you softly throughout the day. But soon your texts grew more lewd. You teased him. Telling him how much you missed seeing his face twist when he enters you. Or how he moans extra loud when you nibble a spot juuuust beneath his ear. Lucifer in turn played back.

Not realizing how excited he was getting, Lucifer began eyeing the toy you had sent him. Though a little embarrassing, it was oh so tempting.

“Tell me about this...gift.”

“Well...it’s suppose to feel like me.

You should let me know what you think.”

Your second text made his cock twitch. Putting his phone down, he walked away from his desk a moment, removing his belt and his gloves. Trying to do something other than give in to the gift you shamelessly sent him. What if his brothers had gotten hold of this?

Sitting back down at his desk, the top buttons on his shirt came undone as he rubbed at his chest. He was getting warmer, more curious about this toy that was going to feel like you. Palming at himself through his trousers, Lucifer let out a low moan. Maybe he did miss you more than he thought. Slipping his trousers down, Lucifer stroked at himself slowly. He wondered if you’d been touching yourself too. How much your body missed being wrapped around his cock. Did it miss him as much as he missed being under your command?

A single buzz from his DDD broke his concentration.

“Call me...I’ll teach you how to use it.”

How to use it? Lucifer was smart enough to know how to use a sex toy as basic as this. Picking it up, he admired the soft fleshy end of the sleeve. He licked his lips as he noticed some resemblance. But all it did was make him miss your sweet walls around him. Precariously he pressed his tip against the entrance, letting the texture of the folds on the outside tease his shaft before entering the toy. Immediately his phone rang.

“I told you to call me.” Suddenly the toy slipped from Lucifer’s fingers and sank on his dick. Fully squeezing his entire member. “Do you like your toy?”

Lucifer whined at the sudden, pleasurable sensation. The toy seemed wet and slick inside, making Lucifer’s hips shake.

“Hmph, it’s seems to like me. What is this MC?”

“Like I said...a gift.” Lucifer thought he heard a hint of heavy breathing from you. “You must have really missed me to use a toy like this. How cute.”

“You sent it to me...” his dark chuckle was soon interrupted.

Lucifer’s hips jerked as the toy began to slowly move itself up and down his shaft. He couldn’t believe he fell for some enchanted toy. But it felt amazing. The ridges and smooth cushions inside this toy reminded him of you. The sensation almost too realistic. It’s movements were slow but erratic, almost random.

“Sounds like someone really missed me.” Your small laugh over the phone caught his attention again. His moans had been low and breathy, but as the toy picked up speed his voice groaned and sighed heavier.

“Well...you certainly made an impression here.”

“You mean I tamed you? How cute.”

“Hmph. Don’t be so fooli-hnnng!” The walls in the toy tightened around him. Lucifer went to grab the toy to slow it’s pace, but he was met with a strange but familiar force.

“No touching.”

The sweet bondage of your shared pact kept his hand from moving any further. Forcing his hand to his side as the other was left clinging to the phone. The only part of his body that seemed to be able to move was his hips. A low whine slipped through his gritted teeth.

“Good Boy.”

The toy moved at a merciless pace as you listened to him whimper and moan into the phone. It became moist with precum, helping his cock glide and and out of it easily. Perhaps a lot of precum as he felt extremely wet and warm inside this enchanted toy. Your breathing was labored, Lucifer noticed. You must be touching yourself. He thought about your wet heat sucking him in just like this as he began to reach his limit.

“MC...Im going to come.” He tried to hold back any embarrassing noises as he reached the edge.

“So soon? How pathetic. You’ll have to use this toy to train yourself again. I’ll be back eventually...and you’re going to be in for it.”

“Y-yes MC. I’ll train. Just let me come.”

“Shhh...okay. For being such a good boy you can come for me.”

“Th-thank you.” He mumbled his gratitude despite the burning pride he wished to uphold. The sudden release with your permission took his breath away a moment. He even heard your own breath hitch in your throat. It took a moment to catch his breath. Completely taken back by how quick he came and how fast you were able to get him off.

“Mmmm...I’m glad I put this together. I’ll be honest with you Lucifer. That’s not just an enchanted sex toy...”

“I saw. It was made to feel like you. Very realistic.”

“Actually...it’s an exclusive portal, just for you. Whenever I give you permission, you can fuck me through this. If you earn it that is.”

Lucifer sat dazed a moment. That’s why it felt so good. He’d missed the feeling of you so much he must have underestimated how badly he needed to give himself some release.

“I have to say you have impeccable taste in gift giving.”

“I knew you’d like it....I miss you.”

“...I miss you too.”

[anabsolutetrainwreck]

oh, honey || h. styles

warnings: mentions of sex, kissing

word count: 2.3k

summary: when harry is struck with writer’s block, you come to the rescue and inspire him to write a song, which later becomes known as ‘adore you’...

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t harbouring a crush on a man you’d known for about five years. And for four and half years of that, you found he was the only thing that seemed to occupy your mind. With any crush, it was fun at first. The thrill of being around him brought a new spark to your life. But then, gradually, it became tiresome; the constant butterflies and the overthinking every tiny action began to aggravate you.

You’d had a boyfriend since you met Harry. He loved you and you tried to love him. You knew it wasn’t fair on him, and you felt an ounce of extra guilt every day that relationship went on. You knew it was selfish to paint yourself a mirage of a perfect life with a man you knew you couldn’t love.

The relationship lasted eight months. It had never meant to last that long. At first, it was all fun and games - neither of you took things too seriously. A bit of harmless sex and late nights with red wine and David Attenborough documentaries. But then things took a turn, and he began talking of moving in together and meeting each other’s parents. Your parents would have loved him, you knew that. But what good was that when you didn’t love him?

Eventually, the two of you sat down and decided that maybe it was best if you went your separate ways. It was a mutual decision. And you both agreed that it was fun whilst it lasted. So, this relationship you’d gotten yourself into to get your mind off Harry had ended because you could never love this man the way he wanted you to.

It had been a rough eight months for you. Harry had been in somewhat of a mood with, well, everybody. Mitch concluded that he was probably just stressed with writing for the album and making sure everything was perfect for his debut solo album. But, though nobody necessarily picked up on it at the time, when you announced that you’d broken up with your boyfriend, Harry seemed to be in a much better mood ever since.

So, now, as you walked into the studio, you ran your hands along your jean-clad thighs. It was a desperate attempt to rid your palms of the sweat your nervousness had caused. Sarah had called you and asked if you were free to swing by the studio. She said something about needing a new mind to help Harry. Instantly, you agreed. You would always be there for Harry.

Sat on one of the couches was Harry Styles himself, his hand over his eyes. He was alone, his guitar beside him. A notebook of his lyrics was tossed aside, clearly neglected in tiredness or frustration. “Harry?” you called out, closing the door behind you.

He looked up quickly, startled by the sudden disturbance. “Y/N,” he smiled slightly, sitting up properly. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought you could use some help,” you shrugged, slipping out of your black puffer jacket. “And clearly you need it. Where is everyone?”

“Oh, they went to get some lunch at some place down the road,” he replied.

“And what about you? Aren’t you hungry? You need to eat, Harry.”

“I know. I will, I will. I’m just trying to finish this song, is all.”

You nodded slightly, sitting down in front of him on the coffee table. His hair was disheveled and his eyes were resting on top of dark bags. “Let me see,” you said, extending your hand.

Slowly, he placed the notebook into your hands. You stared down at the scribbled lyrics. Things were crossed out; things were circled; things were accompanied by little doodles. On the very top of the page, though, was the rushed title (above a few others, which had been crossed out): ADORE YOU. “I’m just gonna put it aside and come back to it,” he sighed. “Wanna get high? It always helps me write music.”

“No, Harry. I don’t want to get high with you. If you leave it, then you’ll never come back to it and nobody will ever get to hear it,” you replied.

“Except you. I want you to hear it,” he said quietly, so quiet, in fact, that you barely heard it.

He wasn’t looking at you, thankfully. At least he wouldn’t see the mix of nerves and excitement at what he’d just muttered. You shifted slightly, placing the notebook down beside you, “Well, then you’ll have to finish it, won’t you?”

Finally, he looked up at you. You felt tiny as his eyes explored your face, drinking in every last inch of your features. A small smile worked its way up onto his face, “I suppose I will.”

So, Harry began projecting his ideas onto you. He explained what the song was about and the kind of things he wanted to write. He sang the chorus to you, and you swore you melted right there and then. Hearing his voice fill the otherwise silent room you were in, with no other intent than to please you, filled your head with all sorts of fantasies. “It’s good, Harry. It’s really good,” you nodded, smiling sweetly at him.

“Obviously not good enough if I can’t think of anything other than the first verse and the chorus,” he groaned, raking his long fingers through his unruly hair.

In a moment of fleeting confidence, you reached out and squeezed Harry’s hand. He looked up at you, his green lagoons of eyes staring directly into your own. “Harry, stop. You’re doing yourself no good thinking like that. No songs start out as the greatest thing ever written; you have to put time and care and effort into them,” you said gently. “Let me help, Harry. I don’t want you to go through this alone.”

He nodded, squeezing your hand in return. He pulled out a pen and stared expectantly at you. You smiled - you were happy he was willing to let you help. “What did you have in mind?” he asked, eager to hear a new outlook on these lyrics he had grown sick of reading over and over again.

“Well,” you began, “it obviously has a sort of ethereal vibe to it. So, summer skies? Like, maybe something about ‘you under summer skies’?”

He nodded slowly, absorbing your suggestion. Until, suddenly, his eyes lit up. You knew the look. You’d seen it many a time before. It was the look he adopted whenever he’d been struck by the perfect slice of inspiration he needed to write an incredible piece of music. “You, Y/N, are a bloody genius! ‘Your wonder under summer skies’,” he grinned.

He scribbled the lyric down desperately. You couldn’t help but admire him as ideas escaped his brain and fell onto the paper before him. He finally looked back up at you, the page now littered with prompts and snippets of lyrics. “Thanks, Y/N. You’re a lifesaver,” he said.

You chuckled, “I didn’t do anything.”

“Well, you didn’t do anything for my other songs but they exist because of you,” he rushed out, clearly not comprehending his words. “Shit. Sorry, that- that didn’t mean to come out.”

You smirked. You had the power now, after four and a half years of falling in love with Harry Styles and making a massive fool of yourself in front of him. He’d slipped up and now you were in control. “Yeah? What songs did I unknowingly contribute to?” your confidence was rare, especially when it came to things like this, and yet here it was.

Unfortunately for you, Harry’s natural confidence matched your own. A playful grin swept up his features as he said, “Wouldn’t it be more fun for you to listen to the album and figure it out for yourself?”

“Or you could just tell me the titles?” you asked, your tone hopeful.

He hesitated for a moment, his confident smirk faltering for a split second. But, before you had time to say anything else, he said, “There’s this song called Sunflower, Vol. 6. I wrote that because your favourite flowers are sunflowers. And I wrote Cherry because I know you love cherries. And then there’s Golden, because that’s what you are, Y/N. And then there’s Watermelon Sugar because I know that In Watermelon Sugar is your favourite book. And now Adore You, because, I swear to God, Y/N, that’s all I want to do.”

He was rambling and you couldn’t help but smile. Whilst you’d spent your days rambling to your friends about how you were convinced you’d remain single forever if he didn’t happen to fall hopelessly in love with you, it appeared that he’d been writing down all the tiny details about you in his songs. Because it was true: sunflowers were your favourite flowers and cherries were your favourite fruit and In Watermelon Sugar was your favourite book.

He was staring at you now, his eyes searching your face for some sort of a hint on how you were feeling. When you said nothing, your lips parted slightly, he went on, “Hell, I wrote Cherry years ago. I wrote it when you were dating that guy... what was his name?”

“Ollie,” you replied quietly.

He knew what his name was. He never forgot. It had been two years but he’d never forgotten the eight months of hell where he had to watch you cuddle up to him and take him home after your group of friends had gone out for drinks. He didn’t know why he wanted to hear you say his name again. Some sadistic form of self-torture maybe, hearing another boy’s name on your lips. “Yeah, Ollie,” he played it off as if he really had forgotten your ex boyfriend’s name. “I wrote it when you were dating him. And I’ve been sitting on it for two years because I thought if I released it then you would know I’ve been in love with you for four years. But then I just thought ‘you know what, fuck it’, so I’m putting it on the album. And Anna, that was about you. But I’ll never officially release that one. Because I wrote it one night when I was alone and I couldn’t get you out of my head and I needed to tell somebody how I felt about you. Even if that was just a bit of paper. But then I played it to you, do you remember? And you loved it, so I swore to never release it because it felt like I’d confessed to you how I felt.”

As you listened to him ramble away about all of these songs he’d written about you and how much you clearly meant to him, you couldn’t help but smile. You’d dreamed of Harry confessing how much he, well, adored you. And you’d only ever thought it would be an occurrence in your fantastical dreams, and yet here he was, staring back at you, rambling on about how much he loved you. “Wait, Harry,” you spoke up, “isn’t ‘watermelon sugar’ something to do with oral sex?”

You chuckled as he flushed, “That’s besides the point.”

“And what is the point?”

“That I’m in love with you and, I pray to God, you’re in love with me back.”

Overwhelmed with joy, you couldn’t help but throw yourself at Harry. The feeling of his hands around your waist in a way that wasn’t just a slightly prolonged hug goodbye after a night out or a slightly overly flirtatious gesture of Harry’s felt electric. Harry’s hands on you in a way that was meant to be a moment of appreciation shared between two lovers was how it was always supposed to be.

After so long of knowing one another, falling for each other and sharing life changing moments, everything was finally slipping into place. You’d been there when One Direction first began their hiatus. You’d been there when he cut his hair off. You’d been there when he went to Jamaica to write his first solo album. You’d been there, albeit your eyes were shut most of the time, when he was dangling a thousand feet in the air for the Sign of the Times music video shoot. He’d been there when you finished university. He’d been there when you lost your mum. He’d been there when your sister had her first child. He’d been your date to your brother’s wedding. All of these things, and you couldn’t help but feel they mounted to this very moment.

You pulled your head back, admiring his face for a moment. Your arms were around his neck and everything just felt... right. His smile was bright and his eyes were full of nothing but loving joy. Without another moment’s hesitation, your lips were on his. You weren’t sure who leaned forward, but all you knew was that this was what you’d been waiting for for almost five years. And, now you were here, showing Harry how much you loved him, the wait seemed worth it. “We’ve got so much time to make up for,” he whispered.

“Good thing we’ve got all the time in the world then, isn’t it?”

He grinned, embracing your body. All he’d wanted to do for four years was to praise it. And now he finally had the chance to. That was until the two of you heard a voice behind you, “We only left for lunch!”

[shreddedparchment]

A Wife for Thor Pt.16

No One

02/04/2021

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader          Word Count: 5,025

Warnings: angst, jealousy, crying, infertility, talk of pregnancy, trouble conceiving, smut, LOTS of fluff

A/N: I’m sorry this one took me a bit to get out. I know y’all tell me not to be sorry but I am still sorry lol I stopped taking my endo meds since I can no longer afford them with no healthcare, I got my period and my endo said FUCK YOU! I was in bed for the entirety of my period with no energy to do anything but lay there and do nothing. Anywho, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I’ve been excited to get to this chapter and I hope it’s worth the wait. Thank you for any comments or reblogs! xoxo

Thor has never been so eager to get back to New Asgard. Even back in the beginning when Jane had been living with him in those first small houses that they’d built when his new Kingdom was nothing but a distant dream.

Even then, this sensation of yearning had not been so strong.

Every moment away from you has been unbearable. The detour he’d taken after just arriving only increased his desire because if seeing Jane has shown him anything it’s that he has indeed made the right choice.

He really hadn’t doubted it, but it’s nice to know that even with Jane standing inches away from him, his heart had not pounded. His breath had not caught. His fingers had not tingled as they once had in their wish to touch.

Her brown eyes, once beyond beautiful, are indeed still pretty. However, they aren’t yours. Yours that look at him with an innocent admiration. Love pours from them so freely. Eagerly.

You’re not afraid to show him how you feel and it takes his breath away how much you’ve given into loving him.

All he can do is try to return your love with the same fervor. So far he thinks he has been doing the job well.

As he struts forward towards your shared bedroom, he reaches into his cloak, down along his left hip to unhook a small leather satchel bulging with its contents.

Smiling down at what he hopes will be a welcome and pleasing gesture, he makes to open the doors to the room but finds them thrust out towards him.

Instinctively his hand twitches around the satchel, almost throwing his palm out to call his remade hammer, but he resists.

From his bedroom spill two beings. One Asgardian, one human. The doors swing shut behind them.

“Doctor Wilson? Alric?” Thor teeters back onto his right foot, completely surprised to see them. “What brings-?”

Both of them look grave and Thor’s heart hits the pit of his stomach. All of the strength in the universe leaves him in one terrifying instant.

“Is Y/N alright? Is she hurt? Injured? Has something happened?”

In his panic he begins to push through them and they move aside for him but before he can open the doors to get in to see you, Alric reaches out to place his hand on Thor’s shoulder.

“Just our monthly visit, nothing to fret about Your Majesty,” Alric assures him and yet, Thor’s squirming nerves are not put at ease. “Unfortunately things do not look well for an heir as of now.”

“They don’t exactly look bad either, Alric,” Doctor Wilson interjects. “We’re in uncharted territory, Your Majesty. We have to play this as it comes at us. I’m sure with Alric’s help we’ll find a way to make it work.”

Their words at the moment aren’t making any sense to Thor. All he wants is to see you.

“Right…” he says on reflex, but his voice is weak.

His mind on you and only you.

“She is a little melancholy after our news so, perhaps it’s best we let you go see her. Until next month, Your Majesty,” Doctor Wilson gives him a curtsy. “If you need us before then, you have our numbers.”

Alric gives Thor a bow and the two of them march off, Alric lugging a strange metal case along with him.

With nothing to hold him back now, Thor pulls the doors open and hurries inside.

He scans the room from the left to the right, expecting you in the bathroom but you aren’t there. Several of the doors to the balcony are open letting in a much warmer breeze than this morning but still very cool.

Thor finally spots you sitting at your vanity, your hand pressed to the inside of your elbow as you hold a small cotton ball against the point at which one of your doctors probably drew some blood.

Even that tiny sting of a needle piercing your beautiful skin makes his heart ache. Any pain you feel is his own and he can’t believe he forgot what today was.

“Cherub?”

You don’t look at him and instead keep your hand pressed tightly, fingers moving in slow and small circles.

He can’t see your face from here. You’re turned away, sitting with your gaze trained on the balcony doors closest to your vanity.

Thor can’t take you not looking at him. He sets his satchel on the chaise at the end of the bed and when he reaches your left side, he squats down so that he can look up at you, his right hand taking gentle hold under your left bicep. His left hand he places over your right one, pressed against the inside of your left elbow.

“I’m sorry about today. I forgot they were coming for your tests,” Thor confesses, feeling so guilty he could leap from the balcony and welcome the pain of any bones he might break.

The silence is heavy and he thinks he might really be in for it and opens his mouth to plead for your forgiveness when you give him relief, “So did I.”

He breathes in deeply and with a wave of relief releases his worries in a gust of air.

“Alric said that things did not look good. You’re not with child?”

Even though he knows, he still needs to hear you say it. He wants to know what you’re thinking to make whatever is making your face look so sad go away.

He takes his right hand and runs it along your lower back instead, rubbing in what he hopes is a soothing way.

Finally, you turn your head towards your vanity and he can see more of your heartbreaking expression. He hasn’t seen that loss of hope in your beautiful face since the night you begged him not to make a fool of you just before dinner on a night that feels a lifetime away.

“No, it-it wasn’t a no. The test was inconclusive.”

“Inconclusive? So, what does that mean? Does that mean they don’t know?” Thor asks, confusion twisting his handsome face.

“No, it just means that the test didn’t come back in any way that they could read it. We’re not exactly the same species even if we are compatible physically, we don’t know if we can even get pregnant. They took more of my blood and are going to do the test with more reliable equipment.

“They’ll call when they know something,” you sigh heavily, leaning back against your seat and trapping his hand between it and your body.

Thor tries to think of what he can say to make you feel better. What can he do?

And then what he has to say doesn’t matter as you turn to meet his gaze with your own full of betrayal and suspicion.

When your mouth parts, your words freeze him and his brain short circuits.

“I saw you with Jane earlier on the tower, Thor. I’m sorry but I-I thought you were going to come find me as soon as you got back, not your ex.”

You take a deep breath and Thor watches as your nerves spill forward, your lips trembling as you slowly exhale and all of your fears shine out through the depths of your eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Why are you crying, cherub?” Thor gushes, pulling his hand from your back to turn your seat to face him.

He cups both sides of your face, his large thumbs wiping away at the tears that spring forward.

It had seriously messed with you to see him and Jane so happy and close earlier. And then the tests and Doctor Alric and Doctor Wilson had no idea what was wrong with them so that was stressing you out.

All of your jealousy and frustration pours out of you suddenly. So fast and so unrelenting that with just this small bit of affection from Thor makes you shut your eyes tight as you sob two-three times.

“Y/N...no, my love, please. Don’t cry,” Thor begs, his own throat tight as he pulls you towards him.

You let him hold you because as insecure as you feel, as upset as this morning has made you, his love still feels real. The softness in his voice doesn’t sound fake and as much as he is the source of one of the aches in your chest, he’s your comfort now too.

How fucked up is that?!

He caresses the back of your head as you bury it against his shoulder, slumped down a little because of how low he is in his squat.

His other arm is wrapped all the way around you, firm. Possessive and eager to make you feel better. Can you trust this display?

Until this morning you had no reason to doubt it.

“We will have our baby soon, I know it. I can feel it. I’m not only the God of Thunder, you know? Trust me, cherub. I know these things. We’ll have our little one before you know it.”

He sounds so confident, so sure. He’s lost that tightness in his throat a little and he pushes you back so that he can look into your eyes, quickly wiping away at the saltwater stains on your cheeks.

“As for your former worry, I went to the tower because the lights were on. I wasn’t sure who was there so I simply went to check. I wasn’t expecting Jane out of all the people it could have possibly been.

“I’d hoped it was you, finally making use of the tower for your own office to write or perhaps your own personal library?” Thor’s instincts on what you might want a private space to be.

You suddenly feel foolish for doubting him for even a second. It makes you cry again, and you bury your face in your hands.

“No, my love, please don’t cry anymore,” he continues to beg. “Look, I’ve brought you a gift.”

He gets up suddenly and moves towards the package he’d been carrying when he came in. It wasn’t large. About the size of a shoebox.

“I thought of you when I was passing over Paris on my way home. You can eat them all at once or slowly, whichever you prefer,” He flips open the leather satchel and from inside pulls a thick and shiny rust colored box with a satin brown ribbon that delicately holds it closed.

It looks expensive and he doesn’t wait for you to take it since you’re too busy wiping at your cheeks and sniffling to grab it. He pushes the ribbon off of the box then removes the lid and places it underneath while tossing the ribbon onto your vanity.

“I’m not sure what each of them is, but you don’t have to eat the ones you don’t like. I’ll eat them for you,” he pushes fancy gold tissue paper aside to expose the contents within.

Inside the box is a tray of twenty-four chocolate pieces. Some of them have designs painted on them with what is more likely more chocolate in bright colors and patterns. Other pieces look to be decorated in plain chocolate with small embossed hearts, triangles, or teeny tiny bows.

The box is too thick for this to be all there is, so you’re pretty sure there are two trays of chocolates.

“Do you like them?” Thor checks, his voice light and rising at the end gently almost as if he’s talking to a small child which maybe should offend you?

But it doesn’t because you know that’s not what he means by the tone he’s using. He’s being as gentle with you as he can in your moment of sad anxiety and you love him so much for it.

“They’re so pretty…” you hiccup, wishing you weren’t so emotional and crying all over his lovely gift.

“That’s not all,” he tells you, putting the chocolates on your vanity to free up his hands to reach into his satchel again.

You quickly cover the chocolates, pushing the ribbon around the sleek container before they can be ruined.

Thor tosses the satchel onto the chaise with a flick of his wrist but draws your attention to him when he places another box on your lap. This one is much smaller, but wide and square.

“Happy two months of marriage, cherub,” Thor says softly, then carefully lifts the lid of his second gift.

Nestled within lush purple velvet is a beautiful platinum chain, thin, short so that the gorgeous lotus flower with your birthstone gem settled at its very center will sit just below your collarbone.

“It’s so beautiful, Thor.”

All of a sudden you’re crying again.

Thor smiles and rises again, taking the necklace from inside the box which he tosses onto the chaise too before moving around behind you to slip the necklace around your neck.

You reach up to place your fingers on the pretty flower, sniffling and trying not to make your crying too vocal but a sob or two slips out.

Thor moves back around you and takes a long look at your mess of a face before he takes your hand and pulls you to your feet, “Come here, love.”

He waits for you to stand then takes your spot on your seat but then leads you down onto his lap.

Reaching up with his hand, he gives the back of your neck a squeeze while his other hand finds a resting spot on your thigh.

“Is it Jane still upsetting you?” he guesses.

You nod, unwilling to say it aloud.

“Why? What exactly is it that’s troubling you?”

He genuinely doesn’t seem to understand. While he might understand your nerves about her, the reason you’re still crying is lost on him.

You don’t want to say, but Thor bounces you a little in his lap, taking his hand to caress the side of your face and hold your gaze.

“Nothing you can say will make me love you any less.” A promise.

“When I saw you two this morning, you just looked so h-happy,” your lip quivers. “You looked happy. Pleased. You were smiling that one smile that’s only supposed to be mine.”

For some reason Thor’s chest puffs up a little, a proud fix to his chin as he reaches up to grab yours and give your head a little shake.

“It is all yours, cherub. I am completely yours. I was so happy when I was with Jane this morning because I felt nothing of what I’d once felt for her. I had no stuttering in my heart, no butterflies in my belly. I wasn’t taken by her eyes or tempted by her lips.”

“Alright, I get the picture,” you grumble, hating everything he’s describing even though you know he’s telling you that he wasn’t feeling any of it.

He chuckles, bringing his hand down to rest on your hip.

“I was happy because Jane is no longer the source of all of that for me. You are. All meeting her so unexpectedly proved is that I am more in love with you than I ever thought I could be. You were my arranged match. The most I had ever expected was friendship. And when that turned into more, I wondered if it could really be more than what I ever felt for Jane and it is.

“Jane was always a dear love but you are family. It’s only been a short time since we married but you are more my love than Jane ever was. You’re my cherub!”

He doesn’t wait for you to recover from his little speech. He hooks his hand behind your neck and pulls you down for a kiss.

It quickly changes and shifts and the lonely night you’d spent tense and worried, missing him, explodes you onto him. You’re both a frenzy of movement, Thor ripping away at his armor until he’s in the plain dark undershirt and a very small pair of black briefs.

You’re about to push him onto your bed when he suddenly grabs you and tosses you around his massive body and onto the bed to bounce as you land with a gasp.

He shoves his briefs down, still kicking them away as he steps towards you and gathers the long skirts of your dress higher and higher around your hips.

“Thor…” you whisper, a gasp of anticipation which drives him a little wild as he yanks you closer to the edge of the bed and thrusts into you with a shaky groan.

He goes still for a moment, hooking his hands around your thighs more securely. He bottoms out, sheathing his cock within you until you reach down to scratch at the bottom of his shirt then his hands as you fall back against the bed.

“Please,” you plead and he quickly obliges.

He pumps into you, filling you to the brim with no intention of ever stopping.

~~~~~~~~~~

You and Thor eventually come out of your room. You dressed in your carefully chosen dress and Thor a little less regal in a pair of crisp dark jeans, and layered up in a green sweater over a blue button up collar shirt over a plain white t-shirt.

Honestly though, even in his slightly more casual ensemble, Thor screams royalty. He’s so beautiful.

Both of you giggling like giddy kids, he pulls you closer and loops your arm through his.

It makes you happy that he likes you close by. He proves it now as he leans down to whisper so that only you can hear him as the palace staff moves about cleaning and fixing up the rooms that have been used throughout the day.

“I’m a little glad you’ve decided not to use the tower for a workspace.” Thor confesses.

“How come?” you wonder, turning your face to look at him, genuinely curious as to the change of mind. He’d been so insistent before about you having your own personal space to work in peace where no one could bother you and you didn’t have to give up writing your stories even if you were now Queen of New Asgard.

“I don’t know if I could stand having you that far away from me. Our night apart has only driven that home for me. I want you always at my side.”

His sentiment is sweet and you stop to turn and face him, reaching up to place your hands on his bearded cheeks to smoosh them because he’s so damn adorable. He’s massive so you have to push yourself up, lifting your heels a little to do so comfortably.

“Do you have any idea how incredibly lovable that makes you?” you ask.

He smiles despite you morphing his face, beaming down at you with a look that must mean he loves you. Everything he says has to be true. The more you think about it, the more you realize that your jealousy, while founded, doesn’t make any sense now that you’re married.

Not after everything the two of you have shared and been through. Not after all the time you’ve spent building this foundation with him. 

“Quite a lot more than I was before?” he guesses. “Only, maybe not when I go to the bathroom?”

Through your smile you tilt your head to the side a little, confused by his amendment to his desires.

“Why?” What difference does it make?

He drops his voice to a whisper and leans down a little closer to you, “Sometimes I have smelly poops.”

You’re not expecting that and throw your head back as a loud unfiltered laugh rips through you. The movement pulls you down flat onto your feet but Thor catches you with one arm around your waist to pull you back up onto your toes and against his hard body.

He’s laughing too as he dips down and kisses your laughing mouth, silencing you a little so that it’s only air slipping through your lips as you kiss him back.

It’s just a long held peck. He’s relishing in the feel of your lips against his as your body shakes with more laughter.

Still laughing with you, Thor pulls back and gripes, “Stop laughing and kiss me!”

You drop your head against his chest as you keep laughing, unable to help it because the cuteness of him being self-conscious about his smelly poops is too much for you to handle.

Especially considering that you’ve both already been in the bathroom together when the other is using the toilet.

He loosens his arm around your waist so that you fall down a little further but keeps his hand resting on the small of your back while the other hand he places on the back of your head, caressing it as you chuckle weakly from laughing so much.

The sound of a clearing throat brings both your heads turning to the end of the hallway.

Your visiting trio stand there, Tony smirking, Bruce smiling shyly, Jane averts her eyes.

“Uh, get a room?” Tony suggests, but you can tell from his tone that he’s only teasing.

“Where do you think we’ve been all morning?” Thor grins, readjusting with you to hook your arm on his elbow before leading you towards your guests.

“So that’s what those screams were,” Tony counters.

Thor wiggles his eyebrows at them but your neck burns and your mouth pops open in surprise and embarrassment.

You start to fret, hands fluttering up towards your new necklace as you look from Tony to Jane, who’s looking at her shoes, to Bruce who is smiling with his own laughter in his eyes.

“Was I-? I didn’t mean to-! Thor, I didn’t know that I was being-” your panic is real and your heart is thrumming a million miles an hour.

“He’s teasing you, cherub, don’t worry,” Thor assures you, dropping your arm from his elbow to wrap his own arm around your waist to pull you into his side again.

You turn to Tony and he’s laughing a little. Not maliciously, just purely entertained by your reaction.

“I-a joke?” you ask him, still uncertain.

“Sorry,” Tony says, nodding. “Just a joke.”

You swallow hard, trying to settle your heartbeat.

Thor kisses your head and like a switch is flipped, all of them shift into work mode.

“Have you started installing the security system?” Thor asks Tony and all together the five of you move down into the lowest level of the palace which actually happens to be a dungeon?

You’re not really listening to their conversation as you move with them, still flustered about you possibly letting all of your sex noises reverberate through the halls of the palace for everyone to hear, but when you reach a large vault-like door, you start to focus again.

As the heavy door slides open like part of some futuristic spaceship, you’re thrown into a large room about the size of the throne room where you’d had your wedding reception only it looks nothing like the rest of the palace.

This place looks more like the Avengers compound. High-tech stations line the walls, large monitors with readings you don’t understand and camera footage from places you recognize from around New Asgard and the palace itself.

There’s a full crew working all of the stations, Asgardians and humans, all of them wearing the same charcoal gray uniforms, splashes of gold and red like Thor’s cape on their shoulders and chests.

As you and Thor enter, they stop what they’re doing to stand at attention, bowing to both of you as Thor leads you to the center of the room where a large stone table is set with schematics of plans that you don’t understand.

Tony moves over to them and starts to sift through the many scrolls all laid out for viewing while Thor nods to the crew.

“At ease, my friends.”

He’s so nice. The crew fall back into their respective jobs.

One of them moves towards a large screen against the wall, a TV you realize, playing different news footage from all over the world.

He flips to another channel and you pull away from Thor to walk and stand beside the crewman who stands taller once you’re beside him.

He turns to you and gives you a quick bow, “Your Majesty.”

Turning to him, you smile and then look back at the screen, “To monitor any weird things happening around Earth?”

“Yes, m’am,” he asserts then flips the channel again.

This time it’s a documentary style report, you see a familiar scene. New York in shambles as Iron Man, Hawkeye, Black Widow, the Hulk, Captain America, and your Thor fight off the invading Chitauri.

Slowly another body settles beside you, its warmth drawing your attention to it.

“I still remember that day, sort of,” Bruce says gently, his voice always so easy and calm.

It’s hard to believe he can turn into the giant Hulk in seconds.

“Was it scary?”

“Sort of. I think for me, I was just worried that Hulk would hurt someone other than the aliens. But by then I think he understood what side we were on.” Bruce nods.

“But, aren’t you the Hulk?” His words confuse you a little.

“Well, yeah, but also no. He’s like another half of me? If that makes sense? I haven’t worked out how to combine both sides yet. I’m there, I’m just...it’s like someone takes who you are and reduces you to your most basic instincts.

“We’re almost like two different people but we’re also the same person. I’m working on understanding our connection better. Underneath the Hulk, I’m still me. I’m still there I think. I’m just trapped for some reason.”

The two of you watch the screen in silence for a moment then Thor shows up, blasting the Chitauri with his lightning. He looks a little different because he has both eyes and his hair!

“Thor had long hair,” you realize, gushing a little.

“Did I look better with long hair?” his deep voice slips into your right ear and you jump not having been expecting it.

“Not better,” you promise him, smiling at him before turning your eyes back on the TV. “Just different. It suits you.”

“Should I grow it back?”

With excitement, you turn to face him and he chuckles at whatever look you have in your eyes, “Would you? Wouldn’t it bother you?”

“If it will make you look at me the way you’ve been staring at me on that television, I will go out and buy a wig.”

You laugh and Thor leans down to give you a quick peck.

“It’s that time of year I guess,” Tony says, sliding over to stand on Bruce’s other side where Jane is already standing having moved over at some point.

She still hasn’t said anything.

“What time of year?” You wonder.

“Oh, in Spring they always start to play footage on some of the news channels about Loki’s party days in New York. Some type of anniversary celebration or something? Only it’s more like a wake.”

“It’s a memorium,” you realize, then look at Thor who seems to sense your upset.

He wraps his arm around you and settles in beside you, kissing the top of your head again.

“Where is Loki?” you ask him, frowning with worry and wondering if it must upset him to have one of his biggest mistakes thrown in his face for weeks.

“He’s tending to business with the guard. He’ll come find us when he’s finished,” Thor promises.

After a tense moment, Tony claps his hands and then pats Bruce’s shoulder, “Shall we? Pepper wants me home by Friday so that we can explore the wonderful art of tantric massage.”

As Bruce turns to follow Tony back to the center table where a new console computer has come from a panel at the center you hadn’t noticed, he gives him a skeptical look.

“Pepper? Are you sure it isn’t you pushing the tantric massage?” Bruce sounds like he already knows the answer.

Tony shrugs, “I’m not the bossy anymore.”

You look back at the TV, your worry only spiking at the thought of Loki coming down here and finding all of you watching.

“Change it to something else,” you tell the crewman. “Make sure no one puts it on that channel again.”

“Yes, m’am,” he bows his head in obedience and quickly changes the channel while moving to a small box hooked up to it where a small screen comes out and he quickly goes about pressing buttons hopefully blocking any and all sources of that footage so that Loki doesn’t accidentally have his face shoved into his past.

“Don’t worry, my cherub. Loki is well aware of what the Earth grieves at this time of year. He won’t be blindsided by it.”

“I still don’t like it,” you insist, unable to shake the frown from your face.

“Thor?” Jane’s voice interrupts you both softly.

He looks at her and you give her a glance before turning to look at the news reports on the TV.

“I’m gonna need one of these mainframes for the telescope. Which one can I take?”

“Right,” Thor nods, “Of course. Let’s find you a place to work.”

Before he leaves you he leans in and kisses the side of your head again, squeezing your hip before he moves with Jane away towards the many workstations in the very large room.

After getting everything sorted out this morning, your heart doesn’t even sway towards jealousy and even though you’re worried about Loki, you breathe a sigh of relief that your realization about Thor’s loyalty has really engrained itself into you.

He loves you and nothing will change that. Even as they laugh somewhere behind you, your confidence doesn’t waver.

You reach up and touch the lotus on your necklace, a shining reminder of Thor missing you on his very first night away from you since your wedding.

You’re sure now that no one will ever come between you and Thor.

No one.

[george-mackay-macfine]

Let's play a game

A/N - Who remembers the snippet I posted ages ago with the bad boy / good girl. Well, I finally did something with it.

Please enjoy, Chapter one.

The warmth of the sun was the first thing I felt when I woke up, coating me in a blanket of warmth. It was too much warmth, and I was rapidly becoming uncomfortably hot. The second was the throbbing in my head, undoubtedly brought on by all the alcohol I had consumed the night before. And the third was the heavyweight of an arm across my torso. Who did the arm belong to? Well, to be honest, I wasn’t quite sure.

“Shit,” I whispered, cautiously turning on the plush bed, careful to not startle the owner of the arm that lay all too casually around my waist. “Shit, shit.” I moved the arm carefully off my waist, putting it beside its owner.

The owner of the arm was none other than Jude Hastings, the boy I’d known since I was eight, and the boy who’d mercilessly teased me throughout school and somewhat into our adult lives.

People, primarily our parents, often called it teasing— a bit of harmless flirting between an adolescent boy and a dorky adolescent girl, so they said. I, on the other hand, referred to it as warfare.

Which would lead to a lifelong war between Jude Hastings and me.

“Fuck,” I stood from the bed and looked down at what was covering my body… It wasn’t much. All I had on was what I’m assuming was Hastings’ button-down shirt, and that was it. No bra, no pants… And I had no clue where my underwear had gotten to. “Pull yourself together, Darcy,” I whispered to myself. “Just find your shit and get out.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, taking five deep breaths. My mother always told me it was a way to destress, but guess what, mom, I am still stressed. “Okay. Pull it together.” I had seven things I had to find in this apartment, and hopefully, it was all contained to this one room. Anything I couldn’t uncover would just have to be left as a sacrifice to the apartment demon.

My pants and top were the easiest to find, laying at the end of the bed a dead giveaway of where Hastings and I had ended our night standing, or at least standing for the most part. I vaguely recall him pulling me off the bed just to bend me over the desk he had pushed against the wall… I guess that counts as sort of standing.

“Jacket…” I crept around the room, trying to find where my favourite corduroy jacket had landed in the thralls of passion I had shared with the still sleeping demon. “Gotcha,” I pulled on the sleeve bringing it out from behind the chair that sat pushed into the corner. Another memory of Hastings and I making out on the very chair flashed through my mind bringing a blush hot enough to make the top of my ears burn. “Shoes, bra and underwear,” I sat on the floor, pulling my jacket over my arms looking around for a sign of any of the missing clothing. I quickly spotted my bra hanging over the bedpost at the top end of the bed. “Ahha.” I pushed up from the floor and padded across the carpet, keeping a keen eye on Hastings to make sure he didn’t suddenly wake up and catch me in the shameful morning after clothes collection. If I was lucky, I’d leave with all my belongings and whatever scraps of dignity I had left. “Four down, three left.” I scooped the bra off the bedpost and shoved it in my pocket. Watching Hastings, I dropped to my knees and looked underneath the bed in hopes of finding at least one of the remaining items, if not all of them. “Shoes.” I gripped the heel on one of my boots and pulled it towards me, half an item down… The second boot was more brutal to get to. I had to crawl at least halfway under the bed to reach it, somehow it had landed so far underneath the bed last night, but at least now I had shoes to wear for my solemn journey home.

Was underwear really that necessary for a journey home? Could I just leave without them? And my purse, I mean, I’m sure any decent human being with any dignity would give it back to someone who’d left it at their house. Still, then again, this was Jude Alexander Hastings we were talking about. He wasn’t known to me for being a decent human being. Besides, cancelling all my credit cards and getting a new I.D sounded a lot more appealing than risking Hastings waking up with me still inside his apartment with minimal clothing.

“Fuck it.” I army crawled backwards out from under the bed, careful not to get any carpet burns on any delicate parts. Trust me, one time of having sex on some carpet, and you know the pain well enough to not do it again. Once I emerged from the pits of the bed, I took a final look around, trying to find the elusive underwear or purse. “Note to self, cancel the credit card.” I stood up and walked to the pile of items I’d begun to form at the end of the bed: pants, top, bra, shoes and jacket. Five out of seven ain’t bad in the grand scheme of things. I mean, was it my favourite purse? Yes, and were they my favourite pair of lucky underwear? Yes. Could I buy more to avoid any further interactions with Jude Hastings? Fuck yes.

“Missing something?” The husky voice that haunted my alcohol-soaked brain startled me into dropping my pants to the floor. I spun on the ball of my feet and looked at him, lazily lying in his bed. The sheet hanging from his waist was the demon man himself. Since when did he have abs? - No, not the point, Darcy.

“Two things actually,” I felt the rush of heat blossoming on my cheeks as I finally allowed myself to look over his bare chest.

“Would these be one of them?” His hand rose, hooked around his pointer finger was my black lace thong, the one I’d been crawling around this whole fucking room looking for. Bastard. “They sure look like yours.” He held the up higher, squinting with one eye.

“If they’re not mine, perhaps they’re yours,” I smirked in self-satisfaction as the smirk on his face faltered. One Edwards.

“Well, if you’re sure they’re not yours.” He bunched them up, leaning over to his bedside table. “I think I’ll keep them then.”

“Wait.” I yelped, springing onto the bed. “Give them to me,” I reached for them. Holding my hand out, waiting for the lace scrap to be returned to me. “I need them to get home.”

“No, I don’t think so.” He dropped them into his bedside table. “You said they were mine.” One Hastings.

“God, I hate you,” My eyes turned to slits as the smirk came back to his face more prominent than the one I’d managed to make him lose moments ago. He shut the drawer and returned to his previous position, his whisky coloured eyes running over my form.

“Not what you were saying last night.”

“Was that before the double shots of tequila? Or was it before the fishbowl margarita?” I moved back, standing at the end of the bed, pulling my pants up over my hips. Usually, I’d feel self-conscious dressing and undressing in front of someone I’d just had sex with. Still, by this point in our lives, Hastings had already made numerous comments about how ‘plump’ I was, as he liked to call it. I didn’t have time to dwell on the idea that I gave him a front-row pass to see how correct his childish name-calling was. “Or maybe it was before the game of beer pong?”

“Yeah,” He dropped his head and laughed. “It started about there.”

“Hastings, you know as well as I do that I don’t remember a thing about last night, right?”

“Would you like me to give you a play-by-play?” I unbuttoned his shirt with nimble fingers. For once, my skill of unbuttoning button-downs came in use.

“No, thanks. I think I can surmise what’s happened from the lack of underwear.” And the memories of him pushing me up against his front door helped with the overall picture.

“It was your idea,” I stole a look at the bedside table where the same old alarm clock I was sure he’d had since middle school sat. Nine-thirty. Shit. Fuck. Shit.

“Was it now?” I didn’t really have time to hear how this interaction was my fault, but I was curious. Even if I was supposed to be meeting my parents for brunch in half an hour, and by the looks of it, I was going to have to suffer through without underwear.

“Oh yeah.” He fell back onto the bed. “The boys and I were at the bar, and you came up to me… You know I was expecting to have another verbal sparring match with you, one I’d ultimately win.”

“Doubtful,”

“When you began to flirt with me.” I could hear the smirk in his voice even with my back facing him.

“Is that so.” I sat on the edge of the bed and picked up one of my boots, unzipping the side.

“Oh yeah,” I heard the shuffle of sheets on the bed behind me and then felt the warmth of his chest pressing onto my covered back, heat radiating from where his skin touched me. “Never expected this from you, Edwards.” He moved my hair to the side, his fingers leaving goosebumps on my neck as he trailed a fingertip along the skin. “Really, I never did.” His lips touched the skin now, ghosting the same pattern his fingertips had traced.

“Alright,” I stood up, balancing on one foot as I tried to shove my foot into the boot. “I don’t know what this.” I wiggled a finger between our bodies. “Is, but last night was all there was. There will be no encore, M’kay.” I knelt down, zipping up the boot before shoving my foot into the second.

“If you’re sure you can live without one.” He moved back to the top of the bed, leaning back on one arm, watching me scamper to make myself presentable. “You know you’re still wearing my shirt.”

“Thank you, Captain obvious.”

“I’d like it back. It’s one of my favourites.”

“And those.” I jutted a finger at the bedside table where my underwear remained captive. “Were my favourite pair of underwear.” I smiled sweetly at him. “So we’ll call it even,” I brushed my hair with my fingers, trying to make some sort of progress with it so it didn’t look like I’d just been to pound town… which apparently from the ache in my legs I had been.

“You know that’s not helping,”

“What isn’t.”

“Trying to make yourself look like you haven’t just had one of the best nights of your life.”

“Bold of you to assume that,”

“Not an assumption. You told me so much yourself last night.”

Fucking Hastings. That’s it, fuck it. I was getting my underwear back. Even if it meant a small game of seduction.

“Look, Jude.” I let my voice drop into a whisper as I walked towards where he lay comfortably. I flung my legs over his body, straddling his waist. I couldn’t help but internally melt when his hands clinging to my waist, pressing me down onto him. I’m human. What can I say? The thin sheet gave everything away, and I had to admit, Hastings was packing more than I thought. Self-satisfaction flowed through me as I saw his eyes widen slightly, his pupils dilating as his fingers moving in circles on my waist. “I want you to know something about last night.” His eyes locked with mine as my right hand held onto his chin, keeping our eyes locked, my left going to the bedside table quietly pulling it open.

“Yeah?” His Adam’s apple bopped as he swallowed.

“Last night was,” I moved his head, so he was looking away from the drawer as my hand began to search for the fabric. “Was something that I…” My fingertips grazed the lace. BINGO! “I’m going to pretend doesn’t exist.”

“Oh really?” His hand quickly left my hip and grabbed around my waist. “Because I’m going to remember every little detail.” The lace slipped from between my fingertips as he flipped us. “Especially every time I open this draw.” I heard the draw slam shut and all hopes I had of leaving with my underwear gone.

“Get off me.” His right hand pulled my leg up and wrapped it around his waist. Oh god… he was good.

“Oh no, you started this.” He laughed, his chest pressing into mine with each exhaled laugh. “I’m just finishing it.”

“I need you to get off me so I can leave Hastings.”

“I dunno, I’m quite comfortable.” His hand pushed the fabric of his shirt up, revealing a tiny slither of my skin. “I like how you look in my bed, a forbidden fruit who doesn’t belong.” I let out a snort. If this was his attempt at flirting, he had a lot of work to do. “But here you are,”

“You are right. I certainly don’t look like the type of girl you’d waste your time on, so how about you let me up, and we pretend this didn’t happen.”

“No, I don’t think I like that idea,” His voice came out in a soft whisper.

“Why?”

“I was always told girls like you,” I felt a rush of enjoyment as his eyes ran over my body, a rush I didn’t want to feel. “The good girls who their parents think their perfect when really they’re the worst of the worst are the best,” It was beginning to be a struggle to concentrate as his fingertips brushed the hair away from my forehead. “And from what I’ve been told, you’re the best of them… So I want to find out myself.”

“Oh really?”

“Really. Why did you come up to me last night?” Why did I go up to him last night because I was lonely? Because I was sick of April talking about her fiancé? Because as much as I don’t want to admit it, verbally sparring with Hastings was a highlight.

“I heard that the reformed bad boys are the best,” His finger dragged along my jawline. “And I heard you’re one of the best.” I countered with a smirk.

“Oh really?” He mimicked.

“You tell me,” His fingertip tapped against my lips. Impulsively I nipped on the tip.

“Let’s play a game.”

“I’m listening.”

“The game to end all of our little games for good… No more practice jokes, no more telling my parents I got some random girl pregnant.” He chuckled.

“Then you can’t egg my car anymore or let down my tyres.”

“Fine.” He conceded. “Then let’s sweet talk,” His lips went to my neck, placing sweet kisses along the skin. “Let’s play fight, talk twenty-four-seven,”

“I’m no good at sweet-talking, and I don’t think I could stand talking to your for so long.” My voice came out breathy as my senses zero’d in on the feeling of his lips.

“Let’s wish each other good morning, and good night every day… We’ll take walks together.”

“I’d prefer a ride on your motorbike.” He let out a chuckle, the skin under his lips practically vibrating from the motion.

“I’ll give you a nickname,” His lips were on my jaw now, my hands we on his back, nails digging into the skin, I’m sure leaving moon-shaped indents. “Let’s hang out with each other’s friends.”

“Your friends are dicks.” His lips dropped close to mine, a chaste kiss being left on the right side.

“We’ll go on dates, talk all night on the phone… I’ll hold you, kiss you.” His lips moved to the other side. “We’ll make love, bang, fuck whatever you want to call it.”

“I’m waiting for the game part, Hastings. Right now, it sounds like you just want me to be your girlfriend. I mean, I know last night was good, but really this good?”

“The game is, Whoever falls in love first, loses.” He finally pulled away, his right hand still rubbing circles on my hip bone.

“Doesn’t seem like much of a game.”

“Then why do you seem so scared?”

Was this asshole serious? I was never scared, especially not when it came to challenging him, beating him.

“I’m not.”

“Then what do you say?”

“So you want to pretend we’re a thing to all of our friends, all of our family, just to make one of us fall in love with the other first for what? Bragging rights and heartbreak?”

“Tell me something.” His lips hovered inches from mine. I could feel the warmth of his breath, and how the hell did he not have morning breath? “How good would it feel to know you conned me into loving you, then breaking my heart,”

He had a point. After all the years of heartache and teasing he’d caused me, it would be fun to break his heart into a million tiny shattered pieces.

“What would we tell everyone?” His body moved against mine as he shrugged.

“That we’ve reconnected or connected whatever you want to say.”

“You really want to do this?” My brow raised in suspicion.

“Make you fall in love with me.” I nodded my head. “Oh hell yeah,”

“Fine.” I smirked. “Let’s play a game.”

[shhh-no-ones-home]

tantalizing* bucky barnes x reader

+++++++++ Holy shit this is so long (wc: 2011) I'm so sorry 😅 worth it tho 👀

* - Convincing him to let off some steam after a very stressful mission in which he is frustrated and agitated over and in need of some relief. god i havent written smut in so long, i hope its not too bad lmfao

Song: sick from the melt by motionless in white 

tag list: @cynic-spirit +++++++++

"can you calm down?"

i said, venom barely dripping from my tone.

"No! I'm just frustrated. And angry. And pissed off!"

He seethed, pacing in front of me.

"God you need to get laid."

I said annoyed, rolling my eyes. I noticed he had stopped pacing now, looking at me like I was crazy.

"What?"

I asked innocently and he shook his head, continuing to wear a hole into the carpet of our shared hotel room. His bed was still made, his duffle bag sat neatly atop it like he hadn't even touched it since we had arrived.

"I just. God I want to punch his face in. I can't believe I was so stupid."

He lamented and I sighed, sitting back on my hands and crossing one leg over the other.

"I'm telling ya, it's a really good way to let off some steam."

I pointed out but he just kept going.

"Who does he think he is? And don't think I'm ranting, because I'm not. I'm quiet and reserved and-"

"Need to get laid."

I repeated and he sent me a look.

"Okay, what is with you?!"

He asked and I shrugged.

"You have a lot of pent up emotion and I just think it would help. Forgive me for trying to be a real one."

I said and he just stared at me, a darkness to his features.

"I'm not that kind of guy."

He said, moving to pace again and I snorted.

"What?"

He asked irritated and I shook my head.

"Nothing, you keep wearing the carpet down trying to solve the world's problems."

He rolled his eyes at me.

"When you're ready to get some let me know. Either I'll help you get it done or I'll call someone for each of us cause lord knows I could use it too."

I said, pulling my arms out from under me and falling on my back, staring at the popcorn ceiling.

"Did you just offer to get me a call girl?"

He asked and I snorted.

"Call girl. God you are old."

"I don't need a prostitute."

I shrugged, my t-shirt moving and holding against the white sheets folded over on my own bed.

"Maybe you don't but if you don't stop complaining I'm gonna."

I torted back.

"Surely you are not that shallow."

He said and I laughed, sitting up on my elbows.

"You wanna come over here and help a girl out instead? It'd save me a couple hundred."

He sent me a look and I just stared at him.

"I'm being serious."

I said after a minute. When he still didn't say anything or move I stood up, walking to him and staring him down.

"What's it gonna be sergeant Barnes?"

I said lowly, taunting him. I watched as his jaw clenched, staring back down at me like he'd die if he didn't.

"You want it that bad?"

He growled and I could feel a wave of desire wash through my body.

"Dont you?"

I challenged. There was a long pause, making sure we understood each other, before he slammed his lips into mine. In the moment it felt like my brain short circuited, slinging my arms around his neck as he held my hips for dear life. And before I knew it we were fighting for more kisses, the air barely staying in my lungs as his hands roamed my body, tugging at clothes I wish would vanish.

"Just rip it."

I said against his mouth as he tried to undo my bra from under my shirt. It was old and I had brought a back up for the trip so I wasn't that worried about it, I just wanted this to happen.

"This is harder than you'd think, not being able to actually feel it."

He said. And just as it clicked what he meant it didn't matter. In a second my shirt was over my head and he was tearing the front of my bra open like an animal. He groaned as he came back to kiss me, finally trailing down my neck as he undid my pants, moving long enough for me to get rid of his shirt too. What I wasn't ready for was, once naked, he picked me up and tossed me onto the bed, kicking off his own bottoms and crawling up between my legs.

"God I want this so bad."

He said a little breathlessly, kissing down my chest, his hands roaming my thighs.

"I need you."

I whined, my fingers pressing hard into his shoulder blade as he went further and further down my body.

"Beautiful."

He said, kissing the inside of my thigh, hoisting my leg onto his shoulder as he sucked a hickey into it.

"Bucky."

I moaned, closing my eyes as he leaned down, getting closer and closer to my core.

"Use your words gorgeous."

He sang, his hot breath sending a shiver down my spine.

"Just fuck me."

I sighed out, digging my head into the mattress as he licked a stripe up my folds. Needless to say I wasn't ready for what he had to offer, his tongue pressing figure eights against my clit as he brought his hand up to tease me. It was soft touches for a moment but then it was two fingers, pumping in and out of me slowly. When he moved to suck my clit instead i gripped the sheets tightly with one hand, the other going to the back of his head as I panted.

"Please. Bucky."

I sighed out, scratching the back of his head. When he slowed his hand I couldn't help pushing my hips further into his face. my mouth dropped open when he added a third finger, pumping quickly until I felt butterflies in the pit of my stomach.

"Jesus Christ!"

I yelled, him curling his fingers up and making my legs quiver against him as I came hard. I breathed heavily while he licked me clean, making me seize every time his tongue ran over my clit again. When he was done I pulled him to me, slamming my lips against his and kissing him hungrily.

"How was that?"

He asked and I nodded against him, placing open mouthed kissed along his jaw.

"Otherworldly."

He just smirked at me.

"That's good, cause I'm not done yet."

He said and I sent him a worried look.

"Don't worry, it's nothing you can't handle."

He reassured. I couldn't think straight so I settled on nodding, tracing my fingers down his torso. As I reached his erection I touched it gently, watching it jump before I grabbed it and pumped him a few times. He moaned loudly, closing his eyes as I swirled my thumb around his tip, smearing his precum across it. He half opened his eyes to watch me but as I went to go down on him he stopped me.

"No, I want to be inside you."

He said darkly, pulling me into his lap instead. I looked down at him with lust filled eyes as he began kissing across my chest, taking one of my nipples into his mouth and biting it. I moaned at the sensation, bucking my hips against him. As his mouth moved he pulled me closer, helping me line up above him and pushing my hips down. We both moaned at the feeling, him dropping his head back as I sat back up and sank back down onto him.

"Y/n."

He groaned, pressing his finger tips into my hips as I began riding him. It was like nothing I'd ever experienced. He guided me more than anything though, holding me so firmly I was sure there would be bruises later. But God it felt so good I didn't even care. I just wanted to be closer to him.

"Switch?"

I asked and he looked almost nervous.

"I don't want to break you."

He said, his brows knitted together and I laughed.

"Please do."

He sent me a look as I sank back down onto him. He moved to place one hand at my back and flipped us over, making me gasp as he managed to bury himself ever further in me.

"Bucky."

I moaned, him pushing the hair out of my face as he began pounding into me. It was so hard the bed was beginning to creak, the headboard now hitting back and forth into the wall. It was now the more prominent sound in the room, overtaking the sound of skin on skin or breathing or even the soft moans escaping his lips as he bit and sucked at my neck. I couldn't help the whine that made it's way through my body as I pressed my nails into his back.

He was fucking me so hard I was sure the bed would break, but so far it was holding up pretty well. He grunted harshly, pressing his fingers down between us and circling my clit a few times. I closed my eyes at the sensation, letting out breathy moans as he continued to take all his frustrations out on me. As he got faster though I got worried and suddenly I had spoken too soon. The next thing I knew the legs at the foot of the bed snapped, the two at the head following shortly after, making me scream in surprise. He looked at me with a worried expression until I shrugged, pressing my hips up against him and urging him to keep going. He just laughed a little and kissed me, slamming into me again. And with that I was done for.

"Bucky!!"

I screamed, feeling another rush of pleasure flood my body. But he kept going.

"So close."

He managed, tilting his head up and squeezing his eyes shut. He pushed into me a few more times before his mouth dropped, a deep moan escaping him as he came hard into me. He stayed there for a second, breathing deeply until he opened his eyes, pushing into me one, two, three more times before pulling out. I felt so empty as he rolled onto the bed beside me, it squeaking at the weight shift. I just laid there, staring at the ceiling, feeling his hot cum drip out of me and onto the sheets.

"I guess you were right."

He said after a long pause, taking my hand in his and bringing it up to kiss the back of it. I turned my head to look at him and he sent me a lazy smile.

"I don't think anything in my life could have ever prepared me for that."

I said seriously before cracking a smile and laughing, rolling over and him bringing me into his side.

"Are you okay though? Sometimes I don't know my own strength. I mean you weren't protesting during, but still. id feel bad if i hurt you."

He said and I kissed his chest lightly.

"Oh, don't worry about me. I think that's the best sex I've ever had. If I can't walk later it was totally worth it."

He laughed, kissing the top of my head. then he froze, his body tensing against me as he looked down at me.

"shit. I didn't even think about a condom. Do we need to go get something... Or?"

I looked up at him, blinking slowly, the tiredness hitting me like a train.

"We can go get a plan B pill when we leave in the morning. Right now I think we deserve a nap."

i said through a yawn. He smiled at me and nodded, watching my eyes flutter shut. I hummed as he pulled one of the blankets up over me, kissing my temple lightly.

"Sounds like a plan to me."

[missinghan]

aria of an assassin ⤖ lee minho

❖ genre : assassin au; fluff; angst

❖ word count : 6,2k.

❖ warning : mentions of blood & violence, explicit language 

❖ summary : minho hasn’t been fazed for decades throughout his bloodied career until the next target happens to be a black cat and he’s suddenly incapable of pulling the trigger.

❖ note : okay, so it’s been a year? this tiny, stupid blog is turning one year old today? yea I couldn’t believe it either. this is to all of my mutuals and readers out there, I don’t say it enough but I truly appreciate each and every one of you 🖤 I wish I could have written something longer but due to school, this random piece will have to do for now.

❖ the sequel : with felix is out!

one.

“Shit.”

Minho grits in a hushed tone although all that has been accompanying him is the pitiful moonlight and icy breeze dissolving into every fiber of his skin. Every minuscule movement suddenly becomes too irritating to his eardrums. The hustle and bustle life of the city at night. Terrible traffic. Even the sound of his own inhales and exhales. 

What is that thing?

He thinks to himself, proceeding to expand his eyesight with the pair of scopes; confusion soon flares into curiosity, then faint anger and dead silence. He swears his heartbeat just paused awkwardly like a broken record for a split second there. Such strange, or odd targets are no stranger to him; nor do they stir something inside the coldness of his rib cage. 

Not an easy kill, they say. And not easy it is. 

Because whatever he’s watching with his very eyes is a cat. A goddamn cat with a coat as sleek pitch as the dark canvas upon his head and piercing golden eyes. The peculiar animal walks with its head held high like it’s lording over everyone else—such self-reassurance, such radiance some humans cease to possess. 

It’s dangerous, they say. But it’s a fucking cat! Irritation bubbles up at the back of his throat, makes his skin crawl, and causes a bark of profanity to leave his lips once more. Has it not occurred to his client that he doesn’t kill children and animals? When it’s clearly been written on the contract? In bold, underlined, and everything?

They could have at least given him more details on what he’s getting himself to this time. 

An exhale. He packs up his things, pulls his black cap down a little, and leaves the top of the building without looking back. If he did, he would have seen those starry eyes boring holes onto his back. 

two.

The road Minho is walking through is more than familiar. For one, he takes the same path every day to grab a drink at his go-to place—a vending machine near an old, plain high school. 

It’s fair to say he knows every corner of the neighborhood like the back of his hand—from the dark alley where bullies beat up their classmates to the small stall of lemonade of a middle school girl who waves at him every morning. He never reciprocates though; it doesn’t feel right. The amount of apathy in his heart isn’t enough for him to act normally when taking lives is what he does for a living.  

For two, he used to have a part-time job at that particular high school for an old request. Due to his conscience, he did go out of his way to take the kill outside of the school—causing a catastrophe in such an environment makes him uncomfortable.

Just then, he stops. His brow raises. Isn’t that…

The black cat slinks through the crowd of nosy students in the direction of where he too is heading. It raises its nose and gives the air a rough sniff, making a face as though the general stagnant with exhaust fumes stench of the city disgusts the entirety of its existence. 

Watching it take a slight dip to avoid being hit with someone’s bag, Minho holds back every urge to come running at the creature and wrap his arms around its small figure. He wonders how long it’d take for the cat to reach its final destination because it’s definitely taking some sweet ass time to stride through the front of the main gate like a supermodel. Meanwhile, he’s stressed to the core as if the harmless high school filled with teenagers is nothing less than a battlefield. 

Is it testing him?

Something is oddly unsettling about an animal staring straight into his eyes. Paranoia fuels the forgotten irritation inside his chest, sets out to make him actually think those golden eyes are memorizing every inch of his feature. Then, they soften with what seems to be exhaustion, its tiny head turning and its tiny feet take it skipping gently away from the scene. 

Minho finally acknowledges the knot inside his stomach and the breath he’s been holding. With a harsh gulp, he no longer takes notice of the fact if his cap is hung low enough or if he’s walking too quickly. For the first time in long, a rush of adrenaline hits him hard enough to make him speed walk through the herd of chatty teenagers. 

Questions naturally pop up as his shoes kiss the ground, his shadow sprinting into a dark, though familiar alleyway. Was he hallucinating? But he’s been getting enough sleep and eating well. What makes him so certain that it was the same cat? Instincts or some sixth sense bullshit perhaps. If it was the cat that’s assigned to be killed off in a week, what’s so dangerous about it? And how long has he been running for? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? And to where? 

“You.”

Half-way through trying to keep his thoughts off of his face, Minho stops himself when a rather feminine voice echoes through the narrow space. Unsure of whether the voice was reaching out to him, his legs stop moving while his eyes are peering through the dark. Much to his heart’s dismay, shivers run up his spine when something comes in contact with the warm flesh of his neck. 

“What’s your name?” 

Slowly, with his hands on the back of his head, he turns on his heels. “Excuse you?”

You retract your gun-shaped fingers into the pocket of your jacket, phlegmatic eyes gazing at him through the thickness of the night. “I want to know your name,” you try to make your point clear, utterly unfazed. 

Minho stares you down for a good five seconds. Neatly dressed in the school uniform, an oversized jacket thrown over your body but no backpacks. There’s a name tag being embroidered onto the fabric in red “Shin Yuna - 1A”. Whoever you are, he’s certain that isn’t your name. That name doesn’t even suit you. That isn’t your uniform. 

“What’s the point?” he questions, hands dropped to the sides in slight relief. 

You tilt your head, expression neutral. “I have a habit of collecting names of people who tried or are trying to kill me. It’s quite relaxing to write it down on a list actually. You know, easier to keep track.”

He’s trying hard to not let any impulsive urges overthrow the rational side of his brain. Everything suddenly twitches in slow motion. His silence seems to bore you. Your eyes are more dead than angry, more done than irritated. Like you’ve been through this shit one too many times already to care. 

“At least say why you’re sent to kill me.”

That, Minho can answer within a blink of an eye. “They sent me because I don’t exist.”

Your gaze glistens with a glaze of boredom. “Everyone said so.”

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock. Where’s your house, kid? I’ll walk you back. It’d be a pain in the ass if your parents found out how you’re wandering alone after school,” he brushes it off like you’re a slight nuisance (which you are). His heartbeat spikes up once at the mention of family, one that you’ve acknowledged with ease. 

Your arms are folded over your chest now, to cover up the sudden stab of sympathy inside your chest. “There’s no need. I don’t have a place to go back to nor do I have parents who will nag me for staying out late.” 

His mind automatically blackouts along with his senses, blurred with such peculiar feelings swirling at the pit of his stomach. You make it sound like it’s not that big of a deal like you’ve utterly been numb for so long. It’s tragic but understandable. This isn’t the first time he has witnessed a story like yours—your parents, dead or alive, he does not know; by the sound of it, you’re an orphan. Another unfortunate being to graze this planet like himself. This means you can’t afford school, so that uniform really doesn’t belong to you. 

“You still haven’t told me your name.”

“It’s Lee Know. Call me Lee Know.”

“Don’t bother trying, Lee Know. No one has ever made it. They never did.” 

You didn’t mean to expose anything about your life to a total stranger, or specifically an assassin. However, nothing matters when you most likely won’t meet him again nor will he succeed in taking your life. Even the fact that he chose not to give you his real name amplifies how much shit he does not give about you. You don’t expect anything more honestly. 

“Alright, we’re done here,” you feign enthusiasm before clasping your hands together. “Go home. The sun is already going down.”

Strangely enough, Minho can only watch as your shadow shifts to the outline of a black cat before dipping into the depths of the starless night. 

three.

To Minho it’s always just another day in the office. Except his office is a windy rooftop overlooking the mark’s exact location. His tools—rather than a computer—is a state-of-the-art rifle with a telescopic lens. A silencer isn’t very important since traffic and people are more than enough to drown out any suspicious noises. Most will mistake it for a back-firing van. He takes aim with no more qualms than one would gossip about a colleague, then pulls the trigger while thinking about what to order other than Chinese for lunch. When the work is done, he carefully packs everything up into an inconspicuous rucksack. And leaves the scene, like a phantom. 

It’s always been the same boring, bloodied cycle. 

Yet something’s changed since Minho met you. 

He used to maintain a cool detachment to his targets. His conscience prefers not to think of them; whenever he does, it’s as if they’re already dead, mobile meat bags waiting to be laid on a cutting board. He doesn’t like to think merrily of his job, he doesn’t see it as helping them meet their destiny. None of that bullshit. To put it more nonchalantly, everyone will die one day. Minho considers it as a good way to go. Oblivious and in pain for one moment before completely gone the next. 

Simple. Convenient. Much less agonizing than this brutal world. 

Although that doesn’t mean he isn’t traumatized by the amount of blood that has stained his hands. On good days, he might get three to four hours of sleep. Bad days, few minutes to none at all. Terrifying nightmares gnaws at his soul every night, the ugly scar like a reminder of every single one of his sins. He can’t force himself to lose his sanity like any fools out there going down the same path. 

“Shit…” Minho mutters, running a rough hand through his hair. He didn’t sleep well last night—like every other night; hence the bad temper and bitter taste at the back of his throat. 

After a deep breath, he stares at his Hecate II with mischievous eyes—those of a hunter framed in the expressionless face of an executioner. His blunt hands are steady as they lift the shiny weapon over the concrete of a rooftop, drawing out a dry shot in his mind. 

Through his scope, he watches as you’re crossing the road in your human form before stopping abruptly in front of a random tree. You then proceed to squint your eyes and look up in the opposite direction. Minho unknowingly holds his breath, waits for you to release your iron gaze, and move on with your life. But his expectations don’t prevail. 

“What the fuck?” 

Without much patience, he curses before shifting his scope to the same direction only to find another shadow creeping around on the balcony of a nearby building. No time to think of a rational solution—killing them is an ideal one—Minho feels his palms growing sweaty when a small, peculiar object comes flying toward his way. His head quickly moves away before the bullet pierces through his scope, shattering the glass completely. 

“Son of a bitch,” he lets out a shaky breath. Crimson starts to drip down on the side of his cheekbone, but he can care less. 

Because that’s the least of his problem right now. 

Another subtle ‘bang’ can be heard in the distance, like a broken record scratching against his eardrums. Kid…! Minho’s heart collapses in realization. 

four. 

It’s not hard for Minho to do research on quite an amount of vital information about you. When he saw your body dropped to the ground lifelessly and an ambulance immediately drove by to pick up your body, he knew things weren’t going to end just like that. 

“Don’t bother trying, Lee Know. No one has ever made it. They never did.”

He isn’t a believer, has never been one. Yet when he managed to take out your kidnappers in that ambulance, your weak breaths startled his heart and shook his mind into awareness of how serious the situation is. After that, he tracked down the hitman who delivered the hard blow, put a bullet through his brain, and found an USB full of detailed information about your existence. Which just makes things a whole lot more complicated to understand. 

Apparently, you’ve been ‘killed’ one too many times before—there are photographs of your supposedly dead body in a bag, thrown into the deep, dark woods, other times into a nameless river. The thing about you is that you were once an experimental subject to your own biological parents who are sickeningly vile scientists. At the age of nine, you fell down the stairs and had a big gash on your head. They never knew because your wounds were quick to heal themselves. However, your whole life was flipped upside down when they saw you shapeshifting into a black cat while running around at the playground. 

From then, your life became a living hell behind cold metal bars with needles stuck in your arms and strange pills being forced down your throat almost every day. Their sudden change only nourished resentment through time until you managed to cut down the laboratory’s power supply and fled from your own home. 

You have no one to lean on. No place to go back to. No nothing. And you’re just a teenager. 

Minho feels awful. 

Usually, he isn’t the type to be empathetic nor does he have the energy to. It’s very out of character for him to let his emotions linger on a homeless kid with some supernatural abilities that will make his life that much more dangerous. Because to him, more often than not, people tend to give their condolences only to forget after brief moments of grieving. At the end of the day, it isn’t their own problem, it isn’t their own life. But now when it comes to you, Minho feels a strong sense of responsibility that if you end up dying, it’s on him. 

It’s stupidly conflicted, it really is. His job—blowing people’s brains out—is the sole reason why he makes a six-digit amount of money for every job. Therefore, he isn’t sure what picking a random kid up from a fake ambulance and bringing her back to his shabby apartment is going to do him any good. 

“Ah, you’re awake.” 

You hate the fact that you can recognize that voice. 

Just then, you wake as if it’s an emergency, as if sleeping has become a dangerous task. Your heart is pounding loudly inside your ears, the sound echoing listlessly to the pit of your rib cage. It’s always like this. It takes you some time to calm your nerves before gathering what exactly happened the moment you blacked out. 

Right, you think to yourself, groaning slightly while pushing yourself up. You were shot right in the chest, and your body was probably discarded somewhere. After that, you’d grab a hitchhiker so they’ll drive you back into town. Like always. The only difference, this time though, is Minho placing your limp body on his bed with a blanket to warm you up. 

His face appears within your eyesight when you’re done adjusting your vision to the bright room—you’re not used to this much light around. “You look calmer than I expected,” he mentions. 

Minho grabs your face and scans it over. “Let me see. Did your wounds close up properly?” 

The tender action, which has become weirdly natural to him although this is his first time, accidentally triggers something inside you. Your hand automatically slaps his away. It is an upfront refusal, but it doesn’t surprise him. He only offers you a comfortable moment of silence before placing a tray on the wooden nightstand. 

“Eat up. I’m not going to feed you,” he cocks his head toward the bowl of porridge with his arms crossed in front of his chest. 

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

You glare at him in suspicion. “Bringing me home. Giving me a bed to sleep on. And even food to eat. What are you trying to get at?”

“Nothing. I didn’t kill you only because you’re too young for my moral code,” he pretends to roll his eyes, voicing monotonously. 

A frown adorns your tired features. “So you’re going to kill me when I get older then?” 

“Probably,” Minho smirks faintly with a cock of his eyebrow. “That depends if you still remember my name, Y/N.” 

One thing after another, this assassin only continues to baffle you. He was just going to shoot you the other day and now he’s giving you food? Preposterous! To put it simply, you’re unprepared for such kind actions, such gentleness from someone who takes lives for a living. You’re unprepared for dealing with people in general because they detest anyone who’s different from them—your kind, the kind with supernatural abilities and all. Hence, you’re left unwilling to befriend anyone and would rather be alone for the rest of your life. 

Until such twisted moira pushes you to—what was his name again? Not his real name, the made-up one that he uses in the underworld. 

You speak up softly after feeling safe enough to let your guards down, “Lee Know, was it?” 

“It’s Lee Minho.” 

“Pardon?”

He only smiles, “My real name. It’s Lee Minho.”

five. 

“Y/N! A little help over here?”

“Coming.”

“Y/N, go check the fog machine!”

“Got you.”

“Y/N, can you put these boxes over there?”

“Alright.”

That’s all you’ve been doing for the entirety of your boring day. Getting yelled out at, having people ask for help nonstop, and responding with a two-word answer at max. You’re not complaining—they pay you well enough, the job is more on the down-low side because you’re nothing but a mere stage crew for an above-average theatre studio. So you simply hoist the three final plastic boxes into your arms with a jerk of your knees and place it where they asked you to. Thanks to your parents, their experiments along with skeptical-looking substances have efficiently enhanced your general strength and agility. 

Another crew member perks up when you plop the heavy stack of cardboard boxes down with a loud thud. “Oh, can you carry those lights to stage left too?”

“Sure.” You could have pretended to pick up one box at a time and to drag your feet across the stage with difficulties to avoid being used. But you’re too lazy to repeat the same cycle two more times, so you really don’t have any other choice here. 

Nevertheless, you suppose it’s not entirely bad to do all of this heavy handiwork. Because it keeps your mind off of unwanted things, such as Lee Minho for example. Lee Minho, the assassin, not the actor—you’d gladly fangirl over that certain celebrity rather than admit that you actually enjoy the hitman’s abrupt presence in your life. 

The fact that you know he will find you even if it means traveling to the ends of the Earth and back doesn’t help to ease your insomnia. So for the past few days, you’ve been working extra hours along with picking up a job at a florist in hopes of not bumping into him. Stupid. You know it is. But how can you deal with a self-esteem crisis because the idea of being a burden just irks you so much? 

It’s like you’re hopelessly proving that you don’t need anyone when you, in fact, want that kind of unconditional love that every other human yearns for. 

After helping your colleagues out with the lighting, you simply sit behind those thick curtains until the show is over. Then, you head out, find a place to sleep, and head to an old lady’s place to pick up new clothes to change into for the next day. Since she’s been treating you with nothing but kindness, you’ve tried to pass by and helped her out at her son’s antique store too. 

Your routine is supposed to go that way and stay that way. You won’t die because you don’t like overworking yourself. You’re doing just great. 

“Hey, Y/N! Your brother is here to pick you up!”

Throwing your crewmate a blunt wave, you find your way out of the school’s theatre through a back door without shifting the expression on your face. You don’t have any siblings. And your colleagues don’t know anything about your family background either. So it, unfortunately, boils your guesses down to one. 

Despite knowing who it is and why they show up, you open your mouth to speak, “How did you find me again?”

Minho shows up with a more casual version of his working attire—instead of the fully black, monochromatic outfit, he’s changing it up with a leather jacket, white t-shirt and jeans. He leans on his shiny motorcycle smugly like he knows something that you don’t, in which you very much dislike. 

“Young lady, I’ll have you know that being an assassin helps me appear at places to do things I’m not supposed to do,” he ignores the fact that your question was purely rhetorical and chimes. 

You attempt to throw him a glare which isn’t intimidating enough. “Call me ‘young lady’ one more time and I’ll put my foot where it’s not supposed to be.” Who are you kidding? He’s a hitman when you’re just a kid. Pigs would be flying by the time you managed to physically shoo him away. 

“Am I supposed to guess where that is?”

“Enough. Go to work. Get out of here. Leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry, are you encouraging me to kill people?” Minho gasps, acting shocked and appalled. Clearly, he’s not good at it despite sharing a name with a well-known actor. 

You can only retort harshly, “Don’t put words in my mouth, you ass.”

“Come on, kid. Let’s go get something to eat.”

“Why?”

His hand automatically reaches for your forearm. “Don’t people eat for pleasure? What’s wrong with you?”

Your heart leaps in, anger perhaps, pupils shaking when he closes in on you. Upon your reaction, Minho retracts his arm immediately. He should have thought better of it; you’re probably too traumatized to be dealing with him right now. 

At that, your eyes round at the remorse on his face and you could have glared him off right then and there. But somehow, your basic human manners overcome your usual snappy self, letting you think that maybe he means no harm. Maybe he’s checking up on you one last time before going on about his life. You shouldn’t be too riled up about it just because he tried to kill you once.

Minho catches the familiar anxious gaze and sighs, “Okay, we don’t have to get something to eat. I’ll give you a ride back. Do you have somewhere to stay the night?”

It’s rotten work, whatever he’s trying to do. So you shake the harmless tingle inside your chest away before pushing past him. “No,” you answer dryly and leave. 

six.

You go to work sick the day after because you couldn’t find a place to sleep in and had to make do with napping in front of a tattoo place. Yes, napping; because when you finally shifted into your cat form and allowed your eyes to rest, the sky started pouring waterfalls. The rain had soaked into your shiny black coat, making it frizzy and luring the sickness up your spine the moment you tried finding a different haven.

No one notices. No one.

Not even the mask, the extra layer of sweatshirt nor your hushed coughs every now and then. Despite downing the cold pills early in the morning, you’re only burning up harder by the second. Oh, you know! Maybe they just don’t care, that’s it. Because calling in off for work due to a minor cold isn’t a valid reason. However, you’re still shivering on the inside and burning on the outside. Enhanced genes or any of that bullshit isn’t enough to prevent you from getting sick like any other student. Perhaps something wasn’t complete, or they’d messed up somewhere. Perhaps that’s why they’re trying to get you back.

How foolish of you to think somewhere deep down, they still want you back. With a reason as blunt as you being their child. 

Drowning in deep thoughts, you almost crash into a pile of boxes filled with equipment when your foot gets tangled to a random cable. Your eyes automatically screw shut as you wait for the impact but it never comes. Only a gentle pair of hands on your shoulders did. From that point on, you can’t hear or see properly. You don’t even have enough stamina to register who’s holding onto you so reassuringly. Whatever is happening gets hazier by the tick of a clock. It’s either you’re hallucinating or Minho is giving you that mirthful scowl of his. 

Yep, you’re definitely hallucinating.

“Why didn’t you call in sick for work?”

“That’s a stupid fucking question.”

A frown adorns his perplexed features as his glassy eyes skim your face. He has a really pretty smile, he should smile more, you think. His hand latches onto your burning forehead, slides down on the side of your cheek with such grace as though he’s caressing you. A grumble leaves his lips at your dreadful state. This is why he should have never let you go in the first place. 

“Come on, kid. Let me help you,” Minho says before giving your arm a light tug.

You don’t like what you just heard. “I don’t need your help.”

“You can barely walk.”

“Who said so-” As if on cue, he lets go of your arm bluntly. Caught off guard, your legs go weak without any remaining strength. You stumble and would have most likely fallen on your face if it weren’t for his grip on your arm. A gasp comes out inaudible when he hoists you upright, not planning to let go any time soon.

Minho scratches the tip of his nose with his ring finger, sniffing lightly. It seems like he’s arguing with a younger version of himself. He now knows how it felt like for those caretakers back then. 

“You did,” he says with the same smirk when you woke up in his apartment for the first time.

seven.

That’s the only time you’ve ever allowed someone to help you with something. But Minho had to constantly check on you every two seconds, not wanting you to fall asleep on his bike while it’s speeding down the highway like a gust of wind. For a moment there, he really thought you would slip away into the night as he tried to find his keys because that’s just how you are. 

Minho is no doctor, but he doesn’t go to one for a cold or a really bad fever. He can manage, he tries to convince himself. 

After testing your temperature and giving you something new to change into, he slaps a cool gel patch onto your forehead before heading off to the kitchen to cook up something. You need to be full to be able to take your medicine anyway.

In the act of resting on his bed, you decide you can’t take staying in the same spot anymore so your body perks up in a sluggish manner. The aroma of home-cooked food wakes your senses almost immediately, causing you to look over at his busy figure by the marble counter. You think it’s endearing how he hasn’t bothered to change into something more comfortable. But he instead threw an apron over his working attire and dived right into the cooking process. 

You have always felt like you were missing out on something whenever you looked at Minho. Perhaps it was how his striking eyes stared at you, whether mischievous or else. Perhaps it was how his lips were turning down most of the time with less than affectionate words. 

Or it’s plainly how he has been trying to hide that he actually cares. 

“Hungry?” He tilts his head to the side playfully once his sixth sense starts kicking in. 

You can only nod. “Yeah.” 

It takes Minho a lot of convincing yet you won’t let him feed you. Like hell, you would. Therefore, with helpless eyes, he watches you from across the table. He doesn’t laugh or get annoyed when your shaky hand drops the spoon and splatters the soup all over the table. His hand simply reaches for a piece of paper towel to clean up the mess, tossing it into the trash bin later. The same cycle repeats in comforting silence until you finish the entire bowl. The soup definitely wasn’t five-star worthy. But it’s enough to warm you up inside and out. Of course, Minho chooses to let the dishwasher do the job—his hatred for doing dishes is always at its finest. 

Then, like the other night, he has already passed out on the table with a blanket draped over his body when you step out of the shower. Instead of plopping the weight of your exhaustion onto his bed this time, your legs stay frozen like cement on the floor while your eyes take in his reclined figure under the thin fabric. Minho is sleeping with his head buried in his arms, his glasses and messy files abandoned to the side. He’s definitely not a heavy sleeper because he doesn’t snore; only feather-like breaths can be heard through this endless beat of silence. The faintly blinking light from his laptop makes you feel exposed so you push yourself toward the balcony. 

A hiss comes out hushed and quiet when your feet come into contact with the cold tile floor, bringing you across the studio apartment with small tiptoes. You peer over your shoulder, gazing at the only available source of light. Unconsciously, you ball your fists. 

With a soft sigh, you slide open the glass door and step out to bathe yourself in the comfort of the moonlight. Despite the chilling air of the night, something warm fills up your lungs like an overflowed cup of wine. It suffocates you a little until the knots in your muscles and mind loosen; a sense of relief washes over you—you haven’t felt that in years. 

Nothing makes sense. 

A hitman hired by your parents shouldn’t be putting a roof over your head, tucking you into bed nor feeding you. Minho barely knows you; and your knowledge about him as a genuine person isn’t enough to convince you that this is reality. Because after years of wandering the streets, being tossed around like trash with plenty of a series of unfortunate events, you’ve made it a habit to sink into yourself. 

So the longer you stay here, the more you’ll get attached to him. And the more you get attached, the more he takes away your default instincts to turn your back on everything.

Guilt wells up inside your chest as though it’s an old habit, a setting by default. If you ever try to go over the moderate line, you will break. 

Holding back a croaked sob, you know that once you let it go, tears will only start flooding. With a push of your muscles, you effortlessly hoist yourself up the metal railings in one go. The wind combs through your hair like an empathetic hand but you ignore it, Minho’s sweater closing in on your skin. 

You should leave, you try to urge yourself. You should jump off and dive into the depths of the night, let the allure cradle you in its emotionless arms. 

Because after all, despite all those eyes on you out there, you’re ultimately alone within. 

A foot dips out into thin air once the slump in your shoulders goes weightless. Immediately after, an incredible force pulls you by the ankle, and to the ground with a loud thud. Minho falls onto his back harshly, groaning slightly with you on top of him.

He knew what you were trying to do, he saw it the other night with his own eyes. Even under the knowledge of your capabilities, Minho still feels a rush of panic rising inside his chest. It’s only until his arms fully have a hold of you does his racing heartbeats slow down. Supernatural abilities or none, you’re still sick. And he’d be losing his mind if he woke up to an empty bed tomorrow morning. 

“Don’t ever do that again,” he speaks with trembling vocal cords, in a tone you’ve never heard before. Strict but mellow. As though there’s a race inside his mind but he’s desperately trying to keep his cool. It’s fear. The moment he’s introduced to the idea of losing you—it’s genuine fear. 

“Minho, I can’t die. Didn’t I tell you—“

His grip squeezes you in a breath tighter, cutting you off completely. “The fuck were you thinking? You can’t just jump off the balcony like that!”

“I already told you. I can’t die. Minho, I’ve done that plenty of times before,” you furrow your brows in a troubled manner, unsure of how to react. 

Minho widens his eyes at you in sheer disbelief. Shock riddles his senses and gets the best of him. So now he’s fussing with his hands, incoherent profanity leaving his lips non-stop within the next thirty seconds or so. He’s usually very calm, collected, calculating, and cold. This is very unlike him. It makes you wonder why he’s acting this way. He knows that you can’t die from jumping off a building. So what’s there to worry about? 

“You’re such an idiot! Try doing that again and I’ll kill you with my own-“

You truly don’t know how important you are to him. Frankly, he hasn’t even realized that yet. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, pulling him closer. Since you’re bad at resolving any kind of conflict, you opt for the most rational solution—going with his flow until he’s calmed down. “I won’t do that again, promise.” 

His lips fall agape at your words. He wasn’t expecting that. And even when you see how he’s reacting to your sudden change, you decide it’s no time to back down. This might be the only time you could show him that you’re at least grateful for everything he’s done. 

He’s quieted down now. And when he manages to speak again without tripping over his own words, his voice comes out as a whisper. “Hey kid,” he looks down at you, wanting to stroke your hair but drops his hand in sheer defeat. “You didn’t answer my question earlier. Why didn’t you call in sick for work?”

“Who would do my job when I’m gone? Isn’t that irresponsible?” You exhale deeply before fluttering your eyes close, finding odd peace within the rhythm of his heart. 

Minho says pointedly, “Well, you could have asked someone to help you with it.”

“No one would help me.”

“How’d you know? Have you tried asking them before?” 

Your eyes shoot open and flicker around your surroundings, you’re at a loss for words for a split second there. Heat rushes to the apples of your cheeks in shame, your head hung terribly low. “I’m not used to asking for help. I’d hate to be a burden,” you confess. 

Innocence glimmers in your eyes when you look up at him, waterlines threatening to break any second now. Your lashes are slightly damped and how lost you’re looking right now can physically draw crimson on his heart. At the end of the day, you’re just a kid. You had to grow up the hard way, with no one by your side telling you what’s right and what’s wrong, even simple things like how to react to non-verbal affection. 

Don’t let her go, Minho. Not now. Not ever.

“Then fix it now.”

“What?” You pause. 

“If you need help, ask for it. If things are hard, say it. I’ll be there to give you a hand.”

Tears well up in your eyes, croaked sobs shake your body, only prompting him to pull your closer. It’s warm. Damnit, why is it so warm? “I-I can’t sleep. Sing me something?”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

Minho just knows that he would bleed with you even when the rain pours and the sky falls one day.

[novoaa1writes]

“hey. wanna bang?”

pairing: mazikeen x f!reader

summary: you meet maze on a night out at lux. the two of you hit it off, and end up sleeping together. you leave the next morning thinking it’s a one-off, but maze seems to have other ideas...

rating: teen

word count: ~1,300

warnings: implied sexual content, implied sex, minor blood and injury (not to either of you), maze being prone to violence and always ready to stab a bitch

notes: none? i don’t think? i just haven’t seen that many maze x reader works so figured i’d contribute something. also available on ao3

— —

You remember meeting Mazikeen like it was yesterday. 

It was late—quarter after midnight, maybe, and you were drunk. Well, not drunk. More like buzzed. 

After all, why shouldn’t you be? Your finals were over, you already had more than enough in your savings for next month’s rent, and your friend Vanya had managed to get the two of you on the list for Lux, the most popular nightclub in the city. 

It was just for one night, of course, but it was still pretty freaking cool regardless—sleek leather upholstery, a bar taking up the entirety of one wall, a spotless grand piano on the ground floor. In short, Lux made your guys’ go-to nightclub look like a shitty dive bar in comparison. 

Vanya had just left to go home with some dapper twenty-something woman in a suit, leaving you alone at the bar amidst a gaggle of exceedingly well-dressed people knocking back your third $20 shot of the night. 

With that, you were about ready to call it quits and send for an Uber to take you back home… except, it seemed, the night had other plans for you. 

Or, perhaps you should say Maze had other plans for you. 

She sidled up next to you at the bar, shoving over a lip-locked couple to make room for herself. If she felt the man turn to glower at her or the woman scoff and roll her eyes at her rudeness, she didn’t let on. 

“Hey,” she said, not even bothering to hide the way she was eyeing you up and down like a predator would its prey. “Wanna bang?” 

And… well. Turns out, you very much did want to “bang.”

You awoke buried in a mess of sheets atop a very nice bed in a loft that probably cost at least twice your yearly tuition, a fully-naked Mazikeen staring down at you with a quizzical expression.

You startled fully awake with a jolt, but managed to recover and flash her a shaky smile in the interest of keeping things casual, or... something. 

“Hi,” you said.

“Hello,” she said. She was still staring, completely unapologetic. 

It was strange—like all her boldness and audacity from the night before had suddenly vanished, replaced by… well, by what, you weren’t quite sure.  

“How long have you been awake?” you asked. 

She tilted her head slightly to the side, though her eyes didn’t leave you. “Hours.” She tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, tracked the movements of her fingers brushing your skin with rapt attention. “You look.... not unpleasant when you sleep,” she said finally, then winced as she retracted her hand as though it physically pained her to do so. “For a human.”

You blinked, taken aback. The hell did that mean? “... Thanks?”

Her lips twitched. “You’re welcome.”

You giggled. “You’re weird.” Caution bled into her gaze, and you rushed to reassure her. “No, not bad weird… it’s good. I like it.”

She nodded, though she still looked wary. “Do you have anywhere to be today?”

You yawned, turning your head over to glance at the clock on the nightstand and—

Oh, shit. It was 10:42. 

“Fuck!” you shrieked, bolting upright in bed and throwing off the covers. “I’m late!”

“Late for what?” Maze asked. She watched with a vaguely disgruntled expression as you stumbled to your feet, far too frazzled to be abashed about your state of undress, eyes darting wildly around the room in search of your clothes.

“Work!”

And that… that was the first time it happened. Not that you’d expected (in any sense of the word) that this… thing you had was going to continue.

You weren’t exactly the girl who did one-night stands on a weekly basis or anything, but you’d had your fair share. You knew what to expect. Cocktails at the club, drunken sex, quick exit the morning after. Maybe one (or both) of you would stress meaningless pleasantries enough to exchange numbers or say “We should do this again sometime” or maybe even stay for breakfast (rarely), but that’s all they would amount to—meaningless pleasantries. 

You’d go to work (or class) the next day, head to the club on the weekend to drink and flirt with some random stranger (a different one this time), and that would be that. 

It didn’t matter that the sex was even more fantastic than it ever had been (which it was), or the way your heart skipped a beat when Maze’s fingertips brushed along your jaw (which it had). You knew better than to get hung up over a drunken one-night stand—especially one that started out with “Hey, wanna bang?”

 So, imagine your surprise when Maze strode into the 66th Ave Lounge where you worked as a bartender and made a beeline straight for you, gaze narrowed and lips flattened out into a thin line. She almost looked… angry—though, you were beginning to understand that ‘angry’ was pretty much Maze’s natural state of being.

It also seemed like the world had it out for you that day, because right then, some hammered middle-aged jackass from the other end of the bar decided to speak up, making some gross (and blatantly derogatory) comment about your tits. 

The effect was immediate: Anger flared like a lit match in Maze’s eyes, and she swiftly changed directions, stomping over to the sleazy man in question with narrowed eyes and murderous intent rolling off of her in waves. 

Needless to say, he got his hand skewered to the bar by one of the numerous curved blades on Maze’s person and a swift knee to the crotch for his troubles. 

He was screaming bloody murder in a matter of seconds, Maze had procured twin knives seemingly out of nowhere as she bore down, and you didn’t doubt that she’d have finished the job had you not chosen that exact moment to intervene. 

“Maze, stop !” you ordered—or, at least, tried to. Your voice trembled horribly, and it was at least an octave higher than usual. 

Immediately, she froze. 

You fought the sudden urge to shrivel on the spot as she turned her hard gaze upon you, brows raised in something like a challenge. 

“Maze, it’s fine,” you told her—pleaded, really. The man whimpered, slumped over the bar, drool and tears wetting the lacquered wood. “He’s drunk. He didn’t mean it.”

“Oh, I think he did.”

“Maze…” You sighed, silently begging her with your eyes. “Please. Even if he did, you’ve punished him enough, don’t you think?”

Maze’s expression softened incrementally, and she heaved a sigh. “Fine.” 

She snatched the ringed handle of her blade, yanked it loose from the bar (and the man’s hand) with little effort. The man screamed and sobbed, collapsing down onto the floor the moment he was freed. You fought the urge to grimace at the smear of blood he left on the bar. 

“But only because it’s you asking,” she clarified, then turned to loom over the writhing man, pointing down at him menacingly with her bloodied knife. “You say anything about my girl again—hell, you even look at her the wrong way… I’ll find you. And next time, she won’t be there to save your sorry ass. Got it?”

“G-Got it,” the man sobbed, his words choked with tears. 

“Good.” With that, Maze’s expression cleared as she turned to give you a calculating look over the bar. “When’s your shift over?”

You blinked, your brain struggling to comprehend what just happened. Primarily: ‘My girl’? “I-I get off at 11:00.”

“Good.” Maze’s full lips curved into a wolfish grin. “I’ll pick you up… and then we can get off.”

Then, she turned on her heel and strutted back out of the lounge without a backwards glance, leaving you confused, terrified, and… ridiculously turned-on in her wake. 

Holy shit. 

— —

end notes: idk i love maze being soft / confused by human interaction and confounded by Feeling Things™ but also being endlessly stabby because she’s maze and stabbing people is part of her charm

[xenteaart]

You’re a Cat, Hargreeves

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Request 1: Hello, so Five has been through a LOT in just two weeks, so can I request something where the reader and him have a bit of intimacy but are not together yet. Then something happens that is just the last drop to him and he shows up to the reader with red and glossy eyes and collapses in her arms? She just holds him (because boy, he needs it) and after a while he manages to talk about things letting his feelings for her slip in the process. Then she can just calm him down and make him feel loved.

Request 2: Could I request a fanfic where Five has a terrible day at the Commission or in the Apocalypse and at bedtime the Reader comforts him, and he suddenly becomes the little spoon for the first time? Idk I think it would be cute to see him shy and secretly liking

!!! Note: Since these two requests have a common theme of Five being stressed as fuck and having a breakdown I’ve decided to combine them. Personally I imagine this scenario in my Commission AU, HOWEVER, I intentionally didn’t make it very specific in terms of the circumstances so you can headcanon whatever u like <3 also sorry its not the exact scenario from your requests but i hope you don’t mind me taking some creative liberty.

also both Five and Reader are in their 20s here coz otherwise i’m very uncomfortable

massive thanks to @wonders-of-the-multiverse​ for helping me out with wording the physicality of certain things <33333

GIF: @maxiemayfield​

You’ve seen Five in many different states.

You’ve seen him anxious and spiraling, you’ve seen him furious and borderline insane; depressed and distant, lost and confused. At this point, you genuinely thought you’d seen it all but, apparently, you were wrong.

“I am just so tired.” Five whispered almost inaudibly with a sigh so desperate that it made your stomach turn.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you asked, your voice small as you weren’t quite sure how to act yet.

He glanced at you, and you couldn’t help but notice his eyes glistening with salty wetness that was about to spill out and smear his frustration all over his cheeks.

You always loved Five’s eyes - his huge, almost puppy dog eyes that made you absolutely lose yourself in their depth. Whenever you looked into them, you saw wisdom, maturity, exhaustion and patience, dedication and passion, all at the same time. There was a whole other universe behind his blue orbs, and you admired it endlessly. Looking into his eyes right now, however, was nowhere near as exciting and pleasant. Instead, it felt like some strange and violent ache was gripping you at the very heart and squeezing it without mercy, and you winced at the sensation as worry and concern were uncontrollably blossoming inside your ribcage.

Five didn’t grant you with an answer, too busy trying to hold back his tears and clenching his teeth proudly as if there was any point at all.

You got up on your feet and approached Five slowly, careful not to freak him out as you were giving him the time to get used to your presence in his personal space. Normally, he wouldn’t mind yet you couldn’t tell if the same rules applied to scenarios like the one taking place.

“I’m here, yeah? It’s okay, you’re okay,” you kept repeating like a mantra as you pulled Five into your embrace.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck and you instantly felt your skin getting damp. In just a few seconds Five’s entire body relaxed into yours and he wrapped his arms around you tightly, finally letting go and allowing himself to have a proper cry. He hadn’t had one in years, and, by all means, he was entitled to this breakdown.

Most of the time, Five was the one protecting you - looking out for you and leading the both of you out of dangerous and potentially lethal situations. Not that it was a completely one-sided dynamic but it was true that you tended to rely on him quite a lot in times of crisis. Five was good in crisis, exceptional actually. He made decisions quickly and didn’t hesitate to do absolutely anything it took to achieve his goals, which, unfortunately, meant that he was often forced to make choices where humanity and ethics were no longer a top priority.

Despite all that, Five always seemed in control, and even when he wasn’t, you knew he’d get it back eventually. You had placed your trust in him at all times, and only now were you starting to realize that it must have felt like a huge weight of responsibility on his shoulders. Granted, he was objectively smarter and more capable due to his superpowers but he was still human.

Hearing Five’s hopeless and feverish sobbing was unnerving, and you could only imagine what was going on in his cluttered and clearly overloaded mind as he was bawling his eyes out with such raw and genuine fury. From the lack of a better idea you simply waited for Five to cry himself out, patiently holding him in your arms and whispering words of reassurance into the air, not so much out of hope he’d hear them and listen but more as a means of letting him feel you were still there.

“I’m so fucking tired,” Five finally uttered but his words rather quickly got drowned in his weeping. You still got the message, though.

“You deserve to rest, Five,” you replied, feeling your legs start to shake from the weight of Five’s entire body leaning on your form. As much as you wanted to stay like this for as long as he needed, you couldn’t exactly go against your evident physical disadvantage. Five was a heavy gentleman, after all.

“Hey, let’s move to the bed, yeah?” it was more of a statement than a question, so you stepped towards the bed suggestively, expecting him to follow you. To your relief, he didn’t resist and followed your lead right away, seemingly too exhausted to even think, let alone disobey.

Five’s body was limp from the absence of energy, all of which had presumably gone into crying, and he could barely manage to walk on his own, so you grabbed at his shoulders to steady him.

It felt like his physical self was now merely a vehicle with no pilot to steer it, and his mind was long lost someplace else.

As you sat Five down, you caressed his cheek with your thumb, wiping away the trails of his tears whilst also trying to gently break him out of the prison of his troubled and restless brain. To your disappointment, it failed to spark any sort of response.

Right in this moment, he looked almost defenseless. Sure, he wasn’t an incapable baby all of a sudden but he was relying on you, reversing your roles and putting all of his worries and pain on your shoulders, basically asking you to carry them for him because he simply couldn’t anymore.

“Fives. Fives? Look at me, please?” you called, trying to shift his attention to something on the outside because you knew it was the looking inside that pushed him to crumble.

“Focus on my voice, alright?” you tried to keep your tone as steady and stern as you possibly could because right now you were his only bridge back to reality.

You pressed your palms against Five’s shoulders and slowly climbed onto his lap, resting your weight atop of him completely and hoping the pressure of it would manage to snap him out of his almost delirious daze.

As your hand reached for Five’s, you placed it on your chest right where your heart was beating and said:

“Can you feel it? It means I’m alive, Fives. I’m a human and a consciousness just like you. And I'm never leaving your side, no matter the circumstances. You’re never going to be alone, I promise you.”

You took Five by his chin with your other hand and softly guided his gaze upwards to meet your own, noticing his red glossy eyes finally regaining some clarity. The very peak of Five’s episode had already passed, and, as he was coming down from it, he encircled your waist with his arm and let his head sink to your shoulder with his eyes closed shut.

Still sitting straddled across his lap, you brushed your fingers through his soft silky hair and began to massage his scalp in a calming manner, trying to release some of the tension and lull him further into peacefulness. As your fingers moved a little lower, you knew you’d hit the sweet spot because Five literally purred into your skin as soon as he felt your nails gently scratch at the nape of his neck.

“How many times did I say you’re a cat, Hargreeves,” you rolled your eyes at his reaction and couldn’t resist a wide smile as you buried your nose in his hair. Five hummed quietly, and it was the only response you were going to get from him, which, to be fair, was already a big improvement so you couldn't really complain.

“How about we get you into some comfier clothes, wash your face and then you can tell me all about what’s been on your mind, hm?” you proposed confidently, still holding Five close and practically enveloping him in your warmth.

Your every movement was saturated with such understanding and care that not for a split second did Five feel like his vulnerability was making him weak or unworthy. It was quite the opposite, and with each passing moment he was beginning to feel like you were only making him stronger.

He nodded at your suggestion approvingly but didn’t move an inch, and you took it as a hint that he needed a few more minutes of sitting in silence; the bridge of his nose pressed to your collarbone as he was still finding his way back into the present.

You didn’t mind at all.

[innocent-chris-evans-slut]

The Assistant - Part One

My Masterlist ✨

Series: Personal Assistant - Part One

Summary: Y/N is Ransom Dysdale’s assistant. She’s the closest person to him and spends everyday with him at his house. Usually she gets in at nine o’clock and makes sure everything is perfect. One day he doesn’t want to get up and Y/N goes in his room. She finds a surprise.

Type (in this part): smut, soft anger

Words count: 2,5k

Warning(s): male masturbation, fingering, denied orgasm

“Ransom…fuck” and then a long scream.

A fake scream lead only to faking an orgasm.

Ransom’s house was an open-space and, even though his bedroom’s door was closed, everyone in there could hear -and imagine- what was going on in that room.

Another normal morning in Hugh Ransom Drysdale’s mansion. You drove there from your little apartment in the city center at nine o’clock, once there, you opened the door with the key he gave you and waited for him, and his company, comfortably sat on the couch in the living room.

You openly laughed, careful enough not to let them hear you. When the door opened, you took the papers from the coffee table in front of you and handed then to the girl, without even looking at her.

“What’s this?”

You rolled your eyes, even though she couldn’t see you doing it, and stand up turning around the counter. Once in front of her you took a moment to look at her: blondish, blue eyes, perfect white-teeth smile and perfectly tall.

Yet she faked an orgasm.

“A non-disclosure contract”, you motioned her to sit down at the table and gave her a pen, then you pointed at her where she had to sign, “Thank you”.

“I’ll have bacon and scrambled eggs.”

You had to let a couple seconds pass before answering to her: “I’m not the maid”, then you had to recollect all your killing instincts and put on a fake smile, “Mr. Drysdale won’t be happy to find you here”.

“Why on Earth?” she rested her chin on her fist, “Tonight I rode his cock three time. I made he cum three times. I think I earned the right to have breakfast”.

Once again you had to breathe in and out, “Don’t do that”.

“What?”

“Don’t think you’re the best. ‘Cause you clearly aren’t”, every girl would have left, without even saying goodbye, yet she was there and she clearly didn’t want to leave. “Stay here if you want. Anyway, I’m not the maid, you gotta ask her for your breakfast”, you left the room and entered Ransom’s office. You sat down to your desk and switched on the computer, starting working.

Two hours later you still hadn’t seen Ransom, so you decided to head upstairs and check on your boss.

You hated him since the first moment; his being bossy and sloppy bothered you in every possible way. The way he treated his employees, as well as his family and his friends, and you, it was unbearable. Yet you needed that job, otherwise you didn’t know how to pay your studies. Every morning, in front of the mirror you repeated to yourself: another couple of months. By the end of April, you would have finished your studies at University and, after paying all the tuition fees, you would have been free from the Thrombeys, and Ransom Drysdale. You kept telling yourself that working for them was temporary and sooner or later -preferably soon- you would have dropped the job and not seen them for a long time -hopefully forever.

While making your way to Ransom’s bedroom, you kept texting to your best friend -the only one who knew where you were working- and she had been asking you to join her, and your other friends, to that night’s bonfire.

Y/N 11:26 – I’ll do my best. No promises.

You smiled at the possibility of hanging out with your friends after a long time; with that thought in your head you locked your phone and shoved it in the back pocket of your jeans once you had reached the door of Ransom’s bedroom. Your hand already felt the cold of the grip, when you heard a groan coming from inside.

Was there another woman with him?

You waited before announcing yourself, not understanding what was going on in-there. You knew you could just bend down and peek from the keyhole -being his bed clearly visible from the door.

And you did it.

Yet you weren’t ready for what expected you.

Ransom was laying on his bed -his back against the mattress- and he was naked. Completely naked. You let your eyes wander on his toned chest. As much as you could hate him, there was a little part of you that was inevitably attracted by Ransom Drysdale. Maybe it was his being always self-sure and self-centered that charmed you. As much as you kept saying he was an horrible human being, you just couldn’t ignore the fact that every time he lowered his voice, every time he looked at you, anger on his face, every single part of your body trembled, your heart increased its pace and your brain pulsated in your skull.

You couldn’t.

And it all became bigger when, that morning, you saw him holding his cock in one of his hands, and his phone in the other hand. His fingers were softly, yet firmly, wrapped up all over his long and thick member and they moved slowly, gradually increasing their speed, until his cum spurt out. It was everywhere; on his fingers, on his wrist, on his abdomen and a few drops fell on his toned legs too.

You were frozen in your place. You didn’t know what to do. Should you have entered the room and scold him? For what then? For sexually please himself in his own bedroom? In his house?

You shouldn’t have been there. You should have been in the office, replying to the working e-mails he got and the thousands of texts the many girls he had slept with were sending him -some of those were very inappropriate.

You felt hot and sweaty, your heart-pace had increased, and your hands were slightly shaking. Your legs were about to give up and you could have collapsed from one moment to another, yet you made it downstairs -after having taken off your heels. Once in the office you put them one again. For the rest of the day you tried not to think about what you had seen, but you failed miserably. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw him. Every time you breathe in and out, pretending it never happened. Indeed, it did, and you knew that image would persecute you forever.

“Where’s my sandwich?” Ransom shouted from the couch in the living room. The Patriots’ game was almost done, and he still hadn’t eaten. He snapped his fingers insistently and his personal chef entered the room with a dish and a beer in his hands.

“Here it is, Sir”, he placed the Monte Cristo sandwich on the coffee table in front of the huge plasma-screen TV and handed the beer to him.

Ransom didn’t bother to thank him as he made his way back into the kitchen. He neither took his eyes off of the screen. He was so focused on the game that he didn’t heard your footsteps coming closer.

After a whole day in the office, you finally managed to get all the work done and, pleased with yourself and the job you did, you approached Ransom in the living room. You glanced at the score on the bottom of the screen and saw that the Patriots were losing the game. It certainly had an implication on your boss’s mood, yet you hoped he wasn’t on a bad mood.

“Where are you going?”

You were so deep in your thoughts that you didn’t realized the second quarter had ended and Ransom’s attention was now all on you. You didn’t know when he got up and approached you; he was now a few inches from you -closer than usual.

“Ehm…I wanted to ask if I can go home before, today. I’ll hang out wi-“

“I don’t care what you do”, he said taking one last drink from his beer, “The work is done?” he watched you as you silently nodded in his direction and he caught you lowering your eyes, as if you didn’t want to meet his gaze, “Then, you can go”.

You mumbled a “thank you” very quickly and tied your fingers over the shoulder strap of your white leather bag. You hurried your way to the front door and, as you put your hand on its grip, you heard Ransom’s voice again.

“You liked it?”

You looked around you, confused by his words and asked: “What?”

The smirk you hated showed up on his face and he folded his arms over his chest, coming closer to you, “I asked if you liked what you saw before”.

“And my question is: what have I seen?” you tried to avoid his gaze, yet it was impossible. Ransom cupped your chin and forced your eyes into his. Your mouth dried out seeing his blue eyes becoming darker as they laid on your body. His hand reached your hips and laid there longer than you’d expected.

“Come with me”, he suddenly took a step back and motioned you to follow him upstairs. Then, you realized what was he talking about.

Did he see you that morning? You had been careful enough not to let him see you. Again, you didn’t understand why he wanted you upstairs.

“I-I should go-“

“Last time I checked you get off at nine”, he paused and gave a quick glance at the clock on the wall. Then he put his eyes on you again, “And it is a quarter to nine now”.

You knew he wouldn’t let you go before thirty minutes; so, you placed your bag and took off your coat, before following with him.

Your loud snort made Ransom turn his head towards you and send you one if his angry looks. You apologized and kept yourself a few inches behind from him. You eventually stopped when he stopped, in front of the door of his room, -avoiding banging onto his built body.

He turned to you again and you swallowed hard at the glimmer in his eyes. The situation, the silence and the glance Ransom’s was throwing at you were stressing you out.

“Get in”, he gestured you to enter the room.

You didn’t know if you should it or not? What he even wanted from you?

“I really shouldn’t be her-“ you tried to say, but Ransoms, being a complete dick, pushed you inside and tells you to lay down on his bed, “Hugh, I’m not your personal whore”.

“Can you shut up and do as I say?” he saw you close your mouth and slowly walk up to the bed; you took off your shoes and climbed on, resting your head on the pillows.

As you moved, you smelt his strong scent -a mix of whiskey and musk. You breathed in as much as you can, it swarmed you nose and your head, too.

“Y/N, are you still with me?” As he heard you groaning on his bed, he half-closed the door, “Look at me. What do you see?”

You turned your head towards him and answered: “You?” It came out as a question, though you weren’t asking. You were stating the obvious: you could clearly see him, even if the door was almost closed. You could see his hateful smirk on his pink lips, his eyes fixed on you and his arms crossed over his chest. He was oddly silent, as if he was waiting for you to tell smoothing else.

The you realized.

You could see him.

Perfectly.

“Oh”, you sat up and kept your eyes on him, as he kicked the door open and he was now walking to you.

“Yes, oh”, he stayed there, at the edge of the bed, looking at you -motionless in front of him, “I didn’t know you were a voyeur?”

“What- I’m not a voyeur!” you tried to slip away, but you couldn’t.

Ransom was shamelessly staring at you, wanting to make you uncomfortable with his smirk -which had never left his face since he had brought you in his room- and his inquiring eyes, his hands at his hips and his gold family ring around his little finger.

“Indeed”, Ransom came closer to you, his knee sinking into the soft mattress, “You were so watching me. Your eyes were glued at me. At my cock. You liked it. You liked watching me jerking off”, he touched slightly your cheek as you tried not to let him understand how you were feeling. His touch was so gentle and soft against your skin and his hot breath crushed against your neck, “I gues- no, I know you were hot. You could have gone away, but you didn’t want to. I know what your thought are. I know your pussy was soaked”, without you realizing it, his index and middle finger had undone the buttons of your jeans, unzipped the zip and they were making their way to your panties.

“Wha-“ a moan escaped your lips as his hand cupped your clothed sex. You couldn’t talk anymore; the only thing you could do was moaning as he skillfully touched you through your panties.

“You’re already so wet”, Ransom whispered really close to your ear. He slipped two fingers under the thin piece of cloth and didn’t stop there, “Do you come to work wearing lace?” he let go of the elastic band of your underwear and it hit your skin, “How many times do you dream of riding me? Riding my cock?” Ransom started leaving a trail of wet kisses at the base of your neck, slowly going up, “Did you like what you’d seen?”

You weren’t able to answer his question, guilty the pleasure he was giving to you. His fingers were caressing your folds -more than wet at that point- and his main purposed seemed to be making you admit you’d liked it.

He quickly moved all his weight to his knees and grabbed you by your throat; he chocked you pleasantly, “I want an answer, baby girl”, and he pushed two fingers into your pussy.

Feeling his long and thick fingers inside you, you couldn’t help but shut your eyes and let your mouth fall open. You felt them against your walls, moving around and finding your g-spot -then, you wide-opened your eyes and let out one long moan, “Y-yes”.

“’Yes’ who?”

“Yes, d-daddy.”

Hearing you calling him in that way did nothing by made his cock twitching in his pants, “Good girl”, he didn’t stop. His fingers still in the most intimate parts of your body, now his thumb was rubbing your clit.

You felt the knot in your stomach grow more and more as his fingers worked faster on you. In a matter of seconds, you were about to explode, you would have reached your climax and you would have come all over his fingers. As you were about to cum, Ransom pulled out his fingers from your jeans and sat down at the edge of the bed. He twisted his hand, the two fingers, which had been inside you, were wet. Your juices drizzling from them.

You froze in your place when he brought them to his mouth and licked them -cleaning them up. “It’s nine o’clock. You should go.”

Tag List -open-: 

@sinner-as-saint​

@andreasworlsboring101​

[thetrashthatsmilesback]

I’ve never actually talked about the Bakugou Mitsuki thing...

“So like, I’ve been following BNHA casually for years. I never really tend to mention anime even though its a special interest of mine and has been for years, so I didn’t talk about this at the height of the “is Mitsuki a bad parent” debate, but frankly I have opinions on this and they can be summed up with: people on both sides are all partially correct, so lets get into it. (under the cut)

The TL;DR:

Even if what Mitsuki does/how she acts cannot be classified as abuse, it is still toxic and would be harmful/traumatizing to have a child around

Mitsuki does clearly love Katsuki from what we can see in her words, but that doesn’t excuse and toxic/abusive behaviors displayed

Katsuki’s behavior aligns perfectly with exact outcomes that clinical findings have found are common in those who were raised with corporal punishment

Even if corporal punishment does not meet the qualifications for abuse, it is directly linked to aggression, mood disorders, and personality disorders

Mitsuki’s treatment instilled Katsuki’s ideas of societal placements

Mitsuki’s yelling at her husband and use of violence (hitting, yelling, breaking tables) is clearly an attitude that Katsuki picked up and would be harmful/traumatizing for a child even if it isn’t deemed abusive

I’m going to start this off by just saying that A) saying the series already has an abusive parent in Endeavor is one of the weakest excuses I’ve ever seen for why Mitsuki can’t be interpreted as abusive/toxic and I will not be comparing them and B) the way the Todoroki family was handled also wasn’t great, so that’s not even a good argument (oops)

So the debate started primarily because of her hitting him and victim blaming, but the victim blaming could be a translation issue so I will not be addressing that. Frankly, while there is evidence that corporeal punishment should not be used on children as it can lead to problems later in life, I don’t believe it is enough to constitute abuse. This is where the people who see her as not abusive are correct - its not a good form of punishment, but it isn’t necessarily abuse. Where I actually believe an opinion can be formed is in chapter 207 where we’re shown his actual family dynamics.

I’m going to preface this by saying that just because something is a joke doesn’t mean that it can’t provide actual insight into a situation. The three strips were meant to double as both jokes, and a glimpse at what Katsuki’s home life is actually like. And, in my opinion, its at the very least toxic if not fully abusive.

Mitsuki screaming at her husband is a toxic way to communicate. I get that yelling is the “Bakugou Thing” and its supposed to be funny, but it does set a precedent for exactly how the household operates. Masaru is bullied into submission by his wife (as we see in the third strip with “so you just weren’t able to reject her/you weren’t able to say no” based on the translation), and his wife and son both go at each other aggressively. I actually wanted to bring attention to the “Big Mother Crush” in “Argument.” Katsuki is blowing up the walls, and Mitsuki is breaking the coffee table. Now, Katsuki is a violent 16 year old with a dangerous quirk, so obviously someone needs to make sure he doesn’t harm himself or others, but that isn’t what Mitsuki is doing. She isn’t making any moves to deescalate the situation, and Masaru is hiding behind the couch, so he too is clearly making no effort to attempt to deescalate or calm down his child or wife.

The fact that Mitsuki has a name for the move where she breaks a solid wood coffee table leads me to believe that this is a common occurrence, or at least one that has happened at least one time prior. This puts Katsuki saying “I was raised with violence” and “knowing his place” into a different light as he didn’t always have the level of power he now does. If Mitsuki’s anger problems always led to such violence, then yeah, a small kid could be frightened by this. Maybe its not abusive since she didn’t throw him into the table, but it can certainly be traumatizing to a child.

And that brings me to the next point. Bakugou has a level of distrust in people that is not normal for his age. I don’t just mean at UA, I specifically mean the infamous bridge/log scene. A normal four/five year old would not assume that Help = Being Looked Down Upon. That isn’t a reaction that a healthy child would have.

So, back to the “is she abusive?” point. In my opinion, it doesn’t really matter what the answer to that question is, because no matter what she does to Katsuki himself, it is still an extremely toxic environment to be in. Speaking from experience, even if physically nothing is happening, living in a space with someone who could explode into anger at any second is terrifying, especially if you’re a little kid. I don’t doubt she loves Katsuki. I don’t doubt that she cares deeply for him, and that she did have a hard time with him because yeah, he’s a difficult kid with a quirk that could cause severe damage. However, I also understand that things don’t exist in a vacuum.

The Bakugou family dynamic is obvious: Mitsuki is at the top, then Katsuki, then Masaru (though it could be Masaru then Katsuki. I don’t think I’ve seen enough to note the order for sure). Then, in the Licensing Classes Bakugou mentions that there must be a hierarchy and they have to use violence to change the pecking order, and suddenly his treatment of Izuku makes more sense. He saw Izuku as below him in hierarchy, having been raised in a house where the parents were not equals, and tried to reinforce it how his mother reinforces his father’s place. (This does NOT excuse his actions. Bakugou is my favorite character after Shinso, but I will never excuse his bullying of Izuku. I just like to try and find explanations for things).

Then we see his mother dealing with her stress over his kidnapping by hitting him, her anger as his outbursts by breaking a table, and her frustration at her husband’s mumbling by screaming at him: these are all reactions Katsuki also displays in response to frustration, stress, and anger. It puts the line “I was raised with violence” into perspective because, from what we’re shown, he was taught that all emotions can be solved by reinforcing the hierarchy or by being so loud/violent that it gets pushed away. Emotions other than rage don’t fix anything in his eyes because that’s how his household works.

Encouraging beating children because it’s “How He Was Raised”: this is an interesting point that I actually think about a lot because its such a common thought process. Like “I was spanked as a kid and turned out fine!” You Want To Hit Children Jim. You Clearly Have Some Problems Stemming From It. Now, again, I am not saying that spankings are the same as abuse, because they’re not exactly the same, but they are harmful, and are often justified in ways similar to abuse tactics. “““Punishments”“““ like getting hit with a wooden spoon or spanked are incredibly common, but like, most of the time what is the actual lesson taught. Most people assume its “act that way again and you’ll be hurt,” but if the child doesn’t fully know why what they did is wrong, then it is pointless. Instead the example being set is “you made me angry, so I am going to hurt you in return,” and this aligns exactly with what we see in Katsuki. Ignoring all other moral implications to get back to my meta, we see, explicitly, that Katsuki’s solution to most perceived wrongings is to attack. Frankly, I see my younger self in this a lot.

When a kid is spanked, or hit with a spoon/belt, the reasoning is almost always “if you hadn’t done X I wouldn’t have hurt you,” many times not explaining why exactly X is wrong. This is the problem with corporal punishment. These articles can be read for more information on the exact problems with Corporal Punishment, but the long story short is that Katsuki’s actions align perfectly with someone who not only experienced it, but experienced it without any explanations behind the ““““punishments.”“““ (long story short: don’t fucking hit kids Jesus). X X X X X The most important quotes from them are:

“it can lead to bullying, drug violence, and other problem behaviors that rely on having power over someone else.”

“Ten of the associations were negative such as increased child aggression and antisocial behavior.”

“I was very surprised to find that corporal punishment affects the same brain areas that are affected by severe physical and sexual abuse... the magnitude was lower, but to see that spanking impacts a child’s brain development in the same way was a big surprise.”

“Children who were physically punished were more likely to endorse hitting as a means of resolving their conflicts with peers and siblings”

“Harsh physical punishment in the absence of child mistreatment is associated with mood disorders, anxiety disorders, substance abuse/dependence, and personality disorders in a general population sample.”

I actually want to draw attention to this particular quote --> they have the phrase “in the absence of child mistreatment” so as to clearly state that these are results of Corporal Punishment that were not classified as abuse cases.

I am going to at some people who might be able to spread this a bit and are blogs I look up to. If any of them want me to untag them I will right away!

@here-to-protect-my-son​ @fuckendeavorandmitsuki​ @evilkitten3​

[nebraska-is-a-myth]

oh dreammmm. Shut up Tommy.

Okay so I was watching Tommy's stream today and it gave me this very out of character idea for my crime au.

The pilot episode: 2 & 4

Masterlist

Its a few days after the dream teams public execution that terrorized the city. 

Dream, George and sapnap are hanging out in a backstreet bar that's notoriously know to be one of the many criminal friendly bars around the city. Even though all of their faces were partially revealed to the public, nobody seemed to bat an eyelid at the trio. They didn't even look like criminals at all to be honest

They were all laughing and joking and just having an all round good time

Until dream heads home early to feed his cat, and feels a presence behind him as he walks through the streets to his apartment.

He turns round and pins the person to the alley wall just as he felt a hand near his back pocket

“Woah-o-ho okay okay” Dream swears he hears the guys voice crack

“Hey man, that's my bad. I’m sure we can work things out, just please don't shank me, my mum wants me home by 11.”

Dream furrows his eyebrows and looks the guy up and down.

Actually, now that he thinks about it, he looks more like a kid

He’s got a thin frame and straggly hair that he cant tell weather its light brown, or just dirty. His face is red but mostly pale with a few cuts and a large purpling black eye on the left side of his face. The kids facial expression takes dream by surprise. He doesn't look like someone whose being pinned to the wall by, basically a mass murderer. 

In fact, he looks like someone he knows.

“Tommy?”

This is the kid that used to follow techno everywhere.

“Well I mean yes but, h-how do you know that if you don't mind me asking big man.”

Dream releases Tommy and steps back from the wall, the kid looks confused but he follows closely behind when the taller of the two motions for him to join him out of the alley.

Tommy smirks for a second until dream turns back around

“Wallet first.”

Tommy sulks for the rest of the walk

Its a few months later and Tommy looks a bit older, he’s still covered in bruises and his hair is still dirty. He’s sat on top of one of the larger buildings in the city, swinging his legs over the edge and looking down into the street below 

He knows Wilbur will be worrying where he’s gotten to, especially since tensions in the city are so high right now, but he needed to get away. He needed time to think.

He looks up to the stars and thinks of how alone he felt when techno disappeared without a trace. Remembers feeling so upset with the world, so worthless and lost. He still thinks it was his fault the kingpin of the city went away. Maybe he had finally gotten fed up with Tommy, maybe he’d annoyed him too much, he knows he was defiantly being too clingy. And he thinks a part of him will always deem himself to be a burden to others.

But then he met dream, and life changed.

( Or rather, he pickpocketed dream and suddenly this strange man he tried to steal from wanted him in his life )

And suddenly he felt less alone

He learnt very quickly that the man he tried to pickpocket was in fact the masked man he’d been watching all over the news, and man did he annoy the hell out of the dream with the amount of questions he asked.

He didn't know why the older man wanted to keep him around, especially since he knew of his close connections to his ( former ) rival technoblade, but he was very grateful for the friendship regardless.

Dreams friends weren't as quick to trust him, and tommy didn't blame them. ( He did try to steal a number of there possessions )

He remembers the first heist dream ever brought him on. He was supposed to be on crowd control with sapnap, but one of the hostages lunged at Tommy when sapnaps back was turned, wrestling the startled kid to the ground. Tommy was never the best at winning fights, he usually just let his opponents get a few hits in and then they would usually walk away with whatever possessions he had on him, but this guy wasn't backing down. 

He hit Tommy a few times before taking the gun from his hands and pointing it in his face. He remembers this as one of the only times in his life he showed how truly scared he was infront of other people.

The guy tried to use Tommy as negotiation to let everyone out of the bank unharmed, neither sapnap nor George knew how to handle the situation, but as soon Tommy saw Dream re emerge from the vault pistol in hand, he didn't feel scared anymore.

Tommy smirks at the memory and looks up from where he was watching his feet swing back and forth, in the distance he sees the rubble of the bank and he almost wishes he could go back to that day just to see if he could tell if Dreams worry was just another ploy for the public .

The young boy hears the creak of the metal door behind him and he knows its Dream. He doesn't turn around to look at the man, he doesn't even really want to have this conversation, but he cant pretend like there's nothing wrong forever. Dream knows him now, knows his queues and quirks and even through the stress of an incoming war, he knows that Tommy's upset.

“Shouldn't you be in l’manberg”

Dream doesn't join tommy on the ledge 

“You know its not safe for you here.”

Tommy doesn't look at him

“Tommy”

“What dream!”

“Oh so its dream now is it.”

“Yeah its fucking dream”

“What the hell Tommy, what's you deal man .”

“What's my deal? I’ll tell you what my fucking deal is.”

Tommy stands up from the ledge and pushes himself into dream space. “Why were you so persistent to become my friend ay. You knew, you knew I had connections to techno, pretty fucking close connections dream. And even when the people you trusted with your life told you over and over again that I was gunna fuck you over, you went against them to keep me, fucking me in your life. Why the fuck did you want a scrawny ass, shit for brains, worthless fucking kid in you life dream? Was it to get back at techno? Was it ! Because I cant think of any other fucking reason dream!” Tommy was so caught up in his own anger he almost didn't hear dreams reply.

“He asked me to!”

Tommy's breath hitches and he feels like times stood still, for a second he forgets how to breath, how to think. He doesn't know how to feel.

Tommy watches Dreams facial expression, only just notices that he hasn't got his mask on. He watches Dream furrow his eyebrows and then soften as he try's to put his hand on Tommy's shoulder, but the younger boy just swats his hand away. “Don't touch me.” Tommy try's to be aggressive but Dream sees how tired tommy is and he notices the tears building up along his waterline.

Its a while before Tommy speaks again

 “What do you mean, he asked you to.”

“He didn't do it in person, probably would have shot him otherwise. He sent me a letter, few days after everyone realized he’d gone for good. It was smart, sending something that wasn't digital, probably would have been hacked by some shitty fangroup by now. Told me he was going, and that he probably wasn't going to come back. Told me to look out for you, to tell you not to go looking for him, and than none of this was your fault cause he knew you were a stupid kid who would blame everything on yourself.”

Tommy's a lot calmer now, he still feels tears threatening to spill but he doesn't make an effort to wipe them away. “Why didn't you tell me.”

“Didn't think it would make a difference. Thought it would just make you think I was only looking after you because of a debt.”

“Arnt you?”

“You think Id put up with your teenage bullshit for this long if I didn't care about your stupid ass.”

Tommy searches his friends face for anything, any indicator that he was telling a lie. Out in the field when his masks on he’s unreadable, his expression is worthless because everything he does is an act. But when he’s talking to his friends, in the comfort of their headquarters or their apartment, his expressions change like the weather. So when Tommy sees dream give him warm eyes and a soft smile, he cries.

He sobs and falls into dreams arms. He wraps his arms around his friend and for the first time he hugs dream without feeling like a burden of any kind and he feels like the world has been lifted from his shoulders.

Dream lets Tommy sob into his embrace for a while before he addresses the elephant in the room. “Your not safe outside l’manberg Tommy.”

“I know.” Tommy mumbles into dreams tear stained shoulder.

“You know I cant promise that your friends wont get hurt tomorrow.”

Tommy only nods at this

“Knew you'd be to stubborn to give up on this.”

Tommy smiles and lifts his head, “Have my disks thought you nothing old man.”

“Hey! I'm not that old.”

They step away from each other now, Tommy hovers at the door to the roof. The sun would start to rise soon, and he needs to get back to his part of the city before Wilbur has a heart attack. They stand there, so many things left unsaid. Tommy wants to tell dream to spare Tubbo, to make him tell the Dream smp not to kill his friend, but even Tommy's immunity is falling apart at this point. Dream wants to tell Tommy to convince his friends to surrender, he doesn't want the boy to see the bloodshed. Maybe he even wants to convince him not to take part in the war at all, but he knows his attempts would be futile.

“Hey, whatever happens out there tomorrow.”

Tommy cuts dream off and just nods “I know.”

They look at each other one last time, both wishing tomorrow would never come. Tommy's eyes water again, he knows he’s doing the right thing, for him, for his friends, and for l’manberg.

Tommy slips out the door and he never looks back

[loth-wolffe]

About that Fox post: i absolutely love you for writing it, thank you for that

Also, for your consideration:

- Where were you during the zillo beast attack?

- throwing a surprise birthday party for him?

- going shopping together

- I have a scenario that him dating an investigative journalist would be very chaotic, any thoughts?

- what's the friendship with his brothers like?

- why do i fell he would be good with kids? Like your nephew or something

- on that note, does he get the dad genes from Jango?

- post-war AU? in the timeline where Palpatine chokes and dies like he's supposed to

- Getting!! Married!! (eventualy)

many Fox thoughts today, many thoughts

sorry this is so long, I have little self control and a lots of love for fox. i love u so much for asking this and letting me explore what a life with fox would be like.

also I apologize for being a h*rny bitch and not controling myself, so nsfw thots are marked like this so if u wanna skip that's fine.

and uh, first I'm gonna answer the investigative journalist hc and base everything about this in that solely thought because that's a galaxy brain thing to say.

I have a scenario that him dating an investigative journalist would be very chaotic, any thoughts?

AHDJSJ I LOVE THIS. okay okay but I feel like because of this job this is exactly why you guys met, like you needed some info and you asked some shiny but he didn't know a thing and you were like "is there someone I can talk with about this?" and when he's about to reply, Fox enters in action and he's like "need anything?" but sO COCKY.

he hates journalists mostly because some of them treat the clones very badly and never talk about the casualties or that kind of stuff about war, right.

like, it would turn into this-- banter filled with sexual tension that would've ended up in a make out session if 1. fox didn't have that much of self control and two if he weren't wearing his bucket.

it'd be like

"listen man-"

"it's commander for you." a pause, "or sir."

or like

"i need to do other things if you don't mind."

"i can think of a few you could be doing right now." and the way your eyes run through his entire body, even if he's all covered in plastoid but damn you if he isn't the hottest man walking, and he actually shivers, and gulps, because it's not like he wasn't thinking about that either, pushing down your pants and railing you right then and there in that fucking filthy alley. he is well aware how his suddenly codpiece feels too tight, but you only smirk and go, "you know, like giving me the information I need?"

KDJSJ IMAGINE THE POWER. THE POSSIBILITIES.

it'd be so ridiculous, but you also caused this impression on him that when you turned away to go on your business he was dEVASTED, but he didn't want to let u know he actually liked you. He's stubborn, that man.

So by some miracle when you're investigating something, you guys run into each other bc he's on patrol or something and he's GIDDY. but also frozen in place bc he didn't think he would ever see you again, mostly because Coruscant is big and has too many people in it. and you're like

"ah, commander fox, isn't it?" and he quickly resumes to say something that shows how aNNOYED he pretends to be, but he ends up tagging alone because "these parts are not safe"

"oh?"

"you'd need protection."

and the smirk you have is sO ARROGANT because it's not your first rodeo.

"you wouldn't want to have a civvie getting killed or something on your watch now, would you?" and he clears his throat and nods sharply. and you give him this innocent eyes and bat your lashes, "my hero."

and if you think those words didn't do aNYTHING to him, you're mistaken u hear me, he's instantly hARD.

so anyways after that YOU ask him out, and he's like, stuttering and saying yes and all.

now some random thoughts on this magnificent hc.

• if it can't be himself, he would always have the men he trusts the most going on patrols around the zone you're around in case something happens.

• he lOVES when you rant about something new you discovered, and when he asks for mOre info bc he's a, how do you say chismoso?, he loves gossip??? anyways and you're like "nu huh, you gotta wait till tomorrow, foxie"

• he aLWAYS makes sure to read/see your job, either if you work for some newspaper, magazine, etc or if you're on the TV he nEVER misses it.

• if you work for the TV, his brothers are always like "fOX YOUR GIRL IS ON THE HOLONET LIKE RN!!!" and he gives them this bitch face because he kNOWS THANK YOU.

• alright but imagine going on dates with him and being like "did you know there was an investigation last year around this part that–?" ROMANCE AT ITS PEAK.

• if his shift ends before you even think of going home, he definitely joins you on your investigations.

Where were you during the zillo beast attack?

uhh, I think you'd be home, like maybe you turned in early and fox maybe didn't know, so he was almost in tears when he called you after the whole thing happened because he was so worried.

of course, during the attack, he tried to push the thought aside, bc I think all clones have this, uh, switch, that makes them not worry during missions that much? just like, have this thought here and there but nothing serious that would make them paralyzed and have a panic attack right there. but every second he thought of you and hoped you were alright.

unlike you, that were worried sick because you saw the chaos unfold, the troopers arriving in shuttles and the jedi doing whatever they were doing and you just heard destruction. you DID cried a bit and when fox called you, you cried even harder. and he was like "it's alright, I'm alright baby."

that night he hold you SO tight, whispering sweet nothings on your ear and never stopped kissing you once. you barely got any sleep because you were so afraid of waking up only to find out the other died on the attack and it was all a dream.

throwing a surprise birthday party for him?

AAAAAH THIS IS SO CUTE.

now, clones don't exactly have a birthday???? but he did all these nice things for your birthday (he and the boys baked you a cake that was sO UGLY and tasted a bit weird) so you thought you could surprise him too.

it's most likely he gives you the date when he graduated from Kamino or something and for all the years you're with him, you never miss his "birthday" at first you did something quiet, like a dinner at your place, bought him something nice, gave him a bath or something and spoiled the shit out of him.

so for the second year, you threw him a party in his office, made him this cake or whatever and decorated with red and white balloons and invited a few troopers that wanted to help you and he was stoic for a moment, but then you were like "hAPPY BIRTHDAY!" and hugged him so tight and he relaxed under your touch and whispered this small "thank you baby"

everyone congratulated him and he was a bit awkward but when they start telling all these stories of them and fox on the job, he starts to loosen up a bit, so while everyone is eating cake he hugs you from behind and chuckling lowly in your ear as he listens to his brothers.

he dOESNT like pda like I said but he forgets for a moment because he just loves you sO SO SO SO MUCH. it's also easier for him to whisper filthy things into your ear and mumble how good you are for him, that he doesn't deserve you, that he can't wait for everyone to leave cause he wants to have his present (you) nipping your earlobe and making u all hot and bothered and would def fuck you nice and hard on his desk. yup

going shopping together

imagine, jUST IMAGINE, he'd look like your personal bodyguard 😭😭 like, he'd be behind you carrying most of your bags and people would look at you wondering who are you, why are you sO important to have the commander of the Coruscant guard with you???

but like, you don't care and fox doesn't even notice, and he'd be so attentive, faking to be both annoyed and uninterested but he'd see this nice shirt or dress or whatever and grumble something like "you'd look good on this" i just-

and like when you pass by the lingerie store, dUDE, he'd make you model for him, him sitting like he fucking owns the place, getting harder and harder every time he sees you in a new pair of underwear and when you show off this cute little red set. damn.

if you go to the market or something, he'd always love to show you these things like "look at that" or just pull you towards this stall and you'd adORE to show him stuff like, "ohh, fox here try this" or "what you think about this?" and stuff like that.

what's the friendship with his brothers like?

i think it'd be very easy-going and light, they would tease you sometimes, but they really like you, mostly because they see fox isn't as stressed as before and they see how happy he is when around you.

they think he deserve it, to have somewhere where he's free and loved, so yeah.

they sometimes ask him about you and never miss a chance to say hi when you stop by the office.

the boys absolutely ADORE you.

why do i fell he would be good with kids? Like your nephew or something. does he get the dad genes from Jango?

HE WOULD AND HE DOES.

like, I think at first he'd be very hesitant when it comes to children, like he'd be nervous when you introduce him to your niece and when you ask him if he wants to hold her, he says a quick no and just prefers to watch you, heart feeling funny when you make faces at the little baby in your arms.

at some point he dOES hold her, with such care and a gentleness that makes your heart flutter, and he coos softly as she sleeps soundly in his arms, rocking her with a delicacy you thought impossible from such hard man, and when he looks at you his eyes shine with this flash of something you can quite place but makes your heart skip a beat and think of how much you'd love to have this, with him, a little family, a baby that has his curls and maybe your eyes, a mix of your skin color with his and maybe his stubbornness completed by your charisma. a perfect little thing for you two to hold and care and love.

he'd be such a good dad, but then again every clone would be the most fantastic dad bc it's literally in their genes.

if you have a nephew that is, u know, older but still a kiddie, like 5 or 6, the lil boy would be aMAZED by fox, he'd love him so much, like imagine, always asking for the commander, wanting to play with him, asking fox to carry him eVERYWHERE, and at first fox would be like, shy and uncertain and he wouldn't know how to act until he accepts the fact that this little boy really likes him and looks up to him and fox becomes The Cool Uncle™

post-war AU? in the timeline where Palpatine chokes and dies like he's supposed to and Getting!! Married!! (eventualy)

well, in my post-war AU, clones get Rights™ and get paid and have vacations and stuff, sO, maybe you get to have Fox for a little more time and his schedule isn't as bad as it was during the war, so maybe after the war you get home to a nice dinner and fox using this silly apron and sometimes you come home early just so you can cook with him.

maybe you go on holidays to these nice places, going to the beach or the woods and finally settling somewhere quiet, start a family in this nice house or if you don't want kids then it's just the two of you and maybe a few pets.

i think the wedding would be officiated in Coruscant, of course, so his brothers and your fam can go, he'd definitely cry when he see you walking down the isle or when you put the ring on his finger and he'd be so so so happy, dancing with you all night, being so clingy because he's just Over the moon, y'know, kissing your cheeks and neck, whispering how lucky he is and how much he loves you, and how good you look, never leaving your side and always leaning over with pouty lips for you to kiss him.

when he proposed it was during one of your sweet, soft times with him, maybe in the aftertaste of your sexy times, as he holds you close to his chest, fingers running up and down your skin, as he stares at the ceiling and the question comes out as if he were talking about the weather, his heartbeat is slow and steady and it's one of those times he feels confident and sure.

you have talked about a future together, so he knows you'd say yes.

it's more a statement than a question, really.

"marry me." he would say, so quietly, almost a whisper. and when you look up you only find this beautiful emotion filling his eyes.

"what?" you just want to make sure you heard right, he'd smile softly, cup your cheek and as his thumb caresses your skin he'd whisper.

"will you marry me?"

you oBVIOUSLY say yes while ugly sobbing.

[vanderlindemorgans]

Cross My Heart (Chapter 4)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+

Summary: A traitorous Agent Whiskey returns to the United States on the run. Being cast out by Statesman, he soon finds that you’re the only person he can turn to - the embittered former flame from years long passed

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Eventual smut, some references to alcoholism and drug use. Reader is in her late twenties but there is an age gap between her and Whiskey. Chapter specific warnings: heavy drinking, someones arm gets broken, also some very vague mentions of a shootout, reader is in denial about being in denial (so the usual pretty much)

Read on AO3 | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

You thought it would just be one coffee. One simple mistake as a result of you being extra tired, or something like that. You’d give it to him, hear his stupid little remark meant to rile you up, and then it’d be done - it would never happen again. 

Here’s the thing, though: you kept making more. After that day, every morning when you woke up, you’d grab two coffee mugs and make one for the both of you - yours with extra cream, his straight black. You knew he liked to add a shot of whiskey to his, even though you pretended not to notice when he not-so-discreetly pulled his flask out. Whatever he needed to get through the day, you shrugged, watching him out of the corner of your eye. You certainly weren’t about to judge him for his drinking habits in light of your own less than stellar track record. 

Neither of you dared to mention it so far. You hoped to high heaven that he wouldn’t: his little tease on that first day was barely enough to get under your skin though it had stuck to the back of your mind every morning you woke up. You’re not getting soft on him, are you?

Shaking your head furiously, you let out a low frustrated sigh as you moved to reach out for the bottle of wine next to you once more, flicking off the top and pouring almost a good half of the bottle’s contents into your glass. It was a Wednesday night but you didn’t much care - if the hangover was that bad the next morning, and it never usually was with a shiraz, you’d get some painkillers and get on with your day. The same thought as before repeated itself in your mind again, doing nothing short of vexing you further. Partially because you were worried it was true. Maybe you were getting soft on him. Maybe you weren’t as strong and stubborn as you thought if Jack Daniels had managed to worm his way back into your heart.

No. That couldn’t be it. You tossed your head back and indulged yourself in a rather large gulp of wine, letting the liquid rush down your throat in a desperate attempt to dilute the pitiful nonsense that had filled your head. What a ridiculous thought. You weren’t falling for Jack Daniels charm once more. No, you simply wouldn’t do that. You knew better than that. You knew that underneath that smooth facade was a flitting and emotionally unavailable man, the man who had broken your heart and made you suffer for what felt like evermore. You may have felt pity on him for his fall from grace, but anyone else would if they saw the state of him. Discarding the glass off to the side, you wanted to laugh at the simple absurdity of such an idea. Are you always this stupid with a wine-addled brain? 

Speaking of the devil, you heard his footsteps from up the stairs, taking you by surprise as you were certain that he was asleep by now. You crocked your head to the side, your eyes travelling up the stairwell to the small part of the landing that was in your immediate vision - you couldn’t catch a single sight of him. Shrugging to yourself, you returned to your almost empty glass of wine, feeling that familiar haze descend over your brain with every sip you took. This was fine. You could let yourself be swallowed by the alcohol, maybe even enjoy the fact that your nerves were loosened for just this once. If it could take all that shit away, then you’d gladly let it. And as for Jack? You’d continue on as you were: barely acknowledging his existence, and regarding him as nothing more than a ghost from your past. That’s what you wanted, right?

You’re lying to yourself and you know it.

Blinking your eyes rapidly, you stared out into the space in front of you, your mind lost a million miles away while you were in complete and utter astonishment over those few words that had crossed your mind. Things were quiet, still, even peaceful in a way, only for a second anyhow. That was before the rush came, that incensed anger that flashed across your mind for barely a moment, settling down into something resembling vague annoyance, directed at none other than yourself. Where the hell did that come from? For god's sake, get a grip on yourself. Standing up abruptly, you didn’t even stumble as you advanced back over to the liquor cabinet, dropping to your knees and scanning the tops of the glistening glass bottles under the dim lamp light. Your eyes landed on the bourbon you had stashed at the back and you reached out for it, carefully lifting it above all the others despite your intoxicated state. Resting the bottle against the palm of your hand, you let your fingers trace the grooves in the molded glass, a small bit of hesitation working its way into your mind, hesitation that was swiftly kicked aside in favour of that pesky little buzz that danced around the back of your head, that stupid little crumb of self doubt that refused to fucking leave. 

Guess I’m gonna need a bottle of something stronger to kick this shit. 

___

He didn’t know why he kept watching you. You weren’t doing anything particularly notable - you’d decided to take one of the horses out for a ride, practicing vaulting and the like. He remembered you’d once told him that as a young kid that you’d entered a number of equestrian competitions, and even won a few - he’d seen the trophies gathering dust on the mantle and the cute photos of you posing with your chosen horse, Buttercup, as a child. You explained years ago that you’d stopped participating in competitions but still liked to take the horses out for a spin every once in a while as a way to relax and clear your head. As he watched you now, he could already see the stressors of the day melting away from your visage, leaving only a steely focused expression in its wake as you cleared another jump. 

It was the first time in weeks he’d seen you truly relaxed at all, or showing any sort of emotion other than your usual show of cheerfulness you splashed on for the customers, woven with a current of underlying stress and irritation. Seeing you like this couldn’t help but remind him of better times: you’d taken him out on the horses more than a couple of times when the two of you were together. Jack had always labelled himself as something of an animal lover, ever since he was a kid. He didn’t, and hadn’t, had any pets for a good ten years now though at some point long ago he wanted something similar to what you had - a nice ranch situated out in his home state of Kentucky with a bunch of animals and his family. That dream had seemed so close to him once that he could have sworn it would be a reality yet fate wasn’t so kind to him in that regard. The memory of it all alone hadn’t ceased to become any less painful to him: seeing the broadcast on the news of a shootout down at a local convenience store only to get the call moments later confirming what he’d already feared to have happened most. 

Not a day passed where he didn’t wish he could go back to a time before that day, where even the simple idea of having a family didn’t seem so foreign and unattainable. He felt himself grip onto the wooden bar of the veranda just a tad bit tighter the longer his thoughts fixated on it, though the sound of a piercing shriek immediately brought his attention back to you, his eyes darting around in a frenzy, determined to know what had caused you to cry out in agonising pain. Upon seeing your body lain flat on the ground he rushed forward, vaulting himself over the edge of the varanda and calling out your name. “Are you alright, sugar?” he shouted, throwing open the gate to the ring and racing over towards where you were lying. The faint sounds of you whimpering did nothing short of send him into panic mode, seeing how much it hurt you to move only adding to his worry. “I’m fine, I just...the dumb horse got spooked by something and bucked me off” you groaned, struggling to pull yourself up, leading you to let out another loud yelp when you tried to move your left arm.

Swooping in to catch you before you fell, Jack gently reached for your arm and pulled it towards him, his eyes widening the moment he caught sight of the horrific fracture done to it. “Darlin’, don’t lie to me, you’re not fine. Arms are not meant to look like this!” he stressed, studying your eyes intensely, trying to gauge if you had some sort of a concussion. They were slightly glazed over, and your gaze kept wandering from him as if you were having trouble focusing. “How’s your head feelin’, sweetheart?”. 

“Kinda dazed. Hurts like a bitch as well” you grumbled, leaning your head against his shoulder slightly. Every bone in your body felt like it was screaming at you like some sort of symphony, the pain in your arm being the worst of all. Your vision had also become slightly blurry and kept splitting double every few seconds, only contributing to your general haziness. Your thoughts were running a mile a minute, scattered around your brain and refusing to slow down. Suddenly, you felt yourself being lifted off the ground and up into Jack’s arms, your head lolling slightly against his forearm as he carried you back up to the house. Running through your memory, you couldn’t really remember what had happened fully: you had just made another jump and were circling around the ring to gain speed for another when suddenly you were on the ground and your horse, Molly, was a few feet ahead of you. 

Jack brought you up to the varanda and laid you down on the bench, grabbing one of the old decorative throw pillows you had to rest your head on.“Stay here for a moment, I’m gonna get you some ice, then I’m gonna call an ambulance and get ya to an emergency room” he instructed before ducking back inside the house.

“Is that really necessary, Jack?” you shouted out after him, leading him to stick his head back out the door to look at you incredulously. “Sweetheart, your arm is broken and you're clearly concussed. I think the situation more than calls for it” he replied with a deadpan tone, disappearing back into your house to find you some ice. Resting your head back against the pillows, you turned to see Molly trotting around near the edge of the fenceline, acting as if she hadn’t just thrown you off her back for no apparent reason at all. 

“Yeah, just had to buck me off, didn’t ya? Thanks asshole!” you shouted out, doing your best to ignore the persistent throbbing in the side of your head and the dull ache from where your arm was rested. Thankfully, partially due to the concussion probably, it didn’t feel as bad as before, though at the same time you could have just simply become more tolerant of the pain. Not to say it didn’t still hurt like literal hell or that it was any less easy to take notice of. 

“Honeybee, I get you’re in pain but yelling at the horse isn’t doing anything” you heard Jack say to you as he made his entrance once more, holding a tea towel containing several large blocks of ice in his hand. Muttering out a small ‘thank you’, you took the towel in your hands and pressed it against the swell of your arm, letting out a small hiss the second you felt the sharp sting of the cold on your skin. “I know yelling at the horse does nothing, but it’s making me feel better” you grumbled. 

“Is it? Is it really?” Jack scoffed, subsequently choosing to ignore the sharp death glare you gave him after his flippant remark. “I’ve called an ambulance, they’ll be here to get you to a proper hospital in no time. You really had me worried there when I heard you scream”.

“Oh, so you do care about me after all” you jeered, your signature sarcastic edge seeping through your tone. You shifted slightly to try to position yourself up a little more so that you could face him properly yet as you moved a heavy sting of pain shot through you, causing you to yelp out a little and tense up in response. As if it were instinctual to him, Jack moved towards you and helped you settle back down. “Try not to move too much until the ambulance gets here” he directed. You didn’t know if it was your imagination or not, but you could have sworn his hand lingered on your forehead a second longer than it should have, his fingertips brushing against your skin and leaving a burning sensation in their wake, something that, shamefully so, made your heart skip a small beat. “Now, about me not caring - sugar, when are you gonna accept that no matter what happened between us that I still care about you as a person?” he asked. Shoving those thoughts to the back of your mind, you settled on glaring back at him with a quick witted quip to combat him, because that’s all he was to you: an annoyance, a nuisance, a royal pain in the ass. You were doing him a favour by letting him stay with you. There was nothing more to this.

“Try never, asshole” you snapped, one note harsher than you originally intended. As usual whenever you bit back at his banter, Jack shrugged and rested back into the wall he was standing against. For once, though, you felt bad at snapping at him like that - there wasn’t any need for it, he was only trying to help. Not knowing if you could fully coax the words ‘I’m sorry’ from your mouth, you settled on something less apologetic but still sort of the message across. “But...really, thank you. For, y’know, helping me out here” . 

Jack looked at you for a moment, somewhat taken aback at what you’d said before he softened a bit.“Of course, sugar. Call it returning the favour for taking care of me a couple of weeks back” he answered, giving you that sweet smile of his that hadn’t managed to unweave itself from those old memories. And for once, you allowed yourself to smile weakly in return.

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-yigas]

Cil and Von pls???

Funny enough, that's what @bi-julius-caesar wanted for their birthday! The exact prompt they asked for was 'Von humiliating Cil in front of Kohga and Sooga and Cil tries to hate fuck him but ends up getting fucked instead'. So, hope both of ya'll like it!

"With pleasure, Master Kohga."

Kohga loved having beefcakes to do what he said. And Cil was one of the many who were eager to obey. Like a show pony, he was eager to perform. In this case, he insisted on having him go head to head with Sooga. Not with weapons, but with their bodies, and bodies alone. Master Kohga was frisky today, it seemed. He watched angrily as Kohga held Sooga’s face, cooing in such a sugary sweet voice. The words fell on deaf words, lost in his frustration. Then he looked at him, and made a 'come here' motion with his finger. Cil damn near skipped over, but kept his proper form.

"I don't want you to go easy on him, understand? He needs to earn his prize."

"Understood. But pray tell, what IS the prize?"

Kohga thought about it for a second, before Cil saw that smirk of his (well not really SAW, but he felt it).

"Tell you what. Winner gets a kiss."

"...any kiss?"

"Eh what the hell, why not? Sure."

Oh he was going to murder him. Cil nodded, holding onto Kohga’s hand in his own, as a sign of respect.

"It shall be done, my Master. He will have to pry this trophy from my cold, lifeless corpse."

And he meant it. He doubt Kohga would let their match get that far, but if it came down to it, he absolutely would. Anything for that kiss he needed oh so badly. For that kiss he deserved. He stepped in front of Sooga, and drew his blade. He double checked his hair in the reflection of the blade, before digging it into the floor. Sooga followed suit, both blades wedging into the wooden floors.

"I appreciate your seriousness, Cil. You and I both know that we strive to please our Master."

"Of course. He deserves nothing but the best. As in, me."

Sooga huffed. Good, he was getting under his skin. Cil stretched for a moment (maybe showing off a bit for Kohga), making sure his body was ready. Sooga followed suit, before nodding. He was ready.

"You recall the rules."

"No weapons, no yiga special techniques. Just our body's strength, and our wits. And of course, mask stays on. On our Master's mark, if he may grace us."

Kohga loved this part, they could tell. He was about to start, when Von joined him, clearly excited.

"Aye my BOYS! Master Kohga, I can watch right?"

"Long as you don't interfere again."

"Oh. Right. Sorry. Shutting up right after this-good luck guys!"

He gave them a thumbs up, and Cil rolled his eyes. Ugh. Ever supportive, Von was. Kohga helped himself to a drink, before sitting up in his chair.

"On three. One. Two. Three!"

Cil was so motivated by the idea of getting his prize, he leapt for it first, bringing his fist down right into Sooga’s chest. Sooga got pushed back a bit, but didn't hesitate to grab Cil's arm, yanking him into a nasty headbutt. It was a cheap move, unlike him honestly. It was weird, until he heard Kohga holler behind them. It was a show for their master, not effiencity. Oh the cheek. He felt himself snarl at such a cheap trick.

"Oh you kiss ass!"

"You're just upset that he prefers looking at me."

Cil grit his teeth, before he dove for him in essentially a tackle. These little sprawling sessions were really just 'beat the shit out of someone until they're either unresponsive, or quit'. So tackling, although it was a bit barbaric, was pretty acceptable. Given how loud Von swore, it was quite a spectacle as well. He kept himself on top of him, starting to bring his fists down onto him. He aimed for his chest, his shoulders, even his head. Sooga kept trying to block, and Cil was happy he did.

"That's it, give me more of you to hurt!"

He wanted to bruise him. Wanted to walk away from this in absolute shame. Like a wounded street dog. He clasped his hands together, about to bring the combined force of his fists, when he was suddenly forced onto his back. Sooga had damn strong legs, and he often used them to his advantage.

"Your fury shall be the end of you, Cil."

He grabbed him by his head, about to slam it onto the floor, when he was interrupted by a very loud, VERY annoying Von.

"COME O N CIL, YOU GOT THIS BUDDY!"

It was annoying, and just the distraction he needed. He brought his fist up to his stomach, giving him just enough time to squirm out of his grasp. He managed to get Sooga’s head in his arms, in a headlock if you will. Sooga squirmed so adorably, he could pop his head like a cherry.

"That's it. Thrash. I'll crush your head like a fucking egg. I could watch the blood trickle down your ears as I make your brain mush. Or you could give up, and I could claim my prize. The one I d-"

He didn't get to finish. See, there was an issue with Von being both of their friends. He never picked a side, and always wanted things to be even. So, of course, it was his turn to help Sooga.

"SOOGA PULL HIS HAIR."

"NO WAIT-"

Too late. Sooga had reached up, dug his fingers into his hair, and pulled. It undid all the hard work it took to get it looking so pretty, and it made Cil moan. Loudly. He had just pulled it so hard, his blood was already pumping- it just happened. The cheers from everyone watching suddenly became a confused silence, and Cil hated that when he looked down, Sooga was obviously very uncomfortable. Cil let go of him, and turned to look at Von. Good. He knew he was in more shit than a horse stable.

He walked away, grabbing his blade on the way out. A foot soldier, their little referee, cocked his head to the side.

"Is this a forfeit?"

"...yes. Unfortunately, I yield."

He tucked his sword away, and as he walked out of the arena, and grabbed Von by his shoulder. Once they were out of the ring, and into Cil's room, Von FINALLY started to panic, hands up in defense.

"Cil don't be mad I didn't think you were gonna-"

"You made him ruin my hair. You made him humiliate me in public,"

Cil stepped towards him, slowly, and Von stepped back, clearly trying to get away from him. He made it a good distance away, before his back was against a wall. Cil put his hand up, keeping Von trapped. He wasn't going anywhere, they both knew it.

"You made everyone realize WE do things together. You made me come off as some sort of whore. You not only brought shame to me and me and our Master, but you made me LOSE. I deserved that prize. But thanks to you, I lost. LOOK AT ME."

Cil grabbed him by his throat, and listening to his choked up words of protest were music to his ears.

"I'm going to make you regret having a voice. I'm going to hurt you. I'm going to use you until I decide I'm not fucking mad at you anymore."

He threw Von onto his bed, crawled on top of him, and just when he was about to peel those clothes off, Von coiled some of his hair in his hand, and pulled. Like a a horse, he turned docile under his hand, suddenly not feeling so angry. Von laughed, pushing their masks aside, just enough to reveal their mouths. Never enough for their faces.

"Aye...so angry and so bitter, buddy. Easy does it. I know how you get when you don't get what you want. Come here. I'll give you a kiss."

Was it Kohga? Absolutely not. But after getting all riled up from a fight, he'd take it. He pressed his lips against his, swearing under his breath. Him and and Von have had a few...choice encounters, so this wasn't new. But Cil still hated it. There was still that shame, that bitter taste of defeat, not getting who he wanted. And Von knew it. It was silent, yet obvious. Yet, Von acted as if that awkwardness didn't exist. Cil sighed. He was still angry, but his cock was taking away some of that stress.

"You're a pest. And I'm still angry."

"You're always angry. Now come on, clothes off."

He waited till Von let go of his hair, before he sat up, removing everything but his mask. Von gave a loud, headache inducing whistle.

"Dunno why you had to strip, you could've just flexed this off, god damn."

Cil was about to insult him for such mindless flattery, when Von held his cock in his fingers. He toyed with the tip with his thumb, watching as Cil melted on top of him. Cil huffed in his face, annoyed still.

"You shouldn't make me feel good. But you know what I need."

"I've known a few cocks, my guy, they more or less need the same thing. But yours is the cutest!"

"Not this again..."

Cil smacked his mask with his hand, groaning. Von laughed, clearly finding it funny.

"I'm sorry but it's such a cute lil cock! It's like a wittle itty bitty carrot! You know how sometimes it doesn't grow right but you love it anyway because its special?"

"I'm going to kill you. I'm going to hang your corpse on-"

He was silenced when Von scooted down, and put his cock past his lips. He stiffened up for a minute, before relaxing, digging his fingers through Von's mop of hair.

"Ugh. So messy. Your stupid hair. You should let me fix it properly. If I have to hold it while I use your mouth, it should at least not look sloppy."

"Aw, is that a date?"

Von looked up at him; kissing at his tip. Cil scoffed, pushing himself back into his mouth. Much better use of his lips than the constant smart mouth.

"It isn't. It's a standard that I want...met."

He could tell Von knew. He was already getting close. That's what fighting did to a true yiga. Made them aroused, eager for more. Von peeled away, watching as the little cock ached for more.

"Well I want MY dick to meet that ass, so on your front, princess."

"I grow weary of that nickname."

He complied however, trading Von spots. He laid on his stomach, letting Von apread his ass, and rub his thumb over his asshole.

"But you're SUCH a pillow princess! You lay there, pushing against me and waiting for me to help you cum. And you look pretty too. Nice hair, a damn nice back. You take care of yourself, I REALLY can't believe you don't get fucked more often. Think its the attitude. But I like it."

Cil grabbed onto one of the pillows, tensing once Von dragged his tongue against his asshole.

"Don't....say that while you're doing such things. It's...v...vile."

It was gross. He kissed the same lips that kissed his asshole, and he loved it. Von's tongue moved in little circles, drool cascading down and meeting his aching cock. Von chuckled, pulling away after a second.

"You just mad because it's not Kohga saying it. Ease up big guy, you're gonna get what's comin' to you."

He was about to bark at him, recalling why he was mad to begin with, when he felt goosebumps at his skin. Right. Von was...well equipped, unlike himself. It felt good grinding against him.

"Just...ugh. Be silent and put it in already."

"Such a grumpy wumpykins. Fine."

He leaned down to kiss his jaw, before he adjusted his clothes, and pressed his bare cock against his ass. Cil tried not to, but he found himself pressing against against him, body needing SOMEONE to touch him.

"You remember the rule."

"Right right, finish on the ass, not inside, and tell you so you act like you don't like it- I know I know."

Cil didn't want to admit that he wanted him to just fuck him already. But thankfully, Von let him get away with that one, and pushed his cock inside his ass. He held him still, as his size was STILL a bit much for him. He groaned as his body tried to accommodate, trying not to tear open the pillow in his hands.

"SLOWLY, you fucking moblin."

"This IS slow, you just don't get fucked enough to be used to it."

He was going to back talk further, when Von grabbed some more of his hair, giving it a gentle pull as he started to slowly roll into his ass.

"I...oooh...mmmph."

He hated the sounds he made when he felt stuffed. But it felt so...good. Von chuckled, hand roaming from his hip, up his back.

"That's it. You've got no dick, and ass is pancake flat, but when you finally get tamed...damn you sound so pretty. You like it when you get a good stretch, eh?"

"I DESERVE a cock. The fact that it's yours is unfortunate."

"Sharp tongue for a man with a thick dick in his ass. Lemme taste it."

He laid on him again, pressing his lips against his, and letting his tongue roam over his. Von knew he hated kissing so much, but this time he was grateful, as it helped keep his moans muffled, if only slightly. They sat there for a moment, sweat glistening off their bodies and swears filling the air. Then Von started to move properly. He started to buck his hips into his, balls smacking against his own as their hips bucked together.

"Shit Von...You’re throbbing inside of me. It's shameful."

"Funny way of saying you really like my dick. It's fine, I like this ass of yours. Looks good when you're taking it. Don't think I've fucked someone so big and delicate."

"I'm NOT deli-"

He was cut off when Von yanked his hair, starting to pound into his ass.

"Not delicate? Look at you fumblin' over yourself as I fuck that ass like a toy. My cute, baby dicked princess~"

He couldn’t even scold him. His vision was too hazy, his mouth was too busy biting into the pillow. It felt just. So good, letting this man use him to please his cock.

"I'm gonna fucking cum. I'm gonna bust a FAT fucking nut because of you. Come on, let's see what kinda load those little balls of yours can give me."

Cil was the first to cum, whining loudly once he finally hit that peak. He sat there in his mess of sweat and cum, before Von joined him. He pulled his pretty hair, pulling out just in time to cum on his ass, and on his back. Von still kept moving, albeit much slower, snearing his thick cream in between his cheeks. Von grumbled against his sudden mouth full of feathers.

"They're...not small."

"Size of chickaloo tree nuts. But I love 'em anyway, princess."

Von finally got off of him, laying right next to him. Cil sat there, trying to recover. He silently listened as Von lit up one of his cigarettes, helping himself to a nice smoke, blowing rings into the air. Cil inhaled, before slowly exhaling.

"Why I insist on entertaining you, I have no clue."

"Because I got a fat dick. And I'm funny as hell."

"Funny looking, you mean."

Cil didn't move as he shifted his gaze to meet his. Von grinned, taking another puff, before leaning over and smacking his ass. Least, what was supposed to be his ass.

"Ha! After all this time, my guy still got jokes! I love it! Good to see I took a...load off."

"Stop."

"Even though it was very HARD."

"VON."

Von grinned like the idiot he was. Cil hated to admit it to himself but...well. he did get the gold medal, but silver was just as good. For now.

[eddieeatsass]

On the Edge of an Avalanche

Summary: Graduation was upon them and Eddie Kaspbrak was eager to leave Derry behind. His one last hurrah would be the senior ski trip, earning him an escape from his mother and the looming stress of college admissions. It was supposed to be a relaxing vacation, until he got slated to look after resident pain-in-everyone’s-ass, Richie Tozier. Pairing: Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak Rating: E Chapter: 4/5 Read Chapter 3 Here  /  Read on AO3

Richie’s room was nicer than Eddie’s, way nicer. It’s not that Eddie’s room was bad, in fact he’d spent a good amount of time admiring it earlier, it’s just that Eddie’s room was like the discount version, and Richie’s was designer. Where Eddie’s room had gotten tall windows, half of Richie’s wall was taken up by a fireplace. Eddie supposed it was a trade, someone who preferred a nicer view might say Eddie’s room was the winner, but there was something undeniably romantic about your own fireplace. Richie’s room also seemed to have a newer TV, mounted on the wall across from their bed. The TV in Eddie’s room was older and hid behind two panels of wood in a cabinet. Simply put, Eddie was very glad Richie had decided to bring them here. Richie flopped on the bed immediately, overdramatizing how exhausted he was just from limping his way down the hall. Eddie hid a knowing smile and joined him. “Thank you for saving me, I was about five minutes away from dying of boredom.” Richie drawled. “Well, I can’t promise you’ll have any more fun here, but you’re welcome. ”Richie let his head loll to the side, regarding Eddie closely before speaking again. “No, I’ll definitely have more fun here. ”The insinuation was brash, Richie didn’t even bother trying to hide it behind a joke. It made Eddie’s gut clench in unusual ways. He brought his thumb up to his mouth, the habit of gnawing at his fingernails a hard one to kick, but was interrupted by his own gasp as his hand came into view. His knuckles were starting to bruise, tender to flex and even more tender to touch. He hadn’t noticed any pain earlier, too caught up in Richie to even think about anything else, but now that he was staring at his fist the ache began to echo under his skin. “You just notice that?” Richie asked gently, noting the horror in Eddie’s eyes. Eddie could only nod, his gaze fixed on the evidence of his breakdown. He wasn’t sure how long he stared at his hand, but when Richie’s entered the frame Eddie startled. He’d gotten a hand towel from the bathroom and wrapped some ice in it, which Eddie could only guess was provided in their minifridge. Richie guided Eddie’s hand down to his lap, placing the ice pack atop his knuckles gently and murmuring an apology when Eddie hissed at the sudden coldness. They stayed silent for a few minutes, simply sitting in each other’s presence as the ice dampened the cloth atop Eddie’s hand. Eddie was the first to speak, keeping his eyes downcast as he admitted his guilt aloud. “I’m not a violent person, you know.” He could feel Richie’s eyes on his face but didn’t give in to the lure. “Yeah, I know.” Richie reassured. “But Bowers is an exception-”“No, he’s not.” Eddie snapped. “If I sink to his level, I’m just like him.” Eddie wasn’t sure if Richie would get it. They had both been targets of Henry’s attacks, but Eddie never wanted anyone to feel the way he’d felt, not even Henry himself. Eddie’s mind was constantly replaying all the times he'd had his face shoved into the dirt, the way the gravel would stick to his wounds, the shouts he’d receive from his mother upon getting home. Henry was a god-awful human, but that didn’t mean he deserved to feel that same pain and sorrow. That wasn’t going to change anything; you can’t break the cycle with the same bullshit that fueled it. “I didn’t mean to do it.” Eddie whispered. “I just snapped.” Richie immediately scooted closer, an action Eddie wasn’t expecting or prepared for. He looked up and met bright blue eyes, tender and open and completely void of judgement. “You’re nothing like him; you didn’t want to hurt him. Bowers wants to hurt people. ”Eddie looked back down at his hand, flexing his fingers and watching as the makeshift ice pack slid off and landed on the sheets. “You know…” Eddie began thinking out loud. “I’ve felt the brunt of a lot of people’s insecurities. I don’t usually mind being projected on, it’s easy to see through the words and figure out what’s actually going on behind them. I’ve even gotten good at doing it with Henry, though he’s a bit of a different breed… But there was something about the things he said today... they felt more personal.” Richie listened intently, allowing Eddie to spill out into the space between them, his vulnerability a tender wound. “Whatever, it’s stupid.” Eddie was quick to dismiss his own feelings, covering them up with a shrug of his shoulders that attempted to pass as indifference. “It’s not stupid.” Richie insisted. Eddie stared down at his uninjured hand as it picked at a thread on the blanket beneath them. “Listen, I don't know what Henry said, but you're not suddenly a super villain for fighting back one time. The first time I was called a fag, I threw a mug at the dude’s head.” Richie admitted aloud with a chuckle. “We were in a coffee shop and I was on my first date with a guy. I ended up having to pay for the broken mug and my backtalk. ”Eddie perked up like Richie had just given him a straight shot of smelling salts. All other sound in the room fell away as Eddie homed in on Richie’s voice, trying to discern if he was dreaming or not. “Safe to say it was not a very good first impression.” Richie laughed lightly, completely unaware of the way he was flipping Eddie’s world upside down. “Anyway, all I’m trying to say is you’re not the only one who’s lost their cool before. You’re human, you’re allowed to get upset when people treat you less than.” Eddie was sure Richie was making a good point, was sure what he was saying held some wisdom that could potentially help, but he was guilty to say he hadn’t processed a word of it. He was too caught up on the fact that Richie had dated guys before. Stan’s words echoed in his brain ‘You might want to consider the possibility that this isn’t their first time eating a hot dog’, fucking Stan was always right, even with that stupid metaphor. Richie had begun talking again, but Eddie didn’t hesitate to interrupt him, this new revelation too significant to pass by. “You like boys?” Eddie blurted out, all grace and subtlety left behind with his spiraling thoughts. Richie froze in place, his hands up in a gesture Eddie was sure had something to do with what he’d been talking about, but now looked comically out of place. Slowly, Richie lowered his hands to his lap and regarded Eddie with a new look, one that held enough cockiness to knock the wind out of Eddie. “Grinding my dick on you didn’t send the message?” Richie teased, raising one eyebrow and swiping his tongue across his teeth. Eddie suppressed a full body shiver, averting his eyes from Richie’s intensity. “I thought you were maybe, like, I don’t know-” “This ain’t my first rodeo, cowboy.” Richie said with a twang that went straight to Eddie’s pants. He blamed Brokeback Mountain. “Well, it isn’t mine either.” Eddie defended instinctively. He watched as Richie’s eyes flicked down to his mouth and back up again, quick like a hummingbird and with all the same charm. “So, then what’s the issue?” Richie’s voice had lowered, taking on something much more intimate and sultry. It made Eddie’s heart rate spike. “I guess there isn’t one.” He breathed. “Good, because I’ve been wanting to do this all day.” Eddie barely had a moment to breathe before Richie captured his lips in a hungry kiss, his hand burying itself in the hair at Eddie’s nape to pull him in closer. The gesture almost made Eddie go limp, as if he were a cat being held by its scruff, submissive by instinct. He opened his mouth pliantly, allowing Richie in with a welcome of his own tongue. Eddie couldn’t believe that this was happening. Just a couple hours ago he was fisting his own cock, fantasizing about the way Richie tasted. Now he knew. Richie was a cold fire, stoking Eddie’s lungs with mint and cinnamon spice. He tasted like the frost outside, and the embers that kept you warm. It was comforting, enveloping in a way Eddie couldn’t describe. Eddie pushed against Richie, guiding him to lay down on his back so Eddie could climb atop his lap, resuming the same position they’d been in the night before. This time, however, there was clear determination between them. There were no longer hesitant touches or swallowed moans, every move was purposeful, made with intent. Eddie wasn’t shy to shed his sweater, wanting to move things along as quickly as possible now that they were finally happening. “Your body, god, do you know how long I’ve been wanting to get my hands on you?” Richie grabbed Eddie’s bare waist in near disbelief, awe shining in his eyes. “Less than 24 hours?” Eddie snorted, rolling his eyes and his hips in tandem. Richie groaned and tightened his grip, stilling Eddie forcefully. “Try years. You think I didn’t notice you until Mrs. Harrow forced us to sit together?” Eddie flushed even hotter, his skin reddening to match the fire that Richie was stoking. Richie grinned at Eddie’s speechlessness, pushing forward. “I noticed you for the first time in sophomore year. You were trying out for the track team at the same time as Mike and we were in the bleachers cheering him on. I was gone the second you walked out onto that grass. I tried to be respectful, but I couldn’t stop imagining myself squeezed between those thighs that your tight little track shorts did a great job of highlighting.” Eddie tried to recall that moment, tried to visualize Richie in the bleachers with his floppy hair and lopsided glasses, but all he could remember was the adrenaline he’d felt going behind his mother’s back, too busy to notice anything else. “I never stopped noticing you after that, in fact I’m surprised you never caught me looking your way during class…” Richie moved his hands to begin trailing up Eddie’s thighs. “But the second time I really noticed you, was at the end of that school year. We had a heat wave and the AC broke, d’you remember that? The school had no idea how to deal with it, so they just chucked us outside and gave us popsicles from the freezer in the cafeteria, probably because they were going to melt anyway. But you sat there in the middle of the field sucking on your popsicle like it was the best fucking thing you’d ever tasted. You might have been miserable like the rest of us, but you were too focused on your treat to pay any mind to the weather.” Eddie’s throat was going dry, his head beginning to feel light and airy as he listened to Richie talk. “That night I dreamt you were sucking my cock, that same euphoric look on your face as if it were that damn popsicle.” Richie’s hands reached Eddie’s hips and traced the curve around to his ass, causing Eddie to stutter a breath as his eyelashes fluttered against his cheekbones. “I’ve thought about fucking you for years, Eds, to see you cum on my cock and hear you cry my name. I would do just about anything you asked me to, just as long as I can make you feel good.” Eddie had never been this aroused in his life. Every single nerve in his body was buzzing like a live wire, his toes already curling just from Richie’s words alone. “What if I asked you to take your clothes off?” Eddie braved, his voice shaky. Richie sat up, bringing them chest to chest. “Anything. You. Asked.” Richie punctuated each word with a featherlight kiss to Eddie’s lips. The butterflies in Eddie’s stomach went wild as he watched Richie begin to strip off his shirt. He did it slowly, keeping his eyes on Eddie as Eddie’s own raked down the newly exposed skin. Richie's skin was pale enough to rival the snow outside, spattered with fewer freckles than Eddie’s, but enough to break up the milky complexion. He was thin but still held definition, especially as Eddie’s eyes reached the ‘v’ of his hips that dipped into his waistband. Eddie swallowed thickly and nodded towards the spot where Richie’s hands were already hovering over his waistband. Eddie had to swing his leg off Richie and move to the side to let him shimmy his pants down his legs, every new inch equally as mesmerizing. “Like what you see?” Richie’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Not sure yet, I think I need to see more.” Eddie whispered back, tension thick between them. Eddie could see where Richie was straining against the fabric of his boxers, tenting them to an intimidating level. The way his mouth watered at the sight made Eddie feel absolutely depraved, lewd in a way that only added to his arousal, made him want to spread his legs wide and offer himself up whole. The moment that stretched between them as Richie pulled his boxers down felt like an eternity. Eddie lived, died, and got reborn all in the span of that second. Richie’s cock was heavy, springing free for only a moment before falling back against his stomach. Eddie could see Richie moving in his peripheral, getting comfortable back against the duvet after throwing his boxers to the floor, but he couldn’t tear his eyes off his dick. He felt fingers carding through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead, and finally Eddie tore his gaze away from the challenge that sat before him. Richie’s smile was smug, but his eyes seemed vulnerable. Eddie realized he was waiting for his next command, unsure how they’d fallen into that pattern but not opposed to continuing it. Eddie felt powerful as he raised on his haunches and moved to where Richie’s legs were spread. He watched Richie’s face, noted the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, and his fingers twitched as he tried not to move. Eddie lowered his head so it was level with Richie’s cock, pausing just a few inches away so his breath grazed against it as he spoke. “Fuck my mouth.” Eddie directed, lust overwriting his usual nerves and replacing them with boldness. Richie’s breath shook as he let it out slowly. “Jesus fuck, Eddie…”Richie’s hands travelled back into Eddie’s hair, gentle at first and then gripping at the base. He guided Eddie’s head the rest of the way down and shuttered when Eddie finally took the head in his mouth. Eddie instantly felt intoxicated, like Richie was the strongest absinthe man had ever made. He greedily gulped it down, laving at the underside of Richie’s cock as it glided into his throat. Drool was already pooling at the corners of his mouth, but Eddie paid it no mind, his only focus on drinking in as much of Richie as he could. He knew right away there was no reality in which he could take all of Richie at once, at least not without a lot of practice, so he committed his mouth to the top half and his hand to the bottom. His fingers barely met as they wrapped around Richie’s shaft and gave an experimental pump. Richie groaned, and Eddie took it as a good sign. He repeated the motion with a twist of his wrist, tonguing the slit of his cock where precum was leaking out greedily. Eddie could feel Richie’s legs tensing where he had his free hand splayed across his thigh. Every time he teased the underside of Richie’s head that muscle would jump, and it almost became a game to see how quickly Eddie could make that muscle twitch, his tongue moving faster and faster against that sensitive spot and causing Richie's legs to vibrate. “Oh my god- fuck, ahhhh-h-how are you so good at this…” Richie’s voice was wrecked, raspy and low and breathy all at once. Eddie just hummed in acknowledgement, sending vibrations up Richie’s shaft that made him hump up into Eddie’s mouth. The action caused Eddie to gag and he reveled in it, moaning like a whore in heat. He was so far gone he barely noticed when Richie pulled him off suddenly. “Okay you’re too good at that.” Richie panted, his chest heaving. Eddie’s head was cloudy, the only conscious thought chanting ‘more, more, more’. He blinked a few times, trying to shift the room back into place. “Why did we stop?” Eddie asked dumbly, his words a bit slurred. “I didn’t want to cum yet. I sort of thought… maybe, if you wanted to, we could-” “Finger me.” Eddie blurted out, his senses coming back to him but not all gracefully. “I mean…” He cleared his throat, face beginning to flush. “…please." Richie looked liked he’d just won the lottery and been slapped across the face at the same time, a dopey kind of smile accompanying his features. “You don’t have to be polite about it, Eds. I’m kinda digging this whole dictator thing you’ve got going on, actually.” Eddie giggled adoringly, calmed by the way Richie was able to dissolve his nerves so quickly with such a disastrously dumb joke, even at a time like this. “Gimme a sec.” Richie leaned forward, catching Eddie’s lips in a chaste kiss before he was springing off the bed. “I know that bastard has lube somewhere.” Eddie watched as Richie began searching through what he assumed to be Bill’s suitcase, throwing things to the side in a frenzy. He finally came across a toiletry bag and ripped it open, rifling around for only a moment more and emerging with a small bottle of clear liquid. “Will Bill mind if we use it?” Eddie worried his lip between his teeth, not so much caring about the answer but asking anyway out of respect for his new friend. “Nah, he’ll just be happy I’m getting laid.” Richie winked and those damn butterflies acted up again. Richie crawled back onto the bed, setting the lube to the side temporarily. He returned his attention to Eddie, a renewed twinkle in his lust blown eyes. He crowded Eddie’s space, towering above him but lowering his head so their lips grazed against each other. “Let’s get these off, hmm?” Richie’s fingers stroked lightly at the waistband of Eddie’s sweatpants. “I thought I was the one giving orders.” Eddie teased back, voice barely above a whisper. Richie hooked his fingers under the waistband and pulled, letting it snap back against Eddie’s stomach as he released it with a shuttering breath. “Alright Kaspbrak.” Richie let his body fall backwards, bouncing lighting as it hit the mattress. He brought his hands up behind his head and made a show of getting comfortable. “I am at your mercy.” That same emboldened feeling consumed him once again, a confidence only Richie seemed to instill in him. It was intoxicating, much like everything else about Richie. With a smirk, Eddie backed up off the bed and stood in the middle of the room. Eddie kept his eyes focused on Richie as he began to pull his sweatpants down, going painstakingly slow just to see Richie’s reaction. He saw his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed back his desire, a nearly imperceptible twitch making his cock jump in intrigue. Eddie kicked his pants to the side where they joined his long since discarded sweater, and then all his focus diverted to his neglected cock. All earlier thoughts of whether Richie would like his body were gone, he knew Richie liked his body, and he was planning on milking that for all it was worth. Eddie palmed himself over his underwear, letting his head fall back and his mouth drop open as he finally offered himself the stimulation he needed. He looked down and noted that the white fabric had gone translucent where his cock had been leaking against it, giving Richie a peek of the pink head underneath. He heard Richie whimper from the bed but paid him no mind, indulging in his own senses for a moment. He continued to tease himself through the thin cloth until he couldn’t take any more, finally allowing his hands to wander to the waistband and pull the underwear down his thighs. Richie was silent, watching so attentively that a pin could be heard dropping in the room. Eddie kicked the last piece of clothing off to the side and immediately let his hand wander back to his own cock, tugging it a few times and allowing himself to moan at the sensation. He heard the bed squeak and opened his eyes to see Richie crawling towards him. Gone was Richie’s passiveness and submission, replaced with a new hunger that made Eddie’s legs quiver. Richie reached his arms out and pulled Eddie in until his legs hit the edge of the mattress. Even with Eddie standing and Richie kneeling on the bed, he was still a good few inches taller than him, and he used that to his advantage while crowding into Eddie’s space. “You can’t tease me like that.” Richie whispered into the shell of his ear, kissing right under it and beginning a path down his neck. “I didn’t mean to.” Eddie answered honestly, succumbing to the warmth of Richie’s lips and letting his head tip back once again. “Just felt so good…” “I can make you feel even better.” Richie promised, ghosting his hand down Eddie’s torso and just barely grazing his cock. Eddie moaned, arching into the faint touch and whimpering as it left. “Please…” Eddie’s jaw was slack, the word falling out without a thought. Richie continued making his way down Eddie’s body, sucking marks against tan skin as he passed. He paused at Eddie’s nipples to give them special attention and Eddie keened, grabbing at Richie’s hair in sudden desperation. Richie swirled his tongue around one bud, allowing his hand to pluck the other until he switched. He nipped lightly enough to cause Eddie to shutter and then sucked to soothe the reddening skin. He continued his trail downwards, licking along Eddie’s hip bones and kissing the juncture between his thighs and his pelvis, avoiding Eddie’s cock purposefully. Pleas were falling from Eddie’s mouth steadily now; his hands tugging weakly on Richie’s hair to try and guide him towards pleasure. Richie swiftly gathered Eddie in his arms, catching him off guard in his haze of lust. He moved back up the mattress and laid against the bed board, situating Eddie so he was laying across his body. “I bet your pretty little hole is just begging to be touched.” Richie murmured, reaching for the bottle of lube and hastily pouring a generous amount on his digits. Eddie moaned at the lewdness of the comment, his hips moving against Richie’s and causing their cocks to grind against each other. He could feel a wetness smearing against their bellies, similar to the wetness Richie was spreading between his fingers. He watched as Richie’s hand disappeared behind him and then he felt the warm press of a finger at his entrance. The feeling was somewhat familiar; Eddie had fingered himself countless times before, he wasn’t new to pleasuring his prostate. But this was the first time anyone else had ever touched him there. It was difficult not to focus in on every small sensation, to not grind up against Richie like a virgin being touched for the first time. Richie teased the pad of his finger around his rim and unsurprisingly, Eddie fluttered in response. He could hear Richie’s laugh reverberating in his chest where Eddie laid his head. He closed his eyes and spread his legs a bit wider, silently ushering Richie to continue. The first slip inside was uncomfortable. It always is, no matter how turned on you are, but it was also euphoric in a way Eddie was never able to make it for himself. Richie’s fingers were thinner than Eddie’s, but significantly longer, and soon enough Richie was already in to his knuckle. Eddie breathed steadily, allowing his body to get used to the intrusion. Richie followed his queue, stilling for a moment until Eddie nodded minutely against him, signaling him to continue. The next finger wasn’t too much harder than the first, and soon the discomfort ebbed away to make room for pleasure. Richie worked his fingers in and out, scissoring them to stretch Eddie open as much as possible before a third was added. It felt way better than Eddie had ever imagined it would. Richie’s fingers weren’t clumsy or unsure like Eddie would have thought, they were precise with their pressure and quick to find the spots that made Eddie melt. He went at the perfect pace, allowing Eddie his time to adjust but not waiting too long to lose their momentum. Arousal bubbled hot in Eddie’s stomach, searing his skin at every spot where they were connected. His breathing had become labored, and his hips had begun their own little rotation where he ground himself down into Richie. Every time he did, he felt Richie’s cock twitching against his, eager to escape the slot between them and burry itself inside Eddie. And in that moment, Eddie wanted that more than anything. “Fuck me, now.” Eddie demanded breathily, holding no more space for patience. “You sure you’re ready?” Richie checked, his own breath seeming to stutter. Eddie whined indignantly, raising himself up on shaky knees and grabbing both of Richie’s wrists. He pulled them away, deft fingers slipping out of him easily and falling to the pillow beside Richie’s head where Eddie pinned them. “Now.” Eddie repeated, grinding his ass against Richie’s cock and coating it with lube. “I’m gonna die here and it’s gonna be the happiest day of my life.” Richie rushed out, eyes squeezed shut and face flushed a blotchy red. Eddie removed one hand and reached down to grasp Richie’s cock, marveling once again at its size. He was sure he was going to feel a stretch, but he craved it at this point. With determination and just a little too much arousal for rational thought, Eddie lined himself up and began sinking down. The stretch was… a lot. Eddie let out a pained whimper as Richie’s head breached his rim, and suddenly there were hands all over him, cradling his face, petting his hair, steadying his hips. “Hey, hey, you’re okay.” Richie rushed to comfort him, kissing the spot between Eddie’s eyebrows where he hadn’t realized he’d furrowed them. “We can stop at any point. You want to stop?” Eddie was stubborn, he knew this about himself. He was aware that his stubbornness had gotten him into trouble in the past, but it had also earned him some of the best moments of his life. He didn’t want to end this prematurely and look back on his first time with remorse, but he also didn’t exactly want to rip his asshole open on a high school ski trip. Eddie decided he just needed a minute, so he shook his head and told Richie as much. Richie continued to rub his back, his hair, anywhere his nervous hands could settle. He seemed on such high alert Eddie wasn't sure how his dick wasn't flagging. Eddie winced as Richie inched down the bed carefully, lying himself flatter and pulling Eddie back down to his chest. Eddie closed his eyes and focused on Richie’s heartbeat, feeling Richie moving above him but paying it no mind. He jumped in surprise when Richie’s hand joined his dick, but his body relaxed instantaneously as he felt those soft fingers begin to massage extra lube around his rim. As the seconds passed Eddie could feel himself opening up under Richie’s touch, his muscles relaxing and his temperature rising. Richie was clearly feeling the heat himself, as he’d started to rock his hips gently beneath Eddie’s. The action was gentle, inching him further into Eddie in torturously small increments but not pushing him past his limits. It was beginning to drive Eddie crazy as his craving for more became overpowering, all the pain from before having subsided. Without warning, Eddie pushed himself back on Richie’s cock, feeling his fingers flutter around his hole at the sudden movement. He was quick to use his hand to steady himself at the base of his cock, holding it still for Eddie to fuck back on. Richie let out an elongated breath, swearing profusely at the end of it. It made Eddie blush and move faster, his hips taking on a rhythm of their own. Eddie was on cloud fucking nine. His body lit up like a live wire, electrifying him with every move he made. Richie appeared to be just as affected, his mouth stuck open in an orgasmic ‘o’, his eyes practically rolled back into his skull. Richie had been quick to match Eddie’s pace, thrusting up into him feverously, hands clamped on to Eddie's hip as tightly as Eddie was clamping around his cock. "You're so fucking huge." Eddie moaned, the statement coming out honestly despite sounding like a script from a bad porno. "Holy shit, you can't say stuff like that or I'm gonna blow my load." Richie responded, chest heaving. "I'm serious, it feels like I'm being split open, god Rich." "That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble." Richie's thrusts were speeding up, becoming more erratic. Eddie almost felt like he was riding a bull, clenching his thighs in a desperate attempt not to be bucked off. "Then shut me up." The response was instantaneous. Richie flipped them over, pressing Eddie into the mattress as he pounded into him mercilessly. He brought one hand up to Eddie's mouth and shoved two fingers against his tongue, forcing Eddie to suck on the digits. Eddie gagged on them like he would Richie's cock, saliva dripping out of the corner of his mouth and mixing with the tears that had escaped without notice. He was completely fucked out, his brain unable to process anything besides Richie. "I'm gonna cum." Richie warned, his orgasm approaching rapidly after being so on edge for so long. Eddie didn't mind, his own release not far behind. "Cum inside me, please, want to feel you." Eddie begged, unaware of his desire until it was suspended right in front of him. "Fuck, unnnf- god, Eddie." Richie said his name like a prayer, bringing his hand up to stroke Eddie's neglected cock. The sensation was downright sinful, the best thing Eddie thinks he's ever felt in his entire life. It caused his toes to curl, most of the muscles in his body seizing up at the pleasure. Richie's hips stuttered a few times and then he was overwhelmed with a warmth deep inside him, Richie's cock pushing through it to press diligently into his prostate. Eddie came with blinding lights in his eyes, his body convulsing as waves upon waves of euphoria flooded his senses. He's pretty sure he screams, but he could have been completely silent and it would have sounded the same to his deaf ears. Eddie's not sure how long he lays there in fucked out bliss, his mind completely separate from his body, but when he finally tunes back into the world around him he's alone in the bed. He looks around to find Richie and spots him crouched on the ground by the fireplace, tinkering with the button to light it up. Electric flames suddenly burst alive behind Richie's silhouette, highlighting his long legs as he stretches back up and turns to regard Eddie. "Hey." His voice is gentle, not quite a whisper but close enough to one that the greeting still felt secretive. "Hi." Eddie matches his tone, his throat appreciating the low register after being abused not too long ago. "I thought I lost you there for a minute." Richie crawled back into bed, pulling the thick duvet over them. "I think you did." Eddie admitted sheepishly. "That was fucking... wow." Richie laughed at the advanced vocabulary Eddie was able to implement at that moment. "Wow is right." Richie agreed, welcoming Eddie as he crowded into his space. The silence fell upon them naturally, their bodies and minds too exhausted to bother with much else. It was a long while until Eddie pipped back up. “Was that your first time?” Eddie asked quietly, his eyes having drifted closed from the comfort of being satiated in such a new way. “Mm-mm.” Richie answered carding his fingers through Eddie’s hair. “First time was with Ally Mae Espin. It was a mess.” Eddie hummed for Richie to continue, too content to respond vocally. “It was in Bill’s garage in 8th grade. It lasted exactly two minutes and neither of us finished. I had blue balls for the rest of the night, but honestly, I didn’t even care. I’d realized as soon as we’d kissed that I wasn’t into her the way she was into me. I don’t regret it, but as far as first times it’s pretty anticlimactic. Literally.” Eddie giggled, nuzzling closer into Richie’s warmth. He felt fuzzy all over, invincible to the evils of the outside world. He thinks he could probably survive an avalanche right now, completely safe inside Richie’s arms. “What about you? How was your first time porking the hog?” Eddie scrunched his nose in disgust, peering up at Richie judgingly. “First of all, ew. Don’t ever call it that again. And also… this was my first time.” Richie’s eyes widened a fraction, an unreadable but unmistakable softness within them. “Shit, Eds. I wish you’d have told me, I would have at least tried to perform better.” Predictably, Richie was trying to hide his vulnerability with humor. Also predictably, Eddie could see right through it. “It was perfect. You were perfect.” Richie seemed to gnaw on the inside of his cheek, so Eddie continued. “Ten out of ten, would pork again.” That earned a surprised laugh from Richie, and Eddie considered his mission accomplished. He could work on Richie’s insecurities more later, but for now, at least he knew Eddie didn’t regret what had happened. They fell back into another stretch of silence, the crackle of the fireplace background noise to their steady breathing. Eddie had almost fallen asleep when Richie spoke again. “Did you always know you wanted to be a mechanic when you were younger?” It took a moment for Eddie to fully re-inhabit his body, wondering why his slumber had been interrupted for such a random question. “Huh?” “You know, kids are so indecisive. One minute it's 'I'm gonna be a doctor' the next it's 'I'm gonna be an alien superstar princess'. Did little Eddie have lots of dream jobs or was it always a mechanic?” Eddie took a moment to think, having to dig through all of the expectations and responsibilities that had piled on top of him over time, shielding his passions and replacing them with pragmatic plans for the future. "I always wanted to be a mechanic. Actually, I even wanted to open my own garage when I grew up." Richie listened intently, allowing Eddie to continue. "My dad was a mechanic. I learned a lot just from watching him, and then when he passed away I continued learning under a guy named Isaac, until mom decided it was too messy and too dangerous for me to be in the shop. I always believed I would grow up, open my own place where my mom couldn't ban me from being, and name it after my dad." Richie's face fell at the mention of Eddie's dad's death and he cursed himself for bringing it up. People always felt uncomfortable at the mention of death, and even though Eddie had long since accepted that his dad was gone, he always had to suffer through people’s weird grief reactions that, more often than not, made him feel worse. However a few moments passed and Richie still hadn't said anything, so Eddie braved a look upwards. "What's your favorite car?" Eddie was taken aback, already in the process of mentally preparing himself to field the same old questions he'd long since memorized his answers to. He blinked a few times, a smile creeping up on him without his permission. Richie continued to surprise him at every turn, and Eddie was absolutely giddy about it. "You're gonna make fun of me." Eddie sighed, infinitely grateful for Richie somehow always knowing exactly what to say and when not to say. "I absolutely will." Richie nodded. "1966 Volkswagen Type 2." Richie seemed to contemplate it, nodding slowly before bursting into a side splitting smile and letting a little laugh go. "You’re right, that's hilarious." Eddie laughed along, but still slapped his chest playfully to at least act offended. He snuggled in closer, settling his head on Richie’s chest. "It's just that the hippie lifestyle doesn't exactly match the Eddie Kaspbrak I've grown to know and lo-" Richie cut himself off just as Eddie's heart skipped, both of them falling silent for a moment before Richie cleared his throat and marched onwards, his own heart beating rapidly in Eddie's ear. "I'd have guessed you were a smart car kinda guy." "Why? Cause I'm small?" Eddie challenged, trying (and failing) to return his heart rate back to normal. "Yeah. Small, compact, can fit a surprising amount in its backseat." Richie moved his hand down from where he'd been rubbing circles into Eddie's lower back and tapped one of his cheeks. "Careful! I'm still tender." Eddie pouted, unknowingly looking far too cute for Richie's fragile sanity. Richie kissed the top of Eddie's head and Eddie kissed him back between his collarbones, absolutely smitten with the way Richie handled him. "I like the freedom of it." Eddie admitted, picking the conversation back up. "I've always felt trapped in this town, it's comforting to think of owning something that can take me anywhere." “Technically anything with two wheels can accomplish that.” Richie pointed out. “Yeah, but with a van I don’t have to worry about where I’m gonna sleep. I can live out of it for as long as it takes me to get to my destination.” “Where is your destination?” “New York.” Eddie answered automatically, surprising the both of them. Richie’s arms tightened around Eddie, erratic laughter falling from his lips. “EDDIE!!!” “WHAT!?” Eddie was being jostled now, Richie’s happiness contagious even though Eddie had no idea what was happening. “NEW YORK IS MY DREAM!” Eddie finally connected the dots, realizing a little late what that meant. If Eddie wanted to move to New York, and Richie wanted to move to New York, then they could theoretically move to New York together. The notion made Eddie’s belly do flips. “Oh, yeah, I guess that is kind of perfect huh?” Eddie answered, far more bashful than he'd expected himself to sound. “We can get a little apartment downtown where you can open your own garage and I can work at whatever coffee shop will hire me while I practice my standup routine on the weekends! We'll be a dynamic duo, running the streets of New York together. It’s FATE!” Eddie couldn’t deny that it did feel like something cosmic was at play. Richie was this boisterous, loud, chaotic puzzle piece that somehow fit perfectly into the slot on Eddie’s board. He pushed Eddie’s boundaries, encouraged him to challenge his world and rethink the ways he’d been taught to live. Being around him was invigorating, but it also felt like home. Eddie realized with terrifying clarity that he didn’t want to spend another day without Richie in his life. He couldn’t fathom how he’d done so before; looking back felt like watching a black and white film in contrast to the technicolor movie magic he was living in now. Richie had lit up a spot in Eddie’s life that he hadn’t even realized had been dark before. Eddie trailed his hand up Richie’s chest and found the back of his neck, tilting his head down to face Eddie. He moved slow, bringing their faces close together so their lips barely touched. Richie’s skin was soft, his lips plump and inviting as they trembled beneath Eddie’s. They breathed each other in as Eddie nosed at Richie, watching as his eyes fluttered closed and his brain took a backseat. Eddie hummed a nearly imperceptible laugh and finally slotted their lips together, lingering in place for just a second before parting. It was teasing, but not in the sense of arousal. Eddie left Richie with a million thoughts on his mind and nothing but big brown eyes as answers. “I think I passed out for a second there.” Richie breathed shakily, effected in exactly the way Eddie’d intended. “You’re going to take me to New York one day.” Eddie decided aloud. Richie was all shy smiles, dipping his head low to try and hide his blush. “I sure fucking hope so.” Richie responded quietly, looking back up at Eddie through inky curls. Eddie pushed his hair to the side, tucking it behind Richie’s ear and letting his hand fall back down to his chest. “You will.” They fell asleep like that, wrapped in each other’s arms with thoughts of the future fueling their dreams. Eddie knew that nothing was guaranteed. Two days can’t rewrite your whole life, and once they left the resort and re-entered Derry, he was sure that all the expectations and pressure he’d superseded were going to come back full force. But somehow, he felt more prepared to face them. They didn’t hold the same weight as they once had, because now Eddie knew he had a whole world outside of the one his mother had built for him to exist within. That world might just be Richie Tozier, but it was a thousand times bigger and brighter than the solitude he’d lived in before. For once, Eddie was excited to live.