#so i asked mr name and shockingly he was like: no he's not allowed to say crap ��

[guinevereslancelot]

fifth graders will look you right in the eye and say shit like "crap isn't a swear word" and "well our teacher lets us say it" and "no, mr. [name] says crap all the time and he lets us say it"

[elizaditton]

Too Small To Be Afraid (Chapter 15)

Cover / Master Post / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

- - - - - - - - - -

I move my character through the virtual landscape of Flower Forest, interacting with the townsfolk and continuing toward my goal of beautifying the town. This is of course on top of my other goals, like paying off my mortgage to the village's local snooty businessman Mr. Buck, and running my own little flower shop. I'm glad I have free time this weekend to play on my FlexPad, but shouldn't I be doing something a little more productive?

As I lay on my bed, immersed in the wonders of virtual gardening, an open box in the corner of my room catches my eye. It's the only box I haven't completely sorted through from the move, since it's full of things I don't exactly have a place for yet. I heave a sigh. I should at least try to get settled in before the end of Carmen.

I stand up with a stretch, setting down my FlexPad and walking towards the box. I peer inside to see a mess of contents ranging from junk drawer material to family keepsakes. I pull out a long, heavy metal object and examine it. It's a silver bowling trophy I won some time in stage 3. I got second place in an all-girls competition with a score of 116. Not that impressive, but a fun memory. Plus it's probably the only trophy I've ever won. I look around the room for a place to put it and decide the shelf beside my bed will do. I place the silver bowling pin beside a picture of Dad and me.

Returning to the box, I reach in and pull out a small, smooth object. It's a rock with a silly face drawn on in marker. 'Rocky' was his name, I believe. When I was little and wanted a pet, Dad made this thing for me to take care of since pets aren't allowed in the undercity. I was supposed to 'feed' it every day, 'play' with it, and do all the things you're supposed to do to care for an animal. Shockingly, playing with a rock turned out to be a bore, so I stopped taking care of Rocky. I have no use for this thing, but since Dad made it, I can't bring myself to throw it away. Especially not with that goofy expression it's making. Into my desk drawer it goes, I guess.

I continue going through the box like this, pulling out knick-knacks and heirlooms alike, finding places in my room for some things, and throwing out others until I've nearly reached the bottom of the box. One of the few items remaining is a cream-colored journal with blue morning glories adorning its glossy cover. It's bursting at the seams with papers and paper clippings, and is held together by a burgundy ribbon. I sigh. I remember when Dad first showed me this thing.

It was a few days before the move, and we were trying to get rid of as many things as possible so we wouldn't have to move so much. That proved a bit difficult, however, seeing as my dad had lived in that apartment in Maedri since before I was even born. Needless to say, he had a lot of stuff. The day came when we managed to clear out most of his unwanted and unneeded things, and all that remained was an unassuming box in the back of his closet with no label. It was a decent-sized box, but not too heavy. It wasn't closed all the way, and the top was covered in dust. I had asked about the box in the past, but Dad seemed to want to avoid it for whatever reason. That day, I would find out why.

Dad set the box down on the floor and sat down beside me with a sigh. He eyed the box for a moment before flipping open the cover and sending dust everywhere, which resulted in the two of us suffering through a coughing fit. Once we recovered, Dad reached into the box and pulled out a long, blue article of clothing, explaining that it was my mom's favorite cardigan. To my surprise, I still have a few vague memories of her wearing it.

Dad pulled out a few other things, all belonging to my mom. There was a scarf, some old art supplies, a poetry book, an indoor planter I decided I would keep, a few novels, and a flute to name a few. But what really caught my attention was a journal with flowers on it. I've always loved nature, and I know my mom did too, so I wondered what was inside. Upon retrieving the journal from the box, Dad looked it over for a moment. He had a smile on his face, but I could see him getting misty-eyed.

"What's that?" I asked, pointing to the book.

"This was your mom's art journal," Dad said. "This book contains nearly every drawing she made since before we were even together."

Dad flipped through the journal. Mom had doodled little flowers on napkins, and drawn elaborate portraits on scrap paper.

Dad handed me the journal. "I think your Mom would want you to have this," he said.

I took the book and turned the pages in awe. One page in particular was a watercolor piece, depicting a girl I could only assume was my mom with some enormous bluebells dangling above her. She looked up at them with wonder filling her eyes. I looked at the painting with the same wonder. How did she learn to draw flowers with such detail?

I turned a few more pages and was shocked at what I saw next. My mother painted herself, again in watercolor, dancing in the palm of a perthean's hand! One masculine hand held the twirling figure, while another held her hand from above, as if they were dancing together. I slammed the book shut.

I haven't opened the journal since then, although now I'm a bit curious as to what else is inside. I guess I'll leave it on my desk.

That leaves the planter. It's still a bit dusty, but it's nothing a damp cloth can't fix. I gaze at the planter's plug, its cord yellowed and worn with age. Could this thing really still work? I guess there's only one way to find out. I set the planter on my desk, and after a moment's hesitation, fit the plug into an outlet on the wall. There's a spark, which causes me to flinch back and let out a yelp, but to my surprise the light on the planter somehow manages to flicker to life when I press the power button.

I turn my eyes to a shopping tote beside my desk. My hand feels around the inside of the canvas bag until it finds and pulls out a small white envelope with a picture of my mom's favorite flower on it. I give the packet a gentle shake and listen as tiny pansy seeds rattle around inside. Sounds like there's more than enough to fill the planter. I feel around the inside of the tote again, absentmindedly nudging a receipt out of the way, and find a sturdy bag at the bottom. I lift the bag, which is rather heavy for its size, out of the tote and set it down on my desk with a small thud. I've never worked with soil before, and the only gardening I've ever done has been virtual. Since the planter is old, it doesn't have instructions with it anymore, but I'm sure I can figure out what to do. How hard can it be to fill pods with dirt, bury seeds, water them, and turn a light on? And after all, my mom definitely had a green thumb, so hopefully I inherited some gardening skills from her.

Upon tearing open the bag, the earthy scent of potting soil invades my nostrils. It has a note of sweetness to it, which I find strange. I'm reminded of the smell of moist dirt when it rains above ground. I carefully tip the bag over one of the empty pods on the planter until a steady stream of soil spills out. I must have tipped the bag a bit too far, though, since nearly half the contents spill out all over the planter, the desk, and my lap. I let out a sigh. I guess I'll have to vacuum. I try to collect the soil from my lap in my hands, but most of it manages to slip between my legs and onto the floor. Looking down at my last pair of good jeans, they're covered in dirt stains. I should probably wash them, along with the rest of the clothes I've been procrastinating on washing.

I look back at the dusty planter, covered in dirt. This definitely isn't going like I hoped. I wonder what my mom would say about my failed attempt at gardening. Maybe I should leave the gardening to Flower Forest.

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

I sit hunched over on the bench in the apartment's communal laundry room, my head down and my eyes fixed on my FlexPad. Flower Forest makes gardening seem so easy. How did I manage to mess things up so badly on my own?

The sound of another washing machine starting up catches my attention, and I look up to see a boy around my age nervously scanning the room for a free place to sit among everyone else doing their laundry this weekend. His green eyes and short black hair are familiar to me. I could almost swear I've seen him somewhere before. He pushes up his glasses as his gaze lands on me. His eyes widen, and he quickly looks away. I avert my gaze as my cheeks redden. I didn't mean to stare!

The boy finds a seat on the bench a few yards away from me when someone else leaves with their laundry basket. I try to focus on my game, but my mind keeps coming back to this boy. Really, where have I seen him before? Could I know him from school? Or have I just seen him around the apartment complex?

A pleasant melody ringing out alerts me that the dryer I'm using has completed its cycle. I set my FlexPad down beside me on the bench and stand with my basket to gather and fold my laundry.

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

"Back so soon?" Dad asks when I close the door to our apartment behind me, not looking away from his laptop.

"I guess I got in early enough that there was a free washer," I say, adjusting my grip on the basket under my arm so it doesn't slip. "Are you... working? On a Restday?"

"Yeah," Dad sighs, "I told a client I'd have this ad ready by Firsday, and it's still not done."

"Yikes. Well, don't overwork yourself," I say, turning to my room.

Bing-bong!

"Could you get that?" Dad asks.

Anxiety swells in my gut as I set my laundry basket down and turn back to the door. We aren't expecting anyone, and we didn't order anything that I know of, so I'm a little nervous as I peer through the peephole in the door to see who's standing outside of the apartment. To my surprise, it's the boy I saw in the laundry room! Blood rushes to my face. What's he doing here? I take a deep breath and hold it in before opening the door.

"H-hello?" I ask.

"Hi," the boy answers, his voice deeper and sharper in tone than I expected. He looks around the outside of the apartment, avoiding eye contact with me. "Is... this yours?" he asks begrudgingly as he holds out a FlexPad covered in familiar stickers of Catmium from Stranded and Mr. Buck from Flower Forest.

I stand there speechless, taking the FlexPad in my hands. "Yes! How did you—"

"You left it in the laundry room," the boy says before I can finish my sentence. "Just be more careful next time, alright?"

With that, the boy turns and speeds down the hall.

"Wait!" I call out. "Don't we know each other from somewhere? Maybe school?"

The boy flinches, stopping in his tracks. He turns his head back toward me only slightly. "I don't know," he says, his voice softer now, and nearly cracking. He clears his throat. "I don't know, maybe."

"Well, thanks for bringing my FlexPad back, um...?" I trail off, expecting the boy to give me his name.

He looks down and sighs. "Sam," he finally says, his tone a little softer than before.

"Thanks, Sam," I say. "I didn't even notice it had gone missing—"

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of Sam bolting down the hall away from me.

"Hey!" I call out again. "Where are you going?!"

As Sam disappears around the corner, I contemplate the bizarre encounter that just took place. Just who is this guy? And what's his problem?

"Was that a friend from school?" Dad asks as I reenter the apartment.

"Honestly?" I chuckle in disbelief. "I have no idea."

[ephemeral-antiquities]

More House of Wax (2005) but the Sinclairs discovered therapy so they’re just normal guys and now its a sitcom…

•chia pets. Bo has a Willie Nelson chia pet, Lester has a hedgehog, and Vincent has Bob Ross.

•Bo forces everyone to watch football. Vincent hates it. Superbowl season is his least favorite time of year.

•Bo drags Vincent out of the house once a month, aside from therapy appointments and Lester’s road trips. (“You’re a hermit.” “No, Im just selective of who I interact with.” “…thats.. thats a hermit.” “[pulls out dictionary] actually I- oh.” )

•Vincent’s workspace is littered with Bob Ross merchandise. Posters with his phrases, replication paintings from when he and his brothers watched it, even a life sized cardboard cutout. Bo is a little creeped out at this point.

•Radio is everyone’s best friend.

•when they were younger, Bo went out and bought an old banged up truck with money he that got fixing up other cars and odd jobs around the area. The trio always used to go out on weekends and race around the countryside. It started when Lester was about 13. Bo would purposefully drive recklessly through old farmland, whipping around turns as music blared from the radio so loud that whoever was sitting in the truck bed could hear it as they were jostled around. When Lester was younger, but begged to sit in the back, Vincent would join him to act as his human seatbelt which was shockingly effective, all things considered. Its a fond memory for all of them, and sometimes, every so often, they’ll all pile into Bo’s old truck and relive it.

•Bo and Vincent got “Im with stupid” shirts when they were younger, and they still have them. Yes, they both still wear them, to each other’s chagrin. (“[staring at Vincent wearing the shirt] why did we spend our allowance on this at 14..” “[shrugs nonchalantly]”)

•despite the fact that Bo is notorious for just making TV dinners, he is actually a very good cook, as is Lester. Sometimes, if Vincent is particularly pesky about it, or if he recruits Lester into it, Bo can be convinced to cook a decent meal that actually takes effort.

•On a related note, Vincent is exceptionally good at reverse psychology. He’s also highly skilled at “puppy dog eyes” but he’d rather use reverse psychology. He finds Bo’s reactions very amusing.

•Both Bo and Vincent like to bake, and Lester always loves when they do.

•Bo and Lester like to go to carnivals, fairs and theme parks. Vincent gets roped in because his brothers go. He enjoys the rides, secretly, but really doesn’t like the crowds. Bo won his brothers giant stuffed toys at the games, and one time he even won a fish. Vincent keeps it, and it has since been named “Mr. Fishcasso III”.

•Lester has shown up randomly in the middle of the night, most of the time after a long day, and asks if he can just have tea and watch movies with Bo and Vincent. Vincent has to keep Bo from legitimately combusting for five minutes before they agree.

[moodymelanist]

The Places That You've Been

happy day 4 of @nestaarcheronweek, everyone! This fic has been bouncing around my brain for a long time so it felt good to finally get it out lol. Fic title came from Unholy by Sam Smith and Kim Petras. Hope you enjoy 💙

Summary: Cassian knows what he and Nesta have been doing is wrong. it doesn't stop him from doing it anyway.

Word Count: 5,045

TW for cheating. Smut lies ahead!

Read on AO3 here!

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Cassian

Cassian knew from the beginning that he shouldn’t have gotten anywhere close to Nesta Archeron, but he’d allowed himself to be sucked into her orbit anyway. 

It all started innocently enough. He had to go to his editor’s fancy office in downtown Velaris to see the almost-final version of the newest book in his series — Lady Death and the Sword of Destiny — and he ended up taking the elevator up with an unfamiliar, but shockingly beautiful woman. 

“What floor do you need?” he asked politely, using the question as a chance to study her more closely. She had on a dark blue dress with a high neckline that kept all the interesting parts covered, but did nothing to hide the sweeping curves underneath. 

“Twelfth,” she responded just as politely. “Thank you.”

Cassian pressed the button and studied her further out of the corner of his eye. She was gorgeous, her golden-brown hair pulled into a low ponytail and her eyes looking even bluer from the color of her dress, and he idly wondered if she was new to the floor. With all the times he’d come to the office, he definitely would’ve remembered seeing someone who looked like that.

They got off on the same floor and Cassian motioned for her to go first. He got a quick smile for that, and as he followed her off the elevator, it didn’t take long for them to realize they were headed for the same place.

“Do you work at Velaris Editing, too?” the woman asked. 

“Nah, I just have a meeting with one of the editors,” Cassian responded, pulling the door to the office floor open. 

Their bewilderment only grew as they realized they were even headed for the same office. Cassian knocked on Mor’s open door and waved as she looked up, not a hair out of place on her pretty blonde head.  

“Cassian,” Mor greeted him with a wide smile as he walked inside her office. It dimmed slightly when she realized he was standing next to the woman who’d ridden the elevator up with him. “I see you’ve met the newest addition to the editing team. Nesta, I’m sure you’re familiar with Mr. Valladares’ popular series.”

“Congrats on the new job,” Cassian told Nesta sincerely. He turned to make a face at Mor before adding, “And you know Cassian is just fine, Mor.”

“Thank you, sir,” Nesta replied, finding a solution that appeased everyone in the room. Cassian squashed down just how much he enjoyed hearing her call him sir so they could finish this conversation as professionally as possible. “My nephew's quite the fan of your books.”

“Yeah?” Cassian asked with a grin. “What’s his name?”

“Nyx,” Nesta answered with a long-suffering sigh. She looked like she wanted to say more, but then Mor cleared her throat. “I had a question about one of my assignments, but I can send you an email once I’m back in my office.”

“Sounds good, Nesta,” Mor told her. “I’ll keep an eye out for it.”

“Thank you, Mor,” Nesta said. She smiled politely at both of them before beginning to make her way out of Mor’s office. “Enjoy the rest of your day.” 

“Really, Cass?” Mor said the second Nesta had closed the door behind her. “You’re so predictable.”

“What?” Cassian replied incredulously. Everyone knew how much he hated all the formal bullshit, especially Mor, and he’d only been carrying the conversation forward like any decent person would. “It was the nice thing to do!”

“Shut the hell up and come open these boxes,” she demanded, completely ignoring what he’d said. “They’re heavy, and I know all those muscles aren’t for show.”

Cassian rolled his eyes but helped lift two heavy boxes onto the chairs in front of Mor’s desk. She grabbed a pair of scissors and sliced them open, revealing the shiny new covers of his latest release with a flourish. “Tada!”

“They look great, Mor,” he told her sincerely. He reached for a book and allowed himself a few seconds to remind himself of how far he’d come. “Really. I can’t wait until they’re released.”

“You and me both,” she replied. “Your fans have been hounding me on Twitter for weeks.”

“What can I say? They’re a very dedicated group,” he responded, grinning. He wanted to say more, but then his phone beeped, reminding him of the meeting he’d actually come to the office for. “I gotta go, I can’t be late for my meeting with Emerie.”

“Before you leave, do I need to remind you of our non-fraternization policy?” Mor asked sweetly.

Cassian glared at her. “First of all, I don’t work for you, so I’m not subject to that policy. Second of all, I’m married.”

“Shouldn’t those have been in reverse order?” she fired back, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Like you’re one to talk,” he retorted. Mor and Emerie had gotten together at their last job before moving over to Velaris Publishing, so they both knew she was being a hypocrite. Not that it mattered, anyway — no matter how stilted things felt at home, he was still married.

“That’s exactly why I’m talking,” she replied with a knowing look. “I have unique expertise in the matter.”

Cassian stood and grabbed two books from the top of the box with a wink. “Don’t work too hard, yeah?”

“Bold of you to assume I work at all,” Mor fired back with her own wink. “Now get the hell out of my office. I have actual clients to help.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He left her office and walked across the hall to where Emerie was waiting for him, her own copy of his newest book already in hand. The sheer amount of tabs sticking out from between the pages should’ve been illegal, but she wasn’t one of the best in the business for no reason. “Nice of you to join me, Cassian. Close the door.”

“Why do I feel like I’m in the principal’s office?” Cassian joked. He shut the door behind him like she asked and settled into one of the plush chairs in front of Emerie. “You look nice. Hot date tonight?”

Emerie sat back in her chair, her perfectly tailored pantsuit moving with her. “You’re the only thing keeping me from my hot date, so let’s get a move on.”

He decided to stop fooling around and get down to business, the two of them moving quickly to identify any discrepancies in the printed versions before them. They’d learned the hard way to not double-check as many times as possible before sending a book off for a full print run, and there were only so many times he could take fans pointing out mistakes to him. 

The moment Emerie shooed him out of her office, Cassian wound his way through the maze of the floor toward the elevators. He was about to press the down button before he realized he was still holding one of the books in his hands, and made a split-second decision to do something nice instead of going straight home. 

“Excuse me,” Cassian said, turning around to face the young woman working the receptionist's desk. “Do you have a pen I can borrow?”

“Sure do,” she replied. She handed over a dark blue pen and went back to typing.  

Cassian placed the book on the desk and flipped open to the first title page, using his borrowed pen to write a quick note as neatly as he could manage. He didn’t know how old Nesta’s nephew was, so he decided to keep the note pretty simple. To Nyx — I hope you have fun enjoying this adventure a little early! 

He signed his name with a flourish and somehow managed to find Nesta’s office without getting too lost. She looked up the moment he knocked, a surprised expression flashing across her features before settling back into careful neutrality. “Is there something I can help you with, sir?”

“I just came to drop this off,” Cassian answered. He handed over the book he’d just signed with a little grin. “I hope your nephew enjoys it.”

Nesta’s eyes widened slightly as she took the book from him, her fingers cool as they quickly brushed his. “This is — are you sure?”

“I signed it in pen, so I can’t exactly take it back,” he joked. 

“But it won't come out for another month,” she protested, still looking a little shocked. “You won’t get in trouble?”

“I wouldn’t get in trouble for something like this,” he told her with a shrug. He’d been handing out advance copies of his books since forever, and if he could make another kid’s day, who was he to deny them that joy? “Besides, the kid clearly needs some good things in his life with a name like that.”

“My sister was very into Greek mythology growing up,” she responded dryly, relaxing a little once she accepted the gift and put it in her purse. Her eyes twinkled with amusement for a few moments before she sobered. “Seriously though, thank you. You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to,” he told her with a little shrug. He wanted to say more but his phone was buzzing in his pocket, and he opened it to see Tanwyn asking if he’d be home for dinner tonight. 

An excuse was ready on the tip of Cassian’s tongue to politely bow out of the conversation, but Nesta beat him to it. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. Thank you again for the book, sir.”

“You’re very welcome,” Cassian said back. “And really, just Cassian is fine. I hate all that formal sh— stuff. ”

“Alright, Cassian,” Nesta indulged him. “You just won me aunt of the year award, so if there’s anything I can do for you…”

Cassian knew she was just being polite, but it was hard not to let his mind wander toward all the things she could do for him, none of them appropriate to be thinking about right now. He forced all of that out of his mind as he made his way to the door. “I’ll keep that in mind. See you around, Nesta.”

She waved at him as he walked out of her office, and he made his way to the elevators as fast as he dared without looking suspicious. 

✵✵✵✵✵✵

As life went on, Cassian supposed the worst part was how little his wife suspected was going on with him  — actually, no. The worst part was how little he cared whether she knew what was going on. He knew he should give way more of a fuck about Tanwyn’s feelings, but it wasn’t like he’d actually betrayed her. He hadn’t laid a finger on Nesta, nor she on him, so what was a lingering stare here and there? What harm would a secretive little smile when he happened to see her before stopping into Mor’s office cause?

It turned out the answer was a hell of a lot.

Everything came to a head one night when Cassian was getting some work done in one of the empty offices at Velaris Editing. He had carte blanche to come into the office, use a free computer, and get some writing done whenever his home office wasn’t cutting it for him. He’d needed a serious location change after staring at the same group of mothers loop around his block for the fifth time, and he’d said fuck it and taken the short trip downtown to try and get something done here. He’d made a decent amount of progress on one of the chapters in his next book, enough for Mor to hopefully stop breathing down his neck about his next deadline, and he had been thinking about heading home when Nesta walked past the office he was using. 

Cassian had been content to just ignore her and get back to work, but she’d done a double take as she’d walked by before walking back to lean against the doorframe. 

“It’s late, Cassian,” Nesta said, the tiniest hint of suspicion leaking into her voice. “What are you doing here?”

Cassian shifted his headphones down, paused his music, and motioned to the computer in front of him. “Mor lets me use an empty office to get some writing done when I’m going crazy at home. A change of scenery does a lot for me sometimes.”

“Oh,” she replied, clearly caught off guard. “That’s… very generous of her.”

“Perks of being friends with the boss,” he fired back with a lazy grin. “What are you doing here so late?”

“One of my authors sent something in at the last minute, so I’m trying to get some edits in before the deadline,” she answered. She adjusted her position against the doorframe and his gaze immediately focused on the way her dress shifted slightly, revealing just the slightest bit more of her legs. “I usually try not to stay so late on Fridays, but it’s less work for next week.”

“Yeah,” he responded, internally cringing at his own words but too preoccupied with how badly he wanted her to do anything about it. “Hey, while I have you… do you mind showing me how to reformat some of these paragraphs? I think they updated the software since the last time I was here, so I have no clue what I’m doing.” 

“Oh, sure,” she agreed. She came over to his desk and stood next to him, the sudden change in proximity practically making his head spin. “It’s pretty straightforward once you know what you’re doing.”

Cassian tuned out Nesta’s probably-helpful explanation as he warred between what he wanted to do and what he should do. She was just so gorgeous and he wanted her so badly that he wanted to throw caution to the wind, consequences be damned.

His heart pounded in his chest at the enormity of what he was about to do. What if he’d been reading all of Nesta’s signals wrong? What if they actually weren’t alone, and someone found out about what they were doing? Hell, what if someone he actually cared about found out about it?

Does it matter? he thought to himself. You’ve wanted her for months. You’ve been fantasizing about her ever since you saw her in that elevator. When’s the next time you’re going to get her alone like this?

Fuck, he was such a piece of shit. But she was so close, she smelled so good, she looked so good in her dress, and he wanted her so fucking much.

“Nesta,” Cassian murmured, his hand shaking as he reached out and touched the small of her back. 

Nesta went rigid under his touch. “What are you doing?”

“If I’m reading this wrong, tell me,” he answered, deciding not to move his hand until he got a clear answer one way or the other. “I’ll fuck off and never talk to you again if I’m making you uncomfortable. But I don’t think I’m reading this wrong, sweetheart.”

“You’re married,” she protested. She hadn’t moved out from under his touch, though, and hope sparked in his chest despite what she was saying. “Won’t your wife be upset if she finds out?”

“Probably not,” he said much more nonchalantly than he felt. “We don’t even sleep in the same room anymore. I’m more excited about coming to the office and getting the chance to see you than I am about going home to her.”

“Cassian,” Nesta said quietly. “We can’t.”

“Why not?” Cassian asked. He started rubbing circles into her back and immediately noticed the way she leaned into it. “If you don’t want me, I’ll let you walk out of here right now. But if you do, and you’re just nervous…”

She was silent for so long that he thought the worst, but then she quietly told him, “No one can know about this.”

“They won’t,” he promised. He didn’t want anyone to find out about this any more than she did; she might get in trouble at work, but he could jeopardize his entire career if the world found out a beloved children’s author was cheating on his wife. 

“I’m serious, Cassian,” she continued like he hadn’t said anything. “I could lose my job over this.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to keep this between us, won’t we?” he asked. He slid his hand down and took a moment to appreciate the curve of her ass, squeezing it through the black fabric of her dress before smacking it once. “Go close the door.”

Nesta whipped around to glare at him, but she straightened up and did what he asked anyway. The sound of the door shutting suddenly made it feel even more real, and Cassian made himself take a deep breath before motioning for her to come closer. 

“You always look so good in these dresses,” he told her, reaching out to grab her once she was close enough. “How am I supposed to get anything done with you looking like that?”

“I don’t wear them for you,” she replied, but she let him pull her close anyway. He ran his hands over the fabric of her dress, humming appreciatively as he searched for the zipper and started pulling it down. 

“Yeah? And who do you wear these for?” he asked once her dress slid to the floor. She had on a matching bra and underwear, all that black lace practically screaming for him to rip it off her, but he forced himself to have at least some self-control.

“It’s not a crime to look nice underneath my work clothes,” she answered primly. She kicked her dress away and stepped out of her shoes, the loss of a few inches only bringing her closer to him. 

“And thank God for that.” He reached out to cup her breasts through her bra, appreciating the view before him for a few moments before reaching back to unclasp her bra. “Fucking gorgeous.”

Seeing Nesta in those tight dresses was one thing, but it was nothing compared to seeing her out of them. Cassian was nearly overwhelmed by all of that pale, creamy skin suddenly on display for him, and he almost didn’t know where to start. 

“Are you just going to look at me all day?” Nesta asked, breaking the spell. 

“Can’t a guy appreciate a good thing in front of him?” Cassian retorted with a smirk. He pulled her down to sit in his lap and had to bite back a groan at how she felt pressed against his cock even through two layers of fabric. 

“Only if you’re multitasking,” she replied, reaching out to start unbuttoning his shirt. He’d thrown on a white shirt and dark slacks on his way out of the house, and the sight of her fingers nimbly working at all those buttons made anticipation thrum through his entire body. “Jesus, how many buttons does this thing have?”

“Sorry.” He would’ve offered to help, but that would mean letting go of her, which wasn’t an option. “Next time I just won’t wear anything.”

She shot him a withering look before moving onto his pants, yanking open his belt and working quickly to free his cock. “Very funny.”

“I don’t think my dick is anything to laugh about,” he said, groaning as she wrapped her hand around it and started pumping. Her fingers looked even better on him than he’d dreamed. “Fuck, that’s good.”

She stroked him just as hard and tight as he liked, and it didn’t take long for him to start battling the urge to fuck into her hand. 

“Do you have a condom?” she asked, cutting directly to the chase. 

“Yeah,” he answered. He knew it would really make him look like an asshole, but he’d been carrying them around for the last couple of days, dangerously hoping that this exact kind of thing would happen to them. “In my wallet.”

She slowed her fast pace on his cock but thankfully didn’t completely stop stroking him. “Wishful thinking?”

“Something like that,” he replied. Not wanting to dwell on how terrible of a person he was for much longer, he looked away from her and started thinking about where he wanted to fuck her instead. “How do you feel about getting fucked on my desk?”

“It’s a borrowed desk,” she corrected him immediately, “but I feel pretty good about it.”

The desk was big enough that once they disentangled their bodies and moved the computer stuff to the side, Nesta had more than enough room to hop onto the desk and look at him expectantly. “Well?”

Cassian grabbed the condom out of his wallet and tossed it onto the desk next to her before sinking down to his knees, pressing a kiss to the inside of one of her pale thighs. Her skin was just as smooth and soft as he’d imagined and he just couldn’t get enough.

“What are you doing?” Nesta asked warily. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he answered. He pulled down her underwear and tossed it without a care for where it landed, practically drooling at the sight of her bare before him. “If you don’t want me to, I don’t have to, but… I really want to return the favor.”

“Not that I wouldn’t enjoy it, but we don’t have that kind of time,” she replied, looking at him a little incredulously. “Stop messing around.”

He sighed, recognizing her point but hating that she was right anyway. “Okay.”

“Don’t be so sad about it,” she told him with a roll of her eyes. The second he got to his feet, she reached out, grabbed one of his hands, and placed it squarely between her legs. “You can still return the favor. Just be quick.”

Cassian cataloged every sound that left Nesta’s mouth and every expression that flitted across her face as plunged a finger inside her. She was so wet that it was nothing to add a second finger, and the way she let her head fall back with a long moan went straight to his painfully-hard cock. The way she was riding his fingers didn’t make it hard to imagine how she would look doing that on his cock, and part of him wished they had more time so he could make that fantasy a reality. 

The other part of him wasn’t going to squander the opportunity in front of him. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, continuing to pump his fingers in and out of her. “Taking me so well, sweetheart.”

“I’ll take your dick even better,” she replied breathily. She reached down and pulled his hand away, bringing his soaked fingers to her mouth so she could suck them clean. She gave him a hell of a show as she tasted herself, bobbing her head up and down before she let his fingers go with an audible pop. “Mhmmm. Delicious.”

“You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered. She just looked up at him with a smug expression that he promised to himself he’d wipe off one way or the other. “Lay down on your back.” 

Nesta laid all the way down onto the desk and Cassian stepped in between her legs, adjusting them so they were loosely wrapped around his waist. “How do you want it?”

“Hard,” she answered with a challenging smirk, “and fast.”

“Won’t be a problem,” he told her with a smirk of his own. He reached for the condom and made quick work of getting it on, making sure it was rolled all the way down and secure. “You ready?”

“I’ve been ready,” she answered, moving her legs so they were wrapped more tightly around his middle. 

Cassian rubbed his cock against her clit a few times just to make her squirm before he lined himself up and pushed inside her with a loud groan. She was so tight and wet and hot around his cock that he knew he’d have to really focus so he wouldn’t come too soon. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Nesta moaned, her breath coming in little pants as he slowly but surely made her take every inch. 

“Just me and you here, sweetheart,” he retorted cheekily. Her mouth had fallen open into a silent oh, and he knew he’d never forget that expression for the rest of his life. “So pretty, taking all of me like this.”

“Less talking, more fucking,” she demanded. 

He didn’t dignify that with a verbal reply, instead pulling out and thrusting back into her over and over until he’d built up a steady pace. He knew they were technically racing the clock, but he was going to savor every moment that he could spare. 

“Come on, come on,” she pleaded, digging her heels into his ass to spur him into moving faster. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he replied. Still, he sped up the pace, grabbing her hips so she wouldn’t go flying off the desk from the force of his thrusts. 

“I like when it hurts.” She reached down and grabbed his forearms, encouraging him to press down on her hips even harder. “Oh, God… need you to use me.”

“And I thought I was the naughty one.”

“What?”

“You thought I wouldn’t notice the way you fucking looked at me?” Cassian asked, really letting himself go now that he knew she liked it. Nesta was finally a moaning, writhing mess underneath him, and he was going to wring every drop of pleasure out of her that he possibly could. “All those times you called me sir? What was I supposed to think, sweetheart?”

“You — oh, fuck — you looked at me first,” Nesta panted. Her breasts looked so good bouncing back and forth from the force of his thrusts that he couldn’t help but reach out and palm one roughly, pulling another moan out of her. “Jesus… always fucking staring at me.”

“Can you blame me?” he fired back. She felt so perfect on his cock that he knew it wouldn’t be much longer for him, and he was determined to bring her over the edge right along with him. “Everyone thinks you’re so innocent. Good thing I know the truth.”

She whimpered, arching up into his touch before one of her hands dipped between her legs. He almost couldn’t decide where to look, but her face was so open with her pleasure that he couldn’t look away from it. “Fuck, Cassian, don’t stop, don’t stop—”

Cassian swore as Nesta clenched hard around him, her body locking up from the force of her orgasm, and he only got a few more thrusts in before he was coming too. It swept over him like a wave, one that he couldn’t help but ride out by thrusting as deep inside her as he could and grinding their hips together. He wanted to live in this moment forever, from the little moans and whimpers she was making to the feel of her warm skin under his hands. 

He knew they couldn’t, but a man could dream. 

They laid there for a few moments, their pants eventually giving way to regular breathing. She hissed as he pulled out and handled the condom, but otherwise didn’t say anything as she watched him. He thought about saying something — maybe cracking a joke to break the tension — but he didn’t even know what he would say. Thanks for some amazing sex, we should do this again sometime?

He didn’t even get the chance, though; the silence was broken at the sound of the elevator going off from down the hall. Nesta’s eyes went almost comically wide as she sat up and pushed him away so she could hop off the desk, Cassian missing the shape of her body against his the moment she left. 

He was completely and utterly fucked. 

“Shit,” Nesta hissed. She frantically started looking for her clothes, not even bothering to put her underwear back on before she put her bra on and shimmied into her dress. “The cleaning people are here. We need to be out of here before they see us together.”

Cassian matched her sense of urgency immediately. He grabbed his shirt and started buttoning it back up before shoving his pants back on, the sound of his belt clinking together almost too loud in the sudden silence. “Let me know when you get home?”

“No,” she denied him without hesitation. She somehow managed to get most of her dress zipped up without any of his help, and he silently mourned the loss of all that skin on display. “We’re not doing that, Cassian. This was a one-time thing, and we’re never talking about it again. You’re going to go home to your wife and act like you give a shit, and I’m going to keep being normal so I don’t lose my job. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yeah,” he answered, swallowing down his irritation. How was he supposed to pretend like everything was normal now that he’d gotten a taste? “Crystal fucking clear.”

“Great.” Nesta did a final sweep before locating her shoes and shoving her feet into them. “Have a good night, Cassian.”

He stood there for a few moments in dumbfounded silence before forcing himself to move, her last words echoing in his head as he did a final sweep of the room. He didn’t want to get her in trouble any more than he wanted to get himself in trouble, but he already knew having her once wouldn’t be enough. He knew what her skin felt like underneath his hands, how tight she clenched around his cock when she came. If this was all he could have, he would take it gratefully, but he had a feeling this wouldn’t be the end of it. 

For fuck’s sake, he hadn’t even kissed her. There was no way that could be the end of it.  

Cassian spotted something black and lacy in the corner of the room, and he smiled to himself as he realized Nesta had been moving so hastily that she’d forgotten to grab her underwear. He picked them up and pocketed them, already thinking about all the things he could do with them as he walked out of the building.

tag list: @perseusannabeth | @bookstantrash | @charming-butt-insane | @oversizedbats | @melphss | @sv0430 | @podemechamardek | @autumnbabylon | @live-the-fangirl-life | @julemmaes | @that-little-red-head | @jmoonjones | @sayosdreams | @thewayshedreamed | @hiimheresworld | @brieq | @pearlfortears | @swankii-art-teacher | @nerdperson524 | @snickerdoodlechittybangbang | @imsointobooks | @nesquik-arccheron | @sweet-pea1 | @champanheandluxxury | @dustjacketmusings | @mrs-shadowsinger04 | @unlikelypersonalknight1 | @goddess-aelin | @arinbelle | @talkfantasytome | @simpingfornestaarcheron | @duskandstarlight | @letstakethedawn | @vidalinav | @c-e-d-dreamer | @dealfea | @katekatpattywack | @burningsnowleopard

[cer-rata]

⭐ : Most underrated character in your opinion

🌠 : Something about canon/fanon you dislike

⭐: John Henry and Natasha Irons. Not that they never get any shine. But...in a lot of ways they're haven't really gotten a lot to do in the past 20 years and that's sad. I think they're important for Metropolis, and the Superman mythos, and comics in general for what they represent, but...you know. They're there. There are characters that I think have been shafted worse, (Karen, Kara, Kenan, Jon, A--actually let me stop before I end up naming everyone) but Steel's tenure has been just...so uneventful for so long. He deserves to be on the Justice League at some point, and honestly. I would be thrilled if Steelworks got a book. Can you imagine a world where Steel and Mr. Terrific got to be characters at the same time? I digress.

🌠: That's an either/or slash, so I will ignore it and make two points instead. :3

Canon: I hate that Clark and Lois can't be like. Just...fine, at being parents even. Not even good at it but just not horrible? I feel like I've been talking about disdain for children a lot recently (it's a hill I will die on), but...I just think it's shitty writing tbh. And I looked pretty closely at the more recent examples. And they just smack of wasted potential. The stories are never allowed to go anywhere, which is so odd considering Bruce gets a new child to kick down a flight of stairs every 8 or so years. I don't' understand why the symbol of hope and progress that Superman is supposed to be is eternally saddled with making only the worst choices he can about his kids. I think even the Magog stuff in World's Finest was kinda like...Clark really?

And this is not to say I think he and Lois should be perfect parents, but there's a lot of ways for parents to stumble and shockingly, they often have to do with preexisting personality traits. Apathy and stupidity color neither Clark Kent nor Lois Lane, so if you want them to mess up their children, maybe at the very least tie those problems into flaws they already have.

Or again, maybe just tell a nice coming of age story for once.

*Ahem*

Fanon: People don't read enough comics. And like...I'm not saying you have to read everything all the time, I cheat and skim and ask for summaries, but I mean more that the general cultural awareness of the content of Superman media is far below that of Batman media and because of that people don't pull from as much established stories as I wish they would, and as such tend to lean on other characters to support narratives that are supposed to be about Supers. Again that's not some kind of moral judgement, it's just a consequence of not being as familiar with the material and it happening often enough to kind of just become a thing. I do blame the publisher primarily for the way they've marketed a select few characters ad nauseam and somehow wonder why other books aren't doing so well. Batman is only so popular because of the long, decent and consistent history he has of pretty good media adaptations, and aggressive marketing. I feel like most generations have a moment where Batman was culturally a big deal, and that's not just a reflection on the fiction but on the money and attention given it to by its caretakers.

To me fanon is a theory that answers a question left open by the actual text. I think when people just...say things happened that didn't and are in direct conflict with what is written on the page, it's just ...fanfiction. Which I like, but it's explicitly not canon and I think that should be clear always.

And that does tie in to my first point actually, because the less you know about a character, the more you make up, and if you don't really get the bones of the original idea, then it's really easy to start projecting, and then you have popularized fan depictions consumed by people who only read fanfiction and suddenly there is earnest complaining about a canon that does not exist. Which just...makes it hard to communicate sometimes, and I don't have the patience always to drag out the scans every time I want to talk about my fave, but there's no real guarantee that anyone is knows has base concept anymore, you really have to check every time.

Don't be Grant Morrison. If you want to reference something specific, read the thing first. No one knows what Clark's reaction to Kon actually was and why it was what it was, and it's...well it's actually really funny to see discourse pop up about two characters where no one present knows what's going on, but also, like. Yikes.

[simtleman]

As the sun was setting in Deadgrass Isle, the Claythorpe mansion seemed shockingly quiet giving the fact that it was almost full to its guest capacity.

Everyone was in their respective room finishing getting ready for dinner. The surroundings were so silent one could even hear the branches of the bushes in the front yard, dancing gracefully to the rythm of a gentle breeze. The calm right before the storm, as some like to call it.

Upstairs in one of the main guest rooms, Vivienne was putting the final touches to her makeup. Cooper had already finished dressing up and went downstairs to grab a drink before dinner was served.

Alone and right next to a cozy fire, Vivienne took a last look at her face in the mirror. The sutil light coming from the flames lightened up her features.

Yes, she could most certainly appreciate how lucky she had been with her looks. Someone from her background could have never succeeded the way she did it had it not been for them. But could she do it all over again, if she ever had to? And most importantly, had it all been worth it, really?

— I guess we're about to find out— she said to herself.

Down in the drawing room, Cooper walked in and was surprised to find Reverend Da Gioia already there... patiently sitting on one of the white linen armchairs.

— Already here?

— It's one of the good things about wearing an habit. One doesn't have to give much thought to what he's gonna be wearing.

— Yeah, about that... there's something we need to talk about, Lorenzo.

— Lorenzo?— Reverend Da Gioia asked— We're doing first names now? Here?

— Listen, there has been a change of plans...

— What do you mean?

Cooper swallowed and poured himself a whiskey on the rocks. He was about to say something when the drawing room doors opened once again. It was Vivienne.

— Vivienne darling, you look dazzling— Cooper said to his wife.

— Thank you, dear. Reverend, it's good to see you. I'm glad you could join us.

— I wouldn't have missed it for the world, Mrs. Vivienne. Plus, Mrs. Edna wouldn't have forgiven me otherwise. Would you care to join us?

— Yes dear, why don't you take a seat? Care for a drink?— Cooper asked.

— No thank you, I'll just have a cigarette.

— Reverend, I haven't offered you because I assumed...

— Rightfully so, Mr. Claythorpe. Drinking is not one of my vices.

— Does a Reverend even have any vices?— Vivienne asked ironically, while cracking a witty smile.

— He is a man, after all. Even a man of God is allowed to indulge a bit every now and then, darling Vivienne.

Reverend Da Gioia moved uncomfortably in his chair, avoided looking at anyone present and limited himself to saying:

— If you'll excuse me, I'd like to go do my prayers before dinner. Enjoy your appetizer, Mr. Claythorpe. I'll see you both in the dining room.

As Reverend Da Gioia left the room, Vivienne stood up and moved closer to the window while continuing smoking. Cooper, on the other hand, sat on the couch and kept quiet.

— You must think I'm real stupid, don't you Cooper?— Vivienne asked, turning away from him.

— I beg you pardon?

Cooper took a cigarette out of his case and made an attempt to light it up.

— You know, respect is the one thing I always thought I could expect from you. Up until you came, all men in my life treated me like some sort of... I don't know. Like I was nothing but a dumb blonde.

— You're anything but a dumb blonde, darling.

— You must have forgotten, then.

— What are you talking about, for God's sake?

Vivienne turned on her toes, walked towards Cooper and sat right in front of him. She stared at him without blinking, not even once. She took one last smoke from her cigarette, and said:

— I know what you've been up to.

— What?

And right before Vivienne was capable of saying anything, Mr. Tackett knocked on the door, came in and announced:

— If you could please accompany me to the dining room, Mrs. Claythorpe's ready for her guests and dinner is about to be served.

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[sunlessea]

his fingers follow the trails of candles, just long enough until there's enough light for him to see a little better. there's a light switch, somewhere, and he thinks it might even work, knowing the illustrious mr plagues ... but turning them on proper would cause too much of a stir, if someone out in the city night happened to see the place lit up outside of the dome. so he leaves it be, and picks up a lantern, when he finds it, lighting that with his match too, before flicking it away.

it trusts him a great deal, to follow him into this space. not that he has strength to kill a master of the bazaar — he's hardly cassius ashburnum, beloved figurehead of the rebellion true. he isn't stupid enough not to realize how this must look, though. if he were cassius, risen from the flames like a phoenix as london had rumored him to be ... it's a gamble that it takes, and he wishes he could say he didn't understand. but he does. he knows why it follows, and he knows more why he turns to face it and chokes up looking at it, pulled free from its cloaks. he'd watched it tear at them, but ... it's different, when it slinks up to him, wraps its arm around his waist. it'd followed him with such gusto, too, just like he knew it would. like reckless teenagers, the both of them. perhaps he's stealing back some of the rebellious youth he'd been deprived of as a young man, after all.

"oh, i hear singing sometimes. i think it's god asking me what the hell i'm doing sucking my boss's dick at nine in the morning." his bite is so shockingly deadpan, one would wonder how oft this man flustered. it seems to be plenty pleased with itself, though, so far be it from him to ruin its mood. he's gawking at it, for all his tongue is sharpened, though. his expression is in sharp contrast to his words, false heat creeping up his face ... and he is glad that there are no candles with his name carved 'pon it lit in this space, not yet, not for a while. he huffs 'gainst its elbow to his ribs, but is strikingly resolved, hardly even stumbling from it. "you better be careful calling a caitiff one of yours. you'll have the masters and the camarilla knocking at your door and i am not beguiling enough to convince a room full of bats to sponsor me. i've heard mr veils is truly a lovely boss, though. don't wear paisley."

he's always witty, but usually he is quite mean spirited : there's something notably lighthearted in the banter, where he almost seems to hold back his own smile in favor of forcing himself to remain as expressionless as he oft already was. never minding, he takes its claw with one hand, holding the lantern with his other, and pulls it forward through the planetarium hall. it had been so lovely once, lit up with a myriad of gaslit stars. now it's frozen in time, not even in shambles, just ... left, untouched. off limits to everyone, even the masters who had capsized it. he wonders what the doctor had even kept it for, in the end.

"when did i have the time for what? sprucing the place up a bit? climbing through the window was just because you're here. i couldn't take you through the front door and risk someone seeing you overstep your agreement. that said, i maintain this place for ms luminaries, if you really want to know. as well i should. i built the damn planetarium. the parts that mattered, anyways." he gestures to the halls, overrun with dust and overgrowth from london's strange cave plants that have started to sprout where they could, but it's in better shape than it should be. "i used to do things much grander than working in the yards. i suppose i must've had dreams once, when i first came to london. i'm a brilliant engineer. shocking. but ... i don't know. i was too tired, after a while. we met, you and i and your peers, before i ever worked under you, when i was among the londoners who appealed your good graces to allow the planetarium to open. i doubt you noticed i existed. once you lot shut this place down, i didn't see a reason to keep trying anymore. if this world was only ever going to treat me as something lesser, then why should i ever bother trying to aspire to be heard?" dismal, but true. he stops where the halls split, in two directions. one sign points to the high wilderness. the other, the milky way. two worlds, made one. "i wasn't that cross, despite how it sounds. the truth is that whether this place failed or thrived, i would've still ended up in the yards. working under you was my swansong, a slow suicide, and as it turned out, i liked this place more once it was empty."

he doesn't realize he's fallen into something of a reverie. it's not quite melancholy, as he often is. just thoughtful, where he turns to face it proper. he doesn't push it away or stiffen, humming with one eye closing as it wraps itself around him, its deep purr against his ear and lips shortly after pressed to his head. he stares at it again, in awe only of how he never could have imagined this for his life where he had only seen a watery grave : or how he never could have imagined it, the creature who had hailed night, so very full of life. "you are pretty," he acknowledges, his voice something of a sigh, not far off from defeat. what can he do now? he's lost. he should've died in the yards under its employment, but he didn't. and this place shouldn't be standing at all, but it is. the mysteries of life, he supposes. of life and heart.

"i learned a lot about the high wilderness when i made the star domes. luminaries was particular about it. the marriage of your home and what you'd ran from, intertwined with the fabrics of mine." she had told him a lot that he shouldn't have known about the curators, but the secrets, as it had turned out, were safe with him, until now. "for all i learned about your world, the one you don't like looking back at and then one we live in now, you never learned much about mine. you weren't the only one who abandoned their stars, fires." his smile, then, falls lopsided, a small shrug to his shoulders. as it untangles itself, he pulls it with him again. he turns his back on the high wilderness, and instead, he brings it home. the entrance to the dome is simple, undecorated. large, white doors in presentation, almost medical in appearance. but he guides it, nonetheless, and banters as he pulls it through.

"don't be silly. there's nothing memorable about me, not to london, anyways. they'll recall you whisked me away one day, and then in return i whisked you further. but this city will never know me. if there's anything special or proper about any love story being written, fires, it is that it is yours." the room is insignificant at first glance, but he ruefully releases its hand to close the large doors behind them. the candle is the only light now, where he moves past it to something large in the middle of the room, not unlike a projector. "love stories aren't about mystery. they're about hearts, whether they are beating or not. they're about looking at someone without them realizing that you are staring," he crouches to mess with a few of the mechanisms about, huffing as he fiddles, "—and realizing, in a million tiny moments that otherwise appear insignificant to those around the two of you, that you have fallen in love with them a second time, and then a third, and then a millionth—aha!" something sparks and he jumps back, shaking his hand from the sharp pain of it.

it only takes a moment, for the ceiling to light up in a thousand little constellations : a mixture of light, and color, and movement. stars, asteroids, galaxies, and plentiful more. the masters never would've allowed this manner of technology imported from the surface to go public. but, oh, it was such a lovely dream. he is proud of himself at least, where he blows out the candles and sets it down, no longer needed where the false stars above them now offer it instead. the high wilderness, he had gathered in his construction, had been something to admire being among the stars. but the surface, rather poetically, had always been below them, gazing up.

he returns to its side, squinting at it as he reaches up to touch his fingertip to its lips, smug. "you can only claim that you are truly in love, murciélago tonto, when you realize that there are some things that simply cannot be told through story. you can read it through letters and notes and novels, but it will never be the same as feeling it. of course, not that we really have much to compare it to." with a huff, he turns and wanders into the middle of the room, before collapsing onto the ground, his hat ends up quite a ways away from him from the fall, but as he blows his hair from his face unceremoniously, he ignores it. "think of how cute you would've looked, shuffling in here to lay in one of our little recliners to stare up at the stars. it's your loss, you know. i poured my heart and soul into this place ... now what am i meant to hand them over to?"

like attracts like, and trouble draws its makers : so was such a feud best summarized as something brought to stalemate, but it was a battle neither one were bound to win. not with plagues involvement, in any case : it'd argued for luminaries censure, irons for her sense of business practices, and if he'd asked it'd have hordes of stories to share about why it felt so strongly — barring london thus from knowledge of their home in part mostly to keep them from any particularly stupid ideas : like returning the city to a place in the skies, somewhere far, far beyond the caves it'd been buried beneath. not that he could know those intricacies, with how it polluted the city so terribly one would think it were trying to smother it in soot and smog 'fore it ever reached its industrial heyday. but that couldn't be further true, and drudging up its history is hardly his intention. this, it knows, from the moment he turns on his heel, its own sour expression fallling back to curiosity where he whipped back 'round to hurl a brick in the building's direction.

and it hardly startles! no more than the brief widening of the eyes in any case, mouth caught agape searching for words it cannot seem to find. the sounds it makes, barely even half-syllables 'fore it gives up entirely, swallows, lets its ears flick and posture loosen where it stands some paces behind. it isn't certain whether his behavior or its own temporary refusal to falter is the bigger act of outright rebellion.

it's never seen him like this. and in truth, it doesn't think it minds the change so much—however utterly befuddled he leaves it standing; taken aback, lips pursed where all the while it watches him. this is the first time it's nearly speechless : if only for the fact it doesn't know what to make of him, or their surroundings—from his monologue, to the petty bit of friendly ruckus; it doesn't have the heart to tell him that misdemeanors such as these are hardly its particular province, so above are the masters above that which even the constabulary would likely care more for were it not a plot of land abandoned; he looks so proud of himself—how high he raises his head with arrogant huff, it doesn't even recall a moment it's seen him grin with such reckless abandon, or any abandon at all. makings of a proper brujah indeed, the rebel soul that lights his heart on fire.

" whatever am i to do ... " wisdom urges it not to follow; to do anything other, let its words draw out back to silence and raise its head and not fall prey to a most obvious trap. but its impulses beg it other : and its these which it acts upon, where its feet start to follow him through the roughage and rubble and disarray. " i suppose it would be my responsibility, then, " it hums as it starts to shuffle out of its cloaks. an undue weight where it isn't necessary; this far away from any sort of public, even the dim glow of carnie lights couldn't hope to reach. its identity then, both secured and revealed, though its a sight he's borne witness to quite a few many times, this is different. the swiftness in where it unclasps each hook keeping them pinned to less than proper attire, ragged and ill-fitting to its form. one would think the masters keep their clothing in better condition—they could certainly afford to! that leaves it only to be its own aesthetic choice, to look the part just a step 'bove street urchin, as it bundles the robes in its claws and cranes its neck up to smile back. a little too toothy to be comforting, unmarred by shadow to mask the more devious glint in the curl of its lip, the squint of its eyes. " —to apprehend the offender. "

bundled and discarded, more carefully than perhaps is necessary, in the shrubbery below as it presses its heel 'gainst the planetarium walls, reaches up to grasp the windowsill. its not particularly worried about the glass. were it any more deluded, it'd think he just tossed it a wink 'fore his form disappears on the other side. well, there's only one way to go from here, and that was— " to give chase, " and hup! " —and to capture! "

it hoists itself up with unnerving ease, thanks in part from its height; it hangs from the side for all but a short moment before it shouts and practically throws itself over, crouched in on itself when it lands— and strangling back laughter, from the sound of it, if the delighted little chuffs were of any indication. " pages' blood has hardly touched you. and you would know it, the way it parades around, singing of our false stars. you're too good for it. " its only a second more 'fore its at his side again, arm slinking around his waist as it bows its head to nuzzle 'gainst his own ... before sparing him quite the harsh nudge right to the ribs, standing back indignant. the scowl it wears, though, has a playful edge; not furious. " —is what i would say! but wild is looking to be the better word. you're brujah yet, or i'll toss myself on veils working line! " and its voice lends further credit to its feeble attempts at humor, chuckling to itself as if the very idea he belonged to anyone other was so outlandish indeed. bold claims to make of a caitiff, it knows, but it's certain of it. not that it gets long to process the thought before its attention is lost again.

its laughter inevitably settles, and its arms cross loosely over its chest where it casts its gaze over shape and shadow. this place could have been beautiful once : still is, perhaps, however haunting. the urchins certainly could make quite a ghastly tale from the way the light flickers over broken displays. only some of the planets it recognizes, brow raising as it—practically—stargazes. " when did you even have the time for this? " or the energy, or the resources ... it would have a list for miles, if it didn't stifle itself, fang catching cheek as its eyes adjust the familiar warmth of candlelight. curiouser.

" you're with me, of course they'll remember you. " it mutters at last, its attention drawn 'way from replicas of the reach and further things. no use paying it mind, when there was a mystery still to uncover. of a boy, and a bat, and the stars between them : it catches his eye in an instant, and just like that, its purring again, even if its tone falls the slightest bit melancholy. " ...though i can't assure the most savory sort of stories, i can promise a memory. " and slowly, it moves to curl itself 'round him again, bowing its head to press a kiss to the top of his before standing straight again. " ours, us — london hardly understands the intricacies of a well crafted story. a proper love story is ... " its voice draws out with a hum, where its hand raises to cradle his face again. it feels like its looking at him again, for the very first time. he was so scared, once : but it doesn't see that same fear anymore. he's changed. " ... mysterious, however captivating the tale. " or the person behind it. undeniable then, is the way its expression softens in how it looks at him : tender, longing.

[bright-eyes-strawberry-lies]

Mrs. Chase is a fucking saint. She should be offered immortality for putting up with all the shit she does. In no particular order, here's some things Mrs. Chase just has to live with.

On their wedding night, Frederick confesses he's a virgin. But yes, Annabeth is his biological daughter. It's complicated. No, he won't explain further.

Speaking the name of Annabeth's mother will summon her so it's better if Mrs. Chase just doesn't know at all.

Her new stepdaughter is suddenly having frequent nightmares about spiders for no apparent reason and keeps saying there are cobwebs on her.

Strange people keep attacking Annabeth and Mrs. Chase's sons, but especially Annabeth, with alarming frequency. It's scaring Bobby and Matthew but if she keeps the kids separate, only Annabeth is a target.

WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE AND WHY DO THEY KEEP ATTACKING HER STEPDAUGHTER?

Mrs. Chase has no clue what's going on and now her stepdaughter is talking about monsters and weird shit and Frederick do something about this. Frederick does not do anything about this.

Seriously why are these people going after Annabeth? Is it a trafficking ring? Did her mysterious mother who has not been named and is in no photographs put a hit out on her own daughter? WHAT IS HAPPENING?!

Annabeth ran away. Frederick does not file a police report.

Months (or years) later, they begin to get letters in the mail from Long Island saying that Annabeth is at some camp. Frederick asks her to come home.

Annabeth hates all of them and wants them all to die, including her father. She will not come home.

She does come home and the random attacks by random people start all over again but this time Annabeth has a dagger and SHE'S KILLING PEOPLE.

FREDERICK, I SAW THAT DAGGER! WHAT IS GOING ON? WHERE IS SHE HIDING THE BODIES? FREDERICK, DO SOMETHING.

Annabeth runs away again. Frederick still refuses to file a police report.

Annabeth decides to live with them again and this time they're driving up to the camp but they aren't allowed to actually visit the camp and see what kind of place it is. For some reason they can't seem to move past the giant pine tree and the valley is covered in fog.

"My mother gave me this cap," Annabeth says about the Yankee's cap. She doesn't let anyone near it. She won't tell Mrs. Chase what her mother's name is or when she saw this woman.

Sometimes Mrs. Chase cannot find Annabeth. She was right there.

A boy Annabeth's age and an older girl from Annabeth's mysterious camp come and pick her up for something but no one is saying what. Their eyes are shattered and almost seem to glow from within. Frederick doesn't ask where Annabeth is going or when she'll be back.

The same kids, plus one more who has a bow and arrow on her back, come back a while later to inform them that Annabeth is in terrible danger. They talk about battles like they were there. They say that they need to borrow the Chase's car.

Frederick agrees. Mrs. Chase calls the insurance company. By the time she's off the phone, Frederick tells her that he's going to take his plane out for a while. Just for a short flight. It has nothing to do with Annabeth. He has a belt of bronze bullets slung over his shoulder.

Frederick comes back. His plane has been damaged. The bullets are missing. He says Annabeth is fine. Annabeth does not come back for several more days.

She has a streak of white in her hair when she gets home.

Annabeth and her father get into fights about moving to California.

Even more people in California want to attack Annabeth. By now, Mrs. Chase has accepted that this is her life. She becomes a wine mom. She still doesn't know what Annabeth does with the bodies.

Annabeth runs away again several times. She comes back after a few days. There are tickets to New York stuffed in her shorts pockets. During summer, she goes back to New York to go to the camp. She laughs at the suggestion of attending a different camp in California.

Mrs. Chase does not know where the money for all these plane tickets is coming from. At this point, it's probably better not to ask.

A handsome young man with a scar on his face comes to the door asking for Annabeth. They sort of have the same facial structure but when asked if he's somehow related to Annabeth, he just sighs. Which isn't a no. He's carrying a sword. He and Annabeth fight when he asks her to run away with him. Shockingly, Annabeth refuses to run away for the first time in her life. He tells Annabeth to kill him. Shockingly, Annabeth refuses to kill someone for the first time in her life. The young man leaves. Mrs. Chase never sees him again.

When Mrs. Chase asks Frederick about the young man, he just tells her that he's one of Annabeth's mother's people. This does not clear anything up.

Annabeth's boyfriend - the one with the shattered eyes who asked to borrow the car - has disappeared under mysterious circumstances. No one is sure if he's dead or just missing. Annabeth refuses to come home when summer is over. It's been over a year since she's been home.

When Annabeth does finally come home, she looks like a walking corpse.

Frederick and Annabeth fly to Boston to look for Annabeth's cousin because he's apparently in danger. Magnus dies under mysterious circumstances and Frederick attends the funeral. Annabeth does not fly home with him because she is apparently doing important things with Magnus. Who is dead. Frederick, he's dead, what is she doing with him?

Annabeth finishes school and moves back to California (with her boyfriend who barely looks like a person anymore and no one should have eyes that broken) because apparently there is a camp there that she can live full-time at and it also has a college. The family can't visit her there because their type aren't allowed.

Mrs. Chase wonders if Annabeth is a white supremist or in a cult or both. The attacks on Bobby and Matthew have stopped completely. Frederick still writes letters to Annabeth but he doesn't see her even though she's within driving distance. His letters occasionally mention Magnus, the aforementioned dead cousin, who has somehow opened up a homeless shelter for teenagers called Chase Space despite being dead and only sixteen.

A search reveals no information about Chase Space's owners. The phone just rings endlessly when you dial the number. There is no listed address.

Mrs. Chase sits on a chair and stares into her wine glass. "This is fine," she says.

[ev-pierce-writes]

Quantum Entanglement

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Words: 6.4k (oops)

Rating: 18+ (get outta here ya children)

Summary: Steve Rogers decides to disappear, take some time for himself in the solitude of a small town where he meets you.

Warnings: p in v. oral fem receiving. size kink (reader is much smaller than Steve in more ways than one). soft (very very soft) fem dom.

AN: This is stupid soft. Just simping all over the gd place. I'm so sorry but my baby Steve deserves nothing but the purest, sweetest form of love and that's what he's getting, though I imagine he likes to be ordered around. Took me way too long to feel good about this.

---

There had been the snap. And then the resurrection. Steve had lost everyone he loved and then had most of them returned, and it felt good to go back to normal, in some ways. In other ways, it was stifling.

As the world reeled and tried to figure out how to "be normal" in a time that was anything but, normalcy felt forced, rushed, exaggerated. He wanted to be in this world, of course. The 1940s were no longer his home, and Steve had everything he wanted here. But he didn't feel complete. A piece was always missing, something from a past life, that he couldn't quite name but knew he had to find.

So he disappeared. Went undercover as some might call it. Bucky knew, of course, and Sam on some level. But to the rest of the world, he had slipped quietly back into the past to live the rest of his life. In reality, he'd slipped into Herrington, Massachusetts, a small coastal town where he was invisible to the world.

He'd found a little house, a cottage on the beach, and settled in completely. He didn't need a job, the government was more than willing to pay him a severance check of some sort, but he took one anyway, stocking the local grocery store and delivering groceries to the elderly when they ordered. It was just antiquated enough to remind him of a faraway time, of the past, but didn't force him to give up his wifi and color television. That was something he'd come to love.

And that was where he met you. You, the petite spitfire with a bone to pick with the entire world. Fierce, loyal, and slightly terrifying when double-crossed. The first time he met you, you had come out of your great-aunt's house shaking a fist over the groceries.

"I told Mr. Pierce," you were yelling, "not to skimp me on the meat." Mr. Pierce was the grocery store owner. And the meat in question was a roast, for what purpose, Steve wasn't sure, but one that apparently did not satisfy your desires.

You hadn't been the one to answer the door, that was your great-aunt Agnes, a kind, leather-faced woman who liked to tip Steve a healthy amount for "carrying all those heavy groceries for a silly old lady like me."

"It's no problem ma'am," he'd replied and stepped back toward his motorcycle, recently decked out with a basket on the back to transport deliveries. Then you'd chased him down the road until he noticed you and stopped, shouting all the way.

"When you see him," you said, your finger wagging in his face, puffing and out of breath from your yelling and running, "tell the bastard that's the last time he gets away with making me pay for his shitty cuts of meat."

Steve didn't really know what to say, but then your face softened, your voice calmed, and you took a deep breath. Maybe the panicked look on his face had made you have a change of heart. "I apologize for yelling at you, I know you're just the messenger. But that slimy son-of-a-bitch is going to get what's coming for him someday."

"I'll let him know," Steve replied with half a smile on his face.

"You aren't from around here are you?" you had asked, a sudden look of curiosity in your bright eyes.

Steve nodded. "Just moved here."

"Look, I'm really sorry." You stuck out your hand and introduced yourself, and Steve had found that hand to be surprisingly supple and calloused for its tiny size. "Let me make it up to you. Aunt Agnes seems to like you. We're having a potluck tonight, her place. Why don't you come by and meet the neighbors? I'm sure they'd love a new face, especially one as handsome and friendly as yours. Maybe make some friends, even."

You were being surprisingly friendly and sincere, and Steve had no choice but to accept the invitation.

So that's how he ended up in an old lady's backyard, handing off a bowl of his mother's jello salad (it was a potluck after all), and accepting a beer from a man who looked similar enough to be your brother (a cousin, it turned out). You didn't even notice his arrival, flying about, getting everything set up, taking part in the appropriate amount of small talk. Earlier, when you'd chased Steve down the road, your hair had been flung all about your head, wisps of it sticking out from all directions and looking positively a mess. You'd been wearing jeans with mud on the knees and a t-shirt that had more holes than necessary for your arms and head. Now, your hair was pinned back and tamed and you floated about in a soft blue sundress, revealing a delicate plane of skin across your shoulders and tan arms and legs.

The calloused hands and muddy jeans made sense now as well. The backyard of Aunt Agnes' house was primarily a garden, not only beautiful rose bushes and creeping wisteria but rows and rows of fruits and vegetables, cucumbers, tomatoes, watermelon, strawberries. The work was obviously the product of a talented gardener.

Aunt Agnes was the one to welcome him in, having noticed Steve before you did and taking his arm. She began to talk, of you and the neighborhood and her many, many family members. She introduced them one by one, though most of the names he immediately forgot. But it was a blessing to not be recognized and he relished the feeling. Sure, he'd grown out his beard and his hair was a bit longer than the standard military high and tight, and he wore a flannel with the sleeves rolled up instead of red, white, and blue spangles, but it still amazed him that he could pass through the world like this.

Eventually, the conversations became too much, and Steve excused himself to the kitchen to find a drink while he waited for the food to be ready. Really he just wanted some silence, a relief from society. But you'd beat him there, and, ever the busy bee, were scrambling to fill a cooler with more ice.

"Steve!" you exclaimed when you saw him, pleasant surprise plastered across your face. "I'm so glad you came."

You reached out and gave him a hug that took Steve so much by surprise he almost forgot to return it. It was shockingly warm, your arms around his neck, and though he had to stoop down to your level, he wrapped his arms around your waist anyways.

"I hope they didn't overwhelm you out there. My family can be a lot."

"No, not at all. Just needed some quiet. I'll let you get back to work."

"I could actually use your help if you don't mind."

You directed him into the front room toward a stack of boxes, cases of drinks he assumed. When Steve returned to the kitchen, all four boxes piled in his arms, you nearly dropped the glasses in your hands in shock. You recovered quickly, trying to remain polite despite your poorly hidden astonishment, but Steve could already tell you were trying to compute how he had managed to carry over a hundred pounds of drinks in one go.

"You can, um, put them on the counter I guess," you managed to stutter out. Your sudden flustered state was amusing, and Steve noticed he liked the way you seemed almost embarrassed, cheeks flushed pink, though he had no idea why you should feel that way.

But then you picked back up with your normal bubbly chatter, and Steve found himself lingering longer and longer in the kitchen with you until he realized neither of you were doing anything but talking, the work abandoned in lieu of discussions about the town, your stall at the farmers market, and eventually, very naturally, the passing of your parents. The slip into deep conversation was easy, surprisingly easy, easier than it had ever been with anyone else, even though Steve felt himself having to lie a bit about his past. Sure, he could admit to being from Brooklyn and having no family and his stint in the military, but that was about the extent of it. He found himself wanting to tell you more but refraining.

When your cousin called that food was ready from the backyard, the jolt back to reality was abrupt and almost unwelcome, until you smiled and allowed him to put a hand on your back, pulling Steve out to enjoy some food.

As night fell, lights twinkled on in the backyard, and the summer heat reduced to a light thrum as the breeze from the ocean swept through the town. Fireflies glowed in the darkness of the low trees behind the house and you seemed to glow as well, good food and friendly conversation lighting your face up with joy. You caught Steve's eye several times during the night, noticing him watching you from across the garden, but he didn't care. He liked that his attention made you smile.

Finally, the party began to dwindle, as parents with young kids trickled out, followed by the older folks, heading off to bed. Soon, even Aunt Agnes turned in and only the cousins close to you in age remained. They pulled out the stronger bottles of alcohol, sitting in plastic chairs and passing shots around the barbeque that still glowed hot with coals. Steve accepted every pass of vodka that came his way, despite knowing it wouldn't get him even remotely drunk. But the camaraderie of the moment helped ease a bit of that gaping hole in his soul so he clung to it as best he could. And you were sitting next to him, insisting he take a sip, and again he couldn't turn you down.

"And then Jack nearly sunk the boat in the bay," you were saying, telling the story of one of your cousin's finer moments. "Your dad almost killed us."

"Oh you want to bring that up?" he teased. "How about the time you snuck out and Aunt Agnes caught you making out with Michael on the beach."

You blushed bright red at the reminder but protested that was years ago. Then another cousin brought up his own late-night escapades and you devolved into a fit of giggles, leaning so far out of your chair that Steve had to catch you before you slipped right to the ground. Your hand gripped his to recover but, to his surprise, you never removed it, even as you righted yourself in your seat. Your hand just remained in his, your small fingers wrapped in his large ones, as you turned to pester him into telling a story.

"What about you Steve? Tell us an embarrassing story."

He looked around at the group and they leaned in expectantly, curious to know more about the stranger who was quickly becoming a friend. Steve didn't know what to say, most of his stories involving things he wasn't yet ready to reveal about himself. So he picked one from long ago.

"I once picked a fight with a guy at a bar. He was a bit of a Nazi. Got my ass kicked. Fortunately, I had a friend to back me up or he definitely would have killed me."

Everyone looked shocked. "But you're so strong," someone spoke up. "Look at you. How could anyone beat you in a fight?"

Steve shrugged, not wanting to admit to it being a pre-serum story. "Guess I'm a bit of a pacifist."

He turned to you to gauge your reaction. Your eyes were wide, sparkling with mischief and curiosity and a hint of disbelief. For a moment Steve thought you had figured it out, figured out who he was, but then you started giggling again and the only thing keeping you in your seat was his hand in yours.

"That's not embarrassing Steve, that's just the most fucking noble thing I've ever heard. Making us all look bad."

Your teasing words made his heart flutter in his chest and he felt like he could get used to this crowd.

Eventually, the coals of the barbeque started to wink out, and the cousins excused themselves for the night, heading home on foot to the various houses they had come from. It seemed no one lived too far apart in this town. Suddenly, the backyard was quiet.

"Can I give you a hand cleaning up?" Steve asked, not wanting to leave you with the job that looked a bit overwhelming to him.

You looked around and shrugged, a little tipsy but fully aware that it was a big mess. "I'll probably just take care of it in the morning. Can you just help me get the dishes inside?"

Steve obediently gathered up plates and cups, filling the dishwasher in several trips. Finally, the last were inside and you stood in the kitchen filling the sink to wash the pots and pans while Steve tried awkwardly to find a way to say goodbye.

"Um, thank you," he said at last, "for welcoming me into your community. It means a lot. I'll, uh, see you later I guess. Have a good night."

You stopped your scrubbing to look up at him, bubbles up to your elbows, your face flushed from the warm night air and the alcohol.

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

You paused, hesitant, eyes searching his face for confirmation of a mutual feeling. "Do you ever feel like you were meant to meet someone? For a reason?"

The question hit him like a ton of bricks, and he realized that this night had made him feel exactly that way, that somehow he was meant to end up here and meet you, of all people. Why else had there been an instant connection unless this was just the way you were with everyone?

But your question made him think otherwise. You had to be special. Steve, in that moment, could do nothing but nod in affirmation. And then, like you had both had the same thought at the same moment, you were meeting him halfway, rising on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck, and kissing him. Really, truly, kissing him.

It was like that missing piece had found itself. You slotted your soul into his and Steve was pressing you to his chest, wrapping his arms around you, and lifting you so he didn't have to bend down to reach you. Your wet hands tangled into his slightly too long hair, pulling him impossibly closer, tasting one another's tongues.

And that was the start of it, of late-night motorcycle rides down the causeway, of Saturdays spent on the beach that tapered into drinks with friends, of dinners filled with your chatter and smiles and laughter, and Steve couldn't believe how lucky he was. He was not used to this feeling, of building friendship and companionship and perhaps even love. And he certainly wasn't used to the intense desire to reach out and pinch your ass every time you showed up at his house wearing those gardening jeans, high-waisted and tight and so goddamn cute.

But he never did, was never sure how you'd react. You kissed him, a lot in fact, every morning that he came over and every night that he dropped you off at home. And you never shied away from telling him how handsome he was, how much you liked his hands and his arms and his short beard, how sweet he was and kind and soft and gentle. So many words, words that made his head spin and his world wobble and sway. But it never came to be more than that, never late at night when he was thinking of you most. And oh lord, did he think about you, how your small frame might fit against his in bed while you spooned and slept, or how tight you'd be if he fucked you until the sun rose. He didn't particularly like sleeping in bed, it was too soft for his taste and he tended to take the couch or even the floor most nights, but he would sleep in bed for you if you would just tell him that was what you wanted.

It was like you were waiting for the right moment. And apparently, that moment was July 4th, during the annual celebration. Steve had whispered to you that it was consequently also his birthday, and had begged you to keep that a secret, but it seemed you had simply forgotten the fact entirely. The day passed without mention that Steve was turning 39 (105 if he'd been really counting) and you kissed him as the fireworks exploded over the ocean, sitting in the sand, hands tangled together. He thought the two of you would sit through the show, but then you were standing and pulling him to his feet as well and slipping away as everyone else's faces were turned to the sky.

At your house, you pulled a small cake from the fridge, just big enough to split between two people, and lit a couple of candles as you sat next to him at the kitchen table. Of course, you hadn't forgotten.

"Make a wish," you said with a happy smile. So he did, hoping this summer would never end. "What did you wish for?"

"Can't tell you, otherwise it won't come true," he replied. But then you pouted and he lost all resolve. "How about I show you instead?"

The look on your face said it all, shock mixed with intrigue and the mischief he had noticed that first night almost a week ago. So he reached down and tugged your chair closer, forcing you to face him with your knees between his. And then he leaned over and kissed you, taking your small cheeks in his large palms, putting all the power of his suppressed feelings behind it. He hoped you understood that he wanted more than to just kiss you, he wanted to occupy space inside you, fill you, complete you. Steve could feel your smile against his lips.

You pulled away. "Did you wish that I was dessert instead of the cake?

"I might have. Should we make my wish come true?"

Again you smiled, bright and guiding like a lighthouse torch, and something in your demeanor changed. Instantly, you were relenting to his touch, letting him pull you further into his lap, straddling his waist and settling into him like that was where you were meant to be. The quiet house, probably as old as him in this New England town, creaked in the silence of the night, only occasionally disturbed by the bang of a firework. But it all faded away with you in his arms.

You fit perfectly, just as Steve had hoped.

"You gonna be gentle with me, big man?" you whispered, that same brilliant smile on your face, wiggling as close to him as possible, the fingers of one hand tangled into the hair at the nape of his neck, the others tracing down the point of his sharp nose and pressing against his soft lips. "You gonna fuck me good? Be a good boy?"

Oh, Christ. Steve nearly lost his mind with your hips so tight against his, lost it at your words that made his heart race and color rise to his cheeks. He could be good. Really damn good. You seemed to know something about him that Steve didn't even know about himself, of how much he liked your praise, your commanding tone. If there was anything he was good at, it was taking orders.

"You just keep telling me what to do and I'm all yours," he mumbled against your fingers, the thump of his heart beating in time with yours somewhere deep in your chest, echoes of one another in the silence of the house. Your hand came to grip his chin, pushing another kiss against his mouth, a kiss with lips parted in a sigh, the mingled palate of you and him, like a glass of wine on the beach and chocolate melted on the tongue, sweeping over taste buds and breathed into starved lungs.

"Mm, you taste so good. Like you were created just for me, don't you think?" you asked.

"Built from the best material, just for you." Built to love you, he wanted to say. Steve shut up instead.

You hummed with pleasure and the hand on his chin gripped a little harder, a little more suggestively. He opened his mouth obediently as you slipped your thumb between his lips, and he let you press it against the soft muscle of his tongue. You wanted him to taste you, so he did, his teeth biting gently down on the pad of your finger, another pleasant hum running down your body and straight to his groin.

He waited for your instruction.

"Undress me."

He complied, obediently. Steve's large hands hiked your sundress up around your waist, revealing the softness of your hips. His fingers smoothed up the length of your thighs, kneading at the flesh of your ass that he had so longed to touch. Your reaction was music to his ears, a soft moan leaving your lips and breathed against his, and Steve closed his eyes, arousal spreading through his body at the thought that he was making you react this way. His length hardened, tight in his pants, pressed against the thin layer of fabric that covered the heat of your core. The thought that he might not fit flickered through his mind but it dissipated at the feeling of your fingers pressing into the rough stubble of his jawline.

Steve's hands continued to travel further up your body, taking time to release the zipper of your dress down the length of your spine, and you answered his quiet, "can I?" by pulling slightly away and lifting your arms over your head. The dress landed somewhere in the kitchen and Steve dragged you close again, arms wrapped around your back to encompass you completely, his lips finding purchase against the skin of your neck.

"Look at you, so perfect," Steve mumbled, face pressed into your hair. If he had looked up he would have seen you blush, but he was too preoccupied letting his senses discover every piece of you he could touch, smell, or taste. He wanted to envelop you, inch by inch, roaming and discovering and satiating his curiosity, but you dragged his attention back to your face.

"Hey, eyes up here," you said, pulling his face toward yours and locking gazes. The intensity of your eye contact was stunning, but there was something else behind those eyes, something other than intense attraction and unsatisfied arousal. Was it doubt? Insecurity? The reason why you kissed him for so many nights and never asked for more? You were searching for something, and it came in the form of a question. "You won't leave me after this, right?"

There it was, the bit of insecurity, a fear of loss, of transience, of lacking control. Someone had hurt you before. Maybe that's why you approached everything in life with such ferocity and sincerity. But Steve would never hurt you like that, never let you feel that way again. He hoped you could see it in his eyes the way he felt about you, but words would be more reassurance. "I'm yours tonight. And tomorrow. And the day and week and month and year after that, if you'll have me that long. Whatever it is you need, I'll give it to you."

You blinked and then smiled and pressed another quick kiss to his lips before murmuring, "touch me" against them. So he did, trailing his hands over every sliver of skin before him. He felt the goosebumps rising in their wake, the downy hair on your legs and arms, the heat of your core against him, grinding almost imperceptibly to find some kind of friction, any friction. He wanted to touch you so desperately, but he got the sense that you needed to take the lead, that it would give the control you felt you lacked. So he slid a hand down the plane of your stomach and stopped just shy of dipping into your panties, waiting for your word. But you were no longer interested in playing games. Your hand found his and pulled him lower, using his fingers to press into the seem of your cunt, and he found you slick and warm with desire.

You urged him forward. "Rub my clit, baby. Slowly. Gently."

Slowly and gently. That he could do. His fingers crept absentmindedly closer to the swollen bundle of nerves and when he landed there, touch soft and circling, you jerked against him, your whole body moving with the force of anticipation and a cry leaving your lips. And though it seemed to burn, seemed to be torture for yourself, you demanded he do it again. Your forehead leaned against his, eyes shut tight, and Steve watched as your face contorted in pleasure as he flicked and circled again and again and again.

"Yes, baby. Perfect. So good. So. Fucking. Good."

Every bit of you was soft, from your neck where he placed his kisses to the curled hair hiding the swollen bud of your clit where his fingers played gently and rhythmically. Even the orgasm that gushed from your smooth cunt and stuttered from your lips was soft. You came with a choked cry as your hand pulled him closer by the back of his head, your tits pressed to his chest. Steve looked up to watch you devolve into pleasure, eyes squeezed tightly shut, your hair messy and swirling about your face, the straps of your bra slipping from your shoulder.

"Bed. Now. Right now," you demanded before you even had a chance to come down from your high. He would have been just as happy to have you in the kitchen, just like that, but Steve picked you up, with you latched to his chest like a koala, and carried you upstairs. You felt feather-light in his arms, easily tossed onto the mattress, your hands reaching out to pull his white t-shirt overhead and grab at the plane of his chest. Even as Steve kissed you again you couldn't stop tracing your fingertips over the lines of his torso, the ridges of his abs, the v-line that led tantalizingly toward the waistband of his pants. He felt his cock twitch and strain against the fabric of his boxers, the rough cotton not enough to stimulate him but enough to make him ache for your pussy. Your fluttering hands were not helping and Steve pictured your thin fingers wrapping around his length.

"Look at you," you said. "You're fucking perfect." It was Steve's turn to blush.

Steve wasn't...inexperienced. But it had been a while, to say the least, since he'd had the time or energy or capacity to even feel attracted to anyone. And even longer, perhaps never, since he felt the way he felt about you, like a bee to a flower, drunk on sweet nectar and high on honey. That was you, the delicate flower, so small and tender beneath him, yet as stunning and resonating and thunderous as the fireworks bursting somewhere overhead.

Fighting to survive was all Steve had known for so long, standing up to the bully and helping the fallen to their feet, that it was a relief to not have to be that man for you. You didn't require protection or help or anything from him at all, and yet you welcomed his presence endlessly. Steve realized he was not a need for you, but a want, and for the first time he felt valued for something real, something that wasn't just his brute strength, but something almost bordering on love. This he understood as he stared at your sweet face, caging you beneath him in bed.

"Earth to Steve," you said softly as your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling his pelvis down toward yours and dragging a deep groan from his lungs. He hadn't noticed he'd stopped kissing you and was getting lost in drinking you in amidst his reverie until your small hand pressed to the back of his neck and gently guided him back to your lips. But you stopped just shy, your eyebrows knitted in concern, taking his leisurely manner for uncertainty. "We can stop if you want."

"No, definitely not."

"Good. Then stop staring and kiss me."

"Where?" he teased.

"Everywhere, big man."

Everywhere was doable. So he started at your lips with one so big and breathless it rivaled Mount Everest. For a moment he let himself forget about everything except how long he could go without oxygen against your lips. But there remained more of you to taste.

Steve's lips connected with your chin and slid down your jawline, taking time to kiss the pulse of your neck and the dip of your clavicle. The fan of his breath tickled across your skin and you giggled, the purest sound of joy bubbling from your lips at his touch. More of that he wanted. So he continued down to the valley between your breasts, full and round despite your stature, removing your bra as he did so, nibbling lightly at the peaks of your chest before replacing his teeth with his pinching fingers and moving lower again. Lower toward the edge of your ribs, arched upward to meet the movement of his mouth, toward the slope of your hips, his sharp nose following each kiss as your underwear joined your bra into the abyss.

Your thighs he kissed, top to bottom, left and right, but it was your ass he couldn't get enough of, filling his grip with handfuls of your flesh, using it to pull you toward the edge of the bed where he kneeled, lifting your hips toward his face, your legs slung one over each shoulder. Steve sunk his tongue into your folds without warning and you gasped, your thighs suddenly squeezing tight around his head.

"Yes, right there," you hissed between ragged breaths.

He responded by burying deeper, gripping you harder, and moaning with delight at your overwhelming taste and scent bombarding his senses. You squirmed but didn't pull away as Steve's hands worked their way back up your stomach to cup the tissue of your breasts, the width of his palms capturing the flesh in one big handful. Your hands covered his, holding them there, forcing him to press you into the bed while his mouth left you twitching and bucking beneath his touch.

And in spite of the urgency with which Steve wished to devour you, he continued on leisurely, doing his best to build you up slowly and gently pick you apart bit by bit the way you had asked him to do it before. Your body betrayed its delight, evidenced enough by the way your legs hooked around him and held him down, but you praised him anyways, rapture falling from your lips between sporadic moans of pleasure.

"Fuck, Steve, you're so good, oh God yes, baby, you're doing so good, taste me like that," you cried, and the words spurred him onward, hurried his movements just slightly, his tongue circling your clit, fingers circling your areolas. He would do whatever you asked, jump off a cliff, take a bullet to the chest, drown himself in a river, if only to please you. But you would never ask anything of him that he couldn't give, and Steve knew the moment you asked for his heart it would be his heart you'd receive. And with that intent in his mind, he made you come undone with a silent cry.

Eventually, the trembling ceased, even as he continued to drink your release with the ministrations of his tongue.

"Oh fuck, you like the way I taste baby?" you asked. His affirmation came out muffled and sloppy between your legs. Even you were breathless, barely getting out the words, but you pushed him nonetheless. "I wanna hear you say it, Steve. You like eating me out? Like drinking my juices?"

"Fuck, yes, you taste like goddamn heaven, darling."

"Kiss me, Steve."

"Yes, ma'am."

He complied without a second thought, crawling back up your body to lean over you, giving you a taste of the heaven he had just dipped into. When your fingers found his belt, he helped you remove the rest of his clothes. And then your hands were roving down his chest again, searching blindly until they found what they were looking for. Steve groaned at your touch on his swollen cock.

You gasped. "Oh, God."

Before Steve could respond you pushed him over onto his back and straddled his thighs, eyeing the length on display before you, fingers around it as if testing the girth and finding them unable to wrap all the way around.

"Oh God," you repeated. A short laugh bubbled up from your throat, the controlling front you'd managed to maintain this whole time slipping from your tone.

"Something wrong?" he asked, feeling slightly inadequate under your scrutiny. Steve sat up to meet your eyes, hands finding their place on your hips.

You gazed at him, eyes wide and glassy. "You're gonna split me in half with that thing."

"We don't have to. Not if you aren't comfortable."

"Oh baby, I'm gonna get real comfortable sitting on your cock." Your sultry grin was back and you rose up on your knees to look down at him. Your other hand swiped between your legs, two fingers gathering the warm, wet juices of your orgasm, before joining the first around his cock. You pumped, rolling a drop of precum off the tip with your thumb and rubbing it down his length, mixing the release of your pleasure with his. Steve barely held back from bucking his hips into your hand. He would save that for your pussy.

"I want you to fill me," you whispered. "I wanna be so fucking full. Just go slowly, okay?"

"Slowly. I got you, baby girl. You can take me. Let me fill you."

Steve lifted your hips and guided you forward, aligning your entrance with his length. You moved at a crawling pace, letting gravity sink your pussy around him, pausing every inch to adjust to his intrusion. His biceps stung with the grip of your fingernails in his skin, but it was a welcome distraction from the rush of pleasure threatening to tip him over the edge prematurely. Agonizingly you dipped further, a cry falling from your lips, until you were fully seated, the tip of him pressed into the cavity behind your cervix. You were warm, so, so warm, and soft and tight and you fit perfectly, just like he knew you would.

"Fuck, Steve, you're so big."

"Am I hurting you?" he asked, wiping away a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

"No, fuck, no, you feel so good. I just--I can't move."

"I got you, darling," Steve whispered, his face falling to your chest and burying it in the soft flesh of your tits. And then he wrapped his arms around your waist and did all the moving for you, lifting you up and sinking you down again, just fast enough to make you gasp for air and whine his name. With every thrust, you cried out in pleasure.

"Don't stop, Steve, please, baby, don't stop."

The fingers of one hand tugged at his hair dampened by sweat, nails scratching lightly across his scalp, as the other fell between your legs. You pressed your fingers around your clit and along your entrance, feeling where Steve's thick cock was pushing in and out of your tight pussy, feeling how big he was, how much he filled you. The meandering touch of your fingers almost sent him straight over the edge.

But it was the slick warmth of your cunt that was too much, and Steve found himself resting his forehead more and more heavily against your chest, willing himself to give you everything you wanted before he even thought about himself. The satin scent of your skin, like talcum and rose and his cologne, intoxicated him with every breath, and he sucked and nibbled on one breast and then the other, mindlessly attending to the most sensitive parts of you. A drop of sweat rolled down your sternum and Steve chased it with his tongue, licking a warm stripe up the center of your chest.

"Tell me what you need, darling."

"Fuck, that's perfect," you whined. "You fuck me so good, baby. Don't stop. Gonna make me come--make me come so hard."

Your fingers pressed against your clit once more and then you were clenching around him, your already tight pussy settling into a pulsing vice grip, your body shaking against his while he kissed the sweat from your collar bones. Steve felt you pumping the life out of him, riding out your orgasm and dragging him closer to his. The hand that had been on your clit moved to cup the weight of his balls, pinching and massaging as they pulled in heavy with the need for release.

"Where do you want me, darling, you gotta tell me."

You practically ordered him to come inside you, told him you wanted to feel him sticky between your thighs all night and it was suddenly Steve's turn to come undone, his hot seed pumping deep inside you, his twitching member finally finding release. He moaned your name against your lips, pulling you into a final searing kiss.

When, after a good twenty minutes of not moving from that position, of breathing heavy and kissing softly, you finally pulled away to lean down and lick his cock clean, the sticky mingling of you and him on your tongue, and he had to fight the urge to get hard again. And when you kissed him again, he tasted that mingling, two souls becoming one, as they were meant to be.

He slept next to you for the first time that night, your small frame encased in his, even though there was no need to share body heat in the dead of summer. But he actually slept, no dreams, no nightmares, no waking up in the middle of the night. Just deep, heavy sleep, your head tucked beneath his chin, back to his bare chest, his hands holding your breasts, and your hands holding his. Tangled together. Souls as one.

[agent-cupcake]

As a resident Claudefucker, I know am curious to know what our fave charming schemer is doing during this Mafia!AU. He'd look lovely in a suit.

~It was quite the headline when Godfrey Riegan died. The details are a little hazy, a little convenient, but people don't talk about that sort of thing. Car accidents are common. Tragic, but not unreasonable. There’s no reason to smear a man’s perfectly respectable political career for the sake of some sensational gossip.

~In the right circles, however, there was a huge uproar, questions about who was going to take over the Riegan family when the elderly boss Oswald died. The Riegan’s had been dominating Leicester for quite some time, but a lot of people began to predict that the Gloucester family was going to move in. They had powerful friends, it seemed. Friends with money, no less.

~Claude Riegan, grandson of Oswald, appeared out of nowhere just when he was needed. Stories of the lost daughter Tiana still circulated, sure, but there were still a lot of questions about Claude’s origins when nobody except Oswald were able to vouch for him. He obviously had military leadership experience—his skill with guns and ability to lead was just too excellent for any other explanation—but he dismissed the question out of hand. There’s no documentation of him, either, leading some to wonder if even his name was false. But Oswald said he was family, and that was that.

~Claude was quick to establish himself, in any case. Despite his cavalier attitude, his efficacy in overhauling the power dynamics of Leicester were profound.  

~He decided, first and foremost, that the way to win the people over was to invigorate the local culture, which had seen a sharp decline as a result of new laws that were unfavorable to business, Adrestia’s growing market monopolies, and the bad reputation of the red light district Ailell. This included some perfectly legitimate campaigning and some under the table type schemes. 

~The result was a flourishing Derdriu Street. While it lacks the prestige of Enbarr Square in Adrestia, it welcomes entertainment that would be considered too “low brow” like comedy, trendy new restaurants, and music venues. Even better, all of it is built on the recently cleaned up river. The Riegan family is involved in all of  it, of course. 

~Casino owner Claude. This exists solely to thirst but maybe it was preexisting and he took it over due to its poor management? If there’s going to be gambling anyway, it should be done right. The extra money’s not so bad, either. But, Claude lounging in a big leather chair in a dark blue blazer with gold brocade, his white shirt unbuttoned low enough to see enough his chest. Enough to make you drool. Enough that you’d definitely get caught staring and probably called out for it because he can’t help himself. Claude with his elbows on the arm rests and fingers folded in front of him as he considers you, gold rings winking because he’s just that ostentatious and appearances are important. Claude asking you how you feel about taking risks in a way that really feels like it has nothing to do with cards, staring at you with a friendly smile that doesn’t meet those calculating eyes—eyes that you know will pick up on every tell. 

~Claude also struck a deal with the Kupala Distillery. They’d been fighting to keep hold of their historic business for years, and Claude offered to help them with that. You know, not for free, but he’s good at making deals that leave everybody happy. 

~The second biggest thing he tackled was the drug trade. For the most part, no one family had ever had a complete handle on that market. The Goneril’s had a hold over the docks for years, but the Edmunds had been moving in and working with the Gloucester family to bolster their power. Distribution was scattered and hard to keep track of as it ultimately circulated wherever there was a profit to be made. Looking at it like this, Claude decided that the only way to fix things was to take control over all of it. In his line of work, shady things like the drug trade are impossible to avoid. At the very least, if he has control over it, he can ensure the product is clean and expel far more unsavory ventures.

~Through these escapades, Claude was able to make alliances with all of the major families. A lot of them had only remained loyal to the Gloucester family out of fear so as soon as they had an alternative, they bolted. This has an unfortunate side effect of revealing how his power is perceived. Every day is a balancing act for Claude. He allows each family to function as they please as long as they’re aware they do so at his mercy. It’s better to keep friends than to control enemies, but even that requires a delicate maneuvering of power.

~However, Claude likes the conflict. He enjoys the game and he especially enjoys winning the game. There’s a certain level of his excusing amorality for the sake of his family and Leicester, but there’s an equal part of him that understands his wrongdoings and deals with it separately. He wouldn’t hold to the naïve “ends justify the means” idea to excuse himself, but he would still argue that his actions have value and are even necessary. If it weren’t him, it would be somebody a lot worse than him. That’s probably something that would linger in the back of everybody’s minds whenever they shook his hand or paid their respects, whenever they began to think of how easy it would be to take him out. Fear, too. So far, Claude’s never done anything shockingly bad, only what was necessary. But with his power and intellect, it’s always a question of what he could do.

~If someone asked him that, Claude would smile that friendly smile and tell them that he would do anything to see his vision made real. Whether or not that’s true remains to be seen. 

~Luckily, Claude’s not alone! Hilda is the stereotypical crime family princess. She joined Claude because he offered her freedom from the overbearing control of her father and brother. Her skill in manipulating everybody around her combined with her reputation as a ditzy rich girl makes her fantastic at gathering information, assuming Claude can get her to do so. But, as long as he’s not being too forceful, she’s surprisingly motivated to weave her way through social circles and charm everyone. Although she would never say it, the order he brought to Leicester, not to mention the entertainment, made everything a lot better for her and her family. Plus, she likes being useful after spending her entire life watching Holst give his heart and soul to family while she did nothing. Ultimately, the information she provides is essential and her relationship with Claude is one of the few either have that’s built on trust, respect, and loyalty. That said, sometimes even Claude gets a little shiver as he watches how easily Hilda can manipulate people.  

~Lorenz was one of Claude’s most disdainful detractors, although a part of that was jealousy. Claude just swept in and did things that Lorenz had been waiting and planning to do once he became the head of the Gloucester family. Even after being on the receiving ends of such vicious attacks, once Claude undeniably had the upper hand in Leicester, he went behind the Gloucester boss’s back to Lorenz and told him that they were going to be friends or enemies, it was Lorenz’s choice. Not threatening him, just pointing out that the fall of the Gloucester family was inevitable under his father’s leadership and that Lorenz didn’t have to suffer for his father’s sins. Probably over mimosas and brunch. Lorenz is proud and has no appreciation for Claude, but he’s not stupid. After they worked out their disagreements and more or less accepted each other, Lorenz and Claude became pretty close. Claude knows that having someone to openly and aggressively disagree with him isn’t a bad thing. Not only that, but Lorenz’s a solid ally with a better grasp on some of the things Claude has difficulty with due to not being a native. Lorenz is willing to admit that Claude is a good leader.

~Marianne is well educated in the realm of the law and political action. The reason the Edmund family saw such success despite their lesser status was because of her adopted father’s genius. which he made sure to share with Marianne. She is invaluable in aiding Claude on the perfectly legitimate side of his business, and helping him hide his tracks for the shady stuff. Raphael is the muscle. Lysithea is a computer genius. Being a sickly shut in with issues that only recently saw treatment, she’s on the Mr. Robot level of hacker mode activated. Ignatz is an architect which is useful since so much of Claude’s power is in the property and infrastructure. He also designed a lot of places to have some neat-o hidey holes. Claude loves buildings that have secrets. Leonie is manages a lot of the physical and pettier side of the work. If someone’s stirring up trouble, she’s likely to pay them a visit as a warning before Claude has to get involved. She used to be a mercenary but being on Claude’s payroll is a lot better of a gig.    

~As for the suits, one thing is very important. Claude would not, under any circumstances, wear something tight on his thighs. I actually kind of like the idea of him going for a 1980′s style modernized. In his post timeskip outfit, he’s already got a hint of that going on with how oversized his outfit looks. The 80′s (rightfully) gets a bad rep for fashion, but it’s also very iconic with those wide-collared suit jackets, matchy-matchy three piece suits, sportscoats with a fun patterned shirt underneath, open blazers, pleated pants with an oversized jacket, and—in particular—the trend of summer suits in shades of tan and cream with colored shirts underneath. Then, combine that with a pair of Ray-Ban Aviators and a topless convertible and you’ve got a distinctly recognizable mob boss who doubles as a devastating heartthrob. I’m not saying he’d do a 1:1 recreation, but you’d definitely see references to the fashion of the era in his outfits. He would wear oxfords or ankle boots. Whatever it was, they’d have to be comfortable. He also doesn’t shy away from jewelry. The earring, of course, and rings when he's feeling particularly decadent. When he’s wearing his shirts unbuttoned Claude could possibly wear a gold chain. I mean, what are you gonna say, no? That gold doesn’t look gorgeous against his skin? That it’s tacky? You’re talking to the man who wore quilted pants. Claude’s not afraid to stand out because he knows he will anyway, nor is he afraid to be seen as unfashionable because he doesn’t particularly care about trends. I also enjoy the idea of him emulating the 80′s as someone who didn’t grow up in a western culture and thus mainly saw things through the lens of movies. Whatever he wears, however, he would look very handsome.

[dreamingofaizawa]

Guys My Age

Title and concept inspo: Guys My Age by Hey Violet

Soft Dom! Aizawa Shouta x Medium-sized Fem! Reader

Quirkless AU

***18+ Fic***

You must be at least 18 years old to participate in this reading. If you are under the age of 18 please step out of line and find another fic. Thank you and have a good day.

Warnings: Age gap, praise kink, DD/LG dynamic and terms, use of the words daddy and sir, light bondage, overstimulation, smut. 

Word Count: 4.1k

Author’s Note: I KNOW, I know, I write a lot of Aizawa fics, and they’re all DD/LG stuff. I know, okay? It’s an obsession, I’m in love with this man. Anyway, another soft dom Aizawa, but reader isn’t very well-versed in intimacy. Also, reader is what some would call medium-sized. Not necessarily big, but definitely not small. This is for all my medium-sized girls, including myself. I was very self-indulgent with this one.

Part 2

Enjoy~

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You’d always been told you were mature for your age. It wasn’t until recently you realized how true that statement might be. You’re currently 21. And very, very single. You’ve had a total of six different relationships, and all of them fell through for one very simple reason. The boys you dated were just that. Boys. They were extremely immature. Only ever wanting to ‘hang with the boys’ or stay at home. No effort was put into the relationship on their part after the first few weeks. You didn’t understand why these vastly different boys were all so adamant on staying inside.

You’d tried desperately to get them to go out on dates with you. You offered to pay, and drive, and literally anything else. But no, they were too busy playing video games or getting higher than the damn sky. Don’t even start thinking about sex. You hadn’t got any of that shit since your first ‘boyfriend’ at 17, who used you like a sex doll and broke it off once he found someone hotter and sexier and altogether better in his eyes. You were sick of it. So you did the last thing you’d ever want to do. You went on a blind date.

You’d stumbled on a website last week that allowed you to set up a blind date with a stranger. It seemed legit, and had background checks on all participants. It also allowed you to put in any preferences you had, and matched you with someone that had similar preferences and hobbies. The age range you put in? 30-35 years old. Because guys your age just didn’t cut it. You needed someone more mature, someone who could treat you like a woman, not some girl.

Today, almost a week after matching with someone, you were standing outside an italian restaurant. You didn’t know his face, just his name and age, and that he was a teacher. Aizawa Shouta, 31 years old. And he’d sent a single message when you matched.

Meet me at this location on Saturday. When you enter, I’ll be at the back corner table. Semi-formal. 8 pm, please don’t be late.

It was blunt and straightforward. You liked it. You just hoped he wasn’t quite this blunt in person. You’d put on a black knee-length cocktail dress with a halter top and a partially open back that fell to the small of your back. It accentuated your shoulders and the top half of your torso before fanning out at your waist, the silky material falling and swaying around you. 

You slipped on simple white heels and silver jewelry, with a white clutch purse. You’d decided to pull your hair into a loose half-up half-down, a silver comb pinning your hair in place, minimal makeup and clear lip gloss. For the first time in a while you felt pretty. You knew you weren’t exactly small, but the way you were dressed gave you confidence.

You looked at your watch. 7:55 pm. You took a deep breath, straightened out your dress, and stepped into the restaurant. The host asked if you had a reservation, and you told him you were meeting someone who already arrived. He let you pass, and you walked back to the table Aizawa told you to meet at. He had his back to you as you approached, but you could see his broad shoulders and muscular frame easily. 

He wore a white long-sleeve button down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a black vest fitted to his form. His slacks were also fitted, showing off his muscular thighs. His long raven hair was pulled in a half-up half-down similar to yours. You hadn’t even seen his face yet and he looked delicious.

Your heels clacked on the wood flooring, and as you neared the booth he turned to look at you. You stopped next to the table and got a good look at the stranger. He was beautiful. His dark bloodshot eyes looked tired, the bags underneath giving him away and only adding to his appeal, and a scar curved under his right eye. A sharp jawline, with a tamed scruff, and thin lips in a neutral expression. You were about to introduce yourself, but he stood from the booth and held his hand out, palm up. “You must be (y/l/n) (y/n).” You smiled at the gesture, and placed your hand in his. “That’s me. And you are Aizawa Shouta. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He pulled your hand to his lips and placed a kiss on your knuckles, before leading you to your seat.

As he sat down, you noticed a bottle of wine sitting in the center of the table in a bucket of ice, and two glasses of wine halfway full. One sat in front of you, and the other in front of Aizawa. He began the conversation with a rather specific question. “So, (y/l/n), why are you on a dating website looking for men that are so much older than you?” Normally you’d take offense to a question like that, but the way he said it was pure curiosity. So, you answered. “If I’m being honest, it’s actually pretty simple. Guys my age just don’t know how to treat me.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, a barely noticeable smirk tugging at his lips. “And how do you want to be treated?” You smiled a little at the implications behind the question, and answered. “I don’t want to be stuck in my room while my ‘boyfriend’ plays video games and smokes weed. I don’t want to be ‘one of the boys’, and I don’t want to have to plead and beg to go on a date or spend time with him. I want to be treated like a woman, not a girl. And I want to spend my time with a man, not waste it on a boy.” 

At that, Aizawa smirked and sipped at his wine. You both took a quick look at the menu and ordered when the waiter came. As you ate, you talked about random subjects and hit it off quite well. The date went by quickly, and at the end of the night you’d exchanged numbers. “I look forward to another date with you, Ms. (y/l/n).” “The feeling is mutual, Mr. Aizawa.” 

When you got back home, you undressed and cleaned your face and got into bed. As you lay there, your mind drifted back to the date, and how undeniably handsome Aizawa is. The way he spoke to you like you were his equal, and looking at you like an ancient treasure. He was everything you wanted, without even considering anything sexual. Little did you know he felt much the same way.

____

When the date ended he texted Hizashi to let him know he was free. Hizashi, of course, called him immediately, and began drilling him about the date. “How’d it go Sho? Was it a rando with a thing for older guys? Did she want a sugar daddy?” Shouta rolled his eyes. “No, Zashi, she wasn’t looking for a sugar daddy. She was...actually really mature for a 21 year old. She knows what she wants. I admire that a little. And I won’t lie, she’s quite beautiful. Not the generic, model, beauty-pageant, barbie doll pretty. It’s a natural glow she has. It’s...quite mesmerizing...”

Hizashi exploded on the other side, laughing at the new infatuation his friend had for a blind date. “I hope she’s your type, Sho. I mean physically. I know how much you like them with a little meat on their bones.” Aizawa groaned at his comment. He knew he was just teasing, but that his blonde friend was 100% right. He knew he had a type, and he’d be lying to himself if he hadn’t looked at your full figure quite frequently. 

He’d taken in your dress, how it showed off your shoulders and back. As you climbed into your car and took off your heels, he trailed his eyes up your legs, getting a small glimpse at your thick thighs. When you sat up behind the wheel, he revelled in the small rolls showing through your dress, wanting nothing more than to squeeze them and kiss them and bite them...

He shook away the thoughts that were threatening to take over his mind. “Shut it Hizashi. Her body is none of my concern, and is most definitely none of yours. I enjoyed the date and that’s what matters.” The loud blonde gasped dramatically, “Oh my god she totally is! Damn you go get some Sho!” Aizawa just ended the call.

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The next date was planned once again by Aizawa, and it was only a week after the first. It was a simple coffee date at a small cafe. You talked casually about the things you enjoyed doing. You convinced him to let you take care of the next date, which you decided would be a relaxed ramen date. You’d gotten comfortable around each other, and after about six more dates, he invited you over to his place for dinner. Of course, you accepted.

He’d sent you the address and apartment number, and you stood outside his door in dark jeans, black flats, and a beige sweater with a white tank top underneath. You knocked on the door, and when it opened he greeted you with a peck on the cheek. It had become a normal greeting, since you’d gotten so close, though the gesture always made you a little shy. He told you to get comfortable as he finished up dinner, and you sat at the kitchen table and admired him as he worked in the kitchen. He wore fitted blue denim jeans, and a black cotton t-shirt, his hair pulled up in a bun. 

No matter how many times you looked at him, he was always just as shockingly handsome as the first time you saw him. His t-shirt left his toned arms exposed, and it was fitted to his torso, showing off his muscular frame. Your eyes traced the outline of his muscles from his shoulder, down his arm, drifting to his hips and up his back. You didn’t notice him glance back and smirk at you. “Like what you see kitty cat?” Heat rushed to your face at the realization that you’d been staring, and the fact that he’d noticed. And that name… “K-kitty?” you barely whispered, before quickly apologizing. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”

You didn’t think he heard the first part. You were wrong. “It’s alright. And yes, kitty. Don’t like the pet name?” Your face burned at the tone of his voice. “N-no, the name’s fine, you just...caught me off guard.” He chuckled. “I should do it more often. You’re cute when you’re flustered.” You didn’t think your face could get any hotter, but it did. You tilted your head down and away from him and bit your lip, letting your hair fall to hide your face. You’d never gotten this kind of attention before, and you had no idea how to handle it.

You were too busy trying to calm your breathing to hear him approach you. The proximity and demanding tone of his voice made you jump a little. “Look at me, kitten.” You swallowed and took a breath before turning your head to him, and he hooked a finger under your chin, tilting your head so you were forced to sit up taller. He moved even closer, your shoulder brushing against his abdomen, and you nearly had to look straight up to look in his eyes. 

Your eyes began to drift away from his, and he jerked your chin up higher, silently commanding you not to look away. You brought your eyes back to his and held his gaze, and after a few moments he smirked. The hand under your chin moved to stroke your cheek with his knuckles. “Good girl.”

He quickly dropped his hand and went back to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner. It took you a few seconds to let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You panted a little, trying to calm yourself from what just happened, and clasped your shaking hands together. But they weren’t shaking from fear. In fact, you couldn’t quite tell why you were so shaky and out of breath. And the praise from him sent a shiver down your spine.

He managed to distract you while you ate, and you had completely recovered from whatever that was earlier. After dinner you moved into the living room and relaxed on the couch while you talked some more. Soon he’d leaned his head back and closed his eyes, still talking and listening, but clearly relaxed. Once again you found yourself distracted by his body, following the muscles in his neck down to his toned chest and abdomen. And again, he noticed. “I can feel your eyes on me, kitten.” His voice was low, a rumble of smooth baritone. You found yourself turning away to hide your face again, and the command in his voice controlled you with ease. 

“Don’t look away from me, kitten.” You turned back to him, and when your eyes met his, you looked away, and he let out a low growl and your eyes snapped back to him. He adjusted and sat up, your eyes still fixed on each other. He pat his leg, “Come here kitty.” You blinked at him, not quite prepared for such a demand. His eyes darkened a little and his voice dropped to a growl, “I won’t ask twice.” 

At that you got up and went to sit on one of his legs, but he pulled his knees together and shook his head. So you climbed over and straddled his legs on your knees. He grabbed your hips and pulled you so you were fully sitting on his lap, your core dangerously close to his growing bulge.

Your eyes were still locked on his as he leaned close to you, his hands rubbing circles into your hips.  He leaned past your face and whispered into your ear. “Can I touch you kitty?” You took a shaky breath and nodded. He laid a light spank on your ass and you jumped. “Use your words kitty cat.” “Y-yes, you can t-touch me.” He laid a kiss on your neck and whispered ‘good girl’ before moving his hands under your sweater and tank top. He ran his hands up and down your back, and he gripped the fatty flesh of your stomach and hips, kneading it in his palms gently as he worked his way up your body, leaving feather light kisses along your neck and jaw.

The intimacy had you quivering, and the way he nearly worshipped your body had your breaths coming out shaky and heavy. Shouta caught on quickly. “Is it safe for me to assume you haven’t done anything in a while?” he said in your ear. You started to nod, but quickly caught yourself, “Y-yes.” He stilled his movements and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Tell me what you did before this.” You took a breath and explained the situation as simply and quickly as possible.

His arms tensed, clearly upset that you’d been used like that. But he didn’t pry into that right now. “So you haven’t explored anything? Like any preferences you might have?” You shook your head quickly, “N-no...why?” He chuckled. “Well, kitty, you’re quite submissive. If you’d let me, I can help you explore this side of you.” You swallowed and nodded. “Y-yeah, I think I’d like that.” He hummed into your neck, “We can start tonight, but only if you’re comfortable and you want to.” You took a few moments to think about your answer. This man had been nothing but good to you. He treated you with more respect than all the boys you dated had combined. And you trusted him. “I...I’m comfortable starting tonight.”

“Alright kitty. Now, listen to me closely, because this is important, okay?” “Okay, I’m listening.” “Good. Since this is new to you, we need to establish a safeword. Is ‘roses’ alright?” You nod. “Okay. Now if anything ever gets too much for you, if you feel uncomfortable for any reason, if you need to stop for any reason, or if there’s a medical emergency, you need to use it. And that goes for me too. If I don’t like where things are going, I’ll use it. Once we use the safeword, everything will stop right there, no questions asked. Understand?”

“I understand.” “Okay. Can I trust you to use it if you feel the need to?” You nod, “Yes. I’ll use it if I need to.” He kisses your neck, “Good girl.” The praise makes you shudder, and you feel him smile into your neck. “Now, kitty, I want you to address me as either ‘Daddy’, ‘Sir’, or ‘Master’ when we’re like this, do you understand?” “Yes.” He spanks you a little harder. “Yes what?” You jump at the contact “Y-yes Sir.” Another kiss on your neck, “Good girl.” He leans back and taps your arms, “Up.” You lift your arms and he pulls off your sweater and tank top at the same time. 

His hands come back down on your shoulders, and he runs his hands down your chest and stomach, taking the time to remove your bra and knead your breasts. He wraps his arms around you and stands up, and you wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist as he carries you to his bedroom. He puts you down on the bed on your back and takes a rope out of the bedside table. You let him take your hands and tie your wrists to the bar at the headboard. It’s not uncomfortably tight, but a few experimental tugs tell you it’s solid and you won’t be getting out of it unless he unties you.

He trails kisses down your body, unbuttoning your jeans and removing them as he goes. Once your jeans are off, he loops his fingers in the band of your panties and pulls them off. After that, he leans back and just rakes his eyes up and down your body, eating up every inch of your skin. “You’re such a pretty kitty.” His words have you shuddering and blushing. You’d never been called pretty before, and you knew why. You were a little bigger than other girls. You weren’t necessarily insecure about it. You didn’t care all that much about how people saw you with just your looks alone. But you knew Shouta was admiring your body after knowing who you are as a person, and it made you a little giddy.

His mouth and hands were all over you, squeezing and groping, sucking bruises onto your skin. His touches were sending waves of heat through your body, and pooling between your legs. You desperately wanted him to touch you there, and you whined and rolled your hips up into the air. “Such a needy kitty. Be patient. I’m not done here yet.” He rolled a nipple in between his index and thumb, pulling the other into his mouth and teasing it with his tongue. You mewled at the sensation, and he switched his mouth over to the other side.

Your legs were rubbing together, begging for friction, and he finally moved down to your dripping core. He took a finger and slipped it over your folds. He groaned as his finger collected your slick, “You’re so wet kitty. Are you this wet for me?” You nodded your head frantically, and he laid a light smack on your pussy. You let out a soft whimper, “Yes Sir, it’s for you,” you answered quickly. He hummed, “Good girl. I didn’t even need to remind you to use your words.” He kissed the inside of your thigh, and moved to lick a stripe up your folds. You gasped at the new feeling, never having anyone’s mouth down there before.

He slipped the pink muscle into you easily, groaning when he tasted you. The sound sent vibrations through your dripping cunt, making you squirm at the pleasure. He looped his arms around your legs, dipping his fingers into your core and using the slick to rub tight circles onto your clit. An unfamiliar sensation built in the pit of your stomach, your muscles tightening in your abdomen as it got stronger. You knit your eyebrows together, and in between heavy breaths you gasped out, “S-sir...it feels strange.” He raised his eyebrows at the statement, and increased his pace until that coil inside you snapped, which didn’t take very long.

Your back arched off the bed as you let out a loud, sharp moan, your legs shaking from the intensity of your first orgasm. Aizawa kept lapping at your pussy, letting you ride out your high, and once you were relaxed and panting on the bed, he lifted his head and wiped his chin. “Kitty, have you never cum before?” He asked, a small smirk tugging at his lips. You shake your head, “No S-sir...Is that what just happened?” He chuckled, but didn’t answer the question, “You’re going to have fun tonight kitty.” You didn’t have time to question what he meant, though, because he slipped a thick finger into your core, and you mewled as your walls clenched down on him.

The game he played went on for what felt like hours, and you lost count of how many times he’s made you cum. He’d fucked you and cum multiple times himself. You’d already squirted several times, and tears were streaming down your face from the overstimulation. It felt so good, but it was starting to melt your brain and the title of ‘Sir’ drifted to ‘Daddy’ as it went on. All the muscles in your body were burning from flexing so hard, and your wrists were feeling raw from how hard you’d been tugging at your restraints. It felt so, so good...but it was too much. He leaned down close to your face and kissed at the tears, “You’re doing so well babygirl. You got one more for me?” 

You giggled lightly at the praise, your mind fuzzy, unable to form coherent thoughts as he thrust his hips into you. He stilled his movements and caressed your jaw. “How are you feeling, kitten?” Your eyes looked up into his, struggling to stay open. You giggled a little as you answered. “It’s… I f-feel…” You knit your eyebrows together in concentration, searching your brain. “R-roses?”

Everything stopped, and he instantly reached up and tugged off your restraints, and pulled your exhausted body close to his chest. Your breathing got heavier, and your chest got tight, and fresh tears fell down your cheeks. He held you tight, kissing your tears and petting your hair as your cries died down. He held you like that until your breathing was normal again. You slowly opened your eyes, weakly calling out to him, “Daddy?” He kissed your forehead, “I’m right here kitten. Tell me what you need.” You nuzzled your head into his neck and mumbled, “Water. Can I have water?” He wrapped you in a soft blanket and stood up, carrying you with him. “Anything for my kitten.”

He set you on the counter and made a glass of iced water, holding it up to your lips. As you sipped, he rubbed your back and kissed your forehead and neck, and he didn’t stop or move until you had drained the cup. He left it in the sink and picked you up again, taking you to the bathroom and filling the tub with warm water. He turned off the tap, took off your blanket, and carried you into the tub. He washed the both of you, massaging your scalp, and you let out a sound like a pur, which he smiled at.

When he was done, he stood you up and wrapped you in a fluffy towel, dried himself with one, and carried you back to bed. You curled into him, and he wrapped his arms around you. “Are you okay (y/n)?” You nodded into his chest, “Yeah, I’m okay. It was just intense.” You could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke, “Thank you for using the safeword. You did so well for me kitten, trusting me like that.” You nuzzled into his chest some more, relishing in the heat his body gave. 

You loved the praise he gave you. It made you feel warm and fuzzy in your belly, and it felt so good. Soon you were drifting into a deep sleep, comfortable in Shouta’s arms. This was nice. You’d be happy to let him guide you, let him take care of you like this. One thought drifted through your head as you drifted.

‘Guys my age could never.’

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

I hope you are having a great day.

I wanted to tell you that I love the way you write and how you show the personality of your characters in so few words.

Also if you have time, for the Bad Things Happend Bingo, could I ask for a Soup for the Sick? (Maybe a villain whumpee)

Thank you for the ask! And especially thank you for that lovely message attached to it, it means a lot!

Soup for the sick... here you go, I hope you enjoy! I did, I had lots of fun writing this one.

Personalized Caretaker

@badthingshappenbingo

Warnings: drug abuse mention, feverish whumpee, talk of medications, mean caretaker, delirium, fever, pills (tylenol)

... there may be more so tell me if there is so I can list them.

~

Civilian wished that she didn't live in the most heavily super-powered city in the world.

Yes world.

Villains and heroes all running around like teenagers, not caring for the lives of innocent civilians... or the heroes were meant to, Civilian started to think that the whole "we will protect you" was all phony propaganda aimed to get the city to fund their organization.

But the daily bombings and increasing death toll was not the issue with the city. It wasn't even the large mass of heroes and villains. It was only one.

One.

Of all the heroic figures and devilish snakes, there was only one that ticked Civilian off.

Villain.

And not because he was the King of Monologues. No, it was because the bastard made Civilian his own personal caretaker.

Was she asked to tend to his very needs? No.

Was she hired? Paid? No, but she should be getting a salary for the tedious work of stitching wounds and feeding his greedy stomach. The bandage bills were adding up and Civilian's meager wage was completely wiped out from having to buy a pack every day.

She was an inch away from going on a rage and robbing every bank in the city.

No, she wasn't. She just happened to live on 489 Deertree Avenue, where six months ago the murderous villain decided to collapse unconscious on her doorstep to bleed out like it was no problem.

Like it was a leisure, a recreational activity. Probably to him, waking up in a warm bed, doped up on painkillers with the sickening sweet smell of caramel candles burning around him, it was.

But not to Civilian. She had to manually help the injured individual drink water, get dressed, and even use the bathroom.

UGGGHHHH!

The man had millions of henchmen, billions of wannabe minions at his beck and call.

But he just so happened to have a crush on the red door of 489 Deertree Avenue.

But it was a bad case of unrequited love of the highest order, so no hope of a romantic candlelit date at the most expensive restaurant in the most famous city in the world.

Dairy Queen.

The pure hilarity of that fact. Even the Avenger Tower did not hold nearly as many powered or high-tech individuals as the city and the most fanciest restaurant was a chain fastfood restaurant at the corner of main street.

Civilian clenched the towel she was holding. As much as the stupidity of the city got on her nerves, it was very unpatriotic of her to go on and embarrass the area even more.

Civilian was scrubbing the mirror in the bathroom. The walls of the whole room were stained in the most disgusting brown and red from all the grime and blood radiating off a singular person's- not even the owner of the house- body.

Those would never go away unless Civilian paid for someone to come and mega-wash the bathroom. Not that she had any money to invest in such a delightful gift, her bank account was too busy supporting the prescribed pain medications. Like, Civilian was probably on the watchlist for utter bankruptcy and for being a possible candidate for drug addiction.

Who needs two whole containers of opioids and a canteen of valium every three months?

Not a normal civilian washing floors at Walmart, that's for sure.

But then again, Civilian was far from normal. She worked as a personalized savior during her freetime.

Civilian clenched her teeth and took a deep breath in. Her ward hasn't made his grand appearance in over a week. She actually had time to relax, make some popcorn and actually decompress. It was like vacation, peaceful, tranquil and full of serenity, free of any-

Knock, knock, knock.

Civilian's moment of bliss was unceremoniously ended by the all too familiar beat of a fist on wood.

"You have my permission to make out with the door Villain! You don't need to ask anymore!"

Civilian hoped Villain was coherent enough to internalize that as an invitation to bleed on her couch.

Just so she could have one more moment. One more moment of her coveted break.

Cough.

Civilian's head perked up. That was new. She never, ever heard Villain cough in a sickly manner- she never let him get bad enough to get sick, or he didn't permit himself to wait around until infection and fever set in.

She set down the towel, worry settling into her bones like it always did- not that she liked the heart dropping feelings and nauseating pit in her stomach each and everytime Mr. Needy had blood on him. Or everyday that he didn't show up for a bandaid, or a "kiss-it-better".

Yes, the pure humiliation when her delirious patient painfully begged her to kiss his knee better. Like, the puny scrape on his leg was by far the least severe wound on his bloodstained body, but of course, Civilian complied and gave him a little peck on his Olaf bandaid.

Civilian ripped open the door and the scene in front of her chased away those obnoxious memories.

Villain collapsed into her arms, head lolling pathetically against her shoulder. His forehead felt like it was doused with gasoline and then lit by a torch five times over. Civilian's shocked arms involuntarily wrapped around his equally scorching body. Yes, it was not a conscious act. Not in a million years would Civilian muster up the compassion to actually comfort the villain more than the deed of "saving his life" called for.

No, no Civilian hated Villain. Completely and totally loathed each and every cell on his body.

But she dragged him into the house and shut- more like slammed- the door anyways because she couldn't let him die, it would be like murder's sidekick.

Especially since Villain trusted her. Oh how he trusted her. Trusted her to bathe him, to feed him, to give him medicine, but most importantly not to kill him. With all the horrors he committed, a swift knife to the throat would be more than justified. In fact, Civilian would likely be commemorated for such bravery.

Public approval, fame... all a deliciously yummy cake.

Not worth it. Too many calories.

Civilian sunk to the ground and put Villain's upper body in her lap. He nestled into her, pressing his cheek deep into her side with a small, contented smile on his pale face.

"Don't drool on me," Civilian snapped, jostling Villain who woke up. Before he had the chance to get his bearings, Civilian spoke up again, "Are you hurt?"

The villain stared at her for a while before breaking into desperate tears, shaking his head.

What the heck?

"Stop crying or I will punch you," Civilian threatened, but she rubbed Villain's back soothingly.

"Dying," Villain sobbed.

"You are not dying, buddy, you have a cold."

"No, I'm dying," Villain asserted. Civilian rolled her eyes. Did he have to be so dramatic?

"I don't think a cold will kill you. Stop acting like the world is ending now, or I will throw you in the trash."

Villain whimpered and pulled himself closer, still crying.

He really was sick. So sick to the point of being delirously delusional.

"You don't need to be a Disney princess," Civilian said, still rubbing the villain's back. Villain's cries turned into sobs and then into wails.

Okay this was getting out of hand. Civilian stood up and dragged Villain's body over to the couch. She marveled in her strength for a while. When Villain first made his appearance in her otherwise boring life, she was as skinny as a twig. Now? This girl was a freaking hulk, baby.

Okay stop that, Civilian chastised herself, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. She laid Villain on the beige colored couch and rested his wet head against a pillow that was metaphorically marked with his name.

Now that the villain was completely stretched out, Civilian- to her relief- found that he was not bleeding, therefore, she didn't have to waste her precious supply of gauze and bandages tonight.

But he still was very, very sick. His face was a gray mask of pale complexion, his hair snarled and matted in sweat. His lips were tinged blue as unfocused eyes gazed around the room, landing on the TV.

"You want to watch something?" Civilian asked, though the question was more than unnecessary. Villain always watched a movie as he dozed off, warm and comforted by the mound of blankets strewn over him.

But still, like a habit, he nodded weakly each and every time. Civilian smiled, the tiniest of grins, and connected the tablet to the television. When the screen popped up with the classic Amazon Prime Video layout, Civilian asked what movie.

"Boss Baby," Villain mumbled, lips hardly moving.

"You want to watch a movie with baby superheroes? Why don't we watch Toy Story or something?"

Or something a bit more adult-ish.

"Mhm," Villain groaned, eyes slipping shut. "Baby superheroes."

Now it was Civilian's turn to groan, loud and exaggerated. But, still he was her unwelcome guest so she had to please his obnoxiously childish wants.

Like how old was he? Five?

Civilian put in the movie and sat down next to Villain, putting his legs on her lap. She tapped lazily at his jeans as the opening credits showed. Leaning her head back, Civilian allowed her gaze to drift away from the stupid fat-faced animated figures and to Villain.

He was nearly asleep.

Civilian shifted her weight and rested against her arm to watch him. Even sick, she had to admit, the evil and annoying villain was shockingly handsome.

What was she thinking?!

Pushing Villain's feet away, Civilian stood up and aggressively shoved her palm to his forehead. It was buzzing with heat.

"You are paying for the bill," Civilian growled and went to go get some tylenol.

Upon returning to the sickly man's sweaty side, Civilian thrusted the pills into his mouth and washed them down with water. She didn't even give him a chance to wake up fully, the motion was instinctual. He swallowed on reflex.

Next, Civilian cussed herself for this, she cupped his cheek. Villain sunk into her palm, chewing silently, and continued to sleep.

When Villain first visited, Civilian couldn't get over how touch starved the poor guy was. It was to the point of absolute fear of touch. He would shiver before violently flinching away, glaring daggers.

He still didn't allow hugs or a highfive when he was in his right mind- not that Civilian saw him fully conscious ever apart from a couple times.

"Hungry?" Civilian mumbled, more to herself than anyone.

Still, Civilian placed Villain's head back onto the pillow and went into the kitchen to make some soup.

Chicken noodle soup with rice... her specialty. Chicken breast and rich seasoning, even one's dampened taste buds could taste the utter deliciousness of the watery broth.

Then the rice. Sometimes when Villain was on the mend, she would add some wild rice or lentils to the dish. Spooning some basic white rice into the bottom of the bowl, Civilian tapped her foot aimlessly.

The kettle on the stove whistled, Civilian pushed it off the heat and added the seasoning and celery. The savory scent wafted into her nose earning itself a tiny smile from Civilian.

Once the soup was done, she presented it to the still sleeping villain. His mouth hung open, desperate for air that his clogged nostrils couldn't deliver.

Dang. Poor guy was really ill.

Civilian sat next to Villain, so close that she could feel the rise of his chest. She shoved his face upwards. Villain blinked his eyes open and settled his gaze on Civilian's annoyed, but worried, face.

"Ghm," he moaned, rumbled in the back of his throat in a fatigued manner. "Cow hopping."

"Shut up," Civilian scolded and helped Villain to a seating position. He complied, but had no strength left to actually hold the stance.

So Civilian was forced to lay him against her chest and feed him by giving him a big old bear hug. Spoon after spoon went to his mouth until Civilian was just dumping it into his mouth without any natural swallowing reflex.

She took a wet rag and cleaned his face before laying him back onto the couch. Civilian smiled and tenderly touched his eyebrow.

Why did she have to care about him so much?

[sunshineseung]

Dominant Stray Kids

Chan: simultaneously soft and rough. he’s the sweetest man in the world when you’re good! he’ll worship your body for hours and make you cum until you can’t anymore. he loves holding you close and praising you and making you feel as good as possible, even if it isn’t in a sexual way. however, when you’re bad... may god have mercy on our soul. chris is hard to make angry, and it takes a lot of rule breaking to make him genuinely mad, so when you get him past his breaking point, there’s no holding back. he loves using toys and retrains on you and deny you orgasm after orgasm until you’re a sobbing, begging mess. he dirty talks a lot, so expect a lot of pet names and teasing like “aw, does my pretty little slut want to cum? maybe they should have thought of that before they disobeyed me.” although the punishments can be rough, the aftercare is BEYOND AMAZING!!! actual king of aftercare. super reassuring! he’s constantly reminding you that he loves you, especially after a particularly hard punishment. you’re the best thing in his life, so he would never want to make you uncomfortable. the second you say the safe word, he’s running a bath, getting you water, cleaning you up, and taking care of you. he’s an absolute angel. 🐺 favorite names: daddy, master, sir, chris

Minho: you don’t even have to say a word for this man to run you into the ground. he’s the definition of a sadist, and although he can still be super caring, he can also be an absolute demon. expect whips, floggers, paddles, jfc even a chastity belt if you’re up for it. loves seeing his marks on you, it drives him insane! he wants everyone to know that you are his, his, and only his. very protective and possessive, especially around his other members. if one of the members get a little too friendly with you, he’s quick to lay a hand on your thigh and give them a dirty look. sometimes he likes to rail you in the dorm while the other members are in the living room so they can all hear how easily undone you become from his touch. he degrades you a lot, but he also likes to lace it with praise; “pretty slut” and “dumb baby” are his go-to names for you. he loves when you’re so fucked out that you can hardly speak. he isn’t that into orgasm denial, so I hope you’re ready to cum a lot, because he won’t stop until you say so. he loves being messy, so spitting on you and covering your face in spit or his cum is fair game. he’ll also make you dress up like a cat, and please don’t question why he likes it so much. within a month, you’ll own plenty of collars and ears and tails and pretty stockings and lingerie. he loves to give you gifts and make you happy. he takes aftercare very seriously, so expect him to gently massage lotion into all your bruises from his impact play. overall he’s rough and giving, so thank him often, or he’ll just punish you harder. 🐱 favorite names: master, mister, god, king, owner

Changbin: super loving, and he loves loving you!!! even if you’re bratty, he doesn’t like to punish you much other than a spanking every once and a while. he’d much rather have you be obedient so he can praise you and reward you. although he doesn’t like to punish you, he loves to edge you for hours and allow you to have one intense orgasm for him. he loves having his hands all over you, and vice versa. he’ll worship your body, especially your chest, and spend hours just kissing you and playing with your body. if you’re smaller than him, he will remind you every chance he gets. “my pretty little baby,” “so tiny and good for me,” “you look so cute under me.” he also likes to ask you for praise, like asking how he’s doing. of course, even if you can hardly talk, you’re quick to reassure him and praise him, which makes his head spin. he doesn’t set up too many rules, because he still likes to allow you to be free, but he is very hands-on and will cling to you 24/7, mostly in public or around his members. he loves showing you off to other people and just praising you even if you’re not physically with him. he loves spooning you and slowly fucking you, his big arms wrapped around you and holding you as close to him as possible. you’re all he thinks about, so expect him to be very needy, especially after long days. he’s so nice and gentle but he could be so strong and powerful, and he loves having a threatening aura to everyone else and looking super intimidating while you know he’s just a big softie. 🐰 favorite names: binnie, daddy, sweetheart, love

Hyunjin: so bullshit dom. he doesn’t dirty talk that much (shockingly), but his eyes tell you everything you need to know. He likes to save his voice for when he really needs to say something, which is usually degrading. “Stupid little cumdump. Can’t think of anything other than my cock, huh?” Super dramatic when you misbehave too, like “oh, was my baby too fucking needy to wait for me to get home? You’re gonna pay for that. Every orgasm you had while I was gone is gonna be how many times I cum down your pretty little throat.” He likes restraining you with harsh ropes, spitting on you, and smacking you, but he doesn’t like impact play with toys. He will however use a vibrator on you and edge you for ever until you realize you’re not cumming at all tonight. Just be good and he’ll reward you with... a harsh railing that he’d give you if he were punishing you... okay so maybe he likes brats lol, but he has very little patience, so when he’s ready, you better be ready too. Aftercare isn’t entirely minimal, but it’s usually just a shower where he washes you and takes care of any marks that might spring up. He likes to treat you like you’re less than him although in reality he thinks anything but. Calling him prince while he treats you like a whore is big for him. He also is somewhat into slavery, so prepare for him to get you a slave ring. 🦙 favorite names: master, mr. hwang, sir, prince, your highness, owner

Jisung: teasing dom! He’s another one that likes to edge you for hours, but he also likes to overstimulate you until you’re begging for him to cum so it can end (although he can go multiple rounds too). He’ll lightly degrade you, but mostly it’s praise. He spends a long time on foreplay, oral, and making out just to make sure you feel good. He loves marking you in ways only you and him can see, so he never leaves hickies on your neck. He also loves to baby you, especially if you’re younger or smaller than him. He treats you very well, but if he’s had a rough day, he really needs you to give him head and fuck him until he tells you to stop. He likes when you’re on top but he still has full control by holding your hips or telling you exactly what to do. Sometimes he just comes into your room, pulls out his cock, and expects you to suck him off even if he’s not hard. He doesn’t like to punish you, and he doesn’t set up rules either. He just likes telling you how good you taste or how pretty you look when you’re a wreck for him. He can get shy sometimes, so please reassure him that what he’s doing to you is okay, because he thinks he takes it too far a lot. He’s super loving and probably the softest dom out of the group. 🐹 favorite names: sung, babe, sweetheart, honey, sexy

Felix: I really don’t see lix as a dom but! If I must... Lix is very soft and giving, but he isn’t against getting rough with you. He can easily mix being really rough and being soft at the same time. He loves spanking you with paddles while calling you a good [whatever] and holding you close to him, probably with you sitting up on his lap. He loves whispering in your ear with his deep voice because it always makes you shiver and get insanely horny. He doesn’t punish, but he does like impact play. He really enjoys praising you as much as possible, so don’t expect a lot of degrading. He just wants to be nice to you! He likes dressing you up like a little fashion doll and fucking you in pretty clothes, especially lingerie or stockings. Felix likes being goofy during sex sometimes too! So if he messes up or does something awkward, expect to laugh it out and continue the scene. He likes pet play and age play id imagine, so he’ll buy you little kitty ears or bunny ears and a tail and a collar, but he might also buy you more childish clothes. He loves to take care of you even if you’re older than him, and he loves to cuddle you. As much as he loves cuddles, he also has a very high sex drive, so he gets hard within like a minute of spooning. Aftercare is a must for Felix, becuase honestly, he needs it too! He loves taking baths with you and holding you close. He’s literally the sweetest boy ever, so please let him treat you well. 🐥 favorite names: lixie, master, daddy, owner

Seungmin: woah, okay. okay. okay. Let me break it down for you: he’s such a strict and mean dom, but it’s fucking great. He isn’t my ult bias for nothing. He loves impact play, tying you up, teasing you, degrading you, punishing you, and just... dominating you. He loves feeling in power. He likes to plan during the day so he knows what he’s gonna do to you that night. He won’t even touch you, he’ll just talk to you and whisper to you while you’re tied up to make you weak, and then he’ll start to really play with you. He will tease you, whisper threats, and call you pet names all in public. Although he’s strict, he’s also very fair. If you’re good, he’ll reward you and do whatever you want to do. If you’re bad, you’re in for a long night, or even a long week of he doesn’t let you cum for that long. He has a massive collection of toys: vibrators, impact toys, plugs, costumes, pet accessories, everything! Just do exactly what he tells you to do, and he’s the nicest dom ever. Although, deep down, he likes brats. He likes punishing you and making you cry. He loves watching you unravel under him and go so far into sub space that you can’t talk. As much as he loves that, he is also very strict about safe words. He likes using colors (red, yellow, green) as the safe word, and he’ll often ask you “color?” just to check up. He also sets non-verbal safe “words”which is usually snapping or tapping. he’s researched a lot about being dominant because he wants you to have the best experience possible. For him, it’s all for you. He just wants you to be happy. 🐶 favorite names: daddy, master, sir, mister, king, owner

Jeongin: awww bb innie he’s so sweet... but sometimes he can be a lil mean ;( he’s super nice to and he loves rewarding you, but he can be a little selfish and tell you to suck him off when he’s a little tired or stressed. He isn’t a textbook definition of a dominant in any way, but the more you tell him about what you like, he’s very willing to try new things with you. He’s very scared of hurting you or injuring you, so don’t expect much impact play. He does like you treating him as his superior though because he’s babied so much by so many people around him. Being able to baby you and take care of you is a nice change of pace for him! He likes using you as a doll sometimes, and he orders you around a lot (totally with your consent of course!) and he also loves to make you unravel under him. He adores when you get needy and clingy so much, and even more than that, he loves when you beg for him to play with you. He could listen to you beg forever. When you get super whiny, he thinks it’s so cute and it melts his heart every time. On the other hand, when he gets really worked up, he can degrade you a little bit. He gets very impatient and just wants to cum so fucking bad, that sometimes degrading phrases sneak past his lips. “Ah, cmon my dumb little baby, make me cum.” But the second he finishes and realizes what he said, he appologizes and offers to make you feel better with a shower or bath or even just cuddles. He just think you’re his entire world, so he wants to take care of you as much as possible. 🦊 favorite names: jeonginnie, oppa, babe, baby

part 1 of this: submissive stray kids

[itstheimpossibledream]

Thee Stallion

Word Count: 5,467

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Megan The Stallion, Hotch x Emily Prentiss

Summary: I’m trying something new, the writing style, the character type and fandom all a bit different than my usual stories so please lmk what you think ! So this first part is loosely based on Season 3 Episode 17. A Spencer Reaid sexual redemption story of sorts. Spencer’s high school crush grows up to be singer & sex icon Megan thee Stallion but, when a killer sadist and kidnapper enters her circles she turns to Spencer& The BAU  for help. The Team ends up going undercover at a sex party and things ensue. I’m aware it the most random pairing on the planet and it didn’t need to happen.But, this is what I wanted to write so like……..suck it???🤷🏾‍♀️Also a Prentiss and Hotch hook up ??? whaaaaat? I know I know I’m unhinged. Enjoy sluts😜Again Feedback is always welcome and requests are open! Please don’t copy or repost my fics without my permission!

"I don't know. Are you sure your parents aren't going to mind?" Spencer asked, nervously biting his bottom lip. He stepped into the doorway of the large home. It smelled clean, he noted that it didn't have the smells of a normal house, it's scents didn't remind him of family but more of a hotel.Scents of  maids, glass cleaners and overly expensive clothing filled his nostrils. He wasn't judging her but, to say her parents were filthy rich would be an understatement. Freshman year she moved to Las Vegas, and a week ago Mrs. Baird had asked Spencer if he'd mind tutoring her after school. He played it cool in front of his favorite teacher but, inside his heart had skipped for joy. He never actually expected her to ask him to walk her home. Not that he could consider saying no. No one would be looking for him anyway. As the Vegas sun beat down on them his heart soared, even in the silence.This infact was his cloud nine.He just never expected for the hottest girl in school to admit to wanting to spend time with him,much less for an extended period. Obviously, it was a purely platonic mathematical meeting but, still this was more alone time with a girl he wasn't related to than he had had so far in his life. She headed up the stairs and he followed behind her like a lost puppy, trying with all his might not to look up her incredibly short school-uniform-issued skirt,as she ascended. It wasn't necessarily that she was the most popular girl in school, or the fact that she was the hottest that made him crazy about her, as much as it was the fact that she always smiled at him. She was just nice. The day he met her,Mom was having an episode, a bad one and she forgot to wake him up for school. Much to his surprise this day was also her first day of school, she smiled at Spencer in the office and he made sure to set an alarm knowing he couldn't rely on his mother and was never late to school again. He vowed to himself to never miss that smile if he could help it. 

The intricate wooden door swung open into what Spencer could only imagine was the inside of a pepto-bismol bottle, or every girl's dream. The entire room was hot pink and bright, it wasn't what he had pictured for her but then again she was doing many things out of character today. 

"Are you sure your parents are okay with me being in your room?" he asked again, just to be on the safe side. She broke into laughter shooting him a look of astonishment that also somehow managed to make him feel as though he had asked a stupid question. 

"They never care that there are boys in my room. They're never home." she retorted quickly.

"O." Spencer was surprised by the popping sound his lips made as he said it.

"Why?" she followed up quickly "You've never had a girl in your room before?" she took off her sweater, embellished with the school's emblem and sat it on the back of her color coordinated office chair.

"Ummmmm no." He replied honestly .

"Then you should invite me over sometime." She said, crossing the room to sit on her impossibly large bed. 

"O ummm- I don't think that'd be a good idea." he whispered to himself. The room fell silent for a moment and he realized that he had made the moment awkward, she had offered to come to his house, to be in his room and he had turned her down. 

"Your uhhhh-Your room is VERY pink." he managed to get out in order to cover the silence. He scratched the back of his head, a visual declaration of his insecurities manifesting and she doubled over in laughter again, finding herself shockingly both amused and turned on by his honesty. Men weren't honest like that, and definitely not with her. 

"Pretty observant. I guess that's why you're the smartest kid in the state." She winked. He ignored the wink, it probably wasn't intentional. 

"Actually it's just the Tri-state area but......thanks" he trailed off again. This time she didn't try to come up with something to say to make him more comfortable. She allowed him to sit in the silence and shockingly he realized he was less bothered by it. She watched as he fiddled with his hands, the veins in his slender fingers raised to attention. Eventually, She pulled her textbook from her back pack and opened to a problem that she was having trouble with. Spencer watched over her shoulder as she worked through the math on her own. Truthfully, she got farther than he had expected her to. He could tell though that at this part she was stuck, he gave her a second to see if she would catch her mistake.But, he couldn't bare to watch it anymore , reaching down his hand to cover hers, guiding it to write the right numbers. When he leaned in she could smell his cologne, a scent much more mature than that of anyone else  their age. She wanted Spencer bad. He had to be avoiding it not to notice.He was actually the first boy she had had in her room that didn't attempt to get her naked the second the door closed behind them. His adams apple bobbed as he finished the last number and she decided to go for it. There was something about the curve in his lip as he smiled down at his math that made her want to jump his bones. She could tell he wasn't the kind of guy you fake an orgasm for. He was someone who wasn't afraid to work at something until they got it right. 

"Can you sit in this chair for me?" she asked, slowly running her hand over the seat's back.

"sure." he shrugged, taking the book with him, completely unaware of your intentions. You move to the door and lock it, he was probably a virgin,probably wanted a less risky experience.You straddle his right thigh and his eyes immediately snap up to meet you,when you finally lower yourself onto his leg, he can't ignore it anymore. You feel his body tensing up under you,

"Do you want me to stop?" you say looking directly in his eyes. He had never made uninterrupted eye contact with you for this long but you could see the wheels in his head turning. 

"NO!" he says, louder than he had expected to, afterall he was the smartest kid in the entire tri-state area. He knew what you were offering him now. You lean down to kiss him, at first his lips don't move and you wonder if you had completely misjudged him.Then, you feel a hand move to the back of your head as he cradles you to his mouth,pushing back, his tongue fighting for dominance. You slowly began rolling your hips on his leg, leaning in at the top, putting the most pressure on your clit. You could feel him growing hard, and soon enough you were rubbing him through his pants as he exhaled the tiniest moans. You were in love with that sound, and you knew you would do anything he asked you to, as long as he never stopped making it. He was able to lift himself up and move his pants down enough to spring his cock free from his underwear, it was so shockingly confident and unlike him a few minutes prior and you cherished it. You lifted your skirt for him so he could move your underwear to the side and enter you.The entire walk home had felt like foreplay to you anyway, the underwear you were wearing had been soaked through. He looked up at you, eyes heavily lidded and filled with lust. He didn't seem as innocent as he had before entering your room. Swinging your leg to his side so you were fully straddling him, you lowered yourself to him and relished in the intake of breath he had as his tip began exploring your walls.He looked up at you so innocently you couldn't help but moan out his name. 

"Shhh. Shh.We don't want anyone to hear you." He whispered before pulling you in for another kiss. You whine into his mouth as he ruts his hips up into you. His hips move with force but, control he's savoring it, not wanting to cum too soon. It was his first time, you wouldn't have held it against him but, god were you glad he was lasting. You were beginning to unravel ontop of him. His nimble fingers worked open the buttons of your shirt as you bounced on him. He reached a hand inside and you were surprised by the warmth of his long hand as he plamed your breast,working your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. 

“Oh. my god." you breathed over and over again, as he continued pushing into you. The sensation was much more than you were used to,and you grappled with your emotions as he pushed you over the edge. You were loud, there wasn't even an attempt to hold it in. He pulled back from your mouth, a large smile breaking across his face. He was beaming with pride and while you loved to see how happy your orgasm had made him, you were slightly annoyed to learn that even Spencer was not entirely exempt from succumbing to unnecessary male bravado. You could feel him moving inside you, pulsing his dick against your walls as he watched you come down from your high. He brought your face to his, kissing you deeply as you began to roll your hips onto him again. His gaze is dark and you press your hands down on his chest to adjust yourself as you ride him. He loves watching you,everything from the way you flip your hair, to the noises that escape your throat with each thrust. You kiss his neck, working your lips on the space behind his ear, his eyes roll to the back of his head and he whispers a light "Fuck." in response to your action. He began pushing into you fast and quick , he held you up by your hips allowing himself to slide completely in and out of you. When he controlled your hips it allowed him to push up and bottom out, hitting your deepest point. He moans again, his voice hitting a higher pitch than you had expected and you knew what you were doing to him. He pushed into you for the last  time letting out an embarrassingly loud noise as you bounced a bit more, releasing your orgasm all over him. He practically beams up at you , filled with pride. You make out with him again as he slowly softens inside you. 

"Do you ummm-want to finish studying or- I can leave if you...." The confidence of the moments before had evaporated and in its wake was the same timid genius as before. 

"I'd like it if you stayed." you said, peeling your skin from his and removing the rest of your school uniform while changing into your robe.You walked to your bathroom, splashing water on your face and looking at your reflection. You came back from the bathroom to find Spencer dressed, the chair was placed back near the table and the room looked as though nothing had ever happened. He had the book back in his lap and was reading it intently, or maybe he was just staring down at it to avoid making eye contact with you. 

"You can use the bathroom if you want." you smiled at him as you pulled the ties on your robe tighter. 

"I'm okay." he said, barely looking up from the text. There was a bang on the door, that got his attention. He looked at you now, his pupils jumping with fear. The knock hit the door again, stronger this time. 

"I'm coming." she called shakily. She quickly crossed the room and unlocked the door. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 "So that's why they did it?"Derrick said, spinning in his chair again. The bull pen was practically empty but the heat that dripped off of Spencer's lips as he spoke was palpable. 

"He really had no choice." Spencer said furrowing his brow. "American society heralds the high school quarterback as the traditional teen alpha male .What was he supposed to do?" he shrugged, clearing his throat.

" He wasn't supposed to bully you, to embarrass you in front of the whole school. He shouldn't have chosen that.It's not your fault his girlfriend chose you." Derek leaned in, he was good at that, the supportive older brother role. It made him feel safer, it made him feel understood and it gave Derek a window into a part of Spencer's life that he was rarely allowed to see. 

"And that's why you don't want to help her?" Derek asked but it came out as more of a statement. Spencer returned his gaze to his desk while Derek ogled the woman in Hotch's office. 

"Sure had to be good for your ego though."Morgan remarks pleasantly, swinging his chair around again

"Pain and happiness are simply conditions of the ego.Forget the ego. A quote from Laozi."Spencer shrugs, pushing up from his desk. 

"Okay but have you seen her music videos?She twerks Spencer."

"I've seen all of them, the same as she's aware of every achievement and degree I've been honored with. We're friends just......from afar." the corner of Spencer's mouth twitched as he finished and Derek couldn't help but pry more, following him to the coffee stand. 

"Why?" he pushed " Do you think if you get close to her again something else bad will happen?"

"I don't know." his mouth quirked up again while he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. Derek was chuckling to himself while stirring his coffee and Spencer knew he could not wait to tell Garcia. 

“What ?” he finally asked unable to ignore Morgan’s chuckles any longer. 

“Just never thought you could handle a sister… much less….” he trailed off.

“Shut up Morgan.” he countered quickly , refusing to make eye contact.

Emily crosses the room towards them, perching atop Morgan’s desk. “You guys got any idea what that’s about ?” She asks motioning towards Hotch’s office.

“Spencer’s friend had some coworkers go missing.” Morgan offers, folding his arms in a fake gesture of jealousy towards Spencer, who rolls his eyes. 

“Ah. What does she do?”Prentiss asks, always the curious one.

“Real-estate.” Spencer quips quickly before shoving his hands into his pockets and moving past them to leave. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed by her, he truly wasn’t. It was more the time in his life that she reminded him of that he wished to escape.His thoughts were silenced  when Hotch announced to the bull pen that they were to meet immediately.

Hotch walked up swiftly behind Prentiss, "Pack and meet back here in 30." Hotch said, throwing the file under his arm. Prentiss looks from Spencer to Derek, and the room becomes silent as they watch Hotch walk away with Megan.

"O We're definitely taking this case." Derek raised his eyebrows and Spencer felt his heartbeat quicken. Okay so he had to be around her again, he could do that. It wasn't as if she was a bad memory. Infact, he associated her with a lot of the positive parts of his teenage years, nothing had really topped losing his virginity. 

"Hey guys-" Prentiss said looking up from the file,"you have no idea how fun this case is gonna be." she said, laughing to herself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spencer rapped his pen quickly against the notepad before him. The case actually seemed simple to him, she brought good intel, she practically handed them the unsub their only job was to make a clear, fool proof arrest.Dalton Hughes was wanted for kidnapping and forcing women into sexual slavery. Definitely not their usual work but, she had used Spencer’s name to get FBI attention.And while he attempted to hide it well, Spencer could tell Hotch was more than attracted to her.

 “Reid and Prentiss you’ll be undercover.” Hotch finished 

“ Woahhhh.Wait what?!?!” Spencer exclaimed 

“You brought us this case I assume you wanted to be hands on.” Hotch responds directly.

“ I do- I-I just think Morgan would be less obvious.” he pleaded to deaf ears.

“ Gee thanks.” Derek’s dry humor broke the rest of the room into an uproarious laughter.

“Actually, Tall fit black guy in those circles is either a performer or an athlete-regardless he’s got to much charm. He's  the kind of guy who walks into a room and everyone knows who he is. You guys need someone who can fly under the radar for this.” she says leaning in on the doorframe. Overhearing their meeting wasn’t intentional, she just wanted to make sure he had relayed the case clearly, plus there was only so much space inside the plane. 

“ Great. I’m just the right amount of invisible I guess.” Reid says, faking a smile as he gets up from his seat to pace the aircraft.JJ pats him on the back and you can tell she’s trying to console him but, you know there isn’t much left to console. The rest of the team filed out as you scurried to catch up with Spencer.

“ Did she just profile me?” Morgan asks aloud, a hint of disgust in his voice.

“ Look you know I respect our unspoken bond, and I swear I wouldn’t have come if I had another option.” you say grabbing his arm, pleading for him to look at you. He’d grown a lot since you had last seen him.His muscle tone was becoming as prevalent as his wit.

“ I know.” He admits sternly, his voice is low but sure.

“ I know-I just.I ummmm….” his voice trailed off and you watch as his eyes jumped around, looking everywhere except directly at you. It was impossible for him to be at a loss for words, this silence just meant he wasn’t sure of what he knew he wanted to say. “Can we uhhh-“ he still can’t find the agreeable language before Hotch cuts in. 

“We’re all okay with these assignments then?”he asks. He seemed to accept the assorted responses from the room and returned to his reading of the file. Megan quietly excuses herself to go to the bathroom. 

"Prentiss was right." Rossi smiles to himself, " I do love this case."

"I just don't see why I'm going undercover in a sex ring instead of Derek." Spencer whispers.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Derek shoots back in mock surprise.Both Prentiss and Spencer burst out in laughter, and even Hotch can't help but smile.

"For what it's worth I'd trade spots with you anyday, pretty boy." Morgan says winking at Spencer.

"We need it to be Reid, he and Megan have a good rapport and I want to build on that.The more natural the relationship looks the better."  

"Wait what do you mean relationship?"Prentiss shoots. No one responds, so Prentiss breaks the silence of the jet with an "O.I see......No way.....Well, good for you Reid."

"O my god." Spencer rolls his eyes"can we please just get to L.A. without going through my entire sexual history?"

"Oooooo.So there is a sexual history?" Now, Morgan turns to fully face Reid, clapping him on the back. Prentiss makes a sexual gesture with her hands, and the entire room erupts in laughter again.  

"Stop." Prentiss immediately let's up on the joke at Hotch's command.Everyone attempts to hold it in but, after a second of silence Rossi breaks, and the rest of the group can’t help but follow.  

“You know, I stripped undercover before.” Prentiss cuts in.

“Oh god. How did I know we were going to go back to that.”  Morgan feigns annoyance.

“Good point Emily, you should be paired with Hotch.” Rossi says flippantly.

“That’s fine. We could use Emily’s expertise.” Hotch says, his eyes flaring as he looks down at the file, definitely pretending to read. Clearly it was not fine but, it was more important for him to pretend it was for the sake of the room than not to. Plus, having more agents on the ground was always reassuring. 

The plane begins its landing process and Spencer is lost in thought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was calm and collected since the second he stepped off the plane to be honest. It wasn't until she slid her her leg on top of his, showing herself off to the dance floor,as he calmly rested his hand on her knee as if nothing out of the ordinary that he had the time to process what was happening."Okay can you see him?" she whispers into his ear. Ofcourse he can see him, ofcourse he was looking at her. Everyone in the room couldn't help but look at her, she was easily the most beautiful woman in any room she walked into. And while she was not the most famous guest at the party, not by a long shot she was, sure to grab attention that way as well.  Spencer knew that but,he also knew that this was acting, and while he was good at reading other people's behavior he hoped she wouldn’t judge his behavior by the feeling of him growing under her leg. "Are we going to talk to him now?" 

“No ...ummm our job is more to survey. You know keep an eye on everything.” He choked out.

“It’s easier if I have some help.” she smiled. He lightly brushed a finger over the tops of her knees, slowly moving his way up her thigh. It was gentle but, it was teasing enough for her to notice. 

“ I’m not against helping, I just didn’t think you’d need it.” he smiled smugly next to you. 

“What are you smiling about ?” she asked .

“You know you having an orgasm is not part of the assignment right ?”he avoided looking at her as his hand toyed further up the hem of her dress. 

“The assignment was to be realistic. God I thought you were good at school.” she snuck in a kiss on his neck below his ear, like she used to. His breath caught in his throat which he decided to turn into a light cough , thinking that would avoid her detection. 

“This collar means I’m a sub.” she said, grinding her butt onto his lap again. He clears his throat. “Implying that you’re my dominant. If this is going to work you have to seem in control.” she whispered the last part in his ear, sending a chill down his spine. His hand flew to her throat, thumb just lightly pressing its way into her air intake , as he pulled her head towards his. 

“I know what it means.”his voice was low and stern. Infact, the hardest part in prepping for this case was not telling the rest of the group just how much he actually understood the mission. It’s not uncommon for sadists to take interest in the bdsm and kink community but, he wasn’t going to allow himself to fill his coworkers in on his sexual preferences. She looked fragile like this, his hand around her neck, her legs wide for the whole room, as sexual and commanding as she was she had no issue letting him top her, and he thrived on that power. His first industry sex  party was going well as far as he was concerned. She leaned in to kiss him and he let out a disinterested “No.” , looking past her. She didn’t have the time to recover her feelings before he asked “Is there a private room?” 

Sure she had been forward with him, but she was shocked by this admission. Maybe he really had let that young, timid version of himself entirely float away. 

“Yes. down that hall. Any door on the left.” she steadied her voice, trying not to let her excitement be too obvious. Calmly, he pulled his cuff to his mouth “Our suspect is headed to a back room with a woman in an orange dress.” Her eyes shoot to Hotch and Prentiss, who are in their very own form of a compromising position.It was understated and tasteful but, there was no denying that his hand was in her mouth,as she sucked on his fingers.JJ was right by the door immediately headed towards the room,  Spencer slowly got up, and fell in line behind Hotch and Emily kept an eye on the room. In the end, it was JJ’s arrest and Derek and Rossi were outside waiting for her to hand over the perp. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“ So what’s your kink?” She asked breaking into a broad smile as a direct result of his uncomfortability. They were supposed to be undercover as strangers,two consenting adults meeting at the party. It’d be naive to pretend as though she never had a crush on Hotch. And even worse for him to deny the attraction as well. For as much time as she had spent with him, it always manages to shock her how he never gave any information unasked. Even as she had spent so much time undercover, she never met anyone in the FBI who would do better with international intelligence than Hotch.

“I don’t have any.”he shrugs crossing his arms across his chest. He hadn’t even taken his jacket off.  She snakes her hand inside his jacket pocket and pulls out a buisness card.

“ Okayyyyy Detective Hotcher” she say, turning the card in her hand as she palms her drink. It was whiskey,he had ordered it for the table , he poured it with such care that a part of you envied the whiskey. To be cared for, to have hands like that pour into you.

“Not so thorough for undercover.” you joke with him

“I’ve been very busy.” he replies with, and you can read into it that he is disappointed in himself. Such a master of perfection but, he couldn’t manage to look comfortable on the obviously expensive couch. You stood infront of him , cocking your head to the side as you undid the belt of your wrap dress. It’s silky material rolled off of your body without hesitation and landed safely on the carpet, revealing the lingerie you had so carefully picked out for this mission. You watch as his eyes move from the dress on the floor to your heels and then trace over your body. He seems incredibly still except for the ticking of his watch. You can tell it was expensive but tasteful, not too large or flashy.He allowed you to walk toward him. You straddled him lightly, lowering yourself down onto him. You felt him exhale as his hands came to your lower back, a warmth spread throughout your body as his hands lightly rubbed your back . You rocked your hips forward and his eyes flashed up to yours. He fit his hands in the crease of your hips as you roll back and forth on his lap. His breath hitches, just enough for you to hear and you smirk knowingly at him.

“ Everyone has a kink agent Hotchner.” His eyes sparkle up at you. You can feel the twinge of interest, skirting his thought. 

“Stop using my real name.” he corrects her sternly, her eyes challenging him 

“So what’s yours ?” He turns his chin up to you, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. Your fingers begin working at his tie, and as you roll your hips forward again you can feel his member growing under you.

“ I think that’s convincing enough.” He grunts, trying to remove himself from under you but, you  cradle his hand and look into his eyes as you redirect it to your core.His hands immediately go to work as if he held no validity to his previous statement. You grind down on his fingers a little more.

“ You’re attracting a lot of attention now, I think-“ his whispered pleas were cut off as you bent close to his ear “ I thought I was the on-the-ground-professional in this case? I thought you needed my what was it ‘extensive experience’?” Hotch allowed himself to laugh at the use of a direct quote. 

“So getting me hard in a room full of people proves that?”he retorts quickly.

“No”, she replies calmly continuing to ride his fingers while nonchalantly drawing circles on his chest. 

“ But it does ensure that you’ll think of me the next few times when you’re alone. You will have wished you fucked me.And that’s even better.” She smiled, removing Hotch’s fingers and slowly seating herself next to him. He swung his arm over her shoulder and she brought his fingers to her mouth,placing them on her tongue.He shivered but, watched intently as she sucked on his fingers until he heard Spencer over his ear feed. The subject had headed for a private room, she was aware of the energy change and as Hotch moved towards the perp she, expertly blended into the crowd of other confused onlookers.

Within an hour of interrogation Rossi got him to reveal the location of the girls he was keeping captive. Soon after, Derek led a unit to retrieve them. It wasn’t their flashiest case but, it definitely gave everyone a warm feeling to go home with. Something the team hadn’t had in a long while. They stood in the lobby of the hotel, everyone with their own secrets,everyone trying to pretend that that wasn’t one of their more challenging missions. Everyone seemed different, quieter somehow; how’s that for a team building exercise Spencer found himself thinking.

“I’m uhhh-” he attempted to break the silence.

“Just go Spence!” the group responded in unison, almost comically.

“Wait. wait.” he stopped at Rossi's command and turned back accepting his handshake, the older agent clapped him on the back and smoothly slid a small stack of condoms into his hand. 

“Go get em’ tiger.” he huffed under his breath, and Spencer couldn’t help but laugh to himself, as he turned on his heels to leave. 

His heart raced as he entered the elevator, he wanted to shower, plan his outfit, his words; he wanted to tell her how much he wanted her, how much he had held back for years. His keycard slid into the door, he pushed it open and could barely make out the figure in the dark. Instinctively reaching for his gun,it wasn’t until he heard Megan call out his name that he was brought back to safety.

“Jesus, don’t kill me Spencer.”she laughed 

“You could have been an intruder.”he laughed in agreement of how ridiculous it all was. 

“Do most of your intruders dress like this?”She stood up so he could see, she wore a garter clearly visible below her much outgrown private school issued uniform skirt. The heels and his own opened buttoned down shirt completed the look that he was sure would drive him to his grave. 

“Shit.” he exhaled, covering his face with his hand as she closed the door as well as the space between them; extending her hands to his pants. She could feel he was hard through his khakis, god only Spencer could get away with wearing khakis at an industry event.He quickly swatted her hand away, pulling her face to his. He pushes her against the wall, feeling her curves, feeling her warmth , feeling for the first time untouchable since that day in highschool. 

[omgkatsudonplease]

[ficlet, bagginshield] we could form an attachment (bridgerton au)

The gardens at Long Cleeve Hall are stifling with the aroma of wisteria. Bilbo Baggins, who had hoped to escape there for some air, finds it frankly just as hard to breathe there as he had inside the Hall itself.

“Bilbo?” Lobelia Bracegirdle’s voice rings out from not too far away, causing Bilbo to leap to attention again. “Bilbo Baggins, get out here this instant! The Springle-ring is starting and you signed my dance card!”

Oh merciful Giver spare me, Bilbo thinks mutinously, rushing away from the sound of her voice deeper into the gardens. He had only agreed to stand up with her to be polite, but if this is how she’s going to handle him needing some air, he might as well leave her hanging all night. Miss Bracegirdle’s forceful personality might make her seem charming (if not intimidating) to other Hobbit-lads on the marriage market, but her inability to take no for an answer and her overt interest in becoming mistress of Bag End has completely drained him of any hypothetical interest he may have had in her.

He spots a decent-sized hedge and dives behind it just as Miss Bracegirdle enters the gardens, her white gown making her look like the shroud of some terrible Barrow-wight as she cranes her head around for him. Bilbo hardly dares to breathe, listening only to the merry refrain of the Springle-ring in the distance matching with the sound of his own heartbeat.

“Where is that blasted Mr Baggins?” grumbles Miss Bracegirdle as she heads deeper into the gardens, just past his hiding space. He exhales as soon as she vanishes from sight, before turning and almost colliding with another dark figure lurking in the hedge.

Bilbo’s first instinct is to scream, but then that would call Miss Bracegirdle back to him. The figure turns to look at him, and a mixture of shock and resignation floods through Bilbo all at once.

It’s King Thorin.

Bilbo remembers their first meeting at the season-opening Party Field Dance. He had been doing evasive manouevres from Miss Bracegirdle at that time, too, and had bumped quite literally into King Thorin. The Dwarf-king had refused to indulge him in his paltry attempts to make conversation, though he did recognise Gandalf, Bilbo’s chaperone for this year’s social season.

It seems that Gandalf had agreed to accompany Bilbo to this year’s social events for no real reason other than a general desire to disturb the peace, because no sooner after finding that King Thorin was in the Shire on a goodwill tour before the hunting season starts in the Ered Luin, Gandalf had decided to arrange a dinner party for all of them. So this is now his third encounter with King Thorin, and it seems that each time, the Dwarf-king gets a little more handsome and a lot more rude.

“What are you doing out here, Mr Baggins?” demands King Thorin.

“Could ask the same of you, Your Majesty,” hisses Bilbo, putting a finger to his lips. “And hush, there’s someone looking for me.”

“Miss Bracegirdle, right?” wonders King Thorin drily, raising an eyebrow.

Bilbo grits his teeth at the condescension rolling off the Dwarf-king in waves, and turns back to the leaves to keep his eye out for Miss Bracegirdle’s return. “What business is it of yours?” he mutters.

“Oh, you could do better,” scoffs King Thorin.

“I would rather not do anybody here,” replies Bilbo.

That gets King Thorin’s eyebrow raising in curiosity. “If you have no wish to marry anybody here, then why are you at these events at all?”

“Because it’s the respectable thing to do,” says Bilbo. “I know you come from some far-off hill —”

“The Lonely Mountain, actually —” offers King Thorin.

“Whatever.” Bilbo waves a hand at that. “You’re not from these parts, so you couldn’t possibly understand the importance of respectability.”

King Thorin raises an eyebrow, and Bilbo suddenly realises exactly what he’d said. His cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“I mean — respectability with Hobbits is much different than with Dwarves — I’m sure you’re perfectly respectable with your folks, otherwise you wouldn’t be King!”

“I still fail to see how that equates making yourself do something you do not wish to do,” replies King Thorin.

Bilbo swallows. It had been his mother’s dying wish that he fall in love and get married someday. And that was part of the reason why he’d kept going to these events, year after year, in the vain hope that perhaps this year things will be different. Perhaps this year someone special will sweep him off his feet.

In turn, all he’s gotten out of it is a reputation for pickiness, speculation on whether or not there’s something wrong with him for not settling for some pretty Hobbit-lass who can’t see him past his family name, and anxiety at the possibility of having to attend these events until he’s old and shrivelled. But he’s not going to explain all of that to some Dwarf-king only in the Shire to rake some buds before he goes to be Dwarf-kingly at the Ered Luin.

“You know, I haven’t seen you on the dance floor at all tonight,” he says, changing the subject. “Surely a King would know how to dance.”

“Yes, of course,” replies King Thorin, his tone mildly irritated.

Bilbo hums. “Surely even a King of Dwarves knows that in the Shire, the lads must not leave any lasses who wish to dance sitting by the side,” he adds.

“Your point being?” wonders King Thorin.

Bilbo crosses his arms. “Why attend these events at all if you will not do the polite thing and dance? Is it because you also don’t want to be here?”

Perhaps it’s a trick of the light, but the very tips of King Thorin’s ears seem to flush pink. “I am here in the Shire as part of my goodwill tour before going hunting in the Blue Mountains,” he points out, his voice thick with something Bilbo can’t quite place. “Am I not allowed to amuse myself and experience Hobbit culture prior to my departure?”

“You have a odd definition of amusement, then, since you spend these balls glowering to the side,” replies Bilbo.

“You would be glowering, too, if all of the mamas of the Shire keep flocking to you in hopes of introducing you to all of their marriageable children,” retorts King Thorin. “I am here to observe, not find a spouse.”

Bilbo snorts. “And I am here to find my true love, but as a gentlehobbit in possession of a good fortune, I find myself surrounded more by dissemblers and treasure-hunters,” he remarks drolly. “Hence, six-going-on-seven years of unattachment.”

“Ah, yes, the Shire’s elusive hare.” King Thorin’s brows knit. “Is it true this is your seventh season? I only read of it in the Stormcrow pamphlets.”

Bilbo hums. “Stormcrow talks of you, too. Says you are colder than the Fell Winter. Not very good for foreign relations, I imagine.”

“That is entirely unfair,” mutters King Thorin. “I should not be painted wintry just because I have yet to dance.”

“Is it better or worse than being described as a hare to be hunted?” retorts Bilbo.

King Thorin grows thoughtful at that. After a moment, he puts his hands together, and fixes Bilbo with the full brunt of his steely blue gaze.

“How would you like to solve our joint Lord Stormcrow problem together?”

~~

For the gathered attendees of the dance at Long Cleeve Hall, the most exciting part of the night had not been when Hanncome Hobson and Marigold Morstan announced their betrothal, nor was it when Falstaff Proudfoot fell into the punch bowl.

No, the most exciting part of the night was when Gandalf set off an entire array of golden fireworks and sparklers, dazzling across the night sky before falling back down on their wondering faces in flocks of golden petals. And it was in the midst of all of this when Bilbo Baggins and King Thorin II of Erebor arrived back at the hall, hand-in-hand.

“Don’t panic,” says King Thorin out of the corner of his mouth. Bilbo takes a deep breath, willing his nerves not to show as they make their way through the gathered crowd, heading for the dance floor.

“We could form an attachment.”

The couples on the floor are now dancing the Weller-spin, a lively yet rather shockingly intimate dance involving pairs circling one another with their arms tightly wound around one another. Bilbo’s heart stutters at the sight, but King Thorin presses them onwards, into a miraculously empty spot on the dance floor.

“Look into my eyes,” he suggests. Bilbo complies, gasping in spite of himself when he feels the Dwarf-king’s hand at his back. He scrambles to return the favour, clasping their other hands together above their heads. “If this is to work, we must appear madly in love.”

“I am trying to avoid diplomatic disaster in the Shire, and you are trying to find your true love. With this arrangement, the rest of the Shire — particularly Lord Stormcrow — will believe that I am not so cold as my initial impression might seem, while you will have turned from being the quarry into the hunter.”

They begin to move together to the music, spinning along with the other couples. King Thorin’s hand is steady against Bilbo’s back as they dance, the heat rolling off of him running through Bilbo’s body to settle in his stomach. The Dwarf-king’s gaze is softer now, something less like cold steel and more like a summer sky.

“In other words, I will no longer be wintry, nor will you be a hare.”

King Thorin spins him out of his arms, before reeling him back in. Bilbo goes willingly, only half of his breathlessness feigned for show. They take each other’s hands in a promenade, turning together before moving back into one another’s arms again.

“Your Majesty,” begins Bilbo, but King Thorin cuts him off with a chuckle.

“We are courting,” he reminds him. “Call me Thorin.”

“Very well, Thorin.” Bilbo smiles. “Do you know the other parts of Hobbit courtship?”

Thorin’s brows briefly furrow. “You will have to educate me, Mr Baggins,” he replies.

Bilbo chuckles at that. “Bilbo,” he says. “Since we are courting, like you mentioned.”

“Bilbo,” agrees Thorin, and the sound of his own name being said by that low voice makes shivers run down Bilbo’s spine. “Tell me more about Hobbit courtship.”

In spite of himself, Bilbo’s stomach flutters.

“This is madness,” Bilbo breathes, looking up at King Thorin, still utterly lost and nervous and perplexed.

“Yet there is method to it,” answers King Thorin. “Provided, of course, that we can amiably part ways at the end of the season, or when someone finds they are so truly in love with you that they would dare to go toe-to-toe with a King for your hand. For as long as I do not love you, and you do not love me, then what have we to lose?”

[yn-dreamlife]

My Hero

Mirio Togata x reader 

Quirk: emotions; you can feel others emotions and project your own onto others around you, in dire situations you can even shut your own emotions off.

Description: Sir Nighteyes death not only changed Mirio but also your relationship, but are you just being oblivious or did he really mean what he said that day? 

Warnings: Fluff, low-key angst, cuteness, nicknames 

I sighed as I looked at the man in-front of me. The man I loved, once so happy and full of light and now... faded. He smiled still of course but, it was dimmer and more often than not fake. Im sure others have noticed but none of them like I have, how could they? I’m his girlfri- his EX girlfriend. A thought the still broke my heart. 

But that didn’t mater any longer, he was still my friend, just like he promised. He was always there and gave me the space I needed after the break up. But of course I would never allow that for more than a day at most, he had just lost Sir Nighteye, the man he looked up to the man who was like a father to him, wether he told me or not doesn't matter. I knew that was true, that that was how he felt about him.  

And now I watch him talk down to himself saying so many horrible untrue things. “Lemillion? Ha you could barely save one girl, you didn’t deserve your quirk its good it was taken away-” 

“Togata-san!” I called out as he hadn't answered me previously calling him. His head quickly snapped up to me as he wiped his tears. I shook my head cupping his cheek. “Why do you speak so lowly of yourself?” 

“Because I deserve it! I’m not a hero, I was never going to be! I let Eri go, it’s my fault that Sir is dead!” He cried moving my hand away from his face harshly. 

I let it drop to my side limply as I activated my quirk. Letting the calm peace I always felt around him seep into him. “Mirio-san you know that isn't true.”

“But how can I be a hero without a quirk?!” He said frustrated but he slowly calmed down. 

“You already are.” I whispered and he scoffed softly. “You are Mirio-san, to so many people. But most importantly your m- I mean your her hero.” 

He looked up at me then, “hers?” 

I smiled as I held my hand out to the side gesturing to the person he couldn't see because she was hidden by a wall. “Eri-chan~” I cooed softly to the girl. 

She walked out quietly and grabbed my hand I could feel her calm aura as she took my hand which pleased me, I’m glad Mirios earlier distress didn’t upset her. But I made sure to use my quirk once again to radiate the happiness I felt by her being here outwards into the two people around me. 

“Hello” she said softly. 

“Eri-chan!” Mirio said happily and moved and pulled the small girl into a hug, a gesture she had become more adjusted to the longer she was around people like me and him. She was still working on smiling and embracing others back but we slowly got there. 

It took a lot of work from all parties. “But I thought Aizawa-sensei said she had to-” he began but I stoped him.

“ah ah ah none of that, Eri-chan is perfectly fine. Besides with me around everything is fine! you forget you may be part of the top three but I’m the number four student in our school for a reason!” I said smiling as I did my signature two finger salute making sure to add a small flourish of my wrist knowing it made Eri feel happier even if she still couldn't express it. 

A quirk of my own quirk, it pays of being able to feel her emotions as well as to radiate my own. 

“Our quirks are compatible, hers being largely tied to her emotions and mine being well, emotions.” I said shrugging with a smile. I saw the tension leave his shoulders, just like the moment she stepped out from behind the wall. I even thought maybe there was a hint of light back in his eyes... just maybe. 

“So I got special permission from the hospital and the school so I have the day off to take her out and I want you to come with! Nothing to out there like I know you usually like, but Tamaki did give me a few great ideas!” I said beaming at him glad I could come up with a plan. 

Mirio smiled then and we set off to go about our fun outing with Eri. We first took her to a small market and her eyes absolutely glowed when we found the fruit stand, I never thought I would see someone get so happy over an apple. 

So I quickly bought her one and it was worth every last scent once I bought her a whole bag just to see that smile, money wasn't always the easiest thing to come by for my family but I knew if she asked I would gladly buy her the world. 

As we where walking through the little market I was happy to see my thoughts where correct. It was mostly empty due to it being the middle of a Wednesday morning. There was a slight chill but that changed once Mirio placed his scarf around me. 

“Here, I can see your shivering.” He said smiling at me his blue eyes sparkling closer to what they used to. 

My cheeks burned red but I shook it off, “t-thank you.” I stuttered. As we continued walking I saw the Ramen shop me, him and the other members of the top three used to go to. Instantly I had an idea. 

“Eri-chan,” I said smiling down at the girl who's eyes practically glowed in wonder at the market. She looked up at me waiting for me to continue “Have you ever had Ramen?” 

At the mention of his favorite food Mirio perked up, “Ramen? Oooo I love Ramen!” He said happily. 

Eri shook her head, “No but I would like to try it if Lemillion likes it.” she said and I smiled at her as I grabbed her hand as well as Mirios out of habit. But as if I had been burned I quickly ripped my hand away from him. 

“S-sorry.” I stuttered quickly about to go into a fit of apologies, an old habbit I had broken thanks to our relationship but had fallen back into since it had ended. 

“No need, its alright.” He said grabbing my hand, I smiled widely. We went into the Ramen shop ordering all of our food, Eri getting the same thing as me but Mirio and her ended up sharing quite a bit anyways, it was safe to say this food would be a new favorite for her. 

And after a long day walking around secluded parts of our city it was time to return home. You three walked back to UA without thinking, after all Mirio and you had called it home the past few months but he faltered upon entering. 

“Oh,” he let out a slightly nervous chuckle, “guess I actually go back to my own house huh?” I looked down sadly not ready for the day to end. 

I came up with an idea and quickly smiled, “Well im sure the rest of the big three would love to see you!” 

The thought of his best friends caused him to smile as well, “Yeah you’re right! I can visit them!” he said sounding slightly shocked. 

“You always sound so shocked when I come up with a good plan” I said as I bumped his arm playfully as I smiled. 

Out of habit he pinched my cheeks, “Aw can't help it sunshine you're always surprising me!” I basked in the familiarity of the intimate actions but it was quickly ruined as he snatched his hand away. “I-i’m sorry y/l/n-san!” He said quickly bowing I went to reassure him but before I knew it he had hugged Eri said his goodbyes and took off running. 

I sighed willing the tears in my eyes away knowing I needed to keep composure for Eri. You smile at her, and it is only tinted with sadness, as you hold a hand out to her. She takes it in her smaller one and squeezes it gently. Its a moment or two of silent walking before she shockingly speaks up first. 

“Do you love Lemillion?” She asks softly you look at her shocked, how did she know about that? Of course you all had expressed your love to her but no child should truly be able to understand it enough to pick it up from people who don't blatantly show it. 

You wanted to hide it and say no but you never lied to her before so you wouldn't start now, you answered with a simple yes.

“Then why don't you guys kiss and hold hands all the time?” She asks softly. 

“well because we-we can't anymore.” You stutter shyly, shocked she even knew of such actions. But you scolded yourself reminding you she was quiet, not dumb. 

She seemed greatly confused by your answer, “But why not?” 

“Well you see thats a thing couples do and Mirio-chan and I are no longer together romantically.” You stated trying to simplify it. 

“Why?” She asks again. Oh ever the child with her curiosity. But this stopped you, you paused mid step and just stood thinking. 

Why in-fact did you two break up? You remember driving at the hospital after the attack to find Mirio alone in his room crying, you had heard about his quirk and Sir Nighteyes death so you quickly ran to him pulling him into a tight hug. 

“I’m so sorry m-” but he cut you off. 

“Sunsh-” he paused “y/n, we need to talk.” Instant dread filled your stomach. Why would he use your first name? Had something happened and the doctors and Mr. Aizawa didnt inform you about? 

“O-okay Mirio, you know I’ll listen.” He tried to speak but closed his mouth, repeating this process several times. “It’s okay take your time.” You cupped his cheek but he shook his head removing your hand as his eyes turned steely and determined. 

“I’m breaking up with you.” He said seriously. 

“W-what?” The word left as noting but a whimper, “Mirio thats not funny stop joking around.” but I felt it, the determination, the coldness. Things I had never felt aimed my way from him. 

“I’m serious. I’m breaking up with you, we are no longer dating we will now be friends, nothing more.” You wanted to protest to scream at him to stop this nonsesne to say it was just the grief but you didnt. You nodded your head doing the thing you hated most. 

You shut down your emotions, a power only you had. But this was the only way you could be near him without breaking. “No y/n I need you to leave. I don't want you shutting yourself down.” He spoke as I tried to sit down on the chair. 

I stood up then looking to the door, “fine... but im going back tomorrow and theres nothing you can do to stop me, you're my friend,” you looked at him then allowing the smallest emotion through a cracked smile, “I’m not leaving you alone in this.” He nodded and with that you left. You weren't looking and bumped into something. 

Looking up you say your favorite loud yellow haired teacher as well as your favorite much quieter black haired teacher. 

“Hey hey little listener whats going on?” Instantly you collapsed into him and broke down sobbing, Mr Aizawa removing your quirk so his overly emotional friend didn't get sucked down into the void of your despair with you. After a moment or so he left to go and visit Mirio knowing what the source of your pain was thought the sobbed attempt at an explanation you gave to Present Mic. 

You then looked back to Eri and answered truthfully. “I dont know.” I whispered, “I suppose because he no longer felt the same way he did for me before, he had been though a lot of grief and pain its only natural for feelings to change.” I said to her as I tried to keep walking but now she stopped. 

“But Lemillion loves you too why would you not be?” You chuckle at her and before you can dismiss her she continues. “he looks at you like Uravity looks at Deku.” At this I stopped walking again, It was very clear the feelings those two held for each other, could she be telling the truth? 

“She's right you know?” I hear a deep voice behind me and jump as I throw a punch out behind me.”Woah!” I now realize the man holding my fist is Mr. Aizawa and I immdeatly apologize but his chuckles stops me. “You’re good kid, almost got me and that doesn't happen very often.” he paused “But she is right he does still care for you. While you where crying with Mic I went to him he was... in less than ideal shape.” 

“Sensei with all due respect, of course he wasn't in good shape he just lost a father figure and his quirk.” I said as I now picked up Eri to calm her down from my sudden outburst of movement. She cuddled into my neck with a soft hum. 

“And he lost his biggest support system. I know you've noticed how he’s been and unlike most I have as well, believe it or not I observe quite a few things. Like how your grades are slightly slipping and you’ve been staying up later and later and how you’ve been zoning out in class.” 

I stared at him mouth agape, “H-how?” 

“I care y/l/n. I care about all my students wether I admit it or not.” he paused “repeat that to anyone and they'll call you crazy.” I nodded my head smiling and then slowly realized everything he said. 

“He loves me.” I muttered to myself. “He loves me!” I said louder. Eri looked at me and I saw a small smile on her face. 

“yes he does.” 

“I-I have to go!” I said frantically. Eri leaned forward moving into Mr. Aizawas arms. 

“Hurry up now. He needs you,” I ran off not even worried about Eri knowing she was in good hands with Mr. Aizawa. “Now more than ever.” Aizawa whispered as he watched her run off thanking him. 

Bonus of this scene:

“come on Eri ill take you back.” 

“Thank you dad.” 

“... you’re welcome.”

*brushes away tears of happiness from cuteness* Anywho back to the story ~Author-chan (no one ever calls me that :( )

As I ran towards the dormitories tears welled in my eyes. I was still so confused and still hurt, why did he leave me? 

“Togata-san!” I yelled as I got closer, in my distress moving instantly to his surname. “Mirio-san!” I yelled again when I got no response. I now could see him talking to my other two best friends but I didnt care as I continued to run. 

“Mirio!” I yelled. I now saw him spin around and begin sprinting towards me. 

“Y/n?! Y/n whats wrong? Are you hurt?!” He asks frantically as he takes my face into his hands turning it each way. I nod my head. “Who hurt you?” He practically grows out. 

“Y-you.” I whimper wrapping my arms around him. I feel him tense. 

“M-me?” I nod my head. “Wha-what did I do?” He asks pulling away and wiping my tears. 

“Y-you left me.” I cried and his face dropped again. “Why? Why did you leave me? Did you not think I would be good for you anymore? Did I do something wrong?” He continues trying to wipe my tears before stopping and giving up. 

“I-I thought you deserved someone better, someone with a quirk like Tamaki.” He whispers looking down, “I thought you wouldn't like me anymore because I cant protect you.” 

“Mirio you idiot I haven't liked you for years.” I whispered but he didnt look shocked because he could feel what I was about to say it seeped out of every pore of my body, “I’ve always loved you.” I whisper. 

“But you loved me when I was Lemillion!” He said quickly and I shook my head. 

“No I didn’t, I loved you as Mirio Togata, and then as Lemillion. And you always forget this,” I whisper I pull his head down placing his forehead on my own, “You might not be a hero but you’ve always been mine, just you Mirio. Not Lemillion, just you.” 

“y/n I know I hurt you and I don't deserve it but please,” he cupped my cheeks pinching them slightly “please be my sunshine again.” 

I laughed showing him a bright smile “You act like you had a choice.” And with that I pulled him into a kiss enjoying the feeling I had been missing these past few weeks. 

“I love you.” He whispered against my lips. 

“And I love you.”