#so the reason I quirked my eyebrow at this article was *because* it was so easy to agree with

[bimbinis]

I remember seeing this post circulating about a year ago or so and I'm surprised it's making the rounds again because back then I smelled bullshit and when I checked the notes I saw multiple people pointing out the exact kind of bullshit it was. the irony is that in order to substantially disagree with the article you have to be the kind of person who bothers reading articles people link on tumblr. if you do so while also applying some scrutiny you'll notice that it's pure and simple boomer circlejerking. the majority of it is Hari giving a negative Yelp review on his own vacation experience interspersed with paragraphs of him (allegedly, we'll get to that) citing scientists and academics that seem like they are echoing the same sentiment but are really just saying unrelated things. To start with the quote highlighted

as someone else already said in the replies, it's already concerning from the get go to operate under the assumption of the existence of a "normal brain" as a thing that means anything, but the concentration time estimates are also meaningless without anything to compare to from before whatever it is that Hari is estimating to be the "point of collapse". You can't draw an unfavorable comparison without having anything to compare to!

but beyond that, this one paragraph is the one time one his quotes actually constructs the problem as some type of measurable change to the brain (and even then the actual numbers he presented don't even show any kind of change at all because we have nothing to compare them to). every following expert he's supposedly quoting is simply discussing how concentration works and what might get in the way of it. one of them argues that multitasking isn't actually real and that what we're actually doing is changing focus really fast, which makes our performance at all tasks we're trying to perform in the moment that require concentration suffer.

but it cannot be extrapolated from these quotes that this is a long lasting change to the brain itself. the tests that are mentioned in this section are measuring attention applied to a single current task.

the following scientist is just describing how focusing works.

for the rest of the article he just talks about how the evidence seems to point towards the factors making it harder to concentrate being systemic conditions: workers are not being allowed to fully disconnect from work because we're accessible at all time from our phones, we undersleep, are constantly stressed, etc. and that all negatively affects capacity for concentration. this is all pretty uncontroversial, however its clear that the entire thesis of this article is hinging on the idea presented early on that this is a problem that profoundly altered your brain in a measurable, physiological way, which once again, has not been meaningfully substantiated!

this may seem like a nitpick because a lot of the rest of what's said (how attention span works, how it's bad that our bosses increasingly encroach on our free time, that we're stressed and tired and need a fucking break etc etc) is pretty uncontroversial and agreeable. dare I say, to the point that it doesn't even need to be said, perhaps.

which is where the problem lies to me. if it's an article that just says "you can't afford to focus on things that would take more work and be more fulfilling to you because the way the world is structured demands your constant attention for bullshit you don't care about" that would probably be more of a manifesto (probably one much more explicit about the names of the systems that cause this state of affairs, too, like the one about literacy going around a few days ago) and much less of a "scientific" article that also gets to promote your shitty book. it would have much less of the sense of urgency Hari is trying to invoke by gesturing in the direction of the brain thing because for some reason people are much more easily alarmed by the idea their brain is secretly being tampered with than the idea that their lives already suck and they can already tell, and we should do something about it, despite the fact that the article depends on you basically already believing all this in order to agree with it and not scrutinize it very deeply. that fabricated sense of urgency is what enables him to go

and this should ring like 1000 alarm bells to everyone because any time anyone writing a "science article" goes "some scientists say this, others say that, who's to say what's true or not? (but here's why you should definitely treat this side as the right one)" without elaborating on what really is the disparity between these two sides that are seemingly on equal footing, its probably because they're trying to deceive you. in fact the particular invocation of alarm to justify "acting without perfect evidence" reminds me of how the MMR vaccine scare was constructed in the same way (luckily Hari is just trying to sell you his shitty book and his proposed solutions are also quite benign, hopefully it doesn't segue into him asking for needless invasive procedures to be performed on children just to prove his theory or anything).

and keep in mind who it is that is trying to sell you said book bc this is what his wikipedia page looks like

and if you go in that last section here's what it says about the book in question

which is what I meant when I said he allegedly quotes the academics he mentions.

it's clear that this article continues to get spread around despite the fact that it doesn't say anything of substance because people already believe what's in it. it's probably not a very big deal, as I said the article is mostly not even wrong, just kinda trash, but there is something supremely ironic about people reinforcing their preexisting beliefs about shrinking attention spans by using an article they must not have read or paid much close attention to cuz if they did they probably would have been turned off by the sheer amount of privileged whining that his expensive vacation was ruined bc his godson watches too much porn

Your attention didn’t collapse. It was stolen by Johann Hari

[cottoncandy-cult]

Babification Octavinelle

INTRO/Dorm Selection Includes: Azul, Floyd, Jade

@azulashengrottospiano I finally did it! Now just 5 more dorms and 18 characters to go XD

Remember this is a fem reader insert with she/her pronouns

Azul had been in the Octavinelle dorm lounge with Floyd and Jade discussing work, it was one of their few days off and they were talking about some new renovations Azul planned to do to the monstro lounge. Floyd believed they needed some kind of gift shop, while Jade believed they needed a garden cafe. Azul had planned to consult with his sweet (Y/n), she had been lending him a hand in the creativity department for a while now. It helped that she seemed to know so many people, but given how deeply involved she has been in each dorm it isn't much of a surprise. As Azul was checking his phone had was also attempting to tune out the rambles of the tweels, Floyd trying to correct something that Jade said involving fashion as usual. Azul often tried to tune those conversations out, he couldn't understand a word Floyd said when he was talking about fashion. Though this chaotic peace had been interupted when Lilia just seemed to drop out of the sky infront of them, the twins near jumping behind the couch from the sudden and silent appearance. It took every ounce of muscle control in Azul not to do the same thing, he had an image he had to uphold and getting scared behind the couch was not something that helped said image. "Hello Lilia, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He had spoken to Lilia on occasion, especially since he often showed up to events in Malleus's place, but he never expected to see the short male in the Octavinelle dorm. The monstro lounge maybe, he did come in every now and then for a treat, but the fact that he was in the dorm lounge caused a few pink flags to pop up. Though those pink flags were soon crimson read as he spotted the child cradled against the male's chest, especially since the child was swaddled in an oversized ramshackle dorm uniform jacket. The fae male chuckled as he noticed the vague way the merman paled, tilting his head with a closed eye smile. "(Y/n) actually, is the reason I'm here. You see, this sweet little girl was the victim of small potionology accident." Azul quirked an eyebrow as the tweels were peaking down at the sleeping prefect in Lilia's arms, he himself was trying not to swear as he already knew where this was going when Lilia started retelling the events in class.

At the end of it Azul was squeezing the bridge of his nose, what God did she piss off to be in the middle of the most chaotic accidents EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. "Don't worry though, Professor Crewel is working with the headmage to fix this. He should be by soon with what he called a 'Baby bag' so that she can be taken care of in the meantime." Lilia carefully passed the sleeping girl to Azul, helping the tense male hold the small girl when he realized that he didn't know how to hold a baby. He then sat her school bag by Floyd, her other clothing articles were hidden inside because Lilia was a gentleman like that. "My number is in her phone; I've raised a few babies in my day so if you need some help just call."

-

It had been a few hours since then, the professor having come by to drop off the baby bag with a book borrowed from the college library about unplanned parenting for young adults. A book he never in his life thought he would EVER be reading; she has been the first of many things for him and at this point he was curious how she managed to create such a chaotic balance of experiences. He had relaxed a bit after getting used to holding her for a while and soon enough he found himself staring at her, he never thought about what she may have looked like as a baby even after she had seen some of his childhood photos. Currently he sat in the pool that was built into his dorm leader room, he was leaning back against the wall of the pool as he watched (Y/n). She had been awake for a while; he had thought that maybe she was aware of the situation because she had been fairly quiet and wasn't very fussy. Currently he was in his merform, something he had grown comfortable with her being around after their many trips to the beach. His sleek black tentacles held her in the water, she was in a little (F/c) swim dress and sat comfortably on his curled tentacles. Her tiny hands gently grabbing at the other tentacles that would poke her nose or tickle her sides or cheeks, he hadn't had any prior experience with human children, so he had found himself quite distracted by her reactions to him. He especially loved how her nose crinkled when she giggled, something he noticed before in her regular age but was much more obvious now in this form. "It isn't fair angel fish; how can you be so cute after causing so much trouble." He chuckled as he brought her closer, rubbing his cheek on hers as he rested her against his chest. It was a quiet night and all things considered he was in a content mood. He watched her tiny hands move against his pale grey skin, tiny eyes marveling at the odd texture. He felt so proud of himself, adoring just how curious she was about HIM. It was definitely an ego boost, he knew she cared for him and found him interesting but as an infant it was such innocent and blatant curiosity. And since she was a baby, he didn't have to feel embarrassed about anything! I mean who are you going to tell? The stuffed dalmatian toy professor Crewel had put in the baby bag? His eyes widened a bit when he felt her tiny hands grab his cheeks, laughing away at something he had no clue about. He didn't know how long it would be till she was turned back, but these moments would certainly make any hassle or stress until that point worth it. He went back to using his tentacles to help her play and swim in the water, buying him some time to think of the future. He found himself hoping, now more than ever, that his future would involve her for many years to come.

Floyd had been running laps at the start of gym class when Coach Vargas had called him over to his office, he noticed Lilia was sitting in front of the coach's desk and he could tell the male was holding something but didn't quite know what. "What's goin on? Why is Mendako here?" (Yes, I'm using the Japanese nicknames cause calling Lilia a flapjack octopus in English just feels insulting. LMFAO) Floyd put his hands on his hips, tilting his head slightly as Lilia stood from his seat. "Well, young Lilia said there was some sort of accident in potionology involving the ramshackle prefect. I'll let him explain, I got stretches to demonstrate!" With that Vargas had left the room, as if he didn't just stir something in the merman. Lilia seemed to sense Floyd's shift in behavior, approaching him with a jacket swaddled infant. "Don't worry (Y/n)'s just fine, she just a little…little." He chuckled as he motioned to the infant, watching Floyd squat to be able to look at her better. Lilia took the chance to show him how to hold her while he explained the situation, chuckling to himself at the end as he saw how Floyd had the small girl resting perfectly on his large forearm. "So, I'm just supposed to take care of shrimpy til Ishidai finds a way to turn her back?" Floyd's heterochromic eyes gazed down at the child in his arm, tilting his head. His shrimpy was already pretty small, but now she was TINY. He couldn't help but chuckle, her cheeks were just so chubby he couldn't help but poke them. Are all human babies so warm and squishy? Or was his cute little shrimpy just extra special like that? "Yep, that sums it up. Professor Crewel should be by to drop off a bag of supplies for her soon. For now, he just asked I bring this to you since he knows you would probably need your hands free." Lilia held up a black and teal harness, a little gold charm dangling from the zipper on the back. "Huh, I didn't know they made functional harnesses." The male was aware that they were sometimes worn simply as decoration for an outfit, but he didn't know humans had harnesses just for baby carrying. "Mhm, let me hold her while you put it on. Once we get her settled, I need to get back to Diasomnia before my own kids stir up trouble." He chuckled at Floyd's confused look, but true to his word once the sleeping child was comfortably snug to Floyd's chest the batty male had left for his dorm. Floyd had left the office and took his lover's stuff to where his own was, looking down at the small girl and wondering how long it would take to have his normal shrimpy back. He had already tried to talk to her 3 times, each time forgetting she couldn't talk back, and he really missed his shrimpy's voice.

Because he had the prefect in his care, he didn't have to do the daily exercises, instead being told to just walk around the basketball court until free time started. He could feel eyes on him as he walked around, he didn't really care because if they were smart, he knew they'd keep their mouths shut about him with his baby shrimpy. He slowly came to a stop when she started squirming, he rested his hand on her back as he watched her closely. Observing how her tiny (E/c) eyes opened with a whiny yawn as she soon began watching him back, tiny head tilting as she looked at him curiously. He chuckled a little at how her tiny hands reached up and padded at the bottom of his cheek, making him lean down as best he could so she could do her thing. He quietly observed with a lazy smirk as she tugged gently on his bangs and patted his cheeks, he didn't know if she was trying to communicate or was just being a curious baby, but he found it quite amusing in an adorable way. Though his moment was interrupted when professor Crewel approached him with a large bag on his arm, cartoon fish covering the outside of it. "Glad to see you aren't breaking down yet, surprising given how most of the students in this school would probably react in your situation." Floyd looked up to Crewel, chuckling some as he scratched the back of his head. "Well, she did just wake up, hopefully shrimpy will be a good girl until we can get back to the dorm." He followed Crewel after the professor motioned him to follow, watching as they made their way to the lockeroom. "Well, we hope to have her sorted out by the end of the week, till then I need to at least make sure you're prepared for childcare. Tell me, what do you know about diapers?" Crewel couldn't help but chuckle at the male's confusion, this was going to be an adventure. Thankfully Floyd was a quick learner, especially when it came to something he cares about. So, it wasn't long before he was returning to class, his shrimpy in a cute little mermaid jumper and the baby bag resting on his shoulder as he filled a bottle with some juice. Free time had started and those that weren't gathering things to take outside were now gawking at the tall male, especially those like Jamil and Riddle who were quite familiar with the male.

Riddle had been the very first to approach him at that, his curiosity getting the best of him. "So Floyd, who's baby is that?" Riddle tilted his head as he observed the child, something about her feeling oddly familiar. Floyd looked down at the little red head, chuckling as he held the bottle for her so she could have a drink. "My shrimpy had a little accident in potionology, so I've gotta watch her until Ishidai can turn her back." That made Riddle's eyes widen, he seemed so calm despite the fact his significant other had been turned into an infant. "That's certainly interesting, never a boring day with the prefect around huh?" This had been Jamil; he was standing nearby as he looked for a volleyball in the ball cart. When he finally found one, he stood up straight and approached the two as he looked at the little girl. The innocent look in her eyes reminded him of when Kalim was still real young, he was actually pretty cute back then in Jamil's opinion but that could have been because there wasn't much Kalim could do. "Wait if you're watching (Y/n)… Who's watching Grim?" This thought had Riddle freezing a bit, the group going silent before Floyd shrugged. "Idunno, not my problem though." And with a chuckle he walked away, the two male's making eye contact and agreeing to go see Crowley since they knew it wasn't wise to leave the fiery cat unsupervised.

The calmer leech twin smiled as he sat in the vip room of the monstro lounge, Lilia had brought (Y/n) to him earlier and professor Crewel had just left after dropping off the baby bag and teaching him a few things about human babies. He had the small girl cradled to his chest as he fed her, it felt oddly domestic to the male as he was usually helping Floyd deal with problematic people or trying to balance a busy schedule. He had always had a tendency to try and be much lighter handed and gentle since coming on land, it wasn't until now that he realized just how essential that was. She weighed practically nothing to him; he was almost concerned but trusted Crewel when he had said she was just fine aside from being babyfied. "What am I going to do with you darling? How is it you manage to end up in these situations even without Grim?" He chuckled as he poked her cheek, his smile widening as she grabbed his finger with a huff while still drinking from the bottle. He hadn't had much experience with babies before, especially not with human babies, so he was fascinated by everything she did. Trying to see what she does differently compared to when she is her regular self, as well as just enjoying her reactions to the things he has done and showed her. He had just brought her back from the giant fish tank in the lounge to feed her, the way her eyes lit up and her tiny hands gently touching the glass as she watched all the colorful fish had made him delighted. He knew no matter what he'd be even more attached to his sweet angel fish, for once she was completely reliant on him. He could spoil and care for her the way he wanted, and she couldn't stop him and didn't seem aware enough to feel guilty as she usually does when he tries to tend to her. Granted there were some things he wasn't looking forward too, but he understood the naturalness of it all and was more than capable of overlooking and forgetting about anything that may make her selfconscious. His goal was just to keep her healthy, safe and loved until she could return to her normal self. He reached over for his phone with a grin, quick to turn on the camera. He decided to make the best of the situation, and that included getting plenty of pictures of her cute pudgy face. He couldn't wait to show the pictures back to her, so he was careful and picky about the selfies he took with her and of the pictures he took of her as a whole. He wanted the absolute cutest ones to show her, and possibly any other poor soul who might be curious. Though he was quick to put his phone away when she pushed the mostly empty bottle away, which he moved to sit on the coffee table as he placed his legs together and rested her along his thighs. Crewel had showed him this video he claimed would be better for her than burping her like they do on tv shows, in which he was slightly moving her body and somewhat rubbing her stomach. This was supposed to reduce the chances of her spitting up and help her digest better so the milk isn't just setting in place in her stomach. It was a somewhat complicated explanation, but he understood that it was meant to be the better method and that was what he was going to do. Her little giggles made him chuckle, and the slight surprised face she made at her little burp had him slumping over a little as he laughed. Being an infant, she didn't have much conscious control over her actions or expressions, and he was absolutely loving it. "Always so interesting my little angle fish, you always manage to make my day so fun." He was careful as he lifted her to rest on his chest, leaning back some as he moved a small cover over her back. He rested a large hand over her body, observing how it covered the small space and taking note just how tiny she was compared to him.

"Come on (Y/n) it's nap time, you've been awake for a while now. When we get back to the dorm, I'll set up some toys for you to play with on the bed." He moved his other hand to gently cup the back of her head, smiling down at her half-lidded gaze as her tiny hands crumpled his shirt. Since it was her first day as a baby, he figured she may be pretty low energy, at least for a while after the transformation. Because of this he knew things may be a bit more hectic tomorrow, but Crewel promised to make the other teachers aware of the situation so he should be able to step out of class when she gets fussy or maybe even just pick up some notes and class work until she is back to normal. He'd make it work either way, after all she was turned on school property and in class, so they were technically responsible for this transformation. He knew Crowley wouldn't push his luck with the octo-trio, it would be bad for business as they say. Afterall Octavinelle does a lot in means of helping with school funding and events, and Azul was smart enough to find a way to get what he wants without jeopardizing himself. But that was nuclear level thinking, right now he just needed to worry about not falling asleep himself.

[buckyismybicycle]

Title: the (pineapple) contract - chapter 1/3 Rating: Explicit Pairing: Avenger!Bucky Barnes/Escort!Reader (F) Tags/Warnings: Big Dick Bucky Barnes, Top Bucky, Dom/sub Undertones, Confident Bucky Barnes, Oral Sex (by that I mean Bucky eats you out like a starved man), Praise, Pet Names, Painful Sex, Crying/Crygasm, Multiple Orgasms, Coming Until You Black Out, no beta we die like thanos Summary: Well, the contract said Personal Care Attendant and technically, the Winter Soldier wasn’t on the active roster. Yet. But the point still stands. He more or less owned you now.

You take one last deep breath before knocking on the door.

Part of the "Bucky Barnes As..." series & Hot Bucky Summer 2023

hosted by @buckybarnesevents Week 3: "Where do you want me?" Kneeling | In My Lap | Bent Over

We'll be back for Week 6 (Chapter 2) and Week 3 (Chapter 3)

>>AO3 Link<<

The cheque in your hand has far too many digits in it — you’ve never seen two commas in the number, made out to you of all people. Hell, you wouldn’t have cared what the hell the job was, you would’ve said yes anyway.

You just never imagined that trying to pick up Tony Stark on Park Avenue would be a job interview.

“Name your price,” he had said.

You probably would’ve slept with him for zero, but when you had jokingly said a million dollars, you never thought he’d actually follow through. First came the NDA, then the contract and benefits package, and now…

Now, you stood outside a dull-looking door trying to calm yourself down about the fact that you were about to whore yourself out to an Avenger.

Enclosed for your review is a copy of your job description, benefits package, and the corresponding appendices. Should you wish to accept this offer, your contract and a questionnaire are emailed for your review and return. Upon receiving your executed contract and completed questionnaire, should your answers be compatible, we will reach out to schedule your start date.

Well, the contract said Personal Care Attendant and technically, the Winter Soldier wasn’t on the active roster. Yet. But the point still stands. He more or less owned you now.

You take one last deep breath before knocking on the door.

The man that opens it is not the man from the online articles and archives. He isn’t long-haired, dead-eyed and clad in murder gear (because there really wasn’t any other word for it). No, the person that stands in front of you is seemingly flawless, the sunlight from his windows surrounding him in a glowing warmth.

He quite literally takes your breath away.

“Can I help you?” He finally asks, shifting his weight ever so slightly.

Right. You clear your throat, offering your hand as you introduce yourself.

He studies you intently, his eyes obviously tracking you from head to toe, but doesn’t say anything else as he shakes your hand firmly. “Bucky,” he responds in kind.

“I’m, um, I’m here because…” Oh god, what if he had no idea?

He quirked an eyebrow up at you.

“I’m here as a… As your personal care attendant?” As soon as you say the words, you feel silly. Your cheeks start to flush, but it’s nothing compared to what he says next.

“Then you’re late, kitten.”

(4) Your duties will include, but are not limited to (a)Providing thorough, attentive care to the client within reasonable allowance, even outside of those covered in (5). (b)Receive and follow instruction from the client within reasonable allowance, even outside of those covered in (6) (c)Commence reasonable care should the client require it at your discretion, without infringement of (8)(a), (b) or (c) (4)(c)(i)The term “care” will include, but is not limited to… (ii)Psychological care as set out in Appendix I (iii)Domestic care as set out in Appendix I (iv)Physical care as set out in Appendix I, II and III

It was very evident that he wasn’t expecting you to take care of him so much as take care of him. His apartment was spotless, though the lack of furniture and possessions might be the biggest reason.

“So. You know what this entails.” It comes like more of a statement than a question, but admittedly, that does a lot for you. You looked at him, cross-armed and leaning against the back of his couch. Tugging at the bottom of your dress, you tried to remember how to simply act normal and nod, a little less shy, slipping into your role with a little more ease.

“Yes, sir.”

There’s a look of amusement on his face, so you make a note of that.

“Hard limits?”

“None,” you answer quickly.

“I find that hard to believe,” he fires back. “Everyone has limits.”

You bite your tongue to stop yourself from asking about his, though he reads your expression well enough.

“I have too many to list,” he says. “Which is why I prefer to just control the situation.”

God help me. It sounded too good to be true, that maybe — just maybe — he was made for you.

Or you were made for him, at least. His pleasure.

“That sounds good to me,” you say all too brightly. “Sir.”

He smirks at that, and you’re absolutely done for.

“You don’t have to keep calling me that,” he tells you, beckoning you to follow him. “Though I do like it.”

You decided right then and there that you would do pretty much anything with him. For him.

“So, about those limits —”

“Knife Play,” you blurt out once you reach his bedroom. “That’s — that’s the only one I don’t think I can do.”

He turns and gives you a look. “Why, because I’m the Winter Soldier, you think I’m automatically into knife play?”

“OH MY GOD!” You exclaim, slapping your hands over your mouth at your blunder. “No! No, oh my god, that’s not what I meant!”

You’re about to grovel at his feet when he starts to chuckle softly.

“Relax,” he says easily, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. “That’s fine. I’m not gonna throw you into the fire just yet.”

Yet. You’re not sure if that was meant as a threat but it sounds more like a promise if you’re being honest.

“I can handle more than you think,” you say, pursing your lips.

“S’that right?”

The challenge in his voice has you nearly quivering and you’ve barely even started. You give him a little shrug before nodding, trying to give as good as you got.

“C’mere here,” he coaxes softly, hand outstretched. It’s stunning, the black and gold, intricate and precise — more sophisticated than anything you’ve ever seen.

You take it and ease yourself down on his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his hands far gentler on your waist than you thought they could be. The blue of his eyes is even brighter this close up, light with mischief and wide with wonder as he looks at you, like you were something to be discovered, explored.

“Safe word still pineapple?”

Looks like he read your questionnaire after all. You nod again, the energy thrumming just under your skin as his hands slowly travel up your sides and back before ending up at your neck. He can probably feel your small shudder or your thundering pulse. At the very least, he can certainly see the goosebumps forming under his fingertips.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

With that, he claims your lips, your body, your very existence as if it was his only goal. And god, does it work.

There is no part of you that doesn’t immediately belong to Bucky at that moment. His tongue parts your lips and moves confidently as he devours you, taking you apart. Each swipe of his tongue is firm and purposeful — designed to steal your breath away as his hands map out your body.

You can’t stop the gasp that escapes against his lips or the way your body tenses in his arms, muscles coiled to try and stop yourself from just dripping all over his lap.

It takes you far too long to realize the game you’re playing — well, that Bucky’s playing. You’re simply along for the ride as he catalogs all your reactions from each shiver of your body to every moan and shaky breath you let out. Within a few minutes, you’ve already revealed all your cards without even knowing that’s what you’re doing.

You’re embarrassingly short of breath when he pulls back to survey you.

“You make such beautiful sounds,” he says, nonchalant as if your heart rate wasn’t skyrocketing.

“You’re a damned good kisser,” you respond/

He gives you a cheeky grin that would’ve made your knees buckle if you weren’t seated on him. “You’re not so bad yourself, sweetheart.”

You run your hands up his chest, marveling at how firm it was. For a brief moment, you forget who he is and just touch. As your fingertips roam upward, you memorize the arch of his clavicle that leads to the dip in the hollow of his throat underneath his Adam’s apple.

You shift slightly, getting ready to slide off and sink to your knees to service him.

“Like what you see?” He asks — except this time the cocky tone has a softness to it that you're not sure he even caught. As if there was just a bit of something behind that seemingly unshakable confidence.

“Yes,” you answer simply with a smile. “I really, really do.” It’s true, after all. He wasn’t just handsome, wasn’t just pretty, there was something about him that was so alluring, you found yourself forgetting your contract almost entirely.

It’s the right answer, apparently, because he flips over to lay you down in the center of his bed, throwing your plans to kneel for him right out the window.

You’re suddenly acutely aware of just how much bigger he is than you. He’s an imposing figure, there’s no arguing that, but when he had first invited you inside, it hadn’t been your focus. Now, with the cool, soft sheets at your back and his thighs settling between yours, you feel like trapped prey to the king of the jungle.

You knew that a serum pumped through his veins that made him infinitely stronger, but your history books always said that the serum wasn’t like Captain America’s. It didn’t shoot him up nearly a foot and slap on nearly 150 pounds.

No, these are all muscles that he had to work for and train for, that he has to maintain. The very same muscles that pressed against the inside of your thighs as he settled in above you, dwarfing you.

“Okay?”

It catches you by surprise. Really, you were his property, he owned you, and could do whatever he pleased with you. That’s what you had signed up for. Ever since signing all those papers, you had braced yourself for the worst of it — after all, you’d come across plenty of people who only ever wanted to assert their power over you because of what you were and what you did.

So this? The pause, the way his eyes search yours for a truthful answer, the way he asks so tenderly? All unexpected when what you thought you would receive was something harsh, sharp, and as cold as his moniker suggests.

From here, looking up at him, though? He looks like an angel. The overhead light isn’t too bright ad the soft, warm halo of light makes him ethereal — all smooth skin and eyes like the sky.

“Very okay,” you reply, your cheeks unusually warm. You don’t get flustered anymore — or so you thought. Wrapping your hands around the back of his neck, you urge him closer, eager to kiss him again.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs as he closes in. This time, he kisses down your neck instead. His teeth softly graze against your skin every now and then as he makes his way to the centre of your chest.

That’s my girl. You don’t know if that’s just his sweet talk or if he’s finally asserting his ownership of you. Either way, it gets you all worked up, especially when his hands join his mouth in their exploration of your body, gentle but firm as he gropes at you.

By the time he reaches the hem of your dress, every inch of you is covered in goosebumps.

Expecting him to rip it off, your breath catches when he simply sits back on his haunches and runs his hands up your thighs. They disappear from sight under your dress but you can certainly feel their presence, skin hot and metal slightly cooler.

Your legs spread for him so easily it’s almost laughable.

(10) You are expected to carry out your duties with discretion, professionalism and a high level of enthusiasm. Criticism will not be tolerated.

“Pretty girl, are you already drippin’ wet for me, hm?”

You’re almost afraid to speak, knowing full well that a bunch of embarrassing noises are pent up inside you right now. Where you wish Bucky was right now.

You take a deep breath in. “Yes, sir.”

He gives you a look — a fond one that most people give their pets — and it inexplicably makes your heart race.

“You don’t mind if I have a little taste now, do you?” He asks, fingers already curling around your panties and tugging them down.

“Please,” you let slip, waiting for him to lower himself to the mattress.

Instead, you yelp when he suddenly hauls your lower half up by the hips. You figure you must look like quite the sight, tits jiggling with the movement as you find yourself nearly suspended with your legs slung over his shoulders.

You don’t even get the chance to speak before he lowers his mouth and makes your entire body come alive for the first time in ages.

“Oh!” You cry out, hands gripping the first thing they can find: his thighs.

He chuckles against your cunt, tickling you in the most intimate sense while your fingers dig into hard muscle.

Your legs automatically tense up, ankles loosely locking behind his back as he keeps working your cunt, tongue gliding up and down your folds easily. His tongue is a wicked thing, a sin all on its own, as it draws the most guttural sound out of you

Seemingly satisfied that you’re secured, he runs his hands up your thighs and slips behind to knead your ass, large hands cupping you perfectly.

“Bu…”

You lose your train of thought when he slips his thumb inside of you, tongue following closely, fucking in and out shallowly. “Oh god, fuck, fuck!”

“Sweet as honey, baby,” he purrs, licking a long stripe up to your clit and sealing his lips around it. His other arm wraps around your hips to support you through the involuntary spasms that wrack your body as he circles his tongue around you, torturously slow to draw every last breath out from your lungs.

“W-wait,” you pant out, flushed and warm all over. “This should - it’s about you —

The corners of his eyes wrinkle slightly as he smiles deviously, the coarse hairs of his scruff tickling you.. “Oh, it is, honey. I'm enjoying myself just fine.”

To prove his point, he presses his hips forward and along your back you feel a faint, long, thick heat.

“Oh, fuck,” you whine, imagination already running wild with how good that’s going to feel inside you.

“Gettin’ there,” Bucky quips, returning to his task.

He’s diligent about switching between suckling you and curling that sinful tongue of his, flicking it over your clit just firm enough, just slow enough, that every drag feels like it’s breaking you open.

You feel yourself unraveling, like a runaway spool of thread and you desperately trying to hold on, hands clamoring for purchase as your body comes undone.

“Bucky!” You cry out, hands grabbing onto the arm wrapped around your waist. You’ve never whined the way you do right now, trembling in Bucky’s hold as he slows his movements, giving you just a moment of reprieve.

The look in Bucky’s eyes is predatory as he waits for you to regain your breath before giving you a final, harsh suck, teeth grazing over the sensitive nerves that nearly makes you come again just from that.

He finally lowers you to the mattress — a trembling, flushed mess — before undressing himself. It’s almost clinical, without fanfare, and that just doesn’t seem right to you when he’s unrevealing such beauty. As he strips, revealing all that gorgeous, smooth skin, you try to sit up even if you felt like your entire body was jello. You just wanted to reach out, to touch, and you were so enraptured by him, by his body, that when your eyes finally roamed south you gasped.

“Holy shit,” you blurt out. You think back to when Bucky originally asked you “like what you see?” not realizing just how much you would.

Your hand has never looked smaller than it does right now, wrapped around Bucky’s monstrous cock, hot and heavy against your palm. Subconsciously, you lick your lips as you watch precome starting to bead at his swollen tip.

You keep your grip firm as you give him a full stroke and your eyes drink in the sight before you — Bucky’s face, lax with pleasure, and the minute twitches of his muscles at your simple touch. You wonder how long it’s been since he’s been intimate with someone — if that’s why you were offered so much money to be for his personal, constant use.

“Your cock is gorgeous,” you tell him, hand getting used to the weight and length of it. “Want this inside of me, right now.”

Bucky’s face morphs into something even hungrier. He lowers his hips, cock nearly scalding against you. For the first time, his voice sounds less than perfectly in control. “I can’t catch or carry anything.”

You already knew that from the massive package of paperwork.

“And I can’t get you pregnant.”

You knew that, too, but again he sounds so clinical about it, you wonder if it bothers him at all.

“Yeah, handsome,” you nod, smiling dopily. “Rawdog me.”

Bucky makes a sound like a cut-off laugh, and you can’t help but feel victorious when a smile breaks out on his face.

“You’re somethin’ else, sugar.”

There’s a shift in the air, the both of you settling into each other like you’re not two absolute strangers as he presses his body to yours, cock sliding over your tender clit and across the slick of your folds.

You wrap your legs around him and dig your heels into his back as if to say c’mon, c’mon! Hurry up!

You thought you were ready. You’ve never had this issue before. But as Bucky starts to nudge the head of his cock in, you inhale sharply, your body immediately tensing to reject the intrusion.

He pauses to pull back and look at you.

“Sorry,” you say in a hurry, nervous and embarrassed by your reaction. You bring your hands to the side of his face trying to show him that it’s nothing he’s done. “You… You’re just, um…”

His eyes narrow slightly, eyebrow furrowing as he goes to pull away.

“Wait!” You keep your legs firmly wrapped around him, trying to trap him even though you were no match for his strength. “It’s not you. Well, sort of. It’s just that… You’re fucking huge, Bucky. I’ve never…”

His eyes widen in surprise, evidently not expecting your answer though you don’t miss the way his cock twitches between your legs. Then his look softens and he kisses you sweetly — more tender than anyone’s ever kissed you before.

“Roll over for me,” he commands gently.

As you do so, you watch him open the nightstand and to your relief, pulls out a bottle of lube. Natural instincts take over at that point — you prop yourself up on your knees, spreading them until you’re comfortable, and keep your chest to bed, arching your back.

He makes a pleased sound behind you. “Lookit you, babydoll. Bent over and spread open for me like a good girl.”

Your toes curl slightly at his words and your whole body tightens when you feel his fingers slip into you, the lube cool against your heated cunt.

“Relax, princess,” he coos, his other hand trailing down your spine. “Be a good kitten and just let me open you up, alright?”

You’ve lost the ability to form words so you nod against the sheets instead as you will your body to relax. Soon, you forget about your mission to take Bucky’s giant cock and start to lose yourself to the feeling of Bucky's fingers inside you. They’re just as talented as his tongue, expertly navigating all your sweet spots, some of which you didn’t even know you had.

“God, you feel you so good,” you groan, fingers curling in the sheets, clinging on for dear life.

“Oh, we’re jus’ getting started, baby.” His other hand returns to your near-overworked clit and you’re dangerously close to coming again.

You turn to look over your shoulder, intending to stop him. Instead, you jolt as he gives your cheek a lovebite, beard scratching against your ass while he curls his fingers inside you and pulls the orgasm from you. Your back arches as you scream out at the unexpected whirlwind of pleasure that travels through every vein of your body.

“Shhh, sh, you’re alright, sweet thing.” His voice is low and soothing.

You want to tell him that you’re more than alright, that you’ve never been pulled apart like this, that you’ve never come just from someone’s fingers, that you’ve never seen such a fat cock in your life. But all you can do is nod frantically, panting as your body comes down from the high.

“Think you’re ready, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. You let out a breathy moan as you reach back blindly for him. “Yes, Bucky, yeah. Gimme that perfect cock of yours.”

While you can’t see his expression, you hear a soft huff from him before the head of his cock is at your eager hole again. You feel him give himself a few pumps, slicking himself up with more lube, taking the time and care not to hurt you.

This time, you’re ready for it. As he enters, you exhale, your muscles loosening to let him in.

More than just let him in — welcome him, pull him in, making yourself the perfect fucking home for his cock.

“Goddamnit, sweets,” he murmurs, lowering his chest to your back, the cold metal of his dog tags on your spine. “Y’feel like a dream.”

“You’re one to talk,” you manage to gasp out, eyes scrunched as all of your attention is focused on the delicious stretch.

He brushes your hair to one side and for a moment, all you do is look at each other in the moment.

You reach out to trail your fingers along his wrist and he goes to press a kiss to the nape of your neck.

“M’gonna move, ‘kay?”

In lieu of a response, you clench down on him and grin when he hisses at the sensation.

“Watch it…” The low rumble of his voice only spurs you on, so you do it again, this time wriggling underneath him.

“C’mon, Bucky, please won’t you fuck me?” You taunt, your voice coy. “Put that fat cock of yours to use, huh?”

There are no words this time, only a soft clicking as you watch in fascination while his arm calibrates ever so slightly. You think you hear him mutter “you asked for it” but you can’t be sure because your own cries fill the room as he pulls back a few inches and thrusts back into you.

“This what you wanted?” Bucky growls before he gives your ass a light swat.

“More,” you beg him, despite the twinge of pain as your body tries to adjust and accommodate Bucky’s girth.

Bucky must read it as a challenge because he doesn’t go easy on you — after a few long, controlled thrusts, he must deem you ready.

You’re not sure anyone could quite be ready for the ravaging storm that is Bucky.

He fucks you like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to fuck anyone — determination and desperation wrapped up in superhuman stamina and strength. Without a doubt, you know you’re going to walk away with bruises — on your hips from where he grabs you, your thighs and ass from where he slams into you.

“Sh-shit,” you curse, panting into the sheets that you’ve bunched in your fists. Your hair sticks to your neck with the sweat building as your body tries to keep up with the assault. “So fucking - good, Bucky. Your cock feels so good — splitting me in half.”

Bucky makes an animalistic noise in his throat, yanking your hips back to him as he plants his hand beside your head, arm anchoring you in place.

Oh, fuck. As anticipated, he rails you within an inch of your life — you’re struggling to breath, heaving for air, and your eyes are scrunched shut to stop the tears from actually spilling.

“Okay there, sweetheart?”

Fuck him for not even sounding out of air. “Ssso goo-ood,” you slur, a litany of gasps and moans follow. “Love — that you’re — tearing me apart.”

Bucky’s voice is positively gleeful. “Yeah? You like getting fucked so hard you can’t even keep your eyes open?”

You make a conscious effort to crack an eye open and fire back. “Yeah. Fuck, you’re so deep I can feel you in my throat.”

“That can be arranged, honey,” he teases, hauling your hips up for an excruciating angle that makes you come so hard your vision turns white.

“Fucking gorgeous when you come,” he praises and you can’t formulate the words to reply.

“Ah, ah, nnngh, ah, f-fuck,” you babble, vision blurry as you tear up. It hurts but it’s beautiful, it’s brutal but controlled. It’s fucking perfect. You’d tell him just that, if had any air left in your lungs.

The last thing you hear is Bucky’s voice shushing you and telling you to rest before it all turns black.

[mamawasatesttube]

“When you laugh like that, it just — you’re so beautiful, you know that?” for the ficlet prompt pls !! love your writing so so much ❤️

Tim is a very serious guy, busy doing very serious work.

"—still don't know why anyone would write this! Actually, who the fuck paid them to write this?! Is this the state of journalism in today's world?" Bart flails a hand at his laptop screen, laughing so hard he's turning red. "Someone—someone got paid to write—to write this?! This is a self-help article?!"

"I just don't—why would you—" Kon stares at the screen, too, fingers steepled and pressed to his lips in deep consternation. "I can't even finish my dramatic reading! Why would—why would—who even wants to phone a friend in the middle of doing an enema?"

Tim is a very serious guy, busy doing very serious work, by which he means playing Minesweeper while listening to his very un-serious friends read a how-to guide on, for some reason, coffee enemas. It happens. He really did mean to get work done, but sitting in the common room was a mistake; he's just been listening and swallowing laughter for the past ten minutes.

"I can promise you this. If any of you ever phone me with anything up your ass, we are not friends anymore," Cassie says, sounding disturbed.

That does it. Tim's finger slips and clicks a bomb instead of a safe tile as he wheezes with sudden, explosive laughter.

All three of them whip around to look at him; Bart is the first to crack into giggles, too, then Kon smothers a chuckle into his hands, and finally Cassie slumps back onto the cushions behind her, cackling. Tim really, truly does try to get ahold of himself, but it's a losing battle at this point.

"Where did you even find this article, Bart?" he manages, grinning breathlessly. "Send me the link." It sounds like a great way to harass Dick, and Tim needs to do that yesterday.

"Why?" Bart shoots back immediately. "Feeling inspired?"

"You better not call me when you try it out," Cassie wheezes.

Kon, meanwhile...

Oh. Wait. What's up with Kon? He's still grinning, but it's a softer look than before; his eyes sparkle with warmth as he looks at Tim, perching in the bay window. That's a very, ah... fond? Yes, fond. A very fond look for someone whose companions are currently losing their shit about a self-help article about coffee enemas.

Tim meets his gaze and quirks an eyebrow. Kon blinks at him, seeming surprised; did he think Tim wouldn't notice him gazing over like that?

"Sorry, sorry," Kon says, though he certainly doesn't sound particularly sorry. “When you laugh like that, it just—man, you’re so beautiful, you know that?”

Tim's face immediately flames. That's rich, coming from the most beautiful guy in not just the room, but the entire city. Country. World? Yeah, world. "Uh."

"Oh my god, shut the fuck up, you're so sappy!" Bart groans, smacking Kon on the shoulder. Kon, because he's Kon, just preens at his complaints. "Stop being a cheese before I kick your ass!"

"Be careful that it doesn't have coffee in it!" Cassie snickers into her hands.

Normally, Tim would join in on the ribbing. Right now, though, he's still a little stuck on Kon just casually calling him beautiful for laughing. What the fuck. They've been officially dating for two weeks! He can't just spring that kind of thing on Tim! And the worst (best) part is, because he's Kon, Tim knows he's being completely genuine about it!

Why did this have to happen during this, of all conversations?

"Now, Bart," Kon says, and aggressively ruffles Bart's hair. "You know Tim is the only one here with the rights to touch my ass, kicking or not."

Bart blows an obnoxiously loud raspberry. Tim drops his face into his hands.

Yeah, he's a serious guy, alright. Real serious about... starting a new game of Minesweeper and listening to his friends continue to be a bunch of comedians.

♥ soft sentence starters ♥

[griseldabanks]

Let Me Count the Ways ask game

Requested by Princess of Words from the Fig Tree Discord server

Fandom: MCU Characters: Steve and Bucky (and Sharon) Prompt: "No, I don't care what 'they' think."

Please note this is an AU. I tried to make it work for both of my main AUs, Worth a Thousand and Whole Shards. Basically all you need to know is that Steve and Sharon are married, and Bucky lives with them.

“We have a problem,” Bucky growled.

Steve looked up from the crossword puzzle he and Sharon were working through together in the paper at the kitchen table. Sam always laughed at them and said they were like an old married couple, but...well, they were a married couple, and at least one of them was pretty old. Besides, it was fun.

A brightly colored magazine slapped down on top of the newspaper, and Steve found himself staring at his own face. STEVE ROGERS: TROUBLE IN PARADISE OR POLYAMOROUS THREESOME?! The main photo depicted him walking through a crowd somewhere, holding Bucky's hand. After a moment, he remembered that day, when they'd all gone to Coney Island. He'd grabbed Bucky's hand so they wouldn't lose each other in the crush of people heading towards the Cyclone.

Down the side of the front page were smaller headlines, like No heterosexual explanation for this! and The Open Secret of Captain America's Queer Lifestyle. Quirking an eyebrow, Steve took his arm from around his wife's shoulders and reached for the tabloid, beginning to flip through it. “Oh, apparently I'm bisexual,” he said mildly. “You learn something new every day.”

Sharon laughed, but Bucky's expression was stormy as he dropped into a chair across the table from them. “That trash is all over the place,” he growled, jabbing a metal finger at the magazine. “I could hardly turn around without seeing our faces everywhere.”

“Well, that's hardly new,” Sharon said reasonably, putting a calming hand on his arm. “You're probably always going to be in the public eye somewhat, and it's not always going to be positive.”

Bucky pulled away from her, leaning back and crossing his arms tightly. He sat there, looking uncomfortable for a few moments, before awkwardly muttering, “I can...move out. Today, if you want.”

Steve looked up in surprise from a cursory and not particularly relevant overview of public opinions of homosexuality in the 1940s. “Move out? Why?”

Except for when Bucky had gone off to war before Steve, and the stretch of time when Bucky had been captured by Hydra and didn't remember who he was, Steve and Bucky had lived under the same roof since Steve's mother had died. Even after they'd been reunited and Bucky was stable enough that he could have managed on his own, neither of them had even questioned it. Of course they were going to live together.

Now Bucky scowled at him. “Do you really need me to spell it out for you?”

“You can't let something like this scare you away,” Sharon scoffed, flipping through the magazine to a page plastered with photos of her. “Look—they're actually trying to call it incest!”

“What?” Steve laughed, craning his neck around to look at the article. “How do they figure that?”

“Because the love of your life was my great-aunt, obviously.”

“Peggy and I never went on a single date! And that wouldn't even—“ Steve gave up, groaning into his hands.

Sharon nudged her shoulder against his. “This is the part where you're supposed to say I'm the love of your life, dear.”

Before either of them could continue, Bucky burst out, “So none of this bothers you? The things they're saying?”

“Well, they're certainly being very rude.” Sharon picked up the magazine and walked over to the recycle bin, dropping it in with a satisfying flump.

Steve shrugged in answer to Bucky's question. “We know it isn't true. So does anyone with enough of a brain to not believe everything they read in a tabloid.”

Bucky still looked troubled, tapping a finger against his metal arm. “You don't think it would be better for me to move out or...something? Just to make it clear they're wrong?”

Steve wondered if that 'something' included things like holding hands as they'd done in the picture on the front page, or the dozens of other ways he expressed his affection for his best friend. Wouldn't they have a field day if they knew how many times we've slept in the same bed.

Aloud, he just said, “It sounds like they've already made up their minds. Not much we can do about it now.”

“So you don't care what they think?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “No, I don't care what 'they' think. I never have. And neither should you.”

Their eyes met, and Steve wondered if Bucky was also thinking about the days when he'd been skinny and beset with a whole laundry list of handicaps and ailments. Back then, there were plenty of people who'd said he was nothing but a drain on society with nothing to offer in return. Not worth the effort it took to keep him alive. Better off dead. Some people had even said that to his face.

But two people in his life had made sure he never believed that assessment of his worth: his mother and Bucky. Especially Bucky. Because if someone like Bucky still thought it was worth it to go out of his way to keep Steve around...he must really be worth something.

“Exactly,” Sharon said, taking her seat again and lacing her fingers through Steve's. “You can move out if you want to, Bucky,” she added, holding out her hand to him as well, “but do it because you want to, not because someone's never heard of friendship before.”

Slowly, Bucky's arms unfolded and he let Sharon take his right hand in hers. “I, um....” Clearing his throat, he averted his gaze. “If...you don't mind, I'd like to stay here...for now.”

“I don't think we mind,” Steve laughed, “do we, darling?”

“Of course not!” Sharon said with a bright smile. “If this is what a threesome is, I want it to stay like this forever.”

Steve and Sharon both started laughing, and this time, Bucky joined in too.

[cogbreath]

thank u for ur reply!! i always love ur insight :) n ive read the article before LMAO now that was a classic example of his pretty privilege working cus if he didn’t look the way he did, his behaviour would’ve raised eyebrows. but no…he was viewed as a quirky silly guy by his roommate LOLZ. makes me wonder if mohammed atta would be viewed the same way if he were white passing.

anon you fascinate me im very very intrigued by the fact u already know so much abt this... keep sending asks its soo rare that i actually do get to talk to someone who already knows this much abt this. Anyhow I would reason to bet he might have been viewed more sympathetically if that were the case, however, in any case he was arguably more reserved and stoic by comparison so i think even if he was, people would be maybe a bit more suspicous with him, especially cuz fitting in seemed to come more naturally to jarrah for various reasons... atta never seemed to want to fit in more than he needed to in order to stay under the radar. I know that atta and jarrah did also butt heads abt this to some degree, i know that atta was suspicious that jarrah might even give up on the whole thing cuz of how he kept backsliding. I also think a lot of writers can "see themselves" in jarrah while they really cant with atta, he's an unfamiliar personality imo, specifically bc most writers in the anglosphere come from a secular culturally christian perspective. I think they r sympathetic to him because they start to realise that this sort of stuff really is something that "just anyone" could find themselves getting roped into thru means of being radicalised. Meanwhile I think they view atta as someone who already was quite "radical" at least in their eyes. of course, this is just my experience, but I've had many of my muslim accquantinces comment on how its actually quite a shame that atta took the path he did, because they feel he was otherwise quite promising, and might have made a good scholar or something along those lines. So thats the other side of things if you will. I think I can agree with that perspective myself. Of course its important to not get too engulfed in that mindset, because you can't forget they made the choices they did.

But yeah, there are many things about atta that Ive read about that i find to have been equally quirky and silly of behaviors, but i find myself annoyed how writers (even terry mcdermott does it in his book, perfect soldiers. which is a bit disappointing bc hes a writer who i otherwise rlly enjoy the perspective of on this) dont seem to think that way and paint it to be something as flaws or show of bad character when really, personality and behavior quirks have little to do with his actions. Yknow what i mean of course. Demonizing behaviors that have nothing explicitly to do with being a terrorist. You are really fun anon, its fun for me to get to discuss this stuff, the psychology/characteristics/behavior of those involved with the hamburg cell. its fun when i get to discuss it with more than just my super close friends. sometimes i get nervous ppl might think im trying to be a sympathizer/idolizer but i think i make it more than clear its not the case though xP. its undeniable that its a pretty understudied and underdiscussed facet of 9/11. U see it for other crimes and criminals but not really ever on this side of the fence. I feel its a case of dehumanization borne from islamophobia. Easier to get ppl to feel hate when you paint the perpetrators as faceless monsters. If u ever wanna dm me off anon u are super free to. Also, if you have anything to share that is interesting like a video or article or anything like that, feel free to send it! even if i have seen it or read it before, i would be eager to discuss my thoughts and feelings on it.

[passerine-writes]

Silent Sparks - Volt 66

Warnings: Mentions of insecurities and scars, sassy Tsukare, paranoia Word count: 3778

Notes: Italics - Tsukare signing Bold italics - Family member/friend signing 'Italics with apostrophes' - Thoughts

Masterlist

Volt 65 | Volt 67

Friday morning, I rolled out of bed with a sigh, barely getting any sleep. I was shocked to see Dad down there, and immediately started telling us about how someone wanted to write an article in the newspaper about us.

"They wanna do a feature on your class for some reason." Dad stated blandly, clearly already tired with the idea of it alone.

"Isn't that amazing, Deku?" Uraraka asked loudly, hurting my ears.

"This sounds exhausting." I stated duly, my brother nodding along with me.

"C'mon 'Ryo, it could be fun!" Denki said cheerfully, his smile contagious.

"I guess." I said with a small smile of my own. The rest of the class cheering about how cool this is gonna be.

"That's enough." We all froze under Dads glare. "It's nothing too exciting. The articles about how you're a settling in, adjusting to dorm life, that kinda thing. Principal Nedzu thought it would be a good idea." He said sarcastically. The events of today now making sense. "This'll show your parents and guardians that you're happy here. Maybe set a few minds at rest..." He drawled on, not enthused at all. I haphazardly raised my hand, making him sigh. "Yes, Onryo?"

"Two questions, because Toshi and I already checked the boxes of parents knowing we're safe and happy here, do we have to participate." Dad sighed at my question.

"Yes, all of you do."

"Damn, second question. Do you think my presence will make them reach their diversity quota due to interviewing a disabled kid?" Dad glared at me but I could see the amusement in his eyes.

"I expect you all to be on your best behavior today." We all froze when someone walked in.

"Don't worry on my account, Mr. Aizawa." A man with short, wavy black hair and glasses said. His whole vibe threw me off. I looked at my brother and he nodded in confirmation. "I wanna get a feel for what dorm life is really like, so there's no need for them to act any different than normal." I looked at Dad nervously, not wanting to be apart of this even more than a few moments ago.

"I didn't say you could come in yet." Dad grumbled out, already ticked off.

"I was told I had from eight a.m. till six p.m. So, unless my watch is wrong..."

"It's called basic respect, thirty seconds wouldn't have impeded that drastically on you." I said blandly, his eyebrow quirking in delight and making me retract from where I stood.

"I see Tsukare is as direct as ever. Hello, everyone, my name is Tokuda Taneo. I'm looking forward to learning more about you all." He bowed, and despite not verbally greeting him, I still bowed with the rest of my class. "Now, as I said, you don't need to do anything special. Just go about your day exactly as you normally would. The camera will do most of the work. I might ask an occasional question or two, and I hope you'll answer." He sent a flashy smile after, sending Mina into fangirl mode. Aoyama sighed and posed dramatically.

"Vous agissez naturel et pas plus brillant." (You act natural and not more shiny.) I said to the sparkling blond. He gasped in shock, clearly not expecting me to use french.

"Oh Tsukare, I knew I always liked you for a reason." I sucked in a deep breath and started walking away. I overheard Tokuda talking to Dad and glared at the floor, despising this guys façade. I didn't know what it was, but he rubbed me the wrong way within thirty seconds. I walked over to the wall out of sight and looked at Dad.

"You have that gut feeling too, right?" I asked in a whisper, Dad nodded slightly. "Do you have to go? I don't wanna be stuck with this guy." Dad hesitated but slightly nodded again. "Okay, I love you." He signed the sentiment back and soon left.

I sat down between my brother and Izuku, Denki across from me as we ate breakfast. My brother poked my arm to stop me from glaring at the table while the reporter snapped his pictures.

"Tsukare, when did you lose your hearing? I couldn't help but notice your hearing aids." Tokuda asked in his pretentious voice that made me want to bash my head against the wall.

"Few months ago." I said dryly, not even looking at him.

"So you were a student at the time? It's fascinating that they allowed you to stay in the hero course." I stabbed my food harshly.

"And it's fascinating that we're only just now finding out that you're an abelist with such a closed mind that even a fly couldn't fit through the door." He stilled for a moment and searched for the right words.

"My apologies if that's how it came off. I simply meant that with one of your senses hindered, it could be a safety issue." I rolled my eyes and stood up.

"Again, still an ableist. Accommodations exist for a reason, you don't have to like 'em, just have to respect 'em." He stiffly nodded and went back to snapping pictures while I went to my room to change.

He followed us everywhere. On the walk to school. He followed me to the nurses office until Chiyo kicked him out. In class. All day he was taking pictures and I was close to my breaking point.

"I want an action shot of everyone if that's alright." He told us at the start of hero training.

Dad solemnly agreed and let him do his job. My brother and I posed accordingly and I figured I would let myself have fun, flipping through the air and breaking the small stretch of ground with my quirk. My brother sent out his capture weapon with his mask on, his left hand fiddling with the dial on the side.

During sparring however, things changed. I needed to let lose, so I went to the boy who was naturally explosive rather than my brother like I normally would.

"Bakugou. Let's spar." He raised an eyebrow but didn't protest, the two of us going to an area and stretching.

"The reporters got you that worked up, earbleed?" I glared at him and he returned the gesture with ease.

"I don't like people invading my personal space or life. And after him sticking a camera in our faces for the last four hours, I have some anger I need to get out." He curtly nodded and we got ready. "Quirks or no quirks?"

"What, you afraid or something?" He asked cockily.

"Only of you knocking out another set of hearings aids." He scoffed but agreed to no quirks this time.

He lunged with a right hook and I countered by grabbing his wrist and sending a swift kick to his knees. He crouched and rolled into it, tackling me in the process. I flipped us over easily and got a hand on one of his wrists. Before I could even grab his other one, he reached across and rolled over, his back landing on my chest. He slid off and grabbed both of my wrists, a foot pinning an ankle.

"Gimme your best, your angers making you sloppy." I glared at him as he stood, the both of us ready to go again.

We went back and forth, each of us pinning the other more than once and earning some bruises in the process. I laid on my back, the blades of grass tickling my exposed skin as a bead of sweat trickled down my temple. I heaved out a breath, exhausted after Bakugou and I sparred. My brother came over and stood in front of me, reaching out and hand and hoisting me up with ease.

So what was that all about?

I don't like the reporter. He rubs me the wrong way.

A lot of people rub you the wrong way.

A decent amount do, but this is different.

Different how?

I don't know how to put it into words, but Dad feels it too. And don't tell me you haven't noticed it either. Somethings off about him.

I thought it was just because of his profession at first. But I don't trust him either.

I nodded and kept my head down at the sight of Tokuda pointing his camera towards us. Everything about him, his condescending smile, his fake personality, it just pissed me off more.

Even on the walk back to the dorms he took pictures of us.

'Just five more hours.' I tried to remind myself, knowing it was halfway over. But that brought me no peace of mind. It felt less like he was interviewing us and more like he was studying us intently.

I sat with Toshi, Denki and Kiri in the commons, my hearing aids out and on the charger. The stress of today really sinking in after a while. Midoriya waved me down from outside and I curiously walked out there.

"Do you wanna train with me? You still look kinda stressed.. N-Not that that's like, a bad thing or anything but I figured you might wanna blow off some more steam. Especially considering you sparred with Kacchan today out of everyone." I let out a sigh and nodded. We trained under the stoop on the porch, the two of us eventually sparring as my anger grew with the feeling of unwelcomed eyes on me.

I got Izuku pinned again, only freezing when I saw All Might making an entrance. He carried what looked like a grocery bag and I let my best friend up, cheerful as ever with seeing his idol. I scoffed and rolled my eyes, arms crossing over my chest. The former number one waved to me, clearly trying his best to be civil after everything that's happened.

"Young Tsukare, Young Midoriya, hello!" I sent him a curt nod and leaned against the door frame. He went on about a regular check up at the hospital and grabbing food or something. "I brought the extra buns for your class."

"Of course you did. Always thinking of others, huh?" I repressed a scoff at Izuku's enthusiasm and grabbed the bag from our suspended teacher. My friend going on about how he was the symbol of peace and this and that.

"Now it's your turn." All Might said while placing a hand on Midoriya's shoulder, turning to me but not grabbing my shoulder. "As well as yours, Young Tsukare." I gave him a stiff nod and a thumbs up, tuning out until he left. The front door opening in the corner of my eye caught my attention.

"Getting late. Squeezing in one last workout?" Tokuda asked from beside us, my head turned fully so I could read his lips.

"Oh, us, yes." Izuku stuttered out. The reporter leaned over towards me and I instinctively took a step back.

"Huh. Something smells good." He mused while looking at me with a weird level on intensity.

"Yeah. They're meat buns. They're supposed to smell appealing." I said blandly, the dry sarcasm oozing from my voice.

"Do you want one?" Midoriya quickly asked, trying to be as polite as possible.

"Yes, please." He responded enthusiastically. Begrudgingly, I sighed and handed him a meat bun, taking one for myself and passing another to Izuku. The two got to talking about All Might and rather than going back inside, I stayed and sat beside my friend on the porch, Tokuda on his other side. I 'listened' as Tokuda explained that All Might saved his fathers life. The picture he took ended up in the paper and I wanted to glare at him. Out of anything he could do in that moment, his instinct was to take a picture of his father being carried out of the blaze by All Might. He handed Midoriya a picture of my friend and his mentor while saying 'it's your turn.' I was perplexed by the look on his face and I looked at him curiously. Multiple camera's began protruding from his body for a simple explanation of his quirk. "Everybody heard All Might's last words after the Kamino incident." My blood ran cold and I glared at him, Izuku turning to look at me cautiously.

"Well I didn't hear shit. Mind keeping it that way?" I said bitterly, my chest already tightening at how far he might take this.

"He said 'now, it's your turn.'" He decided to continue. "And I think, he was saying that to you." He said while looking at Midoriya. “My investigations found plenty of similarities between you two. The quirk you manifested is a power type like his. All Might even saved you before. From the sludge villain. And after you enrolled at UA High at the same time, he became a teacher here. I visited the Pussycats' agency. I met Kota there. That's when my suspicions were truly confirmed. Midoriya, I believe you are All Might's successor. What do you think about that?" I tried to stifle my laughter but soon was completely keeled over in a fit of hysterics.

"Wow, oh my god you are stretching for a scoop, and I thought villains were delusional." I managed to get out while huffing for air. "Okay, now that you're done being creepy and shit, I think I need to clear a few things up for you." I said while wiping a fake tear from my eye. "Power strength quirks aren't all that uncommon, it's not a rarity like Todoroki having two quirks. When you put it under a microscope like that, all strength quirks usually have the same base line. Second, when he was rescued from the sludge villain, he wasn't the only one rescued that day. The whole him being a teacher thing is redundant and far fetched, All Might's here on a contract and if you look at other parts of the picture, look at how many successful heroes are out there after a pro started teaching here that same year. And Kota? Kota has only just started warming up to the thought of heroes, let alone genuinely liking them. Izuku saved him during the training camp, despite the risk and followed up injuries. And the whole ‘now it’s your turn’ thing? He’s said that to just about every student in here, he just said it to me earlier too. I understand everyone freaking out after All for One made an appearance, but jeez, you're just stretching for something that's so far fetched only toddlers or superstitiously paranoid people would believe it." I fell over cackling again, falling off the porch edge and into the grass. My best friend jumped down and helped me up, trying his best not to laugh at my hysterics.

"I should probably apologize," Tokuda stated once we got back up, "I was never planning to report on dorm life."

"Fucking called it." He looked at me in disbelief.

"I apologize. But, I just had to know that there's still light in this world. How did you see through my bluff, though?"

"You were obvious from the moment you walked in." I told him with a smirk, laughing to myself still at how dense that guy could be. He smirked but extended his hand to shake mine, I hesitated but shook his hand and he quickly yanked me towards him. Instinctively, I elbowed him in the gut and kicked the backs of his knees. He spluttered on the ground and I stood there, processing how quickly I reacted. "I would apologize, but you had it coming. I don't like people touching me." I waved and walked back in, watching how he pulled the same thing on Midoriya a few moments later. Dad was standing inside, smiling ever so slightly as I walked in.

So, find out why he was here?

That guys delusional, thought that All Might passed on his quirk to Midoriya and is making him the next symbol of peace or something, some reporters really reach for the stars.

I see. I also see you stuck your ground?

Yeah, he decided to try and pull me in for a picture, I reacted.

Dad sighed and ruffled my hair.

"Hey Dad, can I get my ears pierced?" I asked randomly, a spontaneous thought popping in my brain. He looked at me perplexed, clearly not knowing what to say.

"Let's talk to Pops about it tomorrow, yeah?" I nodded contently and washed up for dinner.

I went to the bathroom and took off my tank top that got dirtied from falling off the porch. My stomach churned at the sight of my scars, despising how they looked. I examined myself in the mirror, ridiculing my appearance. I looked repulsive. My hair was a mess, sticking in every direction imaginable. My dark circles and bags under my eyes prominent in contrast against the rest of my skin. The scar on my face still a bright pink, others decorated across my skin in different shapes, sizes and colors. I looked horrible, everything else adding onto it. My scars were like a fucked up map that nobody can read and get lost no matter what because they usually give up after the first few minutes. The rough terrain engraved along flesh scaring them away as though it's a warning. Telling them if they chose to take the risk of knowing me, they might end up like me, if not worse.

Tears welled in my eyes and I let them fall silently as I poked and prodded at my own skin. My minimal self esteem taking a plummet and my insecurities taking over. My heart clenched as my thoughts spiraled out of control. I furiously wiped my tears away when I heard the door open, Denki making an appearance in the mirror. He didn't say anything. He simply walked behind me and held me. His chest flush with my back, arms wrapped around my waist securely. My eyes shut tight, still not used to the tender gestures of affection outside of family. He tucked his chin on my shoulder and swayed us back and forth softly.

"What's going on?" He asked me softly, clearly hesitant on broaching the subject.

"It's dumb." I tried to dismiss it, my voice weak.

"Then tell me about it." I sighed and let my body deflate a bit.

"It's just my scars.. they look gross." His face fell at my defeated tone.

"They don't though." I sniffled and shook my head but he pulled me closer. "They don't, I wouldn't lie to you, especially about something like that."

"Well, I think they look gross."

"I think they look hot." I let out a weak laugh, dissolving into a fit of giggles.

He wasn't afraid to get close, to take the journey of knowing me despite the warnings and hazard signs.

His arms moved, hands settling themselves on my hips now. Multiple scars on display while his thumbs rubbed circles into the marred skin.

"See? You look hot." I giggled a little more, blushing brightly once he placed a cheeky kiss on my neck.

"Denks, I think you might be delusional." He huffed and narrowed his eyes at me in a playful manner.

"Pfft, I'm not delusional, I'm a good judge of hotness." I rolled my eyes and relaxed into his chest. He smiled softly and pecked another kiss on my cheek this time. "What makes you think that?" I tugged my lip between my teeth as I thought.

"I don't see anyone outside of my family loving me when I look like this. All my scars say is I'm damaged goods." His face softened and I felt my stomach churn at my honesty.

"You're not damaged goods, and even if you were, so what? All that means is that you've been through a lot. Shit, you could say I'm damaged goods but you wouldn't." I nodded solemnly, knowing he had a point on that one.

"You're not, Denki." He hummed and started swaying us again.

"I think I am, but you don't think that. We can go back and forth all night and make it nowhere. Or we can agree that we don't see each other as damaged goods and come back to it another day." I nodded and let my head roll onto his shoulder. I felt the vibrations of him talking and popped my head back up. "It's nothing." I playfully glared at him and turned around, hoisting myself up to sit on the counter.

"That's not fair, using my disability against me to keep your secrets but still say them to me." He stepped closer and stood between my legs, hands moving to rest on my thighs. Fingers dancing up and down the sweatpants.

"Do you wanna know what I said?" He asked softly, looking up at me.

"Yeah." He smirked and trailed his fingers up to my hips before gliding them back down towards my knee. My heart beating faster at the tender touches and how close he was.

"I said that I wish you could see just how hot you are, you look perfect without trying and you deserve to treat yourself like the amazing person you are." I looked down at my lap, pushing away the butterflies in my stomach. He quickly made me look up at him, our foreheads resting against the others.

We sat there for a minute, just soaking each other in. He slowly leaned back a smidge, eyes bouncing up and down from my lips before leaning in. My eyes shut and I let my arms wrap around his shoulders. The moment I felt his soft lips touch mine for the second time, I took in a sharp breath of air. His hands moved back up to my hips while one of mine moved to his beautiful, blond hair. The kiss was gentle, our lips hesitantly moving together in a slow yet unsteady rhythm. It was perfect. Just like everything about him. He slowly pulled away and smirked when I tried to chase the kiss without thinking. He went to say something until I turned my head when I saw something move in the corner of my eye. Hanta and Kiri stood there wide eyed, jaws dropped. I ducked my head and buried my face in Denki's neck, feeling just how red I surely was.

As flustered as I was, I was even more confused on what this meant for us.

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

Vampy come down for family dinner and help clean up like he wasn’t just defiling their daughter 10 minutes ago

Harry would rail the fuck out of her in her closet with one hand over her mouth and another around her throat, grunting absolute filth into her ear as she spills over him with muffled whines and sobbed pleas. He’d lick her clean, pull her panties and leggings back up her quaking thighs, and proceed to buckle his slacks casually while she props herself against the wall, trembling and panting.

He just leans forward and presses a chaste kiss between her sweaty brows, her skin sticky against his lips as he murmurs smugly. “I’m gonna go finish cleaning up the kitchen with your mum. Come back down after you’ve sorted yourself out, and don’t forget to wipe your makeup off. It’s smeared down your face.”

Y/N does as he says, wiping the watery steaks of mascara off her cheeks and fixing her wild hair, making sure to leave no evidence of their little escapade, lest Harry end up sleeping outside on the yard. When she finally gets back down to her living room (she takes the stairs extra carefully, her belly throbbing with each step), the vampire is sitting in the rocking chair next to her mother’s, swaying lightly as they chat away nonchalantly.

They’re laughing and gossiping, their hands occupied with all types of yarn and needles, and she always forgets that Harry had learned how to knit when he was younger. It’s so baffling to see him engaging innocently with her mom, his nimble fingers expertly working on a multicolored scarf as he does so, not sparing the piece the slightest glance due to how confident he is in his skills. The reason it’s especially startling is because those fingers had been inside her not even five minutes ago.

“So we were running around this lake near my house,” Harry explains candidly, clearly in the middle of telling a story from his past as his digits weave in and out amidst red and purple yarn, “and we were playing in the snow near the banks, which was our first mistake. My mother had told me that the snow around the shores tended to be really slushy, so if we weren’t careful, we’d end up slipping really easily. We didn’t listen, of course— what ten year old does? We were playing tag with the neighbors, and as I was chasing after Gemma, I accidentally shoved her a bit too hard and she slipped and fell right into a pile of muddy snow. Completely stained everything she was wearing.”

Her mom releases a disappointed hiss, giving him a sympathetic glance over the glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. “Poor thing.”

Harry nods in agreement, looping yarn over his needles as he extends the scarf over his lap for more space, continuing his labor. “My mum grounded me for a week, and I spent that entire time learning to knit so I could remake Gemma’s mittens, since I was the one that ruined them. It was a fair punishment, honestly, and I ended up liking it more than I thought. Plus, the mittens I made were way better than the original pair. You just can’t buy this type of talent anywhere.”

The older woman laughs boisterously at his self-absorbed joke, which results in Harry smiling to himself proudly, giggling along.

Y/N clears her throat softly, leaning against the archway that leads into the room and crossing her arms over her chest in a relaxed manner, quirking an eyebrow at both of them as she makes her presence known. “Having fun?”

Harry glimpses over at her, his eyes raking down her body to where she’s clasping her thighs tightly, irises gleaming with knowing condescension. “Loads.”

“Harry was just telling me about when he learned to knit!” Y/N’s mother chirps, sending a warm smile towards the boy sitting across from her, unaware of the fact that he’d been defiling her daughter not too long ago. “It’s not often that you find a young man with this type of interest. He’s a keeper, sweetheart.”

“Hear that?” The immortal gloats teasingly, wagging his brows playfully as he holds up his unfinished accessory. “I’m a keeper.”

“Mm.” His girlfriend hums sarcastically, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling to avoid giving him any satisfaction. “I bet you’re just loving all this praise, aren’t you?”

Harry whistles lowly, tutting in a chastising fashion. “Someone’s jealous.”

Y/N rectifies her posture, an appalled expression cracking over her features. “Am not!”

“Are to.”

“Am not.”

“Are to.” Harry insists doggedly, looking over at the older woman for support. “Isn’t she?”

Her mom studies her for a moment, clicking her tongue scoldingly. “I think maybe you are, honey. Just a bit.”

Harry cranes his head back towards Y/N, sticking his tongue out mockingly behind the woman’s back and scrunching up his face comically, flaunting his childish point.

“Plus, Harry was sweet enough to make you that scarf he’s working on. You should be more grateful.”

Harry softens his eyes dramatically, sugaring his voice into a honeyed drawl that only she can read through. “Yeah, Y/N. I’m going out of my way to make you this nice gift, and that’s the thanks I get?”

“Dickhead.” The girl grumbles pettily, shifting on her feet as she glowers at him.

Her mother glares at her accusingly. “Language! I taught you better than that!”

“Mm. You should be more careful with what you say; words hurt more than you know.” Harry tacks on with a snide grin, shrugging his brows daringly as he slips an innuendo into his next line. “Mouthing off like that could get you into a whole lot of trouble.”

The pit of her tummy throbs at his curtained challenge, her eyes narrowing as she bites back the urge to curse him out again. “Thanks for the moral advice, Aristotle, but I’m grown enough to face the consequences of my own actions.”

Harry slowly puts down his knitting needles onto the small table beside him, picking up the scarf laying across his thighs and rolling it out in its entirety. It’s now that she realizes the item is much too thin width-wise to be scarf— it looks more like a belt, similar to the strap used to tie off a robe. The vampire flickers his gaze over to Y/N’s mom to make sure she’s not watching, and once he sees the lady is once again preoccupied with her knitting, he trains his attention back onto his partner.

He lifts the long colorful band up to his neck, tying one end around his throat loosely and wrapping the excess length around his knuckles, giving the article a symbolic tug. Y/N’s cheeks burst with heat at the crude reenactment, suddenly coming to terms with what he’s actually created under the guise of a harmless statement piece: it’s a makeshift collar.

Harry watches her avidly, a sinister smirk carving his dimples into place once he sees she’d understood his implication. He yanks the leash from around his neck swiftly before he gets caught, rolling the material back up neatly to disguise it. He cocks his head to the side conceitedly, his accent slathered with the same amount of arrogance as his gesture. “You never know, dove. Sometimes the consequences might be too much for you to handle.”

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 2

Helmetless + Death!Din and Female + Cupid!Reader.

Summary: You’re a Cupid whose primary reason for existing is to guide people in the direction of their soulmates. Din—known to the rest of the universe as Death with a capital D—has, as of three days ago, become your next client. You wonder, not for the first time, how is this your reality? 

Rating: G

Word Count: 1000

Warnings: Plot development, pining, overall nothing too serious

Author Note: Oh my gosh! Thank you so much for the incredible response to my little universe!!! I hope you like this segment just as much, fingers crossed. If you want to be added to tag list, let me know! 

Link to part one and part 3

Photo Inspiration:

You’re a Cupid whose primary reason for existing is to guide people in the direction of their soulmates. Din—known to the rest of the universe as Death with a capital D—has, as of three days ago, become your next client.

You wonder, not for the first time, how is this your reality? 

Memories of your mortal life are few and far between, slipping through your fingers like fireflies in the summer when you try to hold onto them too long. But you doubt anything you experienced could have prepared you for the sight of Death sitting across from you in your living room, legs crossed and entirely at ease in your apartment despite it being his first time visiting.

You have to remind yourself that right here, right now you’re a Cupid with a mission. Quite possibly the biggest mission of your entire career. You can’t screw this up, not even if it feels like an invisible fist is slowly clenching around your heart as you listen to Din describe his ideal soulmate.

“Whoever it is,” he says while unabashedly observing your furnishings, not willing to rule out a specific gender or race, not when they’re his supposed better half. “They can’t be a mortal.”

Your pencil stills mid-note taking, unsure you heard him right. Most people would assume Death has no sense of humor, but you’ve learned from your encounters with him that assumption is far from the truth. However, when you look up from your notebook to check if he’s trying to make some kind of joke, you fail to find any trace of jest in his expression, not even the faintest gleam of amusement in his brown eyes. 

You tap your writing utensil mindlessly against your leg, looking him over from head to toe and reconsidering your opinion of him in light of this new information. “I didn’t know you disliked mortals so much you’d purposefully exclude them.”

“You misunderstand, angel. It doesn’t matter if I like a mortal or not, either way my touch will kill them.” Din holds up one of his gloved hands in front of you for inspection, as if you’d never noticed them before. Asshole. “Why do you think I take such precautions when we’re in public spaces?”

Truthfully, a specific reason for him wearing multiple layers hadn’t ever really crossed your mind. You’d just accepted it from the start as a facet of his being. Still, your ears burn with embarrassment hot enough you’re half-convinced the room’s temperature has also risen several degrees. It’s not out of the realm of possibility for your house to turn against you in an effort to cause you humiliation in front of your unattainable crush.

On the receiving end of his arched eyebrow, the only defensive retort you can manage is, “Everyone’s got their quirks. I thought poor fashion choices just happened to be yours.”

“Says the angel who collects newspaper scraps as a hobby,” he fires back, peering around you at the stack of newspapers in the corner you’d yet to sort through for articles that snagged your interest.

More and more you’re starting to regret inviting him into your home. 

“We’re not here to talk about me,” you snap, but the rebuke is diminished by the audible note of laughter in your voice, the grin stubbornly pulling at the corners of your mouth.

A flicker of emotion flashes across his face as he stares back at you, as quick to vanish as it was to appear, resembling a glimpse of sunlight peeking through an overcast of clouds. If you didn’t know better, you’d almost think he had regarded you with...fondness.

“So,” you shake your head, derailing that pathetic train of thought, and reposition your pencil to continue writing, “your soulmate has to be someone who can survive your touch. Which means they obviously have to be immortal like us.”

Like us, that tiny lovesick voice in the back of your head coos. Maker, you’ve got it bad. If you could get away with slapping yourself in front of him, you’d be giving yourself a concussion right now.

“That should narrow your search down considerably, shouldn’t it?” Din asks, bracing his forearms on his knees as he leans closer into your personal space. If you were to look up, your noses would be within inches of touching. 

Stubbornly, you keep your head firmly looking down at your notes. Partly to hide your expression of embarrassment, partly because you don’t trust your own self-control to prevent you from doing something stupid. “In theory, yes. I have a few potential candidates in mind we can arrange dates with.” In response to his prolonged beat of silence, you find yourself offering, “You can wear your armor. If—If that would make you more comfortable, I mean.” 

You’re so focused on keeping your breathing steady you nearly miss him murmuring, “Are any of these dates Cupids?”

Your mind is slow to process the question, even slower to form an answer as it flips through the list of names that you’d started compiling from the start of your interrogation. 

“No,” you answer at last. Not a single one.

His lips purse, another flicker of emotion flashing across his face, before he pulls away and stands up from his seat. Your heart flips in your chest, because this time you don’t have any doubts about recognizing his expression. But...it doesn’t make any sense.

Din slips his arms through the sleeves of his coat, preparing to leave through your front door and step outside onto the snow-covered sidewalk. You barely pay him any attention, replaying the recent exchange in its entirety on loop within your brain like a vinyl record.

“I look forward to your next call, angel,” Din says, nodding his head in that dumb, stoic way he always does when he leaves you.

“Goodbye,” you say belatedly, seconds after the door had already clicked shut behind him.

In his absence, you finally allow the realization to sink in, rubbing a hand over your mouth in disbelief in spite of the certainty you feel about your assessment being correct. 

That look you saw on Din’s face when you’d told him no.

It had been disappointment.

Tag List: @leilei-draws, @theocatkov, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph, @stardust-and-starlight, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor

[backtobackbakubabe]

Speak Easy Part 9

Dabi X Reader , Bakugo X Reader

Words: 3214

Masterlist

Reader has a siren quirk and has spent the past several years of her life as a captive being experimented on by “heroes” Now that she’s out she needs protection and safe place to heal. Who will be the one to put her pieces back together?

Words with ‘this’ is dialogue written in her journal rather than said out loud and and words with ~this~ is dialogue said in sign language rather than out loud.

***********************************************************************

You drank all day. Then took a nap, ate some pizza, and then continued to drink some more.

“Fuck Endeavor!” Dabi threw a pillow at the TV.

“Yeah fuck that guy! Small dick Energy!” You giggled at the sideways glare Dabi gave you.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t talk about the size of my old man’s dick.” You and Dabi were lounging on the couch, your legs in his lap, empty beer bottles littering the coffee table. You were watching some trashy special on TV about Japans top heroes, and having fun roasting them all. Dabi chuckled as he rubbed circles into your calf. “I have to say… I didn’t think you’d still be conscious at this point. I had you pegged as a light weight.”

You snorted as you sat up to look at him. “Who the fuck you calling a… *burp* light weight?” You sat up too quickly and had to squeeze your eyes shut to keep the room from spinning. His hand came up to steady you and you leaned into his warmth. “I’ll have you know… I am a drinking queen!” You giggled and started singing Dancing Queen at the top of your lungs but replaced the word dancing with drinking.

He rolled his eyes at you before shoving you off of his lap and onto the floor. You landed with a loud thud, but you just continued to giggle. “Aren’t you a Siren? Isn’t your singing supposed to be… I don’t know…good?”

Gasping you held your hand to your chest in mock horror. “How dare you insult my singing. If I wanted, I’d have you on my knees in seconds.”

He smirked at you, “Wait, what does that even mean? Did you mean you’d have me on MY knees in seconds or you’d be on YOUR knees in seconds? Because those are two very different things.”

“UGH! You know what I meant!”

You gave him a pouty look to which he just chuckled in response. “I don’t think I do doll. Why don’t you show me.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I refuse to fall for your perverted mind games. I’m too smart!”

Dabi got an evil glint in his eyes. “Too smart huh?” He pushed himself off the couch and held a hand out to you to help you stand up on wobbly legs. “You’ve made some bold claims tonight princess. You say you’re a drinking queen. You say your smarter than me. You said you could have me on my knees in seconds… I just don’t know if I believe you.”

You swayed a bit as you jabbed a finger into his chest. “Bring it on bacon bits. Let’s make it a competition.”

“Okay fine. But it’s only fun if we put something on the line. What are we wagering?” His hand started to travel down your side to grip your ass.

Slapping his hand away you stepped out of his reach. “Nothing sexual! Keep your hands to yourself.”

He watched as you tapped your chin in thought. Obviously you were taking this competition thing very seriously. You looked cute in your drunken state. Your hair was askew and your cheeks a rosy shade or red. Suddenly your eyes beamed, “I know! Truth or dare!”

“Uh what?” Dabi quirked an eyebrow at your antics. “Did you forget that we are adults?”

“Oh come on, don’t be such a buzz kill!” You rushed over to the kitchen and started pulling out cups and beer. “We used to do this at UA all the time! It’s so much fun, come on!”

Dabi groaned as he approached the table that you were currently setting up for beer pong. “Oh come on… I was hoping it could be sexual.” It was his turn to pout now. “We could always play a quick round of strip pong. What do ya say?”

You paused as you set up cups, “Hmm maybe later. I know as soon as my clothes start to come off you won’t want to play games anymore.” You gave him a taunting look, “At least not any innocent ones.”

He raised his hands up in defense, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I am more than capable of keeping my hands to myself.”

You snorted as you set up the last cup. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

He took his spot on one side of the table. “I’ll tell you what… I’ll compromise. For every cup we make we have to answer a question. If I win, we move on to strip pong. If you win or if I can’t manage to keep my hands to myself, I’ll do whatever silly little punishment you can think of.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Sounds good to me.” You cracked you knuckles dramatically. “I hope you’re not a sore loser.” You were really confident for someone who was on the verge of passing out. But if you were being honest with yourself, you knew you were better at drinking games the drunker you were.

Dabi gave you a borderline evil smirk, “We’ll see how cocky you are when I make you play bare ass naked.” He threw a yellow ping pong pall at you, laughing as it smacked you in the face. “I’m sure there’s a some joke I could make about you liking balls in your face… bu-“

You tossed the ball and he watched as it sunk right in. One cup down, five more to go. His surprised eyes met your emotionless ones. You winked, “Drink up bitch.”

He scoffed as he yanked the ball out of the cup before downing it’s contents and flipping it upside down. “Alright… let’s get this over with…what are you gonna ask me?”

That was a good question. What were you going to ask him? You could only imagine the kind of secrets he had. Visions of all kinds of illegal acts and debaucheries crossed your mind. You were enjoying your little daydreams when he cleared his throat. “Any day princess…”

You tapped your chin, “Hmmm. Okay. Why did you leave the League?”

He groaned, “I thought you were gonna ask me something stupid like my favorite color… but no, of course you’d come out swinging.” His eyes looked a little nervous. “I technically never left, but I also was never really an official member. I’ve always done what I wanted. The only person I answer to is me.” His fists clenched, “But if you’re asking why I don’t really associate with them anymore… Well I may be a bad guy but even I have my limits.”

You knew that was probably all you were going to get when he squared his shoulder off and sunk a cup of his own. His eyes gleamed as he repeated your orders from earlier, “Drink up… bitch.” You stuck your tongue out at his before chugging your cup and loudly slamming it back onto the table. “Such attitude tonight? Makes me want to bend you over this table and-“

“Yeah yeah, bend me over the table and fuck me stupid… What’s your question?” Your cheeks flushed. From the embarrassment or the alcohol you weren’t sure.

He growled, “As soon as we finish this stupid game, I’m going to do just that you little brat.” His lips twitched into a brief smile. “So, I’ve been reading those really fun articles about you today and I noticed something… They never mention your hero name.. What is it?”

Your eyes grew cold and your arms came up to hug yourself. “I don’t have one.”

Dabi bristled at your short answer. “What do you mean you don’t have one. You graduated from UA, you worked at hero agency for a few years. Granted you were probably the only real hero in the entire building… but there’s no way you don’t have one.”

You shrugged, which earned you a glare. “Sorry, but I really don’t. When we picked names in school… Well I never really thought I’d actually graduate. Katsuki and Izuku had to talk me out of dropping out almost every other day. So, I didn’t take it seriously. After I got hired, they made it very clear the public would never know who I was. I was a spy. Spies don’t have hero names. They have code names. Mine was Helen.”

Dabi almost flinched at the amount of malice in your voice. Your happy mood disappearing fast. But his curiosity weighed heavy on him. “Why Helen?”

You tossed your ball and watched as it bounced off the table and into a cup. “That’s two questions… and that’s also two cups.” You wanted to change the subject, “My two questions are… Do you secretly like Shoto? And Why do you pretend that you don’t secretly love Shoto?”

“Ugh, Shoto’s a fucking brat.”

You strategically decided you were hot and removed the hoodie you had been wearing, leaving you in a tight tank top and a pair of his boxers. “Oh? I thought you liked brats?”

Dabi leaned on the table as he looked you up and down. “You’re playing a dangerous game there.”

“No… I’m playing beer pong. And in case you didn’t notice, I’m winning. Now answer the question.” You were having so much fun teasing him. You felt safe with an entire table in between the two of you. This was one of the first time the two of you had opened up to each other. Sure, it was because you were both drinking and only because you were playing a very juvenile game. But progress it progress.

He rolled his eyes at you as he gripped the ball in his had. “He’s my little brother… I don’t have to like him. I used to hate him actually. In my head he was the reason our dad was so awful to me. He was my replacement, the golden child.” He was quite for a little while. You could tell he didn’t really want to keep going. He was already more vulnerable then usual.

He knew if he wanted you to open up to him, he needed to offer the same courtesy. “Even now, I see the weird relationship they have and it pisses me off. My dad was awful to us, Shoto included. So, it makes me mad that he’s trying all of the sudden to make up for it, and even more mad that Shoto’s letting him.” He finished drinking his beer. “We’ve talked a lot recently and… at the end of the day he’s my baby brother. Sometimes I wonder if I had stuck around if things could have been different for him.” He finally made eye contact with you and sighed, “So to answer your question… I guess I like the kid a little bit.”

You squealed and clapped your hands. “I knew it! It’s almost impossible to not like him. He’s so adorable, and strong, and nice, and smart, and-“

“STOP! First you talk about my dad’s dick, and now you’re raving about how much you love my little brother… I’m literally right here?” His nose scrunched up in disgust. He shot his ball, it bounced off the rim of a cup and your hand was quick to swat it away. “FUCK! How did you even do that?”

“HA! No question for you. I’m too fast. My reflexes are too fast for you!” You giggled before chasing the ball that was now bouncing away towards the kitchen. You were already unsteady due to the alcohol but the second your socked feet hit the tile in the kitchen they slipped out from under you.

“Oof…” You landed hard on your ass. A few moments of silence passed before you rolled over and started laughing. You felt tears streaming down your cheeks and you clutched your stomach. You honestly could say you hadn’t laughed this hard in a long time.

You felt two strong hands lift you up from under your armpits. “Maybe we should call it a night soon. I have a feeling if I don’t stop you now, you’ll hate me tomorrow when your heads in a toilet.”

You wiped the tears from your eyes and laughed even harder. “I WIN!”

He picked you up and turned you to face him. “I know you’re drunk… but you still have three cups left before you win.”

“NoOo I win! You touched me! Your hands my contact with my armpits! Physical contact was made… I WIN!” You started poking him in the chest. “I win. I win. I win. You lose. I win.” You danced in a circle resulting in you falling into his chest.

His arms wrapped around you tightly, “That’s got to be cheating… You fucking wiped out on the kitchen floor. I still had questions I wanted to ask. This is bullshit.” His hand reached down and rubbed circles on the sore spot on your ass.

The alcohol was starting to hit you hard. You leaned into his warmth and could feel drunken slumber start to drag you under. “I’ll make you a deal. You can ask me one question. But you have to do the punishment I decide no matter what.”

He had no idea what you had planned and by the look in your eyes he probably wasn’t going to like it. “Fine. I’ll do it… Why Helen?”

You froze. You knew he was going to ask. You didn’t want to talk about it, but then again you knew he probably didn’t want to talk about his family. You were torn. You wanted to lean closer to him, to absorb his warmth, to let him hold you. But you also wanted to push him away, to stand on your own feet, to show you’re not weak.

His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, holding you to him, deciding for you. You took a shaky breath. “Well I don’t know how much Greek mythology you know… But there was a woman… Helen of Troy. She was supposedly the most beautiful woman in the whole world.” Dabi’s fingers ran through your hair encouraging you to continue. “She had powerful men fighting over her, on their knees begging for her love. She was the reason the Trojan War started. Most people think it was the Trojan horse that lead to victory over Troy… but in reality, it was her. She brought destruction to an entire country… just by being pretty.” You let out a long breath and felt some of the tension in your shoulders start to bleed out. “So, I was Helen. I was a pretty face that brought destruction to men.”

His hand rubbed up and down your spine. “Well they got one thing right… You are beautiful.”

A shaky chuckle left you as you gripped his shirt. “And if we’re being honest… You are more than capable of destroying anyone you wanted to. You’re just a badass, you are a beautiful badass and that’s nothing you should be ashamed of. Wear it like a badge of honor.”

Your next words were barely louder than a whisper, “I’ve done a lot of bad things.” He didn’t say anything, to which you were grateful. He just continued to rub your back. “I have no right to be mad about those articles… because I did those things.”

Dabi leaned away from to make you look at him. “It doesn’t matter what you did, because you did them with good intentions. I’ve done way worse and believe me when I say I did them all for the worst reasons possible.” His thumb brushed against your cheek. “They took advantage of you. They were the one’s giving the orders. They are the ones responsible, and they are the ones who will ultimately pay the price.”

You blinked back your tears. “I just feel so stupid. I believed so much in the hero system, I was so blind to what they were doing. How many of the people that I apprehended were innocent? How many of them just had interesting quirks they wanted to study? How many of them just didn’t agree with the system? How many voices did I silence?”

“You’ll drive yourself crazy if you think like that. People like us fell through the cracks and that’s not our fault.” You just nodded, done talking about it. There was nothing he could say at the moment that would make you feel better. Only time could fix this, if it could even be fixed at all. Dabi squeezed your cheeks together. “Now why don’t you tell me what this punishment is, because you looked really excited about it earlier.”

You nodded and pushed away from him, wiping your tears. “Yeah. Okay…” You took a deep breath pushing the painful thoughts out of your mind. “I want you… to prank call… Shoto…”

He immediately wanted to deny you. To say hell no. But you had just had a raw moment with him, and he had promised. “… Fine.”

He pulled out his phone and scrolled until he saw Experiment #4 and hit dial. What was he supposed to say? He had never done something like this before. Was he supposed to block his number? It was really late would his brother even answer?

You poked his shoulder and mouthed, “Put it on speaker.”

He rolled his eyes but complied. A few rings later and Shoto’s tired voice interrupted his thoughts. “…uh…hello?”

Dabi began to panic. The only thing he could think of were the immature jokes he’d heard when hanging out with Twice. “Your mammas so stupid… When I told her she lost her mind. She went looking for it…”

You lost it. You bent over in silent laughter. Not only at his ridiculous joke, but the look on his face was priceless.

“… My mamma? We have the same mother. It’s a little insensitive to say she lost her mind Touya. Wait is this code? Are you guys okay? Cough if you need help.” You herd rustling in the background. “Izuku get up I think Y/n and my brother need help. He said my mamma’s so stupid, when he told her she lost her mind, she went looking for it. I think it’s code.”

You couldn’t help it you let out a loud laugh, Shoto was as clueless as ever. Izuku took the phone from his boyfriend. “Sounds like a dumb joke to me babe. Hey Dabi… did y/n put you up to this?”

Something about hearing Izuku’s serious voice made Dabi uncomfortable. He sounded like an angry father who had just been woken up but his dumb children. “Uh… yeah…”

“Great tell her she’s hilarious, and next time she wants to wake someone up at three in the morning to call Kacchan.”

The line went dead and Dabi scoffed, “He really is an idiot I swear.”

“As far as I’m *hiccup* concerned all you Todoroki’s are.” You yawned and stretched. Your eye lids were getting heavy.

Dabi scooped you up and you immediately nuzzled into his shoulder. “One for your room, twice for mine.” You had never been in his bed until last night, but his bed was considerably more comfortable than your own. You held up two fingers. “Anything my drunk destroyer of men wants.”

*********************

Tags: tags: @falling4fandoms @wifunozomi @here-in-never-land @whore-for-anime @klecksstorys @aurorahoneybuns @theunknownrandom @insane-without-delirium @frenchsfryys @officiallydarkgeek @neofixcs @music-is-all-i-need @katsuki-bakubabe @unadulteratedtastemakerpoetry@dabislittlemouse@aimee1602 @pinkhatlizzy @kunaigirlx44 @nii-sanfucker@bestgirlb @silver-stardrop @bakubby99

[adhdeancas]

Hm, mommy issues anybody? Daddy issues anybody? Yeah. Let’s unpack that a little. Not a lot.

Dean runs his hand up the back of his head, feeling the soft spikes of his haircut. It was a stupid tic he’d picked up in his teens, it usually made girls melt. The sensitive guy, the nervous guy, the guy who’s eager to please. It made him look vulnerable. Girls liked that. He started catching himself on it and stopping when he got into his twenties. 

His phone buzzes. He looks at it quickly, ignoring the stupid clench in his heart that comes with the action.

One New System Update Available: Install Now?

He sighs and turns it off.

---

Long hours in the car are usually… uneventful. Full of all kinds of empty time that frankly? Dean likes. It’s a nice break from the constant weird noises of sketchy motel rooms with paper-thin walls, from the creaking pipes in the bunker. Mostly, it’s a break from thinking about whatever batshit depressing problems they have up their ass that week. 

But this time? The open road is endless, like a really shitty, really boring acid trip. A fucking infinity of his ankle cramping up on the side roads. And Sam always gives him the stink eye when he reaches for his phone, so he can’t even do that. He does make pit stops more often than usual, so he doesn’t crawl out of his own skin, and his glares keep Sam from mentioning it. Maybe he just thinks he’s got the shits. He’ll let him keep thinking that.

At least on the pot he can check his phone.

But time and time again, he lays down a loud paper cover that doesn’t do much to cover up the griminess of the seat and sits down, and unlocks his phone. He waits until he’s fully in the stall to do it, even though he could end the suspense the second he puts Baby in park. Maybe he knows what the answer is gonna be.

What the answer always is.

No New Messages. 

He sighs. Story of his life.

---

Sam snatches his phone next time it buzzes in the cup holder before Dean can even reach for it. Dean opens his mouth to gripe, but his stomach ties itself in a knot anyway. He doesn’t know whether he wants it to be… or whether he’s dreading it. 

“Who is it?” he tries to say it casually. It sounds forced to him, but Sam doesn’t notice. 

“Cas,” he’s got this dopey little smile on his face, and Dean feels his face heat up. For no goddamn reason, it’s not like-

“Why’re you- what’s up? Anything wrong?” Dean knows Sam would’ve said right away if something was wrong, but he wants his brother to spit it out already, and Sam looks like the cat that got the cream. That means he’s about to try to be funny. 

“Nah, nah.” Sam grins again, glancing away from the phone finally. 

“Well then put it down, Nosy, what the fuck,” He’s already seen the text, whatever it is, so it’s no use, but Dean bristles anyway. It’s not like Cas would’ve sent him anything actually embarrassing, right? What was the last thing they were talking about… the best roadside pancakes? Yeah, so, it couldn’t be anything weird. Well, it’s Cas, so it could always be something weird. But nothing incriminating. Hell, Sam’s accidentally opened a nude a girl sent him one time so it’s not like it could be worse than that. Not like Cas is sending him nudes. Dean cracks a grin at the thought of what a thirst trap would look like for Cas. Probably him in a, like, half unbuttoned button up laid out in a library chair. Maybe a book in hand. An angel blade. The weapon! Not-

“He just- he just wanted to update you on where he is in Gilligan’s Island.” There’s a laugh in Sam’s voice, and Dean wants to know why. Probably just the way Cas described it, he always finds this certain way of saying things that’s just… kinda endearing and kinda confusing.

“He’s watching without me? Son of a bitch!” 

Sam smirks. “Yeah, he and Jack. Jack finished Pirates of the Carribean and he wanted more island stuff.”

Dean shakes his head. “Motherfuckers…”

Sam rolls his eyes. “You want me to text him back for you?”

Dean rolls his shoulders out. “It’s fine, I’ll just do it at the next stop.”

They pull into the next gas station and Dean doesn’t look at his phone again until he’s hidden. 

---

Because Sam is a nosy bitch, he asks. Well that, and he’s really tired of the car ride taking twice as long with all the stops they’re making. Dean’s usually a ‘pee in a bottle and don’t pitch a fit’ kind of driver, himself included (Sam’s scarred for life at this point), but now? It’s like they’re traveling with a six year old kid, stopping every hour.

The third stop in Oklahoma alone, he stops Dean. “Okay, do we need to go to the hospital?”

Dean quirks his eyebrows and frowns. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He’s got a clue what they’re talking about.

Sam bitches with his whole face. “We’ve been stopping every four fucking feet for days now, so you’re either dying and we need to go to the ER and get an endoscopy, or-

“An endoscope who?”

Sam doesn’t take the bait. Shocker. “Dean.”

Dean rolls his eyes and tries to bypass him. Sam is smarter than he looks. They grab his phone. “Sammy!” This time the word’s annoyed, a warning. Like he used to say right before he really viciously wrestled Sam to the ground and pried the last cookie out of his delicate little hands when they were kids.

Unfortunately, Sam has a height and reach advantage. He holds the phone up and Dean doesn’t have a chance unless- Dean punches him in the stomach. Sam makes a winded noise but manages to keep his arm raised. He glares harder. “You’re gonna talk to me, or you’re not getting this back.”

God, they’re a bitch. “Fine, fuck you. I’ll shit the old fashioned way.” Dean saunters off to the horrifically artificial lights of the gas station, a middle finger waving back just for his little bro. 

 When he gets back, Sam’s looking much more compassionate. It’s worse. “Dean, why are you so obsessed with your phone? What’re you waiting on?”

Dean rolls his eyes and gets in his car, leaving Sam to follow him. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, dude, I’m just making sure I don’t miss any texts from Mom,” He jams the key into the ignition and steps on the gas. Sam’s door snaps the rest of the way shut with the sudden force and they yelp. “Oh, don’t be a drama queen.”

“You’re the dramatic one right now, Dean.” Sam raises his eyebrows, condescension dripping off his expression. “Did she say she’d text soon?”

“Nope.” Dean shrugs. “Just making sure. It’s kinda my fault she died and then came back to life in a world she didn’t understand; least I can do is pick up the damn phone.”

Sam sighs. “Dean, she’s not gonna freak out if you don’t answer right away. Unclench, man.”

“Unclench?” Dean’s hands tighten on the wheel. “Fuck off, Sam, I’m fine!”

There’s a tense silence. Dean finally starts to think he’s given up this stupid argument, but then Sam shifts in his seat. “She’s not Dad, Dean. She’s gonna come back.”

Dean bites the inside of his cheek. “Never said she was. And Dad always came back.”

“Dean-”

“Sam, just drop it, please-”

“I know how hard it is-” 

Dean’s harsh laugh cuts the car into silence again. Sam’s got that kicked puppy look on his face, Dean knows it, and he forces his shoulder to relax before talking. “Look, Sammy, I appreciate it and all but- you have no fucking clue what it’s like for your parent to just fucking… ignore you.”

“I grew up with Dad too, Dean. Hell, he lied to me until I was like 6, he ran out on both of us all the time; I never knew where he was, he never told me where he was going-”

“Yeah, well, he always picked up the phone for you, didn’t he?” Dean lets out a harsh breath and changes lanes just for something to do with his hands. 

“He’d stay out for weeks no matter how much I called-”

“Yeah, but he answered. He answered when you called, when you texted, to tell you when he’d be home or to tell you to fuck off and stop calling, but he’d answer.” Dean wipes at his eyebrow. He doesn’t care about this shit. He doesn’t fucking care. “Dad called me when he wanted to talk to me,” then Dean corrects himself “-when he wanted to tell me something. So excuse me… if I get a little antsy. But you- you don’t get it at all.” Dad and Mom, they both left him. Both ditched him as soon as they could and never looked back. Not until they needed him to hunt something. And he got it, he did. But just because he understood didn’t mean he wasn’t pissed. And just because he was pissed didn’t mean he didn’t want them to call. Expect them or hope them to text, just to check in. Something more than coordinates and a link to a news article. 

He wants someone to care about him. And fuck if that isn’t the saddest thing anybody’s ever heard. 

“Dean…” 

It’s been a full five minutes, and Dean’s been waiting for Sam to bring it back up again, to not let this stupid thing go. “What?” he says sullenly.

Sam holds the phone up so Dean can see the screen without taking his eyes totally off the road. It’s a video, and he sees Cas awkwardly holding the camera away from him, two heads of blonde hair behind him. Sam taps the play arrow. 

“Hello, Dean.” Jack waves behind him with his usual energy, and Cas looks incredibly fond. “I’m here with Jack and your mother-”

“Mary,” Mary corrects. She crosses her arms uncomfortably, but her expression is soft. 

“Mary.” Cas repeats. “I decided to invite her to come by before you and Sam got back- that is, if you’re still coming back today. Sam has been telling me that you’re not going as fast as usual, and while I do appreciate you finally gaining some self-preservation-”

Dean rolls his eyes at the smiling jab. 

“- I do hope you’ll get back tonight. Mary has requested we order pizza and chicken wings, and I got the kind you like- the Mango Habenero, but-”

“No promises they’ll be here tomorrow!” Mary calls out jokingly. Sam’s grinning behind the phone now. 

“Hurry home! I miss you!” Jack adds sincerely.

The camera turns back toward Cas fully for a moment, and he holds it way too close to his face. “Yes. I- We- just stay safe. And stop worrying. And iHop is superior to Waffle House.”

There’s a rustling noise and then the video cuts off. Sam is grinning smugly from the passenger seat. Dean raises his eyebrows. “So you’ve been updating Cas about me?”

Sam shrugs. “We snapchat.”

“You what?”

“I send him pictures of you when you’re looking really constipated.” Sam clarifies unhelpfully. “Cas and I like to think up reasons for why you’re mad this time- avocado toast, streaks on the windshield when you try to wipe it at the gas station, that one piece of hair that does the weird-”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Dean snaps. “Wait, what about my hair?”

Sam laughs. “Just drive, Dean. For the wings.”

Dean frowns and pushes Baby faster. Well… now he doesn’t have to stop so much.

He makes Sam pee in a bottle next time he has to go.

[realllllfangirllllll]

Beyond Lovers || Chp. 31

{More Than Friends Sequel}

Chairman!Jaehyun AU x CEO!Reader AU

Summary: You find yourself falling deeper and deeper in love with the former CEO after overcoming your fear of love. Although there were rough patches, both of you are now stronger than ever. However, you realize that maintaining a relationship and a company at the same time can be very difficult, especially if someone is out to destroy the both of you.

(Context: This scene takes place in the time frame of the last three chapters of MTF)

Masterlist

{Previous / Next }

4 months ago...

“Come meet me in Paris. I’ll send you the address.”

Jaehyun’s mind spun like lab rats on a hamster wheel as he contemplated the idea of meeting face to face with Xiaojun. He had set his mind on getting y/n back and he couldn’t act scared now. He needed her in his life and this was his only chance.

~~~

The bright sun was hanging low in the clear sky as Jaehyun let out a yawn. Although jet-lagged and stressed, the thought of being on the same grounds as y/n made him feel a bit better. After all, it seemed like he hasn’t seen her for years. He chuckled to himself upon the realization of how much y/n’s presence affected him.

He stepped into the luxurious hotel lobby and made his way to the glass elevators before he quickly pressed the button to floor six. When the room door opened, he found himself sitting on the lonely chair placed across from the lush couch with his heart beating nervously. Never had he been more nervous for a meeting, in fact, he usually wasn’t the type of person to get nervous at all. He guessed that y/n and Xiaojun were definitely of blood relation as they were the only two people to ever make him feel even slightly nervous.

His hands were clasped politely in front of his lap as he tried his best to sit as straight as possible. On the other hand, Xiaojun sat comfortably yet arrogantly on the couch with his legs crossed. His stern, sharp gaze examined Jaehyun from his neatly gelled hair, his casual yet sleek navy dress shirt, to his expensive leather shoes. Jaehyun didn’t move an inch and allowed Xiaojun to take in whatever he wanted to see. He dressed casually but neat with the intent of giving off a good, first in-person impression. He didn’t want Xiaojun to think of him as an egotistic rich boy but a hardworking and polite man that is sincere to y/n.

Xiaojun suddenly let out a chilling laugh that did nothing to clear the tension in the room. “You don’t have to act so stiff, treat me comfortably.” 

Jaehyun nervously chuckled as Xiaojun broke out an eerie smile and offered, “You must be exhausted from that flight. Want something to drink?”

Jaehyun looked at him and saw that his eyes held a stonecold stare that shouted ‘refuse if you dare.’ He quickly responded with a yes and Xiaojun’s eerie smile returned. As if he prepared for this scenario, his hands grabbed the bottle of liquor on the marble coffee table and filled the two empty glasses by its side. He set the bottle aside and asked as he quirked his eyebrow, “You do drink whiskey, do you?”

Jaehyun responded with a quick, “yes sir,” and Xiaojun chuckled, “No need to be so formal with me. You are about the same age as me after all.”

Jaehyun almost choked on his drink at his words and stuttered, “Y-yes if that’s what you want.” Hesitantly, he continued, “By the way...How do you know my age?”

Xiaojun chugged his drink and rather loudly before he bluntly told him that he had searched him up online, read articles about him, and even had some intel from someone on the inside. Jaehyun’s eyes widened at his last statement. He wasn’t new to this sort of investigation as he had done so himself around people he found suspicious, especially with Jaemin. But he was surprised, yet amused, that Xiaojun was that kind of person as well. 

He cleared his glass of whiskey and set it down on the table. “You seem to be a very reliable person.”

Xiaojun gave him a questioning stare as he waited for him to elaborate on his words. Jaehyun chuckled, suddenly feeling more comfortable around the man in front of him and slightly loosened his stiff body. “It’s only right to keep an eye out on suspicious people. I would.”

At his elaboration, Xiaojun’s expression seemed to change into one with slightly more approval. His cold stare shifted to a warmer gaze as he uncrossed his legs and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. His eyes first looked down at his interlocked fingers and then seriously up at Jaehyun. “What is your endgame with my baby sister?”

Jaehyun sat up straighter again and responded with slight confusion in his tone, “Endgame? I don’t have one. My love for your sister isn’t a game.”

Xiaojun smirked and asked, “Then what is it?”

Jaehyun never broke eye contact with the man in front of him and said sincerely, “To me, loving y/n is like living in a warm home. I only want to make her feel happy and comfortable like how she makes me feel. I want her to feel what being loved means.”

He hoped that wasn’t too blunt and stopped himself before he could say anything more, but Xiaojun chuckled. This time, he didn’t have an eerie smile but a genuine one. He poured the both of them more whiskey and said in a gentler yet firm tone, “You’re the first, you know.”

“The first what?” Jaehyun said a little softer, scared that that statement might hold a negative connotation.

Xiaojun peered down at his glass of whiskey, slightly moving the cup in a circular motion before setting it down without taking a sip. “Guess I don’t need this whiskey anymore.”

He looked up and saw Jaehyun’s puzzled look. “You are much more innocent than I thought,” he laughed. He sat straighter, breaking from his previous position and told Jaehyun nonchalantly, “You are actually the first to tell me something worth my time. You see...most guys that previously held y/n’s interest will walk into my door and say some bullshit. I’ve heard countless fuckers say they date my sister because she will make a great couple with them, she will light up their day, or some equivalent shit.” His eyes hardened and stared straight into Jaehyun’s. “I don’t want to hear that. Ever.” Jaehyun unconsciously gulped and Xiaojun chuckled, “But you on the other hand. You are different. While others think about themselves, you think about y/n.”

Jaehyun felt relieved but not a second later, Xiaojun gave him the same cold stare again. “But y/n means the world to me. She’s my only family and the only person I will sell my soul to protect. You got that?” Jaehyun quickly nodded in response and Xiaojun’s tone softened again. “I don’t know how far you are in this relationship, but you must know that y/n didn’t have parents growing up as they abandoned us quite harshly.” He glanced at Jaehyun’s expression and figured he knew what he was referring to. “So you do know. Well then your relationship must have been going on for quite a while…”

“Not really,” Jaehyun replied a bit hesitant. 

Xiaojun quirked his eyebrow, “How long then?”

“Technically...only a few months,” Jaehyun rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of whether he should give him all the details of their complicated relationship, “But we’ve kind of been circling around the first month…”

“Circling around?” Jaehyun gulped, afraid this would give him some negative points on his approval but Xiaojun stared intently at him and suddenly burst out laughing. He knew that his younger sister was never the one to wait for initiation. She wasn’t careful with things she didn’t care for. All her previous relationships started fairly quickly. But when y/n really liked something, she would wait, go through a ton of inner debation, and finally come up with a decision. Xiaojun knew that because she does the same with photography. She never rushes the process and would take her time finding the right angle, the right natural lighting, and the right model. She would often tell Xiaojun, “Precious moments are to be dealt with carefully because they are especially fragile.” 

Now that Jaehyun confessed the upbringing of their relationship, albeit vague, he realized just how much y/n valued this man that sat nervously in front of him. He muttered to himself both out of amusement and astonishment, “Wow y/n...So he’s the one huh?”

He stopped laughing and stared seriously at Jaehyun again, “Listen up lover boy. The reason I told you to come here was to either show you that you are not worthy of my precious sister or to beat you to a pulp if you didn’t listen like some arrogant douches I’ve encountered in her past relationships.” Unknowingly, Jaehyun chuckled at his last statement and Xiaojun’s ears perked, “Did you just laugh?”

Jaehyun’s eyes widened upon the realization of what he just did and immediately corrected himself, “No no, I didn’t mean it in that way.” He scratched the back of his neck again and continued, “I actually just,” he paused and let out a light chuckle, “I just relate to that as well.”

Xiaojun was caught off guard as he blinked in disbelief at the man’s reaction, “You what?”

A sense of respect coated Jaehyun’s tone as he clarified, “Some people call it reckless, some people call it crazy. But in the line of business I work in, those hypocritical people only fear those with the power of the fist and intimidation.” He let out a bitter chuckle and told Xiaojun, “With y/n around, especially, I just feel the need to make sure she doesn’t get hurt by ignorant people.”

Xiaojun smirked, “You’re not half as bad as I thought Jaehyun.” He smiled and continued, “Anyways, y/n may be my baby sister but ever since we were little all she has done was make sure I was happy. She took care of me more than I did with her. She supported and helped me with my Youtube career and tagged along without any complaints. And because of that, she never really had a stable place to call her home. I’m glad she was able to open up to you. She usually never tells someone about her parents until at least a year into the relationship. It shows she really is comfortable around you. And judging from the way you react to my words and actions, it seems I don’t need to play the role of a protector for her anymore. You seem to suit the role.”

Before Jaehyun could respond Xiaojun immediately cut him off, “But one more thing. As a Youtuber, I know the public forum can be harsh and the spotlight will never be easy. For that, I know the situation at the Starship Charity Ball was not entirely your fault,” His cold stare came back as he stared seriously at Jaehyun, “But don’t you ever dare forget this. When you walk out this door and go to y/n, you will do everything in your power to help and protect her. It might not be entirely your fault, but it was because of you that y/n is now in the spotlight.”

Jaehyun replied in agreement almost immediately and Xiaojun continued, “Take the consequences and make the best of it.” He narrowed his eyes and made sure Jaehyun understood his commands. “But don’t you ever let y/n get hurt by it.” He continued and emphasized his last point in a much deeper and darker tone, “You hurt my only family and I will show you no mercy. However hurt y/n becomes, I will give that back to you threefold, understood?”

“Of course! I will always be by her to protect her. No matter who or what gets in the way,” Jaehyun replied quickly and genuinely. 

Xiaojun shut his eyes for a moment and nodded, content with his response and overall behavior. 

“Effiel Tower,” he opened his eyes again and looked at Jaehyun with a soft and somewhat hopeful gaze, “She should be somewhere around the Effiel Tower right now.”

Jaehyun immediately popped up from his seat, ready to meet his love again. Before he twisted the doorknob of the hotel room, he turned around and told Xiaojun with the utmost respect, “I will treat her like my own family, I promise.”

Xiaojun chuckled and leaned against the soft pillows on the couch, “You better lover boy, my fists are ready to fight any time of the day.”

———

• Dropping a post early since I’ll be off to celebrate my bday!! •

[bitch-butter]

(Modern!AU Webgott idea. Longish? Will eventually be called true bluish light. Tell me if this is interesting lol

Rated C for mentions of Joe's poor COVID protocol)

* * *

The blackout curtains that hung over the single window in the somewhat narrow bedroom were intensely effective, shrouding the occupants of the bed in a heavy darkness that even the daylight outside could not permeate. The still potent smell of sex lingered over the room, sweat and saliva and everything else casting a gross and homey aroma over the rumpled sheets and discarded clothing along the floor. Just around the edges of the curtain was a thin, white glow, but beyond that absent suggestion of light the room remained dark and still, as though nobody was there at all.

Pulling in a deep breath, Joe admitted he really shouldn’t have been there.

Shouldn’t have stayed the night, at least, if anything for the sake of his own reputation. He’s not typically one to go full spoons with a stranger (or, practically a stranger) no matter how good the sex had been, and he’s definitely never been one to spend the night somewhere that is not his bed. He’s spent years crafting his bed, has read actual magazine articles about how to create the best, most comfortable space, and after many years of hard work he is lucky enough to have created what many have called the Coziest Place in America. Suffice it to say, he does not like to spend a night in someone else's bed and he doesn’t think he needs to apologize for it.

This bed isn’t the worst, though.

And the guy that came with it wasn’t the worst either, he had to say. Joe had been ready to delete the app that led him to this guy and his bed, but it’s funny what a ‘ping’ on a lonely Friday night after nearly a year of no sex could do. Turns out that celibacy has made him into a fucking cuddler.

He’s not all that sorry about it. Keeping his distance from contact with other humans has handily prevented him from catching COVID thus far, and not everybody in his circle can say the same thing, as Tab had caught it first out of all of them via an ill-timed jaunt to Miami and Lip had had it twice now by virtue of his shoddy lungs and over-eagerness to lend a hand to people in his building. But a year is long, and half a bottle of cold Kim Crawford accomplished a lot at diminishing his capacity to give a shit about anything other than getting some attention on his dick. As long as the guy had sworn he tested negative, which he had, and Joe himself had tested negative, which he was, he saw no reason not to waltz into a total strangers apartment to merrily screw for as long as they both could stand to.

And it turns out this guy can stand a lot.

Joe has to admit at least half the reason he spent the night was that he actually was exhausted by the sheer voracity of their fucking. They oughta hand out medals for this shit, or something.

He finds himself smiling as he lets his mind wander over their earnestly passionate exploits of just a few hours past, and proceeds to let his eyes linger on the form of his companion. Though the room outside the warm enclosure of the blankets is a little cool the guy has one bare leg stretched out along the sheets, pressed up tightly against Joe’s own blanketed legs, with the remaining covers bundled against his chest. Resting mostly sideways on his belly, his face is turned towards Joe in sleep, mashed into the pillows and yet somehow managing to look as effortlessly gorgeous as he had looked in his photos on the app. His body moves with deep breaths, the steady inhale and exhale in combination with the sheltering warmth of the blanket nearly lulling Joe back to sleep.

Nearly.

He needed to get up, at the very least to find his phone and check the time. As carefully as he could he extracted his body from the tangle of covers, stepping lightly onto the carpet with his eyes on the other guy's face all the while, mindful not to disturb him. The night before he hadn’t even bothered to check his messages before passing out, and as such headed straight for the amorphous blob of his pants that rested just a foot away from the bed, crouching and reaching into his back pocket to grab his phone.

He hadn’t told Babe where he was going, as he’d only gathered the stones to go circa 11p.m. and he figured Babe was either asleep or performing his Getting Ready to Fuck routine and wouldn’t want to be disturbed. He almost feels sorry for Babe, who had loved the idea of dating a future doctor until this year when the sexiness of it was side-swiped by the actual danger the position entailed. As such, the Getting Ready to Fuck routine had an extra layer of manic energy to it, and Joe knew better than to try and pull Babe’s attention away from the hours preceding Gene’s rare, rare, rare visits to the apartment.

Even so, the amount of message icons he was presented with was unexpected to say the least.

He raised his eyebrows, nearly humming in interest as he noted the time. Jesus Christ, these blackout curtains are really worth their salt if it was nearly noon.

Tapping into his messages, he found a trickle of anxiety rolling down his spine.

FRI AT 11:42PM

Babe

Hey where r u?

I gotta talk to you

SAT AT 12:00AM

Babe

Are you coming back?? Srs need to talk

Feb 5 12:00AM

Missed call/Mobile

Babe

SAT AT 12:02AM

Gene Roe

Hi Joe, it’s Gene. idk if i gave you my number?

Trying to get a hold of you, call/text when you get a chance

Thanks

SAT AT 12:20AM

C h u c k

Babe is trying to find you

Feb 5 12:30AM

Missed call/Mobile

Babe

SAT AT 12:50AM

Speirs Ron

Why am i getting texts at 12:45 at night asking me to find you?

Well, something is fucking happening. And he’s at least 100% sure he wants no fucking part of it because any drama that starts after 11p.m. is the drama of the goddamn devil.

Fighting not to heave an enormous sigh, Joe reluctantly acknowledges that he should pull his clothes on and get out of here if there really is an emergency in the vicinity of his roommate. Looking back over his naked shoulder Joe tries to catch a glance at the guy in the bed, at the length of his bare leg in the semi-darkness, and the angle of his shoulder protruding from the blankets where he curled. He’d happily get back in that bed and go another round or five.

As though alerted to Joe’s presence by the cosmos, his phone begins buzzing in his hand. Huffing in annoyance, he attempts to reject the call at least until he can get out of the room, but throws himself off kilter and bangs his elbow into the bedside table, jostling a glass of water and a pile of paperbacks.

“Shit,” he curses, grasping at his elbow and shooting a glance back to the guy, whose eyes are already open and alerted to the noise.

Damn it.

The guy blinks slowly, bleary, for a moment before pulling his face from his pillows and angling up onto his side. “Hi,” he greets softly, running a hand through his mussed hair.

“Hi,” Joe nods back, grimacing. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

The guy shakes his head, looking for all intents and purposes like he means it. “Not at all,” he sniffs, meeting Joe’s eyes in the darkness with a still-sleepy smile. “What time is it?”

“Oh man, it’s like noon.”

Furrowing his brow, the guy nods back before shooting Joe a wry smile. “We tired ourselves out, huh?”

Joe laughs, seeing his phone light up in his hand with a new message. “Speak for yourself.”

At the interested quirk of the other man’s brow Joe hastily gives a shake of his head and stands. “I’ll get out of your hair quick, no worries, just be a minute.”

The guy frowns, sitting up in the bed to let the blankets pool around his hips, hands coming to rest between his legs. “Oh, well, don’t feel like you have to.”

Joe pauses, pants in hand. “Oh, it’s not -”

“I mean, if you want to go then for sure, but like…” the guy waves a hand, pursing his lips before smiling and coughing out a laugh. “Are you hungry? I have eggs, I can make you something before you go.”

He hesitates, eyes pivoting from the guy, to his phone still in his hand, and back to the guy and his open, expectant face. After a moment, he clears his throat. “You know, I could eat.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I could, could you?”

The guy smiles, and even in this mostly dark room Joe can see he has dimples and has to hold himself back from practically swooning, cursing his half-drunk self of the night prior for not remembering exactly how attractive this guy was. “I could use some coffee, is what I can use,” he says, stretching his arms over his head, and Joe is treated to the sight of his bare, bitten up chest. Usually he doesn’t take much notice of his partner's body hair, but as he lets his eyes trace over the guy's chest and legs as he moves to stand he finds himself clearing his throat and getting a little warm along his neck.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” he responded distractedly, pulling his eyes away from the luscious sight of the guy's ass as he bends to retrieve his underwear and instead moving to put his own on. After a second thought he pulls on his shirt as well; might do him some good if he finds himself flushing up at just a glimpse of this guy's ass.

As he slips his shirt over his head, the guy turns to him with a bit of a sheepish look on his face. “Can I admit something?” he asks, lips scrunched.

Joe pauses, still grasping the hem of his shirt. “What?”

“I…” he starts, before chuckling somewhat awkwardly. “I don’t totally remember your name...”

A fair bit of relief surges through him at that, and Joe finds himself huffing out a laugh of his own, and adds another one at the half-embarrassed and half-expectant smile the guy gives him. “Can I admit something back?”

“What?”

“I don’t remember yours either.”

The guy's eyes widen minutely, before he tips his head back and laughs, nodding gently as he rubs a hand over his face. “Is it bad manners to say that’s a relief?”

“I think it’s alright as long as neither of us care,” Joe said, pushing his hair back, before stepping up to the guy and extending a hand. “I’m Joe.”

The guy grasped his hand in a sure grip. “David,” he replied with a little shake of their hands, before leaning in and pressing a dry kiss to Joe’s cheek. “Nice to meet you.”

Joe turned his face into David’s, catching his lips in a tender, if chaste, kiss. “Nice to meet you.”

[ichorizaki]

heather, meet heather—n.h., d.o.

pairing     nakahara chūya x reader x dazai osamu

genre     pure angst

word count     2.2k

warnings     slight blood mention, very brief; unrequited love; love triangle; pining

a/n    my first bsd piece and it’s angst! i love that for me

synopsis     you’re watching the man that you fell in love with fall for another person, but you can’t bring yourself to hate her. chūya watches after you as you pine for an unnamed man, falling for you in the process, but could never quite bring himself to hate the man.

Some people would say that falling in love with somebody was the most blissful thing that could ever happen to you. You could feel the butterflies in your stomach, fluttering and dancing whenever the person you fancy says something that makes your heart skip a beat. You could feel the way your body reacts in order to be in tandem with them, like a waltz of two souls in a garden of fairy tales. You could feel the experience of you falling head over heels with someone in the way you keep wondering how their day was, how they smile, how their eyes light up when talking about something that they adore.

You agreed with all of that. You did feel the butterflies, your body being weird, and you catching yourself wondering if Dazai Osamu wondered about you. You were head over heels for the man who was supposed to be someone terribly feared by the Port Mafia and highly respected by the Armed Detective Agency. You were just someone who happened to be friends with Osamu himself long before his days as a member of the mafia. You never even realised that you’d fallen in love with him until the day he told you that he was in love with a woman whose name you never recognised.

Did it hurt? Of course it did. Watching the person that you fell in love with fall in love with someone else was a curse that you’d never cast even upon the worst of your enemies. You helped him with a heavy heart in executing his plan of getting to know her and eventually take her out on a date. She was just an intern in the agency, helping with the ad hoc duties and she had an abundance of opportunities to be closer to him compared to you. You were just a college graduate with a master’s working full-time as a barista in a café somewhere in the heart of Yokohama trying to make ends meet. It hurt like hell to just be the person that he seeks advice from.

Every time he talked to you, the mirth and ecstasy that swam in the deep ochre pools of his eyes made you wish that he was talking about you like that. Every time he’d begged for you and Atsushi to follow him on their dates made you throw up a little bit in your mouth. You were heartbroken. You knew that Atsushi was looking at you in pity everytime you were both dragged along. You didn’t care. Maybe if you closed your eyes and wished hard enough, the girl would disappear and you’d replace her, his strong arm wrapped around your shoulder underneath the cool November weather.

You were staring into space as you dried the glassware, the store dark with remnants of the staff clearing the trash and cleaning up the café. You didn’t quite pay attention to what you were doing, the chore but a muscle memory while you were distracted with the plaguing thoughts that intruded your mind.

The woman came into the café earlier that day. Even in the midst of the rush hour, even when her order was messed up a little bit, she was patient and kind. She wasn’t everything you wished you were, but she occupied the space in Osamu’s heart and mind. You just wanted to be that person.

Your fingers slipped when grabbing a freshly cleaned cup, the glassware tumbling from your hand and breaking into pieces upon landing in the sink. Thank god you were facing the sink and it didn’t fall on the ground. It would be such a bitch to clean up.

Your coworkers asked if you were okay and if you needed help, for you were bleeding. Wait, bleeding? In a daze, you look down to your hand and sure enough there was a cut. You were pretty sure that it was the universe telling you to move on but it was not as easy as you thought it would be.

How pathetic were you, pining after a man who saw you as nothing more but a good friend? A man who wouldn’t see you as someone he’d want to spend the rest of his life with romantically?

But you’d be the devil incarnate if you ever wished that upon her. She’s . . . perfect. As terrible as it was, you hoped for her to be a bitch beneath those layers of expensive clothes. You hoped for her to be some form of possessive asshole, but she wasn’t. She’s kind, she’s patient, she’s generous, she’s encouraging, and you couldn’t sense any form of malintent from her. Neither could Atsushi. Neither could Kunikida. Neither could Naomi. Nobody could, and that’s what had made you cry yourself to sleep for countless nights.

Then came Nakahara Chūya like an angel sent from the worst part of heaven. He came into the café on one rainy day, his dark coat dripping with the tears of the sky. It made a wet, slippery trail of droplets as he made his way across the empty café before planting himself in a seat before peeling the heavy article off of his body. You would be lying if you didn’t think he was handsome. You took the initiative to summon the mop to wipe up the mess caused by the rain.

He sheepishly apologised, asking if you had somewhere he could dry off his coat. That was the first time that your eyes had met. His were the piercing grey of hardened steel, flecks of emerald splattered around the ring of his irises, and they were the most stunning pair of eyes you’d ever seen. His eyes were a huge contrast to his appearance and his personality as a whole—cold, calm, collected—but it was nothing you ever minded. For some reason, they were just as inviting as the warm whiskey gold of Osamu’s.

Of course you said yes. There was a dryer you could toss his coat in and you could brew him a warm drink for his stay. His dampened vermillion hair fell in tight waves over his face, framing his features beautifully; a stark contrast against the pale white of his skin.

“What drink would you like? You should have something warm while waiting for the rain to stop,” you offered. He kept a watchful eye on you, admiring the way you were already retrieving a small laminated piece of paper that he assumed was the menu.

“What would you recommend? I’ve never been in this part of town.”

You hummed, deep in thought. You rested your forearms against the cool wooden countertop, eyes narrowing just the slightest as you drank in his appearance. It was just a ruse for you to fully admire how attractive he is. The way that he curiously watched you never went unnoticed, his adam’s apple bobbing ever so slightly as he placed the menu down on the countertop.

“You seem like a matcha hojicha latte kinda guy,” you declared with a decisive nod. His eyebrows lifted in amusement. “That’ll be five bucks, good sir.” You cheekily grinned at him, moving to the counter on your left. He mirrored your grin. Did he think you were going to offer him a drink on the house?

Upon making his drink, you made yourself a warm drink to combat the cold interior of the café. You took a seat next to him on the other side of the counter. Seeing how there weren’t any other customers going in or out, you grasped the opportunity to get to know about him, as he did you. He introduced himself, and then talked about his day. You noticed the little quirks that he had—how his eyebrow twitches when he’s annoyed, how he laughs obnoxiously loud and slaps his knee when something tickles him funny, how he falls quiet when it was your turn to talk and how equally observant he was to your needs.

You would be lying if you said you weren’t disappointed that the rain stopped and his coat was perfectly dry and warm. He must have noticed that your mood had dampened just the slightest despite the clearing sky and warmth flooding through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the café. Chūya, ever so chivalrous, suggested to exchange contacts to keep in touch. Who were you to disagree?

After that fateful day, Chūya had taken a liking to you. There was just something about you that kept drawing him back every time. Even when he wasn’t in the area, any time he could drop by, he would. He would always order the same thing—matcha hojicha latte and a slice of matcha azuki cake—unless you’d suggest he try something new in the menu or another cake from the selection that they had.

He couldn’t get enough of you. He was always asking you about your day, if you had any plans, what show you were currently binging, and he’d always let you rant to him about even the most menial of things. There was one time, he remembers, that you ranted to him about how you saw a stray kitten so sweet and playful that it broke your heart to leave it in the streets after feeding it and playing with it for a solid hour after your shift had ended at work. It got to the point where you were full-on bawling. You were calling him, upset, a week later, saying that the kitten that you’d named Jiji, was no longer in the back alley of the store as he used to be.

“Chūya! I can’t find Jiji!” That was the first thing that you said when he picked up the call. He was back at his sleeping quarters, phone wedged in between his ear and shoulder while he undid the buttons of his vest with one hand. His eyebrows furrowed.

“Jiji?” He echoed, shrugging off the vest. He heard a sound of confirmation from you. Chūya sat down on his bed, grabbing his phone to hold it carefully against his ear so he could solely focus on you.

“The cat living in the back alley of the café,” you elaborated breathlessly. Oh. “He’s not here. What if someone took him?” You sighed heavily and he could hear you planting yourself down on the cobblestone floor. Traffic could be heard farther away from your side of the call, but it was nothing he minded because it made sure that you were in a public place and you were somewhat safe.

“If someone took him, that would be a good thing, wouldn’t it?” He tried to reason, the image of the calico—cleaned, vaccinated, sterilised, and happily roaming the halls of the building—appearing in his mind. Yep, he was the culprit. “That means that someone’s caring for him. He’s got a bed to sleep in and he’s not wondering when his next meal will be, right?”

He could practically hear you deflate at his words, the corners of his lips tugging upwards into an amused smirk. He had always found it adorable how you whined a little whenever he was right. Another heavy sigh came from your end, unsatisfied that it wasn’t you who brought him home, but you couldn’t exactly do so anyway. On top of rent and your own basic needs, you had no room to home a cat.

“Have you had dinner?” His dark silver-coated eyes flicker to the digital clock on his nightstand. It was a little past seven in the evening, right when your full shift had ended as it should. The loud growl from your stomach on the other end was enough of an answer, eliciting a soft chuckle from him. “Okay, stay there. Let’s have dinner together. That sound good?”

“Yeah. Thank you, Chūya.” He’s always loved the way that his name rolled off of your tongue, like it was an age-old remedy that breathes life and wonder.

“I’ll see you in a bit, angel.”

When he picked you up, you looked like a kicked puppy sitting by the entrance of your café. That night, he took you out for dinner and he learned a little bit more about you. As the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat, he felt his heart squeeze in disappointment when he’d found out that you were hung up over somebody else.

The thing was, he couldn’t even be mad at the person. He didn’t know who he was, nor could he give two fucks, but he wanted to be mad at the person for breaking your heart like that. Yet from the way you described him, he was just the average joe who didn’t dare to hurt a fly.

You talked about him like he was the light of your life; like he had handpicked the stars in the night sky and had carefully placed them, mapping out the ageless constellations that stared back at you every night. You talked about him like he was the sole reason for your happiness and the main cause of your despair.

Did it hurt? Fuck yeah, it did. He’s watching the person he’s in love with fall apart because of the person they’re in love with. But what else could he do but be by your side? What else could he do but help you move on from this mysterious man while he keeps his feelings for you locked away in the deepest depths of his heart, never to be touched? Chūya knew he couldn’t make you as happy as the other man could. The least that he could do was try. Even when the world tears itself apart, he’d do anything to make sure you were safe and sound. Because that’s what friends were for, after all.

[mercurysnitch]

1976 Guitar (200 follower celebration)

Summary: An Australian runaway walks into a London pub... and finds herself having a drink with the one and only Roger Taylor.

A/N: As promised, my little celebration piece. I actually started this after I hit 150 followers, but I put it aside because I wanted to work on other things, and then decided to keep it for my next follower milestone. Which ended up taking a lot longer than I was anticipating, but hey, we got here in the end. 

Just fyi for clarity, the reader here is Australian, but living in London after finishing journalism training. Yes, even in the 70s London was full of runaway Aussies. But it must have seemed a lot further away in the days before instant messaging and video chat and free phone calls over the internet.

Title is from a Skyhooks song, recorded well after the 70s, incidentally. The bits in italics are lyrics from the song. This isn’t a song fic, and I honestly can’t remember why this is set in 1976 (I think it just sort of popped into my head like that) but those particular lyrics seemed quite fitting.

Warnings: Drinking, light swearing

*********************************************************

...one night I met a girl at the Sebel bar

And she taught me how to play that 1976 guitar

London, 1976

You decided you liked English pubs soon after you moved to London. They were cosier than the airy places you were used to back home, and the clientele were a lot less rough. Most of the time.

Your favourite pub was your local, just around the corner from your poky little second-floor flat. Decent food, good drinks, and interesting people. The bands playing on Saturday nights were always worth a listen too. Tonight, though, was a weeknight, which meant you were there for a stiff drink and maybe a nice greasy pub meal.

You hardly looked at the bartender as you flopped onto a stool. He floated over almost instantly anyway. "What can I get yer?" "Whiskey please" you ordered, attempting to be polite but mostly sounding tired. The barman smiled. "Coming up." It was fairly empty in the pub, so he returned with your drink almost immediately. You smiled gratefully and wasted no time taking your first sip. But you'd barely swallowed it, still dealing with the afterburn, when you heard a huff of surprise from a neighbouring stool.

You turned in the direction of the noise to discover the source: a youngish bloke with shaggy, pale blonde hair and big blue eyes. He looked strangely familiar, but you couldn't think where you recognised him from. If you weren't so annoyed you would've been taken aback by how attractive he was. Instead you glared at him. "What's your problem, mate?" He flashed you an annoyingly pretty smile. "Nothing. Just don't see many girls drinking whiskey like that." "Like what?" you shot back. "Like they do it all the time. Suits you, though." He flashed the smile again, and you felt your anger ebbing away.

Seeing the smile again seemed to jolt your memory. "Fucking hell," you gasped, "you're Roger-" "Don't say it" Roger hissed, cutting off your exclamation. "You'll tell the whole pub and then I won't get a moment's peace all night." You immediately looked downcast. "Sorry." Roger smiled reassuringly. "It's alright."

You eyed Roger curiously. "So tell me, what's the drummer from Queen doing in a place like this?" He broke into a cheeky grin. "I could ask you the same question" he said flirtatiously. "I've had a very long day and I live around the corner" you told him. "What about you?" "We used to play here, in the early days" he explained. "I always liked the atmosphere, and the people are always… interesting."

Suddenly you noticed him eyeing you up with curiosity. "I like your accent but I don't recognise it. Where're you from?" he asked casually. "Australia" you told him cheerfully. You noticed his expression fall slightly. "Not from Sunbury, I hope" he joked. You grinned cheekily. "Melbourne, actually. But I don’t blame you for not liking Sunbury." Roger was shocked. "You know about that?" You nodded. "I was there. It was a great day, actually, for me at least." Suddenly you smiled. "Anyway, whoever thought booking Queen to play at Sunbury was a good idea clearly knew nothing about bloody Sunbury. Or Australians, frankly." Roger smiled grimly at the memory. "God that was a shit gig. Might be the worst reception we've ever had." "If it makes you feel any better I enjoyed your set" you told him softly. "Queen's just a bit too sophisticated for most Aussies, I think." "But not you?" he asked, smiling. "But not me" you agreed.

"So what brought you to London anyway?" Roger asked. "I got sick of Australia" you told him. "It's so… behind, culturally. Anyone who's a serious artist or writer or whatever buggers off to London or somewhere first chance they get. So when you're still there you feel so far away from everything, it really feels like you're at the arse-end of the world sometimes." Roger grinned. "Arse-end of the world. I like that" he mused. "But I don't think you've come to the other side of the world just because you thought Australia was boring." You stared at him crossly. "Oh yeah? Why d'you reckon I'm here then?" you asked, challenging him with a look. "I think you ran away from something" Roger declared softly. "As far away as it was possible to get, just about."

You stared at him in shock. Now you thought about it, he wasn't exactly wrong. Suddenly your expression darkened. "Well, I suppose I'm running away from my mother and her bloody expectations of how I should live my own bloody life" you grumbled. He quirked an eyebrow. "Expectations?" "She wants me to be like her" you explained. "Find a nice bloke with a ‘suitable’ job, get married, buy a house, pop out a few kids, be a bloody housewife for the rest of my days." 

"And you don't want that" Roger said quietly. He understood how it felt to choose a life different from the one your parents wanted for you. "No, I bloody well don't" you agreed. "I want to achieve things with my life, have a proper career." Your mother had told you several times that there was no point trying to advance in your job since you were just going to quit when you got married anyway. The recent feminist revolutions seemed to have entirely passed her by, but then Australian society in general did have a tendency to run a bit behind on things like that.

Roger's gravelly voice pulled you out of your thoughts. "And what might that career be?" You smiled. "I'm a music journalist. Well, I'm a researcher right now, but I'm trying to freelance a bit on the side." Roger nearly laughed. "Y'know, most music writers seem not to like us for some reason" he observed wryly. "But I get the impression you might be an exception." You grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” "Maybe I would" Roger quipped.

You both drank quietly for a while, Roger gazing at you curiously. "Y'know, you never did tell me what's driven you to drink on a Wednesday night" he commented, casually as could be. "You really want to know?" you asked incredulously. Roger nodded. "Wouldn't ask if I didn't, love." You sighed. "Well, I was supposed to have a date last night, but he stood me up, which was just a delightful way to spend an evening" you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Then this morning my boss was even more of an arsehole than usual, and I found out my article that was supposed to be published next week got pulled from the issue, so god knows if it'll ever see the light of day now. And then when I got home the disappearing date had the nerve to ring with a pathetic excuse that I'm almost certain he made up, and apparently he was blind to the possibility I wouldn’t want to reschedule the date he missed until I spelled it out to him."

Roger winced in sympathy. "Christ, that is a shitty day." “Well, it seems to have improved since I got here” you observed, flashing a sly smile. Suddenly he grinned, not bothering to be subtle about eyeing you up again, almost appraisingly this time. “You know, I could make it even better, if you’re interested” he said smoothly. You cocked an eyebrow in interest. “Oh, really? And how exactly would you do that?” “Have dinner with you” he replied, not missing a beat.

You blinked, shocked. “You want to-to what, take me out to dinner? Why?” “You seem interesting” Roger said, shrugging. “Besides, I like having company when I’m out, being alone’s not as fun.” You had to agree with him there. “So is it a date, then?” you asked, still a little uncertain about the turn your evening was taking. Roger smiled cheekily. “If you want it to be” he said. He seemed nonchalant, but you thought you detected a flicker of uncertainty under the rock-star swagger. You grinned. “You know what, bugger it. Take me on a dinner date, Roger.”

******

There were some decisions in your life you would live to regret, but going on that first impulsive date with Roger wasn’t one of them. One date very quickly became many, and before you knew it Roger was a fixture in your life. Well, as much as a touring rock star could be, anyway. You found it oddly satisfying writing a postcard telling your mother you were going out with a shaggy-haired rock’n’roll drummer, knowing he was almost the complete opposite of the sort of person she wanted you to pair up with. You’d also finally managed to get an article published in the paper, but, predictably, your mother’s response to your postcard entirely neglected that achievement in favour of detailing every reason she thought you should leave Roger and return home immediately. None of them really held much weight, and the suggestion your actions would damage your reputation back home was in your view rather forcefully disproven by the enormous quantity of messages you received from both friends and relatives congratulating you on both the article and your choice of boyfriend.

You did eventually find the things your mother wanted for you with Roger, in a way. Technically you never actually got legally married, but you were deeply committed to each other. And you did end up with the big house and the family of your own, alongside a flourishing career in rock journalism. It wasn’t always easy, juggling everything and getting people to take you seriously as a journalist, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Sometimes, just sometimes, you were just a tiny bit grateful for that shitty day in 1976.

In '74 we got tight, in '75 we starred

Then we learned to play that 1976 guitar

**************************

A/N: I don’t think there’s too many Australianisms in here, but feel free to ask if you’re confused!

Taglist: (as always let me know if you want to be added/removed/think you should be on here but aren’t - it’s been so long some tags have changed since I added them) @wandering-at-midnight @royal-avengers @trumanjo @ohmygoditsanthonyedwardstark @itsametaphorbriansblog @wineandwanderings @simplyvictoria-93 @kotoamor @j1224 @florenceivy @jennyggggrrr @mercurycrowley

[justthehiddleswrites]

Limited Engagement | Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Summary:  After your little interlude at the theater, you are hungry for more. You call Tom for a rematch at his hotel.

Warnings: Smut, Chair Sex, Teasing, strip Shakespeare

-

You spun the piece of paper in your hand as you stared at the phone sitting on the kitchen counter. The numbers scrawled in a hurried hand taunted you.

“Fuck it.” you muttered as you grabbed your phone and punched in the numbers.

“Hello?” the silken voice answered.

“Um yeah, I don’t if you remember from earlier, but I’m the girl from…” you rambled.

“How could I forget? The Shakespeare scholar.”

Your cheeks heated at his sinful tone as your mind flashed back to that small room.

“Um… well… yeah… and you said that well to call and well… here I am… calling.” You facepalmed yourself. “Idiot.” you muttered away from the phone.

“I said that. Ready for round two?”

“Sure!” your voice squeaked.

“I will text you the address and room number.” You heard his killer smile through the phone.

You grabbed an old takeout menu and pen to scribble down the information Tom gave you, and you repeated it back to make sure you wrote it down correctly. Before you embarrassed yourself any further, you hung up the phone.

Several deep breaths later and a quick shower, you headed out the door. The entire drive over, you wondered what the hell you were doing. This was Tom Hiddleston. God of Mischief. Sex in a Suit. This was a mistake. Monumental mistake. And yet, you continued on.

You parked in the hotel lot and headed straight to the elevator bank at the back of the lobby. The doors opened, and an elderly couple stepped out. You smiled as you stepped past them. If they only knew where I am heading, you thought as the gold doors shut in front of you.

The floors ticked and the ding of the doors shook you from your mind running through all the reasons why you should go home. The doors opened, and Tom’s door stood in front of you. Tom stood in the doorway. His gray henley clung to his lean frame.

“Hello.” he said with a smile. “I got some ice while I waited.”

You noticed the ice bucket in his hand. “You must be planning a big night.” He stepped aside for you enter the room ahead of him.

The door clicked behind the two of you as Tom leaned in. “Oh, I have big plans.” His voice caused your skin to break out into goosebumps. “I hope you studied.”

You turned to face him and gripped his shirt, screwing up your courage. “I hope you studied.” You gave him a little up and down before walking into the hotel room, kicking your heels off. “Ever played strip poker?”

Tom quirked up an eyebrow. “Once or twice, but what does that have to do with Shakespeare?” He moved over to a small bar and pour a drink before offering one for you. You nodded, and he poured a second one.

“Rules are simple,” you took the glass and took a sip of the amber liquid. Whiskey. “One of us give a quote. If the other can’t answer or answers wrong.” You pulled off your earrings and laid them on the table. “we remove an article of clothing.”

Tom moved next to you, fingers running the length of your bare arm. Those damn goosebumps again. “The one with no clothing loses.” He chimed in.

“Or wins. Depending on how you look at it.” Your eyes sparked with desire as Tom brushed past you to sit down on an oversized couch in the corner. “And only the plays, no Sonnets.”

Tom pouted. “Take away all my fun.”

“I need all the advantage I can take.” You sat in a leather club chair next to the couch. “I’m up against a professional.” You set your drink down on the coffee table after taking another swig.

“Ladies first.” Tom gestured for you begin as he drank a quarter of his own drink.

You contemplated your opening play. You leaned forward. “You speak an infinite deal of nothing.”

Tom rubbed his chin. “Much Ado?” his voice uncertain.

Your lips curled into a smile and held out your hand. “A piece of clothing good sir. Merchant of Venice.”

“Fuck.” Tom bent at the waist to reach the ground. “Here.” He threw his sock in your direction.

“Thank you.” You draped the sock over the arm of the chair like a trophy. “Your turn.”

“Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit.”

You furrowed your brow as you scanned your brain for the answer. Tom shifted to the side of the couch near to you. “You are mine.” He commented.

You held up a finger as you pinched the bridge of your nose. “Um… Twelfth Night.”

The smile on Tom’s face faded, and you jumped to your feet in a victory dance. “I shall return with a vengeance, your turn.” he groused from his perch.

This back and forth continued on and on. After thirty minutes, Tom was shirtless, and you sat in your shirt and underwear. Now was not the time to pull punches.

“I burn, I pine, I perish.” you quoted with a grand flourish, having finished your drink and halfway through your second.

“As You Like It.” Tom answered with a smug grin.

You pull him to standing and tugged on the zipper, palming him “These pants are mine. Because the answer is Taming of the Shrew.”

Tom’s head fell backwards, face flushed with arousal. “My mistake.” he hissed.

The pants fell around his knees, and his cock sprung free from the confines of the fabric. You glanced down and back at Tom’s smiling face.

“You’re not wearing any underwear?” Your cheeks hot.

Tom looked down in mock surprise. “It would appear so. Oops. I guess I lost.” He pushed past you to sit the club chair you once occupied. “To victor goes the spoils.” He pulled the pants off entirely, crumpling them in a pile.

“You smug bastard.” you smirked as straddled his waist. His hands gripped your waist tight.

“I might be smug…” Tom whispered as he nipped at your ear. “… But I am not a bastard.”

“If I am the victor. How come I’m doing all the work?” you commented as you ground against his hips.

Tom grinned as his hand slid across your waist to settle between your two bodies. His eyebrows raised. “Oh, you expected me to work? If you insist.”

With a swift flick of his hand, he pulled your panties to the side. You gasped as he guides himself inside you. You moaned at the action.

“Is this what you had in mind?” Tom smirked as he bucks his hips.

“Yes!” you breathed as you gripped his shoulders for support. “Fuck.”

Tom gripped your hips and rocked you in his lap. You lifted almost entirely off of him. Tom whined and hissed when you slid back down slow.

“If you continue that, this will be a brief victory ride.” Tom teased.

You giggled as you sped up, using Tom’s body as leverage. His head fell back against the chair, exposing his throat. You leaned forward to suck on his pulse point. His hands fisted your t-shirt material.

“I’m close, darling.” Tom gasped. “Do you want to cum?”

You nodded, and Tom moved to apply pressure to your clit. You soon tumbled over the edge, clenching around Tom.

“Fuck…” he whispered as he spilled into you.

The two of you stilled, breathing heavy against each other’s sweaty bodies. You groaned as you unseated yourself.

“I need to work out more.” you commented as you reach for your jeans.

“I could help with that.” Tom remarked cheekily. “Why are you getting dressed?”

You turned to see Tom’s brow furrowed. You gestured between the two of you.

“Because it is generally frowned upon to drive home naked?”

Tom stood and grabbed your hand. “What I meant was…” he pulled you close. “… why are you leaving so soon? The night is still young.”

“I don’t want to disrupt the rest of your evening. I am just taking this for what it is.”

Tom reached up to cup your cheek. “What is it?”

You turned your head to avoid his searing gaze. You feared you would lose your nerve. “A booty call. Nothing more.”

Tom leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. His kiss was so tender, you sighed against him. He pulled back for a moment. “You sell yourself short, darling. You are far more than just sex.”

Your eyes watered at his words. “But you will leave and I will be left with nothing more than a few memories.”

“Why does it have to be that way?” Tom asked, wiping an errant tear away. “Stay the night. We can talk about all this and more.”

You nodded, unconvinced.

Tom grinned as he pulled you into a tight hug. “I am enchanted by you, darling. I have no intention under the cover of night with little more than a note on the pillow.”

You gave a slight smile as his words soothed your worries for the time being. “Okay.”

“Now…” Tom ran his hand through his hair. “… I’m not sure about you, but I am famished. How about we order some food and while we wait, we test out the very large shower I have in that bathroom?”

Tom raised a knowing eyebrow.

“I’m not sure. But perhaps I can be persuaded otherwise?” you flirted.

Tom tugged your jeans downward. “I happen to be very persuasive.” Tom pulled you into another searing kiss.