#started a new job so I might be a little slow to respond to submissions right now until I adjust to the new schedule

[gothamscanner]

Umm should we be concerned about the raccoon wearing a cape and riding a dog like a horse? Though I would love to find out where he got the tiny saddle

Possibly. There are no current reports of escaped animals in the city, but there is a fair setting up in Amusement Mile. Animal Control and PD have been made aware and are going to look into it.

[mercy-burning]

Honeybee

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: While attending Seraphina's wedding, Y/N discovers that her crush on her best friend’s older brother hasn’t gone away after all these years. Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Strong language, alcohol consumption, fingering, penetrative/protected sex Word Count: 5.7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: I know I promised a oneshot over the weekend, but I’m a messy, inconsistent bitch, so you get it a day late 😅🥰

———

Looking back, I was starting to wonder if Seraphina only got engaged and asked me to be her maid of honor just to witness my slow descent into a heaping puddle of lovesick mush.

Truly, it was pathetic.

Yeah, yeah, she was getting married because she loved her fiancé and whatever, obviously, but she was also using it as an excuse to try and get me to admit my feelings for her older brother. Feelings, I might add, that only surfaced when I was a middle schooler and went away once he went off to college.

Sure, I'd thought about him on occasion when he was inevitably brought up around Sera's house throughout the years, but that was it. I'd hardly say I was hard-core in love with him. And I was totally prepared to see him for the first time since our high school graduation.

At least, I thought I was.

And Seraphina—the little shit—knew it, too. The smirk on her face the moment we were all in the same room for the first time in ten years made me want to run and hide more than her brother's figure, right in front of me and hotter than ever.

I was mad. Not at Sera as much, because really there was nothing she could do about the fact that he was her brother, but I was mad at myself. Because how in the hell had it stood to reason that a man I actively didn't think about for a whole decade had this much of an effect on me after all this time?

Honestly? I blame the FBI.

If he'd done literally anything else with his life I probably could have made it. Well, not by much if we're being honest, but come on...

Where he'd been a bit nerdy and reserved as I knew him, the man in front of me had clearly changed. Not just physically, though that was also a pleasant surprise. He looked like he'd been through some shit... And he carried himself taller. There was a new air of confidence that perched on his shoulder and helped him along as he talked with old friends and family members at his sister's rehearsal dinner.

Spencer Reid was older and more experienced this time around, and somehow even more goddamn delicious...

I was a total wreck. And it was about to get a whole lot worse.

He was coming this way. Right for me. He'd noticed me staring at him all night, because I couldn't keep my shit together, and now I was absolutely doomed.

Guess it was a good thing I'd practically grown up with him and knew how to act outwardly.

Still, the moment he was up close and flashing me that little smile of his, I felt the pit of my stomach scream out loud, sending shockwaves through my bloodstream.

"Hey, Honeybee. It's been a while."

Fuck. That fucking nickname...

"Spencer... It has."

When we hugged briefly, I tried as hard as I could not to inhale his scent, knowing that not only was that pathetic and embarrassing, but also I'd never stop smelling it otherwise. I did take note, though, of how strong he was now. He wasn't a bodybuilder of any kind, but he was certainly less bony and more defined.

I had to hold back a whine as I felt him let go of me, because I didn't want to leave his warm embrace but also because I didn't think I could stand to look at his face anymore without losing any and all semblance of my cool.

Still, I let him release me, and even then he didn't go far. We only stood inches apart, and my whole body was practically numb at the proximity. It also didn't help that I had to tilt my head up to see his face— It made me feel extremely submissive, and I could already feel myself starting to shrink.

Whether he was amused at that or just at me in general, the feeling I got was the same.

"Sera tells me you've been busy..." He paused, seemingly searching for the right word, though I could tell he already had it on the tip of his tongue. "Modeling?"

I closed my eyes with a sigh. "It was one job for some obscure European magazine, no one in the country's probably ever heard of it... It's not that big of a deal."

Spencer huffed a laugh. "You sound embarrassed..."

How was I supposed to respond to that? If I lied and told him I wasn't embarrassed, he'd figure it out, and if I told him the truth? I'd still be screwed. Honestly, my best bet was changing the subject.

Though, maybe it wasn't— When I asked him about his travels for work, he ignored it and responded with, "Ah, so you are embarrassed."

"N— I am not!"

"You changed the subject so fast I barely had time to blink... There's nothing to be ashamed of, Honeybee, I don't know why you'd—"

"Look, dude, I'm not ashamed, and I'm certainly not changing the subject. We were on the subject of jobs. So there."

I was aware of how childish I sounded, but I stood my ground nonetheless. And thankfully Spencer seemed to let it go, though not without amplifying that amused sparkle in his eye.

"Okay... Well, I've got some more people to see, but, uh... I'll see you around. Maybe you can show me some of your work."

He didn't even give me time to protest. Though if he had, I was sure I wouldn't have been able to get any words out what with that goddamned face he had, twisted and sculpted into all these beautiful ways that were designed specifically to make me a blubbering hot mess.

I could only gather the courage to nod in response, though he'd turned his back and walked away by the time I got it out.

———

All things considered, I'd managed to avoid him for the majority of the wedding festivities. I focused all my energy on being happy to see my best friend get married, and likewise it seemed that Spencer was inclined to do the same.

He walked his sister down the aisle, and seeing them both so happy truly made my heart sing. To think I'd known them since we were all kids more or less, and now they were both successful, beautiful human beings... It warmed me to my core, and despite the other flames that stung my insides at seeing Spencer in his tux, thing were going swimmingly.

That being said, we were just about two hours into the reception, and there was absolutely nothing stopping me from begging Seraphina to put me out of my misery.

Except maybe pints upon pints of alcohol.

In hindsight, that may not have been a good idea, though. Because as much as the open bar had it benefits, it also hated me. It was mostly my fault, because I was stupid enough to forget that I get frisky when I'm drunk, but that didn't stop me from blaming the bartender for continuing to serve me.

I wasn't quite at the point of all-out inebriation, but I was definitely toeing the line between tipsy flirting and total disaster.

And when Spencer came over to ask me to dance, I knew I was doomed.

I didn't find myself caring about what he was saying, only the fact that he was there, in front of me, putting his hands on me and breathing in the same air that I was putting out. My entire body buzzed, and while I would have panicked otherwise, my tipsy brain welcomed the tingle and made me a bit bolder.

"You enjoying yourself tonight?" he asked, like he couldn't already tell that I was having the time of my life.

"No way. You suck at dancing." The joke rolled off my tongue with ease, a product of years spent teasing him for countless things.

And just like all those times before, he rolled his eyes and then immediately flashed an affectionate smile all the same.

I should have stopped there, maybe tried to do something a bit more romantic like teach him how to dance... Placing his hands and fixing his posture, taking the time to gracefully have an excuse for exploring his body with my hands...

But romance took a backseat when I pressed myself in even closer to him and hummed just under his jawline. "Mmm, but I bet you're good at other things..."

I felt his hands grip my waist just a little tighter, and his throat visibly twitched. "How much have you had to drink, Honeybee?"

"Spencer," I whined, pressing my face into his neck. "Don't tell me you're turning me down, please..."

I could tell by the way he was touching me, his hands wavering and undecided, and the way his heartbeat thrummed loudly and quickly against my own that he wanted nothing more than to entertain my desires.

The thought made me quiver and press further into him. I kissed his jawline tenderly, silently begging him to whisk me away and finally make me his, but it broke my heart a little to feel him peel away from me.

When he looked into my eyes though, I swore the gleam in his own is what put me back together. It could have been the liquor swimming around in my body that made me feel lightheaded, but when Spencer lifted my chin with his fingers and looked me over, I knew that wasn't it. It was wholeheartedly, without a doubt, him.

"Tell you what... You get sobered up by the end of the night, and maybe I'll come find you."

I wanted to nod, but his gentle grip on my chin held me steady—At least until he glided his fingertips down my throat and over my shoulder. Then I downright slumped forward with a whine and a weak nod that seemed to make him smile.

"Thank you for the dance," he said earnestly, leaning forward to press the lightest of kisses to my temple.

Just like that he was gone, and I wanted him back almost immediately.

———

And so the night dragged on, and the longer I sobered up the more it dawned on me what the fuck just happened— What the fuck was going to happen, too, if I played my cards right.

It didn't help that I could practically feel Spencer's eyes on me the whole time. Probably to make sure I really wasn't drinking anymore, a fact that only made this feel more real.

On top of it all, I was starting to lose count of the amount of men here who were trying to buy me drinks. Even if the one man I really wanted tonight hadn't given me a deal, I still wouldn't have accepted them, if only for the pathetic fact that I would have been trying to catch his attention instead.

So much for trying to convince myself I wasn't in love with him...

Was that really what it was? It had to be, right?

Either way, I was determined to find out, and that meant declining every flirtatious offer to drink and dance.

Unfortunately, Seraphina seemed to notice, even on the one day in her entire life she shouldn't have been thinking about anyone but herself. "You're not having fun," she pouted, plopping down next to me and handing me a shot. "Have fun."

I laughed and set the tiny glass down on the table. "I am having fun, I'm just... tired. And being hungover tomorrow does not sound fun."

"Mmm," she responded, visibly suspicious.

I didn't really know what to say to her to convince her not to be though, so I grabbed her hand and smiled. "You're having fun though, right? 'Cause I will not hesitate to kick someone's ass if you're not."

With a bellowing laugh mildly tainted with the smell of champagne, Seraphina squeezed my hand and leaned in close. "I'm having the best time. I couldn't be happier."

"Well, good. You deserve it."

After a small moment of silent shared smiles, my best friend glanced over elsewhere and then back to me with that look in her eye that kind of scared me.

And her words were even scarier... "So, you talk to Spencer at all tonight?"

"Uh— Yeah... Briefly."

"Mhmm... Y'know, I saw you two dancing together earlier. You seemed reeeally close..."

There I was, getting defensive in front of a Reid sibling for the second time that night. And just like before, I was awful at being subtle. "Sera, stop it! It was just a dance..."

"Bullshit! He had his hands all over you, and he had that gross-ass, dreamy-ass look in his eye! He so wants to sleep with you!"

"Sera!" I gently shoved her and tried not to smile at the goofy smile she had plastered on her face.

"Am I wrong?"

"I... I don't..."

"Ha! I'm not wrong!"

The defeated look in my eye did nothing to disconfirm her story.

"So, what's stopping you from letting him?"

I went wide-eyed. "Se—You... You seriously would... You're okay with this? It doesn't... gross you out?"

There were a lot of things I could have seen Seraphina do in that moment, but pinching and yelling at me were not any of them. "Y/N! You idiot! I've been trying to get you two together for years! If I knew all it took was me getting married, I would have accepted Theo Decker's proposal..."

"Wa— In fifth grade? Sera, that wasn't—"

"I know, but you get what I mean! You two are so painfully attracted to each other, it physically hurts me. It's actually disgusting, but if it means there's a chance that you might get to be my sister? I say go for it."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "You... You really mean that?"

"What, you think I'd joke about that?"

Everything that she conveyed to me within the look in her eyes, her words, and the squeezing of her hand over mine told me she was sincere.

"I love you, you know," I told her just as sincerely.

Her smile was as radiant as ever, but the teasing tone in her voice was enough to make me scowl again. "Right back at'cha, Honeybee. Just do me a favor and don't tell me any details. I don't wanna know."

I stuck my tongue out at her, followed by a short shove. "Oh, and as soon as you get back from your honeymoon? I'm kicking your ass for telling him about that nude shoot I did for that magazine..."

She only grinned. "Why? I think I did you a favor..."

I rolled my eyes at her, but in the end, I guess she was right.

———

I shouldn't have been pacing. Really, it was pretty fucking embarrassing the way I walked in circles around my hotel room, waiting for a knock at the door or a text message on my phone, or something to let me know that Spencer had really meant what he said and was on his way to come find me.

I didn't have a single drink after we danced, and I swear to God, if he made me go through this entire night all nervous without the liquor to calm me down, for nothing? I was going to kill him tomorrow.

Later today... Whatever.

The point? I was well and truly ready to feel him taking up my personal space, and I was going to feel like a real idiot if I waited around and prepped and everything, only for him not to show. The funny thing was, it was almost two in the morning, and I would have stayed up until the sun rose for him.

Thank God he had the decency to save me the trouble.

A short two-rap knock on the door made me jump, but I ran at it full-speed, flinging the large wooden panel open and letting its momentum blow cool wind over my body. And I needed it, too.

Because standing right in front of me was Spencer Reid in all his semi-exhausted glory. His outfit was loosened, buttons undone and bowtie untied, hanging limp around his neck. His hair sat wild atop his head and a thin layer of sweat coated his skin. Maybe that last part sounded gross, but looking at him? It was anything but.

Especially when he flashed me that damned smirk. "Someone's eager..."

I tried not to sound as dumbfounded by his presence as I felt. "Well, you made me a good offer I couldn't refuse. Excuse me for being excited."

"And here I thought all this time you hated me, Honeybee..."

"That would be easier, wouldn't it?"

His grin transformed into a full-on beaming smile then, and it only made my skin feel warmer and my heart beat faster. I returned his smile with my own, so genuinely happy to see him again after all this time, and with the brightest show of happiness I'd ever seen.

Turns out, smiling like a lovesick idiot was all I was capable of.

"Are you... gonna let me in?"

The low suggestive tone in his voice had me springing into action, stepping back and allowing him the space to come in. And though he had plenty of room, Spencer still decided to brush his body over mine as he passed. His eyes bore into my own as he gently kicked the door shut and enveloped us in a dimness that came from cheap hotel lighting.

Still, I was unable to speak, and hardly able to even breathe, with each passing second.

And then, his hands were on my waist, pulling me to him with a softness that matched the whisper in his throat as he said, "C'mere..." Looking up at him then, his fingers burning holes through the thin fabric of my dress while he looked back down me, eyes swimming in tender desire... It almost didn't even feel real.

And it certainly didn't feel real when he leaned in, one of his hands coming up to touch my face while the other pressed me firmly against him.

The moment his lips touched mine, I was gone. I positively melted into him, so much so that it felt like I was just becoming a part of him entirely, losing myself in the moment and unwilling to let it go.

Even when he sighed against my lips and parted his own to kiss me deeper, I just followed suit and let him take the lead. We moved together as one, fluidly and with as much eagerness was possible. I'd wanted to get a taste of him for so long, and he obviously felt the same way, what with the thorough and precise exploring his tongue did with my own. It shot warmth throughout my whole being, and my legs threatened to buckle underneath me from how weak they felt.

Spencer seemed to understand what was happening to me, because as soon as I'd thought it, he was just as quick to literally sweep me off my feet, scooping me up bridal style and carrying me over to the large bed in the middle of the room.

"I know we're at a wedding and all, but geez," I laughed, watching as he laid me down gently and crawled over my body. "A little much?"

He only rolled his eyes. "Well, excuse me for trying to be romantic..."

"Mmm, I think you're just being an overachiever. As per usual."

That remark earned me a pinning of my wrists above my head, and the fire that erupted in my very core at my current position only cemented that this was very real.

Spencer grinned, his hips coming down to roll over mine teasingly. He spoke nice and slowly, his voice slicing through my soul like smooth butter. "Oh, Honeybee, I'll show you an overachiever..."

Once again I was rendered speechless. Not like I expected to be talking his ear off or anything, but words genuinely escaped me.

Luckily, Spencer didn't seem to mind. In fact, he knew exactly what to do next, and it made me even hungrier for him than ever before.

He captured my lips in another dizzying kiss, his hands still flexing over my wrists to keep them steady. I moaned softly and writhed against him, and though I would have liked to say that it was a conscious choice to coax him to give me more, really it was just me being unable to handle the fact that this was actually happening.

Actually, if not for the overwhelming and familiar scent of him, I would have thought I was only imagining it.

But alas, here he was in all his floral peppermint glory, grinding his hips down into mine and kissing me like I'd never been kissed before, driving me mad with each adept movement.

Thankfully he seemed to get as lost in the moment as I was, because he loosened my wrists in his grip, and I broke free, flying my hands in between us and down to his belt.

His lips pulled away from mine with a soft smack, a smile forming smugly upon them. "Have you no patience?"

As my fingers fumbled with the metal and leather, I pressed my nose to his and quickly pecked his mouth. "I thought we already established that I have no patience the moment I opened the door..."

"Fair... But still..."

Spencer grabbed my hands again, moving them to my sides and then hiking my dress up slowly. His skin was hot against my own, and it took everything I had not to break down begging for him.

And then he spoke again, his lips barely grazing mine as he did. "Teasing you is so much fun..."

I couldn't really explain what sound escaped me then, but it reminded me of a disgruntled animal, erupting from my throat and getting muffled the moment I took my hands and brought his face to mine. I kissed him fervently as his hands matched the intense nature of my affections— With every soft groan I gave him, he returned it with an inch higher up my leg, until eventually he was toying with the hem of my underwear.

Unable to take it anymore, I gave in and mumbled the most desperate plea I could think of. (Like I had to think that hard...)

"Spencer, please..."

I half expected him to tease me again, but this time I felt him tremble over my body. His fingers slipped under the satin of my underwear and he sighed into my mouth. "God, how could I ever say no to you..."

No sooner had the words left his mouth did he spread me apart with his fingertips, getting a feel for me and a broken sigh falling from his tongue and onto my own. I captured it and kissed him with as much precision as I could while under the influence of his hands working wonders.

Truly, his hands hand a magic of their own that should have been considered as an eighth Wonder of the World. They flexed in all the right places, splitting me open and caressing the most sensitive parts of me, simultaneously breaking me apart and putting me back together...

God, and those was only his hands...

The thought of what else he had waiting for me made me cry out into his mouth, though I'm sure it also had to do with the fact that his fingers were curling expertly inside me and summoning an orgasm that I knew would satisfy us both.

I almost cried out again when his lips left mine, but then they travelled to my neck and paid it the most glorious attention. The alternation of his fingers and his tongue on different spots of my body had me in shambles, and it took no longer than a few seconds to snap.

"Fuck, that's my girl," Spencer grumbled into my neck, helping me through my orgasm. "That's it, honey..."

What I wouldn't have given to hear him talk to me like that until the end of time... His words, their tone and praise seeping into my skin and bringing my soul to life... Coupled with his soft hands and his even softer breath fanning over my neck, I was just about ready to ask him to keep talking to me, to say my name and never stop.

He pulled away though, removing his hand from my lower half and bringing it up to his mouth, and I had the feeling my request wouldn't be a problem.

Spencer's eyes rolled back and his tongue gathered my arousal off his long, well-endowed fingers. And though I could hear his groan well and clear, I felt it more than anything. It reverberated through my body and brought me more to life in a way I never thought imaginable.

No one had ever made me feel that way with one single sound, and that's how I knew.

I thought I knew it from the start—from when we were growing up—that I wanted to be near him forever. But It was always just a silly dream, something I was never quite able to reach, and as I got older and we rarely saw each other, it got harder to even imagine anymore.

Now I didn't have to imagine.

Spencer Reid was right in front of me, touching me, tasting me, verbally praising me with sounds I'd only ever dreamed of...

I wanted him to have his moment, because I was positive he'd wanted this just as much as I did, but this sappy sort of revelation I was having made it nearly impossible to not be utterly wrapped up in him, and I wanted more.

So I wiggled and adjusted myself underneath him before grabbing his hand and placing it over my heart. His eyes widened softly at the sight of me, and I knew then that he was taking the time to memorize my face, and the image of his hand resting at my chest, right where my heart was encased beneath bones, flesh, and fabric.

"I could look at you forever," he whispered then.

I would have been ashamed to admit that I whimpered when he said it, but the way he looked at me afterwards made me feel the exact opposite.

He smiled, using his other hand to come up and touch my face. "You want it bad, don't you, Honeybee?"

I didn't even argue with him this time. My head nodded and my hands reached out to pull him closer. "I want you... More than I've ever wanted anything."

Before he leaned down to kiss me, I could have swore he looked like he was going to shed a tear. The duality of him, his ability to be all teasing and cocky one second and then reduced to a lovesick mess at just a few words from me the next, made my heart sing.

And it kept singing, a sweet, steady melody as Spencer kissed me and touched me like he meant it.

Only this time, he didn't pause or tease me with theatrics. He went straight for the kill, fetching a condom from his pants pocket and then sliding the material down, all while keeping me trapped under his embrace. I welcomed it naturally, humming happily into his neck and jawline and anywhere I could reach as he got us both fully undressed and situated, until finally he had the condom on and his hands rested nicely on either side of my head.

"Promise not to sting me?"

I laughed, draping my arms over his shoulders and flashing him a wink. "Mmm, only if you promise to give it to me good..."

"Deal."

He slowly pushed into me then, and the stretch was far more satisfying than his fingers, though I was in no position to complain either way. If he was even half as skilled with his hips as he was with his hands (which I had no doubts about whatsoever), then neither of us had anything to worry about.

It didn't take long for us to find our rhythm, but I didn't have time to think about that. I was so consumed with just the feeling of him being everywhere that technicalities didn't matter.

That being said, the technicalities were really fucking good.

His hips snapped into mine with sharp precision, and I felt it deep within my bones. My cunt clung around him willingly and accordingly, as did my legs, which hooked over his waist as I dug my heels into his ass.

Meanwhile Spencer grabbed my hands and pinned them above my head again, this time interlocking our fingers and then leaning down to kiss me deeply. It was met with my undying welcome, of course, but with the way he was fucking me, deep and with a devotion that nearly exploded my heart, I couldn't help but whine out for more.

His name was all I could manage.

"What do you want, Honeybee?" he cooed, holding himself deep inside me and grinding his hips in small circles that made it harder to breathe.

"M—More... I..."

"Can you be more specific?"

How he could be such a cocky little shit in this moment I wasn't sure, and it frustrated me to no end. He knew damn well what I wanted, and I knew just the thing that would make him give it to me.

I have him the biggest pout I could, also whining out the most pathetic, "More," in my arsenal. And with a roll of my hips up into his, I gasped out at how deep he got, and whined out again.

"Spoiled brat," Spencer grunted in defeat, retreating only to slam into me at full force.

My small gasps and cries turned into full-blown howls of searing pleasure as he fucked me then. My head tipped back and my back arched slightly, exposing my neck and chest to him, and he took it as an invitation to lean down and put his mouth anywhere he could reach. I was sure there would be small nicks and bruises littered over my skin the next morning, and just thinking of everyone seeing them, seeing Spencer's mark on me, made it harder to prolong the inevitable.

I came with a shout, flexing my hands into his as my body tensed then relaxed, over and over while he whispered praises into my skin. He followed soon after, shoving his face into my neck and muffling the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard as he came.

By then his hands had loosened, so I snuck my own away from his and brought them over to hug him close. One hand knotted into his hair while the other grazed over his back. The thin sheen of sweat forming over his skin once again was more enticing than it probably sounded, but I loved it all the same. I felt him relax and bring his arms down to rest at my sides, his fingertips dancing lightly over my skin and giving me goosebumps.

Then out of nowhere, he said something that confused and mildly panicked me. "I thought you said you wouldn't sting me..."

I pulled away to try and look at his face, loosening my grip on his body. "A—Am I hurting you? I'm sorry..."

He laughed though, peppering tiny kisses up my neck until he got to my jaw. "You're not hurting me, Honeybee... You've just... stung my heart, that's all."

"I... Is that a bad thing?"

"It's a strange thing..."

He looked at me like I was the one thing on the planet he adored, but his words sounded different.

I raised an eyebrow. "You're not helping me understand..."

With another laugh, Spencer Kissed my cheek and rolled off of me, settling for laying on his side and turning me to face him. "Do you remember how I gave you your nickname?"

Despite my confusion about all of this, I entertained him with a huffed laugh. "Yeah, I spilled honey all over my shorts without realizing it, and I had ants all over me in a matter of minutes. I was terrified."

"I was highly amused."

I shoved him. "Yeah, dork, I know you were! You and Seraphina both thought it was the funniest thing on the planet, and then your mom had to come out and spray me down with a hose before I came back in the house."

Spencer barked a laugh, and I wanted to punch it right out of his mouth.

"Tell me again why this is relevant to our current situation?" I reminded him with and sigh, already over his antics.

Thankfully he seemed to take pity on me; He reached a hand out and played with a strand of my hair, smiling even brighter than when I opened the door for him. "That's when I started to feel it. You were just... so cute all angry at me and Sera for laughing, and it... It changed everything."

"You know, that would be more romantic if I hadn't been covered in bugs," I responded with a laugh.

"It's true! And it confused the hell out of me, because how was I supposed to cope with the fact that I actually had a crush on my little sister's best friend like some stupid cliché? You were always so feisty after that, too, and it certainly didn't help... And when I graduated and went off to college, I thought... I thought there was no chance you would ever be able to break the heart you'd managed to steal."

He swiped his thumb gently over my bottom lip and smiled, his eyes going all tear-y again. It sent butterflies through my whole body.

"I would never even dream of breaking your heart, Spencer..."

Our foreheads pressed together then, and the unwavering adoration in his voice when he spoke made me forget all prior confusion and minor embarrassment over re-living our origins.

All that mattered was that he was here, holding me in his arms and making me feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

"I know you won't, Honeybee."

———

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[all-about-seggs]

Taming of the Lion-

Pairing: Timeskip! (Model) Lev Haiba x femme! Reader

Warnings- CBT, dom Reader, a bit of power play, handjob.

A/n- This is my delayed contribution to the Hard at work Collab that I was really looking forward to until college say no😞. I'm sorry for the disappointing work.

"Miss y/n is ready to see you now", the sharp looking secretary politely gestured towards the classy mahogany door that opened to show the office of the current CEO of a high end fashion brand that was ruling all the gigantic billboards of Russia these days.

Today was the first interview, the first meeting infact that you allowed to get an over-all idea how this investment would go should you decide to work with him. The post as its brand ambassador was not yet given to Lev but his puffed chest and confident smirk would suggest otherwise.

He entered with the same unreasonable confidence that he carried since highschool, bright green eyes that seemed to sparkle when catching light and a haughty smirk.

Lev didn't missed a beat when he saw your table stacked with the magazines he was doing the front cover for.

" Amazing aren't they?!", His bubbly excitement surface in a second and it took a few moments for you to register his child like response.

Even though you didn't judged him based on how he looked on the photos you still didn't expected him to be a himbo with no sense of self restraint. But he appeared to be oblivious to your shock and went on.

" This one was just a gig my sister got me when I was just starting out but I bet you can't tell me apart from a professional huh, oh and this one is-," he giddly pointed to one picture after another telling you all of their history and after a few minutes your patience ran out.

Shoving those magazines aside you got to the point.

" How far are you willing to go for this job?", A little suggestive based on the interpretation but you tested him anyway, eyebrows raising as if to urge him to respond.

" I'm not sure I understand.....", Seeing him genuinely perplexed you put your elbows on the huge glass table and rested you chin in your palms before speaking.

" One thing is clear to me and it's that you, Mr. Lev, are still an ameture who lacks experience. So how much are you willing to give to this job?"

" Well it should go without saying that I'm always ready to learn new things and tricks! And just because I'm young doesn't mean I'll do a sloppy job", his pout and way of speaking was crude but it had a certain charm. The kind of pureness that doesn't come by all that often and a sudden need to whip him into a shape you saw fit was already making its way into your head.

" Then let's start you lessons right away, shall we?", Leaning back on your chair you pointed at his clothes before speaking.

"Strip.", You thought he'd atleast argue a little first but at soon as you lifted your eyes he was already halfway naked. Your lips quirked in a natural smile, watching his sculpted body in the bright top floor of the office buliding. Not a shy boy atleast, you thought.

Living in the glamorous world of fashion you encounter more than a few people wanting to please you to get in your good side but this was one of the few instances where you felt like indulging in for yourself. And you had the power to get what you wanted and the person in front of you was just waiting for you to devour him at any given moment.

"You have pretty knees, all unblemished and unrealistically perfect. I'll try not to ruin them too much", with that you casually stood up from your leather chair and walked towards the last shelf of your office's mini library.

Without looking back you continued, " You see, Lev, if you want to really understand the inspiration behind my brand then you have to experience first hand submission. Afterall, it's made for women of the highest class and positions. The kind of women", Turning around you see him awkwardly covering his thick member,

" that doesn't bend for anyone". Lev atleast got the gist of your innuendo by now, but his habit of diving headfirst into an unknown situation was proving to be rather scary as soon as he saw you pull out a few metal and plastic items that appeared to be sex toys from the middle of the shelf lined with magazines and books.

"Hmmmmm, not bad", words of appraisal fell from your lips as Lev's toned body was displayed out in front of you to admire from an even more closer space, shamelessly so. From his pretty pink nipples to his equally pretty cock you drank in all his details before whipping out your gear.

"Well now, it's bigger than I thought..... This Ball stretcher might not fit afterall," eyeing his cock you quickly look over to the toy in your hand before deciding to givi it a try after all. As Lev saw you approach him with a frighteningly slow pace he backed up a little.

"Do- Do I really have to do this? I doesn't look like it'll fit!", His hesitant voice now contrasted with the self assured tone that he carried before and the helpless look in his emerald green eyes only made you want to play with him further, afterall, it wasn't everyday a mere model piqued your interest like he did and you didn't mind having a pet for entertainment purposes.

"Ofcourse. If you can't even handle this much then how do you intend to please the millions of women out there who like and endorse my brand?", Finally cornering him in a place you nonchalantly grab his balls to fit the toy in hand and soon his soft balls were under the metallic ring that stretched them nicely. He kept jolting at the slightest brush of your hands against his bare skin and you lightly slap his hardened shaft.

His moans were like little squeeks and it was starting to arouse you, the submissive nature of which encouraged your sadistic streak. Caressing his balls a little more you lead him towards the low coffee table.

"On your knees", on the plush carpet underneath, you asked Lev to show his cute ass.

Down on the floor, Lev bend forward until his face and chest touched the ground. His ass up in the air, like a piece of art his every muscle glistened in the morning light, illuminating his porcelain skin. You kneel down behind him to give his ass cheek a firm slap, making him jolt a little from the stinging pleasure, the metal rings wrapped around his balls adding to the impact.

It was adorable, how someone of his gigantic size and stature was now below you mewling like a kitten. You gently touch the sensitive tip of his cock, already hard and ready to be used as you wished. Grazing a thumb over his leaking precum you lubed your fingers enough to strok him without causing friction burns.

"How would you like it if I took a photo of you right now. Face down and ass up like a slut who just wants to cum?" Your authorative voice bommed in his ears and he was blushing all the way to his neck by now.

You disregarded the few incoherent sounds he made and grabbed his shaft and started stroking him roughly. In circular motion, your hands that barely wrapped around his thick cock moved up and down in a vigorous speed. You could feel him tremble beneath your hands, his member throbbing in your hand and the constant pleas to let him cum was a brilliant sight to behold.

His balls felt heavy due to the toy and Lev's orgasm equally intense left his entire body shaking violently. If the office walls weren't as expensively thick as they were his high pitched screams would've probably knocked out a few unsuspecting workers off of their seats.

The place below his softening cock was wet with his cum, the thick white fluid soaking through the fabric of the carpet and you could already imagine ordering him to lick it clean while you watched. The things you wanted to do to him. The things you wanted him to do to you but the train of you fantasies was soon cut short when you suddenly hear a knock on your door.

Your assistant called to remind you of your next appointment and a frown quickly made its way onto your face and you begrudgingly lift head, only to see his eyes still dazed from your previous session. He seemed like he was still alert enough to process the situation so you tried to push his limits a bit more.

Tugging him by his hair, you tilt his head back to look at his spent face, "Now let's get you dolled up for round two shall we?", His beautiful swollen lips formed a soft smile before speaking

" So I got the job right?".

[ineffablebooklover]

So commissions are gonna come pretty slow, I have to do this all on my phone now sorry about that! Here is part 2 of...

The Crow Cafe Coffee Shop AU~ with the Crows, Ronmione, and Drarry -for @yarn-yogi

Chapter 2

Harry’s stomach turned with dread as Mr. Malfoy went to order, leaving Draco in his wake. “Oh if it isn’t Pottah and his friends!” Malfoy sneered, strutting in. “Studying so early with your gang, eh?” He turned to Hermione. “I thought you’d run back to where you came, but alas, you’re still here, trying so hard!”

(authors note: Hermione is Latina in this fic because I want to and also to show that the Malfoys are racist as heck)

Wylan looked up from his sketchbook, a little uncomfortable.

“Drop it, Draco. I’ve lived here all my life, and I’m not leaving because you don’t like me,” Hermione fought back.

Draco scowled, turning back to Harry. “You just need to stop hanging out with the wrong sort,” he said, glaring at Hermione and Ron. He gave Ron a once-over, scrunching his nose at the hand-me-down jacket and well worn shoes. “This one probably made you pay for that coffee, didn’t he, Potter?”

Wylan looked towards Jesper, then back to the four students, then back to Jesper. Jesper rolled his eyes. Inej glared at Draco, but had to continue to serve his inattentive father.

“They’re my friends, Malfoy. It would be good for you to remember that you’re not.”

Draco looked just about ready to stab someone. “So stupid, Potter. Who knew you-“

“Well are you going to order something, or are you just going to flirt all day with that poor boy over there,” Jesper cut in, suddenly right behind Draco, a cup of coffee in his hand.

Draco stuttered and blushed. “Flirting?? I’m not flirting.”

Hermione and Ron giggled, Harry said nothing.

“Trust me,” Jesper said. “I know flirting when I see it. I’m what you call a pro. But honestly, ‘bullying into submission’ is never the best way to go. Anyways, coffee?” Jesper grinned.

Malfoy was speechless, as if having an internal crisis. He didn’t want Potter like that, right? Right? The moment he asked himself that question, he wasn’t so sure anymore. He stormed out of the coffee shop, slamming the door.

Mr. Malloy noticed, grimacing and without grabbing his coffee, stormed out after Draco.

Jesper grinned, looking back to Wylan, who mouthed ‘thank you’ under his breath.

Kaz suddenly sauntered out from the back, cane clacking ominously on the ground. “Scaring away the pigeons, Jesper?”

Jesper gulped, taking a sip of his coffee. “Uh- no boss.”

Kaz raised an eyebrow, looking at the Malfoys, who were basically running away from the shop.

Jesper stuttered. “Well- he wasn’t going to order anything anyways,” Jesper said, starting to sweat.

“Actually,” Wylan said, speaking up for the first time that day. “I was just going to order another coffee,” he smiled at Jesper.

“Me too,” said Harry.

“I think I’ll need another coffee for the notes McGonagall just posted,” Hermione replied.

Ron looked at Hermione, confused. “But she hasn’t posted-oof.” He got an elbow to the ribs. “Right uh- I’ll have a pastry.”

“Awesome!” Jesper said, bouncing on his toes. “See boss? No business lost,” he grinned nervously, running over to the counter to put in the orders, but Inej already got it down, giving them both a thumbs up.

Kaz just shrugged. “Interesting way of doing business, but go for it.” Then he went back into the back room, cane clicking away into the distance. Jesper breathed out a sigh of relief, looking towards the four students.

“Thank you,” he smiled, having Inej ring up the orders.

The three study wizards turned to each other. “‘Flirting’? That’s a new one,” Ron chuckled.

“Oh hush Ron!” Hermione whacked Ron’s arm with her notebook. “Malfoy is just being an arse.”

“Well I mean if you think about it, Malfoy seems pretty obsessed with you Harry,” Ron pointed out, getting another smack from the notebook.

Harry rolled his eyes. “But the barista is right. He can’t just go around and bully people, no matter what the circumstance.”

Jesper popped up behind Harry, grinning. “Why thank you! I pride myself in my smarts. I have two coffees and a pastry for you three?”

He dished out the order and sighed, looking over to the side. “No matter how cute, getting to know the person is the first step.” He stared longingly at the boy with ruddy curls for a good 10 seconds. “So I’ll go do my job, enjoy the breakfast!” He rushed out, skipping away, ruffling the pale boy’s curls, then staring at him longingly from behind the counter.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at eachother, then burst out in giggles. “Who would want to get to know Draco though?” Harry chuckled.

“Wait so you think he’s cute?” Hermione shrieked.

~•~

Jesper fished around for the customer’s order when he stumbled upon a slip of paper in his pocket that he was sure wasn’t there before. It contained a phone number, and a name, ‘Wylan’.

Jesper scrunched his eyebrows, confused, then looked over at Inej, who was smirking at him. He showed the crumbled slip to her.

“His name is Wylan, and that’s his phone number,” Inej told him, a grin playing on her lips.

“Wait wait wait… Wylan? As in, consistent customer who I brought coffee to this morning Wylan? As in cute guy Wylan?”

Inej bobbed her head up and down and explained as Jesper’s eyebrows went past his forehead. “I told him it was for a rewards club at the cafe. I may have done the front work, but you get to do the real work now.” She nodded towards the paper. “No need to thank me.”

Jesper still bounced up and down, squealing as he hugged Inej. “Screw that, thank you Inej! What would we do without you, right Kaz?”

Inej turned and Kaz was behind them, his resting frown on full blast, the foundation of his face. He just looked away, a slight tint of red on his cheeks.

Jesper shrugged it off, and with one last thank you to Inej, went off to make coffee for the next customer.

Once the crowds died down, Jesper typed the number into his phone. He thought for a bit, then leaned on the counter as he started to type.

“Hey Wylan! This is a Crow Cafe rewards club notification! just kidding, it’s jesper, the cute barista. anyways, how are you?”

It was about 20 minutes before Jesper got a response, almost dropping his phone from taking it out so fast. “I’m okay, thanks. How about you? And how did you get my number?”

“the rewards card scam. inej (the other cute barista, not as cute as yours truly, though kaz would disagree) is very smooth when she wants to be.”

“Oh, okay. That makes sense.”

“and why do you type with caps?”

It took a while for Wylan to respond. “I guess I just never turned off Auto-caps.”

Jesper thought out a response, then typed in, “well, I guess that just adds more layers to that pretty personality of yours ;)” He congratulated himself on the alliteration and clicked send.

There was a typing bubble, then it was gone, then it was typing again. “Is that a winky face?” Jesper smirked.

“Who are you texting during work?” Came a deep voice, and Jesper jumped to attention.

“Uh… just Wylan, my hopefully future boyfriend.”

“But Wylan can’t- well I guess there’s a feature for that now,” Kaz mumbled to himself. He looked back up to Jesper. “Orange hair, freckles, that kid?”

Jesper nodded. “That’s him,” he smirked. “And what did you mean by-“

Kaz just harrumphed. “He’s good at numbers, that might come in handy. Very well, carry on. But if a customer catches you on your phone, I’m taking it and you can kiss Wylan goodbye during work.”

“Yes boss,” Jesper chuckled nervously, then Kaz went back to the back room to do whatever Kaz Brekker does in the back room. Jesper got laser focused back to his phone.

“maybe it is ;)”

end of Ch2!

I might just try posting this on AO3 on my phone then updating there, we’ll see how that works out… anyways I hope you enjoyed this little segment!

also does anyone know how to put the little ‘keep reading’ thing on long posts so people don’t have to scroll past the whole thing if they don’t want to?

Up next… In The Heights nightmareAU

have a nice day :)

[gallickingun]

remember me || t.a.

SUMMARY: Tamaki Amajiki saves a civilian. He doesn’t expect her to buy him coffee and teach him about the wiles of floral culture.

PAIRING: Tamaki Amajiki x Fem!Reader  RATINGS: T+ WARNINGS: mild violence and language, etc.  WORD COUNT: 6.9k+

LINKS: ao3 | masterlist | mobile | writing tag

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* TAG LIST *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ is at the end of this post!

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is my first submission for the @bnhabookclub​ provisional license event! if you want to participate, here is the post! and if you want to apply for the server, here is the application!! 

i have to get sappy here for a second. i had 2 panic attacks while writing this because i was so self-conscious, so riddled with doubts about a. was i getting tama’s character right b. was i even on par with the great and wonderful writers of this fandom and c. am i proud of this? eventually, after talking it through, i realized that it doesn’t matter how i measure up to everyone else. i should be writing this because i want to, and because i’m enjoying myself. so, special thanks to @freckledoriya​ and @k-atsukidayo​ who have once again been my lifeline. i love you guys ♡

if you like this, feel free to request more HERE!

Tamaki Amajiki had never given flowers much thought.

He usually passes by the windows of a floral shop and notices the blossoms just enough to smell the variance of air – from stale to sweet – and then he moves on, not much effort spent towards the colorful display of petals in the open windows.

But now, after finding you, he cannot stop thinking about the way they bloom.

“Columbine,” your eyes light up, thumbs pressed to the dark red petals, “they are used to symbolize anxiety.”

Tamaki’s eyes graze over the flower, wondering how you could know so instantly that he might connect with this specific budding plant. The tether he feels to it is strange, something particular but also aloof – as if he could not place it if he tried.

Anxiety is something very relevant to Tamaki’s life, a demon he has struggled with every day since he could comprehend the reason his stomach tied into knots, the worry he keeps pent up in his chest burning ulcers into his belly. He wraps his arms around his waist at the memory of meeting you, the way his entire body was wrought with anxious thoughts, mind unable to comprehend the extent of your impact on him at the time.

You tilt your head as if able to realize that his mind has begun to spiral, “We don’t usually add these into bouquets, but something about them is just so beautifully broken, I can’t help but fall in love.”

It is a typical day on patrol when he first stumbles upon you, nothing special or out of the ordinary, not really.

Tamaki has been working under Fatgum’s agency for a few years to date, and he’s comfortable with the route that he’s been assigned, a routine he has held since the beginning of his deployment. The elder hero understood from the very start that Tamaki tends to try and avoid social interaction. In response, Fatgum made sure to create a patrol route so Tamaki could walk the least populated paths while also providing an effective amount of protection to the community. It’s the least he could do for the young Suneater, a new hero steadily climbing the charts despite his difficulty in speaking with the press outlets.

Some days Tamaki will try to stop by various vendors’ carts, eating foods that will create good manifestations for his quirk or just to support the local economy. It also allows him to try and force himself to have a discussion, even if there isn’t much substance to it, trying to grow more familiar with the ideology of small talk. He’s decided that he is going to stop by his favorite sushi bodega today, already thinking up his lengthy sashimi order as he starts towards the food stand.

And then he hears someone cry out.

Tamaki races in the direction of the distressed sound, channeling his quirk as he rounds the corner. The tentacles that are thanks to the octopus he regularly incorporates into his diet are extended from his fingertips, ready for action as soon as he skids to a stop in the street.

Your body is pressed against the wall of the alleyway, face cut by the brick beneath your cheek. You connect your gaze to his, your brilliantly shining irises seeking him out like a moth to a flame. Tamaki can’t help the way his chest constricts at the sight of such a helpless person, and then his heart lights on fire when he sees the burly man currently trying to take advantage of you. He snarls, digging his heels into the concrete, tentacles growing straight from his fingertips.

Before you can part your lips to try and beg for help or mercy, Tamaki is landing a swift blow to the thug’s head, successfully knocking him unconscious to the ground. You clasp your freed hands around your neck, coughing violently as you bend over at the waist, stars in your eyes and shards in your throat. A thin river of tears streams freely from your lids, and when you’re able to look back up at him, you’re far from embarrassed.

“Th-Thank you,” you manage, voice hoarse. You lick your lips and swipe your hands at your face to rid your skin of tears and snot, “Seriously. That guy-he came outta nowhere!”

Tamaki finds the adrenaline of the short-lived skirmish to have fled from his system, leaving behind only the crippling anxiety that makes him blush from head to toe. He swallows the growing lump in his throat when he realizes he’s been staring at you without responding for at least a full minute now. Your hands are shaking and your shoulders quiver, but Tamaki is frozen in place, feet unable to start towards you.

Fatgum taught him how to comfort civilians, but he’s never been good at it, and the way that you look at him like he hung the moon in the sky does not make the encumbrance of his task any less intense. He knows that the objectification and idolization of heroes is inevitable, no matter how poorly he projects himself onto the public. The reality of it all only does more to constrict his throat, the familiar shroud of apprehension blanketing his body and curling around his spine like a snake. It slithers its way up into his throat until he can’t breathe, tongue deadweight in his mouth.

“Black-eyed Susan,” you muse, plucking a set of three yellow flowers from a vase not too far from him. You turn the buds between your thumb and index finger, the canary-colored blossom blurring in midair as Tamaki tries to stay focused on it. He’s not so close with you that he can smell your perfume, a distinct scent even when you are hidden amongst the blossoms in the greenhouse, but near enough that your presence is dizzying.

It is hard to focus anyway, what with the way your eyes are sparkling under the lowlights of the greenhouse.

You bring the bright flower toward your face and scrunch your nose as you sniff it, eyelids fluttering closed in bliss, “They’re used to express a fierce sense of justice. Usually, we use these in our arrangements for hero galas and festivals.”

Your eyes turn to him, connecting with his violet irises as a smile tugs the corners of your mouth upward, “Don’t you think they’re stunning, Tama?”

For some reason, when he answers, you can’t help but feel there’s a duality to his words, as if he is saying one thing but meaning something else entirely. Tamaki’s eyes are trained in on your face, not the flower, and his lips move in slow motion, like syrup dripping from his tongue, “Oh yes,” Tamaki is close to smiling, “quite stunning.”

You return to your arrangement and begin to hum a gentle melody between heavy breaths as you meticulously place the flowers in their perfect order. The way your brow furrows, creases ever-present on your forehead, draws Tamaki’s attention.

For a fleeting second, he wonders if he were to press his mouth to your worried skin, would you find yourself able to relax? To allow your body to melt into his touch?

“U-Uh, yeah,” he forces the words out, a hand brushing the back of his neck to try and relieve some of the tension he’s feeling. Tamaki adjusts his cape, taking a step forward, just like Fatgum taught him in his earliest days of training. He reaches out his hand for you to shake, but you’re fumbling towards him to capture his frame in a hug before he can make sense of what is going on.

You cup his face in your hands as you pull back to look him in the eyes, completely oblivious, it would seem, to his current state of panic, “Thank you so much! You’re Suneater, right?”

Tamaki gulps down what is left of his dignity and nods in silent confirmation, eyes a little glossy as he gazes over your face. He takes in your features, noting the slope of your nose and the bow of your lips, and he wonders if he’s ever seen anyone as pretty as you before. Normally his body would turn him to mush at the mere sight of a person such as you coming so close to him, but there is something different about your aura, the way you carry yourself.  Your hands pull from his face, and he can’t help the manner that his body follows you, desperate for more.

Just as he’s coming to his conclusion about your beauty and grace, he realizes that you’re talking again, lips moving animatedly. Only this time, you aren’t speaking directly to him. You’re on the phone with the local police, letting them know that there’s been a low-level thief apprehended in the streets.

Tamaki is in awe of you – absolutely shocked at your ability to take charge of the situation, to hold onto it with an iron grip and make it your own. He should be the one alerting the cops, giving them an address and a rundown of what’s happened – that’s his job. And yet, here you are, phone to your ear and authority in your voice, detailing the scene down to the hair and eye color of the perpetrator currently propped up in the alleyway. He’s still unconscious, with his head lolled to the side with tongue protruding from his mouth.

Amajiki’s jaw is hanging just slightly, you notice, so when you step forward, crowding his space all over again, you nudge his chin with the crook of your thumb. A gentle giggle parts your lips, your head tilted in such a way that reminds him of a curious young animal, “Do you want to stop in at my shop? The police said they should be here any minute.”

“Y-Your shop?” he stutters, eyes flitting around to the different curbside stores on the strip of the road in an attempt to pinpoint the building you might be speaking of. He sees a few food stands and a bodega selling travel brochures, but nothing that screams you.

Although, does Tamaki really know enough about you to determine what kind of shop you might own or manage? He chastises himself for jumping too far ahead, his intense and sudden feelings forcing his heart to tumble over his inhibitions.

The habit of his emotions leaping into his throat is one he has struggled to curb for years now – he’s fully aware of his naturally forward-thinking spirit. He can take one action, one string of words, and force it into a new, paradoxical reality which he has fashioned all on his own in a matter of moments. The fabric of this new world is woven so intricately that it’s difficult for him to pull himself out of it, the alternate universe sucking him in and creating a vortex in which his mind can play.

You nod, grabbing your phone out of your pocket and unlocking it quickly, heading to your pictures folder for something specific. The split seconds in which you are distracted give him time to pull himself out of the recesses of his mind, to mend the fabric of time to bring him back to the present. You proudly hold the device up in his face, and he blinks harshly so he can focus.

The photograph on your screen shows him a rather familiar front display stand, dozens of budding flowers framing a beautifully crafted window sign that he’s seen every day since the start of his time at Fatgum’s agency. Tamaki tilts his head, trying to take in the store fully before he admits that he patrols by your flower shop consistently.

His head spins – he can’t believe he never stopped into your store before. Could he have met you a long time ago? Could he have seen you every day for the past few months, getting to learn your favorite flowers and flavors and the specific perfume you wear to smell so enticing? Another question plagues his mind – would you have stopped to give him the time of day had he not met you by saving your life?

“Oh,” he forces himself to speak, to dislodge himself from his tumultuous thoughts, “I-I’ve seen that shop before. You own it?”

You’re looking at the photo now, marveling at it with proud, shining irises. The picture distracts you from his enlarged pupils and blushing cheeks, and he’s thankful for the reprieve of your daunting gaze. Tamaki takes advantage of the seconds of your distracted scrutiny to map out your frame again, attempting to commit as much of you to memory as possible, given the short amount of time he has with you. He swallows the lump in his throat, licking his dry lips when you shove your phone back into your pocket, and he must refocus his eyes on some facet of your face other than your lips.

“There’s an adjoined coffee shop just to the left of it.” You’re smiling at him, and Amajiki thinks his heart is going to beat right out of his chest, flesh bruised from the intensity of its ministrations underneath the skin of his pectoral. The beginnings of a bashful tinge of pink warm your cheeks and ears, and Tamaki speculates whether your body is reacting to him or the heat of the afternoon. You lick your lips, “We can grab a scone and a cup of coffee if you like? My treat since you saved me.”

Tamaki is immediately refusing, holding his hands up as he shakes his head, ducking away from you entirely. “No, n-no, I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

Your lips are pulled downward in a pouted frown, eyes losing a little of their luster. Tamaki regrets instantly that his mind is so tied down to the rules, the reality that: “Heroes aren’t supposed to accept bribes, gifts, or rewards in any form.”

You are twirling a different yellow flower between your fingers – this one is much more fragile in nature. Tamaki eyes the papery blossom and ponders the antiqueness of its appearance, as if it were meant to be made into outdated floral prints on fine china.

Your eyes are focused in on the center of the bud, narrowing just enough that he can tell you’re trying to concentrate, “These are yellow carnations. Carnations can mean so many different things – red for heartache, white for innocence, pink for the reality of being unable to forget someone – but yellow, wow yellow is something much more draining, exhausting.”

Tamaki is scooting closer to you, his body drawn in by the tone of your voice, “If the other flowers mean something so kind, h-how can this one have such the opposite effect?”

Your eyes are sparkling, but there is something hidden in the back of them, an emotion he can’t quite pluck out. Perhaps you have a familiarity with this type of flower? Does it hold a different power for you than the others? Are there memories tucked away in the recesses of your subconscious that wreck your spirit when you see this type of blossom?

“That’s the beauty in the buds,” you laugh at your attempt at a jesting remark, eyes hooded now as you glance downward, “if you choose the wrong one, you’re sending a different message entirely.”

Tamaki’s knee bumps into yours, and usually, he would pull away, but this time something feels different, weightier than before. His eyes cannot stray from you; he finds it difficult even when he tries. And so, he succumbs to the desire and leans closer. Near enough to you now that your body heat is intoxicating once mixed with the headiness of your perfume. He tries to keep his eyes from crossing and his hands in his lap, body uncharacteristically wanton for your skin.

You take a breath, your chest expanding, “Yellow carnations mean rejection, disappointment. Usually, they’re used as a revenge flower, given to someone who has harmed you, or taken advantage of you. We don’t do many yellow carnation bouquets.”

The phrase only seems to make you more determined – your brows pull together so tightly that your forehead creases, “Well,” you pause, brushing your hand over your face, “I guess it just won’t have to be any of those things then.”

Tamaki’s head tilts just enough to remind you of a confused animal. His inky irises are zeroed in on you, raven locks of hair falling in his eyes, “Wh-“

“It’s a date!”

His eyes practically bug out of his head, sweat starting to bead down his temples. He shakes his head and steps back from you, holding his hands up in the space currently separating your bodies. Tamaki attempts at conversation, trying to tell you in as few syllables as possible that no, that’s not okay, we can’t, I don’t think that’s allowed…

You shrug, “Listen, call it whatever you want - it’s just coffee.”

The police arrive with sirens blaring a few minutes later, taking down a statement and emailing Tamaki a new set of paperwork he’s going to have to fill out later regarding how and why he used his quirk. He secretly is praying that you will flee the scene once you realize how mundane this part of the hero job can be – interviews and paperwork and confessions on the street.

Maybe you’ll find him and the whole process tedious enough that you’ll run away, back to your flower shop where you can live on in peace, pretending as if you never met him. It’s not always fun and games being a hero, and typically, once a civilian realizes it, they walk away from the scene at hand and find something much more interesting to take up their time. Tamaki is sure you must have a thousand other things you would prefer to be doing than waiting for him to wrap up a discussion with a police officer, or so he’d like to believe.

For some reason, it does not surprise him to find that you are still waiting on him, patiently sipping a bottle of water given to you by another officer while you chat, feet twisting back and forth to pass the time. Tamaki’s mind begins to wander again to how he always passed your shop and never found you outside, watering the arrangements or even in passing in the window. He would have waved – that’s what Fatgum taught him to do. He has been trained to interact with civilians, to remind them that he is there for their protection and safety, as a beam of light in the darkness of their daily lives. There are other shop owners who he knows by name, their faces somewhat cataloged in the recesses of his mind, so he knows he would recall meeting you.

You’re remarkable; Tamaki would have remembered you.

And yet, he knows that now, every time he passes your shop, he’ll think of you, regardless of whether or not you’re outside watering the plants or inside working on an arrangement. Tamaki will be distracted with thoughts of your pretty smile, the way your eyes lit up when you spoke about your shop. Surely he’ll never be able to walk the beat of this street again without remembering you, his heart hammering in his ribs as he plucks up the courage to pass your shop each day. He’d bank on the hope that you’d see him, that you’d turn to wave, and he might be able to catch a glimpse of you, maybe even hold a full conversation more than a few sentences long.

It’s like his eyes are magnets for you now, drawn to find your essence like a northern pole. He turns his head so he can look over the officer’s shoulder, trying to find your frame again amidst the police and pedestrians alike.

Tamaki is more than surprised to find you staring directly back at him.

“What are these?” Amajiki points to a white flower he realizes he should have memorized based on its simplicity, and yet the hero knows that he’d sooner hear your bell-like voice rattling off the meanings to him, “I feel like I’ve seen them before…”

“Daisies,” you giggle, plucking a plume from your wall on display.

You twirl the flower around, taking an inhale of it before returning your attention to the hero stood in front of you. Your body moves without thinking  - inhibitions tucked away in a box in your heart as you step forward, so your body is almost flush with his own. You press one palm flat against his chest, eyes connected with his inky orbs as you grin.

Tamaki is frozen in place, his feet cemented into the ground. He couldn’t escape you even if he wanted to, what with the way his anxious heart stutters underneath the cage of his ribs. Amajiki is somewhat thankful for the bone structure around the organ, acting like a prison so his heart can’t flutter out into the open. His body blushes from head to toe, painting his skin pink, when he feels your fingertips brush against his cheek.

“You look so pretty, Tama,” you murmur as you tuck the bright white blossom behind his ear.

You cannot pull your gaze away from the fragile petals held in place by the thickness of his violet hair and the curve of his ear. The blossom looks so lovely and light in contrast to his inky hair, tucked away like a secret between the strands and his skin. You are practically whispering when you speak next, afraid you might shatter some unspoken moment, “A daisy symbolizes innocence and hope. They’re typically used to symbolize the potential of new beginnings, a promise of faith despite a certainly somber situation.”

Tamaki’s face is bright red, but he manages to speak, “O-Oh, so a get-well type of flower?”

“Something like that.” Your hand ghosts over his cheek, pushing the bud deeper against his temple so the petals are flayed outward, a hauntingly beautiful smile painted on your lips. “It looks purely providential in your hair, Amajiki. Like a light in the dark.”

When you catch him staring, your left eye drops in a wink. Tamaki knows that he has never felt his entire body blush before, but now he is privy to what the sensation is like, an intense heat traveling from his ears to his toes. It’s hot and stimulating in all the strangest of ways, pinpricks of heat underneath his skin, making it seem like he may balloon up and fly away at any given time. He coughs to try and conceal the way his throat is bobbing, covering his mouth with his gloved hand. Even his palms are bright pink beneath the white leather of his suit, turned darker in shade by the overwhelming heat of your gaze but thankfully hidden by his gloves.

The eye contact between the two of you must make you bolder, because you are walking towards him now with purposeful strides. Tamaki knows that no matter how hard he tries, he can’t make his body combust instantaneously to avoid talking with you, and he can’t quite run away when you’re striding towards him. None of those options would prove very heroic.

And, at the end of the day, despite his personal inhibitions and self-restrictions, his job is to be a good hero, to strive to provide the public with safety and comfort, and maybe today the word heroism just means coffee.

You step over to him, your body closer now than before, “You think you’re ready for that coffee now?”

“I-It’s three in the afternoon, what if the caffeine-“

“There is this cool, new invention called decaffeinated coffee,” you deadpan, raising a patronizing brow at him, smirk lilting your lips, “or you can always try tea.”

Tamaki runs his fingers over his jaw in trepidation, the pads of his digits soothing his sweating skin. He licks his lips and chews on the inner corner of his mouth, diverting his eye contact from you to the ground, focus now steadily on the toes of his boots.

The first thought in his mind is that he could be reported for this – he’s still on duty, and he’s decked out in his full hero costume. If he were to be spotted by one of the head heroes or a news outlet for being too friendly with a civilian after saving their life, it could end poorly for him in terms of his reputation. Not only would Fatgum be disappointed, the Suneater’s ranking would dip into the undesirable zone, and he’d probably lose a few of his current brand endorsement deals.

And yet, when you grab him by the elbow and loop your arm through his, Tamaki is frozen just long enough for you to begin dragging him down the street with little opposition.

“Hollyhock,” your eyes roll back in your head as you smell the pink flower in front of your face, a whimper caught in your throat at the dizzying scent. You groan, slumping down in your chair, “One of my favorites.”

Tamaki’s ears perk at the statement, eyes widening just enough so he can memorize the shape of the floral arrangement, stashing away the memory in hopes that he might pull it forward if he were to need it in the future.

“This flower is usually an accent piece, something to show that the recipient is ambitions, outgoing,” you place the stem back into the arrangement, neatly tucking it away to ensure the set is not disturbed. “They’re so stunning, such a phenomenal meaning. So often we don’t reward ambition, instead trying to stifle it.”

The hero turns toward the arrangement, eyeing it carefully. He tilts his head, careful of what he says next, “They a-are pretty flowers.”

“Yes,” your voice has quietened when you admire the blossoms, eyes glazing over as if you were under a spell. You sound far away when you speak, like you might be somewhere between here and there, feet planted on the ground beneath you but mind and soul much further away. “I think so.”

The scent of floral buds and coffee beans makes his head spin – or maybe it’s just the closeness of your body and the gentle breeze that blows your perfume towards him. Your smile mixed with the sunlight of the day makes Tamaki’s breath hitch, eyes averted from your gaze so he won’t turn every shade of red in the book.

“Bean There, Done That,” you rattle off the name of the shop, “they give me free coffee because I put together the floral arrangements for their shop.”

Tamaki is overwhelmed by the menu alone – his eyes roll back and forth over each flavor of roast and style of drink that they offer. Eventually, he feels terrible for holding up the line and he starts to stutter, attempting to spit out some flavor of some type of some kind of drink. His surprise only grows into silence when you half-step in front of him, palm jutting out to wrap around his bicep as you start ordering something that sounds like he might actually like it.

“I-I’m sorry,” he apologizes as you wait off to the side, his toes overlapping as he turns his feet inward. Your hand has since released him, but that does not stop his body from blazing beneath his costume from your touch. Tamaki coughs to hide the trepidation, “I-uh, I don’t really…I don’t really drink coffee? I-It doesn’t do much to help my quirk, so I tend to stay away from it.”

You shrug, folding your hands together at the knuckles in front of your waist, “It’s okay! I figured.” You’re turning to look at him, softness held in your irises as you behold his face, “Plus this place has a lot of options, so it can get kind of easy to feel bogged down, especially when you’re in a line, and other people are waiting impatiently.”

Wow, he thinks to himself, it’s like she’s in my head.

You’re pressing your palm to his arm now, warm touch once again like an anchor to his befuddled mind. When he looks down, you’re smiling, and some small part of him wishes your expression would never fade away into anything less miraculous than your grin coupled with dimpled cheeks and shining irises.

The crumpled petals look like sheets of tissue paper all bundled together, but somehow your magic touch makes them look appealing, beautiful even. Tamaki watches as your delicate hands swirl around the arrangement, tucking different colored flowers into various sections of the vase, transforming it from something that was one dull on its own to a symphony of color and meaning. He tilts his head and smiles, a gesture he’s discovered to be much easier now that he’s found you, “A-And, what are these?”

You glance up from your work, hands caught beneath a blossom, “Hydrangeas.”

He nods, as if he might know exactly what that word entails, lying through his teeth. When you see his unsure expression, you can’t help the grin that tugs upward on the corner of your mouth, “Do you know what these symbolize?”

Tamaki curls in on himself, shoes overlapping as his knees knock, “Uh, n-no?”

“Hydrangea flowers are beautiful because they are used to communicate gratitude for being understood,” you pluck a blooming flower from the stand, turning to hand it to him. When his knuckles brush yours, it’s like a dozen electric shockwaves tumbling through his veins, blistering his blood beneath the skin, turning him to ash inside. Tamaki gasps at the contact, but he’s thankful that you don’t laugh at his unexpected outburst, or rather you continue as if nothing happened, allowing him to shrink back in on himself with less shame than he may have been burdened with otherwise.

You lick your lips and take a short breath, eyes returned to the arrangement at hand, “Hydrangeas are beautiful and easy to manage, most people have them in their yards or gardens for decoration. I haven’t met many gardeners who know what the true meaning is, however, it seems that people always choose them for their bouquets.”

“When would you give someone a hydrangea?” Tamaki asks, eyes tracking your motions no matter which side of the arranging table you’re on. He cannot get enough of you, body drawn to your presence as he sits in wait of another story, another tale to tumble from your lips.

You are tilting your head, considering the question like it held the weight of a court behind it, as if Tamaki were your judge and jury. You sigh, the weight of the world seemingly settled on your shoulders, almost like you’d thought about this question far too much before, “I think if I were going through a hard time, and I had a friend who just was there for me, I would give them a bouquet of hydrangeas.”

“Why?”

He wishes he hadn’t blurted it out – how rude of him – but your answer makes it worth the accidental insensitivity.

“It’s easy to try and instruct someone on what you think they’re to do next,” you answer carefully, eyes following invisible directions as you stalk around the arrangement as if it were your prey. You grind your teeth together; Tamaki can tell based on the way your jaw quivers under the strain. “It’s difficult just to sit and listen. Even when it’s meant to be kind and helpful, it can sometimes be overwhelming to constantly be told how to react or what to say or how to handle a situation. Almost like they aren’t considering you at all, instead preaching to you of their prowess, how they might have done better if they were in your shoes.”

Your voice is almost chilling, hollow like a needle or a feather, “To find a friend who could listen to me without interjecting their opinion, without telling me what to do, now that is worthy of a hydrangea.”

He allows his subconscious thoughts to wander for a moment, thinking on the implications of you possibly having a mind-controlling quirk. Is that the reason he was okay with coming here? Was it all because you manifested a quirk that allows you to influence the minds of men? Or did your quirk work on women too? Did you-

“Hey,” your voice is gentle, subtle despite the loud volume of everyone else in the shop. Your palm is on his bicep, and for some reason, it anchors him instead of making him want to float away at the sudden contact. Your eyes are genuine as you whisper, “Breathe.”

Tamaki listens to you, taking a short breath in and exhaling soon after, eyes never losing direct contact with yours. His shoulders roll with tension, Tamaki’s lower lip tugged between the bite of his teeth. He swallows, realizing what a fool he must appear to be. How can a hero need assistance from a civilian just for breathing?

“I know what anxiety looks like.” You brush your thumb against his bulky costume, and Tamaki wishes a very secret thing then – something he would never admit aloud. He is curious about how intense your touch would be if he weren’t in his full hero outfit.

Would the pads of your fingertips be soft? Would he be able to feel the heat from your skin leeching onto his own? How much more calming might your skin be if it was direct on his own?

You tilt your head, a considerate grin tugging on the corners of your lips. He’s pleasantly surprised to note the dimples that dip inward, making you all the more appealing, as if you needed any additional help. Tamaki tries to say something, but it gets lost in his throat, so you speak instead, “I hope you don’t mind me ordering for you at the counter. I just wanted you to be a little more comfortable. I felt bad since I was the one who asked you to come.”

“N-No, it’s fine,” he forces the words out, turning to look you in the eyes. Tamaki grits his teeth together and muscles through the anxiety gripping his bones like a vice. He questions when the day will finally come when he might break. “I just feel bad for the people waiting on me.”

“This flower is pretty,” Tamaki licks his lips and leans forward, inspecting the blossom rather intently.

You laugh, and he’s reminded of how delicate you are when you giggle. His eyes are momentarily redirected toward you, taking in every curvature of your face, the dimples created by your smile, the way the gesture reaches your eyes, and it’s like little stars shine from your irises. Tamaki can’t help the way he grins, your laugh and your smile are infectious, much like your love for flowers.

“Have you seen one before?” you ask him, stepping towards the wall of blooms, “They’re a beautiful choice, a lot of meaning behind them. Most people have never seen one, though.”

Tamaki turns to face the flowers again, compelling himself to detract from your silhouette, “Are they rare?”

“Not necessarily,” you respond. You push yourself up on your toes to grab a bright red bud from the wall, twirling your choice blossom between your fingerprints. The scent wafts from the center of the flower, a small dusting of pollen coating Tamaki’s nose.

You giggle as you reach across to brush his skin free from the yellow powder, hand lingering just slightly too long for him to ignore your possible intent. You lick your lips, irises swallowed by your pupils for a moment, allowing him a direct line of sight into your soul. He reads you for a split second, and he swears that the look in your eyes mirrors his own when he thinks too hard about the way you move and the distinct notes of your smell. You’ve taken over every inch of his mind, every last curve of cerebrum and cerebellum.

For the first time, Tamaki is somewhat confident that you might be under the same spell.

“These are anemones,” you break him from his stupor, pulling his line of sight towards the budding flower in your grasp, “they signify anticipation – the build-up before the burst. Kind of like when you’re going to have your first kiss!”

Tamaki stutters, “T-That’s why you’d g-give someone this flower? Wh-When you want to kiss them?”

“No, silly,” you swat at him, smacking the back of your palm against his bicep. However, before you can turn away from him entirely, he notes the beautiful blush turning your cheeks to a rouge. You sigh dramatically with your hip leaned against the table, “I just mean that’s what the flower symbolizes – the tantalizing next step into the unknown.”

“Sounds scary.”

Your eyes light up as you turn to look at him again, irises gleaming under the bright lights of the flower shop, “Oh, but doesn’t it feel riveting?”

You are too close now, your pose intoxicating as he remembers every time you’ve come so near to him and he hasn’t had the strength to reach out and grasp you by the waist. Is this his time? Is this the day that he finally hands you a blossom and tells you the truth about the war raging inside of his chest? He has little soldiers prodding at his heart, stomping all over his bones, making them ache when he is adjacent to you.

Something within him wanders into the tumultuous thoughts of how you might respond, what his body would do in reaction to you. Would he finally find some relief from the plague of himself when he finally passes the threshold into adoring you on a physical level? Mentally, he’s been infatuated with you for some time now, but his throat can’t force the words out when he’s within ten feet of your frame.

Tamaki reaches out, his hand weighted down with reserve and implications. And yet, it’s almost like you lean into his touch before he can think on it too harshly, before he can make the rash decision to retract it and flee. He gasps audibly, eyes flashing to find your face, irises connecting like some sort of lighthouse out at sea, giving one another hope despite the disparity of every other moment leading up to this one.

“Anemones,” Tamaki whispers, voice curling from his throat, projecting onto you like a prayer. His hand is hot with hesitation as it rests on your rib cage, “I’ll have to remember that one.”

“Well, the people waiting on you can get over themselves. Everyone needs to learn a little patience, anyways.” You brush a hand through your hair, blowing away stray locks as they float back into your line of sight. You sigh, voice sounding dejected until your topic turns to blossoms, “I-I’m sorry if this wasn’t the place to bring you. I just figured it would be easy since it’s right next to my shop. I’d love to show you some flowers if you have time?”

“I-I’m on patrol,” he manages to push the words out from between his teeth, his throat grating like sandpaper, “I’m not sure…”

“Maybe another time, then?”

Dare he say you sound hopeful? And maybe even a little nervous?

How is it that each time his mind snaps him from you like a rubber band, you are right there, ready to stretch his limits yet again?

“I have seen this one…in Mother’s Day bouquets, I think?” Tamaki asks, unsure of himself this time as he circles the table. There are so many different types of blossoms, so many different meanings to decipher based on genus and color alone.

Your nod makes the pit in his stomach settle for some reason, and Amajiki releases a breath he didn’t realize that he was holding captive in his lungs. He’s not sure he understands why just the small reassurance of your head bobbing or your voice lilting on the right side of kind can calm the raging sea in his mind and stomach.

Tamaki is nearly tucked into your side, hands itching to find purchase against your body, his frame devoid of his typical uniform. The long sleeve shirt may cover the majority of his palms, but that does not mean he would refrain from baring his skin if it meant he could dip his toes into the edge of the ecstasy he might feel at your touch.

His fingertips are on the cusp of you, the calloused pads extended, beckoning you to come closer in a silent, desperate plea. Like your hearts are tied together in some other realm, as if you’ve done this a thousand times before, in a dozen other lives, you turn subconsciously to allow the collision of his fingerprints to impact the curve of your waist.

“Gladiolus means remembrance,” your voice is breathless as you point towards a set of buds that are seated proudly on the wall of flowers. You tilt your head upward, eyes shining as you press the heel of your palm into the column of his throat, thumb grazing his Adam’s apple to soothe it.

The weight of your words does not fall on deaf ears, Tamaki’s every sense on high alert as you speak next, “They can mean remembrance of someone past, or of someone you’re currently trying to honor. Or they can just mean a simple remember me.”

  ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* TAG LIST *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

@kamehamethot @simplybakugou @burnedbyshoto @cookies-n-chaos @katsukisprincess @rat-suki @bitchtrynafck @cutesuki--bakugou @bnhatrashh @succulent-momma @yuueimagines @multifandom-fanfic @that-one-enthusiast​ @blue-peach14​ @pastel-prynce​ @bokunokangae​ @shoutodoki​ @todorki-shoto​ @bakuoushoe​ @tenyaingenium​ @lxvely-mha​ @myherorambles​ @ramen-rambles​ @honeytama​ @sleepysuneater​ @bratwritings​ @samanthaa-leanne​ @orokayagi​ @tumblingintothefeelstrain​ @sunbeamwrites​ @bnhawritten​ @aizawamirite​ @lovekatsukibakugo​ @plusultrawritings​ @suckersuki​ @bnha-mha-imagines​ @heroesreverie​ @pink-imagines​ @brattyquirks​ @lookslikeleese​ @normiewrites​ @secondhand-trash​ @yaoyorozuwrites​ @pinkjeanist​ @kingtamakimurder​ 

[hazbinextgeneration]

Into The Casino Ch6

"How grand. How splendid." "You..Like it?" Her hopes was present on her face as she as he stared down at her. Giant smile and all. Her ears pinned to her head in submission was quite the satisfying sight, the very fact she was already easy to order around was quite Useful, it meant he didn't have to do much to push her in the right direction. But he still had to be careful. Be too friendly and shell think she could do anything or start to suspect something. Be too harsh and he might run her off. So just dangle the treat halfway to keep the lady a excuse the term, one trick pony. Given the unusual timidness Cyber spoke of, it should run smoothly. So as a little reward, he gave her a pat on the back which she gave a small flinch at.

"Itll do for now. You did a more decent job than I couldve hoped for." Red eyes glazed over the newly installed filing cabinets, filled to the brin with honestly mostly none important things like date books and old appointments. Nothing he really needed but was still asuppliers.a to keep on hand. The more important ones were safely locked away. He made sure of that. Wouldn't want those falling into the wrong hands now wouldn't he. "But dont think you can rest too easy just yet. I still have plenty of work for you to do. " Her little smile disappeared and she gave him a tired look. "Ho-...How m-much work are we talking about?" He hummed in thought, red talons tapping on her shoulder. "Oh. I lost count after we filled the second closet but Cyber has records of everything sealed away-" He tapped his head to refer to Cybers obviously great memory. "But don't forget your other responsibilities now." "W-What other responsibilities?" His smile widened. "Im glad you asked. You see-" She made a small squeak of surprise as he presssed her closer to him, guiding her around with his arm towards the open door. "As my new asistant you'll be taking on some of my less important work so Ill have more time to focus on more.." He looked back to her with a calculating look in his eyes. "Interesting matters that have caught my attention." She couldn't help but give a shiver, looks like that always made her uncomfortable along with unwanted physical contact. This man was absolutely not one she would want to be close to- She should really start thinking about a way outta there soon. But then again that begs the question. Could she really escape? "Though I think..you could use a small update to your appearance. Come. Its about time I officially get you settled in. After all. What lady doesn't enjoy shopping at our local Hellmart?" The confusion on her face intensified. "What's a hellmart?" The absolute naivity of the girl never ceased to amuze him. Her questions were more entertaining that annoying. What's a limo? What's a mall? Really. It was like entertaining a child. The amount of wide eyed awe she gave at the long car and gigantic store building made him chuckle. Such nativity was a good sign for potential manipulation. So it made sense when Cyber poped the question,"You don't get out much, do you?" She had given an embarrassed look before responding with, "I...Was kept inside for a long while. I..Im afraid I don't h-have much knowledge of t-the current things. " "Ill say. Just make sure you stick close." "You'll do well to heed Cybers advice." he gave a look out the window as the car made its way to a slow stop in front of a giant archway connected to an even larger building. "Most of these people are dealers and scavengers who would sell their own children if it meant having food on the table for one night." He wasn't exaggerating either. The moment the three of them stepped out and entered shouts from demobs all around them. Shouting from makeshift booths of some sorts, gesturing to things they were attempting to sell, some gave her obvious looks- Cyber gently pushed her along. Wouldn't want to draw too much attention now would they? Lou on the other hand didnt seem worried in the slightest. Walking at a brisk pace towards one area he knew would have everything they needed. Which was why she was pretty surprised when he stopped all of a sudden and almost ran into him, tilting her head back, she gazed up curiously as he gestured a hand out to an opening between two booths. " This way now. Step lively. We haven't got all day you know." Both women didnt hesitate to follow after him down the dark alleyway, though Amalfia was probably questioning what sanity he had at the moment to go down an obviously dark alley in the middle of a crowd of demons who could and would most likely take advantage to jump them- But then again who down here was even sane? But she couldn't think much on that longer either when yet another entrance way was opened up and he disappeared behind the door without warning. Cyber had to coax her in but they soon followed after, what was inside made her eyes widen. It looked nothing like the outside. Where everything outthere was gloom n doom, it was like they stepped through a portal and into a fancy dress and jewelers shoppe. Hundreds of beautiful items and frankly highly expensive looking things that Wouldnt probably be easy to get. "Welcome to one of my personal supplier's emporiums! I get most of my more luxuries from." The look on her face was absolute childlike shock. It certainly had been a face he hadn't seen in a while down here. "Of course were only here on business only, so Im afraid we dont have time for sightseeing. Im sure Cyber could help really you find the proper attire." "Attire?" "Of course. You don't expect me to just let you walk around looking like a poor Cinderella now do you? No no. That would reflect badly on my business if my people walked around like common homeless." She opened her mouth to ask something, but unfortunately another beat her to it- "What the hell are YOU doing here?"

All characters besides Amalfia belongs to @palettepainter

[morallygreyprompts]

Hero and Their Deaf Twin

[I think I am doing this right?

I love your writing it is always amazing and something completely new. I was wondering if you could do one about a hero and their deaf twin. If not then that is okay. Just know that you make my days better, I hope writing these makes your days better too.]

—-

This was sent before I specified the whole write-ups going to the ask box thing so I’m not bothered about it being a submission, but for future reference, well, write-ups go in the ask box. At the minute, my writing is everything, so thank you so much for all of your support- all of you. Everything from donations to notes just makes me feel so much better. I couldn’t do this without you guys and I love you all. <3

Hero had just finished handing an offender over to police when they felt their phone vibrate in their zipped pocket. They disappeared into an alley and looked down at the message, it was from Twin. I need to see you. It can’t wait. Hero groaned. They knew it wasn’t going to be good news. Twin didn’t usually stay in contact with them, so a text out of the blue didn’t bode well.

While they were alone, Hero stripped out of their costume and into their close-fitting clothes beneath. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, but it worked. Ok, where are you? Hero text back.

Your street. You weren’t in.

Hero let their head fall back and hit against the wall. That was a long way to go. 

Hero went to fetch the backpack they’d hidden in a different alleyway, bundled the clothes inside and then took off running, bringing the bag with them. It was quite some distance to home, but Hero had enough stamina to get them back home. Hero just couldn’t help but dread what it was Twin had to tell them.

It felt like Twin hadn’t been forced to wait too long until Hero came into view, covered in sweat and struggling to catch their breath. It took Hero a minute before they could do more than a wave. Twin rolled their eyes, signed for the key and held their hand out. Hero gave it to them, adding a quick “sorry” in sign language. Hero worked on catching their breath while Twin unlocked the door.

Hero noticed they seemed irritated, but once they got into the house, that anger just turned into worry. “Cleaner than you were expecting?” Hero smirked, signing as they spoke. Twin nodded. They looked so small and shy all of a sudden, chewing their nails.

Hero left them sitting down while they made them both drinks. They couldn’t stop sending glances to the back of Twin’s head. What was going on? The kettle felt like it took forever to boil, and Hero’s nerves only worsened with every second that passed. Twin looked worse and worse as the minutes progressed.

Hero finally brought the drinks over and set them on the table, just in time for Twin to suddenly hug them, and burst into tears. At a loss, Hero simply held them. They didn’t know what to do.

Twin tried to get a hold of themselves quickly, scrubbing their eyes with their sleeve. Then they signed “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. [Twin], what’s wrong?”

Twin’s hands were shaking, but they signed “When you were fighting and your mask almost fell off. They think that was me. I got fired for disappearing a lot.” Disappearing to help Hero, Hero realised. “They can’t do that!” Hero exclaimed, their hands working to copy what they said.

“They have. Leaving a lot was enough of an excuse. I couldn’t defend myself because it would give you away.”

Hero sat stunned for a moment. They’d had to give up their job for them. “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t want sorry.” Twin responded flatly.  “I don’t understand why you’re still running around. You save people but at the cost of your life- always at the cost of mine, and you don’t care.”

“I do care!” Hero said. “You know I do. But once you’ve seen what I see, when you know what happens to people, it’s so hard to turn away.”

“I’m not going to argue, but I couldn’t find a job and I can’t afford the rent anymore. I don’t know what to do.” Twin pulled a face. “I did have money saved, but it’s gone.”

“You need to move in with me?” Hero guessed. Twin nodded. “Of course you can. How long do you have left at your place?”

Hero didn’t expect them to respond with “Tonight. They will take my key tomorrow.” Hero nodded. Shit. They’d waited until the last minute, they’d waited to be absolutely sure there was no other option. It hurt, thinking about it that way, to realise Twin would rather anything else but to live with them. They tried not to take it to heart. 

“Drink, and then I’ll drive you to your place. We can start moving things.” Twin agreed and picked up their cup. They were left in still silence.

Driving to Twin’s place wasn’t a problem, but neither of them expected to see the door was slightly open.

Hero didn’t bother to ask if Twin had locked the door. They knew they would have. They would double and triple check every time, they even did it with their door. They knew it was someone uninvited. Hero tried to put their nerves at rest by assuming it was the landlord, but they braced for the worst.

Twin was already out of the car and ready to investigate. “Hey- oh you think I’d learn!” Hero had to rush to keep up. They pushed in front of Twin so they could go in first.

Hero approached the door and called out, “Hey?! Who’s in here?!” 

There was no reply. 

“Show yourself and I’ll let you go. Last warning!” 

Nothing.

Hero frowned and went further in. They glanced over their shoulder to check if Twin was following them, and they were, looking eager to see what had happened to their house.

Hero went into the first room and put the light on. Everything was intact. The TV was still there, and any other obvious valuables.

“Weird,” they mumbled.

“Hello, [Hero],” someone purred.

Hero threw their head around, realising Twin was in the doorway, visible to anyone in the corridor, but they hadn’t heard the person call out. They hadn’t realised someone was there! “Look out!” The words leapt out of their throat before they could help it. Despite their twin being deaf most of their life, they were still stupid enough to try. Twin still saw the fear in their face, but it all came too late.

A shot fired out. Twin saw the movement, but the next thing they knew they were on the floor screaming in pain and clutching onto their leg. Hero grabbed them under the shoulders and dragged them into the room, safe from any other bullets. They heard footsteps as the assailant drew closer.

Hero picked up an ornament and was ready to hit them in the head. Only when the shooter came into their sights, there was more than one. One of them was Villain.

Villain paused for a moment and sighed. “Twins… I might have known.” Hero stood their ground in front of their twin. They could hear their pain, but they didn’t dare turn around.

“Back off,” Hero snarled.

Villain kept the gun aimed at their chest. “Actually no. I’m going to need both of you in that case.”

“They’ve been shot!” Hero snapped, “They need a Doctor-”

“And I need [Hero], and no witnesses.” Hero snarled, knocked the gun aside and clobbered Villain with the ornament, trying to push them all back but without success. Someone grabbed their wrist, then the other. It was a mad struggle for freedom. No shots were fired, but as soon as Hero was almost detained, one of their henchmen slipped past them and grabbed onto their Twin. 

Hero was only alerted to it when they screamed. They turned, seeing their twin at gunpoint. The guards immediately held onto them tighter, adjusting their grips. “Stand down, or I shoot,” Henchman warned. Hero let the rest of the ornament fall out of their hands. Slowly, their body relaxed and the Henchmen rushed to restrain them.

Villain hissed as they touched their head where Hero had hit them. “Take them both, quickly,” they ground out. They brought their fingers away to show blood.

Hero couldn’t sign to Twin. They couldn’t beg for forgiveness or tell them it was going to be alright. Twin was too distracted to even look. They cried out as one of the men tied a bandage around their thigh to slow the bleeding, and with their hands behind their back, there was little either of them could do to communicate.

Hero hoped the look they gave them was enough before they were dragged out. But they hoped it didn’t give away the sheer terror and wrenching feeling in their gut of not knowing what to do.

Like my stuff and want to support what I do? Then maybe consider buying me a Kofi? Ko-fi.com/morallygrey

[argylemnwrites]

Not Exactly Sure, But Maybe Sure Enough

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (Post The Royal Heir, Chapter 4)

Word Count: ~1900

Rating:  PG-13 (adult language)

Summary: Riley Liu has never been much of a planner. But with the whole world seeming to be making plans for her uterus, she has to reevaluate the way she approaches challenges in her life.

Author’s Note: Written for Day 16 of the Choices July Challenge (prompt - Uncertainty). Can be seen as a companion piece to my Day 2 submission, “Living with the Consequences” (link is in my masterlist as I think that Tumblr still sometimes hates my posts with links embedded in them). Trigger warning for mention of pregnancy loss.

Wanted to take a look at the whole “Would Drake and a Drake-romancing MC really just agree to name their kid heir to the throne?” shenanigans from the perspective of my MC. After all, I probably should write more from her perspective since she is the one who would have to go through all the public scrutiny and judgement. I originally envisioned a much different piece than this, but what can I say? This just took on a life of its own!

To say that Riley Liu hadn’t always thought things through fully was a bit of an understatement. After all, you don’t get on a plane with a guy you’d known for less than 24 hours to go compete in some strange political version of The Bachelor in a foreign country without being pretty impulsive. In all honesty, so much of her life could be seen as a series of decisions she put almost no thought into, bouncing into situation after situation because it sounded fun or awesome or sometimes, just better than her current circumstances. She’d jumped from job to job, casual relationship to casual relationship, friend group to friend group endlessly. Never any roots. Never anything permanent. Until one day, she found herself with actual, real friends, not just buddies you grab a drink with once or twice a month.

There was Maxwell, who gave her a family. Hana, who showed her what trust and honesty looked like in friendship. Liam, who welcomed her with such care, even when she made it clear she didn’t feel the same way about him that he did about her. They all took her in, this flighty, detached waitress and gave her a home, both figuratively and literally. A home she shared with her husband, a concept that still in some ways felt more foreign than the fact that nearly every hero she had for the past year used apple butter instead of mayo.

Finding Drake had been something she had never dared to hope for. Here was a man who seemed to understand her soul, the fears she had that she would always be alone in the end, that she was never good enough just as she was to be a priority to anyone. Sometimes listening to Drake talk about his life felt like looking at her own experiences through a fun-house mirror. Sure, the details were different; opulent parties and snobby nobles were worlds apart from a junkie mother and a variety of foster homes. But for all that distortion, at their core, their damage was the same. And maybe that’s why things always felt so natural between them, even when she was naïve enough to think that she could have a little fling with the cute prince, catch a flight back to NYC, and have a mad story for two truths and a lie going forward, leaving Cordonia behind without a glance back.

The love she felt for her friends, her husband, her new home she would have never experienced if she had stuck to her old habits and peaced out when things got tough, less lighthearted and silly and more filled with media scandals and political drama. She knew there was a lesson to be learned there, and while she would never be one to put together a five-year plan like she knew Hana was doing, she knew Riley Walker needed to be a bit different than Riley Liu. Or at least, she needed to work on being different. For her own sake, for her loved ones’ sake, and for the sake of the citizens she now answered to. While she might have leapt into the role of duchess without much thought, she recognized that being a political figure meant that she probably shouldn’t just roll along, indulging in every whim, every adventure, every idea presented to her, without at least thinking through the consequences somewhat.

So, she was trying this new thing, taking a few minutes to run through some good and bad possibilities for any decision before she jumped in with gusto, at least when it came to the major things in her life. She wasn’t going to let being married turn her into someone boring who was always stuck in a rut, but she could aim for a little stability. Spontaneous, not impulsive - that was her new goal.

And at first it was easy, settling in at Valtoria in those first few weeks, then heading to the private island for her and Drake’s honeymoon. Telling Drake that she was ready to start a family with him, and sooner rather than later, seemed like a calm, rational follow up to their discussion of their future back during the lantern festival. If felt like something responsible adults, responsible parents did. But suddenly it seemed like that was all they talked about, really all anyone talked about around them. And Riley didn’t know how to feel about that. What was the appropriate response to Madeleine telling her that she and Drake better be having a lot of sex, other than the petulant desire to offer to fuck her husband right now if Madeleine would just leave the room? How do you respond to congratulations for a thing that hasn’t happened yet? And what the hell made her typically grumpy, jaded husband respond to Liam’s request like a seasoned diplomat?

Sure, they had a few conversations about his reasons. And she got it, kind of. But did he really not have any doubts about the whole thing? Could he not see that this increased media attention was just the beginning, that their lives were not just their lives anymore? Everyone was going to want a piece of them.

And then of course, her miscarriage happened, leaving them both shell-shocked. Super common, according to Dr. Ramirez, and no reason not to try again. But Riley didn’t know if they should try again, at least not right away. Maybe this was a sign to slow down, to not force this whole parenthood thing at such a rushed speed. But to go back on birth control felt like they were failures, letting down Liam, their friends, and all of Cordonia. Everyone seemed to need their baby so damn much, Riley couldn’t bring herself to take a few months, maybe even a year, to process her loss and heal. She could sense a similar longing in Drake, to move on together, not as public figures but just as Drake and Riley. But after agreeing to name their child heir to the throne, the sacrifice of the timing of trying for another pregnancy seemed inconsequential. What was a few months compared to years of diplomacy classes, public scrutiny, and increased security threats? So they kept trying. And a few months later, they succeeded again. But they were wiser now. No one was going to know except them and Dr. Ramirez. Riley refused to take a pregnancy test at home for that reason. She thought she could trust her staff, but then again she had trusted Gladys, and look how that turned out.

But now she was into the second trimester, out of the most dangerous window, and in certain outfits, she was starting to show. She’d had to avoid some of her favorite shirts and dresses, and Hana had made a few comments that implied that she’d figured it out for weeks now. So she and Drake invited Liam, Maxwell, Hana, Olivia, Bertrand, and Savannah over for dinner. It was exciting to share their happy news, even if they didn’t get to announce it so much as Olivia called out the ridiculousness of their charade when Riley had to excuse herself due to nausea within 30 minutes of everyone’s arrival. On the other hand, it felt a little sad, to lose that shared secret between her and her husband. 

Because now this was the nation’s pregnancy, and never had that been more clear than tonight, as a stylist zipped Riley into a long gown that was as tight as clothing she’d worn before her pregnancy, clearly meant to highlight her bump that was still pretty damn small. Meanwhile, a makeup artist and a hairstylist, both also Madeleine’s “gift” for the night, primped and prodded. Kate Middleton didn’t let her hyperemesis stop her from looking polished, Madeleine had snipped when Riley balked at the whole styling crew, and her children were much farther away from the crown. 

“The mother of the next monarch needs to look like a queen, not some sickly, sloppy piece of work with bags under her eyes.”

Riley had a lot of thoughts about that she would have expressed if she was so damn exhausted, so she settled instead for a middle finger thrust in Madeleine’s direction. Oh well, a little impulsivity was probably excusable under these circumstances.

It all felt so surreal, attending this ball thrown in honor of her son or daughter who was still just a possibility at this point. A lot still could go wrong here, not the least of which was her puking on some diplomat’s shoes in the next hour. As she sat waiting for Madeleine to come and get her, letting her know that they were ready for her entrance as the womb that carried the guest of honor, she felt like she was walking through a fog. Riley Liu would have said, “Screw this shit,” and run away, hopping on a flight or catching a bus. Getting the hell out of this world full of pressure and expectations and demands. But Riley Walker couldn’t do that. She had obligations, and she had to see them through.

She heard the door opening, but didn’t turn to face Madeleine, wanting a few more moments with just her child, no matter how fleeting they would be.

“Hey, so I got a plan to get us out of there in 90 minutes. Two hours, tops.”

She let out a sigh of relief before she even fully processed her husband’s words. He was always finding ways to give them a little more time to be just… them. Not a duke and duchess, and now not the future king or queen’s parents. Just Drake, Riley, and now their little one. 

“How’d you manage that?” she asked, turning towards him as he crossed the room and crouched down in front of her chair. She noticed he hadn’t escaped Madeleine’s grooming plans, wearing a brand new black suit with his hair parted awkwardly to one side.

“Easy. I got Maxwell to agree to give a toast that will last a minimum of 15 minutes as an ode to the best childhood moments of all of Cordonia’s kings and queens. I figure we slip out to get you some air, and we just never come back. Hana’s promised to deflect any questions about our location after we make our escape.”

She reached down, giving him a gentle smile as she ran a hand through his hair, getting rid of that awful part. Now he looked and sounded like her husband.

All too quickly, their moment of privacy was shattered as Madeleine bustled in, taking one look at Drake’s hair and rolling her eyes.

“And just what do you think you two are doing? You’re supposed to make your entrance in less than a minute!”

“Just taking a moment in between,” Riley said as Drake stood up, squeezing her hand as he pulled her to her feet.

“Well, moment’s over. Let’s get going.”

It wasn’t how she would have chosen to go about this whole pregnancy thing, but for better or worse, this was how it was happening. As Drake held tight to her hand as they walked down the hallway, she was glad for was many doubts and uncertainties as she had about this entire heir-to-the-throne situation, at least they were fumbling through this together. They might have both been out of their element, but they had each other, and maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to get them through all of it.

Tags: @dcbbw @jovialyouthmusic @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @riley–walker @thequeenofcronuts @notoriouscs @butindeed @choicesjulychallenge @kinda-iconic @mfackenthal

[thorongil82]

A Broken Heart Bleeds Tears - Chapter 1 - The Big Announcement

Fandom: Spider-Man, MCU

Chapter: 1/?

Words: 4090/?

Summary: Peter should be happy with his life. He has a great job helping people alongside a smart and wonderful man, Spider-Man is still needed and supported by the majority of Queens and New York, the Avengers are happy to have him part of their group, and his friends and family are all living healthily and happily. He should be happy, right? 

But he's not. Because the love of his life loves someone else. And it feels like it's killing him.

Tag-list: @forasecondtherewedwon @seek-rest

Can also read on AO3 here.

AN: Just a quick thing to say, yes, I’ve seen FFH (went to see it today), but there won’t be any spoilers for it. Not in this chapter, anyway. If there will be within a reasonable time of FFH’s release, then I’ll post a warning beforehand. Hope you all enjoy! 

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

System Check Failure. Receptor Efficiency Levels at 28%

Peter Parker groans as he stares at the interface blinking defiantly in front of him. Another component that didn't want to cooperate with him. So many little pieces of technology that couldn't work together for some inane reason, piling together to cause one big mess that needs fixing in a weeks time. Preferably earlier to get the testing done beforehand. Peter's certain that the man waiting for his prosthetic arm would prefer to have it as soon as possible, with minimal glitches, if any, circulating through the system. There's so many problems that comes with helping people – if anyone would know, it would be Spider-Man.

Why can't doing right by people be easy? Maybe to make sure people who think they're doing the right thing when they're causing the opposite can't harm too many innocents.

Peter runs his hands over his face, drawing large circles that squeeze and push his sweaty skin out before it snaps back into place, as he stares intently at the screen of the laptop in front of him. Maybe staring long and hard enough will get it to work. It hasn't been his experience so far, but you never know. With a hiss he throws his hands up to aimlessly reach for the rafters as he stretches out his arms and back, the cushioned chair beneath him creaking as it arches back, before they drop back down to brush lightly through the soft brown curls of his hair. Still the system failure blinks back at him, unfazed at the intensity of his stare.

Pity, he'd been working hard on becoming more intimidating. Many a remark has been said about how he couldn't frighten anyone if he wanted to. Clearly, they haven't witnessed him walking on the ceiling without the mask concealing his identity. Though, criminals didn't seem scared of him either. Sure, they were afraid of the prospect of being caught, but of Spider-Man himself? Not so much. And this system was proving to be in agreement with the majority. Six hours of working, fuming, contemplating and attempts at glaring resulted in receptors that weren't responding to begin with still not responding. If only he was more like one of the women most prominent in his life. He was sure that Pepper, Aunt May or Michelle could easily glare this stupid program into submission. Hell, most of the Avengers team could too, though he doubted Shuri would even need to.

Maybe it's just a female thing. Or he finds them more intimidating because he's a man. Maybe both – they'd all have a field day torturing him if they found out he only thought they were intimidating because of gender stereotypes and identities. They'd never let him hear the end of it.

“Why are you such a pain?” Peter mutters to the laptop as he presses a few keys, pulling out from the system for the receptors responding to the nerve signals of the patient and running a full diagnostic check.

Seeing the assessments start up, he gets out of his chair and double-checks that the cables are secure as they snake from the laptop to the jet-black and graphite-grey metallic arm dangling lifelessly off to the side. If all goes well, it could potentially function better than the real one that it was replacing. Peter reminded himself to talk to Shuri about how she managed to get Bucky's arm to work so well. He had asked Bucky, but the White Wolf couldn't explain how any of the arms made for him had worked, only that it was second nature like any other limb. Maybe the next time they talked …

“How're the receptors coming along, Pete?” asked a raspy male voice from behind the pile-up of dressers and parts in front of Peter. Walking around the cluttered shelving is an elderly balding gentlemen with a tuft of greying hair wrapped around the side and back of his head, a pair of thin spectacles over his eyes, draped in a long white lab coat identical to the one covering Peter's clothing, save that it says Dr Otto Octavius across the right side of his chest, whereas Peter's has his own name.

“They're more frustrating than they were when I left them last night,” Peter answers, shooting a side-glance off at the screen.

“Why? What's the matter?”

“There's still complications in transferring messages,” Peter explains as Dr Octavius walks over and has a look at the running diagnostic check.

“Uh-huh.”

“Also, the response time is still way too slow, and that sudden energy drop still seems to be an issue.”

“Well, that's not good,” Otto murmurs, standing up straight and placing a hand on his chin. “How did the movements look when I sent the signals through?”

“They seemed to move fine, though I think some of the joints aren't fitted quite right,” Peter answers as he moves closer to the limb. “Parts seemed to be grinding together throughout some of the flexes.”

“Yes, I did hear that screeching,” Otto replies as he moves next to Peter. “Whereabouts do you think the rubbing parts are?”

“Along by the elbow joint,” Peter says, pointing at the hinge, “along with some in the wrist. I'm not sure if that means some pieces have loosened, or if they were too big to begin with.”

“Well, at least it's a hardware issue,” Otto remarks. “That'll be easier to deal with than the software.”

“It just feels like we're running out of time,” Peter admits with a sigh, leaning up against the bench and crossing his arms over his chest.

“We've still got time,” Otto replies with a warm smile, moving back over to the laptop. “This is just progress. Sometimes it's not as fast as we would like, but nothing that's ever worth doing will be done quickly. What was the efficiency levels on the receptors?”

“28 percent.”

“See, that's better than it was yesterday,” Otto grins. “Going from 12 percent efficiency to 28 is progress. And pretty significant at that.”

“It's still not good enough,” Peter glumly admits, wandering over as a loud beep sounds out from the laptop indicating that the complete diagnostic check has finished.

“Nothing ever will be,” Otto points out as he leans down to read the report. “There's always going to be a bigger problem that our solution can't fix. But that doesn't make what we do and the people we help any less important. Take a look at this.”

Peter leans down beside Otto and begins looking over the information.

“Everything's responding better than yesterday,” Otto summarises. “Energy levels, range of movement, stability, reception.”

Peter takes a slight glance at the older scientist and catches him looking back at him before he continues, “Here; able to operate at 54 percent capacity, efficiency at 63 percent. Everything's progressing fine.”

“There's still some system failures,” Peter points out, taking in the flashing orange and red errors that have also popped up. “Still some critical that'll disable the entire network.”

“Perhaps, but there's still less than what there was before.”

“Don't worry about it, Peter,” Otto says as he claps a hand down on the younger scientist's back. “The receptors were always going to be the most complicated part. And the energy drop. Once they're solved, everything else will fall into place. Don't worry about it.”

Peter looks over and gives his mentor a tight lipped smile before looking back at the screen.

“Look, if it makes you feel better, copy the receptor program down and work on it over the weekend,” Otto sighs, his comforting hand rising away from Peter's shoulder. “Just make sure you do get some sleep. A good night's sleep can work wonders. You might even find that you've been staring at the solution all this time.”

“That'll be more annoying than anything it that does happen,” Peter says as he reaches into his backpack that had been lying beneath the bench where he was sitting, rummaging through and pulling out a hard drive. “But thank you, Otto.”

“Don't mention it, Pete,” Otto chuckles, walking over to the mechanical arm.

Peter plugs in the hard drive and starts the process of the program downloading before he gets a buzz in his pocket. Pulling his phone free from the pocket, he looks down to see a bright notification flashing back up at him – a message sent from Aunt May.

                                                                         Reminder that dinner is in 30 mins

Peter slowly smirks as he unlocks the device and quickly shoots back a response.

So ordering Thai in 15?

“Plans for the evening?” Otto inquires, his voice filled with a warm, humoured tone.

“Yes, for once, but not like that,” Peter clarifies. “May's invited some friends round for dinner.”

“Ah, well, it's better than spending it alone,” Otto admits, turning his attention back to the mechanical limb, gently prodding and moving the fingers to test the joints.

Peter had mentioned details of his personal life to Otto many times during their projects, simply making conversation to pass the time as they worked on their experimental projects, both funded or otherwise. Otto knew that Peter had moved out from May's, though he still sometimes stayed over – though not always for the reasons he gives. Otto knew that Peter lived in an apartment with his best friend Ned Leeds, who occasionally helped them out with coding and programming if they couldn't quite grasp it. Otto knew that Ned had been spending more and more time away with Betty, his beautiful girlfriend, which was more than okay – it was their lives to live and who would Peter be to keep them from being happy. But even then, coming home to an increasingly empty apartment was lonely, especially after some of the things he'd have to see as Queen's favourite neighbourhood superhero. Not everything comes down to giving directions to lost tourists and old ladies, or rescuing cats stuck up trees. Otto knew of the times, few and far between, that Peter had been set up for a date, blind or otherwise, by his concerned friends. And Otto knew that those few setups and occasional one night stands after a night out remained short term were because Peter didn't feel a connection. They had been kind, and funny, and attractive, and sweet, but the young Parker didn't feel a connection. Otto and his friends knew there was no spark, because young Peter Parker couldn't stop picturing and comparing them to someone else.

The one he could never get over. The one that he could never get.

                                                                                                           Hopefully not

The phone in Peter's hand buzzes off again – another message from his aunt, just as the program finishes downloading onto his drive. When he goes to reach for it to unplug it, his phone vibrates again.

                                                                                     It does look edible this time                                                                                                         And no burning

Not always a good sign

Peter quickly shoots off the response with a grim smirk, remembering the many times his aunt's attempted cooking ventures had failed spectacularly, the Parker boy returning home after a late decathlon session or a patrolling swing-about as the man in red-and-blue to find smoke billowing out of whichever door or window was opened. Miraculously, the apartment never burned down – how, Peter could never figure out. There was no formula for how May could constantly mess up a recipe, regardless of if it was inspiration or from a recipe book – it was always difficult to distinguish between the two – nor for how the apartment managed to survive each and every disaster. It even fended off the charred cereal fire of 2024, and the inexplicably boiled whipped cream incident the year later, when nary a lit flame could be found in either scenario. Maybe there was something more to his survival skills than he thought.

                                                                                                                       Hey!!!                                                                    I do manage to cook some things right

I know

Peter disconnects the drive and places it in the backpack before the short break between the messages is broken by May's response.

                                                                                     The menus are on standby

Peter chuckles to himself and shakes his head, pocketing his phone before turning to his mentor. “Do you need a hand cleaning up?”

“No, no, you go on ahead,” Otto answers, shaking his head with a smile. “I wouldn't want you to keep May waiting.”

“Are you sure? Because I don't mind helping clean-”

“Peter,” Otto says sternly, the way Peter's realised only someone who's dealt with children a significant part of their lives before can do. There's always a slight warmth to it that means they don't mean the tone, but you shouldn't push your luck else disaster strikes your youthful life. May always had such a knack for tapping into it more than enough times for the Parker boy to know that trouble was abound, even before gaining his wondrous spider-sense.

“You could probably come along as well,” Peter squeaks out, “I-If you want?”

“I wouldn't want to intrude,” Otto declines, his hands raised up and shaking the idea away. “Not uninvited, anyway. You just worry about getting there on time.”

“Okay. Thank you, Otto.”

“Don't mention it, Pete,” Otto says as he brings his assistant and protégé in for a quick hug before letting him break away to grab his backpack and sling it over his shoulder. “Give my best to May, won't you?”

“I will.”

---                                                                                                                            

“Peter!” May exclaims as she opens the door right on his third knock and embracing him in a tight hug.

“I haven't been gone that long,” Peter chuckles, deliberately tightening the constriction in his voice to humour the vice grip her embrace would have been were he not an all powerful superhero. “How did cooking dinner go?”

“The Thai been picked up,” hollers Ned's voice from further within, causing May to send a soft glare over her shoulder.

“It wasn't that bad,” she stresses, letting go of her nephew and allowing him to enter the apartment. “But we figured it was probably better to order takeaway. Just in case.”

“Sticking to what you know?”

“Precisely,” May grins, walking into the kitchen and allowing Peter to take a breath.

Instantly, he grimaces and pulls his head down, the coarse scent of ash, burnt meatloaf and vegetables seared to charcoal wafting over and bristling his nostrils. Admittedly, not the worst smell he's come across in this apartment, but still pretty bad in terms of cooking ability. There was definitely a reason why he took a cooking unit back in high school.

“I'm sorry I'm late,” Peter coughs up, the dry air choking his throat. “Otto sends his regards.”

“He's a sweet man,” May says, scrubbing away the blackened remains out of her pan with a metal scour. “You could have invited him.”

“I did offer. He said he didn't want to intrude.”

“Well, he'll just have to come around next time. Sit down, sit down. I'll go grab the dishes. Ned, can you unpack the containers?”

“Sure thing, May,” Ned answers from the dining table, standing up from beside Betty as she untangles her arms from around him and pulling out the many containers from their bags, setting them side by side in the middle of the table.

“Aw, my Neddy-Bear's such a gentleman,” Betty coos from her chair, her arms folding over on top of her backrest before leaning her head onto her limbs, sending a bright wide smile towards her partner.

“If you had told me, I could have grabbed the food on the way-”

“Oh, nonsense, sweetie,” May says, hurrying over and pressing a kiss to Peter's cheek while ruffling his messy brown curls. “Guests shouldn't have to pick up food.”

“But I'm family.”

“You're still a guest when you're not staying here,” May points out, before ducking into the kitchen

“At least you didn't burn the place down,” Peter calls after her, chuckling softly to himself.

“Yeah, right, Parker. Like none of us know about your chemistry exploits,” drawls a voice behind him that silences his laugh in an instant, matching neither the one that emanated from Ned nor Betty beforehand. A voice that pulls on one of the many coils threaded tightly through his chest, wrapped tightly around his heart and squeezing it like a vice. The voice lathered in honey and laced in silk that drags upon his beating centre, wrenching it down into the unbounded dark pit within himself. The voice that both fuels the hope and fire in his heart, yet also tortures him in the eternal night with sharp pains and throbbing aches.

“Or would you prefer accidents?”

“W-What?” he stammers as he slowly moves through the apartment, circling round the happy couple snuggling by the dining table. “W-What accidents?”

“You know, spontaneous combustion, suddenly exploding drawers when there shouldn't be anything inside even remotely volatile,” continues the agonisingly beautiful voice from the couch. “Like when we're just taking a theory lesson, for example.”

Finally, as his feet haul the rest of his being round the dining table and the long end of the couch in the adjoined living room, his eyes confirm what his ears had suspected, not that he can completely trust them after so many false leads and wishful thoughts tricking his heightened senses. For lying down on some mass across his Aunt's couch, head buried inside a book as thick as a wizard's tome – hardcover, as to make sure not even the most ignorant fool would ever dare try to attack her, long brown curls elegantly cascading down like the spray erupting over a waterfall, is one Michelle Jones. Very close friend, former decathlon captain, eerily observant person capable of discerning any secret that you would dare to try and hide from her, and, ultimately, a thief.

Yes, Michelle Jones is guilty of theft, and of destruction of property, but not even his alter-ego can catch her. For Spider-Man cannot catch someone who has taken something so intangible, regardless of the pain it leaves. Nor punish them for breaking something they do not know they have broken, let alone prove that the damage is done.

“I-I don't know what you're talking about ...” he lies, hoping that the look on his face didn't give away the truth, both of the fib and the other secrets he's held inside.

“Of course not, just like how you conveniently forgot when we had decathlon practice,” she jabs, her eyes not darting off of the pages laid out in front of her, yet by the slight drawl in her tone and the prickly pinch crawling along his skin, Peter was fairly certain that she saw right through his immediate fabrication. “Time and time again.”

“Come on, the man's always got a lot on his plate. He's allowed to forget some things,” interjects a smooth masculine voice from beneath MJ's form, alerting Peter to his presence. Tanned, strong arms are wrapped around her waist, while his legs lay tangled together with Michelle's. His head peers out from behind her mane of hair, his own short brown curls slicked back with gel. “I'm sure you've forgotten things before when you're busy.”

“Nope,” she answers bluntly, turning her head away from her book to look at him. “Must be a guy thing.”

“Of all people who could make a stereotype ...” he chuckles as he trails off, smiling a bright smile showcasing his pearl white teeth. One of his arms leaves her waist and travels to her face, gently brushing away her hair.

“Harry? You're back?” Peter inquires.

“In the flesh,” he replies, shuffling out from underneath MJ and stepping up to Peter, grabbing his hand for a shake before pulling him in for a bro-hug, both patting each other's backs. “Flew in a couple of hours ago.”

“How was France?”

“Pretty good. Would have been better with you guys but, hey, that's the downside of business.”

Harry Osborn, close friend to the lot of them, carefree, relaxed, charming, heir to his father's many ventures and darling in the eyes of the media. In all fairness, Peter did really like the guy. He wasn't Ned, but he was a great friend to have. He was always looking out for his friends, cared about other people's problems, and could have a good laugh with anyone. And, if he tended to say something that wasn't quite right, he would generally realise it very quickly – though it does help having Michelle as a friend to keep that ingrained. Overall, they got along really well. There was just one thing that irked Peter about him …

“I'll just have to take you guys with me next time,” Harry continues as they pull apart before sauntering back to his formerly shared place on the couch that was now fully occupied by MJ, having returned to her book. “You mind moving over, babe?”

“I thought you hated pet names?” Peter directs towards Michelle.

“I do. He knows that.”

“Maybe, princess, but I'll get you to break eventually,” he smiles.

When she doesn't move, he shrugs and goes to sit on her long legs, flopping down on them and prodding and poking them with his fingers till she eventually squirms them out from under him, drawing them close to her body.

“Get off,” she huffs, a strand of hair falling across her face.

“Come on, MJ,” he persists, leaning over and resting his head on her raised knees. He reaches a hand out and gently pushes down on the binding on the book, dragging it down. Undeterred, she continues to read, her eyes tracing the lines and words quickly. That is, until he reaches his other hand out and cups her chin, slowly raising it up and getting her to look to him. “Hey there.”

“I hate you.”

“I know,” he smirks, before pecking her lips with his own, Peter turning away just before it happens.

There are some harrowing things he can endure, but some things even his mighty Spider-heart just can't take.

“Gross,” she mutters when Harry pulls away, yielding his hands away from her book and letting her continue reading. Her stoic expression seems to remain intact, though Peter does notice the corner of her lips have curled up and, had he been as close as he yearns to, he would have seen a slight tinge to her usual colour tone.

“Come on, dinner time!” May calls out from the table, followed by a metallic clutter as the cutlery rattles along the surface. “Wash up and get over here.”

With everyone cleaned up and sitting at the table, they start to dish up their food. All bar Peter, patiently waiting for the others to get their share. At least, that would be his excuse if he was asked. His heightened metabolism does need a lot of food, but he's not about to take all the food from everyone. In reality, he was just captivated watching Michelle, taking in everything about her that he could and engraving it all into his mind. Her laugh, her smile, her quirks and ticks. Everything. And desperately hoping that he wasn't being obvious.

He had wondered if her being taken just made him want her more; the temptation of the forbidden fruit. He wondered if being in love with MJ made him a bad friend to both her and Harry, partners that seemed quite happy with each other and have been since their last year in high school. As much as he loved Michelle, being jealous of Harry and wanting to be beside her instead of him, he just couldn't do anything that would hurt them both. They were some of the best friends he'd ever had. He didn't want to throw that away in a petty move.

“Peter, you going to eat?” May asks, her voice cutting through his lost wondering and shaking him from his reverie.

“Huh?” he squeaks, suddenly noticing all the eyes on him. “O-Oh, uh, yeah.”

He reaches forward and pulls the container of larb closer while the heads turn towards Michelle and Harry.

“So, MJ, you said before that you wanted to tell us something?” May asks.

“R-Right. Uh ...” Michelle falters nervously, shuffling a little closer to Harry. He leans in and whispers something into her ear, whatever it is making her giggle softly before looking towards everyone. “So, Harry and I ...”

From underneath the table they lift their held hands up and lay it down on the surface, with hers on top. But all Peter could find himself looking at was the sparkling diamond sticking out from the shiny golden band on her ring finger.

“We're getting married.”

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

AN: As a quick heads up, the next chapter will involve some Endgame spoilers. If it’s up quickly, then I’ll post a warning at the start of the chapter. 

Please feel free to let me know what you think; constructive criticism, thoughts, anything. And feel free to just hit me up for a chat if you want. I’ll try to get the next chapter up as quickly as I can. Until then, adios!

[c-stress]

My Ultimate Taekook Fic Recommendations!!

This will be my ongoing list of Taekook fics that I really loved  reading and want to share with you guys ♥

A few things beforehand:

All of the following fics will be completed.

I don’t take any credit or responsibilty for any of the following fics.

In this household we support Bottom!Kook.

Please enjoy~~

He Tells Me, “Stay If You Can” by vestals

It takes Jungkook three years to realise two things: 1. He certainly is not straight 2. He is very much in love with Kim Taehyung

#friends to lovers #canon/non au #coming of age #bottom kook #experimenting #8k #ao3

pulling shapes just for your eyes by aeterisks

The number one rule when you're a producer on a show like Miss Right, Taehyung thinks, should be do not fall for the bachelor.

It's such a shame Taehyung has never been good at following rules.

#reality show #producer tae #bachelor kook #secret relationship #switch tae and kook #hot #110k #ao3

The Blood Donor by IncubusRose

A series of kidnappings and killings has led the world to the astonishing discovery that vampires have been living alongside humans for centuries. And it seems they're just as bloodthirsty and twisted as ancient lore makes them out to be.

So when Jungkook finds himself the victim of a kidnapping that's perhaps not as nefarious as he initially thought, why is nothing the way that he thought it would be?

Now he's been roped into helping a sick, red-haired vampire against his will. But the more he explores and discovers in this new world, the faster and harder he falls into Wonderland.

#vampire tae #human kook #kidnapping #no stockholm syndrome though #bottom kook #fluff #violence #ot7 #hate to love #97k #ao3

you're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be by aeterisks

He has seen Taehyung smirk, smile seductively, smile cheekily, grin lazily, but nothing like this. This, Jeongguk thinks, is what happiness must look in Taehyung.

(He tries to ignore the way his chest pumps when he sees it, and the urge to see it again once it’s gone.)

#club owner tae #dj kook #rich tae #fwb #fuckbuddies to lovers #misunderstandings #tae has issues #bottom tae #27k #ao3

Suit & Tie by Wontonz

Taehyung and Jeongguk really shouldn't have been partnered together.

#CEO jungkook #CEO taehyung #bottom kook #both are the best in their job #rivals to lovers #25k #ao3

Eclipse by Bangtanbananas

After the tragic death of his parents, Jeon Jeongguk hated werewolves.

The last thing he ever expected was to fall in love with one.

#werewolf tae #werewolf hunter jk #slow burn #bottom kook #fluff #mating #big fight in the end #ot7 #91k #ao3

As You Are by taekover

Jeon Jungkook, the youngest private investigator in Seoul at 23 years old, with over a hundred solved cases under his belt, does not do favours.

Well. That's what he says.

#fluff #funny #private investigator #5k #ao3

War of Hormones by C_Stress

When Jungkook left the house that day, he just wanted to dance for a bit, not getting it on with some (hot) stranger...

#basically pwp #tattooed tae #virgin jk #bottom kook #one night stand? #3k #ao3

Sugar...daddy? By whatspoppin-yoongi.tumblr

Jokingly but also totally not jokingly putting an ad out to find a sugar daddy seemed simple enough. He never expected people to respond though…

Being rich was all he knew, and so help him god, he wasn’t going to turn out like all the selfish people that surrounded him.

#social media #pictures #texting# sugar daddy jungkook #side yoomin #tumblr

Bubblegum Bitch by snowmoney

Jungkook is but a simple delivery boy; the last thing he needs is a high maintenance fake boyfriend.

#fake relationship #tae in heels #model tae #falling in love #misunderstandings #bottom tae #dislike to love #33k #ao3

Snowflakes by IRINEL

Taehyung falls in love for the first time, right when the first Snowflake kisses the ground. As, a Single father, Drown in responsibilities & pressure, he finds his strength in a pair of Doe eyes, exactly a week before Christmas Eve. In a pair of Doe eyes, belonging to a simple country boy - named Jungkook.

Visiting Jimin's grandmother didn't seem like a good idea from where Taehyung was standing. Especially after her daughter's_Taehyung's wife's sudden disappearance, leaving the young man with a Five years Old Son, a bunch of responsibilities, his parents' '"I told you" looks and of course a letter reading "I can't do this anymore". But if he knew what was waiting for him from the start he would never, ever waste a single second to head to the small Village.

#aged up tae #aged down jk #age difference #jimin is taes kid #he's the cutest #bottom kook #orphan kookie #christmas #fluff #angsty #happy ending #slow burn #27k #ao3

whatta man (good man) by aeterisks

Out of all the kinds of blogs Jeon Jeongguk could have run, never in a million years Taehyung would have expected him to have a porn blog.

(Or, Jeongguk runs a porn blog and Taehyung not so accidentally finds it.)

#college #social media #fluff and smut #crack fic #friend to lovers #bottom kook #7k #ao3

Working Conviction by rix

How their trust evolves to go from from Jungkook pointing a loaded gun in Taehyung's face to Taehyung binding Jungkook down and fucking him till he can't see straight.

#mercenary kook #mercenary tae # enemies to fuckbuddies to lovers #smut #guns and violence #bottom kook #9k #ao3

Read All About It by jvante

A star football player and an aspiring journalist fall in love, and make headlines everywhere.

#college au #life through the years #football star tae #writer jungkookie #established relationship #bit angst in between #happy end #bottom kook #realistic description of a relationship #40k #ao3

Cage Match by golden(SlimeQueen)

Taehyung knows he likes the rush of adrenaline that comes from fighting. He likes his knuckles split and stinging, heart pounding in his ribcage, the rush of blood in his ears. Jungkook is new to it all but all he knows is that he likes Taehyung.

#fight club au #hate to love #bottom kook #pining jk #choking #kinky smut #violence #20k #ao3

Just Two Dudes Being Bros by micmicbunjin

"So you two aren't dating?"

"Nah, man, we're just best bros. I mean like, if I was gay, and that's a very big if, then I would be on my knees right now sucking his dick. But I am very straight, so Jeon's dick is nowhere near my mouth."

Jeongguk nods convicingly. "I like pussy."

Namjoon puts his face in his hands and screams.

#gay panic #bros to lovers #denial #college #bottom kook #excessive use of the word bro #7k #ao3

New (Newer) Rules by jvante

Step #1: Don't get involved with the guy your girlfriend cheats with.

Failed step 1.

#bottom sub kook #sub/dom #kinda pwp #humiliation #lingerie #cock stepping #hate to fuckbuddies to lovers #hurt jungkook #108k #ao3

A crow will not pull out the eye of another crow by taetaeggukie

"If you killed me you'd let go of the only chance you've ever had to find your soulmate." That smirk was annoying Jeongguk to no end, he was close to pulling the trigger, but the man deserved something worse than a bullet to his head.

"By now you're only spitting out lies in hopes to be able to save yourself." Jeongguk was the one smirking now. "You know nothing."

"You'd let Kim Taehyung just slip through your fingers like that?"

- in a world where your soulmate's name is written on your wrist, Jeon Jeongguk blindly trusts a pirate captain V in order to find his soulmate and doesn't realize he might fall in love sooner than expected

#soulmates #pirates #bit angst #kidnapping #enemies to lovers #bottom kook #pirate tae #crew bangtan #13k #ao3

whisper me all your secrets by noekkin

Series of prostitute jk and rich man tae who just likes caring for the younger

#cute af #prostitute kook #bottom kook #caring tae #26k #ao3

Sugar and Spice by kkozumes

Jeongguk can't deny that he's attracted to Taehyung. No, he realised he was attracted to him as soon as his car pulled up by the side of the road. Jeongguk appreciated a handsome face and Kim Taehyung was beautiful to him. What he didn't expect however was for the beautiful man with the expensive car to take him back to an equally as expensive apartment away from home, give him new clothes, allow him to stay and then ask if Jeongguk wanted a sugar daddy.

#sugar daddy taehyung #daddy kink #fluff and smut #poor jk #sub kook #bottom kook #23k #ao3

Spy on Me by C_Stress

Jungkooks dad gets killed by a mercenary and he swears to get revenge. What he didn't plan though, was falling in love with said murderer.

Or

When you find out you not only moved in, but fell also in love with your mortal enemy.

#mercenary tae #hitmen au #fluff and smut #flatmates #bottom kook #cute kookie #violence #friends to enemies to lovers #17k #ao3

My Daughters Teacher by Staerrykookah

Jungkook is the single father of a 5 year old named Asami. Taehyung is her kindergarten teacher who thinks the little girl is cute but her dad is cuter.

#kindergarten teacher tae #father jungkook #top kook #falling in love #aged up #5 year old daughter #cute #wattpad

So, pancakes? By Captainotp

„He thought I was a top.“ Jungkook all but whined, hiding his head in Taehyung's chest. „Well what else is new?“

Jungkook struggles to, like, get it, because everyone thinks he's a top, and his roomate Taehyung is more than willing to help. That's it that's the story.

#friends to lovers #bottom kook #roommates # fluff and smut #soft kook #4k #ao3

you the one that I dream about all day by locks

Taehyung finally convinces Jeongguk to do the boyfriend tag/boyfriend does my make up tag.

#soft boyfriends #established relationship #youtuber tae #boyfriend does my make up #domestic fluff #shy kook #nicknames #5k #ao3

The Give and the Take by JKDoYouLoveMe

submission | səbˈmɪʃ(ə)n | noun [mass noun] 1. the action of accepting or yielding to a superior force or to the will or authority of another person. ~ domination | dɒmɪˈneɪʃ(ə)n | noun [mass noun] 1. the exercise of power or influence over someone or something, or the state of being so controlled. ~ Young and inexperienced college student Jeongguk thinks he is a dom. His older and considerably more experienced roommate Taehyung is quite determined to show him that he is, in fact, not a dom. Drama ensues.

#sub kook #dom tae #college #roommates #friends to lovers #more like friends to fuckbuddies to lovers #degradation #humiliation #jk is a brat #subspace #tried rape at one point from another character #57k #ao3

Sing me to sleep (I can't fall without you) by HesterAntoniaDracolas

They call him demon child and think him a monster. He must be, they say, to have survived down there.

Jungkook thinks it’s because the demon actually likes him.

And maybe if you asked him, just maybe, he would admit that he likes him too

#demon tae? #jk is afraid of tae first #falling in love #sweet #8k #ao3

tenacious d in the dick of destiny by jhopeg

In the midst of struggling with debts and empty plastic packets of instant ramyeon, Taehyung and Jeongguk joined forces to put the phrase "sex sells" to good use.

#social media #use of pictures #college au #bottom tae #pornblogger #41k #ao3

tats'n'thots by Deaths_Impala

“Jeon Jeongguk, hear me out.” Taehyung says with a grin. “I feel inspired, and I want to work with you, so how about this: let me tattoo you in any way I want, free of charge – with your input of course.”

#tattoo artist tae #tattooed jungkook #aged up #life through years #smut #bottom kook #cute af #12k #ao3

say you'll stay by ChocolateKookie

Jungkook and Taehyung meet at the beach and they spend the summer holidays falling for each other, but they both know that their romance has an expiry date.

At the end of August, Jungkook is supposed to have gone back home, halfway across the country, so Taehyung expects to go back to school and continue pretending to be straight, as if nothing's changed; playing up to his role as the jerk who's never had a serious relationship. He doesn't know what to do when Jungkook turns up at his school and expects them to pick up from where they left off.

or: the BTS Grease AU that no one asked for! in which Jungkook is Sandy and Taehyung is Danny and they just want to be able to be together but Taehyung is still in the closet which makes things complicated.

#grease au #sandy jk #danny tae #secret relationship #bit homophobia #tae's deep in the closet #cute cute cute #300k #ao3

my guy pretty like a girl (and he got fight stories to tell) by hunnydews

He's dressed in another black sleeveless tank top with deep cuts on the sides, showing off his canvas of a body and all the intricate tattoos he has to offer. His pants are black and fitted as well. He forwent the bandana tonight instead his shaggy brown hair is falling into his eyes. They look like opposites of each other, yet complimentary somehow. Jeongguk likes it.

--

Alternatively, Jeongguk wears lots of pastels and pink and loves to draw. Taehyung is practically inked from head toe and is in a band. Taehyung broadens Jeongguk's musical horizons and shows him what love is supposed to feel like.

#bamf jk #crossdressing kook #tattooed tae #tae's in a band #past abusive relationship #fluff and smut #healthy relationship #artist jk #falling in love #69k #ao3

Mileage May Vary by rix

Jeongguk is a stripper with a penchant for trouble. Taehyung is curious.

#stripper kook #age difference #bottom kook #smut #falling in love #80k #ao3

Camerman, Swing The Focus by augustdarling

“I thought you were into landscapes recently. Why does it have to be me? More importantly, why does it have to be me naked?”

“Because artists want to capture beautiful things, baby,” Taehyung murmured, leaning down to nibble on his ear. “And you’re the most beautiful thing I know.”

Or:

Taehyung combines his two hobbies: photography and Jungkook. The results are even better than expected.

#basically pwp #bottom kook #dom tae #canon #exhibitionism #humiliation #2k #ao3

You Are My Chosen One by C_Stress

Jungkook starts his first year at Hogwarts..what could possibly go wrong?

#hogwarts au #slytherin jk #gryffindor tae #bottom kook #fluff and smut #secrets #falling in love #45k #a03

Of cigarette smoke and alcohol by fluffy-lychee

Taehyung likes to dye his hair.

Jungkook struggles with the opinion of Taehyungs mother about their relationship.

#no real fluff #nor real smut #but always close enough #2k #aff

pick me up, buttercup by vppa

AU where your soulmate's first words to you will be tattooed on your wrist when you meet.

Which freakin sucks, because Jungkook's forearm will now forever read "Hey baby, if you were a booger, I'd pick you first."

What the fuck, universe.

#fluff #soulmates #crack au #9k #ao3

dark blue (this night's a perfect shade of) by memetaehyung (21cg)

jungkook has never seen the world and taehyung is determined to show him it

#blind jk #fluff #bit smut #bit angst #bottom kook #8k #ao3

Mischief Managed by Vanteblack

Basically a Hate to Love Uni AU but at Hogwarts because I'm a slut for Harry Potter lmao. Also you start at Hogwarts at age 15 instead of 11 so everyone in the story is over age.

#hogwarts au #secret relationship #hate to love #slytherin kook #hufflepuff tae #rated #fluff and smut #20k #ao3

Don't Let Your Love Go To Waste by krscnl

Taehyung and Jungkook meet on Omegle.

#college au #actor tae #writer kook #life through the years #at one point established taekook #41k #ao3

fellas is it gay to want ur hot roommate to dick u down? By hunnydews

Jeongguk tunes them out as they argue, it’s normal and happens often. Instead, he takes out his phone and decides to google "how do you know if your friend is gay for you?"

~~

Jeongguk comes to the realization that he's def not as straight as he thought and he starts to explore that realization with himself and with his hot dormmate/best bro, Taehyung.

The stupid college au no one asked for but i wanted so here we are almost 20k later :)

#college #coming out #excessive use of the word bro #friends to lovers #bottom kook #cuties #19k #ao3

got a kiss (with your name on it) by marienadine

“I just—I just thought, like. Maybe I wouldn’t be so horrible if someone more experienced than me taught me what to do.”

#inexperienced kookie #college #roommates #bros #friends to lovers #first kiss #practicing #bottom kook #11k #ao3

I forget to breathe (when i'm with you) by locks

"Do we have a deal, angel," Taehyung repeats, and Jeongguk can hear that he's losing his patience, hands resting on his hips.

Jeongguk lifts his head, snapping the lid closed. "Pleasure doing business with you, daddy," he nods, sending a grin up to Taehyung who just narrows his eyes at him.

"You're lucky I like you," Taehyung mutters, sounding mildly threatening as he steps over to him and tilts Jeongguk's chin up, leaning down to press a kiss against his lips.

Lucky doesn't even come close.

Or, Jeongguk's trying to figure out how he ended up with a sugar daddy when all he wanted was a couple packets of instant noodles.

#non sexual daddy kink #sugar daddy tae #tattooed kook #aged-up #tae in heels #soft nicknames #praise kink #fluff and smut #bottom tae #sub top jungkook #fashionista tae #realistic description of a relationship #111k #ao3

Suspenders, Daddy Issues & Miracles of Halloween by chimscharli

It's nearly Halloween when Jungkook can't stop stealing glances at Taehyung during practice, and wonders when exactly everything went so wrong. It's nearly Halloween when Jungkook is in a coma, and doesn't want to see Taehyung when he wakes. It's nearly Halloween when Taehyung walks in on Jungkook moaning his name.

It's nearly Halloween, and maybe it's time Jungkook stopped being so afraid. Maybe it's time a miracle happened.

#real daddy issues #and daddy kink #smut #sub jungkook #lots of kissing #happy ending #hate to love #violence #angst #both are football players #17k #ao3

(They Long to Be) Close to You by vantoa

Kim Taehyung is a sassy and talented KBS World Sports reporter. Jeon Jeongguk the most outstanding speed skater in South Korea. They meet, hate each other and then, one eventful day, they like each other, a lot.

#speed skater jungkook #reproter/journalist taehyung #enemies to lovers #bottom tae #misunderstandings #11k #ao3

国王的小丑 by saranghaengbok

When Taehyung had announced that he would steal Yoonji from him, Jungkook had not expected that he would be the one falling for Taehyung, in the end.

#heir jungkook #prince jk #prince tae #enemies to lovers #falling in love #bottom kook #12k #ao3

Rumor Has It by buttstrife

Contrary to popular belief and multiple eyewitnesses, Taehyung did not make out with Jungkook in the pool. And no, they absolutely did not fuck in the shower rooms. Seriously.

#college #baseball player kook #swimmer tae #sut #enemies to friends to lovers #exhibitionism #manhandling #8k #ao3

make this feel like home by aeterisks

Taehyung has spent his whole life looking for excitement, but instead, he ends up finding Jeongguk; somehow, that seems to be even better.

#motorcyclist jk #fluff and smut #bottom tae #44k #ao3

Love Scarred by gjungkook

“You are unbelievable,” scoffed Jeongguk while shaking his head. “I’ve never met anyone who pisses me off as much as you do.”

Taehyung had licked his lips before he smirked, with his hand still around Jeongguk’s wrist, he stepped forward closing the distance between them. “Let me tell you why, it’s simple really...”

“You feel threatened. You know I’m better than you.”

(Jeongguk wants to win against Taehyung at everything. Win their matches in quidditch, win their spontaneous sparring sessions, win his heart— But one day, Jeongguk takes it a little too far with a single curse.)

#enemies to lovers #hogwarts au #angsty #gryffindor jk #slytherin tae #secret fuckbuddies relationship #bottom kook #denial #26k #ao3

Comeback Kids by rix

Taehyung is infuriating and Jungkook's always been easy to rile up. Which isn't the best combination, but also isn't the worst, either.

(or: Taekook as hockey fuckboy rivals)

#icehockey players kook and tae #rivals #enemies to lovers #bottom kook #fluff and smut #34k  ao3

[psyched2b]

Anything But Easy (Steve Rogers x Reader)

A/N: Here’s my (second) submission for Kari’s 1K MCU Writing Challenge. Thank you @until-theend-oftheline for letting me participate!

This story would not be what it is without my starshine, @mermaidxatxheart . Thank you for putting up with my crazy behind. You’re the bomb diggity.

P.S. Feedback is always welcomed and sincerely appreciated! (I don’t bite)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Humor, Swearing (quite a bit), People are Shot, Descriptions of the aftermath (nothing too graphic) and a potentially happy ending.

PROMPT: “Eat me! Oh no wait… you actually might!”!”

It was supposed to be easy.

In and out, Bucky had said. Grab the asset, he has decent protection, but nothing you and Steve can’t handle, nothing you haven’t handled in the past. He’s a scientist, he knows things, things on how to help Bucky.

“I would go myself, but...”

“Your egg is cracked,” you surmise, looking up from the information packet he had given you, giving him a grin.

He stares at you for a full second before he breaks out into laughter and gives you a chuck under the chin. “I think scrambled is a more apt description.” He grins. “You got this, Y/N,” he says confidently.

“Oh, I know. I’m perfect. I just wish it didn’t have to be with Mr. Perfect over there.” You jerk your chin in the direction of Steve before you glare resentfully at him.

Bucky notices the hostile stare. “He means well.” he tries,  looking over to where his best friend is looking over new weapons with Natasha, debating on which would be most beneficial for his upcoming mission. “He just wants to make sure you’re protected. He’s...protective like that.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’d be thrilled the moment I protect myself right off a fucking cliff.”

Bucky snorts at your joke. “Maybe. Who knows what goes on in his head?” He shrugs one massive shoulder.

I do, and it has nothing to do with protecting myself and everything to do with the fact that we broke up violently

This is the exact opposite of easy.

The fucking scientist heard you were fucking coming and upped his guard count. Instead of the average twenty ‘roid heads, he has at least a hundred. And while both you and Captain America are very good, the two of you alone are not nearly that good.

Unfortunately, you had to retreat.

Steve hisses as he presses a hand to his leg. A stupid ricochet bullet had lodged itself in his leg ten minutes ago and if you don’t get it cleaned out, it’s going to be bad.

“In here.” He mutters, nudging you to an abandoned building.

You help him inside, your momentary dislike for each other forgotten. “If I ever see Bucky again, I’m going to rip his metal fucking arm off and shove it so far up his ass, he’ll be able to scratch his brain.” You huff. “You weigh a ton.”

“You never used to complain.” He tries for joking.

You shoot him a withering look before shoving him roughly into the room. Quickly taking in your surroundings, you conclude that this will have to do. Everything is covered in dust and cobwebs, but with a limited amount of time to get the bullet out before he heals over it, you don’t have much of a choice.

You set Steve down into an old wooden chair that creaks under his weight. For a moment, you're worried that it's going to give away underneath his muscular ass, but is pleased when it seems to settle.

“This is going to hurt,” you warn, easing the fabric away from the bullet wound.

Steve manages to snort. “Try not to enjoy it too much.”

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you dig your finger into the open injury, digging around to the bullet. To Steve’s credit, he doesn’t so much as make a sound. But a quick look at his face and you see his eyes are squeezed shut, head is thrown back and jaw clenched tight. Not wanting to get distracted by how beautiful the jerk is, you make quick work of pulling the bullet from his leg.

“There, all done.”

He looks down at you and you can still see the pain behind his eyes. “Thanks.”

Not having time to appreciate his rare kind side, you stand up, wiping the blood off on your pants. “Yeah, well, can you get up? We need to get out of here soon if we want to make it out alive.”

“I’m good.”

“Good.”

It was almost too easy.

You two make your way around the house, hugging close to the outside walls. Peaking your head out, you check to see if there’s anyone around standing between you and the underground tunnel that will lead you home.

“We’re clear,” you decide, flicking a quick glance at Steve to make sure he's ready.

He gives you a nod, “Proceed.”

Taking off, you try to stick to the shadows, heading for the entrance.

You both manage to make it in without being caught and you feel just a tiny bit of stress lift off your shoulders.

Steve doesn’t hesitate to keep walking and you follow him into poorly lit, smelly ass tunnel.

“Smells like someone died down here,” you comment in a casual tone, not liking the silence.

He turns to give you a glare but before he can respond, there is a shout that comes from behind you.

“HALT.”

“Halt?” you question, face screwing up in confusion. “Who the fuck says halt?”

Steve just shakes his head at you before bounding over to the man that followed you into the tunnel. You assess the scene to see if there are others and you're surprised to find that the man is alone in his adventures.

The man pulls out a gun and before you could react, Steve grabs his wrist and there's a loud “pop” that echoes off the walls and you find yourself hitting the wall behind you.

Your pulse is thumping loudly in your ears. You can feel your heart fluttering heavily in your chest. Your thoughts feel sluggish as you try to process what just happened.

You look down the front of your shirt and you search for what can be making you feel so slow. You spot red seeping out from your side and you know you’re screwed, muttering an “Oh shit,” under your breath between clenched teeth.

“This puts a fucking damper on my day. Steve?” you call for the Captain. He’s currently fighting hand to handing with the jackass who had shot you. “I really need your help.”

“I’m a little fucking busy,” you hear him hiss out, grunting as he thrust his shield at the head of the asshole who thought he could hold his own against the Captain America.

You roll your eyes, letting out an exasperated huff before putting more force behind your voice. “There is a problem! So get your spangly ass back here!”

Steve Rogers hates being referenced as anything spangly and knows you're serious when you call to him like that. He risks a look over his shoulder to see what could possibly be so important. You can see the surprise in his eyes when he sees you sag heavily against the wall, both hands covering your side, oozing blood. Feeling a surge of energy, he sends a powerful uppercut hit to the man in front of him, knocking him out cold. With a quick move, Steve cuffs the man's hands and feet together, ensuring that he would be temporarily incapacitated, making time for him and Y/N to get away.

“If you’re done playing handsy with that douche, I could really use your help,” you call out to him, tensing your entire body, trying to find relief from the pain that starts to blossom from the wound.

Steve is already heading back to where you are. “Now’s not the best time to be taking a break, Y/N,” he says in a rough voice, schooling a hard expression covering his face.

“Because I just love hanging out on the floor that’s covered in literal shit,” you shoot back sarcastically. “How about you stop with the condescending and unnecessary comments for once and tell me how bad this looks.”

Removing your hand from the wound, Steve crouches down in front of you to get a better look. You know it has to have been bad based on how his expression softens to a look of concern. He prods gently at it, causing more blood to ooze out. If he notices your flinch, he doesn’t say anything. Placing a hand on the back of your shoulder to guide you forward, he checks to see if there's an exit wound.

From the sigh of relief, you know that it's a through and through. That means he isn’t going to have to dig out a bullet. It also means that he's going to have to find a way to pack the wound to stop further bleeding until you can get back to the compound to make sure there isn’t any damage to anything important.

Steve reaches into a pocket on his pants and pulls out a pack that contained fine white powder. Keeping a hand on your shoulder to hold you against the wall, he rips the packet open with his teeth and without warning, pours the white powder directly on your wound.

“That FUCKING HURTS,” you howl, trying to squirm away from the offending powder. Logically, you know that this shit is helping to stop bleeding temporarily, expanding on contact with the blood to fill the wound. But GOD DAMN if it doesn’t hurt like a bitch.

Steve growls at you and presses more firmly to hold you still, trying to give the powder a chance to do its job. “Well, maybe if you would stop squirming around like a toddler and let the powder do its fucking job, it would be over sooner and won’t hurt any longer.”

You want to bang your head into the ground to knock yourself out to avoid being lectured from Captain fucking America but quickly decide against that as you don’t want to cause more trauma to your body and give Steve the satisfaction of not being able to handle yourself properly. “Fucking thanks, Dad,” you sneer out instead. Your hand shoots out to grip his shoulder, fingers digging into the thick material as you squeeze as hard as you can. The pain is unbearable and you want nothing more than to scream like a banshee, but given the circumstances, you have to look for alternative ways to relieve the tension. It feels like your side is on fire, shots of pain radiating out from the wound. The powder feels like salt and pop rocks have been poured on an open injury as it fizzles around, filling in the gaps. How is it that this hurt more than the bullet actually fucking going through your side? What the fuck is this shit?

The soldier winces at your comment. He knows that you hate it when he lectures you, but he also knows it’s better that way. He pokes around the wound once more to see if it's fully packed, not wanting to make eye contact. “You should be able to just walk it off. It’s not that serious.” He freezes, knowing once the words pass through his lips that you’re going to get heated, but there's no taking them back now.

Your face flushes red and you feel a white heat run up your spine, snapping “Not all of us can fucking walk off a fucking bullet wound Mr. I-heal-in-two-shakes-of-a-leg.” Goddamn super soldiers and their stupid ability to heal instantaneously. Obviously, this dickhead motherfucker takes that gift for granted. Ungrateful asswipe cockmuppet.

“Maybe if you were more mentally-disciplined-”

You cut Steve off by shoving him away. He falls straight on his ass and gives you a look of surprise. Not giving him a chance to speak, you struggle to stand up, using the wall as leverage and wag a finger at him. “Are you for real? Are you seriously going to tell me that my fucking bullet wound isn’t debilitating? That some ‘woo-saa’s’ and ‘namaste’s’ are going to make this hurt any less? Are you fucking serious?” You can’t believe the words that are coming out of this asshole's mouth. Suddenly, awkwardly, you feel yourself longing for the time when you two could actually have a conversation without getting on each other's nerves.

“I got a bullet in my leg and you don’t see me complaining.”

“EAT ME!” you yell, pulling at your hair in frustration. Realizing what you just say, you stop and give a thoughtful look, cocking your head to the side. “Oh no, wait...you actually MIGHT.” Or at least, you wish he would. With an angry sigh, you gesture sharply to his leg where he had taken a bullet, but the skin's already healed over, leaving a nasty looking bruise in its place. “Are you talking about the wound that’s already completely healed? Did you miss the part where I said that not all of -”

You're cut off by Steve surging forward, his lips forcefully meeting yours in a clash of skin and teeth. Your lips move together in an achingly familiar way. It's forceful and full of anger and tension...it's beautiful.

Then the realization of who you're kissing hits you like a freight train and you pull back with a gasp. The next thing you do was pure instinct.

You punch Steve Rogers right in his perfect teeth.

The punch is perfectly executed. But the force behind it causes you to pull powder that had solidified in your injury, making you gasp out in pain, knees buckling underneath you as you fall to the ground once again.

Glancing at Steve, you notice that you managed to split his lip, but otherwise seems fine.

He's holding his jaw in his hand, moving it back and forth with a dazed expression. He can't believe that you just hit him.

The pain catches up to you and you feel the adrenaline rush through your heart. “WHY DID YOU DO THAT?” you scream, clutching your throbbing hand to your chest. So much for not inflicting any more trauma to your body.

Steve looks surprised. “WHY DID YOU PUNCH ME?” he yells back. Then his gaze falls to your hand that you're nursing and his gaze falls into one of panic. “Holy shit, where did you learn to punch like that?”

You, you asshole, you think bitterly to yourself, but otherwise, ignore his question. “Why the fuck you would think that now was the time to fucking lay one on me?” You cry out in a hysterical voice, trying to come down from the adrenaline high. If there was any doubt before, you're now positive that Steve Rogers had a loose bolt or two in his head.

Steve takes the silent route, choosing not to answer. It would just complicate things.

You give him a hard glare, realizing that he's going to ignore your question. Letting out a huff, you hold your arms out to him. “Well, I certainly won’t be walking out of here. Guess you get to carry me, you lucky duck.”

This mission had been anything but easy.

Steve feels like he has impossibly aged fifty years.

Y/N and he manage to make it back to the compound, but as soon as the jet lands, she passes out and is rushed into emergency surgery.

Five hours of waiting and finally someone comes out to give an update.

The whole team is gathered, anxious to see what the outcome of the surgery would be.

“She has a perforated bowel,” the medical professional says in an even, detached tone. “We had to clear out the binder that was placed. Once that was clear, the tear in the bowel expanded and toxins entered the body causing her to go into septic shock. It has been touch and go. We managed to get her stable and repair the tear. However, we placed her in a medically induced coma to give her mind and body time to recover without outside stressors. The next 24 hours will be critical for her. If she makes it past the next 24 hours, she will have a considerably greater chance of making a full recovery.”

The silence in the room is heavy as everyone absorbs the information.

Thor steps forward, glancing at Steve to see what his reaction is. Thor knows that there's a lot of tension between Y/N and the Captain, but he also knows that the Captain cares deeply for those he calls his own. Although, he's a little surprised to see how crushed the Captain looks at the news. He looks as if his whole world has begun to shatter and Thor sympathizes with that. There's obviously more going on that he's not aware of. Shuffling towards his friend, he places a heavy hand on his shoulder in an offer of support before addressing the medical personnel.

“Are we able to visit with Lady Y/N?”

Watching her was not easy.

Only two people at a time are allowed to visit with the unconscious Avenger. Tony and Natasha are the first to go in, not even asking if anyone wants to visit first. This is their friend, their family.

Two by two, everyone filters in and out of the small room.

Steve is the last one to enter and he can feel his stomach drop when his eyes land on your body. You're laying in the small hospital bed covered in tubes and wires. Your usually tan complexion now matches that of the white sheet that covers your body. He can hear the hiss of the ventilator as he watches the machine force air in and out of your lungs. There's a steady beeping coming from the screen on your right that's monitoring your heart rate and oxygen stats. You're covered in bruises. Not that that's anything new. Anytime anyone comes back from a mission, they're likely to be covered in black and blue. But this time, it makes your situation look worse.

Steve feels like an asshole for the words that were exchanged between the two of you when you were down in the sewers. He feels lower than dirt for having implied that you should have just been able to walk this off. Sure, he didn’t mean the words he said, but that doesn’t make the guilt any less.

He takes a seat by your side. He wants nothing more than to reach out and take your hand in his, but he knows that if you were awake, you wouldn’t appreciate it and would likely punch him again. Instead, he just hangs his head in shame, shoulders slumped.

“I can see that you’re beating yourself up over this.”

Steve slowly looks up from the floor to see his best friend standing in the doorway looking particularly unimpressed.

Bucky is standing in a defensive position, feet shoulder length apart, arms crossed against his chest and a deep scowl on his face. He looks ready to disembowel someone.

“Had I been more aware of our surroundings, I would have known the guy was there-”

“Stop,” Bucky says, stepping into the room and taking a seat opposite of Steve at Y/N’s side. “I don’t want to hear that BS. I think it’s time you admit what’s really going on here.”

Steve gives his friend a confused look, pretending to not have any idea what he's talking about.

Bucky scoffs, rolling his eyes and leans back in his seat, giving Steve a mildly amused look. “I honestly don’t know who’s the bigger idiot in this room. You or Y/N.” He pauses for a moment, rubbing his flesh hand over his jaw, a thoughtful look on his face. “You’re stupid for thinking that I of all people wouldn't know what was going on between the two of you. Obviously, you were head over heels for each other. She’s just as stupid because she can’t see how head-over-heels in love you are with her...that, and she thinks you’re just an average idiot instead of a super idiot.”

This revelation floors Steve. He can feel all the blood rush from his face as he looks at his friend in horror. Had they really been that obvious? They had been so careful. “How..” he trembles out, letting the word trail off as he thinks back on all their interactions with the team, trying to think of any instance that would have given them away.

The Winter Soldier snorts, amused by Steve’s terror. “You might think you’re so slick, but I’ve known you since we were tots. I know when you’re smitten. Honestly, I’m a little insulted that you didn’t come and tell me. I think you two are great together.” He pauses, face darkening at another thought. “That was until you went and mucked things up. Seriously, you break up with her because you received a threatening letter? Honestly to God, Steve. And then you go to Sharon for help? No, not your best friend who is quite frankly better equipped to handle a situation like this. Not only that, but you insulted Y/N by implying that she wasn’t able to handle some sleazebag? She’s a lot tougher than you think. You don’t have to protect everyone.”

Steve remains silent, taking in everything that Bucky is saying. It isn’t anything that he doesn’t already know. But it does make him seem stupid when spoken aloud.

“You care for her,” Bucky states in a matter-of-fact tone. “I hope that you use this opportunity as a wake-up call. You need to think about whether or not you really want a life without her next to you.”

Steve chooses to ignore his last comment and goes back further in the conversation. “How did you know about the letter? I destroyed it as soon as I got it.”

“I have my ways,” he answers cryptically. Steve gives him an unamused look and Bucky releases an overdramatic sigh in return. “I keep tabs on what threats are coming in against my family.”

It still doesn’t explain how he knows, but Steve realizes that's the only explanation that he's going to get.

“It was still relatively new,” Steve says after a moment of silence, feeling the need to give some sort of explanation. “We both agreed to give our relationship a try for some amount of time before opening up to the team. It was fun, sneaking around. Added a sense of danger that was appealing.”

“You’re a kinky mo-fo, aren’t you?” Bucky comments.

Steve scoffs, trying to ignore the blush that's darkening his cheeks. “And you’ve been hanging out with Peter again.”

Bucky gives a non-committed shrug. “Was she aware of the threat or did you just push her away?”

This question forces a cringe from Steve and he rubs the back of his neck nervously. “She overheard me on the phone with Sharon and accused me of not being over her. She didn’t want to be second best to a Carter she said.”

“You’re an ass.”

Steve nods in agreement, eyes flicking to where Y/N is still sleeping in the hospital bed. She hasn’t moved, which is expected. “Her anger at the situation fueled my idea that becoming a grouchy jackass would push her away and make it easier for her to despise me. She has zero tolerance for assholes.” He can feel his lips curve up in a fond smile, remembering how she told him about her tolerance ‘issues’.

“Well, you two sure to play the role of spiteful ex’s incredibly well,” Bucky notes in an unimpressed tone. “Maybe it’s time you get over yourselves and realize that you work better together. Plus, your guys kids would be models.” His phone beeps at him and he reaches into his pants pocket, pulling it out. “I got to go. Tony wants to video chat with Shuri to see if she has any ideas on how to prevent my brain from melting out of my ears.” He stands up from his chair, brushing the invisible dirt off his hands. Walking away, he pauses at the door and gave Steve an amused look.

“By the way, I took care of the threat.”

Could it be so easy?

Steve stays by your side, debating the pros and cons of what telling you the truth would be and what the outcome could be.

People come and go, but he remains steadfast in his vigil.

He sits there, watching you for any sign of distress.

Any sign of recovery.

He prayed to a God that he hasn’t prayed to in ages.

Not since he woke up from being frozen alive.

Not since aliens came from the sky.

But now he prays.

He prays that you would make it out of this. He prays for a chance to have a life with you. He prays for the endless futures for the two or you.

He makes his decision.

Waking up had never been so hard.

When you come to, you're vaguely aware that this is the medical bay. You can faintly see the stark white light behind the tiny blood vessels in your eyelids. You can hear the steady beeping of a heart monitor. A swallow is stopped by the hard plastic of the tube down your throat.

Holy shit. How bad off are you?

The last thing you remembered was entering the underground tunnel with Steve after a failed mission.

Holy fuck! You were fucking shot!

Your eyes shoot open and you immediately start coughing on the tube that’s down your throat. You can hear the heart monitor beeping considerably faster. You try clawing at the tube, but strong hands pin your hands down.

You’re feeling panicked and scared. Your eyes are flickering around the room, trying to make sense of the situation.

Steve’s face comes into view and you see his lips moving, eyes watching you in a worried way. He faces away from you for a minute and you see him shouting before he turns back to you.

He’s holding both your hands in one hand, his other hand running over your hair in a soothing motion.

“It’s okay,” you finally make out. He strokes his thumb over your cheek, collecting the tears that were falling. You hadn’t realized that you were crying. “You’re going to be okay,” he says in a soothing way, his eyes showing no sign of betrayal.

There’s a cluster of people who crowd into the room and you find that Steve is shoved away from you.

The tube is gently removed from your throat by one doctor. Another is shining a bright light in your eyes. A third is looking over your monitor and a fourth is taking notes of the whole thing.

Just as quickly as they came, they all left with the exception of one who stays behind to tell you what happened. As soon as they relayed the message, they're off.

They leave you alone with Steve.

Your throat is incredibly sore from lack of use and having a tube shoved down it for days on end. Thankfully, a nurse leaves you with a bit of water to sooth it.

Now that the fear is out of your system, you fully remember that you and Steve aren’t on the best of terms.

“Wh-what are you doin’ here,” you croak out, trying not to wince at how gravely your voice sounds. But you need answers and Steve isn’t the type to just provide them without prodding.

Steve is standing awkwardly at the end of your bed, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders slumped. You idly eyeball the muscles in his forearms but shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. He doesn’t deserve your thirsty ass.

He looks away from you and clears his throat. “I’ve been doing some thinking,” he starts.

���That’s a fucking change,” you grumble.

He shoots you an exasperated look. “How about I talk and you listen? Your throat has to be raw and there’s no point in agitating it more.” He looks to you for confirmation that you agree but all you offer him is a blank stare. That's good enough for him.  “I uh-well, simply put, I fucked up.”

You snort at this revelation but otherwise didn't comment.

“Just before we broke up, I had received a letter from a person and they said that if I pursue a relationship with you that you would be the one to pay the price. They had a picture of us together on a run, but you were clearly the focus of the picture. Except, they scratched out your face. The threat was a real concern and I contacted Sharon to see if she would help. That’s when you found me on the phone.” He pauses, looking at you only to see an unamused look on your face. “She wasn’t able to get any leads and that triggered something inside me. I realized that if we continued on with our relationship that there would be more threats that would come and there was no way for me to protect you from them all. That’s when I decided that it was better for you to hate me and put distance between us. Only….I found myself to be miserable. Nothing was the same. It was like living life without a purpose. Just going through the motions because there are people who depend on me. And to constantly see the look of hatred in your eyes every time I was around you...it was slowly killing me. But, I guess that sometime between you digging a bullet from my leg, you getting shot and me almost losing you all together made me realize how strong you are. You don’t need me. And that...that is what makes you so amazing. I had to face a reality where you didn’t exist in it and that was worse. I prayed that you would make it out of this. You don’t have to forgive me, but I needed you to know the truth behind our breakup. It was unfair of me to underestimate you and you deserve nothing less than the best. I guess that the point of all this rambling is that I still love you... and that I’ve never stopped.”

“Are you done?” you ask thinly, looking at Steve over the lip of your cup as you sip at your water.

He gives you a dejected look. “Yeah, that’s all I have. Guess I’ll go-”

“Sit your star-spangled ass down, Rogers,” you command, slamming your cup down on the side table. “It’s my turn to talk.”

Steve follows your direction and took the seat to your right and waits patiently for you to continue.  

“First of all, you chucklefuck, I knew about the threat. You think you’re so special that you’re the only one who got a letter? No, no you are not. I even was so special that I got four letters!” You give him a second to process while you take another sip. “What really pisses me off is that you didn’t think to come to me with the situation and ran to your ex-girlfriend for help. Want to know the reason why she couldn’t get any leads? That’s because your boyfriend and I handled the fucking threat.”

“I went to Sharon to help you,” he defends, yet knowing that doesn't change him being an idiot. “I swear to you, Y/N. There’s nothing there except for a working relationship. I don’t see her in any sort of romantic light. That light is reserved solely for you.”

You let out a frustrated groan. “Jesus, Steve. All this time I was thinking you were just an average idiot when clearly, you are a super idiot!” You close your eyes and rub your temples, trying to fight off a headache that's slowly encroaching. “Bottom line, the reason why we broke up is that you chose not to communicate with me.”

There's a moment of silence as he takes in what you're saying. “I’m only human, Y/N. All I can do is hope you understand that and no relationship is perfect...and that I will try harder to be better...if you decide to take me back.”

Your pulse quickens as you realize this is what you've been waiting for. You longed for some magical way to fix things between the two of you and here's the golden opportunity. You only need to think for a second.

Reaching over, you grab Steve by his shirt and pull him to you, crashing his lips to yours. It's a kiss full of passion that leaves you panting for breath once Steve pulls away.

“I take it that’s a yes?” he teases, wanting verbal confirmation.

“Just kiss me again, you twat.”

Tag(s): @bettercallsabs, @thinkwritexpress-official

[fear-chaos]

Death of Chaos

Orion sat on his couch, reading a love novel while he rested. Today had been a rather boring day for the God of Order, although he didn't seem too bothered by it. He preferred it this way, for things to go by smoothly. The less problems he had to deal with the better, he was not a fan for useless conflict. Although that didn't mean he wasn't good at causing a ruckus when he had to, because he had in the past. As he turned the page, one of the lines stuck out to him and it made him smile. It reminded him of his 'twin', Khorne.

'Love is a chaotic maelstrom of emotions that confuses anyone who deals with it. Love is commonly referred to as the most chaotic emotion that dwells within the heart.'

Between the two of them, The God of Chaos was always the more emotional between the two. He was the 'heart' while Orion was the 'mind' so to speak. Khorne was a mystery all his own, even to his brother who has known him all their life.

"Even after all this time he has never changed. Always such a...dork."

He laughs a little, going to stand up and head to the kitchen for a snack. Sifting through his fridge for something to eat, he decided on a pizza he ordered from last night. Naturally he had put the slices on a plate before warming it up. Cold pizza was horrible. Thirty seconds was what he set the microwave to and he started reading his book again. As the time ticked down, he let the beeping of the microwave influence his humming.

"Hmmm...I might suggest this book to Uncle Phobs, he is a diehard romantic."

Suddenly he felt a stabbing pain in his chest and his head started pounding like a violent drum. The pain was so intense that it drove him to his knees and he screamed out in pure anguish. One of his hands gripped onto his chest as the pain began escalating. The feeling in his head started to become more aggressive, like a fight for his own mind was taking place.

'I know this feeling! This ungodly pain, why....why am I feeling it?!'

That lone thought seemed to be the only one that managed to get through all of the pounding that was taking place in his skull. It felt as if he was being ripped in half, his very being was being torn apart. The last thing Orion thought of before passing out from the pain was Khorne.

A few hours earlier

Khorne shoved his hands in his hands as he stood in the flowery field of Haven, his home. Or at least it was before he left with Orion and he vowed to never return. All he wanted to do was burn the entire realm and send it into despair and chaos. That thought put a smile on his face, though soon it faded as he heard a voice.

"What's this? Little Khorne is on time for once. I never thought I would see the day."

Dehlila, The Goddess of Darkness chuckled a little as she stepped through a portal. The God of Chaos felt his right eye throb at the appearance of his grandmother.

"I would say its good to see you too, but considering only one of my eyes actually function...thanks for hexing it."

Khorne rolled his eyes, something he did often when he was annoyed.

"C'mon Cornelius, you still have attitude problems. You need to work on that."

His cousin, Vort, chimed as he stepped from behind Dehlila.

"Call me that again and I will stuff one of those precious daggers down your throat."

He threaded the God of Toxins, glaring at him. Vort held up his hands, the silver band on his wrist shaking in the process.

"I was just teasing you a little relax..."

Vort chuckled, his ponytail moving as he started walking.

Before Khorne could comment a portal opened up, and his hands balled into fists once he saw the individuals who exited it. The first was Heimen, God of Light. His grandfather. The next was Pendris, God of Water. His uncle. And the last one...his mother. Ophelia, Godless of Magic.

Heimen acknowledged his nephew and wife with a nod of his head, before turning his attention towards Khorne.

"I hope this day finds you well, Khorne."

Khorne had to force himself to speak, the rage inside of him building. And not just his own. These were the ones of split Balance apart, at least some of them.

"It was until I accepted this summons. You said that it was important, I'd like to know what is so important you would track me down."

It was his mother who responded to him, making him gaze at her.

"We...we wanted to invite you and your brother back. This family has been lacking since you two left. I miss you, both of you."

That had certainly thrown him for a loop, a real hard loop. The last thing he had expected to hear was that they wanted the twins back. Ophelia had seemed genuine, she sounded like she really wanted them back. And...he believed her. For all of three whole seconds before he decided to test the offer.

"Does this little offer of yours extend to Uncle Phobs?"

His question got the reactions he more or less expected to get. Pendris went as pale as a sheet, Vort went stiff, holding his arm. Dehlila seemed to growl a little, a hand going to her chest. Ophelia went wide eyed, not sure how to answer. Heimen however simply looked angry, something flickering in his eyes that the God of Chaos could not identify.

"The offer does not extend to that...that abomination. His very being sows discord and pandemonium, his existence is a mistake that should of been corrected eons ago."

"I see...I expected as much."

Khorne hadn't noticed that he had been gripping his palms hard enough to cut the skin. A thin trail of blood dripped down his palm.

"Let me answer your little offer, fuck no. If I had to choose between being a part of this family or death then I will go find Desmond right now."

He took in their reactions before deciding that he had enough. Then he started walking to go leave.

"If you won't say yes then we can just go get Orion."

Vort's words made him pause in his stride.

"You would do what? I couldn't hear you."

"I said we could get your submissive other half. Between the two of you, he is a lot easier to coax. He is a spineless piece of tra-"

The words he was about to speak were lost as Khorne's scythe was through his chest, piercing his soul.

"I still can't hear you."

Before any of the other Gods could stop him, Khorne yanked his weapon upwards and split Vort in half from the chest up. Killing him. The blade of the scythe glistened with the golden blood that ran in the veins of its latest victim. That was when the mayhem started...

A few hours later

The God of Chaos sat down, panting heavily as he tried to recover from his pain. His entire body aches, at least what was left of it. He'd lost both an arm and a leg, the blood that pooled underneath him was a testament. A few new scars would be added to his body as a result. Although...something was wrong. The pain in his chest was starting to building, he felt his soul burn violently. His mind raced as he tried to figure out the cause, before he reached one conclusion: Vort. His soul must of been poisoned, or enchanted to fuck up the one who killed him.

"Huh...I think I am dying..dammit. Am I wrong, Des?"

Khorne looked up, seeing his cousin, Desmond. The God of Death had tears in his eyes but, they would not be shed. Instead he nodded at his dying cousin.

"Yes..."

The situation was important enough that Desmond was going to speak, something he didn't do often. It got him mistaken as a mute a lot.

"I see...oh well."

Khorne shook his head before vomiting a large amount of blood, feeling his head begin to swim.

"Can...Can I get one of your famous last requests?"

He looked at Desmond who had started to approach him, taking a seat next to his cousin.

"Of course."

Desmond calmly strokes Khorne's hair, being gentle as he tried to ease him. He had seen Khorne's death long ago, with the help of Chronos, their uncle. There was nothing to do to stop the poison that had infected the God of Chaos' soul.

Khorne stayed silent for a moment before leaning his head on Desmond's shoulder.

"Lend me one of those little cards you use to talk. A couple of them. I need to leave a few messages..."

The God of Death was a little surprised but he pulled out two of his cards. They were black, with silver writing on them. One of the functions was that they could turn thoughts into voice messages for the desired person. That was the function Khorne would use.

"Thank you.."

Weakly he took the cards from his cousin and held them with as much strength as possibly. Then he thought of Phobia.

'Hey Uncle Phobs...I've uh..got some bad news. And a little good news. Good news is that Uncle Pendris and Vort are both dead. You could say they are...sleeping with the fishes. Get it? Yeah, you'll get it. Hehe...umm..the bad news is that I uh..won't be coming over anymore. Ever, by the time this card gets to you then Desmond would of done his job. I went and got myself killed. I'm sorry...I am so sorry that I went and died. I just wanted to say that I love you and that you were by far the best family to come from those pieces of shit. With love...your nephew Cornelius.'

Khorne blinked back tears as he took a few slow shuddering breaths to help clear his head the best he could. Then, he thought of Orion.

'Hey Oreo! I wanted to tell you that I love you. Weird right? I never drop the L word with you and I realized that...I never said it that much when I should of. I love you Orion, you're the best twin and or other half of my soul that I could of gotten stuck with. I'll never forget when I put that black streak in your hair because I claimed it made you more badass looking. I wasn't wrong. Anyway...I think I should stop beating around the bush. I ummm...I am dying. By the time you get this I will be dead. Man that's depressing as fuck. I'm sorry. I am so so sorry that I went and got myself killed. I left you alone, some brother I am right? I just couldn't stop myself. Vort started talking about you and I couldn't stop myself from just going at him. You know I have always been impulsive. I'm sorry...again. I love you, I always have and I always will. Your dork of a twin, Cornelius.'

Once he finished the second message he let the tears fall, the pain in his chest forgotten by the grief that overwhelmed him. It hurt to know that he wouldn't be able to go bother his brother or go chill with his uncle. He wouldn't be able to laugh with them.

The entire time Desmond waited patiently, hating himself and hating everything. Countless times he had reaped his friends, and even some family. It was knowing why Khorne died that really made him cry. He died defending his brother's name. Desmond would of done the same thing if it had Cyprus who had been badmouthed. Immediately.

"Khorne...its time."

His tone was calm and collected, practiced. Although the shaking that accompanied his tone was not missed by Khorne. The God of Chaos sighed before letting his mind drift to his brother, the pair of them laughing as they goofed off. And that was the last thing he thought of as everything went black and he stopped feeling.

(Yeah...this was a little project I had started doing these past few weeks. It's a big step for me. I know it's sad since I am writing about the death of one of my little bean babies, but I am a sadist.)

[jay-fabe7712]

the invisible woman

Summary: location - weirdly dark club + supernatural element - demonic gathering + situation - making a deal with someone you shouldn’t have + quote - “i wonder if you taste as good as your fear smells.”

A/N: So, this is my contribution to the eleventh day of the 31 Little Wrestling Fics challenge! (Barely on time, mind you.) I have mixed feelings about how it turned out, but I’m super happy I got a chance to participate.

Also, I’d like to give a special shoutout to @fan-fiction-galore. Even though I’ve known her for about a month, the little interactions we’ve had has been a joy and I wish her all the best on her new journey!

When I looked into the eyes of Minoru Suzuki for the first time, fear was the furthest thing from my mind.

I would describe the feeling more along the lines of awe or wonder.

His eyes were wide at first, darting around to find his next victim. The next body to brutalize in an exorcism of his own frustrations. His smile spread slow as molasses and the glistening of his incisor through parted lips was barely visible before his gaze settled on me.

But all I could focus on were his eyes. Not the dark brown of the iris or the murderous intent they held, but how they were looking directly at me. Not past me. Not over my head. Not in my general direction. His gaze was locked tight with mine and I had his full attention. And it might sound a little preposterous, but no one had ever looked at me like that. And shit, if they ever had it was so long ago that it didn’t matter.

Because if there was one thing I was good at, it was being invisible. Which is why being a production assistant for New Japan Pro Wrestling was the perfect job for me. In fact, I liked the anonymity of it. Fading into the background and watching all the action unfold.

At least, I thought I did.

You see, people always looked past me. They forgot I was there. They forgot I existed. So even if Suzuki wanted to murder me in cold blood in front of a live audience, I couldn’t help but marvel at the fact that someone had seen through the invisibility cloak that seemed to shroud all of my daily interactions.

Then, I blinked and he was right in front of me. So close I could feel his heavy breaths jostling my eyelashes with each exhale. I could feel the heat radiating off of his body. I could see individual beads of sweat wind their way down his temple.

But again, I was distracted by his eyes. I could see them clouding with thought at the short, squatty being that was staring back at him. Wide-eyed and ripe for the killing.

The moment was broken when he let out a noise somewhere between a scoff and a grunt before turning abruptly on his heel and heading toward the back.

My eyes followed him until he was out of my line of vision; he never looked back. His stablemates, Desperado and Taichi, kept shooting glances my way as they trailed after him. Deperado’s mask gave away very little but his eyes were piercing and his arms were crossed tightly across his chest. Taichi smoothed his hair back and grinned so wide I almost looked away.

“Naomi.”

I felt a nudge to my shoulder and it was as if someone had just drenched me in cold water. I hadn’t even realized that I had spaced out until that moment. Suddenly, the din of the crowd warred against my eardrums, the bright lights illuminating the ring hurt my eyes and I clutched at my cardigan to stop my trembling even though it wasn’t cold at all.

"Are you okay?" My co-worker Ryou asked me.

"Yeah," I said, glancing up at him. But his eyes weren’t on me. Of course they weren’t. He was staring after Taichi and Desperado and I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard.

"Man, those guys," He shook his head. "Minoru especially. Always terrorizing the staff."

Believe it or not, it wasn’t until that moment that I realized I should be afraid. The most brutal wrestler on NJPW’s roster had quite literally breathed down my neck and I had barely batted an eye.

Fear started to unfurl in my stomach like a spider stretching its legs. I hope I hadn’t made myself even more of a target.

"Look who it is!"

I recognized Taka Michinoku’s game-show-host voice anywhere. "It’s the rope wrangler who stood toe-to-toe with the boss."

He shook his head with a lopsided smile. "Can’t fucking believe it."

He elbowed Kanemaru by his side who simply quirked a brow and studied me.

“I’d watch my back if I were you,” Taka continued. “The boss seemed pretty pissed last week.”

“Might even come to getcha.” Kanemaru was close enough for me to smell the alcohol on his breath and I took several steps back.

The two men traded glances and chuckled, obviously thinking I was scared. And frankly, I wished I was. I wished I had the common sense enough to be trembling in fear at the thought of Minoru Suzuki having some kind of vendetta against me. But what I felt was hopeful. Hoping that I could be under that laser-focused gaze of his again. Hoping to be seen.

In fact, the searching looks Taka and Kanemaru were giving me already transported me back to that day ringside. To no longer being invisible.

But before I could entertain the thought any further, I clutched the clipboard in my hand tight to my chest and muttered, “I’ve got work to do.” Then, I proceeded to scurry as far away from these men as I could possibly get.

Unfortunately, that did little to change what was already set in motion.

“And working ringside we’ve got-”

“I’ll do it!” I blurted, garnering several sideways glances from my co-workers.

“Who…” Our supervisor Ken looked around, skimming over my face several times before finally resting his gaze on my general area. “Naomi?”

Huh. Surprised he even remembered my name.

“Yeah.”

He cleared his throat. “I was going to say that Atsuko will be working ringside with-”

“Why don’t you let me do it?” I cut in again. More stares. “Atsuko doesn’t mind if I take her place, do you Atsu?”

The brown-haired woman sputtered a moment. “Uh, no. Sure, I don’t mind.”

“That settles it then, huh?”

By this time, everyone’s eyes were on me but they turned collectively to see Ken’s reaction.

I thought I saw a vein pop out in his forehead, but he responded with a stiff nod and said, “I guess it does.”

Once he was done with announcements, everyone dispersed to begin preparing for tonight’s show.

“Naomi!” Ken called to me as soon as most everyone else was gone. “Let me talk to you for a minute.”

“Sure.” I responded, even though he didn’t exactly ask me a question.

“What the hell was that?”

“What the hell was what?” I fired back.

Yep, that was definitely the vein in his forehead popping out. “You questioning my authority.”

“I was making a suggestion.” I responded, feeling my own anger spike. “A pretty logical one, I think.”

“How so?”

“Atsuko is too slow to assist with the camera cords. Someone always ends up tripping and she’s gonna block the camera at least five times during the-”

“Regardless, that’s my decision to make.”

“-show.” I finished my previous sentence in lieu of an actual response.

“Whatever you were doing, it better not happen again. Understood?”

“Mm-hm.” I could feel the anger radiating off him and if looks could kill, I would probably be dead.

But I didn’t care. In fact, the heady mixture had me feeling a strange sense of satisfaction. I didn’t know who this guy thought he was anyway.

Working in the behind-the-scenes production of NJPW actually had a pretty quick turnaround. Some people came in just to rub elbows with their favorite wrestlers and got a reality check real quick. Some people came in just to get a paycheck but ended up realizing how hard the work actually was. And some people just quit. I had been here for two years while Ken had only been here six months and already he was in a managerial position while I was in the exact same spot.

It was about time I got some respect. --- That night I couldn’t take my eyes off of them.

Every single bit of the vile chaos that ensued in their match, I couldn’t take my eyes off of it.

Kanemaru spraying his opponents faces with alcohol until the entirety of ringside stank of whiskey. Taichi driving the handle of the bell hammer into eye sockets and twisting it with glee. Minoru leaning casually into submissions as his victims screamed bloody murder at the pain of their wrenching muscles.

I had always garnered a strange sense of comfort from being around the carnage of pro wrestling. The dull thud of bodies hitting the canvas was so calming that I would sometimes queue up NJPW World on nights I had trouble sleeping.

But this was different.

I had never actually taken pleasure in people getting hurt. In fact, I’d always considered it my least favorite part of my job. Besides Ken, of course.

But now, as I watched the men of Suzuki-gun gather around the broken bodies and raise their pointer fingers up high, I was hit with a more unsettling realization.

I not only liked the violence. I wanted to be a part of it. --- There were a lot of moments in my life worthy of a great deal of shame, but this was probably one of the higher items on the list.

I followed them.

I overheard them talking about some club or the other they planned on visiting that night and…I decided I would show up. I would say this was strange behavior for me but quite frankly, strange behavior had become the norm for me lately.

The man at the door didn’t stop at me. In fact, he barely even looked at me.

I wasn’t a frequenter of the club scene, but I was pretty sure the man at the door didn’t fit the bill of what I would consider a “bouncer”.

He was average height with a shaved head, decked out in a navy blue sweater and similarly colored dress pants. Honestly, the most intimidating thing about him was the fact he was wearing sunglasses at about ten minutes until midnight. I paused at the door, clutching my wallet in my hand. When he didn’t react to my presence, I rifled through my wallet to find my ID and held it out to him.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to go in?” He didn’t move from his stationary position; he didn’t crane his head or lift up his glasses to examine my card, he barely even moved his lips when he spoke.

“Wha- Don’t you need to see my ID?”

“Guess you’re just going to stand there, then.”

I stared at him, speechless for a few seconds but he remained unresponsive. He was kinda starting to creep me out. Especially those damn glasses.

No matter how hard I stared, I couldn’t make out his eyes behind them. Just two sheens of depthless black. The longer I stared at them, the more confused I felt. I blinked and shook my head, breaking his unsettling gaze, which grew even more unsettling when I realized even though the building in front of me vibrated with music and voices, no one else was out front. There was no line, no smokers, no drunkards, no one.

Not wanting to dwell on the feeling, I brushed past the man and splayed my hand onto the door but he did nothing to stop me.

“Ow!” I exclaimed as I bumped hard into something (or someone) as soon as I stepped inside.

Unfortunately I couldn’t find the obstruction – I couldn’t really find anything the damn place was so dark. I stood still for a few moments waiting for my vision to adjust to the light. I was able to make out shapes and eventually objects. No wonder I had bumped into something, I had walked right into a wall. The front door led right into a hallway that extended to the left and right but the only thing in front of me was wall. I looked down either side of the hallway. I decided to go left.

During my entire trek, I didn’t run into a single person. Which was weird because the deeper I went into the place, the stronger the pulsing music and indiscernible voices grew.

I was considering going back the way I came when I heard the familiar sound of a deep, crisp voice.

Taka Michinoku.

“…is such a fucking prick now. I liked him better when he was Mr. Goody Two Shoes.”

Up ahead, thin cracks of dim light formed the shape of a door.

“Yeah, you can’t even really have fun with him anymore.” Taichi. “He’s either spitting on you or staring at you with those dead eyes.”

I pressed closer.

“Well, he knew what he wanted and he didn’t care what he had to do to get it.” That sounded like Suzuki.

“Come on, it’s a waste! All that just for the fans to give a shit about him.” Taichi scoffed. “Ridiculous.”

“You’re just saying that because they don’t give a shit about you.” Taka quipped. Laughter filled the room.

“Some people will do anything just for anyone to give a shit.” Minoru responded. That brought on silence.

Then, I thought I could hear their voices starting up again but lower this time. I pressed so hard to the door it felt like I was melding with the wood.

Suddenly, the door yanked open and I nearly fell into the room, to which Kanemaru responded by graciously moving out of the way to let me do just that.

“Look at that.” Taka chuckled. “Standing at attention. Just like you said, boss.”

“Mm-hm.” Minoru hummed, remaining seated for a moment longer before rising to take a few slow steps toward me.

“A- Are you going to kill me?”

“You guessed it.” Taichi smirked.

“I wonder if you taste as good as your fear smells.” Iizuka added.

My stomach dropped but the men in the room laughed collectively.

“Shut up.” Minoru growled out, but humor tugged at edges of his tone. Nonetheless, the men grew silent.

“We’re not in the business of killing-”

Taka cleared his throat.

“-at the moment.” Minoru finished. “We’re in the business of making deals.”

“Deals?”

“Don’t act dumb,” His eyes darkened. “It doesn’t suit you.”

I averted my gaze.

“I know you were listening long enough and hard enough today, and yesterday, and last week,” My eyes widened as he accurately listed off the days I had been snooping about them. “To piece together the basics of what’s going on here.”

“What are you?”

He scoffed and nodded his head. “Thought so. Unfortunately that one is above your paygrade. Next question.”

“How does this deal thing work?”

“That depends. What do you want?”

“What do you mean?”

If I didn’t know any better, I would say the smirk he gave me was almost pitying.

“People like you always want something,” He shook his head and laughed. “As soon as I saw you, I knew you did. Only a person with nothing to lose would look evil in the eyes with curiosity. After all,” He gestured to the dimly lit room. “You even came chasing after it.”

I blinked at the playful way he just called himself evil.

“But I’m still not quite sure what you want. So what is it?”

A pause. “I want to be one of you.” The words surprised even me.

In the corner of my eye I saw Desperado scoot forward in his seat, looking ready to jump up any second. The rest of the men in the room remained still.

Then, Suzuki threw his head back and laughed.

“I-I know you’re not human. I’m not sure what you are but…I want in.”

Minoru took a step forward. “Oh really?”

“Yeah really.”

He scratched his chin and shrugged. “Okay.”

“Okay?” I studied him. “It’s that easy?”

“I didn’t say that.” He shook his head. “I need you to bring me someone first.”

“Bring you something?”

He smirked and it made my stomach feel sour.

“Someone.”

“So do you want to go?” I smiled, hoping it made my offer seem more genuine.

“Let me get this straight,” Ken began, eyeing me in a way that made my neck grow hot with anger.  “You.”

He pointed at me.

“Want to go out,”

Another unnecessarily dramatic pause.

“To a club,”

I nodded, wishing he would get to the point already.

“With me.”

“Yeaahh.” I said slowly. “You in?”

“You know this is unexpected and actually,” His eyes narrowed. “Borderline unprofessional.”

I fiddled with my fingers, wondering if I had just majorly fucked up. I mean, it was clear the guy already didn’t like me. Did I really think I could just ask him out and we’d become best-

“I like it!”

“Huh?”

“I said I like it. Guess you finally realized all that strong, silent shit isn’t going to get you anywhere around here.” He hooked an arm around my shoulders and I tried to hide the shiver that accompanied the contact. “You know, I was worried about I’d have to fire you eventually after you mouthed off in front of everybody last week.”

It took everything in me not to elbow him in the gut so he’d get his lanky arm off of my shoulder.

“But it looks like I won’t have to.” He grinned. “How about nine o’clock?”

“Actually-”

But he was on his way before I could get another word out.

“Damn idiot.” I mumbled turning around…and bumping right into someone else in the process.

"Oh! Um, sorry." I said, righting myself quickly.

Desperado hadn't stumbled at all and his only response was staring back at me with stark white irises.

After a few seconds, I asked, a little irritation in my voice, "Can I help you?"

He glanced over my shoulder at Ken who was still making his way down the hall.

"Is it him?"

"Is what him?"

Desperado crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head in the Ken's direction.

"You know what I mean. Is it him?"

I averted my eyes. "Maybe." My stomach dropped. "What? Do you think - Is he not the right choice?"

Desperado's eyes narrowed. "No, he's actually perfect. The guys hate him and the boss has talked about ripping off his arm off on several occasions. Actually, they hate almost all of the staff here except…" He blinked at me and shook his head. "Is that really all you're concerned about right now?"

"What? Does he want more?"

Desperado regarded me for a few seconds, black-painted fingernails idly twirling the cross around his neck. "I thought maybe you..." He clenched the rosary in a fist. "I guess not."

He turned as if he was about to walk away and I stopped him.

"Wait, you thought what?"

"Doesn't matter. I was wrong." He kept walking.

I groaned. "Aren't you going to answer my question?"

"Yeah." He threw me a haphazard glance. "The boss always wants more."

“What was up with that guy at the door?”

“I don’t know.” I muttered, sick of Ken’s never-ending flow of chatter.

“I mean, what kind of douchebag wears sunglasses at night?”

“He’s always been that way.” I said, trying to the resist the urge to comment on the irony of him calling someone else a douchebag.

“Why is it so dark in here?” He complained. “I know we didn’t have to pay but they could at least have some lights in-”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

Ken and I both jumped at the voice and whirled around to find Taichi leaning against the wall we had just walked past.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Nope. Don’t think he does.” And now Kanemaru was standing a few feet in front of us.

“Naomi? What the hell is this?”

Taichi ran a hand through his hair before pushing himself of the wall and towards us. “I think it’s about time we shut you up.”

“Oh, I see.” Ken said, glancing between the two men. “You brought me here to have your creepy friends rough me up because of that shit at work.”

The two men grabbed on to each one of Ken’s shoulders and steered him back down the hallway. “You’re going to regret this!”

“Will you shut up?” Taichi shook him hard and he grew quiet.

I barely had the chance to entertain the thought of what they might do to him when a dark chuckle made me jump again. My reaction just made Suzuki laugh more.

“Geez. Do you guys make any noise when you walk or what?”

“I see you brought your boss.”

“So that’s it?”

Suzuki’s brow raised.

“That’s how the deal works?”

He laughed once more, but this time my stomach got that sour feeling again.

“Eh. That’s only half of it.”

“What?” I said, getting a bit pissed. “What more do you need?”

A heavy hand rested on my shoulder and I knew without looking that it was Iizuka.

“You.” --- The screeches from the audience announced Suzuki-gun's presence before the announcer ever could.

Desperado and Kanemaru were already halfway down the ramp, unconcerned with the melee taking place behind them.

Iizuka was terrorizing spectators as usual, but it was a little more alarming because it seemed as if no one was restraining him. That was until the man's head was jerked back just as he was an inch away from biting off a chunk of an older woman's nose.

A short woman with chin-length black hair bleached blonde at the ends wound his leash around her hand and yanked him again until he was out of the crowd and headed down the ramp.

Ryou looked on with the rest of the audience in wonder at this seemingly new addition to the terrifying stable.

As the four stablemates made their way into the ring, Ryou could've sworn there was something familiar about the woman touting the leash with an air of stony haughtiness.

And when her eyes scanned over ringside, stopping on him with a wicked smirk before disregarding him just as quickly, he felt almost sure he knew her from somewhere.

But no, he was sure that if a woman that striking and intimidating had ever been in his presence, he would remember.

He tried not to gawk at the woman while she was ringside, observing the action with a strangely serene expression. He had to much to do to spend too much time on it anyway. After all, being promoted to the position of supervisor had its perks, but it was a hefty job to handle.

No wonder Ken left.

[dearophelia]

anthem (2/3)

There’s a crack in everything. Olivia’s never asked Zaeed what he means by that, but she wants there to be a hopeful second half to the phrase. Eight months is a long time without Garrus. 

(they’re stuck, all of them; it’s hard to move forward when you can do nothing)

Previously on: Part 1

PG, this part ~7k; Olivia/Garrus, Hannah/Zaeed, Olivia+Liara friendship, Liara+Garrus friendship, Olivia+Zaeed friendship. Vague references to PTSD.

Garrus sits down in the mess opposite Ashley, datapad in hand.

“I don’t want to hear it,” she grumbles. She looks at him, deep hollows under her eyes, and sips at her coffee. After a moment, she sighs, pushes her hair out of her face, and gestures for him to go ahead.

“Long-range communication, FTL drive, stealth drive, and the main guns are all offline. They’re not…” he grasps for the colorful phrase James used, and comes up empty, “completely destroyed, but they took significant damage.”

Ashley frowns. “And we have negative repair supplies.” She sighs heavily. “What else?”

Garrus scrolls through his list. “Daniels and Donnelly have been working nonstop on EDI, but they said it’s like her program is just gone. There are also multiple severe hull breaches.” At her raised eyebrow, he explains, “From crashing into a pile of rocks.”

Ashley nods and covers a yawn. “Oh, right.”

“Slightly less destroyed:” he continues onto the next section. “Sublight engines are offline, but Tali and Adams think they’re salvageable with enough time and effort. Liara thinks navigation would probably work if we could figure out where we are,” and we sure could use Shepard for that, he adds silently. “Short-range communication is twitchy at best, and Traynor’s exact words were ‘my toothbrush has more reliable reception.’ She had a similar opinion about our long- and short-range scanners.”

She stares at him over her coffee cup. “What is working?”

“Life support.” That’s it. Ten days of diagnostics and emergency triage repairs, and the only thing they’ve managed to get working is life support. And they crashed on a planet with breathable air and drinkable water.

“Well, at least there’s that.” She takes another sip of coffee.

“And other minor systems with varying degrees of functionality.” He may not be a very good turian, and he may technically be nowhere near her chain of command, but Garrus knows how to give a complete report to his ship’s CO.

Ashley exhales slowly and closes her eyes for a moment. “How are you?” she asks quietly.

Garrus stills. They’re all feeling Shepard’s absence, and he doesn’t want to claim more grief than anyone else. But since he kept her name off the memorial board, refusing to consider her another casualty, he’s noticed most of the crew going to great lengths to avoid speaking even her name around him. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate it.

He suspects Ashley put him in charge of overseeing repairs for more than just his ability to give a report. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate that, too. For most of the day, he can throw his focus and efforts into other problems, tangible problems. Problems that are largely - ah, shattered to shit, that’s the phrase, but problems that can be solved.

It’s only the few hours before sleep, when he’s alone in their quarters with nothing to distract him, that despair tugs at the edges of his mind. He tried simply going to bed earlier, but that was worse - lying awake in their bed alone, as her scent on her pillow disappears a little more each day.

He’s taken to working his way through her extensive media library. And sleeping on the couch.

“The fish didn’t survive the impact,” Garrus says, instead of voicing just how much it hurts to not have her here. “But her hamster’s still alive.” The little guy has even started coming out of his box to sniff at his fingers when he feeds him.

Ashley nods, and takes his words as a valid answer. She reaches over the table and plucks the datapad from his hand, and scrolls through it for herself. “Let’s talk repair schedule.”

***

Thunder booms overhead and Hannah freezes. She hasn’t heard real thunder in, god, twenty years. She’s been rained on since, sure, but never with thunder and -

Lightning. She closes her eyes.

Good air in, bad air out. You’re in London. Gripping the edge of the sink until her hands hurt and her knuckles are stark white, she takes slow, even breaths to bring herself back from a cornfield twenty years ago.

Zaeed rests his hand on her hip and she opens her eyes. She stares at their reflection in the kitchen window and tries not to see ships and slavers in the clouds outside. She leans back against him as thunder crashes again, loud enough that she feels it in her chest.

“You alright?”

Her reflected self nods, but her real self answers, “No.” It’s a good answer, an honest answer. They’re both too old and been through too much crap to lie when memories creep up from where they’ve buried them deep.

He shifts, settling his arms around her waist, and brushes a kiss to her cheek. “Anything I can do?”

Find my daughter, she wants to say. Go outside in the storm and dig and dig and don’t stop until you find her. But Zaeed’s spent every day digging, alongside Wrex and Grunt and the others. She shakes her head, and links her fingers with Zaeed’s. “No,” she says again.

Zaeed gently tugs her away from the window and the storm, and toward the living room. She curls into the corner of the couch, hugging a throw pillow to her chest, as Zaeed messes with the entertainment system. They at least have power tonight, and the former residents of the apartment they’re squatting in have no shortage of television and vids they can watch.

He picks something innocuous, an old Earth black and white comedy that hasn’t aged particularly well but is decent background noise, and joins her on the couch. Hannah leans into him as the storm rages on outside and a 1950s nuclear family with sparkling wide smiles appears on the screen. Zaeed is warm and solid, and she’s felt unstable for nearly three weeks - like a sheet of paper in the storm outside, tossed around and battered, blown from one feeling to the next.

She’s alive and Zaeed’s alive and the reapers are dead. Dead and gone, save for the hulking, looming shells of their destroyers and capital ships casting long dark shadows when the sun chooses to come out.

But Olivia is missing. Hannah knows the Alliance has listed missing in action; presumed dead in her daughter’s record. And though she isn’t quite so quick to believe the worst, Hannah finds herself unwillingly moving just a little bit closer to the same conclusion with each passing day.

Zaeed presses a kiss to her temple, and Hannah sighs, trying to focus on the show. She can’t, the storm is too loud and her daughter is too missing, and so instead she curls into Zaeed and rests her head on his chest. She lets her eyes drift shut as he gently strokes his fingers across her back.

Five days later, in a rare rain-less day, Zaeed and Wrex lift a broken piece of wall in the Citadel cleanup site. They heave it into the omnigel conversion unit beside them, and bend down to lift the next piece.

Both men freeze when they see a piece of armor, with a bright purple stripe smudged with dirt and blood and oil. Zaeed kneels and wipes away a smear of mud with his thumb.

N7.

Zaeed’s stomach drops.

He looks up at Wrex, and sees his worry reflected back in the krogan’s beady red eyes. “Dig,” Zaeed orders, and radios for more krogan and a biotic assist squad.

Hannah makes three wrong turns in the hospital before finally finding the correct ward. Zaeed’s sitting on the floor halfway down the hall, opposite Wrex, who’s leaning against the wall beside Jack and Grunt. Zaeed stands as Hannah stills, unable to walk any further for what the news might be.

Nodding, Zaeed walks toward her. Hannah wraps her arms around herself and bites the inside of her cheek as Zaeed and the others blur through sudden tears.

Everything stops, except for Hannah’s loud, pounding heartbeat, and Zaeed in front of her in his muddy armor. It probably only takes him three seconds to reach her, but it feels like an excruciating eternity.

“She’s alive, Hannah,” he says.

The universe crashes into motion again so fast that Hannah loses her balance. Zaeed wraps his arms around her, holding her up as Miranda sprints past them.

***

Liara opens the battery door to a bang and a clatter, and an audible growl from somewhere deep in the gun’s inner workings. Filed under: things that don’t bode well, she hears in Olivia’s voice. She wishes Olivia would stop that. They’re all going a bit mad stuck on this planet, and she’d prefer that her insanity look a little more like Sam’s, working forty-eight straight hours on a quirky subroutine, or Ashley’s, trying to glare a hull breach into submission.

Instead, Liara has her best friend in her head. At least she hasn’t started seeing her. Or having conversations. Could be worse! Liara rolls her eyes.

Sighing, Liara takes a tentative step into the battery. “Garrus?” The doors close behind her.

Another angry growl, this time accompanied by the distinctive sound of someone punching the uncooperative technology and putting their whole weight behind it.

“Did you lose the coin toss?” he says tersely, subharmonics still growling.

Technically, she volunteered because the others were too scared to toss a coin in case they lost, but Liara suspects he knows that. Garrus has always been fairly self-aware; he can’t be oblivious to the way he’s retreated into the battery (and himself) and stopped talking to everyone over the past two weeks. He also can’t be oblivious to how unhealthy that is.

Then again, Liara surmises, he responded to Olivia dying by quitting his job, leaving his life and friends behind without so much as an email, and running off to Omega to become a vigilante for two years. And that was before he fell in love with her.

Not like you’re one to talk, Miss Spent Her Life Savings Excavating My Dead Body From A Glacier.

Liara huffs. “Something like that,” she says. “You missed dinner.” She steps around a column and finds him tucked uncomfortably into a corner, arm threaded through an access panel as he blindly tries to fix something out of sight.

“I’m not hungry,” he says. There’s a shower of sparks, a low rising hum of something trying to activate, and then a falling hum as it fails. “Damn.” He pulls his arm back and shakes out his hand.

Liara huffs. “I don’t care,” she snaps. “Eat something.”

Garrus swings his attention around, and locks his piercing stare onto her. “Interesting pep talk,” he says, though he takes the offered ration bar.

Crossing her arms, Liara leans against the bulkhead. “I’m not here to give you a pep talk,” she says. “I am trying to make sure my best friend’s boyfriend doesn’t die out of sheer stupidity.”

I appreciate that.

Her words seem to deflate him a little bit, and he slowly nibbles at his dinner. He finishes the bar in silence while Liara fidgets nervously. She didn’t come here to yell at him about eating - she actually came in to bring him dinner and tell him the good news about navigation. The whole crew is on edge, growing slightly more restless and irritable with each day they spend trapped on this planet. She thought she’d been doing a good job of not joining them.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly as he crumples up the wrapper and tosses it into a bin beside scrap metal and wire. “I did not mean to yell.”

Garrus nods and rubs the back of his neck. “Thanks for the food,” he says, in a gentler tone than Liara’s heard from him in a week.

“I discovered where we are,” she says. A terrible pop song from ten years ago provided the key, oddly enough; Olivia listened to it nearly nonstop the semester she wrote a paper on the nearby supernova, and it triggered something in Liara’s memory. “As soon as the FTL drive is back online, we can start back to Earth.” They don’t have a navigator on board - yet another reason to miss Olivia - and by her estimations, it will take five months. Provided they don’t run into trouble.

Always expect trouble.

Six months, then.

“Good,” he says tightly, and turns back to his panel.

Liara takes a deep breath, and reminds herself that he’s grieving, just like she is. Their grief just looks different. She nods. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Fiancée,” he says quietly as she turns away.

Liara pauses and turns back. She tilts her head, curious.

Garrus sighs and looks down for a moment. “I asked her to marry me. We, uh, we weren’t going to tell anyone until…after.”

“Garrus!” Liara gasps quietly, part in surprise, but mostly in excitement. Genuine joy rises in her for the first time in months. It feels a little strange, unfamiliar, like a friend she hasn’t spoken to in a long time.

His mandibles flutter in an approximation of a smile. “I’m surprised you didn’t know.”

Whether that’s a reference to being the Shadow Broker, or her friendship with Olivia, Liara isn’t sure. She presses her lips together. “I do sometimes keep my nose to myself.” When she doesn’t see quite the same joy in his face she would expect, she sighs. “You know she will fight like hell to get back to you.”

He takes a slightly shaky breath, and his mandibles tighten. “Yeah.”

Liara knows that they’re both remembering Olivia’s voice at the Crucible, and how broken and hurt she sounded. Whether Olivia is able to fight or not - Liara slams down that thought. “She will, Garrus.”

***

The Normandy lifts off the day Olivia gets discharged from the hospital.

***

The skycar pulls up in front of their newly-built prefab, one of many slowly starting to replace the refugee camps, and Hannah peers out the window. They were tailed by a newscar almost the whole way here, but they lost them two turns ago. Their street has been surprisingly - and thankfully - empty. Either the media has more respect than she thought, or Wrex and his krogan set up a perimeter. She’d bet not an insignificant amount of money on the latter, especially when she sees Jack and Kasumi sitting outside the prefab next door, trying to look like they’re lounging casually on the porch.

Hannah doesn’t think Domestic Casual suits either one of them, but she appreciates their presence, and not just because she’s sure Jack’s hiding a shotgun somewhere. Miranda moved in with the two women once Olivia was stable enough to not need her immediately nearby. A Major Kirrahe lives across the street; Hannah doesn’t know what role he played in her daughter’s life, but he seems quiet and nice, if also about as likely to kill you as he is to feed you. Their whole block is filled with Olivia’s friends and crew, the ones who were stranded here, and Hannah thinks it’s kind of nice. Insular. Let Olivia start to navigate her life again amongst friends.

That Olivia has hardly spoken at all since she woke up is a problem for tomorrow.

“You ready?”

Olivia nods, but she doesn’t look sure of herself at all. Three weeks under a pile of rubble, kept alive only by the remains of her hardsuit, and then a month and a half in the hospital - the hollows under her eyes haven’t gotten any lighter. Hannah sets her hand on Olivia’s shoulder and offers her a soft smile, then tilts her head in the direction of the prefab. They’ve put a piece of metal over the front stair to make it easier for her.

Gathering up Olivia’s bag, Hannah opens the door. She stands up, and then takes Olivia’s crutches, holding them out for her.

Olivia slides to the edge of the seat. Grimacing, she takes the crutches and braces them under her arms. With a deep breath, she checks that her balance is right, and stands. Hannah shuts the door and follows Olivia down the small path to the prefab.

Keeping her stare forward, Olivia walks uncertainly on crutches and one leg. Her jaw clenches as Kasumi calls after her - hey Shep! - and she pauses, offering her friend a forced, tight smile and a wave of her fingers.

The skycar powers up with a loud whine, and Olivia flinches as it drives away. It’s only a tightening of her eyes, but to Hannah the flinch shines like a beacon on her normally-unflappable daughter. Olivia’s breath grows shallower and speeds up. She closes her eyes, and visibly forces herself to count to ten. Her arms, and the crutches, start to shake.

“Let’s get you inside,” Hannah says softly.

Nodding, Olivia opens her eyes and continues on, making her way up the impromptu ramp.

Zaeed’s leaning nonchalantly against the open door, but Hannah knows better - he has at least three guns on him, and could draw and shoot to kill before his target even blinked. He smiles warmly at Olivia as she passes, and Olivia manages a weak, but genuine, smile in return.

“How is she?” he asks quietly, shutting the door behind them.

Hannah exhales and watches Olivia make her slow way to the couch, and carefully, awkwardly, sit down. “I have no idea,” she says, just as quiet.

***

She sits in therapy, silent.

Her therapist is nice enough, and comes with a stack of degrees and the highest Alliance security clearance.

But she seems intent on making Olivia talk. And in lieu of her volunteering anything, the therapist spends their sessions reaching for topics.

Mostly, she asks about the leg.

The prosthetic has been fitted and connected and attached now, but it’s still adjusting. Olivia refuses to call it “calibrating,” though that’s really what it is; too many memories about that word. She still needs the crutches.

Olivia isn’t defiant toward the idea of therapy - she knows she needs a heavy dose of it, and probably for at least the next three years. But speaking is too much, too loud. There’s too much to say, and it’s all too big to let out in little pieces. And while her therapist is nice enough and qualified enough and has enough security clearance, Olivia isn’t about to open the dam and let everything flood out to a relative stranger.

So she sits silently in her therapist’s office with its fake-cheery paintings and fake potted plants not doing much at all to disguise that the office itself is a sectioned-off corner of a bombed-out parking garage. Olivia lets her ask about her missing leg, and gives one-word answers, sometimes two if she’s feeling charitable.

At least I got to say goodbye, she thinks, as the calendar changes from August to September to October, with still no word from the Normandy. She likes to think of herself as an optimist, but optimism is in short supply when she can’t sleep, can barely walk, is missing her fiancée and best friend so much it physically hurts some days, and has nothing to do except think about all of it.

She gives up on therapy entirely in November. November is also when Miranda gives her the okay to stop using crutches full-time. There’s no metaphor in that, Olivia says from the door as she tells her therapist she’s quitting for now. Just coincidence.

It’s the most words she’s said in a single session.

Two nights later, Zaeed gets up for a glass of water and finds her on the couch, head buried in her hands. He silently sits beside her, and she tells him everything.

From the Illusive Man and Anderson, to her mom and Garrus and Liara, to that stupid hologram and its choices, to destroying the reapers (to laughing around a collapsed lung and broken ribs at the thought that she would choose any other solution), to knowing it meant the geth and EDI and the mass relays too, to accepting the idea that she was going to die.

To waking up and finding that she hadn’t, but that she was missing a few parts. Literally and figuratively.

Olivia tells him everything in a hushed whisper by cloudy moonlight, and lets him pull her in for a hug.

I think I’m going to cry, she warns him after a while.

He rubs a hand across her back. You’ve earned it, he says, and holds her as she quietly cries herself to sleep.

***

Garrus finds Tali in the tiny corner of engineering she claimed as her own, the same corner Jack slept in. She’s packing. She doesn’t have much to pack, but it’s clear she’s taking as long as she can with the bag.

“You sure about leaving?” he asks, leaning against the wall. They rendezvous with the quarian ship in twelve hours. It’s a miracle they even found each other, passing through a nebula with malfunctioning scanners on both ships.

Tali sits back on her heels. “Yes, I should be with the Fleet. Besides, the engines are stable now. All I’m doing is eating your food, Garrus.”

He sighs and sits down on the stripped bedframe. The quarians have an extra box of rations they’re willing to part with in exchange for some spare power coils, and Tali leaving doubles the length his food will last. But she’s the only other person who’s been here for it all - for Saren, for the Collectors, for the reapers. Tali’s who he went to for advice when he realized he had feelings for Olivia, the one who smartly told him to either tell her how he felt, or stop sleeping with her.

She’s also the only one who can successfully yell at him into leaving his quarters these days. Not even Liara can drag him out, but Tali has a tone.

The gun’s been online for a month, he doesn’t know anything about the Normandy’s long-range communication systems (and he suspects Traynor would kick him out within five minutes of trying to help anyway), and everything else is working. Garrus has nothing to do. It’s hard not to isolate himself and succumb to grief. The quarians aren’t the first ship they’ve come across, and no one has any news from Earth.

“I don’t mind sharing,” he offers lightly.

Tali turns to him and tilts her head. He still can’t see through her mask, but he knows that tilt. It’s the you’re being an idiot tilt. He’s seen it a lot over the past five years.

“Yeah,” he sighs and looks up at the crossbeams and wire grating above them.

She closes her bag and then sits beside him.

For one horrible moment, he thinks she’s going to say something comforting. That she’s going to tell him not to worry, that Shepard’s alive, that if anyone could beat death a second time, it’s Shepard.

“I’m transferring my Monopoly property to you,” Tali says instead. “If you let Vega beat you, I will take it as a personal insult.”

Garrus laughs. It sounds a little desperate, a little unhinged, but still - it’s a laugh. That game has continued for three weeks, and showed no signs of coming to an end when he last checked. “You got it,” he promises.

***

“I’m worried about her,” Hannah says, a few days after Christmas. She rolls over onto her back and stares up at the ceiling in the dark. She’s been worried about Olivia for months now, but she thought it would subside, thought  Olivia would get better, like she always does. Mindoir, her N4 mission, even dying - Olivia’s always gotten better.

But she’s just been silent for six months. She hasn’t been rude or cold. She’s still been Olivia, only a quiet, reserved version of herself. Almost like she’ll break if she speaks too loudly.

Haunted.

Zaeed turns onto his side and trails his fingers down her arm. He looks across the room. Hannah looks over her shoulder and follows his gaze to the window and the snow falling softly outside. She smiles - been a long time since she’s had snow. Her smile is short-lived, however, and she sighs, turning back to him.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admits softly.

“Give her time,” he says. “She’s been through a lot.”

“I know,” Hannah huffs out a breath of air. She doesn’t know what that a lot entails, though she has a suspicion Zaeed does. She’s trying not to let that upset her, and remind herself that Zaeed’s a soldier who’s been through his own share of shit and is the better person for Olivia to talk to. But it hurts a little anyway; Olivia’s always told her everything. “I’m her mother,” she says. “I ought to be able to do something.”

It hasn’t been for lack of trying. From silent support to warm hugs, to promising an ear if she wants to talk, to chocolate chip cookies, she’s done everything she can think of. It hardly seems to have any effect. Hannah exhales sharply. She doesn’t know what else she can do for Olivia. Though it may be her only option, time is a frustrating outlook.

Zaeed reaches out and gently tugs her toward him. She comes willingly and tucks herself up against him, digging a little deeper under the warm covers as she rests her forehead against his shoulder. Zaeed presses a kiss to the top of her head and lightly brushes a hand down her spine.

“Thanks for taking care of her,” she says after a while. Zaeed’s spent the past few nights up with Olivia, calming her after paralyzing nightmares. Hannah tried to help, but Olivia wouldn’t let her. That had hurt, and it took a midnight walk around the block to calm herself down, and remind herself that this is about Olivia, not her.

“Of course,” he says, holding her a little tighter.

Hannah buries her head in the crook of his shoulder. Zaeed’s rough as sandpaper around the edges, but there’s a warmth inside of him, a kindness, though he tries so hard to hide it from the world. She counts herself lucky he’s chosen her to show that warmth to. She counts Olivia lucky, too.

“There’s a crack in everything,” he whispers, long after she thinks he’s fallen asleep.

She makes a small, curious noise in the back of her throat.

“That’s how the light gets in.”

Hannah blinks. It’s a strangely-optimistic phrase coming from Zaeed, even poetic. Then again, a man who was shot point blank in the eye would know a few things about hope, not just revenge.

December ends, and the new year rings in with fireworks that start soon after dark. Olivia puts in earplugs, takes a sleeping pill, and quietly goes to bed early.

But the next morning, Hannah wakes to the smell of coffee and baking bread. She slides out of bed, whispering for Zaeed to go back to sleep when he protests her leaving, and gets dressed by the dull grey dawnlight.

She stands in the kitchen doorway for a few minutes, silently watching Olivia knead another loaf as the sun brightens in the window. Olivia actually looks calm as she works the dough, lifting up on her toes to really put her strength into it. Hannah walks in, careful to make enough noise that she doesn’t surprise her.

“Morning,” she says, stepping up beside her.

“Morning,” Olivia responds quietly, scattering some flour over the counter. Her voice sounds stronger than it has recently, even for just one simple word.

Hannah sets her palm between Olivia’s shoulders, gently rubbing her back. Her daughter’s ghosts aren’t banished forever, just blissfully absent for now. “I love you,” she whispers, and presses a kiss to Olivia’s cheek.

Olivia pauses in her work and leans into Hannah’s embrace. Her breath shakes a little, but she manages a smile. “I love you, too.”

***

Liara grimaces as Dr. Chakwas rotates her arm. “There,” she says, as the rotation hits just the right spot, and something inside of her shoulder twinges painfully.

Chakwas sighs and lowers Liara’s arm back to her side. “Is there a reason you waited five months to tell me about this?” She steps over to her cabinet, and prepares an injection spray.

The charging brute seems half a lifetime ago, not just five months. The pain of missing Olivia, though it isn’t a physical one, eclipses everything else. She feels her best friend’s absence when she’s working, when she’s eating, when she’s watching the Monopoly game spiral out of control as Ashley raises the rent on all of her properties and James acquires the last railroad. The Olivia-shaped hole in her life has become such a constant dull ache that she sometimes doesn’t even notice it. It’s part of her now.

But her shoulder has started hurting in her sleep. Sleep is rare enough without waking in the middle of the night unable to move for the burning pain. The doctor’s question is a rhetorical one, and so Liara doesn’t answer, merely removes the Serrice University sweatshirt of Olivia’s she stole during the hunt for Saren; she sits in a tank top, offering her shoulder. The needle goes in sharp but smooth.

“This will help with the pain for now,” Chakwas says, “and hopefully relax your tendons. Give it three days, and if it doesn’t improve, tell me.” The disapproval in her voice in the last two words is nearly palpable.

Liara nods and pulls the sweatshirt back on. “Thank you,” she says, and hops off the exam table.

She holds her breath as she passes the crowded mess - Risk tonight, and a showdown between Traynor and Daniels that’s bound to win someone a lot of money - but no one calls to her. As much as she scolds Garrus for isolating himself, she knows she’s doing the same thing. It’s hard to be excited, even for a few hours about a board game.

There was at least something to do last time. She had a goal, a singular focus, a way to fix it. Now she’s just stuck waiting out the journey.

Not sure going on a crusade to find my dead body really counts as a healthy reaction.

“I never claimed it was healthy,” Liara says out loud, once the doors are shut behind her and the chatter from the game blissfully silences. “And she who considers ‘more coffee’ to be a valid solution to every problem should not judge.”

Name one time that has failed.

Liara thinks back on the fifteen years of their friendship and tries to remember even a single scenario where that plan has not succeeded. She finds none. “Fine,” she grumbles. “You win.” She sits on the edge of her bed and rests her elbows on her knees, burying her head in her hands. The silence and solitude are overwhelming, but so is the idea of leaving her quarters to watch Traynor and Daniels roll dice in battle over long-redrawn territory.

Super healthy, T’Soni.

“What do you want me to do, Olivia?”

I’m not really here, you know. You’re holding both sides of this conversation. With yourself.

With a heavy sigh, she flops backward onto the bed. “I know.” She closes her eyes and throws an arm over her face. “I miss you,” she says quietly.

Is this where I get to give you the “get up off the floor” speech? Out of bed. Whatever.

Liara drops her arm and opens her eyes. She’s being yelled at by herself in her best friend’s voice. This must be what going properly insane feels like. “Fine,” she grumbles again. She sits up carefully, accustomed to her shoulder twitching painfully, but this time it doesn’t.

Should’ve gone to the doctor a while ago.

Liara simply stares directly into the empty space in front of her, as if Olivia were standing there. “I am not even going to acknowledge that,” she says, and stands up.

Long-range communications are still down, and even if they weren’t, there is no chance the Normandy is within range of an Alliance comm buoy yet. Opening their private channel seems prematurely optimistic, but Liara does it anyway. Even if she can’t broadcast, and even if no one is there to receive, it’s open and ready.

“No comment on that?” she asks the empty room.

Liara doesn’t expect a response, but she’s a little disappointed anyway when one doesn’t come.  

***

January passes with a promotion. It’s ceremonial: her active days are over.

There are plenty of active soldiers with prosthetics, but she’s done. She’s paid back her degree, the galaxy is saved a couple times over, and she’s done.

Hackett knows this, but he puts captain’s bars on her shoulders in front of a crowd anyway. She isn’t even too upset that he’s using her for one last media stunt, though she officially resigns three days later.

“We could still use you, Shepard,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “There’s a government to rebuild.”

She lets out a harsh breath; in another life, it might have been a laugh. “If you’re thinking about naming me Ambassador or Councilor,” she shakes her head. “Admiral -”

She’s ready to tell him, point blank, that she’s done. Out. Finished. Wants to live out the rest of her life so far away from the spotlight she’s sitting in the dark. Doesn’t want anything to do with the rebuilding - she wants a break. To be left alone.

But she doesn’t.

Seven months, and there’s still no word from the Normandy. She’s tired of standing still. Of doing nothing. Of lying awake at night, staring at the wall, trying to make a pile of pillows feel remotely like Garrus. Of pretending the next morning that she hadn’t heard through paper-thin walls her mother whispering to Zaeed about how worried she is. Of muffling her cries in a pillow, so those same paper-thin walls don’t give her away.

She wasn’t made to stand still. She wasn’t built for doing nothing.

“Why don’t you get some use out of that degree you paid for?” Olivia says instead.

Hackett tilts his head.

“Someone needs to get those relays back online,” she says. “The galaxy’s going to stay a mess until we get transport moving again.”

“There’s a team on it,” he says, though his tone is factual, rather than dismissive. “Though they haven’t been able to make heads or tails of the relay wreckage, or the schematics we found in the Archives.”

A smile tugs at her lips. “I suddenly seem to find myself with an abundance of free time,” she says. “And I do have a doctorate in astrophysics and stellar cartography you people haven’t let me use yet.”

“And a remarkable ability for making things happen.”

“That too.” The smile grows. It feels weird. She’s out of practice.

Hackett sighs and stares out his window at the grey sky. “Are you sure I can’t offer you a political position?”

Olivia snorts. “Not on your life.”

Her first act doesn’t have anything to do with relays. Instead, she wrangles a small fleet of FTL shuttles, and begs every ration officer for every extra box they can spare. She orders all the motley N7 teams she can find - humans joined by asari and volus and krogan, turian and quarian and drell, even a few batarians - to pack up the shuttles and fly out.

“We have a lot of stranded people trying to find their way back home,” she says. Home to Palaven, Earth, Thessia, just home. “Let’s make sure they don’t starve on the journey.”

Her second act doesn’t have anything to do with relays, either. She records a message - Liara, it’s Liv. If you can hear this, please respond - codes it for their private frequency, and sends it out through the few intact Alliance subspace comm relays.

***

Garrus rubs a hand over his forehead. “Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. It was a long shot. “Thank you,” he tells the turian commander. “Safe journey.”

The turian nods. “You as well, sir,” she says, and salutes him before signing off.

He sighs heavily and leans on the railing, closing his eyes. He didn’t expect a turian ship way out here, halfway across the galaxy, to have news from Palaven at all, and certainly not news of his family.

But still. Garrus would like some word about someone.

***

“Breathe,” Zaeed tells her as she struggles to do just that.

Olivia rests her elbows on her bent knees and presses the heels of her palms into her forehead. She’s not sure which is worse - the splitting headache, or the nightmare.

Or that she evidently woke Zaeed up across the hall and through two closed doors. Again.

“I’m trying,” she whispers.  

***

He’s starving.

He’s starving and he’s angry and he’s sad and their bed has long stopped smelling like her. There’s nothing he can do about any of it, and he’s furious. Too much pent up energy and nowhere for it to go, no way to get it out. He’s too weak to spar with Vega, too jittery to tinker with anything, too irritable to even think about joining a game. Staying up here alone isn’t doing him any favors, he knows, but being around others sets his teeth on edge.

Writing to her hasn’t helped. Garrus has watched his handwriting get steadily worse over the past weeks as constant hunger set in and his hands started to shake. But he keeps writing letters, every day. He’s not sure it kept him quite sane last time, but it certainly kept him from catapulting over the edge.

He feeds Hipparchus - at least the little guy will make it back to Earth alive, at least he can manage to keep one promise to her - and sits down to enjoy the last quarter of his ration bar. He even licks the wrapper. There are two left. Eight days, and he’s completely out of food. Even with Tali gone, even with cutting down so much it hardly seems worth eating at all, he’s still running out. He adores Tali, but he’s glad she left - he can’t imagine how bad it would be if they were still sharing. At least this way, they’ll be a few thousand light years closer to Earth before he’s running completely on empty.

Olivia, he writes, after eating that quarter of a bar as slowly as he possibly could.

Garrus stares at the blank rest of the page. Though the human pen is weird in his hand, he’s long learned how to write with it. But his hand won’t stop shaking long enough to write anything more than her name.

He snaps.

With an angry roar, he flips the table, expending energy he knows he doesn’t have. He hurls the chair into the wall and watches as it splinters.

He blinks at it, and the destruction suddenly feels devastating. They bought the little table and chairs so they could eat dinner and feel like normal people for a few hours, even if dinner was a just-add-water microwaved tasteless ration packet. They had to collapse everything afterward and stick it in the closet so they’d have enough room to move, but for those few hours they were just Olivia and Garrus, girlfriend and boyfriend sharing a meal.

Gingerly, he rights the table. One of the legs is bent now, and the table wobbles. He sighs, blinking away his rising emotions, and picks up the pieces of the chair, placing them out of the way under the desk. He’ll recycle them into omnigel later, maybe someone can turn them into a power coil or plasma conduit.

He bends over and picks up the notebook, but the pen is nowhere to be found. Garrus crawls on his hands and knees, searching the floor for the pen - her pen. It’s probably only two minutes, but it feels like he searches for an hour. He can’t find it, it’s like it disappeared into thin air, and he’s nearly about to just give in and let himself finally fall apart completely, all over a missing pen.

But he catches sight of something underneath the couch.

Garrus lies as flat as he can and blindly reaches under the couch. His hand clasps around the pen, but his fingers also catch on something soft, something fuzzy. Frowning, his triumph over finding the pen is short-lived and replaced by confusion; he grabs the soft thing along with the pen and sits up.

It’s Olivia’s teddy bear. Saved from Mindoir, kept safe in her bedroom at Hannah’s for most of her military career, brought to the Normandy only after the reapers attacked Earth. The teddy bear mostly stayed on the couch, but there were nights when she slid out of bed to retrieve it, and crawled back into bed beside him, holding it nearly as tight as he was holding her.

Garrus carefully brushes some dust off of its nose; he moves to set it back on the couch, when he takes a breath and gasps. The bear still somehow smells like her; it smells like the warm, fruity lotion she ran out of just before they assaulted Cronos Station. He crushes the bear to his chest, mindful of its soft fabric and his sharp edges, buries his nose between its ears and just breathes.

Several minutes pass, and he slowly feels himself step back from the edge and calm down. He stands up off the floor, fighting a wave of starvation-induced vertigo that is only going to get worse, collects the pen and notebook, and sits down on the bed. He sets the bear beside him, right in the middle against one of her pillows, and opens back up to his letter.

I didn’t stand in front of a reaper just to die of starvation on the way back to you, he writes.

***

Olivia stares out the window of her office - a repurposed single-occupancy room on the first floor of the hotel the Alliance took over for headquarters. The February rain and fog obscure her view, transforming everything into grey and blue smears, occasionally broken by a moving accent of bright color as someone with a cheery umbrella walks down the street.

Her team has mostly moved past their starstruck initial reaction at being led by Captain Shepard, and moved into vague resentment: she’s forcing them to actually do things instead of sit around and talk about the science all day. Talking about the science and the theory is all well and good, when you don’t have a whole galaxy depending upon you to get everyone home.

Funny how they got the Charon Relay up and running within four weeks of that meeting. Unfortunately, one active relay doesn’t do anyone any good - it needs a connection point.

Palaven was the logical choice, though for a while she had a revolving door of asari and salarians arguing that their relays were more important. But communication with Palaven has been unreliable at best; short of sending a scout shuttle, decent intelligence on the Trebia relay is nigh impossible to find. She’s about to give up and switch her efforts to the Aralakh relay. The only reason she hasn’t already is that same revolving door of asari and salarians - though Victus has said he’d support her decision, she’s sure she can add turians to the metaphorical line outside her office.

So much for not taking a political position.

February also marks a return to therapy.  

“I hear reapers,” Olivia says abruptly in the middle of a paragraph-long tirade about politicians, during their third session.

Her therapist tilts her head, and takes a moment to catch up. “How often?”

She holds the woman’s gaze long enough and hard enough that it becomes a stare. “Always.” Inhaling sharply, she continues. “Also geth. And sometimes Cerberus.” She shudders; the Collectors have their moments as well, though usually because there’s a fly in the house.

The woman nods. “That’s normal in veterans,” she says, “to hear your enemies even though you’re safe.”

Olivia blinks at her. “You’re telling me it’s normal for me to think every heavy truck that passes my house is a brute. That my mother’s omnitool beep is a cloaked geth hunter, that my own growling stomach is a husk. It’s normal for me to hear a bunch of kids playing and hear a banshee instead. It’s totally normal that in utter dead silence before I fall asleep I hear get to cover and drone deployed. That’s normal.” It certainly doesn’t sound normal.

“Yes. It’s very common in individuals with combat PTSD.”

Olivia quirks an eyebrow.

She smiles kindly. “I read your file. I diagnosed you in our first session, in August.”

Olivia returns the smile, but just a little bit fake. “I diagnosed myself during the war,” she says. “You have some catching up to do.” It comes out harsher than she intended, and Olivia holds an apology at the tip of her tongue.

“I imagine I do,” she says. “Do you want to talk about hearing reapers, or do you want to talk about Garrus?”

Olivia goes still. She wants to lash out and scream at the woman for even bringing him up - Olivia well knows the implication behind her words: it’s probably time to face that he may not be coming back. But some rational part deep inside of her takes over, and convinces her to take a deep breath, and to focus on the real problem. Hearing reapers and missing Garrus are real problems, but she can tolerate the former and can’t do a damn thing about the latter.

“The night terrors have started breaking through my sleeping pills,” she whispers. Zaeed’s okay enough at walking her back from them, and she’s getting an enormous amount of work done in the hours before sunrise. But it’s the same one she had during the war; only this time, she isn’t chasing a child.

She’s chasing Liara. And when she finally catches up with her, Liara isn’t Liara anymore. She’s twisted and stretched and torn, emaciated. Her mouth curls over sharp teeth and she turns, stalking Olivia like prey.

And Liara screams.

Small wonder she’s been able to sleep at all.

When Olivia gets home that night, exhausted and raw from reliving that particular nightmare for the better part of two hours, she makes polite conversation over dinner and then retreats into her bedroom. She kicks off her shoes and changes into comfy pajama pants and a t-shirt, turns off all the lights save for the strands of fairy lights Kasumi found for her, and sits in the middle of her bed.

Her omnitool glows faint orange as she pulls up her active comm channels. Her message to Liara is still going strong, still repeating. It’s even managed to travel a little further over the past month, as teams slowly repair the comm buoys.

“Please be out there,” she whispers. “Both of you.”

***

[link to part 3]

[parkmuse]

BTS Kink Quiz Results

I had the results because I had seen Jin’s in a post first, and then decided to take the test for myself lol << thought you might want them :) Some of it was bolder and underlined but it went away when I submitted sorry ;;

This has spoilers for all of the boys so you shouldn’t read it until after you’ve taken the test.

thanks @xxtyrantrexxrawrxx​ for submitting this! :)

JIN Result: You’re most sexually compatible with… Jin!

Jin has a little switch in him, the type to not mind giving up control every once in a while, but he mostly prefers to be the dominant partner in the relationship. He’s really into power play, and when he does have control, boy does he relish it. He makes you call him sir or master or daddy depending on the night, only to respond by calling you princess, or his “good girl.” He tells you to keep your hands above your head and not move them, but he doesn’t tie them down so you have to struggle to keep them there, and every time you move them he stops, chastising you and drawing out your orgasm even more.

In typical fashion, he sometimes adorns you with chokers, but other than that, he tends to like you completely naked and at his mercy, unless your roleplaying calls for a specific outfit, in which case he will tolerate it until he strips you bare and fucks you.

Your foreplay can drag out for hours, since he’s really into kissing and foreplay; it’s not just some hasty prelude to the main event for him. He genuinely loves being cozied up on the couch, hoisting you up on top to straddle him, with your legs on either side of him, and just losing himself in you.

More than that, he loves to receive oral, especially with you down on your knees in front of him, while he fucks your mouth and lavishes you with praise while he does (but jin would lay down a pillow for you first, because he worries for your knees, of course).He might not go down on you super often, but when he does it’s always like he’s in a competition with himself to see how many times he can make you come. In the end, you can’t even keep count yourself because your orgasms blur together, and even though he stops to let you recover occasionally—petting your thighs and placing lingering kisses against your heated flesh—he lives for the way you arch and sob when you realize he’s not going to stop, that he’s really going to make you come again. He loves seeing how high he can get you, how far he can take you, until you’re a twitching, sobbing, wrecked mess.That’s why his favourite is when you start insisting, saying “I can’t, Jin, sir, please, I can’t come again” but you both know you can, and he doesn’t bother stopping, just slips his fingers inside you in that way he knows you love. Yet he seems to always know when you’ve really had enough, slowing to a stop, nuzzling your thighs as you shudder and gasp, rising up over you to kiss you and then laugh at the dazed, satisfied expression on your face. You’ve only ever had to use your safe word once or twice when he was really overzealous. He’s surprisingly and generously vocal in bed, not just in terms of those breathy noises he makes, but also in terms of dirty talk. Mostly because he especially loves enacting scenes and scenarios with you in all kinds of roleplays. His favourite scenarios involve slave/master/pet relationships, and you always preen at the endless attention he showers you with. He gets really into character, demonstrating his acting chops and making you burn to your core with arousal.He favours positions where you’re riding him, like cowgirl; because he tops from the bottom like a pro and loves to watch you ride him, loves to guide your hips; loves the wide-eyed fucked out expression you make when he grabs hold of you and thrusts up, filling you to the brim. Not to mention he loves your breasts and your waist, even when you’re insecure about them. He’s managed to convince you of how perfect you are, especially moments like those when he can’t take his eyes off you while you grind on him.

Extra notes: • Jin likes a little light choking, if you’re down for it • likes to circulate the roleplay so there are plenty of times you’re both just having sex as you • likes spanking you, but only in the context of roleplay, like when daddy’s little girl gets out of line • he likes fucking you in front of a mirror, forcing you to watch yourself, telling you lowly to watch the fucked out expressions you make • he likes being really playful. It’s not always hot and heavy; sometimes he does something ridiculous, or hits himself trying to change positions and you guys have a good laugh. Or you try to initiate a chase but he just grabs you by the leg before you really get anywhere and drags you back onto the bed • the sex is kind of athletic; Jin is the strongest member of BTS, and he can and will pick you up like some kind of doll and hold you where he wants while he fucks you. • he has a bit of a foot fetish, and will literally beg you until attempt to give him a foot job • food play; likes to eat off you, mostly desert foods If you got this result, you like a mostly dominant partner, but also like a little room for switching things up once in a while, when the mood strikes. Though you enjoy the thrill of someone else having the power and control, you also need to feel safe and loved, and Jin provides that security while allowing you to relax and enjoy yourself.

RAP MONSTER Result: You’re most sexually compatible with… Rapmon!

Congratulations! Looks like you got Namjoon, the true dominant.

He’s an amazing dom, and he takes his role very seriously. He is meticulous; well researched and well prepared to boot. He’s always doing lots of research beforehand and making sure you both talk extensively about what you’re comfortable with and working out the finer details.

He made you both make lists of the things you enjoy, and then you went through them together, discussing what interests you had in common and what things you were unsure of but might be interested in.

Of course, there’s also precious little Namjoon isn’t interested in when it comes to sex, and you’ve yet to find a topic that so much as made him flinch. He’s careful and safe and wonderful as he introduces you step-by-step to new things, each more amazing than the last, and each time you are left a little more in awe of his skill and consideration.

Ever the thoughtful, affectionate mate, he’s the aftercare master, dragging himself out of bed even when bone tired to make sure you’re clean and cuddled, completely cared for after some of your emotionally taxing sessions.

One night as he leads you out of your apartment for a night out, hand warm on the small of your back, he leans in close, secretively, his lips barely brushing the shell of your ear and sending a shiver down your spine: “you better not be wearing panties under that little skirt of yours.” And he checked later, too, in typical Namjoon fashion, his fingers ghosting along the bare skin of your knee and thigh and higher, pleased to find you wet and needy. He won’t finish you there, of course; he’s a predator, in it for the thrill of the chase. Instead, he’ll make you wait and arch as he teases you in the middle of the restaurant, surrounded by his friends and colleagues as you try desperately to appear normal. If you pleased him, and Gods you always hope you do, when you get home he’ll finally let you fall apart so he can put you back together piece by piece. One thing’s for sure, sex and life with Namjoon is always interesting, and your body and mind are always pleasantly abuzz.

Extra Notes: • he’s into bondage, and loves restraining you with beautiful rope in intricate patterns and positions; especially when you’re blindfolded and helpless, a slave to sensation • he loves face fucking and face sitting, but he always manages to top even from the bottom • he makes you call him all kinds of names—daddy, oppa, master—depending on the night • there are always little games he comes up with, like—keep your hands above your head, spread your legs and hold them there while I fuck you, don’t come until I say—with creative punishments for when you fail • he’s really creative, especially sexually and it seems he always has something new he wants to try • his favourite position is from behind • he’s willing to bring others into the bedroom if you’re open to it, both guys and girls • he’s really into toys, too, plugs and vibrators, etc. • his absolute favourite is choking and breath play, but he will only ever go there with your explicit consent If you got this result, your sexual style is likely open, flexible and passionate. You have an “everything goes” type approach, where nothing is off limits, and you love to find new ways to enjoy your partner. You also love to be dominated, and Namjoon is more than willing to take control.

SUGA Result: You’re most sexually compatible with… Yoongi!

Yoongi is a switch, with a slight preference towards submission. That being said, he’s typically indifferent towards power play, though he can be coaxed into it if it’s more your cup of tea.On those occasions, he loves to be defiant, a stubborn submissive to the end, snarky and biting against the bit at every opportunity. You see past it with ease though—past the hot blush on his pale skin, and the way he clenches his jaw in rebellion—you know he loves being underneath your swaying body, even all tied up and unable to move as you have your way with him.Still, he prefers when things are less fixed and more natural, like when he comes home after a long day at work and somehow finds himself inside you, with you rolling your hips against him, drawing out every bit of stress and reminding him what a lucky man he is.

He really likes morning sex, too, when things are languid and lazy and his mind is hazy, working to catch up with his body; waking up with you between his legs, his cock already stiff in your hand, or already hardening inside you is always a treat. In fact, sometimes it’s the only sure-fire way to wake him up without an argument. Perhaps his favourite of all, though, is indulging his aesthetic side. He loves when he can lounge on the bed or a chair and watch as you strip for him, teasing him ever so slowly and sensually with the sight of your bare flesh. He likes it when you pry your legs apart so he can watch you work at yourself, likes to take himself in hand as you do, timing his pace to yours. You like to watch him like a hawk in those moments, taking deep pleasure in the power you have over him; you watch the way his hips strain, the way his throat bobs, the way his tongue pokes absently from his mouth.Speaking of his tongue, he adores it when you sit on his face, and he can wrap his arms around your thighs, anchoring you in place as you ride him, moaning all the while.

His mouth is a delight and your favourite part of him, both when he’s being mouthy and you have to shut him up with your lips and tongue and when he’s using it to work at you feverishly, almost defiant in the way he devours you.Most of all he likes to photograph you, arranging and positioning you just so for an artsy shot. It’s his favourite past time, but it’s always a guilty pleasure when you receive of a text of his hard cock in hand, and can’t wait to punish him when you get home.

Extra Notes: • his favourite is when you top, both because he loves the visual and likes to take in all the sensations • he loves sex in the tub, with a glass of wine handy, even though it leaves a huge clean up and you have to keep lots of lube handy • perpetually wants to come all over you, has a fascination with seeing you covered in his cum • though he’d never admit it, and always acts like he loathes it, he loves when you tease him, and loves it even more when he gets the chance to tease and edge you back • loves oral, both giving and receiving • into aesthetics but likes you absolutely naked• switches around all the time; sometimes he’s impatient and rushed, and other times he wants foreplay long and drawn out • not into public sex at all If you got this result you are probably a dominant partner who enjoys a snarky, defiant mate; laidback but passionate partners who equally enjoy doting on you and being doted on. You like a man who knows exactly what he wants, especially when that thing is you. Yoongi is that perfect match for what you crave!

JIMIN Result: You’re most sexually compatible with… Jimin! Jimin is a willing and pliant switch, capable of filling the role of dominant if it’s what you need, but naturally leaning more towards a submissive role. He’ll dom occasionally if you like, but it’s more to please you than something he’s into himself.That being said, he’s ridiculously into power play. He loves when you take control, and quickly adopts his needy, breathless, begging self. He loves to whine and beg you for more, and you love making a show of not giving him what he wants until he feels like he might actually break.

His favourites are the nights when you spread him out like a dish to be savoured, taking your time exploring him and refusing to let him come until you’ve had your fill. He’ll spasm and twitch as you deny him orgasm after orgasm, and as much as he protests and begs, you both know how much he loves it when you spoil an orgasm and he’s left a writhing mess. He lives for the times when you dip close, your cheek pressed against the deep V of muscles against his pelvis, growling into his skin—"don’t you dare come until I tell you to"—and moments later his cock is deep in your throat and you’re humming around him, watching the way his expression cracks as he desperately arches.He loves your attention, loves to make a show of how you wreck him, and oh, how you do. It’s a secret between the two of you, how he adores the desperate moments when he can’t help himself and is driven into an orgasm before you’ve given him permission; because as eager as he is to please, he is even more eager for your punishments.

He’ll call you whatever you like, and his eagerness to please always fills your heart. That’s why you’re such a careful and attentive dom, always making sure before and after that he’s alright and setting up safety nets like a safeword. You know how lucky you are to have him, and so you always go the extra mile to take special care of him.

Extra notes: • into humiliation and degradation, orgasm denials, ect.; but also needs a supreme amount of aftercare and taking care of in general, along with tons of reassurance after, because he’s a glutton for praise and compliments; so he kind of swings between the extremes, needing praise and then needing to be torn down • also into costumes/dressing up, being made to wear a collar, and has 1000+ fantasies he wants to act out• likes every position, but especially girl on top, because he lives for your breasts (he also loves reverse cowgirl though) • he has a secret obsession for being pegged and anal play • ridiculously into you blowing him • likes when you bring toys into the bedroom • likes to dote on you and worship your body when you let him If you got this result you’re likely a dominant who enjoys a submissive, eager partner. Jimin is the perfect match for you because he’s two sides of a submissive coin; he likes punishments as much as you love to dole them out, but he also craves your affection and attention. He fulfills your deep, dark desires but also your drive for tenderness and love. Together, you can satisfy both cravings.

J-HOPE Result: You’re most sexually compatible with… Hoseok!

Hoseok is the only complete and utter true switch among the boys. He’s the exact midpoint on the spectrum between submissive and dominant; he could go either way and genuinely be completely into it.Although he’d be more than happy to satisfy the crave for power play, should you have it, it isn’t necessarily his favourite. Rather, Hoseok mostly just likes to go with the flow, seeing where the mood and atmosphere will take you both. His intuition always seems to pick up on how you’re feeling, and he always knows how to guide things along so you end up right where you need to be, be it riding him eagerly with his wrists up above his head or on your knees with your head buried into your pillow as he fucks you viciously, his palm hot against your ass. Hoseok’s absolute favourites, however, are the nights when you can both just take it slow and really enjoy each other. He likes mapping out your body slowly and completely—and it’s perhaps because of this that he seriously know you better than you know yourself. He watches every reaction; sees every arch, every breathless moan and takes note of it, because he’s desperate to learn to please you more.He loves bringing sex toys into the bedroom, because he lives to get you off as hard as he can. Those nights he gathers all your favourite toys or something new and gets you all wet and ready before settling between your legs like it’s Christmas. Often, all he wants is to be between your legs experimenting, seeing which combination of fingers, tongue and vibrator seem to set you off the hardest, which ones make your toes curl and your back arch. And you love the pleased little grin that splits his face when you’re absolutely wrecked; can’t help but adore the way his teeth catch his lip and the genuine heat in his eyes when you manage to peel your own open after an intense orgasm.Some nights he just makes you come with the vibrator, turns it off and pets you until you stop quaking, and then turns it right back on again, over and over, alternating between his mouth and the intense vibrations of the toy.He also really likes fucking you, ever so slowly while the vibrator’s on your clit, varying the vibrations speed or steadily increasing it; sometimes he won’t even move, just stay inside you and groan while you come over and over again.He has a serious thing for the way you bear down on him when you orgasm. If you can manage to keep your eyes open, the way he curses, his eyes squinting as he gasps and holds on to you with white knuckles as you quake around him only makes you come even harder.

Hoseok is the ultimate caring, doting sex partner; he makes you feel so loved and cared for that it’s impossible not to want to worship him back. The relationship is a constant ebb and flow of give and take, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Extra Notes: • Hoseok is also into spanking, especially when he gets in the mood for power play • orgasm denial and overstimulation (both ways) are his bread and butter • he likes missionary and girl on top • he loves cuddling and talking after sex • he might be willing to let you peg him if you talk to him about it • in fact, you really can talk to him about anything, because he loves keeping you sated and happy, and excels at finding a midpoint between what you both crave If you got this result, you need a loving, passionate partner who is willing to put you first sexually. You likely don’t care who’s in charge, so long as the trust and love of the relationship is never violated. And Hoseok is perfect for that, as he loves to dote on you, worshipping your body just as you crave. You probably have specific things you’re into sexually, and might not be so willing to venture outside of them, but Hoseok’s cool with it, so long as it means he gets to explore and figure out what each one of them is.

JUNGKOOK Result: You’re most sexually compatible with… Jungkook!

Jungkook is a switch, able and happy to play both dominant and submissive roles. While he’s flexible, he leans slightly towards the dom side. He could do with or without power play (though he does enjoy it), but if you make it known that you’re interested, he will quickly get into his character, researching his role and doing everything in his power to make your toes curl.

Jungkook has a unique aura about him, and this same spirit of mischievousness and playfulness translates into the bedroom. When it’s his turn to be dom, he exerts power in a way that isn’t overt at all, but more in the subtext. He always seems to know exactly what he’s doing; he’s just so good, and he drives you so crazy that you bend to his whim without much of a struggle. He really gets off on keying you up, slowly building his teasing over a long period of time, and then keeping you on edge even when he finally gets you into bed. Some nights he’ll hold off and keep you right at the brink until you feel like you might really go mad—bring you right to the point of orgasm again and again only to ease off—laughing as you whine and beg. And then when he finally lets you come, he suddenly won’t let you stop, anchored to your spasming body with practiced finesse.

Because he’s also really into overstimulation; if you let him, and if you both have the time, he’ll spend the entire evening between your legs, making you come over and over again until those tell-tale tears begin to leak from your eyes and he finally eases off of you, so slowly, kissing from the dip where thigh meets hip back to your sweaty, flushed face.And you always want so badly to return the favour, but it’s rare that he lets you, because he’s extremely sensitive and can only take further stimulation for a few moments after he’s come. If you plead a little, though, he’s always willing to let you experiment and see how long you can drag his orgasm out into gasping shudders and shivering, jerking hips. Jungkook likes dressing you up, too, because he’s extremely visual and has a lot of clothing kinks: he wants you in a little mini skirt, thigh highs, heels, a school uniform… come to think of it, he also likes showing up and surprising you dressed as an officer once in a while, though he’s not typically extremely into character play.Things can get kind of competitive between the two of you, and that edge keeps you both on your toes, always experimenting and learning more in the attempt to perfect your techniques so you can get each other to come even harder than last time.

And sweetest of all, since your lover is also your best friend, you can really talk to him about anything. That trust extends to the bedroom, where you can always bring up a topic or possible bedroom escapade. Even if Jungkook’s not into something himself, there’s a fair chance he’ll be down to try it. It’s a healthy relationship.

Extra notes: • his favourite positions are from behind and girl on top (positions where he has the best vantage point your body) • he’s an equal opportunity lover of boobs and ass• has a serious obsession with coming all over you, inside you, etc. • likes it when you dance for him, and literally worships your body like it’s the holy grail • is extremely jealous and not into sharing • caution: jungkookie is dangerous when challenged. Handle with care :) If you got this result, your sexual style is likely playful and experimental, but also characterized by a deep emotional connection and trust. Jungkook is the perfect partner for your trial-and-error tastes. Like a sexual buffet; you can always find something you enjoy!

TAEHYUNG Result: You’re most sexually compatible with… Taehyung!

Taehyung is the most kinky member you can get (besides Rapmon); he’s up for literally anything and everything, and firmly believes you should try everything at least once.There are seriously no limits; Taehyung is up for anything. Nothing squicks him. Nothing surprises him. Making love to him is a delightful mix of playfulness and desire so heavy and thick it threatens to choke you. There’s always an added edge of danger and wonder to your relationship, as you never know when Tae might suddenly drag you into a public bathroom or slide his hand into your jeans during a movie, smirking all the while.And he does it often, because as much as he can take his time when he’s inclined to, he has a weird thing for the hurried, frantic fucking that occurs when you both know you might be caught at any moment; he lives for the way your breath hitches and bubbles up sporadically when you can hear someone nearby; how you tighten around him like a vice and it makes him want to groan and fuck you even harder, until you can’t spare a thought past his cock.

He likes it when you are both so frenzied that you’re still fully clothed; the nights when you can’t even make it to the bedroom and end up plastered half across the kitchen island, one leg hiked up around his waist and your shirt slinking off your shoulders as he pounds you.He likes finding weird ways to get you off, too, like trying to talk you to the edge, using everything he knows you like, dipping close so you can hear him pant ragged, hot breaths against your ear. So he can tell you how good you feel, how your tight little pussy feels so sweet wrapped around him, how he can’t wait for you to come for him like a good little girl, and it’s never long before you’re shuddering against him when he turns that silver voice on you.

The moments when he feels like taking his time, you simultaneously dread and crave, because he’ll make a show of spreading your legs, dipping down between them. He works at you on these occasions like a man starved, caring nothing for the sounds he’s making or the mess, all tongue and lips rocking against you, the flat heat of his tongue lapping at you sloooww, so slowly you might die as you finally come just as slowly and drawn out as the long swipe of his mouth against you. You’ve never met someone that genuinely loves to eat you out, not like Tae. He lives for it, relishes every passing expression, every gasp, the taste and the texture of you, all of it.And you love him all the more for his relentless passion and attention. Taehyung is a bright burning fire, and you worry sometimes it might actually consume you. But really, there are worse ways to go.

Extra Notes: • dirty talk is his favourite thing in the world • He likes dry humping and thigh riding, like, alot • he loves to make you masturbate in front of him and always memorizes the blush that spreads across your cheeks while you do; he’s into humiliation but not necessarily degradation unless you ask for it • He brings home weird shit all the time… like Tae, why do you have viagra? He just wanted to try it and see if it’ll give him multiple orgasms. Why is he bringing a feather duster? I don’t know, he wants to see if you’re into tickling. • he really, really likes fucking your ass • oral, oral, oral, oral. He could spend forever going down on you, and watching you go down on him, in all variations • he likes fucking your mouth, but he also likes forcing himself back and letting you work him into a frenzy, and vice versa. • he likes rubbing himself against you and getting off that way; his cock between your ass checks, breasts, face, everywhere If you got this result, your sexual style is likely flexible and experimental, characterized by your openness and willingness to try new things. Taehyung is the perfect partner for you to spread your sexual wings with!

[thachthanhnghi1]

Wedding outfit Colours

Koreans do not always have a chance to experience initial love, or perhaps mutual compassion during adolescence, as is customary within our country. Korean language mail order bride is a good of all as a result of its unique features. Their sincerity and kindness is definitely something that is greatly appreciated in West Europe. That they always act positively and help everyone around them. Brides out of Korea turn into good moms and conserve of their partners and children. In this passage, you can find away more details about each of the features of a woman.

Today most, not only a few, American girls are eager to remove their virginity as soon as their hormones kick in – and do so with hardly an extra thought, remorse, or embarrassment. Eleven year old women are trapped giving oral sex to several 13 year old forceful at the same time and so the boys should “like her. ” Although this is marked a “christian” country declaring to have “morals, ” ladies are just not educated that virginity and advantage are holy and can not be replaced the moment they’re spent on pastime sex.

In love, they can be peculiar. Korean women of all ages have never recently been faithful, however, you canвЂt think that they might unlike their partner. Korean ladies really love have fun in body feelings, they need variety. But they seldom identify a romantic relationship with all the manifestation of affection. For them, intimacy is more of pleasure, joy, or perhaps self-indulgence. Korean brides feel the love of a man over a different level. How to recognize that you like the guy by the look, they may tell you. They easily fall in love. To get this sense, they need to actually know the chosen an individual well. But if the person felt love, you can be sure that this sense is for a very long time.

So what I will be saying is that she didn’t have a social lifestyle. Her dad wouldn’t let his daughters to dress provocatively. Among the to be home just before dark. Celebrations and organizations weren’t in the farmville farm country. And only have to go to a “disco” a couple times when they were 12-15 and of sixteen with their Dad as chaperone. Her actions included going to school and working on the family town. Visiting neighbors, going to her aunt’s house a couple hours away simply by bus with her Mom and staying for your week or two during slow park season. And this was about that.

It demonstrates that guys want to dominate in South Korea. Even though Korean females contain a lot of respect for men and in a natural way submissive that they don’t want to get married to local men. Korean women like American guys not simply for their attractive look however the way that they carry themselves and take care of their associates. So if you are searching for an Asian lady on the net, you will find a great choice of sole ladies so, who also look for lifetime lovers abroad.

Most of the time, my ex girlfriend always nagged myself to eat in a fine dining restaurant instead in Mcdonald or Jollibee. She wished me to invest money onto her, what a spoiled little girl. She wasn’t also my wife yet! Just imagine whenever we get married. I might ended up living my life in poverty.

Korean brides happen to be loving towards their lover and strive to take the ideal proper care of them. They are simply very mindful towards their very own men’s demands in a long term relationship and cherish anything that comes with marriage, such as a large number of relatives. An individual only must become close to a Korean girl to understand the depth with their commitment to someone they will love. When you get to know them they usually open up for you, you will surely be turned visit heels for him or her.

In fact , it’s far worse for the purpose of such the bride to be known as the self-confident and self-willed woman that to have a trustworthiness of an insensitive or short person. Checklist of virtues of a new bride from Korea includes the chance to be up to date, painful, soft-hearted and polite, however first of all, person. Mothers often tell their daughters: If you don’t just like the food, give it to the dog; if you do not like your partner, put up with it”.

Meet Awesome & Delightful Korean Women of all ages For Marriage & Dating Online

These foreign brides are a few of the sweetest, richly uneven, and warmest people likely to ever connect with because Mexican women have a status for being nice, gracious, and loving. You are going to achieve greater success over a date if you demonstrate your financial viability. Of course , like cannot be bought, but inclination will be given to even more prosperous job hopefuls. And it’s not really the fact that with cash you can buy a much better life for yourself. Just a marriage with a man in the future should grow into a marriage. And as the head of the friends and family, he can support his wife and children.

Little women below spend almost all their money to obtain clothes and everything sort of makeup stuff. Their main goal to locate a rich males who will provide them with money they usually won’t need to work. Their very own dream is not just a abundant men nevertheless oligarch who will buy them BMW, Mercedes, The bentley and all the luxurious stuff that exists widely in Moscow. This sort of young females drink and smoke and at the age of 25-30 they commence to realize that all their beauty commence to evade mainly because they beverage too much alcohol and they commence to look exclusively for any men who will marry her. After they discover some guys who need simply sex and a prepare on a kitchen they become lazy, grumbling and all the bad attributes of persona learn to appear (everything you authored about American women).

Southern Korea is actually a country with a high quality lifestyle. Therefore , do not think that you will be able to buy a Korean woman. These females are not buying sponsor, although a partner with whom to develop unified relationships. Moreover, Korea provides a high level of education. It indicates that Korean women are excellent interlocutors and can preserve a chatter on virtually any topic. That is a truly happy marriage if you are interested in spending some time with your better half, even after many years of relatives life.

The same as in any other country, finding your Filipina fiancée and eventual better half in the Philippines can be difficult. You can easily acquire conned and ripped off. Your is just like dating in person however, you must count on Internet connection mostly because you have no second option – if you are rich enough to travel 10, 500 miles aside and live there for several months. So i’m not abundant so it was necessary to outline a set of qualities that form the good from maybes and the probabilities from the bad. My spouse and i somehow achieved this without getting stung mainly because I meticulously thought out my personal preferred pair of characteristics just before I started out looking for job hopefuls.

A Foreign Affair (AFA), a business that helps men locate women through international trips, says organized tours to Republic of colombia are now trading out. AFA arranges group tours where 10 to twenty men travel together to Medellin, Cartagena or Barranquilla. During the tour, they attend fixed Social occurrences where the guys meet a huge selection of beautiful Colombian women looking for marriage. Women of all ages can also place their background on the AFA web site, with the hope of finding a husband.

My significant other is exquisite without makeup, had very little used clothes that was modern, recognized how to are present on a few pesos every day, and existed a very poor life with no complaining nevertheless had guaranteed small hopes and dreams for her near future. She had no boots and shoes to go to university when smaller, had you used tote, and her and her two siblings used each others apparel to have variety. Today she will buy lots of copies of brand name purses and watches, lots of nice sneakers that are inexpensive, blouses which can be on profound discount sale, etc . to ensure that she has two dressers and two huge closets packed with stuff for the point of bagging her older stuff and putting it in the garage area. I do begrudge her anything since she did not have nearly anything until I just came along although I would if she was insisting in the real manufacturers which a city girl could because the goal can be have the greatest brands of almost everything at your expenditure that they observe in magazines.

Your girl will be happy to tell you about her family, her life, etc . because you are with any luck , going to eventually turn into part of her family. Your lover never leaves her family group. She is permanently theirs and you simply become their very own relative too. If you usually are finding this kind of openness in a candidate the woman isn’t the one you prefer or she’s shy about you feeling like you’re a higher level of individuals than her because she will be very poor right up until you https://bestrealdatingsites.com/asian-brides/korean-brides/ convince her you aren’t like this. You will consider tiny steps to bring yourself closer to her gradually and she’ll agree to you bringing those basic steps. She do not ever lurch toward you while gushing take pleasure in comments.

Anticipate to pay your total expenditures. The endless question about who should pay the bills by the end of the date, in Korea, is usually chosen in favor of the woman. Once the man responds the moment marrying a Korean girl, respectively, he begins to be aware and support it beforehand. That is, usually, a man pays the check. Although sometimes there are circumstances when a girl offers to pay the main menu — for example , piece of food. Do not refuse it to her, but be sure to order pay for anything extra. If you have certainly not received presents to pay off, it means you will have to pay for everything – nowadays and in the near future.

Thousands Of North Korean Women of all ages Sold When Brides In China, Many With Kids Still In

The tune describing a bride, who is almost all dressed in white, does not pertain to the widespread bride after all. I think that this is excellent advice. In the event you really want a great Asian partner from the East or South-East, maturity will probably bring you the best chance of contentment. A ten years younger woman is wonderful for the ego for perhaps a hot instant, then the foolishness of the decision will become noticeable. My Thai wife and I are both middle-aged ( My spouse and i am ten years her senior) and the woman brings me personally great enjoyment and lasting love. Having said that, all of us met and live in my country, nevertheless We am accessible to moving to Thailand later on.

Korean girls for marital life are chosen not only because of the magnetic external data. These kinds of girls are distinguished by their humbleness, which likewise magically functions on males because that they prefer very soft and supple women. Matching to Korean language traditions, a guy is the brain of a home, therefore girls do everything to become the very best lovers in life. Seeing that men love young ladies, social traditions recommend marriage for females of a incredibly young age.

Anything overlooked at weddings are the name options on desks. I recommend keeping all web site the same and in line with all the theme of wedding event. Standard brand are done all over, try to mix it up and personalize the name options. Maybe every person table can have a sub-theme that plays through your wedding accessories. You can integrate unique wax lights layouts and this will impress guests. Case in point satin towels and trees make for an intimate setting. Whilst covering the party area area with small poles elegantly draped with satin laces and ribbons or garlands of trees makes for an incredible scene. Everybody will appreciate the time and energy putting into the tiny details designed for the wedding reception area.

What am I looking to say in essence? An Ibo man always carry at heart his monetary gain or profit in no matter what thing he does in life- whether it be business, education, relationship, etc . It is this trait that earned Ibos criticisms from other Nigerian people, because in whatever they are really doing, they can be always conscious of what they might gain financially. To spa it up, Ibo guy is just for a Chinese gentleman in terms of- money intelligence, creativity, and worth.

The good news is that “Send Me Zero Flowers” despite once more as being a romantic funny which thrives off of bafflement is not just a rehash of Doris Moment and Steel Hudson’s prior two films. The whole thing moves on with the enjoyable storyline regarding George planning to sort out stuff for when he dies and Rock Hudson has thrilling with various established ups including choosing his funeral plot and discovering his wife a friend. In fact even though Day nonetheless entertains with a wonderful cosmetic expressions “Send Me No Flowers” is very much Hudson’s movie. And what is as well nice is the fact whilst Tony Randall all over again finds himself making up the trio he gets more to do and supplies another great method for comedy. That quite match up to “Pillow Talk” nonetheless “Send Me personally No Flowers” is definitely better than “Lover Come Back”.

The crowning of 2015 Miss Universe Paulina Vega set Barranquilla, Colombia on the map. Barranquilla now has recognition to be home for some of the most beautiful and skilled women in the world. Not only is certainly Miss Galaxy from here, Grammy Award winning place singer Shakira, and presenter Sofia Vergara also phone Barranquilla house. Vergara superstars on the DASAR series Contemporary Family since Gloria Delgado-Pritchett. She’s recently been nominated for four Golden Globe Awards, 5 Prime time Emmy Honours, and six Screen Stars Guild Awards, almost all stemming out of this role. In 2014, she was ranked as the 32nd Best Woman on the globe by Forbes.

Bows will probably be informal not to mention formal. Even though the general usual for men ought to be to maintain the hands at their own individual sides as well as bend forward from the belly, for girls it is the same with typically the hands positioned on the clapboard, with the sight looking downward. Formal bows will be much lower compared to laid-back bows. A fabulous bow is obviously returned by using a bow and may normally last only approximately 2-3 just a few seconds. A-tremble hands, at times in conjunction with a good ribbon and bow, has now become a common practice when it comes to Japan, specifically with outsiders together with holidaymakers. As a traveler, for anyone who is applying this custom, ensure you change to the left instead of straight, to settle away from knocking to the reverse guy. Any kind of sentiment should piece of art a anticipating the waves, different it can be thought about impolite.

Korean language brides prove that love may be eternal and mutual. They are simply a good and respectful example of ideal partner and spouse. Now you know to find Korean new bride. Don’t be scared of your feelings and emotions and the perfect Korean language bride definitely will once wink to you.

Become a member of Allure Tale and meet the best Korean brides from the comfort of the home. This website is full of sexy and hot Cookware girls who wish to date Westerners. Romance Storyline has already helped hundreds of mixte couples to get married, so you can fully trust it and join it to find the soul mate in this article. Create your account for free and get located by really eye-catching girls and mature women of all ages from Seoul and other places in the country.

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