#there's another of him carefully putting on eyeliner in someone's bathroom mirror

[louisdotmp3]

literally some photos i’ve taken are like. lol u can tell i was in love with him.

[yee-fxcking-haw]

•Cross The Line•

Summary: “And they were roommates” predictable self induldent Denki roommate content lmao. Friends to lovers, pretty fluffy

Pairing: Denki Kaminari x FemReader (both 18+)

Warnings: Itty bitty angst, Lots o’ tension, Unprotected sex, Oral sex (female receiving), Quirk use during sex, Cumplay.

Word count: 6,984

A/N: Y'all I did it I wrote mostly plot are y'all proud of me for not being useless and horni for one fic. I mean it gets horni at the end but there is plot so yeehaw.

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“Son of a bitch!” You yell as you hurl the eyeliner across the bathroom, at your wits end after messing up for the third time. It hits the door with a sharp crack before it falls to the floor.

You kick the cabinet, successfully stubbing your toe in the process.

“Shit, shit shit shit.” You tumble backwards as you hop on one foot, planting your ass right on the toilet lid with a loud groan.

“You remodeling in here?” A chirpy voice says from the other side of the door.

“Fuck off, Denki.” You bark as you hold your busted toe.

He just chuckles as he opens the door and strides in, he leans back against the counter and crosses his arms while you scowl up at him.

His signature smirk is painted across his face, yellow hair sticking up in every direction. As usual, he’s going without a shirt, leaving him in just a pair of loose basketball shorts.

They hang just a little too low, exposing the waistband of his briefs, framing his defined adonis belt…

“You’re gonna need a bucket for all that drool.” He says, raising his eyebrows as his smirk grows into a smile.

“Oh please, I was noticing how scrawny you look.” You retort, letting your foot drop to the floor so you can stand.

“You got a date?” He nods at your dress, eyes lingering at the slit that exposes just a little too much thigh.

You and Denki are just roommates, that’s it. You’re also both incredibly horny, bisexual disasters. Naturally, there’s attraction, lingering stares, and moments of tension, but it never goes past that.

Just roommates. You can’t cross that line. Kirishima had introduced you two after meeting in class one day, convinced you would hit it off. You sure as hell did. You cliqued pretty much instantly, both full of chaotic dumbass energy.

Eventually, Kirishima moved in with his boyfriend, Katsuki Bakugo. This left Denki with no roommate, which meant you got an invitation.

You were hesitant at first, moving in with somebody after a few months of friendship was a big step, but you and Denki just worked. Neither of you kept a schedule, you shared one brain cell, and you always made each other laugh.

So, of course you moved in. Two years later, it’s still you and Denki against the world. You take care of each other, he’ll bring you candy and a heating pad when you’re on your period, you’ll make him soup and play with his hair when he’s sick.

You’ve seen each other naked, heard each other have sex, and helped each other score hookups. You pick each other up when you’re sloppy drunk, and nurse each other through the hangover the next day.

You have not, and will not, cross the line of a sexual relationship with each other. You can’t afford to, neither of you can lose the movie nights, the screaming bad music in the car together, or the two in the morning waffle house runs.

“I did, but I’m not going.” You huff as you stomp over to the sink so you can wash off the makeup.

“I can’t get this stupid eyeliner right, I’ve tried like a million times and I can’t fucking do it.” You scrub your face a little too hard, turning your skin a bit red in the process.

“Want me to do it?” He asks, he says it like it’s obvious. It kind of is, the kid is wicked good at eyeliner, he does it nearly every day.

“If you pinky promise you won’t make me look stupid and sabotage my date.” You glare at him, hinting at a time when he did in fact sabotage a date.

“That was one time, which you thanked me for in the end, because the dude was a total fuckboy.” He holds up his hands in a defensive posture.

“You’re a total fuckboy, and you did not have to tell him I had fucking herpes.” You throw your wet rag at him, which he catches skillfully.

“I’m a whore, not a fuckboy. Big difference.” He says as he tosses the rag onto the side of the sink.

“What would that be?” You ask as you bend down to retrieve the eyeliner before handing it to him begrudgingly.

He accepts it with a grin, golden eyes lighting up as he pulls the cap off of the felt pen before giving it a good shake.

“Fuckboys are so selfish, they always leave someone wanting.” He shifts so he’s standing in front of you as you lean back against the counter.

He places one hand under your chin so you’ll tilt your face up for him.

“A whore keeps someone satisfied.” His voice drops slightly as he looks down at you.

You don’t look down at his lips, or his collar bones, or his abs…

“You’re such a flirt.” You say, crossing your arms, trying to put something between the two of you.

“Hell yeah I am, now close those eyes for me.” He winks and you roll your eyes before closing them.

His hand slides up from your chin so you can hold the side of your face, his thumb lifts your eyelid slightly.

The feeling of his hand touching your face so gently shouldn’t make your heart rate increase, the feeling of his breath on your face shouldn’t make your knees a little unsteady. Most of all, Denki being this close shouldn’t be making you this dizzy.

You’ve walked in on him jerking it, you’ve even walked in on him balls deep in somebody else. You and Denki are close, you’ve stood this close before, with less clothing, why does it all of a sudden feel so different? No, it doesn’t. It can’t.

You feel the felt tip of the eyeliner press into your eyelid, he moves so fluently. He flicks his wrist at the end of the line, he shifts and does the other eye with the same precision.

“Open.” You do as he says, blinking up at him, raising your eyebrows in question as he looks you over.

A pleased smile creeps onto his face.

“You’re real pretty, ya know?” He says softly, grabbing your chin gently so he can turn your face from one side to the other.

The compliment makes your cheeks grow warmer. Your eyes dart down as you shift on your feet a little bit.

“You’re a sap.” You grumble before turning to check his work in the mirror.

It’s perfect, just a delicate little wing that enhances your eye shape. Perfect for a first date, Denki has always been better at makeup, and it’s always driven you just a little insane.

“What else are you gonna do?” He asks, making eye contact with you through the mirror.

“What do you mean?” You say as you grab your mascara and start applying it.

“Well are you gonna do anything with this?” He ruffles the top of your hair, you drop the mascara so you can bat his hand away.

“Dude, knock it off.” You say, you try to sound pissed, but start laughing when he wraps his arm around your neck so he can put you in a headlock.

“Only if you let me fix the rat’s nest on your head.” He laughs as you struggle to pull his arm off.

“I can do my own hair you sparky bastard.” You reach over and pinch his side.

He yelps and releases you from the hold, he raises his hands up and gives you a mischievous look.

“Oh, you want sparky?” Small snaps of electricity start to emit from his palms.

“Denki Kaminari, if you zap me I will suplex you.” You warn him, looking around for something you can grab to defend yourself with.

He’s much quicker than you though, and his arms around your waist in an instant. He hoists you up into the air and sits your ass on the counter. You feel the little shocks popping at your sides as he pushes you so your back is pressed against the mirror. Your senses are invaded by his warmth and the smell of Axe body spray, a smell you’ve grown to love.

“Denki, no! This shit always makes my hair all frizzy!” You protest as involuntary giggles leave your chest.

“Aw, sweetheart, are you sayin’ you can feel electricity between us?” He wiggles his eyebrows as his fingers stall.

“I will puke on you if you say any more cheesy shit.” You warn him, trying to keep your face straight, but you crack up at the melodramatic expression that crosses his face.

Then he delivers a particularly strong zap to the meat of your hip.

You don’t have time to control the way your body reacts. There’s no chance for you to keep your back arches, or the way you let out a fuck. The way you shiver is a little too intimate, your voice a little too broken. All of which Denki pays a little too much attention to.

You both settle and freeze, his sharp eyes meet yours. You’ve seen Denki Kaminari look serious a grand total of twice in the time you’ve known him. The first time was when you were ridiculously sick last winter, fever and chill with the works. The second time is now.

He watches you carefully, one eyebrow shooting up.

“Did that tickle?” He questions, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“It- yeah- it also fucking hurt, asshole.” You grumble, pushing at his chest so you can hop off the counter.

You try to shove past him with your head down, desperate to get out from under the weighty tension in the bathroom. Denki grabs you around the wrist though, stopping you in your tracks.

Your eyes meet as another wave of nerves washes over your body.

“Are we gonna talk about it?” His voice is steady, but tentative.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Your voice is just above a whisper.

Though, there certainly was.

You both stand there for a brief beat of thick silence, watching, waiting. You must imagine the way his lip twitches, the way his body shifts forward slightly…

No fucking way.

You turn on your heels and make your way out of the bathroom quickly.

You’re in your room with the door closed in no time. You lean against the back of it, catching the breath you didn’t realize you had lost.

What the hell was that? And why did it feel so… good?

No. Fuck no. Not with Denki.

You get ready in a huff, positively full of angst and confusion.

You shove it all down. It’s normal, right? To have a bit of tension with somebody you know so well, live so closely with, care for so deeply. You and Denki know each other. That’s all.

Your outfit isn’t much, but it’s enough for a first day. The colors are flattering against your complexion, the fabric clings in the right places. It’s nice, just nice.

You walk quietly from your room to the living room where Denki is sitting on the couch, legs spread wide with an arm across the back. Looking absolutely delicious- fuck- no not delicious. He just looks like Denki.

“That’s cute.” He says, he motions up and down with his phone, directing his comment at your outfit.

“Thanks.” You say a little too shortly, feeling the guilt immediately.

“I’ll be home later.” You say as you grab your keys from the dish.

“Be safe.” He calls after you.

Fuck.

***

Your date is an absolute disaster, nothing short of a trainwreck. It’s one of those dates that drains you. You politely nod as they ramble on about themselves, laugh at the bad and very insensitive jokes, and indulge in the small talk. Most of all, you miss Denki. You contribute very little, enjoy nothing, and wait for the end of the dreadful two hours you set aside for this.

You pay for dinner quickly, declining their offer for drinks, giving some bullshit excuse about having to work in the morning and being tired. You’re off tomorrow, and you’re wide awake.

You’re itching to get back to your apartment, dying to tell Denki all about your date’s wet cardboard personality. Hopefully, the bizarre moment you shared in the bathroom will be ignored and buried.

Never to be seen again.

You bust into the apartment, shuck off your bag and kick off your shoes. Denki is no longer on the couch, but at the kitchen table huddled over a cup of tea. The lights are all low or off, leaving him in mostly darkness. His posture is odd, slouched, defeated almost.

“Who died?” You try to joke, usually able to earn a chuckle with that line.

Denki doesn’t chuckle though, he sniffles.

“Sparky? What’s wrong?” You’re on him instantly, feet moving on their own.

Your hands are on the sides of his face, pulling up so he has to look at you. Your heart clenches and your chest burns as soon as the small amount of light catches his face.

His left cheek is painted with a deep red and purple bruise. His bright eyes search your face as you take the sight in, and you’re suddenly filled with fiery rage when you see how heartbroken he looks.

“Who the fuck-”

“It was my fault.” He cuts you off, grabbing your wrists so he can pull your hands off his face.

“Denki, what-”

“I told him we would hook up, so he thought we would. When I got there he had a bad vibe so I tried to leave… but he didn’t like that and he-”

You hush him when his breathing picks up, when you see tears well and his lip quiver.

“Hey, it’s ok, you’re ok.” You pull him against your chest, making a mental note to find and throttle the bastard that did this.

But that can wait. You and Denki had both returned from dates fairly busted up. The bruises were always one that were wanted though, never like this. A bad date was always laughed over, never cried over. The very thought of somebody laying their hands on Denki like this… it makes your skin crawl, it makes you want to kill.

His arms are around your waist immediately, hands grabbing as your clothes, pulling you closer. You hold each other for a long while until you feel his leg start bouncing and his fingers start to twitch.

You pull back and look down at him. He looks so displaced, so frantic and caught off guard. He needs something to do. Something to focus on. You can tell he’s not ready to talk, but he’s ready to be distracted, talking will come later.

“Will you help me get this shit off my face?” You ask gently, sliding your hand through his hair.

He blinks hard before wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Yeah- shit- I’m sorry, how was your date?” He asks, doing a shit job as pulling himself together.

“Don’t be sorry. It was awful. All they talked about was their college glory days.” You sigh, thumb running over his forehead.

“That didn’t win you? What’s wrong with you?” He asks, voice dripping with sarcasm.

There he is, or at least he’s trying.

“I missed you the whole time.” It slips out, runs away from you. You mean it though, god do you mean it.

He looks up at you with that same uneasy, distraught look. It almost makes you buckle. You feel pulled to fall into his lap, wrap yourself around him and press sweet kisses into his neck. You can’t, you know you can’t. He would probably be pissed if you crossed that line.

He doesn’t answer, he just nods silently, eyes falling to the ground as he stands up.

“Let’s get that shit off your face.”

You end up perched on the counter again as he wipes your makeup off with a warm cloth. It may seem backwards, him taking care of you, to most people it is. During your time together, you’ve learned that Denki feels useless if he isn’t helping.

When something is hurting him, he’s healed by pouring into someone else, so you let him. You’ll ice his bruise later, bring him water and medicine once you help him scratch this itch.

He takes his time with you, wiping away the makeup he did for you. The dull ache returns to your chest as he works. The soft glow of the bathroom nightlight is your only illumination, giving the room a painfully intimate environment.

He slowly wipes the cloth across your forehead one last time, laying it on the sink before bringing his hand up to hold your chin like he had earlier. You can’t help but glance at his bruise and simply hurt deep inside. You hate that you weren’t there, that you couldn’t stop it.

He breathes for a moment, looking at the planes of your face, eyes lingering in your lips for a bit too long.

“Pretty…” It’s a soft confession, something far too tender for the nature of your relationship.

His admittance settles somewhere deep within you, it wraps itself around your heart and warms it. It’s almost overwhelming and definitely terrifying.

“Do you need to eat?” You kill the building flames immediately, stamp them out with a stubborn foot.

He doesn’t mean it, he’s just vulnerable, he’s just emotional. You’d be an asshole to give into it.

“I could eat.” He sighs.

***

“This is so fucking stupid.” Denki laughs, irritated by the default plot line of the chick flick on tv.

You had ordered your favorite takeout, too much of it, to share as you watch. Slowly, you had pulled him out of his shaken state. With plenty of talk about your awful date, several good laughs, and the occasional soft spoken “you’re okay”. Denki is now settled with his head in your lap as he criticizes the lazy drama of the film.

“Why won’t they just stop being stupid and just… like each other?” He whines, gesturing at the tv with an inpatient hand.

“Dude they can’t. It would ruin the tension for them to like each other right now.” You explain.

He sits up and huffs before grabbing a handful of popcorn.

“But they could work. They could really work.” He says as he stuffs his face.

He seems so genuinely thoughtful, despite his grievances with the quality of the movie, he’s involved.

“Maybe they could.” You say, watching him instead of the movie.

He feels it when he looks at you, squeezing his ribs, trickling down his spine. The overwhelming, almost blind urge to lean in and kiss you. But he can’t, so he doesn’t.

“Could they?” He whispers.

You’re both frozen, trapped in the beam that’s suddenly shining down on you. It exposes every crack and corner of your relationship, leaving you both ripped open and afraid.

He’s leaning in again like he did in the bathroom, closer and closer and closer… until he grabs his damn drink.

Fuck.

A blush spreads across your cheeks, stomach aching with embarrassment. You pull back, shoving yourself under a blanket. You weren’t too obvious, right? You didn’t lean in too much… right?

He takes a long sip then sets the drink down harshly, not enough to make you jump, but enough to make you pay attention.

“Can we stop, please?” He says as he stands up, he runs his hands through his hair and huffs before he starts to pace.

“What?” You ask, trying to sound as oblivious as possible.

“Dude.” He turns on you, looking exhausted, eyes begging you for something.

“Denki- I, you need sleep…” You stand up and start to tidy, not really doing anything though. Just picking up cups and setting them down to look busy.

“I don’t need sleep.” He snaps before grabbing you by the shoulders. His eyes are wild, frantic, searching.

“What do you need?” You ask, hands shaking at your sides. His body sags, hands releasing you so he can hug himself.

“I don’t know.” It’s short and rushed, and he leaves you no time to respond before he storms off to his bedroom. His feet stomp, the door slams, and you fall to the couch in a heap.

This cannot be happening, not to you and Denki. You both just need sleep, you just need to brush it off and start again tomorrow. He’s emotional. He’s just emotional.

You turn the TV off, sneering at the couple kissing on it. You clean up slowly, setting dishes in the sink to be done tomorrow.

It’s ok. You’re ok. Emotions run high after bad dates, after traumatic events. It’s human nature. That’s all, you and Denki will be ok, you always are.

Your shoulders draw up when you hear his door open again, staying busy at the sink as you heard him walk into the kitchen.

“Can we talk about it?” His voice is unsteady, it tugs on your heart as you spin to face him.

“Talk about wha-”

“Please. Don’t.” He sighs as he steps towards you.

He’s too damn pretty when he’s tired. His cheeks get all pink, with glassy eyes and a shiny nose. Even with his busted cheek bone, he’s so… pretty.

Denki’s feelings have always run hot, he loves fast and hurts deeply. You can’t even begin to imagine the tsunami of emotion he must have pounding against his chest. You see it in his eyes though, something is breaking him.

“We could work.” He closes the distance between you even more, giving you no room to hide once your backside hits the counter.

“Denki…” You put your hands on his chest, trying to put something between you two, trying to cling to the line that’s been drawn.

“We could. Just- you don’t have to answer. Just think about it.” And then he’s gone again, away to hide in his room. Leaving you shocked and overwhelmed.

We could work.

You could, and you know it, you’re just not ready to accept it.

***

Sleep doesn’t come well, or even at all. You do think about it, all night. It’s the only thing on your mind as you toss and turn and huff. The sun is already peaking up into the sky, bathing your room in a hazy glow.

We could work.

Just because you could, doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be foolish of you to try. This is a friendship neither of you can afford to lose. You have some confidence that it could indeed withstand an awkward attempt at a relationship… but what if the attempt wasn’t awkward? Denki had told you, drunkenly, how much he loved you. He slept next to you when you cried, held you and talked you down. He knew how many sugars to put in your coffee and how you never bothered to match your socks.

Over time, Denki had memorized you as a person, and you had done the same for him. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to have in a partner? Someone who knows you, someone who makes it safe to be known.

Knock knock

It’s a courtesy knock, something he does to let you know he’s coming in. You never keep your door locked, and he’s always allowed in.

“Mornin’.” He says with a scratchy voice as he peaks into your room.

Fucking hell. Why does he have to be so pretty all the time?

“Mornin’.” You reply

You pull the blankets up around your chest, you realize now you’re in one of his t-shirts, not uncommon, but entirely too intimate given recent events.

He sits on the edge of your bed, all messy hair and puffy eyes. He offers you one of the coffee cups he’s holding, and it smells divine. You accept it as you sit up right, crossing your legs and clinging to your blankets.

His bruise is darker, yellow around the edges with deep red and purple splotches. It gives your chest the same tight feeling, something helpless and angry.

“I’m sorry, I was out of line.” He says quietly.

“You were right, I was emotional and I needed sleep and I definitely shouldn’t have dumped it on you.”

He fidgets while he talks, leg bouncing as his fingers dance around his mug. You reach out to rub his back, but he flinches. He fucking flinches.

Neither of you speak, but you meet each other’s eyes. He looks sorry, so sorry. He looks embarrassed and scared and guilty.

Slowly, you grab both cups and set them on your nightstand. You open your arms to him, still not speaking, not opening the door for him to apologise for something that isn’t his fault.

He falls into you easily, arms around your waist with his face against your neck. He crumbles there, unable to articulate, only able to cry. You hold him close, rub circles in his back and play with his hair. You let him go as long as he needs to, sitting with him, hurting with him.

“Denki?” You tread carefully, using your softest voice.

He looks up then, with a rosey face and searching eyes.

“You’re safe here. You’re safe with me.”

Something you’ve never seen before flashes in his eyes, something soft and warm, something that makes you want to fall forward into him like he just did with you.

You don’t, though, you stay still.

“Thank you.” He whispers.

Then, with all the caution and care in the world, he places a kiss on your forehead. It’s so simple, it’s been done a million times between the two of you, but it sits differently in your chest this time. It stays there, taking up space, spreading through you. That feeling of wanting to cross a line.

“Do you want to make breakfast?” He asks as he wipes at his face with his sleeves.

“Of course. You want those big ass waffles I make?” You ask, trying to lighten the mood.

His grin is slow to appear, but it does appear, and it’s as dazzling as always.

“I always want some big ass waffles.”

***

The rest of the day is spent in close proximity with each other, not unusual, but like everything else the past twenty four hours, it feels different.

You share you sit with knees touching while you eat your waffles, pee with the door open, he puts the toothpaste on your toothbrush for you. It’s all so normal for you two, but god it feels so different. It feels more important, it feels more… wholesome? Maybe? Not quite, that word isn’t entirely applicable. Neither you to Denki are wholesome in any capacity. Then a horrible thought scrambles into your mind.

It feels romantic. It feels domestic. It feels like a relationship.

It hits you while you’re helping him clean up the mess you’ve made cooking dinner. It’s in the way his hand ghosts over your waist when he slides behind you, the way he gets you more to eat without asking him to, the way makes you laugh so naturally.

Fuck.

You love him, you know this as a fact. You love him more than anyone, he knows you inside and out and you know him. You’re just now realizing in exactly what way you love him. He holds your hair when you puke, he rubs your back when you cramp, he pretends to be your boyfriend to scare off bad dates. He loves you too.

“Denki.” Your voice is quiet, your hands shake.

“Can we talk about it?”

His whole body tenses as he sets down the plate he was rinsing. He turns slowly, as if to avoid frightening you.

“Can we?” He asks gently, hopefully.

You step towards him, twisting your fingers around each other anxiously.

“This… works, doesn’t it?” You ask, awkwardly gesturing between the two of you.

He closes more of the distance, standing only inches from you.

“It does, and it could.” He says gently.

“What If it doesn’t?” You wonder out loud, fear creeping up your spine.

“Then it doesn’t.” He says simply.

“And we’ll be ok?”

“We’ll be ok.”

You stand in silence, keeping an eye on each other as you both process the information. He does that leaning thing again, like he wants to be closer. Then you panic.

“But it would be stupid.” You say as you turn away, wringing your hands around each other while you pace. He lets out a sigh and throws his hands up, exhausted with the back and forth.

“Right, because you and I would never do anything stupid.” His voice is rough, impatient, unfamiliar.

“We can’t afford to be stupid with this, dude. Can’t you see that?” You argue.

“Then we can be careful with it, we can start slow, we can ease into it.” He’s nearly begging, stepping towards you again.

“Ease into what!?” You turn on him, stopping him in his tracks.

“Don’t play dumb.” He crosses his arms, you mirror him, both skittish, both afraid.

“Tell me you don’t want this, and we won’t talk about it ever again. You have my word.” He offers, but he doesn’t want to.

You stand there, weighing your options, chest seizing as you watch his vibrant eyes search your face.

You can’t tell him you don’t want it. You can’t lie to him.

“I- Denki… I can’t lose you. We can’t fuck this up.” You feel tears prick at your eyes and a tightness in your throat, the very idea of being without your best friend makes you panic.

“You won’t fucking lose me. You have me, all of me. We won’t fuck this up if we just keep doing what we do.” He tries to keep his voice calm, but he breaks a little.

Another moment of heavy silence is spent between you, chests rising and falling rapidly, hands twitching as minds race.

Denying this any longer would be a crime, a horrible waste of time. Something snaps then, something gives in, and the line is crossed.

His hands are at the side of your face and his forehead falls against yours. Breath is hot, hands are needy, hearts are aching.

“Please, god, please.” You grab at his wrists, not to push him off, to pull him in, keep him close.

“I want you, need you, please.” You confess.

And then your soul is in flames. He shudders and his lips are on yours as soon as he can get them there. All at once, and not soon enough, the line you had both been clinging to is crossed. His hands hold your face so tightly as he works his lips against yours, kissing you with all he has left, letting loose all the times he’s wanted to before. It’s all consuming, it’s mind numbing, it’s (no pun intended) fucking electric.

He walks you back as he kisses you urgently until your ass hits the counter, his hands are on the backs of your thighs instantly. He whispers a quick jump against your lips. You do exactly that.

Now seated on the counter, you spread your legs so he can settle between them. He slides in perfectly, lips still hot and greedy against your own. His hands cling to your hips while yours claw at his back.

He breaks from you, panting with his pupils blown wide.

“Can we do something stupid?” He asks between puffs of air.

“Please, Denki, please.” You sigh, grabbing at his shirt. He grabs it by the collar and rips it off, revealing the body you’ve seen so often, but now you get to know it.

“I wanna taste your pussy.” He whispers before pressing his open mouth against your neck.

The words send a shock all the way down your body. The sparks fly and then settle between your legs where you feel his hard length pressing against your heat.

“Haven’t shaved.” You say, slightly embarrassed.

“Like I fucking care.” And then his hands are at your clothes, pulling them off and throwing them away until you’re left completely bare for him.

His skin feels like heaven against yours, warm and dewy and right.

“Gonna make you feel so good, fuck.” The last word is said with a tone of disbelief.

His hands slide up your sides, gathering your breasts so he can tease your nipples with his thumbs.

He smirks against your neck when you gasp and arch against him, pushing your bodies even closer together.

“Sensitive little thing, aren’t you?” He taunts.

“You’re talking too much.” You let out a breathy laugh at his teasing before planting your hand on top of his head and pushing him down.

He gladly falls to his knees, he throws one of your legs over his shoulder like it’s life or death before finally looking at your soaked center.

“Oh my fucking god.” He sighs.

“I wanna tease you but holy hell, I gotta-” He’s on you before you can brace at all, his tongue licks along your slit slowly, almost reverently.

And then he moans. It’s something whiney, something achey, escaping from the back of his throat.

He doesn’t stop, he doesn’t pull away, he finds the spot that makes you jump and sets up camp. He kitten licks your clit until your hands are pulling at his hair as you gasp above him.

It’s all so much, it’s all so good. Especially when he finally presses two fingers into you. He steps a gentle pace, a soothing push and pull that feels incredible. He works and works and works until your thighs are trembling and you’re babbling praises.

“Denki- fuck- there, right there, fuck fuck fuck.” He eats you so sweetly, with so much precision.

You almost anticipated him being more reckless, more sloppy. He isn’t though, he takes his time, learning your sweet spots, finding the angle that makes you crumble.

And he does.

You reach your end when he flattens his tongue and curls his fingers, massaging every part of you. His name falls from your lips in a broken cry, hands tug at his hair as your thighs squeeze his head.

He helps you through it, licking and fingering slowly to ease you back down, letting you feel every last nerve erupt in pleasure.

“Fuck that was perfect, you’re so fucking sweet.” He sighs against you.

You don’t answer, you can’t, you just grab at him until he gets the hint to stand up.

“Need you inside me, please, Denki please.”

“That’s funny.” He says thoughtfully, pulling down his sweats and briefs to reveal his very hard, very pretty dick.

“What?” You ask, breathless as he steps between your legs. He grabs at his length and gives it a few lazy strokes before pressing his head up against your cunt. The action makes you shiver and dig your nails into his shoulder.

“Didn’t think you were one to beg.” He says with a trembling voice, body buzzing with anticipation.

Then he presses in, replacing any smart remark you may have had with a gasp. It’s definitely a stretch, but god it’s incredible. He fills you so well, presses all of the right spots as he slides in.

“Denki- shit.” Your head falls back against the cabinet, your brain turns to mush as you try to fully comprehend how you ended up here, most of all how you went so long without this.

“So fucking tight.” He pants as he bottoms out, his praise makes you clench, which in turn makes his head fall back with a sweet little gasp.

He pulls in a sharp breath through his teeth, his top lip pulls up almost like he’s in pain. You know he isn’t though, he’s just savoring it.

With a frantic hand, you reach up and grab at the hair at the nape of his neck. You pull him back down against you, both moaning into the kiss when he moves his hips back slowly.

Your lips are messy against each other, bodies working together, finally colliding the way they’re meant to. He keeps his hips moving, setting a perfect, smooth pace. His hands settle on your hips as your stay in his hair.

You’re more vocal than usual, moaning out little praises, needing more and begging for it.

“You feel so good, don’t stop, baby- feels so fucking good.” Your lips quiver as you speak, making you sound so weak and needy. That mixed with the affectionate name does something to Denki, something that names him break a little more.

He buries his face into your neck, whispering a harsh fuck that sounds strangled and desperate. His thrusts get a little faster, his hands grab you a little tighter, and all you feel is Denki.

Your whole body buzzes, in your fingertips, the backs of your thighs, you feel him everywhere.

You don’t even consider the mess that you’ll make on the counter, don’t mind the bruises he’ll leave on your hips, it’s all worth it. So fucking worth it.

“Look at me, look at me when I make you cum.” One of his hands comes up to hold your face as he speaks frantically.

His words set off a cloud of butterflies in your stomach, every sensation building, becoming more intense. You nod pitifully as you lean into his hand, chasing your high with each of his deep, filling thrusts.

The feeling of his hand on your hip reminds you of the last time he had you sitting on a counter like this. You remember how he shocked you, how it went straight to your cunt, how much you loved the feeling.

Body jolting with each thrust, your hand falls over his on your hip. You give him one look, and his eyebrows shoot sky high.

“Yeah? You want me to shock you?” His voice climbs as he speaks, so high and pretty and needy.

“Yes, fuck yes, please, Denki.” You plead, you’re so damn close, you just need that final push.

He doesn’t waste any time. As soon as you ask so sweetly, his palm starts to spark, biting at your skin. You cry out and throw your head forward, the electricity drives you up a wall, absolutely hooked on the sensation.

“That’s it, cum nice and hard for me sweetheart.” His other hand moves down to thumb at your clit and that’s all it takes.

“I’m gonna- ohmyfuckinggod- Denki! Shit!” You sob against his skin as he zaps you just a little more. It makes you delirious, you shiver and jolt as your hands claw down his back.

He fucks you through it, moans and praises fall from his lips as you crest. Your walls quiver around him, almost finishing him off too. Somehow, he keeps it together, he holds his pace until he’s sure you’re on your way back down.

“That’s it baby, that’s it.” He coos as his thrust become more shallow, “Oh fuck.”

He pulls out and jacks himself off only a few times before he’s spilling onto your thigh, painting the skin hot white ropes.

Your hand darts down to gather his release on your fingers before bringing it to your lips. You make a show of licking it up, popping your fingers from your mouth as your eyes flutter shut.

“Oh you dirty fuckin’ girl.” He muses, he gathers the rest up with his thumb so he can press it into your mouth.

You swirl your tongue around his thumb, looking up at him with a doe eyed expression.

You never dreamed you two would ever end up here, feeling and tasting each other in the filthiest of ways, but god it feels so right.

You stay there for just a moment, clinging to the high and each other, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

As your breathing steadies, his hands are placed gently around your waist, thumbs playing at the bottom of your ribs.

You share a moment of silence, waiting for the other to make the first move.

“Wanna talk about it?” Denki asks, a smile playing at his lips. You let out a breathy laugh, head falling forward so you can lean your forehead against his collar bone.

You start to press soft kisses across his chest, he hand slides to play with the hair at the back of your head.

“I don’t think we have to.” You kiss up his chest until you’re looking up at him.

“This works, doesn’t it?” He asks fondly, looking as stunning as ever, bruise and all.

“This works.” You confirm.

With that, he ducks down suddenly, arms sliding around you so he can throw you over his shoulder.

“Denki! What the hell?” You laugh, pounding at his back playfully.

“If we aren’t talkin’ we’re fuckin’. This isn’t a one and done deal baby.” He says as you round the corner to your bedroom, he throws you on the bed so you land with a bounce and a giggle.

“I hope you don’t have plans for the next six hours.” He falls into you, kissing all over your neck and collarbones.

“Hey.” You say quietly.

“Hmm.” He responds between kisses.

“I love you, sparky.”

He pauses, looking up at you with his luminant eyes.

“I know.” His face splits into a teasing grin.

You punch his shoulder, pouting dramatically.

He inches up the bed, caging you with his arms so he can cradle your head with his hands. He looks at you thoughtfully for just a moment before leaning down to kiss you.

It’s gentle and careful this time, slow and thought out. It makes you absolutely melt.

“I love you too.” He whispers against your lips.

It does work, it works beautifully. It was a slow and not so steady road, but you two knuckleheads did it. You crossed that damn line.

[spacegirlapollo]

Right Here, Right Now [Shouta Aizawa Smut]

Title: Right Here, Right Now 

Genre: Fluff, Smut 

Words: 3,379 

Notes: It’s a little long sorry sksk. But if you wanna skip to the juicy bits, scroll down to the “Part Two” Line break. Enjoy! Also Going to be trying to do a Sinful Saturday series where I post Smut on Sundays. Right now it’s mainly Aizawa but will be other characters as im feeling it. Send a request if you want ! 

---------------------  Part One ------------------------

Out of everyone you knew, your husband, AIzawa Shouta, had the quietest footsteps you never heard. He developed the frightening skill, from his undercover hero work, years before he’d even become a teacher at U.A.

You took it as a sign of your strong relationship however that sometimes you could sense his presence, even if you couldn't hear him. You always enjoyed the surprised look on his face when you turned to see him whenever he was silently catwalking into a room.

And now was one of those times, there were no signs to say that he’d entered your shared bathroom, except that you knew he had.

You looked up from the countertop full of your makeup products to see him, looking at the slight mess you’d made of the sink area. Your mouth fell open when you saw the state that he was in.

“Shouta!” You exclaimed in genuine horror. “ What the fuck are you wearing?”

You hadn’t meant for the last part to come out. And even though Aizawa was fully aware of your tendency to have a sailor mouth, you still hadn’t meant to say it. But you were appalled at the solid black dress pants, horizontally striped dress shirt, and dark navy blue jacket that he was wearing. The more you looked at him the more you noticed that nothing he was wearing was matching.

His eyebrow twitched a bit, but he gave you an otherwise blank look. You sighed, closing the eyeliner bottle in your hand and placing it on the sink.

You had suspected, when you were younger and first began dating, that Aizawa lacked some fashion sense. He’d mostly stuck to black anytime he went outside so matching wasn't really a problem. It wasn’t until you begam spending the night with him, that you’d seen him put together outfits that made absolutely no sense. You’d always found it funny to see what he would toss on.

It had been decided, mostly by you, that for big events you’d pick out the clothes. And it had been years of this going smoothly. You suspected that since you dressed him so sharply, he’d gotten compliments, and that was why he continued to let you dress him up.

And before you’d gone into the bathroom to fix your makeup, you’d laid out his outfit for the night on the bed.

There was a teacher’s appreciation night at U.A and you were going as his plus one. This had been your 5th time going together, and each year was more fancy than the last.

Shouta was crossing his arms over his chest, still not having said a word.

“Babe.” You said carefully as to not burst out into laughter. “ What happened to what I put on the bed?”

He uncrossed his arms and scratched the back of his head looking slightly uncomfortable. Now you were confused. He never had any issues before with what you’d picked out. In fact, if you had forgotten to pick an outfit he’d gently remind you.  You thought back to what you’d put on the bed, a simple black suit was what you had gone with since you were wearing a black dress. There was no way he wouldn't have liked it.

“It’s…. Too small.” He said finally, embarrassment tinting his cheeks.

“To small?” You were confused. You’d bought it only 8 months ago. You did a quick glance over, he hadn’t put on any weight where you could see.

“In the arms.. And thighs.” He said, he looking like he wished he could sink into the floor.

“Oh.” You said blinking. “ OHH!” you said again louder when you finally understood. Honeslty you felt a little dumb. He’d gotten buffer. You could even see in what he was wearing now that the arms were a little too tight and you could almost see the outline of his muscles as if it was a fitted jacket.

This time you couldn’t help the laugh that came out, which only got louder as he gave you a glare.

“I-I’m sorry baby. I don't mean to laugh” You said in between laughs.

“Yeah you do.” He mused out but he didn't seem upset.

You came closer and squeezed on his upper arms, which barely had any room, left in them, and were so… solid.

You couldn't deny that he had gotten thicker over the year, you just hadn’t thought about it when you bought the suit.

“Hmm… Maybe I do.” You said cheekily smiling up at him. He gave you a small smile back in spite of himself.

“Okay.” You said stepping back a bit and looking him up and down. “ Take all of that off. I’m going to use my quirk.

At this he looked surprised, an eyebrow raised. “Are you sure? You always get a  headache when you use it too much.”

You shook your head.” This won't be so bad. I already have an idea of what I’m going to make.”

He gave you another skeptical look before he unbuttoned the jacket to start taking it off.

You bit your lip a little as he focused on unbuttoning the dress shirt and sliding it off his frame.

He’d definitely gotten bigger, you weren't sure if it was deliberate, but you did not mind in the least. His hair fell over his face as he bent over to pull his pants off and move the pile of clothes out of the way.

You paused for a minute to take in your husband and all his glory as he stood in only his boxers and socks.

“Do you not like it?” He said quietly, shattering your ungodly thoughts.

You blinked. “ Huh?” You asked looking up at his unreadable face.

“That I’m bigger. Do you not like it?” He asked again.

You felt like someone had smacked you. Your husband, THE Aizawa Shouta was feeling a  little insecure. Because he kept his cards so close to the chest, it hadn't even crossed your mind that he would ever experience that feeling. And the fact that he was being vulnerable, right now in front of you made your love for him multiply.

You opened your mouth before you could even think to maybe censor yourself.

“Honestly Shouta, you look so fucking hot, I’m actually debating about skipping the event and jumping your bones.”

You covered your mouth a bit in shock, that you’d actually said that. There was a moment of silence where you were now the one wishing to sink into the floor. Then he came forward till he was almost pressed against you, a smirk on his face. Any trace of unreadable insecurity gone. You were glad, although a little embarrassed.

He moved your hand from your face and tucked a finger underneath your chin tilting your head up. You didn't get a chance to think as he pressed his soft lips against yours in a slow intoxicating kiss that left you fiending for more. Almost as if he sensed your sudden want he pulled away smiling down at you.

“Maybe we should go to the event first. Then we can talk about what happens when we get back home.”

You pouted. “ Fine. But you’re such a tease.”

He chuckled at this and took a step back expectantly. You took a deep breath and put your hands around his lower neck focusing on activating your quirk.

You had the quirk of Matter ideation. When you focused hard enough, you could make your ideas into reality by manipulating the matter that you touch with your hands. You could even make living things if you concentrate hard enough. But the bigger or more complicated a thing was the more energy it took from you and you were often left with a piercing headache that functioned like a hangover that usually kicked in an hour or two after you created something.

You breathed out, moving your hands down his bare and exposed chest. Your eyes were closed as you imagined the final product moving your hands down from his neck all the way down to his toes.

You could feel the matter pushing and blending together and taking on different shapes and colors, and molding around his skin.

When you were finished you opened your eyes and your mouth fell open. It looked better than you expected.

It was a deep and dark green suit that you had created that fit him, wonderfully, perfectly even. You turned to reach into the bathroom cabinet pulling out a hair tie.

Standing on your tiptoes, your faces once again close, you pulled his soft and freshly washed hair back and pinned it up into a half bun. You could feel his eyes on you as you did this meeting his for a moment and smiling.

“There.” You said after a moment, taking a step back to look at him. You put your hand to your chin as if you were thinking and nodded.

“Yeah that's hot.”

Shouta ignored you, turning to face the mirror, but you could see the slight tint of pink on his cheeks.

You watched him look at himself in the large mirror and eyebrow raised.

“What do you think?”

“I like the color.” He said in the most monotone voice possible but you just about rocketed off into space. You leaned up on his shoulder and kissed his cheek before turning back to your makeup mess, trying to locate your eyeliner.

“We have like half an hour left to get ready, so I have to finish doing my makeup. It's a disaster right now.”

-----

Half an hour later, Shouta was sitting in the dining room, looking over student essays when he heard the bathroom door opening upstairs. He keeps grading until he hears the clack of your heels coming down the stairs. Dropping his pencil and standing up he makes his way into the living room where he is stopped in his tracks.

You were coming down the stairs holding the rail with one hand concentrating on walking with your high heel.

Feeling a bit uneasy, he moved close to the stairs and just as he predicted your right foot slipped sending you flying forward. With one easy movement he caught you in his arms, a smile gracing his face when you looked up at him appreciatively.

“You look beautiful.” He said setting you straight and tucking your hair behind your ear.

To make sure you matched, you created yourself a green dress that complimented his suit.

“Thank you.” You said smiling. You were buzzing and ready to go.

“Ready?” He asked taking a deep breath as if he was steeling himself. Social events were never his thing but he went cause he knew you enjoyed them, and to appease his various co-workers.

“Yep” You slid your hand in his and headed towards the door.

------------------ PART TWO ------------------

It was two hours into the party and suddenly you were wishing you had headed your husbands warning. You were at U.A with Aizawa for a teacher’s appreciation event, and after having used your quirk to make you and your husband clothes, you were experiencing the side effects of your quirk.

You gripped the stem of your wine glass a little harder as your head started to throb. You felt like your brain was going to split into two at any second. Your quirk was like a muscle, if you didnt use it for a while, you had to build it back up again. You couldn't remember the last time you’d used your quirk, so making your dress and your husband’s suit was too much for your body at the moment.

The music inside the school gym was blasting and everyone was huddled around talking loud to hear each other. Shouta had gotten pulled away to take teacher photos in the corner of the gym. You could see him now, deadpanning into the camera. It would have brought a smile to your face if you didn't feel like you were about to puke from the pain.

Without taking a glance around you took a large gulp of your wine, finishing it off in a not so classy way. You knew you would pay with another hangover later, but maybe the alcohol would temporarily help you out.

Ten minutes later, and quite a few drinks later, you were sitting with your head down on top of a table, wishing that you could turn back time and stop yourself from making the dress. You still would have looked nice in the dress you had already picked out.

You wanted to go find some of the teachers and chat and have a good time, but you felt like if you opened your mouth, it would be a cry. You weren't sure how long you had been sitting alone, when a hand was placed on your back. You jumped up, feeling your head sloshing a bit as the alcohol you’d ingested started to catch up with you.

It was Shouta, looking down at you concern over his face. He crouched down close to you so that he didn't have to shout so loud.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. You looked at him and realized he still had on fake prop glasses that someone had probably put on him. You smiled and pulled them off his face to plalce them on the table.

“You were right.” You pouted. “ My head is about to split open.” You said. Understanding hit his face, but he made no move to shame you, the concern still there. Damn you loved this man.

“But never fear!” You said and he raised an eyebrow.

“ I downed many a cup of alcohol. And I am already feeling better.” You said grabbing his face and laughing. Maybe you were already a little tipsy. You tended to get giggly when you drink.

He grabbed your hands  and brought them back to your lap amused. “ Your headache is just going to be worse later.”

You leaned forward more, a mischievous look clear as day on your face. “ Exactly, later.”

Before he could say anything else you connected your lips, returning the soft but intoxicating kiss he’d given you earlier. You considered it payback. When he pressed back to take over the kiss you pulled away a smirl playing on your lips.

“After the party… remember?” You said.

He cleared his throat returning back to normal public Aizawa within a moment.

“Right.”

You smiled wickedly.

“Right.” You said back. You stood up. “ Let’s go bug Toshi!!” You said in a sing song voice.

---

Aizawa was vaguely aware of the conversation that was happening around him. But his eyes were focused past the the group of teachers he was standing around and onto you. You were dancing with Toshinori chatting away happily. He knew you had a soft spot for the old man and you had rescued him from an awkward conversation asking Toshinonri to dance, leaving Aizawa open to being brought into various conversations that he did not care about.

You looked cute as you chatted with All Might, spinning under his arm as the music changed. His mind wandered onto the kiss you had given him shortly before. He knew you were definitely a little drunk, as you typically did not engage in PDA for his sake. It had caught him off guard, in only the way you could. You smelled heavenly and looked so beautiful with your hair pinned up and your dress.

He couldn't think of anything he’d like more at that moment than seeing your hair wild over the pillows, screaming out his name. It was like he could feel your hands ghosting up chest and digging into his back.

Snapping back into reality, he didn't have to look down to feel how tight his pants had become.

Shit.

“Excuse me.” He said in the middle of someone talking before dipping out of the conversation and cutting across the gym to the dance floor.

Toshinori saw you first, giving him a bright smile as he stopped dancing with you.

---

You looked up at Toshi pouting trying to figure out why you’d stopped . You were having a great time dancing with him. He was surprisingly good at leading, and he was telling you about his golden day stories.

You noticed he was looking at someone behind you so you turned, to see your husband standing there a strange look on his face. Your eyes traveled down and a smirk graced your face.

“Can I cut in?” He asked Toshi who nodded and let go of your hands at once.

“Of course.” he said, either not seeing his coworkers hard-on or doing a great job of pretending not to. “ I think i’m going to help myself to some more juice.” Leaning down he kissed you on the forehead quickly before heading away.  

No sooner was Shouta grabbing your hand and almost dragging you in the directions of the parking lot. You felt a wave of wanton lust flow over you as you reached the car.

You slipped into the car barely waiting until the door was closed before you climbed over the passenger seat and into Shouta’s lap.

He gave a surprised grunt as you kissed him deep, your tounges swirling together. You were fumbling with his belt when he grabbed your hands.

“Were in the parking lot Y/N” He said a bit breathily.

You tapped the dark window next to you. “They’re tinted, remember?”

You leaned forward your face and chest leaning over him close. “ You wanna wait?” You asked placing a hand over his clothed cock, gripping it softly.

When he didn’t answer you began to stroke it excruciatingly slow. “ Hm?”

You leaned over and left searing butterfly kisses up his neck, until you reached his ear where you said softly. “ Don’t you wanna fuck me Shouta?”

You were being a big brat. But you didn’t care your brain was clouded in want.

“Fuck Y/N.” He almost growled out gripping your face with both of his hand and bringing you in for another head swirling kiss. You felt his hands skirting up your dress till they found your lacy underwear.

You heard the tear of fabric before you even felt him ripping your underwear, and tossing them into the backseat. With your free hand you pulled his hard cock out of his pants. His hands moved to your waist with a vice like grip lining you up perfectly with him.

You broke your kiss to moan as he finally filled you up with one hard push.

--

Aizawa head was swirling with thoughts of you. If anything you looked more beautiful on top of him. Your carefully placed hair pins had slipped and your wild curly hair was falling past your shoulders. You were the only person in the world he’d be vulnerable with the only person he’d let touch him. And you felt so good, too good.

He didn't waste any time lifting you up again, chasing that feeling of being completely connected to you.

The way your face shifted into pleasure as he stroked again into you, made him want to cum in your right then in there, but he would pace himself.

--

After letting you get adjusted the pace he sent was relentless. His thick cock was pounding up into you and you couldn't even think for how good it felt. Neither of you were going to last long like this.

“Oh baby.” You cried out your hands flat on his chest and curling into fist pulling at his clothing. “ Oh baby don’t stop.”

You were on fire in pleasure, the sound of your moans and wetness slamming together filling the car. You head flew back, mouth agape as you began to cum around his throbbing manhood.

“Shouta!” You cried out tightening around him sending him over the edge and gushing into you.

You brought your head down to kiss him again as you both rode out your orgasim. Your thigh spasming softly under his touch.

“Mmm. I love you.” he said between kisses. And you smiled against his lips.

“I love you too Shouta.” You said.

[srose-foxfire]

“First Impressions” Part: 6 (Finale) Damirae Pic

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

A/N: Hello Everyone. We finally made it to the finale of “First Impressions” I wanna thank you all for being with me and following along with this fic. This started out as a one-shot but after writing part 1; I couldn’t just stay there and decided to make it into a longer fic. I hoped you enjoy it thus far. This part in particular is longer than the other parts.

I would also like to take the time and wishing Happy Birthday / Belated Birthday to @ravenfan1242 . I wanna personally say thank you so much for all the support you give to artists and writers, like myself in the Damirae community. You may not know this, but you were my very fist commenter on my very first Damirae fic I had written when I first joined tumblr. Your words cheered me right up and gave me the confidence I needed to continue writing. I hope you enjoy this small gift from me. Thank you.

Without further ado, enjoy the story!

~ Simona R.  

-- -- --

Part: 6

Where in his right mind did Damian think this was a good idea? He stood in front of his bathroom mirror and looked at the ‘work of art’ his sisters and Raven had done on him. Layers of foundation, contour, and highlight were plastered all over his face. His eyes were covered in a golden-brown eyeshadow, the girls then added some golden shimmer over it. Cass went ahead and nearly poked his eyes out when she used a liquid eyeliner to create a cat-eye look over his eyes. Stephanie was adding a light peach blush onto Damian’s cheeks. As for Raven who looked like she was actually enjoying torturing him, finished his ‘look’ with a dark purple matte liquid lipstick.

When he saw Cass grabbing her phone, Damian made a run for the door and dashed towards his bedroom. Damian touched his cheek, debating the choices he made that ended him looking like this. He turned on the faucet with warm running water and soaked a hand towel in it. Damian then started scrubbing his face clean; he looked hideous. The make-up wasn’t coming off easily and instead was smudging across his face, why did girls enjoy this, Damian had to wonder. He felt dirty and his face felt thick and tight from all the stuff that was plaster onto his face. Damian turned the water off and threw the hand towel in the sink. Lost in thought. He could had just said no, but he didn’t.

-- -- --

A few minutes earlier Damian had stood outside of Cass’s room when Raven entered to confess, she made up Jasper Sky. One may call him a stalker for leaning against the doorway, but Damian was there for Raven’s sake. He had promised to be there in case the confession had gone bad. Cass’s bedroom became extremely quiet, Damian couldn’t make out words anymore. He concentrated and heard a soft cry. Panicked and worry made him throw the door open to find his sisters hugging Raven, while Raven cried happily in their arms.

His sisters shocked at his outburst both cursed and questioned him what he was doing. Damian shot a quick glance towards Raven who was starting to flush. His sisters didn’t know the promise he had made to Raven. In order to save them both from being interrogated by his sisters, Damian had to come up with a quick plan. The first and only thing that popped in Damian’s mind was “I would like to try that make-over!”

-- -- --

Damian exited his bathroom and tirelessly fell onto his bed. He looked up to the ceiling and watch his ceiling fan just spun. At some point the girls would need to eat, Damian thought. Which would give him a chance to sneak into Cass’s room and take some facial cleansing wipes to clean his face. He should had been more patient and waited for Raven to come out, but the thought of her crying only terrified him greatly. He never wanted to see her cry or be scared, but even he could never stop that. But Damian hope he could be the one to bring Raven comfort, if she allowed him.

Damian’s thoughts were interrupted when someone was heard knocking onto his bedroom door. He turned his head towards the sound and contemplated if he should even open it. If it was one of his older brothers and found him in the state he was in, they would make Damian the laughing stalk of his family till he died. Though Damian rather die if it turned out either his father or Alfred ever saw him in his ridiculous state. How did the heir to Wayne Enterprises come to this? The knocking continued as Damian thought of the last person he would want to see. Cass. Damian knew very well, out of all his siblings, Cass has the largest following in her social media. What if she was trying to take a picture and post it to the whole world?! Worse she was actually coming to get him and drag him back to her room so they could add more cosmetics?

Please no more. What more could they possible add? The door was now being banged and each knocked sounded more frantic than the next. Damian groined into his hands, got up and walked towards his door. “Damn it Cass, enough is enough. I am not going back out there.”

“Actually, it’s me Damian.”Upon hearing her voice, Damian immediately unlocked his door and opened to find Raven holding some facial wipes and a few bottles, which he presumed to be used to remove cosmetics. “I brought some stuff to help clean your face.” She said softly.

Damian lifted a brow and then peek through the doorway before retuning his gaze to her. “It’s just you right? The she-devils aren’t near?”

“She-devils? Your sisters? Damian that’s mean and no they’re busy applying each other a facial mask.”

“Come in.”

Very timidly Raven walked into his room as Damian closed the door behind him. Damian continued to study her as she carefully walked like a frightened doe. What was she so afraid of him? Did she think he be upset with her over the make-over? Then he came to a realization, this was the first time Raven had entered his room. Every time she came over to the manor, the only places he would find her was in Cass’s room, the manor’s library, and the kitchen. Damian had never once invited her to his room.

As Damian continue to think of what he could say to comfort Raven in this most awkward situation, Raven had cleared her throat. “Where would you like to sit?” She asked very shyly.

Damian looked around his room and wished his desk had two chairs instead of one. He walked past her and sat down on the thick carpet, reclining against his bed. Raven followed him and bended down to her knees, she carefully placed the box of facial wipes in front of her and laid a few bottles next to them. She pulled out a wipe and carefully started rubbing his left cheek.

At first Damian tried keeping his gaze towards the carpet floor and count each thread. But his will betray him, he would catch himself side-glancing towards Raven as she carefully continues to clean his face. Afraid he would be caught; Damian closed his eyes and focused on how soft she was being with him. It felt like a massage and the tense knots he had in his face loosened under her touch. Damian leaned his head back against his bed and let out a deep sigh.

“So, my sisters forgave you, correct?”

“They did. Is as you said, they don’t hold grudges though they wanted a complete explanation on why I had to come up with Jasper Sky.”

“Like what?”

“Well I told them something specifically, and with that they backed down.” Raven carefully rubbed his brows clean. The room then became quiet and the only sound heard was the rubbing on his skin.

“I’m sorry.” Raven said in the most-lowest voice possible. “You’re like this because of me and… sigh… I’m sorry.”

Raven pulled away as she threw some used wipes into one pile. Damian looked at her and noticed how some of her lashes had grouped together due to her crying earlier. Remembering how thathad made him feel. Damian looked down at her hands and without even noticing with himself wrapped his hand around hers making Raven look up into his eyes.

“Don’t be.” Damian said as he pulled Raven’s hand closer to his chest. “You have nothing to apologize for, I put myself in this situation and… I would do it again to make sure you’re alright.”

Raven looked shocked at his words. She was right to be. Though now that he revealed this to her, Damian need to tell her more and come clean of his own feelings. He took a deep breath and allowed his heart to speak, “Raven, I have fallen in love with you. My heart beats every-time I am with you, my day lights up at the mention of your name. You are the most unique and most beautiful girl I have ever met. You view the world with a sense of wonder and I would like to see it through your eyes. I-”

Damian stopped when he saw Raven’s eyes watered. What had he done? This was too much and too soon for her.  He sighed, “just forget I said anything-”

Raven slammed her lips onto his, she cupped his face between her palms. She was actually squishing his face, but Damian didn’t feel any pain or didn’t knowhow to react since his brain decided not to function anymore. The poor boy was left in shock, Raven then released his face and slowly pulled away. Hiding her palms between her thighs. Her face was ridiculous flushed, but she was so beautiful, and Damian couldn’t help but stare. “I fallen in love with you too, Damian. I…I love you.”

Damian gave her a warm smile, he touched her cheek and pulled her onto his lap. Once she was settled, Raven wrapped one arm around his neck while the other stroke his check. The two youth continue to smile before both of them leaned into each other for another kiss. This kiss was slow almost as if though this kiss alone they could tell each other their true feelings and leaving themselves open to one another. They pulled and just looked at each other for what felt like an eternity. 

Raven giggled in his arms as she wrapped both arms around his neck, “I actually had a crush on you since before we met.” Damian raised a brow at her as he waited for her to continue, “Your family would tell me stories about you and well I couldn’t wait to me the Damian Wayne.”

“Well lucky for me, I just hope I didn’t raise any concerns after my first impression.”

“Actually, after calming down the whole incident made you look hot. I found out just how much your father’s books meant to you and the lengths you would go to protect the people you loved. Only made the crush I had on you grow.”

Damian only smiled at her and gave her a quick peck on her temple, Raven sighed and rested her head against his chest. “Is there a way for you to sneak away from my sisters tomorrow? I would like to take you out on an official date.”

“I will let them know I won’t be available for a few hours but I’m sure they will be okay with it… they did give me their blessing to date you.”

Before Damian had a chance to ask her what she meant by that, his bedroom door was blasted open, with all his siblings coming through popping confetti poppers and Cass holding up her phone snapping a picture of them, “Damn right you have our blessing Rae, whoo welcome to the family, sister!”

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 5

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV.

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Revenge is sweet but a well-timed dick joke is sweeter. xoxo gossip girl. Please supervise one Bucky Barnes on the internet. Questionable music taste. Detention is the price we pay for justice. Bruce Banner is too precious for this world, too pure.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit​ @littlegasps​ @pilloclock​ @shereadsinquiet​ @downeyreads​ @hermione-grangers-wife​ @individualistfem​

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings ! 🎶🎵I love you biiitch ain't ever gonna stop loving you biiitch 🎵🎶

"Initiate phase one," I added a growly undertone to my whisper, holding my phone inconspicuously, as if I was making a simple phone call. There was no answer but I didn't expect one: I was testing the voice recorder app that I had downloaded for the sole purpose of documenting and relaying the inevitable fall of one Flash Thompson. 

Making my way through the crowd of students during the busiest time of the day, I made the most intrigued and outraged facial expression I possibly could. Spying my targets, I leaned against a nearby wall, putting a hand over my mouth in fake outrage, keeping my eyes wide and trained on the opposite wall. Just as I had predicted, the two sophomore girls started giving me side-eye by minute two of my staring and finally approached me as I contemplated the wall for whole five minutes.

"I'm sorry, are you okay?" The brunette asked, her blonde friend hanging a step back.

"Yeah, totally," I mumbled. "I'm, like, shook beyond imagination, but nothing, like, bad."

The girls traded a curious look, seemingly coming to some sort of conclusion. The greedy gleam in their eyes had me internally cheering. "What happened?" The blonde one asked, coming closer.

"I'm not sure if I should tell that to anyone," I stammered, watching them bodily move forward. "Well, okay, I can't keep quiet. But you must never, ever speak of it or I'll get expelled or something," I said nervously. They both nodded so rapidly it reminded me of Funko Pop figurines. "You know the senior guy, Flash? Brown hair, kinda hot?" Again, they both nodded, conspicuously grinning. "I think I just saw him in the closed girls bathroom on the third floor with, like, some brunette from Ms. Johnson's History class," They both gasped. Predictable. "But that's not the worst! They were like, y'know," I made an obscene gesture with my hand and they instantly covered their own mouths with their palms in shock. "And the chick was like 'is it in yet?' and he was like 'yah' and I just closed the door and ran, oh my god I hope they didn't hear me," I squealed at the end, playing the part of a mortified teenager.

All three of us giggled uncomfortably for a moment. The blonde girl stared at me suspiciously. "And what were you doing there?"

I faked a nervous stammer, looking around briefly and showing them my lighter for a moment. They both gasped and nodded in recognition. "Don't tell anybody or my mom is going to have kittens," I pleaded. Both of them nodded solemnly, noticing their own group of friends approach. I used the brief moment to get lost in the river of pupils and by the time they turned around to introduce me, I was already at the opposite part of the hallway.

For the time being, everything seemed peaceful. There were a few giggles and side-eyes directed towards Flash Thompson but nothing out of the ordinary. He was disliked by most of the student population even if nobody dared to admit it outright. I took care to walk around without my earbuds for the day and pulled out my phone to record the most interesting conversations around me whenever I caught the tell tale signs of a gossip mill beginning to run its course around the school.

"Oh my god, I heard about this girl that was caught fucking Flash in the girls bathroom and she literally said 'is it in yet', can you imagine the shock, jeez!"

"Some chick literally just rejected Flash because his dick was too small."

"Rebecca from AP chemistry told me someone saw Flash's micropenis. Poor guy!"

"I wonder if his girlfriend dumped him because he can't do shit, I mean, he doesn't look like the type to eat the kitty."

Those were just the highlights of the Friday afternoon. Come the weekend and the news of Flash's unfortunate condition will make the rounds through every single group chat that the school has and by the time Monday rolls around, nobody will have a clue who started the rumour in the first place. I had to carefully select the girls who were to distribute the rumour and I was happy with the outcome: Marissa and Layla with their squad of chatty, bored rich girls were the perfect choice. I thought they would jump at any opportunity to cause drama and I was right.

It was sufficient to say I was bristling with pride as I cut and compiled the audio track from today's school day before sending it to the group chat.

Clint, Peter and Natasha appeared online as soon as the message delivered and I was delighted at their response. Romanoff's kind words, specifically, made me all warm and mushy inside. I didn't resist the feeling, basked in it even as I did a happy dance around my room. Peter's nonsensical string of emojis was another point of laughter for me. 

It wasn't exactly the smartest way to go about killing Thompson's reputation... Alas, simplicity is the way to success when it comes to large crowds of teenagers. That tiny little vindictive part of me was very much looking forward to the weekend and the results of the inevitable distortion of the rumour I had started. Who knew, maybe by Monday Flash Thompson would not only have a micropenis but horns and hooves as well.

Near bedtime, I had all the avengers send me their regards and thumbs up. I answered the flurry of texts as quickly as I could but there was no point in keeping up with ten or so people constantly streaming their questions, opinions and comments. 

I settled on a single easiest response: pulling my dad's old uni sweatshirt over my tiny lacy pajamas to preserve some modesty, I settled in front of my mirror, turning on my Bluetooth speaker to play "Boss Ass Bitch". In true gen-z fashion, I put on my best resting witch face and solemnly lip-synced to the song's eponymous chorus. My eyeliner was sharp enough to cut paper and my prismatic highlighter glittered enigmatically in the cold light of my blue lava lamp.

The response was, once again, delightful and I genuinely belly-laughed at the adults' attempts to meme after Peter. His blushy face emoji started a whole nother conversation that I didn't participate in but watched from the sidelines with glee, snorting every time his friends and mentors gently teased him about the very obvious crush he harboured on me. 

Seeing Peter starting to go absolutely nuts, I interjected with an offer (more like a dare) of a lip sync battle. He jumped on the bandwagon, immediately going offline to undoubtedly film an epic video of what I thought would be dorky-dancing to some hipster song. I was pleasantly surprised when it turned out to be a pre-recorded tik tok video of him and Ned fighting with lightsabers while mouthing the words to Fergalicious that played over the Imperial March.

Weirdos. I still followed him on the app, though, it was pretty funny.

Bucky interjected with a very well executed rendition of "Bring Me to Life": he was wearing his full Winter Soldier get-up, complete with an AK-47, dramatically serenading Steve who looked seventeen shades of done with his partner's antics. Wanda's following twenty second voice message consisted of nothing but pure hysterical laughter, summing up everyone's reaction to the video. Bucky was going to go viral one of these days...

Obviously, I had good competition and nobody else seemed to want to participate so I rearranged my surroundings a little bit and stood up at my full height and swapped the old sweatshirt for a cute crop-top hoodie. My thigh-highs were on display and with my make-up, I looked like a proper internet e-girl. I leaned against the mirror as I mouthed along to the song with my best interpretation of the famous Lucifer smirk, seasoned with a tiny bit of angelic innocence: "Doctor, doctor, give me the news, I got a bad case of loving you..."

Needless to say, I won the competition. Eventually Wanda joined in, looking menacing and ominous with her dark clothes and Natasha's red hair flashing somewhere in the background; even Tony did a round (AC/DC as his soundtrack of course) with one of his Iron Man suits but nothing beat my stunt and the reaction that it caused.

I had accidentally called out Bruce with the choice of my song and his teammates gave both of us a lot of cheeky comments about it. We relented and flirted with each other a bit as the conversation flowed into more mundane discussion; I said my good nights somewhere between Tony's bitching about the hobbies of my generation and my nightly skincare routine. The little green heart that I'd become accustomed to over the past few weeks greeted me just as I was about to lock my phone.

Bruce was really too precious for this world. My crush on him was different than the one on Tony, it mellowed out in comparison. I wanted him to hold me, to stroke my hair, to call me his darling and wrap me up in one of those dorky button-ups that he insisted on wearing in spite of Tony's unwanted, however very valid, fashion advice.

For all that's worth, the scientist probably knew or at least suspected and had the good grace to play along just enough to satisfy my deep need for attention... Without crossing any actual lines. It was frustrating, it was disappointing but I had virtually nothing to complain about. Besides, I didn't want to lose the quirky friendship that we had. Banner was, probably, the least judgemental person I knew and I wasn't about to trade that for an awkwardly stolen kiss.

Monday and Tuesday passed in a flurry of giggling and snorting every time Flash walked by. His girlfriend broke up with him, very publicly, accusing him of cheating and he didn't even deny it - just insulted her and stormed off, leaving even his friends looking lost and clueless. I started dragging Peter and his two pet nerds along with me just about everywhere I went in case Thompson decided to do something stupid again. If judging only by the looks he was throwing our little company, he was on his way to figuring out who began nibbling at his reputation.

The week was coming to an end and the rumour began dying off, slowly. That just didn't sit with me, I wanted the fucker gone. Due to the obvious time constraints, I approached MJ regarding Peter - after a brief argument, we came to an agreement regarding Peter's safety should I need to leave him alone in the hallways or at lunch. 

I needed to do this alone so if I got caught, I won't drag them down with me. Granted, I would probably get something like a suspension and the school will attempt to call my mother (she never picks up) but that's about it. That's where her reputation comes in handy-people consciously avoid dealing with her, she can be that unbearable.

But first, I needed to get a teacher that's on my side. After carefully considering the candidates, I settled on my Social Studies professor - he taught the college-level classes and was overall a very chill, nice dude. And he disliked bullies with a flaming passion. So it didn't take me long to work him into a righteous fury - just a quick chat over a cup of tea in his homeroom and a few pictures of Peter's bruised face, complete with my own pleading puppy eyes. We agreed Mr Davies would "accidentally" leave the teacher's lounge unlocked during third period and I would sneak in. The plan wasn't foolproof but if it worked, not only Flash, but also his whole misogynistic, bigoted family would go down.

As I was leaving, Mr Davies looked up at me with a bright smile: "Give them Hell, alright?" And I suddenly noticed he was, in fact, very attractive. The smile brought out the fine wrinkles around his mouth, the crow's feet around his eyes - he smiled a lot. Silver strands mixed in with the wooden brown of his hair.

I let my eyes slide over him briefly before baring my teeth in return. "I owe you one," I don't know what possessed me to say that. My mouth really had a mind of its own sometimes. The room suddenly became hot.

"Sure," He replied, totally oblivious.

On Friday, I made myself a small nest in the empty classroom opposite the teacher's lounge and sat waiting for the signal from Mr Davies - he'd tap on the door once and I'd quietly go inside the teacher's lounge, retrieve Thompson's file and make my way back to the empty classroom to grab my backpack and carry the file to my locker for further examination. 

The first part went successfully and I managed to snag Thompson's file. It was heavy and hefty, all the evidence of his rowdiness compiled into one flimsy plastic folder. There were A LOT of pink slips and I rejoiced internally: at least there was a paper trail of his exploits. The principal didn't do anything about it which was... If not against the rules then at least frowned upon; the plan was to take copies and anonymously submit them to the school board prompting at least an investigation into the blatant disregard for Flash's immoral and illegal behaviour.

On my way back I stumbled upon the principal herself which got me not only a stern talking to, but a whole detention for skipping class. Whatever, I was too elated from potentially ruining the life of a dumb fuck who ruined my friend's face.

Surprise came in the face of Mr Davies, who, having heard the commotion in the hallway, stepped out of his class and saw me being lectured by the principal. 

"I'll take her for the detention," I heard the familiar voice behind me. The principal nodded solemnly and I had no choice but to sigh in resignation. "Three thirty, be here," He nodded to me, walking back, looking way too smug for his own good. So I wasn't the only one excited about the successful completion of stage two of my nefarious plan. Cue evil laughter.

[nothing-but-dreamy]

ON THE EDGE ~ Pt. 4

Characters: Gavin Reed x fem!Reader; Connor; Hank Anderson;

Warnings: cursing

Words: 2668

Gavin was far away from being 'happy'. But he listened interested in what yn had to say in the briefing. He was impressed how much she had found out within … one day. She had a bunch of files, several papers and she also had prepared a report for each one of them with the important details. If Gavin had a good day, he could do just the half of it. If any.

"So, our guy is Joseph 'The Joker'.", she stopped as she saw Gavin trying to suppress the laughter behind his hand, "Come on, Gavin. Laugh. Or otherwise you will explode.", she said amused.

"That is the stupidest name on earth.", Gavin said chuckling.

Yn watched her partner who was looking so much better when he was grinning, "Yes, that's why I suggest we should call the whole case 'JoJo'.", just as she had said it, Gavin laughed out loud, crying with tears.

Gavin’s amusement was contagious and yn joined him while she pinched the bridge of his nose.

Even Hank started to rumble with laughter, "Yeah, we should take this name. It won't get any better, I guess. Where can we find this guy?"

"Maybe in a circus with clowns?", Gavin suggested still grinning.

Yn chuckled but shook her head to get back on track, "Actually, he deals in Liberty park.

*

Twenty minutes later, all four were sitting in the 'Liberty Park Café' for 'observation'. For normal people, it wasn't that easy to detect a dealer. But for three cops and an android, it shouldn't be that hard. At least, they could disguise their work with some coffee and snacks. Mostly, coffee.

The group took a table near a window to have the park in sight. It was snowing again and therefore, too cold to be outside for too long. Because they had no picture of Joseph, they had to rely on their observation skills.

"Could this be our guy?", Connor asked and pointed at a guy with long hair and a beard. He stood underneath a tree with his hands buried in the pockets of his long coat.

Yn took a grape of the fruit salad and threw it into her mouth before she looked at the guy. It was the third guy Connor had found suspicious, "Well…", yn started, considering the possibility but then, a woman appeared and walked straight to the guy. She hugged and kissed him before they wandered off with linked arms.

Gavin looked annoyed at Connor with crossed arms, "Wow, tin can, you're the best Investigator ever."

“It’s not that I could detect drugs from this distance.”, Connor defended himself.

“Then, I don’t see why you’re even here.”

“Because yn asked me-”

“You asked him?”, Gavin asked exasperatedly and looked at her with a dark expression.

She raised her hands in surrender, “He’s Hank’s partner so, of course, he’s on board. I’m sure he will play a good role in this case.”, she said and once again, she noticed Gavin’s mood. He was on the edge of the next outburst.

Luckily, Hank was this time the one who spotted the next suitable candidate for their suspect and stopped Gavin to say whatever he wanted next, “I guess, this could be our guy.”

The other three of the group looked at a guy in his twenties. He wore some pair of jeans with holes, a t-shirt of an old grunge rock band and a black, well-worn, leather jacket. His long, blonde, greasy looking hair was tied to a ponytail. He leant casually against a street lamp as if he was waiting for someone and at the same time as if he would have all the time in the world.

“It could be JoJo.”, yn said with a slow nod. His appearance coincided with the few details she had found in the statements. The hair, height and surprisingly, the t-shirt were the same.

“It could be just another guy waiting for a hooker.”, Gavin grunted. In his eyes, nothing of this was worth his time.

“Hey, JoJo!”, a guy on a bicycle called out and waved as he passed the grunge guy.

All three pairs of eyes were landing on Gavin who rolled with his eyes, “Oh, please! That can’t be true.”, he said and wiped over his face with his hand.

"So, that's our guy, then.", Connor said with a pleased smile. He was a big fan of having a clear suspect.

The group observed JoJo for a while. Hank ordered new coffee and as their cups were refilled, several people had passed JoJo. Some were just greeting him. Some had talked with him, maybe buying drugs, “Couldn’t we just arrest him?”, Connor asked.

“We could but if yn’s theory is right, he could lead us to his boss.”, Hank explained.

"He has a type.", yn said suddenly.

"A type? A type of what?", Connor asked confused. Somehow, he had the feeling that whenever he was learning one new thing there were two other things coming his way, like these human comments.

Yn looked at Connor with a grin, "A type of woman. He ignores the blondes. But he looks after the brunette."

"No!", Gavin called out and looked serious at yn. His brows were knitted together and yn saw his eyes sparkling darkly. There he was again: her all too protective partner… or at least, he tried to be that.

Her smirk grew bigger, "It's a good idea, I think."

Gavin gritted his teeth, "And I say, no!"

"What is going on?", Connor asked Hank low while he watched the exchange between yn and Gavin.

"I'm not really sure…", Hank answered.

Before Hank could speak out his assumption, Gavin was faster to explain, "She wants to meet him.", he said coldly.

"What?", Connor asked surprised and looked at yn.

"It's the best chance we have. I'll go over to him, flirt a bit and bug him. Then, we will get him and his boss. We will have a chance to get the whole circus. It won't take me more than ten minutes.", yn said smirking, leant back in her seat with crossed arms and watched Gavin almost exploding in front of her eyes.

"And my answer is no!", he called out, which caused the other guests to look at the small group.

Yn looked challenging at Gavin, "Good that I haven't asked you for permission."

"Then, I will go with you.", Gavin demanded, thinking of himself as smart.

Yn’s eyes grew big. She looked at her partner with a confused expression, "Are you nuts? How shall I flirt with him when you're around?", she said and gestured to him and his appearance.

Gavin saw something in her eyes, in the way she was looking at him. Not sure if he was right, if she was giving him a compliment in some way or not. Was it possible that she could see him in a certain way?

"I can go with her.", Connor offered and broke Gavin’s train of thought and the connection he had with yn.

"You?", Gavin asked spitefully and sizesing up the android.

"Yes... I could act as her servant android. Even now, there are still androids out there who are serving humans. It would be no big deal.", Connor explained.

Yn was already hooked, "Best idea!I told you he will play a role in this case. So, we have a plan. Tomorrow, we will bug this fucker."

*

“Gavin, no!”, yn called out. Again and again, Gavin wished he had listened to her instead of being hard headed to stop the crazy guy on his own. Once again, Gavin suffered through the events of the last case in his dream. And once again, he heard the shots from the guy. Then, he shot the guy on his own just to find yn lying on the ground bleeding. Gavin ran over to her, turned her around and tried to wake her up but she was already unconscious. He knelt next to her, pressing his hand on her bleeding wounds to stop the blood until the ambulance was coming. He even drove to the hospital to stay by her side.

Two long hours, he was waiting til the doctor came to him, telling Gavin that she was alright and would be okay. Gavin even waited til he could visit her in the room a few hours later. Slowly, and with shaking knees, Gavin went to her room, opened the door and slipped carefully in.

Gavin’s blood was running cold because of the scene in front of him. Next to yn’s bed sat Connor, holding her hand in his with intertwined fingers. Yn was already awake, looking at the android with a love filled glance. Connor looked from yn at Gavin and back at yn, “Look who’s there. Gavin came to see you.”, Connor said softly.

“Gavin? Who’s Gavin?”, she said without even looking up…

It was three o’clock in the morning and Gavin started up from the dream, from the nightmare, with a racing heart. Once again, he was soaked with sweat. He raked his fingers through his wet hair and without a second thought, he stood up to go into his bathroom. He splashed cold water into his face several times. As he looked up into the mirror, he saw a pale guy with dark shadows under his eyes. Gavin grabbed a bottle of shampoo and threw it violently into the shower, “This god damn, fucking android!”, he yelled out. Within a few days, Connor had been able to get closer to yn. Gavin feared this android would be even able to win her over. Maybe Gavin should gather all his courage to speak with her as long as there was time or otherwise, the android could snatch her from under his nose. But how should he do that without risking their friendship?

*

Yn rummaged through her bag with clothes. She already wore some leather boots, a tight fitting and low cut, black jeans and searched for the blood red tank top. She had made her hair and she even had put makeup on with too much mascara and eyeliner for the most dramatic look. Yn found the tank top and donned it over her head. As she pulled it down, a movement in the mirror caught her attention, "Voyeurism, huh? That's a crime.", she said, smirking.

Gavin closed slowly up to her with his hands stuffed into his front pockets of his jacket, "I know. We worked on some of these cases. Listen-", he said softly, collecting all his courage and searching for the right words.

"I know what you want to say and yes, I will be careful. Connor is by my side. You and Hank on the other side of the street by the café. Nothing will happen. This is easy. You don't have to worry this much.", yn said reassuringly while she donned her leather jacket over the top. The outfit would be a bit too cold for the weather but she wanted to flirt with the suspect and so, she had to show off some skin. She even pulled down the top some more so that her décolleté got more visible.

Gavin’s eyes fell on that view which caused his mind to go blank for a moment. All in all, she was very distracting, dressed up like this and he had difficulties to focus back on what he actually wanted, "Uhm… I… It's just... There's something I have to tell-", he tried insecurely, not sure if this was a good idea at all. If Gavin would go this way there was no going back and he knew that.

The door of the locker room opened once again and Hank took the decision away from Gavin, "Yn, Fowler wants to see you.", the Lieutenant said and left again.

"Coming!”, yn called out as a response and stowed away her bag and stuff before she turned back to Gavin, “Get ready. We will leave soon.", she said with a soft pat on his chest and a smile on her lips.

Gavin looked after her. He huffed out, annoyed about himself as the door opened once again. Yn’s head appeared in the door, "Oh, and, by the way, this shirt you wear? It looks very good. The color suits your eyes.", she said, winked at him and left again. Gavin smiled softly and felt his cheeks getting warmer. He was sure that she had no idea what she was doing to him but he enjoyed these small moments. They were all he got.

*

Then, it was showtime. Hank and Gavin stood across the walkway at a bar table with two cups of coffee to go as a disguise to be able to watch the scene. JoJo was already there, leaning at the same street lamp like the day before. Now and then, he greeted someone. Then, Gavin watched yn coming down the way, still in some distance. She said something to Connor that let the android chuckle. Connor looked down at yn with a huge smile and as she looked up at him, her smile was matching the android’s one. Pain shot through Gavin as he got reminded of his dream from the night before. It was a horrible nightmare with an end that never happened like this but his mind was determined to let him suffer even more. As if it wouldn’t be enough to get reminded of yn being shot all the time. No, now the android had to be in his dreams, as well.

“It’s good that Connor kept his LED ring.”

“W-what?”, Gavin asked. Hank had pulled him out of his thoughts and this time, Gavin was thankful for the old man to be there, even if he would never admit that loudly.

Hank nodded into the direction of Connor and yn, they almost had reached JoJo, “I mean without the LED ring, Connor would look more like her handsome boyfriend than her servant.”, Hank said amused.

Gavin observed the two and wasn’t happy what he saw. Connor was dressed completely in black and with his height he looked like a bodyguard. The way they interacted told that they seemed to be very close to each other. Gavin was looking forward to the end of this bullshit, his nerves were already blank but the case just had started. It would last a bit longer til everything would fall back to normal again without Connor and Hank being around them all the time.

Then, yn passed JoJo and as she had expected, the dealer was looking after her. Much to her delight, he even whistled after her as she swayed her hips a bit more provokingly. Yn stopped and turned around. JoJo was confident, very confident, he smirked at her and wasn’t impressed by Connor as he stepped a bit forward. Yn gave him a sign to stay where he was before she walked over to JoJo with a flirty smirk on her lips.

The longer she was talking to the dealer, the more Gavin became nervous. It got on his nerves to see JoJo coming closer to yn step by step. She was laughing about whatever he said. She leant forward to be closer to him whenever she could. And Connor just stood there, observing the scene, looking out for her - as planned.

Hank noticed that Gavin was annoyed by the scene. Since yn had began to talk with JoJo, Gavin had started to torture his empty cardboard cup. He was drumming on the lid and scratching on the material the longer the whole scene lasted.

As JoJo touched yn on her hip while he leant forward to whisper something into her ear, Gavin squashed the cardboard cup completely with his knuckles turning white.

"You know, Reed, that's the reason why you couldn't do Connor's job.", Hank said and pointed at Gavin's hand.

"Shut the fuck up.", Gavin muttered angrily and just relaxed as yn and Connor left the scene finally.

[hetacon]

Roman’s a Sap for Pretty Emos in Eyeshadow

Word Count: 500

Pairing: Prinxiety

Warning: None that I’m aware of

______________________________

Summary: Virgil may not be the best at makeup but Roman still finds him beautiful.

______________________________

Virgil huffed out as he stared at himself in the mirror, eyeliner in hand. He wished it could apply itself honestly, he really knew he was going to screw it up one way or another. He briefly considered not even bothering but seeing as he was about to go on a date with Roman, he felt that it was essential. He really didn’t know why but who was he to argue?

Just as he finished the second eye, he heard the front door slam and someone clambered up the stairs.

“Hey Virge, you ready?” Roman shouted, walking by the bathroom before stopping in his tracks upon seeing Virgil. “Hey-! Woah.”

Virgil blinked at him, waiting for him to say more. Roman just stared with a stupid look on his face, his hands grabbing the doorframe as he leaned against it, just watching Virgil.

“... Yeah?”

“You look gorgeous,” Roman breathed out, smiling so brightly that Virgil thought he might actually go blind. Virgil’s face burned a deep red at the compliment, unfortunately very visible through the light foundation and concealer he’d put on compared to the copious amounts he usually used. This coloring of his cheeks caused Roman to laugh, reaching out a hand to gently cup his cheek, his finger rubbing right under Virgil’s eye. “Absolutely gorgeous,” was the whisper that followed.

“It kinda sucks, I just uh... I just thought I would try it..” Virgil muttered, glancing to the mirror. The eyeliner was all wobbly and his eyeshadow didn’t blend nearly as well as he had wanted it to. “Now that I think of it, I should probably take it off, it’s stupid,” he tried, reaching for the makeup wipes before Roman grabbed his arm.

“No.”

“No?”

Roman shook his head. “I mean, you can if you want to but oh goodness Virge, look at how beautiful you are,” he laughed. “So so beautiful, I am so incredibly in love with you.”

“You really think I should keep it?” Virgil asked, worrying on his lip as he glanced to his reflection again.

“Of course! Though if I may, can I add something?” Roman asked, smiling at the nod Virgil gave him. He subsequently went through the open drawer next to him and rummaged through it a bit before finding what he was looking for. He stood back in front of Virgil and uncapped the lipstick he was holding, applying it carefully. “And there, absolutely perfect~”

Virgil saw black lipstick, his favorite one, on his lips. He smiled at his reflection this time.

“You like it?” Roman asked from behind him, hugging him in the mirror.

“Mhm,” Virgil hummed, leaning back into his boyfriend’s hold.

“God, I could just stare at you forever,” Roman breathed.

“But you can’t, we’ve got a date to catch,” Virgil said with a small smirk, kissing Roman’s cheek, a black lipstick kiss left in his wake.

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Taglist: @artissijules, @its-the-cat-queen, @myyoutubecorner, @virgils-paranoia, @marshmallow-the-panda, @anotheregofanficblog

[starsfic]

Smoke and Gold, Chapter 3: The Wedding

Summary: What do you call a wedding when the couple's dressed for a funeral? @fosermi.

AO3

-_-

A loud concussive BOOM shook the cabin. Xiaotian yelped as he was rudely knocked out of his chair, mind scrambling about in confusion. As he picked himself off the floor, he could hear the screech of several frightened monkeys. When he opened the door, most of the monkey population of the island had gathered around, looking for comfort from their king.

   He made comforting noises as he carefully picked his way through the crowd, heading for the waterfall. It opened for him and Xiaotian stepped through in time to see someone hit the ground.

   It was a heavenly soldier.

   Xiaotian looked up, seeing a burst of gold shoot through the sky, either chasing or being chased by several smaller lights. It was kind of hard to tell. “What in the world is going on?!” he said out loud, not expecting to be heard.

   “Qi Xiaotian!” The fallen soldier was picking himself up, holding his head. “My lord, I have a request of you.”

   “I can’t convince my dad to stand down-”

   “It’s not that.” He gave a quick respectful bow. “A monster has attacked the Heavenly Court.” Confusion rolled through him. “Nobody could defeat it, so we asked what it wanted. It demanded a spouse.” Xiaotian’s stomach sank in cold realization. “So when we asked the god of matchmaking…”

   “He chose me.”

   Okay. Okay, that… he didn’t want to do that. He could understand why his dad was upset. But another boom shook the ground, followed by a pained yowl. Xiaotian didn’t answer the soldier. Instead, he took off through the jungle, heading in the direction of Wukong and the rest of the heavenly soldiers.

   The scene he came onto made his heart sink.

   Wukong had been dogpiled by several heavenly soldiers, watched over by a general. For a moment, Xiaotian wasn’t sure why he wasn’t getting up. A gleam of blue, wrapped around him, and the smell of copper answered him. The diamond snare and one of his scars bursting open would weaken anyone. In any case, Sun Wukong was weakened. And if he kept fighting the will of Heaven like this…

   He would probably be punished again.

   “STOP!”

   Everyone in the scene froze.

“STOP, stop, stop! I surrender! I’ll get married!” Xiaotian held up his hands in a gesture of surrender as he approached. “Just leave everyone else alone!”

The words alone renewed Wukong’s struggles. “XIAOTIAN, GET BACK INSIDE!” He yelled, ignored by everyone else. Xiaotian continued to approach. “KID, LISTEN TO ME!” The general stepped forward, grabbing his arm in a tight grip.

He tried to flash his dad a comforting smile as the rest of the soldiers got off him, forming a tight circle around him. The general made a gesture and summoned a cloud. Together, the group stepped on.

And then they were gone.

The last time Xiaotian saw his dad, the diamond snare was disappearing around him as a look of devastation curled around his face.

-_-

   Everything hurt.

   Wukong had forgotten how tight the diamond snare was. He staggered back to his cabin in a state of shock, feeling the wounds from his battle with Erlang Shen, centuries ago, bleed sluggishly. They had been reopened in the fight and honestly, the pain had been enough to catch him off guard.

   The crowd of monkeys chattered nervously, sensing his dark mood.

   He slammed the door shut behind him. In a numb haze, he headed to the bathroom. There, with some cursing and creative acrobatics, he got shaky bandages on the wounds. Wukong turned off the light when he was done and entered the kitchen.

   The first thing that caught his eye was Xiaotian’s breakfast. It was still on the table, had gone stone cold long ago, and started to attract flies. Wukong numbly grabbed it and threw it all away, not even bothering to save the silverware. That done, he turned to the living room.

The first thing that caught his eye was Xiaotian’s jacket, a birthday present from Xiaojiao on his third year living here. It had been thrown over the back of the couch last night, when he had been too tired from a sudden rush of deliveries to bother putting it away.

   For some reason, that was the breaking point.

   A howl shook the mountain.

-_-

   Xiaotian honestly expected to be taken to Heaven.

   Instead, the cloud stopped after what felt like hours. He had fallen into a doze on his feet as they travelled. He blinked awake when he felt a gentle shake. They had stopped at a small house ontop of a mountain that looked inaccessible to anyone who couldn’t fly up.

   “Orders from the monster.” the general explained, a look of pity on his face. “No interruptions.” Before Xiaotian could muster a snarky retort to that, he was being marched to the door. An older woman opened it when the general knocked. A look of displeasure formed on her face as she took him in.

   “Alright, let’s see what we can do with him.”

   Xiaotian gulped as he was shoved inside. The general flashed him one last glance of pity before slamming the door shut, leaving him with the woman and a few handmaidens he hadn’t been able to see outside. The woman gripped his face and turned his head from side to side. “Let’s clean him up.”

   That was when it kind of hit.

   I’m going to die.

   If you had asked him later, Xiaotian couldn’t remember most of what happened. It was all flashes with white noise. He had been shoved into a bath, hands roughly scrubbing him with sweet-smelling soap until he felt raw. His hair had been yanked through with what felt like oil. There had been cloth. And then he had been shoved in front of a mirror and he snapped out of his state.

   He had been dressed in traditional wedding robes that were finer than anything he had ever worn. He practically gleamed in the light, his only makeup some concealer and mascara with dark eyeliner drawing attention to his eyes. His hair had been tied into a bun with ribbon. As he watched, one of the handmaidens placed a wreath of flowers on his head.

   It was made of white lilies and white chrysanthemums. Funeral flowers. His wedding outfit was done in white and silver. Funeral finery. And it made sense.

   This was a funeral, after all.

   But the only thought he could muster was Xiaojiao’s gonna kill me for making her miss my wedding . Then a bouquet of white flowers was being shoved into his hands and he was being shoved out of the room. “That’s all we have time for,” the head woman said, pushing him down some stairs. “Come on, you know the rules.” The last part was barked at the rest of the handmaidens, saving him from having to tell her that, no, he didn’t know the rules.

   The door to the house opened, revealing the general and soldiers that had brought him here. The cloud was resummoned and they all got on. The trip this time was shorter and full of silence.

   Finally, they reached another peak. It was smaller, with barely enough room for him and a vehicle. Or a monster.

   Yeah, that wasn’t helping.

   The older woman shoved him off and he barely managed to land on his feet. “Congrats for your wedding, hope you have lots of sons, blah blah blah.” she said. The general looked like he wanted to say something but then the cloud was flying away.

   Leaving him there.

   He stood there, looking like a statue, waiting for his murderer-groom. The wind blew and he resisted a shiver. He wished he had grabbed his jacket before he surrendered, but he probably wouldn’t have been allowed to keep it. The extra layer probably would’ve made it harder for the monster to eat him anyway.

   Time passed.

   And passed.

   It was approaching sunset when Xiaotian’s legs finally protested. He sat down, setting aside his bouquet and curling up in some attempt to save body heat. More time passed and his eyes grew heavy from the aftermath of such an emotional day. He moved backwards so his back was pressed against a rock.

   And then he fell asleep.

[wonder-womans-ex]

Curtain Call

Act One, Scene Four

Wednesday morning dawns to see Sirius Black slowly open his eyes, stretch his legs and arms one by one, shove James onto the floor as payback for the previous night, and immediately begin to panic. 

Today is the day he either goes back or he doesn’t. 

In the meantime, he stomps down the hall into his bedroom to change. After all, he’s been in these clothes all last night and a good portion of yesterday, and ‘I-realistically-could-have-and-actually-did-wake-up-like-this’ is really not the look he wants. Instead, he struggles valiantly to decide between suave and drop-dead gorgeous. 

On the one hand, he could go with his personal spin on the classic bad boy: button up shirt under a leather jacket, hair carefully mussed, slim black jeans. But he knows from experience Remus doesn’t like bad boys. Remus likes him. 

Or, well, he did. 

The other hand it is, then—denim overalls with fishnets showing through the holes in the knees, his old Blue Jays shirt, and, after a good half hour spent in the bathroom, a dusting of silver eyeshadow paired with eyeliner wings sharp enough to cut glass. 

James visibly brightens when he walks back into the kitchen. “Can I braid your hair? Please? Please let me braid your hair.”

He lets James braid his hair. He always does. James is good at it, too—he only pulls Sirius’s hair hard enough to hurt once, and even that’s only because Elvendork bumps his elbow. In the mirror afterwards, Sirius turns his head to and fro and admires his friend’s handiwork. 

It’s one thick french braid tied with a red scrunchie at the bottom. He blows at the two tendrils that hand near his face. “Perfectly done, Prongs,” he says. “As always.” 

“Thanks. Now go write some books and win back your man.”

Sirius manages to not to point out that, A), he’s a long way away from full-length novels, and B), Remus broke up with him for a reason and is therefore probably not looking to take him back. James would just ignore him, anyway. He has a tendency to do that. 

This time around, he finds the Rogers lecture room without incidence. Unfortunately, he underestimated himself when it came to leaving the apartment, and he ends up already standing outside nearly twenty minutes before he’s technically supposed to be there. Someone’s inside, judging by the voices he can hear. One of them is recognizable as Lily Evans’s thick maritime dialect, and the other—

Fucking hell. 

It’s Remus. 

Sirius may not be here to win Remus back, but he never said anything about not showing him what he’s missing out on. So he strides into the lecture hall as confidently as he can, grinning when both Remus and Lily’s head turn towards him. He focuses on the latter, giving Remus the same out-of-sight-out-of-mind treatment he himself received the previous week. 

“Hi,” he says brightly. “I realize I’m a little early—sorry about that, by the way—but I’ve got time to kill and I was wondering if you need help with anything? Setting up, or…”

By some miracle, he manages to trail off in a way that is decidedly not awkward. Sirius: 1. Remus: god knows how many by now. 

“No, I don’t think so,” Lily says. “Wait actually—you know how to use a photocopier, eh?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I need you to run down to the staff room and make nineteen photocopies of this.” She pulls her backpack off and roots through it for a moment, finally pulling a slightly crumpled piece of paper out triumphantly. When Sirius takes it, flattening it out against a desk, he feels her—and, next to her, Remus—eyeing him curiously. 

“Where’s the staff room?” he asks at the same time as she blurts out, “Do I know you?”

Sirius doubts she’s talking about their brief interaction last week. He’s not entirely sure what she does mean, but at least he’s narrowed it down a little.  

“I’m sorry, I don’t think—”

“No, Lily,” Remus finally says, voice halfway between chilling and resigned. “You don’t. I do.”

Both Sirius’s and Lily’s heads turn to look at him so quickly it would seem hilarious to an outside spectator. “What do you mean, you know him?”

“He’s… well. Sirius, I’m sure you know Lily by now. Lily, meet Sirius, my ex-boyfriend.”

In the past, Sirius has heard the phrase ‘the silence was deafening.’ This silence is not deafening; it’s suffocating. 

At least, until something registers in Lily’s expression and she turns on her heel, taking a step towards Remus, who backs away. For good reason, too—she’s clearly on the warpath. 

“Sirius? Sirius Black? Sirius Orion fucking Black? That’s him?”

Remus manages one minuscule nod, eyes blown wide with fear. “And he’s here? R—” she breaks off, pausing a moment before continuing. “John Lupin, I don’t believe you.”

“Look, Lily, I can explain—”

“Explain to him. Show him where the staff room is, because he clearly knows nothing.” 

“Okay,” Sirius protests, “I think that’s a little—”

“Go. I’m going to close my eyes and count to ten, and if either of you is still here when I open them again there is going to be bloodshed.” 

There is no bloodshed, because they are not there when she opens her eyes. Instead, they are out in the hall, Remus leading Sirius towards the elevator. 

Much like with Lily the previous week, they do not speak. Even when Remus courteously holds the staff room door open, all Sirius gives him is a short, sharp nod. Somehow, without so much as interacting, they manage to work out a system: Sirius puts the initial page into the photocopier, and Remus does everything else. 

He turns away as Remus presses the buttons, and then he waits. There’s a faint beep beep and then silence except for the sound of paper being spit out of the machine. 

It is, by far, the most awkward silence in the history of silences. 

When nineteen copies have been made, Remus gathers them up and hole punches them. Someone should really say something. Remus clearly isn’t going to, so Sirius says the one thing he can think of. 

“Why’d you do it?”

The one benefit to asking this, out of every question out there, is that Remus can’t pretend not to know what he’s talking about. “I did something stupid.”

“Are you saying you broke up with me because you did something stupid, or that breaking up with me was the stupid thing?”

“I—” he cuts himself off, and doesn’t speak again for a good long time. Finally, Sirius gives up, walking towards the door. He’s reaching for the handle when Remus starts again. 

“I was at a party. I was… well, I wasn’t drunk, exactly, just a little tipsy, but… I kissed someone.”

Okay, that is a bit surprising. Sirius hadn’t exactly had him pegged as the type. But then again, he hadn’t though Remus was the type to dump someone with no explanation, either. He should really work on his assumption-making skills. 

“And that correlates to breaking up with me how? Because I think I’m missing something.”

“I thought that if you found out, you’d be the one doing the breaking up.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t.”

“Oh.”

Yet another silence. Somehow, this one is worse than the last. That was like the dream where you show up at school naked. This is the dream that you never remember, the one where you wake up crying. 

Sirius sets his shoulders. He grasps the doorknob firmly, prepared to make his escape. 

“Or maybe I would have. We’ll never know, will we? Because you dumped me first.” 

The door swings closed behind him, and if Remus says anything, he doesn’t let himself hear it.  

[slutforsatoru]

drabble challenge

10 “The ladies love a guy who’s good with kids.”

drabble prompt requested by @ronaldmcdonaldsbussy

285 words

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Mello checked his reflection in the mirror, he frowned at his smudged eyeliner.

“Why does my eyeliner look like shit? I just put it on.”

Matt walked past him to get another beer out of the fridge.

“Probably because your hand was shaking the whole time you were putting it on.”

Mello whacked Matt’s arm.

“Shut up.”

Matt grabbed the eyeliner off the bathroom counter.

“Hold still, I’ll put it on for you.”

Mello studied the posters on the ceiling as Matt carefully applied the eyeliner.

“I’ve never been this nervous before.”

“There’s nothing to worry about Mells. She clearly likes you.”

Matt stepped back and let Mello check his eyes in the mirror.

“I’ve never dated someone that has a kid. What if her daughter doesn’t like me?”

“She’s only a few months old, I doubt she’ll have a reason to dislike you.” Matt glanced at the earrings and necklace Mello was wearing. “I’m sure she’ll love you since you’ve got so many shiny things for her to grab.”

Mello smirked and adjusted the earrings in his ears. He suddenly felt his heart drop.

“Shit! Should I change my earrings? What if she gets scared of the skulls?”

Matt threw his hands in the air and groaned.

“Your earrings are fine Mello holy fuck.”

Mello ran back to his room and searched for better earrings. He settled on the silver dagger earrings, he pushed them in as he walked towards the door.

“I’d better get going, I don’t want to be late.”

Matt patted Mello on the back.

“Just remember the ladies love a guy who’s good with kids.”

Mello rolled his eyes as he stepped out the door.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

[celosiaa]

steady, love (chapter 1)

Summary:

Martin is not doing well.

Jon is there with him through every step.

(because I became obsessed (tm) with the idea of Martin dealing with the physical and emotional aftermath of leaving the Lonely)

WARNINGS: description of panic

Chapters 1-5 now up on ao3 (same username)!

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

---

Dusk is beginning to fall.

Glancing at the clock, Jon realizes with a start that it has been almost four hours since they left Martin’s apartment for Daisy’s safehouse, with him driving Martin’s car.  When he first pulled out into the streets of London, Martin had had to guide him softly through the city as Jon’s hands gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.  He had been so gentle, even through the exhaustion that had forced Jon to be the driver in the first place.

“It’s alright, Jon. You’re doing fine.  Just take a deep breath.”

“I haven’t driven in years, Martin!  I could have hit that person a-and—”

“But you didn’t.  You didn’t, Jon.  You’re okay.  Everything will be alright once we get out of the city.  I promise you’re alright.”

Jon smirks and half-chuckles at the memory.  Martin had been right, of course, as always.  He began to relax as soon as they got out of London and onto the relatively empty highway.  Martin had closed his eyes soon afterwards, and was still curled up on the passenger seat beside him, as much as possible for someone so tall as Martin.  Glancing at him now, with his head tipped against the window, Jon sees him repeatedly half-open and close his eyes, muttering indistinctly as he does.  He’s not sleeping, not really, and Jon knows it—whether it was a lingering effect of the Lonely or his own mind preventing him from drifting off, Jon did not know.

Martin’s dark curls are now streaked grey and white, and his face ashen.  These things are the immediate effects of the Lonely, to be sure, but Jon has been worried for much longer about Martin’s physical state.  He has lost significant weight in the past months, his clothes now hanging loosely from his frame.  Of course, Jon can empathize—he has become almost skeletal in the wake of resisting his…hunger.  And the distinct lack of Martin’s fussing about his human eating habits has not helped.

There is something that I missed.  Something I could have done.

Sighing, Jon’s eyes drift back to Martin as he begins to stir.  He appears agitated, brows furrowed and limbs pressing his body away from Jon, further into the solidity of the door.  Jon furrows his own brows in concern, half-lifting his left hand to press against Martin’s forehead, which has become increasingly covered in sweat.  He thinks better of it, afraid to startle him, and pulls his hand back.  But as the minutes pass, Martin’s agitation only seems to grow, his movements growing more distressed.

How can I calm him?  Jon wonders, eyes flitting around the car for something he could do.

They land on a dusty stack of CDs that Jon had grabbed from Martin’s apartment at the last moment, out of a desire to somehow bring back the old Martin— the one who loved “lo-fi charm” and romantic poetry.  He grabs the top album and quickly pops it into the CD player.

A soft, yet driving rhythm begins to play from the speakers, and Jon quickly lowers the volume to an ambient level, anxiously hoping that he did not wake him.  On the contrary, Martin’s movements have slowed, his brow unknitting little by little, and his limbs unfurling.  With a soft smile that lasts just a bit longer than is probably safe to look away from the road, Jon shifts in his seat and turns his eyes back toward the growing dark.

A few hours later, and it seems that Martin has truly fallen asleep, to Jon’s relief.  They had stopped at a petrol station some ways back, where Jon had gently shaken Martin awake and asked him if he needed anything.  Martin had entered the shop for a bit, and when he returned, he had, of course, offered to drive.  Jon unequivocally refused, citing both the intense black under his eyes and the way he swayed slightly as he returned to the car.  No, Martin would not be driving tonight.  Jon had downed something with enough caffeine to revive the dead, stretched his aching muscles, and pushed on.

Martin now has his head tipped back against the seat, his face turned slightly in Jon’s direction.  A bit of drool seeps from the corner of his partially-open mouth, and his deep breathing has settled slowly into soft snores.  Jon is desperately glad that there is no one (save the Watcher) to see his foolish grin at the sight of his…whatever Martin is to him, now.

It should feel complicated, Jon thinks, but it just doesn’t.  Not at all.

The CD has once again come to an end, and Jon reaches forward to start it over again.  It is quite late in the night now, and while he is grateful for the background noise, he does not particularly care what that noise is at this point.  And Martin is not awake to complain about the monotony of it all.  So, for now, monotony suits Jon just fine.  

As he skips back to the first track, however, Martin jolts awake without warning, letting out such a terrified cry that Jon himself yelps and swerves off the highway.  Trying to regain control of the car, he throws his left arm across Martin’s chest as he slams on the brakes.

They both sit there for a moment, panting wildly, before Jon lowers his arm and looks at Martin, eyes still wide.  His breath is not slowing at all—in fact, it appears to be picking up, rather ragged and shallow.  Swallowing down his own shock, Jon chokes out his name.

“…Martin?  Are you alright?”

Martin does not answer, instead leaning forward to press his forehead against his palms.  He squeezes his eyes closed and breathes shakily—in through the nose, out through the mouth—in an attempt to slow down his breathing.  Not sure what to do, Jon puts the car in park and places a gentle hand on Martin’s shoulder, speaking softly.

“Martin?  What can I do?”

Martin flinches slightly at the contact, and Jon removes his hand quickly.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low, never taking his eyes from Martin and trying his best not to feel hurt.

Martin shakes his head, then lifts it, finally turning to look at Jon.

“It’s alright.  I’m alright,” he rasps, his voice uncharacteristically rough. He clears his throat and continues, reaching a bit into his normal register.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“I know, Martin, it’s not your fault.”

“Still, I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

Without another word, Jon pulls the car back onto the road, and Martin leans against the window once again.  Even with the music, Jon can hear his labored attempts at measured breaths, and watches his leg bounce anxiously from the corner of his eye.

“Only thirty more minutes, Martin.  Will you be alright?”

Martin does not reply, merely nodding and curling up tighter against the window.

The second Jon parks, Martin bolts out of the car.

Jon, slightly stunned, remains seated for a moment, once again swallowing hurt he knows is misplaced.  He then drags his stiff form from the car, joints protesting at every move, and walks around to the boot.  Grabbing their bags, he watches Martin in his peripheral vision, pacing and running a hand through his hair.  Wanting to give him some privacy, Jon averts his gaze and takes much longer than is necessary to unpack.  He briefly considers lighting a cigarette, cursing himself for bringing them along at all.

He is not left in this state for long, however, as the gravel crunching beside him alerts him to Martin’s return.  He moves to lift his backpack, but stops, straightening up to his full height and meeting Jon’s gaze.

“I’m sorry, Jon, I just needed a moment,” he says lowly, his voice still unusually gravely and thick.  “Are you alright?  That’s a long way for one person to drive.”

“No need to apologize, Martin.  Really, I’m alright as well.” Offering a smile, Jon chuckles. “As you know, my primary hobby involves focusing intensely for long periods of time, so…I was well prepared.”

Martin does not laugh, staring into Jon’s eyes vacantly for a moment before dropping his gaze and lifting his bags.  Jon’s chest aches as he follows suit.

I miss him.

I miss him and he’s right in front of me.

They walk up to the front door together, which Jon then unlocks.

Inside, they find much of what they expected—a quiet, unassuming place with the smell of dust in the air. Both men drop their bags inside as they close the front door, flicking on the lights and moving to take a closer look around.  Jon sighs and turns on the kitchen light.  Dust everywhere, a few ungodly spiders of course, but it does look—a bit homey, after all.  Or perhaps that’s his imagination, which is unhelpfully feeding him an image of Martin cooking breakfast, humming pleasantly, while Jon sits at the kitchen table, doing homework with their son…

Jesus, STOP it, Jon thinks, closing his eyes and shaking his head as if clearing water from his ears. Just STOP. Focus.  

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Jon moves on from his visions of blessed and impossible domesticity and opens the cabinets, looking for anything he might cook for dinner.  Or, perhaps breakfast?  But the cabinets are, unfortunately, bare save for some dishes and a half-finished bottle of whisky.  A single glass sits next to the bottle.  Jon reaches out for it carefully, holding it like some precious thing.

Oh, Daisy.  I’m so sorry.

His eyes beginning to sting, he stares at the glass until a sound from the hall startles him back to the present.

“Martin?”

Upon receiving no reply, Jon sets the glass down and moves toward the source of the disturbance.  Light from the open door of the bathroom pours into the hall, Martin’s shadow stretching tall across the wooden floor.  Turning the corner, Jon sees him, staring into the mirror, hand clutching his white-streaked hair and beginnings of a beard with panic in his eyes.

“Martin…”

Jon reaches out his arms, intentionally staying within Martin’s eyeline—a wordless request for permission to touch him.  Martin indicates no awareness of Jon’s presence.  Jon opens his mouth to ask him again if he’s alright, when Martin’s breath hitches, and he doubles over, leaning heavily on the sink.  His breaths begin to come in rapid and shallow once again, and Jon sees his knees beginning to buckle.

“Woah, woah—Martin!  Easy, easy…”

Jon reaches out then, supporting him as much as his slightness will allow, and guides him gently to sit on the floor, back against the wall.  Martin immediately pulls his knees upward toward his face, elbows resting atop them and face in his hands as he continues to gasp for air.

“Hey, hey, easy now, easy…” Jon continues softly, placing his left hand on Martin’s knee, reaching the right toward his face.  He desperately wants to ease Martin’s anguish, to hold him, to—

“NO!” Martin yells sharply, and Jon throws his whole body back against the sink. Between pants, Martin continues shakily, “No, I-I—can’t—I’m so—s-so—so sorry.”

Jon’s heart is beating out of his chest, both from the shock of Martin’s yell and the prospect that he might have just made things worse.  He freezes, wide-eyed as Martin curls in on himself further, the gasps coming faster, wheezing, desperate.  He has to do something.

Moving slowly, Jon scoots from where he sits against the sink to the opposite wall, next to Martin, careful not to touch him.  Leaning his left side against the wall and tucking his legs to right, he swallows the lump that has formed in his throat.

“I’m here, Martin.  I’m right here.  You’re not alone.  I’m right here with you.”

At this, Martin’s gasping breaths begin to slow for just a moment, before turning into body-wracking sobs.

“I’m s-sorry J-Jon—god—I’m sorry—"

Jon does begin to weep then, silently, still whispering words he hopes are comforting in as steady a voice as he can muster.

After several minutes, Martin’s breaths really do begin to slow, and he returns his deep breathing techniques, Jon praising him all the way.

At last, wiping his face, Martin lowers his hands from his face and closes his eyes, tipping his head back against the wall.

“Thank you, Jon.  I’m sorry you had to see that,” he whispers.

Oh, Martin.

“It’s alright.  I want to be here for you, Martin.  I-I am here.  You have nothing to apologize for.”

Scrubbing a hand across his beard again, Martin continues, voice still wobbling.

“It…it was just bit of a shock to see my own face.  I didn’t realize how…how much I look like him, now.  With all this.”

He motions at his white hair and beard.

Jon leans his head against the wall, his gaze never leaving Martin’s face.

“I…I’m so sorry, Martin.”

Martin exhales forcefully, a ghost of a smile playing on his face, unless Jon is imagining things again.  He reaches his hand nervously toward Jon, eyes fixed on the ground.  Jon gapes at the extended hand for just a moment, before taking it quickly, almost desperately, in his own.  Martin begins stroking the back of Jon’s hand with his thumb, and Jon’s heart melts completely into the floor.

They stay just like that for several minutes before Martin scoots closer to him.  Jon shifts so that his body is parallel with Martin’s, their legs knocking together.  Jon turns to look at Martin, whose gaze is still on the floor.

“You’re nothing like him, Martin.  Not at all.  And…I’ve got an extra razor if you want to get rid of the beard.”

Martin does smile at that, letting out a quick exhale of a laugh, and finally meeting his eyes.  Jon, for his part, feels dizzy with relief.  Then Martin brings their still-clasped hands to his lips, kissing the back of Jon’s palm, and Jon thinks he might actually lose consciousness.  Martin lowers his head onto Jon’s bony shoulder, and Jon is all too pleased to nuzzle his chin into Martin’s soft curls.

Several minutes pass, just breathing, each taking comfort in the other’s presence.  Jon’s thoughts gradually extract themselves from the constant train of Martin on my shoulder Martin on my shoulder and return to his former task, which was to get some food into Martin.

He presses his lips to Martin’s hair briefly, and lifts his head.

“Do you think you could eat something?”

Martin, his head still resting on Jon’s shoulder, scrunches his nose at once, seemingly nauseated at the very thought.  Jon kisses the top of his head once again, and returns to coaxing him.

“I know.  But I really think we should try.  God knows we both need it.”

Martin’s face shifts from apprehensive to something nearing distress at this.  Jon notices this at once, immediately softening his voice and carding a hand through his hair.

“What about some tea?  And maybe a biscuit or two, if you feel up to it.”

Martin seems to ponder for a moment, then lifts his gaze to meet Jon’s at last, a small smile on his face.

“Yeah, I think I could manage that.”

Jon returns his smile before getting to his feet slowly, his knees popping in protest.  He offers a hand to Martin, who takes it, and stands.  To Jon’s dismay, Martin sways for a moment as he gets to his feet, and his arms immediately reach out to steady him.

“Easy, Martin!”

Martin lets out a soft “Woah” and leans back against the wall, eyes closed for a moment.  Jon’s hands stay firm beneath his elbows.

“Are you alright?”

Martin hums in response, opening his eyes blearily after a moment.

“Let’s go,” he nods.

Jon wraps one arm around Martin’s back as they walk, keeping the other firmly planted beneath his elbow, and deposits him in one of the kitchen chairs.  Martin lets out a long sigh, and Jon turns to fill the kettle and retrieve Martin’s tea and biscuits, which he had swiped from his apartment, just in case.  With all his puttering done, Jon turns back to face Martin, leaning back against the countertop.  Martin has placed his elbows on the dust-covered table, and is massaging his temples with his hands.  His face has gone ashen again, the perspiration coating his forehead.  Jon’s brows knit together in concern.

“You…don’t look well, Martin.”

At this, Martin picks his head up from his hands and gives Jon a smile, a bit of a forced thing.

“I’ll be alright Jon, really.  You’re fussing.”

“Hmm.”

Jon immediately turns around to investigate the cabinets again, hoping to find medicine for the fever he’s almost certain is plaguing Martin, knowing he will find nothing.

The kettle whistles, and Jon pulls some mugs out of the cabinet, wanting to choose the perfect mug for Martin’s sacred ritual.  He selects a pastel green mug, remembering Martin’s love of plants, and pours them both a cup.  With no small measure of dismay, he realizes that he hasn’t the faintest idea how Martin takes his tea.  His chest aches.  His body aches with the weight of it.  There’s no choice, he has to ask him now, when it is far, far too late to do so.

“Martin? I am so sorry but how…how do you take your tea?”

Martin lets out a humorless laugh, which turns briefly into a cough.  When he speaks, however, his tone is gentle.

“Is there any honey?”

Stupid, obvious. He’s losing his voice, damn it.

“Y-yes, of course, here—” Jon quickly places Martin’s mug in front of him, along with the honey he swiped from his apartment and a stirring spoon.  Martin regards it all with a soft smile, and Jon turns to his own tea, adding a bit of sugar.  He opens the packet of biscuits and spreads them on a plate, then places them on the table as he sits down.  Martin eyes the biscuits warily.  Jon sighs.

“Martin, you’ve got to eat something.”

“I know,” Martin replies a bit testily, rubbing a hand across his forehead.  Jon looks down into his mug.

“No, I…I’m sorry, Jon.  I didn’t mean to snap.  I’m just tired.”

Jon looks up, smiles.

“I know, Martin. It’s alright.”

He reaches for a biscuit, dips it in his tea, and eats.  A few moments later, Martin follows suit, albeit a bit more slowly.  Jon watches him carefully as he takes a bite, and then dips the other half of the biscuit back in his tea, popping it in his mouth.

Conversation becomes easier now.  Martin even lets out what sounds suspiciously like a full laugh when Jon recounts a tale of the Admiral ruining an entire stack of statements.  Between the two of them, they finish the plate of biscuits rather quickly.  Each of them notices that some color has returned to the other’s cheeks, and are delighted to see, for a moment, a restoration of joy.

The laughter fades into a warm and comfortable silence, and Jon eyes the empty plate of biscuits.

“Do you want anything else to eat, Martin?”

Martin snorts. “Do we have anything else?”

“Hmm…not really.”

“Then I suppose not.”

Jon stands from the table, collecting the plate and the now-empty mugs, and places them in the sink.  He then turns to where their bags sit at the front entrance, and starts to pick them up.  Before he can do so, a hand tenderly grabs his wrist.

“Jon.”

He looks over his shoulder to see Martin, his gaze intense, full of effort to convey the depth of his meaning.

“Thank you.  Seriously.  Thank you.”

His eyes are brimming now, and with a soft smile, Jon reaches up to wipe it all away.

“It’s nothing at all.”

Martin smiles back, then collects his bags, following Jon upstairs.

They stop in their tracks, staring at the unsettling problem before them.

There is only one bed.

After a few moments of silence, during which both curse themselves for blushing so furiously, they begin to speak over each other.

“I can take the couch, y—”

“NO, Jon no no—”

“I-it’s not a problem, you—”

“No, Jon, I think it’s—”

“You need the rest, and I—”

“Jon, wait.”

He does.

“I…I think it’s just two twin beds pushed together.”

“…oh.”

“Yeah.”

A moment’s pause, and then Jon speaks nervously.

“Do you…do you want to pull them apart?”

Another pause.

“…no.”

They turn to look at each other, soft smiles returning to their faces.  Jon approaches tentatively, only moving in such a way that Martin can clearly see him.  He reaches a hand up to rest on Martin’s upper arm, and the other to where Martin’s curls hang down over his brow, brushing them back, then resting his hand against Martin’s cheek.

“Your hair’s gotten long,” he speaks softly.

Martin places a hand on Jon’s waist, so utterly gently, as if he doesn’t really believe he’s there.  Encouraged by this, Jon moves closer, his own hand moving from where it rests on Martin’s arm down to his waist.  Martin smiles lopsidedly, tenderly, then cards his finger through Jon’s disheveled, graying waves, like he’s the most beautiful thing in the world.  He pulls Jon forward so that his face rests against his chest.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” he hums lowly, the vibrations from his chest radiating throughout Jon’s body.  Jon smiles against his chest, then pulls back slowly, his arms still resting on Martin’s waist.  Martin is looking at him with more love in his eyes than Jon has ever seen, and he makes a decision.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers, lifting himself to his tip toes.

Martin flushes all the way to his ears, and stammers hurriedly.

“Y-yes, yes plea—mmm”

Jon doesn’t wait for him to finish his sentence.

[starrybethany]

Clayton Keller: Part 1

Word count: 2408

Debbie. Fucking Debbie.

Jesus Christ, why did it have to be Debbie and not Chris? I would take Chris over Debbie every day, at least he doesn’t judge me when I get my rent money in a few days late. I’m a poor college student paying the rent by herself, give me a break.

“What’s up?” I ask, swinging the front door to my apartment open.

“Hi Y/N,” Debbie sends me a fake smile. “I’m just here to remind you that your rent is due in a week.”

“I have it written down, Debbie.”

“Oh,” she actually appears to be shocked. Is this bitch serious? Does she really think that little of me? Well, I haven’t given her much faith to have in me, though... “Well, just don’t forget to give it to me or Chris.”

“I know.”

She gives me another fake smile. “Have a great night, Y/N.”

“Yep, bye.” I close my door, rolling my eyes at the judgemental, middle-aged woman. “Fucking bitch,” I whisper under my breath, making my way to the living room to take a seat on the couch.

Okay, I do see why she’s concerned, though. I have been turning my rent money in late over the past couple of months but that’s just because of my lack of employment. I’m struggling to find a job that’s flexible enough that will work with my class schedule since I’m taking more credits next semester than I ever have before. This means that I have to use the little money I have saved up for rent. That money’s running out fast, though, so I have to find a job right now.

I scroll through the list on Indeed, sighing at all of the minimum wage jobs. None of those will be able to help me afford my apartment and I can’t move even if I wanted to. Every apartment in Glendale is expensive as hell and this apartment is close enough to my college that I’m able to walk to class instead of having to spend money on a car or a bus pass.

I apply for a couple of jobs anyway, figuring that I could always pick up two minimum wage jobs, despite how much I would hate it, and reluctantly check my email.

The government sent me an email an hour ago letting me know that my FAFSA has been submitted and I groan out loud, resting my head in my hands. How am I supposed to save money to pay back my student loans when I don’t even have the money to afford an apartment now?

I really have no clue what I’m going to do and all I want to do right now is drink away my troubles. I check my phone to see how long ago my friends told me they were on their way to come over to get ready and pick me up to go out to the club.

This is a long overdue night out.

I scroll through Instagram until there’s a knock at my apartment door and screams letting me know that it’s locked. I roll my eyes, standing up from my spot at the kitchen table and making my way towards the front door, opening it.

“I know it’s locked, dumbasses, Debbie was just here and I didn’t want her to knock the door open asking for rent money again,” I explain, letting my friends in.

“Just offer to eat her out instead of paying for rent next month,” Tyler recommends.

“Can you imagine? Debbie would pass out if you said that to her,” Besty giggles before walking down the hall towards my bedroom.

“Is that what you’re wearing to the club?” I eye Tyler’s T-shirt and sweatpants.

“Girl, did you really just ask me that?” He practically buries me with his eyes as we follow our other friend to my bedroom.

“What are you wearing tonight, Y/N?” Betsy asks, pulling random articles of clothing out of my closet.

“Why? Are you trying to figure out which of my clothes you want to wear?” I stand in front of the closet with her.

She sends me a cheeky smile. “Maybe.”

“I’m definitely wearing this top,” I pull out the gold crop top. “And then some ripped jeans and my metallic blue vans. You can choose anything except those things.”

“Thank you,” she sings, pulling out clothes to look at.

I get dressed, throw my hair in a messy high ponytail and rest a gold chain around my neck.

“Who’s paying for drinks tonight?” I ask, walking into my bathroom to start my makeup.

“I’ll pay if you do my eyeliner,” Tyler offers, lying on my bed and playing on his phone since he finished getting dressed a long time ago.

“Get over here, then,” I order, pulling out my liquid eyeliner. I do his makeup carefully, directing his gaze towards the mirror to examine it.

“It looks great, thanks, babe,” Tyler sends himself a kiss in the mirror and I laugh, beginning my own makeup.

Two hours later we’re ready to go and stumbling down the sidewalk, some alcohol already in our systems from pregaming.

We’re all buzzed but not drunk yet, wanting to wait until we at least get to the club so we would be able to walk there. The bouncer lets us in the club with one glance, noting our slutty clothing and deciding we’re good enough to be let into the high class club.

The pounding music shakes the tiled flooring as we shoot straight to the bar, Tyler ordering us several glasses of shots and a variety of mixed drinks.

“Put it on my tab,” he yells over the bass to the bartender as she sets the tray down in front of us. I can barely hear his words over the feeling of the alcohol burning my throat as I take the shot of Jack Daniels.

“Dibs,” I call, reaching for the Sex on the Beach. The liquid sloshes out of the drink a little as I pick it up, the alcohol already taking over my system.

Betsy lets out a whine in protest at the same time she reaches for the Old Fashioned so I ignore her, directing my attention to the dance floor.

It’s honestly busier than I expected, which shouldn’t be surprising since it’s a popular spot for people to go to on a Saturday night. The dance floor is practically overflowing with people but if anything, it makes me want to jump in and go on a treasure hunt for the cutest boy to hook up with. I need a break from thinking and an attractive man is the perfect solution for that.

My vision sways as I stand up from the stool, setting the empty glass on the bar’s countertop before dancing my way over to the crowd. I enter besides a group of cute girls and they drunkenly invite me to dance with them, so there’s just five of us girls stumbling around and yelling together.

When I’m exhausted, I let out a loud giggle and move towards the center of the dance floor, closing my eyes and throwing my hands up in the air in carelessness and freedom. My body moves along to the beat of the music, the liquor swimming through my veins keeping me from caring about how I appear.

Soft hands press to my bare waist, firm enough to keep me in place but loose enough to let me go if I want to leave the grip. I let them rest, leaning back to rest my back on his chest. With my eyes still closed and the lyrics to the song belting from the bottom of my lungs, I wrap my arms around the stranger’s neck, playing with the long hair at the bottom of his neck.

I feel the chuckle that he lets out vibrate through both his and my body and his hands travel towards my belly button, connecting together and pulling me closer towards him. I smile hazily, one hand traveling down to rest over both of his and turning my head towards his. I have to lean up to reach his face but I leave a sloppy kiss on his jaw, opening my eyes to see what he looks like.

I can’t see much through the strobe lights of the dance floor but from what I can tell, he’s cute. His hair is not short but not long, it’s more on the longer side of short hair, if that makes sense. But I like it, I like long hair. He has a few cuts on his face and I can’t help but wonder what from. By his calloused hands I can guess that maybe he has a dangerous job or hobby, like working in construction or doing boxing on the side.

I can see a hint of a chain under his shirt and I reach for it, tugging it out of his T-shirt. He watches as I examine the silver cross, stroking over it with my thumb.

Something moves out of the corner of my eye and I turn my head towards it, noticing Betsy waving a glass of a daiquiri, my favorite drink, at me. Tyler laughs from next to her as I immediately launch myself out of the stranger’s arms, pushing through the crowd clumsily as I make my way towards the bar.

“Just as I was starting to sober up,” I comment, climbing onto a barstool and taking the glass from Betsy.

“Who’s your friend?” Tyler asks, his eyes twinkling in amusement.

“Oh, I don’t know.” I sip on the beverage while moving along to the song, watching as Tyler leaves to talk to some cute guy at the other end of the bar.

“Will you be okay if I leave you here by yourself?” Betsy finally asks after exchanging seductive glances with some guy on the dance floor.

“Betsy, please,” I stir my second daiquiri. “You deserve to get laid tonight, go.”

“If you need me, come get me,” she orders.

I roll my eyes, calling after her, “I won’t!”

I start to enter my thoughts as I notice someone sitting down on the stool next to me. I don’t look over at the person, focused on counting how many drinks I had tonight.

He coughs, then says, “Hey.”

I glance over at him and my eyes are instantly drawn to the cross dangling from his neck. It’s the guy I danced with earlier.

“Hey.”

“You were dancing with me earlier,” he states, jutting with his thumb towards the dance floor.

“I know,” I nod.

He flushes, nodding as well. “Oh.” He’s quiet. “So, uh, I’m Clayton.”

“Y/N,” I respond, sticking my hand out for a handshake.

He shakes my hand, sending me a small smile. Now that we’re in somewhat proper lighting, I can see what he looks like more, and dang, he is cute. I can tell now that his hair is a nice shade of brown and his eyes are this magnificent green color. I could stare at them forever and never be able to tell how many different shades and colors there are in his eyes.

“You from around here?” He asks, motioning the bartender over.

I nod and watch as Clayton puts in his order, turning to me. “Do you want another drink?”

“No, I’m good,” I reject.

He raises his eyebrows but nods, thanking the bartender for the beer. I like to play hard to get when it comes to boys. It makes the sex better.

“Who’s that?” I ask, nodding towards a blonde boy at the end of the bar.

Clayton turns to look, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. “That’s my teammate. Why?”

“He keeps looking at us,” I take the final sip of my daiquiri. “Teammate?”

“Yeah I play for the Arizona Coyotes.”

“Oh, hockey.”

“Have you ever been to a game?” He questions.

“Yeah, I went on a date once and then you guys lost and my date got pissed so he ditched me in the middle of the arena,” I explain.

“Oh that sucks. I mean, I wouldn’t be with you at the game obviously but I’d love to take you out on a date after a game, if you would like,” he asks me out with a smile.

“No thanks,” I pass, watching as Tyler and the guy he was flirting with stand up from their stools. They’re probably going back to Tyler’s place to hook up now.

“What? Did you say no thanks?”

“Yeah I’ll pass on the offer, no offense. I’m just not looking for anything serious right now.”

A bunch of cash is thrown on the bartop in front of me and Tyler looms over me. “Money for the bar, and some extra for your rent next month. It’s not a lot but it’ll help until you get stable a bit, okay? And don’t you dare give it back, otherwise you’re paying for drinks next time when I plan to get blackout wasted. Oh, and don’t come over to my apartment for the rest of the weekend.” He winks, grabbing his hookup’s hand and leading him out the door.

I roll my eyes at Tyler, calling the bartender over to close his tab. Clayton watches as I pay the bill and shove the rest of the money into my pocket.

“You’re having trouble paying your rent, huh?” Clayton asks with a sigh, picking up his beer and swirling it around.

I give him a look. “Why do you care?”

“And you don’t want to be in a serious relationship but you want to have some fun,” he continues, “Looks like what you’re looking for is a sugar daddy.”

I scoff. “I don’t want to hop on some desperate sixty year old’s dick, Clayton.”

“Who said they had to be sixty? They could be, I don’t know, twenty one with seven million dollars to spend a year,” he responds.

“Seven million?” I almost choke.

“And maybe, that guy doesn’t know what to spend that money on but he sees a beautiful girl sitting in front of him and well,” he shrugs, maintaining eye contact while he takes a sip of his beer.

I narrow my eyes at him. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”

“Dead.”

“If you’re really offering to be my sugar daddy-””I am.”

“Be prepared. I’m high maintenance.”

[raging-violets]

BTR: Patie //Ficlet// Break Out, Break Loose

Ficlet Notes: Set during 3x08, Big Time Babysitting

Pairing: Patie - Katie Knight and Patrick Jackson (OC)

Summary: With James and Carlos, sometimes it’s easier for Katie to tell them one thing to their face and mean another. A trip to the convenience store to play an arcade game was easier for them to understand than telling them she was going out to meet a boy.

Authored By: Rhuben

Tag List: Just tagging people I know who are BTR fans, or wanted to read more for the Jacksons @mystic-scripture​ @witchofinterest​ @juliesdahlias​

Katie closed her eyes, sucked in a deep breath of air, when James and Carlos activated their “sister force field” on her. She tilted her head back and let out a loud groan. The stupid “Katie Cage” again.

She should have seen it coming. She had to give them props, they did take their responsibilities seriously. But then again, they took their jobs too seriously! And it wasn’t like they had little sisters to they even knew what they were talking about. At least Kendall had figure out how to handle her a long time ago: leave her alone, give her access to food, maybe monitor her online gaming habits, and everything was all good.

But this?! Katie tried to duck under James and Carlos’s arms but they shifted quickly, cutting her off before she could really move. Quickly straightening, she tried to step over them and found herself being carried away from the door and dropped haphazardly onto the couch.With a huff of annoyance, she crossed her arms over her chest. This was just going too far!

“You can pout all you want, Katie, but we’re not letting you leave this apartment,” James said, lifting an eyebrow before staring her down with one of his neurotic stares.

She wasn’t going to pout. She was just going to get even more frustrated. All she wanted to do was go down to the convenience store and play an arcade game. She basically had free ranger of the whole entire Palm Woods. She even crawled through air ducts and rolled around in laundry carts for fun. So what was so hard about the idea of her going to the convenience store to play an arcade game by herself?

“Ok, ok,” she said, putting her hands up defensively, “I get it. You want me to stay here.” She wiggled her grimy fingers. “Can I at least wash my hands? Those air ducts were very filthy.” Once James and Carlos let her go, she stepped past them and into the bathroom. “Idiots.”

Katie immediately turned on the bathtub and sink faucets.Placing her hands on the edges of the sink, she let out a deep sigh and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Dull. Boring. Not anything like the beach babes here in California.  Why would one of the hottest guys on the planet want to spend time with someone like her?

Lifting her hands she brushed her hair behind her ears, then pulled it forward in front of her shoulders, and then gathered her hair into her hands behind her head in a ponytail, turning her head this way and that. Then, her shoulders dropped, and she let out a sigh through her nose, dropping her hair.

Still, she reasoned, he wants to spend time with you. Her stomach started twisting at the thought. And her heartbeat quickened. She twisted her mouth to the side, trying to stop herself from smiling too wide. You! Out of everybody in LA! Biting down on her lower lip, she lifted up onto the balls of her feet in excitement and proceeded to wash her hands. Afterwards she put on a little bit of eyeliner, some lip gloss, and a spritz of perfume. Riley had warned her over and over, not to wear so much makeup that she looked like she was wearing a mask.

“Wear just enough,” Riley had coached, carefully brushing the tip of an eyepencil across Katie’s lower eyelids, “to make your eyes glow, yeah? Brown eyes aren’t boring, mate.”

“It feels like you’re scratching my eyeballs out,” Katie had complained. She didn’t get the whole wearing makeup thing like a lot of girls her age at the Palm Woods did. Their eyebrows looked more like airplane landing strips than eyebrows. Still, he wasn’t going to go to her mom for it, lest she wanted the “You’re growing up so fast” speech again.

“The burning means its working,” Riley had quoted. She had cracked a grin before carefully blowing at Katie’s eyes. “Ah, reckon I just need to sharpen the pencil. Otherwise, you’re all set!” She had grabbed Katie’s shoulders and finally turned her towards the mirror.

Katie’s results at her own hand wasn’t as good as how Riley had made her look, but overall she was still happy. Her eyes did seem lighter, and have a certain glow to them. Clasping her fingers together on the sink, she let out a cleansing breath and then wiped her suddenly clammy hands on the towel before making her escape.

The closer she got to the convenience store, the more nervous she found herself getting. First with constantly adjusting the strap to her bag to make sure it wasn’t pulling at her hair. Then stopping in the windows of each store she passed to check her hair and that she wasn’t sweating off her makeup. Checking that her clothes hung on her in a flattering way. Most importantly, that she didn’t smell. But none of that did anything to quell the super-sized gigantic butterflies that flapped around in her stomach and tickled her ribs the second she spotted him waiting outside the convenience store.

Only someone like the Patrick Jackson could for look so cool just waiting outside of a store. It was unfair how someone like him could wear a simple sweatshirt (with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows), a black and yellow plaid shirt tied around his waist, and distressed dark wash jeans and look like he just stepped off the pages of a magazine. Whereas anyone else could try it and look like they didn’t know how to dress themselves.

Still, the lopsided grin he gave her as she walked up to him, equally calmed her nerves, and made her suddenly want to give in to the giggles that had risen up in her chest.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, she thought, this isn’t a date. You’re just hanging out.

“Hey,” he greeted, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. “You made it.”

“I said I’d be here,” Katie said with a shrug, “and I’m here.”

“Cool.” Patrick reached up a hand to scratch the back of his neck, adjusting the collar of his sweatshirt.

“Yeah.” Katie slowly nodded, pressing her lips together. She lifted up onto the balls of her feet before lowering. “So, you want to go play?”

“Yeah, sure,” Patrick replied. They reached for the door handle at the same time. Katie quickly snatched her hand back, feeling her face burn.

“Sorry.”

“S’cool,” Patrick replied with a shrug, pulling the door open. Cool air washed over them and he motioned her inside. Katie gave him a smile of thanks, stepping across the threshold of the store, completely aware of the hand he gently placed on the small of her back. “I just hope you’re ready to lose.”

Katie snorted, rolling her eyes. She hit him in the chest with the back of her hand for good measure. “I’ll have you know that I’ve never lost a game,” she said. She prodded Patrick in the chest. “In fact, that’s why I’m not allowed to play Biohazard Blast anymore.”

“And you just took all that into online poker, right? Patrick asked, lifting an eyebrow, massaging his chest with his hand. Katie grinned, shrugging her shoulders modestly. “Try growing up in my family. You don’t know competitiveness. It’s why Ronan banned us from playing laser tag, or glow golf. Or darts. Or go karts. Or really anything he reckons we can come up with when we’re bored. It was too much of a blood bath.”

“We’ll just see about that,” Katie said with a challenging smile. “Loser buys ice cream?”

“Done.” Patrick patted his hands with his stomach. “I haven’t eaten yet today, but I know you hate spending money, so I won’t make you buy a lot.”

“What a gentleman,” Katie said deadpan and Patrick laughed.

“Ladies first,” he said, motioning for her to lead the way to the arcade games section. He fell into step beside her. They were both silent for a moment. Then he said, “Um, by the way, your makeup looks nice today.”

“Thanks.” Katie gave him a quick smile. “I was just trying some stuff out. That’s all.”

                                                         -----

“Hey, guys,” Katie chirped, wiggling her fingers in a small wave, spotting James and Carlos at the end of the hallway. She quickly slipped into Apartment 2J, trying to hide the wide smile on her face. She already had to force herself to walk as normally as possible, to stop herself from wanting to skip.

God, she couldn’t believe just spending some time with a boy made her so giddy.

She couldn’t help but laugh at the confused looks and incoherent babbling James and Carlos went through as they tried to understand how she had managed to slip out of the Palm Woods apartment. They really were idiots; she had watched them as she grew up. How else could she have figured out how to disappear from one place and pop up in another without being detected?

Still, it was easier to just tell them what they wanted to hear: “It’s way more fun hanging out with you guys than playing some stupid game at a convenience store.” She followed that up with a simple smile and an offer to finish the puzzle they were working on. They would need all the help they could get with it, anyway. Just as she settled a piece into the already built border, she felt her phone vibrate against her hip and she removed it from her pocket.

Glancing back and forth between James and Carlos who were bent far over the table, searching for the next piece to the puzzle, she settled back against the couch cushions, holding her phone close to her face.

Patrick: Had fun today. Rematch?

Katie: Anytime, anywhere

Katie: And thanks for walking me back to the PW

She paused for a moment, thumbs hovering over the screen to decide which emoji would be best to use. A smiley face? Because she was happy that he offered. A winky face? Because it was a short walk, and it wasn’t like she was goign to get lost. No emoji at all? His response saved her the trouble.

Patrick: Anytime, anywhere

Katie: :)

[caffiend-queen]

“There’s No Saying Goodbye To Me.” Chapter Four Sneak Peek

I’m finishing up the smut now for chapter four. Why is smut always the hard part? @imanuglywombat​ says this: “Because the smut is the delicious dessert that must be perfect - like baking - one miscalculation and it’s fucked.” Truth. So, I swear it’ll be ready tomorrow. And you all have a decision to make. Here’s a sneak peek....

The White Room Chapter Four

“Uh, Director?”

Fury looked up, his lone eye narrowed to see his personal assistant and his deputy director standing there. “Why do you both have that look that tells me I am going to be very unhappy with the next words out of your mouth?”

“Uh, it’s about Steve Rogers, sir, he took his ex back to the Avenger’s compound after someone firebombed her apartment building. She was supposed to check in twelve hours ago, and…”

“Yessss?” he hissed, leaning on his knuckles against his desk.

“When we finally reached Dr. Banner, he said they’d never been there.”

“That mother-FUCKER!” roared Fury, “I should have known. I’m off on a god-DAMN wild goose chase and-” He looked up at the two agents cringing in the corner of his office. “I know where he’s going. Get me a unit of agents - full arms - and a quinjet. And get your snow boots.”

__________

It was white. Everything was a uniform, shiny white. White walls, a white bed, white sheets and blankets. White wooden floor. No windows, no tv or books, no table or chairs. One door with a complicated security pad. Another door that led to a bathroom with … yep, white tile, white towels and fixtures. No window. A look in the mirror showed you were only in your underwear. The bedroom door opened and you crossed your arms awkwardly over your chest, then forced them down. It’s not like Steve hadn’t seen you naked before.

“There she is,” he was smiling at you so fondly.

“You drugged me?” you hissed. “Are you nuts? You can’t-”

Suddenly there was a wall of muscled chest in front of you. “I came back for you, sweetheart. For you! And we'll stay here until we work this out." He loomed over you, eyes dark and furious. When you realized his fists were clenching and unclenching, you stepped back. Giving a frustrated huff, he placed his hand on the security pad. “We’ll talk later when you’re calmer, more rational.”

“You can’t keep me here! Steve, damnit!” You’d been screaming and kicking at that bland white door for what felt like half the day, and there was no answer. No noise at all, in fact, which told you that your shiny white cage was soundproof. Giving the impervious barrier one last kick, you leaned against it. Whatever he’d dosed you with wasn’t fully out of your system and even your bones felt sore. “Steve … c’mon. Don’t be a dick.”

Not a sound.

The first time Steve opened the door to bring in food, you’d thrown it back at him, corn and mashed potatoes bouncing off the shiny white wall. He’d calmly taken you by the arm and put you in the shiny white bathroom and locked the door. You’d pounded on the door, yelling at him. You heard the scraping sounds of him cleaning up the broken plate and then the door shutting. You were in the bathroom for a long time, pacing angrily, taking a shower, sitting in the tub, carefully drawing “Fuck you, Steve!” and “You’re an asshole Bucky!” in the bright red lipstick you’d found in the drawer with a group of expensive cosmetics. You moved onto the white subway tile with the eyeliner, using every bit of profanity you could think of. You grew hungry, but your lip curled. Fuck him.

You didn't know how long you'd been in there - you were guessing a couple of days - when Steve finally opened the door, but you'd been eyeing the expensive almond lotion and wondering if it was edible.

"How long are you going to keep me in here?" you hissed. God, was it possible Captain Asshole had gotten even bigger?

Steve leaned against the door, gaze direct and clear, a slight smile playing on his lips. He was wearing a white wifebeater - a size too small of course - massive arms folded over his stupidly gigantic chest.

@trippedmetaldetector​

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[seriouslyblacklikemysoul]

Until Forever - Sirius Black

MASTERLIST Warings: My English. Pics aren’t mine. This has to be one of my favorite chapters.  Word Count ~ 3k. Prologue | Mercury | Delicate | Blue | Running | Aftermath | Stardust | December | Nightfall | Revelations

Chapter 11. Friends. 

      After that particular talk she had with Minerva, she felt lighter, as if the weight she was carrying on had been lifted from her chest, freeing her from the invisible tyrant. She had finally found someone she could be honest – she hated lying, even white lies put her in a hard position.      She was slowly learning how to be at ease when things falling apart and that she had to start over; how to trust those new beginnings once more, how to trust in the rebirth of things and people, including herself; that with every new beginning, she found another lost piece of herself, and with every new adventure, she fell  in love with something she  would never have thought she’d love. They were scary and confusing but they were also spectacular and extraordinary. Running away was not always the solution.       Slowly, but steadily enough, she was learning how to let new people in – how to reawaken her faith in people and their ability to love and their ability to open her heart again. And while she was dreading it, she was hoping that people could see all the different sides of her and still stay.        She was never big on trusting herself but she had to; she had to find the ability to trust all those tough experiences that left scars inside her heart or stitches inside her brain, all of that contributed to who she had grown to be. She had to finally understand that things didn’t always fall apart to give an ending, but sometimes they fell apart to present a new beginning. Couple of days passed her by, as she decided to do nothing at all but take of herself, occasionally talking about her secret with her professor and giving in to the pleasure of the beauty world. She was a 2020’s girl and could not, would not, compromise that for the makeup trends of the 70s and 80s. She hated the bold colors that were used without blending – the big hair and the extreme statements. She was a girl of her time, and that time wasn’t this one. Her things were cut-creases and winged eyeliner, matte foundation and contouring, perfectly shaped eyebrows and soft lips. She had to ask her professor for a couple of favors, but Minerva was more than happy to oblige, remembering her young years as well.       She had spent the last days, happily alone – of course she was thinking about everything. Her old life, however, seemed too far away from her now. Like a distant dream. She knew that it was more than just a possibility to never live in her time again, and even though that saddened her, she found herself relieved – she had formed attachments despite her initial thoughts of being distant and alone. Yup, that went well. 

The 29th day of December had arrived and she was still contemplating whether or not to go to the party. Thanks to Minerva, who was even more excited than she was, she had now a gorgeous dress and high heels but her gut feeling told her that maybe, she just wanted to go so she could see him. With another girl. And in the process, hurt Remus again. While all that time, she should be investigating everyone and everything so she could find a way to change the story and the outcomes. Oh, well, she was twenty-two, after all.         She was one of the very few Gryffindors who had stayed and she had the common room to herself most of the time – just like now; she was enjoying silence with a bottle of sparkling wine. She was ecstatic for not having to buy more bottles but simply conjuring more delicious wine – magic was helpful. Unknown to her, she was being stared at.       She had stars behind each eyelid and a galaxy in her soul that drew people to her endless heart, like the pull of a black hole, she was made of earth and fire, of wishes cast on shooting stars. She was a brand-new solar system, unlike the ones he had known so far, with constellations ever changing. No one could memorize her skies and he thought the thing for all of her previous relationships to do was bring her down to size. He could see, they had tried to shrunk the universe within her, told her that her vast expanse was wrong, that she should make her life much smaller, if she wanted to belong. But she had denied them that privilege over her and he was amazed by her strength.         He threw himself to the couch and she yelp in surprise. He was the last person she expected to see there. He was enjoying her loss of words very much, trying at the same time to convince himself that his visit was purely out of friendly interest. “What can I say? I felt bad for leaving you alone” he exclaimed rather provocatively. She sneered and arched her eyebrow. That was how they were playing at. “Don’t. I was having fun” she answered truthfully, pointing at her drink. He knew he was supposed to follow her hand but he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She was a vision of heartache and blooded marches that hadn’t even started yet; a battlefield of blossomed roses about to sacrifice themselves to the Gods so that their love would survive. “What kind of a friend would I be then, huh? Speaking of, I didn’t know your birthday was a month ago. But guess who did… ouch” he said and even though it was a mockery, he did sound hurt, or rather jealous. She thought about the word he had used – friend. He wasn’t. Even though she so desperately wanted him to be, he wasn’t. “He asked, you didn’t” she fired as soft as a bullet hitting the petals of a rose. Raising her glass to a toast she never proposed, she saluted him and he knew she was in a mood, alright. “Careful there, you were almost being sweet” he provoked her further. She simply turned her entire body towards him, taking notice of everything, his outfit, his hair, his eyes. He could wear a rag and he would still look incredible. Of course, the leather jacket and the black biker boots were making her imagination run wild. She forgot what she wanted to say to him – probably something sarcastic – and instead offered wine, face masks and her room. Bold move – and a risk he accepted.         Sirius was a dilemma; a broken crown wanting to reclaim the throne; a shuttered mirror trying to depict life as it once was. She thought how childish he had been described in the books – but she kept forgetting that all of that was supposed to be parts of a book. He felt real, next to her, with a green tissue mask on his face, pretending to be a zombie and drinking wine. He was just a young adult and he had every right in the world to enjoy his life as much as possible – she wanted him to have those moments, for later he would lose all hope. “What is this? I love it!” he proclaimed his love to the bottle of wine he had also claimed for himself only. She tried not to laugh because she, herself, had a tissue mask on her face but it proved to be impossible. “It’s called Moscato d’Asti – and it’s my favorite” she told him as she laid on her bed, closing her eyes, not wanting to meet his. Next thing she knew, he was right beside her, his hand grazing her thigh. She swallowed hard and shot up – straight to the bathroom. Removing the mask and washing her face with cold water, she did a breathing exercise to calm her nerves but her stomach had been replaced by a knot. She looked at the mirror, a reflection she didn’t recognize. Taking a deep breath, she went out finding Sirius pacing back and forth. It would have been a rather serious scene but he still had his mask on, something he realized and looked down embarrassed.         After a moment or two in the bathroom, recollecting himself, he exited with a fake smile that made her guts twist, so she blurted out the first thing that came into her mind. “I met your brother. Nice guy” she commented honestly but his cringed. Arching her eyebrow, and raising her hands up, she surrendered. He sat down next to her, eyeing her and wanting nothing more than to tell her the whole truth. “I will answer any question you have but let me give you your birthday present” he gave in once his eyes met hers. He was lying to everyone when he was pretending to be her friend – he wasn’t. Before she could register what was happening, Sirius had an entire tattoo kit to play with. Her mouth hung open, not even close to believing the scene unfolding. “No, no, no, no. First off, you’re drunk. Then I don’t trust you with a needle to draw something permanent on me and no!” she summed up quickly but he wasn’t listening. “I know what I am doing. Trust me” he informed her rather nonchalant. They did have a deal… She bit her lip and rolled her eyes. Fine. She had an excuse now, for revealing her tattoos to him. He hadn’t asked her too but she wanted. “Okay. But you have to see my other tattoos first” she carefully told him, watching hi prepare the equipment; his head shot up in the words. He had never thought she would show him her story – because each tattoo was a part of her story.       She had never been good at hiding her feelings… and here she was, swallowing her emotions, mutilating her own self for someone else’s sake. She saw the broken pieces in his eyes and wished she could tell him that he would heal in four months, or two weeks, or by next Monday if he really tried. But she couldn’t and that costed her. For if there was anything, she had learned about moving forward, about letting go, about becoming the person she wanted to become — it was that it happened in the quietest moments. Growth crept into her, it burrowed and it stretched, it cracked her open from the inside, and one day she woke up and she had to open her eyes. Maybe he would need more time or better suited people around him.        Slowly, she revealed each of her tattoos to him. She removed the spell concealing them and let him explore her. He was tracing his fingertips on her skin. He had seen the lotus flower and remembered her explanation. Her left ring finger was delicately decorated with a small rose. His hands traveled to the inner part of her forearm just below her right elbow, caressing the bracelet of the phases of the moon and the sunflower that reminded him of the sunflowers Van Gogh used to paint. Her shirt was loose enough for him to push the strips off of her shoulder to reveal the Arabic quote she had tattooed on her left collarbone. Before he could stop himself, he was fondling her inked skin – his hand was too close to her neck – he could see her pulse quicken, he felt her breath on his mouth. He knew she had more tattoos but stopped before leaning too close. “I didn’t run away to leave my brother behind. I was thrown out and I am haunted by the ghost of him. I know I have screwed up but they were right about one thing. I don’t believe that I deserve love – I couldn’t give it when I had to” he confessed, gathering his tools to create a birthday present for her that would last. She didn’t dare to move, looking at him as if any moment now, he would vanish. He carefully took her left hand and cleaned the inner part of her forearm just below her elbow with pure alcohol. With an eye contact to seal their deal, he begun drawing. It hurt but it was a sweet burning sensation that she didn’t really mind. “It’s a lie to think that you don’t deserve love if you aren’t able to love yourself. You deserve it. You deserve companionship and care and relationships that feel good and spaces where you’re cherished and valued. Even if you have days where you want to crawl out of your skin and disappear. Even if there are moments when you feel inadequate and unlovable. You don’t have to be alone just because you’re battling your own darkness. Carrying that weight doesn’t make you defective or too much or unworthy of love and belonging. It makes you human. It makes you someone who’s internalized judgments that were never yours to carry. It makes you someone who’s survived a lifetime of trauma and loss and pain. Someone resilient and inconceivably brave. Someone courageous enough to connect, despite the lies in your head. And there’s no shame in that. So please, don’t withdraw or close yourself off. Self-hatred doesn’t get unlearned through isolation. It’s unlearned through love. Through connection and care. Through having relationships and gathering evidence that you can be imperfect and struggling and still be valued. That you can hurt and be at war with your head and still be wanted. I know it’s hard to trust, but you belong. And no matter how much darkness you’re carrying, you deserve to love and be loved” she told him while he was still focused on the piece, he wanted her to have. His hair falling elegantly on his face, eyes silver as mercury dancing across her skin.         ‘There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in’ it read as the quote was mingling with the swirling blues and yellows of the Starry night. It was a bracelet as well but it made her teary – her favorite painting with some of the most meaningful words she had read. He wrapped it and sealed it close but she already knew how to take care of new tattoos. When his eyes met hers, the entire world seized to exist. It was just them and nothing could intervene. She didn’t stop herself from hugging him and thanking him – a whisper that made him melt inside her embrace.   “There is a Japanese word; kinsukuroi. It’s the art of repairing pottery with gold or silver lacquer and understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken. I find it strangely reassuring” he tenderly told her and she felt a blissful breeze of refreshing air calming down her lungs. “If you want to see the other tattoos, you can. It’s just that…” she trailed of and cautiously grabbed the hem of her shirt to pull it off. She knew it was too much – she could have just described them to him. But she knew it was a risk she was willing to take because the moment would never be perfect, the circumstances would only worsen and her heart would only break even more. He took a sharp breath in but didn’t stop her; quite the opposite really. He found himself helping her out of her shirt with shaky hands. His touch burned her but she could only look at him and see a future – it scared her.       His eyes stayed on hers but slowly they roamed her upper body and suddenly    they fell on the canis major constellation, tattooed right in the middle of her chest – underneath her bra. There was a small blue bird in the left side of her rib-cage, probably the one from Bukowski’s poem. He wasn’t able to do anything but stare at her and explore her body. She softly nudged her hair out of the way and his eyes traveled to her neck once again.       It was the most intimate thing he had ever done. She twisted her torso so he could see her back – a pair of antlers resting close to her hairline and the planetary system running down her spine. Not just any tattoo. It was almost identical to his. “How is this possible? The moon, the canis major, the antlers, the planets? How?” he asked disoriented, not knowing which tattoo to look at because if he looked at her face, he would kiss her, crush her in his arms. She shrugged and put her shirt back on. He knew those tattoos were done at least a year ago – she didn’t know them. “Maybe not in your reality. But is was in mine” she airily told him, leaving him with questions to which he did know the answer. The girl in front of him hadn’t simply fallen from the sky to his embrace. She had fallen through time. He was too close, his breath on her mouth, her hands on his arm, tracing the patterns of his tattoos. She closed her eyes, not wanting to collide. Not now. Not yet. But she couldn’t say no all at once. She placed a small peck on his cheek and thanked him again. “Care for a cigarette?” she mouthed too close to his lips. No, he didn’t. He cared about her. All the right ways – and all the wrong ones. He was hers in a way he never belonged to anyone ever before. A little. A lot. Passionately. Not all.

___ Taglist: @nadinissavage​ @mycobrakai1972​ 

[gagmebucky]

[biker!bucky. clothes ripping kink. dollface.]

A gasp falls from your lips, sputtering a high pitched, “B - Bucky!” But he only regards you with a glinting smirk and resumes splitting it up your skin; your hands grab his wrists but his strength is absolute, and all you can do is dig your nails into his skin as you shriek, “What the hell are you doing?” But you already know he loves the marks, when your impression is left on him for others to see. 

in which you look too good in that damn dress, and biker!bucky can’t help himself. (includes biker!bucky x chief-of-police’s daughter!reader, clothes ripping kink, reader receiving oral.) 

—

A big hand clamps over your mouth, texturized with the calluses of a hardworking man, while a strong forearm anchors across your waist. Before you can react, you’re swept backwards into an unisex bathroom as leather and spice wafts your senses, and a familiarly gruff voice settles your fight-or-flight instincts: “It’s me.”

Immediately, you relax which has him releasing you so you whirl around, your back to the automatically locked door. Your heart like a hummingbird’s, you blink in disbelief at the mountain of a man standing before you in all his louche glory. 

“What are you doing here?!” you exclaim in a hushed gasp. Despite yourself, excitement skitters across your skin as you take in your bearded, blue-eyed blackguard: a broad six-foot, towering in dark leather and denim, chestnut brown hair disheveled sexily. All in all,  he’s something that draws attention at a suit-and-tie police ball. “What if someone sees you?!” 

It’s not that you’re ashamed of the ex-con you’ve been shacking up with. It’s more that your father is being celebrated for his dutiful law enforcement work, and finding out his daughter has been getting on her knees for the same type of person he’s dedicated his life to putting away isn’t the place for that. You plan to divulge your relationship to him soon, just not yet. 

Bucky’s tongue darts across his bottom lip, his teeth following as his gaze drags over every curve and contour of your low cut dress clad frame. You’d think he’d gotten enough of an eyeful with the images you texted him. His eyes snap to your face, and he surges forth with an animalistic groan at the base of his throat.

In one second, he grasps you by your hips—a crushing grip glides beneath your satin dress and hauls you high on his waist, palms searing and fingers kneading through a layer of fishnets and panties—and braces you on the bathroom’s sink. A gasp expels from your lips as your back collides against a cold mirror, another sound escaping when he yanks your thighs wide and slots himself between them.

In one hand, his rough pads upturn your jaw, almost squishing your cheeks with his force, maintaining eye contact. Feral, his eyes practically glow, and your skin prickles with a likewise manic passion. “You really sent those pictures and thought I wouldn’t come and see you for myself, dollface?” His wicked orbs flicker down, to the crease of your cleavage, to the slit in your dress, the fishnets covering your legs; his broad chest lifts and falls with a ragged breath. 

A simmering furnace kindles in your core, crackling under your skin at the primal reaction to little ‘ole you. Admittedly, it shouldn’t be surprising given his carnal demeanor toward you has persisted since the first time you saw him—being towed away in handcuffs at the station. Nevertheless, it never falls to ignites something unhinged inside you, a wild side that shudders in anticipation for whatever he’s going to do to you. 

This wasn’t the plan, but God, you love this deviation. 

Upon messaging him that album of scandalous poses, all pristine in your classy—but borderlining skimpy—outfit, you just wanted to work him up while you attended this event. You wouldn’t have thought he would show up here, risking being seen by the flurry of officers who’ve either arrested him, or heard about the suspicious activities in his supposedly innocuous biker gang. Then again, that spontaneousness is one of the reasons why you seem to be addicted to him. 

“Did you think I could resist getting my hands on this pretty ‘lil dress and your sexy body underneath?” he asks breathlessly, baritone pitch raking over your nerves like gravel. “And I couldn’t care less about whether your daddy sees us.” His white incisors scrape across his bottom lip. “What did he expect when he let you go out in something like this?“

Thin straps swoop low and reveal your décolletage as the black satin clings like a second skin; from the V of your chest to the reverse V on one thigh, it highlights all your assets tantalizingly, and fishnets do the same to your legs in stretched diamond-shaped string. 

“Oh? Does that mean you don’t like it?” you goad innocently, lashes fluttering. 

His lips twist up at one corner, entertained by your fauxness. “I’m just pointing out if he didn’t want you to be roughed up by someone like me, he would have told you to put on something that doesn’t make your tits look that good. A blind man can see you’re just asking for trouble.” 

“What if that’s what I want?” you reply then tilt your head and part your lips to accept his thumb into your mouth. Your tongue curls around the appendage while your cheeks hollow with a tight suction; your stare remains on his the whole time, watching the flames blaze in his eyes as he pops free from your Cupid’s bow. 

“Then you’re on the fuckin’ right track, dollface,” he just about growls and leans forward, intention set on kissing you until you’re breathless and dizzy, and your lips are swollen and glossy with his spit. 

Although the prospect tightens in your belly, you stop him with a shake of your head. “My lipstick, biker-boy,” you say to the disgruntled confusion on his face, amused by the expression. “Consider these lips off limits until the end of the night.” You pause. “Then they’re yours to take however you want.” 

Impatience lurks in his gaze, and restraint locks his jaw. Air flares his nostrils as his head tips forward. Distance nose-to-nose, he says a quiet, “Okay.” But there’s something about the quality there that has your hackles rising despite the calmness. “I won’t ruin your lipstick.” 

The second the last syllable is drawn, without any time to consider the mystery of his purposeful diction, a shrill riiiiiiiiiip cuts bounces against tiled wall’s echo. Somewhere below your eyeline, his hands have hooked underneath the mesh and jerked it apart at the bend of your knee. Once carefully stepped in-to brand new fishnets are reverted into a tattered piece of sheer with a hole ovaling up your thigh. 

A gasp falls from your lips, sputtering a high pitched, “B - Bucky!” But he only regards you with a glinting smirk and resumes splitting it up your skin; your hands grab his wrists but his strength is absolute, and all you can do is dig your nails into his skin as you shriek, “What the hell are you doing?” But you already know he loves the marks, when your impression is left on him for others to see. 

“What’s wrong?” he teases, brows knitted in feigned confusion, continuing to litter the floor with your clothing. “Your lipstick is fine, dollface. That’s what you wanted. And since I can’t have those lips, then I’ll just have to settle for these.” 

With an effortless twitch of his hands, your underwear is shredded into two separate pieces. Next thing you know, he’s on his knees, and he’s pulled you forward until your ass is on the edge of the porcelain sink and your legs are prised apart, leaving his face level with your most intimate part.

No time wasted, he delves in. He wastes no time delving in. Tongue first, he delivers a flat stripe up your sticky folds, ending at your slick bud which he immediately suckles into his warm, wet mouth like you’re a lollipop he’s hellbent on getting to the center of. 

Pleasure strikes you like lightning, stimulation zapping you in your deepest depths. Before you can think to suppress it, you give a startled cry, a guttural choke resounding off the walls as you buck into the heaven that is him. 

One of his hands shoots up and stuffs two fingers in your mouth, rasping over your taste buds, and muffling any attention-bringing sounds. All the while, he’s feasting on you in that same passionate and skilled manner he kisses you with. He suctions all the honey he can out of you, batting at your clit with his tongue. 

Shocks attack your nerves, and shakes rack your body, inadvertently causing you to grind against his face. One of your legs curl over his shoulders, heels pressing into leather-bound muscles. Your fingers plunge into his impossibly soft locks and hold on for dear life while you’re upended by blind bliss building in your center. 

Blue eyes pierce your soul, watching the delirium pump through you. Wickedness shines at the forefront of those storming oceanic pools; his pupils are dilated in raw desire at the flush of your cheeks, the look and feel of you desperately sucking on his index and middle digits to smother your pretty moans, the rhythmic undulation of your body.

The pit in your stomach deepens and spirals outward. Your toes furl in your heels, and your spine curves into an arc as an orgasm hurtles through every cell inside of you. A stifled noise vibrates against his fingers which has him jabbing them deeper until he can feel your throat constricting around them. 

As you ride out your wave, he’s wringing every iota of pleasure out of you. He keeps your engorged button swathed between his teeth while you tremble with aftershocks. Once he’s satisfied, he retreats after an audible pop and rises to his six-foot and wide shoulder stature. 

You’re still buzzing with the residual effects, panting heavily when he comes to loom over you. He grasps you by the jaw in his spit-soaked hand, and his lips glistening with your liquid lust, he kisses you. He takes possession of you, snaking his tongue in and claiming every inch for himself; he smears your lipstick and has you suck the taste of yourself off his taste buds. 

Finally, he lets you go to gulp in much needed air. The look on your face already tells him you don’t give fuck all about the ruined cosmetics, or the torn fashion. No, he can see you’re basking in the sensations he invokes in you, grateful you’re allowed to be so undone. 

Your eyes are hooded, Cupid’s bow red and swollen from him, bare thighs dripping with a dull ache between them. The formality of the event means nothing to you now when he’s here, having done that to you. You have half a mind to sneak out with him. 

Like he knows what you’re thinking, he shakes his head. “I want you to go out there. I want them to see the chief’s pretty little princess looking like she just got fucked with no panties and no lipstick. You got that, dollface?” When you nod, all dazed and starry eyed, he smiles. “Good. I’ll pick you up later and ruin your soft, wet little pussy until she’s as swollen as your lips are now.”

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